I rarely go to the gym. I prefer to burn calories by eating candy that’s hard to chew. However, I do take yoga class every Monday night with a fellow “club member.” I love yoga. Technically it’s exercise but it’s not really exercise. However you can limp through the door and say, “Wow Chris what a workout I’m so tired I know it’s only 8:30 but that lady worked us like dogs can I go to bed now?” when really all you did was relieve the knot in your back you named after Kevin. I call it the Kevin Kink. After yoga my girlfriend and I like to sit in the sauna and vent. Truth be told I don’t take yoga for yoga, I go for my weekly vent session with the lady whose life sucks as badly as mine does. Perdita (I’m calling her that because it means lost) is having a very hard time right now. Her son has been using her as a punching bag for the better part of year, and if that doesn’t sound horrible enough, he has started exhibiting self injurious behavior. Not familiar with the term? Oh it’s great. Basically, when her son gets tired of beating the shit out of her, he starts punching himself in the face and she has to restrain him. Good times.
Anyhoo this past Monday, I guess the planets were properly aligned or something, Kevin was a complete angel at speech therapy, and I got to yoga class early. “What a treat!” I thought. “I’ll sit in the sauna and read my trashy romance novel until class starts. No one is ever in the sauna at 6:00. I’ll have it all to myself and no one will know I enjoy reading softcore porn. Woo hoo!”
The heat hit me like a volcano blast the moment I opened the door. I actually staggered for a moment before I got my bearings and thought, “Who the fuck would set the temperature this high?!” And then I saw her, huddled in the corner, sweat mixed with tears pouring down her face. She was startled at first but when she realized it was me she relaxed against the side of the wall.
Hi.
Hi.
Honey I don’t know what’s going on but you have to let me turn the heat down we’re going to faint in here.
It’s fine. I only put it up that high to turn people away. Also, when you sweat this much and your face gets this red, no one knows you’re crying.
After she said that I walked straight to the front desk, gathered the necessary supplies, surreptitiously created a “Closed For Repairs” sign, taped it to the door of the sauna, turned down the heat, and climbed back with my friend.
Do you want to tell me what happened?
Not really.
Fair enough.
But then she pulled up the sleeves of her shirt to reveal 2, large, purple bruises on each of her forearms. I knew they were bite marks before she told me, having suffered my fair share over the years, but I also knew that wasn’t the reason she was crying. Perdita and I show off our bruises to each other all the time. Do you remember that scene in Jaws where the guys are all sitting at the table bragging about their scars? That’s what Perdita and I do, every Monday. Before we even say hello we sneak into the ladies locker room to compare injuries.
Rach, look at this I have a bite mark on my ass!
No! Seriously? Let me see! Oh that’s awesome!
I know right? What ya got for me?
Nothing compared to that! All I have is a scratch on my thigh.
Weak my friend.
Excuse me? Remember that time he head butted me and I chipped my front tooth? I looked like white trash for a week.
That’s true. You win the prize for that one.
This is how we talk to each other. This is why, though we have virtually nothing in common and rarely speak to each other outside the gym, Perdita and I are friends.
I’m not supposed to be here.
I don’t understand.
I was going to bail on you tonight to take Kickboxing with another girlfriend.
OK, why didn’t you?
I was supposed to be starting a diet today with my girlfriend. I ate clean all day and we were supposed to take kickboxing tonight together. Then Kyle came home and did this, and I ate an entire package of oreos. I called her and told her what happened so she’d understand why I was bailing on her and you know what she said? She said, “Perdita what are you going to do when he gets older and stronger?”
Oh no.
I know right? What the fuck kind of question is that? I lost my shit on her Rach. I said, “I don’t know. I have no clue what I’m going to do when he gets older and stronger because I don’t know what the fuck to do with him right now! If I knew what to do I’d be doing it! I have a shrink and a behaviorist and pills (for me AND him) and a neurologist and a really good husband but since you know so fucking much YOU tell me: what I’m going to do when he gets older and stronger?” And then I hung up. I don’t know if she’s ever going to talk to me again and I’m not sure if I care but if it’s all the same to you I don’t want to take yoga. I want to sit here and cry/sweat.
Is that an actual term?
And there we sat. Her cry/sweating and me reading my book.
What are you reading?
Porn.
You need help.
That I do friend that I do.
Are you going to write about this?
If I’m allowed.
You promised never to write about me.
Which is why I’m not going to unless I have your permission.
You’ll change my name right?
Of course.
Name me something that means lost. And lie about how we know each other. Lie about everything OK? Only, maybe you could talk to the people with “normal” children about the stupid shit they say that only makes EVERYTHING worse.
Dear Everybody With “Normal” Children,
Yes you. I’m sorry but if your child does not have a disability, than to any member of The Nobody Wants To Be A Member Of This Club Including Us Club, they are normal.
I’m sorry. I really am. You have your hands full with us club members don’t you? You love us, it breaks your heart to see what we have to deal with, you feel guilty for having a “perfect” child, and no matter what you say or do in an effort to help us it always seems wrong. I imagine a great many of you have given up. Please don’t. I think I can help. You won’t like what I have to say but it’s the truth and it will work if you’re willing.
You HAVE a “club member” friend. Here’s some suggestions on how to BE a “club member” friend.
