Friday the 13th at the Punchline in San Francisco, you bombed.
I'd never seen your act tank before and I was in agony for you. I came with my girlfriend and she and I were to meet you and a friend of yours after the show for a drink. It was just to be a friendly outing, but my girlfriend knew the truth. I was crazy about you.
In the months you and I had been talking and all the shows you'd invited me to, this was the first time you'd asked me to meet you after a show. Usually you kept me at a distance. I was just happy to be around you. From the moment I first watched you walk on stage to open for another comedian, I knew you'd be famous. You became even more famous than I could have imagined.
That night, my girlfriend started pushing me to make a play for you. She was insanely jealous. San Francisco in the late 70's - I was seeing her. I never told you that. Making love to you was OK in her book but BEING in love with you was not. To upset me, she she picked a guy at random and left with him moments before you stepped up to the mic. Sitting in the dark, dead room, I was vulnerable. I did not want to suddenly fall into bed with you. I wanted to slowly fall in love with you.
We walked to Enricos. As we passed all the strip joints you told me how you'd been working on your dancing at the Paladium. You told me about your new contacts in LA and how you were hoping to get into TV. We sat in at a table near the sidewalk, in case my girlfriend came to find us. We had quite a bit to drink. Your friend was so sweet. He'd been friends with you and your brother since high school. He'd been to Vietnam. You were so gentle with him. He was staying with you and he invited me to stay with you too and said you and he would make me breakfast.
We laughed. I did not know know who the man was that joined us at the table. I know you introduced us and that he was a producer and you held this man in great respect. He talked of how you would be famous. He talked about how good it was to see you out with a beautiful woman. Me. He was talking about me. The rest became a blur when I felt you move your chair closer to mine and you took my hand under the table. So gentle. So electric. I wondered if my girlfriend was right after all.
We stumbled from the bar and somehow it was decided you should drive my car because I was drunk. On the way to the car, you kissed me. All my reserve vanished. I was crazy about you. You were obviously attracted to me. Whatever the night would hold was meant to be. It was playful and sweet - making out in front of your apartment on Twin Peaks. Your friend seemed so happy I'd come back with you. I liked him so much.
I was on your couch. You were in your bed. Your friend was on your floor snoring. I got up to go to the bathroom and on my way back you pulled me into your bed. We were drunk. And it happened so fast. In a heartbeat you were telling me to go back and sleep on the couch because you could not sleep with me in your bed.
Did you know I cried myself to sleep?
Kicked out of bed. What had I done?
Why had I gotten into your bed at all?
Once the light began coming in the windows, I slipped onto the balcony overlooking the Castro. Your friend came out with me. He was excited that you and he would be making me breakfast. I told him I didn't think you would be wanting to make me breakfast. I told him I didn't think you wanted me there when he woke up. I hugged him and I left.
We barely talked after that. And once you became famous it seemed like I'd only slept with you because you were famous. But you weren't then. What were you thinking? What led you to believe I was expendable? Usable? How could you be so romantic one moment and cruel the next. Were you so clueless you could not see how much I cared for you? I was not a groupie. I was humiliated and ashamed.
And then, you were everywhere. Every time I saw you on TV, I played through my head what I would tell you, how I would clear my honor. I played it out in dreams. I told anyone who would listen. I dreamed you said you were sorry you'd hurt me.
Last week I read an article that says you met your wife around the same time I knew you. You've been together almost 30 years. You have children. You are still performing, but I can't bring myself to come to your shows.
You knew I was married when you invited me into your bed.
Would the story have ended differently if I had been single?
No, things work out the way they are supposed to.
I expect I'll never get that apology.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Pen pals
You knew me as Debbie, or "the girl across the street."
We were both 10 and we spent 2 weeks catching butterflies and mounting them to black velvet in the cool dark of your grandparents' house on Quivera in Great Bend, Kansas. You were my friend at a time when I had no friends. I don't remember your name. I don't remember a thing we talked about. But your hair was blond and your skin was tan and you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. You were an angel. I wanted to scream "I love you" every time our eyes met.
