[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks

by Heather Balog

  It’s all Simon’s fault, I tried to convince myself. He had shaken me to my core with his revelation last night. The one that made him appear all gallant and noble, giving up the last of his money to make things right with me. Using up half his trust fund to help his mother. Well, it wasn’t going to work with me. I knew Simon for what he was and that was nothing but a liar.

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave. Holy shit, it was after two o’clock already? I had been staring at this nearly blank screen since breakfast time. I wasn’t writing anything and I wasn’t feeling it, either. I sighed, realizing that it wasn’t going to happen today, or maybe any day, for that matter. I picked up my cell phone and after scrolling down to find Jim’s number, I texted, Can’t think of a thing to write.

  Awaiting his reply, I stood up and rummaged through the kitchen drawer. When I found the package of pencils that I was looking for, I opened it and began sticking them in the electric pencil sharpener one at a time. This always used to help in high school when I was stuck. I would go up to the front of the classroom with my broken pencil and just grind away until an idea came to me. Sometimes the pencils got dangerously short, but an idea always popped into my head that way.

  My phone jingled with a text message. I halted my grinding to reach for my phone and read it. Jim wrote: Just tell the story you were writing the other day.

  I shook my head as I typed while speaking out loud—I felt like a crazy person. Working from home was starting to make me a little nuts.

  “That story doesn’t make sense anymore.” Placing the cell next to the half empty box of pencils, I returned to the tedious task of sharpening and thinking.

  This morning, I woke up early. Scratch that, I had trouble sleeping last night. Simon’s words haunted my thoughts and every time I drifted asleep, he crept into my dreams. So after hours of tossing and turning, I decided to just get it over with and get up. I groaned as I saw the clock announce the early hour of seven o’clock, but I quickly dressed in my usual uniform of sweats and a greasy ponytail, determined to make something out of this day.

  The couch was deserted, Simon’s blankets and pillows already stashed away in the closet, no sign that he had ever been there. Maybe he really wasn’t ever there, Elizabeth. Maybe you dreamt this whole thing up. I shook off that thought because it sounded even more insane than what had actually been going on for the last month.

  I decided that after two weeks of putting off writing, today I was going to do it. Jim and I had been texting back and forth about my ideas, and we decided we were going to meet at the coffee shop on Thursday. Which was tomorrow. The realization sent a crushing sensation to my chest that felt like a heart attack. Not even working at real job anymore and I was still having panic attacks.

  It’s okay, Elizabeth. It’s Jim. He’s a friend. He just wants to give you an incentive to write. He’s not an editor. He’s not going to rip your writing apart.

  With firm resolve, I had parked myself at my laptop and started typing Wanda’s story. In the third sentence, I decided her name wasn’t right for her, so I changed it Wendy. Then, three more sentences in, I wondered if Wanda wouldn’t be a good name for her after all. I decided to keep Wanda until I thought about her profession. She was supposed to be a lawyer. Wasn’t that a cliché job for a novel? I decided my heroine needed a different career and spent the next two hours googling jobs. And then decided, yes, Wanda should be a lawyer, but her name should definitely be Wendy.

  My cell phone startled me as it went off. I peeked down at the screen. Jim had written. It doesn’t have to make sense. Just write words and the rest will come to you.

  I sighed deeply as I wrote back: Nothing is coming to me! I hadn’t even put the phone down when the reply came, You have fire pent up in you! Release it!

  Considering Jim’s melodramatic words, I started wandering around the apartment, absent-mindedly running my hand along the top of my faux fireplace. I stopped in front of my favorite picture of me and my parents. Picking it up, I studied the smiling people in the photo. It was my college graduation day and it had been very windy. Proudly beaming, I held on to my cap as my parents flanked my sides. My mom had her arm over my shoulder, pulling me near, while the gap between my father and me was much wider.

