Nina

Nina stared at the pieces of broken glass on the floor. The vacuum cleaner chord behind her had just pulled a vase off the coffee table a few seconds earlier. As she collected the pieces into the waste basket Nina’s eyes widened with surprise and comprehension. The pattern was different. The vase she got for her twenty-fifth birthday depicted roses, the pieces in her hands looked like tulips. The shape and texture was the same, and it stood at the same place as before, but it was not the same piece.

In her attempt to put the past behind her and stay as busy as possible, Nina had little time to clean up her house, let alone to admire it. She frequently had laundry on the living room couch for days before storing it, or mail on the coffee table. She cooked less, and mostly slept or watched TV during the time she was home.

“Well, its good I broke that one”, thought Nina. “I don’t need something that means nothing to me. How stupid of me not to notice it before. When exactly did he change it? How long ago did that heartless “Goy” break this vase? Probably before he stopped to care whether I notice”. Nina vacuumed the floor, taking the time to look at her surroundings. Here is my poor balalaika with torn strings, here is my miserable bedroom door, with a fist smashed in near the door-knob, and here is the new coffee table, which came after he broke the old one in its place. Here are the pictures of my bubby and zeida that replaced the ones of my wedding, There is our family Hanukia on the mantle above the fireplace; it’s back to where it used to be, before the trophy winning fish so proudly displayed by her ex.

As Nina moved she saw more things to fix, replace or restore. Some were minor and needed time; she could do that next Sunday. Some needed a man’s touch, and she had nobody to ask, and some were serious and needed money she didn’t have.

Today was the first time that Nina cleaned up without either breaking down, or rushing to make the house suitable for stoppers by. The first months she was throwing out all possible reminders of her ex. Pictures of the dating period and the wedding, car repair tools, and “toys for grown up boys”. She almost took revenge on stray articles of clothing and toiletries that he did not take with him. Destroying his magazines and catalogues, she returned the space in her small house to the way it used to be before the two year marriage.

Nina took pleasure in taking an entire walk-in closet for herself and moving the king sized bed to the wall, to allow space for exercise equipment, previously shoved under the bed. The workouts stopped when her ex hit his head on her Total Gym, while rolling out of bed, so drunk, he didn’t notice. Now that the 6’4 giant was not there, Nina was returning to her routine. The broken family heirlooms, like the torn-stringed Balalaika, however, remained prominently displayed as the grounding reminder of recent past.

Even though it ended badly, Nina’s dreams were often rosy -- they replayed the good times like picnics on the beach, restaurant dates or tennis games. In reality those days were long gone, they were replaced by a pattern of heated arguments, violent behavior, and groveling pleas for forgiveness with empty promises. Nina gave in to his “puppy face” routine so many times, that she feared it more then violence.
The material and tangible reminders were there to make sure she stayed practical and doesn’t give in to her feelings as she did before. The first week her husband was out of the house, when his presence was still in the air, Nina felt him almost like an amputee would feel a lost limb. The absence of a man in her bed seemed so unnatural, that she questioned her decision to divorce him. On the nights when the extra long king sized bed seemed to swallow Nina into the abyss, and she woke up in tears she needed those relics very much. When she had her “rated X dreams,” as she called them, she resorted to her most powerful piece of evidence.

A little box under her bed contained her once favorite blouse. Among the torn off buttons in the box, some had pieces of thread still in them and one was broken in half. In addition to holes and tears, the blouse also displayed auto oiled finger prints accenting the breasts. The blouse marked an anniversary of the day the ex hurt Nina in bed.

He found her at the kitchen table, crying over the stack of bills. Neither her attempts at serious conversation about finances, nor her pleas about the dying relationship made any impact on him. He simply dragged her to the bedroom, and stifled her cries with forceful, demanding kisses that resembled consumption a lot more than affectionate prelude to love making. Mindless lust, and animal instinct had torn off Nina’s blouse, stripped her jeans, and entered her with no consideration. Some of his movements were very familiar to her, and since she was still very attracted to him, she did not “scream murder” just for the sake of a torn blouse. Later as the man ruled ruthlessly and reined over her with wild content causing her pain, he began to laugh hysterically. His amusement was caused by her sandals. Nina’s small feet were still wearing strapped sandals when he was done, and it was hilarious to him, that she did not manage to take them off in bed.

