My brain hurt, my body ached, my back felt broken, I was a human calamity who lived in dirty clothes. I stopped taking my vitamins, plucking my eyebrows or cooking healthy food. I was truly, utterly depressed and convinced I’d stay that way for the rest of my wretched life.
“What more do you want?” Dylan asked when I complained about the general malaise of my existence.
“Happiness?” I said, but wondered if such a fantastic fable actually existed.
I went to a counselor to see if I was crazy.
Jane was a stout, spiritual woman in a lavender office, with lavender books, and a lavender blanket that I wrapped myself in as I sat on her matching lavender couch.
I babbled and cried, week after seventy five dollar week but eventually her wise, understanding, old-soul taught me three very important lessons:
(1) I needed to get on and stay on my fricking medication!
(2) No one and nothing can make me happy. I’d have to figure that out on my own.
(3) Any one of the three A’s could justify a divorce; addiction, abuse or an affair.
“One more thing,” Jane said, “write a letter to your back.”
“Write a letter to my back?”
“Yes, write a letter to your back.”
I obeyed lesson one. When Wellbutrin finally showed up at my doorstep holding a pair of shoes in my size, life became more comfortable. So together, my shoes and I hiked from the bowels of depression back into my life.
Lesson two meant that I had to unravel every thread on which my life was woven. Only then, when I was irreversibly undone, could I rebuild anew.
I began to consciously deconstruct every negative thought, habit and behavior I’d ever adopted knowingly or unknowingly. I meditated, journaled, took workshops and read a plethora of self-help books. I took baths, got Rolfed, cleaned my closet, and cleansed my colon. I made juice from every green or purple vegetable I could find then abstained from food for fourteen days. I smudged my home until the evil presence that lived within the walls stopped tormenting my sensitive spirit, cleared my mind until I was an empty cup, and burned incense until I reeked of patchouli.
As for lesson three, I was still too cowardly to confess my sins, and too co-dependent to leave. And as for the letter? I showed up at her office and handed her my assignment. It read:
Dear C.J.’s Back,
You fucking suck, she wants to do so many things, but because of you, she can’t. She complains about you all the time, how you’re a constant nag, poking, kicking and stabbing her. How could you! How could you have gone ahead and given her the back of an old lady? What’s she supposed to do now—huh?
She says she wants a divorce and she will find a new back since you have not supported her when she needed you the most. She also says to tell you to go fuck yourself, and that you took away so many things she loved to do and that you stole her career. You really suck, you, you…grandma back.
Oh, and one more thing…she loved yoga and you fucked her out of that too. Thanks a lot asshole.
-Me
She looked at the letter, and without reading it handed it back to me. “Now write a letter from your back to you,” she said. So I did.
Dear C.J. you fucking bitch,
How dare you blame me? It was You who abused me all these years! A decade that you spent fucking me up! How could You! I gave you signs. Signals and pain, and told you years ago that I needed a rest. But nooo you had to keep going, and going, and going you crazy bitch. Who do you think you are—accusing me? This is not my fault.
Get your shit together, find other hobbies and stop blaming me for your unhappiness. You are the one who sucks. I would have carried you, supported you for a lifetime, but you screwed me. You abused me, and over used me, and I’m done with you.
I’m going to abandon you for a while and let you suffer like you did to me. It’s your turn to be ignored you crazy cunt, call me in a few years and I might pick up the phone. In the meantime, don’t bother trying to fix me, it won’t work. Oh—and one more thing, fuck you!
-Me
***
I’d been nine years since I met Grant, five years since I married Levi, and two years since my sinful indiscretion. Two years since I’d sent Grant that text and I’d yet to hear back from him. I never knew if he got my message.
It felt like the magnetosphere that had once pulled us together had faded into a weak, depolarized glob of nothing. I’d seen him only in small sips with awkward eye contact. Our encounters were superficial and too guttingly painful for me to stick around and be tortured by so I stayed away. I gave up. I was certain he’d given up too.
Then on a starry winter night as the lazy snow drifted to the ground—it started again.
***
I so feel the same way. :)
My beautiful woman!
Chapter 18
“OUT BEYOND IDEAS OF RIGHT AND WRONG,
THERE IS A FIELD, I’LL MEET YOU THERE.”
—RUMI
Ad·dic·tion:
The state of being enslaved to something psychologically to such an extent its cessation causes severe trauma. —Dictionary.com
Yep. I was addicted.
The moment I saw Grant on stage, my abated desire regenerated its severed limb. The years I spent trying to evict him from my mind were futile. I’d wanted him since the day we met, and still I wanted to wrap myself around him and relish him for all eternity. More than anything, I wanted him to have a burning desire for me. No matter how many years had passed or how committed I was to leaving him alone, fate kept bringing us together.
I had no ulterior motive on that winter night other than to see Dylan. I knew Grant might be on stage next door, but I wasn’t there for him.
As we always did on his break, Dylan and I walked next door to catch a glimpse of the band. Through the reddish glow of the stage lights, we formed an unbreakable stare. Seeing Grant again made me ache, it was a tormented feeling of emptiness, a hollow that only he could carve out or fill. He sang a lonesome song that floated over the crowd and haunted me to the core. It was called “Bittersweet,” a simple tune with an acoustic ring and clear message that foreshadowed what was, and what was to come. He’d been watching me all along, waiting, hurting, wondering if it was love.
