Recapitulating
April, 2001
“For the third time, lady, you can’t park here! Keep it movin’ or I’m gonna ticket your ass!”
Punching the gas, I think, Jesus, when did this place turn into New York?
No biggie though. Driving in these circles gives me time to think about everything that’s happened since Kelly died in February. Honestly, I still can’t believe I made it through the last two months without her. If it wasn’t for the three years of physical and mental torture-conditioning that I put myself through with my Leo affair and my Kurt divorce, I doubt I would’ve been prepared to handle the demands of her funeral and the shit show that followed it.
Courtney and Nicole were a mess at the funeral. I warned them months in advance that they better start shedding some tears, but noooooooo, they had to act all tough and doctor-like during her cancer. Well, while they went along with Kelly’s wishes and stayed as far away from her as possible during the last months of her life, in classic Chrissy style, I barged in for some closure. I shared a few much needed laughs with her, told her I loved her (more times than she cared to hear) and said my goodbyes. Even though her death ripped my heart out, I was way more prepared to handle the pain of it than my two shell-shocked doctor friends.
Immediately after the funeral, I dragged my brokenhearted friends to Mexico so they could get out privately what they should’ve been trying to get out the minute Kelly was diagnosed. Boy, did their floodgates open on that trip! And, as the self-proclaimed emotional core of the group, I led the surge of tears. I’m actually surprised the Mexican authorities didn’t slap a Section 5150 on us and declare us a danger to the hotel property, others, and ourselves and then hold us against our will for psychiatric evaluation. That’s how big of a mess the three of us- the remaining member of the A-BOB’s, were.
Kelly’s death wasn’t the only thing I mourned on that trip to Mexico. One night when Courtney and Nicole were drinking themselves to sleep, I ventured down to the beach and paid a little respect to my girl, Francesca. That woman has haunted me for the last three years, and it was time for me to say goodbye to her too. But, before I made my way down to the beach, my friends and I had a little Life List burning ceremony. Chugging from the same bottle of wine and sharing a cigarette, I grandly stood up on the bed in my undies and rattled off my seven point Life List for the last time while Courtney and Nicole jokingly booed and hissed. Once our bottle was empty and I was done with my dramatic diatribe, I shoved the old tattered up piece of paper that I’d carried around with me since I was sixteen-years-old into the wine bottle, dropped the lit cigarette on top of it and watched intensely as it went up in smoke. Then, at the beach, I kissed the bottle, whispered “goodbye Francesca,” and chucked it as far into the ocean as I could.
The day I returned home from Mexico, I drove straight to Kelly’s house to check on her husband, Craig and her child, my three-year old Goddaughter, Kendall.
Craig actually moved Kendall out of the house and in with his parents two months before Kelly died. Even though his folks are super old and almost incapable of caring for a toddler, Kelly’s condition became so fragile and scary looking that he thought it was for the best. By doing that, Kendall has in some of ways, gotten used to the loss we’re all just being introduced to now. She’s gotten used to Mommy not giving her a bath, Mommy not cooking dinner for her, Mommy not reading her a bedtime story…Mommy not kissing her goodnight. And, being so young, Kendall’s tears and confusion are already almost gone. Sometimes though, when she wanders around the house and notices the pictures of her mother that are still scattered about, you can see the commotion going on in her little head. Her inquisitive eyes dart from one photo to another, but her vocabulary isn’t mature enough to express her thoughts. No one knows if it’s best to talk her through the ordeal or yank the pictures away. Both seem so terribly wrong. For now, simply popping in a video about a stupid purple slow-speaking idiot dinosaur seems to put a quick end to the heartbreaking moment.
A car honks from behind and shakes me away from my sad thoughts of the funeral and of Kendall. I begin to obstinately stare into the huge glass window to try to make sense out of the crowds of people on the other side, but almost immediately, the mean fat guy yells at me again to “KEEP IT MOVIN’!,” so I hit the gas and round the bend one more time. Right away, thoughts of the days immediately following Kelly’s death fire away in my head again.
