by Donna Poole
Do you ever feel invisible, like you could disappear and no one would notice? I felt like that a lot. Oh, they’d notice if my work wasn’t done. If they showed up at church on Sunday and the floor was still littered with grass and leaves people had tracked in the week before, they might have questioned why I hadn’t done my job. But I wondered if anyone even knew my name.
Maybe it was my fault. I’m quiet and kind of an introvert. I tried not to get in anyone’s way. If people happened to be in the auditorium while I was working, I steered clear of them and let them chat, or practice their special music, or do whatever it was they were doing. But not once in all those years did anyone say, “How’s it going, Rosie?” No one thanked me for the work I did so faithfully, and it took me hours every week to do it.
I kept my thoughts to myself. It was better that way. I didn’t want to get bitter. I was glad I had a job. I tried to be grateful for what I had instead of sad about what I didn’t have.
The church had a sign out front that welcomed visitors. It said, “Come inside and find a friend.”
Well, I cleaned the church for four years without finding a friend. I don’t suppose it was their fault. It was me. I tried so hard to stay out of everyone’s way and be invisible I practically was. They probably didn’t notice me because I worked hard at not being noticed.
Please forgive me for whining. I promise I’m not usually like this. Normally I’m cheerful, I even hum to myself while I clean. But August makes me melancholy. It’s that kind of month. Have you noticed the birds aren’t singing so loudly in the mornings? And the cicada’s song says to anyone who listens that fall is just around the corner.
One August I was feeling especially blue. Fall was just around the corner for me too. I was an old lady, with no family to take care of me. I wondered, when I can no longer clean, what’s going to happen to me? It seemed just yesterday I was young and all my life stretched before me. The seasons pass so quickly, don’t they? This wasn’t how I expected to spend my golden years. I’d hoped to be surrounded by a family who loved and appreciated me, but life doesn’t always give you what you want.
So, now you know the truth; I was an unwanted old lady without family or friends, and my work was all I had. You’re going to think this is ridiculous. Depite facts to the contrary, I still woke up every morning with the feeling something wonderful was going to happen. The reality of my lonely life and dismal looking future couldn’t stop this feeling. My commonsense logic and the talking I gave myself did no good.
Rosie, grow up. It’s about time you started living in the real world. You could die tomorrow and no one would notice or care. Why do you persist in this ridiculous hope?
But do you think I listened to myself? I did not. I blamed this on my mother. She told me so many times, “Rosie, there is always a reason to hope.”
On melancholy days I talked in my thoughts to mom who had been long gone. You were wrong, Mom. There isn’t always reason to hope. I’m tired of hoping. I hope every morning and go to bed disappointed every night. I wish I could stop hoping. It would be easier that way.
But would it, really? Would it be easier? I heard the birds sing even in the rain and their song said hope.
If someone had asked, “Rosie, what is one thing you hope for before you die?” I would have answered, “I wish I had just one person who cares.”
I guess that’s the wonderful thing I hoped for when I woke up in the morning. Perhaps this is the day I will find a friend. Maybe today I will find a family!
Ridiculous, I know, right? But that’s how I was.
One cleaning day I started on the left of the auditorium, the way I always did, when suddenly I noticed someone else cleaning on the right side. If I’d been younger and still able to skip for joy, I would have. Perhaps this other cleaning lady would be the friend I’d hoped to have for years! I called her but couldn’t get her attention. She was half my age and zipping in and out of the pews with a speed I barely remembered having.
I’d been so focused on the new cleaning woman I hadn’t noticed the kids in the auditorium. Then I remembered; they were coming to practice a song for Sunday. I felt myself scooped into the arms of a little boy.
“Timmy! What do you think you’re doing! Put that thing down at once!” his mother scolded.
I saw two big tears run down his cheeks. “I want to keep her. She’s my friend!”
The pastor chuckled. “Let the boy have her. Old Rosie was going into the scrap heap today anyway. Robotic cleaners last only four to six years, and Rosie has been moving so slowly lately. We got a new one.” He nodded at my replacement who was moving up and down through the pews.
Timmy’s mom chuckled. “Well, if you’re sure, Pastor. Thank you. Timmy has been really struggling to find friends since we moved. Perhaps Rosie can help him.”
On the way home I heard more words from that little boy than I’d heard in my entire life. He told me all about his old friends and how sad he was about the move. His mother dusted me off with a soft cloth when Timmy insisted I had to sleep with his teddy bears next to him in his bed. When his mother turned out the lights at night, he made up the most wonderful stories and told them to me.
Perhaps you think Timmy outgrew me when he made new friends, but that’s not what happened at all. Timmy, who became Tim, and then Tim O’Reily, a famous up and coming young author, never stopped talking to me. He said I was his muse. I now live on a shelf in his study. Sometimes a little boy, Timmy Junior, comes into the study and whispers his secrets to me. I think I’m always going to have a family.
The end.
***
These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:
Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter
