It was back to work for me today after my glorious week off. I’m not ready to return of course but then again, after time off, who is? I put on jeans, a sparkly top and heels for the first time in a week and set out to pretend to be happy.
During my first haircut I noticed I was suddenly speeding up through the sections of his hair. I was thinking about Rob and how I’d see him tonight. I couldn’t remember what we were doing though so when I finished my client and checked my phone’s calendar I was gently reminded that I’d be getting dinner and watching a movie with my friend Laura tonight. Rob isn’t here.
“Melissa, you’re next one is here.” Cheyenne’s voice says to the back of my head.
“Thanks.” I say to the phone and place it back on the table.
My next client is Karen. I’ve been doing her hair since the very beginning of my career. I share her with a Van Michael colorist, Jeremiah. When I moved to Salonred she began scheduling her appointments every six weeks with him in the morning on Saturdays, allowing a gap of time for her to drive to Candler Park and then I’d cut her hair. She and I have seen each other through all sorts of ups and downs. She’s a breast cancer survivor. I’ve seen her through many surgeries, man issues, and job issues, child issues. I know so much about her daughter (who is my age) that I feel I’m friends with her by now.
Of course Karen knows her fair share about me too. I’ve disclosed to her all the ups and downs of the crazy people I’ve dated, the traveling I’ve done, moves I’ve made, and other various things.
The last time I was supposed to see her was last Saturday and she cancelled. In six years, she‘s not cancelled on me once. I figured something medically related came up. I was preparing myself to hear whatever she had to say and to tell her about Rob when I walked out of the break room and over to the chair where she was sitting.
“Hi!” I smiled.
“Hey.” her tone wasn’t bright and her color was done. I wondered if she had been to Van Michael already today or last week. Jeremiah knew about Rob.
She stood up and wrapped her arms around me in the most loving embrace I’ve ever received from a client. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion.
“I’m so sorry Melissa. Jeremiah told me.”
I sank into her and cried and cried and cried.
“It’s gonna be ok.” she said into my hair. “It’s all going to be ok.”
I nod. Feeling her tears beginning. When we finally let go we’re both mascara streaked messes, laughing at each other.
“It’s crazy.” I said. “This whole thing.”
“I know. Jeremiah’s really worried about you. He’d like you to call him when you can.”
“I should go up there and see everyone.” I laughed. It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve set foot in the place.
“Definitely. You wouldn’t believe the rumors that have spread. They think that he was with you and bunch of other people, and you were badly hurt. You know how things get blown out of proportion.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. And no, I wasn’t even there. Rob was alone. Come on back.” We walked to my station and I began her haircut. I explained everything that happened during the week following Rob’s death. The subject slowly changes to details of her life. She did cancel for medical reasons last week but everything is under control.
“I was wondering about you!” I laughed.
“You guys know I don’t cancel! Everything is fine though.”
“Good.” I smile.
When I’m done with her hair and have walked her up front, she hugs me and reminds me to call Jeremiah.
“I’ll see you in six weeks!” she smiles.
“Yes ma’am!”
During my lunch break I delve back into the book I started this weekend. I had to put down the grief books for a while and read something else entirely. One of my favorite authors, Stephanie Klein just published a new book called “Moose. A memoir of fat camp.” I love her style and have been waiting for this book to finally appear on bookshelves.
In this book she’s recounting her time spent as an overweight adolescent and the camp she went to one summer. As she’s leaving her parents, she has the following thoughts on the bus ride to camp. “…at least I was the one leaving, with a summer stretched before me. It always seemed easier to leave than to be left behind. Because when others leave, you’re left with negative spaces, left to focus on what was once there. Your routine is the same while they’re out exploring and experiencing something new. You can’t help but feel abandoned, despite all the rational thoughts in your head. The hardest part is the unknown.”
I read the paragraph over and over again, turning the words over in my head. I thought about all the Mondays I woke up long after Rob had left for work, wanting to close my eyes again because I didn’t like waking up without him next to me. This weird emptiness would hang over me until my phone beeped with a text message from him. The emptiness is infinite now as I wake up day in and day out without him. I think also about him being in Heaven and finding myself almost jealous that he gets to experience something that none of here get to experience just yet. I want to know what he knows. I want to ask him questions. I asked him a lot when he was here but I want more now.
“Melissa, your client is here.” Again Cheyenne’s voice brings me back to the present moment.
“Thanks.” I smile and close my book.
Three clients later, Robert comes in. He’s one of my favorites. He’s got the most gentle demeanor that always immediately puts me at ease no matter how crazy I am or my day has been.
I tell him about Rob and we talk about death and grief and how people handle it. (or don’t) His father died almost two years ago.
“People don’t know what to do with death. They like to brush it under the rug, pretend that it didn’t happen and then act like everything is fine.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim. “I’ve had enough of people trying to distract me from things. I don’t need distractions. I need to get through this on my own time in my own way.”
“I understand.” he nods. “Everybody handles it so differently too.”
“Absolutely.”
I finish his hair and eventually my work day ends. I pack up my station thinking today was amazing but I’m really tired. I walk in the stifling heat to my car and head to Laura’s.
“Hi!” she exclaims and throws her arms around me.
“Hey!”
“How was work?”
“Good.” I smile.
“Good. I’m almost ready, come on back.” she says and I follow her to her bathroom where she begins to dry her hair.”
“Can you talk about Rob or not?” she asks.
“I can talk.”
“You sure? I don’t want to upset you.”
Why are people afraid of tears?
“You won’t upset me!” I laugh and then recount the events of Rob’s death again.
“Wow. I’m just so sorry.”
I nod. “Yeah it’s crazy.” I say that all the freakin’ time. I’m getting on my own nerves with my broken record response, but yeah, it really is crazy. The silence is killing me and I pipe up again. “Are you hungry?”
“Oh yeah!”
We decide on Doc Chey’s in the Virginia Highlands. I’ve been there only once and it was delicious.
“I need to come here more often!” I laugh.
“Isn’t is awesome?” Laura replies, putting her chop sticks down.
She tells me about work and her life and I elaborate more on mine. Although I miss Rob terribly, I’m quite content with my friend. We go back to her house and watch American Gangster. It’s after 1am when I leave. As I drive back down North Highland toward home, the streets are still buzzing with people and I think what would I be doing if Rob were still here? No sense in that I think to myself and fall into bed.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Serenity Now!!!
Serenity now!!!
I did everything I needed to do for the most part yesterday. Why is my head still floating around in outer space? What is it that I want? I am in such a rush. I’m in such a hurry to get all these feelings out. I know I can’t rush this. What’s the hurry, and why do I feel so guilty for not being able to handle all the emotions that come up when writing? There are times where I’m literally smiling as my fingers fly across the keyboard of my laptop, unable to keep up with my brain, remembering some delicious memory of something I shared with Rob. Other times, I cry and then there are times where I’m staring at a blank page with that little blinking cursor waiting for instruction and I have no words. I’m writing about my life. How hard can it be?
I’m about to deliver a little bit of ‘too much information’. I have a serious, homicidal case of PMS for reasons that are unbeknownst to me. It wasn’t always like this. Once a month for a week I turn into a completely different person. My PMSing little self is a spoiled bitch who throws a tantrum every time I don’t give in to what she wants. (especially when it comes to food.) When I try to figure out what it is that she wants she’ll change her mind and want something completely different. I feel like I run circles around myself trying to shut the bitch up but nothing works. That compounded on top of my grief has pushed me into solitary confinement. Aside from thanking the girl behind the counter at the coffee shop, the guy at the bookstore and a brief conversation with my mom I haven’t uttered a single word all day to any other human and I couldn’t be happier.
I tried going for a walk. Twice. It didn’t calm my nerves down. I feel like I’m going to crawl straight out of my skin. Nothing satisfies me, nothing calms me down. I’m grateful to not be at work during all this. I’ve been holed up in my house with my laptop and a good book, alternating between the two for the better part of the day.
Thoughts of ice cream creep into my head. Ben and Jerry’s is within walking distance, but that means walking passed Limerick, our favorite Irish pub where I’m sure to see someone and feel like I need to chat, when really, it’s the last thing I want to do. I decide on Publix and get into my car.
I don’t need no stinkin’ ice cream. It’s not going to solve the world’s problems and yet I find myself driving there anyways, on a serious mission to get a pint and get the hell out. Of course I run into a friend and have to explain my whole Rob situation. The feeling of wanting to jump out my skin escalates with each passing minute. I remind myself that she’s just being sweet and doesn’t know what to say and that’s ok. I just need to go!
We say goodbye and I quickly race over to the ice cream section before anything else happens and grab a pint of mint chocolate chip. “What the hell am I doing?” I think to myself. My pace slows as I walk towards the checkout counter. “Put it back.” I turn around at that moment and walk the pint back to it’s home and walk out of the store feeling quite pleased with myself for not giving in.
I contemplate going for coffee but I still hate people and I’m afraid of any sort of meanness that could erupt out of me at any given time. Today I hate stopping for the 4,000 pedestrians that have plagued North Highland. I hate that every move I make, I seem to be in someone’s way or they’re in mine. I hate hearing the noise that surrounds the city. I hate feeling I have to be social when I don’t want to be, putting on a smile when I don’t want to. I hate the pressure I simply put on myself for making an attempt at getting out and being with people when I know good and well I don’t want to. I hate that I hate people but that’s how it is for a little while and then it goes away and I love everybody again.
I did everything I needed to do for the most part yesterday. Why is my head still floating around in outer space? What is it that I want? I am in such a rush. I’m in such a hurry to get all these feelings out. I know I can’t rush this. What’s the hurry, and why do I feel so guilty for not being able to handle all the emotions that come up when writing? There are times where I’m literally smiling as my fingers fly across the keyboard of my laptop, unable to keep up with my brain, remembering some delicious memory of something I shared with Rob. Other times, I cry and then there are times where I’m staring at a blank page with that little blinking cursor waiting for instruction and I have no words. I’m writing about my life. How hard can it be?
