Intermission: Fears of Which I Abominate
If you put two and two together, you probably realize that I am terribly afraid of spiders. Maybe running out of Trevor’s apartment and deleting his number from my phone, as well as throwing away the clothes I wore while eating that horrid discovery, were all very dramatic courses of action. But I regret nothing.
Everyone has something they fear, and I happen to be crippled by my fear of arachnids. It is taking all of my willpower to write this because just the thought of spiders is enough to make me squirm. Not only are they unpredictable, but they are fast and have an advantage against me. They most definitely can sense my fear and don’t mind showing up ever so often to ruin my life.
One time, back when I was eighteen, I was driving home from the store and had my windows rolled down as usual. But this time, a yellow spider decided to pay me a visit. It dropped down and landed right on my driver’s side door handle. I tried to inch away from it, but my seatbelt only allowed so much wiggle room. I was in fear of entering neurogenic shock. I figured my best battle strategy was to throw the car in park, jump out, and grab a tissue from the backseat, forcing myself to kill the spider.
No worries, I had luckily reached my neighborhood and parked where people could drive around me if they needed to. Safety first.
The spider was still the problem at hand, and I was trying to be as brave as I could muster, I thought maybe it had decided to spare me and left, but nope it was right there where it had landed moments earlier. It was watching me intently and bound to kill me in my sleep if I didn’t kill it first.
I took a bunch of deep breaths and lunged for it. What happened next is why I lack trust in the world. The spider disappeared under my carpet, where my feet go. I just about lost it. There was no way I was going to ever enter that car again. I stood there and pondered life for about ten minutes before sucking it up getting back into the car. There was no way that I was putting my feet near that thing though, so I hovered my left foot, and kept my right foot on either the gas or the break at all times. I also drove at a steady fifty miles per hour to my house. The second I parked, I jumped out.
Going inside, I waited patiently for my mom or dad to come home from work to kill it. But they were both working late so of course, unless I wanted to risk the idea that the spider may be pregnant and ready to give birth in my only mode of transportation, I knew I had to do the deed myself.
I tried to convince my dog to somehow grow the skills to kill the horrid creature but instead, he marked his territory on my tire and walked away. I was truly alone. I conjured up all the courage I could and lifted the carpet. There it was, just sitting there. As I write this, I feel invisible spiders crawling all over me, what a nightmare. I did some breathing exercises and on a count of three I reached in and smashed the spider with the tissue, sprinted to the dumpster and tossed it in.
I reigned supreme over the eight-legged saboteur. Victory was mine!
All that considered, I’m still terrified of them. They are everywhere, and they can’t be stopped. I’ll move on before I think about it a second longer.
Intermission: Through the Seasons (of Love)
Back on the topic of my unfortunate love life, allow me to introduce the difficultly of being single during the holidays. Not only does it introduce the me versus them complex, but it’s just not as fun.
Granted, the holidays are the best because they simply exist, but having someone to celebrate them with makes everything all the more special. I have always been someone who loves the colder months, and the months that happen to have all the significant holidays—with the exception of Saint Patrick’s Day because I love that holiday as well.
But from October to February, that is my prime time.
Holidays mean community coming together, and family gatherings, as well as decorations. Lines in stores get longer, but the food undeniably gets better and everything overall just has a cheery air to it.
If you disagree, so be it. Fall and winter are my favorites and will always be.
Yet, there is a level of derision that comes with the most famous holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, and the ever-distasteful Valentine’s Day. The expectancy to have a significant other is growing as the years pass. For Halloween, it’s now this big deal to have couples costumes, Thanksgiving means bringing your special someone home to make small talk with your family over the cranberry sauce.
Christmas means kissing under the mistletoe and showering your significant other in gifts crafted from love, or a loaded wallet. New Year’s means that kiss to start the year off “right.”
Don’t even get me started on Valentine’s Day. It’s really hard liking these holidays so much and having them be reduced to means for couples to celebrate how wonderful it is to not be alone.
Oh, and the movies are as dramatic as ever.
For the most part, I don’t mind being single, I’ve accepted it. But at the same time, the holidays I love most are littered with things to remind me that I have no one to hold hands with under the dinner table or to do the ten second countdown with.
I usually end up being fine though because I have family and friends that care deeply about me, which makes being alone a lot more bearable.
But that won't last forever.
My friends are starting to get married one by one and my parents are starting to travel for the holidays, which means I spend a large amount of the holiday season by myself, buried in work.
Although I can happily say that I’m learning to adapt and finding things that capture my attention.
For those of you out there who feel alone on the holidays, just remember you are not the only one. It might suck in the moment but just occupy yourself and push through. One activity I find fun is learning more about myself. I know that sounds cheesy, but how can you be there romantically for someone else if you can’t even be there for yourself? That just means one more present for you. If I want a hug, I’ll go to my parents’ house and hug the dog. If I want a kiss, I eat the chocolate.
Actually, no I won’t. I hate chocolate (refer to Choco judgement).
But you get my point.
