"So how was your night with Max?"
"It was good. I had a lot of fun with him."
"Still feeling the chemistry?"
"Yeah, actually, I do. He's very cute."
"Did you get a chance to feel his dick yet?"
"Lauren."
"Well?"
"How old are you?", I counter, the pot calling the kettle black.
I can hear her husband in the background, "Oh come on Lauren!"
"What?", she says to him, and then turns her attention back to me.
"So when do you see him again?"
"Saturday."
"Good. Well let me know how his dick feels."
"Alright then. Call you later."
Friday, October 19, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
where not to stick your gum
It was my turn to pick the place.
"Name a couple of restaurants that you keep meaning to try", I asked a few of my friends.
If there is one thing this city has a lot of, besides the homeless, its restaurants. It seems like every time I want to try something new I can never think of anything. I end up coming up with same names: Xacutti, The Drake, The Rushton... So this time I got a couple of ideas from other people, one of them being an Italian place off Bloor and the other a new Asian fusion restaurant on Spadina. I gave the guy I was going out with these two options and he chose the latter.
When we got there we discovered it had already shut down. So much for my plans. We ended up at, hands down, my favourite thai restaurant in the city: Salad King. Even thought it went through a funky Yabu Pushelberg-esque transformation a few years ago, it's still get in/get out fast service, yet cheap and delicious. It reminds me of those communal thai and indian restaurants my sister took me to in London. It was quick and good and that left the rest of the evening free to grab some drinks. We ended up in the Annex, drinking cheap wine and listened to some great music.
It was a breath of fresh air hanging out with this guy for the most part. He's a writer, totally down to earth, and the conversation was great, but a couple of odd things went down. After they brought over the wine, I am pretty sure I saw him stick his gum under the table. I kept trying to convince myself that I was mistaken, but unfortunately I don't think I was, and because we were having such a good time, I wanted to pretend it didn't happen so I didn't say anything. Who does that after the 6th grade? When he's at home does he pick his nose and wipe it under his couch cushions too? I mean really.
Later on we ended up in a used book store that was open late and I found a hand-written note in the European History section that someone had accidentally left on a shelf.
"Oooh, look what found", I held it up for him to see. I guess I got excited about it. I love finding shit like that. It's my voyeuristic side.
He gave me a funny look.
"Yeah...I'm sure you'll find the answer to all the world's problems on that piece of paper."
His tone caught me off guard; a bit of a buzz kill I must say. It wasn't a light sarcasm. It was kind of cold. I looked down at the paper trying to think of how to respond.
"Nah, turns out it's just the measurements for a tablecloth or something. No such luck."
He made another strange comment on the way home. I pointed out this place that I want to try called Black Camel, well known for it's slow cooked meat sandwiches. I had pointed out the new Mark Thuet restaurant that specializes in southern barbecue earlier when we walked by in the Annex.
"Wow, you seem to be a real expert in pulled pork." Also sarcastic.
I don't know why it bothered me. I don't even eat pork, let alone "pulled" pork. But mostly it was how he said it. This time I let the silence kick in. I didn't give a shit. I don't give a shit about too much these days so I let him sit in it [the silence that is]. He quickly jumped in to fill it, but my guard was already up.
When he pulled up to my apartment, he kissed me goodnight. It was a nice kiss too.
I don't know what all that was about, but whatever.
And in other dating news I let the south american go. It wasn't pretty, but in the end he emailed me a quote he once saw written in a school yard, sadly the coolest thing he had done so far and simultaneously the lamest quote I've ever read. Something about how beautiful life is if you don't let it pass you by. Blah.
"Name a couple of restaurants that you keep meaning to try", I asked a few of my friends.
If there is one thing this city has a lot of, besides the homeless, its restaurants. It seems like every time I want to try something new I can never think of anything. I end up coming up with same names: Xacutti, The Drake, The Rushton... So this time I got a couple of ideas from other people, one of them being an Italian place off Bloor and the other a new Asian fusion restaurant on Spadina. I gave the guy I was going out with these two options and he chose the latter.
