Homeward Bound

While Sam prepared to depart for the airport with Danielle, it soon became clear that those still at the party—including the bride, her mother and her fiancé—had all but forgotten that I, too, needed a ride. Upon reminding them, an emotional storm began brewing. Quiet conversations were held, which I was clearly not invited to be part of. Danielle, who moments ago had been laughing hysterically, was quiet, gloomy and depressed. Finally, it was announced that Sam would be riding with Danielle’s fiancé and I would go with Danielle—past my house to her house. I would also be driving.

It seemed Danielle, who had just spent the entire day being the center of attention, was suffering from a random but serious anxiety attack. She claimed she was physically incapable of driving and needed me to drive her straight home. From there, her fiancé was going to pick me up and take me to my place in time to have dinner with my family. The situation was odd, but I went along with it. After all, Danielle and Jon lived just minutes from the airport. He’d be able to drop Sam off and pick me up shortly thereafter.

We all said our goodbyes and took off. By the time we arrived at her place, Danielle seemed to be back to her old self—cheery and chatty. We carried food and gifts up to her apartment, chatted and putzed around on the computer a little, checking our e-mail. Forty minutes later, when Jon still hadn’t arrived, we knew something was wrong. Danielle placed a call to him, only to find out he had gone straight from the airport to his gym and wasn’t planning on being home for another two hours. Danielle reminded him that I, too, needed a ride, but Jon stuck to his guns. He wouldn’t be home until 7 that night, which means I wouldn’t get home until after 8 p.m.

Suddenly, I felt like a trapped animal. On a Sunday evening, restaurants that were open weren’t going to stay open much later than 9. I needed to get home. My family—including my seven-year-old niece—was waiting. I looked at Danielle who looked back at me. Certainly, after the fab day I had planed, she could at least drive me to a metro station; it was only 10 minutes away, and even then, I’d still be looking at an hour-long ride. But, like her fiancé, Danielle refused to budge, claiming she was still suffering from anxiety and simply could not drive. Her advice? I should cab it home.

My spirits didn’t just drop—they crashed. I was living a nightmare. An hour’s cab ride was easily going to cost $80—money that I didn’t have. How much worse could it get? I had devoted so much time, effort, and money planning and preparing for this party, dedicating myself fully to my friend and her happiness. Yet, when I needed a ride home, it was refused to me. I was utterly and completely crushed.

I had no alternative but to sit it out and wait. I called my partner to let him know what was going on. An hour and a half after making that phone call, at 8:15, I walked through the door to my apartment emotionally drained and defeated.