The Life List (The List Trilogy) (35 page)

But fortunately for me, the experience ended almost as quickly as it started. On my third visit back to the self-help book section, I was thumbing through a book that could’ve easily been titled, ‘
If You Think You’re Lost Now, Just Wait A Year And Buy The Follow Up To This Book
’ when a clearly emotionally challenged woman said, “Oh you’ll like that one, it
really
helped me.”

To which I replied, “Oh yeah, then why are you still sitting in the self-help book section?” I got the hell outta there and hid amongst the magazines until I was sure all those crazies had cried themselves to sleep.

I settled into a chair and found refuge with the very best periodical of all time,
US
magazine. Nothing like a celebrity scandal to make your own indignities feel completely manageable. But no, it was not the
US
magazine that helped me learn how to brush off Kurt’s insensibilities and it wasn’t
US
that helped me to cope with the loss of Leo. It was what I read on the cover of
Fitness
magazine as I was putting
US
away that helped me heal. Right there on the cover of
Fitness
it said: “Therapy’s great, but it’s nothing compared to what long walks and yoga can do for your mind…
and your body
.”

Well that just cracked me up! Lazy people walk, and granola’s do yoga! People with energy and money join gyms and get a therapist, that’s just the way things are done! I didn’t want to read the article, but the chick on the cover had a great ass, so I decided to flip through to see how she got it.

Without warning I got sucked in like…kinda like I was reading a case study in a self-help book! The article mentioned wonderful things like creating peace of mind and balance, revitalizing the body and soul, and tension relief. I thought…shit, my gym hasn’t done any of that stuff for me! The article said a spastic personality can only become lucid via quiet physical activity. I thought…shit, I can use some lucidity! It also said yoga and walking helps one to gather their thoughts for the next stage in life and aids in the recovery of “life’s accidents.”  I thought…shit, I definitely have some accidents I need to recover from! I bought the damn magazine, and on my way back to Slutty Co-worker’s, I stopped off at Nordstrom’s to buy a solid pair of walking shoes and the exact same yoga outfit the girl on the cover was wearing.

The next day I joined Slutty Co-workers gym where she told me she secretly teaches a weekend yoga class. The woman shaves her armpits and votes republican!
Who’d a thought
?! She jumped for joy when I told her I was interested in giving yoga a try, and she’s been an enthusiastic and motivating instructor to me. Seriously, you should see her inner thighs!

For my walking, I picked the reservoir that Leo used to hang out at because I hoped to run into him. I got all glammed up in my trendy work out gear and walked around the damn thing for hours searching for him. I never found him and that’s okay, because what happened was even better. I found myself, and I did it by studying other women. I watched all of them. The ones who walk in well groomed packs with all of their gossip and bitching about their ungrateful husbands. Those ones band together real tight. Misery loves company, I guess. Then there are the disheveled ones who walk while pushing their loud and dirty baby strollers. They usually talk about the life they
used
to have and not very many of them seem thrilled about giving it up. Then there are the really old ones. They seem pretty content with life, or maybe it’s that they’re glad it’s almost over. Never could figure it out really. But what I did figure out is that the common topic of conversation amongst all of the women I studied is that they enjoy talking about how much they suffer. And they’re not talking about ending their suffering either; they just enjoy bitching about it. I never hear them take responsibility for their unhappiness and not one woman has a plan to correct it. They walk and bitch, and they made me realize there’s a very fine line between who I am at this moment and who they are. One wrong move and I’m in a pack of sad angry women…a pack of modern day Francesca’s! They’re alive, and they exist everywhere, and they scare the crap out of me.

Once I became focused on the women around me and my almost certain unhappy place amongst them, it seemed like all of the Kurt and Leo crap that used to clutter my head just disappeared. Don’t get me wrong, I still mourn the loss of what I wanted with the both of them, but until I make my life about me, no man will fit into it, and the crazy women circling the reservoir every single day are proof of that. It’s clear to me now that a therapist can ask you questions but until you ask them of yourself and give yourself time and space to think about the answers, you’re not really making any progress. I remember painfully trying to find answers in Leo’s quiet apartment when he lived in Monterey, but failed. Too many of my thoughts were about other people, none of them were about me.