When we got there we discovered it had already shut down. So much for my plans. We ended up at, hands down, my favourite thai restaurant in the city: Salad King. Even thought it went through a funky Yabu Pushelberg-esque transformation a few years ago, it's still get in/get out fast service, yet cheap and delicious. It reminds me of those communal thai and indian restaurants my sister took me to in London. It was quick and good and that left the rest of the evening free to grab some drinks. We ended up in the Annex, drinking cheap wine and listened to some great music.
It was a breath of fresh air hanging out with this guy for the most part. He's a writer, totally down to earth, and the conversation was great, but a couple of odd things went down. After they brought over the wine, I am pretty sure I saw him stick his gum under the table. I kept trying to convince myself that I was mistaken, but unfortunately I don't think I was, and because we were having such a good time, I wanted to pretend it didn't happen so I didn't say anything. Who does that after the 6th grade? When he's at home does he pick his nose and wipe it under his couch cushions too? I mean really.
Later on we ended up in a used book store that was open late and I found a hand-written note in the European History section that someone had accidentally left on a shelf.
"Oooh, look what found", I held it up for him to see. I guess I got excited about it. I love finding shit like that. It's my voyeuristic side.
He gave me a funny look.
"Yeah...I'm sure you'll find the answer to all the world's problems on that piece of paper."
His tone caught me off guard; a bit of a buzz kill I must say. It wasn't a light sarcasm. It was kind of cold. I looked down at the paper trying to think of how to respond.
"Nah, turns out it's just the measurements for a tablecloth or something. No such luck."
He made another strange comment on the way home. I pointed out this place that I want to try called Black Camel, well known for it's slow cooked meat sandwiches. I had pointed out the new Mark Thuet restaurant that specializes in southern barbecue earlier when we walked by in the Annex.
"Wow, you seem to be a real expert in pulled pork." Also sarcastic.
I don't know why it bothered me. I don't even eat pork, let alone "pulled" pork. But mostly it was how he said it. This time I let the silence kick in. I didn't give a shit. I don't give a shit about too much these days so I let him sit in it [the silence that is]. He quickly jumped in to fill it, but my guard was already up.
When he pulled up to my apartment, he kissed me goodnight. It was a nice kiss too.
I don't know what all that was about, but whatever.
And in other dating news I let the south american go. It wasn't pretty, but in the end he emailed me a quote he once saw written in a school yard, sadly the coolest thing he had done so far and simultaneously the lamest quote I've ever read. Something about how beautiful life is if you don't let it pass you by. Blah.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
sitting in the dark
I just got home and it is a rainy October night, already dark. I lay here on the couch in my underwear, hands still dirty from the subway, and I know if I turned on the lights and washed my hands I would feel better than I do, but I wait a few more minutes.
I am reminded of when I was in grade school, waiting in the old lady's parlor for my piano lesson, hearing the sound of my mother's car pull away. There wasn't enough light in the house, especially as it grew dark earlier and earlier. There I would sit in that musty room, watching the grandfather clock, bone tired from a long day at school, stomach growling, dreading the angry old women with the rooster neck skin, knowing I didn't practice enough—I never did—and just waiting to pay the price.
Even then I was depressed I think. Right now I can't remember a time when I was not.
I am reminded of when I was in grade school, waiting in the old lady's parlor for my piano lesson, hearing the sound of my mother's car pull away. There wasn't enough light in the house, especially as it grew dark earlier and earlier. There I would sit in that musty room, watching the grandfather clock, bone tired from a long day at school, stomach growling, dreading the angry old women with the rooster neck skin, knowing I didn't practice enough—I never did—and just waiting to pay the price.
Even then I was depressed I think. Right now I can't remember a time when I was not.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Onomatopoeia
I carried my tennis racket
And walked as fast as I could.
