UnDepressing Lainie

She moved in about a year ago, replacing the unit’s owners, a very young Mormon couple who kept to themselves for the most part, were overly chatty when we met in the foyer and who maintained at all times a level of apparent domestic bliss that I found oddly irritating at best and downright annoying at worst. I waited for two entire years and never once heard them argue. They were forever together, not even going to the gym separately, and if there was a single Sunday the smells of fresh-baked bread didn’t seep under their door, I missed it.

They left ‘holiday’ cards on my door (May Day is a holiday? The first day of summer is a holiday? Groundhog Day, are you kidding me?) and everyone else’s doors, thanking us for being ‘great neighbors’. It was creepy and for a long time I thought one or both must be running for an open slot on the HOA board but as it turned out they were just perpetually nice (either that or overly medicated on something they should have shared with their ‘great’ neighbors). Like everyone else in the building I became immune to them after a time and would have been happy to have them across the hall forever had it not been for their one irritating routine: The Sunday Missionaries.

Every Sunday they had the requisite two Mormon missionaries over for dinner (I’ve often wondered why there are always two, why you never see a missionary out peddling salvation solo. Begs the question, if a missionary preaches the Book of Mormon in the forest and no companion missionary is with him, is what he’s espousing any less ridiculous?). Which was fine. What wasn’t so fine was the half hour or so after dinner when they’d congregate outside their door (which is inconveniently located just outside mine), and take forever to say goodnight, goodbye, and let’s all just go home.

Inevitably, this long goodbye coincided with Basil’s required evening walk, and you can only postpone a dog so long. Although my best case scenario would be to wait until they were gone so I wouldn’t have to endure polite conversation and not so subtle efforts at conversion, it never happened. Basil always won out and I kid you not, in the two minutes it took me to lock my door behind us and the ten minutes they delayed me on the landing with idle inquiries such as where did I work, was I married, and had I read the Book of Mormon lately, I never wished more that my dog would for once not be long-suffering and just take her pee right there in the foyer. Preferably on someone’s shoes.

The couple moved out shortly after their wedding, purchasing a townhome two miles away and setting themselves up as landlords. For a short time a single guy moved in but he didn’t last. He seemed to be always home, so maybe his unemployment shortened his residency. The young couple may have been perpetually cheerful but two mortgages are one too many and I don’t think they were very understanding.

Lainie moved in over the course of a weekend when I wasn’t home much so I never saw her until after she’d settled in. We met for the first time when I came in from work one night. She was sitting on the front step, smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell phone, managing two different calls at the same time without so much as flicking an errant ash as she moved from call waiting to call waiting. That kind of multi-tasking, I admire. I waved a greeting and she put both calls on hold long enough to introduce herself, let me know she’d just moved in, and offer a smoke.

Given the kind of day I’d had, it was beyond tempting. I explained I’d quit and really wouldn’t want to have to quit again (I’d rather endure the agony of a root canal without novacaine) but thanks anyway, and the smell of smoke didn’t bother me so don’t worry about it if you leave the door to the stairs open (she had).

“Cool,” she observed, returning to her phone, then hesitating a moment to give me a truly sincere smile and ask if I was married.

“Divorced,” I said.

“Kids?”

“Animals. You?”

“Two. Every other week they live with me. Boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

Again: “Cool,” and then, as I went up the stairs, “we should hang out.”

I decided she had to be in her early thirties, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I liked her. She seemed to be a pretty genuine person and although I couldn’t really see myself ‘hanging out’ with her or anybody else in the building (although I had, more than once, accepted Amy and Everett’s invitation to play cards on a Saturday night), it had been nice of her to suggest. She’d definitely, I thought, be much nicer to have as a neighbor than her landlords had been. The cigarette alone had clued me in to that.

Lainie and I never officially ‘hung out’, but as time went on we did become pretty good friends and to be honest, we spend a lot of time together for two people who never officially make any plans to spend time together. If she’s sitting out on the step I’ll sit with her and just talk. I’ve met her kids, two really polite and nice pre-teen boys who live with her every other week. When I was on match.com she encouraged me not to give up after every bleak and disappointing dinner date, and I did the same for her. It’s not unusual for me to be sitting at home and she’ll text me, asking me to stop by for one reason or another, and if I get a package or something in the mail and I’m not home, she always takes it inside her place until I come back. When she’s going out ‘clubbing’ and needs jewelry, I’ve always got three or four pieces that will complete the outfit.