When you left, I thought we'd be pen pals.
This is the first time I've ever written you.
Write back if you get this.
We were both 10 and we spent 2 weeks catching butterflies and mounting them to black velvet in the cool dark of your grandparents' house on Quivera in Great Bend, Kansas. You were my friend at a time when I had no friends. I don't remember your name. I don't remember a thing we talked about. But your hair was blond and your skin was tan and you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. You were an angel. I wanted to scream "I love you" every time our eyes met.
When you left, I thought we'd be pen pals.
This is the first time I've ever written you.
Write back if you get this.
Office romance
I've carried this question with me for over 30 years, "Did you ever become a novelist?"
I remember you talking about moving to a small town in Maine, looking out over the ocean, and writing. I'm sure you got a boat once you got there. I remember days sailing with you on the San Francisco bay. You were one of the easiest people to be with I have ever met.
At 36 you were probably you were caught off-guard by the attention of the 23 year old rebel artist in the office. I had no sense of how to be corporate (or appropriate) and lived for office humor and flirting with you. We became close in a way I hadn't known before. I adored our lunches in the park. When I think of you, I smile as big as I did then.
I was thrilled with you began dating the new editor in our office. You got married, right? And when you two moved to Maine, wasn't she pregnant? You were the kind of guy that would make an excellent father. When you got sick and she and I were both looking in on you, that's when I knew she was the right girl for you. She was in love with you. Not that I wasn't.
I loved you. I just couldn't be with you.
I remember you talking about moving to a small town in Maine, looking out over the ocean, and writing. I'm sure you got a boat once you got there. I remember days sailing with you on the San Francisco bay. You were one of the easiest people to be with I have ever met.
At 36 you were probably you were caught off-guard by the attention of the 23 year old rebel artist in the office. I had no sense of how to be corporate (or appropriate) and lived for office humor and flirting with you. We became close in a way I hadn't known before. I adored our lunches in the park. When I think of you, I smile as big as I did then.
I was thrilled with you began dating the new editor in our office. You got married, right? And when you two moved to Maine, wasn't she pregnant? You were the kind of guy that would make an excellent father. When you got sick and she and I were both looking in on you, that's when I knew she was the right girl for you. She was in love with you. Not that I wasn't.
I loved you. I just couldn't be with you.
Monday, September 22, 2008
There is no line
Thank you for telling me about the chat windows on AOL. Thank you for encouraging me to go to room NSR - where you would be playing a dwarf or a vampire. Thank you for letting me know the screen names you would be using. You said it was like improv. People playing characters and acting out stories through chat text. You were so friendly on the phone, so encouraging. I went right online and suddenly found myself being im'd by a lawyer in LA who said he was gorgeous and it was so hot all he was wearing was a pair of khaki shorts and asked me "what are you wearing?"
I assumed you told me who you were online so I would find you.
In person you seemed not to notice me. I was in your class. You were teaching us to create improv stories that would span an hour or two in one performance. We were to become characters with depth and history. Each of us was to be a part of the larger story. You would have us start a story, and it seemed everyone else would get into the story and play their parts but moments after I entered the scene, you would stop the story. This happened every exercise, over and over. I took it personally.
I came to class thinking you'd shared a secret with me.
I left thinking you hated me. No one wants to be judged so randomly.
You did not even know what I was capable of. I left determined to show you.
I created a story. In it I was a teenage girl left behind in a sprawling mansion while my father traveled. I wrote the story in the form of diary pages that the character sent as "blind" emails to your vampire character and to a number of other improvisers I thought might like to play along. It took a week of diary entries before you contacted my character. You came online and we improvised a scene. The dialog was intoxicating. It was just words typed in a chat room, but it felt like it was really happening. The scene ended with whispers as you took blood from my neck. "It may seem like I am leaving you to die, but you'll live."
