The Endless Vacation

When I was a kid in school, the three months of summer vacation we looked forward to each year would stretch out before me like an endless expanse of time - plenty of time for weekly trips to the local library to pick up a stash of books to read at my leisure, whole days spent swimming and sunning with my friends at Folsom Lake (yes, near the infamous Folsom Prison), watching old Tarzan movies on my parents’ old black and white TV set, cruising the local McDonald’s parking lot in my Dad’s 1955 T-Bird convertible, listening to records in my room until all hours and then sleeping until I woke up late the next day. There seemed no end to this idyllic escape from the rigors of school, test scores and social pressure.

I especially remember the summer of my senior year, when my mother, who was a wise woman and a great mom, would not let me work at any kind of job, reasoning that I would likely be working for the rest of my life after graduation and she wanted me to have one last truly free time in my life when my only responsibility was to have fun.

I think first started to I veer off course when I entered the work force. I confess I was one of those obnoxious overachievers with an overdeveloped worked ethic and an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation. No job was beneath me; I was the ultimate team player and I never said “no.” I convinced myself I was indipensable and dragged myself to work every day for years, in sickness and health, all in the name of feeding my ego and getting my strokes. Of course, these strokes did not come with zeroes appearing on my paychecks - this type of reward was reserved for the male members of our merry band of office colleagues.

The long years took their toll, and when I finally decided I had enough of the rat race and the commute, I had a significant build-up of inner rage at the unfairness of the burden I had shouldered compared to the relatively paltry compensation (and true appreciation) I had settled for despite my contributions to my bosses’ botttom line.

Retirement came both as a welcome relief but also as a shock. I spent long days lying on the couch, watching Gunsmoke reruns and marveling at Matt Dillon’s wisdom. I indulged myself in painting and creating objets d’arte for my own pleasure. Most of my rowdy friends had settled into sedentary lifestyles by then, so trips to the ocean for swimming and relaxation were few and far between. Weeks of drifting aimlessly from one whim to the next turned into months, and before I knew it, I had spent an entire year without accomplishing one single thing or earning a penny.

I was shaken by the passage of time and the realization that all around me, other people were accomplishing great things while I frittered my life away watching old TV shows and producing bad art. Feeling useless, I could not stand to goof off any longer.

Panicked, I floundered about trying to get my bearings and find something meaningful to fill my days, which suddenly seemed not only endless but pointless as well. I just couldn’t see myself back in the fray, fighting traffic, bosses and co-workers alike all in an attempt to make something of myself.

The lightbulb in my head suddenly blazed with intensity! I would create my own empire working from home and using my latent knack for baking to become a provider of homemade pastries for my career driven neighbors and friends. Of course, my inner overachiever dictated that I throw myself wholeheartedly into this new project. No Rachel Ray shortcuts for me, no sir… I was in full-on Julia Child mode from day one. Soon my house was covered with a mist of fine cake flour. My delectable creations became legendary in my little cul-de-sac, and word soon spread throughout the city extolling the quality of my wares. Reference led to reference and I was drawn further and further from my home and familiar surroundings to more prosperous and expensive parts of town. Caught up in my quest for perfection, and still in search of strokes, I was unprepared when the day came that changed my life.

A referral from a wealthy friend led me to a delivery of a special order to an impressive brick home in an old established part of town with impeccable landscaping and an imposing entryway. Putting on my best, “hey, I’m as good as anybody face,” I rang the doorbell and heard the chimes play a short section of a Bach concerto. After a short wait, the beautiful man opened the door and my world dropped out from under my feet.

Our mutual attraction was irresistible and undeniable. Not since the earliest days of puberty, when physical and emotional longing for the touch of the opposite sex awakened within me had I been overtaken by such desire. It swept away every vestige of my inherently true-blue nature, and while part of me felt guilty at my betrayal of my long-suffering husband’s trust, my animal urges took control and I surrendered myself to the attentions of the beautiful man completely and with increasing recklessness.

I ignored not only my husband and home life. My other customers were put on the back burner, their requests for my special treats going unbidden as I spent more and more time in the arms of my lover. Long, pleasure-filled days replaced the usual hours I had spent in my kitchen producing my wares, and soon my nights were consumed with keeping up with the beautiful man’s increasingly unreasonable demands for both my body and my baking. What once was pleasure became a chore, and once again I found myself caught in a vicious cycle of fulfilling the expectations of another without regard for myself.

Something had to give. My initial attraction to the beautiful man was tainted with my growing desperation and desire for a day to myself - a day like those of my youth, when nothing was expected of me and I was free to do as I pleased. I determined the only way out was to cut all ties with the beautiful man, confess all to my husband and try to get back to some semblance of a “normal” life.

Unfortunately for me, the beautiful man had other ideas. He had grown as dependent on me as I once was on him and was not willing to give me up for love nor money. Despite my pleas for a stop to our affair, his demands became even more oppressive and my despair grew. Dark thoughts entered my mind as the avenues of escape seemed to narrow to only a few choices. Choices I would never have considered before my dalliance with the beautiful man, but, having plunged into a world of sin and deception, I was open to the most despicable solution of all: murder.

It had to be carefully planned and executed, since I had no desire to end up in a women’s prison making license plates for the rest of my life. Could I somehow make it look as if the beautiful man had a fatal accident, unconnected to me? I knew nothing about cutting brake lines on his car or doing any of the things I had seen on Dateline, although they provided plenty of ideas. It amazed me how many people carried out various nefarious plots to get rid of those they once swore to love forever. Once again, my nature led me to think if it could be done by other people, I could sure as hell do it too. I’d traveled far from the straight and narrow and the only was back that I could see led me through dark and twisted territory.

