Excerpt from To Be Human (A Novel)
"I hugged him, it was all I could do. There was a piece of glass between us, a shield I couldn't break no matter how tightly I squeezed. He resisted me, and I was scared.”
The day already sucked hairy balls. I woke up feeling like someone rolled an eighteen-wheeler over my face and filled my mouth with tumbleweeds. Jesus, Isabel, you gotta quit doing this to yourself. I suppose it is possible the multiple glasses of midnight whiskey blended with sleeping pills was not the greatest idea I ever had. What time is it? I peeked at my phone. Seven missed calls from my mom. Three from Chris. Texts from Chris ranging from “are you up” to “where are you” to “goddamn it call me back.” I’m gonna guess those are before he showed up unannounced last night like a tiny shit-stirring Tasmanian Devil. Hey Chris, remember when I broke up with you because you were intolerable but also fucking your twelve year old coworker? Knocking on my door at midnight, and waking me from a deep, medicated slumber to tell me my aunt died does not make you a saint. I bet you thought I'd drop to my knees and beg for your forgiveness, my tears soaking the knees of your designer jeans as you pet my head and chugged your smugness. Fat chance, boner.
Man, I guess I CAN be a bitch when I'm hungover. Touché, Chris.
Let’s sit up. Three deep breaths and push that nausea back down where it came from...and we are good. I chuckled to myself at the idea of being “good.” Nice try.
Clearly I needed to call my mom about the sudden and tragic death of her sister but I needed coffee more. The idea of engaging in a passive aggressive MOMba (man, I crack myself up) first thing in the morning made my stomach holler “if you don’t get me some crackers and a ginger ale pronto I’m gonna reach up there and slap you.”
I looked around for Ben, then noticed his leash wasn’t on the hook. Chad, that baby angel, probably snuck him out while I was snoozing. Funny how my little dog walker has evolved from a couple strolls a day to Chad just picking Ben up and having him all day Monday through Friday. It’s a major help, honestly, and it gave that hipster actor something to do between auditions and improv classes. Oh, I really hope I had covers over my granny panty wearing ass when he came by. No matter, it can’t be the first drunk lady butt he’s seen.
I sat on the couch and stared at the wall. I thought about how I should probably paint over the giant red wine stain I made chucking a bottle across the kitchen, then decided I didn’t care enough. Focus, Isabel, today is about family stuff, not your bullshit shame spiral. I was going to call my mom and offer my condolences. It was the right thing to do…I repeat, the right thing to do. Sure, it won’t go well, but let’s think positively. Count to ten backwards, one more deep breath, and dial.
No answer. Beep.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me, stupid Chris came by and told me the news early this morning and I guess I fell back asleep, so I’m calling now to see what’s happening there and if you need anything or…” Long pause. I had no idea what to say. I should have rehearsed this crap. I wished I wasn’t so hungover. “Call me back, I’m not working today, so I’ll have my phone on. I can come home if you want me to, I mean I want to, but maybe also you want me to. OK. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
No, I didn’t say “I love you.” We don’t do that. I mean, even when there was a time when we would have maybe said that to each other, we didn’t. I remember when I was little and I was leaving for school one morning I asked my mom why she didn’t say “I love you” to me very often.
“If you say something like that too much it loses all its meaning. You have to save it for special occasions.” I’m not sure what those exclusive moments were, but I would always look for them after that, waiting to find out what was deemed significant enough for someone to tell me they loved me. It wasn’t often, if at all. Eventually I just forgot about it, I guess, and filled the vast pit with denial and cynicism.
My friend Jane’s family said “love you” every time someone left the room or went to bed or blinked or took a step forward. They were always expressing their admiration, and it was such a stark contrast to my family it always struck me as strange. I remember when I moved away to L.A. Jane would say, “Miss you. Love you.” at the end of our phone conversations and it took me awhile to replace “you too” with “love you too.” It felt good to say it, and it took me years of conscious effort to get good at it. Sometimes saying the words still makes me uncomfortable if I overthink it.
I stepped into a crumpled pair of pants off the floor, popped into my slippers, grabbed my purse and walked outside into the sunshine. Yes, I was wearing clothes I’d slept in, and I’m sure I looked like hell, but we were in Venice Beach so these things simply didn’t matter. I stood on the boardwalk and looked at the ocean while skateboarders whooshed by and the faint sound of someone singing for money floated on the breeze. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the first day of my life without my favorite aunt rooting for me in the wings.
The feeling was weird. Ugh.
I walked up the boardwalk and grabbed a gigantic cup of coffee and two muffins, then stopped into the pot shop to buy a joint. I sat on a stinky pee bench smoking my medical marijuana and eating my muffin and saying goodbye to my shitty hangover. I felt lighter and the sun reflecting off the water made me feel less antsy. Less everything.
