Wonder

It would’ve been better had she heard it from me.

Joanna’s death, it was unexpected but it was no surprise for those of us who knew her.

She suffered from liver cirrhosis because she was an alcoholic, she had her first drink at age five and never looked back. It was a crazy life but nobody told her so, and if somebody did I doubt if she would’ve listened.

I was her cleaning lady. It broke my heart to see her life so cluttered with the unnecessary pain she brought upon herself, all the while unable to perceive her own brilliance.

Joanna’s parents died young and they left her an estate that though modest, provided adequately for her modest needs. Unfortunately alcohol was a huge part of it. She’d have toast with gin and tonic at breakfast at age nineteen, the year I started working for her, and end her day with vodka. There was a lot of wine and rum and whiskey in between.

She did not listen, never listened to anyone. Maybe that was her problem.

During her lucid moments she scribbled, scribbled a lot. And she wrote good shit.

One day while I was cleaning her townhouse, Joanna’s accountant came knocking. He was alarmed by the rate she was burning away her modest fortune. He asked me if I knew if Joanna knew how to make a living. I told him she wrote in the times she wasn’t drinking. I gave him the notebooks that I organized according to date. The accountant said he knew a book editor, he could show her Joanna’s work.

By the time she was thirty, Joanna was a millionaire many times over. Only I never told her for fear that she might use her money for her further descent into depravity. Some of her work was turned into movies and plays and she got invitations to join the glitterati in their lavish parties.

I never passed them on. As she was, Joanna was already a handful. I did not want to imagine how she would be with bad influences in her life.

At 43, she kicked the bucket. I found her in the living room clutching a gallon bottle of gin in her death. I wonder now, if she knew people admired her work, would it have made a difference to her? If she knew just how much her mind was appreciated, would it have given her a sense of purpose? Would she have found her direction?

And I wonder: should it have been me who had the courage to help her find out?

I guess I’ll never know.