I open and close the door behind me so people don’t see us walk out together. When I take my seat again, I buckle up and let out a huge sigh. Insides falling out all over the place. I see Tim sneak out and back to his seat next to his sister. But now that he’s Tim, not Jim, for all I know, it could be his girlfriend. The flight attendant is throwing martial art weapons of disgust at me from the other side of the plane.
‘You’re a whole new brand of Cracker Jacks,’ Tony leans in and whispers. ‘Never seen anything quite like you before.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I ask. ‘I just had to pee.’
‘It sounded like someone was throwing a piano down a set of stairs in there,’ he says, winking at me.
I can’t help it but tears start to stream down my face. Embarrassed, I try to wipe them away before anyone sees. ‘I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for me to find the person I’m supposed to be with.’ It’s amazing how you can cry to a stranger but not to your own mother.
‘You’re trying too hard. Let a man come to you.’
‘But he was cute, he even tried to kiss me. He has tattoos and a sexy tongue ring and used to be a big band’s guitar tech . . .’
‘I love big band music,’ he interrupts.
‘No, a big band. A popular band. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he said we had no spark.’
‘You’re telling me you’re crying because some douche bag with a tongue ring and a terrible band tattoo says you don’t have “sparks”?’ Tony says with a smile, patting me on the back to comfort me, slightly too hard. Too abrupt and awkward, but it’s sweet.
‘I have done everything under the sun, short of boning a a little person, and nothing is working. I can’t figure out where I’m going wrong.’
‘I’m a little person,’ Tony says.
I gasp in fear at what I’ve said. The harm I’ve done. I cover my mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’d be great in bed!’
‘I’m only kidding, kid,’ he says. ‘See what I mean? You’re too uptight.’
So now Tony’s a bit of a humorist.
‘That’s funny. You should save that for your standup routine,’ I say, pulling the tuna fish out of my bag. I’m feeling peckish as you do after sexual activity, and start taking little bites here, little bites there, all the while looking at Tony properly. I’m taking all of him in. I wonder how big Tony’s willy is but not in a weird way. Purely out of interest, a normal thought when you meet someone new. That’s what women do. Like when you imagine what sex is like between odd couples. Not because it’s a sexy thought but more of a complex logistical puzzle, to figure out how it works when one is too small, the other too big; one too short, the other too tall. Sure, it’s strange, but you can’t help but think about it. At least I don’t imagine what their faces look like while orgasming. That would be really over the top!
‘You’re beautiful,’ he says.
‘Tony,’ I say. ‘You’re blind! How do you know I’m beautiful?’
‘I’m not that blind.’
‘You’re very cheeky. I’m sure with women, you always made the first move and it worked. Isn’t that the same as what I’m doing by getting the ball rolling? Sometimes you have to make people like you. Or at least, steer them in the right direction . . . right?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Wrong.’
‘Well then I officially don’t understand,’ I say, looking up towards the sky as if talking to any listening angels, but all I see is the ceiling of the plane. All I see is plastic, and it’s killing me like it’s destroying our seas and our planet.
‘When I met my wife, she didn’t like me because I was a cocky little son of a bitch and she wanted nothing to do with me,’ he tells me. ‘I was a bit of a wise ass. Girls loved me because I was a smooth talker and had an unjustifiable amount of confidence for a man of my class.’
He pauses. Blows his nose. Needs a pill.
‘Well, don’t stop now,’ I say. ‘I love a good love story.’
‘I gathered that,’ he says as he adjusts himself in his seat, excited to have a captive audience. ‘I first saw Rosie when she was eighteen. I was nineteen, living in St. Louis. She worked as a receptionist at a doctor’s office and I managed a diner directly across the street. I used to watch her through the blinds every day as she’d leave. I kept trying to get her to come in so I’d have an excuse to talk to her but she totally ignored me. Said I was a jerk all the time.’
‘Why would she think that?’ I ask.
‘Because I was. I had already dated her friends and pretty much every woman in the town who didn’t have a ring.’
