Fighting back tears Margaret Toffee, dragged herself up the old staircase to her third floor flat. Please don’t let me run into any of my neighbors today. Turning her head she looked at the peeling floral wallpaper. It still hung in places long forgotten by those that owned the building. It was a nice print once, before dust, age and neglect took over. Concentrating on the wall paper with all her might, she passed her neighbor; I mustn’t give her an opening. I must hold it together long enough to get into my flat, she thought nearly falling as she caught her new heels on a piece of the torn carpet. Grabbing the sticky railing, she righted herself, still hanging on to the red dress in its bag careful not to drop it. They will be wondering why I’m not at work, but instead in heels, carrying a party dress at this hour of the day. Today will be no different; I cannot share my disappointment, hurt, and despair with these people. They wouldn’t understand or care, I have tried before and they look at me with their empty eyes, unable to comprehend my loss or why I am not content with my current position. After all a jobs a job, they would say. We can’t all be rich and famous. Life doesn’t give us promises; we must make do with what we are given in this life.

Just let me get in the door of my flat. I need to hold Millie and hide. Maybe tonight I will be able to change my course or find a way to live with the hurt. Perhaps I’ll be able to figure out what it is about me that makes me such an outcast, an invisible soul. Or just maybe I’ll be able to let it go, realizing how many people there are in the world with much bigger problems, then just being forgotten.

Finally she got to the door of her flat; she could hear Millie mewing on the other side of the door, waiting for her. Through welling eyes, she fumbled her key into the lock and stumbled through the door. Dropping her handbag and dress on the floor, she caught Millie as she jumped into her arms. Holding the little cat tightly, she cried and for a bit, Millie was content to cuddle under her chin and purr. Comforting Margaret the best she could before deciding enough was enough and she wanted down. “Yes little one, I’ll get you your supper. We can snuggle again later.” She said as she walked over to the small Pullman kitchen, opening a cabinet.

“Millie, I am really going to have to paint these cabinets again. Management won’t and I can no longer clean them properly. I suspect they weren’t made to last this long. Let’s see what are you in the mood for tonight? Chicken, beef, or fish, well fish it will be then, she answered Millie, after hearing a loud meow. What will it be for me tonight? I was planning on wine; she said looking over at the bottle of Cabernet sitting on the counter. But, I think maybe just tea tonight, seeing as I am already primed to cry in my beer so to speak. I don’t need to add alcohol to the mix. Do I my friend? But first I must do something about that dress, don’t I? Who knows maybe someday I’ll have a reason to wear it again.” She said walking over carefully picking up the bag, smoothing out the red party dress, zipping the bag up again, she hung it in the closet with her numerous gray suits. It looked so out of place the red splash peeking out from the middle of the sea of gray.

Startled out of her thoughts by the whistle of the tea kettle, she scurried over to turn it off and make herself a cup of tea. Tears welling again in her eyes, she curled up in the only chair in her studio apartment and began to cry.

When Keith died, it was horrid when they told me I was better off without him. “He wasn’t right for you Margaret, you will find someone better. He was holding you back from looking.” It didn’t matter that it was only a month before the wedding or that their words hurt. Nor did it matter that they weren’t trying to be cruel. It was the insensitivity and the lack of understanding about how much I cared about Keith. Margaret consoled herself, with the pretense of their care for her. It was hard when they told me; “You made the choice to take care of mother and so don’t complain if it is difficult. You can always put her in a nursing home and get on with your life. If you chose to do it then don’t expect our help.

It hurt even worse when she passed away and no one asked how I was holding up. Even when I went out of my way to call each of them and tell them how much she had cared, sending them bits of her life that she would have wanted them to have. Yet not once in the last eight years has one of them expressed care for my loss or even mentioned it.

Somehow tonight I must let go of all my past hurts. I mustn’t be so sensitive when the next time one of them makes a cruel statement or I am forgotten by them again, like tonight.

Not a card, nor a call, not even to tell me they couldn’t make my graduation party. I waited thirty years to go to college, graduating at the top of my class. I waited at graduation and no one came. Maybe they got held up, I thought and will meet me at the restaurant. For an hour I sat waiting at the table in my red dress and new heels, until management asked if I still needed the room. “No I said, bring me the check, head held high.” Before leaving, I stopped in the ladies room to change, not wanting to be seen leaving alone in my party dress. I left knowing that this was another place I would never again feel comfortable going into. No calls on my telephone, nothing on my answering machine, I expect it is like all the other times they forgot, something else came up. If I mentioned it in the coming days it would be the same as always. “Oh sorry, we didn’t realize it was important to you.”

I don’t expect to hear from them until they need something from me. I’m sure it will be the same as all the other times. Why should it be different?

Tearing all the gray suits out of the closet, Margaret said, I will make something of myself. I will no longer live in the gray world. I’ll find color and life and I’ll find people who don’t forget. I will notice those that hide in the shadows. The shy, lonely, or societies cast-offs. I will see them and let them know that their feelings matter. Everyone matters if we take the time to look and listen.