Hitting the Wall
Writing is the sort of experience that can go one of two ways: it can drag you down into the darkness, or it can serve as a catharsis, freeing your mind from daily life. Tonight, I found catharsis.
I practically pushed my father out the door tonight, not to be mean, but because the urge to write was so strong that I felt like withholding the words would result in physical pain. I raced to the kitchen to grab the notebook I had used before, and started scribbling, I barely looked up from the paper when Missy and David left for dinner, and wrote long into the night when my pen ran dry and my hand twisted with a painful cramp.
When I finished, I practically threw the pen and paper onto the table, like I was tossing away a hot potato. I was drained. I dragged myself upstairs and fell into a deep sleep, fully clothed, without even bothering to crawl under the covers.
I dreamed of things that I couldn’t remember as memories, but seemed plausible enough as though they actually might have happened. I was 13, terrified of singing the solo in the holiday performance for our school choir. I was in a terrible velvet dress that my sister had borrowed from a friend. I began to sing, my voice stronger than I could have ever anticipated, and I wished my father could have been there to see me. But tonight, I saw him at the back doorway, peering in from the outside. Was it really him? Had he really been there? Maybe he had. Maybe Susan had told him how much it meant to me to have the moral support. But then again, maybe this was just a dream. Even so, I wanted to believe that he was there, that he cared enough to take an hour off from work and see me.
Fast-forward to high school, and a beautiful guy – absolutely gorgeous, with light eyes and dark hair – asked me to the homecoming dance. Did my sister talk him into it? He was the younger brother of a friend of hers. Regardless, for two weeks until he stood me up on the night of the dance, I was happy. I was as truly, joyously happy as any teenager could be. And maybe, rather than dwelling on the fact that he stood me up, maybe I should have been focusing on the fact that someone out there had been kind enough to try to bring that sort of happiness into my otherwise surly adolescent life.
I awoke at 6:00, daylight starting to creep in through the windows. I had only slept for four hours, but I felt invigorated and alive. I changed into something vaguely athletic and walked down to the gym in our building. It wasn’t much of a gym really, just a handful of treadmills and bikes, but it would serve my purpose without having to freeze in the morning air. I started the treadmill and began to walk at that awkward pace as the machine accelerated. Before long I had to break into a light jog, then a faster run, then a sprint. I was never much of a runner, but that moment held a lifetime of compressed energy. I ran and ran, one foot after another, strides lengthening. I felt like a racehorse, with graceful strides and a heaving chest as I gulped as much stale gym air as I could manage in each breath. I felt free and alive.
Someone opened the door, and as I turned, startled, to see who it was, I lost my pace, stumbled and fell right off the back of the treadmill, hitting my head on the cinderblock wall. She came running towards me. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you all right? Oh my god!” I can’t say that I was unconscious, really, but I was barely responsive. I could see her and hear her, but I couldn’t answer any of her questions. I heard her dialing her cell phone to call for an ambulance. Oh no, I thought, not again. I’ve had enough to do with ambulances for a while. But I couldn’t say that. All I could manage was a sound that most could have only been interpreted as “Wahhhnnggghh.” She was talking to the dispatcher. “I watched her shoot right off the end of the treadmill. She hit her head on the wall. Oh, it made the most horrible noise!”
She asked me for my name, but I couldn’t talk. She asked what unit was mine, and even though I couldn’t get the words out, I could move my fingers. “Three?” she asked. “One?” Eight? No, seven? Three-one-seven? Are you in 317?” Something in my eyes must have said yes, because she said she would be right back, and ran off to wake Missy. I slumped sideways, trying to get more comfortable. My head was throbbing. I had a hard time thinking about anything but the pain, but every once in a while there was a glimmer of humor and irony. “Feeling good, are you?” I thought. “Why not go to the gym and do something good for yourself?” Boy, was I kicking myself now.
Missy, dressed in a satiny robe, and David, in boxers and a t-shirt, appeared in the doorway with the gym lady. Missy crouched down beside me. The gym lady ran for the front door to direct the medics to the right area. I leaned my head on Missy’s shoulder. “The look in your eyes is really scaring me,” she whispered. “But I have a feeling that someday we’re going to look back on this, and it’s going to be funny. Falling off the treadmill like a catapult.” The corners of my mouth turned into a grin just before I slumped forward, unconscious.
I awoke to find a tall blonde guy in a blue EMT uniform peering into my eyes with a penlight. “Hey!” I said, pulling away. “Don’t touch my eyes.”
He stepped back, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Eyes. Off limits.” I’d had a fear of people messing with my eyes since childhood.
