Crossing Borders
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Having a Horrible Time, Wish You Were Here
Yesterday was such a windy, cold, rainy, horrible day. I had to get up early to go to the Camp Fair, even though I’d already worked a twelve hour day on Friday; poor planning on my part. I’d forgotten about the Brownie overnight. I was supposed to teach four groups of twenty girls everything I knew about tree rings, which was about thirty seconds worth of material. I decided to walk over to Bella’s while the Brownies were checking in. I only had an hour and it would take most of that to get there and back, but I could at least kiss the baby and I hadn’t had any exercise all day.
It was nice to be outside. I was running to catch lights, feeling smarter than everyone else stuck in a car. As I got close to Bella’s I saw a green pickup pulling out from Tshirts street. “I wonder if that’s Tshirt” I said to myself. I’d met Tshirt at the dance months before I started seeing the peregrine. He’d invited me to his house for dinner once. He was sweet but totally confused about whether he liked me or not and he had a huge problem with alcohol. I’d decided not to see him anymore. I was peering into the window when I realized it was Woody looking back at me. “Mother Fucker,” I thought to myself. I can’t go anywhere without running into him. What does he think when he sees me walking down the street? Does he think I look good? Does he wonder “who is this woman who jogs and what happened to the couch potato I was married to”? Does he think “hey, there goes my wife”? He was probably visiting the baby, too. Good thing I missed him. He’s the last person I want to see…ever.
It was wonderful to see Bella. She always makes me feel proud. She’s so beautiful and her house is just the perfect combination of tastefully put-together and running over with toys. The baby is in her high-chair, the one that Woody made for Trueman. She smiles at me and holds out a piece of macaroni. I hesitate for a second but recognize her gesture as the purest form of love. So, I eat it gratefully from her chubby fingers and smile back at her. Then she picks up her spoon and scoops up a perfect mound of macaroni and cheese and holds it out to me. Bella gets me a plate and passes me a carton of Chinese take-out. I eat quickly.
The baby wants to take me out to the back porch and show me her tent, which is also filled with toys. “Eeeewww”, I say picking up a tiny furry white mouse with a long strip of leather for a tail. She holds her hand up to take it from me and turns it around in her hand until she can see into its tiny beaded eyes and then delicately kisses it on its mouth. I tell Bella I have to go and the baby pulls her lips into a tiny sphincter, signaling her desire for a kiss.
I have to run several blocks to make it back to the Museum in time but the Brownies are running late and I end up with time to drink a glass of lemonade, read over my notes and think about about how I’m going to turn three simple concepts into a twenty-five minute presentation that will capture the attention of eleven year old girls. I have a box of tree slices and I tell them to come up and choose one. One of the mothers tells me I better pass them out. “That’s OK, it’s a time killer, I’ve got to make this last for twenty-five minutes” I tell her shamelessly. I’ve discovered that my voice can no longer hold out for long periods of elevated use and I turn around once and tell the group of mothers chattering away behind me that I can’t hear myself. I’m slightly amazed by their rudeness and amused by the way they snap to attention.
I enjoy making eye-contact with each and every girl, asking them to count their rings and then going around the circle with each one announcing their number. Their numbers range from thirty to forty. I don’t mention that their slices are all from the same tree and should all have the same number of rings. I ask them what trees give us and if they think trees are endangered, and do they know that today is Earth Day. Most of them do, some of them can describe the process of photosynthesis.
It’s over by nine-thirty and I drive home in the pouring rain. My house is freezing and the kitchen has been invaded by ants who seem to be thriving on the poison I keep pouring out for them. Every room is filled with piles of books and laundry and shoes. I make a cup of hot-chocolate and sit on the couch flipping through the channels until eleven. I really didn’t expect him to call.
My alarm went off at seven, even through the dark curtains I can see its nasty outside. I get up and make myself an egg burrito that will have to last me till two-thirty. The camp fair is an astro-turf kids’ paradise with giant inflatables, a wooden dance floor and a DJ playing loud rock and roll and encouraging the kids to dance and win CDs. Everyone there has at least one young child in tow; thirty-something parents and forty-something parents and even fifty-something grandparents. I find myself staring at the strikingly handsome young dads with muscled bodies and clean-shaven faces and short clipped haircuts. I realize again how attracted I am to beauty.
The wind is still whipping cold rain around as I pack up my car. It seems like everyone who owns an SUV has driven out to go shopping. I fight my way through the traffic to Best Buy. They’re out of the storage disks I need for my MP3 player. On the way back to the car I step in a puddle of water.
“OK, I’ve had it.” I tell myself, wiping the rain off my glasses. “I’m going home”. But I remember that there’s no food in the house, no fruit, no milk, no bread. So I go back to the store where I saw him on Monday. I can’t help but look in the bin to see what it was he was studying so hard; it’s full of frozen catfish. I look down the aisle to see if there is anyway he might not have seen me. I realize that it would be very easy not to notice me.
I walk through my back door, the curtains are all still closed and it’s dark and cold. The answering machine is blinking. I put the milk in the refrigerator, “it’s not him… it’s not him” I tell myself as I push the button. It’s Indigo asking me if I want to come to Louisville tomorrow for Magnolia’s birthday. I sit down on the couch and curl up like a wounded animal. “You’re just tired” I tell myself as I begin to cry. I can’t stop. I am making sounds that I’ve never heard. I get up and try to pack but I have no desire for anything. Nearly an hour goes by and I’m still wandering through the house weeping uncontrollably and becoming concerned. Have I ever cried this hard before?
Yes, I’m sure I did when Woody left. But, I was crying then about my life. Now, I’m crying because I’ve lost my love… only I didn’t really lose it. I never really had it… but it felt like love, and it felt like heaven and he didn’t even take it away from me… I sent him away. It’s all too confusing and too tragic and I am certain that I will never find anyone who makes me feel like he did. And that is something I never felt about Woody. In fact I hope I never find anyone who makes me feel the way Woody did.
I call Sweet Pea and leave a message. I call Indigo and she picks up her cell. She’s riding in the car with her boyfriend and is trying to be supportive but brief. “You need to see someone and you need some medication. Call your doctor and get some WelButrin” she advises and promises to call me back later. I light a Saint Michael’s votive. I light several candles in the fireplace. Just the act of beautifying that tiny space and the light and the heat makes me feel calm. I get up and start cleaning the house. Sweet Pea calls and I describe my little break-down. “This isn’t getting better” I tell her, “It’s been twelve weeks and it’s getting worse.”
“Why don’t you just call him?” she suggests. “Really? What would I say? Do you think I should? Would you?” I ask, fascinated by the possibility. “In a heart-beat” she replies emphatically. And so I did. First I cleaned the house and talked to Jasmine who advised against it. Then I changed my sheets and took a long hot bath and covered myself in black spandex. Then I threw the I-Ching kneeling in front of the Saint Michael’s candle.
I threw K’an…the Abysmal, the water hexagram with a message about the inner light locked in my soul like water in a ravine. I’ve thrown a moving line in the fifth place which changes the hexagram to Sung…Conflict. The judgment tells me:
You are sincere and are being obstructed. A cautious halt halfway brings good fortune. Going through to the end brings misfortune. It furthers one to see the great man. It does not further one to cross the great water.
At midnight I dial his number. His machine answers and I tell him it’s a very cold night and ask him if he wants a ride. At one thirty I admit that he’s not going to call.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Off I Go
Dearest Sweet Pea,
It’s getting late and I need to put myself to bed. I’m flying to Costa Rica in the morning. But, I had to tell you, since you are the only one that I can tell, that he called last night. It was, as usual, amazing timing. When I got home from work last night I had three new calls on my machine. I said my old familiar mantra, “it’s not him…it’s not him” as I listened to a message from me calling home to remind myself to leave a key in the ceramic turtle incase any of my kids had to get in the house, and two from Lefty’s father who was arranging to drop off a care package for me to deliver. I tried to erase them and held the delete key down too long and just like that all of his saved messages were gone… all six of them.
The first one was from Halloween 2003. The fact that I saved them stood like some kind of testament that I hadn’t finished with him. I still needed to know that I could hear the sound of his voice and sometimes I would imagine playing them for him to demonstrate how hurtful he was when he called to thank me for the massage I bought for him and told me he was going to marry his masseuse, to show him how drunk he was the night he called to explain why he kept calling so late and the one where he accused me of not knowing how to say `it’s over’.
“Oh my God” I said to myself as I stared at the zero on my machine. “I can’t believe I did that”. I had planned to make some kind of ceremony of it, or if I couldn’t make myself do that I would disable my machine so I could save his recordings for the rest of my life. It was so fast and so easy and so over, it felt good…like some kind of surgical procedure I’d been dreading which had turned out to be painless. This was perfect, him not answering my last call had given me the closure I’d been needing, erasing his messages was like sliding the key out of the lock. And then he called.