Enjoy yourself because before long, you will have a special someone, and then you’ll have to learn to share. How ghastly.
Uh uh, I’m out.
Age 29
Ah okay, we are almost to the present but there is one last story I must recall. I think this one is the most ridiculous, and somehow the most dangerous, which is hard to believe considering Jensen and his genius idea to break into my house. But this time, I almost died. I think it tops all the other ages.
The car I had all of my young adulthood was a 1989 dark blue Volvo. It was my father’s first and he passed it down from my brother right to me. For an older car, it worked like magic. The rev of the engine was spectacular, and the seats were a tan leather. There was a stain on the carpet from my brother eating nacho fries one time as well as a tear in the leather of the backseat from when my dad had to rip it open and (carefully) remove the nest of rats that had seemingly been there for the past year.
That car had been through a lot.
But it remained in pretty good condition, so I cared for it unconditionally. At the rate I was going, I would never have kids, so I poured all my extra money into car waxes and bedazzling the steering wheel. All very unnecessary but very winning.
I used my car every single day, multiple times a day, taking trips back and forth between my job, interviews at law firms and my apartment. Case and point, I spent a lot of time in my car mindlessly driving. One day—I think it was a Friday—I was driving back home from work in a muck of traffic, more than usual. I was singing along to an upbeat pop song when the stop light turned red. I stopped as one does to abide by the traffic law. But apparently, the person behind me didn’t see the light change because they plowed right into me from behind. I was pushed forward right as a car was pulling out into the intersection. The car hit me on my driver side,
and I did a tailspin into the nearby ditch.
The next thing I know, the car that hit me from behind sped up and drove away. It was a white convertible and had a bumper sticker on the back that said: Keep the roads safe accidents should not happen, Doc. And associates approved.
Go figure.
The driver who hit me from the side rushed to my aide. It was a young woman with a child. She looked very flustered and scared, then she started to uncontrollably cry and continually asked me if I was okay. I felt fine but then she looked down inside my car and turned awfully pale. I looked in the direction of her eyes and saw my left leg bent in an unnatural way. That’s when all the pain came rushing. I screamed in pain and I’m pretty sure I fainted because I don’t remember the rest.
I awoke in the hospital with my leg in a full plaster cast. My parents were at the foot of my bed sleeping with heads together. My phone kept buzzing on the nearby table. I picked it up to see texts from all my friends and my brother. All very sweet.
The doctor came in a beat later. He was very nice and very appealing to look at. He had thick curly brown hair, brown eyes and some scruff on his chin. He was wearing a sympathetic smile and a clipboard in his hands. I was confused because he wasn’t wearing scrubs, but rather a blue gingham button down with crisp black jeans and black shiny shoes. He wasn’t the doctor, but he was also the perfect picture of health, so he couldn’t be a patient.
For a solid beat of time, we just stared at each other. It seemed almost as if he was searching for recognition.
I finally asked him, “Do I have something on my face?”
He laughed, “Sorry, no. I was just staring because you are really pretty.”
Nice save.
“Oh, okay, thanks. Um, do you know where the doctor is?”
Right as he was about to answer, a middle-aged man with scrubs walked in. He was wearing a nametag that read: Dr. Danefield.
“Marcus, what are you doing in here? You were supposed to be filing papers in my office and wearing your scrubs thirty minutes ago.”
The cute beau identified as Marcus muttered a sorry and scurried off to what I assumed was his boss’s office.
The doctor looked at me inquisitively. “Do you know him, miss?” I answered negatively. At that time, my parents started to wake up. My mom rushed up and hugged me while my dad was the first to speak up.
“Hey, Wave, how are you feeling?”
I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Fine, I guess. But I’m kind of confused.”
He took my hand. “Well, sweetie, you were in a car accident.”
The doctor clarified. “You were the victim of a hit and run and the cops have no clue who hit you.” I was too worn out to ask for more details and I just wanted to go home. I may have been a little rude.
“That’s nice and all, but when can I go home?”
“We have to keep you overnight for another round of testing just to make sure all your vital signs are positive and then you can be released first thing in the morning. The good news is that you only have a broken leg.”
I sighed and asked the question I had been really dreading. “Dad, how is the car?”
He looked at me wistfully. “I’m afraid she’s been totaled, honey.” I don’t know why, but I cried when he said that.
I’ve never been one to cry when things get tough, I usually just stick it out. But that car had been in my life since I was eighteen and it was hard to let it go. My parents hugged me and stayed with me the whole night. Eventually, I fell asleep and awoke the next morning to my parents’ chairs empty and a nurse taking out my IV.
A few moments later, my parents walked into the room with my favorite food. Ice cream, and it was tarantula free, thank you very much. After signing some papers, I was finally allowed to go. My parents took me back to my apartment and begged to stay to keep me company for the next couple of days. I accepted their offer and they spent the next few days making sure I had dinner on the table and my laundry was done. Thank goodness for them because if it were up to me, I would have just wallowed in my own self-pity.
