Small Death

Jay got back last night from New York. Not til midnight. I screwed around all day, then went to my friend Luz's bachelorette party.

It's amazing how I never feel uncomfortable socially any more. Ever. I don't always have the best time, but I never feel awkward. It's not like I've stopped making faux pas (if anything, they've increased). I just don't care. I slip up, see the glances get exchanged and think, "Oops. Oh, well." Then I move on.

I love Luz. She's thirty-three. Cuban. How did she get to be thirty-three? One day at a time, I guess. I was only a few years older when I started nursing school. We were in school together. Beautiful girl. Woman. She has a hard time keeping friends because she has a pretty serious drinking problem which everyone knows about and no one knows about, if you know what I mean.

But she's met this guy, a fireman. And they're getting married. His sister threw the party, and it was one of those events where no one knows each other very well, and no one really knows Luz very well. The sister had invited her own friends as "filler". They were all very nice. Just like butter. Uncomplicated, pretty young county women, professionals. The sister-in-law is a civil engineer, as were all of her friends. Dressed conservatively. Jeans, turtleneck Luz's "friends" were all nurses. And they were dressed to party. Sequins, 4 inch heels, lots of eye make-up. Luz and I, incidentally, dressed the same, but in reverse: she wore a black and white print dress with a black cardigan, I wore a black dress with a black and white print cardigan. Funny. Not too sexy. There was a little too much talk at the table about nursing stuff. But what can you do? We were there 5 hours. You have to talk about something.

Everyone was very nice, but stilted. Luz kept getting up through the course of the evening and going outside to smoke by herself, so there were lots of quiet moments. I sat next to my friend Lisa's new best friend (she picks up best friends like she does men), and thought, maybe this is how I should have presented myself in life--blonde, straightened hair, skinny, lots of make-up, --I mean, mysterious, feminine and "done"--social worker, dating one of our young plastic surgeons. Woman, woman, woman. The kind of girl that makes men confused and weak in the knees.

I'm too furry and friendly, I decided, sitting next to her, silently through our conversation. I'm drawn by Roz Chast. She by Patrick Nagel. No one has ever been weak in the knees over me.

Oh, well. What are you going to do? Too late now.

5 hours in, I dipped. Went home. No word from Jay, which irritated me. Napped on the couch. Finally, I called him. "I'm almost home," he says, "but I have a flat tire, so I have to stop. Listen, could you drop by the grocery store on your way out and buy some wood?"

I'm pretty much still asleep, and for some reason, this request really annoys me. I mean, I've gone out there every god damn day, played with the dog, fed the cars, sorted the mail, deposited the checks and paid the bills--why at 11:30 at night do I have to go to the grocery store?
"Yeah, sure." I say, but my peevishness must have come through, because he calls me right back.
"Listen, don't worry about the wood. We've got wood. I just didn't want to haul it in."
I must have done what Wiz refers to as "the exhale of impending doom." ("Right through your nose, just a short little puff. The only way I can tell when you're pissed. Then I know we're all in trouble."
But I go anyways, because I remember the cats need food.
I have the sense he's lied to me about something recently. That squishy nauseated feeling, but I don't know what it is. And I'm not excavating. Lies grow. It'll pop up.
This morning, we're sitting on the couch drinking coffee, and he says, out of nowhere. "I'm truer than you think I am."
Bingo.
I don't say anything. Just drink my coffee.
Then. "What do you think I think about you?"
"I think you think I come on to all these other women, and I don't. I'm only attracted to you. You're the only woman I want to be with."
I sip my coffee. Amazing the way things come up. "I don't question your fidelity. I don't think you always tell me the truth."
He nods. "That's true."
Christ. What an infant. "Any whoppers lately?" I ask.
He hazards a joke. "Well, instead of going to Bath, I really stayed home and made love to strange women. I just made this whole job up" Which isn't funny. Because last year he did make a whole job up and stayed home so Hali could spend the weekend out at his place to wean Elena.
What do I do? I want to let this go, but I'm chilled to the bone. Not funny. I just keep quiet and send him nice energy. Squeeze his hand.
"No, " he says, "no whoppers lately."
The thing with men is that if you pounce on them, they will make their bad behavior your fault. They will make their guilt your fault. Not just men. Everybody. Watch what you know about people. Watch what you let show.
I thought about Gordon Wolfe, the bringer of small deaths. Here's another one.
That's my 1/2 hour.