I’m about to deliver a little bit of ‘too much information’. I have a serious, homicidal case of PMS for reasons that are unbeknownst to me. It wasn’t always like this. Once a month for a week I turn into a completely different person. My PMSing little self is a spoiled bitch who throws a tantrum every time I don’t give in to what she wants. (especially when it comes to food.) When I try to figure out what it is that she wants she’ll change her mind and want something completely different. I feel like I run circles around myself trying to shut the bitch up but nothing works. That compounded on top of my grief has pushed me into solitary confinement. Aside from thanking the girl behind the counter at the coffee shop, the guy at the bookstore and a brief conversation with my mom I haven’t uttered a single word all day to any other human and I couldn’t be happier.
I tried going for a walk. Twice. It didn’t calm my nerves down. I feel like I’m going to crawl straight out of my skin. Nothing satisfies me, nothing calms me down. I’m grateful to not be at work during all this. I’ve been holed up in my house with my laptop and a good book, alternating between the two for the better part of the day.
Thoughts of ice cream creep into my head. Ben and Jerry’s is within walking distance, but that means walking passed Limerick, our favorite Irish pub where I’m sure to see someone and feel like I need to chat, when really, it’s the last thing I want to do. I decide on Publix and get into my car.
I don’t need no stinkin’ ice cream. It’s not going to solve the world’s problems and yet I find myself driving there anyways, on a serious mission to get a pint and get the hell out. Of course I run into a friend and have to explain my whole Rob situation. The feeling of wanting to jump out my skin escalates with each passing minute. I remind myself that she’s just being sweet and doesn’t know what to say and that’s ok. I just need to go!
We say goodbye and I quickly race over to the ice cream section before anything else happens and grab a pint of mint chocolate chip. “What the hell am I doing?” I think to myself. My pace slows as I walk towards the checkout counter. “Put it back.” I turn around at that moment and walk the pint back to it’s home and walk out of the store feeling quite pleased with myself for not giving in.
I contemplate going for coffee but I still hate people and I’m afraid of any sort of meanness that could erupt out of me at any given time. Today I hate stopping for the 4,000 pedestrians that have plagued North Highland. I hate that every move I make, I seem to be in someone’s way or they’re in mine. I hate hearing the noise that surrounds the city. I hate feeling I have to be social when I don’t want to be, putting on a smile when I don’t want to. I hate the pressure I simply put on myself for making an attempt at getting out and being with people when I know good and well I don’t want to. I hate that I hate people but that’s how it is for a little while and then it goes away and I love everybody again.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Sweetie...
Hey darlin’. It’s been a while since I’ve written you. I’ve been thinking about you. All the time, everyday. That’s a given though, as it was after that first meeting at Starbucks. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I’ve been meaning to write but I feel silly for doing so. It’s not like I’ll be telling you something you don’t already know. Like when I wrote you before, about my feelings concerning my food issues, family issues, or issues with myself. It wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, I just needed to get it out. As always, there you were, reading every word, letting me be, helping me along.
I don’t really know what I want to say, which we know is always how my letters start and then I end up writing you a novel. I had a meeting today at work. Boss lady asked me to read one of my stories I wrote from my book. I chose “The Idiots Guide to Getting’ Ya Hair Did”. I’ve never read anything out loud like that before and it felt good she wanted me to do that. So many positive things were said this morning that I found myself wanting to text you to tell you about it. I feel physical pain when I’m suddenly reminded that I can text you all day but my phone won’t light up with your response.
Since I saw you last, I’ve managed to get closer to my family, see things in a different light and open up more to people in general. I’ve slowed down, stopped making so many damn life plans and have managed for the most part to be truly present in whatever situation I find myself in. I’ve kept a rather detailed blog about what my life is like now without you here. The outpouring of love that I’ve received from friends and your family has been one of the most amazing experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve been able to share a darker side of myself and people love me anyway, which has helped me grow in such a way that I’ll never be able to describe.
Writing has become first and foremost in my life. It comes before anything else right now. I’ve taken time off from work and I camp out in some pretty awesome coffee shops and write for hours. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m not sure if I ever told you that. I still have trouble with patience. I want it all right now. I want everything to be perfect and completed right this second. I get mad at myself when I can’t find the words I need. I forget that writing is a process and sometimes I have to stop, walk away and leave it alone for a moment.
I called the salon in Chicago yesterday. Cindy, the manager, called me today. I had trouble speaking. It took me a moment to catch my breath and say through fresh tears that you died and I’m staying in Atlanta for the time being. After her sweet condolences she said to call her when I wanted to move. I promised her I would stay in touch and that I’d re-evaluate the situation after New Year’s. Today, I keep replaying my last trip up there over and over again. When I was there, I wished so much that you were with me, seeing everything I was looking at. I wanted you to be just as caught up in the city as I was. I also wanted to wrap my arms around you and squeeze you hard when I got the job. Thank you again for being so supportive, never pushing me to stay in Atlanta, never trying to talk me out of anything, but pushing me to go after what I wanted. I am forever grateful.
Something else I wanted to share with you… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being in such a bad mood that morning on the day you died. I don’t know what it was that possessed me to not lighten up. Maybe it was God’s way of getting me detach just a teeny bit because He knew what was coming. We addressed everything that needed to be addressed that morning. Apologies were made, love was given but I still couldn’t shake my anger. I wanted you to slow down, and touch me, hold me, and simply be with me. You were so worried about getting to Robby’s. You always were and I didn’t understand it when to my knowledge he didn’t give you any sort of schedule to adhere to and I felt you didn’t have that sense of urgency when it came to returning to Atlanta. I wanted your attention so badly and maybe you felt you were giving it but I felt you were distracted. I wanted you to stop a moment and kiss me like it was the last day of your life, because… it was.
I still love you so much I’ll never be able to put words to it. Promise me that even though I can’t touch or see you, you’ll always be here. Please don’t ever go. I love you. The most.
Love
Your Bug
Taking Care...
I'm laying face down on Marian's massage table as her hands are working on my back. I feel the crunchy stuff on the right side of my spine move under my skin.
"Melissa, you're really tight. What's going on?"
"I don't know." I lie.
"Have you told the salon in Chicago about Rob?"
"I haven't." I replied.
"You really need to do that!" she exclaims. "Just tell them and let it go. Your muscles are out of control right now."
"You're right." I agree, but I don't know if I'm ready. When will I be ready?
When she's finished an hour and a half later she tells me to stretch often and deal with whatever is going on right now.
"Don't put it off anymore."
I nod, thank her and leave.
I end up staying awake way too late and waking up way too early. After breakfast I'm set to get some writing done at Inman Perk. As I'm in the middle of swimming through a sea of words, thoughts and memories my computer shuts off without warning. I feel rage bubbling under the surface of my skin and I try to remain calm. It's done this before. Carefully, I pack it up and go home, change clothes and go for a run. I'll deal with it later.
While running, Marian's words from yesterday are still haunting me. I am angry and not enjoying my run at all. So much in fact that I just stop and walk, trying to figure out where this anger is coming from. I've put so many things off. For starters, I really do need to call Chicago and tell them what's happened. I have a stack of cards that need to be mailed, bills that need to be paid, plus countless of other things that I simply want to do, but have not made time for. The one thing that weighs heaviest on my mine is the hardest to write about, which we all know is precisely the subject I need to unleash. So here we go…
Food is slowly finding it's way back into my life in the most unhealthy way. I'm using it to deal with a larger issue which I'm using to deal with the largest issue which is my grief. This larger issue is that I see myself looking hard for male attention in some very wrong areas of my life. I want it to fill this huge gaping hole that is left by the absence of Rob as quickly as possible so I don't have to face this loss. The hands that have rested on mine are not Rob's, the eyes I'm looking into do not reflect his love, the skin beneath my fingers is not his. I feel I'm standing on the edge of this enormous cliff. My skin is on fire and eating me alive. If I jump off the cliff I'll land in cool refreshing water and be relieved for a moment, but the water's too cold and eventually, if I don't get out, I'll freeze to death. I see how this will end and slowly I back away, further and further from the edge feeling the heat from my skin leave and I have to find another way down from the cliff. This angers my 'addict' self and it's like I have two little angels sitting on each shoulder. One telling me to end this situation because it's not good for me and one telling me to 'go on…just a little further. You can handle it." I can't though and each time I give in, I get further sucked in until I'm completely isolated from people and doing anything and everything for a 'fix'. I finally turn away from the insistent voice that keeps telling me what I want to hear but it's all a lie.
I keep walking, filled with a sense of purpose. Saying no is the hardest part for me. I can see the other side of this fence though. If I let this obsession for physical affection go and trust that one day I'll get it back with an emotionally available person, I'll feel better. I'll be able to get a better grip on myself. I'm scared though, scared that there will be nothing to lean on if I let this situation go, nothing there to catch me when I'm drowning in my grief but I'm reminded that God is there. If I can just trust that, I won't be left alone. I'll be able to handle anything.
'Ok.' I think to myself. 'When I get home I have to deal with the cards I want to send, then the bills. After that, I need to call Chicago, and after that I have to deal with the 'situation'. The anger that was taking over is now gone. The obsession with food I felt this morning upon waking up has practically fallen away and it's simply because I'm making a decision to take care of myself. If I can just love myself enough I won't need any external 'void fillers'. I feel a million times better by just mapping out a plan and sticking to it. I walk through my front door and immediately tackle the cards. I had everything I needed right in front of me and let it sit for weeks. I see this isn't a good approach and yet I procrastinate anyway. When that's done I prepare to deposit my paycheck and head to the bank. It takes all of five minutes. Again, why do I wait?
As I'm driving down Spring street I realize that the next step is Chicago. It feels as if an anvil is dangling from my heart as I reach for my phone. My head is swimming back to that day in early April when I got the job. Rob was telling me before my interview to calm down, enjoy the process and they'll hire me on the spot.
"You worry too much." I hear his words through the phone.
"I know. I can't help it."
"You're going to do great. Lemme know how it goes."