  Just as it always was, Daddy. And look at you, Elizabeth. What are you smiling at? Your career isn’t going to work out the way you think. Hell, your whole life isn’t going to work out the way you think. Stop smiling!

  Disgusted with my disenchanted thoughts, I placed the frame back on the mantle. Jim was right—I had pent up energy. But I had no idea how to release it. I didn’t even know what the energy was. Was it the writing I wanted to do? Was it fear of getting married? Was it the distraction of Simon? Was it a combination of everything?

  I practically felt the emotions bubbling under my skin. So, I did the most bizarre thing I ever imagined.

  Reaching into the front hall closet, I retrieved my running sneakers, which I had only purchased because I thought they were an adorable shade of purple, put them on, and grabbed my gym card from the peg by the front door.

  I have this creativity inside—I needed to get it out of my body. What better way than busting my ass on the elliptical machine. Okay, maybe not my weapon of choice, but it might help. It worked for Nora, right?

  After exiting the elevator in the lobby, I pushed the glass doors to the building open and emerged onto the busy streets of New York City. Turning left, I headed in the direction of the gym. Yes, I was going to walk there instead of take a cab. Wouldn’t Nora be proud?

  It was well after lunch time, so most people on the street were hurrying back to their offices, while the others—obviously tourists—were wandering aimlessly, getting in my way and the way people rushing back to work. As I ambled along the Avenue of the Americas, I studied the sightseers. Who were they? What were they doing here? Why the hell were they so fascinated with this city that never even fazed me?

  I created a scenario for the tourist family standing on the corner, taking a picture underneath the sign, much to the annoyance of all the natives around them. They had lived in poverty all of their lives and finally won the lottery. The first thing they did was come to New York City and splurge on the finest of everything.

  I made up a story about the older couple, map in hand and fanny packs strapped on, arguing about which direction to go in. They had never been out of Oklahoma, but the husband was just diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live, so they were traveling with the money he had saved for his retirement. Money he would no longer need because he would never retire.

  I watched the young, tired mother drag her suitcase, while pushing a double stroller with two unkempt toddlers, who had crackers in their hair. She just arrived here via train after fleeing an abusive marriage in Connecticut.

  All these people were here, converging on the greatest city in the world and all for different reason. Yeah, sure I made the stories up and they probably weren’t true for the people that I saw. But they were true for somebody. Someone out there was living the lives I created in my mind.

  And that’s when it hit me. Someone was living the lives I created, and what better person to tell the story than the one who was living it. I was stagnated because Wendy/ Wanda, whatever the hell her name was, was not true enough to any character I knew. Who would try to kill a man just because he didn’t love her? Joe never said he loved her, never betrayed her love. Killing someone just because they don’t return your affections was a stupid motive for my novel.

  But what if Joe and Wendy had actually been together and he did something awful to her, completely betrayed her trust, leaving her broken hearted? Like maybe he could get her pregnant and refuse to marry her or acknowledge the child.

  Now that’s a reason to want to commit murder, I thought as the wheels began turning. I knew I would never harm Simon in real life, but I could easily destroy him in the name of fiction.

  “Who needs the gym?” I muttered to
no one in particular, causing the tourists to stare at me with concern, and the hardened New Yorkers to brush past me with disgust.

  Hello? Bums on every corner mumbling to themselves and all of a sudden I’m strange?

  Even though I had reached the gym, I turned sharply on my heel and headed back in the direction I had come from. All of a sudden, my fingers tingled. I needed to get them on the laptop keys right now. I picked up my pace, but it still wasn’t fast enough. I started to feel anxious—what if I lost my inspiration by the time I got home?

  Panicked by that thought, I started to jog. Yes, I was jogging and at a rather rapid rate for a seasoned couch potato. Hehe, I like that. Seasoned couch potato. Like those curly fries Mom used to make. They had the nicest flavor— not too heavy but with just a little kick. Damn, I really could go for some curly fries right now. Where can I get curly fries?

