Getting to Happy (17 page)

As soon as it cools down, I let the kids out of their carrier, take them for a fifteen-minute walk, and when I get back I head straight into my little office and log in to one of the sites. I lied to Savannah. I’ve really been doing this more like four months, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve gotten addicted to checking my in-boxes. I also expanded my search for love and registered with six different sites. I haven’t even told Sparrow.

Let’s see. Today I have about fourteen icebreakers. If just one of them is promising, it will make my day. I also didn’t want to tell Savannah how many creepazoids I’ve “met” online: everything from convicted felons to religious fanatics, con artists who ask for loans, married guys with children, middle-aged men who still live with their parents, senior citizens, the unemployed or unemployable, the uneducated or just plain dumb, a few who’d never had sex, and fat or ugly men—sometimes they’re one and the same. I wish they’d read a few of the answers on my questionnaire before winking or tagging or breaking ice with me. And I also wish I had said absolutely no Pisces, Virgos or Scorpios. Russell was a lying, cheating, sneaky Pisces.

Anyway, Bernadine took a good picture of me when the four of us went to Vegas two years ago. I think I look the same, so I put it up. I show very little skin. I even paid someone to write my profile:

Tiger Lady Wants to Purr.
My friends consider me to be loyal, honest, silly and smart. I love a good joke. I couldn’t live without music and appreciate everything from jazz to R&B and even some hip-hop. I will dance to anything and love romantic comedies and live concerts, and I read as much as I have time to. I am partial to biographies because other people’s lives fascinate me. I’m big on keeping fit but am not a fit-o-holic. I’m 5’9” so I’d love to meet someone I can look up to. I’ve won lots of prizes at amusement parks for my daughter and her friends because no one ever guesses my age: 42. I love most animals but especially my teacup Yorkies. I’m interested in meeting a gentle and fascinating man who believes that life is an adventure. So, if you laugh a lot, are kind, fun-loving, accountable and honest, give me a cyber-shout-out and let’s take it from there.

Okay, so I lied about my age. Everybody does.

Actually, I would be shocked if I got an interesting or intriguing e-mail. They are rare. Here is a small sample of some waiting for me today:

яҡщо ви прийдете до, тися з вамиів, би зустріХот. іви вродлит, я думаю їй країмо.

hello gorgeous you are one of the most beautifulest woman I have ever seen in the universe. I am a super-romantic man that would love to get to know you very much leave your number so we could talk.

you got what it takes to take what I got. Really love your profile.

wat up omg ur really hot r u into young dudes if so I’m like 23 and so into older mature women cuz ur the only 1s who do it 4 me LOL. Check out my photo. I can rock you btr than any 40 yr old. I will wait n u will not regret it.

I would like you to have my children one day. I am a great kisser. If you are ever in Miami, look me up. Here’s my number. You’ll think you’re in Disney World after 15 minutes with me.

I’m crazy and funny at the same time. I am a deep thinker when not stressed by the world. I wish you were here right now. I could use a hug. Why don’t you ever e-mail me back?

I love black women. I am Russian. Break some ice, baby.

Would you share your favorite joke with me? You can learn a lot about a person through their sense of humor. Plus a relationship should be 100%-100%, not 50-50. Let me know what you think about this.

Hey there. I am the answer to your prayers. You just don’t know it. Women love me.

I like your profile. We are the same age. Forty. I love dancing, music, live shows, cd’s, dvd’s, the NBA, the NFL, etc. and have fun when I am with my son (on weekends) . . . he brings me so much satisfaction and joy . . . when I’m not working, me and his mom don’t get along but I usualy enjoy whatever it is that I’m doing. How about you? What are you doing right now?

I would love to see you shake your groove thang baby. You seem like a sweet lady. Did you say you like little dogs? I do too. But not under six pounds.

tic toc tic toc. I’ve got nothing but time. You seem honest and I think you have a great smile. I’m very picky but you have passed the first test. You’re quite a looker. And it seems like you have a brain. Let’s find out.

