It was an early summer day as I headed out the door for a three-day weekend with my good friend Emily. We were headed out on a journey to Virginia City, just the two of us – wearing our tie-dye shirts and jeans. I hoped we’d get to glimpse Jefferson Starship at the Red Dog Saloon and walk up and down the old streets at night.
Just as I had dashed down the stairs of our funky apartment in Mountain View, California, past the trees with the now lush green full-bodied leaves, my cell phone rang. My heart sank when I saw the call was from Louise of Fremont Properties – this could only be bad news – not now, I whispered to myself, not now, as I put on my nice voice and flipped open the cell phone to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi Mary, I really didn’t want to have to do this…” Louise said.
I knew, oh I knew exactly what she was going to say before she even said it. Louise had given me one warning back in January when Megan and her boyfriend got into a fight at the apartment and the police even arrived to make sure no one was getting hurt – it was Megan who had thrown something at the bedroom door. Not Josh.
Coming home from work to cops and my kid and her boyfriend hiding in the bedroom because they were afraid to answer the door was not my idea of fun. And it didn’t help when the next morning, Louise from Fremont Properties called me at work to inform me that I should give them 30-day notice to vacate. I had begged and pleaded then, even though we were on a month to month – please don’t make me move out. It costs money to move, and I simply cannot afford it. I managed to talk Louise into letting us stay, but she said I only have one more chance and if they received any more complaints that was it.
So this was the dreaded phone call I had hoped I would not get, just as I was getting ready to head out on a three-day journey with Emily. I had to give 30-days’ notice because something must have happened.
I defiantly decided I’d still have an awesome weekend with Emily – no matter what.
That was just the beginning of what has turned into a roller coaster ride that never seems to end. Life has been filled with twists and turns, ups and downs and sometimes I feel as if I’m hanging on for dear life – I used to think the Giant Dipper roller coaster at the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk was the coolest ride ever. But now I feel as if I’m on the ride feeling the wind whip against my face. When the roller coaster is climbing upwards, everything seems to serene and calm – and I can look out and see the entire Monterey Bay stretched out before me, ahhhh, so beautiful – then suddenly we creek to the top and whew! Wooooooooooooooo…we’re careening and spiraling downward, almost out of control, but somehow the roller coaster regains the controls and sends us all on a hair raising ride twisting around turns, almost giving us whiplash, and then careens up and down again before coming to a screeching halt at the end of the ride – that’s where we get off the roller coaster. Only I never seem to be able to get off because I have to wait for a bunch of other people who are ahead of me, and when it’s my turn to exit my car, suddenly someone yells, “Sit down and buckle up. We’re going for a ride.”
Oh no!!! Not again, I yell. But no one hears me shout because they’re too busy shouting and then there we go up and up again – I brace myself and hang on because I know it may be okay now, but soon I’m going to be spiraling downward once again.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
When can I get off this ride and just hang out at the beach with my ukulele?
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I really like the roller-coaster metaphor here. It works perfectly for you - because somehow, you manage to find joy in all kinds of change, in every kind of upheaval, as long as you're with your family. And as always, your own voice comes shining through the piece.
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