I read, saw, heard somewhere a saying that went something like “when you meet someone you’ll know the reasons why you’ll leave them.” I knew on that very first date that this wouldn’t work because I couldn’t get underneath his surface and he didn’t seem to be trying to get under mine. I stayed though. I enjoyed his company, he made me laugh. I wanted to see what would happen. I almost wanted to prove myself wrong. I took the long road around this revelation with him by my side, trying to escape it, traveling in and out of each day to end up where I knew I would in the beginning complete with the same feelings but some experience, some happiness, and some hard stuff all wrapped in one package. This is how it ends…
Charlie was in Orlando this past week. He was coming home on Friday. I was working at Lincoln Park all week.
“Meliss, my birthday is Friday!” my fellow assistant Seven exclaims to me on Tuesday morning while we’re tearing foil for the colorists.
“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”
“I dunno. Prolly a bar and maybe some dancing.” she ripped her foil and placed it in a stack that we were both contributing to. “Wanna come?”
“Of course!” I heard myself reply. This took me by surprise. I hate going out on Saturdays. I avoid it at all costs. After a long day of work, I typically like to go home and do something quiet.
“Is Charlie in town?” she asks.
“No, but he will be this weekend.”
“Do you think he’ll come too?”
“I dunno. Regardless, I’m coming.” I reply, again, surprised at my words.
When I talked to Charlie later in the week he said he’d be in Wisconsin with his best friend on Saturday. I didn’t know if he was spending the night or not and didn’t think to ask at the time.
“I need to go to the gym on Sunday. Wanna come with me?” I ask him, determined to keep my promise to myself to lift weights three times a week.
“Yeah, if Scott doesn’t work me too hard.”
Somehow, when I imagined Sunday, I didn’t see myself in the gym, but in a yoga class I’ve wanted to take for some time now but haven’t made the time for it. I also couldn’t see Charlie in the picture on that day. This made me nervous. I felt like this when Rob died. I couldn’t imagine the rest of our day together when he left to go to Robby’s the day that he died.
I later emailed Charlie and asked him about coming with me to Seven’s outing. He didn’t respond but I figured we’d talk about it later. Again, the same feeling of him not being there on Saturday crept into my head. Despite my nervousness at not knowing what this was, I felt calm, like something was with me and somewhere, deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it had me and everything would be ok.
On Friday morning I woke up and did my usual morning routine of breakfast, email, gym, and writing. While getting ready for work, I kept hearing things around my apartment. It was as if small objects like my keys or something were shifting ever so slightly…just enough to make a barely audible noise, but definite enough to where I didn’t question what it was. I heard it. I didn’t feel scared, just a little crazy wondering if my mind was making it up or not. Flashes of shadows raced pasted my peripheral vision. Every time I turned to see what it was that was grabbing my attention, nothing was there. I feel insane even writing this, but I swear this stuff is happening and it’s Rob. I feel that something is shifting around in my mind today. There is something that is letting go, completely detaching, but I don’t know what it’s letting go of. It’s impossible to write about and fully explain, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s real.
I get to work and race around like usual. Charlie is landing at 5:15pm. I’m closing alone and will be done at 8pm. The feelings of him not being with me this weekend are getting stronger but I don’t know why and don’t understand what’s sparking this. The only thing I can come up with is that he’ll choose to do what he wants while I choose to not tag along with him and finally do something for myself. It’s like I suddenly see that he’s there regardless of what I’m doing or not doing. If I don’t trust that I’m going to lose my mind in the long run. My reasoning for putting things off when he’s in town is to spend as much time as possible with him because he’ll be gone again and when he is, I can catch up on other things. It’s creating a lack of balance in my life though. That’s what my conscious mind has come up with. The subconscious knows I’m behaving this way because I’m waiting and waiting, hoping that he’ll suddenly wake up one of these days and realize that he wants me and I’d like to be present for that moment. It never occurred to me that I could leave. I could walk away. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid that if I walk away, it might be a mistake. I’ll never know though because I know me. I won’t. Some sick part of me loves the uphill battle of something that isn’t completely right but maybe not completely wrong…
Seven and I are working together again today and she has more details about her birthday. Definitely grabbing drinks at one place and moving to another to go dancing. Sounds good to me. I haven’t been dancing in so long.
At 6pm, I notice I haven’t heard from Charlie. I had texted him earlier saying I couldn’t wait to see him. I’m feeling agitated and negative. I’m wanting some sort of emotion from him. I want to know that he can’t wait to see me as well. Is it that he can wait, or is it that he’s not capable of saying such things? I text him and ask if he landed. He says yes and says that he’ll pick me up from work. I’m ecstatic. I think about texting him something sweet, but something stops me. I need to go to the grocery store. I text him and he doesn’t want to go so I decide I’ll go anyway and meet him when I’m done.
I wipe down the shampoo bowls in the color department, grab my lotion and gloves and walk down the stairs. I’m the only one up there. As I’m walking down, the lights flicker ever so slightly.
“Honey?” I feel myself saying to Rob.
I clean the stylist’s floor, grab my things and clock out. I walk to the store, inhaling the clean, crisp air. It feels good to walk. As I finish up at the store, I start to feel irritated, knowing that I’ll want to bounce off the walls when I get to Charlie’s and he…well, he won’t. This squashes my bounciness and pushes it down so far into some place I can’t identify and produces some nastiness that pours out of me like acid making me quiet and standoffish because I’m scared. Always damn scared of being too much for him and of being not enough all at the same time.
Nothing is normal right now. Nothing feels right. Charlie meets me on Division as I walk to his place. He’s in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t explain until we walk in to his apartment and the door is closed.
I’m going to keep the contents of our conversation private. While talking though, I feel for a split second my mind racing toward him saying “No, no, no, don’t leave.” but then it stops because he’s already gone. I don’t even know if he was ever here to begin with.
There is intense heaviness sitting on my chest. The air is being sucked out of my lungs, but somewhere some tiny little window in my head is open now and letting out all the negative craziness I’ve carried with me all this time. I can almost feel my displaced self esteem returning.
It isn’t easy though. It isn’t easy to hear, say or admit. I can’t feel or show any emotion at the moment. I know that I need to cry, I need to tear the wall down but it feels impossible. The feeling is familiar though and I know it’ll pass. I don’t want to entirely compare this feeling to learning about Rob’s death but being my current relationship is ending and I’ll have to grieve it’s loss, it’s stressful, takes my breath away and all the feelings associated with loss, for me, are flooding back. There isn’t enough air in the universe to fill my lungs at the moment.
We’re staring at each other in between expressed thoughts. I soak up his expression and feel it’s reflecting more emotion in this moment than I’ve seen from him in nearly nine months. The lights of the city outside his window are still sparkling, the cars are still racing by, but I’m unable to move.
“Get up.” I tell myself. There isn’t anything left to say.
I stand and push my feet back into my shoes. I remind him that I left one of my jackets in his room. He goes to get it while I pull my coat on. I stare out of the window again, remembering him walking up behind me one night while I was standing there and asking, “are you watching the city?”
I nodded and continued, mesmerized by the combined stillness and movement.
I remember I left my contact solution and a necklace in the bathroom. I go to get it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, before quickly turning and walking out.
Charlie is in the living room and hands me my jacket. He moves forward and hugs me. I feel my arms squeeze him back but I feel nothing. I am completely, totally, and utterly numb.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod.
I think about the time he walked me home the night of our first date. We stopped at my gate, he kissed me and said he had a good time and that he’d call me later.
We’re again, at my gate. He hugs me, tells me he still cares very much for me and he’s still… here.
“Me too.” I reply and he walks away.
The reality of the situation rushes at me faster than lightning as I push my key into the door. I woke up this morning in a relationship and I’m going to sleep single. I don’t want to stop moving. I don’t want to sit still, afraid the hurt will catch me. If I don’t stop I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I can’t out run it that’s for sure.
In bed I listen to my heart pound and watch images in my head race passed until I don’t remember anything else…
Monday, December 28, 2009
Connection...
Each time I think about writing this entry, I get stuck. I end up staring at the screen and hope something comes into my head as to where to start. I thought about scratching the whole thing completely and writing about something else but the idea won’t leave me alone. Bear with me please as I stumble around trying to figure it out. I’ll start with what I know for sure and see what happens from there.
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Novel...
It bounces around my head, scratches at the inside of my brain, conjures up stories, and ideas on how to put it together. It’ll keep me up at night, tap me on the shoulder in the mornings, consume my thoughts while doing mindless activities during the day. I want to write a novel.
My dream is to sign a book deal ahead of time, and take a stack of notebooks, pens and my laptop to Stockholm where I’ll sit in cafes all day drinking coffee, eating unidentifiable chocolate objects while getting the project done. I want to explore the depths of my memories, thoughts, feelings and share them with the world. I feel that if I accomplish this, I will be able to put a lot of residual feelings about work in Atlanta behind me. I’ll also be able to better understand my feelings about Rob, and about life. I want this. I want it so badly, to accomplish this feat. Starting is the problem. How do I start something this huge? How do I tell the story? How do I get to a place where nothing else matters but what I’m trying to get out. How do I find a place where I’m comfortable enough to “go there”? Where I’m not someone’s daughter, employee, friend, etc…
I’m scared of where my head might go, what might come up and how I’ll feel about it. I also fear failure and judgment so much that I keep the idea as that. Only an idea.
Charlie replaces my battery for my computer on my birthday telling me it’s to start my novel.
“You can now take the computer with you to Lovely and write.” he smiles. (Lovely is the the coffee shop where we met and is my favorite.) The electrical outlets don’t work there so I only bring things I’m hand writing, or I use his computer for the internet if we’re there together. “I want two chapters!” he exclaims.
I laugh and tell him that will take an eternity at the rate I’m going.
“Does it bother you that I bug you about it?” he asks.
“Not at all. I need it apparently.”
I do begin. It’s excruciating. That first sentence is agonizing. I peck out two pages instead of two chapters. I can’t quite figure out how to start. What I wrote doesn’t feel right. It has it’s place just not at the beginning. I keep waiting for the perfect idea to come along forgetting that it’s simply going to take starting and some trial and error before I figure it out. I keep going though, hoping it’ll resemble something soon.
Weeks later I start looking for people to meet with and bounce ideas off of on couchsurfing.com. A guy sends me an amazing article about the process famous writers go through to get to a place where they can begin and write their novels. Receiving this electronic, orgasmic treat is just what I needed to get up off my ass. I so enjoyed reading about the obscure things people do to go to their “happy place” to write. From creating storyboards, to sitting on the edge of the bathtub, to dressing up in character to get the story out, reading about other people’s process helped me to stop judging my own, accepting it as the way I do things and be ok with that.
“What is my process?” I ask myself. This is what I know for sure. I’m controlling. I want it to go the way I want it to go, often being resistant to the story taking on a mind of it’s own. I love writing in the mornings. I don’t do so well at night. With my blogs, I write them in the morning, “sleep on it”, wake up the next morning, revise it, making sure it’s something I want to post, then post it. I know my journals must be handwritten and my blogs must be typed to effectively get my point across. I sometimes write in fragments when I’m upset. I’m easily overwhelmed at times with emotion while writing and other times, there is nothing that comes to mind when I feel I should write. I’ve learned that patience is something I need to work on and trust that whatever it is I need to say, it’ll come out on it’s own, in it’s own time.
I read that this one author writes only what she knows and eventually puts it all together. She has a huge bulletin board in her room where she tacks up stories, thoughts and ideas she scribbles on various pieces of paper and torn out notebook pages. This lights me up and I start to explore this idea. I know that I’m haphazard in a lot of areas in my life. I’ve noticed, or recently acknowledged that when I close the salons alone, there is no rhyme or reason as to how it gets done it just does. If I approach my writing this way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get this done.
At Borders I buy a huge notebook. I start pouring over past journals, trying to pick out something to start with. I begin writing random thoughts and ideas in the notebook. Some of those thoughts become full sentences that grow into paragraphs. When one paragraph gets stuck I move to another story. When I can’t think of how to start it, I begin writing the ending. When that gets tough to piece together I write about something that happened that I wanted to explore with words, stringing them together as if I were painting a picture. I move the words around, crossing them out putting new ones in the old ones places, I fill the pages that were once blank and while it doesn’t look like much I am on top of the world. I’m learning so much about how to get this done in a way I can accept. I feel in control of something finally. Starting this has helped me see that a lot of areas in my life are out of control and I’ve been acting out in a lot of ways and need to get my act together.
I write while riding trains, in coffee shops, restaurants, and even at home briefly. I type thoughts into my phone, and scribble them on scratch pieces of paper as I move through each day, knowing that whatever I come up with will have it’s own place just as soon as I figure out where that place is.
I start walking more, working through things in my head, start taking the gym more seriously, and feel something in my head is shifting, changing and opening up. I’m letting go of something I can’t identify yet but it feels good so I go with it. I love how in this little corner of my world I can be myself, I can tell or omit anything I choose to. The paper has no opinion. It doesn’t pass any judgment. I can take any direction I want with this project. That knowledge is both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. The process is different than blogging or journaling. I seriously feel I’m constructing a work of art at the moment.
“Where are my two chapters?” Charlie asks over the phone one evening.
“I’m working on it!” I exclaim. I tell him about the email I got about the process of writing various authors use and how excited it’s made me. “I started writing and it doesn’t look like much now but I’m really happy with what I came up with. I’ll show it to you when you get home.”
Charlie’s been in Orlando for a little bit. I hear the words exit my mouth but feel that I won’t be sharing this with him for some reason. I honestly don’t know how to first of all, but something doesn’t feel totally right. I dismiss the thought. Of course I’ll show it to him. Of course. Right?
I my mind there is suddenly no reason in the world I can’t have this and reach my goal of being published. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t know where I’m going to find an agent to represent me, but I feel that person is out there. If not, I will self publish and go from there. For now, I’ll keep working and trust that the answers to my questions will find their way to me in their own time.
My dream is to sign a book deal ahead of time, and take a stack of notebooks, pens and my laptop to Stockholm where I’ll sit in cafes all day drinking coffee, eating unidentifiable chocolate objects while getting the project done. I want to explore the depths of my memories, thoughts, feelings and share them with the world. I feel that if I accomplish this, I will be able to put a lot of residual feelings about work in Atlanta behind me. I’ll also be able to better understand my feelings about Rob, and about life. I want this. I want it so badly, to accomplish this feat. Starting is the problem. How do I start something this huge? How do I tell the story? How do I get to a place where nothing else matters but what I’m trying to get out. How do I find a place where I’m comfortable enough to “go there”? Where I’m not someone’s daughter, employee, friend, etc…
I’m scared of where my head might go, what might come up and how I’ll feel about it. I also fear failure and judgment so much that I keep the idea as that. Only an idea.
Charlie replaces my battery for my computer on my birthday telling me it’s to start my novel.
“You can now take the computer with you to Lovely and write.” he smiles. (Lovely is the the coffee shop where we met and is my favorite.) The electrical outlets don’t work there so I only bring things I’m hand writing, or I use his computer for the internet if we’re there together. “I want two chapters!” he exclaims.
I laugh and tell him that will take an eternity at the rate I’m going.
“Does it bother you that I bug you about it?” he asks.
“Not at all. I need it apparently.”
I do begin. It’s excruciating. That first sentence is agonizing. I peck out two pages instead of two chapters. I can’t quite figure out how to start. What I wrote doesn’t feel right. It has it’s place just not at the beginning. I keep waiting for the perfect idea to come along forgetting that it’s simply going to take starting and some trial and error before I figure it out. I keep going though, hoping it’ll resemble something soon.
Weeks later I start looking for people to meet with and bounce ideas off of on couchsurfing.com. A guy sends me an amazing article about the process famous writers go through to get to a place where they can begin and write their novels. Receiving this electronic, orgasmic treat is just what I needed to get up off my ass. I so enjoyed reading about the obscure things people do to go to their “happy place” to write. From creating storyboards, to sitting on the edge of the bathtub, to dressing up in character to get the story out, reading about other people’s process helped me to stop judging my own, accepting it as the way I do things and be ok with that.
“What is my process?” I ask myself. This is what I know for sure. I’m controlling. I want it to go the way I want it to go, often being resistant to the story taking on a mind of it’s own. I love writing in the mornings. I don’t do so well at night. With my blogs, I write them in the morning, “sleep on it”, wake up the next morning, revise it, making sure it’s something I want to post, then post it. I know my journals must be handwritten and my blogs must be typed to effectively get my point across. I sometimes write in fragments when I’m upset. I’m easily overwhelmed at times with emotion while writing and other times, there is nothing that comes to mind when I feel I should write. I’ve learned that patience is something I need to work on and trust that whatever it is I need to say, it’ll come out on it’s own, in it’s own time.
