introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- these things happen around me starry midnight - thirteenth of april, 2001- "The duration of passion is proportionate with the original resistance of the woman."~Honor� de Balzac, "The Physiology of Marriage" 1829(thanks, k, baby...i dug the quotes today.) i am le resistance. I remember waking up at seven after a blitzy evening at Carrie's. I knew my mother was up: she is always up at this hour on a weekday morning because she has to work. I heard my dog yawn her good morning, trying to wake me up enough to let her outside to do her morning thing. I stretched, feeling the distinct constant itch of after-burn on my flesh. I sighed, leashed her, and showed her the morning. We headed back to bed. My mother came in shortly after, knocking me from vivid strange dreams that only come with the surge of returning to sleep (to REM sleep) after a short run-in with wakefullness. "There is a list on the counter downstairs for you. Do you want macaroni and cheese for dinner? Or do you want something else? I could make something else if you want." These are the things that my mother worries about at the ungodly hour of seven a.m. These are her daily concerns. I rolled over, probably mumbling something inaudiable and mean ( i have never been a morning person, especially for such trivial dialogue) and returned to the dream that had my pulse driving in an unnameable emotion. I listened and watched with eyes half closed as my dog yawned, sniffed at the sweet morning air seeping in the windows that i'd left open all night before she curled up (on the giant pillow and blanket i'd set down for her) to return to sleep as well. She curls up into a tight little ball when she's most comfortable in the morning. It's beautiful. I curled up into my own ball and dozed off to the sound of a million songbirds in the woods behind the house. I woke again to the sound of the telephone. I do not run for telephones. There isn't anyone on the other end of a phone that is worth running for. Eh. That sounds harsh. Allow me to rephrase: There is *rarely* anyone on the other end of the line that is worth running from a warm bed that has been holding me all night and well into morning. I will not run for telemarketers. I will run for emergencies, if I know that, in fact, there is one. I will run for the occasional cute boy. I do not run for the telephone often. I heard it in its final rings before my father's voice message on the machine echoed through the empty house of off ceramic tiles and mauve and wallpapered walls, the colours my mother spent years choosing. I stretched and yawned and lay content for awhile. When I finally did make it downstairs to work on doing some of my many many loads of laundry, I absently hit the play button to hear the new messages. I glanced over the note that my mother had mentioned: "Make some crystal light, please. Also, please find the iced tea jug and wash it and make iced tea. [my house is all about hydration] If you want macaroni and cheese take some cheese out of the freezer. Do you want macaroni and cheese? If you want something else, call and let me know. Love, Mom." My mother worries about strange things. Macaroni and cheese is the bomb the way she makes it....not that box deal..this is from a rue sauce...love it. my mother is so strange to me, sometimes. I listened to the messages. Carrie had called just moments ago. Someone else had hung up. "Bastards," I thought instinctly. I don't understand why people don't just leave a message. People are so damned quirky. I noticed then, the small added message that was so vague and cryptic in the corner that I might have missed it: "Carole-Cyn with me at the emergency room. see you later." WHAT THE HELL IS THIS ABOUT THE ER? EH? I called work, wondering if, perhaps, this was an outdated message from years ago; if it weren't from a long over crisis that required that she be in the emergency room. Sally answered my mother's phone. "No, Carole. She has to have an operation." There was other conversation. I hate how I am sometimes the last to know that my mother (or any other family member) is badly ill. I hate that I didn't know last night that she was bleeding well past her menopausal years. I hate that I didn't know that my mother was hemmoraging. She keeps things, sometimes. As Sally told me, I remembered seeing the pads and tampons beside the toilet earlier...it had never clicked with me. I shrugged. I knew that someone would try to get ahold of me. There was no point in worrying yet. It was probably nothing. I logged on to check my mail as the washing machine groaned its noise and the dryer tossed my whites around, breathing heat into the bright cottons. No mail. D was online, but didn't respond to my messages. I dressed quickly after i spoke with Carrie: Shawn would be by to pick Verbil and I up. We might go to the mills. We might hang out. "Just be ready," she added. "I can do that," I replied. I did that. I was ready. I looked at some random diaries while I waited. Shawn finally came. I spent the day with Carrie and Shawn. I am forever reminded by others why it is that I have spent a year chasing after the single life, the spinster life, the loner life. I look at them, and I'm jealous...but this afternoon made me glad for my independance, my lack of co-dependance. I love how they are so sweet to each other. I love that he kisses her in front of others. I love that they go on the road together. I love that she calls him Mac. I love that they are so comfortable with each other. I want that. I want that part of being in a relationship: the part where there is getting along and easy going conversation; i want to share that with someone. But I have a hard time swallowing the rest of the pill, some days. I have a hard time with the shouting, with the "i'm sorry's", with the tense silence. I sat in the kitchen, smoking a slow cigarette and enjoying the time spent with my two friends. Shawn was to leave on a run this evening. He had to prepare. They bantered back and forth about what he wanted for his birthday dinner: "whatever you want, babe, i'll make it." I smiled. I wanted that. He called the bank to ask about a statement. The withdrawl had come from the cell phone company. He lost it. I don't pretend to know what goes on with their bills. I don't pretend to know how often he loses it. I don't pretend to know much about what goes on behind closed doors. I only know what I see and sometimes, seeing is enough. I saw the broken phone antenna. I heard her crying. I