by Liz Tuccillo
In the backseat, Ruby slept the whole way. She woke up just as Alice pulled in to the gravel driveway.
“Does anyone know what we’re actually going to be seeing here?” Ruby asked as they drove past the sign for the center.
“I have no idea,” Georgia said.
“I just hope we don’t have to do any crazy chanting,” Alice added.
They got out of the car and smoothed out their rumpled outfits. Georgia and Ruby were both wearing dresses with stockings and boots, and Alice had opted for a more professional-looking blazer and pants set. As they followed the smattering of people walking down a grassy hill on a little stone path, they saw that they were clearly overdressed. The other guests were wearing flowing shirts and skirts, the men had various displays of facial hair, and the women were mostly sporting unshaven legs. There were a few Indian men in orange robes and sandals. As Georgia, Alice, and Ruby got to the bottom of the hill, they saw where the ceremony was to take place. A few yards away there was an open-air stone temple. It was circular, with marble floors and stone pillars and pictures of various Hindu figures on the walls. People were taking off their shoes and sandals outside the temple. Incense wafted in the air.
“This is really weird,” Georgia whispered.
They wrestled their footwear off and walked in. They immediately took on an air of solemnity befitting the occasion. In the middle of the temple was a stone pit, with a small fire quietly burning in it. The “congregation” all began sitting on the floor, cross-legged. These three ladies were not dressed for the lotus position, but they gamely arranged their skirts and pants in some fashion that let them put their pretty asses on the cold rock floor.
An elderly Indian man in orange robes who seemed to be the head swami started reading from a book in Sanskrit. There were two other male swamis flanking him, an older Italian-looking swami and a really hot fortysomething swami. Next to him was an extremely overweight female swami. They stood silently as the head Indian swami kept reading. Eventually, the initiates were brought out. There were five of them: three men and two women. And one of those women was Serena.
Alice, Ruby, and Georgia let out a collective gasp when they saw her. She had shaved off all her hair. All, that is, except for a little belt of hair trailing down her back. Her beautiful blond hair. Gone. Only a skinny little bird of a thing remained. Serena. In an orange sari. When Serena had called Alice the day before to give her directions, she explained to Alice what she was doing. She believed her calling was to spend the rest of her life meditating and being of service, all in the hopes of achieving some kind of spiritual enlightenment. Serena believed she was done with this material world, and was ready to give it all up. Alice hadn’t really understood what Serena was talking about, but now, seeing her in the orange robe and no hair, Alice realized Serena was not kidding around. The initiates stood quietly as the swami finished reading a section of the book. Then the hot swami began to speak. He seemed to be the translator, the temple PR person designated to explain to everyone what was going on.
“I want to welcome everyone here today to this funeral. This is the day these students become sannyasins. They will take vows of poverty, of celibacy, of detachment from family, from friends, from all the pleasures in this physical world. This fire represents the funeral pyre…”
“He is really hot,” Georgia whispered. “What kind of accent do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure,” Alice whispered back. “Australian?” Ruby glared at them. They closed their mouths.
“…where their old selves will be burned away, to make way for their new self as a sannyasin.”
And with that, the old Indian swami picked up some scissors that were lying on the ground and as each initiate kneeled before him, he cut off the last remaining strands of their hair and threw it in the fire. After that was done, the five almost-swamis sat down cross-legged on the floor. One by one, the overweight lady swami placed three cones of incense on each of their heads; Serena was the last. Georgia, Alice, and Ruby watched this, perplexed. A girl they had only met on a few occasions, who last time they saw her she was getting her stomach pumped, was now bald and balancing incense on her head. All six of their eyes widened with dismay as they watched the Indian swami light the cones, one by one. The hot swami explained:
“As the cones of incense burn down to their scalps, these five new sannyasins will meditate on their new path of abstinence; the burning cones may form a scar on their heads, creating a permanent symbol of their new commitment to self-denial.”
