(32) The Cold Facts of Life

As I walk down the long road, trees glisten all round me and a steady sound of "drip drip drip!" is scattered across the neighborhood as layers of snowflakes melt from every surface. The mounds stacked on either side of the streets are no longer pure and pleasing to the eye, but are mixed with pollution and dirt so that the whole block looks soiled and uninviting.

I think to myself as I hop across a large puddle, that snow is only beautiful when it first falls, covering the world in a shield of brilliant white, dancing through the sky and then falling gently on rooftops. There is truly only one moment, when one can look out at it all and see everything clean and full of light, before the flakes mix with the grimy earth and the groaning plows begin to scrape it all away.

I stuff my hands deeper into my khaki pants pockets and continue to stumble through the slush on the street. It is bad enough that my day just didn't seem to want to end and I had left my whole Spanish paper in the printer after I had told myself over and over I was not going to forget it. Now I was forced to take the school bus home because my sister had gone to her friend's house, just to find that my mother had forgotten to leave the back door open and I am now completely locked out of the house!

I silently curse the game of tennis as I reach the next street. My dad has told me to understand that my mother's favorite sport is the source of comfort to her now that she is stressing about Grandma's cancer. My mother, on the other hand, has denied all of this rather openly and has informed all of us she is completely fine about Grandma's condition. What she doesn't know is that I have seen her crumpled on her bed three times already in one month. The sniffling across her bedroom had socked me so hard I could barely breathe, because before this month, I have only seen my mother cry twice; once when we had rented "Love Story" and the other time when she saw one of my sister's particularly horrible report cards. Yes, it is definitely past due for a time to visit Ms. Georgette and it is none too soon because at this moment I reach her door.

I have known Miss Georgette for only a year-and-a-half. Last year her name had been given to me for a project I was doing and when I had met her we instantly became friends. I've kind of grown closer to her, feeling like she helps me cope with the whole situation with my grandma. I suppose I have kind of made a small bargain with God, promising him that I would take care of this gentle soul down the street, if he made sure someone else took care of my grandma in Massachusetts. I'm not sure if he was listening or not, but I know that regardless, Miss Georgette's presence has become a strength in my own life.
I raise the polished, brass knocker slightly and then let it bang gently but loudly onto the surface of the white, wood door. Instantly the door swings open and I am standing in front of one of the most amazing women in the town of Darien.

"Daria! What a pleasant surprise!" She hugs me fiercely and instantly I smell the scent of hand lotion and lilac. Her silver hair is patted into place and she is wearing a red sweater set and a plaid skirt. I am always impressed with how lovely Miss Georgette looks.

"My mother forgot to leave me the key to the house," I reply, smiling weakly.

"Oh, your poor mother must have so much on her mind right now. I'm sure she'll be just devastated to know that she left you out in the cold again! Here, come sit down and I'll go make you a warm cup of hot chocolate."

"Thanks, Miss Georgette." I let myself rest comfortably on the plump cushion of her couch and look around the room at the familiar furniture and small figurines I have grown to love. This quiet, cozy little home has been Miss Georgette's for almost all of her life and even though she has never married, she lives quite comfortably in it. I have often laid in my bed late at night though, wondering if the deadened silence except for the gentle tic of her mantle clock could ever get to her. She assures me it doesn't and most of the time I can believe her, but I make sure I visit her every once in a while just in case.
It isn't long before we both have steaming mugs grasped in our hands and I sip mine slowly. A few moments of silence pass and then Ms. G looks up at me. "I can tell something is bothering you, Daria. Do you want to talk about it?" I glance up with surprise and then smile with embarrassment down into the rich depths of my hot chocolate.

“..It's nothing, really," I reply, forcing a smile. When I look back up though, I can tell she is seeing through my attempt at covering up my emotions. I turn my spoon around in the cup so that it chinks quietly.

“It's just that sometimes I feel lost among my family. My sister is never home and always finds excuses why she can't drive me anywhere and my mother is always out playing tennis or going to meetings. This is the fifth time this month that I have had to take the bus home! Ms. Georgette, you just don't understand the agony of being a sophomore who is almost old enough to drive, and having to ride home with the freshmen!" I explain to to her.

My words seem to fallout of my mouth and fall on top of each other. “If that isn't bad enough though, my mother never remembers to leave the kitchen door open or to get me a copy of the house key so I have to freeze until she comes home!" I sigh. I just wish my family could be more considerate." I expect Miss Georgette to laugh or roll her eyes at such ridiculous problems, but Instead her forehead wrinkles and she sips her cocoa thoughtfully.

"Well," she starts and then the wisdom comes. Several minutes pass by as I listen intently to the advice of a woman who has basically watched Darien rise from the ground. At one point she pats my knee gently.

"I have to admit 1 have never myself had the opportunity to have my own children, but I do remember my own relationship with my mother, and I can tell you now how hard it was for me to say goodbye when it was her turn to pass over to the other side. It must be equally hard for your own mother and also the rest of your family. It is never easy to say a lifelong goodbye. That's not to say that it isn't hard for you as well, but perhaps now a little more patience and understanding is needed. Don't ever take your family for granted though, Daria. They are the people who have known you and loved you the most! Just know that happiness in the home is not an inheritance you just can have. It's something you work tor every day." Miss Georgette smiles at me warmly and I instantly feel better.

"Thank you so much for understanding, Miss Georgette. I don't know what I would d’o with out you and your hot chocolate." I grin and take one last sip.

I'm glad to help and I am always here, dear." Miss Georgette places her empty mug on the glass table next to her and then crosses her legs gracefully. Just then, a stifled beeping murmurs from my backpack.

"That must be my mother," I say, rolling my eyes, as I walk quickly over to my things and pull out my cell phone. "Hello?"

"Daria! I am so extremely sorry that I forgot to unlock the door! Have you been waiting long? I am on my way now." I have an urge to start expressing my frustration and anger at how careless my mother can be, but I look over at Miss Georgette who is watching with understanding eyes. I immediately remember her words of love and I take a deep breath.

"No, that's all right, Mom, I know how easy it is to forget something like that when you're in a rush to get somewhere. I've just been here visiting with Miss Georgette."

"Oh, I am so glad. I could have sworn that today was the day Olivia was going to drive you to your dentist appointment. I guess that's next week then, right? Well, I'll come pick you up. I'll be there in a second.”

"It's all right, Mom, I can just walk home, it's not far."

“Nonsense, it’s freezing outside. Just wait at the door. We’re going to have to rush to the store to pick up some things for dinner.”

I click off from talking to my mother and pull on my jacket.

“Thanks so much for chatting with me, Miss G,” I tell my friend.

“Any time, Daria. You know you can always stop by.”

I hug her one last time and then rush out to the suburban that is slowly crunching on the pebbles of her driveway. I hop in next to my mother, waving enthusiastically to the delicate figure standing at her door. I savor the time I have just spent with that sweet, gentle woman whose wisdom warmed me on this cold winter afternoon.

“Happiness, Daria,” She had murmured to me quietly, “is not an inheritance you just can have, it’s something you work for every day.” I glance at the outline of my mother’s face next to me and then stare out the window. Without even thinking, I begin to trace my grandmother’s name in the frost of the car window and feel my face warmed by the drop of a tear.