I read that this one author writes only what she knows and eventually puts it all together. She has a huge bulletin board in her room where she tacks up stories, thoughts and ideas she scribbles on various pieces of paper and torn out notebook pages. This lights me up and I start to explore this idea. I know that I’m haphazard in a lot of areas in my life. I’ve noticed, or recently acknowledged that when I close the salons alone, there is no rhyme or reason as to how it gets done it just does. If I approach my writing this way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get this done.
At Borders I buy a huge notebook. I start pouring over past journals, trying to pick out something to start with. I begin writing random thoughts and ideas in the notebook. Some of those thoughts become full sentences that grow into paragraphs. When one paragraph gets stuck I move to another story. When I can’t think of how to start it, I begin writing the ending. When that gets tough to piece together I write about something that happened that I wanted to explore with words, stringing them together as if I were painting a picture. I move the words around, crossing them out putting new ones in the old ones places, I fill the pages that were once blank and while it doesn’t look like much I am on top of the world. I’m learning so much about how to get this done in a way I can accept. I feel in control of something finally. Starting this has helped me see that a lot of areas in my life are out of control and I’ve been acting out in a lot of ways and need to get my act together.
I write while riding trains, in coffee shops, restaurants, and even at home briefly. I type thoughts into my phone, and scribble them on scratch pieces of paper as I move through each day, knowing that whatever I come up with will have it’s own place just as soon as I figure out where that place is.
I start walking more, working through things in my head, start taking the gym more seriously, and feel something in my head is shifting, changing and opening up. I’m letting go of something I can’t identify yet but it feels good so I go with it. I love how in this little corner of my world I can be myself, I can tell or omit anything I choose to. The paper has no opinion. It doesn’t pass any judgment. I can take any direction I want with this project. That knowledge is both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. The process is different than blogging or journaling. I seriously feel I’m constructing a work of art at the moment.
“Where are my two chapters?” Charlie asks over the phone one evening.
“I’m working on it!” I exclaim. I tell him about the email I got about the process of writing various authors use and how excited it’s made me. “I started writing and it doesn’t look like much now but I’m really happy with what I came up with. I’ll show it to you when you get home.”
Charlie’s been in Orlando for a little bit. I hear the words exit my mouth but feel that I won’t be sharing this with him for some reason. I honestly don’t know how to first of all, but something doesn’t feel totally right. I dismiss the thought. Of course I’ll show it to him. Of course. Right?
I my mind there is suddenly no reason in the world I can’t have this and reach my goal of being published. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t know where I’m going to find an agent to represent me, but I feel that person is out there. If not, I will self publish and go from there. For now, I’ll keep working and trust that the answers to my questions will find their way to me in their own time.
Teachback...
I’m awake before the alarm on my phone goes off. I pull myself out of bed, pack my things and head out Charlie’s door and into mine. I thought I’d want to go for a run being I was desperate to do so yesterday but I’m awfully sleepy and don’t feel like it.
I make breakfast, and check email, trying to identify my feelings. I’m nervous. Yup. I think that’s all I can come up with right now.
Instead of running I decide to walk to Alliance and get an Americano. I don’t want to be jacked for this presentation but I can’t imagine not having my usual cup of crazy.
The walk to Alliance is chilly but nice. The sky is beginning to lighten. I love this time in the morning. Everything is quiet and beautiful before the insanity of everyone’s day begins. I’m listening to my iPOD and letting my mind wander as I cross the streets and walk into the little shop. I order my Americano and head back out, almost sad there is no time to write. Once I’m home, I jump in the shower.
While wrapped in a towel, waiting for the lotion I just put on to sink further into my skin, I turn on the tape I have of Rob’s funeral while pulling out the clothes I want to wear today. I listen to his sister Kate speak, smiling at her voice telling a story about Rob and her when they were younger. Tears sting my eyes. I then hear my own voice begin to speak on the tape. I feel like I hear something different each time I listen to the tape. It isn’t often that I turn it on but when I do, I barely recognize the tone of my own. I listen to myself speak about Rob’s love and all that he did for me in such a short time. I didn’t realize I was on the verge of tears. I don’t remember hearing that or feeling it when I was up there.
I pull on black tights an slide on my favorite black dress that Nathan gave me in high school. It’s seen all sorts of occasions from sports banquets in school, fancy dinners, job interviews, Rob’s funeral and now my teachback. Once dressed, I paint my face in the bathroom, finishing with a new cranberry lipstick I bought for the occasion.
While pulling my things together I listen to Rob’s favorite CD. Once I have my gear packed I head to the train.
The Wicker Park salon is only one train stop away from where I live but it’s raining outside and I refuse to walk today. Plus, I’m wearing knee high, 3 inch heel boots. I bought these for work and wore them on my first day. I was practically in tears by the end of that day. My feet felt bruised for three days. I used to be able to rock out the heels in Atlanta, but Chicago? Not so much.
The salon is locked when I arrive. I reach into my bag for my phone and realize I’ve left it at Charlie’s. Dammit. Minutes later Annie and Blair walk up.
“Hey!” I exclaim.
“Mama!” Annie beams, hugging me. “How you doin’?
“Good! Crazy. You?”
“I’m not nervous yet, but will be when everyone starts to get here.”
Blair and I nod in agreement.
“So, I think Paul is going to be late meeting us here to open the doors.” Blair tells me. “I’m going to Starbucks at 9:30 to pick up the coffee.”
I nod.
We talk and laugh about our night last night. Annie and Blair were up with headsheets, a brand new printer Blair ended up buying to print out our booklets, with some Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken. I laugh with them before telling them I enjoyed my quiet evening with Shannon and Charlie. We decide while standing there to run through what we’re going to say.
Annie starts, then Blair then me. I’m stumbling trying to breathe and talk at the same time. Once I’m finished, Paul is there opening the doors, hugging all of us and helping us set up. Alyx arrives a little later and once we’re set we decide to run through this thing all together.
While Alyx is talking Charlie walks in looking delicious in all black. I motion for him to come over and sit in front of where I’m standing. He does, handing me the “before” pictures he took of Jamie and himself yesterday.
“Thank you so much!” I whisper. He hands me my phone also and I smile. I want to touch him, want to feel calm.
Alyx finishes up and I begin talking. I’m nervous, and going at a hundred miles per hour. I’m focused on not saying “um” and “like”. It’s interfering with the information I’m trying to give. Paul is standing by watching us, commending us on our preparation. The four of us are practically sparkling up there, pleased with ourselves.
Charlie turns to face me. “You’re talking way too fast.”
“I know! I always do that when I’m nervous.”
“Just pump the brakes…”
I just want him to feel proud of me. It’s hard right now to remember everything. I’ve never done this before. I feel proud of myself but want it from him too.
It’s hard and easy all at the same time. I know what I want to say but knowing someone is listening, makes me jittery and I start fumbling.
“Just dumb it down Melissa. You’re thinking too much over there.” Annie reminds me. Inhale, exhale, smile and nod. Ok.
Models start filing in. The four of us begin seating and prepping them. I entertain thoughts of running out for more coffee and a snack but stop myself, knowing I’m just starting to freak out a little and it’s ok.
Once everyone is seated, Paul introduces us. I notice most of our educators are sitting up front. I don’t remember this happening before. I’m so happy they’re experiencing this with us.
He turns it over to Blair who begins by thanking everyone for coming. She introduces and explains her pre-dones before turning it over to Annie. She presents her models and turns it over to Alyx who moves to me when she’s finished.
While standing in front of all these wonderful people who have been there this whole time supporting and helping me through this process, personally and professionally I feel completely, totally and utterly…loved. I find the energy I was looking for, beam and say “Goodmorning!” I’m met with smiles and a delicious calm washes over me.
“It has been an honor and a privilege to work with these ladies.” I smiles, catching Annie’s smiling face. “We’ve definitely had a good time putting all of this together.” I laugh.
I introduce Jamie, calmly explaining how I cut her hair, presenting the products I used and why all while maintaining as much eye contact with everyone as possible.
“My second pre-done is the light of my life! This is my Charlie!” Everyone laughs. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. I blink them back as fast as I can and begin speaking before my voice has a chance to crack, explaining his haircut and turning everything back over to Blair.
“Are there any questions?” she asks everyone. The sound that followed the question was one of the best I’ve heard. It was complete silence. Usually, questions float all over the place but after passing out the booklets we made and explaining exactly what each of us did, there was no room for questions.
“Alright, well, we’re going to dismiss our pre-dones and ask our live models to come over and have a seat.” I hear Blair smile without having to look at her.
There is shuffling around and lots of goodbyes as our models exit.
“See you tonight?” Charlie whispers.
I smile and nod.
The four of us work on our live models, explaining in between telling stories what we’re doing at that moment with the various cuts an color. I feel so comfortable, pushing the razor through Shannon’s hair. I even enjoyed the experience on the spot.
As we’re finishing up Paul and Susan tell us this is exactly what they were looking for when they created the teachback agenda. We’re all smiling. I’m bursting I’m so happy. I feel I accomplished what I wanted to. I got out of this whole thing more than I anticipated. I learned that hard work and taking it all one step at a time led to something amazing. It’s not like I didn’t already know this, it’s just that I wanted everything yesterday without willingness to put forth the work and effort it would take to get what I wanted. I suddenly feel like I can do whatever it is I want. I can accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart on. Why did it take so long to “get it”? Why did I treat this project with love, patience and diligence but not anything else I’ve ever done? I’m always in such a hurry but what am I racing against?
Everyone claps when we’re done. We’re met with praise and love as all of us scatter to set up our stations, getting ready for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard to focus on the rest of the day. I’m exhausted.
I have all my models and everyone is wonderful, I’m just brain-dead. Charlie meets us at Rodan, a fabulous little bar down the street from the salon. We all talk, laugh, and drink. While I’m having a good time, I’m desperate to share the rest of my day with him, desperate to tell him about all these feelings that are ranging from Rob to all the wonderful things our educators said to us.
On the walk back, I try. I try to open up, get to that place where I feel safe to speak. Problem is, I’ve never found that place with him. I try. I do. I try a lot. I can feel he’s getting agitated as I’m talking. I eventually stop.
Maybe I need to be enough for me. I think to myself. Maybe I know somewhere in my head that I am but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my thoughts with my boyfriend. I need to talk, I need to not bottle things up. I don’t know why I need to talk. I don’t even know what it is I want to say but it’s something, it’s heavy, I’m tired of carrying it, and I want to know he’s ok with hearing it.
I fall asleep feeling lonely. There is a warm body next to me. I want to wrap my arm around his torso and press my face to his chest. Why can’t I just reach out to him? He’s right there…nope. Too scary. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
I make breakfast, and check email, trying to identify my feelings. I’m nervous. Yup. I think that’s all I can come up with right now.
Instead of running I decide to walk to Alliance and get an Americano. I don’t want to be jacked for this presentation but I can’t imagine not having my usual cup of crazy.
The walk to Alliance is chilly but nice. The sky is beginning to lighten. I love this time in the morning. Everything is quiet and beautiful before the insanity of everyone’s day begins. I’m listening to my iPOD and letting my mind wander as I cross the streets and walk into the little shop. I order my Americano and head back out, almost sad there is no time to write. Once I’m home, I jump in the shower.
While wrapped in a towel, waiting for the lotion I just put on to sink further into my skin, I turn on the tape I have of Rob’s funeral while pulling out the clothes I want to wear today. I listen to his sister Kate speak, smiling at her voice telling a story about Rob and her when they were younger. Tears sting my eyes. I then hear my own voice begin to speak on the tape. I feel like I hear something different each time I listen to the tape. It isn’t often that I turn it on but when I do, I barely recognize the tone of my own. I listen to myself speak about Rob’s love and all that he did for me in such a short time. I didn’t realize I was on the verge of tears. I don’t remember hearing that or feeling it when I was up there.
I pull on black tights an slide on my favorite black dress that Nathan gave me in high school. It’s seen all sorts of occasions from sports banquets in school, fancy dinners, job interviews, Rob’s funeral and now my teachback. Once dressed, I paint my face in the bathroom, finishing with a new cranberry lipstick I bought for the occasion.
While pulling my things together I listen to Rob’s favorite CD. Once I have my gear packed I head to the train.
The Wicker Park salon is only one train stop away from where I live but it’s raining outside and I refuse to walk today. Plus, I’m wearing knee high, 3 inch heel boots. I bought these for work and wore them on my first day. I was practically in tears by the end of that day. My feet felt bruised for three days. I used to be able to rock out the heels in Atlanta, but Chicago? Not so much.
The salon is locked when I arrive. I reach into my bag for my phone and realize I’ve left it at Charlie’s. Dammit. Minutes later Annie and Blair walk up.
“Hey!” I exclaim.
“Mama!” Annie beams, hugging me. “How you doin’?
“Good! Crazy. You?”
“I’m not nervous yet, but will be when everyone starts to get here.”
Blair and I nod in agreement.
“So, I think Paul is going to be late meeting us here to open the doors.” Blair tells me. “I’m going to Starbucks at 9:30 to pick up the coffee.”
I nod.
We talk and laugh about our night last night. Annie and Blair were up with headsheets, a brand new printer Blair ended up buying to print out our booklets, with some Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken. I laugh with them before telling them I enjoyed my quiet evening with Shannon and Charlie. We decide while standing there to run through what we’re going to say.
Annie starts, then Blair then me. I’m stumbling trying to breathe and talk at the same time. Once I’m finished, Paul is there opening the doors, hugging all of us and helping us set up. Alyx arrives a little later and once we’re set we decide to run through this thing all together.
While Alyx is talking Charlie walks in looking delicious in all black. I motion for him to come over and sit in front of where I’m standing. He does, handing me the “before” pictures he took of Jamie and himself yesterday.
“Thank you so much!” I whisper. He hands me my phone also and I smile. I want to touch him, want to feel calm.
Alyx finishes up and I begin talking. I’m nervous, and going at a hundred miles per hour. I’m focused on not saying “um” and “like”. It’s interfering with the information I’m trying to give. Paul is standing by watching us, commending us on our preparation. The four of us are practically sparkling up there, pleased with ourselves.
Charlie turns to face me. “You’re talking way too fast.”
“I know! I always do that when I’m nervous.”
“Just pump the brakes…”
I just want him to feel proud of me. It’s hard right now to remember everything. I’ve never done this before. I feel proud of myself but want it from him too.
It’s hard and easy all at the same time. I know what I want to say but knowing someone is listening, makes me jittery and I start fumbling.
“Just dumb it down Melissa. You’re thinking too much over there.” Annie reminds me. Inhale, exhale, smile and nod. Ok.
Models start filing in. The four of us begin seating and prepping them. I entertain thoughts of running out for more coffee and a snack but stop myself, knowing I’m just starting to freak out a little and it’s ok.
Once everyone is seated, Paul introduces us. I notice most of our educators are sitting up front. I don’t remember this happening before. I’m so happy they’re experiencing this with us.
He turns it over to Blair who begins by thanking everyone for coming. She introduces and explains her pre-dones before turning it over to Annie. She presents her models and turns it over to Alyx who moves to me when she’s finished.
While standing in front of all these wonderful people who have been there this whole time supporting and helping me through this process, personally and professionally I feel completely, totally and utterly…loved. I find the energy I was looking for, beam and say “Goodmorning!” I’m met with smiles and a delicious calm washes over me.
“It has been an honor and a privilege to work with these ladies.” I smiles, catching Annie’s smiling face. “We’ve definitely had a good time putting all of this together.” I laugh.
I introduce Jamie, calmly explaining how I cut her hair, presenting the products I used and why all while maintaining as much eye contact with everyone as possible.
“My second pre-done is the light of my life! This is my Charlie!” Everyone laughs. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. I blink them back as fast as I can and begin speaking before my voice has a chance to crack, explaining his haircut and turning everything back over to Blair.
“Are there any questions?” she asks everyone. The sound that followed the question was one of the best I’ve heard. It was complete silence. Usually, questions float all over the place but after passing out the booklets we made and explaining exactly what each of us did, there was no room for questions.
“Alright, well, we’re going to dismiss our pre-dones and ask our live models to come over and have a seat.” I hear Blair smile without having to look at her.
There is shuffling around and lots of goodbyes as our models exit.
“See you tonight?” Charlie whispers.
I smile and nod.
The four of us work on our live models, explaining in between telling stories what we’re doing at that moment with the various cuts an color. I feel so comfortable, pushing the razor through Shannon’s hair. I even enjoyed the experience on the spot.
As we’re finishing up Paul and Susan tell us this is exactly what they were looking for when they created the teachback agenda. We’re all smiling. I’m bursting I’m so happy. I feel I accomplished what I wanted to. I got out of this whole thing more than I anticipated. I learned that hard work and taking it all one step at a time led to something amazing. It’s not like I didn’t already know this, it’s just that I wanted everything yesterday without willingness to put forth the work and effort it would take to get what I wanted. I suddenly feel like I can do whatever it is I want. I can accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart on. Why did it take so long to “get it”? Why did I treat this project with love, patience and diligence but not anything else I’ve ever done? I’m always in such a hurry but what am I racing against?