Alice gasped. Ruby raised her eyebrows, and Georgia just rolled her eyes. Serena looked out into the crowd and smiled. She seemed to be almost glowing. Something about the look in her eyes took their collective breath away. Peace. Calm.
Imagine that.
“I invite you to all meditate with our sannyasins for a few moments.”
All eyes in the temple closed. But Georgia looked around as everyone began breathing in and out slowly. She started contemplating the idea of the burning off of the self. If Serena could cast off her old self, so could she. She didn’t have to be mad at Dale. She didn’t have to be humiliated that she recently broke the promise she made to 230 of her closest friends and relatives and broke up with the man she was supposed to love till death do they part. She could let go of the feeling that she was a failure in her marriage, and therefore at life. She could let go of the agony of knowing that someone with whom she had shared intimacies and embarrassments and joy and sex and the birth of two children had found someone else he’d rather be with.
As she sat there, with a tiny rip tearing up the side of her skirt, her inner voice said, I can let it all go. I don’t have to be a bitter, divorced lady. I can do it any way I want. And I want to date young, hot guys.
Alice meanwhile felt the pangs of her crossed legs cramping up, but she couldn’t help but notice how nice it was just to sit still for a moment. Peace. Calm. To breathe. To stop. She closed her eyes.
Yes, her inner voice said. I’ve passed my knowledge on to Georgia. She’ll make a valiant and loyal student. It’s time for me to stop. I’m fucking exhausted. Alice kept breathing in and out, in and out, slowly, until her inner voice finally said, It’s time for me to marry the next man I meet.
In Ruby’s mind’s eye, much to her surprise, she was holding a baby in her arms, surrounded by all her friends and family in a halo of love and acceptance. Her eyes popped open in shock at the sudden image of her motherhood.
“While the sannyasins meditate, feel free to join us in the main house for some curry and chapatis.”
After they drove back to the West Village, where Georgia parked her car, Ruby, Georgia, and Alice said their polite good-byes.
In a contemplative mood, Ruby decided to walk to a park and get some fresh air. But she didn’t walk to just any park. Bleecker Street Playground is a mere thousand square feet, but it is chock full o’ children—running, climbing, digging, screaming, giggling, fighting, feuding children. There were big brightly colored pails and trucks and wheelie things they can sit on and motor with their little children feet. There were mothers and nannies, all shining with the glow of West Village chic. There were a few fathers, all handsome with their salt-and-pepper hair and well-gymed biceps. Ruby stood looking in at it all, her hands on the bars of the fence that protected those inside from molesters and kidnappers. She walked to the entrance, a big metal gate with a big sign that said “Adults not admitted without a child.” She ignored this and, trying to feign the look of a beautiful-mother-now-looking-for-her-adorable-child-and-beloved-nanny, walked right in.
She scanned the park. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she knew this was the place where she was going to find it. She sat down next to two mothers; white, slim, really good highlights in their hair. She was gathering information, soaking it all in: the kids, the moms, the nannies, everything. Suddenly, there was an eruption in the center of the park, near the monkey bars. A four-year-old devil-girl, w
ith long, ringleted brown hair, screamed and beat on a poor defenseless little boy, throwing him down on the concrete and then wailing at the top of her lungs. Her face was red and her eyes were almost rolling in the back of her head, as if she were the injured party. A young woman ran over to the little girl and hugged her. Another woman raced over and picked up the little boy, who was now also wailing. The monster’s mother scolded her demon child, but it clearly was not penetrating. This bad seed was already in the Land of Tantrum, screaming and crying and hitting her mother. When the two mothers sitting next to Ruby saw the look of horror on Ruby’s face, they just shook their heads, and almost in unison, said two words that would explain everything: “Single mother.”
Ruby nodded sympathetically. “That’s so sad,” she said, egging them on.
“It was a one-night stand. She got pregnant and decided to do it on her own. It was very brave,” said the slim woman with the blond highlights.
