I'm Not Lonely

I just like being alone.

Photo by Deiby Tum Tum on Unsplash

I had a weird interaction with my busybody neighbor yesterday.

She meant well, but I’m sick and tired of having to explain myself to other people. Everyone is different. Why do people try to make me the exception? It’s like I don’t fit into the world’s notion of what a happy, healthy person should be.

I just want to be left alone. Is that so wrong?

The thing is, I’m an introvert. Like, I’m painfully introverted. And I like to be alone. I love the silence. I love the freedom. I love the space. Being around other people sucks all the life out of me. I’m awkward and uncomfortable around other people.

So there I was, sitting on the sofa with my cat, Sheba, watching TV. No, not the most productive thing to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, but hell with that. I’ve earned the right to lounge around on the weekends if I choose.

There was a knock at the door.

Naturally, I froze. Who knocks on doors these days? I leaned a bit to look through the window to my porch, and there she was. A heavy-ish set woman, maybe in her 60s—I’m not sure—with a reddish brown soccer mom haircut and big plastic way outdated glasses.

I sighed, because, of course, I did, and got up.

I cracked the front door open, and there she stood with pursed lips and intense eyes.

“Hello?”

“Hello—I’m Sylvia—from next door? I noticed you’re all alone here and, well, just consider me the neighborhood welcoming committee!”

She thrust a tin of brownies into my hand just as quickly as she spoke.

“Oh, how kind. Thank you,” I said, still hidden partially behind the door. I stood there for a second, awkwardly holding the tin, not knowing what else to say. “Oh, um, I’m Lacey.”

“May I?” she asked, nodding past me.

“Oh, well, I’m not really prepared for visitors…”

“Oh, hush. We’re old friends now. No judgment here!” she said as she slowly pushed herself past me. As she entered the room, she caught a glimpse of Sheba on the sofa.

“Oh my! What a beautiful cat!” she exclaimed. “What’s her name?”

“Sheba.”

“Oh, so precious. May I pet her?”

“mmm-hmmm”

“She reminds me of my Mittens. I lost her two years ago this March. I just haven’t had the heart to bring home another kitty. But maybe it’s time, right Sheba?”

I offered her a glass of water, anything to drink. She wanted tea. Right. Tea. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

But she followed me into the kitchen. Her purple tunic flowing behind her.

“So, Lacey, I always see you by yourself. Do you not have a husband, or…”

“No. Uh—not anymore.”

“Well, you must have some friends. Seems a shame that a woman your age just keeps holed up in here with her cat. Did you ever think of getting out there?”

“No—I like to keep to myself mostly.”

I could hear the TV droning on in the background from the other room.

“Well. That must be very lonely.”

“No, I prefer it that way.”

My heart began to race. She was starting to ask too many questions.

“I just don’t understand it. How a beautiful girl like you ends up all by herself. What happened? Divorce? Was it an affair? Men are pigs, that I know all too well.”

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to get into it, but feeling trapped. I could feel Sheba wrap herself around my ankles.

“No…actually, he died.”

“Oh my heavens!” she gasped. “What happened?”

“He got sick. It’s…you know, it’s difficult for me to talk about.”

It’s always questions about Jack. What happened to him. How he got sick, how he died, how I’m doing, that maybe it’s time to get back out there. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to get back out there. I don’t want to share the worst experience of my life with others. Others who mean well, but couldn’t possibly understand.

I’m barely able to function again. I don’t know if I come off as stoic or insensitive. I mean, I don’t want to seem like I don’t care, because I do. I’m just trying to get by. I’m just trying to find my way without him and figure out the rest of my life on my own.

And I’m fine. I’m fine.

I have my life now in this new little house, in a new little town, just Sheba and me. The way I like it. And, no, I’m not isolating myself. This isn’t an unhealthy thing. I’ve always kept to myself. And when Jack was—here—we kept to ourselves. It was the two of us against the world. And we liked it that way. Our idea of a great evening was cuddling in the living room in front of the fire, either watching a good movie or reading our books. He was the perfect match for me, and I don’t think I’d ever find that again. Nor do I want to. My heart will always belong to Jack. And I’m fine.

So there I sat, mesmerized by the sound of a spoon clinking against a teacup, listening to Sylvia drone on and on about getting out of the house more. I politely took a brownie and complimented her on how good they were.

“Did he have cancer?”

“What?”

“Did he have cancer? A cancer of some kind?”

Yes. He had a cancer of some kind, but I didn’t want to talk about it. Not with Sylvia, not with anyone. I don’t even talk to my own family about it, let alone the neighbor from next door who likes to peek out her blinds at me.

I was becoming anxious. I didn’t know how to get her out. I didn’t want to be mean, but I didn’t want to keep entertaining. I couldn’t tell her I had to be somewhere, she watches me come and go. And I didn’t have anywhere to be. What could I say?

“I’m just not ready to talk about it, to be honest.”

“Oh, honey,” she responded. “There are groups you can join that can help you with that.”

God, no. Not the grief groups thing.

“Be thankful. He’s in a better place.”

No! He’s not!

“At least he didn’t leave you for another woman. Or a man.”

My chest ached.

“Sylvia—I’m so glad you stopped by…”

Oh my God, did I just tell her I was glad she came by? What if she does this again?!”

“But to be honest, I haven’t really been feeling well and was about to lie down.”

“Tssk. Oh no! Are you okay?”

“I’m just fighting something, is all.”

We stood up, the chairs scraping across the floor as we started moving out of the kitchen.

She suddenly stopped with a serious look on her face and said, “I know what it’s like, you know. Losing a husband. When I lost my Harvey, I lost my whole world. But you know what got me through, Lacey? People. Other people.”

I thanked her and said goodbye.

As I watched her walk away, a realization came to me. Sylvia was alone. And she was lonely. And I softened a bit. She walked into her little house, empty without a husband or her cat. I’ve never seen family come by or friends at her door. And I rarely saw her leave.

And at that moment, she turned around and waved. And quickly went inside.