Day 23: Eavesdropping

I love to eavesdrop. I always have. I think I’m subtle, but my husband will sometimes remind me, “You know you’re not invisible, right?” as I lean in to hear a conversation better. Even now as I write this, I sit on the balcony of our condo with an ear cocked, trying to discern the conversation two condos down.

Once, at a motel in Montana, I pressed a glass up to the wall to overhear the fight next door. I used to love it when our cordless phone would pick up snippets of strangers conversations. I’m nosey.

Today, my eavesdropping paid off hugely.

We were at the pool on our first day of vacation in Orlando. The resort we stay at each year is a beautiful mix of folks of all ages. Little kids play catch next to retired gentlemen doing leg lifts by the side of the pool.

I heard them before I saw them, this group today. As I read my book, I could hear a trio of voices floating above all the other noise. I glanced over and three women caught my eye. They were in their 60s (I know because I heard them talking about it), but seemed older. I mean, my mom is in her early 60s and these ladies felt different.

They were tan in a way people of my generation rarely get, now that we know about skin cancer. They were tan in a way in March that suggests a life on a beach somewhere, a country club, or a swim community. They were so tan, they were almost crispy.

The three of them floated around the pool, arms resting around pool noodles.

“When you turn 65, you have to take the medicare,” one of them told the other two. One woman (who’s name was almost definitely Linda), gasped. “Why?” she asked. The main lady, who easily could have been named Sylvia, explained that her teacher friend told her all about it. They captivated me. She spoke with such authority. And the way these women existed together was so easy.

About 15 minutes later, Sylvia’s voice carried my way again. “Oh, he’s just awful,” she declared. My ears perked up once I could tell she was talking about President Trump. “The bullying I see at school? It’s gotten so bad since he’s been in office.” Ah, Sylvia. I love ya. Then: “Oh, I can’t stand that Pelosi either. And the NEA? Ugh. Hate them.” Turns out Sylvia’s has plenty of disgust to go around.

Later, when I was swimming with my kids (yes, I do other things besides shamelessly eavesdrop), I was once again positioned near the ladies. This time, one of their husbands was with them. Tan with a majestic crown of gray hair, with tufts of gray chest hair, he had an air of authority. I’m not sure if he was wearing a chain around his neck, but he could have been. He probably was.

They talked about everything: the outrageous cost of their Red Lobster dinner the night before, which part of the resort had the best condos. I was half-listening, when suddenly, a gem.

“Oh, there’s so much weed,” he remarked, casually. “I got two plants last year from my friend. Grew them last year and it was great. I’m gonna ask him for another couple plants this year.”

I was puzzling over this, wondering what kind of weed he could be talking about.

“What do you put it in? Brownies, cookies?” Linda asked. My mouth almost fell open. Here, these totally normal people were talking about Weed. And making pot brownies? I could hardly contain my delight.

“Oh, yeah, that and also, you can use it for the oil. You know this CBD thing?”

Just then my kids needed me so I had to swim away before I could hear the rest. We left the pool soon after. I tried to recount the conversation to Greg, but he kept saying things like, “Who?” and “Where?” and, frankly, he seemed very bored. His loss.

My hope is that we run into this group again so I can get the scoop. This time, I might even sit next to them, maybe even introduce myself so I don’t have to eavesdrop.