The beautiful man seemed oblivious to my growing discontent, more concerned with the culinary delights I continued to lavish upon him. His desire for my baked goods slowly outpaced his desire for my company, and although he ate prodigious amounts of my sweet, fattening creations, his body remained inexplicably perfect. The solution to my dilemma snuck into my consciousness like a thief. Stealing away the last vestiges of my moral compass, the escape plan I had been looking for became obvious and inevitable.

If the beautiful man wanted to eat his way into oblivion, so be it. Slow poison occurred to me, but I feared it would occur to the police as well. There had to be another way. How could I make the beautiful man’s excessive appetites appear to be the culprit if he were to meet with an untimely end? No, my escape plan had to be more subtle than that. The trap I was in squeezed me tighter and tighter until one day, in growing desperation, I had a sudden realization that the beautiful man was not without secrets of his own.

His continued physical perfection baffled me - the man ate 15,000 calories a day and never gained an ounce! His only physical activity consisted of trips back and forth to the kitchen, and our lovemaking had sputtered to a halt.

Despite his enormous appetite and a diet consisting primarily of sweets, his physique remained flawless. The idea that the beautiful man had resources allowing him to remain ever thus came upon me slowly. As my mind opened to the possibility that there was something otherworldly going on, I began to notice clues previously hidden from me by my unfettered desire. I had sensed a shadowy presesence at times when we were together, and now that I allowed myself to see the truth, the presence became solid and real before my eyes.

A stunning woman appeared before me, and with knowing eyes penetrated my mind to access my most secret thoughts. “What are you doing here, child?” She asked kindly. “Looking for a way out? I have solutions to all of your problems.”

My mind reeled at the implications of the strange woman’s offer of help. I knew enough that I knew there were no free rides. I had lost my freedom, my self-respect and (almost) my marriage and the cost to regain these precious things would not be cheap.

I was lost in a maelstrom of fear and despair when the woman spoke again, “No need for worry, child. He who started the cycle will be the one to pay the price when the bond is broken.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was I really being offered a “get out of jail free” card without a penalty to pay? Would my lover pay the price? Considering the latter possibility, I found I just didn’t care. I was worn to a nub. All I wanted was a nap and a massage that didn’t turn into sex.

I looked the woman straight in the eyes, trying to gauge whether it was safe to allow her in to my life. I saw centuries of experience and knowledge of the ways of both men and women reflected in her gaze. She seemed to understand my situation and I felt a kinship with this kind creature who had come to my rescue.

“Name your price,” I managed to squeak out with a strangled voice, still not quite believing my good fortune. “ I’ll pay whatever it is.”

The woman laughed, and her laugh made a sound like a bell choir in perfect harmony. “No, child, as I said, he who casts the spell pays the price when its power is broken. You’ve been caught in a chain not of your own making, and the price for the way out is free. Well, almost. Once you’ve recovered from your ordeal there may be something you can do for me someday.”

Relief now meant more to me than any concern about whatever the “something” might be the woman had in mind for any future payment I may be called upon to make.

“Do your worst,” I declared, still exhibiting the thin veneeer of bravado I carried with me everywhere. One blinding moment later, I was back in my own kitchen. There was not a baking utensil in sight and the house was clean and free of its coating of flour. I could hear the TV blaring as my sweet husband relaxed in his recliner. Our two cats snoozed contentedly on their various perches and my home was once again a warm sanctuary from the crazy world outside my door.

I had dipped not only my toe, but submerged my entire self in life outside the lines, and found it to be wanting. “There’s no place like home,” I murmured softly to myself as feelings of relief and gratitude flooded through me.

The following days and weeks passed peacefully and I never saw the beautiful man again. The whole episode had started to seem like an ephemeral dream when one day I stumbled across the obituaries in the local paper. Shocked, I saw the beautiful man’s face staring out at me with an accompanying obit next to his photo. Local police were investigating, but early indications were that the beautiful man had starved to death with nothing left in his larder except crumbs of long stale cake. There were no indications of any other foods but the paltry remains of that which I had provided myself. The neighbors reported seeeing nothing but bakery truck deliveries to the man’s house, and my heart sank when I realized the beautiful man was trying to fill the void that I had so suddenly created with my escape.

I wondered afresh what price I would ultimately pay for my misdeeds, but quickly put the thought out of my mind. Like a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara, I determined that any worries could be put off until tomorrow - a day that never comes. I had just about convinced myself that I could pick up my life and move on when my husband called to me from the other room.

“Hey honey?” He yelled. “I’m starved! How about a slice of that special chocolate cake you’re always baking for your customers?”

I froze in place. I knew now my fate. I had traded one trap for another. There was no way out.

“Sure, sweetie. Just have to run to the store and get a few things.”

“Hurry back,” my husband urged. “For some reason, I’m downright ravenous!”

I got in the car and turned on the ignition. The way out was now clear and inevitable. I had dabbled in the dark arts, no matter how unwittingly, and the cost had come due. With grim determation, I drove to the highest peak I could find, not stopping at the edge of the cliff, but sailing over the edge into the bright blue sky.

And just like that, I was free. As my spirit left my body I went to meet my maker with contrition in my heart and hope for yet another chance. ‘Granted,” judged my creator, and suddenly I was back among the living. Everything seemed new but also familiar and I vowed to make this time count.

I can only wonder what I’ll make of myself this time around the wheel.