Anxiety twisted my nerves as Grant walked toward Dylan and I. His smile was big and gorgeous and a small scar on his upper lip made it the tiniest bit crooked. I stared at his lips while I waited in line behind Dylan, and when it was my turn to greet him, Grant opened his arms like he’d done so many times before. I wanted to surrender, to fade into him, but I wouldn’t let myself go there again. It would only cause me to relapse and need him.
I resisted the instinct to press my breasts into him and lay my head on his warm chest. Instead, I gave him limp hug and light two finger tap on the back as if he had a contagious disease. Holding back was laborious and the tension between us was glue thick.
Grants eyes strayed from our three party conversation and met mine in awkward glances, each one more confusing than the last.
What the hell is this? He’s had his chance, I’m done. Stop looking at me.
His obvious interest in me was regressing and painful, and I wanted to leave so I could check back into rehab and start over before I fell too far off the wagon.
“You good?” Dylan said to me as he stood up.
His assertive voice zapped me back to life. “I’m fine. I’m going to finish this beer then go home. Love you.”
“See ya bud,” Dylan said to Grant, then walked back to his gig next door.
The chill of Grant’s ice blue eyes staring at me made me shiver.
Don’t even think about it. I’m done.
I was going to hold my ground no matter what he said.
“It’s so good to see you. It’s been so long.”
Really? He’s going to be adorable and charming and make me want him again? Precisely why I shouldn’t see him and exactly why I can’t resist him.
I gave a slim uninterested smile.
He leaned in close and spoke over the bustling bar, “My mom says she sees you and your new dog walking by her house. She really likes you—she talks about you. I heard about Nanook, I’m sorry.”
“That’s nice of her and thank you,” I said with a solemn face, not wanting to think or talk about my dreadful last day with Nanook. “I stop by to see her baby gorillas when they’re out.”
And sometimes when I’m weak and see your work vehicle parked in her driveway I weave up and down the block like a stalker hoping to get a glimpse of you.
He laughed, “Yes, the gorillas. Don’t let them lick you, they eat shit, you know.”
“Gross!” I slapped his shoulder as he tipped his head back and laughed.
“Well, they do,” he added still chuckling. “You should stay for the last set. I’ll buy you a drink. Bloody Corona?” He asked just before he hit me with a two ton bomb. “I miss you.”
Did he just say he missed me?
The words seemed to float from his mouth and idle in the space between us waiting for my reply.
“Please, stay awhile,” he said.
I fanned my hand through the empty air next to me, “You mean me and all my friends?”
“I wish I could join you. Why don’t you come up and sing a few songs? Then you don’t have to sit here alone.”
“Um…no thanks.” A bloody beer landed on the counter in front of me. “You trying to get me drunk again?” I tilted my bottle toward his.
“Maybe?” He moved in close, commanding my full attention, “Meet me at Dylan’s?” he asked with a bashful smile.
Why, so you can use me for a make out session then leave me again? What, no girlfriend this year? No, thanks.
I shrugged and didn’t respond.
“It’ll be fun. I promise,” He insisted. “We can play cards or battleship or do anything you want.”
“You really think you’ll win at either of those?” I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, never mind, you will win. Cause you cheat!” I said then playfully pushed him. He exaggerated and fell off his barstool, then pointed at me with a wild grin as he backed away.
“If you change your mind and want to sing a song, just come up, okay? But you really should come to Dylan’s.” He said.
“I won’t, and I’ll think about it.”
I sat alone at the bar and listened to the next set. Every song foretelling something, every glance filled with meaning.
C.J! These are only songs! Not how he actually feels!
I set my half empty bottle on the counter and slid on my winter coat realizing that I was slipping fast into a Grant induced coma again, where nothing else in the world exists. I didn’t trust myself, I had to leave. I felt his eyes on me and was careful not to make eye contact. As much as I wanted to stay, wanted to be with him, I didn’t want to consent to anything imprudent, I’d done so much to distance myself.
I walked toward the stage, smiled and waved, and mouthed goodbye. His head swung to the side of the mic and he stepped toward me as the band kept playing.
“You’re going to Dylan’s right? Wait for me, I only have a few songs left…” He was strumming and leaning over the stage waiting for me to respond. There was no time for a conversation, I had to decide.
I was weak and unable to say no, “I’ll meet you there.”
“Promise?” He tilted his head, skeptical.
I exaggerated a huge nod and rolled my eyes, acting annoyed, “Yes. I said, I promise.’”
When I walked into Dylan’s garage, I had Déjà vu, only this time Levi and Dani were out of town and I wouldn’t have to explain where I was, or when I was coming home, or if I was coming home. Unlike last time, I wasn’t thrilled to be there. I had successfully distanced myself, it had taken nearly two years, but I’d done it and I didn’t want to start over.
This is a bad idea, I need to leave.
