(no subject)
It's strange how I picked up a book, one I know I had started to read a thousand times, and one I never thought I had finished. And it's strange how only after I was halfway through it that I realized I remembered what was going to happen, but only in one scene near-ish to the end. Everything is fuzzy now and runs together. I read the last 107 pages today not knowing what was going to happen with every rustle of a turn. And then it came to the end and I didn't really know but somewhere deep down I knew that I was going to cry enough to go get tissues before I read the last chapter. I cried, of course, and remembered that I had read this all before. It must have been put somewhere far aware. Somewhere that can only be entered by feeling.
I think that's how I am remembering now. Maybe I have gone back to the way we remember as children, not in dates and times and places but in some unknown way that must have something to do with colors and feelings and states of being.
I was three and I was playing at a park with Rick and Clara. Clara, the daughter of the women whose house I went to daycare at from before I was a year until I could drive down and spend the night just to sleep in a comforting place. My Ana. Me, their Buttercup. And, my parents were somewhere but I don't remember where but I remember putting my chin over a monkey bar. My feet must have given out from under me becuase I bit my tongue so hard that I needed four stitches in it. I've have the memory of myself screaming as I lowered my own feet down to the sand but I think I reconstructed that one on my own. I remember sitting in the car and looking out the window of the front seat and I remember red. Then I remember laying on the table before or maybe after getting the stitches. And I remember Clara walking me up to my house to drop me off, after having popsicles at hers, and I remember feeling scared because I think she was scared. Now, that she has her own kids I wonder if she remembers how if felt. Rick took me to a father-daughter dance once, when my dad was away on business. I can remember holding their daughter Amber when she was born but I can't remember holding Ryan even though Amber is only a few months younger. My Mom didn't tell me for over half a year when she found out Rick and Clara were getting a divorce. When someone she admitted it, I cried so long and hard that it could have been my own parents. I wondered if they thought about me or if I would ever see Rick again. I thought about how even if Clara was happy I probably wouldn't want to go the wedding because Rick and Clara were my childhood and because it's harder to accept because I didn't see it all crumbling. Ana says that Clara is happy. I was there when Ana's husband died. I remember Michael laying in the center of the big bed that still sits in Ana's bedroom. I remember his funeral. I remember Ana telling me, one day, after he died that she kept his boots by her bed or at work just so he would be close. I remember how strong he always looked but how soft. I never remember hugging him though. Just my Ana. I was young at the funeral, maybe 8 or so. I don't remember anything about it except where I was in the church and looking down the aisle to see the big casket. My mom was there, I'm sure.
After I finished the book I thought about my Aunt Rushelle and I had wanted to come and sit and write and cry and think about her and remember when I found out that she was in a coma. And I cried for hours on the floor of Claire's room in Travis's arms because I needed someone solid to hold me up. I remember being in Dallas with Danielle and the other Travis and getting the call that I had waited for every day for two months. I cried and they knew and then they took me to lunch and I ate and then we saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and then ate dinner and went to a movie with some of Travis' friends and then ate again and walked around the mall until they knew there was nothing else to do to keep me away from going to sleep that night. There are a lot of pictures that day and they look too normal. I think that's how it happens though. She was a bitch but I miss her. I thought I was going to write about her but then I didn't and so I thought I'd say how I was going to write about her. And then I did. And it's strange what comes out when you let youself feel.
Three little kids who lived in Ladera died in a car accident a week or so again. When I got home and saw all the pink and blue ribbons I asked and now I feel a heavy sinking every time I see them. It pains me to know that someone is feeling this too. It doesn''t make me feel like I'm not the only one or better because now someone understands. It still just hurts. I think that's how death works.
Death is funny too. we laughed more than I have ever laughed with my mom and grandma during those two months. We'd find anything we could. Danielle gave us a solid month of laughing when she told me about a friend who's Grandma had huge boobs. And when Danielle's friend and her cousins went up to the casket after their Grandma had passed away they all gasped because her boobs were gone. One brave one reached down and found them hiding under her armpits. My mom called my Grandma practically the second after she heard the story. Everytime we talked about Aunt Rushelle dying we would bring it up. Right before she did, when arrangements were being made my mom called to tell me that she went through Aunt Rushelle's closet and couldn't find any decent bras so she went out and bought the most push-up, support, intense bra she could find. I laughed until I cried. And after she had past away we went to the viewing, where I didn't view, and my mom went in for a second and came back out with my Grandma, both holding up big thumbs up saying "She has boobs!" and we all laughed a cried again.
