Falling in Love
Page 29
Elaine and I walked up front. Her eyes were misty as she said, “It is with enormous pleasure that I present you with this medallion for one year of sobriety. Happy Birthday, Sherry!”
She handed me my bronze medallion and gave me a huge hug and then she sat down. I just stared at the medallion. “I can’t believe I’m really holding this,” I said. “After so many times that I almost slipped in the last year, I can’t believe I actually made it.”
The group applauded softly. “Thank you all,” I said. “I wouldn’t be holding this without all of you. You are my friends, my family. The only family I’ve ever really known.”
Since I hadn’t planned to share I hadn’t begun with the requisite admission that I was an addict. Instead I found myself talking about what it had been like to grow up without a family and to be so starved for love. And about my aunt never showing me any affection and my uncle that never really noticing me until I was eight.
“Then he gave me a bath and molested me,” I heard myself say. “At first, I felt the warmth and love I had always craved. Until he told me that I could never tell anyone or they’d put him in jail and it would be my fault. Then all I felt was shame.”
Without really meaning to, I continued. “I became obsessed with sex, constantly acting out with myself and with about every boy in school. And loathing myself every second of every day. When I wasn’t acting out, I was studying. If I didn’t get an A, I would feel completely worthless, so I always studied twice as hard as I needed to. Getting great grades kept me from killing myself.
“And soccer. But there, too, I had to be the best, or I felt suicidal. So I only cared about being the top scorer, and scoring the winning goal. My junior-high team was undefeated, and I had never missed a penalty point. Until the championship game, when I sailed a ball over the net and we lost.”
I had been talking very quickly, as if trying to get everything out before it hurt too much. I paused, unable to go on. I thought about sitting down. Instead I heard myself saying, “That night I acted out with the entire boys’ football team. The next day I was suspended from school, almost expelled, and banned from playing soccer in high school. That night I drank four bottles of nighttime cold syrup. But instead of dying, I just slept for fourteen hours, woke up and threw up all over my bed.”
My voice quivered. “I spun out of control but no one noticed, and I couldn’t stop. I let any guy do anything he wanted as long as he said he loved me or even liked me. Only to hear him, all of them, call me the worst names behind my back. Without soccer, I had only my grades to keep me alive, so I studied and acted out, occasionally at the same time. I had to get a hundred on each test, afraid that a ninety-nine would lead me to slit my throat. Although I graduated with the highest grade point average in my class I wasn’t valedictorian due to ‘special circumstances.’”
My body was wracked with pain but now I had to get it out. “I managed to get an academic scholarship to college but during my freshman year, I added alcohol to my acting out and managed to, quite literally, screw myself up, and out of college.
“Since I couldn’t take care of myself, I decided to get married and have someone else take care of me. So whenever I met Mr. Right, I’d be a perfectly good girl. So good that I’d barely let him kiss me. But once our date was over, I’d go off to act out while fantasizing about making perfect love to him. Unfortunately, Mr. Right would always find out that he was the only one in town I hadn’t acted out with, and my life would crash again. This vicious cycle lasted until I got into this program.”
I again looked down at the medallion clutched in my hand. “Now, I am trying to overcome my anger. Even for my uncle, who I now realize was a victim, too. I need to stop this rage because one day, I hope to have my own family. But not until I’m sure that I can give my kids the love and caring that I never got.”
I looked up at Darcy and Paula. “This year, I was lucky enough to meet the most awesome group of women I’ve ever known. They allowed me to play soccer again and embraced me as one of them even though I didn’t deserve it. One day, I hope I will feel like I do deserve to be one of them.”
I clutched the medallion harder. “I’m not religious but I always envied religious people because they had some code to live by, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,’ or whatever. Not that I’m sure how many live by it. But now that I’ve decided to try to actually live a life, I’ve borrow from these women a code for myself. In this crazy game called life,” I said softly, “I plan to ‘play hard, play fair, play to win, and have fun.’”
I inhaled a deep breath and smiled at Elaine. “My bootcamp-sergeant sponsor, Auntie Elaine, says that I don’t love myself enough.” Several people gave me knowing smiles. “So she makes me say a thousand times every day, ‘I will show love for myself by becoming the person I’ve always wanted to be.’ Some days, it has been so hard to say it even once, especially when I’d have no idea who that person was that I wanted to be.”
I glanced down at my dress. “This afternoon, when I decided to honor this day by buying a dress, I looked in the dressing room mirror and I started crying, unable to stop. But for the first time in my life, it was for a different reason. Because the woman I saw in that mirror was the person I’ve always wanted to be.”
People started clapping and then slowly rose to a standing ovation. Only Claire was still sitting, her head buried in her hands. Tears trickled down Dede’s face above her huge smile, as she blew me a kiss. Beside her, Darcy and Paula were also misty-eyed. As our looks met, they both instinctively raised their arms, their hands in knotted fists, their thumbs pointed toward the sky. The ultimate team salute was finally mine.
