Page 26 of Malliko
When I got out of my car, the door made a squeaking sound, reminding me that my car was an older lady who wasn't doing too well. All the alarms in the panel telling me to check the engine were a constant stressor in my life. I was diligent about most things but had to prioritize, as I was on a slim budget.
Walking among the apartment buildings I tried to mind my own business. It was better this way, because I knew from experience that interacting with the other residents living here could get you in trouble. Most people were in dire circumstances. They lived off social support, and many were fresh out of prison. At least five times a month I promised myself that I would find something else to live in. The trouble was that everything was so damn expensive in this town. At least living in this apartment gave me the opportunity to save a little money so that I could spoil my sons a little when they came to visit. I wasn't stupid and knew perfectly well that the little that I could save wouldn't matter in the end. With inflation and the rich making big bucks on the stock market I would always be falling behind in the monetary system.
But there was satisfaction in seeing my numbers go up even though it was marginal. A man sat on the staircase blocking my way and for a moment I hesitated. Assessing him I saw that that he was unwashed and emaciated. He could be one of those people from across the street who’d just left prison, and it made me wary because many of them seemed mentally ill. The man looked to be at least sixty, but sometimes age could be hard to define on people who had lived a hard life. As I stepped up, he turned his head towards the wall and scooted closer, makinghimself small. He didn't seem to have any weapons on him. I considered asking if he was okay, but I wasn't a social worker and interacting with someone who was clearly not stable wasn't a good idea.
Swallowing hard because I felt unsafe, I stiffened my back and made a decision. Intently and at a quick pace, I moved past him and was relieved when he didn't say a sound or move at all. Looking back one last time I once again considered if I should offer the man some food and help. Now standing on the top of the stairs I felt a little braver. “Sir, are you okay?”
At first, he didn't react, so I tried again.
“Can I help you in some way?”
This time his head ducked forward, and his hands and shoulders came up as he made himself into a little ball. His body was telling me that he wanted to be alone. With a deep sigh I walked away. In the beginning when I lived in this apartment building, I had reported every time I saw someone like him. By now I knew that it made no difference. The system was overwhelmed and underfunded.
My pace was quick when I moved to my apartment looking up and down the hallway. There was something comforting about the sound of the key in my lock because it meant that I was a few seconds away from being inside my apartment where I could lock the doors and feel safe. Or at least I managed to convince myself that as long as I was inside, I was safe. Cognitively, I understood that people broke into these apartments all the time, which is why I had three locks installed. I slid the first bolt, the second, and finally there was the sweet sound of the third bolt. The walk from my car to my apartment always had me on edge but now I could finally relax.
Putting down my bag, I walked straight into the kitchen. The advantage to living alone was that my apartment was spotless. Back when I had been a working mom with two babies and ahusband who couldn't bring his own cup to the sink, my home had always felt like a battleground. No matter how much I cleaned it, messes seemed to explode every time I turned my back.
How many times had Jeremy and I fought about his lack of helping? Being smart enough for Harvard law school apparently didn’t mean a person had the skill set to change diapers, vacuum, or clean the toilet or kitchen.
Looking back, it was easy to see how toxic our relationship had been. I had been like a soldier with an abusive sergeant constantly asking me to do the impossible. Why hadn't I ever told Jeremy off? I should have been better at standing up for myself and demanded that he supported me. The fire in my belly was back, once again ignited by the anger and bitterness that always simmered when I thought about Jeremy. Leaning my head back I closed my eyes and held onto the counter while taking a second to calm myself.
If I had the money, a therapist would have been a good investment because my failed marriage to Jeremy had left me with a lot of trust issues still lingering in the corners of my soul.
