Sometimes we don’t
sing our redemption songs
in temples or stadiums
sometimes we croon out
our saving grace
in dark parking lots
outside of dive bars
at 1 a.m.
and I am playing
her like a piano
I am striking the chord
she does not want to hear
and I know…
I know.
It is knowledge
born of experience
and while I’ve never been
much of a singer
I am holdng her notes
singing her song back
to her here in the dark
and she just keeps talking
and she won’t shut up
and she is babbling about
wishes and wasted chances
and regrets.
and she is not feeling
she is only thinking
and she thinks too much
when what she needs to be doing
if she is going to sing this song
is feel.
I am going to make her feel
that’s the plan, anyway
but how do you make someone feel?
is it ethical?
is it logical?
Is it even possible?
About to find out…
“I saw how you were
looking at her,” I whispered
and she looked like I had slapped her
“That,” I told her, “was longing”
and she stammered,
“I just wish I had a way of knowing
I just wish I had explored this before
I got married”
and I cut her off
I said, “I don’t think you need
to explore anything to have your answer
tell me, if he wasn’t in the picture
would there even be a question?”
ethical?
logical?
possible?
her face crumpled
and I folded her up in my arms
and her aria poured out of her soul
and onto my shirt
and I relived that hurt of knowing
that nothing would ever be the same again
and she shook her head back and forth
against my neck
and her shoulders felt frighteningly
frail
as they shook in my arms
and she shook loose the song
she had held so tight
and she found not only that
she had a voice in there after all
but that she had vast range
and was capable of hitting the
high notes

The night comes back to me in flashes….

Downtown restaurant. Trendy music pounding on overhead speakers.

Pomegranate martini, tart and strong, filled to almost overflowing. My eyes water on the first drink and a splash spills across my hand and on the table.  My fingers are sticky.

A shared plate, salad with field greens, chicken, cashews, berries, manchego cheese – layers of subtle flavor pleasing my mouth.

My dear one across from me, tightly sprung curls surrounding an angel face.

My questions echoed in her kind eyes.

She is tentative, guiding me towards truth. Saying what she sees with no pressure or expectation.

She knows this space.  She knows me.  Better than anyone.

Her words ‘it is like the ocean’ unleash a longing in me I do not think I will ever be able to answer.

~~~

Later – the parking lot of a gay bar, found via google:

I’m too afraid to go in.

Women enter and leave, I think outloud  ‘they don’t look like me.  I don’t look like them’.

My head is down.  I feel alone and uncertain.

I catalog my heels and makeup and all this fucking effort against them, the way they seemed to exist outside of a world that has always demanded my assimilation.

The way they move suggests to me that they know who they are.

I wish badly that I did.

Shaking my head, pulling out of the parking lot.

Not ready yet.

~~~

Later: another bar, some random dive across the street from the bar we were looking for but never found.

More drinks.  Something pink and sweet.

The bartender is transgender, or a cross-dresser, or a drag queen.  I don’t know which.  I am reminded how small my world is, how little I know.

Flashing LED light show on the dance floor. People watching.  Texting.  Giggling.

A girl.  Tall and thin, sleek short hair.  Skinny jeans.  Young and chic.

My eyes following her.  Laughter and teasing threaded with undercurrent of danger and boundaries that must not be crossed.

My dear one reminding me of what I already know.

My heart pounding and head spinning in a way that is beginning to feel familiar

~~~

Later: In her car

She pushes me.  She knows she has to. Makes me admit, makes me see.  Makes me speak.

Grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around and forces me to face this truth.

I can’t catch my breath.

Sobbing in her arms.  Wailing.  Fists pounding.  Fighting so hard against all of it.

I’M NOT READY. I DON’T WANT THIS. I’M NOT READY. I DON’T WANT THIS.

I can’t do this.

It hurts.  It fucking hurts.  I CANNOT breathe.

The ground collapses beneath my feet and I wonder how on earth I will take one more step forward.

It feels like hours that I cry.  Cry like I never have before.  My head hurts.  My heart implodes.

~~~

Later – home:

My head spins.  The drinks and my emotions combine.  Emotional Inebriation.  Dangerous.

Fuck…it’s all dangerous now.

I bang into the walls on the way down the hallway.

He is there.  He is always there. I always want him there.

I don’t remember what I say, just what I don’t say.

What remains unsaid always seems to be the most important part.

This is where the undoing begins….

5.20.09

Ever since I read these words they have been swirling through my mind.  How I wish I had this one and a half years ago and could have sent it out into the cosmos to the people that mattered.

I would have taken those words and wrapped them in layers of my heart and dropped them like fairy dust over the houses of my loves.  I would have attached words of my own so my voice could have whispered through the wind and lodged in their hearts so they would know what I could not say.

I have to go away now, for a little bit. I wish I didn’t, but I have to.  This is a lonely journey, you see, and it is impossible for me to be lonely with you in my life.

Please understand (I would plead) Please don’t leave me, even though I am leaving you.  I could not bear it if you did.  I need you so much, especially right now, when I am not able to accept any of the loveliness you have to give.

I cannot take for granted that you will be here when I return.  I cannot be so arrogant as to assume that once tucked away on a shelf you’ll be willing to be brought back out on my timeline.  And oh, how that frightens me.

But, you see, I’m going to be doing things that I don’t want witnessed. Chasing and facing demons that are mine alone.  I’m going to be flying and lying and climbing and crashing and dismantling and I cannot bear your kind eyes on me while I do.  I cannot know you are watching while I bring forth self destruction and devastation in the name of survival.  I love you too much.

I am not strong enough to walk this any way but alone.  I need to know that I can walk it alone.

I will be back.  I pray I will be back.  All I can do is hope, with everything I have, that you will be here when I return.

~~~

The relationships I walked away from then, the most precious of my life, are still being rebuilt.  They are – in many spots – still tender, and tentative, and there is much trust to regain.  Every now and then something happens, and I realize how much I still have to make up for.  I hope that I can.