After a hard workout, I occasionally stopped at the gym’s juice bar. But if a guy glanced at me, I always panicked and quickly changed my order for a juice to go. As another birthday present to myself, I decided that just talking to a guy probably wouldn’t sail me into the gutter. So the next week, dressed in a very plain blouse and slacks, I dared to sit down at the empty juice bar and ordered my favorite, a Berry Blast Smoothie.
“Good workout?” asked Alison, the juice maker.
I nodded. I liked Alison because she reminded me of Dede, bubbly and cheerful and only needed a listener to have an interesting conversation. Midway through her amusing story about why her new workout wasn’t working, I barely noticed that sitting down beside me was a good-looking guy in gym shorts and a tight T-shirt that displayed his ripped upper body. He was immediately caught up in Alison’s story.
During a pause, she asked, “The usual?”
He nodded, “Please.” He turned to me with a brilliant smile. “I juice before every workout. A glass of carrots and parsley gives me so much energy.”
I tried to smile back. I admitted, “Mostly, I like the smoothies.” Another milestone, Sherry! You are actually making small talk with a guy!
He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not a health nut. I love smoothies, too. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand.
“Sherry,” I said, shaking his hand.
“You like the bike, right?”
I nodded. Then suddenly, I heard a voice that made me suspect that I really was going crazy.
“Excuse me,” the voice said again. It can’t be real! Scared to death, I turned around to see a handsome man in a three-piece suit, looking very nervous. It was Paul!
“Hi. I’m Paul,” he said. “I am an associate with the Wall Street law firm of Crown and O’Leary, and I’m in a twelve step program for codependents.” He swallowed, and then in a shaky voice, he continued talking. But I could barely hear him above Alison’s whirring juicer and the blood coursing through my body making my head feel like it was going to explode.
Sam turned to him and snapped, “Hey, Man? We’re talking here.”
Paul ignored him, still staring at me. He was saying, “I would like you to be the mother of my children and one day help me spoil our grandchildren. But I only live one hour at a time and I wondered if you’d have a cappuc
cino with me, and we’ll see how that hour goes.”
I was suddenly more scared then I’d ever been in my life. Except for getting sober and playing soccer, every move I’d ever made in my life had been wrong. Every one! I was petrified that within that hour I would be back in the gutter. Maybe I was ready for a date, but not with Paul! That was risking everything! It could kill me! I wanted to run away but Paul was blocking my exit, waiting for an answer.
Sam was appalled. He asked me, “Do you believe this guy?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off of Paul, seeing the look in his eyes that I’d see so often in the mirror—a look of pure terror. Paul was taking the same lifetime risk. I tried to answer Paul but couldn’t speak while looking at those terrified dark eyes. I turned to Sam and heard myself say, “I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out. It was nice meeting you.”
Sam stared at me, absolutely stunned. I almost tripped as I got off the stool and clutched the bar for support.
Without a word, Paul and I headed for the door. Behind me, I heard Sam say to Alison. “I am an account executive with the Madison Avenue firm of Cranston, Halston and I’m in a twelve step program. I would like you to be the mother of my children and one day help me spoil our grandchildren. But I only live an hour at a time and I wonder if you’d have a cappuccino with me, and we’ll see how that hour goes.”
Alison replied, “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Sam exclaimed, “That’s what I thought!”
Outside, Paul and I headed up the block, walking without a word. I had no idea what to say but I desperately wanted to have some contact with him, something to tell myself that this was actually real.
As a couple passed by us, Paul moved closer to me and his hand brushed against mine. He jerked away from me and I felt poisonous. Then realizing what he had done, he gently took my hand and softly squeezed it. We continued up the street holding hands. His grip felt so warm and so comfortable and that for the first time in my entire life, I felt like there was a chance, however small, that one day, I just might again feel joy. And love.
EPILOGUE
Sherry looked pale and completely drained as the bright morning sun bathed her face. The beautiful young woman that I had met on Friday now looked years older, aged by her story. Yet she had an eerie calmness of having faced it, told it and, once again, survived it. Suddenly, she began sobbing.
When she finally looked up, she said, “I haven’t talked about my life with Paul, my son, my reconciliation with God.” She paused, then added, “And with my mother.”
“We have enough for a book,” I said softly. “Editors loved sequels. If you are willing to go through this again?”
She looked relieved.
She was late for her plane and quickly gathered herself together. I walked her over to Lexington Avenue and hailed a cab which swerved to a screeching halt beside us. Sherry hugged me. Then she said the words that I had heard several times before. Words that I had dismissed when said by celebrities with the final say and a phalanx of managers, agents and lawyers to protect them. But now the words bore into me. “I’m trusting you with my life.”
Then she disappeared into the taxi and it shot forward. I watched the cab head down Lexington folding into the stream of traffic until its top was reduced to a tiny fiery reflection of the early morning sun. Then it was gone.
I was left with only her story. How good it was would be for readers to decide.
But for my money, Candice had gotten it right.
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Stephen Bradlee is a pen name for a Hollywood film executive. He has ghostwritten celebrity autobiographies and has worked primarily as a script doctor. He is married and lives with his wife, their daughter and their dog.
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