Author: Bev

The caller sighed deeply and sounded as though she was on the verge of tears.  A feeling of depression filled the airwaves as the disc jockey and listeners listened intently to her trembling voice.

She wanted desperately to be married.  She wanted a family of her own.  She wanted to be loved and to love, but she could find no one to reciprocate her feelings of wanting to commit to only one.  Where were the eligible men, she asked, and why didn’t the available men want to commit to one woman.

She was thirty-four years old.

The hopelessness in her voice reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode about psychological solitary confinement.  Was her confinement self-imposed or societal?  Why did being single seem like a death sentence to her?  What was her hurry?  What pool of men did she consider eligible?  What made her think marriage was the answer to the void she identified?

I listened and felt empathy for this woman who saw the glass as half empty instead of half full.  Her emptiness dialed into a public forum in search of reinforcement from other lonely hearts who shared her feelings.  I shared her thoughts but not the feeling that she needed someone else to make her whole.

A sign of the times, I thought, as traffic slowed to a dead stop.  There is always too much or too little.  There was never a happy median.

I heard a cry of desperate longing and faithlessness in her conversation as her monologue progressed from sharing her life to wanting to belong to someone other than herself.  This sense of possession rang out as unintelligible garbage to me.

Why should any human being feel the need to “belong” to someone else?  Is possession truly what we want or do we simply want to share ourselves, our lives with others.

I tried not to judge, but the life she thought she wanted sounded like a living death sentence.  I enjoyed being single, and happily broadcast that fact to those who assumed I had to be married, because I’m happy doing so well on my own.  Being the elusive butterfly in a world rapidly changing for the worst suited me. Snap decisions, instant gratification, date rape, aids, and moral decline; helps me stay above the fray of negativity inherent in men and women who discard reason in favor of hedonistic lifestyles.

It is the nature of man to conquer and seek challenge.  Most men become bored with being able to possess totally.  What satisfaction does he get, knowing you live for him, and not yourself?  Women that hold their own and are not sidetracked by the game are doing quite well emotionally.

Men are full of game and will always try to gain as many women to their harems as possible.  But, a woman to be gained and tamed is more in demand than one who begs to be caught.

Now, I started to feel sorry for the caller.  I think it was her outlook on life that caused me to change from empathy to sorrow.

She was not satisfied with herself, I thought; she didn’t know who she was, and she wanted to depend on someone else for that definition.

I had learned long ago that the women in demand are the ones who never take no for an answer, who dance to the beat of a different drum, who love themselves, who don’t like to waste time, who strive to achieve goals, and are  “Women Who Run with the Wolves”.

Maybe I should call the station in response to this woman’s search for someone in-between her knight in shining armor and the man she would eventually settle for.

Traffic started to move and I accelerated into a higher level of consciousness as I blocked out the daily rat race.

Was I missing something?  Was I too smug?

The traffic slowed again and I changed stations, looking for something else to keep me in tune with my expectations.

Forever single lingered in my mind.  Forever single in a world where two incomes gave one a feeling of security built on a false sense of worth that only multiplied the loneliness felt by those who wanted involvement any way they could get it.

Do women need children and a man to be whole or do the norms of society contribute to this feeling of helplessness and shallow lack of self-worth.  Are women hoping for past practices in a unisex society that is slowly placing less emphasis on gender?  Seems like some things never change as we attempt to hold on to what was in a society where marriage is declining and single households surpass traditions.

Woman these days should have more concerns than hoping, wishing, looking, and betraying themselves for Mr. Rescue.  Do these women want Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now?

This problem of marriageable committed men has gained more momentum due to other social ills that are suffered the world over.  There was a time when men did most of the choosing and women were confined to flirting, winking, and blinking.  This I call the age of restrained behavior.

Now-a-days women are free to do more physically to attract, seduce, and domesticate, in hopes of getting a man to commit.  The problem is that there are so few real men left

The listening audience of the morning talk show might beg me to differ and say that there are plenty of men out there, and I would not disagree, except to say that quantity is no substitute for quality.  The lack of quality will be a rude awakening for women who end up belonging to someone who for whatever reasons will not or won’t be able to support basic necessities such as food, clothing, and shelter.

Can you also be forever single and married to?

I asked, “What channel was that?”

Instead of him answering, he punched the buttons on the remote.  The channel reappeared and he said, “That’s what channel it is!”

“Ump,” I said as my eyes involuntarily blinked twice and my jaw hardened into a frown I had no intention of hiding.  I said to myself, why didn’t he just say what channel it was?  Why all the drama?  I couldn’t believe all the inconsideration he demonstrated towards me.  The bed sheets were still damp from intercourse shared less than a half hour ago.  I’d just gotten home from a three day trip to Sacramento to visit my family.  He acted like he couldn’t wait to get me between the sheets and welcome me home, now that same old selfish attitude of his had reared its ugly head.

Funny how a simple act, omission, or comment can transform itself into the last straw.

“You knew what channel it was,” I said as I looked in his direction.  All you had to do was say so.  What is your problem?”

He looked at me as if I’d lost it, as if I’d nitpicked him instead of him nitpicking me.

He reached for his pack of Winston’s laying on the nightstand.

He started it, so I kept on railing.  “I just got home.

Those little tactics you think will control me aren’t working.”

“What’s wrong with you,” he asked?

As usual, it was my fault, so I left him sitting on the side of the bed smoking his brains out.  Enough is enough, I said to myself as I disappeared down the hallway and out of his eyesight.  Let him sit and do what he does best; smoke, stare at the television, and think about what an ass he had just been.  Knowing him, he was probably asking himself why he just didn’t tell me what channel it was.  No, he had to be a jackass.  Now he was feeling just as alone as when I was in Sacramento.

