The Life List (The List Trilogy) (3 page)

I’m a lot stronger and smarter than I look and these qualities come in handy in all sorts of dealings. I can do thirty boy pushups in a row and kick anyone’s ass at poker,
and
I’ve been known to hustle unsuspecting guys out of their hard-earned money by betting them I couldn’t do either of those things. People can be so stereotypical, and I relish the humiliated look on their faces the moment they realize they got outsmarted by someone they thought was weak and dumb. There’s nothing better. I get a lot of compliments on my appearance from men and never any from women, so the only thing I derive from that is that I’m pretty. I’m
overly
generous, but at the same time horrifically mean spirited. I’m the girl who’ll pick up something you just dropped, run to give it back to you, and then talk shit about your hair and clothes once you’re out of ear-shot.

When I was sixteen, I made a life list that looked like this:

1) Graduate college in 4 years with a business major and marketing minor. My parents will be so happy.

2) Get a job in the fashion industry where I can travel and boss people around. I love the GAP!

3) Save money and buy first house with Kurt by 23. Don’t move in with him until we’re married though! Tee hee.

4) Marry Kurt when I’m 25. I want to get married on the beach!

5) Move into a big giant house by the time I’m 27. I want to live in Danville one day!!!!!!!!

6) Have first baby when I’m 28. I want a boy first and a girl second.

7) I want my kids to be two years apart so they can be best friends forever!

And being the control freak that I am, I stuck to the list. Even as a grown ass woman I chased after stuff written in purple ink, on college rule binder paper, and folded into a fancy little triangle. It never occurred to me that all of my satisfaction came from
crossing
things off the list, not what I was accomplishing! Sticking to the damn list explains why my life was so empty once I had everything I thought I ever wanted and it also explains the total mental breakdown that led me to a therapist’s office three years ago. One of my best friends has been stopped by cancer, something totally out of her control, but I was my own disease.

My last appointment with my therapist is set for a week after I return from Mexico. Sure I’ll struggle with life after therapy, but who doesn’t? There’s not one thirty- something-year-old woman out there who doesn’t struggle with men, marriage, wrinkles, cellulite, and money. It’s time to grieve the loss of my best friend and the greatest love (and sex) of my life on my own.

Rehash

March, 2001

I wouldn’t say Mexico was great, but it was necessary. Coming home was a lot easier than I expected and for the first time in a long time, my eyes aren’t puffy. At first I thought I wanted to stay with my two best friends in Mexico forever. There’s nothing more soothing than wallowing in misery with the people you know and love the most. But after day three, I started to miss my job, and my job missed me, and I became anxious about coming home to see what that phone call I had with him would lead to.

Today is my first day back to reality. It’s a rainy March day just like most of the other March days in Northern California, except the rain here is more beautiful because it’s in Danville. I adore it here. It’s clean, safe and full of people who look just like me, except with lots of money. I worked my ass off to live in Danville, but sadly for me it was short-lived. I only come back now to see my therapist.

I’m pulling into the parking lot of my miracle worker for the last time. After three years, I still don’t know much about her except that her name is Dr. Maria, she’s divorced from a pro-baseball player, and the extra box of tissues resides behind the ugly grey couch. Over the last three years, I noticed the diplomas hanging behind her cluttered desk, but I never thought to look at where she was educated. You could say I’ve been pretty self-absorbed while I’ve been coming here.

At first, I kept coming back to therapy because I felt like it was the right thing to do. But, Dr. Maria always managed to leave a sprinkling of reality on the table that drew me back for clarity and guidance. She knows the lies I’ve told, the hearts I’ve broken, the damage I’ve done, and the damage done to me. This woman knows every morbid detail about me, and all I know is her name. It isn’t until today, the day I’ll be saying goodbye, that I wish I knew more about her. Too late for that I guess.

