After finishing my coffee I decide it’s time to make a move forward with my life. Even a small shift would be a positive step for me. So the step I’ll make towards healing today will be the simple task of texting my brother back. Besides, I’m just about out of canned soup and frozen loaves of bread and I could really use some tampons.
It’s me. I’m okay.
Was hoping you might want to come over
for that talk now. I’m ready.
X, cc
Less than twenty minutes later my brother and his new sidekick are at my front door armed with supplies for the heartbroken. Liddy comes through first carrying only one plastic bag from her slim arm while Connor takes care of the heavy lifting. I notice her bag because through the white and red plastic I can see what appears to be my favorite treat, chocolate-chocolate-chunk ice cream with individually wrapped chunks of dark chocolate to be opened and placed on top.
“For you,” the cherub of chocolate says as she passes the bag off while walking past me into the kitchen to get out bowls and spoons. She’s not messing around and I like it!
“Hey guys. Thanks for coming so fast and thanks for the food and all but you didn’t have to do that,” I’m walking to the kitchen alongside my brother and his many bags of groceries, thankful that he knew I’d be out of food without Ashton’s assistance.
“I was glad to finally hear from you Cee. I was about twenty four hours away from calling the cops to come break down your door. Never, and I mean never, do that to me again. It was totally uncool of you to bolt the extra lock when you knew no one had a key for it. What if something had happened to you? Have you ever considered that you’re the only family I have left?”
His declaration makes me feel selfish and instantly I regret my decision to shut him out the last couple of weeks. I wasn’t the only one who lost a parent too young and I need to start remembering that. Immediately, I stop spooning the gooey goodness from the container, set the scooper down in the carton and turn to face my brother.
“I’m sorry. You’re right and I was acting selfishly. Please forgive me?” A tear drops from the corner of my eye as I await his answer. The answer I know he’ll give because my brother loves me and I have never once doubted that.
“CeeCee, you know I forgive you. Stop being stupid and make me some ice cream woman.” He smiles over at Liddy, relief over our quick reconciliation now clear on both of our faces. He’s always been fast to accept an apology without adding any sort of silly stipulations to the agreement and I feel so blessed to have that kind of acceptance in my life. He reminds me of our dad that way and having him here now brings me some of the comfort I’ve so desperately needed since Ashton’s betrayal.
“Woman, huh? I’ll show you woman,” and with that I fling a scoop of my favorite ice cream at his perfect face and watch as it lands where I intended, right between his eyes. He retaliates quickly by licking my cheek, using the one and only move that he knows will end this silly face off.
“Okay. Okay! You win!” I laugh wiping desperately at my cheek with a clean dishtowel. “How can you live with him? He’s a merciless, disgusting… BOY!”
Liddy is laughing so hard I fear she may lose her bladder any moment yet I continue to make it worse with all of my ridiculous cackling and snorting. There are several weeks’ worth of stress bubbling up inside of me desperate to make an escape and this riotous release is just what the doctor ordered.
After twenty minutes of eating and laughing we’re sitting at the kitchen table, a gallon of ice cream and a bag of chocolate candies gone. We’re all moaning from both the pleasure and pain of our exploits while scraping our empty bowls clean in the hopes of finding that last little bit of chocolaty gratification. Finally Connor decides to be brave and broach the topic that sits heavily amongst us in the room... the Ashton-sized elephant.
“Ashton left you know. Last night. He came over to say goodbye and told us that he’d tried to come by here and see you a couple of times but you wouldn’t let him in. He’s worried about you. We all have been. Can we please talk about it now?”
The look of pity he’s wearing is annoying and I refuse to acknowledge it as I remind myself of the recent pact I made with myself to never again be the damsel in distress. That girl, I’d like to throat punch her.
“I’m fine, Connor,” I lie quickly before continuing on with my farce. “I’m just trying to save him from the guilt I know he’ll feel when he says goodbye to Master and I. Besides, I hate long drawn out goodbyes and so does he. Sure, when he first told me the news I could have handled the situation better, but I’ve had a couple weeks to think and I’ve decided I’ll be fine. He can do whatever he wants from now on without ever having to come to my rescue again. I don’t need him and he probably hates that more than the leaving part. You know how he is, Mr. Arrogant.”
