The Discount Life: cont'd

The events of the weeks that passed flew by like a series of images. Images, so at once piercing and cloudy, it seemed plausible they might belong to someone else’s life. A movie reel of shots that flashed by in blinks and threw me into forward motion until at last it stopped at my next challenge and left me to heal. I sat outside the audition room door and grieved but for what I could not name. There were so many possibilities it was hard to nail it down to one element. More complicated still was that it seemed that sadness was not the culprit. It was the settling – the Unknown crawling from out of its distant hiding place and setting up camp, indefinitely, in my stomach. The ties were cut and I was climbing the list of goals Andrew and I had set for me on his porch that day in September. It was real. Not a movie reel. Real.

As I listened through the door to my competition my hands began to shake. Third chair violin was certainly not the most prestigious chair but it was, after all, a spot in an orchestra. My orchestra. I would still have to keep my job as a receptionist (my apartment, bars and all, would not pay for itself) but I would have reached a goal. And I was learning, through the DLA and our newest topic of self inventory, that mini-goals were just one greater step toward inner peace. Mini –goals accomplished, equated contentment for the curious.

At the last DLA meeting I told everyone about my new apartment. About packing boxes at Stanley’s. About the waiting for him on the bottom step of the stairs so I could make my last amends. The key, as we had determined before, was to own it. And I wanted to lock the door and leave so badly I almost caved and left with my illusions intact. But then everything I would have done from then on would be just that – illusions. Of a self I wanted to be but had not allowed myself to be because I’d run from the part where you have stand up and own it.

When he came in, I could see his face light up and immediately fall. He said nothing and stood stone still. I didn’t get up. Couldn’t move really. But I twisted my fingers and said, “I haven’t heard from you since Thanksgiving.” He said nothing and my heart dropped. I realized, that until this moment I had always wondered, maybe even allowed myself to hope, that he’d step in, step up and try and convince me that he really, truly, loved me. But even if actions speak louder words and words are only secondary, the absence of both is a sure sign. I took a deep breath and stood up.

“This can’t be a shock to you,” I said. “You’ve known we were troubled for a long time.” He looked down at his shoes. No response. “I tried to tell you. We talked about it. I put it out there that I wanted to work on it but …” and my voice broke a little “…you didn’t choose it.” Still he said nothing and I picked up my purse off the console table and moved around him toward the door. “You have so much in you Stanley. You're a good person. You’re smart. But you have to want something. It’s not enough for me to want it for you.” I kissed his cheek and opened the door, “I hope you find it. Whatever it is,” I said, and just as I was stepping out he said: “How could you do this to me?” I turned and looked at him. I wanted to be strong and tough like a character in a movie. I wanted to say something without regret, without emotion, as if the whole of our relationship was behind me. Instead, I felt tears stream down my face. I tasted the salt of one as I said, “I didn’t do this to you by myself. You let it happen too.”

“You left me remember?” His voice was angry. Mean. His face was red with emotion but it wasn’t sadness. It was rage. I wanted to argue. The words for a retaliation compiled in my brain, ready for battle. But I heard the voice of the DLA and the sense of Get Some Manners: Be truthful to yourself. Know that you don’t need someone else to agree with you in order to be right. Don’t try to convince someone that you are worthy, they may not be in a place in themselves to be able to see and accept it anyway. Don’t be angry. Understand that they can only give of what they are. And what they are is determined by where they are in their own self awareness. The truth is you can scream until you’re blue in the face but if they can’t see themselves, if they can own it, you won’t be able to convince them. The truth was we just weren’t on the same level anymore. And maybe we never were.

“I’m sorry for giving up on you Stanley. But I can’t be the only one who chooses to act in the relationship. You have to choose too or the whole thing goes under.” He said nothing and as I waited for him to respond my tears dried up. It was affirmation: I could be waiting my whole life. So I said, calmly and perhaps with my first ounce of contentment, “Goodbye Stanley. Good luck.” And I then I closed the door.

