Voices
to with your younger brother.
Glance at the stranger as you
both get to your feet.
Let your brother convince you
to ask the stranger out. It’s a terrifying idea, so don’t think about
it; let your brother push you toward the stranger’s car one day after soccer, and as his window rolls
down, fight the urge to flee.
Find yourself scrounging
through your closet three nights
later, putting on a black T-shirt
and jeans. “How’s this?” you ask
your brother. “You look great,”
he says. You smile, relieved. Your
attention has shifted from your
clothes to your living room. Everywhere you look, something
related to your dead husband —
pictures, knickknacks, the books
on your shelves. The stranger will
be here in 10 minutes — there’s no
time to take it all down. The doorbell rings, and when you open it,
the dogs growl ferociously.
Get in the car, and sink into
the seat. You like this guy. “Like”
doesn’t really describe the feeling
welling up in you. You don’t tell
him. Maybe this is how everyone
feels on a first date. You have no
idea. At dinner, he asks about your
marriage. Either he’s actually interested, or he’s trying to tell you
ELIZABETH
SCARBORO
HUFFINGTON
02.16.14
something. I’m not scared, is what
you hear. Which you find reassuring, though you can’t help thinking
he should be, that he has no idea
what grief looks like, up close.
You’re walking out at the marina after dinner, the ocean and
sky newly charged. You used to
walk on this path with your husband. You’ve come here with your
brother, with your friends. You’ve
come here alone with the dogs at
In minutes you’ve
gone from thinking no one
will ever ask you out to being
terrified that people will.”
night because you needed to stare
out into this ocean, to be reminded
of the scope of the world. This person next to you, or the next who
fills his shoes, will never know you
completely, will never absorb everything that’s happened.
And maybe your case is more
pointed, but he could say the same
of you, and you realize it’s true for
everyone, and it will have
to be good enough.
Elizabeth Scarboro is the
author of My Foreign Cities.