NOW AGAIN

Mary makes sure she is awake in plenty of time for work. She wears a yellow terrycloth pullover with a tiny tomato sauce stain from last week’s pizza. She sees it in the mirror. “That don’t matter,” she mutters to herself. “They’ll think it’s a button. Oh, we’re so late. Very late.”

She prepares two greeting cards, signing and addressing them in unexpectedly graceful handwriting, and puts on the postage.

Finally she leaves her tiny apartment provided by the Department of Housing for the Disabled, and she walks three blocks to the busy News Dealer’s office, arriving a half-hour late.

She is brooding as she picks up her stack of 30 newspapers. She avoids any conversation or eye contact with Mr. McCracken, who also looks down while she walks by.

“Good morning, Mary.”

“Good morning,” she replies coldly.

“How are you feeling today?” McCracken asks.

“Lousy. I’m try-ing. I had this huge anxiety attack.” She is close to sobbing, unable to glance at her boss. “I had all these scary thoughts about running in front of buses.”