“I’m just checking to see if you have a concussion,” he said. “As hard as it is to imagine, you don’t seem to.”
I thought for a moment, wheels still turning slowly inside my brain. “That’s good, right?”
“You bet.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“6:54.”
“So what time can I go to work?”
“Thursday.”
“No, the time. Not the day.” I paused. “Wait a minute. Thursday? No, can’t do it. It has to be today.”
He shook his head emphatically no. “No way. You’re liable to get dizzy and black out at a moment’s notice.”
“No!” I whined. “I can’t miss any more time at work!”
“No choice,” he said. “Sorry.”
I started to cry and Missy came running. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re going to fire me. I just missed two days with less than a week until Christmas. At some stores, that’s grounds for public crucifixion.”
“So? You’ll find another job.”
“What if I don’t? How will I pay the rent?” I have to feed the cat!”
Missy hugged me and pushed my hair out of my face. “It’s ok,” she said reassuringly. “It’s going to be ok.”
“No it’s not!”
“Angela, now’s not the time to worry about this. You have a screaming headache and you’ve been scared half to death this morning. Just relax, let go, and everything will be fine.”
I sniffled loudly. “Everyone always has to take care of me. I can never take care of myself.”
“No, that’s not true,” she said. “Everyone has phases where they give help, and phases where they need help. The tables will turn soon. You’ll be the one in control.”
She signed some paperwork on my behalf and sent the medics on their way. She and David helped me upstairs, back into my room and into bed. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll go to work for you. No issue with finding subs.”
“Don’t you have plans today?”
“Not really,” she said. “I turned in my final paper yesterday and all that’s left to do is send David to the airport at 8:00. I can easily make it in to the store by 8:30.”
I hugged her and whispered my thanks. She eased me back onto the pillows and tucked me in. “Rest,” she said. “I’ll be back by 6:00.”
I heard her downstairs calling Nick while David showered. They were out of the house five minutes early. I drifted away and had dreams of ringing phones. As it turned out, they weren’t dreams.
Nick let himself in at noon, and came upstairs to check on me. “Hey,” he said, gazing at me from a distance. “I’ve been trying to call.”
“Oh. That was really the phone?”
“Yes.” He came closer and, unable to stop himself, flashed a light into my eyes. “No concussion.”
“That’s what Ken told me.”
“Ken?”
“Yeah, the guy who looks like a Ken doll.”
He laughed. “That’s Hans. No kidding. His parents escaped from East Germany when he was two.”
“Really?” I thought about that for a moment. “Most people have trouble getting their two-year-old out to the store. How did they manage to escape a whole country with a toddler?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never really talked to him about it. But it is interesting, isn’t it?”
His face grew serious. “Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Yeah? What?”
He paused for a moment, and then began to deliver a speech that he had clearly practiced many times before. “I just don’t think that this is the right time for you. Or for us. I think you have a lot of stuff going on in your life right now, and I’m just a distraction. I’m keeping you from the real work at hand, which is getting your shit together and figuring out your life. I think you have real potential, but as long as you have someone to cling to, you’re never going to fully realize it. Does that make sense to you?”
I nodded. “Odd that you should say that, “ I said. “As it turns out, I was going to have a talk with you about how I needed to find myself and figure out what’s going to happen going forward. The only difference between my speech and yours is that I thought I could do it with you by my side. But if that’s not what you want…” My voice trailed off. We sat in silence.
“Look,” he said, “I didn’t want you to think…”
“Nope, don’t worry about it.”
“I wrote you a note.”
“In case you couldn’t bring yourself to say things to me directly?”
“No, it’s not that at all.” He handed me an envelope marked June 22. “That’s for six months from today. When that day comes, I want you to open the envelope, read what I’ve written and decide if you want to call me or not.”
“Ok, sure.” I opened the drawer of the nightstand and stuffed the envelope inside. “Ok, then. Well, have a nice Christmas. I’ll see you around.”
He looked uncomfortable. “This isn’t goodbye forever,” he said. “That’s not the intention.”
“Of course not. I completely understand.” I didn’t, not really, but he didn’t need to know that.
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I patted him on the hand. “Can I have the key back, please?”
“Oh, sure.” He slid it off his keychain and sat there looking at the collection, now one key smaller. I tossed the loose key into the drawer with the envelope.
“I’m really tired,” I said. “It’s been a rough day. Do you mind?” I pointed towards the door, indicating that he should leave. He stood, took a few steps, turned back, said nothing, then walked out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
He’s not the key to my happiness, I told myself. I am the key. And I’m going to figure out how to make my life better if it kills me.
