by Cody Ryder
I opened my blinds, went to the bathroom and took a quick shower, then went about my shaving routine. After that, I changed out of my pajamas, slipping into a comfortable merino wool t-shirt and some khaki shorts. On the dresser in a neat line lay my watch, iPhone, wallet and sunglasses, and I went from left to right, taking the first two but leaving the wallet and glasses. I fastened the watch to my wrist, quickly checked my phone for messages (though I knew there was no one who would be contacting me), and then slipped it into my pocket. I detailed what I was going to do that day in my mind – my typical morning routine, though my daily checklist had become pretty thin:
_ Look for job.
_ Don’t think about Alicia.
I went downstairs. My mom and dad were sitting around the dining table eating breakfast, my mom involved in whatever was happening on the screen of her iPad, and my dad staring absently at the TV where some talking head was droning on about the upcoming presidential election. My parents were retired now, both former accountants for IBM way back in the day. I remembered how when I was young, my parents would work all day, and then when they came home there would be a big emphasis on family time at the dinner table. There would be no TV on, nothing, and the same deal for breakfast on the weekends. Mom would cook up a big breakfast while dad talked or played with me, and then we’d all sit down to eat and talk and laugh together.
In high school, I was preoccupied with my school life and my friends, and didn’t put much thought into the at-home dynamic, but now that I was back home again I had become acutely aware that things had definitely changed.
“There’s cereal on the counter, if you want any.” My mom gestured over towards the boxes on the kitchen counter.
“I’m sure he knows by now, Carol,” my dad said. “It's Saturday, the cereal is always out on the counter on Saturdays.”
She tilted her nose down, looking over her glasses at him with more than a hint of irritation. “I’m just reminding him, Joe.”
I went over and poured myself out a bowl of cereal. “You know,” I said, going over to the fridge to get the milk out, “do you remember back when I was a kid? We used to have those big family breakfasts. I remember, mom, you’d cook up all sorts of good stuff. These fat, juicy sausages, perfect bacon, grilled tomatoes. I think that those were the only times I liked eating tomatoes as a kid. And that salad too. The salad was great.”
“You know, Roy? I asked your mother the same question. You know what she said?”
“Cook it yourself,” she filled in.
“That’s right, she told me to go cook it myself.”
I would’ve laughed, if not for the thick passive aggressiveness behind their words. Ever since moving home, I’d noticed my parents going through little spats like this. Micro-fights. Had they always happened, even when I was younger? I couldn’t remember. Back then I’d always seen my parents as a perfectly happy couple. I’d had friends whose parents divorced, or separated, or just were otherwise in not good relations, and I’d always kind of assumed that nothing like that was going on between my folks. Living at home with them as an adult these past six months made me re-examine things.
It’s a jarring thing to have your truths rearranged. It’s even more jarring when it happens multiple times in succession. One moment I’d been engaged, with a career and on the cusp of what I saw as “the rest of my life”, the next I was an unemployed thirty-year-old man living back home with his parents. I’d been existing with this idea of my folks being the perfect happily married couple that I aspired to be like one day, and now I was reassessing all my memories to try and figure out if I really was just that unobservant about things.
I mean, wasn’t that the cause of all this? My inability to notice that Alicia was unhappy?
Don’t think about Alicia, I scolded myself.
Had mom and dad been this way when I was in high school? I couldn’t remember. They were busy with work, I was going out with friends and paying attention to other things. When was the last time I even saw them kiss?
Had I ever seen them kiss?
Huh.
I sat down at the dining table with my cereal and began to tuck into it.
“Why do you ask, Roy?” my mom asked.
“Oh, just…I just was thinking about it. Good memories.”
“How’s your job hunt coming?” asked my dad, still looking at the TV.
“About the same,” I said. “Lots of applications, no responses.”
“Have you tried going in and applying in person? Handing in your resume. Companies like that, you know?”
“Most places would rather have the application sent in online now, dad,” I said.
“Is that right?”
My mom shook her head incredulously. “We’ve discussed this before, Joe. Don’t you remember?”
“Hm. Is that right?”
“Good lord,” she sighed under her breath. “Your dad is so forgetful these days; it drives me crazy.”
My dad smiled guiltily and shrugged. “Old age.”
“It’s okay,” I said. I finished my cereal and went to go wash the bowl out in the sink.
“Roy?”
“Hm? Yeah, mom?”
She took her glasses off, something she always did when she was about to say something serious. Dad turned down the television. Uh oh.
“How are you doing these days?” she asked.
