20. Tell a Story at a Moth Event [Theme: Home]
by marinashifrin
I was 16 when I tried to commit suicide. I remember standing on the edge of the roof of my family’s home, looking past my toes when my mom stepped out for a cigarette. She made eye contact with me, realized what I was trying to do and yelled:
“JUMP, MARINA!”
For Russians, the only thing worse than being dead is being alive. Later that night my dad tried to defend my mother, “Don’t get mad at Mama. She is just nervous about your college costs.”
That’s basically the dynamic of a Russian family; humor combined with tough love. Although we left the mother country, my parents kept up with many traditions including ridiculing your children and using alcohol to solve most issues. I hated it. Things remained tense until a few years after the “roof incident” and then everything changed. I became best friends with my parents, mainly because I moved away. I first moved to Missouri, then New York and eventually Taiwan.
It seemed like the further away I moved, the closer I became with my parents. I started talking to them everyday, sometimes twice a day and I started talking about them everyday. They became legends. People would request stories about Vladimir and Olga. They even got a celebrity couple name: Volga. Volga became a part of everything I did and do. They are my loves, they are my life.
A few months ago, I left Taiwan and decided to move to California. Volga suggested I spend Thanksgiving through New Year’s at home so I could decompress before my 19th move. I hadn’t lived in Chicago in eight years so I thought, “Why not.”
When I arrived home from Taiwan, I instantly realized something wasn’t right. Something was different. It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was; a stain on the kitchen ceiling. It wasn’t that big or bright, but it was definitely there. It was about two feet long, with unusually shaped circles bunched up together in the middle and spread out at the ends. (SEE PHOTO BELOW.) But it’s not the stain that was the problem, it was my parent’s incessant arguing about the stain that was the problem.
Vladimir began interrogating everyone at random hours of the day — you know, to catch us off guard so we’d be more likely to cave under the pressure. When no one admitted to causing the stain, he took manners into his own hands, trying to set up an experiment to recreate such a peculiar stain. Olga took a different approach. She first denied there was a stain and then said it was a leak. When Vladimir continued to investigate, Olga decided Vladimir was slowly spiraling into a senile sixty-year-old. And then they both stopped talking. They didn’t speak to each other for a week, then two, then three, then a month, then two months.
Last Thursday I finally snapped under the silence. I decided to use a little bit of the tough love that I was raised on. I screamed at Vladimir and Olga. I asked them how they could live like this? How they could do this to us? To each other? What happened to Volga? Finally, I asked, “How can you treat someone you love like this?”
To which Olga replied, “We don’t love each other anymore.”
Now, I’ve never been stabbed in the stomach 40 times, but I’ve been dumped and I’ve seen movies. What I felt in that moment was worse than being stabbed in the stomach a million times. I think. I decided the most logical thing to do was run away.
I think this is a good part of the story to stop for a moment and remind the reader that I am a twenty-fucking-five year-old woman. In the real world, you can’t “run away” when you’re past the age of 18 — that’s just called leaving. But I wasn’t in the real world, I was in a world without Volga.
I grabbed my purse, computer and sprinted past my parents who were now screaming at each other. I flew out our front door and was just about to round the corner of the garage when I crashed into a UPS man. I was so flustered and embarrassed that all I could think to say was, “Where do I sign?”
He looked at my tear-stricken face, my frazzled parents behind me and informed me that I had to be at least 21 to sign. Before I could get upset with him for thinking I was teenager, I remembered that I’d just “run away” from home. At this point, my parents began yelling at me in Russian “Марина! Куда ты идешь? Марина! Одень куртку!”
I signed for the package and just before the UPS man left he leaned in towards me and in a thick Russian accent said, “Marina, listen to your parents and put on a jacket.” It’s like some messed up KGB God thought to himself, “How can I make this situation more absurd? Oh, I know! I’ll send a Russian UPS guy to get involved in this family argument! Круто!” When I turned back to toss the packages towards my parents, I noticed that for the first time in months they’d stopped yelling at each other and were instead yelling at me.
There they were, huddled next to each other in front of our family home in the freezing weather yelling at me, together.
Thanks for sharing this story. It’s tender, and kind of raw, and darkly funny, and probably the best thing you have written, ever.
It’s so personal, that I think you kind of “reverted” to Russian while telling it. “She first denied there was a stain and then said it was leak.” What is missing there? The article before “leak.” Just like in Russian.
I’m highlighting it not out of copyedititis –although I do suffer from a severe case of it –, but just because I think it is revealing, a Jungian slip, if you may. (I hate Freud.)
Haha what a sweet way to say I was a doofus when it came to proof reading. I suck. I should be better. I think making an effort to improve my copyediting skills will be added to my resolutions. Thank you for the note!
That’s NOT what I was saying! I mentioned it because it actually *moved* me. I found it touching. And you should stop saying that you suck, because you don’t… 🙂
What a great idea! Unite them by defying them!
I can see this having positive implications in all sorts of divisive life situations…
Sports rivalries…
Political parties…
Religions…
Watch out world, I will unite you!
I like it. We should start a workshop on how to be an ass in the name of unity.