“But now, even with help from her sister and babysitters, it’s a nightmare,” said the other slim woman, with the red highlights.
“A nightmare,” said the blonde, to emphasize the point. Ruby couldn’t stop herself.
“Well, I know I could never do it. Could you?” Ruby said innocently. From the expressions on their faces, she knew the answer, but she decided to keep going. “I mean, could you even imagine doing it on your own?” She tried to appear as casual as possible, but she waited for their answers as if the Lost Ark was about to be opened.
“Never. Not a chance. It’s too hard. Too lonely.”
“Absolutely. I would kill myself.”
Just as Ruby suspected—being a single mother is even more depressing than being single. But what about the joys of motherhood? The intimate relationship between a mother and child? The gratification of raising a human being from birth and putting them out into the world?
“But don’t you think it would still be nice to be a mother? Even without a husband?”
“Not worth it. I’d rather die.”
The blond-highlight mom spelled it out. “Just imagine doing everything by yourself. Even if you had all the help in the world, at the end of the day it’s still just you worrying if they’re sick, deciding what school to go to, teaching them how to tie their shoelaces, ride a bike. You’re the one who would have to take them sledding, who would have to organize all their playdates, who would have to feed them and put them to bed every night. You would be the one who would have to make sure they got to school on time, make their lunch, deal with their teachers, help them do their homework. You would get the call if your kid was sick in school, or in trouble, or,” she said a little more pointedly, “had a reading disability.”
“Right, and imagine if you had a really sick kid, like with cancer or something,” said the red highlights.
“Oh my God, just the thought of being in the hospital, having to call a friend or a family member to sit with you, alone, being that kind of burden on everyone. If I was single, that image alone would make me wear five condoms every time I had sex.”
“Then imagine being a single mother with a teenager.”
“Right, you have to discipline them, set boundaries, deal with drugs and dating and sex, and, add to that that now they hate you.”
“And if you had a girl, imagine going through menopause and seeing your daughter blossom and become sexually desirable just at the moment you’re shriveling and drying up and becoming sexually useless.”
These ladies were getting really dark now, even for Ruby. She tried to appear unfazed and attempted to interject some optimism into the conversation: “Well, you might not still be a single mother by the time they’re teenagers. After all, you could meet someone.”
In unison, the two mothers stared at Ruby. “Like you’d ever have the time,” the blonde said. And the redhead said, “Who would want you? These men in New York could have anyone they want. Like they’re going to pick a woman with a child?”
Ruby’s optimism now came out in a whisper. “Well, if a man fell in love with you, he wouldn’t care…?”
The two mothers again looked at Ruby, as if she was a simpleton. The blond woman then asked Ruby, “Well, what do you think? Could you do it alone?”
Ruby looked out into the playground at children she considered for the most part to be adorable, well dressed, and well raised. She thought about the playdates and the homework and getting them to bed and the childhood cancer. She thought about how depressed she got just when a guy didn’t call her after two dates.
“No. I couldn’t. I could never be a single mother.”
The mothers nodded in agreement. Here in the children’s park in the West Village, three women were in complete agreement about what they believed in: Being a single mother would really, really suck.
Ruby walked all the way up Broadway. She was around Seventy-sixth Street when she made peace with the fact that she would never be a single mother. Guess she could check that off her list now. They were right, and they should know—it was too hard. So then the only thing left for her to do was keep dating. But how? It was so depressing. As she walked, she thought about Serena. Serena believed in God and spiritual enlightenment so much that she renounced everything and burned incense on her scalp. That was pretty hard-core. It made Ruby wonder what she believed in. Should she pack it in, too? Should she just stop dating and start caring about other things? It was not such an unattractive thought. But as Ruby walked and thought, she realized she wasn’t ready for that just yet. She still had a little more fight left in her. And by Ninety-sixth Street, it finally came to her. She needed to get back on the horse, to love again. She needed to not be afraid to get emotionally involved again. She had to dive back in.
