julierichmond

When Katy noticed me staring at some birds on the horizon. she asked if I was always looking for things to write about.
I said, yes, mostly, but that today, I already had my topic figured out, so I was just looking at the sky because I like birds.
I admitted I was going to write about how she, and our relationship, has helped me through this ugly, scary, sweet, and quiet time, way more than wine, walks, pop music, online fitness, chocolate, sweatpants, or even Sophia The Most Amazing of Dogs.
She suggested I write about how happy I was with the response from all of my Facebook friends and former colleagues regarding my last day at work at Quincy College.
(I read their comments out loud to my daughter while she ate her breakfast and looked at her phone. I think she was impressed. I am still floating, twelve hours later, remembering your kind words and support.)
She suggested I talk about the Milton Graduation Debate, her brother’s recent departure, my latest forays into the world of brown rice casseroles, or why I prefer zoom over FaceTime. (Can’t go there, can’t go there, it’s a process, and don’t know.)
I don’t want to give the wrong impression- during our social isolation, Katy and haven’t become BFF’s, started giving each other mani pedis and we don’t stay up late watching scary movies and CSI. She gives herself manicures, and watches scary movies after I’ve gone to sleep.

I actually don’t see her much. She”s sixteen. She’s in her room, on her phone, in the bathroom, or walking the dog, most of the time. She is capable of the fiercest of scowls, especially when she’s wearing her glasses and I interrupt her doing one of those things.

She is invariable late to our Zumba in the living room, which makes me swear and threaten to go ahead without her, and she just laughs at me from upstairs, and takes her time. “It’s online,” she laughs, “I can’t be late to an online class, and it’s not like you have a whole lot going on.” Katy can be cruel.
When she drives, she likes to scare me by staying close to the curbs on the passengers side, though she claims she’s avoiding oncoming traffic. She became a vegetarian nine months ago just to make putting dinner on the table even more complicated. She never throws down all her dirty clothes, she makes fun of me for losing my keys and she loves to hide the coconut sugar. She says my selfies are ridiculous, and I should stop waking her up at ten in the morning to talk about breakfast.

But when I wake her up at ten in the morning to talk about breakfast, she moves over on her bed. Sometimes, she’ll allow me a corner of her pillow, and, on occasion, talk to me before she looks at her phone.
Sometimes she’ll throw me out.
But five minutes later, she’s usually downstairs. Ignoring me.

To be ignored by the funny, smart, charming, brilliant, Katy Blackburn is an honor, and it’s nice to have the time to
sit at the table with her while she pretends I don’t exist.

We’ve had lots of time together lately, and whether she’s in her own world, asking me to bring her the sriracha/ice water/headphones/slippers, or talking to me about everything and nothing at all, she makes me happy, when I’m not feeling sad, and less sad when it’s one of those days.

She’d probably talk to me more if she wasn’t afraid I was going to write about it.

Love you, Kate.
I will always wait for you.