“Ahhhh…C’mon guys, this could be the last really stupid thing we do together before we go to college.”
“Chrissy, I’m NOT hopping on a plane to go to Los Angeles to be on The Price is Right! You’ve had a lot of stupid ideas, but that’s the stupidest one by far!”
“Shut up, Court, it’ll be fun! Think about it. We’ll leave Sunday night and fly home Monday after the taping of the show. We might get caught for skipping school on Monday, but who cares? We graduate in like three weeks! Seriously, what could possibly go wrong?”
It took thirty minutes to talk Courtney into the idea and ten minutes to plot out what we were gonna tell our parents.
Once we got the logistics worked out, we booked the flight and flew ourselves to Los Angeles. It took seven busses (because none of us had ever been on a bus before or knew how to read a bus schedule) to get to Bob Barker’s hood.
“This is totally awesome you guys! I can’t believe we’re in Studio City waiting in line to get into The Price is Right!”
“Not awesome at all, Chrissy. That motel we stayed in last night was totally bogus. I swear I heard gun shots. And tell me again why we’re all wearing your brother’s Santa Clara University sweatshirts?”
Nic, Kelly, and I roll our eyes and shake our heads at Courtney’s lack of familiarity with one of the most rudimentary tactics of how to get picked as a contestant on The Price is Right. Tediously, I answer her.
“Duh, Court, everyone knows Bob Barker likes to pick people wearing college gear. If you’d put down your text books and pick up a remote control every once in a while, you’d know that.”
After giving bogus answers to a few basic questions by someone wearing a massive headset, we put our fake name-tags on our fake sweatshirts and take our seats.
“Any of you brainiacs thought about what would happen if one of our names gets called?”
“Right, like that’s ever gonna happen, Court.” But then I look at Kelly and mouth the words, “I hope not.” She mouths back a very concerned, “Shit.”
“Look you guys, it’s starting!”
“MILFRED SMITH, COME ON DOWN!” “THOMAS DANIELS, COME ON DOWN!
“BETSY CLARK, COME ON DOWN! YOU’RE THE NEXT
CONTESTANT ON THE PRICE IS RIGHT!”
“Holy fucking shit, he just said my name!”
“Seriously, Nicole, you picked the name Betsy? That’s a really stupid name!” “God Chrissy, who the hell cares what name she used! Run down there
Nicole! Go! Go! Go!”
“BETSY CLARK, COME ON DOWN!”
“Are you crazy, Kelly? I can’t go. MY MOM WATCHES THIS SHOW! What if I win the showcase showdown or something? What happens if I win a friggin’ camper? I’m outta here.”
Just like that, Nicole runs out of a set of double doors marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY and sets off the alarm. The rest of us are immediately asked to leave. As we make our exit, we’re hit hard with thunderous boos and hisses of crazy Price Is Right fanatics. Who knew lovers of such wonderful things like Bob Barker, Plinko, and Triple Play could be so mean.
*****
A piece of break hits me in the face and I’m brought back from the past.
“Hey, blondie, you gonna join in this conversation or what?”
“Yeah Chrissy, what’s going on with you? Normally we can’t get you to shut up!”
“Yo, Barbie! Tell us what you’re thinking.”
Now the three of them start to throw bread at me.
“Sorry about that. I’ve got a lot of work stuff on my mind.”
Kelly strokes my hair and gives me one of her famous backhanded compliments. “Look at you, little Miss responsible! Who woulda thought our little mess of a girl would end up so together.”
As if on cue, Nicole interjects with one of her famous sarcastic sex comments. “Work shmirk! Kurt gets home tonight. Someone’s thinkin’ about getting lucky!”
Responsible and lucky my ass. The cluster fuck queen is back in business like it’s 1987 all over again.
After I promise to love you forever
What happens to us if I fail?
