The magic of puppet hands

And the love of friends

Who will love her, comfort her, when her cries become tiresome, when her life doesn’t improve quickly enough, when everyone has decided that it’s time she move on?

Who will explain this to her damaged spirit, her fearful mind, and her broken heart?

Forgive her that she’s not noble and she’s not strong, that she doesn’t know how to accept help, that she pushes you away to spare you her pain.

Just let her know, every way you can, that you love her.

by Anneliese Dahl

It’s a first sunny day, is what I think, a first after so long waiting for summer to fill me up with hope. The sidewalk is crowded because of the bright day, and the café is becoming full, though it is early for the lunch crowd. I am earlier to arrive, the earliest of my friends. I’m the flower that drinks the first bright rays of sun, the worm that sacrifices herself to the early bird, I am so early. But at least the early worm gets the table, though. It’s the one we all like on the back corner, in the sun and a little separate from the others.

“Annie!” my sister Dora calls to me from across the street. She is juggling her purse and a shopping bag and her phone and seems to be flustered about how to wave to me. I watch her, watching me, as she goes to the corner and waits for the walk light, dancing with energy and smiling to me. She’s just so pretty and happy and full of life that I admire her. I would change places with her in a minute if I didn’t have to burden her with my life.

I meet her at the sidewalk by the café and take her shopping bag to the table, and there we hug, a full hard-squeezing breathless hug. “Oh, I missed you, Annie,” she tells me, and I know she means it.

“Me, too, Dor. It’s been forever, maybe three weeks. How’s the baby? How’s Eric?” I kiss her cheek and we move to sit across from each other at the table. I hold her hand gently, and I don’t ever want to let go, I’ve missed her so much.

“Oh, you know… we’re both busy and mostly sleepless. Eric’s with her now, being Daddy for awhile, while I get some fresh air.”

“You’re very early, you know.” I look up the side-street to see if the others are coming, trying to spot familiar bodies and faces among the dozen or so pedestrians.

“Are we waiting for someone?” Dora asks. “You said it was just me. I wanted to come early to get our table.”

“Yes, we’re waiting. For Ben and Amy.”

“Amy?… that’s going to be difficult. Do you think she’ll come?” Dora looks doubtful.

I laugh. “Well if you hadn’t come early when I specifically told you NOT to come early . . . . Perfect, and now here’s Ben.” I wave to Ben who’s coming up the sidewalk, breaking into a trot when he sees us, pushing his scruffy in-need-of-a haircut hair back out of his eyes as he comes closer.

“Ben!” I call out to him happily as he approaches our table. He hugs us both warmly and then gives me a stern look.

“Annie, I thought we were meeting alone!” He laughs. “No offense Dora, but I thought Annie had finally come to her senses to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this.”

“Ha. I should be so lucky to steal you from Tina. I should tell her what you just said.” I laugh and hug him again.

“Oh, go ahead. She knows she has me wrapped around her little finger.”

“Great, I’m not even on your list?” Dora pouts. “Maybe I want to sweep you off your feet…,” she laughs.

“I love you, too, Dory…. you’re just too young for me, and I’m not mentally prepared to help you raise that cute baby of yours…. or to fight Eric over you.” Ben laughs and kisses her on the cheek.

“Sit, sit,” I say, as we move under the umbrella to sit at our usual seats. “We’re still waiting for Amy.”

Ben looks at Dora, raising his eyebrows.

“No eyebrow-talking, Ben. I warned you about that last time.” I laugh and throw a Splenda packet at him, hitting him in the face.

“Stop! You can put an eye out with one of those.” Ben laughs, tossing it back at me.

“She’ll come soon, I think, so maybe if you two go in and get the coffee for us… she won’t feel ganged up on.” I shoo them with my hands when they don’t start moving quickly enough.

“We know, hot chocolate for you and ‘coffee, black’ for Amy,” Dora says. She stands, grabbing Ben’s hand to haul him, all 6'3" of him, to his feet. “Come along, Benjamin Netanyahu. We need to get out of the way.”