heard him yelling about money. I shivered, remembering that she'd put steaks on the grille and that they were cooking; remembering that she needed to get the rice started for it to all come out in time. I started the water boiling and mixed the ingredients, trying to block out the sound of the argument. I thought blankly to myself that that will never be me...I reminded myself of the reasoning i'd began with so many months ago: i will not hurt like that again. i will not ever be like that again. i stirred the water and rice. i watched her cigarette burning slowly away for a moment before i set it in the ash tray in that way that stops them from burning. the noise stopped. he had other things to do. she became suddenly worried about dinner. we prepared in quiet comradery, i having finished my cigarette, hers having gone out. by the time we ate outside, under the overhang of the paralyzed neighbor's (a story in itself that i shall tell soon, i believe) porch, all seemed to be forgotten. We talked again like we had earlier in the day. We laughed. We ate. It was back to me being jealous. It was back to me wanting that for myself. I caught a glimpse of Carrie's engagement ring in the sun. Shawn had bought her a huge band of diamonds set in some gold setting. He'd gotten it so big to show his love, I suppose. He'd gotten it so big to outdo the ring that Ron had bought Vicky a few summers back. Thats the story, anyway. I never liked diamonds. I don't get the fascination with them at ALL..not with their size, their cuts, nor the look of them. I shook my head without realizing, probably. No, I never cared much for diamonds and furthermore, no diamond is worth the number of times that Carrie will probably say that she's sorry. I will never want a diamond. I will never be like that. Yeah, she's young...twenty, maybe. I'm glad that I've taken the time to straighten my own head out since twenty. I know what I want. I don't want diamonds. I want respect. I want that sweetness and birthday dinners; I want to laugh and be comfortable with every thing about myself. Its jus that...some days...its hard to believe in it, anymore. I will never trade who I am for a ring. I came back home around five, maybe. I think I was expecting my mother to be home. I pushed play on the machine and listened to the messages: "they're going to have to give me a small operation and do some tests. its nothing big. here they come with the wheelchair, now, so i've got to go. someone will call when its over. i love you. love you, too. bye." she'd done both parts. i felt bad for having missed the call. i listened to the second. "its cyn. [my sister, the red headed ho-beast] mom is out of surgery. the campbells [my own...personal...jehovahs] are down here. they're gonna bring her home." lovely. i finished my laundry. i showered, my face crinkling in strange half delight, half horror and disgust (a lovely mixture) at the itching feel on my flesh. i dressed again in my favourite teeshirt, an orange ben and jerry's number, and curled up with Gatsby, my latest read. I talked with Tennessee T for just a little bit before they pulled into the driveway. I shivered. Every time one of my parents goes to the hospital, the Campbell's are there, too. They do this whole "hospitality" thing. My parents don't take blood transfusions. Nor do I, for similar, but differing reasons. I suppose that it would be nice to have someone there to make sure that my wishes are followed, but sometimes, these two give me the creeps. I like them, don't get me wrong. They've been more than kind to me, considering my outright distaste for them at times. I am a sarcastic person and typically, i mean it in the most comical of sense. With them, I mean it in the smart ass manner in which it is delivered. I fixed my mother some dinner and ate something myself. I was bummed about not being able to talk to T for a bit longer...I was irate with the woman that was bossing me around. I know how to take care of my mother. I know that she needs to eat. I know what she likes. I'd like very much for you to put my laundry down, please. Yes. I know she meant well. No, I didn't appreciate her being there when all I wanted in the world was for my mother to just be able to go upstairs to her big bed and sleep. To rest. To relax and not worry. She hasn't left yet. In fact, she's spending the night. I should get my dog to go lick her face while she sleeps. Ah, I wish I'd brought my compassion along. I spent the evening back at Carrie's while this woman put my own mother to bed, seemingly ignoring the efforts of my sister and I. I am jealous for my mother. I want to take care of her. I left, lest I cause more stress for my mother than she needed. I'm home now, a little bit more tan than i was when i woke up, a little bit more aware of my surroundings than usual. Today, I learned that my mother is breakable. I've viewed her as indestructable for so long. Today, the reality of age smacked me in the forehead. My mother was hemmoraging today. This could be a sign of stress; this could be a sign of cancer, though she won't say it. I'm not a moron. My sister is not so enlightened. Today, I learned that sometimes, its better to stay out of the way. Today I remembered why it was that I have been so afraid of opening up. Today, I remembered what was so great about being alone. And today, I learned that its not a matter of remaining single and alone forever, but more a matter of finding a gem of a person who understands where i'm coming from. I learned that if I have to apologize for being me, I don't want any part of it. I like me. (even if i am a sunburn peeling monster alien) Today, I learned that there are always new tricks; that sometimes, things can be controlled and other times, they cannot. Its late and the woman is curled up on the colonial throwback couch that my mother chose so many years ago; the couch that my mother painted and sponged the walls hunter green and creme to match. There is a bed with pillows upstairs in a room that used to be mine. There are green walls with gold sponge paint that will be a lovely dark when I turn the lights off. There are thoughts of a boy that makes me smile and makes me feel like its okay to be me dancing in my head. I hope the sun is out tomorrow. I like what its doing to me. Good night, my beautiful minions. Be you. Be well. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .what came before. - .what happened next. a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017 |
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