The rendezvous was set. Sunday night in the city I would meet The Indian – the ex who’s been texting and wanting to see me. Of course deep down I was hoping this was our second chance; that we would resume the lovely relationship I had so missed. But, for now, and maybe to protect my heart, I thought of this as a pure sexual fix. My God! I’ve been so excited. I can’t tell you how long it’s been. I just want to fast forward the clock.
This morning I showered. Shaved my legs. My bikini line. Used my most expensive shampoo. Sweet smelling body lotion. Juicy Couture perfume. Hair blown out. Hair straightened. Eye shadow. Eye liner. Mascara. Blush. Lip gloss. Butterflies churn my stomach as I look in the mirror and say Not bad kid.
I took out barely enough money from my dwindled down bank account to pay for my LIRR ticket to the city. She screams from downstairs, “Are you ready? Your father’s waiting in the car.”
The whole family will ride together to take the 12-minute ride to the Long Island Rail Road station.
My mother is running around like crazy trying to find her wallet. My father honks from outside. “I’m coming!” I shout. I grab my overnight bag, run downstairs, put Vito’s food out. “Now Mom, don’t forget. No human food.” She shakes her head “no” so wildly I think she’s going to turn into that guy from “Beetlejuice.” “No way,” she says.
I pick up my bag. “Oh shit, one second. Where’s my phone?” I run back up to my bedroom to grab it. The light is blinking. And here is where time slows down the way time slows down in a car accident.
He texted me: I’ve been thinking and I don’t think it’s a good idea to see each other. Don’t think I can do ‘casual.’
My heart is an elevator with no bottom. I fall and fall and fall and fall. I don’t hear my mother screaming from downstairs. I’m frozen in my bedroom the way the photographs, soccer trophies and stuffed animals are frozen in time.
My mother comes in my room, ready to scream at me for holding them up. “Oh my god. What’s wrong?”
Sometimes you think you’re a strong person, but one letdown too many, and you start to crack. I start sobbing.
“What Myra? I can’t understand you unless you speak.” (I remember hearing this when I was six).
“He doesn’t want to see me tonight.”
She sighs. “Myra, I don’t know what to tell you.” She sits down on the bed next to me.
“You think he’s gay?”
“No, mom.”
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you? You can’t sleep with guys too soon. They’ll think you’re loose. Loosey goosey. They don’t want to buy the milk if they already have the cow.”
Then, my father storms in the bedroom. “What’s the hold up, already? I’m sitting in the car waiting, picking my nose…”
My mother cuts in “He doesn’t want her to come.”
“So what are you trying to say? You want me to turn the car off?”
“YES, IVAN. YES.”
“Oh madon.” When you live on Long Island, speaking Italian or Jewish is interchangeable, regardless of your ethnicity.
He turns the car off and comes back, standing in my room.
I start sobbing again, “I really loved him. He had such good grammar.”
No response.
My mother screams, “Ivan, will you do something?!”
“What do you want me to do?” he screams to the nosebleed section.
“Go get her some cookies or something,” she replies.
“She is NOT having my Mallomars!
“IVAN!”
He disappears. My mother holds my hand. It makes me cry harder. “Times have changed so much,” she says, “I don’t understand this guy’s problem. Why did he ask you out? Did he know you were coming from Long Island?”
“No.”
My father comes back in holding a “buffet” plate of cookies. Only one Mallomar on the plate, five Chips Ahoys and a few Fig Newtons. The Mallomar is slightly hidden under another cookie, so it won’t be too easily seen and/or eaten.
I mumble, “Thanks, but I don’t want any.”
“What did I go all the way downstairs for?!”
My mom retorts “Maybe you’ll lose some of that fat off your big stomach.”
“Maybe you’ll lose some of that fat off your big stomach. Hee hee hee hee,” he laughs sardonically like a Geisha girl.
It all makes me cry harder. My Dad looks at me. I wonder if he really loves me or feels bad for me. Or is he just happy I didn’t eat the Mallomar?
