A perfect day

Go on, have a perfect morning.

Dragged myself up at 6, half reluctant, half excited. Out the door by 7. It was a good choice. The heat and humidity hadn’t set in yet. Began by taking a short detour, hoping for some kitty love. Score! Not the cat that knows me; someone new. A bit reluctant, as Dutch cats seem to be. Doesn’t take long, tho, before they flop down on the pavement, belly up, purring, nudging, loving me. A new friend to greet once in a while.

My feet just kept walking. Made it all the way to the end of the metro line. Walked up to the lake, down the beach, loving the silence and stillness of it. A solid hour and half tromp before breakfast.

Yesterday: hoovering, dusting, toilet duty, mirrors, sink scrubbing, dishes, grocery shopping. Even did my cuticles during my break.

Keep tackling these things and looking around for something else to do. Something besides sitting on my butt, playing computer games.

Did some nostalgia surfing. Searched out current news for some of the other places I’ve lived. Sent out a hooray to my Irish connections. Damned proud of all those young women who fought so hard for change. Saw a few pictures, read a few street names that brought up that feeling I get once in a while… That longing for a home that never really existed. It’s sad most of all. There’s a longing mixed in, a remembrance of fun I had in cities and towns, but mixed in with that is a revulsion of the things I didn’t enjoy. I remember the stifling heat. Physical pain and emotional torment. I remember the oppressive feeling of so many situations. The stalker. The clubs. The jobs.

In short, it’s complicated.

Complicated…

Been thinking about how there are no white hat characters in real life; we all wear shades of grey. Thinking about why good people might do terrible things. I guess that’s why I began writing in the first place. Owning up to – on some level – my own horrible acts. For years I just beat myself up. Vague ego bashing. Now…I’m seeing things from a new perspective.

Now, I can state the truth. Yes, I left an ex with several thousand dollars of debt for drugs. That was a horrible thing to do. It was a horrible relationship, and I hated him by the end. He became my stalker – perhaps in no small part over the money involved. It was crazy time with a capital CRAZY. Dark and desperate, and even then I could see it only leading to darker and more desperate situations. But no matter what my reasons, from his perspective, I left him abruptly with a large debt. A debt I’d sworn to help pay back.

And does he have right to damn me to hell every night? Certainly, that was the tipping point in his life. He was no great winner up to then, that’s for sure. Alcoholic, drug addict, sleeping on an ex-girlfriend’s couch (and it says a lot about me at the time that I was able to justify any of that). But from what I’ve been able to find out thru online searches, he then turned to burglary and prompted got caught.

So, am I to blame? I didn’t help. If he wanted to believe his life before all that was okay, well then yes, I fucked that up. But I believe I was fighting for my life. To get away from the drugs, away from him, away from that insanity. I do not think I’d be alive today had I stayed. I made my choice.

I think I’m getting around to beginning to forgive myself for that.

Knots untying. What’s left once that old rug unravels? It’ll be interesting to find out.

Do bad guys love the dawn? That fresh start to each day, that appreciable end to every night’s activities. Do vampires think ‘Oh, thank God!’ when the dawn light comes, knowing they can clock out and get some rest? We never think that way. Vampires and bad guys curse the dawn. It burns them; they are visible. Maybe we’re all turned around on that. Doesn’t every factory worker look forward to the end of the day? Go have a beer, put your feet up, chill in front of the tv. Are days like that for bad guys? Hm. I think I’d like to see that. Or at least play with the idea.

Tomorrow I’m back to Dutch lessons and schedules. And I’m just about ready for it. A little rusty with my verbal skills, but I’ll get there. Second auditions on Wednesday. Feel about ready to begin working on the computer again, tho only an hour at a time. Still having brief headaches.

Things I’d like for today: a really big thunderstorm. Love ’em, haven’t seen a good one yet this year, and it’s possible tonight. Other: something to keep me entertained. Passive, plopped in front of the tv, cold soda in my hand, entertained. It’s hot out. A shower (for me) would be good, too.

Not too much to ask, is it? And it would follow up my perfect morning, and make a perfect day.

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I knew her

I called the number I found for L. There was a pause, while the lines made the long connections across the Atlantic. And then – a ring. My heart jumped. Two rings. What was it I was going to say? Three rings. I was ready to hear my old friend’s voice.

