All Up In My Fuckin Business

I see her every Thursday. We talk and she asks me for things: a calendar, my business card and anything on my shelf. Most of all she always asks me to send her a card for various events: her birthday, 4th of July, Christmas. Her birthday appears to be a weekly occurrence. Once a year she receives a birthday card and every week a business card.

She is severely mentally disabled and mildly physically disabled; her speech barely recognizable. I intently listen, picking up verbs and nouns and filling in the rest. I’m pretty good at this.

All her thoughts end with: “Is that appropriate?” I assume years of therapy have taught her this word. Her capacity to comprehend is little to none, so my advice to her question is short and concise and not taken. But she always asks for my opinion. Playing the role of therapist, I’ve learned to respond, ‘Well, what do you think, is it appropriate?” This makes me feel like I’m helping.

I’ve learned that she lives with her sister. Her mother and father are dead and her grandmother just recently passed. The latter makes her anxious, revealing insecurities about living with her sister. She has a boyfriend and best friend named Audrey. They like to go to the mall.

One Thursday, early in our relationship, we talked about her boyfriend and how Audrey was telling people she had a boyfriend. She didn’t like this. In a clear voice, she articulately said: “Audrey is all up in my fucking business.” I was astounded and stunned.

Every Thursday after that, I would begin our conversation by asking about her boyfriend and Audrey. On cue, she would tell me that Audrey was all up in her fucking business. And then I’d give her my business card.