“Come on, let’s go,” he says. My Mom is annoyed, “Where are we going now?”
He imitates her again, “Where are we going now? We’re going to the movies.”
My Mom sweetly asks me, “You wanna go to the movies, honey?”
I nod yes.
“Come on, enough of this crying. I feel like I’m watching ‘Steel Magnolias.’ Get in the car. YA HA, YA HA,” he screams like a cowboy.
We get in the car and drive off. My father likes to drive fast. He rolls down the window and yells, “YA HA, YA HA,” then turns to us, laughing. If I were in a different mood, I’d say What mental hospital did you escape from?
We get to the Cineplex. I can’t even tell you what movie we’re watching. My mind is elsewhere. I can tell you that afterwards we go from theater to theater, because my Dad likes to get away with shit. He doesn’t even care if he misses half of the movie. As long as he can say he got away with something for free. So, like rebellious teenagers, my mother, father, and I sneak from theater to theater seeing lots of partial movies for free. Until we get caught by the manager who makes a scene and tells my father not to come back.
We get back home, and I let Vito into the backyard. He does laps around the perimeter, and I just stand in the middle of the patio, staring at the trees, which used to be so much shorter. I am silent. Still. Breathing in the crisp, fresh Long Island air and trying to connect with something bigger than I can understand.
The thing about love is that even if it’s the “wrong” person for you, it gives you a reason to wake up in the morning. A reason to smile. It somehow makes your life feel more worthwhile.
But, part of maturity is knowing when to say “no” to something that is hurting you. It is seeing the bigger picture rather than acting on what feels good in the short term. It is also being grateful for the good things you DO have, however odd or mutated they appear to be (like your parents). I think about my Dad making me a plate of cookies…and then getting kicked out of the movie theater. I think about my Mom warning me not to be ‘loosey goosey,’ but then holding my hand all night. I may not have a lot, but I’ve got something.
I take a deep inhale and then say aloud to the trees, “I’ve got my legs. I’ve got my dance skills. I’ve got killer Nikes. I’ve got friends. I’ve got music. I’ve got Miss Piggy sheets, and I’ve got Vito.” I feel pretty lucky.
I guess I’m finally growing up.
tknologlvr
February 7, 2011
You have comedic wit! Loved it…and it’s hard growing up sometimes. Love will hit you slap in the face when you least expect it. NEVER settle.
Myra
February 8, 2011
Thank you! I love the reminder to never settle.
thedailydish
February 7, 2011
Myra, another to add to your list.
“You’ve got an audience.”
We’re listening. We’re waiting. And we’re rooting for you.
Hang in there.
Myra
February 7, 2011
Thank you, C! You keep me motivated!
irratebass
May 26, 2011
Amen!
Jim Krouskop
February 7, 2011
What a bittersweet and funny account. I laughed out loud at “they don’t want to buy the milk if they already have the cow” and “I really loved him. He had such good grammar.” Your story reminds me of a saying I learned in high school: “it only hurts when I smile.” You must be smiling a lot right now.
Keep your chin up. Your poignant conclusion leaves a promising and encouraging note, which made me smile. It seems you are on your way to better circumstances with a healthy appreciation for all the good you have in your life, which is a lot.
Your future and a fresh start are in front of you, not The Indian in the rearview mirror.
Myra
February 7, 2011
“…the rearview mirror.” I LOVE IT! Thanks, J! I love that metaphor! You rock!
CuppySkully
February 7, 2011
You go, Girl!
Damn right, you got Vito!
Beautifully written, I love how I can feel your honesty in each word and yet still have that funny edge to them. Aaahh reading your posts makes me wanna write some more!
Catherine
March 7, 2011
Your parents sound hilarious. I love how you tell this story! Sorry to hear you were let down… his loss!!
