Grown Woman

by Jen Luerssen

  Walking down their street to the bus, I’m realizing that most likely I’m going to be on the bus when my mind reaches its full altered state. I’m just hoping I can make it to the second bus safely. History tells me that I am a drooling catatonic after I eat edible marijuana. A few years ago, we all took a trip to the Russian River to float down on inner tubes on the 4th of July. I ate a small cookie before we left for the float and by the time we got there I was so wasted that they had to tie me to the canoe so I wouldn’t float away.

  I’m on the 38 Geary bus and am only two stops away from the safety of my home. Everyone on this bus is staring at me and they all know I’m high as fuck. My whole body feels like it belongs to someone else. I stand in front of the back door even though it’s not my stop yet because I’m afraid I’ll miss it. I may have been standing here at the back door for the past 12 stops, whatever, I am not missing my stop.

  I miss my stop, by one, but I got distracted by my fingernails. Fingernails are weird little tools. Plus, mine are dark red and sparkly but chipped. Dark red nails that are chipped look tacky. I make it to the front door to my apartment and it takes about three hours to find my keys. Once I make it inside, I strip out of my clothes, put on leggings and a big comfy shirt and sit on the couch gripping my phone. Someone needs to know about my problem. Is it a problem? Not as bad now that I’m home but what if something bad happens like a car runs into the building. This is a thought that is currently running on a loop, a little old lady driving her big Cadillac into the side of our building. I know, it seems unlikely, but is it?

  I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts. I mistakenly call and then hang up on my former boss from the library, my dentist’s office and Dean. Dean calls me back and I don’t answer, terrified to talk to him. He’ll definitely know how high I am and will feel obligated to fuck with me. Like come over and pretend to be an old lady driving her car into the wall or ask me the same question over and over again. Who needs that kind of aggravation? Paul! I can call Paul. He will take care of me.

  Paul’s phone goes to voicemail. “Hiiiiiiiii,” I say. “It’s me, me, me, and I’m an opera singer. Something is happening to my brain and I’m pretty sure it’s similar to a frying egg on a pile of drugs. That’s a thing.” I pause for a moment and put the phone down. “Paul, I feel like an after school special right now and I need to see the vice principal. Please call me, maybe.” After I say this, I lose my shit and giggle like the Joker until I’m pretty sure I pee my pants.

  Once I’ve changed my panties, I decide that I need to call my band and let them know I can’t rehearse today. The only person who answers is Fucking Frank.

  “Frrrrrrrrrankie Valli. How’s it hanging, grumpus?” I am completely obnoxious and shocked he doesn’t hang up on me.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, are you wasted, Lia?” He sounds half pissed but also a bit amused. I’m going to take advantage of the amused part.

  “I ate all the weed in San Francisco County, Frank. Call the Feds, will ya?” I start singing the theme song to the TV show Cops. He lets me get a few refrains of “bad boys” out before he interrupts me.

  “Lia, stop singing, go to your freezer, take out anything cheesy, microwave it, then eat it, grab some ice cream, chips, cookies, whatever junk food you have and eat until you pass out.”

  “You, Fucking Frank, are a genius.” I hear him laugh and I hang up and smile wide. My high ass got him to laugh and it totally counts.

  I raid my fridge and freezer and end up with a plate of pigs in a blanket, some fancy stuffed mushrooms, and an entire pizza. I fill up three glasses of water and bring it all to the coffee table. I want to minimize my getting up off the couch. I flip on the Food Network thanks to Margo’s advice and watch a popular southern chef’s show. I watch three episodes trying to keep myself from freaking out. She makes it easy because I am slowly convincing myself that she too is high on weed. Some of the shit she says makes no sense unless you’re high.

  My phone rings and wakes me up. I must have fallen asleep. It’s only 3 pm and I am still pretty fuzzy. My body is warmer than it’s ever been but in a good way. I feel like a cocoon of toasty love. There’s a different show on now and they are combining weird ingredients. I’m still hungry but I don’t think I have the attention span to watch anything else. My phone is still ringing and I pick it up, just missing Javier. I press the return call button.

