The Interruption of Everything

by Terry McMillan

  “What spiel are you talking about?”

  “Middle-aged men going through a midlife crisis and using that as an excuse for doing whatever they feel like doing.”

  “Who said I was going through a midlife crisis?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, Leon.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t be.”

  “What are some of the symptoms?”

  “Overt stupidity. Promiscuity. Regressive behavior. How would I know, Leon? All I know is what menopause feels like.”

  “All men don’t go through it, do they?”

  “I just told you, I’ve got enough to worry about. Look up your own stuff.”

  “I don’t buy into that crap.”

  “Anyway, I still haven’t heard from that doctor.”

  “He called while I was on the other line.”

  “What did he say, Leon? I’ve been going crazy.”

  “Spencer’s fine. He’s just in a lot of pain. The doctor said he needs to stay put for at least another day because he has to keep his wrist elevated or his fingers might swell up and get sore and it could cause some kind of drainage and then lead to an infection.”

  “So, no more surgery, then?”

  “No. The doctor said he’s giving Spence his X-rays and all his notes to take back to Atlanta.”

  “Good. I’m relieved to hear this. So they won’t be back until Friday.”

  “That’s the way it is.”

  “Then I have to figure out whether to leave early afternoon on Thursday or early Friday.”

  “You’re still going down there?”

  “I can’t just change Lovey’s appointment, Leon! We’ve been through this once before so I’m not even going to go there. Spencer’s been taken care of. And I need to make sure that the same thing will happen to my mother.”

  “Well, I’ll be here for him.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘them’?”

  “No.”

  “So what do you propose we do now, Leon? Just pick it up where we left off this morning?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I can tell you right now, that my answer to that question is an unequivocal no.”

  “Look, Marilyn. I’ll be honest with you, okay? I think we could both use a break from each other. A breather. To maybe get a better perspective on what we have or don’t have.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Then why’d you come back so damn soon? I thought you were on your way.”

  “Because this isn’t the right time to make an exit and you know that.”

  “Then why’d you bring it up if you weren’t planning to back it up?”

  “Because you insisted.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “I was trying to wait until after Spence left.”

  “Well, scratch that one. So, are you moving in with her?”

  “No. It’s not that serious. I’m not in love with her. It’s just something that’s been fun and frivolous.”

  “Fun and frivolous, huh? You know Gordon stopped by right after you left and you’ll never believe this but he just bought a house right down the street and Lord have mercy he looked so damn good I wanted to lick him. Arthurine got a little worked up over him, too. Maybe after you’re gone, or hell, why wait till then? I could give him a little spin in the sack later on tonight for old times’ sake. He was good, you know. In fact, maybe I’ll videotape it so you can see how it’s supposed to be done.”

  “Don’t do this, Marilyn.”

  “Why not? You did.”

  “Okay, you have a right to throw acid on me, but what I want to say is that I accept responsibility for what I’ve become: a boring middle-aged man who forgot how to live. I could use some lessons on how to reconstruct myself into being the man you married, the man I know I am.”

  “And just how do you propose to do that?”

  “I’m going away.”

  “Really?”

  “On Monday. Frank and I are going to Costa Rica. For four weeks.”

  “Costa Rica? For four weeks? That’s a whole month. Is this some kind of conspiracy?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well it’s been carefully planned, that much is obvious. No worries. Go. Anywhere you want to. Just think. A whole month to spend with your cheating-but-almost-divorced homeboy?”

  “Actually, he’s back at home.”

  “You mean to tell me Joyce took his sorry ass back?”

  “They do love each other, Marilyn. They’ve even started going to counseling. In fact, I forgot to tell you that Saturday is Frank’s birthday and Sunday is their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary so they’re having a big party. We have to go.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “It would hurt them deeply if you didn’t come. I know you’re mad at me, but don’t take it out on them.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. We were on our way to Costa Rica a minute ago. Let’s go back.” He sees how cynical I’m being and I know he’s serious but I feel like he wants me to understand his so-called plight but when has he ever taken this much time to give me this much consideration?