After we hang up I race to the train station and get to the salon. This is my second interview with Art and Science and I have to demonstrate a couple of blow dry techniques plus interview with what I thought were two other managers. When I get there, I see it's eleven managers/educators, all firing questions at me. I'm at ease though, remembering Rob's words and enjoying the process. It's the most animated I've ever been at an interview.
I finish my demos and as I was packing up I was offered the job on the spot.
"We want you to start tomorrow!" Cindy, the manager exclaimed.
I am filling with such happiness that they want me and I want them that I can hardly speak. We decide that I'll call her later in the week for a start date. I leave the salon feeling elated. I hang on to this feeling while riding the train to the airport. I don't call or text anyone right away. As I'm changing trains I start texting.
To Rob I type in all caps "I GOT THE JOB!!!"
His response is immediate. "I told you they would hire you on the spot! Congratulations! Now c'mere so we can properly celebrate!"
I still have that text message saved on my phone. Making this call while driving probably isn't the best idea but I'm desperate all of the sudden to have it completed. I scroll down my list on contacts and stop at 'ArtandScience'. I press the green 'call' button and listen to the monotone ring on the other end until a voice picks up.
"Thank you for calling Art and Science Salon. This is Molly, how may I assist you?" the chipper voice floats through my ears.
"Hi Molly, is Cindy available?"
"She's not in yet, may I take a message?"
"Sure. Please tell her this is Melissa Nipper and to call me when she gets a chance." I exhale.
She takes my number and we hang up. I place the phone down on the seat next to me and exhale. I did it. Now I just have to wait. Next step, address the 'situation'. I decide to save that one though for later.
Kat and I go to see Sex and the City. We sat in front of a giggly dramatic group of woman who wanted to sing along with every song that would play.
"I'm glad my hetero-life mate doesn't make her own soundtrack to movies." I laugh to Kat as we walk out of the theater.
"You wouldn't want me to anyways." she laughs.
We eat lunch then get our nails and toes done. I was in desperate need. The last time they were done was the day of Rob's viewing. It was so good to be able to spend time with her. We didn't talk much but knowing she's right there was enough for me.
At home I get my computer, pray it operates and head to Aurora coffee down the street. I press the blue button to turn it on and fires up right away. Yay! I write my 'situation' and explain how I have to stop the madness. He writes back immediately and apologizes. I write back and say "No need for all that, I was making decisions I shouldn't be making." He writes back asking if everything is ok now. "It is."
A huge wave of relief washes over me and I feel quite proud of myself. As fun as it is to give in to whatever my little heart desires at the moment it doesn't always result in feeling stellar when it's all said and done.
It's late when I finally get home. I think about staying up a little while longer to read but my eyes are heavy. I give in to sleep.
"Melissa, you're really tight. What's going on?"
"I don't know." I lie.
"Have you told the salon in Chicago about Rob?"
"I haven't." I replied.
"You really need to do that!" she exclaims. "Just tell them and let it go. Your muscles are out of control right now."
"You're right." I agree, but I don't know if I'm ready. When will I be ready?
When she's finished an hour and a half later she tells me to stretch often and deal with whatever is going on right now.
"Don't put it off anymore."
I nod, thank her and leave.
I end up staying awake way too late and waking up way too early. After breakfast I'm set to get some writing done at Inman Perk. As I'm in the middle of swimming through a sea of words, thoughts and memories my computer shuts off without warning. I feel rage bubbling under the surface of my skin and I try to remain calm. It's done this before. Carefully, I pack it up and go home, change clothes and go for a run. I'll deal with it later.
While running, Marian's words from yesterday are still haunting me. I am angry and not enjoying my run at all. So much in fact that I just stop and walk, trying to figure out where this anger is coming from. I've put so many things off. For starters, I really do need to call Chicago and tell them what's happened. I have a stack of cards that need to be mailed, bills that need to be paid, plus countless of other things that I simply want to do, but have not made time for. The one thing that weighs heaviest on my mine is the hardest to write about, which we all know is precisely the subject I need to unleash. So here we go…
Food is slowly finding it's way back into my life in the most unhealthy way. I'm using it to deal with a larger issue which I'm using to deal with the largest issue which is my grief. This larger issue is that I see myself looking hard for male attention in some very wrong areas of my life. I want it to fill this huge gaping hole that is left by the absence of Rob as quickly as possible so I don't have to face this loss. The hands that have rested on mine are not Rob's, the eyes I'm looking into do not reflect his love, the skin beneath my fingers is not his. I feel I'm standing on the edge of this enormous cliff. My skin is on fire and eating me alive. If I jump off the cliff I'll land in cool refreshing water and be relieved for a moment, but the water's too cold and eventually, if I don't get out, I'll freeze to death. I see how this will end and slowly I back away, further and further from the edge feeling the heat from my skin leave and I have to find another way down from the cliff. This angers my 'addict' self and it's like I have two little angels sitting on each shoulder. One telling me to end this situation because it's not good for me and one telling me to 'go on…just a little further. You can handle it." I can't though and each time I give in, I get further sucked in until I'm completely isolated from people and doing anything and everything for a 'fix'. I finally turn away from the insistent voice that keeps telling me what I want to hear but it's all a lie.
I keep walking, filled with a sense of purpose. Saying no is the hardest part for me. I can see the other side of this fence though. If I let this obsession for physical affection go and trust that one day I'll get it back with an emotionally available person, I'll feel better. I'll be able to get a better grip on myself. I'm scared though, scared that there will be nothing to lean on if I let this situation go, nothing there to catch me when I'm drowning in my grief but I'm reminded that God is there. If I can just trust that, I won't be left alone. I'll be able to handle anything.
'Ok.' I think to myself. 'When I get home I have to deal with the cards I want to send, then the bills. After that, I need to call Chicago, and after that I have to deal with the 'situation'. The anger that was taking over is now gone. The obsession with food I felt this morning upon waking up has practically fallen away and it's simply because I'm making a decision to take care of myself. If I can just love myself enough I won't need any external 'void fillers'. I feel a million times better by just mapping out a plan and sticking to it. I walk through my front door and immediately tackle the cards. I had everything I needed right in front of me and let it sit for weeks. I see this isn't a good approach and yet I procrastinate anyway. When that's done I prepare to deposit my paycheck and head to the bank. It takes all of five minutes. Again, why do I wait?
As I'm driving down Spring street I realize that the next step is Chicago. It feels as if an anvil is dangling from my heart as I reach for my phone. My head is swimming back to that day in early April when I got the job. Rob was telling me before my interview to calm down, enjoy the process and they'll hire me on the spot.
"You worry too much." I hear his words through the phone.
"I know. I can't help it."
"You're going to do great. Lemme know how it goes."
After we hang up I race to the train station and get to the salon. This is my second interview with Art and Science and I have to demonstrate a couple of blow dry techniques plus interview with what I thought were two other managers. When I get there, I see it's eleven managers/educators, all firing questions at me. I'm at ease though, remembering Rob's words and enjoying the process. It's the most animated I've ever been at an interview.
I finish my demos and as I was packing up I was offered the job on the spot.
"We want you to start tomorrow!" Cindy, the manager exclaimed.
I am filling with such happiness that they want me and I want them that I can hardly speak. We decide that I'll call her later in the week for a start date. I leave the salon feeling elated. I hang on to this feeling while riding the train to the airport. I don't call or text anyone right away. As I'm changing trains I start texting.
To Rob I type in all caps "I GOT THE JOB!!!"
His response is immediate. "I told you they would hire you on the spot! Congratulations! Now c'mere so we can properly celebrate!"
I still have that text message saved on my phone. Making this call while driving probably isn't the best idea but I'm desperate all of the sudden to have it completed. I scroll down my list on contacts and stop at 'ArtandScience'. I press the green 'call' button and listen to the monotone ring on the other end until a voice picks up.
"Thank you for calling Art and Science Salon. This is Molly, how may I assist you?" the chipper voice floats through my ears.
"Hi Molly, is Cindy available?"
"She's not in yet, may I take a message?"
"Sure. Please tell her this is Melissa Nipper and to call me when she gets a chance." I exhale.
She takes my number and we hang up. I place the phone down on the seat next to me and exhale. I did it. Now I just have to wait. Next step, address the 'situation'. I decide to save that one though for later.
Kat and I go to see Sex and the City. We sat in front of a giggly dramatic group of woman who wanted to sing along with every song that would play.
"I'm glad my hetero-life mate doesn't make her own soundtrack to movies." I laugh to Kat as we walk out of the theater.
"You wouldn't want me to anyways." she laughs.
We eat lunch then get our nails and toes done. I was in desperate need. The last time they were done was the day of Rob's viewing. It was so good to be able to spend time with her. We didn't talk much but knowing she's right there was enough for me.
At home I get my computer, pray it operates and head to Aurora coffee down the street. I press the blue button to turn it on and fires up right away. Yay! I write my 'situation' and explain how I have to stop the madness. He writes back immediately and apologizes. I write back and say "No need for all that, I was making decisions I shouldn't be making." He writes back asking if everything is ok now. "It is."
A huge wave of relief washes over me and I feel quite proud of myself. As fun as it is to give in to whatever my little heart desires at the moment it doesn't always result in feeling stellar when it's all said and done.
It's late when I finally get home. I think about staying up a little while longer to read but my eyes are heavy. I give in to sleep.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
D.C....
D.C….
“So close. And yet… so far away.” My dad laughed as he gestured to the row of seats in front of us.
We’re sitting on a Boeing 737 with “non stop service to Washington D.C.” as was told to us by a rather chipper flight attendant, just one row behind first class. It’s 7:15am on Saturday. I’ve been awake since 4:30am, soy latte in hand, trying to remember my name.
I erupt into laughter. “I don’t think we’ll ever fly first class on a domestic flight again.”
“Nope. Not with all the frequent flyer upgrades.” he replied. Dad has worked for Delta Air Lines almost 34 years. We’ve had all sorts of adventures with flying. It’s getting harder nowadays with full flights and upgrades to even get on the plane never mind first class.
“International is still good though.” I point out.
“Yeah, that’s usually a given.”
