A Normal Day: 23 Years Old
All names have been changed. All memories, I'm sure, have been altered due to time. But they're as close to the truth as I know.
“Are you there? Pep?” I take a startled inhale. My eyelashes unstick and there’s glitter in my peripheral.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” I say, attempting to sound alert.
“Ok.” K exhales in relief. I can hear the whir of the tour bus and then I hear him get sick again.
“It’s ok, baby. I’m right here. It’s ok.” I say with all the energy that I have at - I tap my phone. It reveals K’s name, our 2 hour and counting conversation, and 3am.
At first, I liked being needed. Loved it, actually. Which is gross and narcissistic, considering how horrific the circumstances are. But I couldn’t help it. It was the perfect opportunity to show him how much I love him and, maybe if I was lucky, earn some back.
I sit up for a second to reorient myself. There’s a cheeks worth of glitter on my pillow from our show the night before. A great show. Not worth telling K about, though. He’s on a tour bus, playing sold out venues. And I’m just playing small clubs in Nashville, getting the songs in my head closer to the physical realm. But they’re still choppy and half real. Even though the show last night was more full than the last show, and I met people that want to play another show with us, comparatively, it was nothing.
K gets sick again and my heart aches at the same time that my eyes do. I wish I could hold him and we could both just fall asleep.
“It’s ok, baby. I’m right here. It’s going to be ok.” I say into the speaker, resting my head on my knees.
***
My alarm goes off at 6am.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” I mumble robotically. I don’t remember us hanging up, but I hope that means he eventually fell asleep and was able to rest. I start getting ready and catch my body in the vanity mirror. It’s my “dream body”. Finally. But I don’t even smile at it. I don’t even feel it. K doesn’t run his hands around it. He can’t, not right now. Not with everything he’s going through.
I tell myself I got it because I’ve finally started working out and I eat kale. But I’ve always eaten kale. If I’m being honest, it’s because whenever I do make my kale and my gluten free bagel thins and my eggs, I’m too tired to swallow. Half of my body is missing because the other half is waiting to be seen.
I get to the beautiful house outside of Nashville around 7 and I’m immediately greeted by one of my favorite animals on the planet, Honey (name not changed because I am not afraid of Honey’s lawyer coming for me, even though Honey’s lawyer is her amazing Mom.) I say a quick hello to Amanda (name changing is back) as she runs off to her internship. It’s honestly impossible to choose a favorite of the women I’ve worked for, but it’s not because I’d choose Amanda. When I first started working for her, she was finishing her law degree at Belmont, and by the time I was finishing she was working for the DA, defending children of assault cases. She’s also a Mother of two kids that I think about weekly because they are so fabulous.
When I get inside I start by trying to wake up Dax gently, reminding myself to check back on him in 5 minutes. I knock on the door to wake up Rose and, as I expected, she’s already awake, writing an entry in her junk journal.
I make them breakfast, oatmeal and eggs, and Rose comes down while I’m finishing up. She tells me about soccer camp and who she’s excited to see today. I have to remind myself that Rose is a child and that I need to treat her like one, because she is so eloquent and clever I can often think I’m hanging out with a friend. When I put breakfast down, I go back up for Dax again. He’s still sleeping.
“Dax, buddy, we gotta get going. Isn’t today basketball? You love basketball!”
“I don’t wanna go today!” He moans while also pretending he’s asleep.
Back to why I love nannying. I remember being a kid so clearly. I remember not wanting to go to stuff. It caused me so much anxiety. Especially in the summer. All I can do is feel for him.
“I really get that.” I say. “Honestly, it’s going to be over before you know it, and when I pick you up, we can do whatever. We can hang here and chill! Or got to the pool. Or you can have a playdate. You just tell me.” This doesn’t feel like bribery because it was going to happen anyways. When he still doesn’t move, I say what I really really don’t want to say. “I really don’t want to call your parents and tell them we’re having a hard morning.”
He immediately swings his legs over the bed and sniffs. I know the frustration is authentic.
“Thanks, bud. I’ll see you downstairs.”
I drop each of them off at their separate camps and then go back to Nashville proper for a few hours before I pick them up again.