Of course I picked it up. It was still pretty early and he sounded sober. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was packing for Costa Rica. “Oh…” he said it like he’d obviously made some sort of mistake calling me when I was so busy and so ready to go off on some big adventure. “It’s cool… I’m not that busy. I’ve got it under control” I told him, hearing the hint of him backing away. “I didn’t think I was gonna hear from you again.” I said and heard him start to laugh, unless it was at the E.W. James grocery store.” I said and heard him laugh loud enough that I knew he’d seen me. “Or on TV at some thousand dollar a plate fund-raiser.” I said gathering steam. “Well, I’ll go anywhere for a free meal” he said. “You clean up real good. I hardly recognized you” I told him. “So what about all these calls?” he asked. “You mean the ones I’ve made to you?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said as if that should be obvious. “Well, I’ll tell you why I called and then you can tell me why you didn’t call me back. I guess I had an epiphany.”
“That’s like a big change, right?”
“Yeah, something like that…more like a realization. So, why don’t you tell me why you didn’t call me back now.” I can’t remember what he said, something about still being uncertain and about still wanting to see me and the next thing I knew he said he’d be over in fifteen minutes. The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was how beautiful he was. I was wearing drawstring pajama bottoms and a gray fleece. “You look comfy” he said. I smiled thinking that this was good that I wasn’t making a big deal out of him coming over. But I hugged him anyway and he hugged me back. I could tell it felt good to both of us. I fixed us a drink and we talked a little about his buddy Mongiardo who’d just been written about in the newspaper for dating a nineteen year old girl… he’s forty-four. He didn’t try very hard to defend him and agreed that it probably hadn’t helped Mongiardo’s career. Then he asked me what had made me change my mind. I told him I’d missed him. He reminded me that he wanted to stay uncommitted and how uncomfortable it made him feel when I talked about how much more I wanted from him. Finally he said, “I have to really choose my words carefully here so I don’t piss you off… but what the hell I’ll just go out on a limb and tell you that this even happens at work. I tell people something and they don’t believe me, just like I told you I didn’t want to get involved and you kept thinking I was going to. It makes me feel like you don’t respect me.”
“Jesus, help us… now he’s the victim. Whatever, get over your bad self, boo-hoo, I love you, you poor fucker.” Of course I didn’t say any of this. He was pacing in and out of the room and I was back in my old mode of “don’t piss off the big baby… he might decide to leave.” And so it went. It wasn’t fun Sweet Pea and he didn’t even spend the night. I guess I’m still glad that he came. I feel like I can go off on my journey now and not have to wonder why he didn’t call. I really don’t think I’ll even worry about whether he’ll call again. I’ll call you as soon as I get home.
Love, Lily
Saturday, May 29, 2005
Aqua Termales
I’ve come to Costa Rica to visit with Trueman and his girlfriend, Lefty. Lefty is here to study the local population for her anthropology dissertation. I am here to lose the blues…so far, so good. In the hot pools of Aqua Termales I feel utterly serene… “tranquil” Lefty teaches me a new word. She chatters away with her friends Marcos and Carmen. I don’t understand a word they are saying or even their need to say it. I tell Lefty that it is very peaceful to not know what anyone is saying, all obligations to be attentive or clever are removed and one is free to simply float freely like a child or an animal, waiting for the simplest phrase to penetrate. “Le gusta?’ Si.
The people here are very beautiful…muy bonita, with light skin and dark hair. Trueman looks like he could be a Tico but I stand out with my blonde hair and my fish-belly white thighs. I’ve brought nothing but long pants and Lefty has loaned me some running shorts. I cringe at the sight of my naked legs but she tells me to stop being so hard on myself. Everywhere we go she introduces me as Trueman’s mother. “Joven…(young)”, they tell her. I love hearing it but don’t believe it. I long for beauty. I think it’s because of him. Even here, thousands of miles away, I long to share this with him. The impossibility of it has no effect on my desire. The reality that I have no idea if he would find the beautiful, white oxen climbing up the steep, dirt road charming or boring floats just beneath the surface of my longing. I have come here for an epiphany, but one cannot force these things. He called me two days before I left. He told me he wanted to see me and I told him to come over. I don’t know what I expected but it was nothing like I remembered. I was even surprised by the way he looked, younger and more beautiful. But the sweetness was gone. He seemed hesitant and unsure of whether he wanted to be there. Maybe he was jealous that I was going on a trip and he was still stuck in his boring routine of work and weekend binges. He seemed to be trying to pick a fight, accusing me of not respecting his desire to remain detached from me, telling me I had hidden the truth of my love for him. I told him I’d always been honest about that. “I told you I loved you the very first night we slept together.” I said. “On the first night? No way, I’d have been out the door so fast!” he said jumping up off the couch and pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “Well, maybe I didn’t say it the first night but I felt it. I know I told you pretty early on and then I quit saying it because I could tell it made you uncomfortable.” I defended myself, amazed that he could have ever convinced himself that I was only interested in the sex and had never desired anything more from him; his fantasy and mine at opposite poles on the magnet, which perhaps could explain the attraction. I finally decided there was no sense waiting for him to seduce me…he was just looking for a reason to leave. I figured I might just as well give him a reason to stay. I stood up and wrapped my arms around his chest and kissed the side of his neck. “Lighten up Pancho,” I said. He laughed and hugged me back. “Have you got your alarm set?” he asked. “Six-thirty” I assured him. “Let’s go to bed” he said. There was no fore-play except for the very first long kiss when he had at last pulled off his clothes, sitting on the side of the bed, invisible in the darkness, but I could hear his slow reluctant progress. When he finally pulled back the covers and slid in beside me I pushed my body against his, feeling total relief as he pressed his mouth against mine. Then he’d pulled away and said, “that was pretty good, wasn’t it?” in a voice more declarative than questioning. Still, it seemed odd that he needed affirmation. I was thrilled to have him in my bed again…thrilled to be kissing his mouth, his belly, his penis. I made myself stop so he wouldn’t come to fast but misjudged how excited he was. As he rolled on top of me I felt him come on my stomach. I was disappointed at how quickly he lost interest. Determined to get something for myself I’d snuggled up against him and kissed his shoulder. I could tell he was in one of his “no cuddling” moods. “See what happens when you don’t satisfy a woman…she wants to cuddle all night long” I’d teased him. “Sorry, to disappoint you” he’d said flatly. “It’s OK” I said reassuringly. But I could feel him pull away from me and I started to feel hot and sticky. “Do you mind if I turn the air on?” I asked remembering the night he complained of the noise and the time he told me that I made the room cold so he wouldn’t mind snuggling against me. “It’s OK. I don’t think I’m going to stay anyway” he answered. For an instant I felt stunned. How could he continue to make this experience so disappointing? “Don’t leave” I protested, “I want to fuck you again in the morning. Besides, what kind of send-off will that be?” He didn’t answer and I prepared myself for the inevitable. Still, I hoped he might fall asleep and stay. I moved away from him slowly trying not to disturb him, sneaking away like an exhausted mother from a sleeping infant. I was almost asleep when I felt him jerk himself into consciousness. “I’m going to go now” he said. “OK” I whispered, making sure that it sounded like it was OK, like I was not at all concerned about this new behavior, like it mattered not at all to me whether he stayed or left, I was going to Costa Rica and he couldn’t diminish my excitement. Still, I worried that I was losing ground. What if all this time had passed, all these tears and all this torture had resulted in him giving me less? He sat up and began to grope around in the dark. “Do you know what I did with my hat?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing you with a hat” I told him trying not to wake up completely, wanting to maintain some sort of serenity, wanting to remember that when he’d jerked himself awake he’d rolled over towards me and buried his face in my neck and kissed me and held me before he said he was leaving. “I think I carried it in.” he said standing up and going into the bathroom and turning on the light. I was surprised by how easily he found the switch, how familiar he was with the layout of my house. I kept my eyes closed and waited quietly for him to shut the light off. I heard him walk back into the dark room. “It doesn’t matter,” I coached myself. “He can’t ruin this moment for me. I’m still happy and he can’t take that away from me.”
“Who are you traveling with?” he asked as he sat on the side of the bed pulling on his socks. “I’m traveling by myself” I’d announced a little to loudly, a little too surprised that he would suspect I was going with anyone. “Are you going to meet people there?” he asked, as if he could not imagine me going alone. “Yes, my son” I said, pleased that he would care and disappointed that he could not remember me telling him months ago that Trueman was going to Costa Rica and I was going to visit. “OK, Well, you be careful” he said. “Yeah, you be careful going home” I called back. “Thanks” he answered. I closed my eyes and sank back into semi-sleep, reassured by his concern for me. I heard him groping around in the kitchen, perhaps looking for his hat or his keys. I thought about his leaving and whether I dared leave the door unlocked. Finally, I heard him call “good-bye”. Maybe he, too was thinking about the unlocked door. Again, I felt like he was concerned for me. I got up and walked into the kitchen, naked and acutely aware of my whiteness and the spots of poison ivy all over my belly. I saw him turn under the porch light and pull the door closed. I wondered if he saw me naked and knew that he had. I walked to the door and turned the key in the lock. I could feel his hand against the door knob. It was OK; he had come, he was going, I was leaving and he would be back.