  “Well, anyway, last year, Frank’s brother Abe and a group of his buddies all went down there for a whole month.”

  “To do what?”

  “Find themselves.”

  “Don’t you mean, lose themselves?”

  “No, Frank and I are pretty much in the same boat.”

  “And what boat is that, Leon?”

  “It’s hard to explain because we don’t really understand why nothing seems to be making much sense to us anymore.”

  “So just what are you two going to do down there to find yourselves?”

  “We don’t have all the details yet. All Abe said was that sometimes you have to step outside of your situation in order to get your perspective back.”

  “Well, I empathize with you two lost adulterers. So, is it a four-star hotel with a spa?”

  “Actually there’s more to it than that. But to answer your question, yes, it is, and there’s a spectacular spa.”

  “Oh goody. Wouldn’t want you to miss your workout while you’re searching for your soul.”

  “Marilyn, please.”

  “So, you’ve been planning this for some time, then.”

  “Look. I’ve been feeling confused about a lot of things and this might be the best thing I could do for me and for you.”

  “Maybe you should just go ahead and take me out of this video.”

  “Are you saying that you want me to leave?”

  “I’ll say this much. I’ve certainly wondered what my life would be like on my own. I can’t deny that.”

  “So, would you want to try being apart for a while to see what happens?”

  “Yeah, but what about your mother?”

  “I hadn’t thought about Mother.”

  “Of course you haven’t. You were just supposed to leave me here with her to continue being Miss Endless Caregiver, was that it?”

  “No. But I’ll think of something.”

  “She wants to move out, you know.”

  “What?”

  “She wants to move over there where her boyfriend lives.”

  “He is not her boyfriend.”

  “He’s her boyfriend.”

  “Isn’t that place more like a nursing home for people who have medical problems?”

  “No, it is not. It’s an apartment complex for seniors. And according to Arthurine, Prezelle is not handicapped in any sense of the word.”

  “The thought itself is disgusting.”

  “Anyway, she’s on the waiting list.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “While you were out being frivolous and hence missing in action, Arthurine’s been getting plenty of it. That’s when.”

  “But why does she want to move?”

  “Because she’s bored and lonely, Leon. Just like the rest of us who live in this house! She’s having fun. Something
I don’t have much of anymore, at least not with my husband. And I’ll say this so we can come clean. I just lost a baby I didn’t want and I think God did it to shake you up and get you to admit all this stuff, but I’m supposed to do something different, too, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it or what I’m supposed to do but I can’t do it by the book anymore. That much I do know.”

  “I told you I thought going back to school was a good idea.”

  “That is not what you said, Leon. But it’s okay. I’m not just talking about going back to school. Anyway, I’m exhausted. I’m tired of talking. And please don’t even think about sleeping in this bed tonight or any of the remaining nights before you leave.”

  “I won’t touch you, Marilyn.”

  “I know that. Why start now? But do this, Leon: show your mother some respect and try not to make her feel guilty because she’s still got feelings. Prezelle is a nice man. And she would be much happier over there.”

  “How soon does she want to go?”

  “The waiting list is long so it could be months. But don’t let this news stop you from leaving. If I have to, I can deal with Arthurine, or better yet, maybe I could leave and you two could stay here and then you could bring your girlfriend. How’s that sound?”

  “I told you she’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Then what is she?”

  “A good friend.”

  “Do you sleep with your friends?”

  “No, not usually.”

  I would love to sucker punch him if I could do it hard enough to hurt. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever you want to do, you’ll have my support. Financial and emotional.”

  “Let’s just deal with the first one and see what happens. Okay,” I say, turning to leave.

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Going back downstairs to fix something I ruined.”

  “Would you have dinner with me later?”

  “I thought you were so sick?”

  “I had to tell Mother something.”

  “Well, think about it, Leon. What would make you think I’d want to have dinner with you after what we’ve been through today, huh?”

