Blindsided

The succession of awful faxes from Pam [Mom's evil lover] and Mom ceased in mid-October. I didn't visit my apartment that whole month.

Still staying away and not communicating with them in any way, in mid-November I received word from my brother that Mom needed surgery for a hernia, and she also had a growth on her ovary that needed to be removed.

It was hard enough being estranged, but hearing about Mom's health issues made it even worse. Problems aside, I gave her a call. "I heard that you'll be needing surgery," I said. "It's very upsetting to me that we're not speaking. I feel we're wasting precious time we could be sharing together."

The icy, devoid-of-any-love demeanor she'd had with me for the past three months let up a bit and she gave me a full report of her condition. Her operation was to be in a few weeks. I didn't mention anything about the apartment.

A week or so later I called again, to find out if a date had been set for her operation. She told me it was December 18th. Then I asked, "Um, what's happening with my apartment?"

Her icy resolve instantly returned. "I'm not going to discuss that now. We will discuss it when we all meet with Tess."

"Is my stuff safe?"

At first she didn't reply, but after further pressing she responded, "Yes, your stuff is safe."

In addition to many other things, my entire wardrobe of casual summer clothes was in my apartment, and soon I would be visiting my father in Florida. I said, "Actually, I need to stop by to pick up a few things."

"Absolutely not," she stated with vehemence. "You are not to set foot on this property until we all meet with Tess. I'm hanging up now. Good-bye." [Click.]

Not allowed to set foot on the property? How can she say something like that to me?

Even though I was clearly told that I wasn't "allowed" to stop by my apartment, I was intent upon getting the belongings I needed for my Florida trip. I had plans to visit Woodstock in two weeks (and stay with Robert's father in nearby Saugerties), and decided I was going to make a quick visit to the property on Sunday morning to grab my things. Pam would be busy overseeing brunch at her restaurant, and Mom, well, I'd be able to deal with her.

Sunday morning arrived, and with it came a full-force snowstorm. En route to the house, the roads were already covered with a thick layer of snow. Damn. I could handle roads that were being plowed, but I was afraid of our dirt road, which gets very treacherous in the snow. When I was about two miles away, I slowed down, turned around, and aborted the trip. I was afraid to chance it.

I visited upstate the following weekend, again staying at Robert's father's house. It was two days after Mom had her surgery. I called on Sunday morning to see how she was doing. She was distant, and her tone not terribly friendly, but she did talk to me about her operation. She was tired and sore, but all had gone well and she was recovering with no complications.

I asked, "Do you need help with anything around the house? Are there any groceries you need from the store?" She said she didn't need anything or want any help from me. I knew she was home alone (and Pam was at the restaurant), so I asked, "Do you want some company? I could stop by and say hello."

"It's not a good time to come by."

Gosh, she sure was shutting me out. "Alright. When you feel better, I'll go see Tess with you and Pam." She was very glad to hear this. We hung up on a decent note.

Then I got to thinking: with Mom recuperating in bed and Pam at the restaurant, right now would be a good time to swoop on by and get my things for my trip. Within a few minutes I was on the road.

As I drove up to the house, I felt a weird, nervous unease. How strange to visit "home" knowing I was so unwelcome. I parked my car behind Mom's. Suitcase in hand, tiptoeing like a little elf, I dashed up the stairs to my apartment.

Approached the front door, I noticed that my doormat was missing. Maybe they put it inside because I wasn't around to use it? I had thought they might have changed the lock in my absence, but when I saw masking tape around the outside of the doorknob, which I had put there in preparation of painting the door, I knew it hadn't been changed.

As I was unlocking the door I looked through the window in it and saw a pair of sneakers inside the apartment. Hmm, I wonder whose sneakers those are? I wonder why they're in my apartment?

When I opened the door and stepped inside, it was as if I had stepped into The Twilight Zone: every single thing of mine was gone, and the apartment was completely filled with someone else's belongings.

I was shocked. Horrified. Dumbfounded. I let out a yelp of a scream.

Where are my things? What have they done? Whose stuff is all this? Who is living here now? Someone I know? Someone I don't?

In a controlled state of frenzy, I began to rummage around the apartment in search of something that would give me a clue to the identity of who the fuck was now living in my apartment.

And then I found it.

I found a wage statement belonging to a woman who had recently lived in North Carolina. The person living there was a tenant. Nice. Very, very fucking nice. They had moved all of my stuff out behind my back and rented my apartment to a stranger.

If I were a person with a destructive bent, I would have been in my heyday: I would have torn things off the walls, thrown them down on the floor, stomped on them. I would have toppled over the massive flat-screen TV, smashed dishes, pulled books off the shelves -- trashed the place. Ha, that would show them. Oh, what a blast it would have been. How great it would have felt while I was doing it.

But that's not me at all. Anger doesn't make me violent.

Ten minutes was all it took to be thoroughly repulsed, and feel I had seen enough. I left the apartment, ran down the stairs, and ran around the house to the outside of Mom's bedroom. Glass doors lined the side of the room facing the foot of the bed. Through them I saw Mom resting in bed. I pounded on the glass and screamed, "WHERE'S MY STUFF? WHERE'S MY STUFF? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY STUFF?" My emotions were intense. It all felt surreal. I wanted my beautiful things. They had already taken enough from me.

Weak from her recent surgery, I watched as Mom struggled to sit up in bed. I watched as she gathered the strength to talk louder than she would have liked, for her voice needed to carry through the glass separating us. With effort she said, "It's in storage."

"WHERE? WHERE IS IT?"

A pause for Mom to gather her strength to speak some more. "In a facility on Route 28."