I hit the radio station and say hi to everyone before heading into the small studio where weekend DJs prerecord their sessions. It takes me about an hour to record my two-hour session for the next night. I read ads and do transitions. I’m still slower than I’d like, but I have the time and want to make sure I’m being entertaining while I get the information across.
When I walk out of my booth, my boss is waiting with a wave and a smile. “Hey! Good to see you!”
“Hey! You too!” I look at him suspiciously. “Whats up?”
“Someone dropped out of hosting an event tonight at Mercy Lounge, any chance you can fill in?” He says with a smile showing his bottom teeth.
I think for a second. K is coming home tonight. Yes, I’m excited to see him. But I also know what seeing him will be. TV on the couch with the guys. Pizza with the guys. Once we’re alone, talking about the stuff, panic attacks, getting sick, no sleep…
“Sure!” I say. “I can get there by 7, I have work before. Is that cool?”
“Totally!” He hands me a piece of paper I didn’t realize was in his hand, with all of the details. “We’ll email this to you too. It should be easy though. It’s a charity for rhinos I think? Great bands too.”
“Sick,” I nod skimming over the info, feeling guilty over my relief to be busy.
The kids and I hangout at the pool after camp. We play Lemonade and I teach them a game my babysitter used to play with me when I was young. Their friends meet us and I sneak onto a lounge chair with the Moms when they seem entertained by people their age. The Moms talk about work they got done after birth and I listen, fascinated.
I make dinner for the family and have a little extra time to snuggle with Honey on the couch before Amanda comes home. I give her a rundown on a successful day and then head to Mercy Lounge to emcee this show.
My boss texts me: Don’t forget to invite a friend! You have tickets at the door.
My stomach drops into the well of sadness that’s been feeding my perfect body.
I didn’t want a boyfriend for two years. There was the boy I was kind of in love with because he didn’t want me - that was fun. I enjoyed that. But I still didn’t want a boyfriend. The interest in partnership came when I got hired at Lightning100. I started getting tickets to all kinds of shows and events. The hours are pretty low - hence the nannying. But when you’re 23, getting to go to free shows and festivals and a Zoo Beer fest and Circus event makes it worth it. I wanted to bring someone to these events. And maybe kiss them. Sue me.
This isn’t how I pictured it. Now I’m using these events to avoid my boyfriend instead of spend time with him. I think I brought K to one event? In my defense, he was never around, and when he was, he didn’t have the energy, and when he did, he didn’t seem interested. And when he was finally interested and had the energy and we wanted to really do this - his life got complicated beyond anyone’s control.
I text CK and tell her about the show. She’s busy I know B’s hanging with K. So I just let the tickets sit there. Unused.
The event is fun. My friend A moved to New York over the Spring, and I’m feeling her absence tonight and missing her.
I’m in my car. I’m so excited to see K. To smell his skin. I know he’s going to make me laugh immediately, despite everything he’s going through. That’s how good he is to his core. But there’s also a hunger that I feel when we’re together that I don’t know how to describe and when I try I feel bad and I make him feel bad and then I feel worse. I drive to the house.
I bury my nose in his neck and I wrap my arms around him. Tighter than he wraps his around me, and the hunger pangs. We watch TV for a while with everyone, and then we go upstairs. We kiss a little. We talk a little. We get in place for bed, but I know better than to expect sleep at this point. Soon enough, it happens. His breathing is backwards. We put on binaural beats, try to control the breathing. Then the sick happens. I stroke his back. I’m touching his skin this time, not hearing his breathing through the phone, but I feel so alone. I hope he doesn’t feel that too. My eyes hurt. My stomach hurts. My heart hurts. I feel selfish and guilty for hurting. When he’s obviously hurting more.
“One day,” he says through a moment of calm. “One day I will show you how grateful I am for this.”
The hunger grows stronger, the love wafting past me like food at a restaurant that isn’t mine, the promise my meal will be delicious and out in just a few minutes.
“I love you.” I mean it even though it feels further, and stranger, some days. I only say it sometimes because he can’t say it, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
He wretches.
I wait.