Lost
The days leading up to Memorial Day were completely awash in a load of calculated disappointments. I had my heart set into going home for a visit. I had planned this for a while even going so far as to schedule off the Friday before the weekend holiday weeks in advance for Danny and I so we could get an early start on the drive to New Orleans. Jenny had asked me if I would be home and she carried her hugely pregnant body across the Texas border in hopes that I would somehow surface at our parents’. She was disappointed when I revealed sometime last week that I wouldn’t be able to make the trek. I know she doesn’t say much and she isn’t one to complain but she misses me. I can feel her soft disappointment thru the text messages and on the way back to Longview she sent me a message that stated: “on our way home from LA..wish we could have seen you.”
Kathleen was going to come along but dropped out when she didn’t have the money for travel and rent. The weekend came at the worst possible time for us considering it was the first month we’d have to cough up $416 for rent rather than the typical $312. Q bailing on us leveled an effect larger than the three of us would have expected.
Danny and I flipped the idea in our heads at least a dozen times during the week. “So are we going to Louisiana?” he asked checking himself out in the mirror before work last Thursday. “I don’t know. Are we?”
“Yes” to “no”, “yes” to “no”. “Yes” and then finally “no.” He even fancied the idea of taking a plane or train. Flying was far too expensive and the train posed a few problems. Who would pick me up from the station? How would I be able to visit my friends without a car? And Mom would expect me to spend all of the time with her.
As it stood, if I spent absolutely nothing the weekend of Memorial Day, I would have zero dollars to spend before getting paid on June 1st.
I opted to pay rent a few days late and we made the most out the weekend with minimal spending.
The festive weekend was dripped in a bit of melancholy because my mind kept wandering to New Orleans where we could have enjoyed the Greek Festival with Maria. Or a crawfish boil at Kendra’s. Or the surprise on my Mother’s face when I popped in on her unexpectedly. Or seeing my Grandmother’s new haircut. Or Nica’s pregnant belly. I haven’t seen Isabella since last April. She has hair now and she can talk and walk about. I’m no less than a stranger to her.
I know we make our choices in life. And I’ve chosen to drift. And I don’t regret it. I don’t feel that I -need- my family right now. And that’s extremely selfish of me. But for so long I hadn’t lived my own life and it at some point it was bound to start. But a part of me despairs that maybe when I do decide to go back everyone will have moved on without me. I got a Birthday Card from Aunt Charlotte this year; she wrote how much she missed me. This has prompted the idea of urgently responding in post cards. I think my new policy will reflect the following: for every letter or card or thought I am mailed, I should respond with a post card. One day I’ll have mailed out a year’s worth of thoughts to everyone deserving. I don’t want anyone to feel as though they’re forgotten.
As if the soured trip wasn’t enough of a disappointment, Friday, May 28th saw the weekend off to a rocky start. Danny and I woke up early that morning and headed to Gwinnett Tech so that he could take a math placement test before starting the Summer Semester. He had finally decided to put the effort forth for schooling and the week before we headed for the enrollment office to take the initial steps of settling him back into groove of the studious needle.
I was exhausted but felt this was an important step for him and he didn’t really want to go alone so I brought the Mac and sat beneath a tree on a park bench within the shade and waited patiently. It wasn’t ten minutes before he came back outside saying that the Placement test was a huge misunderstanding. He had taken it once before and the counselor said it wasn’t necessary despite what he was told in enrollment. After another walk to enrollment to have this bit of info verified we were on our way to the Toyota dealership to undergo a one thousand mile overdo oil change.
I wasn’t expecting bad news. I wasn’t expecting the agent to say I needed a replacement belt and to fix a water leak and blah blah. “How important are these things to fix?” “Are you keeping the car a while?”
Point taken.
$190 was all that I heard before wanting to crumble. Danny and I had taken a seat at one of the small tables that lined the brightly lit hallway. Running on barely two hours of sleep and suffering from a mightily swollen lymph node I just wanted to sleep.
Seeing my dilemma about my lack of sleep and horrifying work schedule, the agent kindly offered us a ride back home in the dealership’s free shuttle service. This seemed like our best bet considering that he had revealed to us moments before that the repairs would take three to four hours and it isn’t as though we had a lot of friends to depend upon for a ride.
