L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

I
t took me a week to call Matilda. A week of the same old thing, of walking to work
and of walking home, of not shaving my legs, of yanking my hair into a ponytail, of
feeding Dixie, of watering the plants, of ordering takeout, of drying dishes, of sleeping,
and then of waking and doing it all over again. It was a week of looking out over
Marigny at dusk from my third-story window, realizing that loneliness had blotted out
any other feeling. It had become to me like water to a fish.
If I had to describe what propelled me to call Matilda, I guess I could say it felt as if
my body was having none of this anymore. Even as my mind was reeling with the idea
of asking for help, my body forced me to pick up the kitchen phone at the Café and dial.
“Hello, Matilda? This is Cassie Robichaud, from Café Rose?”
Five Years pricked up its ears.
She didn’t seem at all surprised to hear from me. We had a brief conversation about
work and the weather, and then I made an appointment for the next afternoon at her
office in the Lower Garden District, on Third, near Coliseum.
“It’s the small white coach house next to the big mansion on the corner,” she said, as
though I’d know exactly where that was. In fact I always avoided the tourist spots,
crowds, people in general, but I said I’d have no trouble nding it. “There’s a buzzer at
the gate. Give yourself a couple of hours. The first consultation’s always the longest.”
Dell entered the kitchen as I tore the address o the back of the paper menu on which
I wrote it. She peered sternly over her reading glasses at me.
“What?” I barked.
What kind of help was this Matilda woman going to oer? I had no idea, but if it was
the kind that would end with an ardent man sitting across from me at a table, it was the
kind of help I welcomed. Still, I worried. Cassie, you don’t know who this woman is. You’re
okay on your own. You don’t need anyone. You’re ne. That was my mind talking, but my
body told it to shut up. And that was the end of that.
The day of our meeting I left my shift early, instead of waiting for Tracina or Will. As
soon as the dining room died, I yelled goodbye to Dell and headed home to shower.
From the back of the closet, I pulled out the white sundress I had bought for my thirtieth
birthday. Scott had stood me up that night, and I hadn’t worn it since. Five years in the
South had darkened my skin and four years of waitressing had toned my arms, so I was
shocked to see that it actually looked better on me now. Standing in front of the fulllength
mirror, I kept a hand over my nervous stomach. Why was I nauseous? Because I
knew I was letting something into my life, some element of excitement, maybe even
danger? I tried to recall those steps from the journal, Surrender, Generosity, Fearlessness,
Courage. I couldn’t remember them all, but pondering them this last week had created
such an incredible pull, straight from the gut, that making that phone call had been
more a compulsion than a decision.
The Magazine Street bus was packed with tourists and cleaning ladies heading to the