Love and Friends

why would I stop loving you?

A single line tucked in the middle of an email reduced me to tears this morning.  Honestly, I've had a difficult time with several things recently and tears have been keeping me company.  It is not necessarily an entirely bad thing.  It just is.  Sometimes we all need a break from being (or pretending to be) strong and put together and need to allow ourselves some time to be selfish and human.

While I am being honest I would like to add that this dull aching throb in my chest is like none other I have felt before... it's bubbling.  Not like a freshly opened soda but like a thick tar-like something at a fast boil on the stove.  I awoke mid-night from a dream of events to come in the near future with the bubbly throb amplified and my left arm numb.  I was certain in my hazy sleepiness that my heart was literally broken.  Perhaps it is.  It will scab over in time.

On Monday I took a walk to see a friend.  A friend with whom I don't share much of anything verbally but I feel understands me better than most.  We chatted a few minutes and set a date for me to come back for longer and I left, closing the door gently behind me.  I walked most of the 2.5 miles home before finally giving in to hunger and heat and hopping the trolley to the bar.

Bonk's was surprisingly full for 3:30 on a Monday afternoon.  I ordered a crabcake and onion rings and swallowed down a few lagers.  When I was at the point of picking at my onion rings a man approached and burst into a story of how he and his friends were discussing the "damsel in distress" alone in the bar and how he should come up and talk with me but wanted to wait until I was finished eating.  I thanked him for that and quietly resented the "damsel in distress" moniker.  From that point I was introduced to and shook hands with all 18 people occupying the bar and the older gentleman (17 yrs my senior) next to me provided me with conversation for the rest of my time there.  Following a polite amount of conversation after his awkward yet sweet attempt to ask me on a date and my decline, I paid my check and stumbled from the bar.

There is something I love immensely about a mid-day drunk.  Bumbling my way through the city streets while people are just arriving home from work always brings a smile to my face.  It reminds me that I do have a wonderful life.  I hiccupped as I walked which made me laugh out loud and in turn talk to myself the whole way home.  I passed a large bed of purple, fuchsia, and pink pansies and was overwhelmed by the smell of lilies.  Even in my inebriation I knew that my eyes and nose were not agreeing on the current situation.  I laughed and hiccupped and continued on my way glancing back periodically to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

Today all I hear in my head is Ms. Molli's voice easing my concerns over decisions I had made, "Extraordinary lives don't just fall into people's laps.  You have to take risks and make stupid choices."  Somewhere in the past 2 years I forgot that and am glad to have remembered it upon reawakening this morning with feeling having returned to my left arm.  I love nothing more than seeing the people I love do crazy-ass things in an effort to find their own extraordinary life.  Though today it means losing a great friend to the distance of a new life, hopefully a better life.  And I know using the word "losing" here is going to touch a nerve but that is the truth in the sense that there will be no more hanging out, no more ridiculous electronic communication while sitting next to each other on the couch or waiting to play a gig, and I'm sure considerably less gmail chatting in the evenings as time will be otherwise occupied.  But amid the selfish melancholy I am still more thrilled and excited at the new world that awaits and agree that perhaps it‘s time I do the same again.  And just in case you ever find yourself lost in a fairy tale:

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope - what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts.  Trust those that you have helped
to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams,
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).
Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
-Neil Gaiman excerpt "Instructions"

Lo

I met her 12 years ago or so.   She appeared out of nowhere when I needed the kind of friend that forces life on you.  She always swings by at (mostly) the right times and I love her for that.  Last night around 7 pm I heard the raucous knock on my door and there she was... her long dark hair sticking in every direction, makeup smudged and smeared, her old cut t-shirt hanging off both boney shoulders with a big hole on the right side exposing half of her stomach.  Her skin tight jeans were shredded at the heels, torn at the knees and down to threads across her ass and thighs.  A cloud of whiskey hovered around her.  There was a twinkle in her eye and a crooked smile on her face.  I love this white hot mess.

