Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl...

by Nicole, Jamie

  What do you write in a text to convey to someone how much you hate them, miss them, love them, loathe them and want the best for them all at the same time, while also dropping the bomb that your long lost mom is back from the dead? It’s especially tricky because Ashton and I have always had a strict ten-word maximum for all of our texts, both of us believing that if you can’t say it in ten words then it’s too important for a text. This has always proven true for us and even though I’m aware that I should not write this text I just can’t figure out how NOT to. Before I send it I’ll test a few out and see what I can come up with:

  It’s me

  Moms back

  You suck

  I love you still

  C (nope)

  Master says bark

  Guess what? Moms here… Not yours,

  Mine silly

  C (Damn-it! eleven words. BTW, the signature doesn’t count)

  Saw your band-mate,

  I get it,

  I have a mom

  C (too confusing)

  This is it… (In only six)

  Forgive me…

  P.S. My mom’s alive

  C I push send.

  Now, I wait. And it turns out I will wait… and wait… and wait… because that ASShat does NOT text me back! I may have completely minimized our issues here. I assumed that even though he’s frustrated with me right now, the big picture, which is our LIFE-LONG FRIENDSHIP, would overcome our petty (may not actually be petty, I know) differences and he’d use some sense when he heard my big news, scratch that, HUGE NEWS, and TEXT ME the freakity-freakin’ BACK! Unfortunately I forgot to figure into the equation the new “girlfriend” and all the “stuff” she offers him, thereby allowing him to easily forget me and the small thing that is OUR LIFE-LONG FRIENDSHIP! (Absolutely assume I’m shouting. You would NOT be mistaken!)

  It seems that this big thing of mine is going to happen with or without him. I suppose I’ll have to function under the guise of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and become the Hulk, or something equally ambivalent to emotion and then muscle my way through this mess one mêlée at a time. During the most stressful moments in my life Ashton has always stepped up to the plate and taken on the role of referee for me. He’s always been the guy who blew the whistle and aided me in the ring when I was getting it handed to me from some invisible opponent, which more often than not were my own thoughts. And now I’m alone, hoping that for the first time I can be the arbiter of my own circumstances without being knocked out before that damn dreaded whistle blows.

  The marathon of waiting for his return text has kept me up for the remainder of this already long night. When the sky starts to throw some bright colors around my room, Master decides it’s time to call it a night. He jumps up onto my cozy bed and throws his giant skull down on my open laptop, slamming it shut in the process. Whether he meant to do it or not he did and his point is taken, it’s time for sleep. We’ve got a big weekend ahead of us and as I look into Master’s big brown eyes I can see my own pain reflected back at me.

  “I get it. I miss him too buddy. I tried to text him, but I think I’ve dug a bigger hole for myself than I originally thought. But don’t you worry. Mommy’s going to figure this out. First, though, we’ve got to get through this whole I-have-a-mom thing, okay? Then we deal with Ashton.” His head pops up and he franticly looks around the dark room as soon as Ash’s name is whispered from my lips. If he only knew how much I understand the desperation he feels at the idea that Ashton could be here in this room.

  As we lay here staring into each other’s eyes, all nestled up in the warmth of my bed, I try my hardest to transmit to Master through eye contact alone how serious I am about getting us our guy back. The quiet of the room is doing nothing to hush the panic I’m transmitting to him. So I open the laptop back up, click on the playlist full of Ashton’s original recordings and listen. Master sighs with relief the moment he hears the sound of his best friends’ deep voice reaching out to him through the small speakers. Before his big brown eyes close I see peace spill itself across his strong, squared face and I lay perfectly still praying that soon the same peace will show mercy and come for me as well.

  ***

  Hours later the shrill and unexpected ringing of the landline jolts me from my restless slumber. My cell is out of batteries, having been on my bedside table all night instead of its docking station and I’m instantly flooded with hope that it’s Ashton calling, dying to hear all about the unexpected news of me having an actual mom. I clear my voice so I sound like I’ve been awake for hours when, OH MY GOSH, I finally see my clock and it’s four freaking o’clock in the afternoon! Quickly and still in the middle of clearing my phlegmy throat I answer the phone.