It was time to get another cat.
Now she was walking with a purpose; she was going to go back to the animal shelter where she had adopted Ralph. Her time for mourning was over.
The shelter was a two-floor concrete bunker on 122nd Street and Amsterdam, in a neighborhood that was a little dangerous. It didn’t make Ruby scared as much as nostalgic for a bygone era. We don’t have that many streets left anymore. By the time she got there, Ruby was proud that she was doing something as life-affirming as choosing to love again.
As she opened the door to the shelter, the smell of animals hit her immediately. It was a suffocating smell, one that made you want to walk right back out the door. But Ruby walked to the counter to a young Irish-looking girl with frizzy hair in a barrette on top of her head. The walls were covered with cheerful posters of animals reminding you “To love me is to spay me,” or “Give me an $8 ID tag today, save the $300 reward fee later!” The cement walls were covered with paintings of dogs and cats, but really it was of very little use. The place felt like a bomb shelter no matter how many puppies you painted on the walls.
Ruby told the girl that she wanted to adopt a cat and was buzzed through a door that led to a flight of stairs. The stench of animals got stronger as she walked up the steps. As she opened the door to the second floor, the sound of one dog howling filled her ears. It was a sound that cut right through her; a keening that seemed to be coming from the pit of the dog’s soul. Its familiarity made Ruby dizzy. That’s the sound I want to make every morning when I wake up, Ruby thought.
It was macabre walking through that industrial hallway, with that howling—very One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but with dogs. Ruby quickly walked into the narrow room that had the cages of cats. She closed the door and the dog’s cries were muffled a bit. She looked at the cats, one by one. They were all cute and soft and slightly lethargic. But she could still hear that damn dog losing it. Ruby stopped at one cat that was exceptionally adorable, almost a kitten with white and gray fur, named “Vanilla.” When Ruby stuck her finger in the cage, Vanilla playfully grabbed at it with her paws. That was that—she would adopt Vanilla. She walked out of the room to tell the man at the front desk about her decision. As she walked down the hall, the crazy dog kept baying. Ruby decided she
had to take a look at that thing. She opened the door into the cuckoo’s nest. She passed what seemed like cage after cage of pit bulls. She finally got to Loud-Mouth. Ruby looked at the description that was taped on her cage: “Kimya Johnson is a four-year-old white pit mix who was adopted out as a puppy. We recently found her as a stray, and we haven’t been able to locate her owner. She’s a very nice, friendly and snuggly dog, and appears to be housetrained. Well, her former owner’s loss will be a new owner’s gain. Perhaps that new owner will be you?”
Ruby’s heart sank. Getting adopted from the pound only to be brought back again. Talk about abandonment issues. Kimya was standing up, her front paws on the cage, howling her little heart out. She might as well have been clanging the cage door with a tin cup. Just then a young girl of about sixteen walked into the room. She was wearing the brown uniform of a staff member, with a pin that said “Felicia” in blue Magic Marker, and underneath it, “Volunteer.”
“She’s so loud, right?” she said in a thick Hispanic accent. “That’s why nobody wants her. She’s so loud.”
Ruby looked at Felicia. This was no way for a volunteer to talk. Kimya kept crying.
“She’s so cute, though,” Ruby said, trying to be kind.
Felicia looked at Kimya and smirked. “Yeah, but she’s too loud. That’s why I think they’re going to put her down tomorrow. She’s so loud. Dang.”
Ruby quickly looked at Kimya. “Really? Tomorrow?” Her voice squeaked.
Felicia sucked her teeth. “That’s what I heard.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Ruby was aghast. “Well…aren’t you supposed to be trying to convince me to take her?”
Felicia looked at Ruby blankly, taking a nice long pause for dramatic effect. “Well, do you want her? ’Cause you can have her if you want her.”