Then the little hidden box within me quietly opened and a wave of childish heartache covered me like a Halloween sheet. I desperately missed James. I wasn’t sure if it was the hint of Irish Spring on the boys playing basketball, or the kid tagging the wall in the distance, but I really wished he was here. I had spent several months and bottles of wine trying to find James as I rebuilt my life after Chris, a little voice inside me convinced a dip in my dark past was the cure. I would masturbate to the idea of him, then cry when the loneliness reminded me of all the things I never said to him, the guilt I held from abandoning him. I had fallen into a self-indulgent pity party, redefining who I was without Chris, filling in the cracks with a James fantasy that didn’t exist. The only thing that helped was working like crazy and allowing my Inner Maestro to take over and busy bee her way around - it’s her absolute favorite, and the perfect distraction. Productivity is the ultimate measure of good mental health and proving to the world that I’m not a fucked up ball of shit, but a totally pulled together power bitch instead.
I never found James. I didn’t stop trying, I just stopped trying hard. When he visited me in my dreams it was real, and the feeling of our secret sleepy time relationship was like sneaking an entire box of Italian truffled chocolates while on a juice cleanse. Forbidden, secret, delicious, mine.
As I shoved the inconvenient memories of an ex-lover back into their neat little package, the cannabis enveloped me in a buzzy cocoon and whispered, “I got you girl.”
I sneezed. Some kid was yelling at his mom about a shot glass with boobs on it. I realized my mom hadn’t called me back. I started to overthink it when the pot muttered “who cares, dummy, just call her again.” So I did.
“Hello?” she always answered the phone like someone just asked her an inappropriate question a little too quietly.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me.” I said in my peppiest, supportive voice.
“You moved out of Chris’s place?”
I took a deep breath. Looked at the ocean.
“Yeah, I did, but I’m calling to find out about Sylvia. What happened?”
“She was grumpy and feeling a little dizzy and went to lie down and he didn’t wake up. They said she maybe had a heart attack. Are you going to come for the funeral?”
“Of course, I can come anytime. When are you thinking of doing it? Or are you even there yet? Sorry, Mom, this must be terrible for you.”
“Don’t tell me what’s terrible.”
Birds flying over the water. Waves crashing. Cool breeze on my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I wasn’t trying to say anything I just wanted you to know that I’m, uh, that it must be…” I didn’t know what to say. “I can help in any way you’d like me to.”
“Is Chris coming home with you? Your aunt really liked him.” I could hear her trying not to cry, sniffling, breathing through her mouth.
“You want to call me back later?” I asked, thinking maybe it was too much.
“I’ll email you when we figure out the arrangements and hopefully you can get some time off work to come…I know how busy you always are, but it’s such a special blessing when you can carve out some time for your family.”
This woman just never stops. Inhale, this day she gets a free pass, exhale, and I had never been so thankful for being high as I was in this moment. Bless you, cannabis, you are a true friend.
“OK, Mom. You can call me anytime.”
“Yeah. OK. See you soon. Think about bringing Chris with you, for your aunt’s sake. She’d be so disappointed to know you screwed this one up.”
I wanted to tell her that Sylvia didn’t care anymore because she didn’t exist in this world. If you believed in heaven, she is now in the most magical place ever created in the universe and it’s unlikely she’d be peeking back at this mess to see what was happening. And if you don’t believe that nonsense, well, she was just gone. So why don’t you say what all believers are afraid to say and admit that YOU want Chris there. For you. Not for Sylvia, for you. Normally I’d like to point out that my mother had mentioned how badly she wanted Chris at the funeral not once, but twice, however today I wouldn’t do that because today is her free day and the drugs are telling me to chill.
“Bye, Mom.” She’d already hung up.
I walked down to the ocean and sat as close to the water as I could without getting wet because I couldn’t be bothered. The smell of the sea was like nothing else on earth, and my brain released all the crap into the waves as they flowed away from me.
“Join us, Isabel,” the sea called, “we can make all your problems go away.”
It wasn’t a bad offer, I wouldn’t mind dumping this heavy load.
Then I smelled hot dogs - yum. I needed one immediately.
I ate, savoring the nitrates and glutens, washing them down with a bottle of Coke. That’s the stuff, now we are talking. Tossing the wrappers in an overstuffed bin, I slowly walked toward my casa. I needed to book a plane ticket home. I needed to commit to going back for more than a day or two and the idea made my stomach hurt. I needed a boat and a sea captain in a pea coat who would tell me stories about pirates and whales and hand me a tiny flask made out of a shark jaw.
