May 2011
This is an excerpt of a little project I’ve been working on:
In the Summer of 2005, shortly after I graduated from college and broken up my engagement with my then fiancé (like that wasn’t enough), my parents decided to separate. I must say, they couldn’t have chosen a worst time to do it.
I remember it like it was yesterday: I was taking a shower when I heard my parents having this huge argument about God knows what and, as I exit the shower, there was quiet surrounding the house. Nothing else was spoken. I thought to myself, The fight had ended, no problem. It was probably nothing to begin with. I remember going into my bedroom to start getting ready to go out that night.
I had recently picked up socially smoking, which I had hidden from my father of course. I remember packing up my handbag with the necessities for the evening (including my Benson & Hedges Menthols) and headed out of my bedroom. My mother was in their bedroom and my father was sitting in the terrace outside on this dining set they had there. I could see him thought the glass door that separated the living room from the terrace. I did my best to go unnoticed by him (or anyone at the house for that matter), but as I was exciting through the door, my father called out for me to go to him because he needed to talk to me. As I am walking towards the terrace, I remember feeling really nervous. The only thing that I could think of is that he had found out I had been misbehaving the entire Summer, and he was going to have a talk about my behavior.
As I sat down at the table directly across from him, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, “Can I have a cigarette?” (Now, for all of you who don’t know my father, well this doesn’t sound as shocking as it was for me to hear it. My father is a health junkie, who at the time lived an extremely healthy lifestyle consisting of no alcohol or cigarettes.) Imagine my shock. I thought to myself, Well you can’t lie to him about it. Either way he’s apparently on your side. So, why not share a cigarette with your father while he tells you that you have been bad? So I did, and I lit one up for myself as well. I figured I would need it since he needed one. The second thing that came out of his mouth was, “Your mother and I are getting separated.” I have never been punched in the face, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it feels like. The third thing that came out of his mouth was, “We have to move out of this house, because I’m moving out, and your mother is moving to another house.”
In summary- in less than one minute- my father smoked a cigarette, told me they’re relationship was over, and on top of that, informed me that I was soon to me homeless as well. Well isn’t that great? Luckily, I had a friend closer to where I worked that wanted a roommate (even though she didn’t need one), so I did have a place to go. As I was contemplating all of this, there came the time to exit out the door and go out with my friends. I remember thinking that I needed to brush it off for the time being, since there was nothing that I could do at the moment. I was numb. Completely and utterly numb (which of course, didn’t come as a surprise to me). See, I have this thing about me that I really don’t like, but can’t change- any time something big happens in my life, out of nowhere, regardless if it’s good or bad, I go numb. I go numb for a really long time. I don’t react to it, at all. In the mean time, I accept it, and move one. That’s it! And then- by the time that it actually hits me- it’s too late to have a reaction (to cry or laugh). Needless to say- I am the worst person to go to funerals. (Any who, talking in circles again.) I did it yet again, I brushed it off as if it was nothing, and went out. Little did I know that it would come back to haunt me here and there years later.
A couple of days after we found out the news, my father moved out. He found a one bedroom apartment perfect for him. My brother Sebastian was already living in New Zealand with his girlfriend, so all that was left was my mom, my brother, and me. And boy did my mother find the perfect house for all of us! She found a two bedroom house for all of us. Isn’t that thoughtful? One of us had to go, so of course, I volunteered myself, since my brother was still attached to my mother. I thought, Why not leave? I don’t have to deal with this shit if I leave. (Wrong!) So I moved to an apartment closer to my job, and all of the bars that I loved so much. I was also closer to all of my friends. I did go back home, usually from Mondays until Tuesdays to do laundry, and spend some time with my mother and brother. It was easier for me to see my father since he lived a bit closer to me than my mom.
