Friends With A Prostitute

Chapter 5

"To be honest if I could do it again, I would probably study photography or just visual arts. I mean, I didn't hate accounting back in college, but I didn't love it either. There is really no place for me to create in there, and if I can't create, I feel like my soul is slowly dying." Cynthia put down her pizza and looked down pensively.

"You feel like you're a vessel here to serve others without getting the chance to do anything original yourself?" Stacy asked. She knew all too well how it felt to be a soulless body serving others.

"Yeah pretty much. I mean with accounting, all I did is learn what other people had to say about journaling money and then now I just have to remember it in the office. I'm just like a lifeless computer that you punch information into and it gives you that information back in a different order. I don't get to create anything myself. There's nothing coming from me. I don't get to give out anything original. I just spit out what they've stuffed in me."

"So why did you choose accounting then? You clearly don't love it." Stacy looked at Cynthia with her large, soft eyes showing concern and understanding.

"My parents were a little bit on the strict side. They didn't directly say that they weren't allowing me to study visual arts, but they made it very clear that I would be their biggest disappointment if I did anything that 'crazy.' Originally, they wanted me to just study medicine or engineering, but those felt even more dead to me than accounting. With accounting, at least I get to play with numbers and trick myself into thinking I'm creating. And I don't have to talk to too many people. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm not the most social person you'll find. Even in college, I kept to myself most of the time."

"You just didn't find your crowd," Stacy said. "I mean, if you're an art student having to spend time with the business geeks, no one can blame you if you don't relate."

"Maybe I could have loosened up a little bit. I feel like I wasted my college experience. Sometimes I even feel like I wasted my life in general. In college, all I did was worry about assignments and grades, while the others went to frat parties. And when I wasn't studying, I was working for minimum wage."

"Should I be honest?" Stacy put the glass that she had just sipped from on the table and looked up at Cynthia. "I've always wanted to go to college. Stop whoring around and be a proper kid like you. To me all that sounds like a dream come true."

"Really? I wish I didn't waste so much of my life trying to be a proper kid. Even before college, I didn't let myself do anything I wanted. I played piano and competitive chess. But that was only because my parents made it seem like that's the only way I could make them proud. Once I overheard my mom say she wished I played the piano as well as Mandy, her friend's kid. I was already trying my best at that point. Was kind of a bummer. What I really wanted was to spend my afternoons in my room, painting. I tried once, and my dad laughed in my face. 'You will never be the next Picasso.' That's actually what he told me. He never allowed me to watch TV or have friends over. I mean, he wouldn't directly tell me, 'No, you can't do that.' He would just say something that made it seem like only the evil kids watched TV or had friends at their house. You know what I mean?"

"Oh, indirect manipulation? I've had tons of that in my life. I know exactly what you mean," Stacy replied

"You know sometimes, I would wish that he would just tell me directly that he didn't want me to do something. Not make all those snarky comments. Sometimes I would be doing the most random thing, like eating some yogurt in the kitchen or something. And he would come around and say, 'Ms. Bonnie sits and eats all the time just like that. And she weighs 300 pounds. I pity her family for having to deal with her.' I think he hated me."

"Your dad and I would not get along. I can't stand men who think they can control women like that. I've had enough of that in my life. And being sneaky about it makes it just that much worse."

"I wish he didn't hate me. I feel like I tried my best to be a good child."

"No, it wasn't about you. It never is. Men like that are usually just insecure themselves. And they take it out on the kids. The worst part is that they make you feel like it's your fault. It wasn't your fault. He hated himself, and that's why he couldn't love you."

"I hope you're right," Cynthia said. "That would be a huge weight off my shoulders."

"Now what about this husband of yours? What's his deal about not letting you eat pizza?"

"It's not like he doesn't allow me. I just know that he... really doesn't like chubby women. He's showed me that several times. So, I just try to keep the pounds off as much as I can."

"Geez," Stacy raised her eyebrows, "Where did you meet him?"

"He was one of the clients at my work. I had to do some accounting for him, and we had some personal meetings."

"You love him?"

"I don't know... I think he just reminded me of what I was used to. He had that air of control about him."

"Like your dad?"

Cynthia shrugged, "I guess so."

"Does he love you?"

Again, Cynthia's face dropped. She was silent for a while. Then she blurted it all out, "I tried my best Stacy. I tried to be a good wife, but maybe I was just not good enough. I found lipstick on his shirt. I don't wear any."

"Damn him! That son-of-a-bitch!" Stacy shouted suddenly. A couple of the heads in the tables nearby turned to them. She waited for them to continue minding their own business then said, "Sorry. I just can't stand cheating husbands. The whole lot disgusts me. Did you confront him about it?"

"I can't Stacy. What if I'm overreacting?"

"No, you're not. He's cheating on you. You better start planning that divorce as soon as possible. You guys get to share everything when you split up?"

Cynthia sighed. "No, he made me sign a prenup."

"That mother effer! You know what? Where's your phone? Take my number. I want to see this bastard destroyed. I'm going to help you take him down." Cynthia handed Stacy her phone and watched her punch her number in.

She didn't say it but liked that she had someone on her side for once.

When she got her phone back and looked at the screen, she realized it was almost 3 o'clock. The kids had to be picked up. She had been with Stacy for over two hours. It felt like two minutes.

"Text me so I have your number too," Stacy said when they had paid the bill and walked out to the corner of the intersection.