With little more then a "hey" grunt, she crushed her cigarette out on the carpet in front of my door and burst into my apartment dropping her tattered oversized purse on my kitchen floor... junk spewed everywhere... lipstick, a bra, a half empty fifth of Jack, and a ton of random shit.  Right to the fridge where she grabbed a beer off the top shelf and downed it in one breath.  She grabbed another, popped it open and handed it to me with a smile, grabbed herself another and asked how I've been.  "Fuckin ballz-ass shitty" I replied.  She laughed at me, started stripping off her clothes, grabbed another beer and headed to the bathroom.  I heard the water run for a bath.  A few minutes later I hear her singing loudly and I settle back into bed with my beer and a smile on my face. 


L.A. February 2006...  I was on tour on the west coast and she happened to be out there the same time.  I had several hours of rehearsals which caused me to miss both Grammy's parties she had invited me to.  She was always getting invites to things like that.  Lucky girl.

Late the following afternoon a silver 2 door convertible picked me up in front of my hotel.  She "borrowed it" she told me and to "hop in."  We grabbed a quick lunch and headed to the Hotel Cafe for my show that night.  I don't remember much of the show other than it went well.  There was a good crowd and it was the only night on tour we played as a trio instead of a duo and I got to play an acoustic piano.

After the show and a few drinks we drove around town in that great little convertible with the top down.  February!  It was shocking for a north-east coast girl like me.  It seemed that everywhere we went, she ran into people she knew and before long there was a dozen or so people on the hunt for liquor before heading back to my hotel room on the Sunset Strip.  By the time we got to my room we had collected 30 or so more people and a few bars worth of booze. 

What a party!  The first time security came, they told us to keep it down.  The second time they came, they told us to clear out or get kicked out.  The third (and fourth) time they came we shoved 30 some people out on the 10th floor balcony that was large enough for a small bistro set and closed the curtains.   I woke up the following morning in a king sized bed with 2 beautiful women and a man I'd never seen before.  Some quick showers, a few hugs, and I was back on the road en route to San Francisco for more shows. 

She didn't stay in L.A. much longer.  She doesn't really stay anywhere for long.  I saw her briefly in NYC a few months later.


An hour after she disappeared into my bathroom she reappears with another beer for each of us and slides her warm naked body next to me.  She looks thinner than she has since her days in L.A. but not a bit worse for wear.  We cuddle up for "story" time and share adventure tales.  Hers are always better than mine...  her laughter is intoxicating along with the smell of lavender radiating from her soft skin.  The cloud of whiskey has been replaced with a cloud of beer around us both.  This is just what I needed.

Trains

Buckets of rain
Buckets of tears
Got all them buckets coming out of my ears
Buckets of moonbeams in my hand
You got all the love honey baby
I can stand

The sky is somehow still bright and blue even though it's pouring rain.  I didn't even realize it was raining until I turned from my book and looked out the train window while pushing my sunglasses to their normal resting place on top of my head.  Its late Sunday afternoon and Jersey seems eerily still.  My first thought was "everyone in Jersey must have been vaporized by aliens."  Though I am quite sure this is not the case. 

I been meek
And hard like an oak
I seen pretty people disappear like smoke
Friends will arrive friends will disappear
If you want me honey baby
I'll be here

I've been on this train too long to only be in Rahway.  I think we're going backwards.  To the right of the train is a sheer drop.  I won't even guess how high it may be.  I have no idea.  These trains move much too slow as proven by the Acela which sneaks up behind us on the left and passes with such speed that I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head.  I imagine the train I'm on tipping to the right from the Acela's force and tumbling to the ground.  I can't help but smile as I picture myself mangled and bloodied, impaled by a giant piece of twisted train or broken window. 

Everything about you is bringing me
Misery

I'm quickly losing patience with myself and the squeal of the train's wheels along the tracks isn't helping.  I wish They would close the door but the air conditioning isn't working in this car and They feel the sound of an 8 penny nail hairbrush dancing across a chalkboard is better then the heat and humidity of a closed train car.  Maybe They're right.  Who am I to judge?  Though I suppose the same goes for Them.

Little red wagon
Little red bike
I ain't no monkey but I know what I like

A Greek, tattooed, atheist, musician goes to a party and is surrounded by pale, Jesus loving Irish folk.  They were the most normal people I have ever met in my life.  I felt like a fig tree in the middle of a corn field. 

