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Do you
know where you’re going? by Carmen Johnson The waitress placed two cups of black coffee and the bill on the table. They both reached for their coffee. "I don’t know when I realized it really. How do you realize that your life is going nowhere?" Mary smelled her steaming coffee. "If I had to say, I guess it was when Joan asked me, "What are you doing?" Mary gave Grace a confused look. "What are you doing?" "Yeah, I was sitting on my bed, just finished making it. Then Joan called, and the first thing she said was, "Hi, what are you doing?" I was in a very strange mood. I took the question on a whole new level. Almost poetic. I asked myself, What are you doing? And I couldn’t give myself an answer. I think that was my clue." She didn’t think Grace would understand, not only because she couldn’t relate but she didn’t quite understand it herself. She didn’t really know what to think. At least she could tell Grace. It didn’t matter if she didn’t grasp it, she just needed to let it out. Grace was her oldest friend, but not her closest. She grew up with Grace, down in Florida. Then after she graduated high school, Mary moved to Chicago with her new husband. She and Grace kept in touch by writing and by phone calls about once a month. Grace had business trips once in a while in Chicago. That was the only time when they saw each other. Mary felt comfortable talking to her because she knew that she wouldn’t see her for a while after they talked. It’s easier to tell someone something very personal when you know you won’t run into them at the grocery store the next day. "There must have been something else. How could one simple question change everything?" Grace was wearing a navy skirt and jacket. She had just come from a business meeting. "I did notice that I was writing in my journal often. Three or four times a day, hours at a time." "You’ve told Paul, right?" Grace knew this was a pointless question, for she knew the answer. She could tell by the way her old friend was shaking. "No. How can I tell Paul? How can I tell him that I’ve just now realized that these past 10 years have brought me nowhere? That I’ve done everything except what I’ve wanted to do in life? That all of a sudden, I know that I can’t do this everyday? How can I? How can I tell him that? He’d probably file for divorce, thinking that I don’t love him anymore." Mary forced her fingers through her wavy hair. A great sigh came over her, the kind of sigh you let out when you’re crying for help, silently. "So, you do love him? From what you’ve just said, right now, it sounded like you didn’t." "Grace, I can’t believe you said that. I do love him! He is my husband. How can you say—" Mary stood up quickly, and reached for her purse. "Just because you’re off traveling—" "Sit down, Mary. Please. I’m sorry." Grace stood up. "Mary just sit down, where else are you going to go? What are you going to do? Go home and dust your plastic flowers? Go home and call Joan, write in your journal? Just sit down, please, just let it out. Better than being all alone in that stuffy apartment." Grace slowly sat back down, Mary slumped back down in her seat and set her purse down. "Grace," she said calmly, "My apartment is not stuffy." Mary ordered a banana split and Grace apologized again. "So now what?" "Now, I just sit here, and I— everyday I look forward to my soaps, more everyday. I don’t care how corny or unrealistic or how untalented those actors are, I look forward to it. Too much. Like it’s my wedding day, or something so important. All it is is a soap, all it is is a storyline. And a bad one at that. And I look forward to reading all these books. It’s like, those corny soaps and those books, they’re more real than I am. My life is so slow that I look for excitement in the novels, on TV. It’s so sad, it’s like I’ve become bored with myself and my life. It’s like I think about those plots, you know, from TV and from books, more than I think about my own life. I think about, whether Jodie Ann is going to find her real mother, or if George is leaving. I don’t know. "I just didn’t know before. Actually I thought it was good then. I can’t expect you to understand because I don’t understand, not really." Mary realized how much she said and what she said and was glad that she wouldn’t run into Grace at the grocery store the next day. "I understand, Mary. The only thing I don’t understand is how you did it for 10 years. That’s a long time. Either you’ve been bored for 10 years and you were in denial ’til a couple of weeks ago or you just aren’t happy anymore, and you were before." Grace looked at her, like she was a science problem. "Well, moving was exciting, but sad. Remember I lived in Florida my whole life ’til senior year, well, end of senior year. I missed everything and had to get used to doing everything in a new way. I just got married, everything was very new to me. So that gave me something to do, but after 10 years I guess you stop being excited because it’s not new anymore. I don’t know." Grace finished off her coffee. She thought about Mary when she lived in Florida. She remembered her as a dreamer, always talking about how she was going to change the world. Maybe every 12-year-old says that, but she believed her. Grace never said anything, but every time she came up to Chicago and saw her, she noticed a change, every time.. It was like her spirit, every year, was being drained, drip by drip. It made her feel older, like it was forever since Mary’s spirit filled the room. Like it was forever since it she dreamed so high. "What would make you happy? What do you want?" There was a long pause, but neither Grace nor Mary felt uncomfortable. "Something else." "I was thinking, back in Florida, you always wanted to change the world. You can still do that," Grace nodded. "I don’t wanna change the world anymore." All Grace could hear was drip, drip. "Mary." "I wanna change my life. What have I always wanted to do? Not travel the world, no, that’s after I’ve made my millions. I wanna leave my stuffy apartment." Mary smiled. it seemed like for the first time in 10 years. "And Paul? Remember there is Paul. You’ve hardly mentioned him. He is your husband, who loves you more than you know. What role does he play in this?" Mary stared at the remains of the banana split. "None." She said it, like her name, something she was very sure of. "What?" "Nothing. He doesn’t play a role." Mary looked around the rusty old diner. "Do you know what that means Grace?" "Mary, you’re just—" "I don’t love, I don’t—" she took a long, deep breath. "I don’t love him anymore." Mary’s eyes started to tear, slowly. She didn’t wipe them, though. "I’m so sorry." "Don’t be sorry. These tears aren’t sad, they’re happy. Don’t you see? What if I never realized, what if you never were here to help me through this? What if my whole life, I just stayed here, where I am, and did nothing? Wouldn’t that be sad? And you come here every year and watch me fade? Isn’t this the happy way, the happy start? I am crying ’cause I’m happy, I am. "Grace, thank you so much. I would have never had enough courage to do anything. Now I’m going to start— something good for me." Now Grace found herself holding back the tears. Mary stood up. "Do you know where you’re going?" Grace asked. Mary shook her head. "That’s what’s so exciting." She grabbed her purse and walked out of the rusty old diner. Submit your comments on this story to our MoxieTalk discussion group by clicking here! You can also send your comments directly to the author using the form below. You can do both by typing your response below,
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