“That’s all that matters! I’ll sit in the back of the bus on domestic flights if it means being up front to jump the pond!”
He and I sit in a comfortable silence all the way to D.C. I stare out the window for a little while and think about what would I be doing if Rob were still here. We’d probably be on our way to Charleston, singing something retarded or laughing at something silly, holding hands.
“What do you want to do first?” Daddy asks bringing me back to reality when we’re about to land.
“Being that it’s going to rain sometime today, let’s go to Arlington Cemetery first.” I reply.
“Ok.”
We land smoothly and quickly exit. The sun is out for now. After figuring out the Metro ticket machines we’re off.
“This way daddy!” I call out to him while he looks at a map. He follows me up the escalator an onto an arriving train.
When we exit we walk around until finding the entrance to the cemetery. I want to see it, I do but I’m feeling a little squeamish about death at the moment.
“I was twelve the last time I was here.” Dad pipes up. “I was here on a school trip and fell on some cement benches in this open amphitheater.”
“What?!” I exclaim. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, I have this scar right here.” he pointed to his left eyebrow. “I was lucky I didn’t hit my eye. I had to get stitches.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I was acting crazy. Instead of walking down the aisles correctly, I was walking down the benches and slipped and fell.”
I’m trying to imagine my very reserved father “acting crazy” and I can’t help but laugh.
“I had blood all over the place. My teacher almost passed out!“ he laughed. “They took me to this place people aren‘t supposed to go. I think it‘s where the guards are able to change clothes or something.”
“That‘s out of control! Let’s go back to you acting crazy. Define that please.” I giggle.
“You know. I was just being a kid.”
“No, I don’t know about that.” I laugh and hug him.
We walk up to see Kennedy’s grave which is interesting. Dad tells me the President’s assassination happened shortly after that trip he took.
We walk a little while longer to the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We approach as the changing of the guard is happening. I am fascinated. These guys are out there in full uniform, no matter what, guarding this grave site. When that is finished we walk back to the train and head to the Natural History Museum. Again I’m am fascinated with all things science oriented. We walk through huge mammal exhibits, gem stone exhibits and planet exhibits. Neither of us say much, just reading and observing, avoiding random kids running around.
We’re both starving by the time we’re finished and stop at the café downstairs for lunch.
“Where to now?” he asks finishing up a cookie.
“Hmm. Well, I’d like to see the Holocaust Museum but we may not have time. Plus if it’s going to start raining we may need to head to the airport.”
“It’ll be fine. Where’s the Holocaust Museum?” he asks.
‘Of course it’ll be fine.’ I think to myself. ‘I’m with him.’
I pull out my map and we figure out where to go and we’re off again, walking down Constitution Ave then down 14th until we find the museum. It’s huge and packed as we open the huge glass doors that line the front of the building. We make our way through metal detectors and into a huge atrium where people are swarming and children are screaming.
“Popular place.” Dad observes.
“Uh huh.” I agree. I hate crowds and immediately want to walk out the door and save this place for another time.
“Let’s go over there.” Dad pointed to what looked like a room. It was a well put together exhibit of this one child who survived the concentration camps. After walking through it we notice the rain has started. It’s coming down in sideways sheets.
“I’ll bet this delays some flights.” Dad says while looking out a window.
“Oh yeah.” We look at each other and laugh.
We walk up a huge staircase and enter another huge atrium with candles lit. It’s silent and beautiful.
“I think we need to come back on a random Wednesday in January, not on a Saturday after school has let out for the summer.” I smile at my dad.
“Yeah…”
After a little more wandering through chaos the rain stops and we head out for the airport. While on the train it starts up again. When we get to the airport we decide to try for an earlier flight. It’s almost 3:00pm.
“Ok, the 2:55 flight is delayed until 5:00. Let’s see how that one looks.” Dad says as we make our way to the gate.
Of course it’s full.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Let’s just try and list on this one and if we don’t make it, then they’ll roll us over to the next one.” he replies.
I nod and we stand in line at the gate behind a Puerto Rican woman who is standing behind a Chinese couple who are talking to the gate agent trying to change something. Off to the right of them is a 177 year old woman in a wheel chair. Dad and I both observe what’s going on at the counter, unable to hear anything. Fifteen minutes go by.
“What in the world is going on up there?” he asks me.
“No idea.” We continue to wait. My mind begins to wander. I haven’t really thought too much about Rob today and I feel a slight twinge of guilt. I haven’t been in a bad mood either despite my serious lack of sleep and the fact all these flights are delayed as well.
“We’ve been standing here for thirty minutes.” Dad’s voice rings in my ear.
“Lord. What the hell?” I mumble.
“If it’s that big of a deal take ‘em somewhere else!” he exclaims to me.
“The plane is going to take off before we even get up there.” I giggle and we continue to stand.
I dial Rob’s number and he picks up on the third ring.
“Hey.”
“Hey darlin’. How are you?”
“Good. How are you?”
“Ugh. Crazy. I think I might be spending the night at O’Hare tonight.” I reply, dropping my bag on the floor at my feet.
“Really.” his tone is calm.
“Flights are all full and delayed. Weather in Atlanta fucked everything up. Story of my life. I think I’m going to try Cincinnati and then go to Atlanta from there.”
“You can do that?”
“Uh huh. Push comes to horrible shove, if I get stuck in Chicago and the first flight to Atlanta in the morning looks bad, could you pick me up if I can make it to Greenville?”
“Sure. I mean, I was planning on sleeping in tomorrow but I could come get you.”
“Well hopefully that won’t happen. Hopefully a miracle will happen and I’ll fly home from here tonight. I just don’t know when…”
“What could possibly be the problem up there?!” Dad exclaims to me as I watch the 177 year old woman begin to stand from her wheel chair. The Chinese couple are still at the counter. It’s been forty five minutes.
“Look daddy.” I gesture over to the antique leaving her chair. “We’ve been waiting in this line so long that the 177 year old woman in the wheel chair is able to stand now!”
We both start laughing. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.” It’s his turn to gesture to the counter at the Chinese couple.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before!” I nod in the other direction to a woman corn-rowing some dude’s hair.
“Oh, she’s been working on that. You should have seen it earlier. It was all standing out everywhere.” he replied.
“Amazing…” we start laughing again.
Just then the Chinese couple leaves and the Puerto Rican woman who is now flanked by what looks like her mother and sister approach the counter. I’d like to clap for Chinese couple finally getting their issue done and over with but I don’t have the energy.
It looks like another issue is about to arise as I watch the exasperated gate agent try to explain in clear English, mind you, that the delay is weather related and if they miss their flight from Atlanta to Puerto Rico they will have to foot their own hotel bill.
“Either you stay here in D.C. and we book you on a flight tomorrow or you take a chance in Atlanta.” the agent stated.
“Daddy, let’s just board. Screw all this.” I giggle, then see that the woman decided to take a chance at their connection and board. Finally it’s our turn.
“Are you accepting any more stand by passengers?” Dad asks the gate agent.
“No sir, this flight is full.” she replies.
We just stood in line for almost an hour to hear they won’t even list us. Awesome. Plan B.
“Ok, now what?” I ask.
“Let’s go see about the next flight.”
The next one leaves at 6pm. We list on that one and sit. It’s now 4pm. I crack open a book and dad closes his eyes.
“Hey.” he says after a few minutes. “The priority is wrong on the boarding passes. I’m going to go change it.”
“Ok.” I nod.
Thirty minutes go by. No sign of my dad anywhere. The man I’m sitting next to has apparently had too much caffeine. He won’t sit still and his constant movements are registering on the damn Richter Scale. Another fifteen minutes go by with no daddy. My mind takes me back to a story a client told me earlier this week about her daughter’s roommate. My client’s daughter lives in London and received a call from her roommate that she was at Gatwick airport picking her mom up when suddenly her mother dropped dead of a massive heart attack. I had promised myself I wouldn’t freak out with thinking about other people in my life dying after Rob but here I am, about to have a panic attack because my father hasn’t returned. ‘He has our boarding passes.’ I think to myself. ‘…and if something happened I would know about it by now.’
The dude next to me makes another move that registered a nine on the Richter Scale and sent me over the edge. I jumped up, grabbed my purse and set out to find my dad. I wander from gate to gate, restaurant to souvenir store with nothing. He doesn’t have his phone with him and I find myself standing in the middle of the huge corridor that lines and separates the gates from the shops staring at the various people walking by when something at Gate 15 catches my eye. It’s the back of my dad’s head. He’s back at the gate we started at, standing in line.
“Are you serious?!” I squeal, rushing up to him.
He starts laughing. “Back where I started.”
“Why?!” I continue to squeal.
“This flight has more seats on it and is a Delta flight. The other one we were listed on was a Delta carrier. It was smaller and everyone flies on a different priority. They both are taking off at 7.”
“How does that happen?” I ask feeling my panic dissipate.
“It’s not supposed to but they’re both so delayed that that’s what they’ve got to do.”
I nod and we wait.
“Rob!” I squeal into the phone. “I’m getting on this flight!” I’ve been delayed at O’Hare for six hours.
“That’s awesome!”
“Yay! I’m so excited! I called work to tell them I won‘t be in. I‘m going to sleep for as long as possible.”
“I’m proud of you for doing that. You need to sleep.” I hear him smile on the other end. “I’m going to do laundry in the morning then head down. I can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see you either.” I grin.
“Ok, I’m going to bed. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Passenger Nipper?” the gate agent pipes up and we approach the counter after getting re-listed and waiting another hour to board. “You can board.” she nods to the open door. Our boarding passes are scanned and we receive little slips of paper with the seat number printed on them. It’s like the airplane lottery. You never know where you’re going to sit. We both look at our seat numbers then at each other as we walk down the narrow passageway that leads to the open door of the aircraft.
“Where are you?” dad asks.
“Two D.” I giggle. “You?”
“Two C. I can’t believe we made it to First Class.”
“Me either!”
We settle into our seats and watch the flight attendants buzz around and get things organized.
