Brenda's Dignity

I was prompted by a conversation with someone to think about Brenda's dignity - so I'll get outside the chronological narrative that I have followed so far and write about that.

Several stories.

Almost every night in Shelby we went to the Dairy Queen to meet friends for coffee. It was our bistro - our neighborhood bar. Yancie grew up there, in the summer playing outside with the owner's children. One night Brenda and I were sitting at the back table waiting for our friends to show up when Dr. Abdul Gangoo walked in the door. I said to Brenda in a voice that was maybe louder than I intended "That's ABDUL GANGOO!". I loved the name. Brenda was afraid that he could hear me (maybe he could) and poked me in the ribs, saying "Shhh - be quiet." Naturally I said it again, this time louder "ABDUL GANGOO - ABDUL GANGOO." He probably did hear me this time. Brenda was enraged. I had violated her sense of proper dignified behavior. (In truth I had probably violated anyone's sense of proper behavior. I am a silly man.)

(This happened more than once.) Brenda and I are in a public place - most likely a restaurant. Brenda sees something interesting over my shoulder. Whispering she tells me about it but warns me not to turn around because I tend to stare, to gawk. She is much more dignified, able to gather everything in a single surreptitious glance. I by implication am a mouth breather and drooler. Later when both of us start to have trouble hearing she passes me notes describing human oddities I am not allowed to stare at.

(This also happened more than once.) It is in the summer in a car with no air conditioning. We are going somewhere where appearance matters. Brenda wants to keep the windows up because the wind will mess up her hair. But I am hot. We compromise by finding a combination of up and down windows that provides a bit of breeze without disrupting the hair she labored over for half an hour and is still not happy with. It is a matter of dignity - although on the way home, she smiles and lets her hair blow free.

Years ago, Brenda said that her dignity would probably kill her and toward the end acknowledged that it probably had. This had to do with the fact that she did not like being seen without her clothes - even or maybe especially by a doctor. She went for years without having a physical exam. A PAP smear was impossible. I think she was ashamed of her body - I don't know why. She was always thin, with an elegant sort of Audrey Hepburn figure. (When she caught me gawking at more endowed women, she would often hiss, "Well why don't you go get yourself some maruska?" - which was her term for larger women.)

When I was a young man and even more ignorant than I am now I tried to change her - imagining if only I could release the wild sprite I knew was inside her - what a treasure I would have - not aware of or accepting what I did have.

Not two months before she died, she acknowledged that she sometimes regarded smiling and laughing as being undignified. I was amazed that there were still secrets and revelations.