Mia
March 20, 2011
I’m just reading this today and it’s oh-so-timely. A year ago, I went through a devastating breakup. My ex recently e-mailed me saying he was sorry for the way he treated me and wanted to “do right” by me, followed immediately with the words “I do not want to reconcile.”
The feeling you had when you received that ‘let’s not meet’ text is probably rather like the one I had when I got the six word knife twist from my ex. It was like living through last year all over again in compressed form.
Thank you for the reminder about maturity and gratitude. I needed the shift in perspective that I couldn’t seem to make myself.
You’ll make it too.
annapereira
March 22, 2011
I have read every post until now – roaring with laughter … then when you saw the red light blinking … my stomach fell out right with you … You made me so sad for you. I know what it’s like to be there and ‘grab at crumbs’; to do what is not in your best interest, but what you think is the best you’ve got … for now. Then you made me laugh again. Then you made me feel with you as you reflected with gratitude. I am on to read the rest … You have captivated me 🙂 Always remember true love is a mirror.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
March 23, 2011
Thank you so much for your beautiful words.
Vee
March 24, 2011
Sorry to hear about The Indian letting you down once again, being an absolute ass the second time around. 😦 But oh Myra, you have done it again. I was laughing my ass off while reading this post! The whole family rides, the “you think he’s gay?” and “loosey goosey/milking the cow” response from your mom, your dad’s hidden Mallomar on a plateful of Chips Ahoy, the sneakin’ around the theatres with the ‘rents. Such brilliant writing in capturing humor. I can clearly paint an image of your family as you all drive each other crazy. You might not realize it now but there really is something special amidst the ‘dysfunctionality’ of your life right now. Normal can be quite a bore. Don’t settle for it. You’ll be just fine. 🙂
Erin
March 25, 2011
My heart sank for you at that blinking light, I know that feeling all to well. Being let down by someone you really, really love, a ‘man’ you wanted to spend your life with. But this: “I guess I’m finally growing up. “….I get this.
My ex contacted me last June after 8 years of no contact, something I demanded from him. See, he went and married some Egyptian chick he met when he was overseas for the Navy; then, four months later, he called me with the intent of hooking up, without telling me about the wife. I found out about her by chance and blasted him, told him I never wanted to hear from him again; luckily I found out about her before I did something I couldn’t take back.
He made a mistake you see, he has loved me this whole time, these past 8 years. It was me that got him through the darkest times in his life, my words, thoughts of the time we spent together. “Don’t leave us” he said, after I told him where he could go. I then REALLY told him where to go, I also told him I was his this whole time, he just had to come get me…but NOW, NOW he is too late. If I was a different kind of person his wife would get his correspondence, but I’m not that person.
Karma really is a bitch. He is miserable with his wife, and I’m not stuck with him. Being single was the better choice for sure. And you know what? The one thing he should have said in all of this pouring out of his soul that he didn’t? The thing that might have at least made me be able to feel sorry for him? “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
The Indian doesn’t deserve you. And my Navy Ex doesn’t deserve me.
“I guess I’m finally growing up. “ Yeah, I hear you.
nineteen eighty something
May 22, 2011
“The thing about love is that even if it’s the “wrong” person for you, it gives you a reason to wake up in the morning. A reason to smile. It somehow makes your life feel more worthwhile.”
I tried explaining this concept once, having validation in your life, a reason to exist and I was met with a blank stare and idiocy that went a little like this, “that is ridiculous, if you are alone you need to learn to live with it.”
Did you ask the ex if he could “do” serious?
arthurmednick
January 25, 2012
I’m reading them all. I love the stories and I love the writing.
My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours
January 25, 2012
Thanks, Arthur! I’m so glad you’re enjoying my accounts of misery and humor. It’s replies like yours that keep me writing. Look forward to hearing more from you.
Corner of Confessions
April 11, 2013
You parents are a little crazy but they have their moments of obscure charm. So sorry The Indian bailed but you dont need to lower your standards. Rooting for you. Ps. I know there is a time difference but i just found your blog and I’m starting from the beginning to catch up!