A really inspiring story which started with a suicidal teenager…
Hmmm… The fact that you are Russian makes me like you even more! That, and your resignation video! 🙂
You should answer them using a Greek word that means something like “relax, take it easy”, and that word is χαλαρά!
Cheers!
As soon as I figure out how to pronounce that, I will definitely yell it at my parents next time they start acting up.
Russian is very similar to Greek, the “χ” is pronounced like “к”, the “λ” is pronounced like “л”, the “ρ” is almost exactly like Russian “р” and the “α” is like the Russian “а”. The “ά” is just a stress mark, but is pronounced the same. I taught myself to read and write both Russian and Greek (mostly out of boredom) so hopefully that helps you 🙂
The pronunciation is pretty simple actually! “Halara” with just a heavier “h” like the “h” “have” has!
this is a great one marina
Thanks Mariam. Now go walk your dogs.
Helplessness, sadness, intrigue and unity … all in 909 words. Nicely done! 🙂
Thanks JD! Such a sweet note in 11 words too!
Yes, the pen is mightier than the sword! By the way, your Mizzou Tigers had us on the edge of our seats in Atlanta……an excellent team, and good luck in your bowl game – and welcome to the SEC! Marina, have a wonderfully creative and prosperous (and safe!) New Year and those wishes to your family as well!
JB
Saturday morning tears. I don’t even know what else to write here that hasn’t already been said (i.e., outstanding writing, please be my wife, etc.).
Haha, Alex. Don’t cry and don’t propose! You know I prefer twitter for proposals.
Truly enjoyed reading this, very touching!
…….MMMMM…… RESURRECTION !!!!!!
\
I wanted to jump off a roof but didn’t. Parents can really mess you up! Glad you have a sense of humour. It’s what get’s you through the crap. Kudos on your new job btw!!!
Okay…I’ll focus on two unconnected and irrelevant points: 1) What happened to the “10 things I promise to the internet” blogpost that drew me here in the first place? (I’m not too upset b/c it allowed me to read the above post which I had missed; 2) Any clue or evidence to what the stain actually is and how it got there? Unsure what the metal things are in the lower left (supports for track lighting?), but w/o knowing what is above the spot in the room above, I’m guessing it was something that shot up from below (mentos & diet coke experiment gone wrong? how adventurous are Volga? champagne? borscht on high heat?). One way to try to figure out would be to see if the pattern directly over the bar/metal thing is different, i.e. as if the bar had blocked something from below. If not, then your Olga is probably right (although I’m betting I’m losing any points I had with Vlad by saying that).
I’m always interested in Russian culture and I love the dark comedy of this, great job! 🙂
Ah, “dark” is my favorite color of comedy. Thanks for the compliment!
An amazing share – deeply honest, very raw, and I agree with commenter above, “darkly funny”. Really well written, well said.
It’s really hard to comment on this one. I am not sure if I should be all happy, complimenting you on your awesome writing or should I be really sad because of Волга…
Stay strong и одевай куртку!
Sasha,
Thanks for your comment (even if it was difficult to do so). Volga are doing well and still pretty annoyed that I am writing about the family so things are great! Thanks for commenting again. Oh, and for reading!
Marina
[…] 20. Tell a Story at a Moth Event [Theme: Home] […]
Marina,
This is such an epic post.
It’s taken me a few reads, and a few attempts at untying my tongue and venturing into the comments section, before I finally realized why it’s been much easier to gush about your writing in general– rather than this vignette, in particular– until now: In my own life and writing, I’m still afraid to tap the same vein of familial obligation and dependency that you masterfully bleed onto the page.
The fact that you became closer with your parents the further you moved away resonates so strongly with me, as does your playing the “marriage counselor” (to the point of being a martyr) in an attempt to repair that sacred SOMETHING that parents have no business breaking!
Really, you’re touching upon the rawest, most complicated emotions re: what it means to be both a child and an adult (all at the same time)– and you do it with such humor and grace and charm that it’s impossible not to want to hear more and more and more.
Thanks so much for the inspiration and the brave writing. Please know that I’m going to venture deeper into my own “comically dark stuff” thanks to your example.
Evan
[…] the link. (The whole thing is probably half as long as this […]
Family life can indeed be a treasure trove of experiences! I think you are making the best of it 🙂
Marina, I ran across your page while trying to cheer myself up by googling “office humor”.
Sure, your resignation was beyond genius, but as I perused your site, I discovered something more inspiring. You!
I love your free-spirited yet cynical humor, your honesty, and your tenacity. You are a girl with Moxie; with a capital “M”.
All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
Well im impressed at how much emotion went into this most people cant do that sort of thing when I go to the psyc for my PTSD I have a hard time talking about anything to just him haha hope you have a great week
Well done. I feel drawn to this for reasons you are uniquely aware. It’s hard to know what craziness lies beneath the bucolic veneer of a north suburban neighborhood. One can only hope the there’s more to it than madness, rage and the termidity of being a family. At least I hope so. For all of us, the jury is still out.
I can’t tell you how much I look forward to your posts.
Awesome post! I just watched you performing this on Moth Storytelling’s youtube and had to know more, which led me to this blog. Beautifully written!
Aw, thank you so much, cantsingh. I am so glad that it resonated with you.