Monthly Archives: November 2008

I missed her birthday; first time in thirty-seven years. I wonder if she can forgive me. I wonder if she would understand if I were to tell her that while I thought of her, I simply hadn’t the will to get out of bed, go out into the world, into the store and read through a plethora of cards, when I had no sentiment in me; blinded by my own darkness, searching for the light; lost in an abyss of loneliness and angst, trying to wrap my head around truth, for all the lies.

An endless stream of bittersweet lies…

I can see clearly now, for the fog has lifted; and while I still feel bad for not reaching out on her day, I cannot help but wonder why we do it. Nine years since we’ve seen each other and probably twenty since I knew what was in her head, in her heart.

Inseparable once upon a time, drifted apart on the current of life, landing on opposite shores. I wonder what trials and tribulations she’s faced in hers, if they in any way match my own. Somehow I doubt it, though I’m probably wrong. We were similar creatures growing up; living on opposite sides of the tracks, but on the same street nonetheless. But we lost something along the way and though we’ve talked over the years, it seems meaningless, forced and incredibly contrived; stuck in the past, when we are no longer those girls, but women who have yet to be properly introduced.

Blinded
By pain
I could
Suddenly see

His lunacy
His lies
His penchant
For debauchery

Life is his
Game
People merely
His pawns

To get what
He needs
Incapable
On his own

She was in the courtyard shucking oysters for the stuffing, when the old woman came shuffling out the kitchen door; her empty basket hooked over her arm, heading straight for the garden to dig turnips and pick fresh greens. It was the first time she’d accepted Trey and Nan’s invitation to join them for Thanksgiving; and while the thought of spending the holiday alone, in that cozy mountain cabin by the fire was something she’d actually been looking forward to; from the moment she woke in that beautiful Victorian guestroom, the sound of a horse drawn carriage on the cobblestone streets outside her window, she was glad she’d come.

She was up before the rest of the house and made her way across four squares to River Street to walk along the water; the city blanketed in eerie silence; the only stirrings were of ghostly apparitions having wandered the night, returning to the cold tombs of her imagination.

Ah, Savannah…the place her soul knows as home.

The old woman filled her basket then made her way over to observe the shucking. She sat down on the bench with her basket in her lap; “We certainly are blessed to be here on this fine day, wouldn’t you say?” The young woman looked up and smiled, “Any day in Savannah is a beautiful day, no?” The old woman chuckled, “I suppose you’re right. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure…I’m Trey’s grandma, folks call me Mae-Mae,” she said as she removed her gardening glove and held out a delicately small, wrinkled hand. “Very nice to meet you, Miss Mae-Mae; I’m Shelby.”

They shook hands and Shelby continued shucking, as the woman intently watched. “Don’t get me wrong honey, I’m grateful Trey and Nan invited you and we have the opportunity to share this day, but I can’t help but wonder why you’re not with your own family.” Shelby looked up, met the old woman’s eyes that despite their age, still sparkled like gems and forced a smile, wondering exactly what Nan and Trey had told her.

She was contemplating an answer when Mae-Mae looked off over the courtyard, raised her face to the sun and said, “Seems to me, married folk these days give up way too easy. I was married for sixty-seven years before my Rupert passed on. Oh, we had a time of it, ups-and-downs like a rollercoaster it seemed at times, but at the end of the day, when the sun went down, no matter what we’d endured, we knew we could make it through, because we had each other.”

She sat silent for a moment then continued, “Oh, sure, I hear them talk; how different it is these days, how the world isn’t the same place it used to be, but honey, I can tell you in all certainty, that while times may have changed, people haven’t.”Shelby said nothing; her mind a mass of swirling images, of all the rights and wrongs having happened over the past six months that had led her to where she was now.

Mae-Mae stood slowly and offered one final bit of wisdom. “All of us wonder, at one time or another, just how green the grass really is on the other side. Some stand at the fence and wonder their whole lives, never satisfied, simply because they never knew; while others of us need to jump the fence; for in doing so, it’s the only way to move forward, the only way we can truly begin to grow.

