Ask Again Later by Jill A. Davis Page A

happening. I wasn’t allowed to.
    I have this unrealistic view of things. I believe life should be a series of seamless transitions. When it’s not, I’m shocked and disappointed. My mother cried in her room, alone, hiding all of those transitions.
    â€œDo you ever feel like you’ll never be ready for a healthy relationship until you resolve your relationship with your parents?” I say.
    â€œI had a healthy relationship. I’m not sure I want another one,” Perry says.
    It’s been nearly a year since Perry’s boyfriend Roger died. He never talks about him.
    â€œSometimes you just need to plow forward,” I say.
    â€œListen to you,” Perry says.
    Who needs a map when there’s only one passable road to the future? When you’re headed in the only direction that makes any sense at all to you? You don’t need a map to find your home.
    Life is a selfish pursuit. You tend to your own littlecorner of the world and hope your conscience keeps you in check. The first week after my mother was diagnosed, I felt guilty for reading the newspaper. Shouldn’t that thirty minutes have been invested in a cure for cancer?

Vogue
    NOT UNLIKE MANY WOMEN my age, I have begun praying as a result of an article in Vogue . Among the shoes and frocks of the fall season was a not-so-short article about the healing effects of prayer. Prayer is good—that was the gist of it—whether the person being prayed for knows he is being prayed for or not.
    Now I pray for my mother while I’m on the treadmill at the gym. I pray for my mother while I’m at the bank machine, waiting for cash and a receipt. I changed my PIN to H-E-A-L. Empty seconds and minutes are now replaced with praying, and some begging, too. I pray for my mother before I go to bed. I pray whenever I think of it, which is often. And because I was raised with so little faith, I give God my address when I pray. It’s a big world. A zip code, at the very least, has to be appreciated by the One in charge. The organized get rewarded.
    After so much hard work, my heart races when I read a follow-up study that finds that praying for people may actually add undue pressure to them during recovery. They may heal more slowly and have more complications, perhaps out of the awesome responsibility to get well soon.
    I continue to pray in my quiet, covert way.

Amnesty
    I HAVEN’T BEEN back to my apartment in a week. Or maybe longer. Nothing inside has changed, which is a relief.
    I sift through the mail. Con Ed bill. Cable bill. Reminder from the dentist. Two party invitations. One birth announcement. One letter. I love letters. Return address is East Sixty-second Street. The color of the paper is ecru, heavy bond. All male. I know what it says. The sentiment of it. He’s disappointed in me. I’ve disappointed him. I’m a disappointment.
    Dear Emily,

    Did it really happen the way I remember it happening? You ran out of my office in midsentence? I also remember that you really like me. You like me way too much to end things like this.
    I hope your mother is doing well. Let’s talk when the time is right.

    Regards, Sam

    P.S. We’re offering you amnesty regarding that stapler you “borrowed.”
    Okay, it turns out that’s not what I thought it would say….

Green
    AT LEAST I’VE CAUGHT up on my magazine reading at these doctor appointments. You never know what you’re missing until you have eight to ten hours to devote to magazines. You stumble across facts that surprise you, and you promise yourself you’ll remember them. But there are gems on every page! It’s not possible to retain all of this unnecessary information.
    I’ve just read an article on interior design and choosing a paint color not to match your current mood, but to match the mood you want to adopt .
    The walls of the hospital are painted pale green on purpose. It’s supposed to soothe people. Calm