Where the Wild Things Were
By now we all know Rebecca Woolf can write. She blogs (here and here). She wrote a great book. Blah, blah, blah. But as you can tell from much of her work, including the tale below, she's fearless about showing her human side -- and I find that to be a pretty refreshing quality. (And I'm not just saying that because I want her mom to like me.) According to Rebecca, this somewhat lengthy piece was originally submitted to a magazine. It was rejected, but that stupid magazine's loss is our collective gain. Enjoy.
Where the Wild Things Were
By Rebecca Woolf
Angela was in town to host the 3rd annual Guitar Battle competition at The Roxy on Sunset Blvd. It had been almost two years since I’d seen her. She was busy living her jet-set life in New York, as I wrestled with accepting my new life, grounded at the gate, my feet planted reluctantly on the tarmac.
“I’ll put your name on the list if you want to go,” she said.
“Of course I want to go!”
“I guess I just figured, because of Archer, maybe…”
Angela was referring to my two-year old son, born from an unplanned pregnancy with a near stranger I ended up marrying in Vegas six-months pregnant and nine months into our relationship. In a matter of months, I had morphed from young, single girl crashing all night parties to married mother enduring all night feedings. Angela was one of the few friends I had pre-pregnancy who kept in touch. Everyone else just kind of vanished.
Angela and I met when I was eighteen. I was a college dropout living in a house full of skateboarders and Angela was on assignment in L.A., shooting photos for Thrasher magazine. She was older and cooler and liked the same kind of boys-- wasted dudes in Pabst stained jeans and backwards baseball hats, skateboards in one hand, guitars in the other, limping on broken bones with busted lips, or the occasional neck brace from a missed ollie off a three story-building. Over the next five years I flew to New York to visit Angela as often as I could and in turn, she flew west to hang with me.
Those were the good old days, I often said, but only because I barely remembered them. I figured that’s just what happens when you become a parent. One day the past just sort of falls off your memory, like the little black stump of umbilical chord from a newborn’s bellybutton. I was no longer a barfly with a freezer full of cigarette cartons, chasing Jason Lee look-a-likes. Instead I was a married mother of one with a freezer full of veggie meatballs, chasing after loose balloons before they disappeared into the sky. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t still go out. I was perfectly capable of leaving my family behind for a night of loud music and overpriced beer.
“Of course I’ll be there! Are you kidding?”
“Okay, cool. Just tell the guy at the door that you’re on my list. And you have a “plus one” if you want to bring a friend.”
But I was happy to show up alone. I figured I’d know everybody there anyway. They were, after all, my old crew.
The night of the Guitar Battle Competition, I took my sweet time readying myself, straightening my hair, cat-eyeing my eyeliner. I switched my wedding ring to my right hand in order to hide from myself what had changed, dusting off my old skin and doing my best to squeeze back into it. I was ready to make mischief of some kind.
“I don’t know what time I’ll be home. I might go out with everyone afterwards,” I said, picking apart my wallet for my ID and credit-card to pack into my favorite vintage clutch, a seldom used souvenir of the summer I spent in London scavenging Portobello Road for treasure.
“Have a good night. Be safe,” my husband said, bending in for a kiss.
I turned away. “Careful! You’ll smear my lipstick.”
I parked my station wagon in the $10 lot behind The Whiskey and made my way up Sunset, heels clicking the sidewalk until I spotted Angela, slumped against the alley-wall under the pink glow of the Roxy sign, smoking a cigarette in her fishnets and ankle boots. We threw our arms around each other, jumping up and down like teenagers back from summer vacation.
“You look amazing!”
“No, you do! You do!”
She was standing with a half dozen familiar faces-- an ex-roommate, an ex-boyfriend, and an ex-lover who shook my hand.
“Actually we’ve met before. I’m Rebecca. We used to…”
But I could tell from the unoccupied look in his eyes that he didn’t remember.
“We used to what?” he said, pulling his cigarette to his lips.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Maybe I just looked different, I thought. My hair is so much longer, now.
He wasn’t the only person who didn’t remember me. I tried to make awkward conversation with several old acquaintances but no one had anything to say. No one missed me or wanted to catch up.
I don’t know what I was expecting. I had been naïve to think I could time warp back to my previous life. I suddenly felt like an imbecile for even wanting to.
