The End

"This has got to stop. I mean really," Susie paused after speaking while the doctor took notes.
"And why do you say that?" The doctor replied.
"What do you mean, why do I say that?"

"Well, Susie, you've said that many times before. Right here on this couch, as a matter of fact. What makes this time different?" The doctor gently lay his pad and pencil down on the table that divided them. He removed his glasses from his crooked nose and folded his arms.

"I have not said that before."

"At least four other times that I can think of, Susie. I can reference my notes if you'd like."

"Why are you such a hard-ass? I'm paying you to listen, not to be my father, Dr. Drummond."

"And where is your father, Susie?"

"Why would you bring him up? We're talking about me, remember?"

"I didn't bring him up, Susie. You did," he said as he reached for notepad.

"You and your damn notes. Do you have to write down everything?"

"It's helpful, yes. Now, back to your father. Where is he?"

"You know where he is. Why are you asking me again?"

"Susie, I'm only here to help. The choice is yours."

A silent fog rolled into the room and Susie could not see through the cloud she was stuck in. The dense silence engulfed the room and the only sound that could be heard was that of Susie's restrained cry. The tears would come for five minutes without words.

"My father is somewhere in England with his wife and kids." Dr. Drummond did not respond. "I just don't understand why he chose them over me."

"People disappoint us, Susie, and we don't do anything to deserve it."

"Like that asshole Cameron. He's, what, like my third boyfriend that completely vanished."

"Cameron is married, Susie, and was therefore never yours."

"I know that, but—"

"He is a married man, Susie. You have to accept that. It was not honorable of him to show such an interest in you."

"It's not like we slept together or anything," she said trying to justify having carried on a two-month romance with someone she knew would never be available to her.

"That's not what you told me last week, Susie. This is a safe space. You can be honest here."

"We only did it a few times, but he said he wanted to be with me."

"Of course he did. Look at you, you're a beautiful smart young woman, Susie."

"You think so?"

"Yes. And how was Cameron different from, let's see here...." he said as he consulted his notes. "Ah, yes, from Rick and Seth."

"Well, they weren't married if that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking. What do you think I'm asking?"

"I don't know. Can't you just come out and ask what you want to know? And haven't you asked me this before? Jesus."

"Susie, you said you wanted to stop. Based on our previous sessions I think I'm correct in assuming you're talking about dating unavailable men. I'm just trying to get you to see your patterns. Now tell me how they were different."

The fog rolled back in and Susie's eyes swelled with fresh tears.

"I guess they weren't," she said almost to herself.

"What was that?"

"I said I guess they weren't."

"How's that? You said they weren't married like Cameron, so how were they alike?"

"Christ, Dr. Drummond."

The doctor again placed the notepad on the table and comforted her with his sharp grey eyes. Susie could only focus on his haphazard salt and pepper eyebrows.

"It's okay, Susie. You can do it. It's okay." A warm smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

Susie's cry turned into a sob and she let her head fall back on the worn couch and snot escaped from her nose. She did not reach for a tissue as her body released for ten minutes.

"They weren't available to me either," she muffled as her breathing calmed. She finally blew her nose. "Seth told me he didn't want a girlfriend and just blew me off after a few dates and Rick was just here on vacation when we met and told me he wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship. We had a fun week though."

"Do you understand now how all three of these men would never work out for you? How, based on their circumstances, or what they told you should have been a signal for you to not get involved?"

Susie couldn't stop the sobs that crept back again more violently this time.

"Yes," she barely uttered.

"I didn't hear you, Susie."

"I said YES, Dr. Drummond. Did you hear that!?"

He smiled and replied, "Yes, Susie. I heard you loud and clear."

Finding Forgiveness

Anyone who really knows me will tell you that I have had a connection with the dolls from my childhood since I was a little girl. Maybe it was because I was an only child, or perhaps it stems from my mom's attempt to get rid of one of my dolls and her efforts backfired and made me more attached. I'm assuming most of the time my dolls became my friends during my solo playtime and they enjoyed the tea parties and easy bake oven delights as much as my friends with siblings. But I suppose only a therapist can tell you.

Most of my childhood dolls live at my mom's house in suburban Chicago in a plastic bin in her basement, but the two that I was closest with have remained with me over the years. One in particular, Danny the Snowman, was given to me in the winter of 1996 by a former boyfriend after he let me pick out it out at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.