Everyone claps when we’re done. We’re met with praise and love as all of us scatter to set up our stations, getting ready for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard to focus on the rest of the day. I’m exhausted.
I have all my models and everyone is wonderful, I’m just brain-dead. Charlie meets us at Rodan, a fabulous little bar down the street from the salon. We all talk, laugh, and drink. While I’m having a good time, I’m desperate to share the rest of my day with him, desperate to tell him about all these feelings that are ranging from Rob to all the wonderful things our educators said to us.
On the walk back, I try. I try to open up, get to that place where I feel safe to speak. Problem is, I’ve never found that place with him. I try. I do. I try a lot. I can feel he’s getting agitated as I’m talking. I eventually stop.
Maybe I need to be enough for me. I think to myself. Maybe I know somewhere in my head that I am but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my thoughts with my boyfriend. I need to talk, I need to not bottle things up. I don’t know why I need to talk. I don’t even know what it is I want to say but it’s something, it’s heavy, I’m tired of carrying it, and I want to know he’s ok with hearing it.
I fall asleep feeling lonely. There is a warm body next to me. I want to wrap my arm around his torso and press my face to his chest. Why can’t I just reach out to him? He’s right there…nope. Too scary. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Teachback Prep...
“So is there anything else you’re interested in doing besides behind the chair work? Are you interested in management or education at all?” Cyndi asks me after briefing me on what Art+Science is all about. It’s my first interview and I’m in Evanston sitting on a couch practically exploding because I have a feeling finally that this is it. This is what I want.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Eighteen Months....
I open my eyes, still half asleep to see the light on in Charlie’s bathroom. My eyes squint to read the clock. It’s 3:50am. He’s leaving soon for the airport. In my sleepy state I can barely hear him moving around. My mind begins to entertain thoughts of being in the same state on Monday mornings when Rob would be getting ready to leave for South Carolina in the middle of the night. I hated waking up without him next to me, almost feeling like his being there was a dream in the first place.
I exhale, and drift off on a wave of sadness before my eyes close again and I fall back into sleep.
It’s 7:00am when my eyes are suddenly wide open, my heart is racing, and my mind is full of anxiety. I jump out of bed and get dressed. I’m moving as if I’m trying to run away from the uncomfortable feelings of being here without Rob, without Charlie, scrambling to find something to fill the void.
“Dishes.” I think to myself. I said I’d do the dishes before locking up his place and getting on with the day.
I try to move slowly, try to calm down but I can’t seem to get out from under the pressure I feel I’m pinned beneath. As I leave, I can’t decide whether or not I’m going to write in my journal or run. Once I’m outside, I decide coffee will cheer me up faster and if there’s time, then I’ll run.
I try to write. I suck down my Americano without tasting it. I’m fighting tears, fighting sadness, trying not to drown in it out of fear I won’t climb back out. Tomorrow will be eighteen months since Rob died. His birthday is Friday. What do I do with all of this?
Once the coffee is gone, I pick up some ice cream at a local grocery store. I’m already feeling the regret as I hand over the cash to pay for it. I haven’t done this in a while. I can’t believe I just forked over my hard earned money to hurt myself. What sense does that make? This ice cream…. Won’t bring Rob back, won’t ease the work stress, won’t make anything go away.
On my walk home I tell myself that I can throw it away. I don’t have to keep it, I don’t have to give in, but once I’m in the safe comfort of my apartment, I open it and sink into it’s cold, delicious flavored texture. It’s like scratching an itch. There’s relief at first then the itch wants more. Needs more pressure to relieve it. I keep scratching, feeling my brain spark with delight, wanting more and more. The scratching continues until what started out as relieving a simple little itch, has now turned into tearing into a gaping hole. It hurts, it’s screams and now, I’m stuck with it, waiting for it to heal.
I come out of my food induced high with the same sadness I woke up with plus anger as explosive as a bomb.
“Dammit.” I toss the container into the trash and go into my room to pull on my running clothes.
“What the hell was that?” I ask myself as the wind tears at my face while my feet pound the pavement. “What did that accomplish?”
I have no answers. I finish my run, and get dressed for work. My anger is still there and I’m hiding behind it to keep the sadness away. I feel an insatiable need to take care of myself, to stop giving in when food wants attention, I just don’t know how to climb out again. I think I’m just going to have sit down here and let all this wash over me. I’ll try it again. I’ll try to let the sadness come through, feel it, address it, and take one more step forward. I didn’t get to this point over night. Eighteen months didn’t happen in twenty four hours…
I exhale, and drift off on a wave of sadness before my eyes close again and I fall back into sleep.
It’s 7:00am when my eyes are suddenly wide open, my heart is racing, and my mind is full of anxiety. I jump out of bed and get dressed. I’m moving as if I’m trying to run away from the uncomfortable feelings of being here without Rob, without Charlie, scrambling to find something to fill the void.
“Dishes.” I think to myself. I said I’d do the dishes before locking up his place and getting on with the day.
I try to move slowly, try to calm down but I can’t seem to get out from under the pressure I feel I’m pinned beneath. As I leave, I can’t decide whether or not I’m going to write in my journal or run. Once I’m outside, I decide coffee will cheer me up faster and if there’s time, then I’ll run.
I try to write. I suck down my Americano without tasting it. I’m fighting tears, fighting sadness, trying not to drown in it out of fear I won’t climb back out. Tomorrow will be eighteen months since Rob died. His birthday is Friday. What do I do with all of this?
Once the coffee is gone, I pick up some ice cream at a local grocery store. I’m already feeling the regret as I hand over the cash to pay for it. I haven’t done this in a while. I can’t believe I just forked over my hard earned money to hurt myself. What sense does that make? This ice cream…. Won’t bring Rob back, won’t ease the work stress, won’t make anything go away.
On my walk home I tell myself that I can throw it away. I don’t have to keep it, I don’t have to give in, but once I’m in the safe comfort of my apartment, I open it and sink into it’s cold, delicious flavored texture. It’s like scratching an itch. There’s relief at first then the itch wants more. Needs more pressure to relieve it. I keep scratching, feeling my brain spark with delight, wanting more and more. The scratching continues until what started out as relieving a simple little itch, has now turned into tearing into a gaping hole. It hurts, it’s screams and now, I’m stuck with it, waiting for it to heal.
I come out of my food induced high with the same sadness I woke up with plus anger as explosive as a bomb.
“Dammit.” I toss the container into the trash and go into my room to pull on my running clothes.
“What the hell was that?” I ask myself as the wind tears at my face while my feet pound the pavement. “What did that accomplish?”
I have no answers. I finish my run, and get dressed for work. My anger is still there and I’m hiding behind it to keep the sadness away. I feel an insatiable need to take care of myself, to stop giving in when food wants attention, I just don’t know how to climb out again. I think I’m just going to have sit down here and let all this wash over me. I’ll try it again. I’ll try to let the sadness come through, feel it, address it, and take one more step forward. I didn’t get to this point over night. Eighteen months didn’t happen in twenty four hours…
Monday, October 19, 2009
Promotion...
Lately, I’ve felt everything has been on fast forward. I looked up from the tedious day-in and day-out details of my life to see that six months has gone by since I’ve so much as glanced at my little space out here in the middle of the internet. I must say I haven’t been really inspired to write but today I felt the mood strike and decided to, in a familiar, almost reluctant way, sit still and do one of the things I love most. Why I withhold writing from myself with my long list of excuses and distractions, I’ll never know…
I’m happy to say that I still live in the precious apartment I first moved into when I moved to Chicago. I’ve collected a small group of wonderful friends and am happy in my relationship with Charlie. We’ve just celebrated eight fabulous months. While we agree neither of us have a clue as to what to do with each other provided this relationship thing is new to both of us, I’ve managed to slip from my quiet little existence by myself and fall ridiculously in love with someone who has managed to (unbeknownst to him) compliment and enhance my life in ways I never thought possible or could imagine. It isn’t the brand new, timid, fumbling spring chicken kind of love I had in high school, or the rabid, insatiable, profoundly intense love I shared with Rob but a secure, mature love running deeper than I ever thought possible. It makes me happier is ways I never expected.
It’s been nearly a year since I started work at Art+Science salon. I’m starting to finish up with class, which means moving up from assisting to being a stylist, which means time is closing in around the decision that will be made as to which salon I’ll be placed at. Currently, as an assistant, I bounce from location to location. There are three salons, one in Wicker Park (where I live) one in Lincoln Park and one outside the city in Evanston.
Wicker Park is my first choice along with everyone else. It’s closest to my house and all around fabulous. Since my first day though, I’ve had a feeling I’d be placed in Evanston, much to my dismay. The salon reminds me of Van Michael. It’s huge, loud, busy and far from where I live. I don’t want to repeat that time in my life. In Atlanta, Buckhead raped my soul, made me an angry, compulsive eating, personality disordered wreck and I refuse to go back to being that person. Ultimately, I have little control over where I’m going to be placed. This has made me nervous as I’m reaching for muffins and sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear where I’ll make my new professional home. The only thing I can do is voice my opinion and wait.
So I do. I meet with several managers and explain my concerns. I feel as if they’re listening and understanding which is all I really want but I still have a nagging feeling that Wicker Park isn’t in the cards for me and I’m going to have to be ok with that. Even as I prayed, and talked to Rob about it I feel like I’m being told something…something I don’t want to hear but would ultimately be a blessing in disguise.
I had just put my things down and clocked in at Lincoln Park when I saw I had missed a call from our education director, Paul. His voicemail was short, asking me to call him back. I dial the number and wait.
“Hello?” He picked up quickly.
“Hey Paul! It’s Melissa. How are you?” I smile and rake my fingers through my hair.
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Good.” I’m still smiling out of fear of what will happen if I stop. This is really about to happen. Eleven months after working here, I’m about to find out where I’m going to be placed. Right? There’s no other reason for him to call…
“So I’m calling to tell you that we’ve come to a decision about where you’ll be placed.” he begins.
“Yeah?” I inhale and suddenly my brain is reeling backward to a time where I was standing on a train platform after my first interview, Rob’s voice in my ear congratulating me on setting up my second interview with Art+Science. That image is replaced with him telling me over the phone again the night before that interview, to be myself, have fun and they’ll hire me on the spot. After being questioned by eleven people I was hired right then. I’ll never be able to describe what it felt like that day in front of them. I don’t recognize that girl when I look back. She was on the edge of her seat, animated, laughing, honest, unafraid of what questions she may have to answer. She felt they would accept her if she let her guard down. So she stepped out of her comfy little box and let them see her…
I felt so much love I could barely comprehend it. I have no idea where it came from. These people didn’t know me, Rob was still in South Carolina but it was like he was sitting there with me through all of it.
Fast forward through eleven months of climbing back in the box, bouncing from salon to salon, racing from client to client, rinsing color, blowdrying, sweeping hair, feeding parking meters, hauling out the trash, long days, short days, scrambling to find models, rain, snow, sunshine, watching my hands and sanity disintegrate, pushing through it when I wanted to sink until I drowned, sometimes crawling through the day just to reach the end. I have finally reached a light at the end of a long tunnel.
Paul’s sentences become fragments as I struggle to comprehend his words while replaying the past.
“We really wanted you… no room… you would do well anywhere…”
I’m nodding until I hear it.
“Evanston.” he says and I exhale.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hear him smile. “You’re going to do great.”
We hang up shortly after and I look around the break room trying to identify my feelings. I don’t know yet. I feel my heart begin to race. My head is swimming. It’s plotting out the upcoming work I’ll have to put in to bringing in new clients, asking myself how am I going to set myself apart? How am I going to be creative in bringing in these new people? I think about my commute, how I’ll handle days where it’s minus whatever outside, or ninety, I imagine my clientele and what they’ll be like, what I’ll learn from them, and what I’ll give back to them.
All these thoughts happen in thirty seconds before I pick up the phone and call Charlie. I can’t sit still with it right now.
“Hi!” I exclaim when he picks up. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh really?”
“I just (inhale, exhale) got a call from Paul. I’ve been placed in Evanston.”
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“I’m ok. I’m not surprised or anything.”
“You’re gonna be making actual money!” I hear him smile.
“You’re right!” I laugh.
“Are you going to move up there? he asks.
“Hell no! Are you kidding? I have everything I want where I live. There’s no way I’m moving.”
We’re quiet for a second before I continue. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s actually here.”
“You’re gonna do just fine up there.” he reminds me.
We get off the phone shortly after and I go to fold towels. My head is still swimming wondering how life would be if Rob were still here, what he would say to my news. He sees a bigger picture now. I think it’s why I’m not freaking out. I know he’s here with me and wouldn’t steer me in a wrong direction. I can almost feel him, can almost touch him if only I knew which direction to reach out in…
I’m happy to say that I still live in the precious apartment I first moved into when I moved to Chicago. I’ve collected a small group of wonderful friends and am happy in my relationship with Charlie. We’ve just celebrated eight fabulous months. While we agree neither of us have a clue as to what to do with each other provided this relationship thing is new to both of us, I’ve managed to slip from my quiet little existence by myself and fall ridiculously in love with someone who has managed to (unbeknownst to him) compliment and enhance my life in ways I never thought possible or could imagine. It isn’t the brand new, timid, fumbling spring chicken kind of love I had in high school, or the rabid, insatiable, profoundly intense love I shared with Rob but a secure, mature love running deeper than I ever thought possible. It makes me happier is ways I never expected.
It’s been nearly a year since I started work at Art+Science salon. I’m starting to finish up with class, which means moving up from assisting to being a stylist, which means time is closing in around the decision that will be made as to which salon I’ll be placed at. Currently, as an assistant, I bounce from location to location. There are three salons, one in Wicker Park (where I live) one in Lincoln Park and one outside the city in Evanston.
Wicker Park is my first choice along with everyone else. It’s closest to my house and all around fabulous. Since my first day though, I’ve had a feeling I’d be placed in Evanston, much to my dismay. The salon reminds me of Van Michael. It’s huge, loud, busy and far from where I live. I don’t want to repeat that time in my life. In Atlanta, Buckhead raped my soul, made me an angry, compulsive eating, personality disordered wreck and I refuse to go back to being that person. Ultimately, I have little control over where I’m going to be placed. This has made me nervous as I’m reaching for muffins and sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear where I’ll make my new professional home. The only thing I can do is voice my opinion and wait.
So I do. I meet with several managers and explain my concerns. I feel as if they’re listening and understanding which is all I really want but I still have a nagging feeling that Wicker Park isn’t in the cards for me and I’m going to have to be ok with that. Even as I prayed, and talked to Rob about it I feel like I’m being told something…something I don’t want to hear but would ultimately be a blessing in disguise.
I had just put my things down and clocked in at Lincoln Park when I saw I had missed a call from our education director, Paul. His voicemail was short, asking me to call him back. I dial the number and wait.
“Hello?” He picked up quickly.
“Hey Paul! It’s Melissa. How are you?” I smile and rake my fingers through my hair.
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Good.” I’m still smiling out of fear of what will happen if I stop. This is really about to happen. Eleven months after working here, I’m about to find out where I’m going to be placed. Right? There’s no other reason for him to call…
“So I’m calling to tell you that we’ve come to a decision about where you’ll be placed.” he begins.
“Yeah?” I inhale and suddenly my brain is reeling backward to a time where I was standing on a train platform after my first interview, Rob’s voice in my ear congratulating me on setting up my second interview with Art+Science. That image is replaced with him telling me over the phone again the night before that interview, to be myself, have fun and they’ll hire me on the spot. After being questioned by eleven people I was hired right then. I’ll never be able to describe what it felt like that day in front of them. I don’t recognize that girl when I look back. She was on the edge of her seat, animated, laughing, honest, unafraid of what questions she may have to answer. She felt they would accept her if she let her guard down. So she stepped out of her comfy little box and let them see her…
I felt so much love I could barely comprehend it. I have no idea where it came from. These people didn’t know me, Rob was still in South Carolina but it was like he was sitting there with me through all of it.
Fast forward through eleven months of climbing back in the box, bouncing from salon to salon, racing from client to client, rinsing color, blowdrying, sweeping hair, feeding parking meters, hauling out the trash, long days, short days, scrambling to find models, rain, snow, sunshine, watching my hands and sanity disintegrate, pushing through it when I wanted to sink until I drowned, sometimes crawling through the day just to reach the end. I have finally reached a light at the end of a long tunnel.
Paul’s sentences become fragments as I struggle to comprehend his words while replaying the past.
“We really wanted you… no room… you would do well anywhere…”
I’m nodding until I hear it.
“Evanston.” he says and I exhale.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hear him smile. “You’re going to do great.”
We hang up shortly after and I look around the break room trying to identify my feelings. I don’t know yet. I feel my heart begin to race. My head is swimming. It’s plotting out the upcoming work I’ll have to put in to bringing in new clients, asking myself how am I going to set myself apart? How am I going to be creative in bringing in these new people? I think about my commute, how I’ll handle days where it’s minus whatever outside, or ninety, I imagine my clientele and what they’ll be like, what I’ll learn from them, and what I’ll give back to them.