  “Hello.” Still clearing. Damn phlegm!

  “Hey sis? You okay?” Connor?

  “Where are you? I thought you didn’t get in til’ later tonight?” Suddenly I’m worried so I talk quicker. “I’m fine. What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Slight problem.” I knew it. “Don’t panic (HA!). But, due to bad weather, we’re stuck in Charlotte for the night. There appears to be a monsoon on the other side of this window and it’s not called to let up until sun-up tomorrow.” Crappity, crap, crap! I’m never getting a good night’s sleep again. “Anyway, I’ve already switched our flight out to the very first one in the morning, so as long as it leaves as scheduled we should get to town in plenty of time to make visiting hours at the prison.” Finally his nerves are showing. My brother never speaks this fast.

  “I’m not worried.” That’s always just assumed, but I need to be a better sister and think of him and how he’s the one that’s sucked it up to go meet this mother character, Charlotte. Does anyone else see the irony that he’s currently stuck in Charlotte? Yah, me too.

  “Right, and I’m Hugh Hefner,” I wish he were because he’s on my list of “to-meets”.

  “Okay, fine, I’m worried. I was trying to be supportive. There’s a slight chance I may be feeling a tinge of guilt for not putting on my big girl panties and doing this with you. Okay?” I’m terrible at admitting my extremely obvious faults. It’s actually kind of narcissistic now that I think about it. Hmmm….?

  “I appreciate that sis. I know how hard it is for you to admit that, but lucky for you and me, Liddy’s here so you’re off the hook this time. She has this amazing way of making anything tolerable. Even meeting our long lost jailbird mother seems ordinary with her next to me.” His love sickness is gross. Gag, gag, heave.

  “Aw, baby. I love you so much.” Yep, those would be kissy noises in my ear… Retch, retch, choke.

  “Hello? Hello?! CONNOR CALDWELL, I AM STILL ON THE PHONE AND I CAN HEAR YOU FRENCHING YOUR GIRLFRIEND… I’M YOUR SISTER FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” More slurping and then a humming and… they’re done…

  “Sorry Cee. What I was saying before this hottie here distracted me,” I hear a slap, then a whispered, “stop Connor,” and finally a giggle. Lord help me and give me strength, “…was that this is going to work out. Liddy had a dream last night that our mom looked like that Victoria Secret model you showed her the other day, you know the one with the big boobs?” He’s an idiot. More slapping and this time no giggling.

  “No way can she have big boobs considering my bra size. Aunt Joanie has the dream tata’s so I obviously didn’t get these beauties,” heavy on the sarcasm here, “from dad’s side. Forget it, we’re off topic, this is gross. You’re my brother. Listen, I don’t care what you have to do (I do), just call me when you get there and then again when it’s over and please tell Liddy I said thank you. Oh and be safe.”

  “I love you, Cee.” He really does.

  “Yah, I know. I kinda love you too, you Neanderthal. Please come home safe,” and then I follow up quickly with, “you’re all I have left you know?” He reassures me once more for good measure before we hang up and then I finally head to the kitchen to have my morning/evening chocolate and cream coffee.

  **
*

  If I ever take the time to look back on this night of my life (not a snowball’s chance in hell) there will be only one word appropriate enough to describe it, and that word is: manic. There is a laundry list of reasons why I will not be sleeping tonight, reason number one; I slept until FOUR PM! From there you just have to work your way backwards through my current and past life issues and the rest of the inventory becomes pretty obvious.

  Mania is a fickle state of being simply because the product of it can often times be both positive and negative. For example, as I methodically clean my house, a positive, I am able to see more clearly all of the things I’ve missed before. The results are my kitchen becomes more hygienic, the bathroom sparkles, and the bed sheets end up both washed and ironed. IRONED, people! (Once I heard Oprah say that she has people on staff that do this for her every day and that she truly believes that this is the only way one should ever sleep. Uhmmm? Okay? And this was the people’s person?).

