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Giving It Back continued

When I returned to my hometown after having been away for several years, I’d once made an effort to call her, curious to see if the woman who had always had the best of everything was still on top.

We chatted, and I learned her grandmother had died, her brother had moved away and her sister had married – and that Donna’s husband really liked Gail Linn. Poor Donna, I thought: even marriage hadn’t given her an escape from her demanding older sister. Gail Linn told me that she and Donna would go to an occasional Barry Manilow concert or this or that. I saw Gail Linn was still insulated from my harsh realities.

I didn’t tell her how hard it was for me to find someone to get me up in the morning. I glossed over the last broken heart I’d had; I didn’t mention how I was afraid of getting old. I told her, instead, about my job. I told her that I was learning to drive and I was now volunteering at the same summer camp that 18 years ago she'd gone home from after two days.

I realized I still knew her. I remembered the look of uncomfortable disagreement she’d wear when you knew she just didn’t get it. She’d kind of shrink into herself when something seemed too much for her, in all her academic brilliance, to think about. She’d smile weakly, divert her eyes. "Oh, uh-huh," she’d say.

There wasn’t much to say after that conversation. We’d hit a wall, reached an impasse even nostalgia couldn’t penetrate, leaving me searching for what it had been that had held us together so long ago.

She called only once after that; I don’t remember what it was we talked about. When I moved to my own place, I entertained the idea of inviting her and her parents for dinner, to show them what people with disabilities could accomplish in these modern times. But I knew my purpose was only to gloat, so the invitation was never extended.

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