I was ok for the moment
With the next few hours planned out
Like kindergarden.
I walked past a man and two kids
On a porch on Palmerston
Shading their eyes and pointing up.
There in the deep grey sky sailed a navy blue blimp.
This morning when I sat down at my desk
There were responses to two emails
From the night before
I could not remember sending.
Maybe it was the sleeping pills.
At some level there was relief that even the drugged up me
Knows how to toe the line.
I'm trying to remember when all this started.
Maybe the spring?
No, earlier.
Probably in winter.
Winter strips everything to the bone.
But in the summer you rot.
Blimp, blimp, blimp.
My therapist doesn't think it's depression
As much as it is 'the verge'.
The verge of breaking away.
Of being myself.
Of living my life.
"Once you got a taste of it", he told me
"It was impossible to settle for anything else,
And that's where you are."
So apparently there aren't any pills to fix that
Other than those ones he gives me to sleep.
And walked as fast as I could.
I was ok for the moment
With the next few hours planned out
Like kindergarden.
I walked past a man and two kids
On a porch on Palmerston
Shading their eyes and pointing up.
There in the deep grey sky sailed a navy blue blimp.
This morning when I sat down at my desk
There were responses to two emails
From the night before
I could not remember sending.
Maybe it was the sleeping pills.
At some level there was relief that even the drugged up me
Knows how to toe the line.
I'm trying to remember when all this started.
Maybe the spring?
No, earlier.
Probably in winter.
Winter strips everything to the bone.
But in the summer you rot.
Blimp, blimp, blimp.
My therapist doesn't think it's depression
As much as it is 'the verge'.
The verge of breaking away.
Of being myself.
Of living my life.
"Once you got a taste of it", he told me
"It was impossible to settle for anything else,
And that's where you are."
So apparently there aren't any pills to fix that
Other than those ones he gives me to sleep.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
sounds like a plan
I've had a headache since Thursday. I still managed to make an appearance at Shoshanna's dinner party, despite the fact that I was the only single person in attendance if you don't count babies. I've also managed to keep running, bathing, and shaving etc... Maybe I don't need to be medicated afterall.
I went out and bought a pair of shoes I will probably return, which is somehow more satisfying than buying nothing at all. I've been relatively content to walk the city on this dreary october Saturday, an americano misto in hand, silently swearing at fat nerdy families and annoying tourists slow-walking, blocking sidewalks, and gawking and photographing stupid tourist things.
I've been dodging the south american for the past few days. At first I told myself it was because I was depressed and that it must not be the right time for me to be dating someone, but the truth is, tonight I have a date with a guy that Lauren managed to set me up with [while sitting shiva for her father]. Maybe I'm just not that into the south american.
I wanted to find something to buy to wear tonight but nothing jumped out at me. I also meant to go to yoga this morning but it started at 10:30 AM and I woke up at 10:15 AM. I need something to make me feel myself again.
So this is my plan. I will get my ass off the couch right now, go for a run, take a long hot shower [can you believe that just typing that made me feel guilty, like I am the sole reason for the collapse of the world's water supply], and then I am going to find something great to wear. By the time I meet up with this guy, I'll be a new woman.
I went out and bought a pair of shoes I will probably return, which is somehow more satisfying than buying nothing at all. I've been relatively content to walk the city on this dreary october Saturday, an americano misto in hand, silently swearing at fat nerdy families and annoying tourists slow-walking, blocking sidewalks, and gawking and photographing stupid tourist things.
I've been dodging the south american for the past few days. At first I told myself it was because I was depressed and that it must not be the right time for me to be dating someone, but the truth is, tonight I have a date with a guy that Lauren managed to set me up with [while sitting shiva for her father]. Maybe I'm just not that into the south american.
I wanted to find something to buy to wear tonight but nothing jumped out at me. I also meant to go to yoga this morning but it started at 10:30 AM and I woke up at 10:15 AM. I need something to make me feel myself again.
