“So it was your barbecue and not your friend’s?”
“What? Oh.” I look at the scoreboard to buy time. “No, the barbecue was at her place, but our families are really close. We’ve known each other since we were babies and our dads are best friends. So naturally they had a cook-off.” I smile as I say this, just at the thought of a big, warm extended family bonded together by decades of memories and charcoaled burgers. “How was the film?”
“It was fine.” He bowls and knocks down five pins. “But I don’t love sitting in the dark for hours during the day. It’s like my body itches to go outside and do something physical.”
“Like lose at bowling?”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “I’m not that far behind! Be warned, all great comebacks start like this, with a cocky opponent.”
“You’re right. I should be more graceful.” I watch as he approaches the alley, ball in hand. I shout, “You suck, Alex!” just as he stands at the line.
He laughs, “Mature!” and rolls his ball into the gutter.
* * *
After the fifth round, we sit in a booth with a milkshake each, watching a couple bowl. They look to be in their forties and she’s winning but we think he’s letting her.
“So, senior sales executive but photography?” I ask. “Tell me more.”
Alex rests his arm behind me—he has one of those smiles where his sharp incisors manage to amplify it to twice its worth. “Yeah, so sales is my to-live job and photography is my dream job. I used to have big dreams when I was a kid, or maybe they just seemed big because I was so small. Typically, as I got older, I just wanted to make a lot of money; I thought if I could buy everything I wanted when I wanted it, then I’d be happy. So I got a job with a great salary, et cetera, but it just doesn’t…” His inability to verbalize this specific feeling has him settle for a gesture instead. He taps his chest, right above his heart. “It just doesn’t live in here,” he says. “I’m a late subscriber to the theory of being responsible for your own happiness and only realized recently that your job has a huge part to play in that. I think a lot of us prioritize money and appearances and instant gratification. And in the process, genuine happiness became undervalued. Does that make sense?”
I nod. “It does. I had a theater job that made me miserable, but I needed a steady salary. Then I was fired.”
He straightens up. “What happened?”
I tell him the whole story; I pause for him to laugh at Avi and roll his eyes at Katherine; I tell him about the lack of fulfillment and the alienation. “I cried almost every day. I thought I was depressed.”
Whoa, that’s a big word to use on a second date. I don’t think Lisa Fiener would approve.
Subconscious Maddie removes the sleeping mask from her face and rubs her eyes. Hey, at least you’re telling him the truth now. She stretches excessively. See how good it feels? Telling him all about CGT. You didn’t even tell your own mother the truth about that.
I turn to Alex, who only considers me. Why did I tell him so much?
To negate the lies. Yes, maybe.
To give him at least some authentic piece of yourself. He’s been nothing but honest with me; I owe him some truth.
Doesn’t make the preceding lies forgivable and, wow, have there been many. I’ve become so good at lying. Yes, you have. At inventing an alternate Maddie, a happy, carefree Maddie. A Maddie that’s effortless to love. A Maddie I wish I was.
Maybe you want to tell him the truth now, though? Do I? Why would I want that when the truth is so sad? I like Alex, but the person he thinks I am isn’t real and I’m not ready for my reality and this fantasy to clash in an irreparable way.
Alex puts a soft hand on mine. “Were you depressed?”
I wipe at an imaginary stain on my jeans when my pulse starts hissing. “No, no. Depression is … it’s so big, and I didn’t have a reason, you know? A reason that stands out. I wasn’t stressed or overworked or under pressure like Katherine. That was depression.”
“Maddie,” he says softly, “you were stuck in a microaggressive, passive-aggressive, emotionally trying job, and then were unceremoniously fired. There’s a reason.”
The woman screams with joy at having bowled a strike.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. People go through worse every day.”
“Comparison is no friend of mental health,” Alex says. He leans forward so I can spot the lighter specks in his eyes. “What you go through and how it affects you is just as valid as someone dealing with their own situation. What did your parents say when you told them? They sound the supportive type.”
I blink and remember which Maddie I’m supposed to be right now.
Losing track already?
I rest my palms flat on either side of my hips, feeling them prickle with sweat. I focus my attention on watching my legs swing back and forth. “I didn’t tell them,” I say. “I didn’t want them to worry.”
“Maddie.”
“I know! I know, but it’s okay.” Not to mention, it’s now impossible to tell half of your parents because one of them is dead, and when you told the other, her response was: pray harder. “Really,” I add, “I’m so much better now.”
You’re the worst you’ve ever been.
“Since leaving the theater job?”
Well, OTP could be the new CGT—it’s TBC: to be confirmed.
I look at Alex and try to brighten my face with a smile. “Exactly!”
I’ve little doubt in my mind that there’s some kind of ethical code I’m breaking by withholding a life-altering truth such as a death in my family. But there are only three responses someone you’ve just started dating can give to “My father died last month.”
Oh, Maddie, my condolences/sorry for your loss. Tell me about it/him. How did it happen? Why? How are you doing?—i.e., questions I don’t want to give a practical stranger the answers to.
Not even three weeks ago? Should you be out? Should you be dating? Do you want me to take you home?—i.e., questions which in turn will make me feel like shit, a terrible daughter and a rotten, irremovable stain upon humanity’s cloth.
Oh … wow. That’s heavy. （Insert awkward silence, unsubtle glances toward the door and fidgeting here.）
Lies it is.
Google: Symptoms of depression
Unhappiness
Hopelessness
Crying
Anxiety
Exhaustion yet difficulty sleeping
Suicidal thoughts
Appetite changes
Most people can feel all of the above when going through a hard time or a major life change and these feelings tend to improve once the storm has passed rather than being signs of depression.
See? I knew it. There’s no greater life change or hard time than your dad dying as soon as you leave him. The panic attacks, insomnia, and loss of appetite didn’t start until after he passed away.
But everything else occurred before.
That’s only because I was unhappy at work—another hard time.
Comments:
Dinah: It’s scary how many of these symptoms I’ve been displaying lately.
Joel: This wasn’t helpful. Everyone feels all of these things some time or other.