My phone buzzed with a text from Boss Man Bjorn :
“I pushed the soccer player shoot until you get back from the funeral as my gift to you. I know how excited you were. I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything, darlin'.”
I smiled a little.
“Thank you. Today sucks butts but I’m wandering around the beach figuring out the meaning of life so there’s that.”
“If anyone can sort it out you can.” Smiley face. Winky face. Thumbs up.
“Thanks boss. xo”
I walked toward home and thought about how I should have bought a second hot dog. This must be what stress eating is. “Or the pot munchies, dummy,” the weed piped in. I smiled. I thought about donuts. I remembered I had corn chips and salsa at home, that would do nicely.
When I reached my place there was a plain brown box sitting patiently next to my front door. The bright pink Post-It note read “forgot this last night.” A pang of guilt flowed through me as I thought about stupid Chris dropping this box off, dreading I’d be home when he rang the bell. I was a real asshole to him last night but I don’t know what he expected. You ding dong someone out of a drug induced sex dream to tell her someone died then get sad when it doesn’t go as planned? You told me I was fat then fucked a millennial. Give me a break. I was not going to feel guilty anymore because I didn’t want to. All I wanted was to crack open this mysterious box and discover it was full of magical rainbows and gummy worms. Please let there be gummy worms.
I kicked off my moist and sandy sweats, leaving a giant pile of beach by the door. I snagged a pair of moderately clean leggings off the chair in the kitchen, grabbed a glass of wine, and settled in for some fun. Slicing the box open with a steak knife, I read the note from my mother, written on the back of a weird real estate flyer :
“I don’t know why you keep this stuff but I hope it’s worth it.”
Thanks, Mom. Always uplifting and encouraging with the notes. I always thought it was funny that she even bothered writing them, seemed like it would be easier to just do nothing. If I ever had kids I promised myself to try harder. Much, much harder. Or just skip the kid thing altogether.
Inside the large box were two smaller shoe boxes, a puppet I made when I was nine, and a potholder I made for my mom while I was home sick one day in elementary school. Pinned to the puppet was a note :
“Maybe someday you’ll have kids and you can do a puppet show for them.”
Oh my God, woman. You bust my balls for keeping stuff, then send me stuff you’ve kept and don't want anymore, and manage to work in a dig about kids. Puppet show? Crafty, very, very crafty. I chose to not get upset about this because I was way too excited about the contents of the sneaker boxes. I finished my glass of wine and poured another. Closed my eyes and took a breath. I was not going to let her get to me.
First box had “High School” written on it in black permanent marker - man, my old handwriting was so much nicer than it is now. Texting and typing and never using proper cursive had really taken their toll on my penmanship. My signature had devolved to a scribble so unreadable you’d think I was a surgeon. I considered trying to hand write a letter, I bet it would be exceptionally hard. Who would I write to? Didn’t matter. Back to business.
I ripped the tape off and the box was filled with tiny folded notes of all shapes and sizes. Ripped up pieces of paper bent and wrapped around themselves until they looked like trash, but when opened up revealed delightful little bits of conversations.
“Did Eddie kiss you behind the gym? I heard his friend Joe talking about it in the hall!”
That’s definitely Jane’s handwriting. Even in my finest hour I didn’t have the glorious handwriting she did. I bet she still did, I’d have to ask her.
I laughed at the back and forth notes that took up the front and back of a single sheet of paper discussing everything from movies to how much the new guy smelled to who was dating who. Many of the notes had penis drawings on them thanks to my friend Rance, who always managed to sit directly next to me in at least one class and decorated every single notebook with lonely detached dicks, strangely disfigured men receiving blow jobs, and assorted other silly inappropriateness. They never ceased to entertain me, however, and I found myself chastised by teachers constantly when one of his masterpieces made me laugh a little too loud.
“Sorry, I have allergies,” I’d appeal to the teachers as I wiped my nose or eyes, which were tearing from trying to contain my laughter.
Rance was the funniest. To this day his social media posts were among my favorites. I wished we lived in the same place, I’d love to have a beer with that dude and laugh at cocktail napkin penises. Penii? Gotta look that up, I should really know that one.
After reading each and every note in the first box and wasting an enormous amount of time searching for people online I’d forgotten about long ago, I packed them all back into their home and pulled out the second box. I can’t believe some of these people actually ended up getting married - five kids? Nuts. Good news was that Noah, the hottest soccer player guy junior year, is recently divorced and looks like he just walked off the set of a reality show about models who moonlight as loggers, so we’ll need to revisit that later. I wondered if his legs were still as sexy and ripped as they were back when I’d longingly stared at him across the hall, pretending to be waiting for someone who was never coming. Biggest crush and he never even knew I existed. I bet I could right that wrong now.
