Dogs With Bagels

by Maria Elena Sandovici

  It’s weird to think of it this way. Mami, is so overwhelmingly competent in everything she does, that it’s hard to think of her being young and without skills.

  “Anyway, I had a good life before, L, and then it was all taken away from me, and I hated it. I felt like a prisoner here, not speaking English, not being able to do anything for myself. I hated it all, I hated the new people we met, the ones in the ‘community’, who were all so fucking excited to be here. Who thought I was ungrateful for not liking it. But worst of all, I started resenting your daddy, because it had been his idea.”

  Mami sighs. Her beautiful eyes glaze over.

  “Things just got worse and worse between us. I was so angry with him, for everything that happened, everything I didn’t like. I was completely miserable and I took it all out on him. We fought all the time, but mostly really, I felt like it was me doing all the fighting. He stayed so calm, it made me crazy. Anyway, the point is, I felt miserable, and I felt alone. I knew I was losing your father, and sometimes I even felt like I deserved to lose him, like I was nothing but a burden anyway. A wife who didn’t work, when we were so poor and he was killing himself to make a living, an immature woman who complained and yelled and screamed all the time. Some days I was disgusted with myself.”

  I want to say something, but she laughs.

  “Yes, L, I bet you didn’t know that. I was disgusted, truly, utterly disgusted with myself. It happens, you know? I was young, in a foreign country… And I knew nobody. Mrs. Stoica was my only friend, and she was old, and sometimes kind of weird, and she did not quite understand me. And then, of course, there was Josephine, but I didn’t feel like she understood me either.”

  Mami frowns, gives off a deep sigh. I cringe at the thought of her being so alone. I should have guessed that about her, but somehow I never gave it too much thought.

  “I hated my life. There seemed to be nothing to look forward to, nothing that I would enjoy. I knew it was a sin to think this way. I was young, healthy, I had two healthy children, but instead of being thankful, I was depressed. Each morning, when the alarm clock went off, I faced the new day with dread. They were always the same, my days, all drudgery, all unpleasantness. There was a chore for every waking minute, and nothing I enjoyed to make up for it. I’d wake up and already have to rush. I’d fix the breakfast for you kids, and the lunch bags, and then I’d fix your father’s breakfast. The kitchen was so fucking cold in the winter. I’d wake up and it’d be dark, and I already would have a headache, but I’d drink my coffee, and fix food for everybody, and make sure you and your brother were out the door in time for school. I’d take a quick shower, and go to Josephine’s. I had to be there before she left, and I was always running late, even though it was just a few doors down, and I just looked like hell. A shower was all I could manage, so at least I’d be clean, but I’d be dressed in the most horrible clothes, my hair would be a mess, and I would not even have a chance to get a smear of lotion on my face. But then again, I felt so old and unattractive, it really didn’t matter anymore. I’d crash on the couch, as soon as Josephine left. I’d literally fall asleep sometimes, that’s just how exhausted I was, and usually the baby’s crying would wake me up. When you and Alex came from school, you’d sit with me, remember? We’d watch TV until Josephine came back. I’d try to pretend everything was ok. I’d ask you guys to do your homework while we were waiting for Josephine, but Alex would never listen to me, he’d just sit there and watch Josephine’s cable. He’d hog the remote, and eat food from Josephine’s pantry, which I’d ask him not to take, which I then had to replace out of my ridiculous pay, and he’d totally ignore me. I finally gave up. I never knew how to make Alex listen to me. I just didn’t, and I still don’t. I guess if I was really a good mother, I would know, I would have found some way to trick him.”

  I feel a pang of resentment towards Alex. Why did he always have to be so cruel to Mami?

  “Of course, as a good mother, I should have really cared that he was not doing his homework and instead watching TV. But really, what annoyed me was that he picked these awful programs that I found really boring. I can’t believe I was so immature, L, but I was hoping he’d switch channels more than I was hoping he’d do his homework.”

  Mami laugh. Her laughter is devoid of joy and it scares me.