All these thoughts happen in thirty seconds before I pick up the phone and call Charlie. I can’t sit still with it right now.
“Hi!” I exclaim when he picks up. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh really?”
“I just (inhale, exhale) got a call from Paul. I’ve been placed in Evanston.”
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“I’m ok. I’m not surprised or anything.”
“You’re gonna be making actual money!” I hear him smile.
“You’re right!” I laugh.
“Are you going to move up there? he asks.
“Hell no! Are you kidding? I have everything I want where I live. There’s no way I’m moving.”
We’re quiet for a second before I continue. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s actually here.”
“You’re gonna do just fine up there.” he reminds me.
We get off the phone shortly after and I go to fold towels. My head is still swimming wondering how life would be if Rob were still here, what he would say to my news. He sees a bigger picture now. I think it’s why I’m not freaking out. I know he’s here with me and wouldn’t steer me in a wrong direction. I can almost feel him, can almost touch him if only I knew which direction to reach out in…
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Twelve months...
It’s raining outside when I wake up. I somehow managed to sleep until 9am. I get out of bed not wanting to acknowledge that it’s April 20th and Rob has been gone a full year. At about this time last year, the sun was up and he was leaving my place for work. The last thing I said to him was “I love you”, and he was gone.
Hours later I was on the phone with my dad saying “Daddy, I’m never going to see him again, never going to touch him again, never going to hear him again…” over and over. I wanted him to fix it, change it, tell me it was a mistake but instead he said nothing.
This morning, I eat breakfast and go to the coffee shop I frequented when I first moved here. I set up my computer in a small room in the back and write. I don’t cry, acknowledge anyone, or look up really from what I’m doing. I drinking a soy latte in Rob’s memory, remembering the day we met. I was standing behind him in line at Starbucks, not realizing he was who he was and I watched him order a soy latte thinking that was interesting. After trying his one day a few weeks after meeting him that day, I was hooked.
A couple hours later when I couldn’t sit still anymore, I leave the coffee shop and walk through the drizzly rain home. Tears find me on the street, but I don’t let them fall. I don’t know what this is. Right after Rob died all I wanted to do was talk and not crying wasn’t an option. It wasn’t like me to do all of that so openly but it felt so good that eventually I started this whole blog action.
At home I pull out my journal from last spring and read about the events of April 20th. I was angry at Rob but didn’t know why. I wanted his attention but he was so focused on getting to Robby’s that I remained angry, feeling like an afterthought. Yes, I had to work as well but I wanted him to stop for a minute and quit worrying. The whole time I was with Rob I had this feeling that I should tell him absolutely everything always. I felt that there wasn’t enough time ever, that I was trying to squeeze everything in. I’m assuming he didn’t feel this way. I thought my feelings were stemming from my impending move to Chicago. I never imagined what actually happened.
The morning he left my house I cried and cried but not understanding why. I eventually got dressed and went to work, still feeling a bit “off”. That feeling was replaced with the most profound hurt I’ve ever experienced when my dad called that afternoon.
I shut the journal, unable to read the conversation I had with Daddy and put on my gym clothes. I leave and walk to the train, my eyes avoiding contact with anyone on the street. Rage is bubbling under my skin. I don’t know where to pin point it or what to do with it but it isn’t going away. I don’t know how to comprehend Rob’s year long absence. He was just here. I was just waiting for him on a Friday night, he was just making me laugh, I was just telling him a story, we were just accumulating atrocious phone bills, he was just saying “I love you.” No matter where I go, who I talk to, what I see…no matter how many words I type, he’s not coming back and it’s enough to make me insane so to ward off the straightjacket, I’ll just be mad until I can think of a better idea.
I push dumbbells over my head. Again, tears want to make an appearance and again I blink them back. I’m suddenly afraid of being vulnerable. I want nothing to do with anyone. I’m terrified of appearing unstable. I’ve been so focused lately on being the “perfect” employee, the “perfect” girlfriend, the “perfect” friend that I seem to have lost sight of that fact that I’m a human with many more emotions other than “happy” and right now, I’m not willing to accept it. Somewhere in my mind, I seem to believe that acceptance means this really did happen, Rob really is gone, and this…right now, is my life as I now know it and that is too much to take in. I sometimes feel I’m re-living someone else’s life when I go back and think of Rob and experience the memories I have of him. It is such a rude awakening when I’m forced to see that this is all real, and it all happened.
When I’m finished at the gym I go home to drop my bag off and head out again for a run. It feels like any other day, running up Milwaukee Ave., looking at the shops, dodging people, and singing along with my iPOD in my head. I’m simply refusing to think about anything else.
At home again thoughts of Rob start creeping back into my head. I wonder how he would want me to spend today. Am I doing ok so far? If everything were reversed, how would I want him to spend his day if I were gone? I think to myself that I would want him to do whatever he wanted that made him happy. I took a shower and went to the coffee shop I met Charlie in.
I tried to write some more but it’s too hard. I keep staring out the window. Mom has called twice. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I’m unable (or maybe I’m unwilling) to do so. I find that I’ve wanted to push away the people I’m closest to while reaching out to the people I’m sorta-kinda close with and tell them everything. Whatever “everything” may mean…
Instead I reach out to no one, still afraid I am unable to handle what might come out of me, and unable to handle another person’s response. I try to write some more but eventually give up and go home, but not before stopping for a pint of ice cream which I promptly consume to it’s entirety while continuing to write on my laptop. I know this won’t solve any problems, it just will numb me for a moment so I can not be here.
I decide to take a break from writing and email a friend of mine who had a similar experience several years ago. She’s now happily married and we’ve talked a little bit about our grief and how we each have handled it shortly after Rob died. (she lives in Atlanta) I wanted to know about her current relationship with her husband and how they both handled her experience, plus I wanted to know what she felt after her first love had been gone a year.
She writes me back quickly saying she doesn’t really remember the first year and time really does make things better although the sadness never goes away. She goes on to tell me about her husband and how he’s so different from the boyfriend she lost that it’s impossible to make comparisons. She also says that she doesn’t talk a lot about it because he’s never had anything like this happen to him before and it’s hard for him to hear about or see her hurt.
I feel this way about Charlie. He’s so completely different but still just as wonderful as Rob. Sometimes though, at the most random times I feel like I need to talk though. Half the time I don’t know how or what to say really, it’s just this urge to get something out.
I shut the computer down, unable to do anything or think about anything else. When I walk into my room, I change into my pajamas unable to look at the pictures of Rob’s smiling face on my bookshelf and fall into bed hoping sleep comes fast.
Hours later I was on the phone with my dad saying “Daddy, I’m never going to see him again, never going to touch him again, never going to hear him again…” over and over. I wanted him to fix it, change it, tell me it was a mistake but instead he said nothing.
This morning, I eat breakfast and go to the coffee shop I frequented when I first moved here. I set up my computer in a small room in the back and write. I don’t cry, acknowledge anyone, or look up really from what I’m doing. I drinking a soy latte in Rob’s memory, remembering the day we met. I was standing behind him in line at Starbucks, not realizing he was who he was and I watched him order a soy latte thinking that was interesting. After trying his one day a few weeks after meeting him that day, I was hooked.
A couple hours later when I couldn’t sit still anymore, I leave the coffee shop and walk through the drizzly rain home. Tears find me on the street, but I don’t let them fall. I don’t know what this is. Right after Rob died all I wanted to do was talk and not crying wasn’t an option. It wasn’t like me to do all of that so openly but it felt so good that eventually I started this whole blog action.
At home I pull out my journal from last spring and read about the events of April 20th. I was angry at Rob but didn’t know why. I wanted his attention but he was so focused on getting to Robby’s that I remained angry, feeling like an afterthought. Yes, I had to work as well but I wanted him to stop for a minute and quit worrying. The whole time I was with Rob I had this feeling that I should tell him absolutely everything always. I felt that there wasn’t enough time ever, that I was trying to squeeze everything in. I’m assuming he didn’t feel this way. I thought my feelings were stemming from my impending move to Chicago. I never imagined what actually happened.
The morning he left my house I cried and cried but not understanding why. I eventually got dressed and went to work, still feeling a bit “off”. That feeling was replaced with the most profound hurt I’ve ever experienced when my dad called that afternoon.
I shut the journal, unable to read the conversation I had with Daddy and put on my gym clothes. I leave and walk to the train, my eyes avoiding contact with anyone on the street. Rage is bubbling under my skin. I don’t know where to pin point it or what to do with it but it isn’t going away. I don’t know how to comprehend Rob’s year long absence. He was just here. I was just waiting for him on a Friday night, he was just making me laugh, I was just telling him a story, we were just accumulating atrocious phone bills, he was just saying “I love you.” No matter where I go, who I talk to, what I see…no matter how many words I type, he’s not coming back and it’s enough to make me insane so to ward off the straightjacket, I’ll just be mad until I can think of a better idea.
I push dumbbells over my head. Again, tears want to make an appearance and again I blink them back. I’m suddenly afraid of being vulnerable. I want nothing to do with anyone. I’m terrified of appearing unstable. I’ve been so focused lately on being the “perfect” employee, the “perfect” girlfriend, the “perfect” friend that I seem to have lost sight of that fact that I’m a human with many more emotions other than “happy” and right now, I’m not willing to accept it. Somewhere in my mind, I seem to believe that acceptance means this really did happen, Rob really is gone, and this…right now, is my life as I now know it and that is too much to take in. I sometimes feel I’m re-living someone else’s life when I go back and think of Rob and experience the memories I have of him. It is such a rude awakening when I’m forced to see that this is all real, and it all happened.
When I’m finished at the gym I go home to drop my bag off and head out again for a run. It feels like any other day, running up Milwaukee Ave., looking at the shops, dodging people, and singing along with my iPOD in my head. I’m simply refusing to think about anything else.
At home again thoughts of Rob start creeping back into my head. I wonder how he would want me to spend today. Am I doing ok so far? If everything were reversed, how would I want him to spend his day if I were gone? I think to myself that I would want him to do whatever he wanted that made him happy. I took a shower and went to the coffee shop I met Charlie in.
I tried to write some more but it’s too hard. I keep staring out the window. Mom has called twice. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, I’m unable (or maybe I’m unwilling) to do so. I find that I’ve wanted to push away the people I’m closest to while reaching out to the people I’m sorta-kinda close with and tell them everything. Whatever “everything” may mean…
Instead I reach out to no one, still afraid I am unable to handle what might come out of me, and unable to handle another person’s response. I try to write some more but eventually give up and go home, but not before stopping for a pint of ice cream which I promptly consume to it’s entirety while continuing to write on my laptop. I know this won’t solve any problems, it just will numb me for a moment so I can not be here.
I decide to take a break from writing and email a friend of mine who had a similar experience several years ago. She’s now happily married and we’ve talked a little bit about our grief and how we each have handled it shortly after Rob died. (she lives in Atlanta) I wanted to know about her current relationship with her husband and how they both handled her experience, plus I wanted to know what she felt after her first love had been gone a year.
She writes me back quickly saying she doesn’t really remember the first year and time really does make things better although the sadness never goes away. She goes on to tell me about her husband and how he’s so different from the boyfriend she lost that it’s impossible to make comparisons. She also says that she doesn’t talk a lot about it because he’s never had anything like this happen to him before and it’s hard for him to hear about or see her hurt.
I feel this way about Charlie. He’s so completely different but still just as wonderful as Rob. Sometimes though, at the most random times I feel like I need to talk though. Half the time I don’t know how or what to say really, it’s just this urge to get something out.
I shut the computer down, unable to do anything or think about anything else. When I walk into my room, I change into my pajamas unable to look at the pictures of Rob’s smiling face on my bookshelf and fall into bed hoping sleep comes fast.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Skinned...
The end of my work day is coming and it’s all the sudden gotten crazy. I’m in Evanston today and trying to get home before Kat and Charlie arrive. He’s been in D.C. all week and she’s coming for the weekend. I’m ecstatic to see them both but also feeling rather emotional. I’m in a constant state of angry so as to avoid feeling anything else. April 20th, the year anniversary of Rob’s death is coming up and I’m a mess and don’t want to admit it. I’m trying to keep the happy face on but I’m feeling I’m on the edge of losing it.
At the current moment, I have two clients going at the same time plus I’m trying to collect all the trash and take it out before the hour and a half trek home on the train. On top of that, Charlie texted me saying he’s trying to fly stand-by home and the flight he wants to get on is oversold plus the flight he’s scheduled to leave on is delayed. Awesome.
I’m trying to get the color rinsed off of one client while another one is sitting with a toner on her highlights. Both clients need to feed their meters and aren’t too happy with the juggling situation I’ve got going on, but there is no one else to help. It’s time to rinse the toner as I’m finishing the one client, explaining I’ll be back to shampoo her.
“Can’t anyone else do it?” she huffs.
“If someone could, they would.” I nod. “I’ll check one more time.” I race over to the other shampoo bowls to find another assistant while the toner client pipes up at me saying “Um, excuse me, it’s time to rinse! I have to feed my meter!”
“I’m coming!” I try not to snap as I find Vanessa and ask her to shampoo the client I just rinsed.
“In a minute.” she tells me because she too is shampooing someone.
“Thanks.” I exhale and get the toner off this woman’s head while she talks to me like I’m in kindergarten, explaining what products I’ll be finding for her when it’s time to style her hair.
I quickly get her set up at the blow-dry station, because she wants to do it herself. I find all her products, get her a comb, a diffuser, and a fresh towel and I’m on my way to take the trash out, hands shaking from rage.
In the break room, I gather the last of the large trash bags and exclaim to Lauren, a stylist that I’m going to scream.
“Let it out girl. What happened?”
I explain the clients and the meters and being spoken to as if I’m ignorant. I’m talking so fast I barely take in any air.
“Just give me a minute will you!” I exclaim. “I promise I’m doing the best I can! What is wrong with people?!”
“I know girl, I know.” she nods.
“Melissa?” LaRae’s elegant voice is behind me. She’s a receptionist and when I turn to face her, I see she’s carrying a dozen beautiful red roses. “These are for you.” she hands them to me.
“Really?!” my entire being lights up.
“Yup!”
“Who are they from?” I ask, noticing there is no card.
“A lil birdie.” she smiles.
“What does this birdie look like?” I grin.
“Not telling you!” she turns and walks out of the break room.
“LaRae!” I trail after her. “Tell me!”
“Nope!” she smiled and made her way back up front.
I lightened up after that, assuming the flowers were from Charlie but how did they get here when he wasn’t in the city yet?
I haul the garbage outside and seriously contemplate screaming, I’m still so overwhelmed. I cry instead. Tears burn my cheeks as I toss the trash into the huge dumpster, walk back inside and clock out.
I check my phone and got a text from Charlie earlier saying he was on the train back to the city. I texted him back saying I was leaving. Five minutes later I was out the door and trucking it to the train. I heard someone running behind me and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Hands landed on my shoulders, a kiss landed on my neck and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to see Charlie smiling me at me.
“Hi!!!” I squealed hugging and kissing him. “Really?!”
He nodded. “I can’t believe I just pulled that off. I made that stand-by flight and had enough time to get you flowers and pick you up.”
I am speechless. We walk to his car and my hand immediately finds the back of his head once he‘s started driving. “Thank you so much. It’s been a hellacious day and you completely turned it around.”
He turned and smiled at me.
We’re quiet for a while before he says (after I rehashed this afternoon) “I know this is a tough weekend for you. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
The fact that he remembered and is opening himself up to receive my insanity instantly touches me and I try not to cry.
“Thank you. I do want to talk about it, I just don’t know what to say. Nothing makes it better so I think what’s the point? There’s nothing anyone can do, nothing I can do, but just sit there and deal with it.”
After Rob died I talked incessantly. Now, nearly a year later, I feel like a scared animal who has been skinned and tossed aside, left to her own devices and too scared to say a word to anyone.
Scared of what I don’t know. Scared of losing control? Scared of seeming unstable? Of crying? I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it or alleviate any of it.
At Charlie’s we get settled for a minute knowing we’ll be back out again to meet Kat. She’s on the train coming in from Midway. I’m laying across Charlie’s bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. He’s next to me on his side. I feel his eyes on me but I don’t turn to look at him. I start talking about the day before Rob died, going over the tiniest details, like how I was supposed to pick up salad dressing for dinner and instead went to visit Kat at the pub because I knew he’d be late. I told him about Rob being stressed when he got to my place because he had left Robby with a mess. He didn’t tell Robby that he was meeting me. I told him how he would be sarcastic with me when he was stressed out and how I told him it hurt my feelings. I told him Rob and I talked about how we wanted our wedding to be while eating the dinner he cooked and how his snoring kept me up that night so I slept on the couch and cried myself to sleep because I was angry at him for reasons I couldn’t figure out and couldn’t shake, not even the next morning.