I shut off the lights and went into Dylan’s house to use the real bathroom instead of the five gallon piss bucket in the garage left out for anyone too drunk to make it inside. When I opened the front door to leave, Grant was standing there with a gorgeous grin and obvious glee. I became paralyzed.
“I was looking for you.” His voice was calm and inviting, and true to my bipolar emotions, I was instantly glad I hadn’t abandoned the chance to be with him.
I stuffed my shivering hands into my coat pockets, “I’m right here. But I can’t stay long or drink too much, I need to be able to drive. I have to let Bodi out.”
“Can’t Levi let him out?” It was so wrong to hear Grant’s voice saying Levi’s name, it made me shudder.
“He’s not home. He and Dani are in Minneapolis for the weekend.”
A moment of silence stepped between us as we processed the implications of what I had just revealed. The tingling that spread into every part of me when I was with Grant had begun.
He waved me into the garage. “I can take you to let Bodi out.”
You can? Why?
I looked at the carpeted garage floor and swept my foot across it, stalling, pondering what to say, deciding what I was going to allow to happen. “We can hang out for a little while then I’ll take you whenever you want,” he insisted.
He walked toward the fridge and just the act of him walking away turned on some biological switch. The threat of not being near him snapped me to life, and prompted me to follow him.
We sat next to one another, in the same folding chairs, at the same card table with the same blasting propane heater as last time. Then it happened again, like it always did when we were together—the walls came in close, people around us disappeared; and the Earth stopped its orbit to allow us extra time together, to fulfill our destiny.
Our attraction to one another had always stemmed from meaningful conversation, and that night was no exception. We filled in the blanks about the last two years. He schooled me about the historical significance of the Hofbrau house and walked me through his somber trip to Dachau. Places that I later had to Google to find out exactly what we were talking about.
I told him about my attempted move. We shared a good laugh over a mishap with a small family of deer, and the barbed wire fence that entangled his car so he could save their lives. He informed me of his healthier food choices, and tried to convince me he’d changed his ways. For reasons not yet known to me, although there were people around us, inside and out and everywhere in between, not a single one of them tried to infiltrate our conversation.
“Where is Heidi?” I asked.
“I don’t know where Heidi is,” He replied.
“Grant. Why are you still single? You must want to be a bachelor, because if you didn’t, you could have anyone you wanted.”
“Not anyone. I’m waiting for the right one.”
“That’s good, most of us don’t wait for the right one and end up with a miserable one instead.” We shared a laugh at the unfortunate truth of my comment. He deserved to have the right one not just anyone, and not a marriage like mine.
We’d re-connected as if no time had passed—but so much time had passed, and I was no further from wanting him than I was five years ago. He was the itch I could never scratch. He was always there, just under my skin, in a place I’d never be able to reach.
“I should go. I need let Bodi out,” I said. “You don’t have to drive me, I’m fine.” I tossed my mostly full bottle into the recycle bin.
“I don’t mind, I can take you.” He tossed his bottle in too and followed me.
I slid into his passenger seat and blew my warm breath into my hands. “I’m sorry, it’ll get warm quick,” he said as heat blasted the floor boards. “Where do you live?”
Am I really going to take home the man I cheated on my husband with? Let him onto our driveway or into the house? Levi would kill me…kill US.
“Twenty-two fifty-six Garrison Street.” I replied.
He dug in the center console, pulled out his IPod and plugged it into a small
hole in the dash. I looked at him and grinned when I realized what it was. Recognizable reggae transported me back in time to that night—our night.
“Hey,” I said, “It’s not summer and this isn’t the Moomba.”
“I listen to this all year, don’t you?”
“Could You Be Loved” filled the dense air around us.
The chemistry between us had endured. It was undeniable and intense, and exactly how it had been since our first summer together.
“There’s only one thing I think of when I hear this song,” I said, biting my lip.
“What’s that?” He asked all shy, like he didn’t know.
“You know,” I said.
He shot a devilish smirk at me and confirmed we were reminiscing the same delicious memories. He turned up the volume and we sang along to every song.
“One Love”
“No Woman No Cry”
“Stir it Up”
The decibels of our singing voices climbed a few notches with each song as we got comfortable with each other again. We filled in with mumble-jumble where we didn’t know what words were said, and laughed at each other when we sang the wrong ones.
“Are you sure no one’s home?” He said before committing to the driveway.
“I don’t think so,” I shrugged. “They’re supposed to be in Minneapolis, I haven’t heard anything otherwise.”
Stopping in what usually is Levis spot, he clicked through the gears and into park. I was uneasy about him being in my driveway. What if the neighbors saw? What if they said something to Levi? Levi would know instantly who it was.
I didn’t care. I was mentally exhausted from Grant’s hot and cold, emotionally fucked-up from my own toxic marriage, and crippled by debilitating pain. I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was exist and try to be happy from moment to moment.
“You want to meet Bodi?” I asked.
He retreated into his seat, “Is that a good idea?”
I shrugged, indifferent, “Its fine, everyone’s gone.”
“I don’t think I should.”
I didn’t care if he did or didn’t. His waffling made me frustrated. “Whatever, I’ll be right back.”
Affairytale : A Memoir Page 11