  “You, of course, were a good child, and you listened to me. You’d sit at Josephine’s dining table and try to work. But then you’d run into something difficult and you’d ask me for help, and I had no idea how to help you. It just made me feel stupid, and I’d be so angry with myself for not being able to learn English sooner. Your Tati always helped you with your homework. Even when he was tired, even when he worked all night, he’d sit there with you, and help you figure it out. I envied him for being so smart and patient. I myself felt like a useless idiot. After a while, I gave up on insisting you start your homework at Josephine’s. I knew you’d do it later with your daddy, so I’d just let you sit on the couch, and we’d watch whatever stupid programs Alex selected for us. On good days I’d braid your hair. On bad days I’d just sit there and stare into space. I’d pretend to watch TV but I wouldn’t. I’d just sit there wondering if my life was worth living. And I’d think of how things could be different, how I was still young, and life should be more fun. How I could maybe enjoy living again, if only there were some kind of adventure, some kind of excitement in my life, something, anything to look forward to.”

  She sighs, as if even now, she can still imagine different lives for herself.

  “When Josephine finally came back, we’d rush home, so I could make dinner. If she ran late I’d worry, thinking you guys and your daddy would eat too late, not have a warm meal soon enough, maybe get an ulcer, and it would all be my fault. I usually cooked the night before, so all I’d have to do was warm it up. But I always wanted to make a salad too, to have my kids eat something fresh and green. And Alex liked cucumbers. Well, there is nothing I hate more than peeling freaking cucumbers!”

  She laughs.

  “But I would do it every night while the meal was warming up, keeping an eye on whatever I had on the stove. Your daddy would be home by then, and he usually started on the homework with you guys before dinner. I always felt like it was my fault you were eating so late. And then, of course, I’d be terrified that the store would close and there’d be no food for the next day. So sometimes I’d just serve you guys dinner, and I’d run to the store. I mostly shopped on weekends, but with the fresh stuff you need every day for a family of four, you always run out of something you need the next day.

  I’d come back, and then I’d take a bite of whatever was left, while washing the dishes. Your daddy would be doing homework with you guys, and I’d try to be quiet with the dishes. And then I’d start to cook for the next day, knowing that the following morning it would all start again and that the next night there should be something waiting to be warmed up. After the cooking there’d be more dishes, more cleaning up. It just never ended.”

  Mami sighs. Her face looks older, more tired.

  “The house was never clean enough. I did most of it on weekends, in between laundry, grocery shopping, and cooking. I always hated cleaning. And it would never end. It felt like I’d clean one area of this horrible apartment, and as soon as I’d turn around, there would be a new mess. I always felt bad about my house not being clean enough. After all, I’d ask myself, what am I doing? I’m a housewife. Why would my place not be sparkling clean?”

  I want to protest. I never remember our house being a mess. But before I can say anything, Mami goes on.

  “I felt so guilty for not having a real job. Josephine’s was something, but it paid almost nothing. I could get a few odds and ends, and it was better than not making any money at all, but I was not even making enough to prepare a decent meal for my family. It was humiliating.

  So I was depressed. I was tired. All I wanted to do was sleep. I sometimes wished I could just lie down in a big bed and have
everyone leave me alone. I even wished I could drop dead, and there’d be nothing left but peace and quiet.”

  I shiver. In my darkest days, I never wished to be dead.

  “But, anyway, what I meant to tell you, L, was what I did. And for that, I need you to know how I felt. Because it wasn’t something I did on an impulse. I thought about it for a long time. Which makes it worse, I know, but… Well, I told you how sometimes I thought about being dead. I couldn’t help it, I thought it would be soothing, to lie down and have all the blood drain out of my body. To simply stop existing.”

  I hold my breath. The look on my face must be one of pure horror, because Mami stops, and shakes her head.