“I don’t know what it was.” I sighed. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
My phone began ringing. It’s Kat and she’s close. When I hang up Charlie is off the bed. “To be continued!” he tells me. I don’t say anything. I don’t know when I’ll be able to continue it. Talking about this is weird. Once I get the guts to say something, I have to finish it, otherwise, it’ll be a while before I’m able to say anything else.
Once we get Kat settled at my place, Charlie takes the two of us to dinner. I’m so happy to have her here. We’re all deliriously tired after dinner. Charlie is leaving for Milwaukee the in morning, and I’m going to work. Kat decides I should stay with him tonight, and she’ll stay at my place. I don’t put up much of an argument.
The next morning I’m up early and getting dressed while Charlie is still passed out. I woke up extra early to be able to spend a teeny bit more time with him but I can see that plan has backfired as he hasn’t moved in the past forty five minutes. I decide to leave and go for a walk before I have to get on the train to Evanston again.
“You leavin’?” he asks, his eyes still closed as I’m standing in front of the bed.
“Yes.” I don‘t move. His eyes open and he tells me I look nice.
“Thanks.” I reply, still not moving. I somehow decide to take this moment to tell him a story about the gym. I’m halfway into it before he stops me and says “Wait, what time do you have to work?”
“I have to leave here at eight fifteen!”
“Ok. I just don’t want you to be late.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know how I am about time.”
“Keep talkin’.” he says and gets out of bed. I quickly finish my story and launch into how I feel about not wanting to work today.
“I just need a lil bit of time off. I can’t seem to get my head straight.”
He offers some suggestions to which I ask “Are you trying to fix my problem?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Cause you know, it’s not really about work. I’m just choosing to take it out on work.”
“I know.” he pushes his feet into his shoes. “Come on. I’m taking you to Lovely.” (the coffee shop we met in.)
“They don’t open until nine.”
“What?” he looked deflated. “I can make you some coffee and oatmeal here then. That be ok?”
“Yes.” I smile and nod. He walks over to me and hugs me.
“I just want to take care of you.” he says.
“Ok.” I kiss him, feeling myself softening up. Maybe it won’t be such an icky day after all.
At the current moment, I have two clients going at the same time plus I’m trying to collect all the trash and take it out before the hour and a half trek home on the train. On top of that, Charlie texted me saying he’s trying to fly stand-by home and the flight he wants to get on is oversold plus the flight he’s scheduled to leave on is delayed. Awesome.
I’m trying to get the color rinsed off of one client while another one is sitting with a toner on her highlights. Both clients need to feed their meters and aren’t too happy with the juggling situation I’ve got going on, but there is no one else to help. It’s time to rinse the toner as I’m finishing the one client, explaining I’ll be back to shampoo her.
“Can’t anyone else do it?” she huffs.
“If someone could, they would.” I nod. “I’ll check one more time.” I race over to the other shampoo bowls to find another assistant while the toner client pipes up at me saying “Um, excuse me, it’s time to rinse! I have to feed my meter!”
“I’m coming!” I try not to snap as I find Vanessa and ask her to shampoo the client I just rinsed.
“In a minute.” she tells me because she too is shampooing someone.
“Thanks.” I exhale and get the toner off this woman’s head while she talks to me like I’m in kindergarten, explaining what products I’ll be finding for her when it’s time to style her hair.
I quickly get her set up at the blow-dry station, because she wants to do it herself. I find all her products, get her a comb, a diffuser, and a fresh towel and I’m on my way to take the trash out, hands shaking from rage.
In the break room, I gather the last of the large trash bags and exclaim to Lauren, a stylist that I’m going to scream.
“Let it out girl. What happened?”
I explain the clients and the meters and being spoken to as if I’m ignorant. I’m talking so fast I barely take in any air.
“Just give me a minute will you!” I exclaim. “I promise I’m doing the best I can! What is wrong with people?!”
“I know girl, I know.” she nods.
“Melissa?” LaRae’s elegant voice is behind me. She’s a receptionist and when I turn to face her, I see she’s carrying a dozen beautiful red roses. “These are for you.” she hands them to me.
“Really?!” my entire being lights up.
“Yup!”
“Who are they from?” I ask, noticing there is no card.
“A lil birdie.” she smiles.
“What does this birdie look like?” I grin.
“Not telling you!” she turns and walks out of the break room.
“LaRae!” I trail after her. “Tell me!”
“Nope!” she smiled and made her way back up front.
I lightened up after that, assuming the flowers were from Charlie but how did they get here when he wasn’t in the city yet?
I haul the garbage outside and seriously contemplate screaming, I’m still so overwhelmed. I cry instead. Tears burn my cheeks as I toss the trash into the huge dumpster, walk back inside and clock out.
I check my phone and got a text from Charlie earlier saying he was on the train back to the city. I texted him back saying I was leaving. Five minutes later I was out the door and trucking it to the train. I heard someone running behind me and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Hands landed on my shoulders, a kiss landed on my neck and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to see Charlie smiling me at me.
“Hi!!!” I squealed hugging and kissing him. “Really?!”
He nodded. “I can’t believe I just pulled that off. I made that stand-by flight and had enough time to get you flowers and pick you up.”
I am speechless. We walk to his car and my hand immediately finds the back of his head once he‘s started driving. “Thank you so much. It’s been a hellacious day and you completely turned it around.”
He turned and smiled at me.
We’re quiet for a while before he says (after I rehashed this afternoon) “I know this is a tough weekend for you. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
The fact that he remembered and is opening himself up to receive my insanity instantly touches me and I try not to cry.
“Thank you. I do want to talk about it, I just don’t know what to say. Nothing makes it better so I think what’s the point? There’s nothing anyone can do, nothing I can do, but just sit there and deal with it.”
After Rob died I talked incessantly. Now, nearly a year later, I feel like a scared animal who has been skinned and tossed aside, left to her own devices and too scared to say a word to anyone.
Scared of what I don’t know. Scared of losing control? Scared of seeming unstable? Of crying? I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix it or alleviate any of it.
At Charlie’s we get settled for a minute knowing we’ll be back out again to meet Kat. She’s on the train coming in from Midway. I’m laying across Charlie’s bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. He’s next to me on his side. I feel his eyes on me but I don’t turn to look at him. I start talking about the day before Rob died, going over the tiniest details, like how I was supposed to pick up salad dressing for dinner and instead went to visit Kat at the pub because I knew he’d be late. I told him about Rob being stressed when he got to my place because he had left Robby with a mess. He didn’t tell Robby that he was meeting me. I told him how he would be sarcastic with me when he was stressed out and how I told him it hurt my feelings. I told him Rob and I talked about how we wanted our wedding to be while eating the dinner he cooked and how his snoring kept me up that night so I slept on the couch and cried myself to sleep because I was angry at him for reasons I couldn’t figure out and couldn’t shake, not even the next morning.
“I don’t know what it was.” I sighed. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
My phone began ringing. It’s Kat and she’s close. When I hang up Charlie is off the bed. “To be continued!” he tells me. I don’t say anything. I don’t know when I’ll be able to continue it. Talking about this is weird. Once I get the guts to say something, I have to finish it, otherwise, it’ll be a while before I’m able to say anything else.
Once we get Kat settled at my place, Charlie takes the two of us to dinner. I’m so happy to have her here. We’re all deliriously tired after dinner. Charlie is leaving for Milwaukee the in morning, and I’m going to work. Kat decides I should stay with him tonight, and she’ll stay at my place. I don’t put up much of an argument.
The next morning I’m up early and getting dressed while Charlie is still passed out. I woke up extra early to be able to spend a teeny bit more time with him but I can see that plan has backfired as he hasn’t moved in the past forty five minutes. I decide to leave and go for a walk before I have to get on the train to Evanston again.
“You leavin’?” he asks, his eyes still closed as I’m standing in front of the bed.
“Yes.” I don‘t move. His eyes open and he tells me I look nice.
“Thanks.” I reply, still not moving. I somehow decide to take this moment to tell him a story about the gym. I’m halfway into it before he stops me and says “Wait, what time do you have to work?”
“I have to leave here at eight fifteen!”
“Ok. I just don’t want you to be late.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know how I am about time.”
“Keep talkin’.” he says and gets out of bed. I quickly finish my story and launch into how I feel about not wanting to work today.
“I just need a lil bit of time off. I can’t seem to get my head straight.”
He offers some suggestions to which I ask “Are you trying to fix my problem?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Cause you know, it’s not really about work. I’m just choosing to take it out on work.”
“I know.” he pushes his feet into his shoes. “Come on. I’m taking you to Lovely.” (the coffee shop we met in.)
“They don’t open until nine.”
“What?” he looked deflated. “I can make you some coffee and oatmeal here then. That be ok?”
“Yes.” I smile and nod. He walks over to me and hugs me.
“I just want to take care of you.” he says.
“Ok.” I kiss him, feeling myself softening up. Maybe it won’t be such an icky day after all.
Easter...
My alarm goes off at three in the morning. I roll out of bed, get dressed, pack the last of my things and head out for the train. I’m barely able to think as I sit at the platform hoping to get on this flight to Atlanta. I didn’t hear from dad so I assume everything is fine.
At Ohare I stand against the wall at the gate watching my name on the stand-by list get pushed further and further down on the overhead computer screen. Kids are everywhere, crawling around and screaming. I just want to sit on this plane and sleep just a few more hours…
When Charlie and I discussed coming to Atlanta, he decided to purchase a ticket on United. He would be flying to Washington D.C. on Monday and I would be going back to Chicago. His flight is leaving an hour after mine this morning. I have a good feeling he’s going to be camped out at Hartsfield while I race from gate to gate at Ohare, trying to figure out a way to Atlanta.
My eyes scan the surrounding area and land on a delicious, blue eyed man heading in my direction. My heart warms and I smile, walking towards him.
“Hi.” I exhale, wrapping my arms around him.
“Hey.” Charlie smiles and kisses me.
“It’s not looking good.” I nodded toward the computer screen.
He nods. “I’ve got plenty of T.V. shows to entertain me on my computer if you get stuck, but you’re getting on so don’t worry.”
We stand there in sleepy silence, watching swarms of people board the plane. I’m searching my brain, trying to come up with plan B.
The plane took off without clearing any stand-bys. We were rolled over to the next flight that was now delayed forty five minutes.
“Ok, if I don’t get home today and have to fly tomorrow, do you want to stay with Kat or my parents?” I ask Charlie.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” he replies. “I have to go. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll make it today.” he kisses me and heads for his terminal. I walk to the gate where the next flight to Atlanta will be leaving, sit, and stare at the wall. Ah, the adventures of stand-by travel begins.
Eventually, I was back on the train heading for Midway airport. Ohare would be a mess all day. Once there, I waited three hours and was the last person on the plane, landing in Atlanta five hours later than expected, but at least I made it.
Charlie and I spent the afternoon with my parents and the evening with Kat and Gordon. We stayed with them and after a fabulous evening of taking Charlie to some of our favorite places we were asleep at two in the morning.
Like clockwork, my eyes were open at seven. I carefully got out of bed and into my running clothes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this right now…” I think to myself. I don’t remember the last time I had eight hours of sleep and I’m now going to destroy my legs on N. Highland and can’t wait!
I walk outside, turn on my iPOD and take off. The temperature is perfectly chilly but not uncomfortable. The sun is starting to come up and the air smells like breakfast. I listen to slower music but run fast, feeling happy, relaxed and not entirely alone even though the street is empty. There are no cars or people on the street. I remember sometimes feeling this way right after Rob died and I wonder if he’s with me right now.
I used to bug him about running with me on Sunday mornings. I wanted his company. He was having none of that and sometimes I got up and went anyways, bringing him coffee or breakfast on my way home.
Instead of running straight through Freedom Park, I head for Candler Park. I smile to myself remembering how much I loved the streets here and always enjoyed my drive to work. It feels like I never left.
On my way back to Kat and Gordon’s, I stop by San Francisco Coffee to get coffee for Charlie and me. I walk passed the tables that Rob and I sat in by the window and remember one Sunday morning we were here before I had to work and he had me laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I head back with the coffee and carefully walk into the room where Charlie is still asleep. His hand is curled under his chin and he looks so sweet that I don’t move to wake him, just place the coffee on the vanity next to him and tiptoe out.
In the kitchen I stare out the window and suck down my coffee so fast I don’t remember even drinking it. So many times I’d be at this window waiting for Rob to come, so many nights were spent here, opening wine bottles, laughing, eating breakfast or dinner. Everything still looks the same but is completely different.
I can’t move. I think about walking outside to sit on the steps and write, or just sit. I’d like to cry but can’t. I think about a shower but can’t seem to do that either. I just stand there and stare out the window and try to be content with that.
I turn around after hearing something and see Charlie standing in the living room looking half asleep.
“Hi.” I smile, walking towards him to kiss him.
“Hey.” he sits in a reclining chair. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” I nod.
“What time did we need to be up?”
“Nine thirty. At least I need to be in the shower then.” I sit on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“What? I thought it was eight thirty.”
“Nope.” I smile realizing it’s a little after eight thirty now. “Want some orange juice?”
“Sure.”
“Kay, I’ll be back.” I hop up and run out the door and up to Belly where they make the most delicious bagels and have fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice. Rob and I both lost our minds over the place. Even though he’s not here, it makes me feel good to still want to do these things for someone else I care so much about.
They were out of orange so I got grapefruit instead. Charlie was on his computer doing some work when I got back. I took a shower and got dressed. Gordon made breakfast for all of us. It was so nice to be with them. I talked to Kat while Charlie got dressed and we were off to church.
I can’t find words to describe how this feels. I was just doing this with Rob last year. I had gone back and forth in my head over asking Charlie to come with me for Easter because I didn’t know how I’d feel. Now I’m so glad he’s hear I can hardly stand it. I don’t want to be without him. Those feelings are confusing as well because I felt that way with Rob too, never wanting to be without him, always so happy to have him right next to me.
In church I’m giggly out of nervousness. Everything seems funny and I wonder if somewhere in my head I’m laughing to keep from either crying or screaming.
After the service we go to my grandmothers for lunch. Charlie is seated to my right, like Rob was and it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world. Everyone tells me later how much they like him.
Charlie is exhausted and I’m still wired from coffee this morning as we drive back to Atlanta. We go back to Kat and Gordon’s to get our things then I drive him around Inman Park to look at the old houses that have lined the streets there for many many years. I take him to the Brickstore in Decatur. I haven’t been since Rob died and it was fabulously calm inside compared to it’s usual insanity. We have a beer, then the electricity goes out. I can feel something bubbling under my skin during all this. I want to talk to Charlie. About what I don’t know, but I feel, sitting at the bar, there is no privacy and constant interruptions.
We decide to leave and go find dinner. I can’t seem to think as I’m driving us around. We end up at Zuma, where we went the night before for sushi. On Easter last year, Rob and I went here and I remember being tipsy telling him I was falling in love with him. How is it that all this is happening again with yet another amazing person? How did we end up at this place on Easter Sunday again? What do I do with all this?
Sushi is delicious and I calm down a little. We drive to mom and dad’s and stay up way too late again. Mom wakes us up at six something and drives us to the airport. Charlie’s flight is leaving before mine and I sit with him at the gate until he has to go.
“I’ll miss you.” he tells me after wrapping me up in a hug.
“I’ll miss you too.” I smile and kiss him then head to my gate. Once again, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going back to Chicago anytime soon. The flight is delayed and full. Great. I don’t have enough energy to be mad though. I call dad.
“What do I do? Do I stay here another day or try to get on this flight?”
“I don’t know. Wait and see what this flight is going to do.” he tells me.
I sigh and stare at the wall. “Ok, I’ll call you if something ridiculous happens.”
“Ok.” I hear him smile.
Minutes later, I’m cleared and we’re boarding. I’m ecstatic but again, have no energy. The weather is bad in Atlanta causing people to be delayed and miss their connections which opened up my flight.
Back in Chicago I take the train home. It’s cold and raining here. I want nothing more than to be wrapped up in Charlie’s arms and be asleep. I fall into my own bed and close my eyes…
At Ohare I stand against the wall at the gate watching my name on the stand-by list get pushed further and further down on the overhead computer screen. Kids are everywhere, crawling around and screaming. I just want to sit on this plane and sleep just a few more hours…
When Charlie and I discussed coming to Atlanta, he decided to purchase a ticket on United. He would be flying to Washington D.C. on Monday and I would be going back to Chicago. His flight is leaving an hour after mine this morning. I have a good feeling he’s going to be camped out at Hartsfield while I race from gate to gate at Ohare, trying to figure out a way to Atlanta.
My eyes scan the surrounding area and land on a delicious, blue eyed man heading in my direction. My heart warms and I smile, walking towards him.
“Hi.” I exhale, wrapping my arms around him.
“Hey.” Charlie smiles and kisses me.
“It’s not looking good.” I nodded toward the computer screen.
He nods. “I’ve got plenty of T.V. shows to entertain me on my computer if you get stuck, but you’re getting on so don’t worry.”