It was hyper real. It was exhilarating. It left me weak and I wanted more.
It took another week of diary pages to get you to play another scene with me. In the midst of it, AOL went down. I could not let the scene end. I was distraught. I had your number. You'd called me before about the class. You did not seem surprised when it was my character calling - it was as if you knew I'd call. I told you I was freaking out. I told you it was too real. I told you I was losing the line between reality and fantasy.
You said, "there is no line."
You invited me, as my character, to come to an improv performance. Others who played major characters in NSR would be there. You said I could meet them. Once you saw the character was me it became clear.
In your fantasy, you believed I was someone else.
I assumed you told me who you were online so I would find you.
In person you seemed not to notice me. I was in your class. You were teaching us to create improv stories that would span an hour or two in one performance. We were to become characters with depth and history. Each of us was to be a part of the larger story. You would have us start a story, and it seemed everyone else would get into the story and play their parts but moments after I entered the scene, you would stop the story. This happened every exercise, over and over. I took it personally.
I came to class thinking you'd shared a secret with me.
I left thinking you hated me. No one wants to be judged so randomly.
You did not even know what I was capable of. I left determined to show you.
I created a story. In it I was a teenage girl left behind in a sprawling mansion while my father traveled. I wrote the story in the form of diary pages that the character sent as "blind" emails to your vampire character and to a number of other improvisers I thought might like to play along. It took a week of diary entries before you contacted my character. You came online and we improvised a scene. The dialog was intoxicating. It was just words typed in a chat room, but it felt like it was really happening. The scene ended with whispers as you took blood from my neck. "It may seem like I am leaving you to die, but you'll live."
It was hyper real. It was exhilarating. It left me weak and I wanted more.
It took another week of diary pages to get you to play another scene with me. In the midst of it, AOL went down. I could not let the scene end. I was distraught. I had your number. You'd called me before about the class. You did not seem surprised when it was my character calling - it was as if you knew I'd call. I told you I was freaking out. I told you it was too real. I told you I was losing the line between reality and fantasy.
You said, "there is no line."
You invited me, as my character, to come to an improv performance. Others who played major characters in NSR would be there. You said I could meet them. Once you saw the character was me it became clear.
In your fantasy, you believed I was someone else.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Yes
It had been months since I'd spent any time with you.
I'd made myself quite a nice space to live alone. The divorce was going uncontested. I'd been dating. I was serious about one. You had seen us together. He was young and single and cute. You were older than me by, what, 13 years? So he was your junior by 16.
I'd made myself quite a nice space to live alone. The divorce was going uncontested. I'd been dating. I was serious about one. You had seen us together. He was young and single and cute. You were older than me by, what, 13 years? So he was your junior by 16.
That night, I was expecting anyone at my door, but you. I was not happy to see you, but my smile lied for me. I felt guilt. And my guilt welcomed you into home, my arms, my bed. Somehow I thought if I slept with you one more time, you could find closure.
You were at my door that night looking for a safety net.
You were going to leave your wife and tell her what?
That you'd had an affair with me but I'd broken up with you?
That I'd left my husband but you had not left her?
Guilt kept me quiet while you begged and pleaded, "If I leave my wife will you marry me?"
You were a foreign object in my personal space.
You took up all the air in the room.
I could not wait for you to go.
I said "yes" just to get you to leave.
You were going to leave your wife and tell her what?
That you'd had an affair with me but I'd broken up with you?
That I'd left my husband but you had not left her?
Guilt kept me quiet while you begged and pleaded, "If I leave my wife will you marry me?"
You were a foreign object in my personal space.
You took up all the air in the room.
I could not wait for you to go.
I said "yes" just to get you to leave.
At fault
My sister was on the swings.
Her long golden curls framing her golden face.
Her eyes bright blue, like a doll. A five year old doll.