The finality of it all released me. I was free. And that, as it turns out, is where your two minute movie clip really begins. Julia Roberts running through the streets. Richard Gere packing up his boxes to move on. Free, not bound, to choose whatever they like. Of course, in the movies they choose each other, but no matter.

The DLA championed my self- thought. My actions, my words, they said, were a representation of all that I had struggled to learn, put into practice. As they talked amongst themselves about their own improvements I was running through simultaneous inner dialogues, the results of which were harsh. Andrew had not shown for our meeting. I’d texted him all week. Called him. But he did not respond. I wanted to continue saying this behavior was unusual for him but the truth was that it was becoming regular. I supposed he really was moving on. And the ache of that realization was harder then when I walked away from Stanley. And yet, it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t responsible for my happiness. And that thought pushed Christian my mind. I knew then what I would have to do and, sighing at the revelation, dismissed myself early from the meeting citing indigestion as the cause.

It was almost Christmas and we had two cooking classes left . I was still looking forward to each one as much as I had in the beginning. Christian was like a mirror. A beautiful mirror and under his reflection I saw the person I wanted to be. But before I could know if I loved him for him or him for how he made me feel, I had to find out if the reflection I saw of myself in his mirror could be conjured in my own mirror: alone. Otherwise, I was making all the same mistakes. Only this time, I might be ruining someone for whom I was really meant. Get Some Manners said: it isn’t about not making mistakes. It’s about observing and correcting behaviors until you achieve a consistent balance of truth and action that propel you toward your desired goals. If I didn’t let Christian go, I would never know how to maintain that consistency for myself.

In class on Thursday, we made Sundried Tomato Quiche, roasted artichokes and ricotta parfait. I watched him. Every image I collected was more powerful than the last. This was the hardest part. The moment just before you separate yourself from the thing you want the most, knowing full well, that you are choosing to let it go for the sake of their own good, is heartbreaking. I absorbed every movement he made. Breathed in the scent of him knowing I might never get the chance to stand here in his want again. When class was over he reached for me and said, “You’re far away. What’s going on?” I surprised myself when I didn’t cry. Every emotion inside of me was larger than tears. We went for coffee, the same place where we’d had our first real conversation, and I explained to him everything in detail. What amazed me, endlessly, about Christian was that he never needed me to dump it down for him. He never asked me to stop thinking so philisophically and just get on with it. He never asked me to be what he needed but instead, always encouraged me to be me.

“I just don’t think this is healthy yet,” I said. “I want you. I do. But I have so much to go through still. You know? And you’re a distraction. An amazing distraction but a distraction all the same.” I rubbed the bones under my eyebrows to release the tension that swelled in my brain at the expression of my thoughts. I hated this. I hated this. On impulse, I wanted to take back everything I said and run off into the sunset with him. But it wasn’t right. He knew it and I knew it.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said, reaching across our little table and taking my hands away from my face. “I understand." He smiled and it wasn’t mischevious or devilish like it normally was. It was the Christian I met that first night – present and understanding.

“I feel like I’m just giving up. On everyone,” I said. I felt sick with myself for saying it out loud.

“No,” he said. “You’re just choosing not to give up on you”. There was a long pause and we stared at each other, silently.  Everything we hadn’t said held visibly in our gaze. “And besides I’ll be around,” he massaged my hand gently, “you and I are going to be friends for a long time.”

After that, I went home and cried. I ran and played the violin. I talked out every detail with Mel and cried some more. I skipped our last cooking class. He messaged me that he did too. I went running instead.

And it turns out, the turmoil of it all culminated to this moment. Sitting outside the audition door.

A woman with dark brown hair and a red suit opened the door and called my name. I entered the audition room and introduced myself at their behest. It happened quickly, without much fanfare. I played my piece, I stood and thanked for their time. And when I left I couldn’t help but feel that I had finally done something on my list. Whether or not I actually made the chair, I had worked toward a goal and done everything possible to make it happen. It was the first time I felt that perhaps, even for just a short while, I had stopped living the Discount Life, and started living a real life.