So this is my plan. I will get my ass off the couch right now, go for a run, take a long hot shower [can you believe that just typing that made me feel guilty, like I am the sole reason for the collapse of the world's water supply], and then I am going to find something great to wear. By the time I meet up with this guy, I'll be a new woman.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
maybe everything happens
I guess I took it pretty hard when Lauren's father died, but it was before that too. It's been a while. I startle easily lately. I mistake specks of dirt or a fallen leaf in my peripheral vision for a cockroach or some other dire threat. When PMS starts two weeks early and lags two weeks after, it's time to ask some serious questions. Even with my game face on, I'm hanging by a thread.
"Let's talk about the thread", he said.
Maybe the thread is what people expect of me. Maybe nothing happens when the thread breaks. Maybe everything happens when the thread breaks.
"Anything more on that?"
I am one thread away from never getting out of bed, never shaving, never washing my hair, never running, never putting on my make-up, and never answering the phone again. It seems to me that whatever is going on here is time-limited; not in the way that it will go away on it's own, but in the sense that I can't keep it afloat much longer. I am starting to think about doing the one thing I said I would never do again.
When I told him that he said, "You see everything as a struggle between good and evil".
That's how it has always been for me.
"There are things in between. We still have work to do here. Just because I'm not normally a medication kind of guy doesn't mean it doesn't have a place."
"I don't know what to do" I told him. "I said never again but I can't just keep feeling like this. I don't know what to do", I started to crumble. "Just tell me what to do. Please I need for you to tell me what to do." I paused for a moment but there was nothing.
"I need you to tell me what to do, but you don't. You never do. It's so easy for you to take that stance. To use your therapeutic approach to excuse yourself from asking any of the right questions or taking anything on yourself." I couldn't stop trembling. "I need you to tell me what to do".
But he left it at that and I left with my sunglasses on again, tissues balled up in the palm of my hand.
"Let's talk about the thread", he said.
Maybe the thread is what people expect of me. Maybe nothing happens when the thread breaks. Maybe everything happens when the thread breaks.
"Anything more on that?"
I am one thread away from never getting out of bed, never shaving, never washing my hair, never running, never putting on my make-up, and never answering the phone again. It seems to me that whatever is going on here is time-limited; not in the way that it will go away on it's own, but in the sense that I can't keep it afloat much longer. I am starting to think about doing the one thing I said I would never do again.
When I told him that he said, "You see everything as a struggle between good and evil".
That's how it has always been for me.
"There are things in between. We still have work to do here. Just because I'm not normally a medication kind of guy doesn't mean it doesn't have a place."
"I don't know what to do" I told him. "I said never again but I can't just keep feeling like this. I don't know what to do", I started to crumble. "Just tell me what to do. Please I need for you to tell me what to do." I paused for a moment but there was nothing.
"I need you to tell me what to do, but you don't. You never do. It's so easy for you to take that stance. To use your therapeutic approach to excuse yourself from asking any of the right questions or taking anything on yourself." I couldn't stop trembling. "I need you to tell me what to do".
But he left it at that and I left with my sunglasses on again, tissues balled up in the palm of my hand.
Monday, October 01, 2007
brackets I ain't in
I woke up early, straightened up the apartment for the cleaning lady, went out to this fine linen store Shoshanna sent me to, under the premise that there was an amazing sale, which turned out only reduced the price of a set of sheets from $475 to $300. I can't imagine being in that kind of a sheet bracket. I'm not sure how Shosh is, but needless to say I didn't spend much time there. I ended up getting a set of white on white striped sheets in an entirely acceptable thread count and material for a more reasonable price to go on my amazing new bed, which is set to arrive this week. This is going to be a dream bed. I did not skimp on the bed.