I like the way you love me strong and slow
I'm taking you with me honey baby
When I go

The rain has stopped and started a few times by now.  Currently its back to pouring.  This time however the open car is filling with cool air.  Still damp, but cool.  Its refreshing while coupled with the sound and smell of buckets of rain.

Life is sad
Life is a bust
All ya can do is do what you must

The train is picking up speed.  No doubt going forward as well.  What can be seen of the sun is a fireball to the west burning a hole through the storm clouds which are now no more substantial then rice paper in that spot.  To the east is the heavily clouded steel blue glowing sky that you only see with a summer storm.  Today is almost over.  Tonight I will curl up in my own bed for the night but for only one night before I'm off again.

 

thoughts from a beach chair

Bathing suit.  Sun screen.  Beach chair.  Alone.  :)  I love to lay in the sun mostly naked and feel the sudden flush of heat as the water in my body seeps out of every pore.  Today is going to be a good day.       

The beach chair smells a little funky.  It's probably been 2 summers since its been removed from the musty crawl space.  It smells of dirt and rust and hot.  

I hate to admit that I hate every person I know today... and every one I don't.  I woke up cranky and need to learn to not log into facebook on those days.  I have had 3 Libras in my head since.  Its been difficult for me to find the space in between where I fit.  Fit easily and securely and without question every time.  Though I suppose there never is a place that is completely without question.

This will be my first summer in 4 without an adventure laid out in front of me.  I wonder what will become of the road trips, the anticipation, the butterflies, the "cd of the summer" with the indelible impressions of great adventures.  I guess I'll have to make my own and fly a little more spontaneously.  With only a hint of sadness, the disappointment abounds and I realize my heart is still there, buried safe and scabby.  But the sun is hot on my skin and I'm slowly relaxing one muscle and one thought at a time.



I remember our toilet flushing, light flickering ghost.


I remember the Providence Potato Heads.


I can still feel your warmth as you held me in the kitchen when I was unable to hold back the tears any longer.  


I see our sundresses and floppy hats on our trip through Sonoma Valley while the east coast was digging out of a blizzard.


I remember the ease with which you handed me your car keys for me to drive myself back home 2 states away.


I remember our cinnamon snow falling in slow motion outside the old man bar.


And the energetic smile in your voice over the phone for our first conversation in 15 years and the taste of your cigarettes after our first visit in 20 years.


And I remember seven goodbyes.... all different and all taking their own little piece of me with them.  I'm getting used to it all.

But mostly I like to remember that goodbyes don't always happen and sometimes aren't forever and even if they are there's always that look on your face that first time you saw me out on the sidewalk in my best sundress.

The wind and a little someday

The wind is blowing pretty strong through my north facing window.  Chilly slightly damp air.... not at all what I think a late June evening in Philadelphia should feel like.  It almost has a Jersey shore like skank to it.  But maybe that's just my mood.  I'm not drunk enough to not care.  Plus, I think it's time to change my sheets.... or maybe shower.  But my Guinness tastes like heaven and it's quiet right now.  It's not often this building is quiet.  Only the faint sound of cars traveling along I95 and a distant Ice Cream truck can be heard.  So what is it I've been doing all week?  Well, that's a loaded question.

I tucked my Guatemalan Worry people under my pillow 3 nights ago and forgot them there... I'm sure they don't mind, they end up there often.  Do I really believe these little hemp "people" take away my worries in the night?  Certainly not but it's something to do when crawling in bed alone worrying about people or things.

Yesterday I "woke up to the sound of pouring rain" as sung by Sebastian Bach.  I'm not sure from where in the depths of my brain that one came from other than it was indeed pouring outside my still open window.  I know there's a place way back there, buried behind 21 years of life that does also hold the words to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" amongst others and all the guitar solos of that time but I would appreciate it if my brain left that all in the back of the closet there.  Skid Row Ahaha!  But it brings me to listen to another song from way back... the opening guitar notes instantly turn on the waterworks.  That's not typical of me.  I won't share the song or the story.  It is one so personal that in 20 years I have never shared it with anyone.  It is the one and the only thing that is truly just mine.  I will share something related to my current thoughts and that is that the one thing I promised myself I would NEVER do, I did last night and I very well may never forgive myself for that particular mistake.

