Oh, doctor please, oh, doctor please
I think you’ve made a mistake
I’m fine and I don’t need people
You don’t understand all my choices – Marianne Faithfull, “Vagabond Ways“
After two months of constant nausea, dizziness, sleepiness, vivid dreams, and almost every other gastrointestinal and neurological side-effect there is, my doctor has taken me off Cabergoline. I took my last dose on April 1st. I am no longer dizzy nor am I having vivid dreams involving my ex-husband. I’m no longer continually nauseous, but I am still nauseous after eating certain foods: yeast breads, fruits that are high in sugar, red meat, most desserts, Chime’s Ginger Chews. Through it all, I still managed to drag my sorry ass to work every day, pay my bills, go to the gym, help a dear friend begin the decluttering process, and prepare the Passover meal for 13 people. My friend’s husband, also a dear friend, told me I was a gem and that my ex doesn’t know what he’s lost. I told him that what he may or may not have lost hasn’t occurred to him. He has what he wants now, or will soon enough.
My ex emailed me a little over a week ago asking what I wanted to do with my safe deposit box. We haven’t spoken to each other in nearly a year. The email exchange was short, almost terse. I had forgotten about it as, while I still had the key, I had long ago removed the contents. I told him it was fine to close it and I would be more than happy to get the key to him in whatever way he liked. He asked me to mail the key to an address in Holland, PA. I did so, along with a stamp he bought that I found in my jewelry box, certified mail with a return receipt. I thought about including a note wishing them well but realised that I had nothing to say. Nothing. I thought about burning the return receipt but decided I will hold on to it for a little bit, in case he tries to say it never arrived. And with that, we no longer have anything to discuss. The last dandelion seed has been carried aloft. At some point, maybe my next free weekend day, I will take the divorce decree from the refrigerator and put it in my safe deposit box. Maybe I’ll replace those blinds with the balloon shades I have. Maybe I’ll finish painting the bathroom.
In the meantime, another Pesach has come and gone. This is the first one without my ex. While we have been apart for nearly two years, he attended my friends’ first-night Seder last year. Last year, as a single man on the prowl, he took it upon himself to spank me as he skunked around me to get to the garbage can, like I was a girlfriend. This year, I dished out the Fesenjan unmolested. Not that this Pesach was uneventful. While setting up, my friend told me about how his cousin’s widow had looked up an old college friend. It turns out he had never forgotten her and they were seeing each other. How nice for her, I said. Then he asked if I had any old college flames. No, I told him, I had no college flames, no high school sweethearts, no childhood loves. He’s asked me variants on this question before and the answer is always the same, no. I think he genuinely forgets this, but sometimes I wonder if he asks because he thinks the answer will be different. Then his spouse came down the stairs and told me the same story and asked the same questions. He was more persistent and finally I went down into the kitchen and cried.
I pulled myself together just in time for my sister to arrive. Who proceeded to tell me that, once again, I was fixating on the one thing I didn’t have and to stop. She cradled my face in her hands and told me I was a pretty girl and I would be so much prettier if I grew out my hair, even a little bit. With my sister, I am the one who needs to change. I am the one who needs to make the sacrifice. It was my mother all over again, only younger and more stable mentally. Then she made the mistake of saying that she had “been there and done that.” Yes, I said, that is true. But you were also 30. It’s very different when you’re over 45.
She assumes that because she is older, she is automatically wiser. She married at 20 and divorced at 30, yes, but being young and single (regardless of circumstances) and without children makes you a hot commodity. Add to the mix that she is Mormon, She put herself on an LDS dating site and she had to fight them off with a stick; she fought off a lot of patriarchal cretins and philistines, it’s true, but she went to visit one in Utah. She also met the man who is now her husband. Married men fell for my sister. She told me how one such man was “besotted with her”. What’s that like, I asked. No man has ever been besotted with me and I doubt any man ever will. That’s just how it is for some of us and no matter how many times we have to explain (which we do as we live in a world where coupled is the goal and the norm), typical people just don’t understand. It’s not that we’re oblivious to the attentions of other people, we are acutely aware. What bothers me more is the puritanical attitude she has towards love and sex and affection. That I am supposed to deny the flesh and move on with life. That the needs of the body are nothing to the needs of the soul. These are primal needs to be overcome. A friend of mine put it into perspective when he said, No, these are basic human needs not things to be conquered or overcome.
At the Seder I was on the end so I could get up and check on food as needed and serve when ready. My friend was to my left and his first cousin once removed was on my right. First cousin and I sat quietly for minute or two when I said, you may not remember but we’ve met before. He looked up from his plate.
-We have. When?
-Their 30th anniversary party.
-That’s right, he said. I remember.
I also told him that I was sorry to hear about his father, who had passed away unexpectedly. He said he had been trying to process it rationally but was finding it hard. I said, my marriage feel apart two years ago. Some things cannot be processed rationally. Sometimes there is no why. Much like the anniversary party, we talked the rest of the evening. Occasionally during the Seder he would say things that were just loud enough for me to hear. His nervousness at reading Hebrew. Things like when my sister jumped up to help me serve he said very softly, you are on the other side of the table. Sit down. Everything is under control. I told her to sit down. That she was a guest. Then I told him she tends to need to be the big sister. At one point I while everyone was eating he said, Eat. You’ve done enough. It’s time for you to eat. During the Seder he ran his fingers along the embossed edge of his plate. When presented with a bowl of leeks he ran his fingers over my hands before taking the bowl. It felt like comfort but it was probably nothing.
-Do you want to exchange contact information, he asked?
-Are you averse?
And with that he is in my phone and I am in his. As he left with his friend he turned to me and said, I really enjoyed talking to you. And I you, I said. And off into the wee hours of the morning they went. I do not expect to hear from him. I just don’t. I will not get my hopes up. It’s best if I don’t. You see, in three years he’s gone from being cute, geeky, and prone to occasional outbursts along the lines of, why do people say where you at? What’s wrong with where are you? to handsome, thoughtful, and intelligent. After the initial meeting he told my friends how much he enjoyed talking to me, how he liked mature women. Of course, there are mature women and there’s getting involved with a 47 year old woman. But there isn’t going to be any involvement because I don’t expect to hear from him. All this raises some interesting questions. If I have your contact information because you asked me for mine, can I contact you first? Why ask for my contact information, if you’re not going to contact me? Why am I bothering, since I’m not going to hear from him? Not getting my hopes up.
And so another year goes by. A year ago I started writing. Two years ago I filed for divorce.