It is 3:02 in the morning, and I decided to relocate. I have been feeling less than inspired to write to you as of late, but I still feel like I need to. On my walk from Oaks 2 to the student union, I wished I had worn a jacket, since it is a little cold out. It was oddly peaceful though, being out so late on a Sunday. There were very few people out, and it was simultaneously quiet and quite noisy. Birds were singing their songs in the night, and since there wasnât the typical buzz of human activity, I could actually hear and appreciate it. I wonder if that is all I really need; just a moment where the rest of the world slows down enough to notice and appreciate my song.
Last I wrote I told you about the time my parents finally called it quits. My mom ended up with custody and the Sunday/Thursday visitation continued to be my time with my dad. Sometimes if there were holidays or family parties I got to see my dad a little extra, but most often it was once a week.
I must have been eight when my dad took me on one of our visitation days for dinner at Frannieâs hot dog stand in some Northwest suburb of Chicago. I canât remember exactly which town it was in since at that age when my dad decided to go a couple towns over for a good beef sandwich, it was unlikely that I questioned where we were going.
The building looked like it was probably once someoneâs house, and it may have been. It had a big wooden porch on the front of it with tables and big umbrellas. My dad and I went inside, and he ordered a beef, fries, and a large coke. I asked him to order a hot dog, fries, and a small coke for me. It was nice out, so my dad opted for sitting outside on the deck. I used to love eating outside. I really hate it nowadays though. Bugs crawl way too close to your food, at least one napkin is bound to get blown away and make you feel as if youâre killing the environment, and whether it is warm or cold out, my body refuses to regulate to a comfortable temperature. As Iâve grown up, I suppose Iâve just become too high maintenance for outdoor eating. Anyway, my dad and I sat at the table eating our hot dogs and beef. Being eight, a girl, and me, I babbled on and on while my dad listened attentively to all of the things going on in my eight-year-old life.
I had only had one bite of my hotdog and one french fry since my mouth was otherwise occupied with my constant chatter, when my dad took one of my few pauses as an opportunity to change the conversationâs path.
âPumpkin, I have something I need to tell you,â he said.
With an oversized bite of my hot dog in my mouth, I shifted my brown eyes up to him and looked expectantly, unable to speak with my mouth so full. Mind you, manners were not holding me back, but rather the physical inability of my tiny mouth to hold that much food and still talk.
âLately I have been spending a lot of time with someone from work. Do you remember Cindy from when you visited me?â he asked. I shook my head. All I remembered from visiting him at work with Nonna was getting to spend extra time with daddy that week (plus I got yummy dessert).
âWell Cindy is very nice, and she has a daughter only a year older than you.â My dad was uncomfortable. I was too young to see where this was going, but I could feel the tension, and it made my stomach flip. I felt queasy, and I wasnât sure why.
He continued, âAnd Cindy and I, well we are⌠Sheâs my girlfriend.â
My heart sank and my stomach was even queasier. I responded with a short âOk,â but I had nothing else to say. For the first and last time in my life I lost my appetite and left all but two bites of my dinner to be thrown away.
My parents had separated countless times. I knew that this time was a little more serious since they were actually getting a divorce, but I never expected this. My dad had never brought another girl up. I didnât even realize he had a spare moment for dating. In my mind my dad had one night a week off of work, and it was spent with me. The thought that I had only this one day with my dad and some other bit of his free time was being spent with a woman who was not my mother was infuriating.
My chatting stopped. Suddenly I had nothing to say.
I donât remember much else from that day. Iâm sure I put a smile on my face until my dad took me home, but I donât know.
A few weeks later my dad wanted me to meet Cindy and her daughter, Amanda.
Cindy was tall with long, stick-straight dark hair. Her nose was slightly too prominent for the rest of her features and made her a whole lot less attractive than if it had been smaller. I realized right away that she was too young for my dad. I found out later that she was 29 and my father was 39. Even then I knew 10 years was a big difference.
Her daughter Amanda was slightly taller than I was and, like me, overweight. Her hair was brown too, but not so straight. She had two facial expressions: pissed and plotting.
The day I met them we went to Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg and took a trip to the Build-a-Bear Workshop. I donât know if this is the first attempt my dad made to buy my love and happiness, but this is one of the first times I remember.
