Chapter XIV: Mad World

I exit from the Japanese bar; stomach full of sake and wine. I laugh belligerently as I wave goodbye to my friend getting in the Uber waiting patiently on the misty roadside. Looking up to the dark sky I feel the haze settle on my ears and cheeks; the dampness bringing a shiver down my back as I tighten my arms and jacket around me closer.

I walk South on Broadway, taking my first left on Aldine. The long wind tunnel ahead of me causes a deep sigh as I begin the journey down the comically long block. The wind whistles as it flies past from Lake Michigan. I squint and lean into the bitter cold as it pushes back at me; its sobering effects painful yet welcome. I dart between two parked cars, crossing the street diagonally to get to my destination on the other side. Entering the prewar entryway of my building, I head straight to the mailboxes to the right; drunkenly fumbling with my keys to find the right one to open my small mailbox. The sticker inside the box, once etched in marker indicating my last name and his, now displays a large scribble through his surname. I snickered at this gesture each time. I hadn’t crossed it out, but it always brought me a twisted sense of joy seeing it. I wondered which anonymous neighbor, so horrified by the story that had undoubtedly made its way through all 60 units of our building, had crossed his name out so violently.

“Asshole,” I mutter as I throw my junk mail in the small trashcan below me.

Finally, I make it to the entryway of my apartment. I turn the lock and push the door forwards, Paisley waiting for me like clockwork as she sits on the entryway table directly in front of me. I come up to her, now chest level, hugging her completely as she patiently allows my suffocating affection; her feather soft fur providing a soothing sense of comfort that I didn’t know I needed. I throw down my work bag and unbutton my jacket, leaving it a pile on the floor.

Walking through the entryway, I stop right before entering the living room, catching myself in the faux gilded mirror hanging on the left wall. My face is gaunt and my eyes dark. With my hair pulled back, my head shape appears odd; almost unrecognizable. My once vibrant, youthful skin shows the wear and tear of life’s stressors; a dull opaque grey the only semblance of a human being left. I face myself in the mirror and put both hands up to my face while mouthing a wide scream; picturing the orange and and blue paint strokes of Edvard Munch swirling behind me. I laugh to myself.

I begin to wonder when I became so unrecognizable; when my spark, my liveliness starting to drift away. My gentle and positive demeanor had been taken over by a monster; but this time, the monster was the one buried deep within myself. It was weighing me down, forcing my emotional being, my soul, to fade away into nothingness. I feared that I too would soon become a stoic monster; unable to heal and unable to feel. I was engulfed in the nothingness that consumed my thoughts; the words and notes I could once find so easily in times of trouble, now gone.

He only said my name when I was in trouble.

The truth had become as clear as day; I had been conditioned to think of myself in the same way he had. I had become nothing. Not deserving of a name, not deserving of feelings. My name, Lindsay, had become synonymous with trouble; a problem. He had succeeded in tearing me down to bare bones; stripping me of my soul. I desperately refused to become the monster he was, not any version of it. I had to fight to find my voice, myself; I had to before I faded away into the nothingness he wanted me to become.

I look at the clock, five past midnight.

“This night is far from over.”

I make my way over to the upright piano; walking past as I drag my hand along the keys; nervously contemplating what would happen if I sat down. I move the bench back and take a seat, scooting myself towards the white and black keys.

I play a single, three finger chord; an ode to myself, questions to myself.

The chords and arpeggios begin to flow, drifting out of my hands as my whispered voice starts to sing muffled, shy lyrics.

“Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow…”

I feel the tears start to well up again; I hadn’t felt them in weeks. Sick of trying to be strong, I let my eyes start to drain as I slowly realize I had been pounding away full melodies in perfect rhythm and in my signature style. I quickly pull my hands back, almost frightened at how good it sounded.

I look behind me at my audience; Paisley and Halsted sit politely watching.

“Well,” I say to them. “It’s a start.”

***

Waking up the next day was a bit of a blur. Still in bed, I reach my arm over, awkwardly fumbling in my night stand for Advil to cure the hangover headache that had already begun.

I mosey into the bathroom and look up in the mirror, partially laughing.

“God, why do you do this to yourself?”

Just as I put a toothbrush in my mouth, my girlfriend I had been out with the night before sends a text.

