Thursday, June 9, 2011

Tom

I met Tom on a Wednesday night at a night-club called Lucy’s.  It was and remains a run of the mill hotel bar near the Fresno International Airport in central California; a night spot for the locals, a stay over for airline staff. My husband of 7 years had thrown me out just three weeks earlier, September 2, 1987. I went calmly, quietly and without my children. It was very important to go quietly; but that is another story, for another time. 
It had been less than a month since the separation, but my weight loss was already evident.  I was fit, played racquet ball in an effort to lose the weight gained during the pregnancies.  But now, my clothing hung awkwardly on my dwindling frame.  I was eating less, and worrying more. I decided to get a new outfit for both work and, well “out”.  Shopping when you are slim is fun, not as much when you are poor. But poorer would come later along with the slimmer until my mom told me she was worried I might “catch” anorexia.  For now, I was looking ahead to new job opportunities, new adventures and dancing tonight along with my best friend Raelynn. Rae took me out to Lucy’s for the first time that first night at her apartment.  When I left my home on that Friday afternoon I felt at the time I had nowhere else to go.  Rae took me in.  She had a one bedroom apartment that came with her apartment assistant manager job.  She didn’t have much; but she shared it all with me.
Rae introduced me to the “club” as I said, three weeks before. I remember walking in that first feeling all heads turned toward us.  I noticed on this night too, the heads turning, and that everyone was smiling and laughing.  My life had been without laugher for so long, I thought, “everyone here seems so happy”.  I had no idea that drinking made people happy. I never drank. When I did it didn’t make me happy; and honestly, I never acquired the taste.  We wound our way through the crowd to the far side of the bar, and watched the people on the dance floor.  I knew that Rae was looking for her special friend, while I was just looking with wonder at all the happy people.
Only moments passed when I felt a tap on my shoulder and a very pleasant-faced guy with curly hair asked me to dance.  The music was so loud that I could only presume he asked since I saw his lips move and he gestured toward the floor.  Sure, I smiled… I love to dance.  I looked at Rae to make sure she was going to be OK with me taking off.  Yes, she was happy to oblige my success. We danced.

I don’t remember the song and I don’t remember how long we stayed out there. I remember thinking it wasn’t like dancing with my kids at home, while ironing or cooking with the stereo blasting. There were people crowded close by, strangers bumping together, it was hot and loud. Eventually, we went back to where Rae was still standing.  She loved to dance also, but the poor thing had an embarrassing sense of rhythm; just off-beat. But she loved music; I never laughed at her. John was the pleasant-faced fellow’s name.  John asked us to his table and although Rae didn’t seem to want to join in, her friend hadn’t arrived yet. We formally introduced ourselves: John was from Canada supervising a crew to transport newly purchased aircraft for fire drops. He planned to be in town for several months on the project.  Some of his co-workers or employees were also at the table, and completely unremarkable. 
 Tom arrived.  He sat at the far end of the table and acted as if he knew John well.  I learned later they had just met but it was not obvious. Everyone was best-friends that night. They laughed at some inside joke; then Tom and I locked eyes in a way only portrayed in books and movies. It was hideously uncomfortable. I thought to myself, what are the rules in this bar-mate game? How soon is too soon to”jump ship” to “change horses”, to ditch pleasant- faced John for dashing careless Tom? His smile brightened the dimly lit room, his mannerisms easy and friendly, he caught me off guard.  I pulled my eyes away, but it was too late. He noticed. I felt vulnerable and exposed.
“John” Tom teased, “you sly devil”. Tom explained how he noticed me first, and pointed me out to John, “… and the next time I looked” Tom explained, “John was over there talking to you”. I was enamored.  A story about ME! I liked it and John was nonplused. The evening passed easily and too quickly, but I was confused. I had strong emotional desires for someone I just met… simple chemistry? This was new.  My seven year marriage had been perfunctory and coldly dismissed. I spent years guarding my feelings, staying in control, begging the god I believed in to help me make it work. It didn’t, nothing worked. I was left a little too ready for “new”.
Rae eventually found her special friend, but not before questioning everyone about their history. She was great at starting conversations. I was more of a listener. Tom was a pilot. Tom excused himself from the table abruptly, but not before announcing his flight schedule brought him back to Fresno the following week.
John and I made a date for the weekend.  We went on it, and at some point John fell soundly asleep, I went back to the apartment and to Rae’s couch.
The following week at Lucy’s was a similar routine, the small skirts, the big smiles, and a tap on the shoulder.  John hadn’t called me after the date; I assumed I was a free woman.  The tap on the shoulder this time was Tom. I danced with someone else at first, but I noticed Tom across the room… I said to the man in the nice suit, “Dance with me to make that guy over there jealous”.  He smiled and obliged.  I was thinking, he’d be a nice catch if I wasn’t distracted. Tom appeared at my side when the song was over. The nice-suit man looked a little surprised. He then smiled and said, “I thought you were kidding”.  I replied in mock sincerity, “Oh, I would never kid about this”. Tom took my hand and led me to the bar.  I felt the need to explain that I wasn’t with anyone, not John, not suit guy.  I didn’t need to explain anything. He assumed I wanted him as he wanted me, and he was not wrong.  Tom took my hand, I followed; it was that simple.

After that night, nothing was ever simple again.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

No More Wallowing

Wallowing, He said I was wallowing in it.  When my mom died and I was unemployed and camping out on my dad’s couch at almost 30 years old, instead of a word of encouragement, my boyfriend said I was wallowing in it.  I decided I didn’t need him. That was more than 20 year ago. I was right, and he is gone. 
I don’t care for people who refuse to allow me or others the moment to feel our grief, to wallow in unrepentant sadness for our loss, whatever the loss may be.  Even the greeting cards know when to say less: I am sorry for your loss; simple, true and elegant.  I am sorry.  Some people can’t say they are sorry at all. They can’t feel for you. Your grief makes them uncomfortable. And some can’t be sorry, can’t forgive, and can’t let go. But I can let go. I can let everything go; every person, everything.  What wasn’t taken from me by now, I handed over in acquiescence.
Daniel, my dear long-ago boyfriend had it partly correct: don’t wallow for too long. Don’t bore the people with your sad stories and tear-filled eyes for weeks- on-end; days maybe, but not weeks.  Buck-up and move-on and get-over it; we are a people ready for the next great success story. We ditch those who drag us down.

I don’t want to be a drag. Help me up so I can stop my wallowing.