Trapped

TRAPPED

I approached these meetings like I do my teeth cleanings. Necessary but kind of a drag and a time suck. The Bronx Community Center board meetings, like my teeth cleanings, happened quarterly. Being on the board was my attempt to “give something back”, volunteering my time

to help with oversight and fundraising. All things considered it wasn’t much of a commitment so I shouldn’t complain. At each meeting, however one of the other board members, Barbara, would ask for a ride home. She would take the train from her job to the meeting, and since I lived near her it wasn’t out of my way. This was no hardship, except for the fact that we had little in common, and the 30-minute ride seemed a lot longer as we struggled to make conversation.

Barbara was a single (divorced) woman about my age, with two grown daughters away at college. She worked as an administrative assistant in a real estate company.  

On this one January day the sky was ominous as I entered the community center. No sooner had I taken off my coat when Barbara approached me. I knew what was coming, but at least she never took it for granted. I have to give her that.

“I’m wondering if you could drop me off on your way home”

“Of course”, I replied. “Glad to” (Well not really, but on the grand scale of things certainly not a big deal).

The meeting ran longer (and was more tedious) than usual. A lot of resolutions and voting and discussions, punctuated by a few people on the board so completely in love with the sound of their own voices that they insisted on reiterating points someone else had already made.

Mercifully, the meeting came to an end two and a half hours after it had begun.

Trying not to look desperate to get out of there, I (fake) casually said to Barbara,

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure”, she answered.

There being no windows in the board room, we were all shocked when we got to the front door to see that in the past two plus hours, a storm had dumped a half a foot of snow on the ground and it continued to fall at an alarming rate. Shit, I thought, after a whole day of work and an interminable board meeting, this is just what I need to cap my day.

Barbara helped me clean off the car which was something of a futile gesture given how fast the snow was coming down. We got in and started our trip and I was determined to stay off the side roads which I knew would be more treacherous. When we got on the main roads however, it appeared that everyone else had the same thought and we were stuck inching along the parkway.

We quickly ran out of traffic conversation, as we had no other route options and our plight was evident.

“So, that was some meeting”, I volunteered, having no idea what I meant by that.

“If you mean it was excruciatingly boring, even by our usual standards, I agree”

“I suppose we should be glad that we don’t have to put out any fires, like harassment complaints”

“You’re right. I think we should hope for a continuation of boring meetings”

Having nothing more to say about the meeting we went right to the tried and true.

“Did not see this storm coming”, I volunteered.

“I don’t think anyone did”, Barbara countered. Not being meteorologists, that concluded the obligatory weather discussion portion of our drive. We had barely gone a mile. We were both tired and hungry but Barbara said something I should have long before this.

“You know Mike, you’ve been driving me home for over a year. Our paths have crossed at other meetings and outside of where you work, I know nothing about you. You could be an axe murderer for all I know”

“You’re right, we don’t know anything about each other. But I should tell you that I didn’t qualify for the axe murderer slot on the board. I think Mrs. Hernandez got that.” Mrs. Hernandez, being the 85-year-old community activist, who is most likely to be nominated for sainthood.

“Well now that I’m fairly certain that there isn’t an axe underneath your seat, why don’t you tell me something that people in your professional circles don’t know. And then I’ll do the same. What do you think?”

There was something about being in this barely moving car, with snow coming down hard that made me feel like I was in this protective cocoon.

“Well, I’m currently single after being in a relationship for four years. I thought we’d settle down”

“But…”

“But, she found someone else”

“Sorry to hear that. You had no idea?”

“Not only didn’t I have an idea, but I was not aware that-how can I say this- that her gender preference was more fluid that I realized”

“You mean…”

“She fell in love with a woman”

“Wow”.

“Yeah, didn’t see that coming at all”

“Does it make it worse that it was a woman?”

“You know, it really doesn’t. Being dumped is being dumped.” And the floodgates opened. I hadn’t told anyone the full story, fearing other people’s judgement not only of me but of Anne, my ex. As hurt as I was, I didn’t want to hear anyone speak harshly of her especially about her gender preference. I replayed the whole relationship to Barbara-well, the highlights, anyway. I wanted to paint a complete picture of how the relationship evolved and devolved so she could get the whole picture of my loss.

I took a breath and said, “that was probably more than you bargained for. It was certainly more than I expected to say”

“Well I’m glad you did”, Barbara replied. “I’m not sure if what I’ve got to say makes this better or worse for you”.

“Hard to see how it could be worse”

“I have something I’ve been keeping from everyone. I’ve been very vague about my separation from my husband. I let everyone think he was just disenchanted with our relationship. Some people speculated he had someone else and I didn’t discourage that line of thinking. The reality is, he caught me in bed with another woman. I think I always knew that I was gay but I tamped down those feelings and went through the motions, to have, what I thought was a “normal” life.

I have to tell you though, it’s very freeing. I’ve come out at work, and to my friends”.

“Well, that all sounds, good “, I answered.

“Yes, except I haven’t told my daughters. My husband is mortified by the whole thing. He’d rather they think he cheated on me than that their mother is a lesbian. I’m going to tell them next week. That is if I can screw up the courage”

“You sound pretty brave to me”

All of a sudden we found ourselves in front of Barbara’s apartment building.

“OK, this is my stop. Thanks for listening”

“Thank you, and good luck next week”. As I drove away I was sure we’d never have another boring ride home.