I checked my cell phone for missed calls or new text messages but there were no messages, no missed calls.
I called my husband.
“What are you doing?”
“Working,” he said. “Everything cool?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to check in. Archer asleep?”
“Yup. He just went down.”
I hung up just as Angela introduced me to a guy who used to crash on my couch when he was too wasted to drive home. He didn’t recognize me either. So I introduced myself to him like a stranger. Less hassle trying to explain. He was nice enough, asking once again for my name.
“I’m really bad with names,” he said.
I nodded and wondered if it was the drink and drugs that fogged his memory. If all the partying had gotten in the way of us ever getting to know one another.
I pulled away from the crowd, hugged Angela once more and told her I’d see her inside, accepting a drag of her cigarette before separating from her, our heels click-clacking in opposite directions.
I opened up a tab at the bar, exchanging my driver’s license and credit card for a filled-to-the brim cup of Corona. I tried to make small talk with my old roommate, who I hadn’t seen in over a year, but he was uninterested, looking over my shoulder, calling to one of his buddies to save him a seat.
Suddenly I was a stranger in a strange world that used to be mine. I felt denied, refused and unwelcome—like George Bailey had he come back to realize that his previous life hadn’t been all that wonderful. I excused myself and moved through the crowd invisibly, trying my best not to spill my drink.
I went to the bathroom, put my beer down at my feet and texted my husband.
“Hi!” I wrote.
“Hi!” he wrote back.
I made my way to a seat in the audience and sat down, legs crossed, arms folded and waited for the curtain to rise and the wild rumpus to start. It was a relief to see Angela. She waved from the judges booth on the stage and I waved back.
“Why are you sitting alone?” she lipped.
I pretended not to understand.
“What?” I lipped back.
I had three drinks spilled on me in the two hours I sat watching the guitar battlers. I didn’t move. Not even to brush the beer out of my hair or pick an empty plastic cup off my shoe. I was afraid that if I moved, someone might notice me sitting there, or worse, not notice me at all. The room spun as I studied the scene soberly. Familiar people high-fived and bought each other drinks. Ex-boyfriends stroked their new girlfriend’s backs. Former lovers flirted with a fresh batch of pretty young things
When the lights finally went up, I squeezed the beer from my hair and hurried to the bar to close out my tab, exchanging my half empty plastic cup for my driver’s license and receipt, and waited for Angela by the front of the stage.
“Hey, you! We’re all going to go to ChaCha in a few minutes. Want to come?”
“Of course!” I said almost on autopilot before realizing that an after party was the last place I wanted to be. More drinks spilled on my shoes. More “Wait, who are you?” muttered while being squashed on pleather booths. And suddenly where the wild things were going didn’t interest me anymore.
For the last two years I had felt deprived of a social life. Of this social life. Like I was missing out on something, abandoning my old life and all who knew me. But I was wrong. I never really belonged here in the dark with the open tab, my identification flattened against a liquor-splattered bar. I just thought I did.
Besides, I was already on Angela’s guest list. That was never going to change, no matter how different our worlds had become.
“Actually,” I shrugged. “I should probably go home. You know, because of Archer. But let’s do dinner tomorrow night at my place.”
“How about eight o’clock?”
“It’s a date.”
Angela drove off smiling, her backseat full of skateboard boys flailing out the window. I sat alone for several minutes in my mischief-making dress and ankle boots and wedding ring on the wrong hand, trying to make sense of the night’s events.
I called my husband one last time.
“Is there any of that frozen pizza left?”
“Yup.”
“Cool. Because I’m coming home early.”
“Good,” he said, the faint hum of television in the background. “I miss you.”
I suddenly felt desperate to be home, to finish the frozen pizza and change out of my party dress and let my husband smear my lipstick. I raced down La Cienega as fast as I could, peeling out at red lights, feeling like if I didn’t get home soon, I would be sucked back into my old life, forced to live an eternity of obsoleteness, a tame outsider among Wild Things.
“Come on! Come on! Come on!” I said out loud.
When I finally made it home--into the night of my very own living room—my husband was on the couch waiting for me.
I threw my arms around him and began madly kissing his cheeks.
“Check the stove,” he smiled “You have pizza waiting for you. And it’s still hot.”