‘Look at Tony go,’ I say.
‘So anyway, one day she came in with her boss and I ignored her, well, more out of respect or hopelessness because I knew she didn’t want to talk to me. I’d run after her down the street calling “Baby” so many times I figured I’d lost my chance. Once I stopped trying, she relaxed a little. Slowly but surely, she started making excuses to come in for a milkshake here, a milkshake there . . .’
‘I bet she did!’ I exclaim, laughing, to which he just shakes his head.
‘You’re missing the point,’ he says. ‘The point is that the minute I dropped the act, she turned around.’
It takes me a moment but I process this. I feel it going through my nose and into my brain, seeping down my temples.
‘What’s your biggest fear?’ Tony asks me. He’s got a piece of salad on his chin from the meal earlier and it’s seriously distracting. I don’t want to make him feel self-conscious by getting it off, and hope he’ll just naturally brush his hand over his face and knock it down.
‘Lovelessness.’ It just slips out so quickly, like a knee-jerk reaction. I don’t even know if it’s a word but it feels like the best way to describe it.
Tony digests this silently. ‘I think you’re a catch, KK. Just focus on loving yourself and the rest will work itself out. Maybe you’re going for these men because you know you’ll never end up with them. They’re safe.’
His words make me wonder if maybe I’m picking all the wrong men because subconsciously I want to keep our family just the way it is. To keep my mom close, needing me like she only does when she’s alone. I hope that’s not true.
‘How would I know if they were right or not before we date?’ I reply, but Tony’s losing steam.
Finally, Tony scratches an itch on his chin and the lettuce leaf falls off. The flight map says we have two hours left until we reach Frankfurt. I close my eyes and try to take myself back to the place I last felt hopeful and confident, to the moment right before I went into the bathroom. I ruminate there, and let myself doze off to a world where chivalry and romance are as common as tying a shoelace.
When I arrive in Frankfurt, my daisy is itching so insanely I can barely see straight. I shouldn’t have eaten the in-flight dessert because I just cannot process sugar. And you know, sugar aggravates candida and there you have it. I’m feeling an odd mix of emotions because I can’t quite seem to get my head around the fact that Tim wasn’t Jimmy, and Jimmy wasn’t on the plane, and that Jimmy is still out there.
People aggressively push past me after we exit Customs as if they’re all late for their lives. You’re never supposed to make plans immediately after your scheduled flight arrival because everyone knows it could get delayed. This is how I live, without plans. This is how I avoid panic and confusion.
I see Tim and his sister in front of me in the Customs line. They go in the ‘Nothing To Declare’ line but you know they’ve got some secrets. He should be saying, ‘I’m a dickhead! I’m bringing dickheadedness into your country!’ By this time, I’ve lost Tony; no idea where he went. I tried to help him with his things but someone was waiting to scoot him away in a wheelchair the minute we exited the plane, that sneaky bastard. He really has learned to live well.
The Frankfurt airport is huge. Everything is very clean. Very organized. Very German. I search frantically for a pharmacy and finally find one and wal
k straight up to the woman behind the counter.
‘Hello,’ I say, smiling through the pain. I lean in to whisper. ‘Do you have any yeast infection cream?’
‘What?!’ she says very, very loudly, with a very German accent.
‘I think I have a yeast infection,’ I whisper again, trying to signal with my hand to lower her voice. I start looking around to make sure no one can hear.
‘Okay,’ she says. Thank goodness, she gets it. I wait as she tries to get the attention of her co-worker in the back of the shop. But instead of waiting for her to come over, she does the unthinkable.
‘Hilda? This lady has fungus of the vag-ina,’ she screams as everyone, of course, turns to look at me. ‘Inside fungus or outside fungus?’ she adds, for confirmation. The word vagina sounds so vulgar when she says it like that, as if it were a disease itself. Something you wouldn’t want to be caught dead with.