I rolled over, turned on the radio to a classical station, and drifted off to the sounds of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.
I practically pushed my father out the door tonight, not to be mean, but because the urge to write was so strong that I felt like withholding the words would result in physical pain. I raced to the kitchen to grab the notebook I had used before, and started scribbling, I barely looked up from the paper when Missy and David left for dinner, and wrote long into the night when my pen ran dry and my hand twisted with a painful cramp.
When I finished, I practically threw the pen and paper onto the table, like I was tossing away a hot potato. I was drained. I dragged myself upstairs and fell into a deep sleep, fully clothed, without even bothering to crawl under the covers.
I dreamed of things that I couldn’t remember as memories, but seemed plausible enough as though they actually might have happened. I was 13, terrified of singing the solo in the holiday performance for our school choir. I was in a terrible velvet dress that my sister had borrowed from a friend. I began to sing, my voice stronger than I could have ever anticipated, and I wished my father could have been there to see me. But tonight, I saw him at the back doorway, peering in from the outside. Was it really him? Had he really been there? Maybe he had. Maybe Susan had told him how much it meant to me to have the moral support. But then again, maybe this was just a dream. Even so, I wanted to believe that he was there, that he cared enough to take an hour off from work and see me.
Fast-forward to high school, and a beautiful guy – absolutely gorgeous, with light eyes and dark hair – asked me to the homecoming dance. Did my sister talk him into it? He was the younger brother of a friend of hers. Regardless, for two weeks until he stood me up on the night of the dance, I was happy. I was as truly, joyously happy as any teenager could be. And maybe, rather than dwelling on the fact that he stood me up, maybe I should have been focusing on the fact that someone out there had been kind enough to try to bring that sort of happiness into my otherwise surly adolescent life.
I awoke at 6:00, daylight starting to creep in through the windows. I had only slept for four hours, but I felt invigorated and alive. I changed into something vaguely athletic and walked down to the gym in our building. It wasn’t much of a gym really, just a handful of treadmills and bikes, but it would serve my purpose without having to freeze in the morning air. I started the treadmill and began to walk at that awkward pace as the machine accelerated. Before long I had to break into a light jog, then a faster run, then a sprint. I was never much of a runner, but that moment held a lifetime of compressed energy. I ran and ran, one foot after another, strides lengthening. I felt like a racehorse, with graceful strides and a heaving chest as I gulped as much stale gym air as I could manage in each breath. I felt free and alive.
Someone opened the door, and as I turned, startled, to see who it was, I lost my pace, stumbled and fell right off the back of the treadmill, hitting my head on the cinderblock wall. She came running towards me. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you all right? Oh my god!” I can’t say that I was unconscious, really, but I was barely responsive. I could see her and hear her, but I couldn’t answer any of her questions. I heard her dialing her cell phone to call for an ambulance. Oh no, I thought, not again. I’ve had enough to do with ambulances for a while. But I couldn’t say that. All I could manage was a sound that most could have only been interpreted as “Wahhhnnggghh.” She was talking to the dispatcher. “I watched her shoot right off the end of the treadmill. She hit her head on the wall. Oh, it made the most horrible noise!”
She asked me for my name, but I couldn’t talk. She asked what unit was mine, and even though I couldn’t get the words out, I could move my fingers. “Three?” she asked. “One?” Eight? No, seven? Three-one-seven? Are you in 317?” Something in my eyes must have said yes, because she said she would be right back, and ran off to wake Missy. I slumped sideways, trying to get more comfortable. My head was throbbing. I had a hard time thinking about anything but the pain, but every once in a while there was a glimmer of humor and irony. “Feeling good, are you?” I thought. “Why not go to the gym and do something good for yourself?” Boy, was I kicking myself now.
Missy, dressed in a satiny robe, and David, in boxers and a t-shirt, appeared in the doorway with the gym lady. Missy crouched down beside me. The gym lady ran for the front door to direct the medics to the right area. I leaned my head on Missy’s shoulder. “The look in your eyes is really scaring me,” she whispered. “But I have a feeling that someday we’re going to look back on this, and it’s going to be funny. Falling off the treadmill like a catapult.” The corners of my mouth turned into a grin just before I slumped forward, unconscious.
I awoke to find a tall blonde guy in a blue EMT uniform peering into my eyes with a penlight. “Hey!” I said, pulling away. “Don’t touch my eyes.”
He stepped back, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Eyes. Off limits.” I’d had a fear of people messing with my eyes since childhood.
“I’m just checking to see if you have a concussion,” he said. “As hard as it is to imagine, you don’t seem to.”