  I started glancing around at the restaurants that I passed before I realized I was distracting myself. Stop thinking about food, Elizabeth! Get yourself home to your laptop!

  I was gasping for air when I arrived at my apartment building, so I leaned my arm against the bricks for a moment to catch my breath.

  “You running now, Miss Elizabeth?” my elderly neighbor Mr. Jackson asked as he exited the building, startling me.

  I took a deep breath as I shook my head. It burnt my lungs. This is exactly why I didn’t engage in exercise. It hurt too much.

  “Nah, I just needed to get home quickly. Got something I need to do,” I explained.

  Mr. Jackson nodded, “Ah yeah, Miss Nora’s already up in your apartment. She’s probably waiting for you.”

  I groaned audibly. Oh, no! Not Nora! What is she doing here? Damn it, I’ll never be able to write with Nora around. There was only one way to handle this. I’d have to kick Nora out. And she would not be happy.

  “Thanks for the heads up Mr. Jackson!” I pushed open the entrance door and marched over to the elevators before I reconsidered. Nope, I am going to take the stairs, I thought with confidence. I’m turning over a new leaf today.

  I was deeply regretting that decision somewhere around the third floor, however, so I yanked the stairwell door open and took the elevator from the third to the sixth floor. Hey, it was the first time I had even broken a sweat since February—I had to go easy on myself. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  I was still panting when I reached my front door, key in hand, when it swung open and a very perturbed Nora stood there, tapping her open toed wedge on my carpet.

  “Where have you been?” She nearly dragged me into my own apartment as she inspected my outfit. “Don’t tell me you went out in public in that get-up?”

  Still breathing heavily, I hooked my gym card on the peg next to the door. Leaning my right hand against the wall for support, I popped my left sneaker off and then repeated the process for my right sneaker.

  “Yes,” I told Nora finally. “I did go out like that.” I held my hand up as she began to protest. “But, you’ll be proud of me. I went to…” I leaned in really close for effect. “The gym.” I whipped my head away, heading off toward the kitchen, my ponytail hitting Nora in the cheek. Okay, it wasn’t entirely the truth, but I had gone there and I had engaged in exercise. What did it matter that I didn’t actually go in the gym?

  Nora staggered backwards, clutching her chest. “Wait a minute…You went to the gym?”

  I bobbed my head up and down as I searched through my nearly bare refrigerator for a snack. I had burnt off quite a lot of calories running and thinking and all that. I needed fuel to work. And more importantly, I needed quiet to work.

  Nora was standing with her hands on her hips when I turned from the fridge with a shriveled up apple. “What did you do there?” she challenged as she took the apple from me and tossed it into the garbage can.

  “Hey! That was mine! That was the last one, too!” I think it was also the last edible thing in the refrigerator. I really needed to get to the grocery store. I would have to do that tomorrow. After I churned out whatever number of pages I still had to show Jim, of course.

  “You don’t need that, it’s rotten. We’re going to eat anyway. What did you do at the gym?”

  I sighed as I dropped into the chair and opened up my laptop. “I didn’t actually go into the gym, per se.”

  “Ah!” Nora punctuated the air with her first. “I knew it! You just went out in that really embarrassing outfit.” She patted my hand sympathetically. “It’s okay, Elizabeth. There’s help for you. Let’s go raid your closet like in that show where they make the people throw out all their clothes and buy new ones! Ooo! We could go shopping!” She clapped her hands as she squealed with delight.

  I shook my head. “No. First off, I walked to the gym and then when I got there, I turned around and ran home.”

  Nora was aghast. “But that’s like twenty blocks!”

  “Yes, I know,” I replied proudly. “But I was stuck on my book and on the way there, a great idea occurred to me, so I ran home in order to get started as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, that’s great, Elizabeth. I’m very happy the ideas are flowing. Get in the shower and put something else on so we can go,” Nora remarked impatiently.

  “Nora, you don’t understand. I need to get started on those ideas now.” I nudged my head in the direction of the front door, hoping my best friend would take a hint.

