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I’m up early and in the shower. After getting dressed I get coffee, quickly check email and drive to see my chiropractor. It takes me a while to get there and tears come without warning. I’m still not sure what triggers these random outbursts but I have to go with it. I am composed when I get there and walk through the door.
“What’s been going on with you?” he asks as I sit on a chair in the exam room. I haven’t seen him in a while.
“Um, a lot.” I reply.
“Yeah? How’s the Chicago thing coming?”
“Uh, it’s not, right now. It’s been put on hold. I um,” I can’t look him in the face. I stare at the wall and it’s as if something else is talking now. “I lost my boyfriend in a car accident. I’ve been dealing with that.”
“Whoa! I’m sorry to hear that! I didn’t expect that kind of news at all.”
Trust me, neither did I.
He adjusts my neck and back and I’m out the door. I’m driving for God knows how long when while at a red light, I notice mom’s car is overheating. WTF??!!! Not again!!!
...I asked Rob one afternoon in the middle of the week if I could come see him.
“Sure. When you coming?”
“Right now ok?”
“Yeah.”
I left and sat in traffic for an hour and a half. I make it to Winder Georgia when I notice the thermostat on my car is blinking. The car is overheating. Agh! I carefully pull over and try to breathe. “It’s ok.” I tell myself. “Nothing has blown up yet.” I call Rob.
“Hey.” he answers.
“Hey honey, I uh, I’m on the side of the road.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know yet, the car is over heating.” I reply, noticing I haven’t turned it off yet and the temperature gauge is telling me the engine is cooling.
“Are you serious? Where are you?”
“Winder. Um, the car is cooling off now.”
“It’s still on?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Turn it off and pop the hood.”
Do I have to?
“Ok.” I pop the hood and climb out. I carefully walk alongside the car as trucks and other massive vehicles are flying past me, the wind smacking my skirt against my legs. I pull the hood up and look inside.
“Do you see anything?” he asks.
“Nope. Nothing crazy.”
“No fluid anywhere?”
“Nope.” I’m staring at my engine wondering what’s going to happen.
“Ok. How’s your coolant?”
“Uh...” I look for the radiator. “I don’t see my radiator.”
“Should be in the front.”
“I’m staring at the front. I see nothing.” I reply.
“Ok, get back in the car and get your owner’s manual.”
I do so.
“Got it.”
“Find a diagram and see if you can find the radiator.”
I do that and there’s nothing in there.
“I don’t see a damn thing.”
“Ok. It may be your coolant is low. You’re closer to home than you are to here. I hate to tell you this but you need to go back home. Drive slow and if it happens again, then turn the car off and let it sit for thirty minutes and try it again. If something else happens call me and I’ll come get you wherever you are.”
“Alright. Dammit. I really wanted to see you.”
“Me too. Are you ok though?”
“Yeah, just freaked out a little.” Somehow hearing his voice and knowing he’s a phone call away has kept me sane through this little learning experience. We get off the phone, and I drive back to Atlanta with no issues. I find out later that I had only a few drops of coolant left. Oops!
The second I reach for the phone I am reminded that Rob isn’t here anymore. That knowledge combined with my frustration and indecision on what to do brings on another wave of tears. I watch the gauge as I continue to carefully drive. I’m too far from home to have this thing blow up. I pray and pray and pray. The temp. gauge slowly backs down. I go a few more miles and decide to stop in a bookstore, hoping to give it a chance to calm down.
Oh, and calm down it does. So much in fact that it doesn’t want to start. EEK! It’s gotta be the oil. Mom’s car was leaking when I got it from her almost a month ago. I keep trying to start it. The engine eventually turns over and off I go, temp. gauge intact. I make it to an oil change place and get it all fixed up. Whew. I have a feeling that I haven’t seen the end of the traveling temp gauge though…
My day continues. There is this person that is very dear to me, that I love very much and want a relationship with but can’t seem to make myself vulnerable enough to get to that point…where things are completely open and non judgmental. I am very guarded with what I share out of fear of the response I’ll get. This person means well when offering me their opinion but I don’t ask for an opinion. They give it anyway and now I’m left standing here after talking with them thinking, am I doing the wrong thing? Am I wasting time with the writing project I’ve started? Am I giving too much information? If I am, is that wrong? What is truly ’wrong’ in the first place? All these little things create a huge mountain growing under my skin. It makes me second guess myself and fills me with an enormous amount of self doubt that I my compulsive behavior is triggered and I’m angry, working hard again to get centered and think for myself and no one else.
