Dutchford, Connecticut
Theresa
Fluent in Neanderthal
I knew what I was doing before I did it, yetI went ahead with it, knowing I shouldn’t do it.
That right there was evidence enough I’d lostmy mind. Convoluted thinking was not my stock-in-trade.Clearheaded, sensible, responsible, well-respected in myprofession, empathetic, and compassionate were some of the manywords, accolades, kindnesses tossed my way on a regular basis.Alas, that shit flew out the window a few months ago.
Allow me to backtrack. Actually, you shouldstart at the beginning, as I did seven months ago.
A patient of mine – there’s a shiftingcharacterization here, but I’ll get to that later – told me aboutThe Letter Club and I was intrigued. After everything I’d beenthrough, the ability to connect with people, or, if I was beinghonest, maybe form a connection with a special someone anonymously,would be a godsend. No one would know who I was, where I was, andwhat had happened fifteen months ago that changed my lifeirrevocably. The idea that I would be assigned a correspondencenumber and all the letters went through The Letter Club appealed onevery level. TLC forwarded the mail to their various members,keeping their identities confidential. Exactly what I was lookingfor.
I signed up, got my number, and penned myfirst letter – eleven drafts until I finally gave up and mailedwhat I had – which they sent out to hundreds of people who’danswered questionnaires as I had, defining their interests andpreferences, which, allegedly, matched up with mine. After sendingout the first missive, all I had to do was sit back and wait forreturn mail.
My First Letter
Dear You,
Genuinely pleased to meet you. I came insidea little while ago after planting new seasonal flowers in pots andbowls scattered on my back patio. It takes me forever at the gardencenter to decide what to buy because I want one, or ten, ofeverything. But I’m dealing with limited space, and not being agreat visualizer creates choice conundrums. I knew I’d beenstanding in an aisle staring at the overhead netting for too longwhen the third person in a green apron and a floppy hat asked me ifI needed help. Forced to commit, I wound up buying four colors of along-lasting variety of a flowering plant. I was so pleased withmyself for making the selection I loaded up my cart but forgot tobuy orchid soil. I’m a sucker for orchids, and have a bunchalready, so when a neighbor asked if I wanted a few more, which sheadmitted to swiping off the tables at the end of some work-relatedparty, I couldn’t say no. Now I have six little orchid plants indire need of re-potting sitting on a kitchen counter. A perfectexcuse to return to the garden center where I’ll stand in an aislestaring into space again, but I swear, I’ll get the orchid soilfirst.
What’s going on in your world?
#1,278,642
My fifteenth response:the otherfourteen were written by…nuts, and that’s my professionalopinion.
Yeah, I’m not calling you #1,278,642. You’reFlower. Writing isn’t my thing, but I have the kind of job thatmakes it hard to meet people, and a couple I know met this way andthey’re happy, so I thought, why not?
Pick a name and I’ll answer to it.
See, here’s where being a therapist, as inshrink, gives me an edge. People often say a lot about themselveseven when they say hardly anything. Even without the ability toread his body language, without a doubt I know the man who wrotethose fifty words – and yes, I’m certain a man wrote that note – isused to telling people what to do, but is more yielding than he’lladmit, and he wants to meet someone and be happy. I’m used tohelping people discover things about themselves, which helps themexplain their behavior. I have to be flexible because everyonesorts through the detritus of their lives differently, and I listenwith an open mind with the understanding my job is to lead themwhere they need to go to get better.
Although I wasn’t “shrinking” a potentialfriend, I felt in this man’s case, I’d follow his lead. Sometimesgiving away control actually allows a person to have more powerbecause they decide what they’re giving and why. I know, I know,occupational hazard analyzing every move, but I don’t do it withthe people I love and trust. Those relationships are organic, evenif some of them are fraught with familial drama. This guy needs tofeel like he is on top of a situation over which he has no control.I’ll start my next letter with a name I think he’ll answer to whileamusing myself. Ross rhymes with boss, and this guy definitelywants to be in charge.
Dear Ross,
Thank you for your note and the name. It’sappropriate, and sort of sixties-ish at the same time. One of myformer college roommates name is Windsong. Pretty, but it screamsJefferson Airplane and communes. Her parents are free spirits witha hippie throwback vibe. Wendy, which she prefers, is theantithesis of everything her upbringing encouraged. She’s careful,deliberate, shy, and has a PhD in biomedical engineering. No livingoff the land on an organic farm for her. She’s button-down,organized, and methodical. I’ve had dinner with her and her familya couple of times. It’s painful for her, even though her twobrothers, who take after their parents, and her parents try to makeher feel loved and comfortable.
I’m in no danger of being turned away by myparents or my sister if I told them my new name is Flower. They’llshorten it to Flo in a heartbeat then carry on as if it was thename I was born with.
In case you are wondering, I went back tothe garden center and got the orchid soil, and put the littleorchids in a large bowl-shaped planter. I’m hoping they like theirnew home and produce lots of blooms. And, yes, I did some staringinto space, but my wandering mind latched onto the need for acouple of new blue hydrangeas, another favorite of mine.
Looking forward to hearing what’s going onin your world.
Flower
Twenty-five days later:
Flower,
Nothing to say. I don’t know why Ibothered.
Ross
Well, I didn’t expect that, but it told me alot about him. He had nothing to say, almost didn’t answer – thetwo-week delay in receiving the note – but he wants me to know whathe’s thinking so he bothered to write to tell me he had nothing tosay. This guy wants to dance, but he’s afraid (I love this phraseso I’m using it) to bust a move. Something’s got him all hemmed upinside, but he wants to push past it. I’m intrigued. I get to be apsychological detective without any repercussions. This is more funthan I expected it would be.
Ross,
