Serendipity

SERENDIPITY

(Based on true events)

I wanted excitement. I craved traveling. I wanted something to happen—anything—that would not make me feel like I was a drone from the movie Star Wars. I wanted change because I had chosen to be a housewife on my own will, and now that I had had a few years of experience on my shoulders, I wanted out. Except—there was no way out. None that I could think of that would not involve swearing, chaos, lawyers and documents.

I lived in Athens, Greece at the time with my husband and my two young children. I was thirty years old, and had superbly created a life for myself that came out of nowhere. I was married to a to a handsome narcissist sports-watching, beer-guzzling husband, with two kids and daily house-wifey chores. My life was so predictable, that if the moon were blown-up by some extraterrestrial super-bomb, my routine would not have flinched.

I did mom-chores—I did laundry, I mopped, I changed sheets, I cooked. I went grocery shopping in sweats. I had dinner ready when my then husband, Daniel came home from a long day at work. I read the kids bedtime stories. I loaded the dishwasher. I watched my husband watch soccer on TV, then I disappeared into my own little word—that of drinking a bit more chardonnay than the usual, which was another cliché addition to the meaning of suburban housewife. If someone Googled the term, I’d be there as a perfect example: Chloe Price—she is all you need to know about housewives in parochial Greek apartments.

On March 17th, 2007, something finally happened.

I pushed my shopping cart along the aisles of our neighborhood supermarket, when I bumped into an old ex. Boy, was I surprised—I had been seventeen when we’d first met. He was blonde, blue-eyed, and we had had a thunderous summer fling. Years re-winded, and my inner movie landed on July 30th, 1994. He’d been my first boyfriend. And he was right in front of me, on that present day in March, 2007.

“Oh my Goodness, Chloe! I can’t believe it! it’s been eons!” he said, holding a carton of full fat milk.

Should I hug him? No. Not appropriate.

“Tyler—wow. It’s been what, twelve years?” I said, feeling my cheeks burn. I was wearing sweats, and my ripped Mykonos is for Lovers tee-shirt. Fate had a hell of a sense of humor.

“Thirteen actually,” he said, placing the milk carton in his rather empty cart. Mine was filled to the brim.

“So what’s up with you? Are you in Athens to see your parents?” he asked.

“No, I live here now,” I said.

You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not,” I said smiling.

“I live here too!” he said, his voice rising a notch. “What are the odds! Wow! I mean wow! Do you live here, as in this area?” he asked, eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“Yeah, on Florinis Street, right across the stadium,” I said.

“You’re kidding,” he said again.

“No, I’m not,” I said once more thinking there must be something inanely wrong with us.

“Guess where I live?” He asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he added.

“On Florinis Street too! I’m on number 57, first floor! Oh. My. God. And we haven’t bumped into each other all this time?” He asked. “I was married for five years, and thankfully got a divorce. I’m finally free and single!” He beamed.

His smile was radiant. He’d aged a bit, but for the better. He’d turned into quite a looker.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What for?” he asked, brows arched.

“Your divorce,” I said.

He laughed. Oh, come on Chloe. I’m a happy man! She was a super control freak. But enough about me. You haven’t changed a bit—still seventeen!” His teeth were so white, they were iridescent.

I blushed. As always.

“Well I’m certainly not seventeen. I have two little boys and I’m married.” I said, my voice barely audible, as if I wished the sentence to be a lie.

“Oh how nice! So, you married Greek man. There’s another coincidence—I married a Greek woman. And look how well that turned out!” Then he burst out laughing.

Was he drunk?

He took a flip-phone from his back pocket and handed it to me.

“Here, write down your number and we can catch up on the good-old-summer-of- ‘94 days. You’re even wearing that tee-shirt I got you! Jeez. What insane happenstance!”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” I said, blushing. I don’t get rosy cheeks because I’m cute—I get rosy cheeks because I have an embarrassing condition called rosacea, which in a few words, means I blush a lot.

