full
"the truth is, i feel full" i told A. i was having a dirty gin martini and he was sipping from some pale green liquid that tasted and smelled like licorice jelly beans. A nodded, pleased, but waiting for the rest. "that's it." i said.
"that's it?" he was understandably skeptical. we have known each other a long time and there is always a caveat.
"well," i said "i mean, my personality hasn't changed. i still struggle with worry, distrust, fear of chaos and disorder. i still mourn. some days i cry as i make the morning coffee or burst into tears when my pen runs out of ink. sometimes a sadness wells up in me from some indistinct, internal everywhere and spills out all over me until i feel coated with it. but then i stretch out on the living room floor with ST and riley runs crazily around us trying to catch and eat our hair, and i don't want to hold onto it. i don't have to. there is so much else."
"viola, fullness?"
"viola."
it has been a little over a year since we last saw one another. A was there last june when i got the phone call that my brother was dead. we were having our annual visit, getting ready to go to the taste of chicago, have some ribs from lem's. it was late morning. of course, we never made it out of my apartment. i called ST and asked him to come. while he was on his way, A tried his best to calm me, but there wasn't anything he could have done to tame my rage, for that's what it was, the sense of loss came later and with it, the weight of sorrow, the regret for the irrevocable. in that moment, i paced and screamed. i didn't want to be touched and pushed A's hands away as he tried to catch me in an embrace. i was spoiling for a fight.
so A let me be and made himself useful--arranged my flight, rental car, all the other logistics--everything i can't stand to deal with under normal circumstances and could not even contemplate on that day. besides, i trusted him, as ever. there was no question. he was there, he would help me make a way as he always has. that, at least, seemed simple. true.
strange as it seems to say it, i was lucky that day. A was there and i was used to relying on him. if ST had not stepped up so beautifully, i would still have been safe, protected. as it was they were untied in their compassion, their pragmatism, their belief in me and i could not, even in my despair, convince myself that i was alone. they were my anchors, my hope, my proof that i had a life separate from the tragedy. that i had built something strong enough to hold me up. these were my loves, symbolic of all the others who make up my chicago home. i would make it back to them.
believing that is what gave me the strength to go back.
A and ST had never met before that day. two such seemingly different men: my slim old friend in his skinny jeans and button down, hair carefully cut and my rough-around-the-edges boyfriend, dreadlocks swaying along the shoulders of his faded guiness t-shirt. yet, they were not awkward with each other. they introduced themselves, chatted while i packed. A passing on the information he thought ST needed. each approaching the subject of death with grim equanimity. at some basic level, A & ST seemed to understand each other. they are practical men, each experienced with the random horror that the universe can dole out. each having fought through conditions that would have ruined lesser spirits, emerging into the lives they managed to build: whole, determined, laughing. i knew then, listening to the low murmur of their familiar voices, that i would too.
"i have no idea how i got here." i told A as we sat at the bar before dinner. "but these days, even when i wake up with my sadness, when i wake up fearful and wishing i could sleep a hundred years more, even then, i am happy. it's never been like that before. does that make sense?"
"of course," A said shrugging. "as to how you got here, that's simple: you didn't settle for less."
a bond seems to have been made between A and ST the day my brother died and i watched it spark, rejuventated when ST joined us at marche, fetching us from the bar where we had been catching up for a little over an hour. at the table, it was a great pleasure to watch them chuckle together, carrying on a conversation entirely unaided by my effort. at one point A turned to me to ask a question, but i hadn't heard anything they'd said for several minutes. they could have been talking politics or fishing. music or travel. it made no difference, what mattered to me was that their eyes were bright, their faces ruddy from the rich food and wine. when i didn't respond to A's prompt, ST looked askance too. i looked from one to the other, grinning in a way that must have seemed mad. "viola! fullness." i nearly shouted. ST accepted this outburst with his usual aplomb, while A laughed.
"i take it that's a good thing." ST said. we nodded, but before either of us could explain dessert came--flourless chocolate cake with raspberry sauce and basil ice cream for the boys and french cream puffs stuffed with coffee ice cream and covered in melted chocolate for me--and there could be no question of doing anything except savoring it.
