Another day passed and another after that. I hadn\u2019t slept so much in my adult life \u2013 an early bed and then long afternoon naps. At first I worried that the kids wouldn\u2019t have enough to keep them busy.<\/p>\n
Whenever they\u2019re in the apartment with nothing to do they bounce off the walls, so we sign them up for camp, lessons, sports. But it wasn\u2019t a problem at Selu. They dug clay and made bowls, gathered kindling and caught crawdads. One of the teenagers helped Dante make a bow and arrows. Chloe and a new friend wove necklaces out of grass.<\/p>\n
When it rained we spent a whole day shelling beans and playing board games; we hadn\u2019t had so much time together in more than a year.<\/p>\n
After the first twenty-four hours \u2013 once I could see there were no perverts in the community, or at least no threatening ones \u2013 I realized I didn\u2019t need to watch the kids as closely as in New York. There were no cars to run them over, no violent movies, no junk food. And someone was always watching by the creek. Hours passed when I didn\u2019t see them until they appeared at my side, faces smudged with soot or honey, just to check in.<\/p>\n
On the third day I woke up at sunrise. The kids were still sleeping, but I was ready to stretch my legs and I figured they\u2019d find me in the common house. Corinne was slicing cantaloupe with elaborate care, her long brown hair hanging down over her face as she positioned the blade before sawing gently into the flesh. She did everything that way, meticulously, precisely, attentively; whether scrubbing a skillet or mixing slippery elm bark tea.<\/p>\n
It drove me crazy to watch how slowly she moved, and I asked if I could help. I had sliced about eight cantaloupes into wedges and would have finished the whole job by the time Corinne started in on her second melon. Then my knife slipped. It was only a superficial laceration, but blood was spurting fast enough I had to ask for a Band Aid and some antibiotic ointment. For the first time since I\u2019d met her, Corinne moved fast; before I could object my finger was dressed with gauze and honey.<\/p>\n
We sat at one of the tables. \u201cI can\u2019t believe I did that,\u201d I said. \u201cI haven\u2019t cut myself cooking in about ten years.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you cook a lot?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, but you know, my hands are normally pretty steady. I spend a lot of time threading catheters down babies\u2019 throats.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must be scary to have someone\u2019s life in your hands.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the most thrilling job on earth.\u201d<\/p>\n
She asked me about the kind of patients I treated, the illnesses they had, how I coped when they died. And I found myself talking on about why I loved what I did. I said that once I\u2019d tried an occupation dealing every day in matters of life and death, everything else I could imagine doing seemed trivial. Corinne just nodded. But I found myself defending my profession — the time it took up, its centrality in my life. \u201cWhen it\u2019s a choice between baking a cake for my son\u2019s birthday, or preventing someone\u2019s heart attack, I\u2019m going to get the cake from a bakery!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can imagine.\u201d Corinne ran a finger through her hair.<\/p>\n
As we talked, the breakfast crowd had trickled in. \u201cI think I\u2019ll be all right,\u201d I told her. \u201cWe\u2019d better get the rest of the food ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up at the crowd. \u201cThey\u2019ll manage okay.\u201d She turned back to me. \u201cIt sounds like you feel caught in between.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes,\u201d I said. \u201cDoesn\u2019t everyone?\u201d But I realized as I said it that Corinne probably never did have that feeling. In my world, everyone had a plan, not just the doctors and accountants, but babysitters and busboys; even homeless people were figuring out how to get ahead. I always loved that energy in New York. Now I was looking at someone for whom the future didn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n