I thought for a moment, wheels still turning slowly inside my brain. “That’s good, right?”
“You bet.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“6:54.”
“So what time can I go to work?”
“Thursday.”
“No, the time. Not the day.” I paused. “Wait a minute. Thursday? No, can’t do it. It has to be today.”
He shook his head emphatically no. “No way. You’re liable to get dizzy and black out at a moment’s notice.”
“No!” I whined. “I can’t miss any more time at work!”
“No choice,” he said. “Sorry.”
I started to cry and Missy came running. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re going to fire me. I just missed two days with less than a week until Christmas. At some stores, that’s grounds for public crucifixion.”
“So? You’ll find another job.”
“What if I don’t? How will I pay the rent?” I have to feed the cat!”
Missy hugged me and pushed my hair out of my face. “It’s ok,” she said reassuringly. “It’s going to be ok.”
“No it’s not!”
“Angela, now’s not the time to worry about this. You have a screaming headache and you’ve been scared half to death this morning. Just relax, let go, and everything will be fine.”
I sniffled loudly. “Everyone always has to take care of me. I can never take care of myself.”
“No, that’s not true,” she said. “Everyone has phases where they give help, and phases where they need help. The tables will turn soon. You’ll be the one in control.”
She signed some paperwork on my behalf and sent the medics on their way. She and David helped me upstairs, back into my room and into bed. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll go to work for you. No issue with finding subs.”
“Don’t you have plans today?”
“Not really,” she said. “I turned in my final paper yesterday and all that’s left to do is send David to the airport at 8:00. I can easily make it in to the store by 8:30.”
I hugged her and whispered my thanks. She eased me back onto the pillows and tucked me in. “Rest,” she said. “I’ll be back by 6:00.”
I heard her downstairs calling Nick while David showered. They were out of the house five minutes early. I drifted away and had dreams of ringing phones. As it turned out, they weren’t dreams.
Nick let himself in at noon, and came upstairs to check on me. “Hey,” he said, gazing at me from a distance. “I’ve been trying to call.”
“Oh. That was really the phone?”
“Yes.” He came closer and, unable to stop himself, flashed a light into my eyes. “No concussion.”
“That’s what Ken told me.”
“Ken?”
“Yeah, the guy who looks like a Ken doll.”
He laughed. “That’s Hans. No kidding. His parents escaped from East Germany when he was two.”
“Really?” I thought about that for a moment. “Most people have trouble getting their two-year-old out to the store. How did they manage to escape a whole country with a toddler?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never really talked to him about it. But it is interesting, isn’t it?”
His face grew serious. “Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Yeah? What?”
He paused for a moment, and then began to deliver a speech that he had clearly practiced many times before. “I just don’t think that this is the right time for you. Or for us. I think you have a lot of stuff going on in your life right now, and I’m just a distraction. I’m keeping you from the real work at hand, which is getting your shit together and figuring out your life. I think you have real potential, but as long as you have someone to cling to, you’re never going to fully realize it. Does that make sense to you?”
I nodded. “Odd that you should say that, “ I said. “As it turns out, I was going to have a talk with you about how I needed to find myself and figure out what’s going to happen going forward. The only difference between my speech and yours is that I thought I could do it with you by my side. But if that’s not what you want…” My voice trailed off. We sat in silence.
“Look,” he said, “I didn’t want you to think…”
“Nope, don’t worry about it.”
“I wrote you a note.”
“In case you couldn’t bring yourself to say things to me directly?”
“No, it’s not that at all.” He handed me an envelope marked June 22. “That’s for six months from today. When that day comes, I want you to open the envelope, read what I’ve written and decide if you want to call me or not.”
“Ok, sure.” I opened the drawer of the nightstand and stuffed the envelope inside. “Ok, then. Well, have a nice Christmas. I’ll see you around.”
He looked uncomfortable. “This isn’t goodbye forever,” he said. “That’s not the intention.”
“Of course not. I completely understand.” I didn’t, not really, but he didn’t need to know that.
He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I patted him on the hand. “Can I have the key back, please?”
“Oh, sure.” He slid it off his keychain and sat there looking at the collection, now one key smaller. I tossed the loose key into the drawer with the envelope.
“I’m really tired,” I said. “It’s been a rough day. Do you mind?” I pointed towards the door, indicating that he should leave. He stood, took a few steps, turned back, said nothing, then walked out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
He’s not the key to my happiness, I told myself. I am the key. And I’m going to figure out how to make my life better if it kills me.
I rolled over, turned on the radio to a classical station, and drifted off to the sounds of Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.
posted by Ali at 5:31 PM
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