Monday, May 2, 2005
On the Beach at Manuel Antonio
I’ve been here all day, trying to stay in the shade of my beach umbrella. Despite my best efforts and the sixty sunscreen my thighs are bright pink, “virgin skin” Lefty has warned me. But sunburn is like inebriation, you don’t realize you’re in trouble until it’s too late. I’m lying in my rented deck chair trying to focus on my paperback book, constantly distracted by the sound of the waves and the beautiful, and unbeautiful bodies that parade up and down the beach, when I realize I’m drunk. Two bourbons and the hot sun and I close my eyes trying to still the rolling of my stomach. “What is the worse that can happen?” I ask myself. “I can vomit in the sand” I tell myself. “No one will notice.”
Lefty has finally convinced Trueman to go out in the waves. He doesn’t like the ocean, which upsets Lefty. I’m sure that she wants to have an experience like the honeymooners in the cabana pool who hang on to each other hour after hour. “Muscrat Love” I tell Lefty. We agree that it’s obnoxious to watch. I’m not sure if it’s envy or loneliness that makes it so difficult to witness. I’m very happy at the beach. Were it not for my fear of sun damage it would be paradise. The air is perfect with a cool gentle breeze blowing across the water. Lefty and Truman return to the beach chairs and I announce that I’m not feeling well. Lefty suggests I go into the water to sober up. It seems like a good idea and I dive into the waves over and over until I realize that the beach umbrellas are quite small and I’m not feeling all that strong. I start swimming but for several minutes I don’t make any progress. I begin to panic, even though I know this is the worse thing a swimmer can do. My heart races faster and my breathing is ragged and rapid. “Well, Lily” I tell myself.
“ It’s swim or sink. There is no lifeguard and the ocean’s not kidding.” I put my face in the water and prepare myself for a real swim. Finally I see a couple just ahead of me. They are standing and I realize I am not that far from shallow water.
“I could live at the beach” I tell Lefty as I towel off. “I love it here. I could write all day.” I’m sharing my desires and my secrets with her. I’ve already told her about my visit from the peregrine even though I promised myself I would tell no one, even though I know she disapproves. Once when I told her I thought he was an angel sent to heal my broken heart, she told me, “Lily, an alcoholic cannot heal a broken heart. You deserve more.”
05-05-05
Feliz Cumpleanos
Today is my birthday, a very special one with all those fives, a very special day to wake up in Monteverde next to a cloud forest where yesterday I saw a Quetzal, a sacred bird. This morning I go to the lodge for breakfast and as I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee all the young gringoes, who I’ve just seen standing out on the porch, file into the room and break into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” I’m both embarrassed and grateful that Lefty has arranged this for me. She has also bought me a gift, a burlap coffee sack printed with a beautiful Quetzal.
The proprietress, Lydia gives me a hug and returns with a slice of cake. “I can not bare to think of anyone having a birthday without a piece of cake” she tell me. “Yesterday was my friend’s birthday, so I brought this piece of cake for you.”
“You are so sweet” I tell her. Later as we’re leaving I tell her I’d like to take a picture with her. She puts her arm around me and tells me, “Four years ago my mother died. So, whenever I see someone with their mother” she nods toward Trueman, “it makes me miss her.” My eyes fill with tears that roll down my cheeks. I wonder if she can see this behind my sunglasses but realize it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’m crying…because I’m old…because a total stranger has made an effort to make my birthday special?
Lefty, Trueman and I drive to the Saint Elena forest and hike up a steep trail. My knees are starting to hurt after yesterday’s climb. I feel like I’m getting old, like in spite of all my denial, my constant exercising and my insistence that I feel much younger than other people my age, my body is starting to wear out. After about an hour of hiking Lefty says that she would really like to take another four-mile trail. “I need to walk really fast and get all hot and sweaty” she announces. Trueman says he’d like to go with her and I tell them I’ll go back to the truck and read my book. “Are you sure?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me alone on my birthday. “Yeah, I’m sure” I tell her. “I’ll just wander around here in the forest for awhile and photograph orchids and watch for birds. I’ll take this trail here, Encantado. What does that mean?”
“Enchanted” she tells me. “Ah, perfect” I tell her. Alone in the woods I listen to sound of the birds and watch the sun go in and out behind the clouds. I feel completely alone and at peace.
Sunday, May 07, 2005
Mother’s Day
Trueman just came out and asked if I wanted some beans. It’s eight in the morning, “too early for beans” I tell him. “It’s never too early for beans” he replies. This will be my last day in Costa Rica. Here in Bajo Cavo life will most likely change slowly. Men will still ride horses up the steep dirt roads, but they will long for four-wheel drive pick-ups. Yesterday I took pictures of Junaico making dulce from cane. He harnessed a pair of oxen to a giant wheel and his grandson drove them round and round with a stick, which he never used. He collected the juice in a giant copper vat and boiled it for hours. His daughter brought two bowls and spoons and he filled them with spuma, hot foam which he skimmed off the top. It tasted like sweet spinach juice. I ate it obediently and accepted the shot of Jim Beam he offered to pour into it.
Juanico is eighty-five years old, a tiny man with very few teeth. Like all the camposinos he wears a giant machete strapped to his leg. There is something very sexy about this accessory, although there is nothing sexy about Juanico, dressed in filthy clothes. He chatters away at me even though I tell him over and over “no intiendo.” Occasionally he laughs at my incomprehension. Lefty tells me he is the patriarch of about eighty children, grand-children and great grand-children. One of his children is Raphael, a fifty year old single man. Lefty suggests I might like him. I saw him at the pulperia yesterday when I went to buy water. “He’s gay” I tell Lefty. “My mom thinks everyone is gay” Trueman tells Lefty. They both shake their heads in disbelief. “That man is not gay” Lefty announces emphatically. It doesn’t matter to me. I feel no desire for him or for any man I’ve seen here in Costa Rica, although the men are in far better shape than their U.S. peers. If I had to choose one it would be Juan Carlos who rode past me on his white horse. “Adios” I’d called out and when he turned to look at me his horse had reared. He had beautiful green eyes and a dark handsome face “He’s married” Lefty told me. That’s OK. Details like these don’t matter in my fantasies. A beautiful man on a rearing horse is all I need.
In Monte Verde we stay at a Quaker Settlement house. “Maybe you’ll meet a hot, widowed Quaker” Lefty offers. “That sounds like some kind of baked goods” I tell her, quite certain that that’s not going to happen. I don’t mind being alone here, maybe because I’m spending so much time with Trueman and Lefty. On the long drive home from Monteverde we are crammed into the cab of the tiny truck. I keep turning around for another view of the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. It’s pitch black by the time we reach the unpaved road that the recent rain has turned to mud. We climb up and down the hills in low gear with the truck sliding sideways and Lefty gripping my hand as we cross each narrow bridge. When we finally reach home we discover the electricity is out. Lefty searches in the dark for a candle and apologizes. “This is a fine way to end your birthday” she says. Trueman strikes a match and we both break into song, “Happy Birthday.” Lefty laughs. “God, you’re both such optimists” she says. I don’t know if this is true but I do feel like I’ve become more hopeful on this trip. I didn’t have the epiphany I’d hoped for but I’ve come to recognize my patience, my “tolerance” that the peregrine once thanked me for.
I’ve thought about him almost constantly here, but not with the sad desperation I felt at home. Thousands of miles away from him, with no possibility of a phone call, I recognize more clearly what I had and how he almost fell in love with me. There may have even been a time when I could have made him chase me and perhaps things would have turned out differently. But all that doesn’t matter now. What I really want now is to have what I once had, his sweet smile and his sweeter kisses. I still don’t know if I can ever have them again, or if I could have them back, if I would always want more. And that doesn’t matter anymore either. What matters is the mystery, the possibility.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Crossing Borders
Yesterday was his birthday. Last year on his birthday he’d called at six o’clock. I had call-blocked him for ignoring my birthday, then answered when he’d called from the Super America. “Did you call block me?” he’d asked incredulously. “Yep,” I’d answered. “Oh, I wasn’t sure what was happening. I won’t call you anymore if you don’t want me to,” he’d said apologetically. “Happy Birthday” I’d answered and then asked, “What are you doing?” He’d just come back from visiting his family, had spent the day painting his aunt’s house, the free rent he’d told me was waiting for him back home, along with the judge’s daughter he’d been caught with his pants down with when he was in high school.
