« April 04, 2005 | Main | April 11, 2005 »

April 07, 2005

journeys end in lovers meeting

This is, more or less, how the end of my vacation went:

I wake up at 3:40, hear the rain on the roof. Dammit. Get up and dress, wish for coffee. Wake up the kids, tiptoeing down to the basement where Moo sleeps under his electric blanket with Jack; then back up to the bedroom where Herself slumbers, half on and half off the aero bed. Get up, get up, it's time to leave. The house is silent except for my sister talking in her sleep, Jack's claws on the wood floors, and the sound of the rain.

We gather up the detritus of our five-day visit--the Easter candy, the camera, the bags, the suitcases--pack the car, open the garage door. Moo and I in front; Herself in the back, already half-asleep with Jack. Good-bye.

Stop in Madison to get gas, listen to WCBS (traffic and weather on the 8's) and so know to avoid New York City in favor of the Tappan Zee. Down 95 to 287 to the Thruway to the Garden State to the NJ Turnpike once again, through the rain and the rush-hour traffic and everybody in the car but me asleep and snoring.

Breakfast in Delaware, fill the tank with cheap(er) gas, fly down the highway toward home, home, home. The rain coming down in sheets, flooding the road but not slowing anybody down, including me. Thinking about my bed, thinking about home, thinking about being back in Connecticut and how surprised I had been when sorrow hit me like a brick in the face once we were there, woke me up at night, invaded my dreams, made me cry in spite of myself--what was it?

I'm tired, and I want to sleep.

It's been seven hours since we left my sister's house, seven hours of driving in the driving rain, and I say to Moo as we turn on to our street, "I'm not even going to unpack; I'm going right upstairs and go to bed." I park in our driveway; Herself leaps out of the car. "Spike! Spike!" As I come down the walk I see him in the window. He sees us and goes nuts. Herself tries the door; naturally it's locked, but the key is under the mat. "The key is under the mat," I say. But it isn't. And isn't. I keep looking, not convinced.

I realize after a few minutes that husband must have taken the house key with him the last time he fed the fish, turtle, cat, and it is still with him, wherever he is. Where is he? Work? And the missing key is, unfortunately, our only house key, mine; husband having lost the other one when he left his keys in his apartment door and someone stole them. Our neighbors, who have a spare, are in Puerto Rico for a month. I go to my friend R., who has a spare, empties out drawers and boxes and envelopes searching for it when I show up at her door. No spare. No key at all. I go back home. Every door is locked, and by now Spike is climbing the blinds and meowing at us through the window.

I call husband. Phone is off. I call again. Phone is off. I call The Other One. One ring, voicemail. I call again. One ring, voicemail. It starts to rain. Shit. I call work, talk to ... somebody. "Haven't seen him today," somebody says. I think, What if this was an emergency? And then I think, We're locked out of the house without a key and I don't have any way to get in. This is an emergency.

Something happens in my head, then, some kind of shift. This is an emergency, and what if Moo or Herself or I were hurt, or at the hospital, or dead. Phone is off. Whereabouts, unknown. Husband is, in fact, oblivious to me, and Moo, and Herself getting rained on. I call The Other One's phone and leave a pissy message, which I immediately regret but it's too late to take it back.

Two hours later, just as the locksmith arrives to get us into the house, phone is answered by husband. This is probably my fifteenth call. By now, naturally, I am pretty well past furious and into rage. "You took my house key, and why was your phone off?" "Because I was with people and we were asleep." What? I want to have a fight, I want to pull hair and punch somebody in the nose. Preferably husband. Too bad I don't know where he is. "We need to talk about this," I say, and husband says, "I'm not going to talk to you now. I'll call you later. I'm about to have lunch." About to have lunch? We were out in the rain for two and a half hours. Nobody had lunch. Herself ate so much Easter chocolate while we waited for the locksmith that she gets a migraine the next day, but that's tomorrow and it is still today, and meanwhile I am so angry with husband.

While I am on the phone with him saying just that there's a knock on the door: the locksmith. He hands me a bill for $453.00. I look at the bill, convinced it can't be real. What? I have no idea how I am going to pay this bill, or why it is for $453.00. The locksmith is implacable. Pay. Now. Do you have cash? You can have 5 percent off.

I call husband again and cry, boo hoo. The crazy wife, again. I don't get a lot of sympathy. I hang up. The locksmith sits at the kitchen table. He won't leave until he gets paid. He won't take a check. He won't tell me who I can call to talk about why it just cost me almost $500.00 to get into my house. I don't know what else to do. Husband is angry with me and not available. Sniffling, I pay the locksmith, who is a young, very handsome man from ... some middle-eastern country. I want to ask him but don't. Too bad he's a bastard, I think.

After he has my money he leaves. I sit at the kitchen table and cry for real; the kids escape downstairs. It's raining. I have to go to work in two hours.

Posted by JudyLa at 06:00 AM | Comments (0)