Isn't it odd how we don't notice the changes in us until we notice someone else noticing them? We wear our parental hearts right out there on our sleeve, and they can't be covered up by our good clothes or body glitter.
I love this. Sometimes transition from one life to another is so seemless or quiet, we never notice it until we're in the other extreme. You write so well. I'm glad I got to read this!
Love this post! Thanks for sharing!
I feel that if I had old friends to go out with, I would feel this exact same way.
Oh Rebecca, once again I believe you are following me around and documenting my life. Except you write it all so lovely. Glad I got to read this and it wasn't stuck in your nomads and wanderers folder forever!
Wow, I JUST went through this, but I had a totally different experience. 20 year reunion with old party buddies (NOT high school) and it was like being thrown back 20 years and nothing had changed. I didn't feel any different than back then. Wonder what that says about me......
How freaky! I went to the library today to reserve a copy of your book and I was #36 on the waiting list. Considering each person can keep a book for six weeks, that means I would get to read it in 2012. But, I still put my name on the list, because...well, I'm poor.
Then I come home and read this and I realize I can't come close to waiting that long. That's what Mastercard is for, isn't it? Sold!
That magazine is run by a bunch of stupid idiots.
I have read GGC for a while, but this story was new to me. I love it.
Wow Rebecca. I read GGC and I'm glad that I caught this one here. I always felt the same way. I wasn't ready for my old life to be over when all of the sudden I was a single mom of one, then a married mom two, now a married mom of 3. I too used to crave the days when alcohol and whatever else made everything have pretty fuzzy edges and no one was a stranger. And of course I could fall into bed with whomever I wanted. I was thinking about this same thing earlier today. Wondering why I did it all. I figured out that while I thought I was having fun, I was actually searching for something real. Then when I found it, I wished I could still party. Now I know there's nothing in the world like seeing the man you're in love with and the beautiful little kids you made together (or just raise together). Congrats on figuring out what life's all about.
www.notesfromthesleepdeprived.blogspot.com
I guess it's a sign of really growing up when the wild rumpus, rumpus, rumpus doesn't matter anymore.
You travelled over a day and through a year to the place where the vines grew all around to find your dinner waiting for you and it was still hot!
love the metaphor!
www.swirlgirlspearls.blogspot.com
Momofali: I'll send you my copy. If you have a PO box or something since it's probably totally creepy to have some random person send you a book - but you're right - you can't wait till that long to read it! And I've already finished it (yea it lasted about 4 hours after amazon dropped it off!). justbecks (at) aol (dot) com if you'd like it
I went from single to suddenly having 3 kids and a whole different life. I don't miss my old life at all but I am glad that I read this post. It really shows how much things can change so fast. And most of the time, that change is the most rewarding experience you will ever have.
It always seems so hard to walk away from our old self... until we meet the new one... and she happens to be pretty cool.
This was a phenomenal post, thanks for sharing it.
This made me cry. At work. It's like you're me, in a different city. And now, you have gained another reader.
I bought 'Where the Wild Things Are' for my daughter when she was six months in utero. This was a lovely rendition.
Crazy, amazing story--and it doesn't even have to happen in a social setting. I had a similar experience in a professional setting where, no, hanging out in the lab until 2 a.m. with pizza, Dew, and the "hey, check this out, dude! cool!" crowd, just isn't my thing any more. I think it's called growing up.
This was beautiful. I have felt this way so many times. Come on Come on Come on.
I can't buy it yet, but I will.
Thank you, been reading you for so long but took a break (LIFE got in the way) but thank you for writing this. Baby land ain't always all that great but ya know, sometimes, it is nice to be reminded that life before Elmo and Telletubbies was not all roses and chocolates, in fact, this is sooooooooo much better! I especially needed to read this today, thank you again...
Absolutely full of truthfulness! I too have felt like I am missing out on my old life, that the old me is still hanging out in her apartment, downing beers, going clubbing, and the new me is sitting at home, doing laundry, and taking care of a toddler.
This was rather similar to the experience I had when I moved back to the town I left just two years before. Suddenly I was a stranger that no one remembered.
Now, I am so far removed from all those people with my car and husband and two kids and a cat. But I'm happy. And it took a visit much like Rebecca's to make me realise that.
