Things Come Full Circle

In the morning, things seemed back to normal as we packed our things to leave. We ate what the hotel called a "Continental Breakfast" in the lobby, enduring the dishwater coffee and powdered eggs as best we could. We packed her mint green Volvo wagon and headed down I-81 to Lancaster County. Nothing but pleasantries passed between us, and I was thinking that this was the wall that was beginning to solidify and shut us off from each other forever. It was a relief. I saw the same scenery, the same huge conifers, maples, and broad-leafed oaks, the same old homes and stores, but they were not fresh anymore. I wanted to go home.

On our last night in New Providence, I did not have to endure The Wet Rag. We got in late, leaving no time for anything but a hasty dinner and bed. I was tired, as I had not been tired in a long, long time. It was an emotional exhaustion, the kind that makes your eyes burn and yet refuse to close.

On the last morning, I found that I could not get everything into my suitcase, and it was much too early to go to the post office and mail things back to Houston. Siss told me that I should leave the vase and poster from the Everhart Museum with her, and she would mail them to me in the next couple of days. I, in my turn, promised to send her a leather coat, two pairs of leather demi-boots, and a leather makeup bag that I had said she could have. The leather coat was new, and much too heavy for Houston weather. The boots were gifts that Sig had ordered for me online, and the order had been sent in duplicate by mistake. The makeup bag was from Cole Haan, and was something that the adorable Sig had bought in several colors. This was about a thousand dollars worth of stuff, and I was very happy to pass it on and give it a good home. On the way down the stairs at Siss' house, I brushed past the green dress, feeling a sense of loss and hoping that I would see it again. This was the later part of August.

Back home in Houston, I immediately had to return to the college for in-service week. Translate this as endless meetings that accomplished nothing, and listening to reports from people that I don't respect. It has little to do with students, especially since my cell 'phone number is printed in the course schedule and they can reach me at any time, regardless of my presence on campus. The point is, I forgot about the drama of the sisters' weekend and slipped gratefully into my double routine of dancing and avoiding committee work. I did, however, send the promised "goodie box" to Siss, and was actually very excited at being able to give her such nice things. Circumstances in my life have not always been this good. Sig was a gift from the Universe, and he knows that I love sharing the largesse as much as he does.

There was no response for about a week, and then it was like a cold shower bath had suddenly fallen on my unsuspecting head. My sister wrote me a curt, frosty note saying that she had gotten the box, would use the coat, and "we'll see" about the boots. No "thank you", no delight, no nothing. What she did say was that my vase would "cost more to send than it is worth", ergo she wasn't going to send it. P.S.....she never sent the poster, either. No big deal? No big deal? Well, yes it was, and I had just had my first picture of how tit-for-tat doesn't always work for tat. I responded to her, saying that she could keep the vase, and think of me every time she filled it with deadly nightshade.

I signed off.

Fast forward an entire year. I had earned myself a sabbatical leave from my job, and was planning to spend the fall semester immersing myself in dance in New York City, performing, and creating some new works. I started thinking about the green dress and how much I wanted to have it back. Did I want to work with it? Use it as a costume? A prop? I didn't know, but I knew that I wanted it badly enough to ask for it.

So I sort of lied, told the story of recreating the solo, and offered to send Siss the money for the postage to return the dress to me.

I waited.

Soon, this chirpy little bread-and-butter e-mail arrived, telling me that I did not have to pay for the postage, and how sorry she was that she missed me at the Princeton lecture (which I went to without telling her I was going....duh!). She acted as if everything was hunky-dory, and we would just pick up where we left off.

Not hardly. I waited until I had the dress in my hands.

The note had finally made me take a hard look at the pattern of a lifetime. Siss was the approach-and-run part and I was the rock-steady-take-anything part. She got to call all the shots.She dictated when we could talk, when we could see each other, when we needed to be far apart. This was not my style, and it finally occurred to me that there was something very wrong with Siss, not with me. I was merely the enabler. She was feeding her own needs, ignoring mine, and fully expecting that I would act as if there were nothing wrong with the arrangement.

I decided to act, to cut the cord. Knowing that I had my green dress safely home helped me to make the break, and I did. The letter that I hastily penned that night, and sent without hesitation, without salutation, and with a check for the postage for the green dress taped to the top....that is the letter that is reprinted in the very first post of this blog.