A weekful of long Mondays, day after day of cloud cover…that gray umbrella, alienating me from the sun…
On Monday, while I was at work, I got a call from my ex telling me he was going to the hospital. He told me he had had a brief dizzy spell, the world spinning around him like a carousel of wild horses. His blood pressure then soared up like the puck in a strongman game at a carnival. I asked him if he needed a ride or needed me to call anyone. He reassured me that he thought it was all precautionary, that he felt fine now. I was the only staff on duty & couldn’t really leave, so I had no choice but to trust & believe. Later, I checked in & he told me he was just waiting for them to run a couple tests, that his stepson was going to stay with the kids till I got home. Hackles up, I began to worry. Neon buzz of anxiety. Swarming in my brain. At about 3:30 pm, he texted me that the non-stress test had not gone well and he would be spending the night in the hospital and getting a catheterization in the morning. I called my director and told her I gots-to-go, my kids need me…so…deuces, my gooses.
I get home and my stepson, Ian, is there with his new girlfriend…I feel a twinge of the Heatmiser kick in…flames in my hair, heat in my fingertips. Miss Fahrenheit. Miss 101. I had specifically asked that my children not meet Ian’s new gf yet. They were very attached to his previous gf and she moved out without even so much as a goodbye to my children. It was very upsetting to them, so I had made it clear that they were not to meet the new gf he started dating immediately after breaking up with the previous girl. Considering the speed at which he moved on, I’m not betting on this horse. The flames were only fanned more as I found a wine glass on the side of the sink. Seriously, Ian? You’re having a drink & inviting your girlfriend over while watching my children? Then I hear Rowan say to the girl, “Kate, I want to see how my mom reacts to you.” Clearly, they had told Rowan that I would be upset by her presence. Guh-reat. To her credit, the young lady said, “I think your mom has a lot to deal with today, Rowan. Maybe it’s not the best time for me to meet her.” I was left then to tell the children that their dad was going to stay at the hospital.
Rowan was upset because that meant Mike couldn’t download him an app to his tablet. Bridget was upset for the right reasons.
Still, I did my best to keep things Normal. I made dinner for the kiddos and got Bridget to rehearsal on time. While we waited for her to finish at rehearsal, I took Rowan to buy new sneakers, as he busted through his current pair-like his feet were the fucking Kool-Aid man. While he told me that he was upset that dad wasn’t home to put apps on his tablet, I could tell he had a little more amperage than usual…I assumed he was nervous about his father being sick. He skipped and jumped through the whole store. Then I noticed, he had his hands in his pockets. “Row, what you doing? Why are your hands in your pockets, wee-man?” I mean, I didn’t think he was playing pocket pool at this age, but I was taken aback by his answer, “Mom-mom, I put my hands in my pocket so I wouldn’t touch everything in the store.” I was so proud of him. He struggles to control his body & his impulses all the time, but was really trying to behave for me, with his dad being in the hospital. We finally got to the line to check out. Rowan was happily deelybopping next to me, just skipping and hopping from foot to foot and spinning. And then the man behind me makes a nasty comment about Rowan…about his hyperactivity & what he apparently considered Rowan’s ‘bad behavior.’ What I WANT to tell him is maybe my son can’t help his hyperactivity…maybe he’s having a hard time because his dad is in the fucking hospital…maybe none of that matters because my son has the sweetest, kindest heart…that my son is the kind of kid who tells the moon goodnight and once wished a butterfly good luck…that my son calls me mom-mom and once told me every bit of me he found beautiful on a day I was thinking of killing myself…maybe he’s just a fucking piece of shit for talking about a 6 year old like that.
But I know it wouldn’t matter to an asshole who feels entitled to make those comments about another person’s kid. I also didn’t think Rowan heard him and didn’t want to make it worse.
So what I said is, “Well, I wish I had half his energy.” The man responds sarcastically with, “No you wouldn’t, if that’s how it made you behave in public.”
By this point, tears were in my eyes and I was completely humiliated and angry. I just wanted to get out of there. Rowan slipped his hot, little hand in mine, blissfully unaware, skipping the whole way. In that moment, I loved him so much my chest hurt.