It was a constant threat that he wanted to leave. Nothing he did could make me say no to him, not even moving in a female roommate. When he told me about her I asked him if he was sexually attracted to her. “No.” he said quickly. “You can’t even imagine yourself having sex with her?” I asked again for some clarification about this new woman who was living in his tiny cage…Mr. Private, Mr. No- Relationshipping-Allowed. He’d closed one eye and thrown his arm forward like a drunken pirate and laughed. “Well maybe if I was one-eyed drunk.” It hadn’t seemed like a huge threat and I knew it was one of those challenges that life throws out. I’d have to be cool and hope that it would resolve itself. Besides, what kind of woman would put up with him spending the night at my house? “One more desperate than you” the hag-in-my-head answers for me. Well, that’s just fuckin tragic.
I called him last night at ten thirty. I’d just come home from the grocery carrying my back- pack full of fruits and vegetables. I’d walked there and back, twice. The first time I was on my way to the check-out line when I realized I’d forgotten to bring any money. I’d put my basket in a cooler and walked home to get my money…and my car. I could come back and buy some Masa Harina and a Saint Michael’s candle and not have to carry it. I thought I saw his truck pass me…one of the thousands of dark Toyotas that live in Lexington. I decided to walk back with the money and carry my groceries home. I missed walking those big hills and I needed to get rid of all the chips I’d eaten in Costa Rica. Besides, it would be good if he called and I wasn’t there. I checked the machine on the way in, he hadn’t called. It was still early, nine thirty. “Too late to be out alone,” I scolded myself and then said “Fuck it.” When I got back to the parking lot I saw Iris’s car. “Shit”. I’d already decided I was going to call in sick for the rest of the week. I just couldn’t bare the thought of going back to work.
When I complained to Trueman that I was the only one at work who wasn’t using their sick time he told me, “Mom, I’m going to be extremely disappointed in you if you don’t go back home and call in sick…for the rest of the week.” Just before I left he’d called out to me one morning. “What are you gonna get when you get home?” in a voice that sounded like I should know the answer. I tried to remember what he’d asked me to do. “What?” I asked, clueless. “Diaaaaaaaarrhea” he’d called back like it was so obvious. He and Lefty had coached me again on the way to the airport. “Say it was the salad. Everyone’s fuckin paranoid of the salad” he said with disgust.
It was gonna be hard to pull off a three day abdominal illness if Iris saw me walking my groceries back home. “Shit, trip number three, go home empty?” I walk into Jalapeno’s instead, a margarita and a bowl of chips, cute Latin bartender and the Herald-Leader and I’m back on vacation. The drink is almost too much. I’ve only eaten a bowl of lentils and a can of vegetable soup today. I leave a dollar and half my drink on the bar and go back out but Iris’s car is still there. “Jesus Christ! Get a move on” I try to send her a telepathic message and wonder if I can whip in and out without her seeing me. “That’ll be tricky” I tell myself, “and it will ruin everything.” I go back into the restaurant. It’s empty except for the staff, a half-dozen young Mexican men. I’m acutely aware of my short skirt and low-cut sports top that keeps creeping down below my cleavage. The bartender looks up questioningly. “I’m trying to avoid someone in the grocery store.” I explain as I settle back on the stool and suck down the rest of my margarita.
It’s ten thirty by the time I get home and I’m feeling woozy despite the walk. There are still no messages. I’m surprised that Sweet Pea hasn’t called back yet. I call her again and she answers. She’s driving with her CASA kid and tells me “I’ll call you back in forty-five minutes.” I hang up and dial his number.
His machine answers instantly. He sounds like James Dean impersonating Jesse James, “You’ve reached 255-7638. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”
“Hey, this is Lily. Happy Birthday. Hope you’re havin a good one. Talk to you soon.” Over and out cause I don’t give a shit anymore. I give a shit about him but not about what happens. It just doesn’t matter anymore.
Sweet Pea calls back and I tell her about Costa Rica and all my epiphanies and about going back to school and getting a new job and confess that I’ve once again slept with the peregrine and tell her how lousy it was and how I’m willing to let it happen again if it can be good but fuck-it if it’s gonna be shitty and how I’ve been thinking about calling Ponder to see if he’d like to go Karaokeing with me and how much fun it would be to have him as a friend and she tells me that last week she finally made out with the twenty-seven year old boy from work. “Jesus-fuckin-Christ!” I yell. “I know, I know” she giggles, “it’s ridiculous. We didn’t have sex but he sucked on my breasts. It’s absurd. I can’t go there” she says all giddy and breathless. “Oh Fuck it! You’re gonna go there.” I tell her. “And who cares? Some day you’ll be eighty and you’ll look back and say, `damn, that was fun.’”
“Yeah, you’re right” she says wistfully. “I just don’t want to get my heart broken.”
“Well, forget that. You’re gonna get your heart broken and you know what? It’ll still be worth it.”
Thursday, May 12, 2005
A Pound of Flesh
I had the most delightful dream last night…
I walked past a man who looked a lot like Chris Reed and a few minutes later I walked past another man who also looked like Chris Reed. I smiled at him and when he smiled back I told him that he looked a lot like another man I’d just seen. He put his arm around my waist and seemed to be intrigued by me. Within a few minutes he was kissing me. It was delightful.
I think we may have had sex but we were definitely lying on his bed when I saw a piece of membrane. It looked like fried egg- white, laced with holes. But, I was certain it came from my body. I discovered it fit perfectly over the top of my knee. I was somewhat concerned about whether I would be able to replace it but I wasn’t in any pain and besides I was still very intrigued by the man I was making love with.
Some woman came by and was very intrusive. She looked familiar but I wasn’t sure how I knew her. She acted very put out and expected me to get up and help her deal with some issue I was supposed to be involved with. I got up and managed to be polite and helpful and got rid of her as quickly as possible so I could go back to my man.
He was also up now and up to all kinds of little pranks, showing me how he could make a flock of birds fly to him over and over, swooping lower with each flight. I was fascinated and only a little frightened. He was introducing me to his friends, one of them was a disabled man in a wheel chair.
He tipped the wheel chair over and the disabled man fell onto the floor. The man was mildly annoyed but not hurt. My lover kept trying to tease him into enjoying the experience. At one point he asked the man to describe what it felt like to be dumped out of his chair and the disabled man pointed to a dark spot high up on the wall and said it felt a lot like that… Again I was absolutely fascinated by my lover’s brilliance but I was feeling shy and uncertain and told him I should be going.
He started questioning me. Why was I alone when I was obviously so desirable? I thought about it and realized I wasn’t sure… I thought about telling him about my bad boyfriend and then decided to whisper in his ear “I was married for 25 years.” He seemed to be fascinated by this and continued to hug and kiss me and tell me of his plans for the two of us to be together.
I woke up and realized how delightful it was to find a new love… even if it was just in a dream. I thought about the piece of my knee that I’d found in our bed and wondered if it didn’t represent that proverbial pound of flesh…
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Bats
I’ve just discovered there is a bat right above my head. It’s roosting on my front porch. I am amazed that I can stay under it. I’m petrified when one flies into the room like that first night in Bajo Calvo. I hit the floor and crawled under the kitchen counter making Trueman and Lefty laugh and bolster their courage.
I read recently that a bat has no friends…birds don’t like him because he has no fur and rats don’t like him because he has wings. What could be more frightening than a rat with wings? Oh yeah, a blind flying rat.
I feel like I never want to go back to my job. Yesterday I applied for a job at UK. Lefty said it would be an ideal way to get more education. Notdog agreed. “Mom, you should go back to school. You loved being in school.” It’s true I did. I didn’t love the stress of papers and testing but there was such a feeling of accomplishment when I earned an A, hundreds of little tokens, tiny ones that added up to big ones and credits lined up for those giant initials. So many A’s but there was more. Who would these teachers be? Would Art History be interesting? Would it be hard? Yes, and yes. I remember realizing for the first time how much there was to learn and how little I really knew. How could I ever have thought I knew it all?
So, I go to the UK job site which is a nightmare institutional website that requires excellent computer tech-talk skills to navigate. It won’t let me in without a password and a username because my ss# is already in the system. What the “system” has taught me is that one must use all means possible to reach a human. An hour later I am attaching my new cover letter for a job at the Art Center, six hours before the deadline. I recognize my continued good fortune…the hand of fate…a blessing, when I see one.
This morning I emailed my old friend Ricka, who is listed in the UK staff directory as an Employment Specialist for the Human Resource Department. I tell her I want to work for UK and mention the Art Administrator position and ask for any hints or help she might be able to give. I remember looking through the student Kernel several years ago and seeing an item in the lost and found. Found: heart-shaped silver charm engraved with Ricka. To claim call: I called Ricka and asked if it was hers. “Yes” she said amazed that it had been found. She told me she never read the Kernel and she would never have found it without me calling her. Now, I recognize Karma.