  “Hola, Diva!” he shouts into the phone.

  “Shhhh,” I scold. “Why are you shouting? Your voice is hurting me.”

  I hear him laugh. “Okay, miss librarian, I promise to keep it down.”

  “Ugh, still shouting, and I was never a real librarian.”

  “Lia, are you alright? You sound distressed.”

  “No, I’m not alright, Javier. I’ve been drugged against my will and I am hungry.”

  “What? Who drugged you? What’s happening, Lia?”

  “Shh, listen, I was watching the little ditties and Jack ruined my cookie so I ate a brownie because everything is fair game god dammit.” I know, I blame a three-year-old for my current state, it’s pathetic. “Seems like the brownie contained some high octane mary jane and should be shared with at least a half dozen of your friends, not eaten solo. Solo, so low, soo lo, solo.”

  Now he is really laughing in earnest and I thought I could count on him. I start to cry a super, sad pathetic, weepy cry.

  “Oh, no, Diva please don’t cry. I’m not laughing at you, just the situation. You are going to be fine. Do you need me to come by early?” I wipe my face and encounter a lot of crumbs and half a mushroom stuck to my face. This strikes me as hilarious and I lose my shit again and drop the phone in my hysterics.

  There’s a sharp knock at the door and it wakes me up and I fall off the couch. “Shit, I think I broke my asshole,” I say as I walk to the door. It’s Javier and I’m not sure how he got upstairs but he’s here. “How did you get here?”

  He shakes his head and pats my shoulder. “Looking good, Diva, how’s the asshole?”

  I spy myself in the hall mirror and laugh. My hair is plastered to my face and one eye’s mascara is completely on my cheek. I shrug, and head to the bathroom and run a cool washcloth over my face and hair. When I get to the living room, Javier is clearing my collection of plates and glasses off of the table and bringing them to the sink. I plop back down on the sofa. My head is nowhere near clear but I don’t feel like I might die of a heart attack at any moment like I did an hour ago.

  “You’re here, how did that happen?” I ask and my mouth is drier than a rat’s vagina.

  “Well, I finished my shift early so I headed here on my bike.” I nod and see past him to the window, which is showing me very inclement weather.

  “It’s raining,” I say. Thanks captain obvious.

  “Yup, it started when I was on Sacramento and Divisadero so it wasn’t too bad.” I narrow my eyes at him, noticing his wet hair and I reach out to touch his shirt, which is also drenched.

  “Maybe all this clothing should come off and I could get you a towel,” I say seriously.

  He smiles and I die a little inside. “Calm down there, Diva. I’ll handle it. You are adorable when you are high out of your mind.” I squint at him. “I know, you don’t like it when I call you that but it’s true. I can’t help but adore you.” He bops my on my nose, gets up from the couch and walks out of the room, leaving me in my puddle of unrequited feelings.

  Both of us rally. Javi borrows a shirt from Paul and dries his jeans in the dryer for a bit, leaving him in his boxer briefs and Paul’s Wicked tee shirt. I change into some soft gray cords that sit low on my waist and a short sleeved pink cashmere crop top. I need something to feel and both items are a tactile dream. We sit in awkward (although it may just be me that’s awkward in my drug haze) silence while watching a sweet British lady make trifle. By the time we get to the concert, I am feeling somewhat normal, totally relaxed and ready for a beer.

  The show is amazing and for once
I am the high one at a concert. Javier is mildly amused at me the whole night and supplies the beer and nachos only calling me mother once. It’s a perfect night until I ruin it.

  “So, Javi, how’s your little virgin girl?” I ask with a tinge of bitterness as we walk to his motorcycle. “Are you guys going to the drive-in soon? Did you get her in trouble?”

  “You aren’t funny, Lia. If you really care, she and I are doing well. We hung out last night and she is trouble free,” he huffs out and I know I pissed him off. I’m going about this wrong but I’m still a tiny bit high and a little drunk from the four beers.

  “I do care. I’m just confused as to why you’re with her. It doesn’t sound like you like her at all.”

