Looking Ahead
Four shopping days left until Christmas. Every lunatic shopper on the planet is battling for a spot in our parking lot. I was nearly run over by two minivans and a sedan on my way from the bus to the store. The weather had turned downright blustery, and the combination of my shivering and dizziness left me feeling a little dazed.
With my cast gone, I had moved back to cash wrap, leaving the info desk behind for some poor, unfortunate sucker. The drawback was that I didn’t have a seat behind the register, so after all my time in bed, I had to return to work and stand under my own power for eight hours in a row. It’s harder than it sounds, believe me.
I had made it through most of the morning, with only one wave of barely-controllable nausea. That’s never a good moment, when you’re standing in front of a customer, wondering if you’re going to vomit in front of them. But I managed to excuse myself and crouch behind the counter, pretending I was looking for more holiday shopping bags. One of the other cashiers looked at me strangely, but with a series of deep breaths I was able to compose myself and pop back up with a festive shopping bag and a smile.
I spent my lunch break at the market, buying Christmas goodies for the two people in my life, Missy and Nick. For Missy, I got a bag of Kona coffee – I don’t understand how coffee could possibly be so expensive, but they told me it was good – and a box of hazelnut biscotti. Nick was harder to shop for. Was he going to give me a gift at all? How did I balance between the look of “Oh no, I should have gotten her a gift,” and “this is all she gave me?” I ultimately bought some fancy semi-sweet chocolate and some long fondue forks, hoping for a night of sharing. I stood in the checkout line, pleased with myself for being the only person in the world who could do all of her Christmas shopping at a market.
The afternoon was nonstop chaos, with long lines and people trying to combine membership cards with coupons and discount codes to swing some sort of miracle deal – one guy was convinced that with all of his coupons he could get the da Vinci Code for $3. What he didn’t realize was that his $15 off coupon was for purchases of $150 or more. Live and learn.
Other than the usual kiddie books and humor (Dilbert and Dave Barry always do well this time of year), the most popular item was one I wouldn’t have expected: leather-bound journals. Are there that many people who like to write? In this era of computers and Palm Pilots, does anyone really put pen to paper anymore? Maybe the answer was no. Maybe the gift-givers just ran out of ideas and liked the rich look of the leather. There was no way to know for sure.
By the time the day had ended, I was completely exhausted. I went back to the break room to clock out, and decided to just sit down for a few moments. Those few moments led to a twenty-minute nap on the break room table. I felt a little foolish when I realized that someone had seen me sleeping, but they all knew I had been out with “the flu” for the last few days, and they weren’t going to criticize, especially since I had managed to complete my shift.
When I finally stood up to head home, my body felt like lead. I wrapped myself in my cardigan and scarf, grabbed my market bag and shuffled through the lot. Stalkers watched and waited, signals flashing, to see which car I would get into. I usually liked to weave from one aisle to another to screw with their heads, but I was too tired tonight. I walked in a direct line and rested on the bus stop bench, winded. I pulled my scarf up around my ears and tried to keep the wind from blowing down into my sweater, but there was no mistaking the chill in the air tonight. It was feeling more like Christmas than any night yet this year. The white lights twinkled on tree trunks lining the street of our little retail district, giving it a festive and inviting atmosphere that they only seemed to care about once a year.
The bus was late, stuck in the rush hour traffic. Two others at the bus stop were complaining, but I didn’t mind. The three steps up into the bus seemed hopelessly daunting when you considered my level of energy, or lack thereof. But by the time my bus arrived, I had managed enough strength to climb the steps and lurch towards a seat in the middle. I quickly drifted off again, and woke to feel my head jerking upright, like I had just dozed off in the back of high school history class. I saw a man in the sideways handicapped seats looking at me strangely. I rang the bell to signal for the next stop, and stood in the shadow of the bus exhaust for a few moments before walking home. By the time I arrived on the 3rd floor, I practically had to crawl to 317. In one motion, I opened the door and made a beeline path for the couch. I couldn’t move from fatigue, but I wasn’t at all sleepy. I would occasionally doze off for what probably amounted to thirty-second intervals but, like the two previous nights, I was unable to fall asleep and stay asleep.
I remained flat on the couch for several hours, staring out the window, too tired to turn on the television. When Missy finally came home, she was astonished to find me there.
“Are you exhausted?” she asked.
“Yes, desperately.”
“Why not go up to bed?”
“Because I can’t sleep.”
“Wow,” she said. “What a mean combination of side effects.
I grunted with agreement and disgust. Why did I feel like this? I thought I could handle detox, but this was awful. “Not only do I feel bad,” I told her, “but I also feel terrible emotionally.”
“Isn’t that normal?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s been a long time since I battled the depression head-on, and at least then I had the advantage of not being dizzy and nauseous.”
“Do you think it was a mistake to stop the medication?” she asked.