We stand there in sleepy silence, watching swarms of people board the plane. I’m searching my brain, trying to come up with plan B.
The plane took off without clearing any stand-bys. We were rolled over to the next flight that was now delayed forty five minutes.
“Ok, if I don’t get home today and have to fly tomorrow, do you want to stay with Kat or my parents?” I ask Charlie.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” he replies. “I have to go. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll make it today.” he kisses me and heads for his terminal. I walk to the gate where the next flight to Atlanta will be leaving, sit, and stare at the wall. Ah, the adventures of stand-by travel begins.
Eventually, I was back on the train heading for Midway airport. Ohare would be a mess all day. Once there, I waited three hours and was the last person on the plane, landing in Atlanta five hours later than expected, but at least I made it.
Charlie and I spent the afternoon with my parents and the evening with Kat and Gordon. We stayed with them and after a fabulous evening of taking Charlie to some of our favorite places we were asleep at two in the morning.
Like clockwork, my eyes were open at seven. I carefully got out of bed and into my running clothes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this right now…” I think to myself. I don’t remember the last time I had eight hours of sleep and I’m now going to destroy my legs on N. Highland and can’t wait!
I walk outside, turn on my iPOD and take off. The temperature is perfectly chilly but not uncomfortable. The sun is starting to come up and the air smells like breakfast. I listen to slower music but run fast, feeling happy, relaxed and not entirely alone even though the street is empty. There are no cars or people on the street. I remember sometimes feeling this way right after Rob died and I wonder if he’s with me right now.
I used to bug him about running with me on Sunday mornings. I wanted his company. He was having none of that and sometimes I got up and went anyways, bringing him coffee or breakfast on my way home.
Instead of running straight through Freedom Park, I head for Candler Park. I smile to myself remembering how much I loved the streets here and always enjoyed my drive to work. It feels like I never left.
On my way back to Kat and Gordon’s, I stop by San Francisco Coffee to get coffee for Charlie and me. I walk passed the tables that Rob and I sat in by the window and remember one Sunday morning we were here before I had to work and he had me laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I head back with the coffee and carefully walk into the room where Charlie is still asleep. His hand is curled under his chin and he looks so sweet that I don’t move to wake him, just place the coffee on the vanity next to him and tiptoe out.
In the kitchen I stare out the window and suck down my coffee so fast I don’t remember even drinking it. So many times I’d be at this window waiting for Rob to come, so many nights were spent here, opening wine bottles, laughing, eating breakfast or dinner. Everything still looks the same but is completely different.
I can’t move. I think about walking outside to sit on the steps and write, or just sit. I’d like to cry but can’t. I think about a shower but can’t seem to do that either. I just stand there and stare out the window and try to be content with that.
I turn around after hearing something and see Charlie standing in the living room looking half asleep.
“Hi.” I smile, walking towards him to kiss him.
“Hey.” he sits in a reclining chair. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” I nod.
“What time did we need to be up?”
“Nine thirty. At least I need to be in the shower then.” I sit on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“What? I thought it was eight thirty.”
“Nope.” I smile realizing it’s a little after eight thirty now. “Want some orange juice?”
“Sure.”
“Kay, I’ll be back.” I hop up and run out the door and up to Belly where they make the most delicious bagels and have fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice. Rob and I both lost our minds over the place. Even though he’s not here, it makes me feel good to still want to do these things for someone else I care so much about.
They were out of orange so I got grapefruit instead. Charlie was on his computer doing some work when I got back. I took a shower and got dressed. Gordon made breakfast for all of us. It was so nice to be with them. I talked to Kat while Charlie got dressed and we were off to church.
I can’t find words to describe how this feels. I was just doing this with Rob last year. I had gone back and forth in my head over asking Charlie to come with me for Easter because I didn’t know how I’d feel. Now I’m so glad he’s hear I can hardly stand it. I don’t want to be without him. Those feelings are confusing as well because I felt that way with Rob too, never wanting to be without him, always so happy to have him right next to me.
In church I’m giggly out of nervousness. Everything seems funny and I wonder if somewhere in my head I’m laughing to keep from either crying or screaming.
After the service we go to my grandmothers for lunch. Charlie is seated to my right, like Rob was and it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world. Everyone tells me later how much they like him.
Charlie is exhausted and I’m still wired from coffee this morning as we drive back to Atlanta. We go back to Kat and Gordon’s to get our things then I drive him around Inman Park to look at the old houses that have lined the streets there for many many years. I take him to the Brickstore in Decatur. I haven’t been since Rob died and it was fabulously calm inside compared to it’s usual insanity. We have a beer, then the electricity goes out. I can feel something bubbling under my skin during all this. I want to talk to Charlie. About what I don’t know, but I feel, sitting at the bar, there is no privacy and constant interruptions.
We decide to leave and go find dinner. I can’t seem to think as I’m driving us around. We end up at Zuma, where we went the night before for sushi. On Easter last year, Rob and I went here and I remember being tipsy telling him I was falling in love with him. How is it that all this is happening again with yet another amazing person? How did we end up at this place on Easter Sunday again? What do I do with all this?
Sushi is delicious and I calm down a little. We drive to mom and dad’s and stay up way too late again. Mom wakes us up at six something and drives us to the airport. Charlie’s flight is leaving before mine and I sit with him at the gate until he has to go.
“I’ll miss you.” he tells me after wrapping me up in a hug.
“I’ll miss you too.” I smile and kiss him then head to my gate. Once again, it doesn’t look like I’ll be going back to Chicago anytime soon. The flight is delayed and full. Great. I don’t have enough energy to be mad though. I call dad.
“What do I do? Do I stay here another day or try to get on this flight?”
“I don’t know. Wait and see what this flight is going to do.” he tells me.
I sigh and stare at the wall. “Ok, I’ll call you if something ridiculous happens.”
“Ok.” I hear him smile.
Minutes later, I’m cleared and we’re boarding. I’m ecstatic but again, have no energy. The weather is bad in Atlanta causing people to be delayed and miss their connections which opened up my flight.
Back in Chicago I take the train home. It’s cold and raining here. I want nothing more than to be wrapped up in Charlie’s arms and be asleep. I fall into my own bed and close my eyes…
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Relationship...
The sun is out and the air is rather chilly on my walk home with Charlie. It’s almost 10:00 am. My co-worker Alyx is picking me up and we’re headed downtown for a hairshow. My arm is looped through his and neither of us are saying anything until I pipe up, trying not to hyperventilate. “I noticed you called me your girlfriend yesterday when you were entering your time in for work.” (he was using me as an example of his daily occurrences “Walk my girlfriend to work.” Then insert correction… “Walk Melissa to get coffee” …and so on.)
“Yes, you’re a girl and you’re my friend. I corrected myself and called you “Melissa” afterwards.” he replied.
“I noticed that as well.”
“Scott calls you my girlfriend too.”
(Scott is Charlie’s best friend.)
“Really. And do you correct him?” I ask.
“I do.” he said after a slight hesitation. “Hey, are you trying to have the talk with me?”
“I dunno, am I?”
Neither of us say anything else. My heart is going to explode. Did I just screw this up? I imagine this is how Rob felt when he was trying the same thing with me and I changed the subject.
Alyx picks me up a few minutes later as we were standing at my front door. I quickly kiss him goodbye and he tells me he’ll see me later. On our way downtown I tell her about the conversation we just had.
“I’m all freaked out now.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be. I doubt he’s thinking about it.” she smiles at me.
Once at the show we lose our minds. We both bought supplies and watched the American Crew stage show twice. (Several of our co-workers and former co-workers put the show together.) There was so much to see and so much…interesting hair, it was overwhelming. Several hours later we were back at my apartment. Alyx dropped me off and I went for a run.
That evening, Charlie fixed us dinner. I told him if I freaked him out this morning, I was sorry.
“You didn’t. It’s not a big deal really.”
“Kay.” I smile.
A few days later he offers to take me to work. We’re at my apartment, him on the phone with a client, me racing around trying to get my work things together when I hear him say, “I need to call you after ten, I’m taking my girlfriend to work.”
I don’t look at him, just keep moving almost pretending like I didn’t hear him. He hangs up and looks at me. “Yeah, I said “girlfriend”.”
I smile and say “I’m happy to be your girlfriend.”
After Rob died people were constantly telling me that I’d find someone else, that everything would be ok. I knew this but wanted time to grieve the loss that just sucked the air out of me. I wanted to get used to the idea that the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life again was gone forever. There aren’t many things that are permanent like this. I remember telling Rob’s mom that the next person I managed to get into a relationship with had some really tall shoes to fill, whoever he was. I felt badly for this unknown person because I didn’t know how it was going to be for him following something like this. Half the time I don’t know what to do with it. How can I expect someone else to?
Charlie though, has handled the whole thing perfectly. He lets me talk and if he’s afraid of my tears, he doesn’t show it. I feel so safe and taken care of when I’m with him.
I asked him a little later if he’d come to Atlanta with me for Easter. He quickly agreed. I dragged my feet on telling my family though. I didn’t want anyone to think for a minute that this new relationship would mean that Rob was gone from my mind or that the grieving process was magically over. I also feared being watched super closely as if people would try and dissect my actions with Charlie and compare them to how I acted with Rob. I am judgmental of that myself. I love playing with Charlie’s hair, I constantly want to tell him how amazing he is, how much I adore him. I want to write him because it’s somehow easier for me to say certain things that way and helps me make sense of stuff I have trouble talking about. I find myself doing these things but being hesitant about it or avoiding it all together because it’s what I did with Rob. I’ve noticed myself sometimes being very quiet with Charlie because I’m afraid once I start talking, I’ll explode and cry and won’t be able to stop. Saying nothing only results in me eventually wanting to pick at him because he’s not reading my mind, and that isn’t acceptable either.
I don’t know where to go from here, what to do, or say half the time. What I do know is that overall, I’m very happy and trying to take all of this, once again, one day at time.
“Yes, you’re a girl and you’re my friend. I corrected myself and called you “Melissa” afterwards.” he replied.
“I noticed that as well.”
“Scott calls you my girlfriend too.”
(Scott is Charlie’s best friend.)
“Really. And do you correct him?” I ask.
“I do.” he said after a slight hesitation. “Hey, are you trying to have the talk with me?”
“I dunno, am I?”
Neither of us say anything else. My heart is going to explode. Did I just screw this up? I imagine this is how Rob felt when he was trying the same thing with me and I changed the subject.
Alyx picks me up a few minutes later as we were standing at my front door. I quickly kiss him goodbye and he tells me he’ll see me later. On our way downtown I tell her about the conversation we just had.
“I’m all freaked out now.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t be. I doubt he’s thinking about it.” she smiles at me.
Once at the show we lose our minds. We both bought supplies and watched the American Crew stage show twice. (Several of our co-workers and former co-workers put the show together.) There was so much to see and so much…interesting hair, it was overwhelming. Several hours later we were back at my apartment. Alyx dropped me off and I went for a run.
That evening, Charlie fixed us dinner. I told him if I freaked him out this morning, I was sorry.
“You didn’t. It’s not a big deal really.”
“Kay.” I smile.
A few days later he offers to take me to work. We’re at my apartment, him on the phone with a client, me racing around trying to get my work things together when I hear him say, “I need to call you after ten, I’m taking my girlfriend to work.”
I don’t look at him, just keep moving almost pretending like I didn’t hear him. He hangs up and looks at me. “Yeah, I said “girlfriend”.”
I smile and say “I’m happy to be your girlfriend.”
After Rob died people were constantly telling me that I’d find someone else, that everything would be ok. I knew this but wanted time to grieve the loss that just sucked the air out of me. I wanted to get used to the idea that the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life again was gone forever. There aren’t many things that are permanent like this. I remember telling Rob’s mom that the next person I managed to get into a relationship with had some really tall shoes to fill, whoever he was. I felt badly for this unknown person because I didn’t know how it was going to be for him following something like this. Half the time I don’t know what to do with it. How can I expect someone else to?
Charlie though, has handled the whole thing perfectly. He lets me talk and if he’s afraid of my tears, he doesn’t show it. I feel so safe and taken care of when I’m with him.
I asked him a little later if he’d come to Atlanta with me for Easter. He quickly agreed. I dragged my feet on telling my family though. I didn’t want anyone to think for a minute that this new relationship would mean that Rob was gone from my mind or that the grieving process was magically over. I also feared being watched super closely as if people would try and dissect my actions with Charlie and compare them to how I acted with Rob. I am judgmental of that myself. I love playing with Charlie’s hair, I constantly want to tell him how amazing he is, how much I adore him. I want to write him because it’s somehow easier for me to say certain things that way and helps me make sense of stuff I have trouble talking about. I find myself doing these things but being hesitant about it or avoiding it all together because it’s what I did with Rob. I’ve noticed myself sometimes being very quiet with Charlie because I’m afraid once I start talking, I’ll explode and cry and won’t be able to stop. Saying nothing only results in me eventually wanting to pick at him because he’s not reading my mind, and that isn’t acceptable either.
I don’t know where to go from here, what to do, or say half the time. What I do know is that overall, I’m very happy and trying to take all of this, once again, one day at time.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Lovin'...
I woke up on Monday trying to mentally prepare for a twelve hour day in class. Charlie and I shared coffee and breakfast, then I was off. Everything that was happening today was going to be fun and interesting, it was just going to be long.
I don’t know if it was the caffeine or what but I was losing my mind in the middle of everything. Mel was showing me how to do a particular haircut and I was concentrating so hard I thought I might explode. I’m trying to absorb her every word, to do this as perfectly as possible while paying attention to not making the mistakes she tells me are common. When she’s done explaining, I’m on my own and am happy with what I did, but it still needs work.
Switching gears a couple of hours later, my male model cancels for men’s class and I go out to find another. When that doesn’t happen, I watch a demo on the haircut I’m working on, ask questions and try to again, absorb everything. I feel I’m going at a hundred miles an hour with no sign of slowing down. It’s like I’m afraid to because I’m running from something at the moment and work is giving me something else to focus on.
After men’s class we’re all heading to our Lincoln Park salon for a hairshow that some graduating assistants are putting on. I walk with my co-worker Alyx down North Ave in search of the bus. She asks how everything is going and I tell her how class is going well, I’m happy with Charlie but grief is sneaking up on me again and I don’t know how to talk about it or what to do with it.
“I keep having these random memories pop up outta no where.” I tell her. “They’re happening at the most inappropriate times and I don’t know what to do with them or where they’re coming from.”
“What sort of memories?” she asks.
“Hmm… like an image of Rob and me at dinner will pop up, or I’ll remember something he said, or an expression on his face I liked will come up. Sometimes images of his funeral will appear, I never know what it’ll be. It’s all these tiny little things. I don’t know what sparks them.”
“I think that’s normal I also think it’s because you still need him in some way or another.” she says without looking at me.
I nod, trying to wrap my mind around it. Of course I do. He left me here but in a way, I believe he’s still around. He’s the one that makes me get up in the morning when I don’t want to. He’s the one that moves my pen across the paper, that fuels my legs to make them run. He puts the smile on my face when I’d rather cry. He pushes me to take better care of myself, to say what’s in my head, to be decisive, and his former presence here and elsewhere has opened my heart to receive the love of another person.
Alyx and I are quiet after that and minutes later the bus is behind us. We get to Lincoln Park early and sit in the break room laughing with our other co-workers so hard my stomach hurt. I’m reminded again of how happy I am to be here not only at Art+Science but in Chicago as well.
The show the girls put on was fabulous and had me wondering how much time went into it and how they got everything to come together so perfectly. At the end of our training program, we’ll all be doing the same thing. For me, that’s too much to think about right now.
When everything is over Alyx and I head to a bar next door. Charlie is on his way to pick me up and Alyx’s boyfriend is also on his way. We’re there a few minutes when my phone beeps with a text from Charlie saying he’s out front. I hug her goodbye and race outside to jump in his car, so happy to see him I can barely form words. I just want to calm down.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” I smile at him.
“Of course.” he nods.
In my head I had gone back and forth between wanting to ask him to go out for drinks and just staying home. At this point I was fine either way. As I was about to ask he piped up and said “ I want a martini. Do you mind if we stop at the store?”
“Not at all. I was going to ask you if you wanted to get drinks tonight.” I smile.
We both admit that neither of us are in great moods and get to the store rather quickly.
“I was thinking about making some muffins for breakfast tomorrow.” he says as we’re wandering.
“That would be fabulous.”
We find the muffin mix, alcohol and a few other things before checking out and heading home.
Once settled in the kitchen he makes the martinis, carefully garnishing my sweet one with fruit and his “dirty” one with olives after turning off the light and lighting a candle. For the first time all day I sit back and exhale.
It doesn’t take long for martini number one to be consumed. I’m on the edge of wanting another and saying no because I’m interested in functioning tomorrow. When he asks I find myself saying yes though thinking I’m fine an will be fine.