The guy in the shuttle van was an angry Black man who acted as though we were prying him away from his favourite porno. We gingerly stepped in, closed the door and were whisked away from our friendly agent. Now there are a few conditions that exist where I am rendered pretty much useless: 1. I can’t function on an empty stomach. And 2. I absolutely cannot function on zero sleep.
I was beyond exhausted and a bit hungry so when the guy asked where on Breckinridge I resided Danny had to pipe in with “off of Pleasant Hill” after witnessing the beginning of my stammering and completely blank look as though I was trying to respond to something that was asked to me in Swahili. “I had no idea what he was asking me,” I whispered. “I noticed.” He said.
I couldn’t wait to get to the door. We thanked the burdened monstrosity for his generous gesture and walked to the doorway only to realize that my house key was on the key ring resting next to the car key which was sitting in my car which was inconveniently sitting in the lot back at the dealership. “Shit! We’re locked out.” And then for about a minute we proceeded to bicker, bitch and argue at one another as I slowly started to unravel. It was 11am and the sun was blazing. There was no way we could have lasted until 4pm. No way. The driver had issued a business card and I reluctantly fished it out of my pocket and dialed the number explaining my dilemma when he answered on the other end. He sighed annoyingly and said he would turn back around.
Danny refused to come back and lay sprawled out by the front door while I suffered the humiliation of climbing back into the van and sitting in the back seat in complete silence. I felt like a child that had done something very, very bad. He stopped at McDonald’s so a co-worker -a young African guy who had ridden with us from the dealership- could get food before we were back at Toyota. Now the drive was roughly 6 or 7 minutes and afterall, it was his fucking job to drive people around but I still felt extremely embarrassed for pulling such a mindlessly stupid stunt so I sheepishly kept my mouth shut. It didn’t help that Danny often makes me feel nitwit when I slip up during these types of situations.
Back at the dealership, the passenger jumped out (I was sad to see him go - he seemed a great deal nicer than my driver) and I walked inside to wrestle my keys away. “Excuse me.” I interuppted a woman at the desk who was wrapped into a conversation with a co-worker. I must have appeared like Tiny Tim approaching Jack in the Beanstalk. I tried to explain my situation to her, mentioning that I needed my house keys but it came out jumbled and instead of “house” I said “car” and she looked at me as though I spoken in ancient tongue that had never been heard with modern ears. I’m sure she meant to say “Umm, and who the fuck are you?” but it came out something like: “I can’t help you. Who was your agent?” I leaned back to glance at the cubicle next to hers and noted the name plate: “David Roth”. “He’s probably stepped out to the shop and I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
I wanted to shake her and tell her that I hadn’t slept yet today. And that I had to work later tonight - as though this information mattered to the general public. I wanted to go on to say that I was supposed to be off today but my plans to go back to Louisiana had fallen thru. That I hadn’t seen my Mother in a year and a half and that I had disappointed all of my friends who were expecting to see me this weekend. I wanted to tell her that I’d been working late hours and that I don’t even really like my job. I wanted to let her know that I felt overworked and underpaid and that I’m still waiting to find my calling. I wanted to tell her that I feel trapped and that I want to branch out and travel more but I couldn’t possibly do it on zero sleep and without a house key. I wanted to tell her that their shuttle driver has horrible manners and molested me in the back seat after refusing to take me home.
I wanted to yell all of these things but took time out to notice that my hair was fucked beyond taming considering I had woken up, slipped on my shorts and jumped in the car just a couple of hours earlier. She probably already thought I was an escaped mental patient.
I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t wait for David Roth, you see, because, well I reallllllly need my bed right now. I have a condition whereby if I don’t get adequate sleep I drop into a spontaneous coma. Or I start thrusting about violently. I wanted to start projectile vomiting until someone offered keys. Any keys. The keys to the city. The Kingdom. My heart. I wanted to tell her that there was an asshole waiting at home for me who’ll gripe that he had to wait in the heat if I had taken too long and that the van with their Angry Driver would probably take off and leave me here if I didn’t get the key soon.
I wanted to tell her that I had a bomb in my pocket and everyone should remain calm because I wouldn’t detonate it if someone would just kindly hand over my fucking house key! Just one ordinary, silver key.
