“I am so tired of writing long emails and not getting responses, not even her saying, ‘I received your email.’ I’m just plain tired of it!” Margie was complaining, in person, about her other friend Patsy, to her friend Irene. They were having lattes at the coffee-shop, sitting there with their notebooks, sharing laments and poems. “I would have written her that— what I just said— but I knew there would be no response!” Margie continued.
“No response might be kind of peaceful,” Irene suggested.
“No response is a form of peace I don’t want!” Margie picked up her notebook and tapped it on the table in a gesture of frustration that seemed insincere due to its not creating much noise or disturbance. Irene gave her a wry look.
“Any moment now, Margie, I’m going to be feeling the same way about YOU,” Irene said.
“Sorry.” Margie heaved a sigh and placed the notebook carefully back on the table, straightening its bottom edge so it conformed to the table edge. Irene took a sip of her latte. They were both silent for a moment.
“What is ‘peace’ anyway?” Irene ventured.
“It’s when you’re satisfied and you just sit for a moment,” Margie said. “So it depends on one’s individual threshold of satisfaction. One’s NEEDS. Or, if you’re talking about WORLD peace, well, I guess it would be ‘no more war.’ But then, personal fights would break out anyway, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s what I was trying to describe to you when you hijacked my thought,” Irene said. “I was trying to tell you about an IN-PERSON fight with my brother-in-law. I mean, it was pretty bad. He just doesn’t like me. And real life is worse than email.”
“At least he engaged with you,” Margie said. “I was talking about utter neglect. Deprivation.”
“I feel for you,” Irene said. Then she just sat for a moment, but not because she was ‘satisfied.’ “He made a very threatening gesture at me, Margie.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I told him he was mistreating my brother and he’d better stop.”
“They’re actually married?”
“Yes. We talked about that last year! I invited you to the wedding but you never replied to my invitation. I mean, I didn’t really expect you to, because you don’t know my brother, and it was 200 miles away.”
“Oh. Now I remember. The guy he met at the cemetery.”
“Yeah. They were both visiting the same grave. One of those gay rights activists who died of AIDS. Mutual hero worship.”
“That’s a meet-cute. Or cute-meet. Whatever they call it in movies.”
“Yes, but I’m saying he has a mean streak. This happened a few days ago. I told you we were going to have a zoom meeting! Do you not remember THAT?!”
“No. I should, shouldn’t I?” Margie was now humbled, realizing she had not been paying attention to her real-life friend for a while now. Maybe months. Even though they met regularly to complain and write poetry. Irene's information about events in her life had been going in one of Margie’s ears and out the other while Margie had been inwardly (and not for the first time) distracted by unacknowledged emails. Was email considered ‘cyberspace’? She’d been lost in cyberspace.
“Let’s keep the PEACE between you and me, Margie," Irene pleaded. "PLEASE try to remember things I tell you. Maybe you would remember automatically if you were paying attention. You talk about neglect, well, I feel neglected. Ah, at least you show up. That’s something. And you do answer texts.”
“I do,” Margie said. “I like texting.” She wasn’t about to pick up her phone, though, since Irene was looking right at her. Even though she was expecting a text from Doris. Or maybe Garth. Instead, she opened her notebook to a blank page. “Let’s write a poem about peace,” she suggested. “Potential peace between you and me.”
“Four rhyming couplets,” Irene said.
“Iambic heptameter,” added Margie.
“OK,” said Irene. “That’s a challenge.”
They both began scribbling. The coffeeshop’s background music began to fill the air now that they were not talking. A muzak-style version of George Harrison’s “Peace on Earth.”
— Macoff
“No response might be kind of peaceful,” Irene suggested.
“No response is a form of peace I don’t want!” Margie picked up her notebook and tapped it on the table in a gesture of frustration that seemed insincere due to its not creating much noise or disturbance. Irene gave her a wry look.
“Any moment now, Margie, I’m going to be feeling the same way about YOU,” Irene said.
“Sorry.” Margie heaved a sigh and placed the notebook carefully back on the table, straightening its bottom edge so it conformed to the table edge. Irene took a sip of her latte. They were both silent for a moment.
“What is ‘peace’ anyway?” Irene ventured.
“It’s when you’re satisfied and you just sit for a moment,” Margie said. “So it depends on one’s individual threshold of satisfaction. One’s NEEDS. Or, if you’re talking about WORLD peace, well, I guess it would be ‘no more war.’ But then, personal fights would break out anyway, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s what I was trying to describe to you when you hijacked my thought,” Irene said. “I was trying to tell you about an IN-PERSON fight with my brother-in-law. I mean, it was pretty bad. He just doesn’t like me. And real life is worse than email.”
“At least he engaged with you,” Margie said. “I was talking about utter neglect. Deprivation.”
“I feel for you,” Irene said. Then she just sat for a moment, but not because she was ‘satisfied.’ “He made a very threatening gesture at me, Margie.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I told him he was mistreating my brother and he’d better stop.”
“They’re actually married?”
“Yes. We talked about that last year! I invited you to the wedding but you never replied to my invitation. I mean, I didn’t really expect you to, because you don’t know my brother, and it was 200 miles away.”
“Oh. Now I remember. The guy he met at the cemetery.”
“Yeah. They were both visiting the same grave. One of those gay rights activists who died of AIDS. Mutual hero worship.”
“That’s a meet-cute. Or cute-meet. Whatever they call it in movies.”
“Yes, but I’m saying he has a mean streak. This happened a few days ago. I told you we were going to have a zoom meeting! Do you not remember THAT?!”
“No. I should, shouldn’t I?” Margie was now humbled, realizing she had not been paying attention to her real-life friend for a while now. Maybe months. Even though they met regularly to complain and write poetry. Irene's information about events in her life had been going in one of Margie’s ears and out the other while Margie had been inwardly (and not for the first time) distracted by unacknowledged emails. Was email considered ‘cyberspace’? She’d been lost in cyberspace.
“Let’s keep the PEACE between you and me, Margie," Irene pleaded. "PLEASE try to remember things I tell you. Maybe you would remember automatically if you were paying attention. You talk about neglect, well, I feel neglected. Ah, at least you show up. That’s something. And you do answer texts.”
“I do,” Margie said. “I like texting.” She wasn’t about to pick up her phone, though, since Irene was looking right at her. Even though she was expecting a text from Doris. Or maybe Garth. Instead, she opened her notebook to a blank page. “Let’s write a poem about peace,” she suggested. “Potential peace between you and me.”
“Four rhyming couplets,” Irene said.
“Iambic heptameter,” added Margie.
“OK,” said Irene. “That’s a challenge.”
They both began scribbling. The coffeeshop’s background music began to fill the air now that they were not talking. A muzak-style version of George Harrison’s “Peace on Earth.”
— Macoff
IRL is so much harder than cyberspace for some people! You hit on an important topic with this. I liked it.
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