“What lies on the other side, no one can be sure of, not until they’ve actually been; and the sad truth is, most are disappointed once they get there, destroying what they once had, never getting the chance to go back; but for a few truly blessed and truly loved, who find barren fields and a sunless sky, the gate remains open, never having been closed.”

Shelby wiped the tears from her eyes and watched as Mae-Mae slowly made her way back inside, touched by the wisdom of the aged. It wasn’t the first time she’d come across an elder offering such clear direction, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last. She knew in her heart it was time to go home; run through the gate and mend her fences.

Later that evening, as they gathered for their Thanksgiving feast, Shelby noticed that not only were there no turnips or greens, but that Mae-Mae was missing as well. When she questioned Trey, assuming she was resting in her room and asked if she might take her a plate, his face grew pale and tears filled his eyes. Shelby was taken aback by his reaction, wondering suddenly if she’d said something wrong.

Nan reached over to comfort her husband, looked at Shelby and said simply, “Mae-Mae is no longer with us; she passed away Thanksgiving day…..four years ago.”

What if you slept
And what if in your sleep you dreamed
And what if in your dream you went to heaven
And there you plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if when you awoke
You had the flower in your hand
Oh, what then?

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Counting my blessings and being thankful…
Hope you are too!!

A few weeks ago he was a homeless vagabond; sleeping on couches of friends kind enough to invite him in, and in the beds of those unwitting enough to have him. In all honesty he has no true friends; only the ones crazy enough to put up with his insanity and those he can get something out of; be it a place to crash, a pinch of their stash or borrowed cash, does he call friends; though he’d fuck them over in a moments notice if need be and move on without a second thought; and those whose bed he shares; nothing more than faceless masturbation when he’s too lazy to do it himself. Thus was the way of this self-proclaimed sociopath with no sense of moral responsibility or conscience to speak of.

He’d d been searching for work, running on empty and needed to turn the tables quick. So he placed a free ad on an online dating service; posted fluff and stuff about his lonely heart, a decade old photo and poetic prose about the love songs he longed to create for the right woman if she came along. Within hours they were taking the bait.

He hit pay-dirt with a bipolar cutie just a few miles outside of town, met her for coffee, feigned love at first site, and by the end of the week he was schlepping his bags to her house. She mentioned she had a kid, but that wasn’t going to deter him; he needed a place to settle for a spell while he tried to find himself once again; tired of being a nameless phantom wandering cold lonely streets leading to nowhere; needing to find the right path, get his name and work out there.

The house was a small two-bedroom, neatly kept, but crowded nonetheless. The kid stayed out of his way, didn’t say much, but kept his eyes and ears peeled; he knew the drill, as this wasn’t the first stray his mother had brought home, but he was prepared to make this psycho the last; for this one got comfortable just a little to quick, was by far the most arrogant and condescending son of a bitch and wore a look of lunacy worse than any of the rest.

They gathered in the yard one day after school, the kid and two of his closest friends; no longer boys, not yet men, having led bullshit lives, indignant to the world around them, not caring from right or wrong; left to fend for themselves by no-good, worthless parents. Having had enough, they prepared to take a stand.

They made their way inside, knowing the lunatic boyfriend would still be asleep having just landed a dead-end gig working third shift. They watched as he stirred when the door creaked slowly open, pushed at his pillow and rolled over without waking. They rifled his knapsack, pawned his laptop and gave the janitor ten bucks and two buds to burn what was left in the school incinerator.

He never saw it coming, hadn’t a clue what was happening, and with one quick blow to the head, his lights went out forever; the nameless phantom, cascading the shaft of a backyard well; fading unknown into eternal mist.