I walk into the waiting room and push the buzzer that alerts Dr. Maria of my arrival so she can wrap it up with the loon sitting on her couch. I used to hate it when that happened to me. It always seemed like just when we were getting into the real meat and potatoes of my problems, I’d hear that loud BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK sound that told me to write the check and exit immediately. Every single week we’d spend thirty minutes re-capping our last appointment before we could make any progress. Then before I knew it… BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!

And people wonder why therapy takes so long!

I give a friendly nod to Sad Frumpy Lady. She’s the other woman who’s always in the waiting room at the same time as me. In all the time I’ve been coming here, she’s never made an attempt to look nice. She wears the same old denim capri pants week after week, carries the same crochet handbag, and pays zero attention to her strands of grey hair that shine like high beams on a dark country road. I always thought she was one of those people who relishes talking about their problems all of the time yet does nothing to find a solution. And for years, I’ve silently mocked her sad, dead eyes and accused her of being a time waster. Like always, we don’t say a word to each other. We just sit in awkward silence until one of us gets invited into the back.

Finally, the door cracks open, and I see Dr. Maria’s saintly face. I’m instantly teary eyed.

“Oh hunny, knock it off!” Slapping me in the rear end and nudging me into her office, she continues to rattle off in her brassy Jersey accent.

“You don’t need me anymore! You’re happy and happy people certainly shouldn’t waste their money on me!”

“I know, I know. It’s just that I’ve been thinking so much about the last three years. Where I ended up is so different than where
I thought
  I wanted to be. I think I’m happy. Yeah, I’m happy… I’ll probably be okay.”

“Oh dear Lord…
Probably
?”

“Don’t panic. I’m okay. The only thing that freaks me out now is imagining that I might have called someone else about my little problem three years ago. Do you know how different my life could’ve turned out?” Faking a shiver, “I get scared just thinking about it.”

“What if, what if, what if, Chrissy? Are you trying to get another session out of this? I’ll set it up you know. I know how much money that little racket of yours is raking in, and I don’t mind taking it.”

“I know, right!? Who would’ve thought my crazy idea would’ve worked out! I feel very lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck, you made it happen. Just remember that, okay?”

And then it hits me: we don’t have anything else to talk about.

There aren’t any fires to put out or lies to contend with. There are no problems left that I can’t handle on my own.

“I’m proud of you, Chrissy. You’re so
you
now. It’s got to feel good.”

“Good and kinda sad.”

“Why sad?”

“Just wish I had figured it all out sooner.”

“Join the club! Look hunny, it’s been a rough road for you these last few years, and like I already told you, it’s going to take a great deal of time to adjust to a life without the people you’ve lost. But I think you’re ready to handle the healthy part of the grieving process on your own. If you get stuck along the way, you can call me. Speaking of calling, have you heard from him again?”

“Not a word since that one phone call after she passed away. I’m sure he forgot about asking me out. He was probably just being nice. It’s okay though. I heard he’s really happy with his new life. It’s all I ever wanted for him.”

“Have you thought about reaching out to him?”

“Nah. I’ve done my fair share of chasing him down. I’m not playing hard to get, it’s just that I made my feelings for him known. If he doesn’t want to see me, it’s only because he’s not comfortable reciprocating. Crap, can you blame him? Oh come on, stop looking at me like that.  I’m fine… really. There comes a time when you have to stop hoping and start accepting. That time has finally come for the both of us.”

I feel so smart for saying that, but then I look at her, exhale and say,

“But I still miss him every day.”

“I know you do, hunny.”

“But…I’m excited about my future. I’m so busy right now with the new business and stuff. I don’t have the time to be sad.”

“How are you managing things? Please tell me it doesn’t involve a list of things to do from now until you’re a hundred!”

“That’s funny. No, I only have daily,
maybe
a weekly list now!

Much more realistic, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Just so you know, I burned the life list I made when I was sixteen.

Yep, had a fun little ceremony with my friends in Mexico. It went up in smoke just like everything I wrote on it.”

After sharing a quick giggle, “Geez Dr. Maria, do you remember that January morning when I made that call to you?”

“Remember it? How could I forget? And how about the time of day you called?”

“I was such a mess.”