  “No, no, honey! I never tried to kill myself. I didn’t even want to. I was just depressed, and sometimes I imagined dying as relief. But I didn’t really want to die. I just wanted to escape. What I wanted, really, was to leave. Once it occurred to me, I couldn’t think of anything else. Sitting on the couch at Josephine’s, watching Alex’ TV selections, I’d plot my escape. I know it’s horrible, but I felt used and tired, and at the same time useless. So I managed to convince myself that everybody would be better off without me. Your father would have one less mouth to feed. And there’d be nobody there to yell and cry and pick fights with him. I thought you’d miss me, but overall, I was a useless mother to you, and I knew that eventually you’d catch on. To Alex, of course, I was just a royal pain in the ass. I just wanted to forget everything about my life, I wanted to rest, to sleep it all off, to just be by myself for a while, and then to start all over again.”

  She looks at me, as if searching for signs of understanding. I don’t know how to react to all this.

  “I decided I needed to go somewhere where nobody would track me down. And where nobody knew me,” Mami says. I hold my breath. Wait… Did she actually do this? How? When? “I started saving my money from Josephine’s. Your father did not even notice. I asked Josephine questions about trains. It never occurred to me to take a bus, though it would have been cheaper. If I were to skip town today, I’d do it on a Greyhound. But back then, well, I just didn’t know. And it was hard enough to get information from Josephine, especially since I couldn’t tell her that I was leaving. I tried to work my questions into conversation. I didn’t want to let her in on my plan. I just asked her for a subway map of the city and expressed a lot of curiosity in all things related to Manhattan. I had gone to visit her at work once, and it was such an exciting adventure, that she wasn’t surprised I’d want to know more.”

  Mami sighs. She looks like she hesitates to go on.

  “And so one day I told her I’d have to miss the next day, so she had her sister watch her kids. I woke up early. Your daddy was on his night shift, in the cab. I started packing. I didn’t think much about what to take with me. I just stuffed jeans, shirts, socks, and underwear in this little suitcase we had. And I took half the money your daddy had saved up for us. It wasn’t much, but I knew how hard he worked for it, and I felt horrible for taking it. Still, I told myself that with me gone, he’d save more in the long run.”

  Ok, I think. So she wanted to leave, she even packed. But at the last moment she must have changed her mind. It’s sad, and weird, and I feel a little betrayed, but it’s not exactly earth shattering, is it?

  “I made you and Alex your breakfast and your lunch bags. I tried not to think about what I was doing. I tried not to think about whether I’d ever see you again, and whether you would ever forgive me. I just kept telling myself that I was a bad mother anyway, and that you both would be better off without me. I knew your Tati would take care of you. He was always so strong, so competent, and so adaptable. I knew he’d make it in the new country eventually, and that he’d take good care of you.

  I was going to shower after you guys left. I was also going to fix Victor some breakfast. I took down a bowl to beat his omelet, but then I just started crying, and I realized I had to leave quickly, before I changed my mind. Or before he came home.

  I dressed in a hurry, tears running down my face, my heart racing, my ears listening for any sounds that could signal his return. Part of me wanted to get caught. Part of me wanted him to find me, and talk me into staying.”

  That’s probably what happened, I think. Or she just changed her mind.

  “I nearly raced to the elevator, and I kept praying all the way down that he wouldn’t be standing in the lobby when I got there. And on the street, dragging my little suitcase, I kept looking behind me, almost expecting to see him. My heart stopped every time I saw a yellow cab. I made it to the subway station safely. I purchased my token. I even managed to get on the right train. This nice old man helped me. He was not even thrown by my bad English. He helped me look on the map and find the train that took me to Penn Station. And to think people say New Yorkers are unfriendly!”

  My heart races. Wait, so she really left? I was so sure that Mami couldn’t have gone through with it. How could she?

  “Of course, once I got there, I was even more confused and more terrified. There were so many people. People rushing, pushing past me. There was a big board showing the trains, arrivals and departures. I didn’t know where to go. I just knew I wanted it to be far enough not to be found, yet close enough for the fare to be cheap.”

  Mami’s face is a cloud of unhappiness and sorrow. Her eyes are glazing over, but I’m not sure I can sympathize any more.

  “I stood in line in front of one of the windows. I asked the woman next to me: “Where you going?” “Scranton,” she said. “Is far?” I asked. “Not really.” She seemed kind. I guess I was willing to latch on to any shred of kindness.”