I sighed. “Long term? No. This was the right thing to do. But it’s making for a really shitty short term existence.”
She asked if she could get me anything, and I declined. “Can you do me a favor? Can you answer the door if David gets here while I’m changing? Are you strong enough to get up?”
“Yeah, I think I can do it. Big date tonight?”
She shook her head. “Little date. I don’t really want a big date right now.”
“Why not? He’s hot.”
She grinned uncontrollably. “True enough, but still… I want to take things slowly. Nothing like being burned by a control freak to make you question if you want that level of involvement in your life.”
“He knows this?”
“Yep, we talked about it.” She paused for a moment. “It would be so much easier to just sleep with him.”
I laughed. “Get it out of the way and move on with the practical aspects of the relationship?”
“Exactly. You spend your early years trying to fight the boys off and preserve your virginity, then you realize that it’s just easier to get the sex thing out of the way and then figure out whether or not the guy’s interested in sticking around. Or, in my case, interested in watching your every move. But when the lure of first sex is hanging over their heads, you never get a clear view of what things will be like. Unfortunately, I just don’t know that I’m ready to get that involved right now.”
I pondered that for a moment. “Interesting observation. So I wasn’t a slut in my past lives, I was just being practical?”
“It all depends on your perspective,” she said. “And my perspective passes no judgment on you.”
“I knew there was a reason why you were my roommate,” I said. “Because you’re the only one that would even begin to take that perspective.”
She sat beside me and put her hand on my leg. “Do you have regrets?”
“God, yes,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’ve made some big mistakes in my life.”
“But you learned from them, right? You learned lessons that have shaped who you are. And that’s a valuable thing.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t so sure that there was value in my mistakes. She continued. “Look, the past is the past. You can’t change it. Your job now is to live life in the present, and try to look forward to the future, based on the lessons learned from your past.”
Her perspective touched me. “But that requires some amount of hope,” I told her, trying to sound sarcastic, but failing miserably as my voice cracked.
She leaned forward. “Don’t you see? You do have hope. You’re looking forward. You wouldn’t have stopped the medication if you didn’t have hopes and plans for the future.”
She looked at her watch and realized she was running late. “I have to go get ready. Will you stay here in case David arrives while I’m upstairs?” I nodded.
The doorbell rang, and I slowly walked to the door, opening it without checking the peephole. It was at that moment that I stood face to face with my catalyst for change.
With my cast gone, I had moved back to cash wrap, leaving the info desk behind for some poor, unfortunate sucker. The drawback was that I didn’t have a seat behind the register, so after all my time in bed, I had to return to work and stand under my own power for eight hours in a row. It’s harder than it sounds, believe me.
I had made it through most of the morning, with only one wave of barely-controllable nausea. That’s never a good moment, when you’re standing in front of a customer, wondering if you’re going to vomit in front of them. But I managed to excuse myself and crouch behind the counter, pretending I was looking for more holiday shopping bags. One of the other cashiers looked at me strangely, but with a series of deep breaths I was able to compose myself and pop back up with a festive shopping bag and a smile.
I spent my lunch break at the market, buying Christmas goodies for the two people in my life, Missy and Nick. For Missy, I got a bag of Kona coffee – I don’t understand how coffee could possibly be so expensive, but they told me it was good – and a box of hazelnut biscotti. Nick was harder to shop for. Was he going to give me a gift at all? How did I balance between the look of “Oh no, I should have gotten her a gift,” and “this is all she gave me?” I ultimately bought some fancy semi-sweet chocolate and some long fondue forks, hoping for a night of sharing. I stood in the checkout line, pleased with myself for being the only person in the world who could do all of her Christmas shopping at a market.
The afternoon was nonstop chaos, with long lines and people trying to combine membership cards with coupons and discount codes to swing some sort of miracle deal – one guy was convinced that with all of his coupons he could get the da Vinci Code for $3. What he didn’t realize was that his $15 off coupon was for purchases of $150 or more. Live and learn.
Other than the usual kiddie books and humor (Dilbert and Dave Barry always do well this time of year), the most popular item was one I wouldn’t have expected: leather-bound journals. Are there that many people who like to write? In this era of computers and Palm Pilots, does anyone really put pen to paper anymore? Maybe the answer was no. Maybe the gift-givers just ran out of ideas and liked the rich look of the leather. There was no way to know for sure.
By the time the day had ended, I was completely exhausted. I went back to the break room to clock out, and decided to just sit down for a few moments. Those few moments led to a twenty-minute nap on the break room table. I felt a little foolish when I realized that someone had seen me sleeping, but they all knew I had been out with “the flu” for the last few days, and they weren’t going to criticize, especially since I had managed to complete my shift.
