Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [108]
“Rachel, I want to do this.”
She picks up her keys and stands. “This is a lot to hear all at once. Why don’t you think it over and call me later.”
“But—”
“Call me, Amelia,” she says, as she starts to walk away. “I love you.”
At first I’m sort of pissed. Who the hell is Rachel to suddenly transition from cute, bubbly girl with a pixie haircut to a hard-edged slave driver? But when I get home and crack open the Pledges book for the first time since leaving the place, I start to realize that everything she talked about today is right from this book. And at some point I’d known that. What the hell had happened to my memory?
I continue reading and notice a sentence in the book that talks about how short our memories seem to be when it comes to changing the way our brains work, which is why going to meetings every day, or at least as often as possible, is so important.
The more I read, the more this book begins to make sense, and the guidelines start to sound like the ideal way to live a happy life. I never had any guidelines before, I think. I mean, sure, I’ve heard things like don’t lie and cheat and steal, but this other stuff, about looking for my part in every resentment I have, sounds almost like the exact opposite of the way I’ve been living. Resenting someone is like drinkingpoison and expecting the other person to die, I heard someone say in a meeting once. Another person chimed in that “expectations are resentments under construction,” and everyone laughed, including me. But now I’m really beginning to get it. Most of the things I’d spent most of my life pissed about—my parents not doing something, friends not being supportive, people not loving me enough—came about because I had expected so much from them.
Armed with that epiphany, I take out a notebook and start listing all the people I’m pissed at. As you can imagine, it’s a long list. I’ve heard people suggest that a good way to start is to write down every single person you’ve ever known because chances are that you resent them for something. And for me, that seems highly likely.
So I start by listing Mom and Dad, then friends from grammar school—these petty slights I’ve carried with me over the years—and move on to my life today. I take out old photo albums, dig up old address books, and even join classmates.com to jog my memory. When I start to write down why I resent them, I realize this project will take hours, if not weeks. But I want so much to have my slate cleaned, to get this all out on paper and face who I really am. The more I write, the more I see that I’ve already spent too much time in my life upset and angry.
The pen I’m writing with starts causing an indentation on my right pointer finger and I’m lighting about my twentieth cigarette since I started writing when the phone rings. When we first started working together, Rachel had suggested that I not screen calls because when someone’s calling, it’s probably the interruption I need, whether it feels like it or not. I’d nodded but continued screening, always making sure I answered when she called so she wouldn’t know.
“Hello,” I say, not even glancing at caller ID.
“Sweetie?” I recognize the voice immediately.
“Hi, Nadine,” I say. “What’s going on?” I don’t feel that anxiety I always feel when I talk to her—that I have to be so fabulous, so Party Girl, so “on.”
“What’s going on with you?” she asks, sounding alarmed. “What are you doing home on a Friday night?”
I glance at the clock: 9:30 P.M. I’d absolutely lost my sense of time and space and feel shocked that somehow day ended and night started without any acknowledgment on my part. I’d left Rachel at about noon. Had I actually been reading the Pledges book and writing for over eight hours? And was it really Friday night? I had no idea.
“I’m just home,” I say. “Reading, writing.” I glance at one of my cats, who’s asleep next to me. “Playing with my cats.”
Complete silence on the other end of the phone line.
“Nadine? Are you there?”
“Oh, yes, sweetie. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Not exactly