At this late juncture in The Surge's tour, every nuance in speech is taken the wrong way. Every conversation dissolves into an argument within ten minutes. Every text, a reminder of the great divide. An electronic stab at hilarity despite the miles. Texts are for shit. I could text the happiest sentence possible in between my sobs that the hot water is off for the third day and the ants are back. Why tell him? He can't do anything from Serbia anyhow. Serbia? Yep, Serbia.
"I miss you." That sentence loses it's luster when spoken over and over and over and over and over again. Yeah, you miss me. I miss you. This is how our life is now. Me here, you there. You can miss me all you want.. it still doesn't mean I'll get to see you any sooner.. And it's beginning to sound as perfunctory as 'what did you do today?'
Admitting I miss him is not my way. My way is to power through.. Share the facts from my day. No time for mushy talk. He longs for the emotional stuff. I don't have it in me. So I focus on inane bits from my life that don't deserve the attention. Analyze silly things until I drive myself mad. I am going mad.
Maybe I am mad at him. Mad for leaving me alone so often. But I knew the deal when I married him. No I didn't. I knew nothing when I married him. So I should have prepared myself for anything. I met him while he was on tour for godsakes! But I didn't expect this.
Days and days of loneliness. I want to go to the movies with him. I want to ride the subway to Coney Island with him. I want to walk our dog with him. I want to have coffee at our place! But it's not the way it is. The way it is sucks. Hanging out with my husband should not be considered a luxury. But anymore, that's the way it is. I am slowly losing my mind. And so is he. Hours with other men in a van, in a hotel room, on a stage, in foreign countries. His only privacy: the bathroom.
If I was in Utah (I nearly said home instead of Utah.. which demonstrates I still don't feel at home here) I would take hikes with Max in those big motherfucking mountains that punch through the evergreens straight to the heavens so even God can see them up close.
Mountains. Always towering over my Utah world. They were present for my birth one sunny Sunday morning. They watched me attend my first day of school. They solemnly observed my graduation. They looked on as I met The Surge. They were witnesses at our wedding. Mountains. You can hike for hours and never run into a soul. Just you, nature's palette of greens and browns and that big, beautiful swoop of cerulean sky overhead.
Here, there is always someone. The concrete jungle colors of cement gray, dirty building slate.. I am sick of people. The guy repeatedly blowing his nose on the subway platform. The grown man I observed picking his nose on the train and then wiping it on the pole. The lady on the corner trying to shove a flyer into my hand. The guy on the subway begging me for money and berating me when I don't oblige. The woman banging me with her oversized (yet stylish, of course) purse. I long to hurt you all. Beat you into unconciousness with my own oversized (not stylish, of course) bag.
What's that you say? Oh.. go to the park. Utah laughs at your "park" New York City. She nearly injures herself with great belly shaking howls at your "nature". The crowded park. Where I get dirty looks if I dare let my dog off leash? The park is worse than the subway.
Max straining wildly on his leash in an effort to get at the squirrels that taunt him before scrabbling up to the lowest branches where they fall over each other, shrieking with laughter at the frenzied dog who can't get them. He nearly chokes himself, frothing in his efforts at squirrel success while I plant my feet in the ground and lean back as if water skiing to keep from being dragged to my death in a publicly humiliating fashion. Grown men give us a wide berth for fear the gangly black labrador might jump them. Pussies. He's a black lab!
This city is not my friend today.