I go for a run. I think to myself that first of all, if I’m wrong for anything, God forgive me. I then think that no, this project isn’t a waste of time. It’s something I need to do for myself. I enjoy it so much. I feel like I’m teetering on this fence and could fall over at any moment in either direction. If I go one way, I’ll fall into the person you want me to be, living the life you think I ought to be living, whatever that may be. If I fall the other way I’ll live the life I want to live and that might include opening my mind, crossing some lines, and some foul language but in the end I’m still a good person. Rob was well on his way to teaching me that.
“Your slipping.” he said to me one day.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have an example right now, but you aren’t completely being yourself and I just want you to know that I’m noticing.” he smiled at me.
“I can’t change the behavior if you don’t have an example.” I say, quite curious as to what I’m doing that he’s picking up on.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call you out on it next time.” he winked at me.
I go over all of this is my head, wishing someone would just tell me what to do. Really though, I know what to do already. I have everything I need right here with me. I just have to do what I need to do for myself, follow my heart and sometimes my head and everything will come out ok.
I end up back home and in the shower. I’m going to see a former co-worker and massage therapist, Marian for a much needed 90 minute massage. I get dressed and head out. Her house is everything precious just like her. I adore Marian’s beauty and intuition. I want to emulate her and carry her energy with me always.
“So!” she exclaims when I walk in. “I’ve been putting good energy out in the universe for you! I really hope this massage helps.”
“I so need that! You’re so awesome!” I laugh.
She shows me to the massage room. It’s quiet with a single window and lit with little lights. She instructs me to get undressed, hang my things up and lay face down on the massage table. She walks out and shuts the door. I do as she said and slowly begin to relax, my face sinking into the face cradle.
“Melissa? You ready?” Marian’s voice pipes up through the door.
“Yes ma’am!”
She comes in and gets things situated.
“I’m going to just use my intuition on your body today and try to give it everything it needs. Are there any trouble spots I need to know about?”
“My mid-back is all jacked up but that’s all.”
“Ok.”
She begins by gently rocking my back, and hips.
“Your back is tight!” she exclaimed.
I giggle.
She keeps working. Pushing, pulling, stretching, kneading in all the best ways possible. I sink further and further into oblivion. Getting a massage from Marian is like drinking the best water your lips have ever tasted on a day when you’re thirstier than you ever realized. When it’s over I feel rested, energized and clear headed.
We chat a little on my way out. A long time ago, her boyfriend passed away and I’ve been wanting to talk to her about it.
“It’s really weird.” she starts. “I always knew it was going to happen. That I’d lose him somehow but could never imagine what it would be from.”
“Me too!” I exclaim. “I knew I wanted Rob for the rest of my life but knew that I couldn’t have him. I just couldn’t figure out why I had that feeling. I knew it within days of meeting him.”
“Oh that gives me chills!”
I’ve heard that a lot recently when talking about him. I’m about to ask her how she dealt with the loss of her boyfriend, but stop myself. I know she followed the path she needed to follow and I have to do the same. I can’t follow hers. Before I leave she gives me the name of a coffee shop near by.
“This is definitely your kind of place!” she hands me the slip of paper with the information on it. “Go. Write. Do what you need to do ok?” she smiles at me.
“I will.” I firmly state. I hug her goodbye and leave. When I get home I park the car (that is STILL telling me it’s overheating by the way) and walk to the grocery store. I pick out delicious things that don’t come in boxes and walk home still feeling refreshed. I make dinner, calmly eat it and settle into the rest of the evening.