Girl on the Brink: Surviving Desperate Times with Desperate Measures

I’m home alone—and I’m lovin’ it.

I feel these are my rollover minutes of freedom, and I’ll even forgive my ex for not cleaning the cat litter boxes.

On rare nights like this, I sneak upstairs to splay my body on the covers of the once master bedroom bed I had shared with my husband. With my eyes closed, I feel as if my body is levitating, like in a magic show, as I rise from my basement apartment to the second-story suite of bedrooms.

I always sleep downstairs because I decided to stay in the basement rather than trade off living in the main party of the house with my ex after my divorce last November. In the waning days of my marriage, I had slept in this bed and loaned my body to him, no longer in love.

The street light filters through the bedroom window and splashes in twisted patterns on the walls. I cherish this alone time and advance my mind to tomorrow. I’ll have one more day and night to myself before my ex and two sons return from a relative’s bat mitzvah, a Jewish ceremony that represents a young girl’s “coming of age.” Just one more night. I imagine a prison escapee has similar thoughts before he hears the sound of blood hounds closing in on him.

For now, however, I think, At last, a break. Then, another loss.

My ex called. He totaled the rental car my 10- and 12-year-old sons were riding in during a thunderstorm outside of Boston. They were unhurt, thanks to the seat belts. For some reason, my ex had purchased full collision insurance, so he didn’t have to pay a thing; otherwise he’d be toast.

The kids weren’t as shaken as me, to think they could have been seriously injured, or worse killed.

The fragility of life strikes in many dimensions—sometimes it’s an illness; other times it’s a financial loss. The loss of my job, near loss of my house and now a near-tragic accident has shaken my values and torn my moral fiber. Sometimes, I wish the outcome of my life could have a fairy-tale ending.