While you stared at my sister swinging, I was staring at you. You wore a white short-sleeved shirt and had a plastic pocket protector full of pens, like my uncle's. Your pants were black and your shoes were shiny. You were tall, but all adults were tall to me when I was seven. In my child's memory I dress you in a trench coat, but that has to be wrong. It was mid summer in Kansas and at least 90 degrees. Even in your white shirt, you would be sweating. Or maybe it was fall, almost winter. In my child's memory I see brown trees and gray sky. Surely this could not have happened on a sunny day.
My knees were scabs and my white skin never seemed to glow like my sister's. She was all dimples and giggles. I was brooding and annoying. She was snow white and I was ugly and you wanted her.
You walked behind her and took the chains in your hands and pulled her back against your chest. There was a pause as if you were inhaling her, then you pushed, and she flew.
At first you did not notice I was talking to you. It took quite a bit to get you to focus on me and not the doll on the swing, but I did my best to show how interesting I could be. The doll barely spoke but I was fluent in adult chatter and you seemed amused that I sought you out.
I lead you away. You followed me deeper into the park. I found a bar and showed you my tricks and you smiled with your wolf's teeth and I pretended not to notice. I wanted to reach a very high trapeze. I asked you to help me. You picked me up by the armpits and pulled me against your chest. There was a pause as you made sure the pens in your pocket caught the front of my shirt and pulled it open so you could look down my chest to see my nipples. I struggled to get out of your arms but held me tight as your eyes lingered. Then you lifted me within reach of the trapeze and said, "See, I am just helping you up."
My sister had wandered to where we were. I had to let you help me down, it was too far to drop. You were smiling at my sister as your hand moved between my legs and you pressed your fingers into me.
Your car was parked by the water fountain. I told you I was thirsty. I told you my sister was thirsty. When she was next to me at the fountain, I knew there was no explaining - so I just whispered in her ear, "RUN!" I ran us through the space in the fence I knew your car could not follow. I ran us six blocks without stopping to grandmother's house, where our mother was.
I told my mother what you did.
I told everyone what you did.
But I was always talking, talking, talking.
They thought it was just another story.
And I thought it was all my fault.
Her long golden curls framing her golden face.
Her eyes bright blue, like a doll. A five year old doll.
While you stared at my sister swinging, I was staring at you. You wore a white short-sleeved shirt and had a plastic pocket protector full of pens, like my uncle's. Your pants were black and your shoes were shiny. You were tall, but all adults were tall to me when I was seven. In my child's memory I dress you in a trench coat, but that has to be wrong. It was mid summer in Kansas and at least 90 degrees. Even in your white shirt, you would be sweating. Or maybe it was fall, almost winter. In my child's memory I see brown trees and gray sky. Surely this could not have happened on a sunny day.
My knees were scabs and my white skin never seemed to glow like my sister's. She was all dimples and giggles. I was brooding and annoying. She was snow white and I was ugly and you wanted her.
You walked behind her and took the chains in your hands and pulled her back against your chest. There was a pause as if you were inhaling her, then you pushed, and she flew.
At first you did not notice I was talking to you. It took quite a bit to get you to focus on me and not the doll on the swing, but I did my best to show how interesting I could be. The doll barely spoke but I was fluent in adult chatter and you seemed amused that I sought you out.
I lead you away. You followed me deeper into the park. I found a bar and showed you my tricks and you smiled with your wolf's teeth and I pretended not to notice. I wanted to reach a very high trapeze. I asked you to help me. You picked me up by the armpits and pulled me against your chest. There was a pause as you made sure the pens in your pocket caught the front of my shirt and pulled it open so you could look down my chest to see my nipples. I struggled to get out of your arms but held me tight as your eyes lingered. Then you lifted me within reach of the trapeze and said, "See, I am just helping you up."
My sister had wandered to where we were. I had to let you help me down, it was too far to drop. You were smiling at my sister as your hand moved between my legs and you pressed your fingers into me.