Happy Friday! I feel terrible. Guess I’ll be working from home. Lol.

I second her notion; knowing that I have a day full of work and preparing the apartment for my guests. Ben’s older brother and his girlfriend would be coming to town for the weekend. On top of that, I needed to somehow get my life together before the concert we were headed to that evening; Maroon 5.

I text back, “I’m never drinking again.”

***

After nursing my hangover and finishing up most of my work, I head out the door to grab a cup of coffee and move my car. I wanted to move my car to a spot on the street so Ben’s brother could use my reserved spot in a nearby garage. They would be getting in around rush hour, a time when street parking would be scarce.

I made my way back down the long block of Aldine, laughing at my ultimate backtrack towards the bar that rocked my world not 24 hours before. As I walk past Wang’s bar, I put my hood up, hoping the staff won’t recognize me.

“Ohhh, hey! We gave you too much drink last night,” the peppy bartender laughs as she starts to walk into the restaurant. "You don’t look so good.”

I laugh and nod; realizing how funny this must be to her.

“Ah, yes. It’s me. Coffee time now,” I say bringing a pretend cup up to my mouth.

She laughs again, walking inside as I turn back around.

“Ah, fuck my life.”

***

Coffee in hand, I start to head down Roscoe where my car is parked in another residential garage. Once inside, I pull out of the garage and the hunt begins. I loop and snake around the one way streets of Boy’s Town, looking for an ideal parking spot. Each street is completely packed; an oddity for mid-day on a Friday, I thought to myself. After twenty minutes or so, I succumb to the inevitable and make my way back towards the garage.

As I buzz my key fob against the sensor, I feel my manual car start to shake.

No no no no no no no no no!

Just as the automatic garage door opens, the battery in my car shuts down; dead.

You have to be fucking kidding me.

I panic, knowing I’m blocking any car from entering and exiting the entire garage. I put my key up to the censor again and hope that the slight decline into the garage will be enough to propel me into my parking spot that is straight ahead and to the right.

I push myself forward against the steering wheel, a worthless attempt to shift my weight with the car down the small hill.

I might just make it.

50 feet…

30 feet…

20 feet…

10…

…fuck

The car completely stops in the middle of the one-way path, only feet from my paid-for parking spot.

I try to turn it over again. Nothing; a completely useless exercise.

I get out and try to push; convincing myself that I don’t need a man or anyone to help me. Another exercise in futility.

As I struggle on my phone to find the number to the building’s administration office, I hear the automatic garage door clank open behind me once again.

Can I just get a break here?

A small sedan pulls up behind me, and then a truck behind him waits. I wave like an idiot.

“You guys ain’t moving,” I say under my breath.

They both get out of the car and walk over smiling; something I hadn’t expected.

“Hi miss, is everything okay?” The first man asks politely.

“Ugh, no,” I say defeated. “I’m trying to get to spot 19 up ahead, but my battery must be completely dead and the steering wheel is dead set on sending me straight.” I point to the slight right where spot 19 sits vacant.

Just as the man was about to speak, the truck driver’s voice bellows out from behind him.

“We can push you into my spot,” he says. “I’m 23, straight in front of you.”

The miracle of him appearing at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon to grant me the exact spot I would need seemed impossible. Nevertheless, I was grateful. The three of us went to work, pushing the car with both doors wide open to get better leverage. Finally, we make it into spot 23 and I hop inside to pull up the E-brake.

“Thank you both,” I say through heavy breaths. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Not a problem; glad we showed up.”

As I walk back, once again, down the long block of Aldine, I call the Mini dealership on Diversey for a tow truck recommendation. They get me in touch with their ‘weekend guy’ and I schedule him to come that next afternoon; a large breath of relief exiting my body as I walk back into my building.

***

The concert was amazing. It was the first time I had met Ben’s brother and girlfriend, and the four of us spent the entire night dancing in the United Center to the beat of Adam Levine’s chart toppers.

I’ll never forget screaming the lyrics of my favorite song at the top of my lungs; an ode to the piece of shit I couldn’t wait to one day forget.

“You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here
This double vision I was seeing is finally clear
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone
Not fit to fuckin' tread the ground that I'm walking on…”

We arrived home late that night and got out a deck of cards.

