82 Days #3
Rhea and the dog continued slowly circling in silence. In the pod above them, she heard children laughing. The view captured sparkling Santa Monica Bay from every angle, but Rhea could only stare into the void.
—
After the interminable spinning, Rhea felt too vulnerable to get into another stranger’s heavily scented car, so she decided to walk home from the pier.
For ten and a half miles, she meditated on all the events in her life that had led up to this particular evening.
Four hours later, the sky was glowing with the threat of a new day as she finally trudged up fifty-two steps.
She rewarded her aching feet with the removal of her sneakers and practically crawled to her bed.
As she stared at a water stain on her ceiling, a thought solidified in her mind: I am not crazy.
It was the first time she had ever considered this possibility.
Sure, her feverish need to be a married mother had made her break up with Danny and her friends, and she had not washed her sheets in three months.
But none of that was entirely her fault; society had driven her to the brink.
The whole world looked down on single, childless people, very far down, one hundred and thirty feet.
She already knew this, and yet that dog on suicide watch finally forced her to fully confront reality: how hard these years had been, how ostracized she felt, how the modern social structure had broken her.
Every American holiday excluded Rhea. Families took all the religious ones, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth of July. Couples had Valentine’s Day. And Mother’s Day, that unholy abomination, shattered Rhea every year with its screaming reminder: You have neither a mother nor a child!
Even Uncle Sam loved married people and children, giving out tax breaks for those who had walked down the aisle or popped out a baby.
Rhea could not go on double dates or family vacations.
She could not even enter the playground in her neighborhood unless she ignored the scary sign that scolded, No Adults Allowed Unless Accompanied by Children.
In her jail cell, she’d have to answer, “What’re you in for? ” with “Swing set.”
If she went to a restaurant alone, without fail, the hostess would ask, “Just one?” Yep, just one; sorry to disappoint you. The general population thought single, childless people were so pathetic that a lone woman on an amusement park ride was most assuredly going to kill herself.
Rhea let out one long sigh in a futile attempt to release the enormous pressure she was buried under.
However, since she was now able to trace her insanity back to the source, she was able to start forgiving herself.
And since she was able to start forgiving herself, she was able to wash her sheets…
. That is how it began; she slowly got up; stripped her bed; carried her sheets to her shed, where her washer and dryer were gathering dust; and did a load of laundry.
She picked up all the takeout containers and empty chip bags and threw them away. She tossed out the moldy food in her fridge, washed the crusty dishes, and wiped down every surface. She swept, she vacuumed, she scrubbed her toilet…she even folded her towels.
She opened her living room closet and took in the chaos left behind from the earthquake.
Danny had fixed her bathroom tile, but she had not let him near her closet.
She couldn’t risk him stumbling on her vision board or any other embarrassing skeletons.
She needed to pull everything out if she was going to rebuild the shelves.
But in order to rebuild the shelves, she needed a ladder, a hammer, nails, and, most important, to learn how to rebuild shelves.
She decided it was a little too ambitious on zero hours of sleep and forced the closet door shut.
Then she went grocery shopping like a real adult.
She bought the ingredients for a fruit salad; she had developed a craving when she was dressed as one.
She went home and chopped fruit with her chef’s knife.
She went to her tea garden, pulled some weeds, picked fresh mint leaves, rinsed Steve’s urine off them, and added them to the bowl.
She sat on her deck with her green tea and ate her first homemade fruit salad.
When she finished eating, she wrote on the Ada-Tiny-Rhea-Zoe chain: I am so sorry. I feel terrible about everything I said. You were all being so lovely and including me in your Halloween. I was grotesquely selfish and I hope you can forgive me.
She deleted the last sentence and replaced it with: I’m going through a lot and I hope you can forgive me.
She did not want to call herself grotesquely selfish; she was forgiving herself, goddammit.
Seconds later, Tiny: I’ve been drafting a text to you all morning. You beat me to it. I love you so much. I’m so sorry I forced Halloween on you. I promise I will never do that again. I’m an asshole. Ada was right. Boundaries are everything.
Seconds later, Ada: FUCK BOUNDARIES! I’m so thankful Tiny made you come.
I wish I had done that. I’m so sorry if I’ve been making you feel left out or like a charity case.
I’m sorry this has all been so painful, Ree Kee, but now everything is out in the open and you don’t have to feel alone with your feelings anymore.
We are madly in love with you and you are allowed to break up with us, we’ll just disrespect your boundaries and make you take us back.
Seconds later, Zoe: Unsubscribe
Ada: Boooooooo!
Tiny: We’re being earnest here Zo! Prove that you have a human heart!
Zoe: Never!
Zoe: Kidding! Rhea, my love! Thank you for your text.
I think this is what my therapist calls the art of repair.
I am sorry too. Now that I know how you’re feeling I will try to be more sensitive.
My therapist thinks I am incapable of sensitivity but I’d love to prove that bitch wrong.
I think of you as a member of my family whether you like it or not.
Rhea wept into her fruit salad as she read.
Each message was a salve to her wounds, but Zoe calling her a member of her family had the deepest effect.
How much of her alienation was solely coming from within?
She thought of herself as a dead limb, but maybe they really did think of her as a highly useful appendage, an actual member of their family.
What if sending all the baby photos on the text chain wasn’t a thirst for validation, but a way to include Rhea in their domestic lives?
She replayed all the moments she had spent with their kids.
Perhaps her lack of children made her even more valuable; she had spare energy and time and a massive reservoir of love to pour all over them.
Instead of being looked down on, she decided, wacky aunts should hold a cherished place in society.
They should be celebrated on Wacky Aunt Day.
They should get tax breaks since they don’t have kids in public school and aren’t allowed in public playgrounds.
Rhea responded with hearts, balloons, and smiley faces, and this time she meant it.