1. Offer to take her kid so she can get a break. I know what you’re thinking: “What if she takes offense to that?” She might: do it anyway. It will make you feel uncomfortable: do it anyway. Don’t be a pussy. Do NOT, for fear of doing the wrong thing, do nothing. Do NOT, for fear of saying the wrong thing, say nothing. The most painful part of your friend’s life is not the unwanted attention, it’s the feeling of being invisible. Strap your balls on, call your buddy with the autistic son and say, “You need a break, I’m taking Junior for the afternoon.” And when she says, “No I’m fine really I don’t need a break,” don’t back down. You know she needs a break and she knows she needs a break but she’s never going to ask so it’s up to YOU to make it happen. Say, “OK fine, but you have 24 hours to give me a date and time for when I’m taking him. If you fail to comply I will be here Friday at 4:00 to take him with or without your permission. And if you want him back before Saturday morning at 10:00 you’re gonna have to have me arrested for kidnapping.” Then walk away. Conversation over. Ultimatum down. One bruised, lonely mother’s faith in humanity restored.
2. When your friend posts on her Facebook page something along the lines of, Being the mother of a special needs child sucks monkey balls, DO NOT EVER respond by attaching an article about a kid with her kid’s disability who is playing cello in the NY Symphony Orchestra or who was just admitted to Harvard. Have you MET Kevin? He can do a lot but he can’t wipe his ass, button a button, or speak in full sentences. At 11 years old he reads on a kindergarten level. He’s not going to Harvard and he’s sure as fuck not learning to play the cello. I know you guys are sharing these articles because you think it will give us hope but I assure you it does the exact opposite. Sooooooooo when your friend posts, “Being the mother of a special needs child sucks monkey balls,” respond with a picture of a monkey with big balls: it’s funny.
3. Get her out of the house. Don’t OFFER to get her out of the house, she’ll just lie and say “Oh I don’t need to get out!” We “club members” tend to be hermits because we can’t leave our disabled children with just anyone. Conspire against your buddy with the help of Dad or Grandma or anyone you know she trusts to watch Junior for a few hours. Show up on the doorstep with your co-conspirator and tell her, “Hi. I’m taking you out for _____________ and ____________ is going to watch Junior, let’s go.” Now she has no excuse not to go. Going out and having fun is now non-negotiable and praise be to God because she can’t remember the last time she got to have fun with a girlfriend. If someone did this for me I think I’d just about die of gratitude.
4. This is the last, the hardest, and THE most important thing you can do to help your friend with a special needs child: Tell her about the problem you are having with your “normal” child. And I mean the bad one. The one that is currently running your heart through a dirty paper shredder, slowly. I’m talking about the problem you have with your kid that makes you feel ugly and exposed, like you’ve just walked into a kickboxing class with large, purple bruises all over your arms. You guys NEVER talk to us about your parenting problems because you think, compared to us, you don’t HAVE any and nothing could be further from the truth. We need to hear that it’s hard for you too: that life on the other side is not all sunshine and roses. It’s sooooooo comforting for us to hear that although your son doesn’t hurl cereal bowls at you, you very often feel like hurling cereal bowls at him. It’s not comparing problems guys it’s sharing pain, which is the kindest thing you can offer another person, “club member” or not.
14 hours later
Perdita: Wow. That’s good. That’s really good. How are you going to end it?
Me: I don’t know. Hey, why don’t YOU end it?
Perdita: What?! I can’t write.
Me: No seriously this will be something new I’ve never let another person finish a blogpost for me.
Perdita: And you’re not doing it today.
Me: OK fine then just talk to me while I write. Did you make up with the girl you hung up on.
Perdita: Sort of.
Me: What do you mean sort of?
Perdita: Well I called her and apologized and she said OK and I guess we’re both just pretending it never happened.
Me: Well, if you could redo that initial phone call, what would you have had her say.
Perdita: Huh?
Perdita: Well, if it’s for the blog can we just call her Asswipe.
Me: Ok so I’m you and you’re Asswipe. You call to remind me about Kickboxing and I say, “Asswipe I’m really sorry but I can’t make it. Kyle came home and bit both my arms and I ate an entire box of Oreos to console myself so I’m really not feelin the whole kickboxing thing OK?”
Perdita: Wait, so I’m supposed to respond now the way I wish Asswipe would have responded?
Me: Exactly.
From this point forward I am recording a performance where Perdita plays the roles of herself and Asswipe:
Asswipe: Wow Perdita that sucks. That’s awful. That’s like, shit on your tampon string kinda awful. I’m so sorry.
Perdita: Thanks. I’m sorry about kickboxing.
Asswipe: Oh fuck kickboxing honey. And you know what? Fuck the diet you have bigger fish to fry right now.
Perdita: I do.
Asswipe: Hey I have an idea. I’m coming over tomorrow at 3:00 when Chompers gets off the bus. He won’t pull that Ninja shit if I’m there. We’ll pack him up, go to the gym, put him in the daycare, sit in the sauna eating Oreos and just sweat/cry. You can introduce me to that porn reading freak friend of yours.
Perdita: OK, but what do YOU have to cry about?
Asswipe: Well if you want to know the truth I’ve been having trouble with my daughter and I could really use some advice.
This is beautiful I would love to be a club member. Hugs and understanding. Not people jude they do t know empty. BTW my sona nick name was chomped.