And keep that going for Steve Glickman our last storyteller!
It's Christmas Eve
in 2005 and I am packed and ready to go to Puerto Vallarta. My flight leaves in
12 hours and I cannot wait to get out of Chicago. It's been an awful year. I broke
up with my boyfriend of seven years and I've been living in a fog. Months of
therapy, sleepless nights, just the worst year ever, but somehow I made it to
Christmas Eve and I am ready to reboot my life starting now. I cannot wait to
get to that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta and order a piña colada
served out of a coconut and kiss this awful year goodbye. I'm packed and ready
to go, all I need is my passport. I look in my desk drawer, not there. I look at my
file cabinet, not there. I look in my bedroom closet,
my dresser, the kitchen cabinets, not there. Where the fuck is my passport? Then
I panic. I ransack my apartment going from room to room emptying every drawer,
every closet, every cabinet, and I throw its contents on the floor where I can
see it all clearly. I get down on my hands and knees and I'm sifting through
the piles of stuff like a crazed burglar and after I've turned my apartment
upside down for hours, nothing. Where the fuck is my passport? It's after midnight
and I'm exhausted. Sitting on my bedroom floor staring at
all the piles of junk, I say to myself out loud as calmly as
possible "I've lost my passport. I've looked
everywhere I know of but it's gone. I am NOT going to Puerto Vallarta for
Christmas." And then I cry. The next morning I make a pot of coffee and I
contemplate how I might spend Christmas week in Chicago. I can't visit my family,
they're not in town, I can't visit my friends because they all think I'm in
Puerto Vallarta and that's what I want them to think. I posted to everyone that I was
gonna spend Christmas week on the beach in Mexico and they could all have their
white Christmas in Chicago. I told my co-workers, I told my volleyball team, I
told George the star hitter on my volleyball team who is a dreamboat and
who I have a crush on. I can't fathom telling them I lost my passport. I will
never hear the end of it. I feel like the biggest loser ever.
I just can't catch a break. And then I get an idea. I hide out in my apartment
all week long, I spend my time watching movies and reading Mexico travel blogs.
When I leave the apartment I wear sunglasses and a hoodie because I'm
incognito, and I leave for only two reasons: to go to the grocery store or to
the tanning salon. I love the tanning salon.
I love lying on the tanning bed in my speedo, grooving to my playlist
surrounded by the gentle warmth and humming of the UV lights as they slowly
cook my skin to a deep golden-brown and when I close my eyes it feels just like
I'm lying on that beautiful beach in Puerto Vallarta. The first week in
January we have volleyball practice and I show up at the gym armed with a deep
tan and stories from the Mexico travel blogs.
I scanned the gym from my team and then I spot dreamboat George. I'm nervous and
part of me wants to walk out of that gym and go back into hiding for the rest of
winter, but I know that won't solve anything. I know I have to get out there
and live in the world meet people and take risks, even if I don't feel like it.
That's what all the self-help books say. And so I walk up to dreamboat George
with a smile on my face and he smiles right back and he says "So, how was Puerto
Vallarta?" I say "Muy bueno. The weather was perfect, the beaches were fantastic,
and oh the food, so mucho delicioso." And as I'm talking I'm thinking "Is he buying
this bullshit?" I study his face for signs of doubt and I can't really be sure but
I think he might be. My other teammates gather around I tell them the more this
the same story and every time I tell it I get more confident and I add more
details, like a snorkeling trip and a sunset cruise. Suddenly I realize I'm
actually pretty good at this. Dreamboat George says "I'm so jealous" which are the
words I long to hear. I simply smile and nod. I sat on the secret for 11 years.
Over time I got my confidence back, I got a new boyfriend, and we've traveled a bit
but never to Puerto Vallarta because I don't like to repeat. So last December I
was cleaning out my bedroom closet and I reach in and I pull out a ratty old
jacket and just as I'm throwing it in the trash I feel something hard in the
breast pocket so I reach in and I pull out my fucking passport.
One more time, give it up