“Oh fuck all of you, idiots! And not a single one of you is even cute!” I close this site. At least Dark Angel has more going on. We’ve been e-chatting almost every other night for about a month. His real name is Glenn. I don’t know his last name yet. He’s a Capricorn. He’s thirty-eight. Six-three. Reality-show handsome. Has a body waiting to be jumped on. Never been married. No kids and doesn’t want any. An ex-Marine who did two tours in Iraq. He spent three years at Arizona State. Major: undeclared but was almost creative writing even though poetry is his real love. He’s got an idea for a novel about being in a war you don’t believe in, and is thinking of doing a memoir about his life growing up in foster care. He said he’s been jotting down his thoughts for three years but he hasn’t shared any of them with anybody. I think I’m ready to give him my fake cell phone number because he seems interesting enough.

I decide that one more peek won’t hurt and click on the site Dark Angel uses. The protocol is you’re never supposed to give them your real e-mail address until after you meet them, and it’s suggested that the first date be in a public place and preferably in broad daylight—like Starbucks. Well, well, well. There he is in my in-box. This is all that’s there:

Robin you are a blue-jay to me
your wings release me to be myself
because I see inside your soul
nothing stands in the way of this easy flow.

Your attitude is gratitude
there is no surprise more magical
than the surprise of being loved:
Surprise! It is the finger of God
On a man’s shoulder and that
man is me.

I’m no poetry critic, but this is an amazing poem. I’m totally blown away. Shoot, no one has ever written a poem for me. Not even Sparrow. I immediately reply. I tell him how much I loved the poem and how moved and flattered I am that his feelings are already strong. I don’t give him my fake cell number but I do tell him to consider this e-mail a green light because I can’t wait to meet him in person.

You Need to Watch Dr. Phil

I call in sick even though I’m not sick. I’m having a hard time getting out of bed. I miss Isaac but I don’t want him back, that much I do know. I also have a good idea how I think Gloria might be feeling, especially at night. I have not curled up with anything except my pillow, and it’s usually cold. I miss those long arms that made me feel like I was in a cocoon at night. I miss his breath. The way he smelled. His laughter. The sound of his voice. You spend almost every single day of your life for ten or fifteen—or hell, even a few—years sleeping in the same bed, eating at the same table, living under the same roof, and then one day they don’t come home. Without wanting to, I still find myself waiting for him to walk in the door, grungy and yelling, “Baby, I’m home.” But then another day goes by and then weeks and now months, and it begins to sink in that he’s never coming back. Sometimes I lie awake and wonder what it was he did that was so terrible. Sometimes I forget all about the whole porn thing. I have asked myself if some of the things he said I didn’t do were true or if the engine of our marriage just burned out and its nobody’s fault. Possibly both. I don’t really know. What I do know is sometimes we love the wrong people and sometimes we marry them. Regardless, you get attached to them so that when they’re missing in action, you feel like a ghost. It is an empty feeling. One that’s hard to get used to.

I’m surprised to hear my phone ring this early. I look over at the atomic clock Isaac forgot. It tells me it’s not only seven-thirty but it’s already eighty-six degrees outside. Of course, who else could it be but Mama? She’s spry and testy and bitchy as ever at seventy-four, and she still talks to me like I’m eighteen. I hit the speaker button, but as usual, she thinks she’s getting my answering service so I just listen to her say: “Hello, Savannah, this is me, your mama calling.”

“I know it’s you, Mama. I can see your number on the caller ID. I’ve told you this a hundred times.”

“Well, now it’s a hundred and one. Are you up?”

“Sort of. But that didn’t stop you from calling, now did it?”

“Ain’t you supposed to be getting ready for work?”

“I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ve got a cold.”

“It don’t sound like you got no cold.”

“It’s just starting.”

“Un-hun.”

“So, how are you feeling, Mama?”

“I’m feeling pretty good. Walked for thirty minutes this morning with the Lieutenant and Mrs. Mercury.”

“That’s good.”

“And before you ask, my glucose is steady. I’m staying in the one hundred thirty range.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And how’re you looking these days?”

“What difference do it make how I look? When you old, you ain’t gotta impress nobody, plus people don’t notice you. Especially young folks. We might as well not exist.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

“I look old, Savannah. Like I’m supposed to. I did lose five pounds but I gained ’em back. You lost any?”