But instead I took a deep breath and upon inspection of Mr. Roth’s desk I noticed that a box of keys was placed haphazardly next to his computer monitor. In the box, I noticed the distinguished African keychain I had picked up from the Magic Kingdom in one of the many times Danny and I had gone to Disney World. I quickly snatched it, removed the house key and dashed out of the door before she was able to say “excuse me, sir, you can’t do that.” Whether or not she started after me, I wouldn’t know. I jumped into the getaway van, shut the door violently and we were back on the road again. I clutched the key tightly in my fist as though it was a rosary.
Back at home Danny was patiently awaiting my arrival. I apologized to the driver who had not said one word to me on the trip going or coming, ran out the van, unlocked the door and we dashed upstairs to sleep until 3:30 after each taking a shower.
I called the same grumpy guy when I woke up. “Hello, you had shuttled me earlier today…..” “Who’s this?!!!” he interjected so sternly I could have mistaken it for anger. “Charly Chauvin. You see, you had given me a ride earlier…..” “Where are you?!!” he shot back in the same tone like someone who was being interrupted from a carefree afternoon discreetly killing mobsters at the local roller rink. “I live off of Breckinridge.” “Oh, okay, I remember you. I’m in the area. I can be there in 5 minutes.” His tone softened. I dashed upstairs, told Danny to throw on clothes because our ride was nearly here. We barely had time to brush our teeth and I was thankful we had showered before sleep.
Back at the dealership Mr. Roth kindly revealed that the repairs would end up costing me under a hundred bucks and the day seemed to be looking a fair bit better after all was done.
We worked a half night on Friday and the rest of the weekend faired a bit better even if I didn’t get to do exactly what I wanted.
* * * *
Gina Bayona had seemed excited about spending Saturday with us. She was home for the summer from Valdosta where she attended school and we always have fun when she’s around. I swear her voice reminds me so much of Maria and her attitude is so spontaneous, happy and refreshing; I don’t think a negative bone exists in Gina’s body. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed being around her.
We left home after James, our new gardener who lives a few houses down, mowed our badly kept yard.
We picked her up from her lovely Lawrenceville neighbourhood sometime in the early afternoon hours and the four of us, Me, Danny, Gina and Kathleen had gone to Ida’s for sandwiches before a trip downtown to Urban Outfitters and finally to Little Five Points. The last time we had been to the Atlanta Urban Outfitters was around the time Q had gotten released from Saia. It may have actually been the day after she was suspended. We ate at some greasy diner next door that had been opened for nearly a century.
Something about driving downtown irritates me particularly when I’d rather be in the back seat listening to my iPod. I didn’t have money for spending - in fact, none of us did. But walking around under the guise of window shopping was something to do in order to pass the time. We walked around the thrift shoppes while Kathleen cringed at all of the “black people” and “used clothing”. A woman in the street sang Janis Joplin songs at the top of her lungs while strumming the guitar while a guy across the sidewalk recited street poetry.
Though we all stopped at Starbucks for coffee, I’m pretty sure the most money spent was the five dollars Danny had offered to an attendant for parking.
Later that night we had dinner at Taxco before meeting up at Heather’s before going out. We stayed only momentarily before Kellee offered to drive and we rushed away on I85 for a night out at Le Buzz. I didn’t really enjoy myself so much this time. I barely had money to drink and the drag queens were too up and personal. But I was happy to see that Gina was enjoying her first outing at a lesbian bar. And it was good to see that Heather seemed more like a permanent friend in the equation rather than a flake that we see once every other month
On our way home after parting with Kellee and Heather, we stopped in at the diner for breakfast where we were treated like celebrities. “We have new user-friendly menus, y’all,” Mony noted. And indeed they did.
We took Gina home the next afternoon after a brief mindless MTV True Life marathon and Nilsa had come over to grill sausages on the outside pit. We threw the pack of sausages that Quinisha had left in the freezer on the grill; the last reminder of her stay here at Briaroak. The day turned out nicely, and we didn’t have to worry about spending money on food. (Thanks Q.)
It rained on and off all Sunday afternoon - perfect conditions for staying in and doing absolutely nothing. I spent part of the afternoon before Nilsa’s arrival sweeping and mopping, chores that had unfortunately been neglected for the past few weeks.
She spent the evening with us and we jumped into the True Life marathon making fun of some demonic girl who used Tourettes Syndrome as an excuse to berate her poor, bewildered grandmother who was only trying to help her by painting her nasty fucking toenails.
