The Meadow 39 that would be greatly appreciated. Also, we’re nearly out of coffee cups.” “I can bring snacks on Thursday,” a faceless voice volunteered. “Great, thank you.” Max clasped his hands. “Okay, let’s get started. Who would like to share first, please? Anyone.” “I’ll go.” A middle-aged woman wearing a quilted jacket and orthotic sneakers stared at the floor as she talked. “Walter and I celebrated thirty-seven years of married life last month, right around the same time he started to change. First, it was just his torso. A thorax. He woke one day with a thorax where his torso had been. Walter had a small tattoo, his only one.” She palmed her heart. “My name in tiny letters on his chest. Gone. Erased. But, I was steadfast—thankful even, that I could still look into his big brown eyes, talk to him at night about the news, share a bowl of popcorn while we watched a rom-com.” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Then…he just…” She began to sob silently into her quilted sleeve. “Take your time. We’ve all been there,” Max soothed. She looked up and scanned the circle. “He’s an ant. My big, handsome 6’3”, 250-pound man is a big red ant. I still love him, I do. But every day he walks the same route, to and from the sugar bowl, back and forth, back and forth. He’s created a tiny pile of granules in the corner of our kitchen. I haven’t cleaned it yet because it seems to mean something to him—this tiny pile of sugar. Last week, I noticed others following him, all in a line, back and forth from the sugar bowl to the corner and back again. He has friends, now, other than me. He was my best friend, my only friend, and now he has dozens and I’ve got no one.” She blew into her tissue. “I just don’t know how much more I can take.” Silence fell across the room, people nodding. Grete understood. They all understood. It occurred to Grete that Gregor had no friends, and she felt her heart thump with gratitude.
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