And in further news, I applied for a job. A really good job. Really good. When I put the resume in, I thought they would chuckle and think, 'aw, how cute she applied for this way too important position', and would promptly recycle the paper it was written on, but instead, they emailed me the next day to set up a preliminary interview. Over the next few days I started to think about it. I started to see myself in the position.
So I had a phone interview. Normally I give good interviews, and so it came as quite a shock when I realized, about 30 seconds in, I was completely bombing. I had prepared well and I was still terrible. As it was happening I was thinking, how the hell am I going to survive this? I wanted to jump off my balcony. Every question they asked was completely inapplicable to my experience. Normally I would make my experiences fit, but it was impossible!
What it comes down to is that they were looking for someone else. I didn't have the experience they wanted. As much as I can rationalize it, it never feels good to sound as stupid as I sounded today, and the worst part about it is that I have to go back to work tomorrow knowing that there isn't this great opportunity waiting for me around the corner. It makes me want to leave. It makes me want to call in sick and move to the burbs to stay with Lana, her husband, and the baby for the rest of my life. It makes me want to go home to my Mommy.
In less humiliating news, I've been spending time with a certain South American guy. The weather in Toronto has been great. I've been running every day. I feel amazing other than the breast tenderness, exhaustion, occasional bouts of nausea, and random food aversions.
Unless someone slipped me a roofie, I'm not pregnant. However Shoshanna just told me she is...three months pregnant...with twins! For the love...
Maybe it's sympathy morning sickness. Naw, not even. Maybe it's PMS.
And in further news, I applied for a job. A really good job. Really good. When I put the resume in, I thought they would chuckle and think, 'aw, how cute she applied for this way too important position', and would promptly recycle the paper it was written on, but instead, they emailed me the next day to set up a preliminary interview. Over the next few days I started to think about it. I started to see myself in the position.
So I had a phone interview. Normally I give good interviews, and so it came as quite a shock when I realized, about 30 seconds in, I was completely bombing. I had prepared well and I was still terrible. As it was happening I was thinking, how the hell am I going to survive this? I wanted to jump off my balcony. Every question they asked was completely inapplicable to my experience. Normally I would make my experiences fit, but it was impossible!
What it comes down to is that they were looking for someone else. I didn't have the experience they wanted. As much as I can rationalize it, it never feels good to sound as stupid as I sounded today, and the worst part about it is that I have to go back to work tomorrow knowing that there isn't this great opportunity waiting for me around the corner. It makes me want to leave. It makes me want to call in sick and move to the burbs to stay with Lana, her husband, and the baby for the rest of my life. It makes me want to go home to my Mommy.
In less humiliating news, I've been spending time with a certain South American guy. The weather in Toronto has been great. I've been running every day. I feel amazing other than the breast tenderness, exhaustion, occasional bouts of nausea, and random food aversions.
Unless someone slipped me a roofie, I'm not pregnant. However Shoshanna just told me she is...three months pregnant...with twins! For the love...
Maybe it's sympathy morning sickness. Naw, not even. Maybe it's PMS.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
about face
I've gotten to the point where I can be honest with myself. Most of the time I can be honest with people around me too, even when it would be easier in the moment to smooth things over. I used to do that to save face or save feelings; mostly feelings.
I've always been a bit of a hot-head, but now if I feel slighted, instead of internalizing it or displacing it on some innocent bystander, I usually say something, albeit diplomaticallly. Usually. But sometimes I just can't be bothered and I think that's honest in another way.
Two examples:
First, one of my dream destinations is Morocco. Lana knows that very well. I've talked about it a number of times. Recently she was invited to travel to Chile with a group of girls. Since that trip she is talking about doing Morocco with the same girls, Even though she's heard me talk about it a million times she never thinks to invite me along.
Second, recently Harry showed up at my birthday dinner like he was doing me a big favour, making sure I knew he had to cancel his hockey game to come and had to leave early to go to practice etc... He arrived with a birthday card that had a photo on the front of a naked man with a massive erection. The card read, 'something to remind you of me'. You probably know me well enough to know I'm all for cock jokes, but when I opened it at a table with 12 of my friends, I had to force myself to laugh about it. Cocks don't offend me but my heart is still a little tender from being stomped on. I felt he was kind of rubbing it in my face, for lack of a better description.