“All right, all right. I’m coming. And that’s Benjamin Button to you.” He puts his arm around her as they walk into the café.

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Amy arrives just a minute or two later, looking tired and a little lost but still as beautiful as ever… and seven months pregnant. That she even came to meet me is amazing. She’s been hard to entice out of her apartment for months.

“Hi Annie,” she smiles at me. I see the dark circles under her eyes, her slow movements. She’s clearly exhausted, not sleeping well.

“Amy, it’s been so long.” I hug her tightly, and I feel her tense up and then relax. “Sit. Relax. Do you want some coffee?” She sits in her usual chair next to me.

“Oh, I’ll go get it. Don’t worry.” She starts to rise, but I gesture to her to sit down.

“I ordered already. It’s coming. I’ve missed you, Amelie.”

“You know, it’s busy and all, and I’ve just been trying to rest and … kinda living quiet right now, you know.” I see her hands fidget and her body tensing up again. One hand rests absently on her growing baby belly.

“You’re going to hate me, Amy.” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Annie, I could never….”

“Ben and Dora are here. They’re bringing us coffee and my hot chocolate.” I search her face for a reaction, but she is frozen as if thinking to leave. I see Ben and Dora coming out of the café.

“Amy! Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much!” Dora rushes over with two hot coffee cups, which she sets down quickly to embrace Amy, who has risen from her chair.

Ben leans in to kiss Amy on the cheek as he steps past her to seat himself on the other side of the little table. “So happy to see you, Amy.”

Amy is happy at first, but as she sits, she looks around, nervous and upset. “Is this some sort of…. intervention,” Amy asks. “I, uh, don’t really have… much time right now.” I can see her eyes becoming glossy with the threat of tears.

“It’s not what you think, Amy,” I say quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I invited you here to have an intervention on us. We have not been good friends to you, and you need to tell us what we’re doing wrong.” I can’t help myself, and tears well up in my eyes. “We don’t know what we’re doing, and it’s making us all so worried.”

“I’m OK, Annie, you’re OK, really. You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m just … figuring my way.” Amy wipes her eyes with the backs of her fingers. “It’s really very sweet of you all, you’re fine, really, fine.” She takes a big sip of her coffee.

“No we’re not, Amy. It’s been too long, months, and we’re not figuring out how to be your friend. We don’t know how. And I know this because you guys weren’t good friends to me, either, back when Johnny died. I’m not saying we’re the same, but… maybe in some ways.” I didn’t want to say it, but I had to.

“I hardly even knew you then, Annie,” Ben protests.

“Shut up, Ben,” Dora says. “Annie’s right, and you haven’t exactly been great at helping her. Me either. It’s not like it all goes away?”

“Sorry, Annie,” says Ben.

“I love you all, and I understand… BUT… this is about doing better for Amy,” I say. I raise my right hand, thumb against my four fingers, and act as though my hand is a sock puppet. “I love you, Amy, and you, too, Dora and Ben,” I say with my hand.

“Oh, no,” Ben laughs. “The return of Puppet Hand.”

Amy and Dora laugh, too. “We love you, too!” they say with their own Puppet Hands.

I stare at Ben, and he sheepishly raises one hand. “I love you all, too,” says his hand.

“I still remember, Amy, when you couldn’t get me to answer my door. I kept hearing this tapping, tapping, tapping, on my window. When I opened the curtains, I saw only a hand … with googly eyes and a wig, and a little sign was next to her asking ‘Can I come in?’” I laugh. “I was angry at first, and then I stepped closer to the window and looked down to see you crying in my bushes outside my window.”

“You let me in,” says Amy’s hand. “It worked, the magic of the Puppet Hand.” She laughs, tears still running down her cheeks.

“It worked. It WAS magic,” I say. “And I know I didn’t make it easy. I wanted you to give up, to let me give up. I thought you did give up for awhile, but you came back.”

“I’m so sorry, Annie,” Dora says, now also in tears. “I should have done more, but you’ve always been the strong one.”

“No, no, no, it’s not about me, now. It’s about Amy, our beautiful cousin. And she’s going to have a baby and all, and I want us to be there for that, too. I’m so stupid I didn’t even learn from my own experience with grief… letting Amy isolate herself like this.” I take out a box of tissues from my bag and put it on the table. Everybody laughs, but everyone takes one.

“But I’m OK, Annie,” Amy says, tearfully, “truly I am.”

“We can all see that you’re not OK,” says Ben. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but we can’t just sit and watch you suffer.”

“So I have to make sure YOU all are happy?” Amy takes her purse and starts to rise. “I don’t have time for this, I’m sorry. I get enough of this from my mother.”

“Amy, no, stay,” I say. “We don’t want to force any help on you. We’re not asking you to grieve quicker. You don’t have to make us happy. Can we just talk about Dante a little?”

“Oh, I … don’t….” Amy sighs and reaches for another tissue.

“We just want to talk to you about Dante and how wonderful he was and how lucky you were to have him in your life, and how lucky he was to have you.” I look in Amy’s eyes, and she seems a little in shock, but she’s not running away. I reach into my bag and pull out a large envelope full of photographs.”

“Remember this one?” I hold it up for everyone to see and then place it in front of Amy. “Six Flags, and you were so sick from going on the Batman ride. He sat with you for an hour on that bench in the shade with your head on his shoulder, his arm around you. Look at your smile.”

Amy laughs, wiping the tears from her face. “I felt better after 10 minutes, but I liked having him all to myself. We hadn’t been dating very long. He was so sweet with me.”

“Show her the one on the roof,” Dora suggests. “The one with her in the fancy dress.”

“OK.” I fish through a stack of photos until I find it. “Yeah, your mother’s house… and you were always up on the roof, writing and waiting for Dante to arrive to take you to dinner. A brave man, getting past your mother and going on that roof with you. I leaned out and took a picture of you two.”

“OMG, you guys are so beautiful in this picture!” Dora says, turning the picture so she and Ben can look.

Amy’s tears flow freely down her face, but she’s smiling.

“And remember when he took up singing?” I asked. I show a picture of Dante on guitar.

Amy laughs, drying her tears. “Oh, his singing voice was terrible, but his guitar was great.”

“And he never got the lyrics right. He sang that one song….’looking for that one-eyed girl’ instead of brown-eyed girl. I told him a million times, and he ignored me.” Ben shook his head and laughed. “Who would write a song about looking for a one-eyed girl?”

“Yeah, he was like that. Once he knew it bothered you, he was going to sing it that way forever.” Amy giggles quietly.

“And OMG we have 300 pictures of him just looking at you, just so in love with you.” I say. “Right, Dora? And another 500 of you looking at Dante.”

“Can we stop…?” Amy breaths deep and takes another tissue to wipe the last of her tears away.

“I’m sorry, Amy. Is it too much?” I ask.

“I was going to say… maybe we can all go to my apartment and continue there… if you want … looking at pictures of Dante?” Amy smiles and leans toward me to hug me tight.

“Let’s go!” Dora, Ben, and I say with our Puppet Hands.

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[Authors’ note: Grief is a difficult time for anyone, and it is easy to give space to those who are grieving, and then more space, and more space, because they ask for it and because you don’t know what to say or how to act. And they who are grieving are in such pain that it is impossible for them to believe that anyone can help, and it feels like more of a burden to them to let you try to help. Yet, in the middle of the night, when the nightmares wake them, there is nobody to talk to. There is nobody fighting for their attention, pushing to show them how much they care. They know it’s their own fault, that they pushed you away, and secretly they want somebody to push into their lives and listen… just listen… to their grief and maybe let them talk about how wonderful the person was that is now gone from their life.]

Originally published at https://vocal.media.

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