“Excuse me sir?” a flaming gay male attendant calls out to a man standing in the aisle a couple of rows behind us. “What’s the hold up?”
“We’re changing seats.” the man replied.
“Ok, let’s hurry it up sir.”
No response. Seconds later the attendant’s voice radiates from the speaker.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please move as quickly as possible. There are connections to be made in Atlanta and the faster you move, the faster we take off. You can sit next to your best buddy just as soon as we take off, but please, for now please take your assigned seats.”
Dad and I look at each other and laugh. Another female attendant goes flying by us to the front of the plane.
“I need soda!” she exclaims to the other attendants. “Hurry! Where is it?”
“What’s problem?” Attendant A asks.
“This passenger back there says he wants soda and he wants it now and to hurry it up!” Attendant B exhales pouring sparking liquid into a glass and racing back to the needy passenger. The peanut gallery up front gathers to watch their co-worker hand over the soda.
Attendant A pipes up. “Hurry it up? I’d be taking my dear sweet time. I saw him board and I knew he’d be a problem. I knew it.”
Again, dad and I look at each other and laugh.
“Everybody’s nerves are shot.” he says quietly to me.
I nod. Finally everything gets settled and just as we’re about to leave the gate the Captain comes on and explains that we can’t leave just yet. Air traffic control says no one is to leave the airport. Huh? No one understands. We’re camped out on the ground another hour before we finally push back and take off. I close my eyes for a little while then feel something moving around my feet. I open my eyes to see dad reaching for my camera in my purse. I watch him take pictures out of the window at the clouds. They’re pink with a huge gray one hovering over. The pink ones are shaped almost like a city skyline. Peering out at these clouds makes me think of Heaven and I wonder what Rob’s doing. I close my eyes again and sleep the rest of the way back to Atlanta.
“So close. And yet… so far away.” My dad laughed as he gestured to the row of seats in front of us.
We’re sitting on a Boeing 737 with “non stop service to Washington D.C.” as was told to us by a rather chipper flight attendant, just one row behind first class. It’s 7:15am on Saturday. I’ve been awake since 4:30am, soy latte in hand, trying to remember my name.
I erupt into laughter. “I don’t think we’ll ever fly first class on a domestic flight again.”
“Nope. Not with all the frequent flyer upgrades.” he replied. Dad has worked for Delta Air Lines almost 34 years. We’ve had all sorts of adventures with flying. It’s getting harder nowadays with full flights and upgrades to even get on the plane never mind first class.
“International is still good though.” I point out.
“Yeah, that’s usually a given.”
“That’s all that matters! I’ll sit in the back of the bus on domestic flights if it means being up front to jump the pond!”
He and I sit in a comfortable silence all the way to D.C. I stare out the window for a little while and think about what would I be doing if Rob were still here. We’d probably be on our way to Charleston, singing something retarded or laughing at something silly, holding hands.
“What do you want to do first?” Daddy asks bringing me back to reality when we’re about to land.
“Being that it’s going to rain sometime today, let’s go to Arlington Cemetery first.” I reply.
“Ok.”
We land smoothly and quickly exit. The sun is out for now. After figuring out the Metro ticket machines we’re off.
“This way daddy!” I call out to him while he looks at a map. He follows me up the escalator an onto an arriving train.
When we exit we walk around until finding the entrance to the cemetery. I want to see it, I do but I’m feeling a little squeamish about death at the moment.
“I was twelve the last time I was here.” Dad pipes up. “I was here on a school trip and fell on some cement benches in this open amphitheater.”
“What?!” I exclaim. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, I have this scar right here.” he pointed to his left eyebrow. “I was lucky I didn’t hit my eye. I had to get stitches.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I was acting crazy. Instead of walking down the aisles correctly, I was walking down the benches and slipped and fell.”
I’m trying to imagine my very reserved father “acting crazy” and I can’t help but laugh.
“I had blood all over the place. My teacher almost passed out!“ he laughed. “They took me to this place people aren‘t supposed to go. I think it‘s where the guards are able to change clothes or something.”
“That‘s out of control! Let’s go back to you acting crazy. Define that please.” I giggle.
“You know. I was just being a kid.”
“No, I don’t know about that.” I laugh and hug him.
We walk up to see Kennedy’s grave which is interesting. Dad tells me the President’s assassination happened shortly after that trip he took.
We walk a little while longer to the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We approach as the changing of the guard is happening. I am fascinated. These guys are out there in full uniform, no matter what, guarding this grave site. When that is finished we walk back to the train and head to the Natural History Museum. Again I’m am fascinated with all things science oriented. We walk through huge mammal exhibits, gem stone exhibits and planet exhibits. Neither of us say much, just reading and observing, avoiding random kids running around.
We’re both starving by the time we’re finished and stop at the café downstairs for lunch.
“Where to now?” he asks finishing up a cookie.
“Hmm. Well, I’d like to see the Holocaust Museum but we may not have time. Plus if it’s going to start raining we may need to head to the airport.”
“It’ll be fine. Where’s the Holocaust Museum?” he asks.
‘Of course it’ll be fine.’ I think to myself. ‘I’m with him.’
I pull out my map and we figure out where to go and we’re off again, walking down Constitution Ave then down 14th until we find the museum. It’s huge and packed as we open the huge glass doors that line the front of the building. We make our way through metal detectors and into a huge atrium where people are swarming and children are screaming.
“Popular place.” Dad observes.
“Uh huh.” I agree. I hate crowds and immediately want to walk out the door and save this place for another time.
“Let’s go over there.” Dad pointed to what looked like a room. It was a well put together exhibit of this one child who survived the concentration camps. After walking through it we notice the rain has started. It’s coming down in sideways sheets.
“I’ll bet this delays some flights.” Dad says while looking out a window.
“Oh yeah.” We look at each other and laugh.
We walk up a huge staircase and enter another huge atrium with candles lit. It’s silent and beautiful.
“I think we need to come back on a random Wednesday in January, not on a Saturday after school has let out for the summer.” I smile at my dad.
“Yeah…”
After a little more wandering through chaos the rain stops and we head out for the airport. While on the train it starts up again. When we get to the airport we decide to try for an earlier flight. It’s almost 3:00pm.
“Ok, the 2:55 flight is delayed until 5:00. Let’s see how that one looks.” Dad says as we make our way to the gate.
Of course it’s full.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Let’s just try and list on this one and if we don’t make it, then they’ll roll us over to the next one.” he replies.
I nod and we stand in line at the gate behind a Puerto Rican woman who is standing behind a Chinese couple who are talking to the gate agent trying to change something. Off to the right of them is a 177 year old woman in a wheel chair. Dad and I both observe what’s going on at the counter, unable to hear anything. Fifteen minutes go by.
“What in the world is going on up there?” he asks me.
“No idea.” We continue to wait. My mind begins to wander. I haven’t really thought too much about Rob today and I feel a slight twinge of guilt. I haven’t been in a bad mood either despite my serious lack of sleep and the fact all these flights are delayed as well.
“We’ve been standing here for thirty minutes.” Dad’s voice rings in my ear.
“Lord. What the hell?” I mumble.
“If it’s that big of a deal take ‘em somewhere else!” he exclaims to me.
“The plane is going to take off before we even get up there.” I giggle and we continue to stand.
I dial Rob’s number and he picks up on the third ring.
“Hey.”
“Hey darlin’. How are you?”
“Good. How are you?”
“Ugh. Crazy. I think I might be spending the night at O’Hare tonight.” I reply, dropping my bag on the floor at my feet.
“Really.” his tone is calm.
“Flights are all full and delayed. Weather in Atlanta fucked everything up. Story of my life. I think I’m going to try Cincinnati and then go to Atlanta from there.”
“You can do that?”
“Uh huh. Push comes to horrible shove, if I get stuck in Chicago and the first flight to Atlanta in the morning looks bad, could you pick me up if I can make it to Greenville?”
“Sure. I mean, I was planning on sleeping in tomorrow but I could come get you.”
“Well hopefully that won’t happen. Hopefully a miracle will happen and I’ll fly home from here tonight. I just don’t know when…”
“What could possibly be the problem up there?!” Dad exclaims to me as I watch the 177 year old woman begin to stand from her wheel chair. The Chinese couple are still at the counter. It’s been forty five minutes.
“Look daddy.” I gesture over to the antique leaving her chair. “We’ve been waiting in this line so long that the 177 year old woman in the wheel chair is able to stand now!”
We both start laughing. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.” It’s his turn to gesture to the counter at the Chinese couple.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before!” I nod in the other direction to a woman corn-rowing some dude’s hair.
“Oh, she’s been working on that. You should have seen it earlier. It was all standing out everywhere.” he replied.
“Amazing…” we start laughing again.
Just then the Chinese couple leaves and the Puerto Rican woman who is now flanked by what looks like her mother and sister approach the counter. I’d like to clap for Chinese couple finally getting their issue done and over with but I don’t have the energy.
It looks like another issue is about to arise as I watch the exasperated gate agent try to explain in clear English, mind you, that the delay is weather related and if they miss their flight from Atlanta to Puerto Rico they will have to foot their own hotel bill.
“Either you stay here in D.C. and we book you on a flight tomorrow or you take a chance in Atlanta.” the agent stated.
“Daddy, let’s just board. Screw all this.” I giggle, then see that the woman decided to take a chance at their connection and board. Finally it’s our turn.
“Are you accepting any more stand by passengers?” Dad asks the gate agent.
“No sir, this flight is full.” she replies.
We just stood in line for almost an hour to hear they won’t even list us. Awesome. Plan B.
“Ok, now what?” I ask.
“Let’s go see about the next flight.”
The next one leaves at 6pm. We list on that one and sit. It’s now 4pm. I crack open a book and dad closes his eyes.
“Hey.” he says after a few minutes. “The priority is wrong on the boarding passes. I’m going to go change it.”
“Ok.” I nod.
