102. Interview with Catherine D’Amico: Part 16

26 June 2011

– No, didn’t see him once. And after two days, I was pretty pissed.

– I mean, it was wrong to tell him how I did, but I didn’t think it was worth him just disappearing like that.

– So I convinced myself that I was done. Showed up to work those two days looking half-dead, told my friends about everything, soaked up their responses, really had myself convinced Tony was, like, the Antichrist.

– Told myself, no more. I. Am. Done. I’d rather raise my baby alone than be with his or her psychotic, unreliable father.

– But it was all bullshit. The whole time I was telling myself and my friends all this, the only thing I wanted was for Tony to show up at my apartment door.

– I was worried about him. I hadn’t realized until then that I’d felt like his protector all this time. Knowing he was out there, wandering around aimlessly, it made me sick to my stomach. I just wanted him to come back to me, to safety.

– But he didn’t, and I cried about it and after the anger faded a little, I pretty much cooped myself up in my apartment until the night of his showing. I would’ve stayed in that night too, actually, if I wasn’t such a mess over him. I even told myself—when I did decide to go—that I was only doing it to help out my aunt. But I wasn’t. I hoped that Tony would show up, wished that he would.

– I waited around that whole night, watching the people fill up the main room and look at Tony and the other artist’s pieces. Watched them get restless late in the evening when Tony’s part of the presentation was delayed because he hadn’t showed yet.

– My aunt, high strung as she is, handled it pretty well. Considering. She hissed at me a couple of times, told me if Tony didn’t show she’d make sure nobody ever saw so much as a stick figure drawing of his ever again.

– I stayed in the back, away from the crowd, watching and waiting.

– Then? He just showed up.

– I was standing there upset, all alone. Then I felt this brush of air and looked over and there he was. Standing next to me and staring at the crowd as if he’d been there the whole time. I was so shocked I couldn’t speak, so I just stared at him. He looked beautiful too, I remember. And, I mean, I was so relieved I couldn’t even be pissed. Then he turned to me, looked me in my eyes and brushed my cheek—God [Cathy pauses for a moment, her eyes welling up. She sniffs and starts picking at her nails]

– He looked at me and… he looked at me and then looked at my stomach and said…”take care of him.”

– Those exact four words. Then he walked into the main room.

– And, I mean, the way he said that, it hurt. A lot. Me, I thought he’d basically just told me he wouldn’t be there to help me raise our baby. That he didn’t want to, actually, and therefore he wouldn’t. That he’d given up on me and us and was going off to bigger and better things with this Les Palmer bit and his paintings and all that. Travel the world and revel in success and—I got all of that out of just those four words.

– I didn’t want to be there anymore after that, so I left and went back to my apartment. If I had known that was the last time I’d see him alive, I might have stuck around a little longer. Or not. No way to know for sure, though, is there?

– That’s the funny thing about death. [Cathy shakes her head and sniffs] When it comes to that, there is no retrospect.

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