It's been five years. Not five years since we shared that lovely day together, the one that culminated with that kiss on my neck that will forever and always branded me cosmically, psychically...no, five years since the Estranged One bundled up the kids, packed out the van, lassoed her sis into coming along for the ride and set out for a two week "vacation" in Idaho, under the auspices of seeing her folks, taking a break, getting some sun.
I was left with a house that took three weeks to clean. It was in the midst of that cleaning when you came by with coffee, left your lipstick stuck on the edge of one of the paper cups you brought along. We were already on the edge of infamy, toying around with extreme friendship, playing with the flaming torch set-up, not yet lighting them but practicing all the juggling moves.
So, I sat in my living room today and marvelled at the extent of my loneliness. I don't quite know why that is, why I am lonely, why I feel I need to be. I have had two consorts pass through this place over the summer, one rabid for my attention, the other quite pissed off because I wouldn't jump onto her fantasy train. I have two volunteer jobs that fill my life and time with people, but stranger still, when given the chance to go in this week to fill up my time with people I preceeded to use the week as a sort of unpaid vacation. I wasn't on the schedule and hey, I'm not on the payroll, either. So I spent the week not walking or working around the house but prepping for an interview that blew up in my face. The ride to Steilacoom was nice, nostalgic, all that, but everything else I did...read, write, cook, watch movies, sip wine on the porch while the sun went down in flames over the Olympics...was all very invisible to the rest of the world.
Today marks five years since the family decamped but life goes on. I talk with the Estranged One regularly, almost every day, to what end I don't know. I am on the edge of finding work, always sending out applications, where all those efforts will take me is still uncertain. Time passes for all of us, my oldest old enough to drive a car, on the edge of finishing his primary educational path, the youngest starting Kinder in the fall. I have yet to test that wonky car of mine on the other side of the mountains to see if the repair job took. It's my turn once again to do the drive to Boise, to once again make my way back to my children. I have discovered the hard way that no matter how many times I make that drive I cannot turn back time, cannot make those days, those early angst filled days, go away or return. I sometimes wish for that righteous anger, for those days when I knew I could be lonely, sad and would be coming back home to you.
I sometimes wonder if we had never met would I still be in the same predicament. Would I have replaced you with someone else? Or were you slotted to be in that place at that time, were you born in that little town in Colorado and guided by some unseen hand to be there for me and for me to be there for you, in that vast city park, in my arms, in that one momentary embrace that ended in a brief kiss on my neck, one that forever and always changed the world as I know it?
I cannot do more than make the drive to Boise. I cannot turn back the tides, I cannot keep my children from growing, no more than I can somehow get you to open your heart or your door or even your keyboard for me. So if loneliness is the order of the day today it's because I willed it to happen, commanded it, desired it. I was given the chance many times over to turn it around but rather, instead, I occupy this house high on the hill, watch the sun rise and set, watch messages come and go, watch shadows cross my threshold, return flaming hearts to senders, see the days fall off the calendar and know, in all of that, that we met for one thing and one thing only, and that was to share our loneliness.
You and I were meant to meet on that plain of loneliness. And somehow, whether or not you are back in his arms with your family and friends all around and regardless of whether I am here in this house, or poised and ready to do another 12 hour run to Idaho, I think we are both still there, aching, wondering, where our right arms have disappeared to.
Your WHMB
Thanks, Roger, for this lovely review: Lost in Translation:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100804/REVIEWS08/100809996
I was left with a house that took three weeks to clean. It was in the midst of that cleaning when you came by with coffee, left your lipstick stuck on the edge of one of the paper cups you brought along. We were already on the edge of infamy, toying around with extreme friendship, playing with the flaming torch set-up, not yet lighting them but practicing all the juggling moves.
So, I sat in my living room today and marvelled at the extent of my loneliness. I don't quite know why that is, why I am lonely, why I feel I need to be. I have had two consorts pass through this place over the summer, one rabid for my attention, the other quite pissed off because I wouldn't jump onto her fantasy train. I have two volunteer jobs that fill my life and time with people, but stranger still, when given the chance to go in this week to fill up my time with people I preceeded to use the week as a sort of unpaid vacation. I wasn't on the schedule and hey, I'm not on the payroll, either. So I spent the week not walking or working around the house but prepping for an interview that blew up in my face. The ride to Steilacoom was nice, nostalgic, all that, but everything else I did...read, write, cook, watch movies, sip wine on the porch while the sun went down in flames over the Olympics...was all very invisible to the rest of the world.
Today marks five years since the family decamped but life goes on. I talk with the Estranged One regularly, almost every day, to what end I don't know. I am on the edge of finding work, always sending out applications, where all those efforts will take me is still uncertain. Time passes for all of us, my oldest old enough to drive a car, on the edge of finishing his primary educational path, the youngest starting Kinder in the fall. I have yet to test that wonky car of mine on the other side of the mountains to see if the repair job took. It's my turn once again to do the drive to Boise, to once again make my way back to my children. I have discovered the hard way that no matter how many times I make that drive I cannot turn back time, cannot make those days, those early angst filled days, go away or return. I sometimes wish for that righteous anger, for those days when I knew I could be lonely, sad and would be coming back home to you.
I sometimes wonder if we had never met would I still be in the same predicament. Would I have replaced you with someone else? Or were you slotted to be in that place at that time, were you born in that little town in Colorado and guided by some unseen hand to be there for me and for me to be there for you, in that vast city park, in my arms, in that one momentary embrace that ended in a brief kiss on my neck, one that forever and always changed the world as I know it?
I cannot do more than make the drive to Boise. I cannot turn back the tides, I cannot keep my children from growing, no more than I can somehow get you to open your heart or your door or even your keyboard for me. So if loneliness is the order of the day today it's because I willed it to happen, commanded it, desired it. I was given the chance many times over to turn it around but rather, instead, I occupy this house high on the hill, watch the sun rise and set, watch messages come and go, watch shadows cross my threshold, return flaming hearts to senders, see the days fall off the calendar and know, in all of that, that we met for one thing and one thing only, and that was to share our loneliness.
You and I were meant to meet on that plain of loneliness. And somehow, whether or not you are back in his arms with your family and friends all around and regardless of whether I am here in this house, or poised and ready to do another 12 hour run to Idaho, I think we are both still there, aching, wondering, where our right arms have disappeared to.
Your WHMB
Thanks, Roger, for this lovely review: Lost in Translation:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100804/REVIEWS08/100809996
"Stumbling towards improvement" Mr Ebert, again: Spanglish:
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