#138 – Grateful

I never understood how it was that he could wake up in such a foul mood. Before his feet even hit the floor he was growling at the world; as if being given another day was somehow a curse he was forced to endure. He loathed life; I truly believe that now, and no matter what I said or did to try to make his world a better place, it only seemed to make it worse.

I think over time he came to loathe me as well; for wanting to see the good in people, being satisfied with the simple things in life, seeing beauty in the world around me, for refusing to wallowing with him in hate and despair; and for eventually realizing enough was enough and moving on with my life.

I’m so grateful that chapter of my life is over…

I stopped her in the hall, asked why the frown. She began spewing complaints about the way she was being treated; the petty bullshit she puts up with five days a week that drives her to the brink, and rightfully so; not looking for an answer, as there seemed to be none in the way of changing things; just wanting me to listen while she vented; and I did, but then I offered something that was once offered me, and in doing so reminded myself of a very important lesson.

No matter what we do in life, we cannot change the thoughts, feelings and actions of others. We are not responsible for anyone else’s happiness, unhappiness, joy or pain; only our own. And while we cannot control those around us, we can, however, control the way we allow them to affect us. Such a simple bit of wisdom that at times seems impossible to adhere to; but powerful medicine once we’re able.

It was about this time of year; I remember the barren trees and the rain; the cold November rain…

We were on our way home, it was pouring, and as we rounded the sharp curve at the bottom of the hill we could see the skid marks and the mangled guardrail where someone had gone off the side of the bridge into the creek. We pulled over and as my dad jumped out of the car, I wiped the window with my sleeve to try to clear the fog; and through the rain stained glass I could see the underside of a truck with its wheels sticking up out of the rushing water, where it had flipped and landed on its top. I stepped out into the pouring rain when my dad jumped the guardrail and disappeared over the side of the bridge; and that’s when I heard her voice.

I couldn’t see where she was, but she screamed for me to get help. I stood, paralyzed in fear, watching my dad try to rescue the driver who was trapped in the truck; and then I realized the voice was that of my classmate, Missy, and the person trapped in the truck was her mother.

I took off up the road, running to the farmhouse at the top of the hill where another one of our schoolmates lived; her voice filled with desperation, calling out from behind me, “Run Jill, run…” over and over…and I did; I ran like the wind; fear and adrenaline pushing me on, up the hill through the driving rain. When I reached the house I was a trembling, soaking, frightened mess. They told me they’d already called 911 and then continued talking amongst themselves. I stood there, my eleven year old mind in shock; never having been subjected to something so tragic, devastating and surreal. I remember saying, “That’s my dad down there…that’s her mom; that creek always floods; he’s got to get her out!” and they ignored me as if I weren’t even there.

In a daze, I slowly made my way back down the hill along the shoulder of the road. The cold rain mixed with my hot tears stinging my eyes. I was halfway down when I heard the sirens, a moment later the flashing lights. I stopped where I was; not wanting to get too close; not wanting to see what was happening, feeling the hand of death reaching out, praying to a God I barely knew that it wasn’t so.

I don’t remember the exact moment my dad reappeared, I don’t remember seeing Missy at all; I don’t remember if we stayed there with her or left and went home. I just remember hearing someone say that her mothers head was caught between the back of the seat and the window and it was too late, that her windpipe was crushed; and she was dead.

It was awkward when she finally returned to school. I didn’t know what to say, I felt as if I’d somehow let her down; and I remember it was hard for me to look her in the eye. They moved not too long after, and I clearly remember the guilt I felt at not having told her how I felt before she left; how sorry I was that her mother had died; sorry for not running faster and for my dad not being able to save her. I suppose in my young subconscious mind I believed that nothing I could say would make the slightest difference, and at that age maybe it wouldn’t have.

But I still hold the memory of that fateful day that altered two young lives and minds forever; different in scope and depth, but both altered nonetheless; and as long as I live I’ll never forget the sound of her voice calling out to me through the rain…

“She saw madness in his eyes; and still she did not fear him…”

~Jill Terry [ from Autumnal Faust ]