[ Saturday, July 31, 2004 ]
It is Wednesday. I walk through Dave's door weighted with sunflowers and affection. Through his house he has scattered candles. Beside each candle, a slip of paper and a wild flower. He tells me "on each piece of paper I've listed something I love, something that makes this world a better place." I roam through the living room with Dave behind me, his hands on my hips then around me as I stop.[ Friday, July 30, 2004 ]
: the spring
: the fall
: wildflowers
: thunderstorms
: the smell of fresh cut grass
: summer tomatoes
: the moon
: your eyes
: your touch
: your kiss
: your love
: the night we met
: you.
I am touched beyond words and I pull his arms around me, kiss the back of his hands. I turn & take his face in my hands. I need to touch him. To know that he is real. That he exists and this is not a scenario I've created in my mind, then decided to live in for a while.
Throughout the evening there are kisses intermingled with spurts of laughter, stories of our fathers, a long moment standing in his kitchen, saying nothing, communicating silently. Dave tells me "it feels as if at some point we were together, in the same the house. We both left. We had things we needed to do. Now, this just feels like we've come home." I know the feeling he's just articulated. His eyes are familiar to me in a way I can neither explain nor describe. And I am just swept up in a feeling of being so blessed.
We hold each other on the couch. I cannot get close enough to him. I want to crush him with my lips, pull him inside me, or find some path and crawl inside his body. I've wanted men inside me before. I've wanted to chew through skin, tendon, bone, digest & expel them in three swift motions, so that there is no tangible evidence. Circumstantial, maybe & perhaps a motive. I'm territorial and protective by nature. And I've wanted to consume men in order to protect some poor girl, the next one, who might not be as strong as I am. But this is different. I have no intentions. Only tenderness & the need to touch him so delicately. I trace his jawline with my fingertip, become lost in the pattern of his five o'clock shadow which reaches up to meet his sideburn, then down to meet his goatee. These are the small, beautiful moments I become lost in--the thirty-five seconds it takes my fingertip to travel northwest from his chin. I want to tell him I could spend years exploring this spot but the words to describe this motion have not come to me yet. Instead I feel tears swell, then spill. He kisses me below each eye, on my cheeks where the lines of my emotion are evident & displayed. I want to explain to him the complete tenderness I feel. I want him to know that my only intention is to nurture his soul, to cradle all that he is, all that he was, all that he will ever be. I want him to know that I am not interested in manipulating him or controlling him or changing him--that I've been seeking a man of substance, a man with something inside him, an internal beauty & resiliency & the ability to recognize what is real & important in this world. I want to tell him so many things. I tell him I've never felt this. And I haven't. Inside me, there is no fear, no wall, no need to self-protect. There is only the need to see & be seen. And the complete swelling of an emotion I have never experienced.
At 3 am, on his couch, in our bed clothes, we eat vanilla ice cream while a muted t.v. displays images in the background. Our words, soft & quiet, sway through the air like hips, bumping gently against the fading candle light. I want to carry this moment with me. I want to tuck it inside my ribcage. I feel like we are on the verge of something much more than everything. I feel it brewing into something "faithful & mad." And I have never been this comfortable with that.
~ Rebecca 11:38 AM [+] (1) comments
Nelly was a young girl.[ Monday, July 26, 2004 ]
She traded glimpses up her dress tail for pieces of candy.
Her father sold her to an old man for a mule.
Nelly's belly would not swell with babies.
She was exchanged.
Returned.
Traded.
For her younger sister who popped out child after child.
I can't determine what is worse.
To be sold for a mule.
Or to realize you weren't worth it.
( True story told around a kitchen table last night. )
~ Rebecca 8:12 AM [+] (0) comments
[ Sunday, July 25, 2004 ]
Photograph by David Campbell.
Dave. Dave is a webdesigner, a daydreamer, a visionary, a drummer, a slacker. He takes photographs of sunflowers, of gritty blue paint, purple thistles, queen anne's lace. He kisses my shoulder, touches my face, tells me I am beautiful. Makes me believe that I am beautiful. Dave lines tea light candles along the edge of his book shelf, kitchen counter, coffee table. He picks wild flowers and offers them to me.
Dave is tender in a way that I'm not accustomed to. His tenderness is genuine & sincere & makes me take his face in my hands, trace the line of his cheekbone. Dave makes me feel comfortable, comfortable enough to be every version of myself. I have not always been comfortable being anything but one version.
I've kept Dave a secret for a while. Mentioning him without mentioning him. But I thought you should know about him. And the way he makes me feel.
Much love.
~ Rebecca 8:51 PM [+] (1) comments
"This song put me in the middle of the road. Travelling there soon became a bore so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride but I saw more interesting people there."- Neil Young[ Wednesday, July 07, 2004 ]
It's funny how torn jeans, lit candles, 5 am drives, windshield wipers that may or may not work make you feel like the girl you were, years ago, living on a whim, a hunch & nothing else. This week has been surreal. In a way that makes me feel absolutely alive.