When we walked in I tried my best to ignore the two new females who I wanted absolutely nothing to do with. I had my sights set on the spotted fur of a limp casing for a Dalmatian stuffed animal. I was excited. Build-a-Bear Workshop was my favorite, regardless of the company I was with. Hell. I am 22 years old, and if you said we were going to Build-a-Bear I would still get excited.
So we went in and I got started. I stuffed my dog with fluff, kissed both sides of a plush satin heart and stuffed it in the chest cavity, sewed up the gaping hole, âwashedâ away any excess fluff at the bathing station, and named my new favorite stuffie. I am surprised to realize that I have forgotten the name I chose. It was probably Spot thought, since I have never been creative with naming my stuffies.
You can tell dad really wanted this meeting to be a positive experience, because he even let me buy a whole outfit for my new puppy.
Amanda spent the entire time whining and demanding more. If Cindy said the word no, Amanda whined. If Amanda whined, Cindy said yes. Cindy smiled the whole time, but even then I could see it was fake. So the stuffed animal may have been everything I wanted, but I knew that Cindy and Amanda were two people I never wanted in my life.
I donât remember if I told that to my dad in the car that night. I vaguely remember crying about it to him, but I could be mixing this memory with another. There were many more uncomfortable outings like this one. They never got easier.
A short while later, my dad took me to my Grandmaâs apartment after my elementary schoolâs Christmas sing. I was sitting on the gold shag carpet of Nonnaâs living room, playing with the crystal bowl of ancient candies that sat on the bottom ledge of her coffee table. I was told countless times not to play with the bowl since it was fragile, and my parents were convinced that at some point I would remove and replace the lid too many times and it would shatter.
Nonna was in the kitchen, cleaning as usual. My dad asked me to come into the back room with him. This day the room was being used as an office, but it had many uses throughout my childhood: game room, second bedroom, dadâs bedroom, Christmas cookie cooling room. It was set up as an office this time, but dad was using it as a private room for an important discussion. In my memory the room was completely dark. This doesnât make much sense though, since my dad surely would have turned on the lights for this.
My dad sat in one of the beige, metal folding chairs next to the speckled beige card table. He lifted me up with ease and sat me on his knee.
âSo pumpkin, thereâs something I need to tell you. Cindy and I have been seeing each other for a while now, and weâve decided to get married.â
I jumped off of my dadâs lap and ran to the living room to crash into Nonnaâs embrace. My eyes stung with tears and my grandmother pulled me into her massive bosom, as if she knew ahead of time I would not take this news well and was waiting for this exact reaction. My dad tried to soothe me, but I was not listening.
Eventually I calmed down enough to think of a bright side. âAt least Iâll get to be a bridesmaid,â I said with a glimmer of happiness in my voice.
My dadâs face fell. âWell actually, honey, Cindy and I are eloping in Las Vegas.â
I didnât know what eloping meant, but I was pretty sure âLas Vegasâ meant I wasnât coming. I began bawling again and at that point there was no stopping the tears.
My parents tell me that I found out about the engagement on a different day than my dad told me I wouldnât be at the wedding, but somehow my memory has lumped the two anyway.
From then on, I had your classic evil stepmother and stepsister situation. My relationship with my dad suddenly began to shift until Cindy became a middle man. Thoughtful birthday and Christmas presents from my dad turned into presents from âthe two of themâ (aka Cindy) which were just duplicates of the girly bullshit she had bought for Amanda.
I spent years receiving makeup and hair products which I had no interest in using, and hearing how much prettier Iâd be if I learned to use them properly.
Eventually, it wasnât just an effort to get me interested in beauty products. One day, when I was at my dad and Cindyâs apartment, I grabbed my dadâs two-liter of Coke from the fridge and poured myself a glass.
Cindy walked in the kitchen, gasped, and said disgustedly, âOh honey. Youâd be much better off drinking the Diet in there. You really canât be gaining anymore weight.â
She grabbed my glass and poured it out in the sink. She poured me a fresh glass of diet and walked out.
I have been drinking Diet Coke since that day. I am addicted to the crap. Itâs probably causing me cancer.
Anyway, Iâve been writing for two hours now. This is definitely the longest letter yet. The student union is dead. Itâs silent aside from the TVs which are on 24-7. The lights just went out in my section. I donât know if they are on a motion sensor or a timer, but this is quite an inconvenience.
I suppose Iâll take that as a sign to wrap this up. My hand is cramping up and I need to get ready for class anyway. Til next time.