I do believe that there are times you need to pick your battles. Is that really honest, you might ask? Well, I think it is; honest to my own needs. Rather than hang on to a relationship that doesn't truly exist or rather than try to turn Lana into the person I want her to be, I can let it go. When I'm honest with myself, I don't need to stick it out and I don't need to displace the hurt feelings.
I think Harry and I are coming to the end and I think Lana needs to be a follower. It's so much easier for her to go along with other people; to be one of the group. She isn't comfortable initiating anything. I still love her and except her, strengths and weaknesses included. Besides, I don't really want Morocco in that way. I always imagined I would go there with a strong, handsome man and I would have to pretend he was my husband so we could share the same hotel room and then we'd have scandalous non-married sex.
So am I a coward for not giving people like Lana and Harry a piece of my mind? It's not about saving face as much as it is about saving my energy. If they asked me how I felt, I would tell them the truth, diplomatically, but without hesitation, but being honest doesn't mean fighting every battle. Sometimes it means asking myself a few strategic questions and then moving on.
I've always been a bit of a hot-head, but now if I feel slighted, instead of internalizing it or displacing it on some innocent bystander, I usually say something, albeit diplomaticallly. Usually. But sometimes I just can't be bothered and I think that's honest in another way.
Two examples:
First, one of my dream destinations is Morocco. Lana knows that very well. I've talked about it a number of times. Recently she was invited to travel to Chile with a group of girls. Since that trip she is talking about doing Morocco with the same girls, Even though she's heard me talk about it a million times she never thinks to invite me along.
Second, recently Harry showed up at my birthday dinner like he was doing me a big favour, making sure I knew he had to cancel his hockey game to come and had to leave early to go to practice etc... He arrived with a birthday card that had a photo on the front of a naked man with a massive erection. The card read, 'something to remind you of me'. You probably know me well enough to know I'm all for cock jokes, but when I opened it at a table with 12 of my friends, I had to force myself to laugh about it. Cocks don't offend me but my heart is still a little tender from being stomped on. I felt he was kind of rubbing it in my face, for lack of a better description.
I do believe that there are times you need to pick your battles. Is that really honest, you might ask? Well, I think it is; honest to my own needs. Rather than hang on to a relationship that doesn't truly exist or rather than try to turn Lana into the person I want her to be, I can let it go. When I'm honest with myself, I don't need to stick it out and I don't need to displace the hurt feelings.
I think Harry and I are coming to the end and I think Lana needs to be a follower. It's so much easier for her to go along with other people; to be one of the group. She isn't comfortable initiating anything. I still love her and except her, strengths and weaknesses included. Besides, I don't really want Morocco in that way. I always imagined I would go there with a strong, handsome man and I would have to pretend he was my husband so we could share the same hotel room and then we'd have scandalous non-married sex.
So am I a coward for not giving people like Lana and Harry a piece of my mind? It's not about saving face as much as it is about saving my energy. If they asked me how I felt, I would tell them the truth, diplomatically, but without hesitation, but being honest doesn't mean fighting every battle. Sometimes it means asking myself a few strategic questions and then moving on.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
in the company of men
That guy I grew up with—the one I went sailing with a few weeks ago—called and left me a message before I went away, asking me if I wanted to get together. I had given him a copy of a mix cd I made this summer and he said he wanted to 'meet up to go over the playlist' so he 'could add the songs into itunes'.
Initially when he invited me sailing I was worried he would think it was a date. I'm not interested in going there with him. If I was I would have no problem making that clear. Not that there's anything wrong with him. In fact, maybe if I met him now, as an adult, I would be able to see him as the successful intelligent person he's become, but I only see him as that cute chunky goofy kid.