  “Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t run my life. I like her just fine.” He hands me the extra helmet and is quiet. When I put my arms around him and hug him with my crotch, I give him a little squeeze of apology. He doesn’t squeeze back.

  “I’m sorry,“ I say when we are at my apartment as I hand him the helmet.

  “I know,” he says and after securing the helmet drives away.

  No Thanks for the Giving

  Sometimes, even though you’ve done everything in your power to improve, you end up near the rocky bottom again. I’ve sent Javier two texts and gotten zero back.

  Lia: Hey, can I apologize again? Yesterday was obviously not the best day.

  Lia: I know you’re mad and I get it but Shannon wanted me to double check that you and your dad are coming for Thanksgiving.

  I woke up early this morning and lay in my bed in a funk. The funk is clinging to me and nothing I’ve done today has done anything to rid me of this funk. Not eating my weight in Lucky Charms (I am missing that asshole, Jane), not calling Jane and speaking with her briefly about me being drugged.

  Paul is away until Wednesday in LA and so I am here, sitting in my own funk, alone. School is closed for the Thanksgiving week and I have one gig this week on Monday, which should be pretty dead since San Francisco basically clears out during any holiday. I’m lonely and it’s of my own making. Instead of putting out positivity and light, I spewed bitterness and frustration. Fuck.

  Javi: Hey Lia, we will definitely be at Thanksgiving.

  Lia: Oh good. Is it too late to say sorry or apologize?

  Javi: Neither of those shitty songs, Diva.

  Lia: HA! Yes, I made you laugh, maybe?

  Javi: Maybe. I know we need to talk about a lot of things.

  Lia: I agree. Why do you have to be the mature one all the time?

  Javi: Not all the time.

  Lia: More times than me!

  Javi: I’ll see you Thursday morning. I’ll meet you at your place so we can talk first. Then we can pick up my dad from the BART.

  Lia: K, see you then.

  I won’t lie and say I’m not disappointed that I’ll have to wait to see him but maybe some time and self-reflection will be good for me. I agree with myself and then sit on the couch and turn on the TV. What? You don’t reflect on your life while watching home improvement shows? There are a lot of parallels and insights to be had about life while watching Property Brothers.

  I’m just taking my sweet potatoes out of the oven when the buzzer goes off signaling Javier’s arrival. The potatoes are bubbly and hot and smell delicious. I’m not really known for my cooking but I can put together some mean yams. Still holding the pot holder, I skip over the door.

  My mood is greatly improved and I feel like I’ve kicked myself up and away from the rocky bottom. Three things came to me this week. One, I am a kick ass woman and I just need to keep on kicking ass. Secondly, if Javier and I are going to happen I need to practice patience and restraint. Paul is positive that the Carrie thing is something I just need to wait out. He and I had a good talk when he got home last night. Finally, even if it does not work I am nowhere near the rocky bottom like I was in the summer. My attitude is positive, my path is laid out and ready for adventure. Paul and I decided that we are definitely going to Ireland in June. He has a bajillion frequent flier miles and can get us business class tickets. This brightened my mood. Jane has left a sizable hole in our lives where she used to take up a lot of room. We miss her.

  I buzz up Javier and smooth out my apron. Paul helped me get dressed before he left early to have lunch at his sister’s. I am wearing a light aqua cotton dress. It’s pure 50s housewife crossed with pinup. It has a fitted top and a deep neckline that makes my boobs look amazing. I put a sheer off white apron with bright red cherries on over the skirt and have off white seamed stockings on and my dark red pumps. My hair is lightly styled and down, but not too fussy. Paul and I decided that from now on I dress with the purpose of torturing Javier. I know he looks at me when I wear something sexy. He’s a red-blooded young man after all.

  Standing at the open door, I wait for him to get to the top of the stairs, drop the pot holder, bend at the waist to pick it up, then snap up. I know, Paul and I watched Legally Blonde last night and practiced the move a bunch of times. Once I’m upright, I smile at Javier’s wide-eyed stare at my cleavage and whack him with the pot holder.