I've collected stories this week. Tucked them inside my pockets, inside my mind. Some will be told. Some will remain just mine.
Monday night I met 'Cookie'. Cookie was released from the penetentiary 3 weeks ago. Cookie was covered in 'tacks' although I'm sure he meant tatts. Cookie was strange & I'm still not sure how we ran into him except that I seem to have a magnet located somewhere within me that attracts strange people. Cookie asked us (Sam & Mandy were with me) if we'd heard of the Rainbow. Any mention of the Rainbow immediately attracts my attention. Reminds me of the summer that Andrea & I pondered running off to Seattle. A man named Roach had the van fueled up, was ready to leave Berea with me, Billie & Andrea in tow. We tossed the idea around. Living in the woods for three months with hippies didn't seem like a bad idea. It seemed like something we needed to experience. But Tammy was pregnant with Bradley & I needed to stay here. I want to justify not going. So I say Tammy was pregnant with Bradley & I needed to stay here. Truthfully, fear kept me here. I wonder how different I would have been had I gone.
When I told Cookie that I knew about the Rainbow, his eyes widened with excitement. He made his way over to my side of the car. He explained how he ended up in prison. How he'd pulled two sentences. How he'd lived institutionalized since his twenties. How he couldn't find work now that he was out. We talked about morning glory tea & trumpet vine. How things have changed over the years. I felt sorry for Cookie. I saw too many people that I knew in him. The excitement in his eyes wasn't just excitement. It was craving coming to the surface. And I just felt sorry for him. That he'll never be able to shake that. That in actuality, despite well-wishes & good lucks, he'll probably end up back in prison. Slinging, using, buying, possession. He's spent 30 years in a state institution. Could anyone really make it after having life altered that long? Talking to Cookie, stills flashed through my mind like a slide show: slim shoulders, meat hanging off bone, disintegration, acne, nervous tics, teeth grinding. All those things that I've seen. That I wanted to correct. The times I tried to say...this is ruining you. Such potential just wasted. Men who were once poets barely able to form a complete thought. Musicians with no drive, guitars abandoned.
When Cookie left he said "Nice meeting you girls. And Becky, I WILL be seeing you again." I was momentarily scared shitless. What did that mean? Had Cookie memorized my license plate? Was he gonna try to find me? Was he thinking about taking me to the Rainbow gathering in Indiana? Or did he just assume that our paths might cross again? Cookie saw the side of me that listens...that connects to strangers, momentarily. He did not see the girl who would beat the piss out of him in a heartbeat. He didn't see that.
Just a few minutes after encountering Cookie, while Sam, Mandy & I were still discussing "What the fuck does THAT mean?", a guy I sort of know but don't really know, swung his truck in beside us. He mumbled "Hey, how are you girls doing? Don't I know you. Didn't you used to work with mom?" I said "Yeah, she was a sweet lady. I always liked her." Before I finished my last sentence, he passed out, head hitting the side of his truck. Fifteen minutes later he woke up, mumbling. We told him he was in no shape to drive. He wanted a ride home. I didn't want to give him a ride home but I also didn't want him attempting to drive. He passed out again. We decided to be quiet and let him pass out good & proper, although we couldn't quite keep our laughter subdued. Some buddies pulled in. Sam got out of the car & clued them in. Old Boy slept for an hour. Then woke up & began hitting on Sam. Sam turned him down. He was pissed. He said "You need to go to back to wherever you came from. You're panties ain't made out of 14 kt. gold. You need to figure out what life is really about." I really wish I would have been there when that sentence left his mouth. I had walked to Shell Mart when the whole 14 kt. gold panties conversation came out. But I would have loved to have heard Old Boy tell me what life really IS all about. I wanted to hear that theory. I wanted to piece together the last few words uttered as his head hit the ground again & he slept for another hour. Drunk, this boy was not. Coming down from a four day high--I believe so.
Thursday night we hit a demolition derby in Ohio. Demolition derbies excite me. The sound of metal on metal, '77 Impalas banging the shit out of one another, cars overturned, flames erupting. Part of me thinks I was born to drive in a demolition derby. I sat on the bleachers with my torn jeans, funnel cake & temporary 'tack' (in honor of Cookie) & just felt so downhome. We headed back toward Kentucky around 10:30. Approaching Cincinnati we ran into an awful storm. The rain was thick & Sam & I just prayed that the wipers would work & continue working. The last time we drove this car in a rainstorm they did not. Coming through Cincinnati the rain let up. Sam was still hyped up from the derby & intended on turning a 3 hr. drive into a 2 hr. drive. We hauled some serious ass. We entered a tunnel. We shot out of a tunnel. We didn't expect the curve ahead. We straddled the white line. My hand sought the Oh Shit handle. There wasn't one. I grasped the seat while my internal soundtrack played the intro of "Magic Carpet Ride". "I like to dream..." just seemed appropriate as we shot out of that tunnel. The semi behind us slowed way down. We missed our exit. We ended up in Cincinnati, viewing the lights & buildings from below instead of from the bridge. We wanted to go to Bogart's. We wanted to get drunk in Cincinnati. We wanted to wander the streets in our dirty clothes & muddy shoes, still high on twisted metal & the fumes of a county fair. Instead we drove on home, pretended we were chugging an imaginary 12 pack. We were slap happy & laughed & talked. And that night, when I finally settled down after running on 3 hrs. of sleep, I just felt alive. I felt like the girl I was a few years ago. I felt adventurous & alive & I wanted to make that trip all over again.
