Her silver bob falls perfectly in place as she shakes her head urging the cashier to keep the change. Every Wednesday Judith stops in at Zaney’s Knitting, a hole in the wall off of New York’s busy Broadway Street, to purchase discounted yarn.
“Thanks Judy,” said the sales clerk. She hated when people called her Judy. She assumed people associated it with unintelligent, overweight kindergarten teachers. But, she had been coming to Zaney’s Kintting for twelve years and Claire, the sales clerk, has always called her Judy.
“Have a good night Claire,” as she smiled while pressing her ruby lips together.
Evelyn was her first name, until she formally switched her first and middle name, Judith. She had always hated the name Evelyn, but, it was her mother’s name – so she felt bad getting rid of it entirely. Her husband Stan had never quite understood her why she wanted to change her name so badly.
“Large tea with skim milk?” says the bistro service attendant. “Huh? Oh, yes,” smiles Judith as her piercing blue eyes come back to life. She always tends to space out when thinking of Stan. Judith fishes for her wallet in her medium sized Coach bag pushing aside newly purchased Tic Tacs and Werthers candy, staple items in her purse.
As she presses on the heavy glass door to leave the bistro a gust of wind pushes her petite 5’4” frame onto the busy street on New York City. Her Chanel pantsuit flaps around her legs as she makes her way to her parked Lexus.
As she enters her elegant two bedroom flat she is greeted by photos of her three beautiful grandchildren who have all moved away to Israel, Brussels and Atlanta; and a bittersweet surge of pain ignites in her heart. You see, Judith has long harbored a fear of planes, and all the psychologists and Valium in the universe can’t fix it. Her grandchildren grow so much between each visit that it is like getting to know a new person all over again.
She hangs her keys upon the key rack and locks the door behind her. As she flicks the light on, the room becomes alive. The walls are ivory white with large colorful contemporary paintings covering them. Everything has its place in Judith’s home. Her tabletops and floors are spotless. Fashion and baking magazines are piled neatly beside her faded peach orange couch in her livingroom.
As she makes her way to her room she stops and admires the armoire Stan had built her almost twenty years ago. Although he was a businessman he had always had a talent for carpentry. He built it in his friend’s garage, as an anniversary gift for her. She remembers the day he surprised her with it. With tears in her eyes she thinks about him whispering in her ear “I love you, you’re my soul mate.”
And then one day, Stan was gone. A quick peck as she sat at the breakfast table with toast crumbs still on her lip. He had a sudden heart attack during his commute to work. Judith received a phone call telling her to come to the hospital immediately only to arrive and hear the unbearable news.
Stan had taken care of the details as always, so she had no reason to worry about the bills. But financial security just wasn’t enough. Judith was alone. Really and truly on her own. She cried as she lay in bed, sleeping or with magazines piled all around her. And, then one day, a month after the funeral, she got up, put on her lipstick and pearls and made her way to the bakery on 6th and 18th.
Judith has been working at Suzies bakery part-time for seven years on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, not for money, but merely for something to occupy her time. The people there have become like a second family for her. She smiles to herself as she thinks about them.
Out of the corner of her eye Judith sees a blinking red light indicating she has a message. “Hi Mom, it’s just me, Alyssa. I just wanted to get in touch with you about possibly coming to Atlanta for Thanksgiving this year. Let me know what you think. Love you.”
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