Still frantic, still beside myself with fury, I yelled, "WHERE'S THE KEY? I WANT THE KEY!"

Each word was difficult for Mom to speak. She struggled to reply, "There's only one key... it's in Pam's truck." I didn't care that she was struggling. I felt no love for her then. So familiar, but also such a stranger. Was this woman really my mother? My mother used to love me. I used to love her. And look at us now. Look what's happened to us now.

My angry screaming morphed into uncontrollable sobbing. "How could you do this to me? How could you do this, Mom? I can't believe you did this. I can't believe what you did...."

A hysterical, whimpering mess, I stumbled away from the bedroom.

I called my brother. He answered. I was sobbing as I told him what Mom and Pam had done. He listened. I don't remember what he said because nothing registered.

We hung up. I had to leave. I had to get out of there. I ran back to where I had left my suitcase, grabbed it and got into my car. I drove partially down the road, just past the fork leading up to the house. Then I stopped and shut off my engine. I needed to settle down. I needed to talk to my friends.

I was still on the phone 20 minutes later when Pam came zooming up the road. She had to stop because I was blocking the way. Taking my own sweet time, I backed into the nearby fork in the road. I expected her to stop again after passing me, to give me the key I had so desperately wanted. (It was a given that Mom had called her and told her what had happened.) Nope. She zoomed on by without the slightest acknowledgment.

I called Mom. "I'm at the fork in the road and Pam is headed home. I want the key."

"You'll have to talk to Pam about that." [Click.]

I called back. This time she said, "You can meet Pam at the restaurant at three o'clock to get the key." (It was 11 a.m.)

"I'm heading back to the City soon. I can't wait until three."

I could have waited, but I didn't want to. I dreaded a face-to-face confrontation with Pam. She's evil, horrible, despicable, heartless. She tore my mother and me apart. I never, ever, ever wanted to see her again.

I spoke to my brother several times that day. He said he had spoken with Mom. "Mom said when Pam got there she didn't want to leave, because she was worried you would come back and hurt her or damage the property."

Hurt Mom? Damage the property? That's fucking ridiculous. Is Pam insane? Anyone would have gotten upset if they had discovered what I did.

My brother also said, "Mom told me she was the one who packed your belongings for storage. She said packing up your things 'helped her deal with her anger towards you'."

Her "anger towards me" -- for what? Giving them $28,000 to invest in their house so they could kick me out four months later and start collecting rent from strangers?

A week before that awful Sunday morning I had dinner with Jason, my ex from September 11th. It was the first time seeing him since we had broken up a year and a half ago.

We had a nice time at dinner. I still found him attractive. He wasn't dating anyone and neither was I. Hmm, I wonder if we might... nah.

When Jason and I were going out I was in the preliminary stages of planning the apartment renovation project with Pam, and during dinner I told him of the unfortunate situation it had turned into.

The rapport we shared was mutual. We made a plan to see each other again the following Sunday evening. When we made that plan, little did I know that Sunday would be the very day I would step into The Twilight Zone.

Stopped in my car in the fork in the road, one of the "friends" I called in the peak of my hysterics was Jason. After attempting to console me he said, "I totally understand if you don't want to get together tonight."

"No, no, I do. I do. I'll be okay later, I promise." We arranged to meet at his apartment, so I could say hello to his gorgeous Siamese cat that I had hadn't seen in so long.

The trip back to the City after my "apartment discovery" was a grueling journey. I was so distraught. It was an effort to just put one foot in front of the other to make it home. How could I keep my promise to Jason that I would be good company later that evening?

It was cold outside and another snowstorm was upon us. Back in my apartment around 3:00, I slid under the covers of my comfy bed, always a good way to help drown out my sorrows. What the hell am I going to do now?

Crown Royal whiskey also helped me to drown out my sorrows. Not that I was a particular fan of Crown Royal, but I happened to have some readily on hand....

When I was working at the magazine, a co-worker in our promotions department gave me this crazy leftover from a party: 80 mini bottles of Crown Royal. Eighty bottles! I took them to give to Tim as a joke (so he wouldn't need to partake in a hotel mini-bar again in his life), but then he told me he doesn't care for Crown Royal at all, so I was "stuck" with 80 mini bottles of the stuff. They had been sitting untouched in my closet for months.

I removed a few bottles from my endless supply. I unscrewed their little caps and began to swig from their tiny necks. I guess I'm not much of a whiskey gal, because it was pretty nasty stuff, Crown Royal straight up, but that didn't deter me. I was still swigging on the subway ride to Jason's. I think I had four, which on an empty stomach was enough to send me staggering. When Jason answered the door I did all I could to hide my intoxication.

Then he offered me hot cider with rum. And foolish me said yes. It was only when I went into the bathroom and everything was spinning that I thought, Um, I think I've had enough to drink.

Later that evening, Jason and I were lying next to each other on his couch. We were very close to kissing. We both wanted to, but before we did he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. Only for tonight. It doesn't mean we're getting back together."

Kissing was -- a delicious escape. What a day I'd had.

I didn't want to go home. I was glad when Jason said I could stay. It would have been easy, I suppose, to fall into having sex with my still attractive, unattached ex, but that wouldn't have been a comfort to me. Sleeping in his arms was. It was what I wanted to do, and needed most to end one of the worst days in my life.

Even though it was just some kissing and caressing, when I woke up in the morning I felt like I'd had a one-night stand. Our good-bye was pleasant enough. When I exited Jason's building I headed east to the subway, and back into my life. My mind was filled once again with hurt, anger, disbelief. How could Mom and Pam have betrayed me so?

Well, at least the timing was right. My flight to Florida was that afternoon. I could leave it all behind and deal with it when I returned. I never did get my summer clothes.