For the past six months looking at the blouse made Nina lose the rosy glasses. The usual wallowing in self-pity was typically followed by a wave of resentment and contempt for her X, which gave her strength to get back to her life before the marriage.

On the opposite side of the house, Nina’s drawing table was back in her study. In her college years, Nina loved to draw children’s cartoons, and she slowly returned to her hobby with more and more confidence. Art that nobody ever admired was not a priority in her married life. Her hobbies, interests, and friends almost disappeared from her life in the past three years. Now she considered making her work public.

After the separation, a new adult character slowly emerged in her sketch book. “Katy” was a woman with average build, smart pretty eyes, and conservative wardrobe. She was an accountant whose dead beat husband couldn’t keep a job, had no long-term goals, and got violent when drunk on the weekend. He put her down, laughed at her friends, and alienated her family. At night Katy and Pete had Champaign in bed and played X-rated games. She turned into a “nymphet”, and Pete into a prince. The tougher war went on and on, as Katy slowly repressed the accountant persona and transformed into a day time “nymphet” with the will and grace to survive on her own. Pete meanwhile slowly lost all of his noble qualities, and turned into a hillbilly car mechanic, with substance abuse problems, and trouble with the law. The last page of the sketch book had Katy surrounded by the Fortune 500 CEOs as Pete went to jail for his many sins.

Aside from being therapeutic, this artistic autobiography was actually quite good. A graphic artist with a few published web sites, whom she met at the National Council of Jewish Woman last month, loved her work. Nina connected with Abby on many levels, and found a new breath of creativity that had not been there in her teens or twenties. Abby also helped Nina to return to her Jewish roots, and return to her family. Nina visited her mother, her uncles, aunts and cousins and forgotten friends. She attended Jewish hjolliday reunions so inherent to her. She became an active member of the community and found new friends among women who managed work and family, and exhibited a definite sense of identity.

Even though Nina’s grandparents grew up orthodox they modernized their lifestyle to include traditional Jewish meals made from non-kosher ingredients. At the time Nina was growing up the house was always full of “Mishpocha” including distant cousins and friends of a friend, or brilliant thinkers, whom “Zeide” could spot a mile away.

“Chavele, please prepare some tea”- he would storm in. “I met this man, he’s a Goy, but he is a mench. The man has this wonderfully bright idea on extra-terrestrial civilizations, and how to find them.” Bubby of course was never really prepared for those invitations, but she always managed to feed and entertain the guests nonetheless.

“He is a Goy, but he is a mench” the phrase rang in Nina’s ears now, that zeide was no longer there to give life lessons in the form of a “mahnse”. That was always the criteria for him - a mench. She certainly knew plenty of them. Good if not righteous people of all faiths, skin tones, and back- grounds were always around Nina, and she treated them the same way her grandmother did. Did that make her too trusting? Did that make her believe that everyone is “a mench”? And did the fact that her x was a piece of “drek” mean that “goy” is never really a “mench”?

“That cannot possibly be true,” thought Nina, “I refuse to label people, because of my own mistakes. I have many good friends who are not Jewish, and I know some Jews who are far from righteousness.”

Nina turned off the vacuum cleaner and put it away. On her way to her bed-room she saw herself in a hallway mirror. Creating Katy had improved Nina’s appearance and demeanor, and gave her new confidence. She had lost the weight previously gained by cooking for the giant, updated her wardrobe to include something more daring then her norm, and cut her hair in a new style. A curvy, but fit petite woman with big Eastern eyes and curly dark hair stood in front of her in sports shorts and a tank top.

“Shalom, Katy, Ma ni shma?” Nina giggled; I will look like my cartoon persona if I don’t slip up. But she is not me - she is probably a gentile, too. Were there ever any Jewish women in the Comics? And then again, why not? Even if mine is the first, still, Why Not?!!
Nina walked into her bedroom, and took out the shoe box from under the bed. Looking at the torn blouse and the broken buttons did not bring any memories, and did not cause any emotions. It was just a box with damaged piece of clothing, it smelled of machine oil and dust. “This is no longer my size,” smiled Nina. She simply walked to the waist bin outside and threw it in the garbage where it belonged.

05.2006