As we got out to the car, I tried to lift a bag into the car & the bottom rips out. Items splay everywhere. Cans rolling under my car…jars resting against the tires of other cars. Rowan stood there, patting my back as I got down on my knees & reached under the car, retrieving my cans. Tears which were already dangerously close to the surface return for their revenge. I’m crying in fucking public, as I try to pick my groceries up. It’s not about the fucking groceries. It’s…. everything. This nice woman saw me struggling to keep it together. She handed me my bananas, “Honey, it happens all the time. Usually with me, the bag my spaghetti sauce in is the one that rips and the jar breaks—so you’re doing better than me. She handed Rowan another can, “Little man, you be a good boy & help your mama. Always help your mama. You hear me?” He nodded. “That’s a good boy. You’re a good boy, I can tell.” After the hateful interaction inside the store, I am grateful for the little, reassuring squeeze she gives me—even though, in the season of a pandemic, she never even touches me at all.
The next day, I was at work, but sitting on an electric fence, as I awaited news of my ex’s catheterization. The phone rang. My director. She asked me some bullshit question about work that I know she already knows the answer to. Then she asked about my ex’s catheterization, nervously. Oh, I see what she’s doing, she’s walking me down the conversational hallway that leads to the room where she tells me about the promotion I interviewed for. I waited for her to open the door…knowing I probably already won’t like what I walk into. “So, about the position….there are 2 people in the running. You’re not one of them.” I already knew this is where she was leading me. I said, “ok.” “If no one else had applied, I mean, I would have given it to you.” Oh gee, thanks. You know how to make me feel like a real winner. She blathered on some more about why she didn’t give it to me, even though in other circumstances she would’ve or whatever. I don’t want to hear it so I tell her I need to go, that I’m waiting for the hospital to call.
Maybe if you know I’m waiting to hear about my ex’s heart, don’t call and break mine.
It’s not even about the fact I didn’t get the job. It’s the whole handling of it and the pattern of disrespect at this place. She had no intention of hiring me. The interview was just to shut me up, so I couldn’t complain there’s no way to move up there. What a waste of fucking time. All she had to do when I initially emailed her regarding whether I could interview for the position with my credentials was say, “My preferred candidate would have compliance experience.” That would have told me not to bother. Now not only did I not get the job, I feel foolish and stupid.
Once I got off the phone, I received news that my ex had to have 2 stents put in and stay another night in the hospital. I told MC my bad news & basically disappear from his messages for a couple days. Everything aches. Hematomas & bruises.
The next day, Wednesday, my mom picked up Bridget & I took Rowan to an appointment. It was a follow up for his arm…the one he broke. They are concerned about the growth plates where it broke…so he has to come back in a few months. Sigh. Throw it on the pile. Just another fucking shitty moment in the week. I drive Rowan to my mother’s house, 40 minutes away…drop him off…stop home to shove a tomato sandwich in my face and then drove into work in a storm. I’m exhausted before I even start my shift. Plus…I couldn’t give a fuck less if someone put it in my hands and asked me to slap them in the face with it. Fuck this place. I was getting ready to take some clients home in the van, when my phone rang. Christ, what now. It’s the vet’s office. I picked up, “Hi, did Esme run away?” “What? No. I was just home. What?” The receptionist tells me that a woman called and read Esme’s rabies tag off and said she had her. I told the receptionist that I needed to call my stepson and see if he’s home with her. I called my stepson who told me he’s been home and that Esme was there…only, “maybe the wind blew the door open.” I hung up on him and flew home. The door was shut…but there was no little white barking floof of lunacy in the window…No fluff at the door when I opened it. The house was eerily quiet and terribly devoid of my dog. Goddammit. I called the vet’s office, as I see that the microchip company has left a voicemail. The vet’s office gave me the name/address/phone number of the woman claiming to have my dog. I tore over there and saw a woman walking my dog on the street. Esme looked at me with the stupidest grin, like, “Oh hey, mom, what are you doing here?” She then realized I’m upset and gingerly climbed up in the car. I thanked the woman profusely. She’s a nice lady I’ve talked to before on walks around the neighborhood. As I climbed in the car to go home, the lady told me Esme is such a nice dog, that had she been dumped that the lady would have kept her for her own…She then said, “But she does NOT like men.” I’m stymied at first. Esme loves my ex…my brother…my father…the neighbor…but she HATES Ian, my stepson…barks like a junkyard dog at a trespasser when he comes down the stairs to leave…This woman’s husband is tall and has dark hair like Ian. I wonder if Esme dislikes specific males. Like ones that appeared to let her out of the house…or at least ones that knew she was out and didn’t tell anyone or search for her.