I meant to get back to him before I went away, but I was busy and then Lauren's Dad died. So when I got home I emailed him the playlist. He emailed back right away and told me he's leaving for some work in South America in a couple of weeks and asked if I would like to get together and catch a movie or a bite to eat before he goes.
The thing is, I would like to do that. I've always loved the company of guys. I was always the girl with two or three male best friends hanging around. I guess I like the testosterone. Lately Harry is pretty much off my list and Josh lives in North Toronto [which might as well be Quebec City for the frequency of visits]. All of the other friends I have in the city are girls. So many girls. Too many girls.
I have to remind myself that it's ok to hang out with someone who might have a feeling or two for me. Sometimes you just have to trust that people can take care of themselves. Sometimes you just have to do what you do.
Initially when he invited me sailing I was worried he would think it was a date. I'm not interested in going there with him. If I was I would have no problem making that clear. Not that there's anything wrong with him. In fact, maybe if I met him now, as an adult, I would be able to see him as the successful intelligent person he's become, but I only see him as that cute chunky goofy kid.
I meant to get back to him before I went away, but I was busy and then Lauren's Dad died. So when I got home I emailed him the playlist. He emailed back right away and told me he's leaving for some work in South America in a couple of weeks and asked if I would like to get together and catch a movie or a bite to eat before he goes.
The thing is, I would like to do that. I've always loved the company of guys. I was always the girl with two or three male best friends hanging around. I guess I like the testosterone. Lately Harry is pretty much off my list and Josh lives in North Toronto [which might as well be Quebec City for the frequency of visits]. All of the other friends I have in the city are girls. So many girls. Too many girls.
I have to remind myself that it's ok to hang out with someone who might have a feeling or two for me. Sometimes you just have to trust that people can take care of themselves. Sometimes you just have to do what you do.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
night call
The phone rang at 12:03 AM.
As a reward for cleaning the apartment spotless and getting my packing done I was sitting on the couch, watching Medium and taking my first bite of a dark chocolate bar. As soon as I saw her number, I knew something had happened.
I was leaving the next morning. Lauren and I had coordinated our trips home for the holidays this year. Originally she was thinking to come home for Yom Kippur but when I told her I already had my flight for Rosh Hashana booked she changed her plans. It was going to be like old times, we'd laughed.
But it wasn't going to be anything like old times.
"Rachel, my Daddy's dead!", she sobbed through the phone.
No, this isn't happening, I said to myself.
"My Daddy's dead! Rachel! He's dead. Oh, G-D, not my Daddy", she wailed.
Lauren is my oldest friend; my fourth grade 'bff'. It was only a few weeks ago that I went to Western New York for the weekend to meet her.
Lauren has many friends, but I am the one who pretty much grew up in that house. I am the friend who saw it first hand. Who knows how very much her father was her world and she, the apple of his eye.
When she got her period, it was her father she told first.
"He went right to the drugstore and bought me tampons", she told me proudly. I tried to imagine how it would be to have a father like that.
Or the time when Lauren woke up in the middle of the night with the stomach flu in university. It was her father she called.
"Daddy, I'm sick!", we could hear her on the phone in the next room.
Lauren's father was the kind of man you thought would go on forever. I see him cruising the stretch of sidewalk outside his office, buying homeless guys a coffee and a sandwich. If you were in the area you were sure to see him. He'd always have a sly grin and a joke.
"Did you hear the one about the rabbi and the priest..."
He was a fixture in the synagogue for as long as I have memories. He practically ran the place, walking the aisles, flashing Lauren and I dirty looks when we talked too much, which was pretty much always, or making us lead the congregation in Aleynu. Lauren's uncle told us he loved Jewish tradition so much that as a small child he would roll up a towel and pretend it was a Torah. Lauren's dad was 64.
