My mother called the President of the HOA (now that
must be an exciting job!) and explained how the crack and the shutters have
always been the way that they are. She also explained how we intend to come
down there and take care of the matter as soon as possible. In this situation,
it was best for my mom to do the talking. She has the patience to sweet talk
nitpickers, such talent goes back to her days as a store owner. Also, I sound
very immature on the phone. I think an HOA appreciates more the voice of a
sophisticated woman such as my mother’s. (As an interesting side note, the
President of the HOA said she personally came by and cut the lawn. My mom
thanked her and said she’d send her a $50 check for going to the trouble. After
the check was in the mail, however, my very honest motherly neighbor
corresponded with us and said she never saw the HOA president at the house
cutting the grass. Umm. Who’s telling the truth? Most likely my sweet honest
motherly neighbor. Looks like all we were really doing was giving the HOA
president some hush money.)
At any rate, it looks as if I will soon have to
return to that State in the Deep South and finally tie up the loose ends there.
It’s something I’ve been putting off. And it’s a
reality that’s come to slap me in the face. I just never wanted to go anywhere
near the place again after the torment and humiliation I endured from my
coworkers. At the hands of a terrible job that left me broken and questioning
my skills, I completely forgot any reason why I moved to the Deep South and why
I originally enjoyed living there in the first place. My malicious coworkers
had made me feel undeserving of my career. My original choice to go to the Deep
South came out of a sense for adventure and a naïve wide-eyed enthusiasm to
treat underserved people. I put my career ahead of my social and romantic life.
I knew in the back of my mind that by committing myself to the Deep South, I
was cutting myself off from ever finding a nice Jewish boy. So in the end when
things at work fell apart, I hated myself for it. I felt completely isolated,
and took a flight as quickly as possible away from the Deep South, leaving what
was left there in limbo. I knew in the back of my mind at some point I’d have
to return in order to settle and close things up. I left work there, but I
never left my residence there. I held on to my residence in the Deep South only
because at the time, I wasn’t ready to deal with it and I had no idea what to
do with it. I loved the dwelling itself and my neighbors. I had made good
friends at the one meager synagogue in the area. But now that time has passed,
and I have the contact information of everyone I want to and continue to keep
in touch with, there’s no need to keep a residence in a place I just can’t see
myself living.
While it’s a necessity that I finally return to the
Deep South and sell the place, and while I needed some sort of push to finally
make myself go forward with such a plan, it’s still a hard pill to swallow.
I’ve spent the last eight, no, now nine months actually, cultivating a
beautiful relationship with Shy Boy. Like a wee vegetable, I’ve watched him
sprout into a real man. I started off not really liking him all that much, but
now I have a deep attachment to him. He wants to move to my beloved State out
West and is looking into jobs there. I’ve been in the process of looking for
jobs there as well. I had this fantasy we would both get called for interviews at
the same time. I’d introduce him to all my favorite places. He’d meet my
friends. I’d show him that there really is a good Jewish deli in the heart of
the West (since he loves a good New York style corned beef sandwich). And we’d
never look back and never have to worry about anything again. Yeah, see, the
Deep South never really factored into my fantasy.
I’m not dreading going back to the Deep South. Now
that some time has passed, perhaps I can rekindle some sort of something which
originally made the place so appealing to me. However, I am not looking forward
to going there either, not one bit. I have to leave my Shy Boy cocoon. It
saddens me to realize the happy early phase of a relationship where you’re
trying to get to know one another, have fun with one another, and create your
own little world together, must now come to an end. I knew it wouldn’t go on
forever, but somehow I thought it would. We always knew our relationship would
one day become long distance. We were lucky the day came later rather than
sooner. Still, what happens next now that I have to fly out of the Shy Boy love
nest I always used to kvetch (complain) about?
When I told Shy Boy about what was going on with the
HOA in the Deep South and how I needed to return there, he was so supportive
and sweet. He made jokes about it so I wouldn’t feel sad. He told me he would
help in any way he could. He told me not to worry about things because they
have a way of working out. He said he’d gladly work out some time in his
schedule to come down to the Deep South to help pack up things if need, not to
mention he’s immensely curious about what life is like in the Deep South. His
only knowledge of the Deep South comes from films like “My Cousin Vinnie.” He's
eager to discover what the hell a “grit” tastes like. (He’s much more
adventurous than I originally realized, which gives him bonus points in my
book.) He’s such a calming, rational person. When he connects with me on a
deeper, more emotional level like this, when he helps make me feel better, and
wants to plan, then I know I love him. Still, I don’t want him to see the Deep
South. I want him to see my beloved State out West. I want him to fall in love
with the West and come visit me and want to stay there. That’s where I belong.
And if he wants me, the West is where he’ll need to belong as well, even if
it's just for part of the year. After all, who needs grits when you can have
cactus?