Having a Horrible Time, Wish You Were Here
Yesterday was such a windy, cold, rainy, horrible day. I had to get up early to go to the Camp Fair, even though I’d already worked a twelve hour day on Friday; poor planning on my part. I’d forgotten about the Brownie overnight. I was supposed to teach four groups of twenty girls everything I knew about tree rings, which was about thirty seconds worth of material. I decided to walk over to Bella’s while the Brownies were checking in. I only had an hour and it would take most of that to get there and back, but I could at least kiss the baby and I hadn’t had any exercise all day.
It was nice to be outside. I was running to catch lights, feeling smarter than everyone else stuck in a car. As I got close to Bella’s I saw a green pickup pulling out from Tshirts street. “I wonder if that’s Tshirt” I said to myself. I’d met Tshirt at the dance months before I started seeing the peregrine. He’d invited me to his house for dinner once. He was sweet but totally confused about whether he liked me or not and he had a huge problem with alcohol. I’d decided not to see him anymore. I was peering into the window when I realized it was Woody looking back at me. “Mother Fucker,” I thought to myself. I can’t go anywhere without running into him. What does he think when he sees me walking down the street? Does he think I look good? Does he wonder “who is this woman who jogs and what happened to the couch potato I was married to”? Does he think “hey, there goes my wife”? He was probably visiting the baby, too. Good thing I missed him. He’s the last person I want to see…ever.
It was wonderful to see Bella. She always makes me feel proud. She’s so beautiful and her house is just the perfect combination of tastefully put-together and running over with toys. The baby is in her high-chair, the one that Woody made for Trueman. She smiles at me and holds out a piece of macaroni. I hesitate for a second but recognize her gesture as the purest form of love. So, I eat it gratefully from her chubby fingers and smile back at her. Then she picks up her spoon and scoops up a perfect mound of macaroni and cheese and holds it out to me. Bella gets me a plate and passes me a carton of Chinese take-out. I eat quickly.
The baby wants to take me out to the back porch and show me her tent, which is also filled with toys. “Eeeewww”, I say picking up a tiny furry white mouse with a long strip of leather for a tail. She holds her hand up to take it from me and turns it around in her hand until she can see into its tiny beaded eyes and then delicately kisses it on its mouth. I tell Bella I have to go and the baby pulls her lips into a tiny sphincter, signaling her desire for a kiss.
I have to run several blocks to make it back to the Museum in time but the Brownies are running late and I end up with time to drink a glass of lemonade, read over my notes and think about about how I’m going to turn three simple concepts into a twenty-five minute presentation that will capture the attention of eleven year old girls. I have a box of tree slices and I tell them to come up and choose one. One of the mothers tells me I better pass them out. “That’s OK, it’s a time killer, I’ve got to make this last for twenty-five minutes” I tell her shamelessly. I’ve discovered that my voice can no longer hold out for long periods of elevated use and I turn around once and tell the group of mothers chattering away behind me that I can’t hear myself. I’m slightly amazed by their rudeness and amused by the way they snap to attention.
I enjoy making eye-contact with each and every girl, asking them to count their rings and then going around the circle with each one announcing their number. Their numbers range from thirty to forty. I don’t mention that their slices are all from the same tree and should all have the same number of rings. I ask them what trees give us and if they think trees are endangered, and do they know that today is Earth Day. Most of them do, some of them can describe the process of photosynthesis.
It’s over by nine-thirty and I drive home in the pouring rain. My house is freezing and the kitchen has been invaded by ants who seem to be thriving on the poison I keep pouring out for them. Every room is filled with piles of books and laundry and shoes. I make a cup of hot-chocolate and sit on the couch flipping through the channels until eleven. I really didn’t expect him to call.
My alarm went off at seven, even through the dark curtains I can see its nasty outside. I get up and make myself an egg burrito that will have to last me till two-thirty. The camp fair is an astro-turf kids’ paradise with giant inflatables, a wooden dance floor and a DJ playing loud rock and roll and encouraging the kids to dance and win CDs. Everyone there has at least one young child in tow; thirty-something parents and forty-something parents and even fifty-something grandparents. I find myself staring at the strikingly handsome young dads with muscled bodies and clean-shaven faces and short clipped haircuts. I realize again how attracted I am to beauty.
The wind is still whipping cold rain around as I pack up my car. It seems like everyone who owns an SUV has driven out to go shopping. I fight my way through the traffic to Best Buy. They’re out of the storage disks I need for my MP3 player. On the way back to the car I step in a puddle of water.
“OK, I’ve had it.” I tell myself, wiping the rain off my glasses. “I’m going home”. But I remember that there’s no food in the house, no fruit, no milk, no bread. So I go back to the store where I saw him on Monday. I can’t help but look in the bin to see what it was he was studying so hard; it’s full of frozen catfish. I look down the aisle to see if there is anyway he might not have seen me. I realize that it would be very easy not to notice me.
I walk through my back door, the curtains are all still closed and it’s dark and cold. The answering machine is blinking. I put the milk in the refrigerator, “it’s not him… it’s not him” I tell myself as I push the button. It’s Indigo asking me if I want to come to Louisville tomorrow for Magnolia’s birthday. I sit down on the couch and curl up like a wounded animal. “You’re just tired” I tell myself as I begin to cry. I can’t stop. I am making sounds that I’ve never heard. I get up and try to pack but I have no desire for anything. Nearly an hour goes by and I’m still wandering through the house weeping uncontrollably and becoming concerned. Have I ever cried this hard before?
Yes, I’m sure I did when Woody left. But, I was crying then about my life. Now, I’m crying because I’ve lost my love… only I didn’t really lose it. I never really had it… but it felt like love, and it felt like heaven and he didn’t even take it away from me… I sent him away. It’s all too confusing and too tragic and I am certain that I will never find anyone who makes me feel like he did. And that is something I never felt about Woody. In fact I hope I never find anyone who makes me feel the way Woody did.
I call Sweet Pea and leave a message. I call Indigo and she picks up her cell. She’s riding in the car with her boyfriend and is trying to be supportive but brief. “You need to see someone and you need some medication. Call your doctor and get some WelButrin” she advises and promises to call me back later. I light a Saint Michael’s votive. I light several candles in the fireplace. Just the act of beautifying that tiny space and the light and the heat makes me feel calm. I get up and start cleaning the house. Sweet Pea calls and I describe my little break-down. “This isn’t getting better” I tell her, “It’s been twelve weeks and it’s getting worse.”
“Why don’t you just call him?” she suggests. “Really? What would I say? Do you think I should? Would you?” I ask, fascinated by the possibility. “In a heart-beat” she replies emphatically. And so I did. First I cleaned the house and talked to Jasmine who advised against it. Then I changed my sheets and took a long hot bath and covered myself in black spandex. Then I threw the I-Ching kneeling in front of the Saint Michael’s candle.
I threw K’an…the Abysmal, the water hexagram with a message about the inner light locked in my soul like water in a ravine. I’ve thrown a moving line in the fifth place which changes the hexagram to Sung…Conflict. The judgment tells me:
You are sincere and are being obstructed. A cautious halt halfway brings good fortune. Going through to the end brings misfortune. It furthers one to see the great man. It does not further one to cross the great water.
At midnight I dial his number. His machine answers and I tell him it’s a very cold night and ask him if he wants a ride. At one thirty I admit that he’s not going to call.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Off I Go
Dearest Sweet Pea,
It’s getting late and I need to put myself to bed. I’m flying to Costa Rica in the morning. But, I had to tell you, since you are the only one that I can tell, that he called last night. It was, as usual, amazing timing. When I got home from work last night I had three new calls on my machine. I said my old familiar mantra, “it’s not him…it’s not him” as I listened to a message from me calling home to remind myself to leave a key in the ceramic turtle incase any of my kids had to get in the house, and two from Lefty’s father who was arranging to drop off a care package for me to deliver. I tried to erase them and held the delete key down too long and just like that all of his saved messages were gone… all six of them.
The first one was from Halloween 2003. The fact that I saved them stood like some kind of testament that I hadn’t finished with him. I still needed to know that I could hear the sound of his voice and sometimes I would imagine playing them for him to demonstrate how hurtful he was when he called to thank me for the massage I bought for him and told me he was going to marry his masseuse, to show him how drunk he was the night he called to explain why he kept calling so late and the one where he accused me of not knowing how to say `it’s over’.
“Oh my God” I said to myself as I stared at the zero on my machine. “I can’t believe I did that”. I had planned to make some kind of ceremony of it, or if I couldn’t make myself do that I would disable my machine so I could save his recordings for the rest of my life. It was so fast and so easy and so over, it felt good…like some kind of surgical procedure I’d been dreading which had turned out to be painless. This was perfect, him not answering my last call had given me the closure I’d been needing, erasing his messages was like sliding the key out of the lock. And then he called.