  She sighs, her eyes lost in space. Does she know I can no longer relate to her?

  “I watched her at the window, buying her ticket. I saw her pull out a bunch of twenties. I couldn’t make out how many, but I thought, it can’t be too expensive if she’s paying cash. So when my turn came I said: “Scranton. One way.” I had practiced saying “one way” for two weeks.

  After I bought my ticket, I looked around for the kind lady also going to Scranton. She had disappeared. I never saw her again. It’s weird, but being separated from this total stranger made me sad. I was standing there, in the middle of the station, looking at the big board like a total idiot, trying to figure out which train went to Scranton, and where exactly I could board it. My new friend was gone, and I felt like crying. I hadn’t understood what the woman at the counter said to me, so I didn’t even know when my train was leaving. In a panic, tears running down my cheeks, I started showing my ticket to strangers, asking: “Where?” Most people brushed me aside. Finally someone pointed me towards my track. I was so grateful, I hugged and kissed him, then ran towards the track. I had to carry my little suitcase down the stairs. It felt heavy by now, it hurt my hand, but I didn’t care. My train was there, a big sliver train that would take me away. I got on, and just for a second, I felt excited about my big adventure.”

  I swallow hard. I’m not sure how I feel. But my hands, holding the tea mug are shaking.

  “It wasn’t nice at all, on the train. It was ugly, actually rather grimy. It even smelled bad. Like rust, or something. Something metallic, unfriendly, kind of dirty. I got to sit by the window. I cried all the way to Scranton, and then I fell asleep and nearly missed my stop. The conductor was screaming “Scranton” at the top of his lungs. I should have picked a place with a nicer name, come to think of it.

  The plan was to check into a cheap but clean hotel, rest the first day, take a bubble bath, watch TV. Then the next day, bright and early I would look in the paper and try to find a job as a French speaking nanny.”

  She gives off an uncomfortable little laugh, and shakes her head.

  “I was so naïve, L. I knew so little. And then, what I learned, well, it was just one unpleasant discovery after another. Really cheap hotels, in this country, are not clean. As my cabdriver told me “If you want clean, and safe, you have to pay, lady.” So I had to stay
someplace expensive, I mean, expensive for my budget. It was almost nice, actually. But ironically after spending all that money on the cab to take me around, I ended up staying right by the train station. My second discovery was that the only thing I could really afford from room service was a bagel. It cost seven dollars, L, for somebody to bring a stupid toasted bagel with cream cheese to my room. And when it arrived, it was cold.”

  I smile. How ironic. A bagel, my own subsistence food. I can see myself in a hotel room in Scranton, being able to afford nothing but a bagel, and hating every single bite.

  “And then I found that once I showered and ate my stupid bagel, I could sleep for almost forty-eight hours. Once I lay down in those soft white sheets, there was no getting up. I’d wake up for short spells, but would not be able to bring myself to actually rise. I’d just lie there, letting myself drift off to sleep again. I finally emerged, two days later, with a horrible headache and swollen eyes. You know, I read somewhere that too much sleep is toxic. Sincerely, I’m surprised I didn’t die from it. Just lying in that big bed, soaking in my own poison.

  I took another shower, then made coffee, hideous hotel coffee, if I may borrow your word, weak and tinny. I couldn’t even drink it, and I needed it so badly. I ordered another bagel and a paper. All kinds of things were needed in Scranton, but a French-speaking nanny was not amongst them. No need to say that nobody needed a librarian specializing in fin de siècle Romanian literature either. I wondered if I was willing to clean houses for a living. Would that be worse or better than the life I’d left behind in New York?

  I fell asleep again, with my face on the paper. I woke up to the phone ringing. They asked if I wanted to stay on, or vacate the room. I looked inside my pocketbook, and I started crying. I had newsprint on my face, a bright future as Scranton’s worst cleaning lady, and seventy dollars and change in my purse. It couldn’t cover an additional night. I had really hoped that by then I’d have secured some kind of employment, preferably as a live-in nanny.”