I fear that my heart is a wavering thing and
I’m scared that your heart is frail
Do I give up and just let go
Or remain, I don’t know
(About Me, Keri Noble)
Existing
January, 1998
It’s a somewhat normal Wednesday morning except our separate alarms go off two hours apart. I’m already exercised, showered, and dressed by the time Kurt strolls into the kitchen. He should be curious by this because I’m never awake earlier than he is. Yesterday and today I got up at the crack of dawn to run up and down the trail. The funny thing about that is that I’m not a runner! Despite my husband’s decade long suggestion that I take it up, it wasn’t until I hung up the phone with Leo that I starting running. I can’t figure out if I’m running towards something or away from something. Either way, I kinda like it.
It was awful when Kurt arrived home last night. I had hoped to be asleep before he walked through the door, but he pulled into the driveway a few minutes after I got home from dinner. I’ve probably kissed Kurt’s lips a million times before. He has one of the most beautiful mouths in the world and when he smiles, clouds part in the sky, bluebirds sing, and there’s no pain or suffering in the world. It’s just that enchanting. But when I kissed his lips last night, they had lost their magic and I wondered, had it been like that for a long time or was it because I had experienced Leo’s kiss? We wandered into the kitchen and made small talk about his trip and my weekend. He unpacked, and I changed into my pajamas in the bathroom. Another thing he should’ve thought was curious, but still he said nothing. We settled in the family room to watch the 11 o’clock news, and I pretended to fall asleep on the couch where fortunately, he left me. Even before Saturday’s escapade with Leo, things were tense between us, but not “slept on the couch” tense.
I used to try to talk to Kurt about what’s bothering me in the relationship, but he just got annoyed with what he calls my “constant complaining.” One day he even went so far as to bring home a bottle of St. John’s Wort, in effect, making me the sole owner of turning my frown upside down. He’d rather I drug my bad attitude, than explain why I have it. But, I’m sorry…it’s gonna take a lot more than a couple of sugar pills to numb my feelings.
A few months ago, Kurt invested ten thousand of our dollars in a crap shoot stock without consulting me. Obviously, when I noticed the money missing from our savings account, I immediately questioned him. Instead of being apologetic, he got defensive and said “If I asked you for permission you would’ve said no,” as if that’s justification for not talking to me about it! It’s about as insane as me saying, “If I asked you if I could have phone sex with a guy I met in a bar, you would’ve said no.” Give me a break!
The other thing he doesn’t want me to “complain” about is all of his business trips that extend into long vacations involving some kind of an extreme sport. Kurt’s an adventurous guy, and I’ve been mostly supportive of what I think are totally stupid hobbies. But he’s missed a lot of important occasions in my life- friend’s weddings and grandparent’s funerals- just so he could go motorcycle riding or hang gliding. Often times, okay all the time, I find myself making excuses. I say things like “Kurt just couldn’t break away from the conference in Vermont,” when he’s really snowshoeing, or “Kurt wishes so badly he could be with us today, but he’s so busy at the office,” when he’s really indoor rock climbing. Everyone’s dopey look of admiration for his imaginary work ethic has slowly taken a toll on me. All the lying makes him seem conscientious and me supportive, but in reality he’s super selfish and I’m truly pathetic. What hurts the most though is that Kurt doesn’t care that I’m always alone, and he hates that I lie about where he is. He’s not apologetic or ashamed of how he prefers to spend his time, and it’s like a straight shot to my heart. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he wants me to pop t
he St. John’s Wort so I don’t bring up that stuff anymore. But I’m mostly sure it’s because he doesn’t want me to bring up what happened last October.
Kurt and I have been together twelve years, and we’ve worked super hard for everything we have together. After college when most of our friends were renting apartments and partying every night of the week, we moved back home to save money to buy a house, which we did when I was only twenty-three. Right on time! I can’t remember what felt better, when our agent called to tell us our offer was accepted or when I crossed that accomplishment off of my life list. Whenever Kurt and I do show up somewhere together, we’re the couple who gets the party started and the ones who stay to help clean up. We’re the friends you call when you need help moving and everyone’s first choice to be their first-born’s Godparents. If I had a dime for every time someone called us Ken & Barbie, I could’ve afforded the Range Rover instead of the Land Rover. We hit the ground running the day after college and we’ve been sprinting ever since. As I stare at him pouring milk into his cereal bowl without taking his eyes off of the newspaper, I wonder when we started going in opposite directions. I think it might’ve been when we bought the house we live in now.