Through everything, Lainie’s been a bright spot. She’s funny and smart, and she has an odd sense of humor and in many ways we’re very much the same. The fact that we’re both Geminis may have something to do with this, but I’ve appreciated her from the day we first met and if there was ever anything I could do for her, I would.

Which is why lately, I’ve felt somewhat at a loss. For the last almost two weeks, Lainie has been in a state of depression brought about by her decision not to see Ben any longer. Ben was the (latest) love of her life, and Ben decided he couldn’t see Lainie any longer until he’d finished ‘processing’ his feelings for a previous relationship (see my earlier posts for my unequivocal opinion of what a man saying he’s still ‘processing’ is really saying). The poor kid is devastated.

The weekend it started, I was with Roy. She texted me a couple times, and when I went home for a change of clothes and saw how incredibly sad she really was, I felt like a terrible neighbor/friend for leaving her. She chain-smoked on the step and I recommended she spend the weekend at home, ignore Ben’s texts (which had been pretty much one right after the other. Apparently ‘processing’ his feelings required making sure every five minutes he still had Lainie’s attention), and do something to distract her mind. Watch movies.

“I don’t have cable,” she said, “and I don’t want to go to Blockbuster.”

So I set her up with my password and log-in to Netflix, and showed her how to watch the movies on her computer, which is conveniently in her living room and functions nicely as a television. Which was good because it gave her something to do, and also made her put down the smokes long enough to go inside and log onto her computer. We talked for a few more minutes, then I went home and was heading out the door when she texted me asking if I had quarters because she planned, while she was ignoring the phone and watching movies, to do laundry. On my way out I gave her ten bucks worth of quarters and as an afterthought, my most recent two issues of Oprah (I’m convinced Oprah cannot go to press without at least two mandatory articles advising against involvement in ‘toxic relationships’ and Ben just had to fall into that category).

I have to admit, I haven’t been home much lately, so I wasn’t sure what I’d find Monday night when I finally rolled in for longer than it took to change clothes. Lainie texted five minutes after I shut the door and I let her know I’d be home for the week. She asked me to come over and a few minutes later her oldest boy, eleven year old Andy, let me in.

It wasn’t pretty.

He had the TV on in the back bedroom and Lainie was slouched disconsolately in a chair in front of the computer, Match.com on the screen. Clearly, she’d been crying. Ben had been texting. She’d been looking on Match and there was ‘just nothing’, and ‘just nobody’, and she was tired of it all, anyway. I said a few things – not entirely helpful, I’m sure, and not entirely what I’d have wanted to hear-- things like, “It will get better,” “You deserve better,” and “blah blah blah” respectively, then asked Andy if he’d help me with walking Basil. From the look on his face and the readiness with which he accepted, he was overdue for getting out and eager to do anything other than watch TV while his mom cried.

I texted her yesterday and she said she was, ‘a little better’. I called her last night and she said she was ‘doing OK’ and had emailed someone who ‘seemed really nice’ on Match.com. I want to believe these are all positive signs but to be completely honest, I’m worried about her. I’m worried about her and I’m at a loss because I’ve never encountered a depression a few issues of Oprah, several mind-numbing days worth of movies, and maybe the refinishing of a piece of furniture couldn’t cure.

So I’m worried but I understand that Lainie is an adult and she’ll have to find her way out of this on her own. She’s already smart enough to know Ben isn’t the right choice for her but still semi-non-intelligent enough to convince herself from time to time and every ten minutes that he might: a)change, or b) be the right person anyway. This makes her human. She’ll figure it out. By my rough estimate last time I logged onto Netflix, she’s worked her way through over twenty romantic dramas and has moved on to comedies. This has to be a sign of recovery and I’m hoping it is.

In the interim I’ll be on stand-by with quarters, and a few more issues of Oprah.
It’s the least I can do for a friend.