I heard it clear as a bell - a firm whisper that cut through the dead quiet of the night. In his sleep, my husband spoke the one word that has been torturing me for months.
“Um. What?” I whispered back, my head slightly off the pillow.
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I strolled along, casually holding my sandals at my side, ignoring the searing temperature of the sand. My boyish hips swayed a little unnaturally; all part of the Mexico-me.
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In the empty basement, before I went off to bed, I scooped up the hem of my nightie and slipped downstairs to tuck in my dolls. The routine included a little dry humping; Barbie and Ken’s plastic ‘bones’ clacking together on the stiff bed made of Nancy Drew novels..
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Fifty felt like a sweater that wouldn’t fit, a flight I wouldn’t dare board or a menu item I would NEVER order. I was certain it would turn my stomach and burn my delicate esophagus going down. I would find a way to send 50 back to the kitchen.
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If the park were still there, and a band were in town, who knows, maybe we’d be heading to the beer tent for a quick drink after our cleaning - either through the front entrance, or over the fence for old times sake.
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I watched my husband slip out of the room in his towel, his fresh cut hair dripping onto his bare shoulders as he headed back to the bathroom. His luggage lay on the floor.
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I bashed a cocoon on one of our trees with a piece of wood.
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I had no idea where the neighbors were, and clearly, they had no idea where I was or, that I was about to find the naked people in their house.
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In my house, a bottle of Prosecco and two coats of bright red nail polish can disappear before Brad Pitt is even a whisper on the red carpet.
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The alarm clock arrived from Amazon within 24 hours, which is impressive, considering it may take me twice as long to set the actual alarm.
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“He went out the window.” she said to me, quite matter-of-factly.
“He went out the window?” I asked.
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It was December 31st 2020. The eve before, God help us, a new year.
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Banana bread, track pants, and nights of Schitt’s Creek
The clatter and noise from this new virus was bleak
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My muscles and spine turned liquid as Aladdin and I flew off on our adventure to a whole new world (that line just typed itself).
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We dove in, gripping droopy burgers in one hand while tipping tiny bottles of prosecco with the other. We laughed, ate, relaxed and as women tend to do, we quickly got weird.
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I had forgotten to notice that while the world stood still, time had continued to march on, almost aggressively, like an ice breaker across the Arctic Archipelago, tearing through life events, carelessly leaving shards of secret successes and exposing raw moments in its wake. I thought we would wait things out and get back to life precisely where we had left off. Wrong.
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Does my husband look at me every day and wonder if I have 100 pairs of black yoga pants or has he just given up on me and accepted that his beloved may actually be wearing the same pants, day in and day out?
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Maybe ‘multi-tasking’ is a fashion we can finally see for the ill-fitting bridesmaid dress that it is. And the status the word ‘busy’ once bought us, can now be acknowledged as a bankrupt code for directionless.
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