Possibilities

Possibilities

As I’m driving to the bar to meet my friend, I feel almost embarrassed because I am in a mood. Not a great mood, mind you but one that threatens to rain on any parade I go to. I guess it could be a lingering side effect from my last birthday a week ago. I left my forties behind and stumbled reluctantly into my fifties feeling remarkably like I did on that girl’s trip to Cabo some years ago. It was not pretty by any means especially after topping the evening off by recycling all the Cuervo I had consumed into a waterfall of salt, lime, and tequila off the balcony of my room. I still have flashbacks of the couple screaming and running as they were hit by the deluge. Ahh, sweet memories of youth!

On top of that my birthday is just days before the anniversary of Paul leaving us. He left filled with regret and an unrelenting cancer. Three boys and I were the subject of his guilt. Despite my reassurance that we would be fine he feared we would be homeless or destitute. In his annoying insistence of having life insurance when we were first married, he had prepared for the unthinkable. It was like he had a forewarning of his early departure. Who expects to die at thirty-five as a father of three young men just preparing themselves for the world? Paul must have, because he left us with a mortgage free home and money for college for each of the boys.

Me? I work because I enjoy it not to put food on the table. Because of Paul's shrewd grasp of all things monetary, I am set to live to be a hundred if I don’t go on a bender in Las Vegas which is the least likely place in the world for me to go. No, I totally expect to be one of the rich, old gals that when you read their obituary, you’ll see a request for donations to the Love of Feral Cats group instead of flowers. I’ll leave them a sizable donation myself after my sons and grandchildren get what they have coming. Still, my soul is yearning for something more.

I reach the bar; with its flashing display of ancient neon lights advertising everything from Canada Dry to a simple Open display near the door. I sit for a minute taking in the beauty and the gaudiness of it. The entire front of the building is flashing and blinking except for that one sign on the corner near the roofline that is struggling to display its orange hue. It comes to mind that I feel a lot like the stressed orange sign. I feel like I am losing steam, not contributing as I should, possibly on the verge of burning out.

I pick up my purse, check for my phone and slip my keys inside. I walk to the door and meet a handsome young man who smiles and holds the door for me. Probably does the same thing for all women twice his age. The flashing lights encircle the deck and their reflections off the water are a work of art themselves. Ahh, there she is waving me down to join her; I see she is on her second drink and I’m sure she will encourage me to catch up with her.

“Hi, Teresa! It seems like forever since I’ve seen you!” she says exuberantly, rocking me back and forth in a bourbon fueled bear hug. I consider the possibility she may be on her third drink.

“Hi, sweetie,” I answer as I manage to escape for her grasp. “You just saw me last week. My birthday? Remember?”

“I know but I miss you! You are my BFF. I want to see you all the time! I love you!!” she squeals loud enough to draw giggles from some of the people around us. She is definitely on her third bourbon.

“And I love you, Angie. Hey, let's order something to eat. I’m starved,” I tell her hoping to get something in her to soak up the booze. God knows I love her; have known her since middle school but she has developed a habit of overindulgence since she and Greg broke up. I am reasonably certain she has not eaten at all today, so the drinks are running full bore through her system.

I ordered a plate of loaded fries, wings, and a glass of white wine. She predictably made fun of my drink order, calling me a light weight and I agree with her. Cabo, if nothing else, taught me a lifelong lesson.

“So, what have you been up to this week? Gina and Kyle doing all right?” I ask.

“Fine as frog’s hair,” she giggles. “Gina has her dance recital this weekend and Kyle is busy researching colleges. Soooo glad he got his daddy’s brains because all that stuff is too much for me! I feel bad because I can’t really help him, but I never went to college; none of us did. College is like a foreign country to me.”

She always slows down on her sips when she talks about her kids. So, I keep her talking. “Do you have the recital ticket with you? I made a point to have cash on me tonight.”

“Oh, damn. I left them on the kitchen counter. I’m sorry. I am usually late for work and of course I ran out without it.”

“Not a problem, I will come by and pick it up.”

“So, how are you doing? You don’t seem like yourself. Are you alright?”

“Meh, you know. I guess I’m having a fifties thing. Just not loving life at the moment.”

