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Sunday, Feb. 10, 2002 / 1:49 a.m. ~Tomorrow, Who Knows?~ She came here, after work, we sat and talked, I dragged Norm and Glad from hiding places, from cozy antisocial places and made them say hello, I wished we'd done this more, I wished she'd been here more, that we'd done more, and I wondered why we hadn't. Only an hour or so of talking, switching between "Goldfinger", me talking Bond trivia, and the Olympics coverage, her pointing out where her mom lives, just on the other side of that mountain. She, tired, after work and raking leaves, me tired, after talking, after so much time alone. Only an hour or so, and she is up to leave for the 21 mile ride back home. 21 miles. It was never that far, why did it seem so far? Why was it always too far, for her? Why didn't we go to movies after Lilly left? Why did we three, she, S., and me, stop going to hockey games? Why did we create so much distance between us? And after she left, after we hugged, and I said, "I'll miss you", and she said, "I'll miss you too", and I watched her walk to her car, and she'd forgotten her coat so I came back in for it, walked barefoot down the cold concrete steps to hand it to her instead of throwing it over the railing, after she was gone I thought, that's it, my only friend here, my Emergency Contact, the only one I can talk to, count on, fall back on, turn to, find comfort in her existence, here, won't be here any longer. Her 33 years here, the only place she's lived, ended, and a whole new life someplace new. It's not that I don't want her to be happy, but I'm being selfish, I'm thinking about me, because this is me, I am me, how can I be anything but me?, and it hurts now. The reality is finally sinking in, and suddenly, very suddenly, this is the most alone I think I have ever felt. I had a thought, after she left, after I realized all of it, after I realized I held back tears, from her, I stopped them dead in their tracks because I didn't know what she wanted, if she could see what this is to me, and I had no idea what this is to her, I thought, I need new friends! Immediately! I must find replacements, why have I waited so long? Must join clubs, must participate in social activities, go out, to the museum, the theatre, the park, must get out more, must make concerted effort to meet people, get new job, make friends, soon, fast....... But that's not me. It took us ten years to get here, she, and me. Ten years. My last friend from the bookstore. The store where we all met, the place where we all felt like a big dysfunctional family, incestuous at that. We all met there, some loved, some hated, some bonded for life, and others came and went, off to seek fame, or fortune, or both. In between undergrad and grad, in between school and career, it was a stopping off point, a juncture of sorts, a job for most, a passion for me, and I met her there. She's the last to go. Funny how people come together, almost like they should, like there's a plan after all, like things are supposed to happen, but we don't get to know why, we simply take from each situation a little bit, some more than others, something to help us on the way, make it easier, or teach us, or force us to see something we don't want to see, and while we're in it we have no clue what's going on, only when it's over does it hit us like that proverbial ton of bricks. Oh sure, I'll go out there, out West, I love the West, "The West is the Best", I know, I've been there, I've stood beneath the Delicate Arch, I've seen the red of the sandstone in the sunset, I've been surrounded by sky, only desert flowers below me, clouds and sun up above, I've seen the flat endless earth of the Panhandle, the rocky peaks in Colorado, I've fallen in love with the earth, I know the West, I've dreamed of living there, dying there, ending there, but I'm not ready yet, I'm still waiting. The time is not yet right. Situations are not conducive, it's not time. Not yet. Maybe one day. A visit, soon. A phone call sooner, a card, a letter, electronic, or paper, written with pen, probably purple, maybe stationery, or a carefully chosen piece of art, a painting reproduced, a blank space on the other side. We'll be in touch, but I know no one anymore. Not here. Everyone is scattered, yet I'm still here, and I want to be. For now. And while she was here, I gave her the Halloween music CD I'd bought for her, and a Peanuts lunchbox for Lil, and asked if there was anything else she wanted, and she pointed out my antique chair, and the picture in the dining room, the tiger portrait, and I said, no, something small, and she said she couldn't take my trinkets.....I said in a low voice, "It's all just stuff", and I thought, I'll leave her everything in my Will, I'll make out my Will and leave it to her, she'd appreciate all of it, she'd keep a lot of it, she'd go through things before throwing them away. Why am I so affected by this? It must just be the current clime, the weather that is my life lately, and I hope the sun still shines to drive any inclement weather away. Norman and Gladiola still smell my clothes, they smell dog, and cat they don't know, and stranger, and leaves, and dirt and loss and longing, they sit in different places than usual, they feel that I am amidst a change, and they react. They didn't even know Hermione, Gladys barely uncurled her body before her, and I said, "You've never been here long enough to see the real Gladys, to know her", and I was so sorry for that. Coming and going, usually with a baby in tow, and the cats didn't understand, they don't know what a baby is. Life goes on, I know, but some parts take a little longer to pass.... When I knew she was coming over, after I called her back at the bookstore where she's been working, I hung up and began to clean like crazy. I vacuumed, I washed dishes, I dusted the living room and the dining room, I cleaned off the retro dining table, completely of all the junk accumulated, activist newsletters, my rent renewal notice, my little black "planner", all my stuff, papers, reminders, cleaned everything within reach, made my bed, turned on my lava lamp, the place looks great - but still there is dust in the library, in this room, the bookcases covered with a thick layer, and before she left, she took great pleasure in writing her name in the dust, and a "Come to Utah" message for me.....I told her to stop, half jokingly, though I knew she'd do it anyway, and she asked why, not caring for the answer..... Because then I'll have to clean it. But I didn't before, when she did it once before, and A. did it too. Writing in thick dust, me with my creative block, unable somehow to do anything but that which is most necessary. Today I changed that, I cleaned and it looks great. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe that's a good motto, "Tomorrow, who knows?" I like that. Cost of the War in Iraq
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