“What are we gonna play?” Ben’s brother asks.

“Golf!” Ben and I both yell out simultaneously.

We spent hours into the early morning playing and laughing all together. The drinks were flowing and the music of Maroon 5 and other favorites played in the background. Ben looked over at me, noticing my big smile and refreshed demeanor.

He leans over to whisper to me as his brother and girlfriend have their own, separate conversation.

“Isn’t it nice feeling happy?” he says smiling.

I knew what he meant. This is how life should be; how love should look and feel.

I smiled back and him, leaning over to kiss his cute cheek, and we both face back forward to continue our card game.

***

The next morning came quickly. We had stayed up until 3:00 a.m. but emerged from our slumber in anticipation of the tow truck set to arrive. I was grateful to have more sets of hands ready and willing to help; Ben’s family being in town was a welcome blessing.

We walked over to the garage and assessed the situation. Roscoe was a one way street, I noted. We wouldn’t have much time to push the car out from the garage and get it up to the bed of the truck before a line of cars would start to form and honk loudly. The driver called me and I explained the situation. He said he would circle the block until we got the car out of the garage successfully.

With the help of Ben and his brother, we pushed the car backwards and onto the top of the sidewalk.

“Okay, Lindsay. Now you hop in and try to steer it,” Ben said. “We’re aiming to back it into the alley across the street so it will be out of the way until the truck comes back around.”

I hop in the driver’s seat and try desperately to force the steering wheel to right. Just as we’re getting close, Ben screams.

“STOP!”

My body jerks forward as the car comes to a halt. The loud bang; I already knew what had happened.

I get out, all of us with our hands on our heads. I had hit a steel pole attached to a gate in front of an apartment complex. It had been barely screwed into the ground; its rusted nails exposed as we examined it toppled over on the cement.

Ben pulls it back up to standing, wiping off the rust from his hands.

“What a useless pole.”

Just as we go to get back in the car, a woman starts screaming and walking down the sidewalk.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Are you just going to walk away from this pole?” she yells, demanding an explanation.

“The pole was rusted out, ma’am. It would have toppled over if anyone touched it,” Ben said rolling his eyes. He looked back at me, trying to ease my obvious stress.

“I’m going to call the police on you,” the women yells as she walks inside the apartment complex behind the rusted pole.

I start to cry as we see the tow truck come back into view at the end of the street. We have to move fast to get in on the bed. I quickly hop back into the driver’s seat to steer it back out into the street as the tow driver passes us and double parks.

Ben, his brother, and girlfriend all push as I steer in into the middle of the street; lining it up behind the driver. As I work to get it in place, the same woman appears outside my open driver seat window, yelling at me as I work to get this stressful task done.

“You are terrible! Be a citizen! What’s your name?!” she barks at me as I shed full-fledged tears in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.

“Leave her alone,” Ben shouts. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to back off.”

She stands next to me, pen and paper in hand, and starts taking down my license plate and description of my car. I reach to the glove compartment to grab my insurance card, knowing damn well she’s going to demand it.

It’s nowhere to be found.

The honks and yells from the line of cars behind me become too much to bear and I face her angrily outside of my window.

“My name is Lindsay Damrow, I live on Aldine and my number is ….” I said. “I don’t have my card on me right now.”

It’s a fucking 3 foot pole.

I step out of the car and face her directly; her small stature eye level with my 4’11 frame. I wipe the tears from my face as the tow truck drives away with my car.

“You have my number,” I said. “Call me and I’ll take care of your pole.”

She looks me up and down, grimacing before turning away to walk back inside.

***

I storm back into the condo, trying to compose myself around Ben’s family who had just endured the same stressful nightmare.

Where the hell is my insurance card?

My ex had switched our auto insurance in January of 2018. We were getting married and it no longer made sense for me to be on my parents’ plan. I also no longer used the car and he would need to be covered as he used it day in and day out for work.

I found the e-mail he had sent me with the new agent’s name and I called the number to get the information I would need for the miserable women down the street.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the voice said on the other end of the phone. “You cancelled your insurance in June.”

“There must be a mistake,” I said. “I had paid through July and was on an automatic payment plan.”

