Suspense

Years ago:
Towards the end of my marriage, my exhusband Flounder and I went to Vancover for a conference. It was his conference, I was a spouse. Since this was one of those closed-type conferences (sponsored by some auto safety organization...my ex had published research on accuracy of accident reports - go Flounder!) I had two options. Poke around Vancouver on my own or go to some of the fun-filled spouse field trips the conference had arranged for us. I'm not great on my own and Vancouver was fucking expensive so I opted for the spouse package.

The fun-filled field trips were not quite fun since I didn't know anyone. To make matters worse, they all seemed to know one another already - happy to see one another and catch up on how Madison and Gregory were doing, which prep schools they had already picked out for the little darlings, and how many horse show medals the kids had won this year. It felt like Stepford Wives on the road. Like some kind of bizzare Lifetime reality travel show - "Plus One" or "Et Ux" would've been the title.

Thankfully, I found a cohort. She was a rather flat affected but quite nice woman who it turns out lived down the block from me back in MI. She was childless, like me, which put her a little out of the "in" crowd" although she did know them from past conferences. Her name was Lynn.

Lynn and I spent most of the "social" time smoking and talking about Ann Arbor. When she made her obligatory rounds with the other wives (she had attended these things before and apparently needed to do some social maintenance with the Uxes) I spent my time alone writing in my journal or taking pictures. It was beautiful there, and while the trips were not at all fun, there were at least things like heartbreakingly beautiful woods and parks to absorb my attention.

One of those beautiful places included some park or something with a huge suspension bridge. It was so narrow and so very long. I stood at one end of it looking across. The children were on it and would occasionally for fun rock the damned thing and make it swing. My chest thudded and the palms of my hands got sweaty just watching it. Each swing and sway made my feet tingle like there was an electrical current running under them.

I honestly can't remember if I even went out on the bridge. I know I thought about it. I know I imagined going out. I know stood at the foot of it and looked down at the rungs immediately near me, the ones still close to firm land and bridge anchors. I know I used the picture of those rungs to build the bridge in my head, to put myself out, considering each how each step would feel. After I adjusted to the idea of walking on it, I let myself forget each step and think just about each moment. "Wow," I thought, "I'm doing it! I must have gotten so far out..." and I turned to look back only to make the shameful realization that I was still in spitting distance of the bridge's entrance. There was a decision to continue, to convince myself I was tough enough to do it, then striding ("probably slinking," I thought) forward with a squared shoulders kind of bravado. Children yelled and shrieked, you know, that happy howl they can make. Under the howls and hoots, I could hear their feet hitting the bridge, see it bucking here and there. And small but heavy feet landed too fearlessly ahead of me while I was close to half way out.

What happened after that I am not sure of. And this is why I am not sure if I imagined all of it or if I did actually walk out.



Here and now:
There is a woman I know and like from the radio station I used to work at (I'm still on staff but only for sporadic projects and production work). Her name is Susan. I have met and chatted with Susan at staff and committee meetings but I interact with her mostly through the station email list.

This morning I read Susan's post of the day while I drank my coffee and decided if I should or shouldn't risk troubling my intestine with anything resembling breakfast. Susan posted about McDonalds trying to get the OED to drop the word "McJob". I wrote back that Mc- is now a productive prefix in the English language. In support of this I mentioned McCollege. There was some back and forth on list which lead to me to a tangential post (rant) about my McGrad Program and what I fear will be a McPhD.

Then I finished my breakfast of coffee and cigarettes and popped off for my last visit with my primary care doctor before she blows out of this wretched state (I'm very unhappy about that) and to briefly see my friend who got her biopsy results back from her mastectomy (I'm aslo unhappy about that). I cried on and off much of the way home. When I got home, I sat on the porch with one of the neighborhood semi-strays, a friendly black cat I've named Sylvester. I fed him and smoked, called A___ to come out and he took me out for lunch. He realized when he got ID'ed at the bar that he forgot his wallet. So we ended up with me taking him out to lunch and trying very hard not to sink into a foul mood. The wallet was part of the mood only in as much as it hurt to see how crestfallen he looked when he said "but...I had wanted to take you out" in response to my overly sharp laugh at him getting ID'ed and my reassurance that I could cover two sandwiches, a beer, and a soda.

I wanted to feel smitten and swept off my feet by even the gesture - which was quite sweet. But in the context of my mood, it was just another nice thing not working out as planned at the end of a damp, dirty, ambivalently bright March day.

We drove home sleepy with the sunlight turning appropriately sunny just in time for dusk. At home, we curled up with our cat and watched some old TV shows on DVD. Then I logged on with intentions to work on Tuesday's lesson plan or do some grading at least. In my email, I found a reply from Susan which I think summed up where I am right now with frighteningly exact accuracy.

It HAS to be frustrating and deadening and scary - like getting to the middle of a long swaying suspension bridge...

It is precisely like that, complete with not really knowing for sure if I am halfway out or still standing at the edge.