We Were
In and out of that funeral home like black fire; I got to see Lisa’s daughters, just stare at them awkwardly, actually, while they giggled in high little bird voices on one couch, while their grandfather lay dead in a casket a few feet away. I guess anyone would be happy that he has been released from his pain. At my great grandmother’s viewing this summer, they had for the taking little cards with various somber portraits of the Virgin Mary, and on the back, a scripture of sorts talking about blood and hellfire. But on Raimo’s cards (Raimo being his actual Finnish name), there was a blue sky with a single bird flying over the sun, and on the back, a little poem…
I’m Free
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I took His hand when I heard him call;
I turned my back and left it all.
If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
My life's been full, savored much;
Good times, a loved one’s touch.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;
Ah yes, these things too I will miss.
Perhaps my time seemed all to brief;
Don't lengthen it now with undo grief.
Lift up your hearts and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.
And if what Lisa said before is correct, this describes pretty exactly the way she feels about her father’s passing. The whole viewing affair happened very, very fast; it didn’t even register that I was seeing my biology professor, my best friend at that college, surrounded by her family and extremely upset. I just gave her a hug, and she whispered to me, thank you so much for coming, Alie. It means a lot. And she said to my mom who she had never met, and my dad who she just ran into by chance a year ago, that she loved their daughter, and they said to her that their daughter loved her. And my parents both knelt at the casket and prayed, and then my dad quietly claimed that he felt very out of place, so we slipped out. I would never feel out of place anywhere where Lisa was.
Oddly enough, we went for breakfast then. And then my mom took me and Victoria to a certain Rice’s Flea Market, which Victoria claimed had unbeatable shopping. Well, it was disappointing: rip-off designer bags, clothes, and accessories, for the most part, and various totally banal and uninteresting junk; I found just one interesting table, with a variety of gemstones, insect and animal specimens, and fossils. I fell in love with a mummified piranha, but somebody snatched it up before I could buy it. Jeez. The kind of people who must shop there. The only thing I bought, besides a drink (it was hot for October) was a little ceramic bell will a cat handle from a table way on the outskirts, with actual flea-market type stuff. It probably isn’t, though appears to be, a genuine antique, so I bought it for Michael, who, my mom then proceeded to tell me, called last week. Thanks for telling me now. My mom and my sister had a grand old time, buying socks, a jacket, hair clips, a centerpiece, and tons of dirt cheap costume jewelry.
Well, as I couldn’t help but remember on our way home (the place was pretty damn far) it was Pennsbury’s Homecoming Day, and the game was to be held in the evening this year. I didn’t know if it would even be acceptable to ask if I could go, for if my parents knew me at all they would know that the experience would either leave me fulfilled and finally able to move on from the place, or totally fragmented and bound forever to a painful past. Most likely the latter. But they thought it was a great idea. The three of us girls would go, while they went out for a children-free *romantic dinner.* So we got dropped off in the dark, just as the game was starting. It would turn out to be a blowout, the Falcons finally winning another one. Let’s just say the first two quarters were made up of uneasy, lonely wandering the throngs, searching for and not really finding old souls with whom to reconnect. Most notably I ran into Joel and John, of whom I am quite fond and I think they fairly like me, too, but didn’t realize my desperate emotional situation, and were there with their friends besides. So I was thinking, maybe I’ll break even on this, I don’t feel too horrible. In fact, I feel too disoriented to feel horrible. Is that a good thing? But then, after a particularly well-done performance by the marching band, came the golden fifteen minutes of the game- third quarter, precisely because the marching band was allowed on break and mingle below the stadium. I have old acquaintances in the marching band; not only this, but other grads with old acquaintances in the marching band were drawn underneath, too. Can anything else possibly so stridently illustrate my disconnect with the past, than coming down from the stands and running into David Sabogal, and thinking nothing of those Orange Lights? And all, all that came with them. And then I ran into the other, preferred David, Dave Gibbon. And only now do I realize how awesome it is that he asked me about my book. But he and Dan Speiser had to run nearly as soon as I saw them. But it was still the happiest thirty seconds of the night when I got to see my old friend, the kind, the caring, the thoughtful Dave Gibbon. Over the second half of the game I ran into a lot more acquaintances of old, many friendly people who it would be superfluous to mention here. Although, by this point, the certain philosophical or spiritual structure of an event was crystallizing, and I pulled out my little black notebook 6S and scribbled a few loaded things down, with meaning only to me. My place had been filled here. I can’t come back. But strangely, that’s ok. An interesting side note: I went up to the Bible Trombonist Dude (see entry dated 5-25-07, “Oh! It’s On!”) and apologized for that very incident. I told him that I went to college, and I found God. The really interesting thing about it is that I was being perfectly honest and apologizing legitimately for something I didn’t even do. I was conceding, and thereby gaining the moral advantage. Oh, I how I love manipulation. I didn‘t just say that.
