Karen and Daren

Cold, dry, grey; it’s hard to say which was the most of these 3 on January 13^th—maybe the coldness, greyness, and dryness were all evenly distributed in massive quantities.

Karen and Daren are the only people intrepid enough to venture out and weather the elements in the name of physical and mental health—Daren didn’t have to say anything; he just stared into Karen’s eyes and she knew…

You’re right Daren; we have to get out of this house.

Karen has been retired for 16 months now—the last 5 months of her pregnancy were wrought with illness and complications, too many to effectively design and create jewelry. After Daren was born, she had a sit down with Chess to discuss numbers—Chess’s specialty.

Chess explained to her that she would be contributing more to their household, which was increasing by 50% in terms of personnel, by not going back to the jewelry world. He presented charts and figures on his iPad that he had likely had some intern draw up for him, illustrating that the income she generated from jewelry was comparable to the rate for a good nanny. He went on to show figures suggesting children who spend time with their biological mother may be better tempered and go on to be more productive human beings—although this conclusion had a small superscript cross and in Chess’s footnotes, he explains that more research is needed before this statement can be confirmed.

You’re right Daren; we should get some hot drinks for a cold day like this.

The idleness of a new mother is a strange brew. Ostensibly it’s probably less hours of work than that of a jeweler, but they are scattered, unpredictable, and grueling. The birth of Daren marked a definite departure from the regularity of her life up until that point. Karen valued 8 hour nights of sleep, quiet mornings, a steady regimen of yoga, and a Friday and Saturday full of jokes, mimosas, and stylish people… all of which Daren has taken from her.

The spotty sleep and lack of relaxing mud masks was definitely showing on Karen; her once smooth and light complexion had become splotchy; she stopped taking the time to exquisitely braid her hair into cool plays on French braids and buns and had resorted to ponytails, which highlighted all the wrong things about her slightly-wild natural curls. She had also been drinking a lot more coffee and hadn’t practiced yoga during motherhood—which compounded on each other to bring about anxiety. Daren was turning her into a twitchy, unhealthy, wretched woman.

Chess paid her less attention now than ever; they hadn’t slept together in 2 months. He was never warm or romantic, but at least he used to talk and sleep with her. Now the only time they talk are at semi-formal meetings his assistant arranges, which feel more like awkward roommate meetings than they do anything that resembles matrimonial conspiring. He always comes with charts, graphs, and literature to back any of his requests or grievances, but never prepares Karen for the meetings so she only has off the cuff improvisations to battle his well thought out arguments. This argumentative jazz used to be sufficient in maintaining balance, she was much wittier and more intelligent than Chess when it came to anything other than numbers. However, due to the aforementioned lack of regularity in her life, she was unable to combat Chess’s power points and intern-researched airings. Chess called the shots now.

Karen tells herself that Chess is just stressed and working a lot; that he still loves her. Daren often consoles her; he explains that it’s impossible that Chess is going to the meatpacking district every night and bringing some slutty 23 year old to some overpriced boutique hotel suite and doing to them all the things he used to do to her.

You’re right Daren; he loves me, he loves us, he would never do such a thing.

A generic shopping bag with smiley faces and an invitation for return business blows down the street like a tumble weed—accentuating the desolation of the yuppie Brooklyn neighborhood Chess and Karen moved to upon finding out about Daren. Karen envisioned spending her life in Manhattan, she loved their East Village apartment and the feeling of being in ‘the center of the universe,’ but Chess’s ‘cost per square foot’ argument compounded with the child’s ‘need for space’ argument were invincible.

Now it’s rows of sushi restaurants and coffee shops and clothing boutiques and organic markets. The gays here aren’t wild or flamboyant; the minorities have married white people and speak in standard Midwestern English. There are rarely car horns or cabs or rush hour delivery drivers. The coffee shops and bars are taken up with middle aged people in tweed and beards and Moncler jackets.

You’re right Daren; this isn’t the New York I know and love.

Karen decides against Tiger Coffee and opts for Vini Vedi Coffee another block down. She struggles through the heavy glass door with her stroller; no one helps her. She eeks her way through the 4 strollers already in the close-quarters coffee shop; once again, no one helps her. She feels the glare of the other mothers on her as she orders a latte with a double shot; she takes a deep breath to try and shake off the weight they are causing. The barista seems equally unwelcoming; Karen takes the coffee to go.

She exits the coffee shop with equal toil to the entrance. The hot drink is everything the day isn’t—hot, moist, and brown; all in comparable and massive quantities.

You’re right Daren; it’s the little things that keep me waking up in the morning.

She takes a sip to accentuate her agreement. She sees a mother with her 8 year-old son and thinks of her future with Daren; maybe it won’t be so bad. As they pass, the boy asks:

‘Mommy, why is she talking to a shopping cart?’