Thirty minutes go by. No sign of my dad anywhere. The man I’m sitting next to has apparently had too much caffeine. He won’t sit still and his constant movements are registering on the damn Richter Scale. Another fifteen minutes go by with no daddy. My mind takes me back to a story a client told me earlier this week about her daughter’s roommate. My client’s daughter lives in London and received a call from her roommate that she was at Gatwick airport picking her mom up when suddenly her mother dropped dead of a massive heart attack. I had promised myself I wouldn’t freak out with thinking about other people in my life dying after Rob but here I am, about to have a panic attack because my father hasn’t returned. ‘He has our boarding passes.’ I think to myself. ‘…and if something happened I would know about it by now.’
The dude next to me makes another move that registered a nine on the Richter Scale and sent me over the edge. I jumped up, grabbed my purse and set out to find my dad. I wander from gate to gate, restaurant to souvenir store with nothing. He doesn’t have his phone with him and I find myself standing in the middle of the huge corridor that lines and separates the gates from the shops staring at the various people walking by when something at Gate 15 catches my eye. It’s the back of my dad’s head. He’s back at the gate we started at, standing in line.
“Are you serious?!” I squeal, rushing up to him.
He starts laughing. “Back where I started.”
“Why?!” I continue to squeal.
“This flight has more seats on it and is a Delta flight. The other one we were listed on was a Delta carrier. It was smaller and everyone flies on a different priority. They both are taking off at 7.”
“How does that happen?” I ask feeling my panic dissipate.
“It’s not supposed to but they’re both so delayed that that’s what they’ve got to do.”
I nod and we wait.
“Rob!” I squeal into the phone. “I’m getting on this flight!” I’ve been delayed at O’Hare for six hours.
“That’s awesome!”
“Yay! I’m so excited! I called work to tell them I won‘t be in. I‘m going to sleep for as long as possible.”
“I’m proud of you for doing that. You need to sleep.” I hear him smile on the other end. “I’m going to do laundry in the morning then head down. I can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see you either.” I grin.
“Ok, I’m going to bed. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Passenger Nipper?” the gate agent pipes up and we approach the counter after getting re-listed and waiting another hour to board. “You can board.” she nods to the open door. Our boarding passes are scanned and we receive little slips of paper with the seat number printed on them. It’s like the airplane lottery. You never know where you’re going to sit. We both look at our seat numbers then at each other as we walk down the narrow passageway that leads to the open door of the aircraft.
“Where are you?” dad asks.
“Two D.” I giggle. “You?”
“Two C. I can’t believe we made it to First Class.”
“Me either!”
We settle into our seats and watch the flight attendants buzz around and get things organized.
“Excuse me sir?” a flaming gay male attendant calls out to a man standing in the aisle a couple of rows behind us. “What’s the hold up?”
“We’re changing seats.” the man replied.
“Ok, let’s hurry it up sir.”
No response. Seconds later the attendant’s voice radiates from the speaker.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please move as quickly as possible. There are connections to be made in Atlanta and the faster you move, the faster we take off. You can sit next to your best buddy just as soon as we take off, but please, for now please take your assigned seats.”
Dad and I look at each other and laugh. Another female attendant goes flying by us to the front of the plane.
“I need soda!” she exclaims to the other attendants. “Hurry! Where is it?”
“What’s problem?” Attendant A asks.
“This passenger back there says he wants soda and he wants it now and to hurry it up!” Attendant B exhales pouring sparking liquid into a glass and racing back to the needy passenger. The peanut gallery up front gathers to watch their co-worker hand over the soda.
Attendant A pipes up. “Hurry it up? I’d be taking my dear sweet time. I saw him board and I knew he’d be a problem. I knew it.”
Again, dad and I look at each other and laugh.
“Everybody’s nerves are shot.” he says quietly to me.
I nod. Finally everything gets settled and just as we’re about to leave the gate the Captain comes on and explains that we can’t leave just yet. Air traffic control says no one is to leave the airport. Huh? No one understands. We’re camped out on the ground another hour before we finally push back and take off. I close my eyes for a little while then feel something moving around my feet. I open my eyes to see dad reaching for my camera in my purse. I watch him take pictures out of the window at the clouds. They’re pink with a huge gray one hovering over. The pink ones are shaped almost like a city skyline. Peering out at these clouds makes me think of Heaven and I wonder what Rob’s doing. I close my eyes again and sleep the rest of the way back to Atlanta.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Music...
Since I was twelve years old I’ve been obsessed with music. I’ve been singing my whole life, played the piano for five years and at the lovely age of twelve put together my first “mixed tape”. It consisted of random things like Paula Abdul, The Cranberries and Tom Petty. Hearing “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” still to this day takes me back to the days of big pink glasses, braces, and dresses with puffy sleeves. (I hear you laughing over there!)
Music has always been something I’ve turned to when there’s something going on in my life. Whether I was singing, playing or listening to the radio searching for the lyrics that I could apply to a particular situation, nothing takes me into or out of a moment like a good song.
Now, more than ever I feel extra clingy to certain songs, absorbing all their words trying to find some relief, some sort of message. They all run together at times saying…“take me away to better days…you’re the nicest thing I ever did see…take time to realize that your warmth is crashing down on in…just breathe…nobody said it was easy, nobody said it would be this hard, take me back to the start…I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you…you cut me open and I keep bleeding love…I’m so addicted to you… it’s a beautiful day, a beautiful sunrise, I can’t stand to see you cry, I can take away your pain, …tell me how am I supposed to breathe with no air… I’m watching you breathing for the last time…you treat me like I’m a princess, I’m not used to liking it…”
The list is endless. I sing more now than I ever have before, enjoying the vibrations of my vocal cords and the places my mind goes in the middle of a song. The only song I can remember without sheet music on the piano is “The Unchained Melody”. I sang it in tenth grade at a school function and miraculously still remember how to play it ten years later. Recently I bought a Sarah McLachlan CD with her version of the song. I got completely lost in the melody. It was an interesting accompaniment. Her haunting voice swept me up and enveloped me in this quiet moment while driving one Sunday afternoon. I burst into tears before I could even recognize what was happening. “Oh…My love, my darling…” she sang through the speakers. “I’ve hungered for your touch, a long lonely time…I need your love, God speed your love to me…”
I still pray. A lot. I stare at Rob’s pictures. I ask him to talk to me, show me things, help me find words, help me write, show me the path I’m supposed to be on. When I ask of these things, I eventually find the words I need and the strength to write. Then sometimes while driving I’ll see a South Carolina car tag and smile. It’s usually after praying or after crying that I see one of these and it doesn’t happen that often. I feel extra special when it does. On Friday my client and friend Emily came in to see me. I haven’t seen her since December. She doesn’t know that I even met Rob or anything else.
“I brought you a CD!” she exclaimed after giving me a hug.
“Really!”
She hands me the disc.
“I burned it for you. It’s this band called Griffin House and some other funny stuff like that Miley Cyrus song.” she giggled.
I laugh.
“I’ve not heard of them but I’m excited! Thank you!” I exclaim.
“Of course.”
I don’t get to listen to the CD until I’m driving to mom and dad’s. The melody of the first song sounds sweet. Some lyrics catch my ear. “…Save me from myself. You got my back when I need help.” I smile and think of how Rob would always tell me I could count on him whenever I needed something. I certainly held him to it.
It’s Monday. I’m up early and driving to Marietta. I remember Emily’s CD and want to hear that first song again. I listen very closely to the lyrics this time…
Honey when you doubt my love for you Looking in my eyes what I'm going through Even if we change and fall out of You hold my hand and it's better than love Save me from myself You got my back when I need help It's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl Sometimes dreams they don't come true I was scared that night when I met you Well I stayed patient and I stayed kind Telling you to take your time Turn my life around You made it okay to let you down There's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl So when I'm walking down the road and feeling fine Can't understand the things you do Nothing turns out the way we planned You're still my baby and I'm still you're man Save me from myself You got my back when I need help It's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl
The singer’s voice is gentle and I sing along with him over and over again. Three times while driving I see a South Carolina car tag (one of which says 10/08 on it.) and I can’t help but to think Rob chose the song for Emily to give to me and he’s singing right along with me. If Rob were still on this planet I’d be going on and on about the song to him like he was to me about Saving Abel’s “Addicted”. I think we both could apply the lyrics to each of our lives with each other. Like I needed him to “save me from myself” (and cookies) and “sometimes dreams don’t come true” certainly pertains to the current situation. “You made it ok to let you down.” makes me think of how he was late all the time. Despite the fact that I was livid half the time about it, I could calmly state how I just wanted to see him and his being three hours late cut into that time. That’s all. He liked that I put it that way instead of yelling at him. And yes of course, holding his hand was better than love.
Music has always been something I’ve turned to when there’s something going on in my life. Whether I was singing, playing or listening to the radio searching for the lyrics that I could apply to a particular situation, nothing takes me into or out of a moment like a good song.
Now, more than ever I feel extra clingy to certain songs, absorbing all their words trying to find some relief, some sort of message. They all run together at times saying…“take me away to better days…you’re the nicest thing I ever did see…take time to realize that your warmth is crashing down on in…just breathe…nobody said it was easy, nobody said it would be this hard, take me back to the start…I don’t care what they say, I’m in love with you…you cut me open and I keep bleeding love…I’m so addicted to you… it’s a beautiful day, a beautiful sunrise, I can’t stand to see you cry, I can take away your pain, …tell me how am I supposed to breathe with no air… I’m watching you breathing for the last time…you treat me like I’m a princess, I’m not used to liking it…”
The list is endless. I sing more now than I ever have before, enjoying the vibrations of my vocal cords and the places my mind goes in the middle of a song. The only song I can remember without sheet music on the piano is “The Unchained Melody”. I sang it in tenth grade at a school function and miraculously still remember how to play it ten years later. Recently I bought a Sarah McLachlan CD with her version of the song. I got completely lost in the melody. It was an interesting accompaniment. Her haunting voice swept me up and enveloped me in this quiet moment while driving one Sunday afternoon. I burst into tears before I could even recognize what was happening. “Oh…My love, my darling…” she sang through the speakers. “I’ve hungered for your touch, a long lonely time…I need your love, God speed your love to me…”
I still pray. A lot. I stare at Rob’s pictures. I ask him to talk to me, show me things, help me find words, help me write, show me the path I’m supposed to be on. When I ask of these things, I eventually find the words I need and the strength to write. Then sometimes while driving I’ll see a South Carolina car tag and smile. It’s usually after praying or after crying that I see one of these and it doesn’t happen that often. I feel extra special when it does. On Friday my client and friend Emily came in to see me. I haven’t seen her since December. She doesn’t know that I even met Rob or anything else.
