At a Loss For Words Read online

  Now I say: Oh please.

  You said you were going away for a week because your cousin had died. He’d been killed in a car accident. The two of you had always been close. I said I was so sorry to hear of your loss. I said I was so sorry I couldn’t go with you to help you through this difficult time.

  I said, I’m going to miss you so much. I’ve grown accustomed to there being a certain number of miles between us. When that distance is greater than usual, I’m sadly and painfully and constantly aware of it.

  I said, While you’re away, I’ll be sending you all my love and support in the old-fashioned way, without benefit of e-mail or telephone lines. So don’t be surprised when suddenly you feel my hand in yours, my arms around your waist, gentle kisses on your neck, my head on your chest.

  I signed this e-mail:

  Yours always,

  always yours,

  yours in all ways,

  me.

  When I read this over now, it makes me squirm.

  Now I say: Look what love does to language. Either it sends you straight into breathless, shameless, hyperbolic logorrhea (like then) or it leaves you wordless altogether (like later).

  I said, Yesterday we had thunderstorms off and on here all afternoon. Very odd for this time of year. I’m not usually fond of thunderstorms but, for some reason, this time I enjoyed them. Instead of feeling afraid, this time I felt they were something to revel in and marvel at. The tumult in the sky. So flamboyant and invigorating. At around 4:30, right in the middle of it, suddenly the sun came out, just setting low in the west. The sky became a peculiar and eerie combination of orange and gray and green that I’ve never seen before. The large red-brick apartment building I can see from my kitchen window was glowing an unearthly orange. When I went outside to have a better look, I discovered there was a double rainbow, two perfect semicircles stretching across the eastern sky. It was so beautiful that I got a little teary-eyed. I hope there was a rainbow at your house too. If not, you can have mine.

  Now I say: Get your own damn rainbow.

  Write about an eclipse.

  Write about an island.

  Write about your reflection in a mirror.

  Write about windows.

  Write about bodies of water.

  Write about borders.

  Write about road maps.

  Write about packing a suitcase.

  Write about escape.

  Write about the making of beds.

  Write about then having to lie in them.

  I’ve just received a hilarious e-mail from my friend Michelle and now I have to send it to all my other female friends.

  I used to check my e-mail fifty or sixty times a day. No, I’m not exaggerating. I was always hoping (endlessly relentlessly compulsively obsessively hoping) that your name would pop up perkily on my computer screen. I’m well past that now, but the e-mail is still there, and it still needs to be checked. Frequently.

  There’s always the spam that needs to be deleted, junk messages with jubilant exclamatory titles like:

  This would look great on your wrist.

  Look sophisticated on your vacation.

  Melt away fat easily.

  Become fit and happy again!

  Make your fat friends envy you!

  Have erections like steel!

  My penis has gone from 3.5 to 6 inches and it’s still growing!

  Penis Enlarge Patch will make your dick so big you will be able to park a car on it!

  There are also those e-mails that consist of series of unconnected words that need to be puzzled over briefly before deleting: Cousin book thank. East given love purpose south. Taste mischievous idea turn.

  Yesterday I received one of these called frequent affluent atrium cheese, which contained over a thousand words strung together without punctuation or capitalization. It began:

  ethyl beautify deluxe creak melanoma baptism debarring acute anathema jeopardy romeo bomb gangplank amygdaloid errant digging quartz derriere concentric dictum horoscope annihilate induce delusion accept indigestible mutton funeral hereof bittersweet bromine occidental finale fiendish pressure fahrenheit macrostructure quintessence herringbone auburn destitute creepy armadillo alizarin compost rampage paris goat…

  And it concluded:

  …hibernate companion ballast bonnet prostrate hindsight pension arcane expelled correspond simulcast combine improvisation accustom cypriot hecatomb epistemology polonium differentiate exponential heathen ferrous eyesore paraxial adjoin clasp gleam dextrose authenticate coven secede originate bounty pearl carcinoma repression bedspring marimba fanatic procrastinate raccoon periphrastic fortify pocket hypnagogic paginate newsreel innocuous begrudge gloat shiny cripple roar

  Just for fun, I printed this one out and it filled six whole pages, single-spaced. What is the purpose of these mysterious missives, I wonder? I suppose it’s because I’m a writer that I find them so fascinating even though they make no sense at all.

  But this morning’s message from Michelle makes perfect sense to me. It’s called New Study:

  A recent study conducted by the Department of Psychiatry at UCLA reveals that the kind of man a woman finds attractive depends on where she is in her menstrual cycle. If she is ovulating, she is most attracted to a man with rugged and masculine features. However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to prefer a man with scissors lodged in his temple and a bat jammed up his ass while he is on fire. Further studies in this area have been canceled.

  Yes, I am menopausal.

  I said, Waking or sleeping, I dream of you.

  This was not true then, and it’s not true now.