Kurt, who also happens to be Kendall’s Godfather, called me just hours after Kelly died to see if I was okay and to ask if I wanted some photos of our old camping days. For some stupid Kurt-type reason he thought camping pictures would cheer me up. Anyway, it was a nice gesture and I agreed to meet up with him at a coffee shop for the photo exchange, which I did a few days after I got back from Mexico. Since he didn’t say a word to me at the funeral or at the memorial service afterward, it surprised me when he wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “I’ve been so worried about you.” Why on earth that man would give two shits about me after what I did to him is beyond me. And to my surprise, his two shits turned into three shits as we sipped our lattes. He commended my effort to boost Courtney and Nicole’s sprits in Mexico, he congratulated the success of my yoga studios, and he even complimented my Dolce and Gabana sling backs. I didn’t ask why. I just graciously accepted all of the attention I had been seeking since our first dance at his high school graduation party back in 1986. As I drove away from the coffee shop that day, I marveled at how much Kurt had grown in such a short period of time.
After that day, Kurt and I exchanged a few concerned emails about Craig and Kendall, and for a minute it seemed that maybe we could be friends despite everything that happened. But, all of Kurt's good nature went out the window when he found out that Leo showed up on my doorstep and was moving back from New York and into my cottage. I abruptly stopped hearing from him, and I guess it’s a good thing. With Leo back in my life, Kurt can’t be, and so I’m relieved he made things easy for me by cutting off contact. It’s nice not to be the bad guy for once. Even nicer not to have to come up with a lie to avoid being the bad guy! And, speaking of lies…telling them is something I vowed I’d never do again. We all know keeping vows hasn’t exactly been my strong point. But I have to give it everything I’ve got. My recently resuscitated relationship with Leo depends on it.
My effort to blend in with the other cars that are loading and unloading fails once again and the mean fat guy furiously taps his flashlight on my window to tell me to leave. Pulling back into the fray, I once again get lost in my thoughts.
Shortly after Kelly died, I was helping Craig pack up a few of her personal belongings. Don’t EVEN get me started on how heart-wrenching it is to decide which one of your dead best friends belongings get packed up to decay in the attic, get to remain in plain sight, or get donated to Goodwill. There are no words. Anyway, it was during this task that Craig broke down and told me the demands of his job required him to increase Kendall’s hours in daycare. I had to figure something out! There was NO WAY in hell Kelly would’ve had her daughter in daycare all day when she was alive, so there was NO WAY in hell I was going to allow her to be in it all day now that she was dead! So, I worked out an arrangement with Craig where two days a week he’d pick up Kendall at two-fifteen and three days a week I’d pick her up at two-fifteen and keep her until Craig was done with work. I admit, with the workload at the yoga studios, some days it’s a challenge and most days I’m exhausted. But I wouldn’t give up my time with Kendall for anything in the world, and I can’t think of a single person who would ask me to.
It’s only been a few weeks since I said goodbye to my therapist, Dr. Maria, but I already miss her so much. What a weird way to end our time together, with an audio tape of the frantic message I left her after having phone sex with Leo. The thought sends shivers up my spine, and I shake off the mortification of the whole thing by turning the radio louder. I don’t have one second to be sad, embarrassed, or beat myself up, because right now I’m circling the arrival terminal at Oakland International airport looking for Leo and I want to look and feel my very best. He’s been going back and forth from New York since we got back together to tie up some loose ends at work and pack up the apartment that he used to share with his best friend Taddeo. When Leo told him he was moving in with me, I think the words Leo told me he muttered were “f*cking idiot.” I’m sure it was worse than that, but since I don’t have the ability to hack into any of his communication devices anymore, I’ll have to take his word for it.
In anticipation of the rush of my Leo drug, I twist the pewter Banana Republic ring that he bought for me in Mill Valley - that I gave back to him in Monterey - that he gave back to me in front of my cottage last month. He told me I can only take it off when he buys me the “real deal.” Not believing I’ll ever need more than I have with him right now, I can’t help but wonder…what does that mean exactly? It’s definitely a thought “old Chrissy” would obsess over. But “new Chrissy” is too satisfied, too busy, too focused on the here-and-now to be consumed with things she can’t control. Besides, when I was trying to control my life, it always got in my way of really living it. From all that I learned from Dr. Maria, Kelly and my own experiences; I plan on living the shit out of my life, and I plan on doing it with the man who just grabbed his luggage off of the conveyer belt and is walking toward my car. With every step, I feel my Leo drug slowly seep in and melt my heart.