“I brought you a CD!” she exclaimed after giving me a hug.
“Really!”
She hands me the disc.
“I burned it for you. It’s this band called Griffin House and some other funny stuff like that Miley Cyrus song.” she giggled.
I laugh.
“I’ve not heard of them but I’m excited! Thank you!” I exclaim.
“Of course.”
I don’t get to listen to the CD until I’m driving to mom and dad’s. The melody of the first song sounds sweet. Some lyrics catch my ear. “…Save me from myself. You got my back when I need help.” I smile and think of how Rob would always tell me I could count on him whenever I needed something. I certainly held him to it.
It’s Monday. I’m up early and driving to Marietta. I remember Emily’s CD and want to hear that first song again. I listen very closely to the lyrics this time…
Honey when you doubt my love for you Looking in my eyes what I'm going through Even if we change and fall out of You hold my hand and it's better than love Save me from myself You got my back when I need help It's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl Sometimes dreams they don't come true I was scared that night when I met you Well I stayed patient and I stayed kind Telling you to take your time Turn my life around You made it okay to let you down There's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl So when I'm walking down the road and feeling fine Can't understand the things you do Nothing turns out the way we planned You're still my baby and I'm still you're man Save me from myself You got my back when I need help It's no one else in the world You will always be my girl You will always be My girl
The singer’s voice is gentle and I sing along with him over and over again. Three times while driving I see a South Carolina car tag (one of which says 10/08 on it.) and I can’t help but to think Rob chose the song for Emily to give to me and he’s singing right along with me. If Rob were still on this planet I’d be going on and on about the song to him like he was to me about Saving Abel’s “Addicted”. I think we both could apply the lyrics to each of our lives with each other. Like I needed him to “save me from myself” (and cookies) and “sometimes dreams don’t come true” certainly pertains to the current situation. “You made it ok to let you down.” makes me think of how he was late all the time. Despite the fact that I was livid half the time about it, I could calmly state how I just wanted to see him and his being three hours late cut into that time. That’s all. He liked that I put it that way instead of yelling at him. And yes of course, holding his hand was better than love.
Steak...
If I could use colors to describe my mood today it would be a nasty vomit color mixed with traces of black. I still have no words for my feelings. As I’m getting dressed I have to remind myself to do my hair, put on makeup, and wear earrings. I did none of this yesterday and was reminded that I work in front of a mirror all day and need to make an effort.
In the bathroom I spread on a thick coat of red lipstick hoping to erase the vomit color that has clouded my mind. I’ve had plenty of good days and bad days at work. I’ve dealt with a lot of emotional ups and downs throughout my career and have always kept everything in check but this… losing Rob has kicked my ass so hard that sometimes I find it nearly impossible to actually talk to people. The urge to walk out the door sometimes is so strong that I have to remind myself that walking away is not the appropriate response and I can do this. I can do my job. Sometimes though I’m surprised at myself for glossing over the news of Rob’s death when discussing it. I keep a smile on my face somehow when explaining it to some of my clients. Heaven forbid they feel uncomfortable with my news. I don’t want to weigh them down with the heaviness of my grief so by smiling I can at least appear ok and that I’m not going to start crying and appear to lose focus. Focus I didn’t have to begin with anyway.
“Melissa, your cousins are dead.” my dad tells me in a slightly aggravated tone. I am nine years old, sitting on his lap, giggling. We’re at my grandmother’s. My mom’s youngest sister was in an accident days earlier that killed two of her three children. This news makes me uncomfortable and I don’t know how to act. I’m giggly still, out of nervousness and my father is taking it as disrespect.
“I didn’t know they died.” I quickly reply. I did know though. They were on life support and I knew by my grandmother’s quiet tone while she had been talking to my dad earlier that this wasn’t going to end well.
“Yes, they both died.” he firmly states.
I don’t know what to do with this information so I pretend I’m not hearing it.
The weight of this news actually hits me seventeen years later when my dad called to tell me about Rob. I can see now while I’m telling my clients about Rob that I’m still that nervous nine year old, giggling her way through the uncomfortable feelings.
My eyes fill with tears but I don’t let them spill over my mascara covered lower lashes. I quickly exit the bathroom, grab my things for work and head out. It’s Friday morning and I’m off tomorrow. Just one more day. ‘I can do this.’ I remind myself.
I drive to work, and park. The daily panic that usually accompanies me to work now spread over my torso, constricting my heart, and once again I can’t find the air. I don’t want to take care of people today. Not for a long time and I feel so guilty. I’m lucky to have such a great job, lucky to have wonderful clients. What is the matter?
I don’t look anyone in the eye when I go in. I make a beeline straight for the break room and unload my things. I look up to see Monique outside the door.
“Hey Melissa.” she smiles.
I lower my eyes again and manage a quiet “Hi.” before she disappears into another room and I walk out to set up my station.
My first client won’t keep his head still. I contemplate screaming at him but don’t say a word. My second client comes early and I finish her in no time. I walk back to the break room and text Monique.
“I love you. I love my job. I hate today.”
She texts back quickly. “I love you too. I knew something was wrong. We’ll talk when I’m out of this meeting.”
My phone rings after I read her text. It’s mom.
“Hi.” I answer.
“Hey Sissy! How are you?”
“Ok.”
“Are you at work?”
“I am.”
“What’s the matter?” she asks.
My boyfriend died. I don’t want to be here.
“Nothing.”
“Is it a bad time to talk?”
Yes. No. I don’t know.
“No.”
“Ok, well, I was just on my lunch break. Thought I’d call you.”
I nod but she can’t see that.
“Well. I guess I’ll let you go then.” she replies after a fat silence.
“Ok.” I literally can’t say anything else. We say goodbye and hang up.
I place the phone on the table and sit to eat a cupcake I brought. I’m suddenly being interrupted by various people. I’m not looking up from the cupcake, staring and picking at it like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen, delivering very short answers. I hope by doing this people will get the hint and quit talking to me but that doesn’t work. I decide to tune the voices out. I don’t care if I’m a bitch right now.
“You’re the icing on my cake.” I grinned at Rob one Sunday afternoon. “I’m gonna eat you for dinner!”
“I’m your crack.” he laughed.
“Yes you are!” I stare adoringly at him.
I finally understood what people talked about when they said you need to find someone that compliments your life, not completes it. The spouse should be the added bonus. Rob was the best icing I’ve ever tasted. Apparently somebody else thought the same thing cause he was licked right off my cake in one fell swoop.
I stand up from my chair at the break room table and trash the rest of the icing left over from the cupcake, unable to listen to the mindless chatter anymore.
“Oh! There you are!” Cheyenne exclaimed as I almost ran into her while exiting the room. “You’re client is here.”
“Thanks.” My next one, Cynthia is new to me. I remind myself to put a smile on my face upon meeting her.
“Hey! I’m Melissa!” I smile at the pretty, blue eyed woman sitting in the small waiting area.
“Good to meet you. Cynthia.” she offers her hand.
In my chair she tells me that her fortieth birthday is this weekend and she wants a new haircut. We settle on a layered bob. (I know, I know, imagine that… coming from me!) I shampoo her hair and as I’m cutting she tells me about her upcoming party.
“I’m so excited! My husband’s a chef but we’re having everything catered.” she tells me.
“You married a chef? That’s amazing!”
“Oh yeah. We both love to cook. He has me try all his creations. Not so good for my waistline but he’s awesome! He makes the best tenderloin!”
I remember Rob’s family telling me he loved to cook steak and did a fine job with it. I hate I missed it.
She goes on to explain how meticulous her husband does things with his steak and when she says his name I stop cutting and look up at her.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“My husband? Rob.”
My heart skips a beat and my entire body warms. I smile. “I thought that’s what you said.” I get back to cutting.
Cynthia goes on to tell about how wonderful he is, about their kids and their life. I soak all this up like it’s the most riveting information I’ve ever heard. The nasty vomit feeling dissipates and my mood is lifted. I finish her hair and tell her I’d love to see her back in six weeks.
“I’ll do my best! Thanks Melissa, this is great!” she exclaims, having no idea how she’s lifted me up and out of my funk.
At six o’clock my workday ends. I race home pack a quick bag and set out for the interstate. I’m halfway to my parent’s house when I think to myself that if everything were still as it was before Rob died I’d be heading up I-85 to Anderson, not down I-75 to Jonesboro. Rob and I had been talking about going to Charleston this weekend. He didn’t want to confirm any plans right then when I mentioned back in April that I had this particular Saturday off. I was hoping he’d take Monday off and we’d spend time wandering around Charleston, going to all his favorite places.
I make to mom and dad’s and feel an uncomfortable silence washing over me as I sit next to my mom in the living room.
“Was everything ok when I called today?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You just didn’t sound good.”
“I’m not.” I reply staring at the wall. My dad walks in.
“We’re leaving on the first flight out. We’ll have to leave here at 5:30am.” he tells me.
“Ok.” I smile. Dad and I are heading to Washington D.C. in the morning to spend the day there looking at museums.
“Do you know what you want to do once we get there?” he asks.
“Kind of. I bought a book.”
He smiles and walks into the kitchen. I can’t sit still any longer and go into what used to be my room before dad took it over with his office and music things. I sit at the computer and open email. Rob’s mom wrote me a message about my latest blog entry. (Sex…) She shared it with a dear friend of hers and shared her friend’s response with me. It was so kind that it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve found that the things that are hardest to write are the things that have generated the most amazing responses. I grew up receiving the message that a sweet lil southern girl such as myself should have no issues and whatever issue that may be there, she certainly does not burden someone else’s life with them, she hides them and pretends everything is perfect. This same lil southern girl is to never ever utter an inappropriate four letter explicative. She is also not to *gasp* have sex and is to never ever speak of doing it. A ‘lady’ doesn’t do such things, but hell, if that’s the case then tell me folks, how does the damn population keep growing?! News flash, God created sex and created it for us to enjoy.