Of course I picked it up. It was still pretty early and he sounded sober. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was packing for Costa Rica. “Oh…” he said it like he’d obviously made some sort of mistake calling me when I was so busy and so ready to go off on some big adventure. “It’s cool… I’m not that busy. I’ve got it under control” I told him, hearing the hint of him backing away. “I didn’t think I was gonna hear from you again.” I said and heard him start to laugh, unless it was at the E.W. James grocery store.” I said and heard him laugh loud enough that I knew he’d seen me. “Or on TV at some thousand dollar a plate fund-raiser.” I said gathering steam. “Well, I’ll go anywhere for a free meal” he said. “You clean up real good. I hardly recognized you” I told him. “So what about all these calls?” he asked. “You mean the ones I’ve made to you?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said as if that should be obvious. “Well, I’ll tell you why I called and then you can tell me why you didn’t call me back. I guess I had an epiphany.”
“That’s like a big change, right?”
“Yeah, something like that…more like a realization. So, why don’t you tell me why you didn’t call me back now.” I can’t remember what he said, something about still being uncertain and about still wanting to see me and the next thing I knew he said he’d be over in fifteen minutes. The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was how beautiful he was. I was wearing drawstring pajama bottoms and a gray fleece. “You look comfy” he said. I smiled thinking that this was good that I wasn’t making a big deal out of him coming over. But I hugged him anyway and he hugged me back. I could tell it felt good to both of us. I fixed us a drink and we talked a little about his buddy Mongiardo who’d just been written about in the newspaper for dating a nineteen year old girl… he’s forty-four. He didn’t try very hard to defend him and agreed that it probably hadn’t helped Mongiardo’s career. Then he asked me what had made me change my mind. I told him I’d missed him. He reminded me that he wanted to stay uncommitted and how uncomfortable it made him feel when I talked about how much more I wanted from him. Finally he said, “I have to really choose my words carefully here so I don’t piss you off… but what the hell I’ll just go out on a limb and tell you that this even happens at work. I tell people something and they don’t believe me, just like I told you I didn’t want to get involved and you kept thinking I was going to. It makes me feel like you don’t respect me.”
“Jesus, help us… now he’s the victim. Whatever, get over your bad self, boo-hoo, I love you, you poor fucker.” Of course I didn’t say any of this. He was pacing in and out of the room and I was back in my old mode of “don’t piss off the big baby… he might decide to leave.” And so it went. It wasn’t fun Sweet Pea and he didn’t even spend the night. I guess I’m still glad that he came. I feel like I can go off on my journey now and not have to wonder why he didn’t call. I really don’t think I’ll even worry about whether he’ll call again. I’ll call you as soon as I get home.
Love, Lily
Saturday, May 29, 2005
Aqua Termales
I’ve come to Costa Rica to visit with Trueman and his girlfriend, Lefty. Lefty is here to study the local population for her anthropology dissertation. I am here to lose the blues…so far, so good. In the hot pools of Aqua Termales I feel utterly serene… “tranquil” Lefty teaches me a new word. She chatters away with her friends Marcos and Carmen. I don’t understand a word they are saying or even their need to say it. I tell Lefty that it is very peaceful to not know what anyone is saying, all obligations to be attentive or clever are removed and one is free to simply float freely like a child or an animal, waiting for the simplest phrase to penetrate. “Le gusta?’ Si.
The people here are very beautiful…muy bonita, with light skin and dark hair. Trueman looks like he could be a Tico but I stand out with my blonde hair and my fish-belly white thighs. I’ve brought nothing but long pants and Lefty has loaned me some running shorts. I cringe at the sight of my naked legs but she tells me to stop being so hard on myself. Everywhere we go she introduces me as Trueman’s mother. “Joven…(young)”, they tell her. I love hearing it but don’t believe it. I long for beauty. I think it’s because of him. Even here, thousands of miles away, I long to share this with him. The impossibility of it has no effect on my desire. The reality that I have no idea if he would find the beautiful, white oxen climbing up the steep, dirt road charming or boring floats just beneath the surface of my longing. I have come here for an epiphany, but one cannot force these things. He called me two days before I left. He told me he wanted to see me and I told him to come over. I don’t know what I expected but it was nothing like I remembered. I was even surprised by the way he looked, younger and more beautiful. But the sweetness was gone. He seemed hesitant and unsure of whether he wanted to be there. Maybe he was jealous that I was going on a trip and he was still stuck in his boring routine of work and weekend binges. He seemed to be trying to pick a fight, accusing me of not respecting his desire to remain detached from me, telling me I had hidden the truth of my love for him. I told him I’d always been honest about that. “I told you I loved you the very first night we slept together.” I said. “On the first night? No way, I’d have been out the door so fast!” he said jumping up off the couch and pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “Well, maybe I didn’t say it the first night but I felt it. I know I told you pretty early on and then I quit saying it because I could tell it made you uncomfortable.” I defended myself, amazed that he could have ever convinced himself that I was only interested in the sex and had never desired anything more from him; his fantasy and mine at opposite poles on the magnet, which perhaps could explain the attraction. I finally decided there was no sense waiting for him to seduce me…he was just looking for a reason to leave. I figured I might just as well give him a reason to stay. I stood up and wrapped my arms around his chest and kissed the side of his neck. “Lighten up Pancho,” I said. He laughed and hugged me back. “Have you got your alarm set?” he asked. “Six-thirty” I assured him. “Let’s go to bed” he said. There was no fore-play except for the very first long kiss when he had at last pulled off his clothes, sitting on the side of the bed, invisible in the darkness, but I could hear his slow reluctant progress. When he finally pulled back the covers and slid in beside me I pushed my body against his, feeling total relief as he pressed his mouth against mine. Then he’d pulled away and said, “that was pretty good, wasn’t it?” in a voice more declarative than questioning. Still, it seemed odd that he needed affirmation. I was thrilled to have him in my bed again…thrilled to be kissing his mouth, his belly, his penis. I made myself stop so he wouldn’t come to fast but misjudged how excited he was. As he rolled on top of me I felt him come on my stomach. I was disappointed at how quickly he lost interest. Determined to get something for myself I’d snuggled up against him and kissed his shoulder. I could tell he was in one of his “no cuddling” moods. “See what happens when you don’t satisfy a woman…she wants to cuddle all night long” I’d teased him. “Sorry, to disappoint you” he’d said flatly. “It’s OK” I said reassuringly. But I could feel him pull away from me and I started to feel hot and sticky. “Do you mind if I turn the air on?” I asked remembering the night he complained of the noise and the time he told me that I made the room cold so he wouldn’t mind snuggling against me. “It’s OK. I don’t think I’m going to stay anyway” he answered. For an instant I felt stunned. How could he continue to make this experience so disappointing? “Don’t leave” I protested, “I want to fuck you again in the morning. Besides, what kind of send-off will that be?” He didn’t answer and I prepared myself for the inevitable. Still, I hoped he might fall asleep and stay. I moved away from him slowly trying not to disturb him, sneaking away like an exhausted mother from a sleeping infant. I was almost asleep when I felt him jerk himself into consciousness. “I’m going to go now” he said. “OK” I whispered, making sure that it sounded like it was OK, like I was not at all concerned about this new behavior, like it mattered not at all to me whether he stayed or left, I was going to Costa Rica and he couldn’t diminish my excitement. Still, I worried that I was losing ground. What if all this time had passed, all these tears and all this torture had resulted in him giving me less? He sat up and began to grope around in the dark. “Do you know what I did with my hat?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing you with a hat” I told him trying not to wake up completely, wanting to maintain some sort of serenity, wanting to remember that when he’d jerked himself awake he’d rolled over towards me and buried his face in my neck and kissed me and held me before he said he was leaving. “I think I carried it in.” he said standing up and going into the bathroom and turning on the light. I was surprised by how easily he found the switch, how familiar he was with the layout of my house. I kept my eyes closed and waited quietly for him to shut the light off. I heard him walk back into the dark room. “It doesn’t matter,” I coached myself. “He can’t ruin this moment for me. I’m still happy and he can’t take that away from me.”
“Who are you traveling with?” he asked as he sat on the side of the bed pulling on his socks. “I’m traveling by myself” I’d announced a little to loudly, a little too surprised that he would suspect I was going with anyone. “Are you going to meet people there?” he asked, as if he could not imagine me going alone. “Yes, my son” I said, pleased that he would care and disappointed that he could not remember me telling him months ago that Trueman was going to Costa Rica and I was going to visit. “OK, Well, you be careful” he said. “Yeah, you be careful going home” I called back. “Thanks” he answered. I closed my eyes and sank back into semi-sleep, reassured by his concern for me. I heard him groping around in the kitchen, perhaps looking for his hat or his keys. I thought about his leaving and whether I dared leave the door unlocked. Finally, I heard him call “good-bye”. Maybe he, too was thinking about the unlocked door. Again, I felt like he was concerned for me. I got up and walked into the kitchen, naked and acutely aware of my whiteness and the spots of poison ivy all over my belly. I saw him turn under the porch light and pull the door closed. I wondered if he saw me naked and knew that he had. I walked to the door and turned the key in the lock. I could feel his hand against the door knob. It was OK; he had come, he was going, I was leaving and he would be back.