Your feelings resonate with many people. The feelings of friends and times lost, and yet the newly gained stability of family. Often I even feel a great loss when thinking of what my old friends are up to, but then when I see what they are up to I no longer want that old life I left behind of drinking till I dropped and sleeping with anything in sight.
Isn’t it nice to be grounded? To have a warm family waiting at home at the end of the night? Not having to crash on someone’s couch, not always seeking someone out to lie with, (or trying to remember who you did hook up with).
Thank you all for reading my looooooong post and for your wise and wonderful words, tales, and commentary. Kisses on (all of) your cheeks.
That was a good read!
This was a great post and I could really relate to it. I have people who I was great friends with when we were younger but now we wouldn't be able to get a topic going to save our lives. I think sometimes we just outgrow each other. Which is good, because we all need to grow up.
I'm going home now. And I'm going to let hubby smear my lipstick.
Have you tried submitting to Brain, Child? I wouldn't give up getting this published. It's a great essay, and something I bet we can all relate to.
Good luck.
I love this story! There is nowhere I'd rather spend my time than at home with my husband and two girls. The occasional night that I'm out with my friends we do dinner and then I can't wait to get back home. I havne't done the bar scene in years and have no desire anymore. Sometimes I wonder "when did I grow up?"
You're totally riffing on the core of the conflict. I'm like "Dude. Yeah I wanna do blow all night and look for cheap hookers but Lucy's got ballet at 9 tomorrow. OK whatever dude."
But you capture an emotional texture that I don't.
Oh god, this is great. Love it. LOVE IT.
Yes...you do indeed capture that rite of passage, so to speak. It hurts when it wacks you over the head, and then you get home and you're just happy,thanking your lucky stars to be where you are. Uh-huh. I'll bet if you'd a thunk it, you would have been singing the McD commercial that goes do-do-do-do-dooo, I'm lovin' it!
This is stunning and wonderful. Ah, the moment when you finally recognize who you are and where home is. Beautiful writing as usual from the GGC!
Nice. I've so done this. You've gained a new reader!
sugeeandersyn.blogspot.com
So well written.. totally worthy of any magazine worth buying..
Been there ... done that.. right down to the rushing home - cannot wait to get there.. to solidify that you really do belong somewhere and that somewhere is the best place to be.
All those old "friends" that didn't remember you? There loss!
So was it Red Baron, or California Pizza Kitchen or those great little Totino's party pizzas?
Joking aside, I always tell my fiance at the end of the day, we have each other. but in a manly man way. Gone is the anxiety I used to feel being at home on a Saturday night. Honestly, we have so much fun it far outweighs any excitement I had getting wasted in a bar and the bathrooms are much cleaner!
I already love you, DGM!!!!
xxoo
There are plenty of times when I find myself mourning the loss of my pre-mommy self (let's not even discuss the pre-mommy body), but I am constantly working through those stages of grief. Reading your post definitely lit a fire under my can to accept what was and embrace what is. Thanks for the kick in the pants.
I loved this! I went through the same thing last month at a bachelorette party. It's happened in the past to a lesser degree but I never had that moment until now, pregnant with #2, that I looked around and realized I just didn't belong in that bar making small talk with strange cowboy wannabes and trying to dance like my feet didn't hurt and my belly wasn't poking out. Once a parent, you can't go back and hopefully you really never want to. You're a beautiful writer and I sort of stalk your blogs a little so it was nice to see a less blog more essay peice.
butluckilyheather.blogspot.com
Hi Becca,
Thank you so much for sharing this story. Beautifully written. I went through something similar at a party last month but I'm not a parent, just recently married. It was a party that I would have loved 10 years ago...times change, huh?
In the immortal words of Mr. Billy Joel, "the good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems."
Although the good old days were pretty cool.
I just stumbled across this today, and it is shocking how accurately she captures the feeling you get when you have moved on, and all of your old friends have not. Thanks for posting this. =]
I just teared up reading this...while not quite in the same manner (ie. no kids and no hubby) i recently went through the same thing. It is so strange how you can miss something so intensely that doesnt exist.
I love Rebecca's writing. She just summed up many of my current feelings far better than I ever could have. It's good to know that loving my new life, post baby, is "ok."