Your car was parked by the water fountain. I told you I was thirsty. I told you my sister was thirsty. When she was next to me at the fountain, I knew there was no explaining - so I just whispered in her ear, "RUN!" I ran us through the space in the fence I knew your car could not follow. I ran us six blocks without stopping to grandmother's house, where our mother was.
I told my mother what you did.
I told everyone what you did.
But I was always talking, talking, talking.
They thought it was just another story.
And I thought it was all my fault.
The missing
You were born on my birthday so it's no wonder we are so alike.
Can a mother and son be twins? I could read you like no one else. And you me. It was both wondrous and annoying. We could see when the other was frustrated and when the world went dark. You always knew what to tell me to bring me back. I did my best to let you find your own way while letting you know I was always just a hand's reach away.
Tonight, I am much further than that.
But I think my concern is as much for myself as for you.
You are setting up your dorm room tonight. Beginning your own life. I know you can conquer your frustrations and find the light in the darkness. I know you will call or text or email if you need me. And I know I need to let go.
For weeks you've been saying "I am leaving..." and it felt like you wanted me to say I would miss you and that I did not know how I would live without you. I could not say those things. Yesterday I said " how can I miss you when you haven't left yet?
I miss you now.
Can a mother and son be twins? I could read you like no one else. And you me. It was both wondrous and annoying. We could see when the other was frustrated and when the world went dark. You always knew what to tell me to bring me back. I did my best to let you find your own way while letting you know I was always just a hand's reach away.
Tonight, I am much further than that.
But I think my concern is as much for myself as for you.
You are setting up your dorm room tonight. Beginning your own life. I know you can conquer your frustrations and find the light in the darkness. I know you will call or text or email if you need me. And I know I need to let go.
For weeks you've been saying "I am leaving..." and it felt like you wanted me to say I would miss you and that I did not know how I would live without you. I could not say those things. Yesterday I said " how can I miss you when you haven't left yet?
I miss you now.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Bubble of calm
You'd planned your life and the things around you so carefully. You were living where and how you'd always dreamed with a wonderful man who loved you and who provided for you. The house he bought was at the top of a hill and the world looked up to you.
Charmed. You were always charmed it was part of what everyone loved about you. Flaming red hair, blue eyes and more energy than the energizer bunny. I loved you to bits but to spend time with you in Portland was exhausting. On my last visit you told me go relax in the jacuzzi tub off the master bedroom. You did not tell me the toilet next to the bath was stopped up and overflowing with shit. Why were you still using it? Why didn't you just call a plumber to fix it? I took my bath and held my nose and my tongue. And when you came up with a glass of wine for me and talked on and on about how fabulous this bathtub was, I let my smile lie for me. I'm not good with lies. And I sensed you would not hear the truth. You were already trapped inside the life you were pretending to have. To you, there was no shit.
He'd left you by then. It was not official, but then how official does it have to be when you were never married. He was off skiing for the winter, driving an rented RV so he could just sleep in the parking lots. He'd invited you to go with him. I heard him. He meant it.
The food in your fridge was all past it's dates. Some of it by more than a year. Like Blanche in a Streetcar named Desire, you “always relied upon the kindness of strangers”. Literally and without a second thought. A call to go to dinner meant someone was buying you dinner. An invitation to go skiing in Park City meant airfare, room, food, alcohol, lift ticket, and likely a shiny new ski jumper.
You were living in a home owned by your boyfriend. A home you talked him into buying because you did not like his other home. This one had the blue and yellow kitchen you'd always knew you'd have. When you needed a car, he gave you money for a new one, and you bought a used Lexus instead. You had no money for repairs the car felt like the contents of your fridge. A part of your plan was to be rich. Looking rich was the first step.