Well, the last thing about Pennsbury High School for me was the simple, silent watching of a certain freshman, well, he’s a sophomore now, a kid who, since I met him at last year’s Homecoming , I’ve found irresistibly cute and, well, downright adorable. His name is Will, and I won’t say his last name and humiliate him online. But I just find that I like to look at him, equivalent to some ugly hairy beast watching a young virgin, but hey. And so I looked at him, and then I left. And on my way out, ran into Nick Curci, who swore he wouldn’t go back to Pennsbury for Homecoming, not no how, but here he was whooping into the night and making his way away from his alma mater just as I was. Hopefully we will share alma maters in the future, too.
And that really leads me, I AM going to go back to Chestnut Hill tomorrow. I am just trying to remember, as if it were from some long lost vessel of truth and forgiveness, that I am there just to be there, and I not in FUCK going to be dealing with schoolwork at this point, and NO FUCKING WAY will I be expected to caught up, because I am recovering from the worst experience of my life, if not THE worst, one of them. So, I am actually going to bed now and nobody better fucking make me feel bad about any of this tomorrow. Lisa, I look forward to seeing you again. Hopefully you’ll be feeling somewhat better. Remember, I am always there.
I’m Free
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I took His hand when I heard him call;
I turned my back and left it all.
If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
My life's been full, savored much;
Good times, a loved one’s touch.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss;
Ah yes, these things too I will miss.
Perhaps my time seemed all to brief;
Don't lengthen it now with undo grief.
Lift up your hearts and share with me,
God wanted me now, He set me free.
And if what Lisa said before is correct, this describes pretty exactly the way she feels about her father’s passing. The whole viewing affair happened very, very fast; it didn’t even register that I was seeing my biology professor, my best friend at that college, surrounded by her family and extremely upset. I just gave her a hug, and she whispered to me, thank you so much for coming, Alie. It means a lot. And she said to my mom who she had never met, and my dad who she just ran into by chance a year ago, that she loved their daughter, and they said to her that their daughter loved her. And my parents both knelt at the casket and prayed, and then my dad quietly claimed that he felt very out of place, so we slipped out. I would never feel out of place anywhere where Lisa was.
Oddly enough, we went for breakfast then. And then my mom took me and Victoria to a certain Rice’s Flea Market, which Victoria claimed had unbeatable shopping. Well, it was disappointing: rip-off designer bags, clothes, and accessories, for the most part, and various totally banal and uninteresting junk; I found just one interesting table, with a variety of gemstones, insect and animal specimens, and fossils. I fell in love with a mummified piranha, but somebody snatched it up before I could buy it. Jeez. The kind of people who must shop there. The only thing I bought, besides a drink (it was hot for October) was a little ceramic bell will a cat handle from a table way on the outskirts, with actual flea-market type stuff. It probably isn’t, though appears to be, a genuine antique, so I bought it for Michael, who, my mom then proceeded to tell me, called last week. Thanks for telling me now. My mom and my sister had a grand old time, buying socks, a jacket, hair clips, a centerpiece, and tons of dirt cheap costume jewelry.