“No, your husband called on June 11th to cancel,” the agent said. “He transferred your payment to his new Jeep.”

It dawned on me. I had been driving my car uninsured for months. I told the agent to hold and I quickly scrolled back through my text messages with my ex. I got all the way back to June 11th.

Nothing.

You are nothing.

No notice or indication from him. I looked for any reason he might be mad but this was long before the anger began, long before Ben. He had no reason to try and hurt me. Why?

I got back on the phone, “He is NOT my husband,” I say sternly. “Can you please explain how a car in my name, that was insured and paid for by me, was able to have its insurance cancelled without so much as a notice from your company?”

“Well we sent the confirmation to him, so you did get a notice,” he says, clearly shaken.

“He doesn’t live here!” I said trying not to yell. “I have been driving uninsured for half a year and now need my insurance and this is how you notify me?”

“Um please hold,” he says as the call drops to music.

I couldn’t believe it. I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and put my head down in my palms. Why did he keep stealing, keep inflicting pain? This wasn’t an oversight. As much as I hated to admit it, he was smart. He knew what he was doing.

Ben appeared in the doorway.

“He really is a monster.”

***

Thanksgiving

November 22, 2018

Ben and I had agreed to separate for the holidays. As much as it pained me, I thought I should spend time alone with my family. While my parents adored Ben, I knew they were still reeling from the financial and emotional burden I had caused them earlier that year. More than anything, I didn’t want Ben to be subjected to the ghost of my ex; any comments or uneasiness that might exist with extended family in the mix. It wouldn’t have been right or fair.

I remember feeling my stomach drop as I watched him leave for the airport to head back home to Cincinnati. The truth was, he felt more like family than anyone, and as much as I pushed it down, I knew there would be a hole in my heart not having him sitting next to me for the holidays.

I arrived home in Lake Bluff that morning, plopping my large Vera Bradley bag on the entryway floor of my parents’ home.

“Hey, Scoot!” My dad exclaimed as he walked down the hallway and wrapped me up in a full embrace.

“Hey dad,” I said as he kissed the top of my hair. “Smells good in here.”

“Yup, your mom is in the kitchen. Everyone else should be here around 3:00,” he said walking with me towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Linds!” my mom said as she starts to knead the stuffing in the large bowl on the island.

I walk over to her and ask what I can do to help. She puts me to work and and I roll up my sleeves, I ask if she did what I had asked her to do.

“I did,” she said in a serious but loving tone; assuring me that, per my request, nobody in the family would bring up my ex, the wedding or anything related.

“Good,” I said. “I’m sick of talking about it.”

As time went on, my brother, DJ, and his girlfriend, Cam, arrived as well. We crack open a bottle of Cliquot and toast to another year together, albeit rocky, and I enjoy the few moments we have together with just our atomic family present. I knew, even if it wasn’t said, I’d feel the shame and pity that was to come from the others later; the extended family that hadn’t seen me since everything had happened.

Before too long, the extended family started to arrive. I could feel the intoxication already in the air and I excused myself to go shower and get ready for our seated, formal dinner.

I took my sweet time in the shower; rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. I didn’t want to face anyone.

I step out of the shower; wrapping the towel tightly under my arms. As I step out of the bathroom and into my room, I am startled by a family member sitting on my bed. Waiting for me.

I can tell she’s already had a few too many and she tilts her head in a pitying way and begins to speak in slurs.

“I’m soooo sorry, Lindsay. What a complete disaster for you.”

No shit, thanks.

“So, like…what happened?” she asked.

“It’s Thanksgiving, I really just want to focus on the positive and not talk about this,” I said, annoyed that I was being cornered in my own room; unable to drop my towel and get dressed.

She continues to talk at me as I awkwardly dress beneath my towel, turning my back on her. I respond with the necessary ‘uh huhs’ and ‘okays;’ an indicator to any sober person of my displeasure rehashing the topic.

As I go to exit the room, she steps in front of me blocking the doorway.

“Do you have any idea how hard this has been on your family?” she asked.

My blood started to boil.

“This was not just about you, ya know.” she said.

I wanted to retort with a string of expletives, yet I remained composed, exhibiting self control worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.

I moved her out of my way and turned back at her, visibly furious.