When a Midwestern drawl answered, I barely comprehended what was said. I kept on the line, listening as a pre-recorded message read off a list of extensions.

It was a company line.

Which means, of course, that the number’s been recycled. No one ever tells you that. That the new phone number you feel all shiny and happy about in your brand new home is probably from someone who died. Goddess! We pick the electronic bones of the dead.

Found a handful of photos. All of them were from one trip: our infamous Grand Canyon/birthday bash in Arizona. Most are too distant. L along the handrail by a huge backdrop. A few were taken at night, when we rented a limo to take us out to the clubs. I had a lousy camera at the time, and all of the nighttime pics are overexposed from the flash. But there’s one. One picture that shows the L I remember. We were in the car, taking some back roads to an out of the way hot spring we heard about. She’s driving, with sun glasses on. I must have told her to look at me for the pic; she turned, and in typical fashion of L at that time, she stuck her tongue out at me. That’s the picture. Not the ones of her and I trying to look grown up as we stood by the limo. Not the ones in the hats. That one, with her tongue sticking out. That’s the one that made me cry.

My brother was gone all afternoon; he’s found a band to work with and he was at his first rehearsal. When he came home, he was full of energy, full of stories about the day. I kept quiet, my responses limited to short exclamations of happiness on his behalf. It kept on that way all thru the evening: me wanting to bring all this up, yet saying nothing.

11 p.m. The last episode watched for the evening, I muted the tv. And in that heartbeat of silence, I told my brother what happened.

Not just about the phone call. About all of it. This obsession that came over me the last 48 hours. How, while waiting to make that phone call, I googled other things. Pictures and videos of my old home town. Walked the google street views from my old high school through the local village and up the hill to my dad’s house. Took a car trip along Lake Michigan. Places I’d travelled thousands of times in my youth. Places I could have driven blindfolded when I was 21.

There was little I recognized.

Buildings downtown, large skyscrapers – they’re still there. Still look the same. The lake is still there. Fair grounds: just as I remember.

But the trees were all different. Many were too tall, and now obstruct the view I grew to know as a young woman. Streets were widened. Shops had changed hands.

The more I looked, the more nostalgic I grew. It was a strange nostalgia, though. A ‘member-berry nostalgia. Because it wasn’t real. I knew that even as I felt those tugs at my heartstrings. These pictures didn’t include the heat, the humidity, the insects. The audio didn’t include the crassness, the ignorance, the bigotry. And even as I felt I’ve missed so much! I knew I hadn’t. I left because nothing ever happened.

Ended by searching my eldest brother. Figured I needed to see what info was available on him, someone I knew, before I could make a judgement on the info I had on L. Odd thing. I found a sales record of the family home in 2005. And a new address for my brother. He never mentioned selling the house or moving.

…You know, some idioms are like onions: so many layers, it takes a lot of peeling to get down to the core. You can’t go home is an idiom heavy on my mind today. Thought I fully grasped that one years ago. Turns out there was a whole other layer to it that I didn’t even know existed until it was ripped away.

I’m leaving the past behind. Letting it go. My brother agreed that, when we have a bit of extra cash, I can pay for a death certificate search for L through the state records. Just don’t know if I’ll ever hear anything from her daughter. For all I know, I was demonized in her eyes. The bad girl that led her mother astray. So I’ll rely on that cold confirmation of public records. But for me – I don’t want to lose today because I’m caught in memories of the past. So I’m snapping myself out of it. When I’m done with this post, it’s dishes and bed making, then off to the gym. Gonna run my lines for the play, and get some writing done. I’ll listen fully to my brother, engage in real conversation. Later in the week, I’ll take the metro downtown and just walk around, window shopping. Remind myself of where and when I am.

I could get that picture of L reproduced in a larger size. Get it framed, put it up on my wall. And maybe I will. But more than that, I want to write her. I don’t know that I’ll ever capture the person or entity I remember. I feel it my duty to try, though. She was and will always be someone who had a great influence over me.

And I have no doubt that I will see her again. Not in the same form, obviously. But I know we will meet again. Our friendship was one of those strange old soul things; we knew each other the moment we met in this life. It’s strange to say that, because I can’t honestly say I know that much about her physical life here. Who were her friends, other than me? I don’t know. What happened all those years we didn’t speak? I don’t know. But that…that’s surface stuff.

I knew her.