Monday, May 2, 2005
On the Beach at Manuel Antonio
I’ve been here all day, trying to stay in the shade of my beach umbrella. Despite my best efforts and the sixty sunscreen my thighs are bright pink, “virgin skin” Lefty has warned me. But sunburn is like inebriation, you don’t realize you’re in trouble until it’s too late. I’m lying in my rented deck chair trying to focus on my paperback book, constantly distracted by the sound of the waves and the beautiful, and unbeautiful bodies that parade up and down the beach, when I realize I’m drunk. Two bourbons and the hot sun and I close my eyes trying to still the rolling of my stomach. “What is the worse that can happen?” I ask myself. “I can vomit in the sand” I tell myself. “No one will notice.”
Lefty has finally convinced Trueman to go out in the waves. He doesn’t like the ocean, which upsets Lefty. I’m sure that she wants to have an experience like the honeymooners in the cabana pool who hang on to each other hour after hour. “Muscrat Love” I tell Lefty. We agree that it’s obnoxious to watch. I’m not sure if it’s envy or loneliness that makes it so difficult to witness. I’m very happy at the beach. Were it not for my fear of sun damage it would be paradise. The air is perfect with a cool gentle breeze blowing across the water. Lefty and Truman return to the beach chairs and I announce that I’m not feeling well. Lefty suggests I go into the water to sober up. It seems like a good idea and I dive into the waves over and over until I realize that the beach umbrellas are quite small and I’m not feeling all that strong. I start swimming but for several minutes I don’t make any progress. I begin to panic, even though I know this is the worse thing a swimmer can do. My heart races faster and my breathing is ragged and rapid. “Well, Lily” I tell myself.
“ It’s swim or sink. There is no lifeguard and the ocean’s not kidding.” I put my face in the water and prepare myself for a real swim. Finally I see a couple just ahead of me. They are standing and I realize I am not that far from shallow water.
“I could live at the beach” I tell Lefty as I towel off. “I love it here. I could write all day.” I’m sharing my desires and my secrets with her. I’ve already told her about my visit from the peregrine even though I promised myself I would tell no one, even though I know she disapproves. Once when I told her I thought he was an angel sent to heal my broken heart, she told me, “Lily, an alcoholic cannot heal a broken heart. You deserve more.”
05-05-05
Feliz Cumpleanos
Today is my birthday, a very special one with all those fives, a very special day to wake up in Monteverde next to a cloud forest where yesterday I saw a Quetzal, a sacred bird. This morning I go to the lodge for breakfast and as I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee all the young gringoes, who I’ve just seen standing out on the porch, file into the room and break into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” I’m both embarrassed and grateful that Lefty has arranged this for me. She has also bought me a gift, a burlap coffee sack printed with a beautiful Quetzal.
The proprietress, Lydia gives me a hug and returns with a slice of cake. “I can not bare to think of anyone having a birthday without a piece of cake” she tell me. “Yesterday was my friend’s birthday, so I brought this piece of cake for you.”
“You are so sweet” I tell her. Later as we’re leaving I tell her I’d like to take a picture with her. She puts her arm around me and tells me, “Four years ago my mother died. So, whenever I see someone with their mother” she nods toward Trueman, “it makes me miss her.” My eyes fill with tears that roll down my cheeks. I wonder if she can see this behind my sunglasses but realize it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’m crying…because I’m old…because a total stranger has made an effort to make my birthday special?
Lefty, Trueman and I drive to the Saint Elena forest and hike up a steep trail. My knees are starting to hurt after yesterday’s climb. I feel like I’m getting old, like in spite of all my denial, my constant exercising and my insistence that I feel much younger than other people my age, my body is starting to wear out. After about an hour of hiking Lefty says that she would really like to take another four-mile trail. “I need to walk really fast and get all hot and sweaty” she announces. Trueman says he’d like to go with her and I tell them I’ll go back to the truck and read my book. “Are you sure?” she asks. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me alone on my birthday. “Yeah, I’m sure” I tell her. “I’ll just wander around here in the forest for awhile and photograph orchids and watch for birds. I’ll take this trail here, Encantado. What does that mean?”
“Enchanted” she tells me. “Ah, perfect” I tell her. Alone in the woods I listen to sound of the birds and watch the sun go in and out behind the clouds. I feel completely alone and at peace.
Sunday, May 07, 2005
Mother’s Day
Trueman just came out and asked if I wanted some beans. It’s eight in the morning, “too early for beans” I tell him. “It’s never too early for beans” he replies. This will be my last day in Costa Rica. Here in Bajo Cavo life will most likely change slowly. Men will still ride horses up the steep dirt roads, but they will long for four-wheel drive pick-ups. Yesterday I took pictures of Junaico making dulce from cane. He harnessed a pair of oxen to a giant wheel and his grandson drove them round and round with a stick, which he never used. He collected the juice in a giant copper vat and boiled it for hours. His daughter brought two bowls and spoons and he filled them with spuma, hot foam which he skimmed off the top. It tasted like sweet spinach juice. I ate it obediently and accepted the shot of Jim Beam he offered to pour into it.
Juanico is eighty-five years old, a tiny man with very few teeth. Like all the camposinos he wears a giant machete strapped to his leg. There is something very sexy about this accessory, although there is nothing sexy about Juanico, dressed in filthy clothes. He chatters away at me even though I tell him over and over “no intiendo.” Occasionally he laughs at my incomprehension. Lefty tells me he is the patriarch of about eighty children, grand-children and great grand-children. One of his children is Raphael, a fifty year old single man. Lefty suggests I might like him. I saw him at the pulperia yesterday when I went to buy water. “He’s gay” I tell Lefty. “My mom thinks everyone is gay” Trueman tells Lefty. They both shake their heads in disbelief. “That man is not gay” Lefty announces emphatically. It doesn’t matter to me. I feel no desire for him or for any man I’ve seen here in Costa Rica, although the men are in far better shape than their U.S. peers. If I had to choose one it would be Juan Carlos who rode past me on his white horse. “Adios” I’d called out and when he turned to look at me his horse had reared. He had beautiful green eyes and a dark handsome face “He’s married” Lefty told me. That’s OK. Details like these don’t matter in my fantasies. A beautiful man on a rearing horse is all I need.
In Monte Verde we stay at a Quaker Settlement house. “Maybe you’ll meet a hot, widowed Quaker” Lefty offers. “That sounds like some kind of baked goods” I tell her, quite certain that that’s not going to happen. I don’t mind being alone here, maybe because I’m spending so much time with Trueman and Lefty. On the long drive home from Monteverde we are crammed into the cab of the tiny truck. I keep turning around for another view of the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. It’s pitch black by the time we reach the unpaved road that the recent rain has turned to mud. We climb up and down the hills in low gear with the truck sliding sideways and Lefty gripping my hand as we cross each narrow bridge. When we finally reach home we discover the electricity is out. Lefty searches in the dark for a candle and apologizes. “This is a fine way to end your birthday” she says. Trueman strikes a match and we both break into song, “Happy Birthday.” Lefty laughs. “God, you’re both such optimists” she says. I don’t know if this is true but I do feel like I’ve become more hopeful on this trip. I didn’t have the epiphany I’d hoped for but I’ve come to recognize my patience, my “tolerance” that the peregrine once thanked me for.
I’ve thought about him almost constantly here, but not with the sad desperation I felt at home. Thousands of miles away from him, with no possibility of a phone call, I recognize more clearly what I had and how he almost fell in love with me. There may have even been a time when I could have made him chase me and perhaps things would have turned out differently. But all that doesn’t matter now. What I really want now is to have what I once had, his sweet smile and his sweeter kisses. I still don’t know if I can ever have them again, or if I could have them back, if I would always want more. And that doesn’t matter anymore either. What matters is the mystery, the possibility.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Crossing Borders
Yesterday was his birthday. Last year on his birthday he’d called at six o’clock. I had call-blocked him for ignoring my birthday, then answered when he’d called from the Super America. “Did you call block me?” he’d asked incredulously. “Yep,” I’d answered. “Oh, I wasn’t sure what was happening. I won’t call you anymore if you don’t want me to,” he’d said apologetically. “Happy Birthday” I’d answered and then asked, “What are you doing?” He’d just come back from visiting his family, had spent the day painting his aunt’s house, the free rent he’d told me was waiting for him back home, along with the judge’s daughter he’d been caught with his pants down with when he was in high school.