  “Write the ideas down on your post-its and do it later. Now it’s almost dinner time and it is Wednesday. You know what Wednesday is, Elizabeth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know, Prince spaghetti night…”

  Nora stomped her foot angrily at my joke. “No, Elizabeth. It’s Mexican night, and I need a quesadilla and a fricking margarita so get your sweaty ass in the shower and let’s get moving.” With a sweeping gesture, she pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

  I shook my head at her. “Sorry, Nor. Not tonight. Tonight, I have a date with my laptop.”

  “No,” Nora insisted. “Every Wednesday night we go and have margaritas and we are going. The stupid book can wait till tomorrow,”

  The sting from Nora’s callous words were like a slap across the face on a cold winter morning. “The stupid book?” I was stunned that my best friend was that heartless about my endeavor. “The stupid book?” I reiterated while using the chair to brace myself. “I thought you told me I should work on my writing?”

  Nora waved her hand in front of her face, instantly dismissing my distress. “Of course, of course you should. Just not tonight. We always go out on Wednesday. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to come to your apartment on a Wednesday and expect that we are going out like we usually do.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I was inspired this afternoon and I need to capitalize on that inspiration. So for the first time, we aren’t going to hang out on Wednesday. You are going home and I am staying here. And we will both live.”

  I pointed to the door to illustrate my point. I was really hoping Nora would start to understand and wouldn’t try to bully me into going out. Of all the people in my life that I needed to be supportive, she was at the top of my list.

  “No,” Nora insisted as she stomped her foot like a spoiled child in a toy store. “We are going out and that is final.” She crossed her arms across her chest and attempted to give me an icy stare. The only thing that she succeeded in doing was to make me start laughing uncontrollably.

  “What!” Nora demanded, looking around for the joke. “What the hell is so damn funny?”

  Barely able to speak from laughing so hard, I attempted to gasp out, “You’re acting like a rotten three year old.” Wiping the tears from my face, I said, “Oh my God, you were hysterical. You looked like one of Baby Mama’s brats having a temper tantrum.”

  Nora’s face hardened as she inquired coolly, “Are you coming or not?”

  “Nor, I told you I can’t tonight.” I placed my hand gently on her shoulder. “Let’s go tomorrow night instead…oh wait, I’m meetin
g Jim. How about Friday night then?” I smiled at her hopefully.

  She shrugged off my hand and gave me an artic stare. “Forget it. If I’m not even important enough for you to keep our usual Wednesday night appointment, then I don’t have time for you when it’s convenient for you.” She gave a final huff and stormed toward the front door. I reached out for her arm, but it slipped through my grasp. Instead, I jogged after her, trying to reach the front door first.

  “Wait, Nora, seriously, you can’t be mad!”

  She turned and glowered at me with the same frosty expression. “And why can’t I be mad?”

  I shrugged my shoulders as I answered. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a teensy bit?” I held my thumb and index finger less than an inch apart. She continued to stare without any hint of a grin crossing her face. I elbowed her in the ribs good naturedly, expecting her to laugh.

  “No, Elizabeth. I don’t think I’m overreacting. I think you’re being selfish and mean, and I think you can start looking for a new maid of honor for your wedding.” She swung open the front door, stepped into the hallway, and slammed the door, seemingly in one swift motion.

  I stood staring at my front door, my mouth still hanging open. Did that just happen? Did my best friend of ten years just call me selfish because I wanted to skip a night out to work on my writing, which she originally encouraged in the first place?

  I staggered over to the laptop, stunned by Nora’s behavior. I shook it off, knowing Nora had a tendency to be overdramatic when she didn’t get her way, which is why she usually got me to do what she wanted.

  She’s just overreacting as usual. She’ll be over it by tomorrow.

  Little did I know, it wouldn’t be the last time Nora’s behavior would stun me in the months to come.

  Fourteen