  “So you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You can even choose the restaurant.”

  “Am I lucky or what? Look, Leon. You’re missing the point and you know it. I haven’t thought about food all day, and I certainly had no intention of cooking.”

  “Then what are we going to eat?”

  “We? You aren’t even supposed to be here! You left me this morning! Remember?”

  He’s shaking his head no like a little kid.

  “Call your fucking girlfriend back! Have her for dinner.”

  “That’s not funny, Marilyn.”

  “And I’m not laughing. I think I’ll order Chinese.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for Chinese tonight.”

  “You’re not in the…what did you just say?”

  “I said I don’t really have a taste for Chinese tonight.”

  If I had a shoe on with a thick heel I’d throw it at his stupid ass. “Leon,” I sigh. “I don’t know how you made it through college sometimes. But read my lips: I don’t really give a flying fuck what you’re in the mood to eat. Okay? So hurry up and recover and get out of the bed and go eat lobster or lamb at one of your favorite spots. Your mother likes to dine out, so take her. And on the way, you can pick your ho up and see if the two of them hit it off.”

  “Marilyn, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  “Who’s trying to be nice? I see you found the nicest possible way to tell me how tired you are of being my husband in one breath and that you were leaving me in the next. So fuck you, Mr. Nice Guy. I’ve got some research to do.”

  “That is not what I said and it’s not what I’m doing. What kind of research?”

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “I’m just curious. I’ve never heard you say you’re going to research anything.”

  “I’m about to explore my options.”

  “Good, because that’s really all I’m trying to figure out, too. I hope to be a better man when Frank and I get back. Seriously.”

  “Then you’re going to need to stay a whole lot longer than four weeks.”

  Chapter 15

  I do not order Chinese. I do not research craft fairs or how to sell anything on eBay. If I were a man, I’d probably go down on MacArthur Boulevard and get myself a prostitute. But I’m not a man. I’m a woman whose shoulders feel heavier than any man’s right now. I have to get out of this house. Arthurine’s television is blaring and I pray she’s in there sound asleep. The house is dark and I don’t want to turn on the lights as I tiptoe down the stairs. At the garage door, I turn off the chime, and get in my car. I roll down all the windows and open the sunroof even though it’s cold outside. I don’t care.

  I drive with the heat off. Play the only CD in here, one I made just for the car. I blast it. And sing along with Jill, Alicia Keys, and Etta James. Santana, Moby, and Ben Harper. In the Caldecott Tunnel everything sounds louder and I scream at the top of my lungs because I remember reading a long time ago that this could do wonders in reducing stress and anger. I’ve got both, and for a little extra insurance, I give it all I’ve got one more time for as long as I can. My head hurts like hell afterward. This could be one of those times when less is better.

  When Sarah McLachlan sings the song from the City of Angels soundtrack, I see Meg Ryan sliding down the end of that bathtub under a trillion bubbles while dreaming about Nicholas Cage. I’m remembering all too well how much she longed for him and how much he longed for her while his ghost watched her bathe. I wish someone longed for me that way. Oh Lord, I’m getting sentimental and don’t feel like going there. It’s just a song from a mushy movie and plus I can’t stand Meg Ryan. I turn the radio on and let her drown.

  At the Lafayette Hotel, I get off the freeway. I do not know why. The car seems to be driving me where I’m supposed to go. The hotel looks like a small modern castle, all terra-cotta and white stucco. It does not seem to fit the location it’s in because there are hundreds of homes nestled in the surrounding hills. I could pretend I’m in England and before I know it, I’m at the entrance.

  “Checking in, ma’am?” a young blond guy asks. He looks like a surfer.

  “I am,” I say. “Do you surf?”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “Are your bags in the trunk?”

  “No. I don’t have any.”

  “I hear you,” he says. “Well, registration’s right inside. I’m pretty sure we’ve got plenty of rooms this evening.”