He stopped by and you attacked him. Hitting him and throwing printouts at him. Accusing him of having an affair with a married minister. You had this planned, your counter attack. You'd been reading his emails and emailing back. In fact you'd already decided the affair was REAL and you'd told everyone. Including the woman's husband and congregation and your family, and all his friends. THIS was the reason he were leaving you after he'd promised to take care of you.
None of it was true, but you convinced many people it might be.
You began attacking yourself. Knocking yourself in the face and tossing yourself against the walls and furniture to inflict bruises. You yelled, "spousal abuse" over and over as he walked out the door.
You insisted you did not need to work, even through there was never any money in your wallet. For years I suggested you needed to plan for a life beyond him. You were sure he would always take care of you "he'd promised!" No, he didn't. He told me as much. He was a concerned about you as I was. But we were all co-dependents afraid if we suddenly stopped you would kill yourself.
And you did.
The process was not unlike your plan for your life.
One by one those that loved you confronted you. He was the first. The stock you'd talked him into selling that bought the house and the trip around the world and the lexus and his retirement - tanked. It was now worth next to nothing. He was no longer living in the house with you. He needed to sell his house. You insisted you should get half of the sale. He reminded you it was not your house and in fact he was loosing money on the sale. He was letting you live there until you could find another home. It was amazing that the house could be shown at all. And when it sold, you refused to leave. He and his friends had to come with a truck and haul your sprawled belongings to storage. You they hauled to another friend willing to take you in. You slept on the couch in their basement just as he had for all the months you'd been unwilling to leave his house. They were kind to you. They probably felt they could help.
Last night I became overwhelmed. Too much was going on around me I could not control and I kept breaking into tears. So I took a pill, two pills - just to relax and get my work done. But after a half hour the work was so unimportant. I moved to the living room and found myself sitting in the last place you sat in my home. It was just the softest corner and I thought "I could feel even better with a drink." Looking for white wine or vodka - I did think of you and the last time you were here. You took Valium then secretly drank every clear liquor in my house. I wanted to understand you, so I choose vodka sand sipped it watching TV. This was the feeling you were craving. The effect of the Valium and vodka had me feeling NOTHING - just a bubble of calm. No stress. No responsibilities. No reality.
I got myself back to bed but I don't remember it. Ben said he found me in bed fully dressed with my mouth wide open. The lights were on but I was out. I remember all the times I found you like that and the times you sleepwalked through my house looking for something you'd lost. I the end you'd lost everything.
You took a lot of Valium and wine before you walked into the swimming pool fully dressed in a bubble of calm nothingness.
Charmed. You were always charmed it was part of what everyone loved about you. Flaming red hair, blue eyes and more energy than the energizer bunny. I loved you to bits but to spend time with you in Portland was exhausting. On my last visit you told me go relax in the jacuzzi tub off the master bedroom. You did not tell me the toilet next to the bath was stopped up and overflowing with shit. Why were you still using it? Why didn't you just call a plumber to fix it? I took my bath and held my nose and my tongue. And when you came up with a glass of wine for me and talked on and on about how fabulous this bathtub was, I let my smile lie for me. I'm not good with lies. And I sensed you would not hear the truth. You were already trapped inside the life you were pretending to have. To you, there was no shit.
He'd left you by then. It was not official, but then how official does it have to be when you were never married. He was off skiing for the winter, driving an rented RV so he could just sleep in the parking lots. He'd invited you to go with him. I heard him. He meant it.
The food in your fridge was all past it's dates. Some of it by more than a year. Like Blanche in a Streetcar named Desire, you “always relied upon the kindness of strangers”. Literally and without a second thought. A call to go to dinner meant someone was buying you dinner. An invitation to go skiing in Park City meant airfare, room, food, alcohol, lift ticket, and likely a shiny new ski jumper.
You were living in a home owned by your boyfriend. A home you talked him into buying because you did not like his other home. This one had the blue and yellow kitchen you'd always knew you'd have. When you needed a car, he gave you money for a new one, and you bought a used Lexus instead. You had no money for repairs the car felt like the contents of your fridge. A part of your plan was to be rich. Looking rich was the first step.