So that was my vacation. It was heartbreaking. Now, one week later, here I am, back on my couch. I'm tired. I'm scared of the people I love dying. I'm scared of dying. I had to take an ativan to fly for the first time in a long time. It wasn't the flight so much as the fear that when I said goodbye to my family before going through security, it could be the last time. These moments make you forget how to live with that possibility.
What if my father dies and I have shut him out all of these years. How will I live with that? What if my mother dies? There are days when we barely tolerate each other even though I love her more than anything. How would I survive?
Lauren asked me over and over how she would ever feel ok again. For the first few days I wasn't so sure she would, but in her strong moments she has already begun to find meaning. I guess that is how it happens.
And here I am, home, on the couch, eating the chocolate I had been eating that night when the phone rang.
The chocolate I thought I would never want to taste again.
As a reward for cleaning the apartment spotless and getting my packing done I was sitting on the couch, watching Medium and taking my first bite of a dark chocolate bar. As soon as I saw her number, I knew something had happened.
I was leaving the next morning. Lauren and I had coordinated our trips home for the holidays this year. Originally she was thinking to come home for Yom Kippur but when I told her I already had my flight for Rosh Hashana booked she changed her plans. It was going to be like old times, we'd laughed.
But it wasn't going to be anything like old times.
"Rachel, my Daddy's dead!", she sobbed through the phone.
No, this isn't happening, I said to myself.
"My Daddy's dead! Rachel! He's dead. Oh, G-D, not my Daddy", she wailed.
Lauren is my oldest friend; my fourth grade 'bff'. It was only a few weeks ago that I went to Western New York for the weekend to meet her.
Lauren has many friends, but I am the one who pretty much grew up in that house. I am the friend who saw it first hand. Who knows how very much her father was her world and she, the apple of his eye.
When she got her period, it was her father she told first.
"He went right to the drugstore and bought me tampons", she told me proudly. I tried to imagine how it would be to have a father like that.
Or the time when Lauren woke up in the middle of the night with the stomach flu in university. It was her father she called.
"Daddy, I'm sick!", we could hear her on the phone in the next room.
Lauren's father was the kind of man you thought would go on forever. I see him cruising the stretch of sidewalk outside his office, buying homeless guys a coffee and a sandwich. If you were in the area you were sure to see him. He'd always have a sly grin and a joke.
"Did you hear the one about the rabbi and the priest..."
He was a fixture in the synagogue for as long as I have memories. He practically ran the place, walking the aisles, flashing Lauren and I dirty looks when we talked too much, which was pretty much always, or making us lead the congregation in Aleynu. Lauren's uncle told us he loved Jewish tradition so much that as a small child he would roll up a towel and pretend it was a Torah. Lauren's dad was 64.
So that was my vacation. It was heartbreaking. Now, one week later, here I am, back on my couch. I'm tired. I'm scared of the people I love dying. I'm scared of dying. I had to take an ativan to fly for the first time in a long time. It wasn't the flight so much as the fear that when I said goodbye to my family before going through security, it could be the last time. These moments make you forget how to live with that possibility.
What if my father dies and I have shut him out all of these years. How will I live with that? What if my mother dies? There are days when we barely tolerate each other even though I love her more than anything. How would I survive?
Lauren asked me over and over how she would ever feel ok again. For the first few days I wasn't so sure she would, but in her strong moments she has already begun to find meaning. I guess that is how it happens.
And here I am, home, on the couch, eating the chocolate I had been eating that night when the phone rang.
The chocolate I thought I would never want to taste again.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
least resistance
I would never do anything
That would put
Distance
Between us.
I've never been convinced
Anyone would
Follow.
Instead
I've perfected
The technique of
Removing obstacles.
Greasing the way with
My dreams.
Making sure
I am the path
Of least resistance.
That would put
Distance
Between us.
I've never been convinced
Anyone would
Follow.
Instead
I've perfected
The technique of
Removing obstacles.
Greasing the way with
My dreams.
Making sure
I am the path
Of least resistance.
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