"that's it?" he was understandably skeptical. we have known each other a long time and there is always a caveat.
"well," i said "i mean, my personality hasn't changed. i still struggle with worry, distrust, fear of chaos and disorder. i still mourn. some days i cry as i make the morning coffee or burst into tears when my pen runs out of ink. sometimes a sadness wells up in me from some indistinct, internal everywhere and spills out all over me until i feel coated with it. but then i stretch out on the living room floor with ST and riley runs crazily around us trying to catch and eat our hair, and i don't want to hold onto it. i don't have to. there is so much else."
"viola, fullness?"
"viola."
it has been a little over a year since we last saw one another. A was there last june when i got the phone call that my brother was dead. we were having our annual visit, getting ready to go to the taste of chicago, have some ribs from lem's. it was late morning. of course, we never made it out of my apartment. i called ST and asked him to come. while he was on his way, A tried his best to calm me, but there wasn't anything he could have done to tame my rage, for that's what it was, the sense of loss came later and with it, the weight of sorrow, the regret for the irrevocable. in that moment, i paced and screamed. i didn't want to be touched and pushed A's hands away as he tried to catch me in an embrace. i was spoiling for a fight.
so A let me be and made himself useful--arranged my flight, rental car, all the other logistics--everything i can't stand to deal with under normal circumstances and could not even contemplate on that day. besides, i trusted him, as ever. there was no question. he was there, he would help me make a way as he always has. that, at least, seemed simple. true.
strange as it seems to say it, i was lucky that day. A was there and i was used to relying on him. if ST had not stepped up so beautifully, i would still have been safe, protected. as it was they were untied in their compassion, their pragmatism, their belief in me and i could not, even in my despair, convince myself that i was alone. they were my anchors, my hope, my proof that i had a life separate from the tragedy. that i had built something strong enough to hold me up. these were my loves, symbolic of all the others who make up my chicago home. i would make it back to them.
believing that is what gave me the strength to go back.
A and ST had never met before that day. two such seemingly different men: my slim old friend in his skinny jeans and button down, hair carefully cut and my rough-around-the-edges boyfriend, dreadlocks swaying along the shoulders of his faded guiness t-shirt. yet, they were not awkward with each other. they introduced themselves, chatted while i packed. A passing on the information he thought ST needed. each approaching the subject of death with grim equanimity. at some basic level, A & ST seemed to understand each other. they are practical men, each experienced with the random horror that the universe can dole out. each having fought through conditions that would have ruined lesser spirits, emerging into the lives they managed to build: whole, determined, laughing. i knew then, listening to the low murmur of their familiar voices, that i would too.
"i have no idea how i got here." i told A as we sat at the bar before dinner. "but these days, even when i wake up with my sadness, when i wake up fearful and wishing i could sleep a hundred years more, even then, i am happy. it's never been like that before. does that make sense?"
"of course," A said shrugging. "as to how you got here, that's simple: you didn't settle for less."
a bond seems to have been made between A and ST the day my brother died and i watched it spark, rejuventated when ST joined us at marche, fetching us from the bar where we had been catching up for a little over an hour. at the table, it was a great pleasure to watch them chuckle together, carrying on a conversation entirely unaided by my effort. at one point A turned to me to ask a question, but i hadn't heard anything they'd said for several minutes. they could have been talking politics or fishing. music or travel. it made no difference, what mattered to me was that their eyes were bright, their faces ruddy from the rich food and wine. when i didn't respond to A's prompt, ST looked askance too. i looked from one to the other, grinning in a way that must have seemed mad. "viola! fullness." i nearly shouted. ST accepted this outburst with his usual aplomb, while A laughed.
"i take it that's a good thing." ST said. we nodded, but before either of us could explain dessert came--flourless chocolate cake with raspberry sauce and basil ice cream for the boys and french cream puffs stuffed with coffee ice cream and covered in melted chocolate for me--and there could be no question of doing anything except savoring it.