  “Eyes up here, turkey.”

  He laughs and waggles his eyebrows. “Gobble gobble.”

  “Oh boy, this day is going to be interesting,” I say under my breath and usher him in. “Have a seat. Do you want a drink? I’m having a whiskey and ginger ale to prepare my stomach for all the food.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing, Diva, but sure I’ll have one too.”

  I make him a drink and hand it to him, then sit next to him on the couch facing him. “I need to say something and I need you not to interrupt me,” I say in a quick breath.

  He takes a tentative sip of his drink and nods to me.

  “First, I need to apologize to you for a few things. I am sorry that I got so mad at you for missing my birthday. You are not my boyfriend and I should not have put such importance on your attendance. I want you to know I understand about Carrie and I admire you for how you handled it and are handling it. I’m happy for you that you found someone you like and can spend time with. I know we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately and I was leaning on you more than I should. It’s no excuse but having my best friend 5,000 miles away and my other bestie traveling for work are a few reasons I clung to your company.”

  He gives me a sympathetic nod and I put my hand out to signal I’m not finished.

  “Despite those reasons, I like you and enjoy being with you. I feel like I’ve gotten a little more attached than you have and I apologize if I’ve overstepped. Sometimes my boundaries get blurry.” I take a breath and tell him the most difficult thing. “I have some feelings for you and I’m working through them. I’d rather we not talk about that part but I wanted to be honest. My dearest wish is to remain friends and continue to hang out like we have been without any awkwardness or stress.”

  He looks at me, really looks at me and I think for a moment he’s going to kiss me. Unfortunately, that is not his intention. He leans forward and envelops me in the sweetest hug of my life. His arms fold over my upper back and he gives me a soothing pat. I wind my arms under his arms and hold him close, pressing my cheek into his warm chest.

  “There’s nothing I want more than to be in your company and spend time with you,” he says and I sigh into his chest. “I think we both have had some blurred boundaries and it’s good to know where each other stands. You mean a lot to me, Lia and I have a hard time imagining my life without you in it.”

  He lets me go and my hands go back to my lap feeling empty without him. His smile is warm and comforting and I am at peace for now. My friend is back and I can hopefully get my feelings under control and directed at someone who will welcome them. I pick up my drink, clink it with his and drain it.

  “Let’s go eat until we want to die!”

  I’ve had many an interesting Thanksgiving since I’ve lived in San Francisco. I’ve witnessed arrests, danced on top of the
Yoda statue and almost got arrested myself, and have had sloppy make-out sessions with every one of my friends, women included. Our problem is we start our day too early yet we never learn. Javier, his dad, and I arrive at Shannon and Kayla’s around 1:30 pm and we’ve already had two drinks each.

  We continue to drink and snack on yummy appetizers until the main event at 4 pm. Kayla deep fried the turkey outside without a visit from the fire department and the results were divine. Everyone ate and drank way more than was necessary so it was a success.

  Javier’s dad seemed to have a blast and spent a good chunk of his time talking with Kayla’s mom. Because I’m obnoxious, I kept pointing and winking at Javier and in return he rolled his eyes a bunch. He and I seemed to have turned a corner and are happily eating pie and watching football together.

  “Why do you think we try to eat so many calories today?” Javi asks.

  “Well, it’s like the official cheat day of America. No one gives you a hard time for piling up your plate on Thanksgiving. You could be on the fucking cleanest diet, work out religiously, and I guarantee you will still destroy two helpings of gravy-drenched carbs. I guess it’s really the gravy. When else are you allowed to consume a delicious sauce made of animal fat, skin, butter and flour? Gravy is an existential experience for some.”

  “Did you just wax poetic about gravy?”

  “Ugh, yes, and I didn’t even mention whipped cream. I probably could take or leave pumpkin pie. It’s all about the whipped cream for me.” I put my plate down, feeling a tad sick because I ate every last crumb of that pie.

  About an hour later, Paul, Randall, and TJ announce we are going with tradition and heading to Ireland’s 32 for drinks and pool.