First Impressions

Warning: Initial impressions can be misleading.

I meet someone for the first time. I look them over. How is the man dressed? If he wears a suit and tie, I assume he is a professional. If he wears old, torn jeans and has a stubble of hair on his chin, I judge him to be, even if a retired old man, a slovenly character. As for women, how they dress and the kind of jewelry and makeup tells me a lot. As for speech, a few grammatical mistakes – saying “she don’t” instead of “she doesn’t” – gives a quick assessment of how much or how little schooling a person has.

Often I am completely wrong!

The first time I saw Anese, she lumbered across the dining room like Boris Karloff as the Frankenstein monster. A black woman, six feet tall and built like a Japanese wrestler, just her size was intimidating. She frowned and hissed at me, “Anese.”

“Your name is Annie?” I said.

“Ah-niece,” she said in a firm, barely intelligible whisper.

I felt as if a Chicago gangster was threatening me with dire consequences if I ever mispronounced that name again. I thought, “This is one person I want to stay clear of.”

It was several months before I learned Anese suffered a massive stroke which left her unable to speak more than a few words and those barely above a whisper. She goes to exercise classes. While the rest of us kick our legs and flap our arms like ballerinas in Swan Lake, she moves her arms and legs a few inches.

But if the instructor skips something in the usual routine, Anese growls and by her movements lets us know what we should do next. She insists on keeping to a precise order. She can be intimidating. She is also shy. She finds it easier to frown than to smile. Maybe that is due to her physical condition.

I wondered how this big, black woman could afford to live in this retirement community where the smallest apartment costs more than most people’s Social Security. From our monthly newsletter I learned that Anese has a degree in micro-biology, did graduate work, and had a distinguished career in business before a stroke limited her mobility. How frustrating it must be for her now with that good mind imprisoned by a tongue that can only whisper a word or two at a time.

Anese is sweet and helpful. Every Saturday she passes out the sheets with menus for the next week’s meals. She gives them out in the dining room, and then walks around the entire complex, fastening them outside every door. She even comes up to the third floor, although she whispered to me that she doesn’t like heights.

At first I was frightened by her size and threatening movements. Now I know she is a tender woman dealing as best she can with a tragic physical condition.