I blinked dumbly. “I’m okay,” I said, “I’m doing better.” It was only partially the truth.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything. I mean, it's pretty much all I think about besides getting a new job—getting back on my feet. But I think I’ve worked through the worst of it.”
“It’s great that you’re working so hard on getting a new job,” dad said. “It’s good to get back up in the saddle. But what about, um, your dating? Are you seeing anyone?”
I knew he knew the answer to that question. Asides from going to work out, I hardly had left the house during the past six months. I just sat at home browsing job listings, watching TV and doing my best not to look at Alicia’s Facebook. Cool, I know.
“Joe,” mom hissed at him. “We’re just concerned, Roy. Of course there’s no rush for this, you need to take your time and go when you’re ready, but…have you thought about seeing someone new?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, mom, I haven’t.” I felt a sudden and completely unexpected surge of irritation bubble up from inside. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Okay, honey,” she said. “But it’s been, what, ten months since you two separated? Don’t you think—”
“Nine months,” I corrected. “And eight years together.”
My dad held folded his hands on the table in front of him. “You don't need to make a commitment, but it might be helpful to see new people to help you out of your rut, son.”
“I’m not in a rut.” I was just taking some time, just regathering myself.
My parents looked at me silently for a moment, looked at each other, and then looked back at me. My mom nodded. “Okay.”
“Ultimately, we know you know what’s best for yourself,” dad said.
My heart had started to pound. God, and I thought I had made good progress, but it was obvious that it really was just all bubbling below the surface.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. I smiled. “I appreciate you worrying about me. I’ll be okay.” I put the washed bowl away into the cabinet. Dad stared at the anchors chattering silently on the TV.
Mom spoke up. “You know, the Powlton farmers market is today. We should go there and buy some fresh vegetables.”
Dad frowned. “What, right now?”
“Yes,” she answered. “We could pick up some vegetables, and tomorrow, I’ll cook a big breakfast. What do you think, Roy?”
In all honesty, I didn’t particularly want to. All I felt like doing was sitting around at home and contemplating my life, but I knew my mom wa
s just trying to help me feel better. Plus, I’d only just been reminiscing about our lost family breakfasts, how could I turn that down?
I smiled. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”
Three
Even as a kid, I wanted to have a normal life. Weird aspirations to have, I know, but that was me. Some people wanted to become artists, astronauts, to achieve fame and fortune, and I just wanted a good job, a family that was as nice as I thought mine was back then, a nice house, a car. Things that I expected the average grown up would have. If you were normal, you would eventually get that career job. Just like my parents, you’d build a savings, get a house, and eventually you'd retire. If you were normal, you’d eventually find the love of your life, marry them and have children, just like my parents.
“You should’ve turned left on Santa Mesa,” my dad grunted, pointing.
The car swerved a bit as my mom jerked the wheel in surprise. “God dammit, Joe. Don’t say anything, okay? Just let me drive—the GPS knows the fastest way.”
“There might be traffic on Powlton.”
“The GPS knows the traffic up to the minute,” said mom in exasperation. “Would you please just stop?”
He put his hands up. “Okay, okay.”
I sat silently in the back seat, trying not to listen to my parent’s bickering. Love of their lives, huh? Perfect couple? Maybe there was no such thing after all?
Maybe my expectations for love were completely off? Keep looking, and you’ll eventually meet the one for you. That’s what we’ve always been lead to believe, but is it really true? Obviously there are people who never do meet that person. Alicia was supposed to be that person for me. Eight years.
Eight years.
My parents had been together for thirty-five years. How long had they been like this for? How many of those years were spent really in love? Had I ever seen them kiss before? I tried thinking back to when I was a kid, trying to conjure up some memory, but nothing came.
Wow, I thought. You’re pretty naïve, aren’t you, Roy? Love doesn’t come for everyone. Look at you. You’ll never fall in love again. And even if you meet someone, look at your parents. It’ll just end up like that. Together but apart.
I wanted to sink down into the seat and just disappear. I felt small inside, with the feelings of confusion and anxiety that had been their most potent when I first moved home suddenly washing back at full force.
No, I’d overcome this.
But I couldn’t stop it. I felt like a frightened child. Here I was—thirty years old, and being back at home had regressed me back to feeling like a moody, self-conscious, anxiety-ridden teenager again. My heart was thundering, and my chest felt tight. I took deep, long breaths, trying to calm myself down.
“Still busy, isn't it?” Mom said. I looked up and out of the window, and saw we were pulling into the parking lot at Powlton Middle School. Inside the playground were dozens of white canopies where vendors were selling their things. I saw lots of families walking around with their kids holding huge bags of kettle corn. Old couples milled about together, and young people too.