  At night I do not dream of you. Even when we were happy (or some reasonable facsimile thereof, in those first few months), even then I did not. Even at the height (or the depth) of my misery, I did not.

  At night I dream of having sex in the backseat of a shiny red car with a large hairless man I’ve just met at a gas station on an empty highway bisecting a wind-blown desert that stretches from one horizon to the other, and afterwards I get out of the car and stand waving by the gas pumps as he toots his horn three times and drives away.

  I dream that my neighbor’s cat’s tail has fallen off and is lying in my driveway, twitching but bloodless, as the cat stalks away, as imperious and unconcerned as ever.

  I dream of bowling with a group of strangers all wearing short-sleeved blue satin shirts with their names embroidered on them, but the names are written in Chinese and I can’t read them.

  I dream that I’ve moved back into my parents’ house and am sleeping again in my childhood bed, but it’s much too small for me now and my legs are hanging off the end at the knees and I’m afraid that rats are going to eat my toes.

  I dream that I’m married to a man named Leonardo who has red hair and only one leg, and he’s making me a big batch of buttermilk pancakes for breakfast.

  I dream of buying a form-fitting green silk dress and silver stilettos which I wear to a fancy party where I sit on a blue velvet love seat and drink a whole bottle of Scotch and still manage to talk intelligently to a man in a white tuxedo about stem-cell research. This man says he’s come all the way from Venezuela to attend the party. I tell him that when I was in the eighth grade I did a geography project on Venezuela for which I received an A+. The man in the white tuxedo does not appear to be unduly impressed. This dream party takes place in a mansion as big as a hotel. There are glittering chandeliers everywhere, shiny marble floors, enormous oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames, and an apparently endless spiral staircase leading to the upper stories of the building. The staircase is filled with people. Every room is filled with people. The mansion is set on a hillside and the whole hillside is filled with people. At the bottom of the hill there is a river. There are people in the river too, their heads bobbing above the surface of the water like beach balls.

  Many of my dreams are like this: crowded with people I don’t know in places I don’t recognize discussing to
pics I know nothing about. Sometimes these strangers know me even though I don’t know them.

  I think about you all day long, but at night I do not dream of you. I don’t understand how this can be true. Perhaps there’s a quota for how many thoughts you can have about any one person in a twenty-four-hour period. Perhaps if you exceed your limit during your waking hours, then you have to dream about something else instead.

  You said, I think we are both people who deeply value honesty, trust, and loyalty.

  I said, Yes, we are.

  Or I said, I think we are both people who deeply value honesty, trust, and loyalty.

  And you said, Yes, we are.

  I cannot remember now who said what in this brief exchange.

  Write about the worst lie anyone has ever told you.

  Write about the worst lie you have ever told anyone.

  Write about all the lies you have believed even though you knew you shouldn’t have.

  Write about all the lies you’ve told so often and so well that you ended up believing them yourself.

  I said, Ever since we reconnected, I’ve sensed a certain sadness in you. Perhaps there is an answering sadness in me too. Maybe that’s what soul mates are: the answers to all the questions we didn’t know we were asking.

  I said, My life hasn’t worked out the way I thought it would. Although I’m proud of my various accomplishments, still they aren’t enough to make a whole and happy life. Ever since I was a young woman, I’ve felt there was something missing in my life. Now I see that “something” was you! Now I see that I need love…I need your love.

  You said, I do appreciate these thoughts. I want to say how much I welcome and treasure everything you say. Your letters are too wonderful! You lift my spirits immeasurably with all that you write. You warm me on this gray damp day.

  I said, Whenever I ask you how you are, you always say, “Fine.” But sometimes I am not convinced. I know this question is usually a rhetorical cliché, but when I ask you how you are, I really do want to know the truth.

  You said, When people ask me, “How are you?” I always say, “Fine.” If they persist and say, “No, how are you really?” then I say, “Complex.” Not to be trite about it…but this is how I see myself…

  I said, Complex? Yes, you are! As I am discovering day by day, week by week, chapter by chapter, in this lifelong process of getting to know you. Not a bad thing at all…challenging sometimes, but always exciting! Complex, yes, also unpredictable. You certainly keep me on my toes! I think that I, on the other hand, am extremely predictable and not nearly so complex. You are inscrutable, I am transparent (or so I’ve been told many times). Kindred spirits and soul mates we are indeed, but very different in some ways. Opposites attract? A good balance? Whatever we are, I think we’ll never be bored!

  You said, I try to be always in control of my emotions. I think we are so alike in regards to this…we always strive for stability of emotion in all aspects of our lives.

  I said, Yes, you’re quite right. My quest is for that often underrated (and recently elusive) middle ground between the ecstasy of the euphoric highs and the juggernaut of the desperate lows.

  I did not say, Are you crazy? I have never striven for (nor attained) emotional stability in my entire life.

