Do you like ice cream?
A woman after my own heart. Besides, you can only look at so many apartments before they all start to look the same. She could’ve asked me if I wanted to get matching Brazilian waxes and I would have said yes—she’s that much fun to be around. I’m pretty sure Lily settled on a studio unit on the Upper West Side, but I won’t be sure until we see her later. Yes, Melody is meeting my family, which feels weird to say for a multitude of reasons, the biggest one being my bond with each of them is fragile.
So, now we’re here in this brightly colored establishment—aqua blue walls with white borders and baseboards, standard fare, Top 40 radio pumping through the speakers. The draw of this place is that the cereal is mixed in with the ice cream; not on top, but swirled in with it. The clientele is mostly overgrown frat boys, wearing tan Dockers and Sperry boat shoes, all on dates with women whose beauty is their only definable trait.
One thing I notice about Melody is that she’s big on touch. Not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but in a way that lets you know she’s there for you. As we’ve walked the streets, she held my hand at every chance, and I didn’t flinch. I guess when you make out with someone in a record shop, holding hands is a given. I mentioned to Lily that maybe we were moving too fast, but she told me that’s how the dating world is now. She’s wearing a tennis skirt, the kind that’s just long enough to hide her butt, but just short enough to make you wish a breeze would blow by. I’ve lost count the number of times she’s caught me looking, but she always smiles—probably because she’s used to it.
“I’m thinking of going with the Apple Jacks,” she says, as I realize we’re one person from the register.
“The Fruit Loops and Crunch Berries are calling out to me.”
“Interesting combo. Go find us a booth, this is on me.”
“You don’t have to pay.”
“I’m aware of that, now go grab a booth before we end up sitting on the floor.”
The booth I find is in the corner of the place, far enough back that you could easily miss it. I notice Melody pay with all singles as she shoves excess bills back into her purse. She grabs our order and napkins, then takes a seat across from me. This is important to note because there is a seat next to me.
“My God, I haven’t had ice cream in so long,” she says, scooping a helping into her mouth. “When was the last time you had ice cream?”
“It’s been … awhile.” Truthfully, the last time I had ice cream was on a daddy date with Grace. She was the only person in my life I could start out angry with and still end up at Baskin Robbins with. Grace refused to get her ice cream in a cup, arguing that she was a big girl. I also showed her the greatness that is pushing the ice cream to the bottom of the cone.
“What else haven’t you done in awhile?” she asks, her twirling her spoon through the cup.
I grin like a fifteen year old boy that just saw his first pair of breasts.
“Why are you smiling?”
“No reason.”
“You thought I was asking about sex didn’t you?” Melody cocks her head and stares at me for a second, “Ok, when’s the last time you had sex?”
Shit. I wasn’t expecting that, nor was I prepared to answer it. It honestly depends on what kind of sex she means. When you have kids and nobody to babysit, uninterrupted sex happens about as often as the Olympics.
“Last time was about eight months ago,” I say.
“That’s a long time,” she says, with a smile that suggests intimacy is on the table in the very near future. I wouldn’t be opposed to that.
“You told me last night that I was good at hiding scars and showed me your wrists, what made you do that?”
She tenses up, and I feel like a jerk because the conversation was going smoothly. I could see it was a sensitive subject, but it had stuck with me through the night. “Are you asking me why I cut, or why I showed them to you?”
I hadn’t considered that. I think hard about what my answer should be, but decided to be honest with her. “Both.”
“When I was in Middle School, I was raped by my mother’s boyfriend. When I told her about it, she called me a liar and even made me apologize to him. But it continued whenever he got the chance, and after awhile I became numb to it all.” She sees how uncomfortable I am, and probably sensed how bad I feel for making her relive her trauma, so she takes the seat next to me.
“You don’t have to do this, Melody,” I say. She runs the tip of her index finger across my forehead, like she was soothing a child.
“After you decided to kill yourself, what did it feel like when you were waiting for it to be over?” she asks.
Now the ball is back in my court and, even though the subject matter is serious, I feel closer to her—even if her demeanor has changed. But, I should’ve known there was something there, because having the kind of happiness she carried with her could only be taught by the hard trail she took to get there.
“I remember being at peace,” I explain. “This might sound weird, but it kinda felt like waiting at the bus stop. It’s the only time in my life I could recall not worrying about anything. I was also alone, and that allowed me to come to terms with everything.”
“I did it in the bathtub,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I watched the water change color and closed my eyes, calm like you. But, I forgot it was my mother’s half-day at work and she found me. Some days, I question if I’m happy she found me or…” She didn’t have to finish the thought, because I know what she was going to say. It’s the exact thought I had in the weeks that followed my own attempt. What if I would’ve stayed in the bathroom? What if she chose a different day? Two different scenarios, and if either of them changed, we would never have met and spent the rest of eternity asking ourselves these questions. “I showed them to you to let you know that you’re not alone, and that you can trust me.”
For a second, I consider spilling the beans about my situation. It feels like everything is on the table, but I don’t want to push my luck. It’s so much easier to act like everything else is normal. I dance around the question with one of my own, “Is that why you take your cues from the universe?”
Melody takes time pondering my question. “You’re really intrigued by that. Well, in a way, yes. With the universe, if something happens you know it’s by chance. It can’t be manipulated, so after awhile it makes life a little easier because it feels natural.”
“That’s an interesting way to live.”
“It works though. Think about it. Like I said, as people we have this need to control everything. When something happens that’s out of our control, we don’t know how to handle it. The universe doesn’t play favorites. It’s why I like working the open mic night, seeing people chase their dreams—even if it’s only for two minutes, it’s inspiring. We all have intuition, the only difference for me is that I act on it.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” I tell her.
“Me too.”
My phone rings, and ironically it’s the theme from “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” and we both laugh at how perfect it is for the moment. What’s not funny is that it’s my mother on the other end. She’s called twice a day for the last two days, but I’ve been riding a pretty good hot streak and I don’t wanna ruin it.