After about a week, they went back home, and it was up to me to do things myself. I had another week to rest before I had to return back to work. I was enjoying every second of it despite the inconvenient cast. I watched enough movies to certifiably rot my brain and gained at least ten pounds from my ice cream intake.
The weekend before work, I got a knock at my door. It took a bit of maneuvering, but I hobbled over and answered it, only to see Marcus standing there. I was so confused that I shut the door, then realized my mistake and opened it again. There he was in the flesh and I was still confused. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
He looked down nervously at his shoes. “Sorry to show up so unexpectedly but I had to come check on you.” I was royally confused so I just waited for him to continue.
“I also was sent here by the doctor to check on your recovery status.”
I knew deep down that was very unorthodox, but I decided to let it slide because he was cute. But I did want to know one thing. “How did you know I lived here?”
He started to fidget. “Oh, um I just looked you up in the patient files.” I was moderately freaked out, but he was cute, so I decided to change the subject.
“Okay, I don’t really believe you, but I’ll pretend I do for the sake of our future conversation.”
He smiled thoughtfully. I moved over so he could come in. Marcus took one good look around the room and burst out laughing. We all know what my apartment looks like. It was the same exact layout as my previous one, but I had different furniture. Jensen free for the love of all things sane.
I gave Marcus a steely look and he stopped laughing. I’ll admit, I admired his ability to be authentic with his regards for the tiny storage closet, I had just invited him into.
He regained his composure. “My apologies for laughing but you have to admit the condition of your apartment is pretty tumultuous.” I looked around again this time noticing the things I had deemed normal over the past week. Like the pints of ice cream splayed on the coffee table. The insane amount of makeshift foot scratchers from floor hangers all over the floor. And the piles upon piles of blankets that covered the rest of the apartment. I am a woman of complete order if I do say so myself. I looked at him again and smirked.
“Is it really your business the contents of my messy apartment? You are not even supposed to be here.”
He grew quiet and mumbled a goodbye before reaching for the door. I had to grab ahold of his shoulders to stop him. “Hey, I’m just kidding. You really need to loosen up. I’m not some fragile woman who needs help, but if you want to take me on a date sometime, I would most likely accept.”
He turned around and said, “Oh, okay, yeah I would love to take you out. How about Minos Thai grill tonight? They have really good fusion food, and I could pick you up around eight.”
That was undeniably soon, and I needed at least twelve hours to get ready and not look like I had been sleeping on my couch indulging in ice cream for the past week. Regardless, I needed to get out of the house, so I accepted his request and walked him out the door, using his arm as a crutch. After he left, I rushed to get ready and spent the next couple of hours trying to deep clean my apartment with only one fully functioning leg.
When Marcus knocked on the door again, I met him in the hallway, and we were on our way. We took the elevator down to the lobby and he went to go get the car to bring out front. A moment later, he pulled up in a white convertible. It looked brand new and he had the roof down. I was impressed. He jumped up and helped me in the car. I got to control the radio and made him listen to heavy metal the whole way, much to his inconspicuous dismay.
This date was about to be one for the books.
When we finally arrived at Minos, he practically threw the car in park and forcefully turned off the radio. I looked at him with artificial surprise.
“What, you don’t like my music?” He tried to smile but it
came out more like a grimace.
“I’m more of a smooth jazz guy.”
With that, he helped me out of the car, and we walked in silence into the restaurant.
The waiter seating people asked us how many, and just as Marcus was saying two, I said three. The waiter and Marcus looked confused as heck. I validated my answer again and the waiter showed us to a table.
Once he left, Marcus looked at me suspiciously. “Who else did you invite? I thought it would be the two of us?” I gave him my sweetest smile.
“It’s just the three of us. You, I and my friend, Coraline.” Marcus looked even more confused than before. I gestured at the empty chair and told him to pull it out because she was coming. Being complaisant, he got up and moved the chair. I waved over his shoulder. “Hey, Coraline!”
Marcus turned around and looked back at me. “Where is she?”
I pointed at the chair. “She’s here already, you can sit down now.” Marcus turned pale and slowly sat down. It took a lot of internal chastising to keep from laughing. I had to see how long he would stick it out on a date with a girl who had an imaginary friend.
After a moment longer, he tried to make casual conversation. “So how long have you and Coraline known each other?”
I kept a straight face and said, “Oh we have been best gals since I was five. Haven’t we Coraline?” I waited a beat and burst out laughing, I was doing the full nine yards, clutching my stomach, banging the table. I even took a sip of the water the waiter had brought out and proceeded to spray it across the table.
Hey, I’m a sucker for theatrics.
Marcus, while drying off his button down, looked at me like I belonged in a crazy house. Just what I wanted. The waiter came back and took our orders. I ordered about five things from every section of the menu for Coraline and myself and proceeded to order for Marcus as well.
“Oh, and he’ll take a salad. Light dressing, no croutons.” Marcus was three steps away from cardiogenic shock. But he was sticking it out, which I commended. He tried his hardest to make conversation.
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