Eventually I blocked the crazy reservoir women out of my mind because, frankly, they made me sick. I started thinking about things like my career and the creative projects I’ve put on hold because of it. I’d love to learn how to play the guitar, plant a garden, take cooking classes. Shoot, I’ve always wanted to own my own business. I thought about trivial things like how I would decorate my own place if I had it and what kind of car I would buy if the choice were mine and mine alone. Inspiring and
completely
attainable lists started to fill my head, and soon my trendy work out gear turned into ripped sweat pants and dirty sweatshirts because I couldn’t wait to get on that walking path, breathe in the clean air, and think about all the great things that are within my grasp. All of those huge thoughts I used to have about having babies, getting a divorce, and telling secret lovers about secret husbands kept me paralyzed, unable to see the things in life that could make me happy. But I see them now, and I think I’m officially ready to go after some happiness.

Now or Never

November, 1998

It’s finally Friday. Normally I’d look forward to the weekend. I’d sleep in. Slutty Co-worker would bring me a Starbucks, we’d hit up her yoga class, and then I’d drive over the Bay Bridge and walk for hours around the reservoir, dreaming up a bunch of things I want to do with my life. But not this weekend. In fact, I’m actually dreading it.

Six days ago, after a long walk, I was driving through Lafayette in the stormy fall weather looking for a place to grab some coffee, when I came across a man posting a “for rent” sign. I’m not sure if it was my overwhelming fear of becoming a future member of a pack of angry women or my newfound enthusiasm for all the possibilities in life that are within my grasp, but twenty minutes later, I signed a lease for the place. Perhaps the beginnings of the correction phase of my life!

I rented a tiny one bedroom, one bath cottage with lovely old French doors that lead to a massive deck overlooking a roaring creek. It’s secluded, peaceful, and perfect, and it’s also conveniently located five minutes from a bar and not just any bar: The Round Up.

According to Leo’s messages from The Ho-Bag, The Round Up is his home away from home these days. I’ve been tempted to drop in for a beer when I know he’s gonna be there, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with a lie that would explain why I would frequent a place like The Round Up. The patrons are a unique blend of couch-burning Oakland Raiders fans, construction workers, and uber rich college kids, and for some inexplicable reason, the crowd clicks. But me…I would NOT click. Maybe one day if the Raiders make it to the playoffs or if I date another college boy (like those two things will
EVER
happen) I’ll stop in for a beer. But for now, concocting a plan to bombard Leo at his hang-out goes against any and all of the correcting I need to be doing in my life. But mostly, I’m too scared to play with drugs again. Quitting was way too hard. Nope, part one of my correction phase begins by moving into my heavenly cottage. But before I do that I have to tell Kurt I leased it, and that’s supposed to happen tomorrow morning. Hence…the weekend dread.

It’s been easy to put the Kurt conversation out of my mind for the last five days because my schedule’s been full with interviews for a few positions my company is looking to fill. Every single minute of my week was packed with Donna Karan wanna be’s. Only one more to go, and then I can start to mentally prepare myself for the morning.

Just as the Jewish American Princess Designer and I are picking ourselves up off the floor from laughing so hard at the entitled piece of Euro-trash who just left my office, my assistant knocks on my door to tell me our next interview is waiting, a Ms. Megan Cox.

“Omigod! Let me see this girl’s resume, hurry!”

J.A.P digs in her pile and frantically hands it to me.

“What the hell’s the matta?”

I scan down the page to the education part and see that
this
Megan Cox is, in fact, my nemesis. I exhale, “Holy shit, she’s got balls.”

“Is it good? Lemme see it. Wow, she’s studyin’ Bitness at St. Mewee’s in Mowaga, and she’s due to gwaduwate early…next month, acthwally. Wow, and she’s been takin’ night kwasses in fashion design in San Fwan for the last yeeeea. She’s a work-horse, just like we want! Can’t wait to meeta!”

“Me neither.”