My ex did end up coming home that day…but is unable to lift and was unable to drive—so the last bit of my week was playing Sisyphus. My life is just an impossible weight lately.
I did manage to pull off taking the kids to a drive-in movie theater Saturday night. The same one MC and I always go to. Going to the drive-in with my ex/kids felt like I was wearing an outfit that was 2 sizes too small….just didn’t fit me, felt uncomfortable. I missed MC’s presence terribly… The way he always buys me a box of Sour Patch Kids clandestinely and then presents them to me in a grand overture…. Kissing him, his lips salty with popcorn. Still, I tried to make it fun. I turned the back of my ex’s Dodge Journey into a bed with sleeping bags & blankets & pillows. We got them popcorn and friend dough and drinks and they pigged out while watching Cruella. Unfortunately, they fell asleep before the second feature, which is what they really wanted to see. My ex and I tried to rouse them—but short of a fire hose on full blast, they weren’t waking up. We decided to go home. It was at this point that Bridget fully woke up and began crying and blasting me for not letting them stay to see the second movie. I tried to explain that the theater had switched the movies and I didn’t know Cruella was going to be first or be over 2 hours long…that I had tried my best to get her to take a nap earlier so she could maybe stay awake for both movies. She still cried and told me she hated me. My ex asked, “Me too?” She said, “No. I hate mom because she’s the one that planned this.” Got it. Won’t try anymore, kid. I put Rage Against the Machine on and yelled along to Killing in the Name of till everyone was sufficiently scared of me and I didn’t feel like crying anymore.
Good.
That night, I fell asleep and dreamed about Alex. I was trying to get him to go out to eat with me and every place I suggested he made fun of and complained about. I felt my frustration rising with the mercury. I just kept saying the food didn’t matter—that I just wanted to go somewhere with him to talk, that I had so much left to say & little time to say it…but we never made it anywhere because he just wouldn’t cooperate. It was so much like him, the jokes & the complaints & the frustrations….I woke feeling a terrible ache…Because the dream had been so real, I felt like I had somehow been so close to him and he still had slipped through my fingers. It was worse realizing that I wasn’t close at all. That he’s as dead as he has been for over a year.
Then, Bridget woke up to remind me how much she hated me. Whatevs, angry bundle of my genetic code…I got dressed to see MC & Bridget pointed at me and said, “So…you’ll have to tell me what your friends think about this outfit.” So much shade you could wear her as a pair of sunglasses. MC liked my outfit, soooo…..
We went out to a late brunch at Raspberries…our place when he comes to my town. I was just so fucking happy to be sitting across from him, looking at him in his usual distracted, discombobulation of rushing to meet me….On this day, his collar was folded up on one side a little. Usually I will fix those details for him, but instead, I just sat smiling…because all I could think, as I happily stared at his face, is “he’s perfect, as is.”
After a late brunch, he took me to a bar where his friend’s band, Sirsy, was playing.
They’re a favorite in our area, I didn’t know he even knew her…but I should know by now, he knows EVERYONE. He bought me an apple pie mule & a beer for himself. Then, we just sat, rubbing each other’s legs or holding hands and squeezing morse code messages to each other. The concert was loud…and it felt good to hear live music again. Actually, it just felt good to be out at the bar again. I thought about how the last time I went to a bar, it was the last week before everything shut down…….and I went there with J……And just as I had that thought, I looked over to see MC smile sweetly, pat his heart a couple times and then point at me…it’s the closest he’s ever gotten to telling me he loves me. The grayscale week I’ve put behind me seems distant in the bright glare of this moment.
Sometimes when you think you can’t take anymore rain, the sun peeks through enough for a far-off, beautiful horizon to become visible…Maybe sometimes life is just about knowing it’s still there, even when it’s hidden from view by the gray haze and the gloaming…Especially then.
Squint your eyes, friends, better days ahead.
Song Choice: White Dress by Lana Del Rey
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