Kurt didn’t want to move to Danville. He said, “Too white and too rich, are those really the kind of people you want to raise kids around?”
I’m sorry, but when did it become so terrible to be around people who are too white and too rich?! Those are the two things I strive to be the very best at, and I’m already fifty percent of the way toward reaching my goal! But, he’d be mortified if I admitted money meant that much to me, so I sold him on the stellar public schools and how much money we’ll save by sending our kids to one of them instead of the private school they’ll have to attend if we move to the miserable city of his choice. In the end, I got what I wanted, and even though he LOVES it here, he reminds me of his sacrifice all the time. If you ask me, I don’t think that’s how a married Ken & Barbie should act.
Since we moved to Danville six months ago, our relationship has gone from a somewhat harmonious shade of grey, to completely detached smudges of black and white. Given Kurt’s sensitivity to the racial demographics of Danville, I’ll claim the white smudge and he can be the black one. Either way, it’s clear we’re different colors moving farther away from each other as each day passes. My complaining has a lot to do with our distance, but I’m also convinced my dreams put too much pressure on Kurt, and it’s causing huge rifts in our relationship. For example, and this might seem stupid, but I’ve always dreamed of owning a Porsche. I would look RIDICULOUS in one of those things! But Kurt, who by the way ohhhhhs and ahhhhhs over every single Porsche he sees, calls me materialistic for wanting one. It’s a head scratcher. He also flips out whenever I mention being a stay-at-home mom once we have kids. He says, “Why should I have to be the only one supporting the family?” As if a stay-at-home mom isn’t a supporting role! For a while, I tried to tenderly explain to him that I want the white picket fence, the kids, soccer games, and pool parties. But my pretty pictures of domestic bliss were always met with a snicker and a look of repulsion. He’d say things like, “Sounds nice but who’s gonna make that happen for me?” I could never find an answer to that, so I stopped “complaining” and started popping St. John’s Wort like they were tic-tacs. And I also keep moving my white smudge farther away from his black one.
I can barely look him in the eye, let alone sit across from him right now at the breakfast table and have a conversation. It’s not all because of guilt either. I can’t get Leo off of my mind, and I’m scared to death I’m gonna say his name out loud. Thank God the therapist was able to squeeze me in for my first appointment tonight. I have an hour to set the record straight with her, come up with an action plan, and begin executing it immediately. I work fast. I hope she does too.
Kurt finally realizes I’m in the room. Time to grab my crap and haul ass.
“Did you eat yet, babe?”
“Nah, not hungry, I’m just gonna grab some coffee and head out. I have a sales meeting at 9:00.”
I’m not sure if the sweat on my upper lip is because I’m nervous I’ll call him Leo or because I know he’s gonna reprimand me for not eating a healthy breakfast.
“You have to eat, Chrissy. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Wait a few minutes and I’ll make some eggs.”
Here we go. I haven’t wanted eggs for twenty-eight years. Will he ever stop asking or will I just eventually agree to eat them? I can see him trying to shove pureed eggs down my throat when I’m ninety years old.
It’ll be a struggle to the bitter end. No! I won’t eat them. Never!
“No thanks, I really gotta get going. I’ll bum a bagel off of someone at work.”
“Nice, is that how it’s gonna be when we have a kid? Are you gonna bum a bagel off of someone in the school parking lot because you didn’t make time to feed the kid properly at home? You should start taking better care of yourself now so you’re more prepared for a family later.”
When we were younger I accepted Kurt’s obtuse comments as concern for my well-being. It was thoughtful when he suggested I bypass the chips and salsa so the mucho grande burrito would taste that much better. Now it just makes me feel fat. It was thrilling when he urged me to try new things like kayaking, but when I wanted to stop at the class three rapids it wasn’t good enough for him because “even his ten year old niece could do that.” As I’ve become more vocal about things like loving chips and salsa and hating all water sports, we’ve started to argue a lot more. But I’m tired of arguing. All I want to do right now is sit in traffic and listen to the Braveheart soundtrack.
