I'm exhausted. Just hung up from a hours-long what's app call with two longtime friends. I've known Dolores for almost 50 years. Diana for about 40.
I meant to start out this account by describing our exchange as an extended 'conversation' but that doesn't quite approach the level of volume and talking over and and raucous interrupting of each other that went on. That always goes on. We do this every couple of months, but it's still hard for me to anticipate. I live a relatively quiet life, mostly inside my own head. I like it in there. I know where things are stored, and I know which closets should never be opened. I’m not suggesting that I am mentally tidy, just setting up a comparison between utter chaos and reasonably sane compartmentalizing of close to 75 years of random data.
I met Dolores first, when I had a several months-old baby and it was time for me to go back to work. Benjamin had been miserable in a local day care, so I placed an ad in The Village Voice. Dolores called me and we chatted. She was cheerful and friendly, and best of all lived on East 5th street; my husband and I and our new baby lived on East 6th. I asked her if she could come by and chat and meet Benjamin. We arranged a time for the next day, and then she said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you: if I work for you, I need you to pay my cab both ways if it’s raining.” I nearly dropped the phone: “You live a block away!” “I’m Black,” she said; my hair gets frizzy in the rain.” I laughed and said, ”Come on over, let’s chat and see how it goes.” And so it began. Benjamin loved her, and she adored him. It took him a while to learn what “give me some sugar” meant, but she was patient. It took me a while to learn that whenever she said, ”You got a big ass for a white girl, “ it was a compliment.
So great getting to know Dolores!