𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     Whoever brought table etiquette would be very pissed when he sees how Ms. Gillian and I share meals. We break all sorts of table manners, especially the one that says, DO NOT TALK WHILE EATING. I don’t remember where I learnt this, but I’m sure I learnt it in school. I like to talk when I’m eating. I know it’s a bad habit, and I’ll only do away with it when the food chokes me one day, and it’s so serious I have to be rushed to the hospital.

     I’m like that. I don’t like advice. If I did, I wouldn’t have carelessly forgotten to wear the seat belt when I sat in that car which led to my memory loss.

     We’re midway through our breakfast. Ms. Gillian is a conscientious eater just like me. We’ve been sitting over this simple meal for an hour now. Partly because we’ve been chatting while we’re eating. Spending quality time with Ms. Gillian is therapeutic, and I can’t imagine myself at this moment if she didn’t live next door.

     I can aptly have breakfast with Anna and Tim, but I don’t because they look like a perfect family, and I feel I’d be an outcast. Having breakfast with Ms. Gillian is better for so many reasons. One, she is old and needs help. Two, she reminds me of my grandma. Three, I like her house.

     I smile, watching her sip from her mug. We’ve talked a lot during the thirty minutes we’ve been eating. Then suddenly it occurs to me to ask her about the man I’ve been seeing by the tree through my window. I know she normally sits on her porch at night to contemplate. I’m certain she’d have seen that man too.

     I clear my throat and push the plate of half-eaten omelet aside. “Can I ask you something?”

     She stops eating and looks up at me. “Anything, dearie.”

     I feel sure I want to do this, but I don’t know how to proceed. I trust that she’ll keep this between us. She hardly sees Jeff, and she isn’t a talkative. I think for a while, wondering if I’m doing the right thing.

     “Have you been seeing a strange man at night in this neighborhood?” I ask with a hint of worry in my voice.

     She takes a moment to mull over the question before she says, “No, Adrienne. I don’t think so, but I can watch him out for you. Just give me a description.”

     I wish I knew what he looked like. I haven’t actually seen his face—just a vague outline of him behind the tree. I’m happy that Ms. Gillian doesn’t think I’m crazy, and that I’m just another psycho recovering from memory loss, and hallucination is merely a side effect of my psychosis.

     “I don’t know his description. I haven’t seen his face.”

     She pushes her left hand forward and touches mine in compassion. I suddenly feel a bond between us—the bond between a daughter and her mother.

     “Don’t worry. If I see anyone I’ll let you know.” She pats the back of my hand.

     “Thanks.”

     A short while later, we’re done eating, and she insists on helping me pack the plates. I tell her I can handle it, so she should just rest in one of the couches. After much persuasion, she does. I wash the plates in the sink, then carefully replace them in the cabinet. She instructs me on how to make Romeo’s food. I do that and once I’m done, I place it on the rug in the living room. Romeo runs to me and starts eating greedily.

     I go straight to my house after I announce my leave to Ms. Gillian. I tell her I’ll be back for lunch and close her door gingerly. Minutes later, I’m in the bedroom rummaging through drawers for some money I’ve stashed there. Once I find it, I stuff everything into my purse. I don’t know how much the binoculars will cost, and I don’t want to purchase them online too.

     I apply lip gloss and eyeliner, then tie my hair into a ponytail. Walking away from the vanity, I near the nightstand and take the keys to my car I haven’t driven for a while. I’m glad I’ve not forgotten how to drive, and I still remember my lessons in driving school.

     I walk out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. I open the door and my eyes widen. Ella stands in front of me wearing a kimonolike dress that matches a pair of rubber slippers. She has a look on her face I haven’t seen before, and I begin to wonder if she’s all right.