As I float into comfortable drunkenness I talk his ear off. Wine appears on the table and is consumed by both of us. I watch him get up and put together the batter for the muffins and bake them. I have no concept of time, or what it is I’m saying at this point. When he sits down with me again, I look at his eyes and notice that everything around me is spinning. Oops. Too. Much. Alcohol. Why did I do this? It always sounds like a good idea at the time.
“Darlin’. The room is spinning.” I grin.
“Uh oh. Hang on.” he gets up and pours a glass of water. “Drink this.”
I do and he looks at my hands. “We need to get your lotion on.”
I went to the doctor for my dermatitis a few weeks ago. If it weren’t for Charlie applying the medicated cream to my busted skin I’d have no fingers left. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes, on some level or another I almost enjoy the pain in my hands because it gives me something else to focus on rather than deal with what’s in my head. I’d like to deal with my head but I don’t know how so until then, I’m going to let my hands crack and bleed and maybe eat a cookie or several until I can figure it out. Of course doing these things pulls me farther away from figuring it out but I’ll get tired of this game eventually…
I’m trying to breathe while watching Charlie’s warm hands spread the thin cream over my fingers. The room is still spinning. I hate this feeling. I drink more water while he works on the other hand.
“Ok. You’re all set. Lets get you to bed.” he says, screwing the top back on the cream.
I nod, carefully stand, walk into his room, and fall into bed.
The next morning I’m so deeply saddened I don’t want to move. My head doesn’t hurt but I’m moving slowly. This is why I don’t drink. There is always a chance that I’m going to be eaten up with grief the next morning. There is no pinpointing what it is or what it feels like but really deep sadness that I don’t know what to do with and can’t explain which eventually makes me angry.
Charlie makes coffee and breakfast. I don’t have to be at work until one. He’s on and off the computer, washing dishes etc…while I’m still immobile at the table. He’s talking and walks into the living room where I can’t hear him. I stand up and follow him as he adjusts the music that’s playing. He walks toward me, heading for the kitchen again and I wrap my arms around him and hug him. His arms wrap around me and pull me further into him. I breathe him in, listening to his heart beat and press my palms into his back. Neither of us say a word as we rub each other’s backs. My eyes fill up with tears and before I can stop them, they’re overflowing and I’m shaking.
“Hey.” Charlie’s quiet voice vibrates against my ear. “ Hey, what’s going on?” he asks gently.
I don’t know. I can’t speak, just keep crying. His hand finds the back of my head and rubs it while I hang on tighter to him.
“C’mere. Let me rub your back.” he says leading me to his room. I lay down on my stomach while he rubs the tightened muscles. My tears stop and start and stop again.
After a while he stops and tells me to run home, get ready for work and come back for lunch. “Kay.” I smile, get my things and go home where I stand under a scalding spray of water for an eternity before realizing that I need to get moving. I get dressed, put on make-up, get my work things in order and walk back to Charlie’s feeling somewhat human again.
Lunch is ready when I get there and he kisses me hello. We’re quiet when we sit down and I watch him for a minute trying to speak without crying again.
“I am…” I start, still struggling to get this out. “…the luckiest person on this planet to have you.”
He smiled and said, “I’m glad to have you too.”
I don’t know if it was the caffeine or what but I was losing my mind in the middle of everything. Mel was showing me how to do a particular haircut and I was concentrating so hard I thought I might explode. I’m trying to absorb her every word, to do this as perfectly as possible while paying attention to not making the mistakes she tells me are common. When she’s done explaining, I’m on my own and am happy with what I did, but it still needs work.
Switching gears a couple of hours later, my male model cancels for men’s class and I go out to find another. When that doesn’t happen, I watch a demo on the haircut I’m working on, ask questions and try to again, absorb everything. I feel I’m going at a hundred miles an hour with no sign of slowing down. It’s like I’m afraid to because I’m running from something at the moment and work is giving me something else to focus on.
After men’s class we’re all heading to our Lincoln Park salon for a hairshow that some graduating assistants are putting on. I walk with my co-worker Alyx down North Ave in search of the bus. She asks how everything is going and I tell her how class is going well, I’m happy with Charlie but grief is sneaking up on me again and I don’t know how to talk about it or what to do with it.
“I keep having these random memories pop up outta no where.” I tell her. “They’re happening at the most inappropriate times and I don’t know what to do with them or where they’re coming from.”
“What sort of memories?” she asks.
“Hmm… like an image of Rob and me at dinner will pop up, or I’ll remember something he said, or an expression on his face I liked will come up. Sometimes images of his funeral will appear, I never know what it’ll be. It’s all these tiny little things. I don’t know what sparks them.”
“I think that’s normal I also think it’s because you still need him in some way or another.” she says without looking at me.
I nod, trying to wrap my mind around it. Of course I do. He left me here but in a way, I believe he’s still around. He’s the one that makes me get up in the morning when I don’t want to. He’s the one that moves my pen across the paper, that fuels my legs to make them run. He puts the smile on my face when I’d rather cry. He pushes me to take better care of myself, to say what’s in my head, to be decisive, and his former presence here and elsewhere has opened my heart to receive the love of another person.
Alyx and I are quiet after that and minutes later the bus is behind us. We get to Lincoln Park early and sit in the break room laughing with our other co-workers so hard my stomach hurt. I’m reminded again of how happy I am to be here not only at Art+Science but in Chicago as well.
The show the girls put on was fabulous and had me wondering how much time went into it and how they got everything to come together so perfectly. At the end of our training program, we’ll all be doing the same thing. For me, that’s too much to think about right now.
When everything is over Alyx and I head to a bar next door. Charlie is on his way to pick me up and Alyx’s boyfriend is also on his way. We’re there a few minutes when my phone beeps with a text from Charlie saying he’s out front. I hug her goodbye and race outside to jump in his car, so happy to see him I can barely form words. I just want to calm down.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” I smile at him.
“Of course.” he nods.
In my head I had gone back and forth between wanting to ask him to go out for drinks and just staying home. At this point I was fine either way. As I was about to ask he piped up and said “ I want a martini. Do you mind if we stop at the store?”
“Not at all. I was going to ask you if you wanted to get drinks tonight.” I smile.
We both admit that neither of us are in great moods and get to the store rather quickly.
“I was thinking about making some muffins for breakfast tomorrow.” he says as we’re wandering.
“That would be fabulous.”
We find the muffin mix, alcohol and a few other things before checking out and heading home.
Once settled in the kitchen he makes the martinis, carefully garnishing my sweet one with fruit and his “dirty” one with olives after turning off the light and lighting a candle. For the first time all day I sit back and exhale.
It doesn’t take long for martini number one to be consumed. I’m on the edge of wanting another and saying no because I’m interested in functioning tomorrow. When he asks I find myself saying yes though thinking I’m fine an will be fine.
As I float into comfortable drunkenness I talk his ear off. Wine appears on the table and is consumed by both of us. I watch him get up and put together the batter for the muffins and bake them. I have no concept of time, or what it is I’m saying at this point. When he sits down with me again, I look at his eyes and notice that everything around me is spinning. Oops. Too. Much. Alcohol. Why did I do this? It always sounds like a good idea at the time.
“Darlin’. The room is spinning.” I grin.
“Uh oh. Hang on.” he gets up and pours a glass of water. “Drink this.”
I do and he looks at my hands. “We need to get your lotion on.”
I went to the doctor for my dermatitis a few weeks ago. If it weren’t for Charlie applying the medicated cream to my busted skin I’d have no fingers left. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes, on some level or another I almost enjoy the pain in my hands because it gives me something else to focus on rather than deal with what’s in my head. I’d like to deal with my head but I don’t know how so until then, I’m going to let my hands crack and bleed and maybe eat a cookie or several until I can figure it out. Of course doing these things pulls me farther away from figuring it out but I’ll get tired of this game eventually…
I’m trying to breathe while watching Charlie’s warm hands spread the thin cream over my fingers. The room is still spinning. I hate this feeling. I drink more water while he works on the other hand.
“Ok. You’re all set. Lets get you to bed.” he says, screwing the top back on the cream.
I nod, carefully stand, walk into his room, and fall into bed.
The next morning I’m so deeply saddened I don’t want to move. My head doesn’t hurt but I’m moving slowly. This is why I don’t drink. There is always a chance that I’m going to be eaten up with grief the next morning. There is no pinpointing what it is or what it feels like but really deep sadness that I don’t know what to do with and can’t explain which eventually makes me angry.
Charlie makes coffee and breakfast. I don’t have to be at work until one. He’s on and off the computer, washing dishes etc…while I’m still immobile at the table. He’s talking and walks into the living room where I can’t hear him. I stand up and follow him as he adjusts the music that’s playing. He walks toward me, heading for the kitchen again and I wrap my arms around him and hug him. His arms wrap around me and pull me further into him. I breathe him in, listening to his heart beat and press my palms into his back. Neither of us say a word as we rub each other’s backs. My eyes fill up with tears and before I can stop them, they’re overflowing and I’m shaking.
“Hey.” Charlie’s quiet voice vibrates against my ear. “ Hey, what’s going on?” he asks gently.
I don’t know. I can’t speak, just keep crying. His hand finds the back of my head and rubs it while I hang on tighter to him.
“C’mere. Let me rub your back.” he says leading me to his room. I lay down on my stomach while he rubs the tightened muscles. My tears stop and start and stop again.
After a while he stops and tells me to run home, get ready for work and come back for lunch. “Kay.” I smile, get my things and go home where I stand under a scalding spray of water for an eternity before realizing that I need to get moving. I get dressed, put on make-up, get my work things in order and walk back to Charlie’s feeling somewhat human again.
Lunch is ready when I get there and he kisses me hello. We’re quiet when we sit down and I watch him for a minute trying to speak without crying again.
“I am…” I start, still struggling to get this out. “…the luckiest person on this planet to have you.”
He smiled and said, “I’m glad to have you too.”
Sunday, April 5, 2009
April 1...
"What is that noise?" I think to myself as I'm being jolted out of sleep by what seems to be a phone. My phone. Ringing. Probably should pick it up. I can't move though and close my eyes again. Curiosity gets the best of me and I can't get back to sleep. I pick up the phone and see it's Rob's dad. I press the voicemail prompt and listen to the message. He's calling to say hello and asking how things are up here. "I'm not going to call you on the twentieth. That's your day and mine too. It's going to suck but we have to do it our own way." I continue listening until the end of the message and hang up. I sit up, put the phone back on the table and explode. Rage fills every inch of me when I suddenly see where I am, alone in my room in Chicago. It's like there's a teeny little part of me that doesn't believe Rob is gone. Then something happens that reminds me of it and it sends me into a fit that needs to be restrained by a straight jacket. Tears fell so hard and fast I couldn't see. It's April first. I can't help but to think what I was doing this time last year. It was a Tuesday, so I was probably at work, later talking on the phone to Rob until one of us fell asleep I assume. I'd be leaving for Chicago for interview number two with Art+Science two days later. He'd be gone two weeks after that.
I stand up and go to the kitchen, making my oatmeal like always. I have no interest in it, the tears starting again. Everything is quiet. I'm trying to keep still and not make too much noise. I eat without tasting anything, get dressed, put my laptop in it's bag and head to the coffee shop I like to go to when I don't want to be social. I set up in a room in the back of the place and try to write but that turns into mostly staring out the window, thinking, remembering, and crying.
My phone beeps next to me with a text message alert. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It's Charlie saying that after a shower he's ready to go whenever I am. I text him back, telling him where I am and say that I too need a shower. We're going out to Shaumberg to the mall up there. I finish typing a sentence and shut the computer down. I'm still operating slower than molasses while walking home and taking that much needed shower. Still crying, still feeling...I don't know. Confused maybe? How is it that I care so much for both Charlie and Rob all at the same time when Rob's not here anymore? How do I even convey that message?
I get dressed and text Charlie. Twenty minutes later he's at my door and off we go. I'm completely exhausted and surprisingly enough, haven't felt the effects of the super strong coffee I just consumed. I feel my brain is split in two at the moment. On one side, I'm walking down N. Highland to get bagels with Rob on a Sunday morning and on the other side I'm right here next to yet another incredible human listening to his sweet voice tell me about his work wondering how did I get here? I'm scared of falling for Charlie because where does that leave Rob? Is this even fair? I can't imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end of my grief.
We get to IKEA first. Charlie's circling the parking lot looking for a spot. It looks as if the economy hasn't affected this place at all. It's a Wednesday morning and packed. He pulls into a spot next to a black Honda Accord with a shiny South Carolina plate on the back. Upon seeing it, I exhale and get out of the car, almost feeling the effects of this morning melt away. It's like Rob's little reminder that he's still here just not like he was. It still doesn't make it any easier to understand.
Charlie and I wander the store, stopping every so often to investigate something. He takes my hand as we express our opinions on various pieces of furniture and room designs. Once we've seen all we wanted to see we head to the mall. We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering into and out of stores. I feel perfectly content waching his decision making process over various articles of clothing.
"I think I'm done." he tells me after buying shoes.
"Kay." I nod.
I run my fingers through his hair while he drives us back to his place. Once there I'm laying on my stomach across his bed watching him carefully remove the tags from the pants he just bought.
"I know there's a faster way of doing this." he says while snipping away at the tiny threads that bind the tags to the garment.
Yup. I think to myself. I usually rip them off. I smile though, and don't say anything.
"But I want to do it right." he carefully investigates the fabric.
I smile and think Rob would do the same. My eyes move from watching Charlie's fingers to his face. His eyes catch mine and he smiles before going back to the tags. I continue to watch him trying to contain the giggling that is trying to erupt out of me. He looks at me again, moves the pants to the side, along with the scissors and already cut tags, and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, completely, totally, and utterly grateful for his presence.
I stand up and go to the kitchen, making my oatmeal like always. I have no interest in it, the tears starting again. Everything is quiet. I'm trying to keep still and not make too much noise. I eat without tasting anything, get dressed, put my laptop in it's bag and head to the coffee shop I like to go to when I don't want to be social. I set up in a room in the back of the place and try to write but that turns into mostly staring out the window, thinking, remembering, and crying.
My phone beeps next to me with a text message alert. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It's Charlie saying that after a shower he's ready to go whenever I am. I text him back, telling him where I am and say that I too need a shower. We're going out to Shaumberg to the mall up there. I finish typing a sentence and shut the computer down. I'm still operating slower than molasses while walking home and taking that much needed shower. Still crying, still feeling...I don't know. Confused maybe? How is it that I care so much for both Charlie and Rob all at the same time when Rob's not here anymore? How do I even convey that message?
I get dressed and text Charlie. Twenty minutes later he's at my door and off we go. I'm completely exhausted and surprisingly enough, haven't felt the effects of the super strong coffee I just consumed. I feel my brain is split in two at the moment. On one side, I'm walking down N. Highland to get bagels with Rob on a Sunday morning and on the other side I'm right here next to yet another incredible human listening to his sweet voice tell me about his work wondering how did I get here? I'm scared of falling for Charlie because where does that leave Rob? Is this even fair? I can't imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end of my grief.
We get to IKEA first. Charlie's circling the parking lot looking for a spot. It looks as if the economy hasn't affected this place at all. It's a Wednesday morning and packed. He pulls into a spot next to a black Honda Accord with a shiny South Carolina plate on the back. Upon seeing it, I exhale and get out of the car, almost feeling the effects of this morning melt away. It's like Rob's little reminder that he's still here just not like he was. It still doesn't make it any easier to understand.
Charlie and I wander the store, stopping every so often to investigate something. He takes my hand as we express our opinions on various pieces of furniture and room designs. Once we've seen all we wanted to see we head to the mall. We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering into and out of stores. I feel perfectly content waching his decision making process over various articles of clothing.
"I think I'm done." he tells me after buying shoes.
"Kay." I nod.
I run my fingers through his hair while he drives us back to his place. Once there I'm laying on my stomach across his bed watching him carefully remove the tags from the pants he just bought.
"I know there's a faster way of doing this." he says while snipping away at the tiny threads that bind the tags to the garment.
Yup. I think to myself. I usually rip them off. I smile though, and don't say anything.
"But I want to do it right." he carefully investigates the fabric.
I smile and think Rob would do the same. My eyes move from watching Charlie's fingers to his face. His eyes catch mine and he smiles before going back to the tags. I continue to watch him trying to contain the giggling that is trying to erupt out of me. He looks at me again, moves the pants to the side, along with the scissors and already cut tags, and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, completely, totally, and utterly grateful for his presence.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Show...
I step out of the cab a few blocks from my house and race home. I couldn't sit at the traffic light any longer. I'm already late and anxious.
At home I fly down the hall and into my room where I throw my things down and jump under a hot spray of water, taking a shower that felt like thirty seconds.
After drying off, I glance at the clock. I still have forty five minutes before I have to be ready. I exhale for the first time all day. Work was a constant adrenaline rush ending late and having me nervous I would still be running late when Charlie arrived. I had looked forward to this all week. Before leaving on a business trip last week he asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner and a show on Saturday. "Of course!"