“You know, hun, I have a copy of that message saved in your file.  Would you like to hear it?”

I wasn’t sure if she was testing me. Like, if I said yes, would I be displaying some kind of unstable behavior, like a person who can’t leave the past behind? Or did she just want me to be proud of my progress? Who cares? I was curious to hear myself as a guilt-laden lunatic charlatan.

“Sure, let’s hear how desperate I sound.”

Before (preposition) bi*fawr:

A grammatical word indicating that a point in time, event, or situation precedes another in a sequence.

Have you ever had everything you’d ever wanted

A good life, good friends and a loving companion

Take a hard look and pay real close attention

I threw it all away with reckless abandon…

Don’t judge me ‘til you’ve walked a mile in my shoes

(Bartender, Keri Noble)

Lost

January 25, 1998

It’s noon when I finally open my eyes. Even though I know I’m alone, and I will be for another couple of days, I totally expect to get caught. So, I lay silent and still for as long as I can. After an hour passes and I know the coast is clear, plus I have to pee, I roll onto my side and slowly scan my body. I’m still wearing my jeans and lime green cashmere sweater set. It appears that I had some sense about me to kick off my boots, because there they are on the floor. My eyelashes are stuck together, and as I rub my hands over them, I’m horrified that I still have mascara on. I went to bed with make up on? That’s a first. I got home a little after 6am, so I guess I can forgive myself for the dirty face, but certainly not all the other dirty stuff.

What exactly happened again? Think, think, think. Omigod! The bits and pieces are coming back to me and at once, desire is waging war against shame. Why the hell was I even there? Why did he have to be talking about that?
Why did I leave with him
? Disgraced, I cup my hands over my face, and right away I’m hit hard with the intoxicating smell of him. It’s sexy and smart and it’s clinging to my sweater set like a scarlet letter. It makes me want to do last night one more time. I want to see those eyes and feel his hands on the back of my neck and in my hair. His amazing hands…they were so strong and soft, perfect. And that voice, it was so serious and hypnotic. My body is trembling with exhilaration as I frantically dig for the phone number that’s hidden in my pocket. I want to see his handwriting, touch the paper he touched. I’m like a frenzied drug addict hunting for leftovers.
Pleeeeeease
let there be something on the other side of the paper that’ll give me more information about him…a grocery list, a store receipt, something.

The instant I find the scribbled-on piece of paper, I feel heavy with remorse. I go from feeling seventeen and silly to seventy and sucker punched. Don’t even look at it Chrissy, you CAN’T call him! I look. 925-397-08…D’oh! Flip it over. Nothing on the back. I’m such a fool. I wad up the tiny piece of paper and throw it in the garbage like it’s a piece of contaminated hospital waste.

I can’t understand why he wanted me to call him so badly anyway. I mean, I’m so much older than he is. I was shocked when we revealed our ages, twenty-eight and twenty-two. Oddly, he didn’t flinch at the huge gap. Shaking my head as if to magically purge the insanity of all of this, I stumble over to the closet, all the while making sure I don’t look at my cheating ass in the bathroom mirror. After delicately removing my sweater set, I sniff it one more time and then shove it as far back in my closet as possible. I’ll take it to the dry cleaners to destroy all evidence. But not yet, I want a few more days to inhale it.

I have to do something to take my mind off of last night or else I’m gonna go crazy. I’ll clean. I scrub my floors, my toilets, refrigerator, anything and everything. I do it all except empty the garbage can, which I casually pass by every few minutes. I want a cocktail real bad but it’s only two in the afternoon and I’ve been conditioned not to drink before 5pm. I can’t think of a better time to change that retarded way of thinking, so I slam a beer. Just as I’m about to crack open another one, I impulsively leave the house and head straight for the walking trail at the end of my street.

I look like a crazy person…on a trail…in pouring down, freezing rain. But I don’t want to go home. What if he’s out here?
Wouldn’t that make us meant to be
? Wait, he was there last night, so why can’t that make us meant to be? Jesus, cheater, stop thinking so much!