“Oh, and I have a dinner meeting after work tonight, so I’ll be home late.”
“Again? Don’t they know you have a family? All those long hours over there are getting to be a bit much.”
“Kurt, we don’t have a family, we have a dog. Look, I joined a start-up company, and I told you it was gonna be like this. I’d appreciate it if you would stop making me feel guilty.”
“I’m with a start-up too, but I don’t let them take advantage of me… .”
I’m not sure how long Kurt continued to ramble after I closed the door to the garage but I really did have to go if I planned on getting everything done before my appointment with Dr. Maria.
As I sit in traffic, I think about the days when I worshiped the ground Kurt walked on. When we were younger, I thought he was so cool. He was the kind of guy who rode his bike through crowded streets with NO HANDS! He would take his dog anywhere and everywhere without a leash. And he had the mad skills to merge onto the freeway going 70 mph, slide over to the fast lane in one fell swoop, and talk a police officer out of a well-deserved speeding ticket. Know what’s even more crazy? He still does all those things. At sixteen they were wow factors but as an adult they just make you ask, “Why?” I remember the first time I talked to him. It was at his high school graduation party. I was a year younger than he was and it took a lot of nerve for me and my friends to show up somewhere we weren’t invited. But there was gonna be a lot of beer, so we had to try! The party was at his buddy Tom’s house, and Tom had a cool Mom who let you drink alcohol at her house if you gave her your car keys and committed to spending the night.
God Bless the 80’s, right?
*****
June, 1986
“Okay guys, play it cool when we get inside. Just drop your keys in the bowl and act like we’re invited.”
“That’s easy, Chrissy. But once we’re in, how do we get out? I’m gonna be grounded for life if I don’t get home by my curfew. Not to mention the beating you’re gonna get from your Marlboro Mama if you don’t come home tonight.”
Before Courtney and I can finish debating the subject, Nicole and Kelly are on the dance floor with a couple of Miller Lights in their hands.
“Well, Court, it looks like there’s no turning back now. Go in and start looking like we belong here.”
�
�Omigod, Chrissy, look! There he is.”
For the last three years, I’ve watched Kurt Gibbons from a safe distance-partly because I felt like he was totally out of my league and partly because he always had a girlfriend. He’s captain of the football team, captain of the baseball team, and captain of dating any girl he wants. Since he has his pick of the lot, it surprises me that he dated Debbie Tedaro for the last year. Debbie’s a scary looking girl with huge ass hair and the longest legs I’ve ever seen. She looks a good ten years older than anyone else in high school and whenever she holds his hand, it looks like she’s hurting him. But the word on the streets of Freakmont is that he broke up with her months ago, even though she’s telling people they’re still together. Her manipulations are working, because no girl will go near him with a ten-foot pole. As I walk in to the backyard, I surmise that he knows this and is pissed as all hell.
“Debbie, we’re not together anymore, so quit telling people we are.”
“But can’t you see how much I love you!?”
“Look, I don’t wanna be mean, but I don’t feel the same. I’m sorry, just move on.”
Wow, harsh. I kinda feel sorry for Debbie until…
“What the hell are you guys looking at? Who let you into this party anyway, you’re JUNIORS!”
I wanted to correct her because technically we’re seniors because they just graduated, but after looking at the scowl on her face, I opted not to. I stood frozen, as she stormed past us to get to the bathroom, bashing into my shoulder on the way.
“Did you guys see that? She assaulted me!”
“I’m so sure, Chrissy! Like, she even knows who you are! She’s big, she’s pissed, and she’s totally moted right now. Stop making this all about you.”
“Nahhhhh, she’s right. She bumped into her on purpose.”
I whirl around in a state of shock to find Kurt and Tom sipping on a couple of beers, listening to every word we’re saying. Looking right at ME, Kurt asks, “Do you guys wanna grab some wine coolers and hang out in the gazebo?”
The Life List (The List Trilogy) Page 5
