Closure

It’s funny. I actually haven’t been doing these blog posts in the past two years–have been extremely busy with momming and publishing Macaroni Kid, first, in Northwest Jersey, then on the Upper West side through Inwood, in Manhattan. Life is completely different and much the same since I last blogged on MomPress. The unaffordable dream house is gone. I mean, it’s still there, but we no longer live in it. We’re back in the city–an unlikely financially motivated move that was decided upon in a rare moment of clarity amidst the chaos of mounting medical bills, heating bills, car insurance bills, commuter bills, missed mortgage payments and the like. It helped that it was not just us–dozens of homes in our old neighborhood were shuttered, abandoned, their lawns overgrown with weeds and covered with branches from storms long-passed. Most of them have no “for sale” sign–Who would buy a house that’s worth a quarter of its listed value? Many of them are covered with tell-tale door stickers and notes–warnings to pay or else this or that would be shut off…notices that this or that has been shut off…It’s an epidemic, foreclosure. Not JUST in our old neighborhood, but everywhere.

So we are here now. Starting over again. Older, yes. Wiser? Perhaps. Hopeful that we won’t go under again. Closer to work. Closer to opportunity. Sigh.

That old friend I mentioned in my last post–my old roommate from the 80s–was in town last night. Her band was playing a gig on East Houston Street. I rarely get out at night anymore and always feel guilty when I do go somewhere before the kids are in bed. But my husband was willing to stay home and man the fort, so I went with another old friend from my previous life –another who knew me as me, not as “mom,” who now appreciates me for who I was and for who I am, another ex-and-new-again New Yorker returning to the city to try her hand at hope once more. Together, we braved trains and miles of pavement to show up and show our support for the old friend who never stopped being who she always has been. Still a musician. Still slight, thin, perky, hopeful. Childless, husbandless, happy to make music and do her thing.

We were late getting to the gig–mis-estimated the walking miles–so she was already midway through her set when we arrived, standing awkwardly in front of the stage because there were no available seats in the tiny club filled with college-aged alternative music fans. I was three feet from her, but she looked right through me as she sang. It took me a few minutes to realize that she didn’t recognize her old friend and roommate–me. I was invisible–a mere shape with teeth–and not the shape she remembered, but now a middle-aged mom shape. She sang through her set, and I continued trying to catch her eye or get her attention with catcalls and applause after each song–surely she would recognize my voice from across the room where I finally ended up sitting with my friend when two tables got up to leave…Nope.

The set was over, and I presented myself, tentatively, to offer praise to my old buddy who looked about 20 and wore a short dress and cowboy boots. I watched her eyes widen as she realized it was me–not just a blob with a smile–her old best friend and roomie, changed, but here.

Wild hugs. Euphoria. Surprise. Excuses for not having recognized me at first–not wearing her progressive lenses while onstage, etc. And by the way, look who I am standing beside now–Now it’s MY turn to be shocked. Her ex-boyfriend from 25 years before. Stockier, less hair, a tired smile on his face. It takes him a moment or two to recognize me as well. Then a slow hug and catching up quickly, as he has to be up at 6:30 am the next morning, and it’s after midnight now, so he must leave soon. His son is 14. He works in computers. No mention of his wife, but my friend later tells me that he and the wife have “an understanding” of some sort, and he has joined social networking sites for other married people with similar “understandings.” Oh.

More later. Have to pick up the kids.

So…Where was I? Oh…

This is now three days later, as I posted the rest of the blog post, but it got deleted…

I guess there’s no real point to going on about visit. It was nice to see her.She looked fantastic. We went next door to a noisy Cuban bar to schmooze, then we had lunch at an Indian restaurant the next day and caught up. Brief. Friendly. Moving right along…

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