I thought the Snowman was soft and cuddly so I picked it. It was also one of the lesser expensive items in the shop and I didn't want him to break the bank on an expensive gift so the Snowman was selected. Although Danny came into my life as an young adult, he quickly served a purpose my other dolls never served - practicality. He was so incredibly soft that I would often use his butt for a pillow. At one point I used to travel quite a bit and Danny was easy enough to stuff in my bag and pull out and his backside fit perfectly in the crook of my neck as I slept on long flights. But Danny became more than just a place to lay my head. He became a source of comfort as I traveled the world living out of a suitcase for years at a time. I missed my apartment and Danny was a reminder of that, of home. Besides, he was also damn cute and that permasmile on his face was a small measure of comfort on my worst days. He was eternally happy and was well-loved by me and my friends.




Avery, my Miniature Pinscher, entered my life two years ago a rescue dog from New Hampshire. She was found running around in the woods in the small town of New Boston, New Hampshire and was not claimed at the local police station or on craigslist for three weeks. Through a sequence of events, she found her way to me in Boston. Having grown up an only child I never really had to share (doesn't mean I was spoiled or selfish) and did not grow up with a pet, but I fell in love with Avery and we foraged a bond.


I was amazed at how she could communicate so effectively through her expressions and body language without uttering a bark. At the beginning our relationship when she chewed the heels of a brand new pair of shoes that I had yet to wear and ruined my perfect-fitting Diane Von Furstenberg pants - that I had only worn twice - I almost dropped her back off in the woods to become someone else's problem, but if having a dog has taught me anything it's patience and forgiveness. I can only imagine it is on some level like parenthood.

One day in my Boston apartment, when Avery was still testing me, I guess, she found her way to Danny's nose - chomp, chomp, chomping away at it until she was told to stop. Danny's nose survived the attack and he kept on smiling; his sunny disposition still intact. Over time, Avery mellowed out and could be trusted. She never liked being in her cage and could always find a way of breaking out - either by literally getting the lock off, or just busting out. I swear I am going to get her a talent agent one of these days.


I eventually moved to New York and Avery adjusted to our new living quarters. I could trust her for hours on end if I was out and about and I would play soothing music for her to prevent her from barking or whining while I was gone. I would return hours later to find her, a lump under the sheets, in the same position I'd left her. Until the day I didn't.

Her face registered guilt the moment I walked through the door. Danny's eyes and nose were strewn about the floor and his stuffing was all over the bed. Avery's saliva was still fresh on Danny's wound and she instantly sought cover under the couch, her place of refuge when she knows she has been Bad Avery. I tried to remain calm and tried to see things from her perspective. Was she upset at me because I left her? Did she miss me and smelled me on Danny and got carried away? I really didn't know what to think and was at a loss for words.


There was no time for anger as my friend was on her way over for a dinner and I only had thirty minutes to prepare. My insides felt like Danny's as the night passed. Avery finally emerged from under the couch and was immediately put in her cage where she skulked. Avery and I were not friends over the next week or so as I worked through this emotional drama. Why she chose to ruin Danny when she had her bag of toys and bones to play with I will never know. Avery had never acted out in this way before towards Danny.


Avery had done something horrible to Danny but I would eventually have to get over it. There was something about this that told me it was personal, the look in her eyes seemed to convey this when I caught her in her heinous act. Days passed and being her sole caretaker, I still had to provide for her - food, walks, and belly rubs - as part of the deal of being her Mommy. She seemed to be seeking forgiveness from me as she would occasionally glance at me with sad eyes. She also knew enough to keep her distance, staying on her side of the bed, as we slept. As the days passed she would inch closer and reach out and touch my leg or arm with her paw, eventually snuggling up against me completely again.

A friend told me that even though she destroyed Danny that she still loved me. Avery was obvious in showing her affection for me and it was me who had to learn to forgive and move on. The tears I cried for Danny were justified but I could no longer live in that space. An era was over. I went on to research doll hospitals in the New York area to see if he can be fixed and will be sending him in for surgery soon. He will never again be the Danny I once knew, with his soon-to-be shiny new nose, buttons, and stitching, but he will be transformed into a new version of himself, as I have now been.

Letting go of love

2010 was a rough year. My precious 2000 Ford Taurus, built for speed, mind you, seemed to be loosing her mind in 2010 and cost me a considerable amount in repairs. At 10 years old, every repair was urgent. Muffler. Starter. A leak conveniently located behind the transmission, which they had to remove to fix. These, on top of the frequent high‐mileage oil changes thanks to the many Boston ‐ New York trips she took me on. Despite all the mounting expenses that kept me upselling at my waitressing job - "Grey Goose or Belvidere?"- no room for well liquor when a call one would produce a higher tab, ergo a greater tip ‐ I loved my car. We were still having a good time.