Well, as I couldn’t help but remember on our way home (the place was pretty damn far) it was Pennsbury’s Homecoming Day, and the game was to be held in the evening this year. I didn’t know if it would even be acceptable to ask if I could go, for if my parents knew me at all they would know that the experience would either leave me fulfilled and finally able to move on from the place, or totally fragmented and bound forever to a painful past. Most likely the latter. But they thought it was a great idea. The three of us girls would go, while they went out for a children-free *romantic dinner.* So we got dropped off in the dark, just as the game was starting. It would turn out to be a blowout, the Falcons finally winning another one. Let’s just say the first two quarters were made up of uneasy, lonely wandering the throngs, searching for and not really finding old souls with whom to reconnect. Most notably I ran into Joel and John, of whom I am quite fond and I think they fairly like me, too, but didn’t realize my desperate emotional situation, and were there with their friends besides. So I was thinking, maybe I’ll break even on this, I don’t feel too horrible. In fact, I feel too disoriented to feel horrible. Is that a good thing? But then, after a particularly well-done performance by the marching band, came the golden fifteen minutes of the game- third quarter, precisely because the marching band was allowed on break and mingle below the stadium. I have old acquaintances in the marching band; not only this, but other grads with old acquaintances in the marching band were drawn underneath, too. Can anything else possibly so stridently illustrate my disconnect with the past, than coming down from the stands and running into David Sabogal, and thinking nothing of those Orange Lights? And all, all that came with them. And then I ran into the other, preferred David, Dave Gibbon. And only now do I realize how awesome it is that he asked me about my book. But he and Dan Speiser had to run nearly as soon as I saw them. But it was still the happiest thirty seconds of the night when I got to see my old friend, the kind, the caring, the thoughtful Dave Gibbon. Over the second half of the game I ran into a lot more acquaintances of old, many friendly people who it would be superfluous to mention here. Although, by this point, the certain philosophical or spiritual structure of an event was crystallizing, and I pulled out my little black notebook 6S and scribbled a few loaded things down, with meaning only to me. My place had been filled here. I can’t come back. But strangely, that’s ok. An interesting side note: I went up to the Bible Trombonist Dude (see entry dated 5-25-07, “Oh! It’s On!”) and apologized for that very incident. I told him that I went to college, and I found God. The really interesting thing about it is that I was being perfectly honest and apologizing legitimately for something I didn’t even do. I was conceding, and thereby gaining the moral advantage. Oh, I how I love manipulation. I didn‘t just say that.
Well, the last thing about Pennsbury High School for me was the simple, silent watching of a certain freshman, well, he’s a sophomore now, a kid who, since I met him at last year’s Homecoming , I’ve found irresistibly cute and, well, downright adorable. His name is Will, and I won’t say his last name and humiliate him online. But I just find that I like to look at him, equivalent to some ugly hairy beast watching a young virgin, but hey. And so I looked at him, and then I left. And on my way out, ran into Nick Curci, who swore he wouldn’t go back to Pennsbury for Homecoming, not no how, but here he was whooping into the night and making his way away from his alma mater just as I was. Hopefully we will share alma maters in the future, too.
And that really leads me, I AM going to go back to Chestnut Hill tomorrow. I am just trying to remember, as if it were from some long lost vessel of truth and forgiveness, that I am there just to be there, and I not in FUCK going to be dealing with schoolwork at this point, and NO FUCKING WAY will I be expected to caught up, because I am recovering from the worst experience of my life, if not THE worst, one of them. So, I am actually going to bed now and nobody better fucking make me feel bad about any of this tomorrow. Lisa, I look forward to seeing you again. Hopefully you’ll be feeling somewhat better. Remember, I am always there.