I nudged my husband, Vladimir.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere she is,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
We were walking down the hallway of our apartment complex. The she in question\u2014a neighbor\u2014was heading straight toward us. I shot her a smile. But just before our paths crossed, she abruptly turned around and hurried out of sight.<\/p>\n
Ever since this woman and her husband had moved in the year before, I\u2019d tried to get to know her. But I\u2019d yet to even learn her name. Each time I saw her, she\u2019d scurry off before I could even say hello.<\/p>\n
The man who\u2019d lived in their apartment before had been so friendly. We invited him to barbecues, and we helped one another with errands. He became a good friend. When he moved, I assumed we\u2019d grow just as close to our new neighbors. Our large retirement community is a friendly place. There are a lot of nods and smiles. Sometimes the gentlemen even tip their hats. For some reason she wanted no part of it.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it us?\u201d I asked Vladimir. \u201cHave you seen her talking to any of the other neighbors?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSonia, what do you care? Why do you need her to say hello?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
He was right, I couldn\u2019t expect to get to know everyone. Still, it bothered me. I\u2019ve always been outgoing. I would feel terrible if she thought I\u2019d slighted or offended her. We\u2019re neighbors after all.<\/p>\n
A few days later I was strolling through our clubhouse. I turned a corner, when suddenly she and I were face-to-face. \u201cHello\u201d hardly escaped my lips before she bolted.<\/p>\n
Why can\u2019t I get through to her?<\/em> I wondered later that night. I pulled ingredients from the fridge for dinner. Borscht, that\u2019s what I\u2019d make. It always made me feel better. I grated the beets, added a dash of sugar and lemon and let the mixture simmer on the stove.<\/p>\n My thoughts drifted back to my childhood in Russia. I could still smell Mother\u2019s borscht, the heady aroma of garlic and beets wafting through the house, the four of us kids clamoring for a bowl. It was perfection: rich in color, served cold with a dollop of sour cream\u2014a spoonful was all it took to make life\u2019s worries disappear.<\/p>\n Living under the Communist regime, we didn\u2019t have much, but Mother believed in sharing our blessings\u2014especially the delicious food she cooked\u2014with family, friends\u2026and neighbors too. \u201cSonia,\u201d she\u2019d say, \u201calways be willing to share your last bite.\u201d<\/p>\n That\u2019s what I needed to do! I poured a generous helping of borscht into one of my prettiest bowls, walked over to our neighbors\u2019 apartment and rang the bell. The door opened a crack.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is it?\u201d It was the first time I\u2019d heard her voice.<\/p>\n \u201cHi, I\u2019m Sonia. My husband, Vladimir, and I live right there,\u201d I said, pointing to our apartment. The door opened a little wider. \u201cI brought you some of my homemade borscht.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at me like I was from another planet. \u201cI don\u2019t want to take your food,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not taking my food from me. I\u2019m sharing my food with you,\u201d I said, holding out the bowl. \u201cI don\u2019t mean to intrude; I just wanted to introduce myself.\u201d<\/p>\n She still looked puzzled, but she took the bowl. \u201cThank you,\u201d she said, then quickly shut the door.<\/p>\n Vladimir was eager to know what happened with our reclusive neighbor. \u201cSo, did she like the borscht? Did she finally say hello? Let me guess\u2026she didn\u2019t let you in, did she?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, she took the borscht. Now whatever will be, will be,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n