One can only watch so much of True Life before it gets tiring. I went to the store to get frosting and food for the week and came back to bake a cake for Mommy Dearest and her son.
Then we settled to episodes of “Lost,” starting exactly where we had left off a day or so before. After the first episode Nilsa went to bed grumbling “I don’t want to watch this shit.”
Danny chuckled.
* * *
It’s strange, as of last night we completed season five - the same season we ended up on a very early morning Wal-Mart trek last Monday to find. Our typical dig ended up empty. We went to a location further up Pleasant Hill that offered zero selection for TV on DVD. Suwanee, nada. We finally found it at the Wal-Mart in Buford and when Danny went to check it out, our receipt was eaten by the checkout machine. “Don’t worry.” An attendant told us. “if you need to return it, come find me. I work the graveyard shift.”
Well that’s reassuring. Ironically, a week later we noticed that one of the discs was defective and neither one of us can remember that woman’s name. That morning, we got back home at 7am, cracked open the case and watched the first very disappointing episode over the Mac while lying in bed.
Simply put, Lost is an addiction. It’s sad that the show finally ended but good that it knew when to bow out. I can’t believe we’ll have to wait until the end of August to see the final season; I only wish the release date was a bit sooner. The penultimate season hurt my brain beyond the comfort zone but for weeks the show provided us with a nightly post-work routine of curling up on the couch to an episode or two after food preparation for the next day. It gave me something to look forward to.
We barely left the house on Memorial Day. In fact, the only time we bothered to pry our asses off the sofa was for a dinner run at Taxco. Kathleen tagged alone reluctantly. She came because she was hungry; she came reluctantly because she didn’t have spending money.
The sky was heavily overcast that night and the clouds were obscuring the moon. We sat in a booth by the door and watched the rain come down in torrential buckets. It was the same booth that we sat in when Kendra was here in February. There’s something soporific about being in that restaurant while the rain was pouring and I hope the heavy downpour is only foreshadowing of what to expect here in Georgia for the upcoming summer.
I wish I could afford not to work; life would be so much less stressful.
Back at home we spent the remainder of Sunday night and the remainder of our uneventful holiday weekend watching season 2 episodes of Lost - where Kathleen is barreling thru the series in failed effort to catch up to where we are. It’s interesting to see how much the show has evolved. I tried to remember where I was when I started watching. Was I the one who got Kendra and Lacy into it or did they come on board by themselves? I can’t remember. But a number of years had passed between the moments when I had initially watched those first two seasons.
I was lazy with exercise over the break and skipped Friday but jumped right back into routine to start my sixth week on Tuesday. I feel stronger and my torso is a lot leaner than when I started off but I’m still a far cry from where I want to be. I hope I can look in the mirror one day and say to myself that all of the hard work and effort was worth it. Ninety days is a long commitment for something that you really would rather not do. I can do without dragging myself out of bed each day at 1:30. Sleep walking to the kitchen to prepare a protein shake for breakfast. Throwing my previously prepped food in the oven. Nearly falling asleep on the sofa at the Mac while waiting for breakfast to digest so I can start the workout. The forty minute exercise program. Carrying my sweaty -sometimes sore- ass to the shower to get ready before work. Coming home after work each night and preparing a salad for myself (and now Danny) for the next day’s lunch. Celery. Onions. Spinach. Romaine. Sprouts. Carrots. Chopping up all of the vegetables, preparing chicken or fish for the next day’s dinner. It’s a routine I’ve managed to accomplish Every-Single-Day and night since the end of April. I had better get something out of it by the end of July or I’m rewarding myself with three dozen Krispy Kreme donuts [assorted].
Danny called in to work tonight. He’s been sick on and off the past two months with “allergies”. Maybe when I get home tonight I can prepare him something to eat. I hate it when he’s not feeling well but oddly enough it’s sometimes easier for me. There’s no need to constantly “entertain” him on the weekend trying to find something to occupy the time. The park. A club. Friends. When he’s sick a video game and movies are enough company to satisfy.
* * * *
So I didn’t go to Louisiana as planned. And the weekend really wasn’t all that noteworthy. But at least I had some time to relax. And I really, really needed it. I just hope that a little trip to Louisiana can work out for me in the near future. I don’t know why I get that weird feeling as though I don’t have a lot of time left..