I spent my life married to an assortment of alcoholics, musicians and mental patients who made interesting, but unreliable mates. Clearly, I wasn’t getting younger and like the Fifth Element in the science fiction movie of the same name, I was great at rescuing people but not so great when it came to love.
Painting the Walls
My apartment had been sublet. Luckily through a friend, I found someone who knew his flat from semi-gloss and everything in between. The painter handed me color sample books and asked me to select my palette: “Roadster Yellow, Norman Shaw Goldspar, Navajo White, Jacobean Lace,” colors to open up a skylight in any ceiling; “Split Pea, Old Claret, Cinnamon Slate, Pumpkin Pie,” I wanted to taste each one; climbed up the side of my closet in “Blue Hydrangea,” encased in a cloud of “Harbor Fog,” and peeked around doors wearing nothing but “Seville Scarlet.” Toward the end of the afternoon, I named my three colors for the ceiling, trim, and walls. It hadn’t been easy.
Buying Lightbulbs
I’m the kind of driver everyone cuts in front of; I see this as my gift to traffic, an assurance that no matter how backed up the cars along the freeway, I can guarantee a hole in front of my Toyota that someone can slip through. Let’s not say I’m a bad driver; let’s say I’m someone who listened carefully to her first driving instructor. He recommended leaving three car lengths between my car and the one in front of me. It’s dangerous, he said, to get too close. Which is what I thought about when I entered Walmart to for lightbulbs, putting my house back together after a three-year absence. Prying a shopping cart loose, I saw row after row of red heart-shaped balloons reminding me about the approach of Valentine’s Day and how I had just left someone. A cruel joke.
Buying a Bed
Jade plants were in full bloom when I remembered. It was the evening you returned from rescuing your brother, driving several hundred miles to his daughter’s house. She had vowed to take care of her poor old dad who had been diagnosed with a life-threatening disease, but was mostly interested in getting Power of Attorney. Your brother was sick. I knew I could not take care of him. I asked for how long he would be staying with us, which is when you snapped. “What the fuck. You let me take care of that. I’ve been close to my brother for years. Any woman who comes between me and my brother can leave right now.” You repeated yourself with generous helpings of fuck, fuck, fuck. I should’ve asked at a different time. But it wasn’t only about that, relationships rarely are.
The walls are painted now. Ceilings are a creamy Navajo White, walls Guilford Green, and the trim, California Chamois. There’s a new light in my room. Next week, I will think about buying a bed.