  This morning the phone keeps ringing. It’s so annoying. There have been six calls already. One to remind me of my dentist appointment next Tuesday, one to ask if I’m happy with my newspaper delivery, one wrong number for someone named Tiffany. The other three calls were just telemarketers. I don’t answer these. I recognize their numbers in the call display. There’s one who calls faithfully every morning between 9:30 and 9:45. I’ve often thought that if you were as reliable and predictable as this telemarketer, things would be different now.

  My telephone has two different rings: a short one for local calls and a longer one for long distance. I’m ashamed to admit that sometimes still the sound of the long-distance ring gives me a jolt. I’m ashamed to admit that sometimes still I catch myself thinking it might be you.

  Early on, I was always sending you horoscopes: yours, mine, ours. I usually prefaced these with the disclaimer that, of course, I didn’t actually believe in them, but I read them in the paper every morning anyway (right before I started the crossword puzzle) just for fun.

  MINE: The sun moves into the most dynamic and creative area of your chart today, so forget about all the things that have gone wrong in your life and look forward to all the things that will soon be going right. To say that big changes are on your horizon is an understatement. Anticipate something you could never have expected: things are bound to be exciting.

  YOURS: Good news on the work front will get your week off to a great start, and it will get even better when the sun moves in your favor. You have worked extremely hard in recent weeks, and whatever it is that you are rewarded with today, you must not doubt that you deserve it.

  MINE: Experiencing things intensely is par for the course for you, but right now the strength of your emotions, and how quickly they’re changing, is incredible. There is no point in trying to stay calm. The best way to stave off depression is to have something to look forward to and, according to the planets, there are plenty of things in your immediate future that will put a big smile on your face.

  YOURS: You’ll be on the move a lot over the next few days, so make sure you are in the right frame of mind and in good shape physically. Also make sure you don’t take silly risks while on the roads because there will be more than the usual number of crazy drivers out there. Stay cool, stay calm, and stay alive.

  In the winter, your morning e-mails often began with a description of the commute from your home at one end of the city to your office at the other.

  You said, I was late getting in today. I was held up on the gridlocked freeway.

  You said, It’s like a rodeo out there this morning.

  You said, It’s like a war zone out there today.

  I said, We should compile a list of all the words we’ve used to describe your commute: grueling, onerous, tedious, frustrating, aggravating, exasperating, frightening, bizarre…

  You said, It took me three times as long to get here this morning as it usually does. I’m exhausted before my day has even started.

  I said, Oh, you poor thing.

  And I meant it.

  At the time, I used to check the Weather Channel every evening, and it would fill me with anxiety whenever the forecast for your city was bad. Freezing rain, heavy snow, high winds, whiteout conditions. Each morning after a forecast like that, I would hold my breath and pray for your safety until I saw your name pop up on my screen.

  Later: When I watched the Weather Channel and they gave dire and alarming warnings for your city, I cheered.

  Now: I figure the more weather adversity you have to face, the better.

  We were always saying that, given our relatively short amount of time here on earth, people must live in the moment, live for the moment. We were always agreeing about the need to live life to the fullest. We were well aware of the fact that we were not young anymore and did not have all the time in the world. Carpe diem.

  We were always saying, Everything happens for a reason.

  We were always saying, Nothing ever stays the same.

  We were always saying, Life is short.

  Life is so short.

  Life is too short.

  I said, Your eyes are so beautifully blue.

  You said, Thank you.

  I said, I cannot get enough of you…your words, your voice, your face, your smile, your skin, your strong arms around me.

  You said, Now you’re making me blush!

  I said, Good.

  I said, In my fantasy we are lying quietly together, naked, my head on your chest, or yours on mine. We are not talking. We are just breathing together. The room is slowly growing dark, the rest of the world is slipping silently away, and then we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  You sa
id, Now I’m weak at the knees!

  I said, Good.

  Write about euphoria.

  Write about light.

  Write about shadows.

  Write about fireworks.

  Write about sirens.

  Write about circling the edge.

  Write about falling from grace.

  Write about loneliness.

  Write about yearning.

  Write about the elephant in the room.

  Write about betrayal.

  Early on, I used to send you the addresses for websites I thought you’d find interesting or amusing. Sometimes I sent you these because I couldn’t think of anything else to write about except “us,” and I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t think of anything else to write about except “us.”

  Knowing how much you loved the outdoors, I sent you the address for the Sound Archive of the British Library, which features recordings of all manner of bird songs, including those of the African Hoopoe, the Algerian Nuthatch, the Burmese Bushlark, the Hispanic Coal Tit, the Fiery-Necked Nightjar, the Lemon-Rumped Warbler, and the Slate-Colored Boubou. There are animal sounds too: the Baboon, the Badger, the Koala Bear, the Edible Dormouse, wolves howling, cattle mooing, horses whinnying, pigs grunting and snorting. You could even listen to the sounds of an approaching thunderstorm or of pinecones splitting open in the heat. You’d often said how cooped up you felt when you had to work in the office all week, so I thought you could listen to these sounds throughout the day and feel better.