Am I on Candid Camera?
April 17, 2007
A quick note about one of the characters before you begin: TOPHER is 85% deaf in his left ear.
Scene ~ in a car, on the way home from a movie. TOPHER has just brought up ”the conversation from earlier this week.”
TOPHER: I just want to know your thoughts.
ME: Right, well I was pretty forthright the other night.
TOPHER: What do you expect from this relationship?
a long uncomfortable pause – maybe for TOPHER, but not for ME
ME: Quite frankly, I expect you to go back to your exgirlfriend.
TOPHER: I’m not going to go back to her.
ME: Really?
TOPHER: I mean, if she calls and wants to go to dinner, like an idiot, I’ll probably go.
ME: That’s comforting.
TOPHER: I’m sorry.
silence
ME: You’ll need to be in the right lane.
TOPHER: I’m trying to do the right thing. I hope I’ll do the right thing.
ME: No, you need to be in the right LANE.
TOPHER: Oh. What are you thinking?
ME: Turn right here at this next street. Then left at the stop sign. This is my house.
they pull into the driveway, and TOPHER holds out his hand as if ME is supposed to hold it.
TOPHER: I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t know that I can give you everything. I want hang out with you. I want to date you. I like being around you.
ME: I think we are to old to date for fun.
TOPHER: Anna, you are 25.
ME: Yes I am. And if you want to just date to have fun, don’t buy a girl flowers and be romantical and talk about a relationship on the 2nd date.
TOPHER: I thought things would be different. I didn’t know my exgirlfriend would be an issue.
ME: I’m sorry she is. I’m sorry for you. I wish you could get over her. I know it’s hard. I think everyone’s fallen for someone else, and the feelings weren’t reciprocated. But you have to get passed it. I’m not the girl to help you get passed it.
TOPHER: I didn’t mean to get you involved in all this. What are you thinking?
ME: I’m thinking I should have known you were too good to be true.
TOPHER: What do you mean?
ME: I categorize most guys that try to date me as jerks. You aren’t necessarily a jerk, but you are in love with another woman. That’s not cool. Whether you mean to make me feel like this or not, it makes me feel like I’m your second choice. I won’t be anyone’s second choice.
TOPHER: Have you ever run through a scenario in your head before it happens? I thought you might bring that up. I don’t really have a response to that. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.
ME: Yeah, but it’s not okay. I refuse to wonder if you are having dinner with her or talking to her on the phone or wishing you were kissing her instead of me. I’ve never been the jealous type. If you don’t want to be with me, don’t be.
TOPHER: That was never the case. I never wished I were with her when I was with you.
ME: But what about when you aren’t in my presence? I won’t fight for your attention.
TOPHER: I’m sorry I put you in this position. I wish I were over her too.
ME: Does this story sound familiar? …Once upon a time, there was this beautiful and multi-talented princess. As she was walking through a field one day, a knight in shining armor rode up to her and asked for directions. Finding that she was a princess, he said, “Fair princess, I have been on a quest to return with a princess bride. The one I was sent after is locked in a high tower, and I am unable to reach her; so I’ll take you with me instead. Hop on my trusty steed.” And they rode into the sunset and lived happily ever after.
ME realized that this was a bit ridiculous and should have been kept at the gate of her mouth, but proceeded with
Since you can’t have her, you’ll take me? …until she decides she wants you? No thank you. That is an offer I can refuse. I know you aren’t over her. I know you wish you were, but I just can’t be mixed up in all that.
Again, TOPHER holds out his hand like ME is supposed to hold it, but instead she shakes his hand heartily and says
Nice to meet you Chris tuffur. Topher, nice to meet you.
TOPHER: Can I call you? Can we at least just hang out.
ME: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
TOPHER: Sorry.
ME: Goodnight. Thank you for dinner and the movie.
[CURTAIN]
Before and After
April 14, 2007
New ‘Do!
April 13, 2007
Before you even say, “but your long hair is so pretty”–don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been wanting to cut my hair for over a year. And today I did. Heidi is amazing.
I also feel like maybe I was symbolically cutting people out of my life. Good.
I know this picture doesn’t show off my new hair, but don’t you think I kind of look like a the dead Lady of Shalott? Except I’m not in a boat.
Thank you, Lauren, for playing photoshoot with me today!
LEJBUM
April 11, 2007
Today is an off day. I almost passed out in public – after no breakfast and an hour cycle class. I hate that feeling. I’ve only had it once before. Everything turns black and you can’t hear. I sat down and recouped.
I went home and had a nice breakfast.
It gets worse. I can’t figure out the jumble. Every day I do the jumble in the newspaper. I’ve tried over and over. I’ve put it down, and come back to it three times. No good. I can’t even get ONE! I’m worried there is something wrong with my brain.
Maybe you could give it a go.
1. DUWNE
2. ALAFT
3. MISTEY
4. FLATUR
Thanks to Lauren.
April 3, 2007
This story was spawned from Josh Gibbs’s article about a Dream Girl. Right before Easter last year, Lauren reminded me of some important stuff. I was about to choose myself and sin instead of holiness in Christ, and she said, “Anna, that is why Christ died–so you have the ability to choose Him instead of sin.” I never published this story, so as we come to the anniversary of Christendom, I remembered this story and the value of a dear friend’s loving exhortation to remain faithful.
I lay on the cold ceramic tile of my bathroom shaking from withdraw. All I could think of was one more fix. Just one more. I wouldn’t need it after tonight. Just tonight Just one more fix. One more. No more after that. How could I get a fix? I’m broke. I rummage through my lingerie drawer. No cash. I maraud my purses, all the pockets of my pants, and count the change on my dresser. There are only pennies. The rest of the change was used two days ago to make the final eight dollars for the previous fix. I count the coins. I have $3.28 in pennies.