When I finally stood up to head home, my body felt like lead. I wrapped myself in my cardigan and scarf, grabbed my market bag and shuffled through the lot. Stalkers watched and waited, signals flashing, to see which car I would get into. I usually liked to weave from one aisle to another to screw with their heads, but I was too tired tonight. I walked in a direct line and rested on the bus stop bench, winded. I pulled my scarf up around my ears and tried to keep the wind from blowing down into my sweater, but there was no mistaking the chill in the air tonight. It was feeling more like Christmas than any night yet this year. The white lights twinkled on tree trunks lining the street of our little retail district, giving it a festive and inviting atmosphere that they only seemed to care about once a year.
The bus was late, stuck in the rush hour traffic. Two others at the bus stop were complaining, but I didn’t mind. The three steps up into the bus seemed hopelessly daunting when you considered my level of energy, or lack thereof. But by the time my bus arrived, I had managed enough strength to climb the steps and lurch towards a seat in the middle. I quickly drifted off again, and woke to feel my head jerking upright, like I had just dozed off in the back of high school history class. I saw a man in the sideways handicapped seats looking at me strangely. I rang the bell to signal for the next stop, and stood in the shadow of the bus exhaust for a few moments before walking home. By the time I arrived on the 3rd floor, I practically had to crawl to 317. In one motion, I opened the door and made a beeline path for the couch. I couldn’t move from fatigue, but I wasn’t at all sleepy. I would occasionally doze off for what probably amounted to thirty-second intervals but, like the two previous nights, I was unable to fall asleep and stay asleep.
I remained flat on the couch for several hours, staring out the window, too tired to turn on the television. When Missy finally came home, she was astonished to find me there.
“Are you exhausted?” she asked.
“Yes, desperately.”
“Why not go up to bed?”
“Because I can’t sleep.”
“Wow,” she said. “What a mean combination of side effects.
I grunted with agreement and disgust. Why did I feel like this? I thought I could handle detox, but this was awful. “Not only do I feel bad,” I told her, “but I also feel terrible emotionally.”
“Isn’t that normal?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s been a long time since I battled the depression head-on, and at least then I had the advantage of not being dizzy and nauseous.”
“Do you think it was a mistake to stop the medication?” she asked.
I sighed. “Long term? No. This was the right thing to do. But it’s making for a really shitty short term existence.”
She asked if she could get me anything, and I declined. “Can you do me a favor? Can you answer the door if David gets here while I’m changing? Are you strong enough to get up?”
“Yeah, I think I can do it. Big date tonight?”
She shook her head. “Little date. I don’t really want a big date right now.”
“Why not? He’s hot.”
She grinned uncontrollably. “True enough, but still… I want to take things slowly. Nothing like being burned by a control freak to make you question if you want that level of involvement in your life.”
“He knows this?”
“Yep, we talked about it.” She paused for a moment. “It would be so much easier to just sleep with him.”
I laughed. “Get it out of the way and move on with the practical aspects of the relationship?”
“Exactly. You spend your early years trying to fight the boys off and preserve your virginity, then you realize that it’s just easier to get the sex thing out of the way and then figure out whether or not the guy’s interested in sticking around. Or, in my case, interested in watching your every move. But when the lure of first sex is hanging over their heads, you never get a clear view of what things will be like. Unfortunately, I just don’t know that I’m ready to get that involved right now.”
I pondered that for a moment. “Interesting observation. So I wasn’t a slut in my past lives, I was just being practical?”
“It all depends on your perspective,” she said. “And my perspective passes no judgment on you.”
“I knew there was a reason why you were my roommate,” I said. “Because you’re the only one that would even begin to take that perspective.”
She sat beside me and put her hand on my leg. “Do you have regrets?”
“God, yes,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’ve made some big mistakes in my life.”
“But you learned from them, right? You learned lessons that have shaped who you are. And that’s a valuable thing.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t so sure that there was value in my mistakes. She continued. “Look, the past is the past. You can’t change it. Your job now is to live life in the present, and try to look forward to the future, based on the lessons learned from your past.”
Her perspective touched me. “But that requires some amount of hope,” I told her, trying to sound sarcastic, but failing miserably as my voice cracked.
She leaned forward. “Don’t you see? You do have hope. You’re looking forward. You wouldn’t have stopped the medication if you didn’t have hopes and plans for the future.”
She looked at her watch and realized she was running late. “I have to go get ready. Will you stay here in case David arrives while I’m upstairs?” I nodded.
The doorbell rang, and I slowly walked to the door, opening it without checking the peephole. It was at that moment that I stood face to face with my catalyst for change.
posted by Ali at 11:09 PM
1 Comments:
Just a little continuity problem - I'm really enjoying the story-line...
At the end of Looking Ahead you state...
"The doorbell rang, and I slowly walked to the door, opening it without checking the peephole. It was at that moment that I stood face to face with my catalyst for change."
Then at the beginning of Old Man you have the character looking out the peephole for a long time.
That's all - keep up the good work
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