  After frantically cleaning I move on to the more menial task of manically organizing the junk drawer (I do have the one), then I put my video games in alphabetical order (why have I never done this before?), and rearrange the several throw rugs I have around the house. I love it. When I finally take a moment to brave a look at the clock it is barely FREAKING NINE PM!

  I suppose now would be a good time to harness all the creative energy vibrating through me and try to produce some quality designs. So I sit down and draw hoping to help time move along and after I’ve got half a dozen new amazing ideas down on paper I close my pad, look up to the clock and see…ELEVEN! It’s only eleven PM! Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…

  Now we come to the portion of the night where my choices take a turn for the stupid, questionable at best. We all know not to drink to deal with stress, this is like AA 101, but it doesn’t stop me from implementing the very dim-witted, unrealistic, carefully-crafted plan of I’ll just have “the one”. I mean really? One drink should not be a problem. I’m a grown ass woman (who’s stuck inside). Alcohol should NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be the recommended course of action when dealing with life-changing events, but clearly I’m not thinking straight and will soon initiate the sequence of events that will spiral me into the adult version of The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad… Night.

  ***

  “Master, let’s have a drink buddy.” He follows me over to the liquor cabinet that Ashton keeps well stocked with all of his favorites, hence giving me lots of liquors to choose from. Since I’ve made the very wise decision to only have “the one” drink I need to make sure that it packs the needed punch I’m after. When I open the miniature fridge that’s been built into the lower half of the cabinet I see a couple of cola’s sitting lonely on their wire shelf and immediately know what I want. I’ll be making the heavily alcohol-infused Long Island iced tea, soon to be known as the destroyer of my life.

  To the bottom of my tall glass I add only a splash of soda before mixing in the main ingredients (the destroyers themselves): equal parts rum, tequila, vodka, gin, triple sec, and sweet & sour all go in until I’ve crafted what could very well be the best cocktail I’ve made to date (also the stupidest).

  About half way through “the one”, I think to myself I’ll just “top it off” and this way it still only counts as “the one”, only now it’ll taste better and have a little bit more of a kick. This charade I’m playing with myself goes on until I’m down two cans of soda, the rest of my rum, and a good portion of most of all the other aforementioned spirits. (The use of the word spirit is both an accurate and intentional word choice because mine has left the building.)

  While still having the ability to walk I decide to go change into my new handmade lingerie set from Liddy. It makes me feel so pretty and feeling pretty could lead me to having other positive thoughts which clearly I’m in need of. Lingerie = pretty = happy thoughts = happy me. This plan is really coming together.

  As I’m leaving my room I decide we need some jams. That brand new docking station Ashton got me is going to be put to good use tonight because Master and I are going to have a dance-off like it’s nobody’s business! Selecting my first tune, Brittany Spear’s classic dance track Toxic, I move the coffee table off the area rug in front of the sofa and assume my dance-off starting position (I always start with the same move. Arms criss-crossed over my head, one knee bent to the side, head thrown back). You’d be right that this move is awesome when I’m sober; unfortunately it’s not so easy to pull off with one full, topped off, Long Island Tea under my belt so I’ll just have to drop my starting pose and hope Master doesn’t dock me any points.

  After I finish dancing to my first song I turn on Master’s favorite, Doggy Dog World by Snoop Dog and he starts jumping around and barking giving me his classic ‘I’m-having-so-much fun’ response. I take this opportunity to have some soda (without the booze) and then, since I’m still sober (not so much) I wonder how could having another alcohol-infused drink possibly hurt me if the first one was able to bring me so much relief?

  Before I know what’s happened we’ve (I’ve) had two and a half more drinks, danced to SexyBack, Who Let the Dog’s Out?(Maybe whoever they are can come take my dog out?), Shakira’s Hips don’t lie (How do we really know they don’t lie? Just a thought to ponder.), the classic Hound Dog by Elvis himself (Is he really dead?), and then one of my personal favorite’s of all time, Don’t Cha by the Pussycat Dolls (They could be PlayWoman for sure. I should see if they’d like to wear our lingerie for a show. Good advertising strategy. I’m really an innovative thinker while drunk.)