I lay on my bed shaking. If I could have just one more. I would stop sweating. I would stop shaking. I would be able to see clearly. My heart would quit pounding in my ears. Please, God, just one more. I won’t even take a full dose—just a little. Where did I put that money? Raul. No. You can’t. It would give you a fix. I call Raul.
“Hola, bonita. You interested in working?”
“How much?”
“20”
“I need 50.”
“I could get you two clients.”
“That’s only 40.”
“I’ll give you 50 for two.”
“Okay. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be down there.”
I stumble to the bathroom to fix up my face. I try to conceal the green/gray bags under my eyes. My eyeliner is too thick because I can’t steady my hand to make a smooth cat-eyed line. Damnit—mascara in my eye. Red lips. Red bra. Red panties. Where are they? I know they are here. I rummage through the drawer begging the god of heroine to help me find these panties and get me a fix quick. Got ‘em. As I pull out of the driveway, the fuel light dings on. It’s been on for three days. I scramble inside to get the $3.28 for gas. My car sputters into the gas station, and I put the pennies on the counter. I awkwardly wait for the Middle Eastern man to count the coins. I stand embarrassed that I am using a bowl of pennies, ashamed that I can’t stand still. The clerk says “$3.28?” I nod and turn to go; my sister is standing in my way, staring at me in disbelief.
I look down and fidget with the bracelets on my right arm and wait for her to move.
“Don’t,” she breathed. I refused to look at her, but her voice told me she had tears in her eyes. I promised myself I wouldn’t go to her this time for damage control—I would deal with the aftermath myself—and brushed passed her without looking up. I hoped she wouldn’t snitch. As I drove, I thought of how dirty I would feel as Raul’s filthy client fucks me. I’ll just think of the orgasmic relief I’ll feel as soon as I find JZ. I pull up to Raul’s and the Escalade is waiting. I roll my eyes. My husband steps out and gets into my car when I park. He hands me a stack of bills. I know there has to be at least $5,000 here.
Keeping my eyes on the bills in my lap, I sneered. “Did Lauren call you?”
“Come home. Let me hold you.”
I looked at the money dancing in my lap because I couldn’t keep my legs still.
“Let me give you a bath.”
Without moving my head, I cut my eyes to the right to see his calm, strong hands. I guess he took my glance as an invitation. His hand cradled my chin. I tore my eyes from the money and stared blankly at his face.
“I need it,” I meant to say. All that came out was a triple-syllabicated moan.
“You need me,” he said. “Raul shouldn’t have called you. As if the bride-price were not—“
“I called him.”
“Anna.” He exhaled my name with sweet breath full of pain. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. The celebration is all planned. I have a gown for you to wear. We will feast on the best food, and we will have Jerusalem 33 wine. Come. My father will be there. He loves to see the woman that was made for me by my side. We’ll dance. You will be the belle of the ball. Come home.
“Think of our wedding day. Think of the dancing. Think of how beautiful you were. Your face had a pure, radiant glow, and your eyes sparkled with delight. Come—“
I stopped listening. I had been beautiful only because he fed me until my emaciated frame had become a full busted, lean, womanly figure. He pampered me into a truly radiant bride. He spoke of how everyone was dazzled by my beauty. No, they were amazed truly at his magnificent ability to turn a crack whore into a radiant, beautiful bride. That day was amazing.
I felt something pull my eyes to Raul’s doorway. There was a tall Asian standing there talking to Raul. Raul saw me and then my husband. The two men disappeared inside. Far away I could still hear my husband saying something. He wasn’t touching me anymore. I opened the car door, got out, left the cash on the car seat, and walked to the door. With clammy hands and wobbly legs I reached the door and knocked. I didn’t look back, but I heard my husband get out of my car and into his. Raul opened the door.
“I can’t work tonight,” I heard myself say. I don’t know why Raul didn’t put up a fight. My husband was gone from the parking lot. I turned and mechanically walked back to my car. I grabbed the cash and sat it in my lap as I sat down.
I was shaking more violently now. JZ. I called JZ. He could meet me. At the corner of
9th Avenue and Cervantes. Fifteen minutes. I was there in three.
I sat and waited with anxious breath for JZ’s goods. Only nine minutes. My heart began to beat the cadence of expectation in my ears. Oh, the sweet relief of one shot. It makes everything better. Without it I’m so shaky and nervous and ugly. Seven minutes.
My husband’s face flashed before my fixed eyes. I thought of how he gave up his life of opulence to live in the ghetto and woo me. He lavished me with gentle kindness, tempered only by self-control. I could only grunt unintelligibly to his father because I was so awed and afraid of him. My husband made my utterances pure poetry. His father knew I had burned my very life to smoldering ashes and that his son was the one who pulled me out of that. But on my wedding day, he said only, “You are beautiful.”
That day I was not afraid. I am afraid now. I am afraid that JZ won’t come. Four minutes. I scare myself with this shaking. I can almost feel my husband’s hands steadying me. I remember the first time he saved me from Raul. I remember that one time he sat with me through the night as I quivered against him, cursing my addiction. He only held me and promised to stay and do the same thing the next day if I needed it. I did. And he did.
I put the gear shift in reverse, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed home. That night I trembled and cursed, and he held me.
We celebrated our anniversary; and while everyone smiled and kissed my cheek and cooed over the lovely gown I was wearing, I could only think of my husband. It was his beauty, not mine.
We were all dancing, and I realized the extravagant love of my husband and wondered at it. I wondered at my always leaving him. I wondered how I came back. Today last night seemed like a dream. But last night, my marriage seemed like a dream.
He looked at me, knowing my thoughts, and smiled. “I love you. I made love for you. Love was my wedding gift to you. Love brought you back.”