When my Mom had to decide when to let her go, we joked that she would be pissed if we kept her hooked up to life support forever as a vegetable. That's not really funny, but we had to laugh.
I think that's how I am remembering now. Maybe I have gone back to the way we remember as children, not in dates and times and places but in some unknown way that must have something to do with colors and feelings and states of being.
I was three and I was playing at a park with Rick and Clara. Clara, the daughter of the women whose house I went to daycare at from before I was a year until I could drive down and spend the night just to sleep in a comforting place. My Ana. Me, their Buttercup. And, my parents were somewhere but I don't remember where but I remember putting my chin over a monkey bar. My feet must have given out from under me becuase I bit my tongue so hard that I needed four stitches in it. I've have the memory of myself screaming as I lowered my own feet down to the sand but I think I reconstructed that one on my own. I remember sitting in the car and looking out the window of the front seat and I remember red. Then I remember laying on the table before or maybe after getting the stitches. And I remember Clara walking me up to my house to drop me off, after having popsicles at hers, and I remember feeling scared because I think she was scared. Now, that she has her own kids I wonder if she remembers how if felt. Rick took me to a father-daughter dance once, when my dad was away on business. I can remember holding their daughter Amber when she was born but I can't remember holding Ryan even though Amber is only a few months younger. My Mom didn't tell me for over half a year when she found out Rick and Clara were getting a divorce. When someone she admitted it, I cried so long and hard that it could have been my own parents. I wondered if they thought about me or if I would ever see Rick again. I thought about how even if Clara was happy I probably wouldn't want to go the wedding because Rick and Clara were my childhood and because it's harder to accept because I didn't see it all crumbling. Ana says that Clara is happy. I was there when Ana's husband died. I remember Michael laying in the center of the big bed that still sits in Ana's bedroom. I remember his funeral. I remember Ana telling me, one day, after he died that she kept his boots by her bed or at work just so he would be close. I remember how strong he always looked but how soft. I never remember hugging him though. Just my Ana. I was young at the funeral, maybe 8 or so. I don't remember anything about it except where I was in the church and looking down the aisle to see the big casket. My mom was there, I'm sure.
After I finished the book I thought about my Aunt Rushelle and I had wanted to come and sit and write and cry and think about her and remember when I found out that she was in a coma. And I cried for hours on the floor of Claire's room in Travis's arms because I needed someone solid to hold me up. I remember being in Dallas with Danielle and the other Travis and getting the call that I had waited for every day for two months. I cried and they knew and then they took me to lunch and I ate and then we saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and then ate dinner and went to a movie with some of Travis' friends and then ate again and walked around the mall until they knew there was nothing else to do to keep me away from going to sleep that night. There are a lot of pictures that day and they look too normal. I think that's how it happens though. She was a bitch but I miss her. I thought I was going to write about her but then I didn't and so I thought I'd say how I was going to write about her. And then I did. And it's strange what comes out when you let youself feel.
Three little kids who lived in Ladera died in a car accident a week or so again. When I got home and saw all the pink and blue ribbons I asked and now I feel a heavy sinking every time I see them. It pains me to know that someone is feeling this too. It doesn''t make me feel like I'm not the only one or better because now someone understands. It still just hurts. I think that's how death works.
Death is funny too. we laughed more than I have ever laughed with my mom and grandma during those two months. We'd find anything we could. Danielle gave us a solid month of laughing when she told me about a friend who's Grandma had huge boobs. And when Danielle's friend and her cousins went up to the casket after their Grandma had passed away they all gasped because her boobs were gone. One brave one reached down and found them hiding under her armpits. My mom called my Grandma practically the second after she heard the story. Everytime we talked about Aunt Rushelle dying we would bring it up. Right before she did, when arrangements were being made my mom called to tell me that she went through Aunt Rushelle's closet and couldn't find any decent bras so she went out and bought the most push-up, support, intense bra she could find. I laughed until I cried. And after she had past away we went to the viewing, where I didn't view, and my mom went in for a second and came back out with my Grandma, both holding up big thumbs up saying "She has boobs!" and we all laughed a cried again.
When my Mom had to decide when to let her go, we joked that she would be pissed if we kept her hooked up to life support forever as a vegetable. That's not really funny, but we had to laugh.