For the Love of Pickle

The sweet sounds of Steven Tyler’s falsetto filled the car reminding her to 

dream on, 

dream on,

dream on… 

“Fuck you, Steven Tyler, you old lady-looking motherfucker,” Anna said as she changed the station to classical music. She dreamed plenty. Her dreams escaped out of every pore. Too many dreams. She’d live in them if she could. Yet despite the countless trips to therapy, the moronic gratitude journaling, and the consistent manifesting of the life that she wanted, nothing seemed to release her from the funk permanently sidled up next to her. 

Karen from the PTA had once told her she was a pessimist. Of course, her name was Karen. But in fact, Anna considered herself a realist who happened to use a great deal of sarcasm, making it difficult to differentiate between the two. But she had always thought that distinction important.

It was nuanced.

Today marked another day where being present and enjoying the moment had become side swiped by arguing children, a traveling husband, and a mountain of responsibilities. She would have you know that she loved those asshole children and that rarely home husband, she loved them so bloody much, come for them and she would take you out. 

Like, for real. 

But Anna had come to the end of her very short rope, the stifling heat made it impossible for her to think. She turned onto McNabb Avenue and the unforgiving sun glared off of the hood of her sedan, violent and blinding. As a creative she had to think, it was literally her job, but the summer sun had fried her brain beyond the norm, the project she had been working on had gone stagnant and she had cried in her closet last night after a colleague had said as much. 

Anna drove by a school playground, swings empty and the metal slide blistering in the sun. She had still been in that closet when her littlest demon came running in to ask about the park, completely naked, well, not entirely…He wore polar bear grippy socks on his hands like mittens. He wanted to go to the park. A very specific park. One with “stairs.” Now, he knew exactly what this meant, but to her, it could’ve been one of a dozen in the area. Wiping her eyes, she did her best to gentle parent the situation. She calmly asked him to use his kind voice while her oldest spawn stared into the iPad watching some weird YouTuber play an even weirder horror video game. At least in that, he stayed quiet and that’s all she really wanted, just for a moment, some quiet.

“You!” The tiny one screamed. “I’m going to the stairs playground now.” 

“I’m sorry, bug, but we are not going to the playground now. It’s late.”

“We are!!!!!”

 Anna wanted to punch the person who invented gentle parenting in the face. She could still hear the door to his room slam shut as he put himself in time out and the urge to cry returned.

She passed an overpriced barre studio and its dark windows that blocked out the heat, where women who had their shit together were on their way to becoming their best selves. Work had piled up past her eyeballs, she hadn’t exercised in two weeks despite knowing it would clear her mind. Managing her ADHD and anxiety, unfortunately, went hand in hand with closing her move ring. 

Stupid move ring. 

Instagram told her she just needed to manage her time better. Then she too could exercise, do her work, clean her house, cook healthy meals, raise two happy children, be super sexy for her husband, navigate an Autism diagnosis for one kid, the other kid’s anxiety, her own anxiety… and do it wearing beige… 

All beige.

Only beige.

Everyone in social media approved beige regardless of how it clashed with their skin tone or their tendency to spill food on themselves.

But the trendy Instagram people in beige didn’t spill food, they likely didn’t even need food. They survived on clear acrylic storage containers and 600-dollar fake olive trees. Hell, they probably never even took a shit. Just farted out the newest Jo Malone scent. 

Anna didn’t hate the beige people, but she wasn’t jealous of them either… not exactly. She didn’t want to wear beige. She just wanted the sliver of a life where things went according to plan. Where things stayed on track and money was never tight. And kids never banged their heads against the walls because they couldn’t tell you what they wanted with words. Where things were simple and easy.

She knew those beige people didn’t have it simple or easy either, all just a part of the brand they were selling. Behind the Lightroom presets and Instagram filters they were stained, dirty, and their poop smelled like shit.

She pulled into the freshly paved parking lot of Courtside Lounge slightly unsure of how she’d gotten there. That feeling always unsettled her, what if there had been a crash? Who would take care of the demons if she had died? Who would love the little one with all their heart when he was at his hardest? Who would patiently reassure the older one that it WILL all be okay? 

The beat of her heart in her chest felt seismic like at any second the car would start to shake along with it. Her exhale slowed the vibrations, grounding her back to the earth. 

