Streak-O-Lean

Part 6: Scattered and Smothered

Curtis had women trouble. He didn't expect to cheat on May but he did. And now he'd really screwed up. May wasn't some girlfriend that he could shrug off. This time he cheated on his wife. He wasn't going to be able to walk away from this one unscathed. He was going to have to either patch it up with May or get a divorce and all that entails. Unable to approach May due to cowardice, he found himself in a new relationship with Twila. Twila just assumed that since they shared a half a pound of spit in his office that one afternoon that they were now boyfriend and girlfriend. Curtis' MO for life had always been to take the path of least resistance and that meant letting Twila think they were in a relationship (with all the perks that involved), and avoiding May at all costs (with all the perks that involved as well). But for some reason, he couldn't get May out of his head. There was only one thing he could do. He headed to the storeroom to hit on Brandi.

Curtis pushed through the swinging doors that led to the back of the store where pallets of Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms sat waiting to be the catalyst for the next mother-toddler standoff. Sooner or later, mother would convince herself that 4 dollars for a box of cereal would be a small price for finishing her shopping without incident. Toddler: 1, Mother: zip!

"Brandi?" Curtis said in a slightly raised voice. "Brandi? Where are you Sweetie?"
"I'm here Curtis and don't call me Sweetie!" Brandi replied in a most disgruntled fashion.
"Where?" Curtis said impatiently.
"I'm here near the splendid new shipment of Idaho potatoes. It would seem that 13 bags of these beauties have better things to do than show up here at the Piggly Wiggly in Carrington. Shall we send out the lynch mob for the rascals or wait and see if they come home on their own?"
"Ahh Damn! Did they shy us some bags again?" Curtis asked while silently hoping that Brandi wore those low rider jeans with the sequenced hearts on the back pockets. The hearts were a bonus. Like little bull's eyes, those hearts were beacons that lassoed his eyes and brought them to lay quite obviously on Brandi's behind.
"I would answer your question if I knew what 'shy us' meant. If you are referring to the fact that we are short again on the shipment then yes, they 'shy-ed us' Curtis." Brandi retorted in her most I-am-far-more-educated-at-the-10th-grade-level-than-you-will-be-in-your-whole-life voice.
"Well, I'll be damned." Curtis said scratching his head and ignoring her insult. "Guess I should make a call." He walked gingerly toward the teenager sitting on a pallet opposite the potatoes. He sat next to her, opened his legs into a comfortable position and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "What do you think I oughta do about this, Miss Smartie Pants?"

My Heart Says No... Not Yet.

She's two now.

She's not content to play by herself.

She wants to know everything and none of it is on PBS.

She can construct full sentences.

She needs two cookies instead of one.

She can release the belt on her car seat and open the van door.

She knows it's blue and not green.

She knows on Thursday morning that we will "go to Hennin's house."

She watches Coraline everyday.

She can do it herself.

She tells me to sshh!

She needs to play with other kids and grow.

I need time to put myself back together and heal.

But I just can't do it.

I can't drop her off.

I can't start that part of her life yet.

I can't let her run and color and play with strangers.

I'm not ready to make cupcakes for her class parties.

I can't kiss that little face and say good-bye not even for two days a week.

I want to stop time and watch her sleep.

I want all of her kisses and "hucks".

I guess I'm not the grown up after all.

She's only two.

Life is a Journey, not a Destination. Are we there yet?

I am 39 years old. When does the whole grown up thing kick in?

I am at a loss for pinpointing exactly what it is I want to write here. I guess I could say that my post has a certain je ne sais quoi, but my writing doesn't hold the chic mystique that that phrase implies. What is certain is that there is something inside of me that needs to escape and I haven't found the right venue for it yet. Will it be in writing, or art? Or perhaps housework? Maybe I just need to sit down with a friend and blab until whatever it is comes tumbling out.

It's 6:30 am and the house is quiet. But I still feel the crushing force of everyday life all around me.

I grew up with strong adults who kept chaos, both material and emotional, at bay. At least that was my perception as a child. In retrospect, I know that life was far from always being a bed of roses for my parents. But they did a great job of dealing with what was handed to them, good or bad. I am not very good at keeping chaos at bay. In fact, I am quite certain that a good portion of this chaos is my own creation.

It's probably not a good sign that I still think in terms of when I grow up... At 39, I am still wondering what I'm going to do with my life. My wiser, older friends would say, Honey you've got time. My younger friends would say, Aren't you supposed to have it together already? I guess I've just hit that middle-aged stride (somewhere between a childish, happy jaunt and a worn out hobble). I don't want to play on the swings anymore but I don't want to talk diapers with the moms on the park benches either. I thought that not fitting in was a pubescent phenomenon. I guess not because I still have the acne to show for it.

The day is coming. What will I do with it? Maybe I'll take a nap.

I think avoidance might be an issue. I might also be overbooked. It's like I've been bumped, but there isn't a later flight. Hmmm... What to do....