  I give him a ten-dollar tip. Rooms are available and I register for a suite. It has a working fireplace, a view of Mt. Diablo, and it is not cheap. I don’t care. When I get inside my room I see what I paid for. I almost don’t know what to do. It feels like I’m standing in a photograph of a room in a fancy hotel. The walls are hunter green. White plantation shutters cover the windows. The comforter is fluffy and white. I strike a long match and make a fire. Then I take my sneakers off and lie down on the bed. I look up at the white ceiling and close my eyes. When I open them again, it’s daylight.

  I have just made history. This marks the first time I’ve ever spent the night away from home, alone, in almost a quarter of a century. I pray Leon is freaking out. He should know what it feels like to wonder where I am for once. I wish I could live here—or somewhere that wasn’t home—for a month without telling him. I have already taken the rest of the week off from work to be with my son who isn’t around. In fact, maybe I should find some exotic place to go where I can dig up my soul until it rises to the surface. But then what?

  I order breakfast from room service. Orange juice. Decaffeinated coffee. Eggs Benedict. Home fries. Eat all of it and read USA Today. The television is waiting to be turned on, and since I’m in a frigging hotel room and don’t want to go home y
et, I do. Some talk show is on and I can’t believe when seconds before they go to a commercial break, the topic of today’s show is splattered across the screen: CAN THIS MARRIAGE BE SAVED?

  The real question should be, is it worth saving? Or ask if they want to save their marriage because it’s the marriage they want to hold on to, not the person. As if marriage is some kind of all-encompassing entity that can sustain you all by itself. Ask them if they’re pissed because they thought they were getting a package deal. Ask them if they feel like they’ve gotten the short end of the marriage stick. Or do they want to save their marriage because they’ve just gotten used to being married and don’t know what else to do? Ask them that. Ask if they’re just afraid of meeting themselves without the veil of marriage covering their face. Ask how tired they are of putting on a good show for everybody to the point where even they fall for their own lie. Ask them what’s more important, saving the marriage or saving yourself? And who goes on nationwide television to find the answer to this question? Where do they find these people? Why haven’t Leon and I ever gotten a call? I think we qualify.

  I turn this silly shit off and take a bath with just as many bubbles as Meg Ryan had but don’t feel all dreamy and what have you and I don’t see any fucking ghosts or feel any aura in here and if I did I’d open the window and blow him right on out of here. After starring in my own movie for a half hour I get out and put my same clothes back on. Open the shutters and look out at the green velvet hills that seem to go on forever. This is just one of the reasons why I love California. It’s not flat and gray. It is not all one thing. And even on a gloomy day it’s still beautiful. I’m not half as afraid of earthquakes as I should be, mostly because I feel like a fault line myself. Right now, for instance, I’m rattling inside. My mind is jostling. My heart is shivering. I’m all shook up. I stare at the rolling hills until they become one emerald blur, until an unbelievable calm seems to fall over me and I realize something I haven’t thought about before: just about everybody in my life is doing exactly what they want to do. Arthurine is like a college girl, making plans to move out on her own. She’s even got travel plans. Who cares if it’s to Reno? Arthurine is probably in better shape than I am, too. At least she gets some exercise. Spencer—broken wrist and all—is with the girl he wants to be with right now and loves being a college student whose parents can afford to send him a ticket to come home for spring break and even go snowboarding in Lake Tahoe. Simeon has discovered that playing music is what really moves him. Sabrina is happy and pregnant. She knows I wished she could have waited until after she got her master’s but she basically blew me off and is doing it the way she wants to. Even Joy. She enjoys getting high, although I’m sure it’s because it’s the only pleasure she’s found that’s guaranteed. And then there’s Leon. My so-called husband. He’s having an affair but thinks of it as a new form of friendship. And now he’s getting on an airplane, flying to a tropical place where he really believes he’s going to have some kind of epiphany or a metaphysical experience that’s going to transform him. Into what, I don’t know. But at least he’s finally trying something new. Now it’s just me. And Lovey.