Wildflower was one of those apartment complexes that had either been a slum two years ago, or was going to be a slum in two years. For the most part. It was okay living. We didn't have a roach problem, and the only pest we had to deal with (besides each other) was Byron our upstairs neighbor.
Byron had moved from California and was having a real tough time fitting in with his human surroundings. He had a really nifty car though--matte black with a seven foot antenna and warning stickers. I pitied the man, but I envied the car.
I'm not saying life with Cris was all bad, but the shit outweighed the gold on this one. One of our happiest moments was when the lease application went through and we spent the evening deciding what to do with the apartment. Sitting on the floor, scratching away at a piece of paper, grinning and laughing, I said, "Aren’t we happy and stupid?"
"No," he smiled, "We’re just preoccupied."
We tried to keep ourselves preoccupied most of the time. Sometimes this was done by drinking a lot. I remember, after drinking a bottle of beer in five minutes, I had asked Cris to drive. My car needed some work and Cris had difficullty driving it. "Jesus, woman! How do you drive this thing?"
It got to such a point he offered to "take care of rent this month, so you can get your car fixed." I said okay and got a money order ready for rent anyway. I knew he wouldn't do it.
If I hadn't lived with the man, things would have been much easier.
A month later Cris broke up with me. I have a feeling Dave's death had a lot to do with that. I told him I would move out, but he explained, "if you leave, the cat and I are in the street." I stayed out of pity and out of some sort of misdirected affection. I should have left when I did and I blame most of what happened afterwards on "living with recent ex-boyfriend".
Two weeks later, Cris went on a dinner date with DeAnne--the evil ex-girlfriend. Cris had never said anything nice about her except she could fuck like nobody's business. She lied to him, she fucked him around, she treated him like a slave, she was always drunk, they had huge fights, you name it. But, he went back to her, so there it is.
Russ and Caroline had a jewelry opening on Valentine's day and I was invited by the gallery owner. Cris was there with DeAnne and she had a long cigarette holder. It was very stylish and I own a similar device myself now, only mine is bone and hers was a pinkish-purplish plastic circa 1950's or so. Cris was playing purse and the holder was in his back pocket when he sat down in the bucket seats of her new car. Needless to say, the holder broke, so he stashed what he could under the seat. I found the broken end while doing laundry and asked about it. He told me that story and let me have the broken piece. I took an emery board to the jagged edge and cleaned it up.
Someone asked me about the holder once and I told them the story. "It's not the first thing I got second-hand from DeAnne that was broken."
A month later, Cris and DeAnne were having problems. He was catching the same shit as before, she was tired of dealing with damaged goods, and things didn't look good. I had accidentally erased one of her messages and Cris had left a nasty response to her not returning his phone calls.
Cris was supposed to go up to Colorado to visit his parents, but he slept through the flight. I had offered to drive him there, but he said DeAnne was going to do it. DeAnne called to say she couldn't, so he was going to take a taxi, but it was too late. I had listened to messages earlier and saved the message from DeAnne, Cris called her to bitch before listening to messages, she called back and everyone was bitching at everyone else. Cris broke up with her...
And that's when Cris quit his job.
I was a wreak at the time. My salary at the bookstore was $6 an hour, rent on the two bedroom apartment was $482 (if that gives you any idea what sort of neighborhood it was). Add to that the $68 a month for electricity, $50 to $60 a month for phone (and Cris' long distance), $50 a month for gas for the car, and $100 a month for car insurance. At $6 an hour with insurance and taxes deducted, I was barely taking home $800 a month. Do the math.
Eventually, we had no food in the kitchen but the dry cat food we'd bought three months ago. I can home one night to find a pizza in the fridge. I was livid. "So, Cris can't pay rent and he doesn't have a job, but he can order a pizza when there's no fucking food in the house?" I decided, fuck him, I'll eat it.
The pizza was covered in mushrooms. Now, for most people that's okay, but I am very, VERY allergic to mushrooms.
I threw the damn thing out.
Cris came home from the video arcade down the street and asked where his pizza was.
"It was covered in fungus," I explained. "It was inedible, so I threw it out."
And then there was the whole thing with my manager.
I finally couldn't take it anymore and told Cris I had to leave. I had been down to the leasing office of the Wildflower every month explaining to them my roommate was not paying rent and asking how I could get out. They handed me an "intent to vacate" form and told me if I would fill it out and get his signature, that would take my name off the lease. I took the form to Cris and he refused to sign it.
The reason he refused to sign it was his cat went missing. I guess she slipped out one night, I really don't remember. (I think it was while I was hugging my friend Mitch good-bye in the doorway--there's no other time it could have happened. The sad thing was, Mitch had been discussing holding a "get Mila out of a bad lease" charity concert.)
Cris was blaming me for the cat's disappearance, and I felt bad enough for her getting out. He accused me once of being stoned when it happened. Now, we could barely afford food, so there wasn't any pot in the house anyway. I asked him to stop shouting and no, I wasn't stoned and he screamed "Bullshit!" at me.
"You're right, Cris," I said. "I wasn't stoned. I was hopped up on heroin, and all my heroin buddies came over--even the ones who cut it with methadone--and we cooked your cat alive with ramen noodles."
He took a swing at me.
Later the cat turned back up and Cris told me he'd sign the form. He didn't.
I didn't know this when I was helping him move to his step-mother-to-be's house in Arlington. If I had, I might not have been so willing to pack my station wagon with his shit and drive out there. It did give me an opportunity to grab back a picture I had given him when we first met--the picture my husband has at his desk.
I signed a new lease with another apartment complex and moved my ass out of Wildflower. I took all the light bulbs, the shower curtain rod, and the ice trays from the freezer. It felt good to leave.
I called Cris in Arlington and asked about the form. He told me he'd signed it. A week later I tried to open a new bank account, but I was turned down because of "an outstanding balance". I discovered Cris had not signed my "intent to vacate form" and I now owed another month in rent and a break lease fine of $700. I went to the Wildflower leasing office to talk to them about it and gave them Cris' address in Arlington.
Then I called Cris and asked him why he hadn't signed the form.
"But I did," he claimed.
"No you didn't. I was down there today and your signature isn't there."
"Well," his story changed. "It doesn't matter anyway. Neither of us live there anymore."
"I can't get a checking account because of this!" I balked.
"Well join the club," he responded.
Two weeks later I called at his bother's. I got the phone number off my long distance bill and I needed to talk to Cris.
"He's in Colorado," his brother told me.
I lay in bed and chanted "I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" over and over again. It was over. He had left me in a pile of debt and run away to his parent's basement in Arvada, Colorado. I would have screwed up credit, have an eviction on my record, my life seemed over. I felt like a perfectionist kindergartner who colors outside the lines and knows they'll never get into a good school.
Two days later I called the step-mother-to-be and Cris answered the phone. "Why did you have your bother tell me you were in Colorado?"
"I didn't want to talk to you."
"Well," I tried to stay calm. "This isn't one of those problems that goes away when you ignore it. I'm up to eyeballs in your debt..."
"It's your debt," he interrupted. "You signed the lease."
"Yeah, well, you signed it too. The only thing I did by myself was pay rent."
"You didn't have to leave, it's your own fault."
What response do you have to something like that? If I had stayed another four months, I probably would have spent the same amount of money as the break lease fine--and that would be for Cris' half alone. On the other hand, If I had stayed I would have killed myself. I really believe that. I would have killed myself or I would have killed him, but someone would be dead. I was going nuts living there.
"Whatever, fine. I'll deal with you later when I've had time to calm down and think about this."
Cris lived in Colorado for a year and when he came back, I was ready for him.