It was a constant threat that he wanted to leave. Nothing he did could make me say no to him, not even moving in a female roommate. When he told me about her I asked him if he was sexually attracted to her. “No.” he said quickly. “You can’t even imagine yourself having sex with her?” I asked again for some clarification about this new woman who was living in his tiny cage…Mr. Private, Mr. No- Relationshipping-Allowed. He’d closed one eye and thrown his arm forward like a drunken pirate and laughed. “Well maybe if I was one-eyed drunk.” It hadn’t seemed like a huge threat and I knew it was one of those challenges that life throws out. I’d have to be cool and hope that it would resolve itself. Besides, what kind of woman would put up with him spending the night at my house? “One more desperate than you” the hag-in-my-head answers for me. Well, that’s just fuckin tragic.
I called him last night at ten thirty. I’d just come home from the grocery carrying my back- pack full of fruits and vegetables. I’d walked there and back, twice. The first time I was on my way to the check-out line when I realized I’d forgotten to bring any money. I’d put my basket in a cooler and walked home to get my money…and my car. I could come back and buy some Masa Harina and a Saint Michael’s candle and not have to carry it. I thought I saw his truck pass me…one of the thousands of dark Toyotas that live in Lexington. I decided to walk back with the money and carry my groceries home. I missed walking those big hills and I needed to get rid of all the chips I’d eaten in Costa Rica. Besides, it would be good if he called and I wasn’t there. I checked the machine on the way in, he hadn’t called. It was still early, nine thirty. “Too late to be out alone,” I scolded myself and then said “Fuck it.” When I got back to the parking lot I saw Iris’s car. “Shit”. I’d already decided I was going to call in sick for the rest of the week. I just couldn’t bare the thought of going back to work.
When I complained to Trueman that I was the only one at work who wasn’t using their sick time he told me, “Mom, I’m going to be extremely disappointed in you if you don’t go back home and call in sick…for the rest of the week.” Just before I left he’d called out to me one morning. “What are you gonna get when you get home?” in a voice that sounded like I should know the answer. I tried to remember what he’d asked me to do. “What?” I asked, clueless. “Diaaaaaaaarrhea” he’d called back like it was so obvious. He and Lefty had coached me again on the way to the airport. “Say it was the salad. Everyone’s fuckin paranoid of the salad” he said with disgust.
It was gonna be hard to pull off a three day abdominal illness if Iris saw me walking my groceries back home. “Shit, trip number three, go home empty?” I walk into Jalapeno’s instead, a margarita and a bowl of chips, cute Latin bartender and the Herald-Leader and I’m back on vacation. The drink is almost too much. I’ve only eaten a bowl of lentils and a can of vegetable soup today. I leave a dollar and half my drink on the bar and go back out but Iris’s car is still there. “Jesus Christ! Get a move on” I try to send her a telepathic message and wonder if I can whip in and out without her seeing me. “That’ll be tricky” I tell myself, “and it will ruin everything.” I go back into the restaurant. It’s empty except for the staff, a half-dozen young Mexican men. I’m acutely aware of my short skirt and low-cut sports top that keeps creeping down below my cleavage. The bartender looks up questioningly. “I’m trying to avoid someone in the grocery store.” I explain as I settle back on the stool and suck down the rest of my margarita.
It’s ten thirty by the time I get home and I’m feeling woozy despite the walk. There are still no messages. I’m surprised that Sweet Pea hasn’t called back yet. I call her again and she answers. She’s driving with her CASA kid and tells me “I’ll call you back in forty-five minutes.” I hang up and dial his number.
His machine answers instantly. He sounds like James Dean impersonating Jesse James, “You’ve reached 255-7638. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back with you as soon as possible.”
“Hey, this is Lily. Happy Birthday. Hope you’re havin a good one. Talk to you soon.” Over and out cause I don’t give a shit anymore. I give a shit about him but not about what happens. It just doesn’t matter anymore.
Sweet Pea calls back and I tell her about Costa Rica and all my epiphanies and about going back to school and getting a new job and confess that I’ve once again slept with the peregrine and tell her how lousy it was and how I’m willing to let it happen again if it can be good but fuck-it if it’s gonna be shitty and how I’ve been thinking about calling Ponder to see if he’d like to go Karaokeing with me and how much fun it would be to have him as a friend and she tells me that last week she finally made out with the twenty-seven year old boy from work. “Jesus-fuckin-Christ!” I yell. “I know, I know” she giggles, “it’s ridiculous. We didn’t have sex but he sucked on my breasts. It’s absurd. I can’t go there” she says all giddy and breathless. “Oh Fuck it! You’re gonna go there.” I tell her. “And who cares? Some day you’ll be eighty and you’ll look back and say, `damn, that was fun.’”
“Yeah, you’re right” she says wistfully. “I just don’t want to get my heart broken.”
“Well, forget that. You’re gonna get your heart broken and you know what? It’ll still be worth it.”
Thursday, May 12, 2005
A Pound of Flesh
I had the most delightful dream last night…
I walked past a man who looked a lot like Chris Reed and a few minutes later I walked past another man who also looked like Chris Reed. I smiled at him and when he smiled back I told him that he looked a lot like another man I’d just seen. He put his arm around my waist and seemed to be intrigued by me. Within a few minutes he was kissing me. It was delightful.
I think we may have had sex but we were definitely lying on his bed when I saw a piece of membrane. It looked like fried egg- white, laced with holes. But, I was certain it came from my body. I discovered it fit perfectly over the top of my knee. I was somewhat concerned about whether I would be able to replace it but I wasn’t in any pain and besides I was still very intrigued by the man I was making love with.
Some woman came by and was very intrusive. She looked familiar but I wasn’t sure how I knew her. She acted very put out and expected me to get up and help her deal with some issue I was supposed to be involved with. I got up and managed to be polite and helpful and got rid of her as quickly as possible so I could go back to my man.
He was also up now and up to all kinds of little pranks, showing me how he could make a flock of birds fly to him over and over, swooping lower with each flight. I was fascinated and only a little frightened. He was introducing me to his friends, one of them was a disabled man in a wheel chair.
He tipped the wheel chair over and the disabled man fell onto the floor. The man was mildly annoyed but not hurt. My lover kept trying to tease him into enjoying the experience. At one point he asked the man to describe what it felt like to be dumped out of his chair and the disabled man pointed to a dark spot high up on the wall and said it felt a lot like that… Again I was absolutely fascinated by my lover’s brilliance but I was feeling shy and uncertain and told him I should be going.
He started questioning me. Why was I alone when I was obviously so desirable? I thought about it and realized I wasn’t sure… I thought about telling him about my bad boyfriend and then decided to whisper in his ear “I was married for 25 years.” He seemed to be fascinated by this and continued to hug and kiss me and tell me of his plans for the two of us to be together.
I woke up and realized how delightful it was to find a new love… even if it was just in a dream. I thought about the piece of my knee that I’d found in our bed and wondered if it didn’t represent that proverbial pound of flesh…
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Bats
I’ve just discovered there is a bat right above my head. It’s roosting on my front porch. I am amazed that I can stay under it. I’m petrified when one flies into the room like that first night in Bajo Calvo. I hit the floor and crawled under the kitchen counter making Trueman and Lefty laugh and bolster their courage.
I read recently that a bat has no friends…birds don’t like him because he has no fur and rats don’t like him because he has wings. What could be more frightening than a rat with wings? Oh yeah, a blind flying rat.
I feel like I never want to go back to my job. Yesterday I applied for a job at UK. Lefty said it would be an ideal way to get more education. Notdog agreed. “Mom, you should go back to school. You loved being in school.” It’s true I did. I didn’t love the stress of papers and testing but there was such a feeling of accomplishment when I earned an A, hundreds of little tokens, tiny ones that added up to big ones and credits lined up for those giant initials. So many A’s but there was more. Who would these teachers be? Would Art History be interesting? Would it be hard? Yes, and yes. I remember realizing for the first time how much there was to learn and how little I really knew. How could I ever have thought I knew it all?
So, I go to the UK job site which is a nightmare institutional website that requires excellent computer tech-talk skills to navigate. It won’t let me in without a password and a username because my ss# is already in the system. What the “system” has taught me is that one must use all means possible to reach a human. An hour later I am attaching my new cover letter for a job at the Art Center, six hours before the deadline. I recognize my continued good fortune…the hand of fate…a blessing, when I see one.
This morning I emailed my old friend Ricka, who is listed in the UK staff directory as an Employment Specialist for the Human Resource Department. I tell her I want to work for UK and mention the Art Administrator position and ask for any hints or help she might be able to give. I remember looking through the student Kernel several years ago and seeing an item in the lost and found. Found: heart-shaped silver charm engraved with Ricka. To claim call: I called Ricka and asked if it was hers. “Yes” she said amazed that it had been found. She told me she never read the Kernel and she would never have found it without me calling her. Now, I recognize Karma.
posted by Saint DesRosier at 2:05 PM
2 Comments:
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