I felt excited. I felt giddy. I felt that something had just entered my dull life for a purpose. I mean honestly, what are the damn odds? If this were a novel, it would be rejected in a second. Too convenient, I’d get from the editor. Yes. Convenient. How convenient was having a childhood friend two apartments away from mine?

I had no friends in Athens. None. Zero. Nada. I just had a mom and a nagging sister.

And I don’t make friends easily. I’m a loner. But—Tyler from Mykonos? Gosh, I was flipping cartwheels in my head. This was perfect! We could talk about the past, reminisce, play old nineties tunes, get drunk on Beck’s beer and look at old photos. I craved bonding with someone so much, I had become desperate.

In the last seven years, my voice was barely used. Daniel had been so nice and comforting as an idea—he’d protect me, provide for me, I’d have his kids—and Bali had been dreamy. But after the first year, it all slid downwards. Daniel and I had nothing in common anymore. And the only parties we went to, were family gatherings. My family is dysfunctional. Pair it with Daniel’s conservative one—and there you have it. No words needed.

I got a text that first night. I texted back. I giggled like a school girl. My pink flip-phone hadn’t seen this much action since my mother broke her leg a year ago. Ping! Ping! Ping! Daniel was snoring in front of the news. And I was playing flirty-flirt games with my past.

Him: You remember that time when we jumped off the cliff in Santorini

Me: What about the time you got drunk and tried to fly? Primitive emoji’s.

Laughter.

Him: Or what about Christo’s party? I punched that dude because he stared at you all night.

Me: You were such a hero. And you were such a tease. Laughter. I miss being young. I miss having fun. I feel old and jaded.

Him: You’re not jaded, you’re just not using your energy on things you want.

And there it was.

That line I’ll never forget. I remember it word for word; I’m misplacing my energy. I’m misplacing my energy. I’m not happy. I’m not doing what I want. I’m not jaded. I’m not doing what I want. There it was—I finally saw what was missing in my life—I simply needed a new one.

That flirt-fest with Tyler was exactly what I needed to wake me up from my internal hibernation.

I went to his apartment two days after we met at the supermarket. It had been noon. Husband at work, kids at school, dinner already cooked. We kissed. We drank beer. We reminisced. He wanted more. He took off his shirt. His abs were perfectly chiseled, even at thirty-two.

And then I panicked. Was I going to become another statistical cliché? I could just see it pop up on the eight o’clock news:

Yet another bored housewife cheats on husband while he’s at work.

I couldn’t get it out of my head.

“Hey, Clo…it’s me, remember? I’ve known you forever. I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. We can just hang out, I promise,” he said, desperation oozing from his words.

“Why are you leaving? I thought we were having a blast!” He said, half-naked.

I was disgusted at myself. And I just noticed he had the ugliest feet I’d ever seen. I threw on my jacket and grabbed my keys.

“I can’t do this. You’re right though, I’m not using my energy for what I want. So, thank you for pointing that out. I’ll always be your friend. I just can’t cheat on Daniel. I’m not a cheater.”

Oh, but I was. What I had just done was scandalous. But it woke me up from my perpetual daze—I needed to use my energy on the right things instead of the wrong ones. Whatever I’d been doing until now—had been causing me more sadness and boredom than I can describe. I hadn’t been painting in years, I had left my passion for writing for the dumpster. I didn’t express myself as I used, and my creativity had gone to hell. I need it back—so much.

I would confront Daniel and end things. I needed to be alone and start fresh. Move anywhere that would give me a new outlook on life, leave the past behind and start anew. I was a creative young mother—my life could not be over at thirty-two—it was too depressing to think. I wasn’t in love anymore. Love—had been convenient. But now I owed it to my current husband and myself to admit that things were getting stale, and I needed to move on. It was best for the both of us. I needed to be alone. For many reasons

I filed for divorce three weeks later.

I moved to another country, and I’m still here living my fresh start. And I can’t say that it sucks! It’s wonderful thing to be impressed by what life hold ahead –and just cease the opportunities given to you.

*note: All names have been change except for mine.