But the day I had to ride shotgun in a AAA tow truck from Vernon, CT to Boston made me start to wonder if our love fest was coming to an end. After a glorious humid August day in New York, I stopped for gas (that I didn't even really need)about an hour and a half from home and after filling up and buying a bag of Sun Chips and Red Bull, my requisite NYC ‐ BOS car snack, she decided not to restart. This must be some kind of joke, I thought. I mean, I'd just put thirty bucks in the tank and this is how she repaid me? Only moments earlier I was jamming to Carly Simon, my requisite NYC ‐ BOS tunes of choice, and now I was trying in vain to get her to start again. It was about 9:30 at night and I tried to look at the "bright side" ‐ I was grateful that she allowed me to get from New Haven, where she had been garaged, to Vernon. Had I been forced to tow her from there, some sixty plus more miles back to Boston, well, I don't want to entertain those thoughts.... so after a MAJOR Carly Simon‐Sun Chips‐Red Bull buzz kill, and many distressed phone calls to my mom and her husband in Joliet, Il (really, what were they going to be able to do?) and to David in Boston, I decided to have the little bitch towed home. By the time this decision was made and after two AAA trucks had come to try to fix the problem(read: banging on something under the hood) with no success, onto the tow bed she went. And of course they would not accept American Express, but rather only my debit card for the charge of $435, which would later cause an overdraft because being out of work, as I was, I had limited funds and AAA didn't actually charge my account for a full two weeks at the precise moment some outstanding bills decided to clear and caused a minor tsunami in my checking account, but that's another story.... let’s just say only Grey Goose and Bombay Sapphire was getting sold at my tables. Apparently, the yearly AAA fees I had been paying were useless when I really needed the service. My plan only covered something like a tow service within five miles of my home; I could only wish I were five miles from home. By now it was about 11:30 and I endured the most awkwardly silent ninety mile ride home that I have ever had. The driver didn't want to be driving to Boston at that time of night, and I sure didn't want him driving me home. All the while the White Shadow slept peacefully hitched on the back of the truck.



After this episode I really started seeing the White Shadow for what she was, a ten-year old car that was in need of repairs for most everything - to her credit, most of the repairs were the first replacements in her ten year life (go Ford!), but still. I'd had such good times and memories in that car and I started to take it personally that she was betraying me the way she was. When friends suggested I sell her, and when David, bless him, got tired of fixing the things I couldn't afford to, I came to her defense time and time again: She gets the job done! She starts every time! I was delusional.

The White Shadow was given to me by my mom and her husband when I spent my torrid summer in Maine back in '03 (again, another story), and I proudly drove her from Joliet to Camden and she was my best friend in that coastal town. Back then when she did start every time, she allowed me to zip around town without a care, giving me the I-told-you-I'd-come-up-here-with-my-own-wheels-and-wouldn't-need-yours prepared speech I would give should I ever run into the ex I was then trying to get over who lived up there (I told you, another story). What a beautifully glorious summer that was. Me and the White Shadow sunning our buns on Beauchamp Point in Rockport, ME, us on an impromptu 3.5 hour drive down to Boston to see my best friend, Kelly, us in New York on August 14th, 2003 - the day of the Northeast blackout, also, coincidentally the night of my photography exhibit at the Jay Hawkins Gallery in New York that I didn't get to see because of said blackout. I was lucky enough to have won a photography contest where my print would be shown in a gallery in New York for a week, and lucky me, on the night of the event New York experienced the blackout that those of us in the city thought was another terrorist attack. I'd come down from Maine in the White Shadow for this momentous event only to be overshadowed by a major power outage. But, but, but! The White Shadow did save the day, as I was able to drive to Columbia University to search for my friend who was on her way to Chelsea for my exhibit, and after searching in earnest through the sea of nervous anxious New Yorkers on Broadway, I miraculously found my friend. I whisked us away back to Harlem where we sat in a stifling apartment with no fan, AC, or cold drinks - only overpriced beer that we were able to ascertain from the local bodega. I stuck around New York for two days hoping the gallery reception would happen, and naturally when I finally left and was somewhere in mid‐coast Maine, between Portland and Damariscotta, did I receive a call that the reception was happening that night. Me and the White Shadow didn't have it in us to head back to the city.