Anna stared into the parking lot. Today marked the day she would try something new, she hated trying new things not because they were hard but because what if she sucked? Hard work came naturally to her, she had come out of the womb with responsibility and hustle stamped onto her DNA, but the idea that others would think less of her was crippling.

It was 8:58 which meant it was now or never. She unfolded her Star Wars screen visor and turned off the car. 

Another breath.

“Fuck.” She grabbed her things, not forgetting her knee brace, then forced herself from the chilled car into the heat, like a hot wet blanket suffocating her.

She pulled the door open to the restaurant slash sports courts. Rich people were so strange. Madison at the check-in counter had far too much energy for pre-working hours and gleefully offered up a safety waiver.

Her knee brace tightly secured, she kept her head down waiting for the rest of her group. Anna wore all black, the color of her soul she liked to joke, but them’s the facts. Everyone on the courts wore bright colors, pinks, and blues, neon everything. Not a stitch of beige in sight. They all had on the same brand of hat, the kind that let their high ponytails fit out the top. And skirts, SO many tennis skirts, was she supposed to wear a skirt? Anna pulled at her black biker shorts trying to cover the hint of her tattoo that snuck out of the bottom of them. She pulled down her unmarked black baseball cap closer to her dark sunglasses and realized she looked like a Marvel character in disguise. 

In fact, maybe she could sneak out before anyone saw her. Send a text and feign illness. This was a post-covid world, no one wanted to get sick. She would be doing her civic duty. 

She started for the exit when she walked directly into her group of friends.

Shit.

The three of them stood there, in every shade of Lululemon pink, their ponytails high and their spirits higher. 

“You made it!! Ready to pickleball!?” 

My God, they were all so excited and chipper. Maybe playing this silly game surrounded by these colorful people would do something to change the mechanics of her brain. Maybe she could be excited and chipper too. 

Probably not, Anna thought, but she picked up the paddle and followed them onto the court.

Just going over the basics made Anna antsy. She had played softball as a kid, but that’s where her athleticism ran out. She was a hiker if nothing else, but hiking rarely required much hand-eye coordination. It would be nice to be hiking now, in the mountains, surrounded by million-year-old trees and a wintery breeze that required a beanie.

The ball came whizzing by her face. Fast.

Well, damn.

“Where’s your head at?” her friend called, “Return to the eternal present!” 

Yes, she had friends that said things like “the eternal present” but said unironically and with a passion most people would never find in their entire lives.

And they seemed happy…

In this eternal present. 

She took the ready stance they showed her and flipped the borrowed paddle in her hand. And with herculean effort, she quieted everything. 

No anxiety.

No budgets.

No autism.

No clients.

No empty feelings.

Anna let it all go and in the same breath, she gained something new, an awareness of all that could be if only she would silence the what-ifs.

This time she made contact with her paddle, the satisfying pop of the ball echoed across the court, she wanted to chase that sound, that feeling of connection. It was like her superpower had finally been unleashed, she had no need for a disguise. With renewed focus, she thought of only the silly neon ball. 

That night, it hurt to move, every muscle sore, but that good kind of sore. The kind of sore that reminded you what your body could do. The kids were yelling, but it didn’t bother her so much. It was strange how a kid’s off day would be blamed on lack of control over themselves, while a parent’s off day was blamed on lack of control over the situation, as if there was a difference. Things had gotten hard and she had let it temporarily ruin her.

She made spaghetti and dumped a jar of Rao’s into the pan, and watched the red sauce bubble. That had been her this morning, molecules heated beyond belief, exploding at the tiniest change in the temperature. She stirred the sauce and turned down the flame. 

The little one sat in only his underoos, the clothes he wore to ABA therapy that day scattered all over the house. 

“Mommy, can I have a hug?”

The tenderness in his voice was a direct hit. She remembered a time when they wondered if he would ever talk. How easy it was to forget the worries of the not-so-distant past? She put down the spoon and ran to him, he laughed then threw his arms around her, so tight, so grounding. The big one came walking in.

“The iPad died. Can I sit with you?”

She kicked the pile of Target toss pillows to the ground and he joined them on the couch. The little one readjusted his grip, gathering his big brother into a vise bear bug.

They’d fight again, maybe even five times before bedtime tonight. But in this moment she sat in her eternal present, holding joy in her hands.