Mary

So I arrive in Seattle late Thursday afternoon and before I can even change my mustard-stained skirt, I find myself immersed in a session about how to write and deliver a book pitch. I have one written, but it's not great, not really finished, and certainly not memorized. It's a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I feel overwhelmed and a little lost and when it's over, I head back to my hotel room to wash my hair and change my skirt. I consider ordering room service before the evening session begins, but it's so quiet in the hotel room.

Already way too quiet for me.

But I'm hungry and still looking for my bearings and it turns out I find them downstairs in the hotel bar, where I take the last available seat, which just happens to be an open slice of couch next to one Mary Smith. She's wearing her name badge and she's an aspiring writer. Just like me.

I slide in next to her and reach for the cocktail menu. I plan to order something fancy. For $13, I want a martini that makes me moan with delight or at the very least nod my head in approval with the first few sips.

I order a pomegranate martini. Mary orders a second vodka tonic.

I like her already.

Mary and I chat with the people around us. We start with the basics. She's from California. I used to be from there. She used to be from Oklahoma. She used to be an interior decorator, a good one too, but no one redecorates when their house is in foreclosure, so she prays about it as hard as she can and goes to bed. The  next day she wakes up and starts writing a book.

I tell her how I saw a hot guy at the pool with a mole next to his belly-button and the next day I woke up and started writing a book. Same thing, right?

I like making her laugh.

I find out she loves Sarah Palin and I like her even more. In fact, hearing that makes me put my arm around her for the first of many, many times.

She's given birth to eleven children.

11.

Only four of them are still alive.

She lost her only daughter to a lung infection when the girl was four years old.

Mary has spent the rest of her life praying that she's a good enough soul to make up for it. For her daughter. 

The protagonist of Mary's novel is a four-year-old girl.

I'm dying to read it.

We sip our cocktails and wait for our dinner to arrive. Mary asks us all to guess how old she is.

I take a moment to give her a second look. She has straight white hair and she wears it in the kind of chic pixie cut you'd find on a French woman. A quick glance at her clothes makes me want to raid her closet, except she's about half my size and nothing would fit. Maybe I could borrow her shoes.

And she's beautiful. High cheek bones and deep-set eyes. My grandmother would say she has exquisite bone structure. Her smile is feminine and knowing and kind, but mostly her face is full of mischief. I try to imagine how she looked when she was my age and can only assume that men used to cross the street just to see her up close.

She's alone. At a writing conference. She flew to Seattle from Southern California. She's brave. Brave enough to still look at the years in front of her and have ambitions about them. She wants to get her book published. I already know it will be.

I guess 73.

She's 80.

I want to be her and every chance I get for the next three days, I pull up a chair and squeeze in next to her. She fills my ears with her life story and we talk like old girlfriends, about love, men, marriage, motherhood, and sex. I've never talked about sex with an 80-year-old woman and doing so makes me realize that she has to be one of my soul mates.

Now that I'm home, thinking about Mary Smith makes me want to cry. I can't really say why except that I might not ever get to see her again and knowing that feels a little bit like drowning.

I don't believe in God. I might never. But if I ever do, it'll be because I want to be more like Mary Smith.

Comments

[melissa soza]

I love these touching moments :)

[Denise W]

You writing about her makes me also want to meet Mary Smith.

[Rhi]

When I graduated college, there was an 83 year old woman in my class. I just love it when people don't let age get in the way of their dreams.

[Laura]

I'm sensing inspiration for your NEXT book!

[laura]

gosh, i always say we are suppose to meet certain people and she was just one on your list :) one of the best women i ever meet was just after my mom died and she is basically my second mom now.
now i can't wait to read BOTH books :)

[Amy H]

beautiful post.

[Jen]

Hi, I've been reading you for a little while now but have never really commented.

I love this post. You describe Mary so well it's almost like I was there. Now, I want to meet Mary Smith. It's great to know you can still inspire people when you're 80. I love it.

[She Likes Purple]

Lovely, lovely post.

[Lori Harrison]

Amanda...God works in mysterous ways....

[Christie]

Beautiful!

[Tana]

Beautiful! If, you books is as beautifully written as this post I don't think you will have any trouble getting published. Also, I sure hope I'm as inspiring at age 80!! This was definately a divine moment orchastrated by God.

[Valerie Willman]

I loved your descriptions.
Keep writing!

Valerie

[Lynda]

Awww! That's so great. We all need a Mary.

I have been meaning to comment and tell you that I stood on Sarah Palin's porch! I recently visited Alaska and OF COURSE thought about you...and now you just reminded me with your mention of her here in your Mary post. :D

Please have a read:
http://whirlwindblogger.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-never-did-see-polar-bear-either.html

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