It was only just past noon, it was sunny out and the day was warm, but I felt like I was walking under a thundercloud. I couldn’t help but look at the couples around me, and wonder how long they had until they each one of them eventually split up.
Look at you, my inner voice thought, wallowing like an angsty teenager.
I certainly feel like one, I answered back.
I closed my eyes. I needed to get ahold of myself. Don’t dwell, I told myself. It was the mantra that I had used whenever I felt the pull of despair and depression. Don’t dwell, Roy. Nothing good can come from dwelling on things. Look around you. Be grounded. Stay in the now.
When I opened my eyes, I matched it with a deep breath, and looked around. My mom and dad had wandered off together to go look at a booth selling all sorts of different types of chocolate. To my left were lines of vendors with artwork, sculptures and metalwork on display, all homemade. Ahead I saw the cheese vendor next to a lemonade stand and the kettle corn tent. To my right was a crepe vendor, a Greek food stand, and a Hawaiian poke bowl stand. I took in the sounds of all the people walking around me, the laughter of the kids, the chatter of people talking and having a good time. I drew in the savory and delicious smells of all the different foods, of the perfume booths and the flower booths. Slowly, I felt my heart rate dropping, and my mind becoming calm.
That’s it. You’re good. You’re good.
I’d always dealt with a little bit of anxiety throughout my life, but nothing like what I experienced after the breakup. That was a demon of an experience, and one that (as you can tell) I wasn’t fully over.
“Mom, dad,” I said, coming up to them. “I’m going to walk around a bit.”
“Okay,” my dad said. He took my arm as I was about to walk away. “First, try this chocolate. They say chocolate can help improve your mood.” He pointed to one of the samples.
“It’s very good,” my mom chimed in.
“Okay,” I said, and picked up one of the samples. Its rich, buttery flavor spread through my mouth. I smiled. “It is really good.” He was right—I was already feeling a little better. “Thanks, dad.”
He smiled and gave me a wink.
Yeah. I needed to make sure I stayed in the present moment. Dwelling on things wouldn’t help me right now.
I’d never been to a farmer’s market before. It was like, part flea market, part fair. There was a live band playing music and lots of different types of street food, fresh produce, and other artisanal organic ingredients. I stopped at a booth that was selling all sorts of different kinds of Mediterranean sauces and dips, the containers spread out across the table with bits of pita bread broken up for samples.
Alicia and I used to go to a Greek place down the street from our apartment in San Francisco. She always ordered the same thing: a gyro combo with extra tabouli and yogurt sauce on the side, and large fries, which we’d share. It was our pick-me-up restaurant after a hard day at work, we’d always walk down there, arm in arm, sometimes even close to midnight since it was open late.
“No need to just stare.”
I looked up, knocked out of the memory. Enough about Alicia, dammit.
The vendor, an older man with thinning grey hair and a thick moustache smiled at me.
“Hm?”
He gestured at the spread in front of me. “If you want to try, go ahead. Don’t be shy, sir. We have garlic hummus, red pepper hummus, original… All organic, all made in house.”
“Oh, thank you.” The memory was still floating around in the front of my mind, like an image projected on a cloud of smoke. I dipped a piece of pita bread into the garlic hummus and put it into my mouth. I wasn’t expected the fullness of the flavor that came, and my eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, that is really good.”
“I know! I knew you’d like it.”
I pointed to the garlic hummus. “Alright. I’ll buy one of these.”
“Wonderful, sir. You like tabouli? Yogurt sauce? We have those too, I’ll give them to you for a special price since you’re first time customer, right?”
I smiled. “Just the hummus, thanks.”
I probably shouldn’t have bought the hummus, considering I was running on fumes as far as my bank account was concerned, but somehow it made me feel a little better.
I continued my stroll through the market, when I passed by a booth called “Heart Lifespring Gardens”. Memories came over me again, though this time they weren’t of Alicia – they were of someone from further back. Someone who was very special to me, but who’d slipped from my mind over the years.
He and I met in high school—we were in the same English class together in freshman year and he had I sat next to each other. I remembered that the only reason why we started talking was because he had a habit of not taking notes and not studying, and would always ask to borrow mine. I remembered how surprised I was when he did talk to me—surprised
and secretly delighted. I’d always thought he was one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen before, and he was the one who made me realize I was for sure, bisexual.
He ended up becoming my first—and only—boyfriend.
It was weird—I guess I’d gotten used to recalling only shitty memories because it felt like for the first time in a while, I was getting a rush of warm nostalgia.