“Nobody is feeling pain like I am. Nobody has any fucking clue. This conversation is over.”

I ran past the door, ducking into my parents’ bedroom before she could see where I went off too. I scurried down the long hallway and into their private bathroom; the furthest and most secluded wing of the house. I sat down on the hard tile floor, my back against my dad’s sink, and I began to cry.

I look at my phone, not wanting to burden him anymore than I already had yet without thinking, I called Ben.

“Hi, cutie,” his upbeat voice somehow making my heart sink deeper into despair.

“Can you just talk to me for a little bit; about anything,” I said through tears.

“Of course,” he said.

***

November 23, 2018

I fumble with my keys in the door, yet again. Walking inside the apartment, the anticipation of seeing Paisley waiting on the entryway table dies violently with the emptiness and darkness of the foyer. I walk in, dropping all of my belongings. No Paisley, no Halsted.

Nobody. Nothing.

You are nothing.

I look at the pictures on the entryway table. All of me.

I look empty; void of life.

You are nothing.

I feel myself glare at them; a glare with a hatred more powerful than any love I had ever felt for him. In an instant, I feel myself lunge forward; swiping my right arm viciously across the table and knocking all images of me from the table. The clamoring of their dramatic fall on the wooden floor making the invisible cats scurry off into the unseen darkness.

I drop to the floor.

The pain overtook my body. I knew anxiety; I knew nervousness. This was something deeper.

Darker.

An unknown place where only demons lived; my demons. I began to cry. The wailing echoing throughout the corridors and beyond; a brand new world of sorrow, something inexplicable. The emotional pain manifesting in aches and convulses of the body; crying every inch of tears that this dark, gentle soul had endured.

“Children waiting for the day they feel good.

Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday…”

It was the beginning of the end, I thought. I must be dying.

My mind raced, like that of a drug addict. The thoughts of what could have been, even worse. The life I escaped, the life that I wasted; wondering if my life had been worth anything at all. What was the purpose of life? Suffering? It was all I thought I knew. The highs of life had all been a lie; a farce. I had loved a demon. I had slept next to him night after night; three years of unknowingly living in Hell. If I thought that was love, then what else had I royally fucked up?

I wandered down the hall, clutching my stomach; the feeling of nausea overtaking my shivering body.

I wash up. Unable to look at myself in the mirror

Pathetic.

I make my way, in the dark, back to my bed, sitting upright against the mangled head board.

I feel my frown begin and cup my hands over my face; the dread too much for my mind to process.

You ungrateful little bitch.

I was a nameless nothing. Invisible, meaningless, worthless.

I loathed every inch of my body; the essence of my being. I fell over; writhing in physical pain, like contractions delivering the birth and subsequent death of my misery; a necessary evil in the darkness I now lied within.

I called Ben.

Struggling to catch my breath, it slowly comes out in the mucousy breaths that refused to end.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

His silence, somehow a reassurance.

“Ben, I can’t pretend I’m okay. I can’t. I’m so angry. I’m s-so…”

The wails of my cries interlude between the heaving breaths as I try to regain my strength.

“I will never be able to explain how this feels; I can’t survive this much longer...”

“I love you,” he says calmly. “It’s going to be alright.”

I laugh between wails. “I love you, too. I’m so sorry.”

He quietly listens to my breaths as they calm into a soft whimper after a matter of many minutes; a seeming eternity.

“He’s gonna have a baby,” I said softly. “He doesn’t deserve a baby.”

Ben listens.

“He didn’t even want a baby.” I muttered. “Not with me, not with anyone. But I did. And I would have given that up…how stupid? I would have given up a family. For him!”

I hated myself.

Ben’s heavy sigh on the other end of the phone somehow sounding more confident and powerful than ever.

“You will have a family,” he said.

After hours of our slow back and forth, we said our goodnights and hung up the phone.

I bring my body back upright. With my crying ceased, I walk down the long hallway and towards the living room. I sit down at the piano in the darkness, pushing up the cover to the keys and setting my hands gently into their respective positions.

I play a single melody with the right hand as all other thoughts fade away into the distant darkness.

“Mad World…..

Mad World….

Enlarge your world….”

I didn’t know it at the time.

But she had just given birth to his baby.

11/23/2018

***