“Ready, Freddy,” I asked my client.
She turned to look at me. “Freddy? Why do you call me that?”
“Just because it rhymes with ready,” I said, smiling and offering a shrug.
She looked pensive for a moment, and then the conversation changed to something else.
After we got back to her house and she opened the door of my car to get out, I said, “Take care, girly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
To which she responded: “See you soon, Freddy.”
He yelled at me when I got to his house. He was irate, towering over me, his build reminiscent of Shrek.
Usually I let him yell, I figure he’ll eventually wear himself out. But today I didn’t have it in me. “I’m going to go,” I told him while he continued to yell, and then I turned and walked away, while he screamed after me.
I took a deep breath when I got into my car.
And then, thirty minutes later, he called. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just sorry… and yeah, I’m sorry.”
And I smiled.
He gave me flowers. Rhododendrons in a Crystal Light container.
“These are for you,” he said, handing them over.
When I got home, I put them on the ledge outside my front door.
A month ago, she threatened to kill me. Two weeks ago, she glared at me through greasy bangs.
Today I helped her make some phone calls, and at the end of our time together she hesitated and then said, “Thank you for staying.”
Then she asked me for a hug.
These days are the Saturdays- the time between the crucifixion and the resurrection.
I cried. She put her hand on my knee, witness to my tears, loving me.
And then I repaid the favor later that day.
These are the Saturdays.