Before I knew it, it’s Tuesday and the situation between my once significant other has not gotten any better.  While he’s at work, I’m physically free, but my mind is tied up in knots trying to decide what to do.  B. B. King comes on the Oasis and belts out “The Thrill is Gone”, and I sway back and forth to the beat agreeing with every word he says.

It’s almost time for him to come home so I leave, because I can’t stand being in the same house with him anymore.  On my way to the movies, I make up my mind.  I’m moving out.  I wish I could move back into my house, but it’s under lease, so I’ll have to find someplace else to live.  After living in a house for the past fifteen years, I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in an apartment again.  No that’s out.  It has to be a condo or townhouse so that my baby (Taps the cat) and I can have our privacy.  Besides, Taps likes to go out to do his business so I need a small yard so we can both have some space.

Thursday morning I woke up, started the coffee, and found the phone book.  This morning I wouldn’t sit on the toilet drinking coffee and working a puzzle.  This morning I jotted down phone numbers of property managers.  Half the morning had gone by when I backed out of the driveway on my way to drive by a list of locations realtors had given me.

I immediately ruled out the first location as unsafe.  The next two condos were attached.  I was leaving to become unattached so why would I rent a condo or townhouse resembling a part of someone else’s life.  My fourth stop was also attached, but had a garage.  It was more modern than the last two and the walkways were on the side, so you might never see your neighbor.  OK, attached, but not attached.  Maybe.  I had one more stop to make before going back to the house for lunch.  I wasn’t calling it home anymore, just “the house”.  Yea, it was time to go.

Bingo!  From the outside it was cute.  Focusing my eyes, I peeped between pickets to get a glimpse of the back.  It had a deck, a big shade tree, and enough yard for Taps to poop, scratch, and feel safe in.

The Realtor agreed to meet me in Desoto to see the one with the garage.  We walked through and I liked it.  Then we drove to the one standing alone without a garage but with the deck.  It was perfect and rented for seventy-five dollars less than the one with the garage.  With the application fee in hand, the Realtor promised to call by Monday.  I drove off, feeling resigned and looking forward to the transition that was soon to take place.

Can you imagine sleeping in the same bed with someone you felt passionate about and all you can think of is getting the hell out?  He laid there snoring and I laid there wishing he would take up space in the room his son use to sleep in.

Monday arrived and I hadn’t heard from the Realtor.  I wanted to move Wednesday, July second, because he was going on vacation July third.  I knew moving when he would be there would only cause more anxiety then necessary.  Can you imagine asking, “Can you get up, the movers are ready to load the bed onto the truck!”  No, I had to move while he was at work.

I got the boxes out of the storage building, found the tape, and began packing.  These were the same boxes I moved into his house with.  I’d saved these boxes three years and eight months, anticipating the day would come when I would need them.  He wasn’t right for me then, but I was so in love, I thought.  I thought we would get use to each other.  I found out it doesn’t work that way.

“We’re still trying to verify employment,” said the office manager.  “Your credit is ok.  It’ll probably be another day or two before we can let you know something.”

“Do you know who you spoke to at the agency,” I calmly asked.

“We didn’t get a name.  The note here says someone will call us back.”

I listened, knowing the temporary agency I freelanced with rarely returned calls.  I was unemployed and the last time I’d worked on an assignment was two months ago.

“This isn’t going to happen is it?”  I asked.  “The movers want me to call back before noon today or else they can’t move me Wednesday.”

“Let me call you back,” said the Office Manager.

I continued to pack.  I knew I was moving come hell or high water.  I looked at my plugged in cell phone a dozen times.  It was on.  No, my ears hadn’t deceived me.  No calls or messages.

It’s eleven o’clock.  I haven’t eaten.  All I can think about is July fourth.  Independence Day.  The catchy tune on my cell phone, get my attention.

“Hello,” I say as cool as a cucumber.

“Beverly, this is Sherrie at Move In Realtors.  I called the owner of the property and she says to give you the keys.  We’ll need first month’s rent and an eight hundred dollar deposit.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”  I looked up towards heaven with closed eyes.

Getting the go ahead caused my stomach to flutter as I immediately thought about how much packing I had to do.  I called the movers and was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon.  It was going to be all work and no play, so I loaded my car with as much as it could carry and pointed it in the direction of the bank.  After signing the lease, getting the keys, and handing over a sixteen hundred dollar cashier’s check, I rode up highway sixty-seven to my soon to be residence and unloaded the car.  That afternoon, I made many trips unloading little things I didn’t need to pay movers to transfer.

I was tired as hell by Tuesday evening when he walked through the door.  We hadn’t looked each other in the eyes or spoken since the remote control incident.  Boxes laid open everywhere, and I was busy filling, closing, taping, and labeling what belonged to me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back.

He nonchalantly walked back to the bedroom.  I held my breath, waiting for some comment from him.  We had argued before about me leaving.  This wasn’t the first time I’d packed boxes, stacked chairs on top of the dining room table, took down pictures, rolled up rugs, and emptied the china cabinet, but it was the first time I’d kept the momentum going until it reached a critical mass level with only one end in sight – escape.  After all, it was the first time I’d paid a deposit on a new dwelling place and I wasn’t about to lose sixteen hundred dollars.  It was over.

I couldn’t continue to pack and not say something.  Being the diplomat I am, I walked down the bare hallway where little holes could be seen.  Holes that held hooks, hooks that once held pictures that brought a feeling of peacefulness to the house I thought I was turning in a home.