Grabbing all the dishes I quickly push up from the table in the hopes of ending this conversation. But that’s not going to happen. Not while my brother’s inquisitive, knowing eyes are staring holes straight through my head, reading my mind.
It’s obvious he’s not buying my story but I’m sticking with it until I’m able to believe it myself. This reminds me of this time I heard Oprah ask Rihanna if she felt as sexy as she acted. Rihanna was all, “no way,” and Oprah was all like, “Please girl!” but then Rihanna said something that I’ll never forget. She said, “sometimes in life you just have to fake it til’ you make it O,” (Holy Crap) and right now I am choosing to live by Rhianna’s proverb. Hey, all I’m saying is if it worked for Rihanna it can work for me! I mean seriously, she’s pretty damn good at faking the sexy.
“If she says she’s okay then she’s okay,” Liddy pipes in, while scraping away at the inside of the ice cream carton.
“What CeeCee needs is a fresh start, and seeing that we made a pact to work together, tomorrow that’s what she’s going to do, honor her pact.” She is just the cutest damn thing! I can’t help but to smile and shake my head along with her optimistic little plan.
“She doesn’t need Ashton, right?” She shouts jumping up from her chair.
“That’s right.” This pep talk may actually be working because I’m up now too, fist pumping my enthusiastic agreement.
“She can do it herself. Right?” She’s like my own personal cheerleader. She drops her spoon and it pings off the table top and drops onto the floor before she starts to jump and bounce around clapping her hands, building the excitement.
“Right!” I shout, starting to feel like Rocky on those infamous steps.
“She can come to my studio and we’ll sew tomorrow! Right?” Hell yah!
“YES!” Wait what?
“Great!”
“NO. NO… NO! You had me on some kind of trick train to anywhere for a minute there. Wow, you’re scary. But, hell to the no am I coming to your place tomorrow. I thought my brother made it clear to you that I do NOT go out?”
She looks like I drowned her goldfish the way her face puckers up in disappointment. But then she has a moment of clarity and gives me a completely sincere little wink before saying, “It was worth a try.”
Her smile shines and all I can think is this girl is going to give me a run for my money. She’s like some kind of fairy godmother and she’s not going to give up on me, it’s right there in her twinkly little, devious eyes. It may even be possible that I’m just a little bit afraid of her. As I look at her I have this gut feeling that my father’s somehow got his hand in this pot and because of that feeling I will allow myself a moment of hope. This partnership may just have been made in heaven.
***
After they leave I spend the rest of the night thinking about how I’m alone but then I pull my head out of my butt and realize that I’m not alone at all because now I have my brother, Master and Liddy. Woohoo, I’ve added a girl to my roster! What else could I have asked for? Nothing, that’s what. I mean who needs kissing and cuddling or the smell of clean man, fresh out of the shower or even, you know,
“IT”? People live fine enough lives without any of those things all the time (hello, nuns & priests) and I’m pretty sure I can be just like those people (If you’re not laughing please take a minute to do so now). I’ve been doing quite well for the past few years (Bwahahahaha), just because I now know about the delicious feelings that come along with seduction, that doesn’t mean anything. Good for those people who get to have it all. Nice work people of the world in Love!
Who am I kidding! I HATE THOSE PEOPLE! Well, except for Liddy and Connor, though… yah, maybe I hate them just a teensy-tiny, wee-little bit, but that feeling is shoved way, way back in the way, wayest back part of my brain. No hard feelings at all, or at the very least just the most minimal of hateful feelings. Unfortunately this line of thinking has my mind racing back around to a certain someone, who is doing a certain something, with a certain foreigner that I’m not exactly certain I’m happy about.
As those thoughts float around in my head wreaking havoc on my cynical, lovelorn mind I decide to go out looking for a new electronic crush. I’ve literally got nothing to lose (except my pride and a touch of my self-respect).