‘No!’ I yell out. ‘No, no. A misunderstanding!’ I throw my body over the counter with what’s left of my pride and say, again in a whisper, ‘Please, I don’t want people to hear.’
‘So you do have a fungus in your vagina or not?’ she says, too loudly again, too matter-of-factly. I look around at the faces of customers and come, to my horror, to Tim and his companion, sister, whatever, who have surfaced from behind one of the aisles.
‘Okay,’ Hilda shouts. ‘I’m coming. We have something for you.’
Tim looks at me in a way I’ve never been looked at, and all I can do is run out as quickly as I can as the German pharmacists call out after me, the girl with the itchy daisy.
I need to find a phone because I need to get all this disappointment off my chest so I walk into a telephone booth at the airport and pick up the receiver. I don’t know who to talk to. I know I want to talk, I just don’t know whom to call. I can’t call Brenda because she doesn’t entertain my meandering questions and I think my mom said she’d be away with Gary, her new boyfriend, this weekend and wouldn’t be available.
So I call Bridget.
Bridget and I haven’t spoken in years, probably since high school, but she’s always been someone I can turn to. It’s like we can have years go by without seeing each other but it doesn’t change how close we are. She’s still my best friend.
‘Hello?’ she says.
‘Bridge!’ I delight. ‘Hey, it’s me.’
‘Who?’
‘Tabitha,’ I say. There’s so much silence I am not sure entirely what to do.
‘How did you get my number?’ she asks. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m great,’ I lie. ‘On holiday in Germany right now. Just wanted to see how you were. Needed a friend to talk—’
Kids are screaming in the background, shouting variations of ‘Mom!’
‘I’m so sorry, Tabitha,’ Bridget cuts me off. ‘One of my kids has a temperature and I’m trying to cook everyone dinner before my husband gets home. Is there anything you need? It’s just not the best time to catch up.’
The room feels colder and I put my jacket on. I look down at my feet. The way they turn out from all those years of ballet as a kid. Then I look at the cuticles I need to cut on my fingernails. The polish I need to reapply. How my hands are starting to look a lot like my mother’s.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Of course. I’m fine. Let’s talk soon then. Hope your kid feels better.’
‘Thanks,’ she says as a pan clinks in the background. ‘Okay, thanks for calling. Bye.’
I hang up the phone and stand in the middle of the busy airport. All alone in Frankfurt, wishing I’d met Jimmy already. I circle around a few times, looking at the German headlines on celebrity magazines. I don’t recognize anyone except for Princess Kate and Prince William, who just had their first baby son. I think about going outside for a while but instead wait inside as it’s so cold. I’m not itching anymore so maybe it was just nerves. I am nervous after all. Sometimes that happens. False alarms! I’m plagued with them!
I find a bar in the area, sit down at the counter, and order a beer because I know that’s very German and when in Frankfurt, etc. I’m starting to think that this whole search for love is making me look crazy. I know I’m a good person; I don’t know why it’s taking me so long to find someone. Maybe I am being desperate. Being in a foreign country really puts things in perspective.
I’m chugging my beer down as I hear someone calling out my name.
‘Tabitha?’ a woman yells. ‘Tabitha, is that you?’
I turn around and find Joyce Devons, one of my mother’s friends, running towards me. ‘I can’t believe I’m seeing you in GERMANY!’
She laughs too loudly and has a tight-fitting black outfit on with pearls and high heels. When she walks, she looks like she’s about to fall, ankles unsure, like a drunk gazelle on ice skates. We give each other a hug and kiss on the cheek, more of an air-kiss it turns out.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘I have a convention to attend. Musikmesse. A music convention. One of the biggest in the world. Absolutely exhausting but it’s great in the evenings when we can all go out for drinks and pretend we’re strategizing. Why are you here?’
I think about how I’m going to respond without perpetuating my heart-breaking story so I say, ‘I just needed to get out.’
‘To Frankfurt?’ she says. ‘I didn’t know people came here who didn’t have to, but that’s great news. I bet you’re following in your mother’s footsteps, getting up to wild things, aren’t you? Speaking of, I need to call her. How is she?’