“You? Not loving life? What in the world? Where is Teresa Dupree? What have you done with her?” she asked, doing an awful impression of someone scanning the horizon. I shuddered just a tad.

“It’s me, Angie. I’m just having an off day. Turning fifty, the 16^th anniversary of Paul dying. My baby boy heading into his last year of college. Time marches on and I feel like I’m mired in quicksand.”

“Why don’t you go so my therapist? She is great; she’s done wonders for me! Let me see if I have her card with me.”

“I don’t think I need to see your therapist but thanks for the suggestion.” Sure, the woman has done wonders for her. She sees women like Angie and wonders how long she can string her along and keep her hand in her pocket! “You know Ang, I have waited all my life to get to this point in my life. Now I can’t for the life of me figure out why!” I said, staring at the ice that was swirling in my water glass.

“What are you talking about? You had your kids early; they are raised and out of the house. You have a killer job. I’m not sure what the problem is,” Angie answered.

“I don’t know. I just feel, useless. Nonessential. I am certainly replaceable. I just don’t feel like I make a difference anymore.”

“You sure made a difference raising those boys of yours! They all three are either in college or have a degree in lucrative fields. Your middle child is going to be a surgeon, for crap’s sake! Damn! How much difference do you want to make! Solve world hunger? Go for it. Take care of all of the homeless? You are the girl to do it! Teach the world to sing? Meh-might want to leave that one to someone else. I’ve heard you do karaoke.”

“I worked hard to get those boys to go to college and do something worthwhile. Do you remember when Clay wanted to study Russian history? Not American history but Russian for Heaven’s sake. I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown with that boy!”

“I remember, he was floundering because Paul had died. I think it hit him the hardest. But he found his footing and now he is an American history professor at Duke. That’s not too shabby.”

“I just feel like there is something I should be doing besides scheduling rich movie stars to appear of television shows that are just going to make them richer! The world is no better if Matthew McConaughey, God love him, sits and chats with Jimmy Kimmel or if Holly Berry makes muffins on Good Morning America! I can’t ride on my kid’s coattails. Being a professor or a surgeon is their accomplishment. All I did was spend ten to fifteen hours of labor with each of them!”

“Ok, Ter, what do you want to do? What would be you dream job?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“What? I won’t laugh. I would never laugh at someone’s dream. You know me better than that!”

“I want to be an advocate for battered women. Or a child advocate.”

“Really? What would you have to do to be able to work in that field?”

“I want to go back to school and get a degree in psychology. I already have credits from the online classes I took. I still have time. Like you said, Paul and I married young and had the kids. All that is behind me. Paul got sick, died. I screwed up and married that creep Allen and found out what it is like to be a battered woman. I was fortunate enough to have money and could afford to get away from the SOB. So many women can’t. Maybe that is why I ended up married to A-hole. I know what it is like. I know the pain of it, the lies they tell to try to smooth things over. I know the shame of it. If I could make one woman see that she can do better, deserves better, then I would feel like I had accomplished something other than getting Johnny Depp, God love him, to play pool blind folded with Jimmy Fallon.”

“Why in the world would you ever think I would laugh at that? I think it is wonderful. You deserve to have your own accolades. I wish I had your drive, Teresa, I mean it. I’m lazy, my drive is in park. But it is people like you that make a difference. I’ll sit on the sidelines and cheer you on!”

“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but hear you say you are interested in becoming an advocate for battered women,” he said handing me his business card. “My name is Ryan James, and I am a partner at James and Harnett.”

“You specialize in representing abused women, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do. We handle all aspects of family law, abused spouses, children, physical and emotional abuse. I’d be glad to share what I know about advocating. Would you like to have dinner sometime?”

“Yes, I think I would.” I answered getting my wallet from my bag. “Here is my card, I am currently working as a booking agent but am ready to make a change in my life. Thanks so much for offering your help. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“I will give you a call tomorrow evening, Teresa.”

Ang was about to bite a hole in her lip. Finally, she couldn’t stay quiet another second. “Dayummm, girl! All of that wavy, salt and pepper hair and that adorable little mustache. I’d say you probably don’t feel quite as useless as you did when you sat down.”

“I will say Mr. James has definitely opened my eyes to some different possibilities in my life!” God love him.