The couch corner welcomes me home (thank you couch corner). Master does my favorite thing ever and gets cozy by lying his hot body (hot in degrees Fahrenheit, don’t be gross) down on my cold feet as I log into my Xbox account where it’s good to mingle if you’re single. PrettyPanties is a new lady who has plenty of friends out there in the electronic gamoshphere, and she will no longer sit around waiting for some gaming heartbreaker to stroll back into her life and respawn all over her! No MORE I SAY!
Pumped up, I head to the go-to place for hotties: Call of Duty: Ghosts. I’m trolling tag names when I run into GamesWoods and he hits me up for a quick game. My headset’s up and running and we’re live.
“What’s up Games?”
“Not much there PrettyPanties. How’s it hanging over in the land o’ Panties tonight? I have to say you’re sounding as fine as ever.” Oh, poor GamesWoods. He’s so completely barking up the wrong tree. This tree knows his type. I’ve heard him inhale and choke one too many times to jump on board that second hand smoke train. He’s a fun friend however and I like talking to him.
“Hey, I forgot to ask you. Did my plan work the other night? You know, did the pizza man end up walking the big guy?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot by the way. That was some truly inspired shit (for some reason talking to him brings out my inner gangsta’). We both feel indebted to you.” Then something comes to me and I just do it before I have time to question how smart my decision is. “Hey, um? I was just wondering? Do you know Mrnotsosmall? You know. Like personally?” I want to superglue my mouth shut right now!
“Ah, yah? He and I worked together a couple of years ago. Do you have a thing for our Mrnotso Panties? It’s cool if you do because he happens to like hot chicks and if we’re being honest here, we’ve all discussed it and we can tell you’re hot.” OH MY GOD! These dudes are in high school! What have I been doing engaging in online flirting with teenagers? This thought brings a flood of bile immediately up into my mouth and I hold back as I try my hardest not to gag on it.
“Um, I don’t know what to say, Games, except maybe you’re nuts?” He inhales and I hear a wet, bubbling sound followed by a long exhale and a soft cough. In a strained voice he says, “That’s what all the ladies say but it’s never hurt me before. Actually, somehow it works in my favor? You chicks are confusing.” He has no idea. “You want me to pass Mister a cyber note for you or something? Check yes, no, my place or yours? Something like that work for you?”
“Just tell me one thing? And please be honest okay?” Here goes.
“Of course. Anything for you sweet cheeks.” Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.
“How old are you?” I whisper the words out of fear because I am one hundred percent desperate for him to answer with a number over the age of eighteen, and that’s just to keep me from vomiting. Something over twenty-one would be preferable, my age or above, ideal.
“Thirty.”
“YES! Oh, thank sweet baby Jesus. How about Mrnotso? Is he also thirty?” Please say yes, momma needs an older man!
“Yeah, actually we graduated the same year, then he went on to med school but it’s been a while since we’ve hung out.”
HOLY HELL! MED SCHOOL! I’ve landed myself a doctor! WHOOP! WHOOP! Maybe he can fix me and our love story will read something like this: One day there was a man who played video games. He met a girl who loved them too. They met online, he fixed her mind and now they will forever live in love and be fine! (We’re in a judgment-free zone here, people and I’m not a poet and I know it. Sorry. Humor me.)
“Well, I guess a doctor is okay if you’re into that sort of thing,” I AM! And now I must do a silent victory lap around the living room. “Don’t say anything to him, okay? That’ll just make things weird and I was just curious.” Then I hear something in the background and suddenly come to the horrible realization that we’re not alone anymore. Oh please... please… please… oh merciful game gods of the universe make that be PaulGayman.
“PrettyPanties? Were you just asking Games about me?” He sounds either annoyed or flattered. I so don’t understand his inflections enough yet to figure this out. His character, I can do, but not the human person it’s attached to! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Ouch, now I’ve stubbed my big toe from all my jumping about and I can’t hold back the holler that shoots from my big, stupid, trouble-making mouth. Great, just great! Now, not only do I sound guilty but also needy. Awesome.