‘She’s the same as always,’ I say, wondering if it’s true. ‘Busy.’
‘Good. Busy is good. I’m still livid with your father for leaving you all like that.’
I don’t really have anything to say so I just stand there. Quiet for a minute. ‘That was a long time ago. We’re over it. The Grays are pros at moving on.’
‘I have to run, but have fun on your adventures!’ she says, blowing me a kiss.
‘Joyce?’ I say as she turns to leave. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Didn’t your mother tell you?’ she says. ‘Michael ran off with a nineteen-year-old stripper about six months ago. Thirty-two years of marriage down the drain because some Eastern European with displaced daddy issues enchanted my husband’s dick.’
I went over and hugged her with both arms. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘I think it’s exciting because it means that you can now meet the one you’re supposed to be with. He’s still out there!’
‘I’m not so sure about that. At my age, it’s hard pickings.’
‘You can get it wrong a gazillion times but it doesn’t matter because you only need to get it right once. You only have to meet one good one. The rest is practice.’
At this point I’m not even sure what I’m talking about because it’s been one fail after another but for some reason I’m fired up about the future. I’m still on the rollercoaster Chrissie Hynde was telling me about. And when it’s down, it means it’s about to go up.
‘Thanks, Tabitha,’ she says. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ She takes me all in and adds, ‘Boy, you’re really growing up, aren’t you? I think these adventures are doing you good.’
I’m so happy someone’s noticed.
The Bartender
The phone rings and it’s Milk. Being my neighbor, he’s hard to escape. I’m hungover from my long flight back from Germany, binging on too much emotion, up in the air, and we all know altitude magnifies things. It took a lot out of me; the comedown is hard on the nerves.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘What are you doing right now?’
‘Oh,’ I jump. ‘I’m busy.’ I’m lying on my bed but start to hit pillows and ruffle things up so it sounds like there’s a lot going on.
‘I know you’re lying. I’m watching you.’ When I glance over, I see him on the phone staring at me from his kitchen window. He points at me with an ‘I got you.’
‘Goddammit, Milk!’ I shout. ‘Stop spying on me!’
‘I saw you g
et back last night. I thought for a minute you’d be away a little longer, hunting down European men usually takes at least a few days, right? Even for you, Queen of Haste.’
‘Yeah, yeah, very funny.’ I pause. ‘I’m picking up Mary soon and have some things to do at home. Some very important things.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like finishing Lolita.’
‘You’ve read that at least fifty times.’
‘Well, I’ve been a little confused lately, and Jeremy Irons’ voice on audiotape makes me feel less alone, okay?’ I’m hoping he’ll think I’m bananas, I’m weird, but he doesn’t even flinch. That’s probably why he’s so good at martial arts.
‘I have a place I want to take you,’ he says, suspiciously.
‘Like an adventure?’ I ask, excited at the thought but also dubious because, well, it’s Milk. He nods but I’m still unsure. ‘What kind of adventure?’ I add. ‘Give me a hint.’
‘You’re always talking about wanting spontaneity. Here it is.’
I can feel my face contort, lips purse, the lines in between my eyebrows scrunching up into squiggly shapes.
‘Aren’t you the one who’s always saying you have to be proactive and make things happen rather than waiting for things to come to you?’ he continues, pushing. Pushing!
Next thing I know, I’m driving in my car with him to get Mary. He scratches his nose in my peripheral vision.
‘I can’t believe I’m being blindly led by a guy who lives at home,’ I say.
‘Oh, and you don’t?’
I shrug, unable to source a comeback.
‘We’re both doing the same thing,’ he adds. ‘We’re taking care of our parents.’
‘Is that really why you’re home again? To take care of your dad?’
‘He started leaving the gas on,’ he begins, softly spoken, slowly, ‘and wandering around the streets in his robe in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to hire anyone because no one would take care of him like I would. So I rented out my place and moved back in.’
The Optimist Page 20