The Writing Bug

I’ll try to explain what happened at last week’s meeting. I’ve read before the group many times; it’s never been a problem. Never sweated like that. It was embarrassing.

I’ve told you about Mrs. Raviella, at work. How she’s always complaining about how chilly it is on the assembly floor during the winter months. Today she told us about a belief in Costa Rica that rain and wind can enter the body and become stuck there. She calls it Se le Entra un Viento.

Friday night I went to see that new Dylan film, A Complete Unknown (It’s great) with Mary Ann. She picked me up, and afterwards we had a few drinks at her apartment and I ended up spending the night. The next morning I woke early with a bit of a hangover. I needed to get back to my apartment and get ready to go to work. Mary Ann offered to drive me, but it’s only a 10-minute walk so I told her it was okay, she should stay in bed.

The evening before was mild; all I had was a light jacket. It wasn’t cold out, but a light rain pelted me and a sudden breeze came up the street. It was so warm in Mary Ann’s bed, with the comforter around us, that every pore in my body must’ve been open. Halfway home, under lowering gray skies, I caught a teeth-chattering chill. Hunched forward, my arms drawn to my chest, I shivered so hard it left a metallic taste in my mouth. Rain trickled under my jacket.

Once home I ran for the heater switch, shivering uncontrollably. The first rush of cool air when the fan came on brought on a sort of convulsion. I jumped fully-clothed into bed. Trembling and in a fetal position, my head throbbing, I waited for the heat to lower from the ceiling. I fell back to sleep, and was very late for work.

For the next day or so, I can’t really say I was sick, but I wasn’t 100 percent. On the assembly line I was low energy, and kept sneezing. I noticed that Mrs. Raviella was keeping her distance. The tropical front that brought the rain stuck around for several days, and at night, though it felt good to be in bed, if I’d move a foot over to a cool spot on the sheets I’d feel a shadow of my bout with the shivers and shiver again.

I brought the end of my Granny story to read at group Wednesday night, the big scene where she refuses to get back on the plane to Ireland. When my turn came I was strangely nervous, for the first time really, as you all sat there waiting to hear how I’d addressed problems some found with my original ending. The wind and rain started blowing inside me as I read, tweaked by Jan’s hot cider, and, I really believe, became unstuck. I’ve never been so soaked.

That’s when I handed my pages to Elizabeth, too drained to finish. She did a good job. Everyone seemed to like my rewrite.

Did you notice how cold it was after group? One of those crystal-clear nights, the mild, rainy front having moved inland. I was freezing walking to my car, the same light jacket, but didn’t shiver. I felt a new strength, a warmth from the lights in Jan’s neighborhood, and an affinity with the dry chill that had come over Portland and new respect for Mrs. Raviella’s old wives’ tale.

Audrey.

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Hi Shauna,

Mrs. Raviella has been deported!