  It’s imperative to note that at some point this evening the television has been turned on, by who and when I will never know, however I do have my theories (Master and his big head being the most plausible). This is relevant and you will soon know why, be patient. As the very smart people at The AA know, alcohol is a depressant, even though in the beginning phase of the one-cocktail plan it felt very much like an anti-depressant. This is also important to note since I am now heading quickly to the anti-happiness phase of the night. No longer able to do anything in the vertical position, I lay face down on the couch and have a staring contest with Master. After he wins, (because my eyelids weigh like a million pounds), he gets up and goes out the open back door to do his doo. Watching him retreat, I’m left to contemplate the life-altering day I have ahead of me tomorrow and how, for the first time ever, I will be facing one of them all alone (Don’t tell Master I said that. He’d be pissed.).

  As I lay on my squishy couch, body numb and mind wandering, I start thinking back on all the years I lost because of this woman, this so-called “mom”. It’s hard to ignore all of the pain she caused by her many years of being absent and now I feel forced to contemplate if I’m really capable of this thing called forgiveness.

  These thoughts about forgiveness lead me inevitably back to Ashton. Lately it seems every thought I have wants to take a u-turn and head back to Ashtonville. Why I thought tonight would be the exception to this new rule I have no idea?

  You’d think the mom thing would be the catalyst to start my crying but honestly, she seems so abstract an idea in my mind that I’m not capable of feeling anything deep enough to bring about even a singular tear in regards to her. But Ashton, that’s easy. I just have to hear a guitar play, drink coffee with chocolate (He’s the one who taught me that. He said that way it would be sweet, just like me… douche.), lie in my bed, give my dog a treat, look at Master, have a dance party (Ashton is an awesome dancer. He always comes out the victor but I think that’s just because Master’s biased and wants a boy to win.), or I don’t know, ANYTHING…because Ashton is everywhere. He resides in every single nook and cranny of my life and without him, all my nooks - and definitely my crannies - are empty.

  Alas, the expected alcohol-induced crying ensues and the panic of being without Ashton forever finally sets in. The good news is that the intensity of the panic is in the foreground of the more intense emotion I’m currently battling, whi
ch is sadness. I can feel my tears leading me towards a deep sleep when, in the distance, I hear the phone begin to ring. It’s the land line again and when I look at my cell I see that at some point it’s been turned off. What the hell have I been doing? Maybe I was afraid I’d call Ash? Maybe I did? Who knows? I can’t even begin to guess what I’ve done at this point. It appears anything could be possible.

  As the call is sent to the answering machine my tears begin to roll in like an afternoon thunderstorm at the beach. I can hear my own voice rattling on behind me about leaving a message, blah... blah… blah while the heavy thuds of my heartbeat are loud enough over my yammering to keep me from finding the peace I need to get some rest. Then I hear it, a guitar. I’m so drunk that I’m not sure it’s real until I hear it, or rather, I hear… him. Without anything other than his guitar playing as background music he begins counting: one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand and so on until eventually the machine cuts him off with a loud beep and a click. It’s alright though, because by the time he’s gone I’m fast asleep with only his voice playing to me as the lullaby of my dreams.

  ***

  Now, here I am the morning after and the embarrassing part of my story is only moments away from happening. I’ve just barfed for what has to be the last time (Nope, one more time is possible) and I’m finally back on the couch where the ever faithful Master Chief is consoling and cuddling me as best he can. He wants so badly to comfort his stupid human, but honestly, he’s looking just a little bit judgmental.

  As I lay contemplating his judgments and how right they probably are I notice that the TV is on. No worries right? WRONG! VERY, VERY WRONG! So many worries! Because, not only is the television on but for some reason… SO IS THE XBOX! It’s also at this moment that I take note of the message box having a number one in front of it and I immediately know I have no choice but to open it. This is a brand new message. Not my saved, not read, flagged one and it feels ominous!