I met Charlie a couple of weeks ago at a coffee shop. I was writing in my journal and after refilling his coffee he stopped by my table and said, "Are you writing a book over there?"
His voice caught me by surprise. I looked up at him and smiled. "Somethin' like that." My what sparkly eyes you have I think to myself. Stop it. "It's just my journal."
"What happens when you fill it up?" he nods towards my hands resting on the thick journal.
"I buy a new one."
"Are you serious?" his eyebrows raise.
I nod as if this is the most normal thing in the world, suddenly wondering "doesn't everybody?"
"How long have you been doing that for?" he's firing questions at me fast than I can think and it reminds me of something I do when I like someone.
"About eight years."
"Eight years?! How many of those do you have?" he exclaims.
"Um.. I'm not sure really. Thirty? Forty?"
"You go back and read them?"
"Sometimes." I laugh.
He nods. "I'll let you get back to it."
I return to my writing trying not to giggle. A little while later he's back, after refilling his coffee again asking more questions. I notice he's been in front of a laptop the whole time he's been here.
"Whatcha doin' behind that computer screen?" I smile.
"Procrastinating mostly. Working a little."
I nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" he asks.
"Not at all."
He sets his coffee down and brings his computer over and closes it.
"I'm Charlie by the way."
...I'm standing inches from my mirror applying my 17th coat of mascara. When I'm satisfied I stand back and think "Lipstick. Where is it?" I go into my room and start looking for a purse to carry. "Umbrella. Hmm... Where did I last see it?"
This is how my brain operates before a date. It's a wonder anything gets done. "Earrings..."
Charlie called me three days after asking for my number at the coffee shop and asked me if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Sunday. I had to work so we agreed on dinner after I was finished.
He met me at the salon and we walked across the street to a quiet little sushi place. Dinner turned into drinks by a fireplace at one of my favorite bars. We entertained each other with stories about our life, family, school, and work. It was getting late and I had to be in class the next morning. He walked me home, stopping at my gate and carefully kissing me goodnight.
"I had fun tonight." he smiled at me.
"Me too. Thank you."
"I'll give you a call."
"Ok." I smiled and walked inside.
..."Hairspray. I walk into the bathroom again and spray my carefully styled hair until it no longer moves in pieces but as an entire unit. I'm back to looking for lipstick when I glance at my phone. I have fifteen minutes. I start rummaging a little faster through my make-up drawer.
After dinner with Charlie that Sunday he called a few days later and we decided to go to the aquarium on Thursday. We met at the coffee shop we originally met at and set out to watch the fishes.
While wandering around his hand slowly finds it's way into mine and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school again. The aquarium turns into lunch, which turns into a movie which turns into a brief trip to the suburbs. While driving back I felt we were on I-85 and would soon be under Spaghetti Junction but no, the image in front of us is wide open interstate, and the Chicago skyline. It sometimes doesn't feel real that I'm here. It's like I'm living someone else's life and eventually I'll wake up in my bed under Kat's roof, smile at Rob and and start the day.
"Will you cut my hair?" Charlie asks.
"Of course! I was going to ask you if I could."
"Really?"
"Yup. I miss cutting boy hair." I laugh.
"Does Sunday work for you? I have to fly to Colorado but we could do it before."
"Perfect."
..."found the umbrella, what about the shoes? High heels or low heels?"I pull out the sheer black tights I bought earlier in the week and carefully pulled them on, trying not to forget that I am stil not wearing lipstick. "Hmm... low heels."
Sunday arrives and I let Charlie in to my place. "Sorry about the mess. Kaci's moving out and we haven't been doing much."
He smiled and followed me to my room. I'm pulling out my cutting things and he's bent down looking at my picture on my bookshelf. Three are of Rob, three are of my travels and one is of my family and me on the day Patrick graduated from college. I can see Charlie looking back and forth from picture to picture trying to make a connection somehow.
"Was your brother in the military?"
"Nope. That's Rob..." I look at the picture he's looking at of Rob dressed in his Citadel uniform on the day he graduated. "...my deceased boyfriend." I wasn't hoping to have this discussion just yet but didn't want to remove the pictures before he came over either.
"Oh. I'm sorry." Charlie's eyes don't meet mine.
"Thank you."
I cut his hair, so happy to feel the blades of my shears move over his head. We don't talk much. He watches me in the mirror and I watch his hair take shape, stopping to smile at him every so often.
"So how do you feel about getting dressed up on Saturday and going out for dinner and a show downtown?" he asks.
"Are you serious? That would be amazing!"
"I haven't done that here yet."
"Me either." I smile.
I go to O'hare with him when I'm done with his hair. We say goodbye at security and I take the train home.
...I don't find the damn lipstick I was hoping to wear, so I settle for lipgloss and decide it's good enough. I pick up a bottle of lotion and apply it. It was Rob's favorite. I wore it on our first date and he didn't stop talking about it. I didn't wear anything else until after he died. I move the creamy substance over my arms and look over at the pictures of him on my bookshelf. I smile at the one of him in the car looking at me. For a brief moment I wish so hard that it was him I was going out with tonight. I remember racing home after work on Fridays and getting all fancy for him before he came over, anxiously awaiting his knock on my door so I could sink into him. I barely let him in before squeezing him and melting into his kisses. Guilt fills me up and I stop thinking about anything but getting dressed. I step into a black and magenta dress and zip it up the back. My phone beeps with a text message. I snatch it up and smile when I read a message from Charlie. "I'm at your door." I race down the hall passed Kaci.
"Well look at you." she says to my back.
I turn and grin at her, hand on the doorknob. "I'm so excited!" I fling the door open and run downstairs, opening the front door and exhaling.
"Hi!" I beam.
"Hey." Charlie smiles at me. "You look nice."
"So do you."
He's dressed in a suit, holding his phone. "You ready?"
"Almost. Come up. I need to get my coat."
Minutes later we're out the door, my arm looped through his.
"So I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work. I went to Evanston thinking you were there, but you weren't and I was almost late getting back." he tells me.
"Seriously?!" I squeal at the sweetness of this gesture.
He nods.
"Thank you though. I appreciate the thought."
"I wouldn't make a good stalker apparantly." he smiles.
He hails us a cab and opens the door for me. A few minutes later we're downtown, pulling over to the curb. He gets out and offers his hand. I smile and take it, sliding out of the cab and onto the pavement underneath the glittering lights of the theater. We're going to see the Broadway musical "Chicago."
"Wow." My eyes are about to pop out of my head. He grins and we walk in.
Once seated we quietly chat about our week until the show starts. "This is my life!" I'm squealing to myself. "I'm really here, really doing this and it's so fun I can hardly breathe!"
The show is one of the best I've seen. We both talk about how this is what we thought our lives would be like once moving here. (he moved from Madison three years ago) I wonder how many people make a habit of going to the theater...
We have dinner at a cute Italian place around the corner. I'm telling him about Atlanta, Kat and how I met her.
"She's coming to Chicago in April!" I exclaim.
"When? Don't say the weekend of the eighteenth."
I laugh. "Yup, that's when she'll be here."
"Damn. I'm going to be in Wisconsin. I want to meet her."
"You'd like her. I'm trying to decide if I'm going to fly back with her. Um. Rob..died on April twentieth. I can't figure out if I want to be home then or not. I took the day off work. It's weird. I don't know how I'm going to feel...if I'll want to be in Atlanta, or in Chicago with friends or completely alone wandering around aimlessly..." I trail off trying to take in air. His hand reaches across the table and takes mine. I smile and look away.
"Don't do it." he says.
"Do what?" I almost snap. "Cry? I'm not. Why is everyone so afraid of a crying person? I can talk about him and not lose it. Sometimes it catches me off guard though, but I'm ok with that. I don't think a lot of people are though."
Charlie watches my face as if he's waiting for me to say something else. The subject begins to change until we realize we're the only two people in the restaurant and decide we should probably go.
It isn't until the next day that I find myself crying for no reason. I wonder if I'm going to cry after every date I have with someone. It's like something else is stirring itself up in me and it's only way out is through my tears but I can't put words to it. I enjoy the company of another person but find myself scared to give anything to them. I'm terrified of getting hurt, terrified of getting too far away from my feelings for Rob, terrified of my own tears, of seeming unstable.
Despite all these feelings, it still doesn't keep me from exploring this path I seem to be on at the moment...
At home I fly down the hall and into my room where I throw my things down and jump under a hot spray of water, taking a shower that felt like thirty seconds.
After drying off, I glance at the clock. I still have forty five minutes before I have to be ready. I exhale for the first time all day. Work was a constant adrenaline rush ending late and having me nervous I would still be running late when Charlie arrived. I had looked forward to this all week. Before leaving on a business trip last week he asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner and a show on Saturday. "Of course!"
I met Charlie a couple of weeks ago at a coffee shop. I was writing in my journal and after refilling his coffee he stopped by my table and said, "Are you writing a book over there?"
His voice caught me by surprise. I looked up at him and smiled. "Somethin' like that." My what sparkly eyes you have I think to myself. Stop it. "It's just my journal."
"What happens when you fill it up?" he nods towards my hands resting on the thick journal.
"I buy a new one."
"Are you serious?" his eyebrows raise.
I nod as if this is the most normal thing in the world, suddenly wondering "doesn't everybody?"
"How long have you been doing that for?" he's firing questions at me fast than I can think and it reminds me of something I do when I like someone.
"About eight years."
"Eight years?! How many of those do you have?" he exclaims.
"Um.. I'm not sure really. Thirty? Forty?"
"You go back and read them?"
"Sometimes." I laugh.
He nods. "I'll let you get back to it."
I return to my writing trying not to giggle. A little while later he's back, after refilling his coffee again asking more questions. I notice he's been in front of a laptop the whole time he's been here.
"Whatcha doin' behind that computer screen?" I smile.
"Procrastinating mostly. Working a little."
I nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" he asks.
"Not at all."
He sets his coffee down and brings his computer over and closes it.
"I'm Charlie by the way."
...I'm standing inches from my mirror applying my 17th coat of mascara. When I'm satisfied I stand back and think "Lipstick. Where is it?" I go into my room and start looking for a purse to carry. "Umbrella. Hmm... Where did I last see it?"
This is how my brain operates before a date. It's a wonder anything gets done. "Earrings..."
Charlie called me three days after asking for my number at the coffee shop and asked me if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Sunday. I had to work so we agreed on dinner after I was finished.
He met me at the salon and we walked across the street to a quiet little sushi place. Dinner turned into drinks by a fireplace at one of my favorite bars. We entertained each other with stories about our life, family, school, and work. It was getting late and I had to be in class the next morning. He walked me home, stopping at my gate and carefully kissing me goodnight.
"I had fun tonight." he smiled at me.
"Me too. Thank you."
"I'll give you a call."
"Ok." I smiled and walked inside.
..."Hairspray. I walk into the bathroom again and spray my carefully styled hair until it no longer moves in pieces but as an entire unit. I'm back to looking for lipstick when I glance at my phone. I have fifteen minutes. I start rummaging a little faster through my make-up drawer.
After dinner with Charlie that Sunday he called a few days later and we decided to go to the aquarium on Thursday. We met at the coffee shop we originally met at and set out to watch the fishes.
While wandering around his hand slowly finds it's way into mine and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school again. The aquarium turns into lunch, which turns into a movie which turns into a brief trip to the suburbs. While driving back I felt we were on I-85 and would soon be under Spaghetti Junction but no, the image in front of us is wide open interstate, and the Chicago skyline. It sometimes doesn't feel real that I'm here. It's like I'm living someone else's life and eventually I'll wake up in my bed under Kat's roof, smile at Rob and and start the day.
"Will you cut my hair?" Charlie asks.
"Of course! I was going to ask you if I could."
"Really?"
"Yup. I miss cutting boy hair." I laugh.
"Does Sunday work for you? I have to fly to Colorado but we could do it before."
"Perfect."
..."found the umbrella, what about the shoes? High heels or low heels?"I pull out the sheer black tights I bought earlier in the week and carefully pulled them on, trying not to forget that I am stil not wearing lipstick. "Hmm... low heels."
Sunday arrives and I let Charlie in to my place. "Sorry about the mess. Kaci's moving out and we haven't been doing much."
He smiled and followed me to my room. I'm pulling out my cutting things and he's bent down looking at my picture on my bookshelf. Three are of Rob, three are of my travels and one is of my family and me on the day Patrick graduated from college. I can see Charlie looking back and forth from picture to picture trying to make a connection somehow.
"Was your brother in the military?"
"Nope. That's Rob..." I look at the picture he's looking at of Rob dressed in his Citadel uniform on the day he graduated. "...my deceased boyfriend." I wasn't hoping to have this discussion just yet but didn't want to remove the pictures before he came over either.
"Oh. I'm sorry." Charlie's eyes don't meet mine.
"Thank you."
I cut his hair, so happy to feel the blades of my shears move over his head. We don't talk much. He watches me in the mirror and I watch his hair take shape, stopping to smile at him every so often.
"So how do you feel about getting dressed up on Saturday and going out for dinner and a show downtown?" he asks.
"Are you serious? That would be amazing!"
"I haven't done that here yet."
"Me either." I smile.
I go to O'hare with him when I'm done with his hair. We say goodbye at security and I take the train home.
...I don't find the damn lipstick I was hoping to wear, so I settle for lipgloss and decide it's good enough. I pick up a bottle of lotion and apply it. It was Rob's favorite. I wore it on our first date and he didn't stop talking about it. I didn't wear anything else until after he died. I move the creamy substance over my arms and look over at the pictures of him on my bookshelf. I smile at the one of him in the car looking at me. For a brief moment I wish so hard that it was him I was going out with tonight. I remember racing home after work on Fridays and getting all fancy for him before he came over, anxiously awaiting his knock on my door so I could sink into him. I barely let him in before squeezing him and melting into his kisses. Guilt fills me up and I stop thinking about anything but getting dressed. I step into a black and magenta dress and zip it up the back. My phone beeps with a text message. I snatch it up and smile when I read a message from Charlie. "I'm at your door." I race down the hall passed Kaci.
"Well look at you." she says to my back.
I turn and grin at her, hand on the doorknob. "I'm so excited!" I fling the door open and run downstairs, opening the front door and exhaling.
"Hi!" I beam.
"Hey." Charlie smiles at me. "You look nice."
"So do you."
He's dressed in a suit, holding his phone. "You ready?"
"Almost. Come up. I need to get my coat."
Minutes later we're out the door, my arm looped through his.
"So I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work. I went to Evanston thinking you were there, but you weren't and I was almost late getting back." he tells me.
"Seriously?!" I squeal at the sweetness of this gesture.
He nods.
"Thank you though. I appreciate the thought."
"I wouldn't make a good stalker apparantly." he smiles.
He hails us a cab and opens the door for me. A few minutes later we're downtown, pulling over to the curb. He gets out and offers his hand. I smile and take it, sliding out of the cab and onto the pavement underneath the glittering lights of the theater. We're going to see the Broadway musical "Chicago."
"Wow." My eyes are about to pop out of my head. He grins and we walk in.
Once seated we quietly chat about our week until the show starts. "This is my life!" I'm squealing to myself. "I'm really here, really doing this and it's so fun I can hardly breathe!"
The show is one of the best I've seen. We both talk about how this is what we thought our lives would be like once moving here. (he moved from Madison three years ago) I wonder how many people make a habit of going to the theater...
We have dinner at a cute Italian place around the corner. I'm telling him about Atlanta, Kat and how I met her.
"She's coming to Chicago in April!" I exclaim.
"When? Don't say the weekend of the eighteenth."
I laugh. "Yup, that's when she'll be here."
"Damn. I'm going to be in Wisconsin. I want to meet her."
"You'd like her. I'm trying to decide if I'm going to fly back with her. Um. Rob..died on April twentieth. I can't figure out if I want to be home then or not. I took the day off work. It's weird. I don't know how I'm going to feel...if I'll want to be in Atlanta, or in Chicago with friends or completely alone wandering around aimlessly..." I trail off trying to take in air. His hand reaches across the table and takes mine. I smile and look away.
"Don't do it." he says.
"Do what?" I almost snap. "Cry? I'm not. Why is everyone so afraid of a crying person? I can talk about him and not lose it. Sometimes it catches me off guard though, but I'm ok with that. I don't think a lot of people are though."
Charlie watches my face as if he's waiting for me to say something else. The subject begins to change until we realize we're the only two people in the restaurant and decide we should probably go.
It isn't until the next day that I find myself crying for no reason. I wonder if I'm going to cry after every date I have with someone. It's like something else is stirring itself up in me and it's only way out is through my tears but I can't put words to it. I enjoy the company of another person but find myself scared to give anything to them. I'm terrified of getting hurt, terrified of getting too far away from my feelings for Rob, terrified of my own tears, of seeming unstable.
Despite all these feelings, it still doesn't keep me from exploring this path I seem to be on at the moment...
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