He stopped by and you attacked him. Hitting him and throwing printouts at him. Accusing him of having an affair with a married minister. You had this planned, your counter attack. You'd been reading his emails and emailing back. In fact you'd already decided the affair was REAL and you'd told everyone. Including the woman's husband and congregation and your family, and all his friends. THIS was the reason he were leaving you after he'd promised to take care of you.
None of it was true, but you convinced many people it might be.
You began attacking yourself. Knocking yourself in the face and tossing yourself against the walls and furniture to inflict bruises. You yelled, "spousal abuse" over and over as he walked out the door.
You insisted you did not need to work, even through there was never any money in your wallet. For years I suggested you needed to plan for a life beyond him. You were sure he would always take care of you "he'd promised!" No, he didn't. He told me as much. He was a concerned about you as I was. But we were all co-dependents afraid if we suddenly stopped you would kill yourself.
And you did.
The process was not unlike your plan for your life.
One by one those that loved you confronted you. He was the first. The stock you'd talked him into selling that bought the house and the trip around the world and the lexus and his retirement - tanked. It was now worth next to nothing. He was no longer living in the house with you. He needed to sell his house. You insisted you should get half of the sale. He reminded you it was not your house and in fact he was loosing money on the sale. He was letting you live there until you could find another home. It was amazing that the house could be shown at all. And when it sold, you refused to leave. He and his friends had to come with a truck and haul your sprawled belongings to storage. You they hauled to another friend willing to take you in. You slept on the couch in their basement just as he had for all the months you'd been unwilling to leave his house. They were kind to you. They probably felt they could help.
Last night I became overwhelmed. Too much was going on around me I could not control and I kept breaking into tears. So I took a pill, two pills - just to relax and get my work done. But after a half hour the work was so unimportant. I moved to the living room and found myself sitting in the last place you sat in my home. It was just the softest corner and I thought "I could feel even better with a drink." Looking for white wine or vodka - I did think of you and the last time you were here. You took Valium then secretly drank every clear liquor in my house. I wanted to understand you, so I choose vodka sand sipped it watching TV. This was the feeling you were craving. The effect of the Valium and vodka had me feeling NOTHING - just a bubble of calm. No stress. No responsibilities. No reality.
I got myself back to bed but I don't remember it. Ben said he found me in bed fully dressed with my mouth wide open. The lights were on but I was out. I remember all the times I found you like that and the times you sleepwalked through my house looking for something you'd lost. I the end you'd lost everything.
You took a lot of Valium and wine before you walked into the swimming pool fully dressed in a bubble of calm nothingness.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Nick
I had to chose to be you or him.
You both were young and talented and made me laugh.
You were 20 years younger than me, he was 22 years younger.
He said,"I'll never stop loving you."
You said, "I don't know how I'll feel when you get old."
I could not stop time.
He came with me to tell you .
I held you while cried .
You said, "I should have asked you to marry me."
You came to our wedding.
Years later it came back to haunt me that the reason we never put a book of our wedding photos together was that you were in almost all of them.
Today I know - your were right. How could you know?
His answer was a riddle.. He would never stop loving me they way he did then
Vindictive, controlling, hateful, resentful... and he used you as an excuse for 18 years of constant affairs that were always "my fault"
Thank you for emailing with me now. I treasure your messages. I love that we are penpals.
Even through I am now 64... and 20 years have past and you are now the age I was... then.
Today I know - your were right. How could you know?
His answer was a riddle.. He would never stop loving me they way he did then
Vindictive, controlling, hateful, resentful... and he used you as an excuse for 18 years of constant affairs that were always "my fault"
Thank you for emailing with me now. I treasure your messages. I love that we are penpals.
Even through I am now 64... and 20 years have past and you are now the age I was... then.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Delicious
I saw in you everything I felt I could be.
You were the darling of so many.