Very long story short, the White Shadow had been there when I needed her many times, and had served me well. But 2010 being what it was, I couldn't find the type of job I was looking for in Boston and had to expand my search to New York. I loved Boston but I didn't endure two years of graduate school pain and take on crazy student loans where my name might as well be "Trinette Nel Net Sallie Mae Faint" to not explore options that may actually allow me to pay them off one day before I die; so come to New York I did. I'd lived here previously once upon a time when I was fancy and traveled first class (my Matt Damon days, for those of you who don't know), and now returned to a new reality - staying with friends in Brooklyn, no job, bad economy, and a decade older. Good times. But my faith and perseverance paid off and I landed a job about a month later after sleepless nights wondering exactly how I was going to get Amex and Visa to stop calling me. It's not like I didn't know I was behind, and thank you economy, my restaurant job in Boston had not produced the lucrative bucks waitressing once promised - why couldn't they just understand that? Didn't they get that the White Shadow took precedence and she needed to be repaired, oil‐changed, insured, and gassed‐up above all else? Apparently not. But be that as it may, I was suddenly blessed with a gig in Jersey City that not only came with a free apartment, but also allowed me to not drive any more. I was able to keep the White Shadow off the street in our covered parking lot and now had a company car (Mercedes SUV - white, also like my beloved Shadow) at my disposal.

Life was good but I was skating on thin ice. I had Mass plates, living in Jersey, with a New York license - I'd switched it from Mass when I first arrived. Every little drive I took to Target, the grocery store, or to the bank was fraught with fear. OMG what if I get into an accident and I get busted not having the car registered here? What if they force me to get a Jersey license?? Jersey had been good to me but I didn't necessarily want to forgo my new New York license for a New Jersey one. I only changed from Mass to New York because I hated my new Mass photo taken only months earlier. I had makeup on but still managed to take a really bad photo that I was not happy with. Miraculously, I'd managed to nail a great photo at the New York DMV and didn't want to surrender that so easily. I have to live with it, after all. So everywhere I went in the White Shadow would paralyze me with fear. I am only a few minutes from the Holland Tunnel and there are always a number of cops everywhere and the White Shadow being what she was, she would sometimes adhere to her own rules (I think I mentioned before that she was built for speed)and I was petrified that every time I drove her anywhere that the day would end up with me in jail trying to post bail. But the larger issue was that I never had the need
to drive anymore. When I realized I was on the same tank of gas for six weeks I knew it was time for me to let her go. It was bad enough that the post office had taken the liberty to notify my insurance company of my move (where exactly do they get off doing that?), and now I was forced to lie to them and tell them that the car was still in Mass. I'd heard that Jersey has the highest insurance rates in the country and because I was not ready to strip away her Mass identity with Jersey plates and did not want to be forced into a Jersey license, I continued to live on the edge. I guess it wasn't that much on the edge because I hardly drove anymore and my travels extended from my apartment to a two‐block walk to the train to Manhattan for a two‐minute ride into the city. I just really didn't need her anymore.

Eventually, I found the courage to post her for sale. It was heart wrenching but I did it. This was in the midst of all the unrelenting snow of January and I got no takers.


I survived February without getting pulled over and had decided that I would donate her to the Big Sisters of Greater Boston when my inner voice told me to try to sell once more. I posted an ad and was deluded with calls. March was a much bigger difference than January and I couldn't keep all the inquiries straight. It became clear that my love affair with the White Shadow was going to end very soon. Everyone wanted her NOW!

I thought I was emotionally ready for her transition but I was not. While cleaning her out I was disarmed at how all the memories came flooding back...I'd had modeling composite cards from my Denver modeling agency in the armrest which instantly took me back to our old Rocky Mountain high days. There were Seal, Sade, Guy and TLC tapes in the armrest, along with business cards with an outdated email address. The trunk was full of things I had just let live there - old cds, beach towels, dog toys, flashlights, and a blanket randomly bought on a road trip from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. There was also the car's former plates from Illinois and Colorado before she found her home in Massachusetts. In the back seat slot was a Carly Simon songbook that I bought to play guitar to after being inspired by Sheryl Crow and Sarah McLachlan's perfomance at Lilith Fair in Chula Vista, California back in '00, I believe, after which I subsequently bought a guitar in Hawaii encouraged by a paramour (again, yes, another story). There were three university decals on the back window - two from Emerson, my alma mater, and one from the University of Colorado at Boulder, where I took writing courses post‐college and lived as if I were still an undergrad. It's easy to do in Boulder no matter what your age, trust me.