In walks a confident Ms. Megan. Based on her education and her outfit, I think I’d actually like her…if I didn’t hate her so much. I rise from my chair, stick out my hand and say, “Hi Megan, nice to see you again,” and it rattles her. Totally not what she expected!

“You two know eachotha?”

After I introduce the two of them, I explain that Megan and I have a mutual friend named Leo and then I casually proceed with the interview. I know Megan wants this internship and she won’t do anything to ruin her chances of getting it. And I’m right, the interview concludes without any uncomfortable moments, we shake hands again, and I tell her we’ll be in touch. That’s right, I have your address and phone number now, bitch!

“She’d be good for the job, Kwissy.”

“Yeah, she would. Let’s put her in our maybe pile.”

She might be good for the job, but she won’t be good for me if she works here. It would only be a matter of time before she spilled the beans about my relationship with Leo to someone in the gossip,
I mean design
, department. That girl’s gone and done it again! Just like she forced me to tell Nicole about Leo, she’s gonna force me to tell my co-workers that I cheated on who
she thinks
is my fiancé but who
they know
as my husband. Then she’ll find out I’m married and…gulp, tell Leo. But she is the best candidate for the internship, and my credibility will be on the line if I argue against her. I have no choice, I’m gonna have to beat her to the punch and tell my co-workers I’m separated. Since I’m gonna do that, I might as well tell Kurt I want a divorce. And since I’m gonna do that, I might as well correct
everything
and just tell Leo I’m married myself. And if I do that, I’ll be sure to tell him it’s Megan’s fault I’m back in his life. Like I said, I’d like that girl if I didn’t hate her so much.

After a restless night pondering my conversation with Kurt about the cottage
and
my new Megan dilemma, I wake up early on Saturday morning and timorously tackle dilemma number one.

“So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

For a split second I consider making up the reason I dragged him here, because I just got the feeling the venti latte I brought him as a peace offering ain’t gonna do a damn thing to cushion the blow of what I’m about to say. Not only am I gonna piss Kurt off and mark the beginning of the end of twelve years together, I’m about to set him free to have the kind of fun I’ve been having for the past eleven months. Except his fun will be permissible and encouraged by everyone who’s gonna hate me for doing this to him. Ugh. Maybe I should’ve thought this through a bit more. I mean, eventually word will get out about this place and then our status will become public knowledge. It’ll only be a matter of time before girls flock to him. Someone’s cuteness will grab his attention and he’ll feel compelled to act on his curiosity. He’ll buy the cute girl dinner, and no doubt she’ll be more than happy to thank him with more than a kiss. Omigod, he’ll touch her, and it might feel better than it did when he touched me. Because of what I’m about to tell him, because of the legitimate space I’m about to put between us…
he’s probably gonna realize he’s better off without me
. I imagined payback would be a bitch for what I’ve done to him, but if thoughts like this come to fruition, I might actually die.

“Hello? Earth to Chrissy! I’m running late for a kayaking lesson, can you tell me why we’re here?”

But hold on, would I die? Would the pain of finding out that Kurt screwed around with another woman hurt
any more
than knowing I screwed around on him? And if he realizes he’s better off without me…could it possibly hurt
any more
than my own realization that I’m better off without him? Hardly. Get real, Chrissy! You killed the relationship when you met Leo, and you were dead in it long before that. So what’s it gonna be?

“I rented this cottage, Kurt.”

“
For what
?”

“To live in. I can’t squat on people’s couches forever.”

“Are you kidding me with this? You’re married, with a home in DANVILLE! We can barely afford that mortgage and now you want to layer this on top of it?”

“I got a huge raise, I’m paying for it on my own.”

“You got a raise without telling me?”

Oopsy. I didn’t mean for that to slip out.

“Well, it’s not
that
huge, but it’s enough for me to cover this place.  I’m doing this, Kurt.”

He takes two condescending steps toward me, puts his hands on my shoulders and stares down at me like I’m a lost kid at a carnival. If I show an ounce of weakness, he’ll make me feel confused, clobber me over the head, and drag me back to the cave. He thinks he’s talking to the old Chrissy, but I’ve come too far to give her to him.