The Discount Life: Step Four - A State of Process

Except I let the packed bag sit there for four days before I did anything. The courage I developed the night of coffee with Christian slowly ebbed until I’d pushed the bag under the bed and bid myself a moment of insanity. My thought process slowly strung together reasons why separating myself from Stanley were obtuse: Where will I go? Jack and Mel just got engaged tonight. You’re not going to show up tonight of all nights begging for a home. Who will stand beside me in the Christmas card photo this year? Who’s place card will be attached to my place card at Judy’s next party? It’s ludicrous to believe you won’t find struggles in other relationships. So I decided to stay and try harder. But Mel called on Sunday and broke the confused trance.


“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “Happy DLA Day.”

“There’s no meeting today....”

“I know but its Sunday – its your day in my book.”

“My day and the Lord’s day. No pressure there.”

“So I’ve decided to ask Jack to be my DLA partner. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Sure.”

“Are you going to ask Stanley?” I stammered, I stuttered, “Uhh, no. I was thinking of asking Andrew. He’s already helped me so much with my goals list and Stanley hasn’t shown much interest.” And because I certainly wasn’t going to ask Christian, but I also wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“Oh.”   There it was again, the one syllable word that meant surprised, not surprised and pity simultaneously. “Andrew’s been MIA lately, huh? New girlfriend and all.” Tug. Did she have to bring her up?

“Yeah I guess.” I paused. “ He’s busy too.”

“Have you met her?”

“No. Hope I don’t have to either.”

“Ohhh, territorial I see.”

“I meant, unless its serious. I hate having get to know these girls, like them and then they disappear. I just want to look at them and say – look, you won’t be around long so please excuse me for not putting forward a lot of effort.”

“Oh come on. You never like Andrew’s girlfriends.”

“That is not true. I was really nice to the last one.”

“Well sure. You’re not going to be mean to them but you don’t like them.”

“Stop saying that. I like them fine. I just wish he’d choose someone who’s up to his level. Someone up to par that I could enjoy too.”

“Half truth.” We were silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air over us. I supposed if I really thought back over it, I had felt awkward about every single one of his girlfriends. But I gave myself credit for always growing to like them. A gradual but eventual amity that ensured I had completed my duties as a friend. But something was different this time. I dreaded seeing this girl. This No Discounts girl. She was probably eight feet tall, a Victoria Secret’s model and a doctor. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to hate her.

“Anyway…,” deflection, “What are you doing today?”

“Just hanging out. Me and Jack. Nothing much. Want to get together? Do something?”

“Yeah. I’m going to run first. I’ll come over after that? Say 3ish?”

“K. See ya then!”

I hung up the phone and glanced at the bag under the bed. It was calling me and I was ignoring its song. I dressed myself for the chilly weather and headed out for a long run, which, by the grace of God, had extended itself from one mile to three.

“I’m headed for a run,” I said to Stanley, barreling down the stairs. I found him on his usual cushion of the couch.

“Okay. How far are you going this time?”

“Three miles? I hope. If I don’t fall over from exhaustion.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.” And I opened and closed the door behind me as quickly as I could.

The sound of my feet hitting the pavement made a rhythm in my head. One. Two. Three – one foot in front of the other. Baby steps. And, much like life, the run began to work itself out. The first mile incised a burning in my chest. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. But one foot in front of the other and I was. I rounded the city streets. Heard their chatter, spied on its citizens from the innocent vantage point of a nameless runner. It’s funny how life, though the same for most people, can look so different when you’re in one place watching someone else in theirs. I smiled and even laughed to myself at the snippets of people's days I was privy too when they thought I wasn’t looking. They were small movie clips I catalogued in my brain for those later moments of quiet when I needed something to reflect upon.

I ran into the city park and stopped at the small lagoon. I spied on a man and boy, playing with children’s fishing rods, the plastic bobs bouncing up and down as the little boy tugged the string from left to right. From up on a hill a woman called out “smile boys” and took their picture. And I started to cry. Small, insignificant tears. They flooded the corners of my eyes until they ran down my cheeks. I picked up my run and cried, small tears, all the way home.

Stanley wasn’t there when I opened the front door. There was no note telling me where he’d gone. No indication that I should worry. Just an empty townhouse, filled with still frames of a very happy life. I went to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, retrieved a glass and poured tap water into it. But before I could take a drink, I leaned over the sink and burst into heaving sobs. Why was I still here? I heaved and heaved for several minutes, a final acknowledgment that my state of process had made me so aware of myself and my life that I could not put the blinders back on and go about the minutia. When the outburst passed, I took a slow drink of water with shaking hands. I wiped my eyes clear of the tearful epiphany and walked upstairs to grab my bag.

And this is how I left: I showered and changed as quickly as possible. I grabbed the pre-packed bag out from under the bed, picked up the copy of Get Some Manners from the nightstand and got in the car as fast as I could. I am not proud that I didn’t say goodbye to Stanley that day; in the weeks that passed I would make amends. But that day I got in the car and drove to Mel’s on auto pilot, making every turn, passing through every light without even really seeing them. In a daze I arrived on her porch. When she answered my tears welled up again.

“I can’t go home,” I said. She glanced down at my bag and didn’t say a word. Mel was good at that – knowing when you needed her to just be. “I’m unhappy there,” I said.

She stepped out onto the porch, opened her arms for a hug and said, “I know”. I buried my face in her shoulder and heaved my sobs. “It’s going to be fine,” she said. “You’ll see. It'll all work out.” And she led me inside and said, “I’ll make us some tea. You can take the guest room.”

I walked into my assigned room, threw my bag on the floor and curled up in the floral scented sheets on the bed. All the anxious energy I'd spent weeks wafting through left my body in an instant.  The sheets comforted and cradled me, and fell asleep before Mel returned with the tea.  I stayed, just like that, for days.