Finally my buyer arrived. Clinical. Financed. Ready to take ownership. Never would I have imagined that the last time I would drive her would be pulling her out of her parking space to display her like a show pony. I was on autopilot as I showed him the numerous service repair records and talked up her attributes like I was working the Detroit auto show. What I was not prepared for was how disconnected the buyer was from my spiel. It was almost as if he didn't care that I'd lovingly taken care of her or recently replaced the gas filter. He didn't even test drive her and showed no interest in the dent I tried to show him on the driver side rear. He lost interest when I explained that I wasn't at fault because a delivery guy backed into her on my narrow street in Somerville. He also showed no interest in looking under the hood. This, I could not understand. I took great offense to it as he coolly counted out the money in hundred dollar notes as it he were buying a loaf of bread. Him and his cousin then methodically sealed the deal and put Jersey plates on her. The one thing I had been trying to prevent for so long was happening right before my eyes, but as he had just signed my homemade bill of sale and given me the money, I no longer had a say. The entire transaction took less than ten minutes. My eyes became engulfed in tears as I watched her officially become a Jersey Girl and I sat on the cloth interior one last time. I stroked the dash and told her I was sorry but it was time for me to let her go. All of our cross‐country adventures came flooding back along with more memories that I can count. Eight years of my life was tied to her and I was more attached than I realized. With all her new sparkly parts acquired in 2010 I felt like this was our second chance and I was now abandoning her prematurely, but also knew that if we ever had another Vernon, CT incident, that she would be left alone on the side of whatever road because I had reached the end of my financial rope. It was a sad occasion and when I saw her new owner zip out of the parking lot the only thing I could recognize were the decals in the back window blurring out of sight. I sobbed from the bottom of my soul at a love lost knowing I would never see her again and realized I foolishly gave the buyer both keys. Had I kept the spare I would be able to steal her back if I ever saw her decals staring back at me on the streets. But perhaps that wouldn't be wise.

I gave her all I had to give and she gave me many years of happy memories. Boston, Maine, Colorado, Vegas, Los Angeles, Joliet, New York, New Jersey, and all the other random excursions, would have never been the same without her, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Untitled

Where does the heart go when a promise is broken; when the hopes for happiness have been misplaced.

Where does the heart go when it all doesn't go as planned; when reality outweighs fantasy.

Where does the heart go when one no longer lives in the past expecting a future; when one enters the present.

Where does the heart go when it is startled awake?

It goes home.

Aging from the sole up

LL Bean boat shoes? Did I really just order a pair of those? I seriously questioned my purchase after I entered my American Express number for the shoes I had seen in every friend's parent's mud room throughout my twenties. The larger issue that resonated with me as I hit send was the fact that I suddenly realized that I had aged out of buying impractical shoes in place of more sensible ones. Had I really experienced a grown-up moment? Am I really getting older and more sensible in my purchasing decisions? Yes and yes.

Whoa.

All I did was purchase a pair of shoes, but it was what happened after the purchase that made me embrace the woman I clearly am now. After removing the stuffing and reading the insert about how the show will form to your foot quickly, I skeptically tried them on.

It was love at first fit.

This had never happened to me before. Well, maybe with my Addidases, but this was different. Sneakers are supposed to be comfortable and fit perfectly when you first put them on, but how many times have we had to "break in" a pair of overpriced shoes that needed to be modified with all things Dr. Scholls? My cracking knees and tingly toes - a direct result of wearing ill-fitting shoes trying to be a girl-about-town in my twenties - sighed with relief at the ARCH SUPPORT and soft pliable leather of the shoes I never thought would outfit my feet.

Aaaahhhhhh.

Little things creep up on me everyday to remind me I'm no longer in my twenties and damn-near out of my thirties - a gray hair that refuses to shed, falling into bed exhausted at 9:30, no longer even considering going to a club or, heaven forbid, actually waiting in line at one (that is so 1999), having dinner as early as possible, and thinking some of the clothes in the Chico's commercials are actually kind of cute, leaving me to ask, OMG when did I become their target demographic???

But, despite, I am incredibly blessed to have survived my twenties and transitional thirties and am happily embracing the woman I am constantly evolving into. LL Bean has a life-long fan in me and I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of my next purchase.

Aging into herself,

Tall T