Opening one of the cabinets I took out a wineglass and went to the fridge. A bit of cheese, dried ham, toast bread, and some leftover Chinese food stared back at me. I went for the wine bottle and made a face when I saw that only one third of the content was left. The yellow liquid filled the glass to the brim. Normally, I rewarded myself with half a bottle after work, but last night I had an extra glass because I felt sorry for myself. Looking to the side of the fridge, I saw three bottles of Chardonnay. If I opened one of them, I would be breaking my rule. A third glass of white wine yesterday meant that I would have to do with just one today.
I thought about why I’d felt so heartbroken last night and there were several factors that came into play. Meeting Mallikohad been exciting and depressing at the same time. I loved how he’d made me feel as an expert. It was a lovely feeling to have a PhD student ask me questions as if I was smarter than him.
For a moment, I’d felt useful and appreciated. At the same time, Malliko reminded me that a PhD had once been my biggest dream and it pained me to acknowledge that it would never happen for me. At thirty-four, I lived in a world of commitments and responsibility with no room for dreams like that. Even if I found a way to finance the degree in psychology that I dreamed of, the road to paying off that loan would have me indebted for life. I’d done my research and knew how much an entry level psychologist was making in the school system and it made no sense at all.
There was another reason why meeting Malliko had made me so sad last night. He and his fiancée were like gorgeous characters in a romantic movie. I, however, lived in the real world where men like that didn’t see me.
The way Malliko’s eyes lit up when he spoke with passion was incredibly sexy. The way he had wanted to sit close to me as if physical closeness was natural to him had awoken my need to touch and be touched.
People like him probably didn't know what it was like to feel lonely. Everyone had a certain type and I had always thought of myself as someone attracted to personality over looks. But Malliko was quirky and curious like me and seemed to have both looks and personality. Maybe that's why last night when I got back from work two thirds of a bottle of wine had helped me numb my loneliness.
Bringing my wine glass with me, I went to the living room and sat down. Checking my phone, I found a message from my mom. For a long moment, I hovered my finger above the play button because when it came to my family, things were complicated. I loved all of them but dealing with my mom'sconstant bragging about my brother usually resulted in my feeling worse about myself. It's not that I wasn’t happy for him, but the bragging often came with the reminder that I had once been the hope of our family. I’d been a straight A student while my brother always struggled in school. Now, our mother couldn’t stop bragging about his entrepreneurial mindset and impressive accomplishments.
My brother was a busy guy, and we didn't talk very often. I couldn't keep up with whatever entrepreneurial adventure he was on at the moment because those things seem to change quite often. There had been something about repairing broken cell phones, which then was replaced with selling supplements of some kind. Last that I heard, he’d been into buying and selling used Rolex watches, which apparently was a high paying market because he was now driving a Lexus and had paid off our parents’ trailer and car.
Sipping from the wine, I placed the glass on a coaster on the table. I could see the humor in it. A trailer park girl using a coaster, but that was the way I was raised. My family had been poor, but it had always been important to my mom that we took care of what we had. Deciding that I would hear my mother's message later, I called both my sons just like I did yesterday. The same story repeated itself when neither of them answered their phones. Despite the flare of fire in my stomach, I sighed and closed my eyes, taking ten deep breaths before I pushed the number of my ex-husband’s home.
Everything about the perky voice and the untroubled joy in the tone of the woman picking up ground on my nerves. I had absolutely no desire to speak to the woman who broke apart my family but if it meant talking to my sons, then I would be polite and do it.
“Hey, Shanice, it’s me, Clara.”
“Oh, hey, how are you?”
“Good, thanks. Can I talk to my boys?”
“Sure.” Shanice’s voice dropped as she continued, “They're in the pool but let me get them.”
I heard Shanice walking and then she shouted, “Jamison, Keith!! Clara is on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”
I hated that Shanice called me by my first name instead of referring to me as the boys’ mom. I could hear splashing and voices in the background and although I waited for a few minutes it wasn't either of my sons who came to the phone but Shanice again.
“They're asking if they can call you back. You know how boys are at that age.”
My heart sank. Lately it was always the same, with me calling and them being too busy to talk to me.
