Looking out my Backdoor: Oh, yes, I'm the great offender

“My need is such I offend too much. I’m lonely but no one can tell.”

Ah, they were a great group, back in my time, The Platters. “Pretender” is the real word of the song, not “offender.”

“Too real when I feel what my heart can’t conceal” so rather than pretend I took a deep breath knowing I was setting out to offend a friend.

I stuck my foot in the sludge, big time. I have strict self-rules to protect myself from the COVID virus. Since I live on a walled property with hardly anybody around, and never go to town, it has been relatively easy for me to stay safe, a recluse in my casa.

When a few weeks ago Cousin Nancie and Pat flew in from Washington, I explained we could visit after they’d put themselves in a two week quarantine. Any travel expands risks, none more so than air travel.

And they did — quarantine — from me. Which is what I asked, right.

But not from any other person or place. During those two weeks they played cards and traipsed the walking path in town, shoulder to shoulder with friends, shopped, made trips to the city. Went about on the ranch unmasked.

Nancie has a large house and lovely garden area. To my thinking, she would have no problem staying content in her area a mere two weeks. Pat had maintenance chores to attend. Easy-peasy.

I lay in bed, sleepless, devising imaginary scripts of what I needed to say. Part of my quandary, I realize, is that I cannot, I wish not, to control anybody else’s behavior. So what do I do? What can I do?

After agonizing for days, I wrote and said, Oh, my Dear Cousin, You did not quarantine. In quarantine, one stays in the house, no guests, no visiting neighbors, no trips out and about. I feel awful, but I am the only person who can look after my own health. We cannot visit under these circumstances.

Continuing, I explained my thoughts about our “bubbles.” My bubble is small, consisting of myself.

Each person who enters my bubble brings along his or her own bubble. Until this whole virus thing is contained, I need to be, I am, overly cautious, allowing few bubbles to intersect with mine.

I have regular contact only with Leo. Leo’s bubble is large, containing all who are on the ranch, his family and friends.

He and I are extra careful about keeping a distance, washing hands, not touching same surfaces, sanitizing. I even have my own dedicated gate (Don’t touch my gate!) and pruning shears! My home is sacrosanct. I am the only person in and out my door. Don’t touch my door!

I said all this to Nancie, at length and gently. I hoped my words were heard as gently as they were meant.

Days passed with no reply. My heart felt broken. I was scared I’d lost my cousin whom I love. Finally, she wrote that she was not offended, only saddened.

I’m sad too. “I’m wearing my heart like a crown, pretending that you’re still around.”

Next, I had the opportunity to offend Lani. She jaunted (Is that a verb?) over with a gift of garlic bulb in hand. And I, cringing mightily, had to say, please, don’t visit until two weeks are up. Her husband had just returned from a trip to Progresso on the Gulf Coast.

Lani rolls her eyes at how rigid I’ve become about isolating, about wearing a mask when talking with others, about keeping safe. I’ve told her my rules. She accepts graciously. We laugh about our differences.

Several days later, re-extended quarantine days, I sanitized and arranged at adequate distance, chairs on my patio, the open air part. With masks in place, Nancie and neighbor Janet and I visited. Nancie admitted she had gotten complacent, easy to do in this protected place, and had slid into denial about her precautions.

That made Nancie my hero. It is a gutsy, unusual, woman who can reassess her actions and make changes the way she did.

To my great relief and joy, our friendship survived the dent and was not irrevocably shattered.

It’s not just about keeping myself safe, selfish though I am. I don’t know how I could live with myself if, because of my carelessness, you or your friend were infected with the coronavirus, and carried after effects for life, or died.

I will continue to allow not more than two other bubbles to intersect with mine at a time, out in the open air. I’ll wear a mask, sanitize everything I touch and wash my hands until raw if need be.

“Adrift in a world of my own, I play the game but to my real shame, you’ve left me to dream all alone. Too real is this feeling of make believe, too real when I feel what my heart can’t conceal. Oh, yes, I’m the great offender.”

In the fall, keep it small. Be kind, be calm, be safe.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].