As a couple we would be amazing.
People would cry when they saw us together.
You were older, younger, mature, playful, a great listener.
You were funny, creative, musical and madly in love with the me.
I was whatever you saw in me and then a bit more for good measure.
I was in love with the idea of us. Of course, I was in love with you.
It was fate.
It was intense.
It was justified.
Superimposed over the life I was already living.
Like a dieter sneaking snickers.
You were delicious.
You were the darling of so many.
As a couple we would be amazing.
People would cry when they saw us together.
You were older, younger, mature, playful, a great listener.
You were funny, creative, musical and madly in love with the me.
I was whatever you saw in me and then a bit more for good measure.
I was in love with the idea of us. Of course, I was in love with you.
It was fate.
It was intense.
It was justified.
Superimposed over the life I was already living.
Like a dieter sneaking snickers.
You were delicious.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
If there is a heaven
Lately I've found myself missing friends and lovers I no longer have in my life.
I'm still here, in this house, in this town. I still do the same work I've been doing for more than 30 years. People I used to think of my best friends no longer live here or no longer live at all. I don't know what force pulled them or me out of each other's lives.
I find myself passing a house I spent evenings in and I remember the food and the wine and the conversation and the feeling of "then." And I miss it. I can feel it like it was last night and yet I know, I am not the same person I was then. I've grown old, older, and so have they and they too are not who they were. Maybe they are no longer a couple as I am no longer a couple with the husband I was married to then.
And all those times I stepped away from my life and into relationships that while considered to be wrong, moved me so much - taught me so much. The memories of being present with that connection, however brief, but intense. A drunken kiss. An admission of caring, of longing. Was it really me back then? And what of the feelings and memories of those I connected with? Am I a memory to them as they are to me? I don't want to go back, I just want to remember, with someone who was there with me.
Perhaps that's the real pain we feel. That we are each of us alone to ponder what was.
I miss you too. I miss all of you.
I wish there was a day when we could each list out all the people we'd love to reconnect with or meet for the first time - and like speed dating we'd move through them catching up or coming together but only for a limited time - and then at the end of the day if each checked each other's name on the card - you'd get more time to remember together. If there is a heaven - I hope that's what's waiting for me. The chance to go back and reconnect. The chance to say that how I felt was real and honest and I don't regret a thing, except how it ended.
How did they all end? I'd love to know what I don't know.
If I could start my life over, I would make sure each person who touched my heart knew.
I'm still here, in this house, in this town. I still do the same work I've been doing for more than 30 years. People I used to think of my best friends no longer live here or no longer live at all. I don't know what force pulled them or me out of each other's lives.
I find myself passing a house I spent evenings in and I remember the food and the wine and the conversation and the feeling of "then." And I miss it. I can feel it like it was last night and yet I know, I am not the same person I was then. I've grown old, older, and so have they and they too are not who they were. Maybe they are no longer a couple as I am no longer a couple with the husband I was married to then.
And all those times I stepped away from my life and into relationships that while considered to be wrong, moved me so much - taught me so much. The memories of being present with that connection, however brief, but intense. A drunken kiss. An admission of caring, of longing. Was it really me back then? And what of the feelings and memories of those I connected with? Am I a memory to them as they are to me? I don't want to go back, I just want to remember, with someone who was there with me.
Perhaps that's the real pain we feel. That we are each of us alone to ponder what was.
I miss you too. I miss all of you.
I wish there was a day when we could each list out all the people we'd love to reconnect with or meet for the first time - and like speed dating we'd move through them catching up or coming together but only for a limited time - and then at the end of the day if each checked each other's name on the card - you'd get more time to remember together. If there is a heaven - I hope that's what's waiting for me. The chance to go back and reconnect. The chance to say that how I felt was real and honest and I don't regret a thing, except how it ended.
How did they all end? I'd love to know what I don't know.
If I could start my life over, I would make sure each person who touched my heart knew.
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