“I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
This is what I wanted to respond to my friends when they’d check in to see how I was doing.
“How are you adjusting, love?” they’d ask.
“Is it wonderful to be home?!” they’d inquire.
“How is your Boyfriend?” they’d wonder.
“Do you miss New York?” “Have you found a job?” “How is The Cat?” “I miss you so much!!”
And all I could think to reply was:
“I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
But I never said that. Because I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.
“Do you want a Xanax?”
“No thanks.”
“Are you going to have a drink?” I asked, as I crammed the stack of gossip magazines I’d bought for the flight in the seat pocket in front of me.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I was confused. My Boyfriend is not a big drinker but still, I could not fathom why anyone would ever want to fly sober.
“I don’t know,” he said and shrugged. And then he leaned down to The Cat’s carrier at his feet and unzipped the secret opening where he could pet her undetected.
“Oh my god,” I said. “You don’t want to be out of it in case she freaks out!”
He smiled. “I just want to be prepared. For anything.”
And I knew in that moment that he meant not only The Cat, but me, and my reaction to this trip.
“You are the best man,” I said.
Last Spring one of Thalia’s friends, Alicia, who now is a friend of mine, asked me to join her “Do One Thing a Month That is Out of Your Comfort Zone” group. This group would meet on a weekend day and participate in a challenging dance class or a creative painting class or a unique cooking class or any of the other cool classes NYC had to offer. It was after one of these classes, when I spotted the storefront that would change my life.
“I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!”
“I know, baby,” My Boyfriend said as he reached over from the driver’s seat and squeezed my knee. “But it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I feel sketchy!” I cried, as I doubled over and attempted to take in huge gulps of air.
“You’re okay. Just lay the seat back and try to relax.”
It was the last day of my Christmas visit and we were on the way to SFO from our hometown to drop me off for my flight back to NYC. As we’ve all seen, I am not a good flyer under the best of circumstances but today with the added exhaustion, anxiety and nausea, I was not doing well. At all. I sat up and shielded my eyes as I looked out the window. Sausalito whizzed by, illuminated by the too-bright morning sunlight.
I laid the seat back and closed my eyes tightly. Then I whimpered, “I don’t understand why this is happening.”
“Well, we went big on Friday at Hometown Holiday Drinks,” My Boyfriend was saying. “And then yesterday at Lana’s brunch, you girls were hitting the champagne pretty hard.”
“I know, but I drank plenty of water last night and we went to bed early,” I said. “I should be okay.”
“Well, we haven’t had a lot of downtime overall,” he pointed out.
I opened my eyes and sniveled, “I kind of over-scheduled us, didn’t I?”
He smiled and reached to the backseat. “Here. Take my jacket and use it as a pillow. Try to get some rest.”
I took the jacket and folded it beneath my head. “I don’t feel well.” I looked up at him.
He looked down at me in pity. “Baby, if you’re not feeling better by the time we hit the bridge, I think we should change your flight to tomorrow.”
“But we’re trying to save money for visits!” I insisted.
“I know. But it’s only money. And it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I muttered.
“I think you’ve hit the wall,” he said.
“I think you’re right,” I replied.
Then I turned over and pulled the jacket over my head.
At least, I had been ready. That morning.
Now that evening, I was sick with anxiety.
I’d spent the day cleaning my apartment, getting a much needed, much resented manicure, and drinking an exorbitant amount of coffee to keep me going. I was too nervous to eat but by 9pm, I was becoming dizzy from lack of nourishment and excessive caffeine, so I shoveled in a handful of Fritos.
Of course, that was when the downstairs buzzer went off.
Continue reading …One.
Not Quite A Cougar 