“No.”

“Now that we got all the small talk out the way, why didn’t you tell me you and Isaac are getting divorced for real?”

“Because I wanted to make sure it was already happening in case it took longer than I thought.” I sit up, prop two pillows behind my back.

“That don’t make no sense, what you just said. Anyway, you can tell your sister but not your own mama?”

“I didn’t want to have to listen to your opinion.”

“Oh, really? Well, Sheila’s got lots of ’em. She thinks what you’re doing is stupid. She thinks you’re just bored but that ain’t Isaac’s fault. She thinks you can be a real bitch on wheels and she don’t know how Isaac has been able to tolerate you all these years. And she said . . .”

“I don’t care what Sheila said or thinks, Mama. She was supposed to keep her big mouth shut.”

“Sheila tells everybody’s business. You should know that by now. She ain’t got nothing else to do but gossip. It’s what keeps her going. She stay on the phone all day and night, talking about nothing to anybody willing to listen. And them kids of hers is enough to drive anybody crazy. Sheila said you was letting GoGo come out there and spend some time this summer, is that true?”

“I told her I’d think about it!”

“Well, she got him a nonrefundable ticket for sometime in July.”

“That was back in January!”

“You going somewhere in July?”

I didn’t feel like telling her the whole truth, so I didn’t. “I’m going through a divorce, Mama, so I may not be in the mood for babysitting or entertaining this summer.”

“Sheila said you already filed. Did you?”

“Yes, I did. To save money we got a mediator so we can do this in a civilized manner.”

“This I gotta see. I ain’t never heard of no civilized divorce. I think you might be moving too fast, don’t you?”

“This wasn’t an overnight decision, Mama.”

“Anyway, you should call Sheila.”

“I don’t feel like talking to her right now.”

“Well, GoGo been smoking those things called blunts like it’s going out of style and his grades done dropped, and Sheila and Paul both are ready to strangle him.”

“Well, I can’t fix him.”

“Sometimes a change in scenery can help. Let the boy come out there for a couple of weeks. It won’t kill you. He might help you not think about how miserable you are.”

“Who said I was miserable?”

“Sheila. Plus, what other reason do people get divorced?”

I did not feel like answering that question. I took a bite of the remaining banana—now brown—I had started last night. “Tell her to call me since she likes running her mouth so much.”

“You got a point. I’ll tell her when she picks me up to go to the mall later.”

“I don’t feel like talking to her today, though, Mama.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll hold off a week. Them tickets cost her and Paul over four hundred dollars.”

“I didn’t tell her to go run out and buy a stupid ticket, now did I?”

“You need to be more sensitive, Savannah. You can be mean.”

“I don’t mean to be. And I’m sorry. I’m testy right now.”

“So, you really going to go through with this?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And Isaac wants to part ways too?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Well, maybe if you’da kept yourself up more he wouldn’ta wanted to have supersex with all them naked women on the Internet. What happened, did he fall in love with one of ’em?”

Mama is right. Sheila’s got a big fucking mouth. I also know she meant cybersex but this was not the time to correct her. Plus, I liked the sound of it. What I really wanted to know was just how much she knew. “What naked women on the Internet?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Savannah.”

“Well, that’s the truth.”

“You better watch your mouth before I hang this phone up.”

“Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Here in Pittsburgh. And it’s boiling on the stove. Hold on a minute.”

I look out the window at the orange Arizona sun. All of this seems so surreal, but I am not in the mood for a lecture. It’s the reason you shouldn’t tell your mama everything. Some things you need to keep to yourself. Some things you do because it feels like the right thing for you to do. I know Mama doesn’t want me to suffer. But some things hurt. Some things have to.

“Anyway,” she says when she comes back, “I been saying it for years: church is full of sneaky men posing as honest souls, and they are perpetuators out here looking for women just like you, with giant holes in your hearts, and they can smell when you got a good job and when you lonely as hell. But Isaac wasn’t like them. He was nice enough. Decent. I liked him. For the most part.”