I’m destroying my cool-girl gaming rep as we speak and there’s absolutely no way to come back from this and remain in the cool-zone! What do I do? You guessed it. I yank the sparkly headset from my head and throw it across the room like it’s about to give me the flu (the real flu is no joke people, you’d totally throw that headset off too) and run to my room to hide under the covers. How will I ever face my true love again?
nine
(I’m so not fine (I can’t stop myself))
Seeing that it’s the middle of the night and my go-to habit of gaming is indefinitely cancelled, I am forced to do the only thing I can to pass the time. Work.
For me work is a means to an end, nothing more. I am not under the delusion that you must be fulfilled by your job to be happy. Are you going to tell me that the drive-thru girl who brings you those greasy nuggets is fulfilled? Okay then. Lucky for me, I have my inheritance so I will never be forced to work outside of my home if I don’t feel the need to and quite clearly I do NOT feel the need. Keeping in mind I don’t feel the need to love my job I chose to write for two reasons and two reasons alone. First, and most importantly, it’s an indoor activity and second, I learned early on that it came naturally to me so that’s why I do it, it’s indoors and its easy, not love.
Every day of my life, from the time I was twelve until today I’ve done what one of my first therapist suggested and journaled. Her words were, “Cecilia, journaling will provide you with a positive, healthy release of your feelings in a safe and private place.” Having no motherly wisdom to follow and a father desperate to help me deal with the struggles of having my only parent stuck in the armpit of chemo, I took her advice and I journaled. Not once have I regretted the time I’ve spent writing out my thoughts. Every time I put pen to paper I begin to feel my stress melt down from a tight ball of wax into a large, warm puddle where I find myself much more relaxed. Because of its success I should probably amend my previous comments about therapy being a joke and add journaling as the only other positive thing I received apart from the breathing/counting thing that I use so often.
Now that I’ve decided to work I need to check to see if the author I’m ghost writing for received the last note I sent her explaining that I’d like to add a chapter on Trauma Focused Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Seeing as my inbox appears to be pretty empty tonight this should only take a sec.
In order to remain focused I continually mutter, “Do not
look at the Victoria Secrets sales ads, do not look at the Victoria Secrets sales ads...” And then, as if I’ve somehow summoned it, I see a notification that causes me intense joy. I immediately start to jump up and down on my bed as I read the reminder about the upcoming Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. That’s my Super Bowl, people! Master and I will have an awesome party! Be jealous because it will be Off. The. Hook!
After I’ve allotted a week’s worth of energy into jumping on my bed I’m rewarded when the email I was waiting for dings through. Thankfully it’s from the author I’m writing for giving me the final go ahead on writing that chapter I wanted to delve further into.
Once my Yahoo! account is opened, it is a mandatory rule of mine to clean out and sort all of the unopened emails (Shocking, I know). As I’m finishing up I see one last unopened reference line roll onto the screen and groan in frustration as I notice that it’s from the not so funny author of the aforementioned, This is Your Mother... PLEASE OPEN THIS Letter that I keep receiving.
Lately I’ve received this email more and more frequently and I’ve had just about enough. It’s high time for me to bite back. Before I can change my mind I quickly click it open and start browsing the page. The first thing that hits me is that this appears to have come from a state prison somewhere in Louisiana. Then I’m totally creeped out because that means some inmate in Louisiana has my personal email address. I’m overcome with gratitude when I see that there aren’t any naked pictures attached, that would’ve been too much for me to handle today.
There is only one brief paragraph on the page and so far I’ve read it about, I don’t know, a zillion times. I’m quite certain that if I keep reading it that eventually it will decide to say something different, something that may make sense because, no way in HELL is my MOTHER some filthy inmate and not a LOVELY women in PRETTY PANTIES! UN… AC… CEPT… ABLE! You’d have guessed correct if you thought that maybe I was freaking out now. Yep, that’s happening.
Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... Page 11