In putting my experiences out there I’m taking a risk at receiving some harsh feedback. I know this and do it anyway, seeing I need not to apologize for any choice I’ve made. The unwanted feedback doesn’t come though. All that’s there is love. I’ve put my tattooed, pierced, foul mouthed, food obsessed, sexually charged self out there and have received nothing but utmost kindness and respect.
I close my Inbox and sit for a moment, letting everything sink in. I can’t find words for this feeling except sheer happiness. I’m desperate to share this with my mom, exclaiming “Mom! Guess what?! People love me! I had no idea!” but I don’t say a word as I enter the living room again. I sit in chair, staring at the television, and bask in this new feeling of contentment, of feeling as if I’m on the right track somehow. I open my mouth to speak but close it quickly. If I tell her I wrote about sex I’ll get what I feared. I’ll just hang on to this by myself.
The news is on and she’s making comments here and there about various stories. I don’t care about the news. My skin begins to crawl and I want to scratch at it. I try to sit still. She’s still talking. My skin is still crawling. I don’t want to hear anymore words. I just want to hug her. Instead I walk away.
In the bathroom I spread on a thick coat of red lipstick hoping to erase the vomit color that has clouded my mind. I’ve had plenty of good days and bad days at work. I’ve dealt with a lot of emotional ups and downs throughout my career and have always kept everything in check but this… losing Rob has kicked my ass so hard that sometimes I find it nearly impossible to actually talk to people. The urge to walk out the door sometimes is so strong that I have to remind myself that walking away is not the appropriate response and I can do this. I can do my job. Sometimes though I’m surprised at myself for glossing over the news of Rob’s death when discussing it. I keep a smile on my face somehow when explaining it to some of my clients. Heaven forbid they feel uncomfortable with my news. I don’t want to weigh them down with the heaviness of my grief so by smiling I can at least appear ok and that I’m not going to start crying and appear to lose focus. Focus I didn’t have to begin with anyway.
“Melissa, your cousins are dead.” my dad tells me in a slightly aggravated tone. I am nine years old, sitting on his lap, giggling. We’re at my grandmother’s. My mom’s youngest sister was in an accident days earlier that killed two of her three children. This news makes me uncomfortable and I don’t know how to act. I’m giggly still, out of nervousness and my father is taking it as disrespect.
“I didn’t know they died.” I quickly reply. I did know though. They were on life support and I knew by my grandmother’s quiet tone while she had been talking to my dad earlier that this wasn’t going to end well.
“Yes, they both died.” he firmly states.
I don’t know what to do with this information so I pretend I’m not hearing it.
The weight of this news actually hits me seventeen years later when my dad called to tell me about Rob. I can see now while I’m telling my clients about Rob that I’m still that nervous nine year old, giggling her way through the uncomfortable feelings.
My eyes fill with tears but I don’t let them spill over my mascara covered lower lashes. I quickly exit the bathroom, grab my things for work and head out. It’s Friday morning and I’m off tomorrow. Just one more day. ‘I can do this.’ I remind myself.
I drive to work, and park. The daily panic that usually accompanies me to work now spread over my torso, constricting my heart, and once again I can’t find the air. I don’t want to take care of people today. Not for a long time and I feel so guilty. I’m lucky to have such a great job, lucky to have wonderful clients. What is the matter?
I don’t look anyone in the eye when I go in. I make a beeline straight for the break room and unload my things. I look up to see Monique outside the door.
“Hey Melissa.” she smiles.
I lower my eyes again and manage a quiet “Hi.” before she disappears into another room and I walk out to set up my station.
My first client won’t keep his head still. I contemplate screaming at him but don’t say a word. My second client comes early and I finish her in no time. I walk back to the break room and text Monique.
“I love you. I love my job. I hate today.”
She texts back quickly. “I love you too. I knew something was wrong. We’ll talk when I’m out of this meeting.”
My phone rings after I read her text. It’s mom.
“Hi.” I answer.
“Hey Sissy! How are you?”
“Ok.”
“Are you at work?”
“I am.”
“What’s the matter?” she asks.
My boyfriend died. I don’t want to be here.
“Nothing.”
“Is it a bad time to talk?”
Yes. No. I don’t know.
“No.”
“Ok, well, I was just on my lunch break. Thought I’d call you.”
I nod but she can’t see that.
“Well. I guess I’ll let you go then.” she replies after a fat silence.
“Ok.” I literally can’t say anything else. We say goodbye and hang up.
I place the phone on the table and sit to eat a cupcake I brought. I’m suddenly being interrupted by various people. I’m not looking up from the cupcake, staring and picking at it like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen, delivering very short answers. I hope by doing this people will get the hint and quit talking to me but that doesn’t work. I decide to tune the voices out. I don’t care if I’m a bitch right now.
“You’re the icing on my cake.” I grinned at Rob one Sunday afternoon. “I’m gonna eat you for dinner!”
“I’m your crack.” he laughed.
“Yes you are!” I stare adoringly at him.
I finally understood what people talked about when they said you need to find someone that compliments your life, not completes it. The spouse should be the added bonus. Rob was the best icing I’ve ever tasted. Apparently somebody else thought the same thing cause he was licked right off my cake in one fell swoop.
I stand up from my chair at the break room table and trash the rest of the icing left over from the cupcake, unable to listen to the mindless chatter anymore.
“Oh! There you are!” Cheyenne exclaimed as I almost ran into her while exiting the room. “You’re client is here.”
“Thanks.” My next one, Cynthia is new to me. I remind myself to put a smile on my face upon meeting her.
“Hey! I’m Melissa!” I smile at the pretty, blue eyed woman sitting in the small waiting area.
“Good to meet you. Cynthia.” she offers her hand.
In my chair she tells me that her fortieth birthday is this weekend and she wants a new haircut. We settle on a layered bob. (I know, I know, imagine that… coming from me!) I shampoo her hair and as I’m cutting she tells me about her upcoming party.
“I’m so excited! My husband’s a chef but we’re having everything catered.” she tells me.
“You married a chef? That’s amazing!”
“Oh yeah. We both love to cook. He has me try all his creations. Not so good for my waistline but he’s awesome! He makes the best tenderloin!”
I remember Rob’s family telling me he loved to cook steak and did a fine job with it. I hate I missed it.
She goes on to explain how meticulous her husband does things with his steak and when she says his name I stop cutting and look up at her.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“My husband? Rob.”
My heart skips a beat and my entire body warms. I smile. “I thought that’s what you said.” I get back to cutting.
Cynthia goes on to tell about how wonderful he is, about their kids and their life. I soak all this up like it’s the most riveting information I’ve ever heard. The nasty vomit feeling dissipates and my mood is lifted. I finish her hair and tell her I’d love to see her back in six weeks.
“I’ll do my best! Thanks Melissa, this is great!” she exclaims, having no idea how she’s lifted me up and out of my funk.
At six o’clock my workday ends. I race home pack a quick bag and set out for the interstate. I’m halfway to my parent’s house when I think to myself that if everything were still as it was before Rob died I’d be heading up I-85 to Anderson, not down I-75 to Jonesboro. Rob and I had been talking about going to Charleston this weekend. He didn’t want to confirm any plans right then when I mentioned back in April that I had this particular Saturday off. I was hoping he’d take Monday off and we’d spend time wandering around Charleston, going to all his favorite places.
I make to mom and dad’s and feel an uncomfortable silence washing over me as I sit next to my mom in the living room.
“Was everything ok when I called today?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You just didn’t sound good.”
“I’m not.” I reply staring at the wall. My dad walks in.
“We’re leaving on the first flight out. We’ll have to leave here at 5:30am.” he tells me.
“Ok.” I smile. Dad and I are heading to Washington D.C. in the morning to spend the day there looking at museums.
“Do you know what you want to do once we get there?” he asks.
“Kind of. I bought a book.”
He smiles and walks into the kitchen. I can’t sit still any longer and go into what used to be my room before dad took it over with his office and music things. I sit at the computer and open email. Rob’s mom wrote me a message about my latest blog entry. (Sex…) She shared it with a dear friend of hers and shared her friend’s response with me. It was so kind that it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve found that the things that are hardest to write are the things that have generated the most amazing responses. I grew up receiving the message that a sweet lil southern girl such as myself should have no issues and whatever issue that may be there, she certainly does not burden someone else’s life with them, she hides them and pretends everything is perfect. This same lil southern girl is to never ever utter an inappropriate four letter explicative. She is also not to *gasp* have sex and is to never ever speak of doing it. A ‘lady’ doesn’t do such things, but hell, if that’s the case then tell me folks, how does the damn population keep growing?! News flash, God created sex and created it for us to enjoy.
In putting my experiences out there I’m taking a risk at receiving some harsh feedback. I know this and do it anyway, seeing I need not to apologize for any choice I’ve made. The unwanted feedback doesn’t come though. All that’s there is love. I’ve put my tattooed, pierced, foul mouthed, food obsessed, sexually charged self out there and have received nothing but utmost kindness and respect.
I close my Inbox and sit for a moment, letting everything sink in. I can’t find words for this feeling except sheer happiness. I’m desperate to share this with my mom, exclaiming “Mom! Guess what?! People love me! I had no idea!” but I don’t say a word as I enter the living room again. I sit in chair, staring at the television, and bask in this new feeling of contentment, of feeling as if I’m on the right track somehow. I open my mouth to speak but close it quickly. If I tell her I wrote about sex I’ll get what I feared. I’ll just hang on to this by myself.
The news is on and she’s making comments here and there about various stories. I don’t care about the news. My skin begins to crawl and I want to scratch at it. I try to sit still. She’s still talking. My skin is still crawling. I don’t want to hear anymore words. I just want to hug her. Instead I walk away.
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