There's more that I should tell you. And I might. Soon.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 9:49 AM [+] (0) comments
I've not posted in a while & so much has been going on. So I'm gonna do my last month or so 101 style.
1. I’ve been watching The Godfather.
2. Reading Notes from Above the Ground.
3. Both have affected me.
4. In a way that makes me think that I am temporarily Italian
5. and living in a city
6. surrounded by the homeless
7. and dodging the calls of an unknown X.
8. At 25 I saw the ocean.
9. It spoke to me.
10. It keeps speaking to me.
11. It tells me not to worry about all the insignificant somethings.
12. It tells me to just be.
13. And to let go.
14. Saturday I forgave.
15. In such a small way.
16. I watched the sky explode & thought about the need
17. to let it all go
18. to move on.
19. I wanted someone near me.
20. I compared him to the explosions in the sky.
21. Both eye-opening & magical in the way they make me feel.
22. I tasted good hooch.
23. Contemplated an early bender.
24. Watched a drunk uncle send his son on beer runs for a band
25. that played hauntingly beautiful bluegrass tunes.
25. I felt empathy.
26. I wanted to say ‘I’m sorry. You’re old. It’s alright. This was going to happen.’
27. Instead I said ‘How are you?’
28. ‘I’m doing good.‘
29. And not much more.
30. Had I sampled more hooch, the sky would not have been the only thing exploding.
31. I picked strawberries straight from the vine with my Aunt Marcie.
32. We sampled the product several times
33. as we stooped over rows under hot South Carolinian sun.
34. We walked along the beach.
35. Talked in a way that really mattered.
36. And it meant something to me.
37. That moment was defining and beautiful.
38. And I am grateful to have experienced it.
39. Later, I walked until I could see no one.
40. I scratched words in the sand
41. with a piece of driftwood
42. hoping that someone might walk by
43. after I had gone
44. discover the word ‘live’
45. and decide to do just that.
46. Beside the ocean I felt small.
47. Like a tiny speck
48. with so much possibility sleeping in her limbs.
49. My soul felt quiet & still &
50. I wanted to live in that moment forever.
51. Wanted to bring it home with me.
52. Along with the color of the sand
53. the bleached white driftwood
54. the rusted aqua supports of the Port Royal boardwalk.
55. I tried to memorize it all.
56. As I try to memorize so much.
57. So that when I am consumed by chaos
58. I can imagine myself beside the water
59. Under the oaks
60. Inside the church
61. On that log.
62. Still & quiet.
63. I attempted to sell my yard.
64. Was amused by a blonde headed child
65. Who pronounced Elizabeth, “Ewizabeth”.
66. Cried on a back porch & fell
67. Face first into a swimming pool
68. While trying to climb out.
69. I felt hands on my ankles.
70. I remember coming up & laughing.
71. I don’t remember much else.
72. I turned 26.
73. I found a birthday card tucked underneath my windshield wipers.
74. I found one in the mail.
75. I received a postcard.
76. And tea.
77. I heard Happy Birthday again & again.
77. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt such love.
78. I welcomed 26.
79. I will welcome 27.
80. Thirty, somehow, doesn’t seem so bad.
81. In Ohio I was twisted every imaginable way.
82. Turned upside down at excessive speed &
83. Prayed more than once “Dear God let us make it through this alive.”
84. Those three lines read like a horrific accident occured.
85. I volunteered for the twisting.
86. Paid for it.
87. At the gates of King’s Island where I
88. swallowed my fear repeatedly.
89. Walking through rain I felt adventurous.
90. Coming home I felt 17 again.
91. In a car with 5 girls.
92. Facing unexpected circumstances.
93. Not knowing exactly how everything would turn out.
94. But laughing & loving hard.
95. I helped bake a Shrek cake.
96. For a little boy’s first birthday party.
97. Cut out a “Happy Birthday Cody” banner
98. And realized the cycle was repeating itself
99. as Lisa & I traced letters onto scrapbook paper
100. then carefully cut the edges.
101. Many moments. An awakening of sorts. Beautiful & alive.
~ Rebecca 6:05 PM [+] (0) comments
