September is a tragic month, at least to me. Ever Since I was a kid, the arrival of September is a harbinger of my misfortune. I've long since accepted this as fact and therefore tread lightly. It was no surprise then when my purse was snatched from me on the street mid-September. What did surprise me was the moment I saw the thief fall as he ran away. The even bigger surprise was the man who picked up my purse and returned it to me, fully intact. I had not even had the resolve to chase the perpetrator, but this stranger had knocked him down and retrieved my belongings, returning them with a smile.
I smiled back, guardedly and thanked him. After Checking the contents of my bag, I asked if I could do anything to return the kindness, and he asked if I had time for coffee. I laughed at the cliché nature of his invitation even as I accepted it. We sat there for hours, drinking coffee and talking. He worked for a publishing firm and had only been in the city a short time. We continued to exchange wonderfully banal details of our lives like that until my phone rang. I was entirely late for a dinner engagement. As I stood to leave, he asked for my number. I gave him another guarded smile. “No,” I said, smiling as his face fell to a look of dejection, “but if you'd like, I'll be here in this shop on Wednesday around 6:30.”
That was 10 years ago, and this September it's my turn to have my face fall in dejection. We sat in the living room that we had shared as he told me he thinks it's about time we get divorced. Like I said, September is a tragic month month for me. Sighing in resignation, I couldn't help but laugh. I'm sure he thought I was crazy. “I don't like it, I don't want it, but I won't fight you.” He said that he would bring the papers by in a week or so.
My name is Allison, and I'm evident ally joining the ranks of the divorced. That just continues my march of being an average American. I'm not complaining. Well, not too much. I just expected so much more from myself., as I'm sure many people do. Over time my high expectations for myself have often clashed with my lack of motivation.. After the conversation that was just inflicted upon me, I feel like a bath., but what if I got the sudden urge to drown myself? It's not really on my mind, but I've always been a spontaneous person.
Reluctantly I move from the embrace of my couch, stumbling to my kitchen. Opening the wine, I grab the phone. I stare at it helplessly before throwing it back down on the counter. I don't want to talk to anyone, I just want to make love to this bottle of wine and hope it helps. Helps with what, I'm not exactly sure, I hope it knows what it's doing.
Waking up the next morning was nothing that I wanted to do. My brain felt too big for my head, my mouth was as dry as the Sahara and I found a lovely wine stain on my carpet. Wobbling to the shower, I think about leaving the light off, but figure the headache would be better than tripping and breaking my neck. Hiding my eyes in my elbow I flip the switch, only to be surprised by darkness, I proceed with the requisite repeated flipping of the switch. Realizing the electricity bill had been in his name, terror strikes. Is this how it's going to be? A terrible battle of wills? I have already submitted to his request, is he really this awful and I never saw it before? I wander to the living room, greeted by the soft glow of the lighted air freshener. Thank God, it's just the bulb was my thought.
Not feel up to changing the bulb, I open the door to the back letting the dogs into my meager yard and go back to bed. I groan as I realize I was supposed to go to work today and it was probably some time ago that I was suppose to arrive there. I try to roll over to see the clock, but somehow in the events the bottle of wine led me to, the clock appears to be missing. Sighing in resignation, something I tend to do all to often, I get up and seek the phone, hoping it was still where I had thrown it before the opening of the wine.
The phone glow the angriest looking 11:00 AM I've ever seen. I utter a curse as I dial my supervisor's number. Not needing to pretend I croak an excuse to him and hang up. As I start the coffee I decide I better call my mother. God, what will she say about the whole thing? Deciding to postpone that call, I dial my sister. The ringing of her phone seems painfully loud until she answer. Then the yelling of her kids in the background makes me long for the ringing.
