A frown flitted between her brows, crinkling her forehead. She nibbled her bottom lip between perfect white teeth.
Carol was in her early fifties, had long dishwater-blond hair, a beautiful face but sad chestnut-colored eyes.
Me: Did you have children?
She shook her head.
Carol: I loved my job. Thought we had plenty of time to complete out family. Then everything I mentioned before disappeared.
She got up and took slow steps to the window, pulled back a side of the curtain, and peered out. When she turned around her expression had changed. Darkness clouded her eyes.
Carol: Divorce. Death. I lost my job.
Sinking into a tattered arm chair, Carol took a deep breath. Her fingers tapped the wooden armrest claws of the overstuffed chair.
Carol: I was diagnosed with manic depression. In other words, I'm bipolar.
Me: Are you in therapy?
Carol: Yes, and I take pills. But I can't work.
Me: Why not if you're on medication?
Carol: I just don't do well around crowds any more. I sleep a lot.
She patted her old dog's head.
Carol: I still have Lucky, so not everyone left me.
Her hand encompassed the area around her.
Carol: My dad willed me this house so I don't have to worry about rent, but I have to count my pennies. I'm on disability.
Another deep breath.
Me: Do you have friends you can talk to?
Carol: Yes. When I let them in.
Me: In this house?
Carol: In my thoughts.
It was time to give Carol a break. After years of not seeing her, she had "let me in" and I didn't want to deplete her trust in me. She is, after all, a friend of mine.
Her name has been changed to protect her identity.
Find out more about author C.K. Alber @ http://www.amazon.com/author/ckalber