“Misc.” was all it said on the second box in black marker. Wow, I remember this shoe box - I bought the cutest pair of scrunchy ankle boots and I wore them to death. One of the most comfortable pairs of shoes I had ever owned and I paired them with everything. I fondly recalled the day I purchased and rocked them with my favorite shredded jeans and a blonde girl at the gas station complimented me on them. I loved those boots, then my roommate loaned them to one of her friends while I was out one night and she never returned them. The next day I couldn't find my beloved boots for the life of me and when I asked my shitty roomie she admitted she often borrowed my clothing without asking and sometimes loaned them to her friends.
“What the fuck?” I yelled at her. “Are you insane? Who does that?”
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she nonchalantly threw at me while painting her toenails. I had never really thought about whether or not I liked her until that moment. I guess I knew now that I didn’t.
“Call your friend and have her bring the boots back NOW.” I was freaking out a little over the personal invasion of this girl and her friends going through my stuff, but also at the possibility that my badass boots were gone.
“Goddamn it, pick up the phone.” I was furious and wanted to throw something at her, but didn’t because, well, common decency.
“I will,” she calmly returned.
I left the room. She never got my boots back, and I asked her to move out. I never heard from or saw her ever again. Oh, mental note, I needed to look that bitch up.
As I ripped the tape off my treasured boot box and remembered how much I disliked the shithead who gave my shoes away, I was blown away by the first thing I saw. It was a drawing…by James. It was charcoal pencil and clearly unfinished. Swirls of fibrous vein-like vines and shaded coves crept across the page like oil spreading in the ocean. It was so lovely, and I suddenly remembered watching him create it. I had opened my eyes in the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise to see him sitting up in bed sketching. He chewed his lip and although his entire body was still, his hand danced in a fluid and intriguing way. I lay absolutely still, hoping he would not notice I was awake so I could watch him like this for as long as it was happening. Every once in awhile he’d stop, chew a bit on his thumbnail, and ponder what he was working on. I could see his eyes analyzing his work, calculating what it needed next. The man was so talented, so sexy. Looking at this drawing took my brain on a little trip my body gladly participated in. I felt warm, I ached a bit, and suddenly, without warning, I was sobbing.
Like a child I fell on the couch and cried more than I had in ages. My chest ached, and the sobs poured out of me in a guttural way I had forgotten about. It was all coming out in a blubbering mess, and when I felt the vomit rising I pushed it back down where it came from. “Fuck this!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I threw a tiny pillow across the room and it landed silently and without incident. Unsatisfying.
My aunt. Chris. Self-doubt. Regret. Fear. Hate.
James.
I heard the key in the door and jumped up like a frightened kangaroo. I was in the bathroom with the door closed before I heard the creak of the hinge and Chad enter, chatting away with Ben.
“It looks like Mommy is home, Ben. You think she’s here, big man?” Chad was so funny, listening to him I almost expected Ben to answer.
“I’m in the bathroom, just hopping in the shower! Thanks, Chad!” I was working with every inch of my existence to sound normal as my voice cracked and wobbled. I turned on the shower for authenticity.
“Sorry to barge in! I didn’t realize you were home. I’ll knock next time!” he sounded a little caught off guard and embarrassed.
“No worries at all! I knew you guys would be back soon. You are the best, Chad, see you tomorrow!” I was smiling so broadly I must have looked like a deranged clown as I sat on the toilet, fully clothed. I guess my brain thought if I was smiling my words would sound better. Good job, involuntary reflexes. You saved the day again.
“Ok. Bye!” I heard the chain of the leash hit the table and the door closed.
I peeked through the bathroom door and Ben was standing there, tail wagging.
“Hi, Beebees, how are you?” I snuggled him and sniffled and got the top of his head all wet with my tears. Ben licked my face, he loved the salty taste of tears and didn’t get them out of me often. This ice queen likes to keep that shit on lockdown.
I had to admit, I felt a little better.
I filled Ben’s water bowl, give him a scoop of food, and headed back to the box. Picking up the sketch, I smiled a little and flipped it over.
“Your gaze warms me.”
I smelled the paper but sadly it only held the scent of dust and old memories. I wished I could remember how this came to be in my possession. James must have given it to me. Or I took it without him knowing. Damn it, brain, will you please give me this? So weird. I had no recollection.
As I racked my memories for answers, I looked down at the box and noticed a letter, unopened, addressed to my parents’ house. It had my name on it, and was stamped and postmarked a few weeks after I initially moved away to L.A. The return address had no name yet was strangely familiar. Then, after reading the back of the sketch again, I recognized the handwriting.
James had reached out to me. I never got it, and I didn’t respond.
My goddamn mother had sat on this without a word, and he didn’t try again.
He reached for me and I let him fall. Again.
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