Lady Godiva

It was 2005. My barely toddler aged marriage was in shambles. I had discarded the few friends I had in favor of toxic codependency, and adopted all of my husband’s friends as my own. I hadn’t thought about ever being in a situation where they would choose between us. Where I would be discarded just as I had done to the ones who would had been loyal to me. I hadn’t considered that regardless of how much they loved me, and knew how shitty their son/brother treated me, my in-laws would always choose him.

So I was alone. In a state that was not my original home. My own family, wildly dysfunctional, completely oblivious to how their emotional neglect & abuse had harmed me, was living across the country. Alone. So alone that when they offered to fly me to my childhood state for a visit, I jumped on it faster than a horse going for the triple crown.

At the time my parents were living in a pretty coastal town in NH. My Yiayia, recently diagnosed with cancer was also living with them. When I arrived, tear stained and emotionally exhausted, my dad (Big A) briefly hugged me before retreating from the sight of the anguish oozing from my heart. My grandmother, a tough loving Greek immigrant patted my hand silently, giving me a look that said, “Buck up. What are you even doing here, marriage is a contracted arrangement, not a romantic love story.” But my mom (The Suze) could barely contain her excitement. I had been fiercely independent my whole life, I learned early on that she would never meet my needs. By the time she decided she wanted to be my mother, I didn’t need or want her to be. But here I was, and even though her smugness pushed me to wipe my tears, jut my chin and buck up, I still sat on the screened porch, chain smoking with her, pouring my heart out to her in a way I never had before.

My sisters were also visiting so that night we all went out to dinner, leaving my Yiayia some peace and quiet. We went down to the boardwalk across the street from the beach and lined with restaurants and bars. Our first stop- a seafood restaurant where we ate lobster and clams and had several drinks. By the time we got to the second establishment, a rooftop bar with live music, I was already drunk enough to be talking loudly to strangers and singing along at the top of my lungs. We had several more drinks. Well, Big A & I did while my mother and sisters laughed and shook their heads. Next stop, a billiards hall, where I switched to beer, to be responsible. Big A stuck with vodka crans. The constellations of pool balls kept moving across their table sky, and I was unable to even make contact with one of them, so we left our game unfinished.

Big A and I finally realized that some water was in order. So we flew like airplanes, arms wide and occasionally smacking into passers by. Leaving The Suze and my sisters behind, we zoomed (literally yelling zoom) all the way down the block to a vending machine. Big A takes a bill out of his wallet and puts it in. Machine spits it out. Tries again, still no dice. I take it from him and realize it’s a hundred dollar bill.

“Dad, I don’t think this machine takes hundreds.” He hands me another bill. “Daaad, this is a hundred too.” I take his wallet from him. Those are the only two bills he had, and no change. The Suze & my sisters catch up, they have no cash or change. There was nothing left to do, we started walking up to strangers, to see if they could break the bills for us. Some were bemused, others were clearly offended, startled or both. No one broke our hundreds. As I start to approach a group of frat guys, my little sister runs up and grabs me, “Go.to.a.bar. They will break the bills.”

“Daaaaad!!! Krista is so smart, we should go to another bar.”

There was one right across from us, so arm and arm we go skipping across the road, almost into an oncoming car. When we get to the bar, Big A decides, the best way to break the bill is to order more beers. We cheers each other proud of our cleverness. The Suze walks up to the bar, “Four waters please.”

Big A & I look at each other wide eyed, we could have just gotten water at the baaarrrr. Oh well. The Suze says it’s time to go home, so we chug our beers and leave the undrunk waters on the table.

As we are making our way back to the car, Big A & I race each other down the side walk shouting at people to warn them that the vending machine does NOT take hundreds. As I look over my shoulder to see how far behind he his, I trip over my own feet and fall into a stranger, skinning my knee and scaring the shit out of them. “I’m so sorry!” I say, “But I was racing my dad and just so you know, the vending machine doesn’t take hundreds.”

Big A walks over to help me off the ground and almost falls over himself. We are giggling uncontrollably. I pee in my pants, and then suddenly we are in the car. I sleep the 20 minute drive home.

When we get in the house, Big A & I are tiptoeing across the house, because we don’t want to wake Yiayia. “Shhhh.” We keep saying to each other, “We’re hunting wabbits.”

The Suze drags Big A off to bed, and I totter and weave my way up the stairs to the guest room as quietly as I can. When I get in the room, I immediately rip off my pee pants along with the rest of my clothing and flop onto the bed. I’m just about to pass out when my eyes fly open and I’m suddenly on a tilt-a-whirl. Oh no,no,no. I run, completely naked down the hall to the bathroom where I proceed to vomit prolifically for over an hour, before finally passing out on the bathroom floor. Naked. With the door wide open. When I come to, the first light of dawn is showing through the bathroom window.

I roll onto my hands and knees, “Ouch, shit!” My knee is cut open with dried blood trailing down my leg. I get to my feet and hold onto the bathroom sink, unsteady. I look into the mirror. There is mascara running down my face, chunks of my long hair are coated in vomit. But all I can think about is getting back to the bed. I turn. And there’s Yiayia, standing in front of the bathroom door, shaking her head and clicking her tongue before walking back down the hall.

I slink back to the bedroom, wrap myself in the comforter and sleep until noon.

When I wake up, everything hurts and my brain is fuzzy. And then I remember my grandmother’s disappointed face walking away from me. Shit.

I go back to the bathroom, pick up bloody toilet paper and a hand towel crusted with both vomit and urine off of the floor and get in the shower. The room is still slightly swaying. How much did I drink? I try counting on my fingers, but everything after the live music is only coming to me in flashes.

Putting on a pair of sweats & a tee. I slowly make my way down stairs. Big A is already gone for the day. The Suze raises an eyebrow, “And how are you today?” I sit at the table and put my face in my hands. “Advil please.” The Suze obliges. As I’m swallowing the pills, Yiayia comes around the corner and shakes her head, with the same tongue clicking. “All you needed was a horse and you could have been Lady Godiva. But I don’t blame you, I blame your fahtha.” She says in her thick Boston accent. “How my son could watch his daughter do that to herself, is beyond me. You’re his child, he’s supposed to take care of you. He’ll be hearing it from me.”

I stay for three more days. Mostly sleeping or watching game shows and a soap operas with Yiayia & The Suze.

On the last day, I am getting off the phone with my husband when The Suze walks out onto the screened porch. We share a cigarette quietly before she says. “You love him. I just heard it in your voice. Go home. Fix it. You’ve always been good at solving problems, even when you didn’t create them.”

It is quite possibly the only good advice and compliment she has ever given me. So I dusted myself off. Got back on my horse and zoomed home. Sometimes Little Victories are messy and involve vomit and nudity.