Clara the Clearest

A short piece of fiction by yours truly:

CLARA THE CLEAREST

Clara sat across from me at our small table by the window, her clear, slanted  cat-like eyes watched me relentlessly, unblinking.  Her clothes, muted creams, browns and grays blended into her essence, giving her a mercurial  persona. She reminded me of a Siamese cat, uncertain whether to pounce or purr.  She also gave me the odd feeling that she could vaporize at any moment, disappear into the woodwork.

     We met for lunch at Ryan’s, a popular eatery in town. As usual Ryan’s was hopping but I wondered if perhaps I had picked the wrong restaurant, the wrong day, the wrong lunch date. Was our “lets do lunch” date  doomed from the start? Her persistent stare was unsettling to say the least. The lunch was a favor for my husband, Jim, who worked with Clara’s husband.  They had recently relocated to our town and Jim thought she needed help meeting people.

     I learned quickly that she neither wanted nor needed help meeting people - or help with anything else for that matter. Our waiter took our order. Mine, the usual, a Ceasar Salad with the house dressing.

     “I’ll have a cup of clam chowder, a rare cheese burger, French fries, a coke, and chocolate mousse for dessert.”

     “Well I see you don’t worry about calories, cholesterol, or red meat,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too envious.

     “No, I don’t worry about any of that. I don’t worry about anything.” There were those eyes again, looking at me with unfailing certitude. I began to wish that she actually would vaporize.  I felt awkward sitting opposite this strange woman who seemed oblivious to the fact that it was impolite to stare. She also had an uncanny ability to sit in silence. No idle chit chat with this one. Small talk was not in her repertoire. 

     I, who was there to help her, suddenly felt a strange role reversal. She would help me, but help me with what? Until that moment I didn’t realize I needed help, I was living my life just fine. 

     “I don’t worry about anything.”   I thought about what she said. Really? How could that be possible?  We lived in an era of violence, conflict: conflict in the Mid East, conflict in politics, conflict in the media, we can’t trust what we read or see on TV any more. I worry about everything. 

     “How do you do that, how do you keep from worrying?”

     “Because I know I am powerless over all of it. What goes on out there is beyond my control.” She gestured as she said, “out there.”

     “I know, but I can’t stop the constant chatter in my head, the voice that says I should be doing something.”

With that she smiled, and her smile made me slightly giddy. Her eyes became deep pools, almost luminous. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of lunch hour, she  remained untouched by it all, and in a flash, I realized that I wanted what she had. 

Again I asked her how she did it. “How do you keep from worrying?” 

“I meditate, and as I meditate I picture myself as a vessel sailing along in a very stormy sea.  There are whirlwinds, there is turbulence, gales everywhere, but they are not my concern. My job is to stay afloat and to keep calm. That’s all.”

Our food arrived. She ate everything on her plate. I watched her eat, amazed that she could consume everything with such unadorned pleasure, but then I remembered that she didn’t worry about anything. After lunch she excused herself and went to the ladies room. I imagined her cleaning her hands methodically, as a cat would clean her paws. It was then that I understood what was unclear to me when our lunch began, why Clara reminded me of a cat.  Cats are unaware of death, wars, the horrendous violence man perpetrates on their fellow man, and it is that ignorance that sets them apart from us, freeing them from worry.  I waited about ten minutes, then signaled the waiter for the check.  I never saw her again, she had in fact vaporized.

It's All Temporary