A Long Way to Go for Utz Potato Chips

What if I told you that as part of a diabolical plot to make me want to be home with her and the rest of the inhabitants of 'Tits HQ, Cupcake kept me on the phone - the speaker phone, in fact - so that I could hear the daily life going on in the home that I had just left behind.

Because that's just what that little buttmunch did.

I got to hear the last three innings of The Actor's baseball game. I got to hear him receive the game ball only to hand it off to another player whom he thought was deserving of the award. Cupcake and I chatted about memories and how much we loved each other and how we would have to do new things, other things to make sure that we were still a family. As I drove away from her and she remained rooted to our home, I could feel the tug of longing. I'd only been gone hours, but I couldn't escape the questions....what was I doing? Why was I doing it?

When I passed the Tennessee/Virginia border, I stopped to put gas in my car. As I stood there watching the money being sucked from my wallet, I tried to laugh off a growing desire to turn around and go home.

I'm just being silly. Homesick. This is like cheerleader camp in the sixth grade when I called my mom in tears and begged to be retrieved from Oxford, Ohio. It was the first night of camp and I was so ready to be back in my own bed. I shook it off and continued north. This was going to be a good job. I was going to be in New York.

Cupcake called again and cried at me. I cried back. We were a mess, but still I drove. More calls, more tears. Friends called to check on my progress. I tried not to lose it on the phone with them. I wanted to be brave, stop being silly. I was only going to be a day away by car. Nine hundred miles. Constantly in contact via phone and email. Piece of cake.

None of this jived with my instincts which were telling me to go home. I was struggling to understand why I thought this would be better. I told myself that since I'd already quit my Georgia job and had this new, better job, I would have to see this through. I'd been telling myself that for a couple of weeks. Myself wasn't listening.

I finally got to Brooklyn at about 10pm. I was exhausted physically and mentally.

I drove through the neighborhood looking for my apartment. I was on the phone with MathMan when I saw Orthodox Jews streaming from their synagogue. That gave me a certain peace of mind. Okay, so it was going to be like our old neighborhood in Chicago. Good. I went a few more blocks. The neighborhood roughened. I started to get worried, but I didn't want to alarm MathMan.

Now this is where I should tell you that my sense of adventure thought that this was going to be okay. When I pulled up to the building, my liberal sensibilities were telling my other senses to just hang on, don't judge too quickly. Wait and see.

My inner smart girl was telling me to just drive away.

I went inside and tried not to let my disappointment and anger show. The apartment was not as it was portrayed to me via the listing or the phone interview. My "landlord" was apologetic. When we discussed the arrangement, I'd told him that it would have to be temporary. As he showed me around, I kept telling myself that on Sunday I would look for something else. Right away I knew that this was not going to work. I told my instincts to shut up. I was tired and how could I gracefully escape now? And where in the hell would I go?

One night. I would just stay the one night and find something else. I took the minimum of things inside and started to get settled. I went to the unscreened window and shut it. I'd rather be sweaty than have bugs come in the window.

Then something happened that still makes me want to shower. Alot. In hot, hot water. With soap.

Finally, exhausted and afraid, I locked my door and went to bed. But not until I'd stomped three roaches and whacked a couple that were crawling up the wall with a sandal. I lay in bed and listened to my heart pounding in my ears as I contemplated what to do. It was late. Eventually my eyes closed and I was out cold.

A cockroach on my arm woke me at four thirty in the morning. I skeezed out, and it skittered away on the bed so I had to jump up and shake out the sheets. Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god. What the hell was I doing?

I finally gave in to my need and called MathMan. He answered the phone quickly. I thought about how, as I was packing on Friday, I said to him "I don't want to go." To which he replied "Really?" In response, I started to cry. Again.

"If I call you and ask you if I can come home, don't let me," I instructed him. "You'll have to force me to get over my homesickness."

"Um. Okay."

But when I called at 4:52 on Sunday morning, he picked right up. And listened to me cry about how I wanted to come home, how I'd fucked up again, how sorry I was, what a mess. He just listened and offered encouragement. "You're going to be okay."

I told him about what a dump the apartment was, the roaches, the rough neighborhood. We discussed how I should find another place to live. And then I told him about what had happened the night before and he told me to just take my things and leave.

And so I did. With MathMan on the phone asking me where I was, what I was doing, listening to my progress, I packed up the few things I'd unpacked and carried them downstairs, reloaded them hurriedly into my car and drove away.

MathMan stayed with me on the phone for much of the drive. I didn't stop until I got to Chambersburg, Maryland and my fuel light came on. I pumped another fifty dollars into my car, then went inside to use the restroom. The young man behind the counter rang up my Utz potato chips and coke (I was starving for a healthy breakfast, but this would do). While I was waiting to pay, a man with two little boys came in to use the restroom. The attendant told the father that the key was gone so he'd have to wait outside the building until whoever had it came out.

"It's out that door and to the left," he smiled at the man, motioning with his hands.

I asked him for the women's room key and took my things. Instead of hogging the pump, I drove my car around the side of the building near the restrooms and parked to go inside. The father with the two little boys was standing under a small overhang waiting for whomever was in the men's room to come out. The rain was pouring down around them. I got out of my car and unlocked the women's room for the man and his sons. I stepped off the ledge, into the rain and waited. I was still wearing my clothes from the day before and I so wanted a shower, but this would have to do.