seemingly ignoring my response. I
wondered if he sensed that I had impulsively decided not to go to
law school in my senior year of college. Today, his comments were
reaffirming my decision.
“ Twenty bucks,” he barked, “I
misplaced twenty bucks today. That’s what happens with old
age.”
I looked at him, puzzled, “Thanks,”
I said and walked out.
Chapter 7
There are four distinct seasons in Chicago, and each
brings a new personality to the city. Folks say there is no greater
adventure than the thrill of discovering what the Windy City will
blow in one day and out the next. Weather develops suddenly over
the city, so you can’t plan too far ahead because the forecast
changes by the moment. You could be enjoying fairly warm days
toward the end of fall and then suddenly be facing a snowstorm the
next day. It’s not uncommon to start the week out with temperatures
in the 50s and then close it out with a bitter cold freeze.
And my life was rolling along at much the same
rhythm as Chicago’s seasons—fast and sudden, just like a Chicago
breeze. Several weeks had passed since I mustered the strength to
leave Charlie and move in with the girls. Aside from that one
moment of weakness on the first day, I kept my promise to myself. I
wasn’t giving in to my weakness for Charlie, no matter what he did
to convince me otherwise. Not being one to admit he’d been dumped,
Charlie remained moderately persistent, keeping up a steady
presence in my life, reminding me of his existence whenever
possible. Fortunately we were both swamped with work and too busy
to play games.
The office was silent, the way I preferred it. I was
working lateone night, trying to get caught up. But when my phone
buzzed three times in a row, I decided to answer. Can’t someone
take a hint?
“ Yeah?” I snapped.
"Roberta, honey, how are you?"
"I'm good mom, busy at work. . ." I sighed. I loved
her dearly, but I was in no mood to have a conversation with my
overly analytical psychologist of a mother.
"Well, I was just checking in to make sure you're
taking the move-out move-in situation okay."
"Yes, mother, everything is working out fine," I
said. “How are you?”
"Well, my shoulder’s bothering me again, but other
than that. . . so, how's the boyfriend?"
"His name is Charlie and not good. I'm slowly ending
things with him."
"It seems a bit unorthodox to be slowly ending
something, doesn’t it? I can understand things can seem
complicated, but in my day things were pretty black and white: you
go steady or you don't.” When I stayed silent, she pushed, “So
what’s going on with you, Bobbie? I think there’s something you’re
not sharing with me.”
"It's different nowadays, Mom. I really don't want to
get into it. My feelings and attitudes towards love are a little .
. . exhausted.”
"Roberta, attitudes represent generalizations about
phenomena based upon extrapolations from previous experiences—”
Here she goes.
“— and usually take the form of
cognitive generalizations, so yes, your attitude toward love is
most definitely what I would call askew... In order to have a
tabula rasa effect on your life, you'd have to literally be reborn,
and that is not happening, so I suggest you start creating new and
better experiences for yourself, because that will determine the
outcome of your future. Find yourself a man who demonstrates
consistency. That's my best advice, honey."
"Okay, Mom, thank you," I said, trying to keep my
cool. I wanted this conversation to end. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
Not without another ten minutes of analysis.
At 7:30 p.m. on the dot. I cleaned up my desk, logged
off my computer, packed my bag, and locked up my office. On the way
out, I heard pounding, slamming, and a few swear words coming from
the copy and blueprint room.
“ Hello? Is everything okay?” I
looked in the room, but didn’t see anyone.
“ Oh, umm, hi,” a high voice
stuttered. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” She
wondered if he sensed that I had impulsively decided not to go to
law school in my senior year of college. Today, his comments were
reaffirming my decision.
“ Twenty bucks,” he barked, “I
misplaced twenty bucks today. That’s what happens with old
age.”
I looked at him, puzzled, “Thanks,”
I said and walked out.
Chapter 7
There are four distinct seasons in Chicago, and each
brings a new personality to the city. Folks say there is no greater
adventure than the thrill of discovering what the Windy City will
blow in one day and out the next. Weather develops suddenly over
the city, so you can’t plan too far ahead because the forecast
changes by the moment. You could be enjoying fairly warm days
toward the end of fall and then suddenly be facing a snowstorm the
next day. It’s not uncommon to start the week out with temperatures
in the 50s and then close it out with a bitter cold freeze.
And my life was rolling along at much the same
rhythm as Chicago’s seasons—fast and sudden, just like a Chicago
breeze. Several weeks had passed since I mustered the strength to
leave Charlie and move in with the girls. Aside from that one
moment of weakness on the first day, I kept my promise to myself. I
wasn’t giving in to my weakness for Charlie, no matter what he did
to convince me otherwise. Not being one to admit he’d been dumped,
Charlie remained moderately persistent, keeping up a steady
presence in my life, reminding me of his existence whenever
possible. Fortunately we were both swamped with work and too busy
to play games.
The office was silent, the way I preferred it. I was
working lateone night, trying to get caught up. But when my phone
buzzed three times in a row, I decided to answer. Can’t someone
take a hint?
“ Yeah?” I snapped.
"Roberta, honey, how are you?"
"I'm good mom, busy at work. . ." I sighed. I loved
her dearly, but I was in no mood to have a conversation with my
overly analytical psychologist of a mother.
"Well, I was just checking in to make sure you're
taking the move-out move-in situation okay."
"Yes, mother, everything is working out fine," I
said. “How are you?”
"Well, my shoulder’s bothering me again, but other
than that. . . so, how's the boyfriend?"
"His name is Charlie and not good. I'm slowly ending
things with him."
"It seems a bit unorthodox to be slowly ending
something, doesn’t it? I can understand things can seem
complicated, but in my day things were pretty black and white: you
go steady or you don't.” When I stayed silent, she pushed, “So
what’s going on with you, Bobbie? I think there’s something you’re
not sharing with me.”
"It's different nowadays, Mom. I really don't want to
get into it. My feelings and attitudes towards love are a little .
. . exhausted.”
"Roberta, attitudes represent generalizations about
phenomena based upon extrapolations from previous experiences—”
Here she goes.
“— and usually take the form of
cognitive generalizations, so yes, your attitude toward love is
most definitely what I would call askew... In order to have a
tabula rasa effect on your life, you'd have to literally be reborn,
and that is not happening, so I suggest you start creating new and
better experiences for yourself, because that will determine the
outcome of your future. Find yourself a man who demonstrates
consistency. That's my best advice, honey."
"Okay, Mom, thank you," I said, trying to keep my
cool. I wanted this conversation to end. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
Not without another ten minutes of analysis.
At 7:30 p.m. on the dot. I cleaned up my desk, logged
off my computer, packed my bag, and locked up my office. On the way
out, I heard pounding, slamming, and a few swear words coming from
the copy and blueprint room.
“ Hello? Is everything okay?” I
looked in the room, but didn’t see anyone.
“ Oh, umm, hi,” a high voice
stuttered. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” She
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