Melly and Scarlett and Audrey and Kathy

Every day I try. I do. I want to live my life in a way that would please the Lord. Or, to put it in classic movie terms, I try to be more Melly and less Scarlett. Sometimes I succeed. Not always. But every now and again, goodness prevails.

Like with Audrey. She's a movie group regular, and usually she annoys the living shit out of me. First of all, after three years she still doesn't understand how Zoom works. She forever leans into the camera and looks down, treating all of us to a lovely view of the part of her hair and her dandruff. And you can count on Audrey to lose the thread of the conversation and ask a dumb question. She reliably brings out my inner Scarlett.

Until last weekend. We met in person to see From Here to Eternity on the big screen in celebration of Memorial Day and then for lunch afterward. I don't think I've ever been physically close to Audrey before. In person, her fragility touched my inner Melly. 

Her vision is severely compromised. The reason she looks down so often during our online meetups is that she practically has to put her nose on her laptop keyboard to see. Zoom isn't the only thing she doesn't understand. When we sat down to lunch, it was established that we would either give Betty -- seated at the head of the table -- cash or we'd send her funds via Zelle or Venmo. Yet when the check came, Audrey kept trying to give our moderator, Will, her credit card. So that conversation that swirled around her when we took our seats, that thing she agreed to about paying Betty with cash or by online payment service? She didn't understand any of it. I sensed her confusion and was touched by how hard it must be for her to navigate the world.

On the way out of the restaurant I saw her backpack was wide open. I stopped her and zipped it. As we watched her disappear down the busy city sidewalk, I asked Elaine if maybe we shouldn't try to walk with her. "Oh, Gal," Elaine said, aware of how I fixate on problems I can't solve, "who is going to keep an eye on her for the 51 other weekends when we aren't there?" 

Still, my humanity was awakened. I liked myself just then. From now on, I will be more patient and engaged with Audrey.

But that doesn't mean Scarlett is gone forever. My old friend Kathy has dementia ... or something. I don't know because she won't see a doctor. Our relationship was complicated even before her cognitive difficulties because she was always jealous of how comfortable our friend John and I were. Kathy was always more than a little in love with John -- even though he was gay as a box of Crayolas -- and she viewed me as a competitor. Since her brain battles she's been even more difficult.

When John died last month, two of our mutual friends asked me if I was going to tell Kathy. Fuck to the no. John's passing has broken my heart. I can't deal with Kathy on top of that. If Mindy and Vanessa think Kathy needs to be told, let one of them tell her. I have every right to protect myself as I heal from the shock of losing someone I loved.

Still every time my phone chirps, I swallow hard. I'm afraid that somehow Kathy has figured out that John is dead and reaching out. Maybe to commiserate, maybe to yell at me (she's quick to temper these days). I'm sorry, but I'm in pain and the price of admission to my life right now is that you not yell at me.

So when Kathy's adult granddaughter posted to Facebook first that Kathy lost her phone and then, days later, that while the phone was found, her contacts can't be recovered, my first and enduring reaction was, "GOOD!"

Yes, I know Kathy can't help her dementia. Yes, I know her phone is the lifeline that connects her to the outside world and she must be lonely without it. I know Melly would have compassion for her, but I'm still full-metal Scarlett on this one and glad I don't have to deal with her.

I admit I'm a work in progress. I'll try to do better tomorrow because, as Scarlett herself said, "tomorrow is another day."