The Divorce
May 26th 2008 10:56
The Divorce
Antonietta stirred her café late until milk draped the edge of her glass.
"Should have ordered something stronger," Antonietta's lunch companion observed.
But Antonietta didn't hear her; her mind clouded by so many thoughts; so many decisions; so many – "it's embarrassing," she just blurted out.
"What ordering something stronger? Try it, you'll be amazed what a triple shot expresso can do for you," Maryanna teased.
Pushing the café late aside, Antonietta fell back in her chair and gave her friend a look of absolute defeat.
"Fine," Maryanna muttered, "stay with the cold café late and pay for my lunch."
That got Antonietta's attention. "Again! I paid last week. What do you think this is, your own local bank? Huh?"
Maryanna merely raised her eyebrow in acknowledgement, a smile breaking across her face. "So, what's happened this time?"
Embarrassed, Antonietta rubbed her hands up and down her face then leaning forward across the table softly confessed, "It's not that –"
Maryanna moved her own cup out of the way and leaned in until their heads almost met "What happened?" she whispered and as if to reiterate her point, smiled sweetly. "You forget I know you and right now you're just about to burst with sheer frustration."
Antonietta immediately sat back, pretending to adjust her napkin.
"You're too good, you know that," Antonietta simply told her, adjusting her own napkin. "I don't think there's a woman left that would continue to do what you do. Cooking, cleaning all day, every day, and for what, disrespect? aggravation? ridicule? "
"I enjoy cooking – its just that – well, I do enjoy the cooking and I do cook but its never touched and if I say something, it falls on deaf ears and then I hear muttering, like what I say is being made fun of, as if my opinion doesn't count anymore and – well, now I'm told my family and friends aren't that welcomed, and its my home, but its not my home because I don't feel like I can do what I want anymore; or say what I want; or be who I want to be and –,"Antonietta looked up to see Maryanna beaming. "You're happy I'm lamenting so?"
Pursing her lips and showing Antonietta the two dimples on either side of her face, so prominent, they hid her age, Maryanna reached across the table and took her friend's hand. "Dear, dear one. It's time you had your own life; your own space," and Maryanna made certain she kept solid eye contact with her friend. "How many years did you think you could live like this? Times have changed; things have changed and we must change with them if we are to survive."
Antonietta blinked back tears. She knew she should never have said anything to her friend. Now she was going to cry in a public place and people would know, and gossip about her.
Maryanna released her hand and motioned for the waiter. "Two triple shots of espresso, please," she ordered.
The waiter nodded and left.
Antonietta coughed, regained her composure and sat up straight in her chair. The only sign of her anxiety; her hands twisting the napkin in her lap.
"People will talk," she confessed, in between discrete coughs to keep her tears at bay. "I don't want people to talk."
"Yes people will talk, but what they'll say is that it's about time you took action."
The waiter arrived and left.
Antonietta again began stirring her coffee, the way she did her café late.
"You are going to drink it," Maryanna admonished.
Now Antonietta smiled. She'd never drunk anything stronger than chamomile tea in her entire life. Before another thought entered her mind, she brought the coffee to her lips and sipped it.
Savouring her own, Maryanna grinned. When they both finished, she said, "Just think of this as the beginning of your Divorce proceedings."
Antonietta knocked over her coffee cup.
"You'll get used to it. I did. Tonight, when you go home, you will calmly tell your over forty son and daughter that they need to have their own life and leave home."
Antonietta stirred her café late until milk draped the edge of her glass.
"Should have ordered something stronger," Antonietta's lunch companion observed.
But Antonietta didn't hear her; her mind clouded by so many thoughts; so many decisions; so many – "it's embarrassing," she just blurted out.
"What ordering something stronger? Try it, you'll be amazed what a triple shot expresso can do for you," Maryanna teased.
Pushing the café late aside, Antonietta fell back in her chair and gave her friend a look of absolute defeat.
"Fine," Maryanna muttered, "stay with the cold café late and pay for my lunch."
That got Antonietta's attention. "Again! I paid last week. What do you think this is, your own local bank? Huh?"
Maryanna merely raised her eyebrow in acknowledgement, a smile breaking across her face. "So, what's happened this time?"
Embarrassed, Antonietta rubbed her hands up and down her face then leaning forward across the table softly confessed, "It's not that –"
Maryanna moved her own cup out of the way and leaned in until their heads almost met "What happened?" she whispered and as if to reiterate her point, smiled sweetly. "You forget I know you and right now you're just about to burst with sheer frustration."
Antonietta immediately sat back, pretending to adjust her napkin.
"You're too good, you know that," Antonietta simply told her, adjusting her own napkin. "I don't think there's a woman left that would continue to do what you do. Cooking, cleaning all day, every day, and for what, disrespect? aggravation? ridicule? "
"I enjoy cooking – its just that – well, I do enjoy the cooking and I do cook but its never touched and if I say something, it falls on deaf ears and then I hear muttering, like what I say is being made fun of, as if my opinion doesn't count anymore and – well, now I'm told my family and friends aren't that welcomed, and its my home, but its not my home because I don't feel like I can do what I want anymore; or say what I want; or be who I want to be and –,"Antonietta looked up to see Maryanna beaming. "You're happy I'm lamenting so?"
Pursing her lips and showing Antonietta the two dimples on either side of her face, so prominent, they hid her age, Maryanna reached across the table and took her friend's hand. "Dear, dear one. It's time you had your own life; your own space," and Maryanna made certain she kept solid eye contact with her friend. "How many years did you think you could live like this? Times have changed; things have changed and we must change with them if we are to survive."
Antonietta blinked back tears. She knew she should never have said anything to her friend. Now she was going to cry in a public place and people would know, and gossip about her.
Maryanna released her hand and motioned for the waiter. "Two triple shots of espresso, please," she ordered.
The waiter nodded and left.
Antonietta coughed, regained her composure and sat up straight in her chair. The only sign of her anxiety; her hands twisting the napkin in her lap.
"People will talk," she confessed, in between discrete coughs to keep her tears at bay. "I don't want people to talk."
"Yes people will talk, but what they'll say is that it's about time you took action."
The waiter arrived and left.
Antonietta again began stirring her coffee, the way she did her café late.
"You are going to drink it," Maryanna admonished.
Now Antonietta smiled. She'd never drunk anything stronger than chamomile tea in her entire life. Before another thought entered her mind, she brought the coffee to her lips and sipped it.
Savouring her own, Maryanna grinned. When they both finished, she said, "Just think of this as the beginning of your Divorce proceedings."
Antonietta knocked over her coffee cup.
"You'll get used to it. I did. Tonight, when you go home, you will calmly tell your over forty son and daughter that they need to have their own life and leave home."
[ Text and original characters copyright © 2008 by Teresa Strati ]
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