I now understand my fervent dislike of the word "someday" goes back not 3 years as I thought recently but indeed 20 years back to the single moment that changed the course of my life.  I was 14. 

Someday.  Open ended.  I feel it's used predominantly when someone has something better going on but wants to keep something on the back burner indefinitely.  It doesn't leave the door of reality open it only leaves the fantasy world alive.  Someday never comes.  At least not usually.  But it paints the picture of hope infinitely swirling in the back of your mind.

I have someone on my mind tonight.  A ghost I suppose he should be called all these years later.  There used to be a ton of somedays with him but now there are none.  He's long dead but such a huge part of who I am.  I love remembering.  I hate feeling.  Oh but these guitar solos make me laugh my friggin ass off!  I can still sing most of every one.

*sigh*

As only my older sister might remember... I have a not so strange craving for fries, a fillet o' fish and a strawberry milkshake.

red lipstick

I realize on many days I live my life as if I'm a character in a story.  Always having an adventure.  Always being a little silly.  I woke up from strange dreams feeling all out of sorts today.  I haven't been eating enough and I know that's a big part of it.  Its rainy and bleh outside and I haven't even begun to think about showering and leaving the house.  My errands will have to wait for Monday though I really could've used that oil change before my trip to Dover tomorrow evening.

In an attempt to make something a little better?  Different?  Humorous?  for today, I put on a lovely coat of red lipstick.  I feel silly every time I pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of myself.  Penguin jammie bottoms, black Breckenridge sweatshirt, hair in a bun, and bright red pinup girl lipstick....

Meanwhile, electronically, I'm hiding under a desk with a girl in her office.  We have a loaf of fresh, warm banana bread and a bottle of wine and I am not Erica.  In fact, she has never seen me before.

I feel all out of sorts.

The sudden urge to shower overtakes me... suddenly I feel I need to hide from the world and the shower now seems the perfect place.  I strip and stand in front of the mirror looking at myself.  My silly red lipstick..... The red doesn't hint at sexy or playful.  All I can see is old.  My face looks drawn and my eyes dark and sunken.  Tired from years of drinking and partying and second hand smoking. and stress and hunger and trains.  I miss my full plump face of youth and despise the deep paranthetic frame of my mouth and dried up river bed between my eyebrows and my now hollow cheeks.  I used to be so pretty.

My showers are entirely too hot.  It feels as if I'm trying to burn the flesh from my skeleton.  I know its not good for the skin but it feels so good on my insides.  And afterwards I look back in the now fogged up mirror.  There is a little more life in my face... a nice rosy hue in my cheeks.  The red lipstick has not come off or even faded in the slightest.  I grab a piece of toilet paper and rub my lips raw.  It's mostly off now but I will have a slight red hint in my lips for the rest of the day.  Gone are the days of lipstick that never stays on.  My niece will never get away with what I did as a little girl.... momma's lipstick won't come off and hide her little secret of exploring the adult world many years too soon.

I guess we never get too old to play dress up.
　
　
　

It's about time

"I'm on a train and listening to florence and the machine and I love you"
　
The text came a few minutes before 10 yesterday morning.
　
We are still friends on trains.  It's the only place you exist to me and the only place where I can still love you.
　
Daydreams take some away to an alternate reality.  Some people have movies or books or music.  I have trains.  On them I sense no passage of time, no stress, no worries or to-dos, no family or friends, no responsibility, no mistakes.  Just me.  Any me I want to be.  Occupying space.  Alone with my thoughts and adventures and surrounded by visions and the sounds of people, imaginary inconsequential people.  Some days there are a lot of these people.  Sometimes they talk to me whilst dressed in business suits, drinking beer out of a brown paper bag, and explaining how their wife won't be happy about their impromptu after work excursion with the boys.
　
The best part of fantasy worlds is not the control we have over things but the beauty of tempo rubato.  The musical term derived from Italian meaning "stolen time."  Rhythmic manipulation and nuance.  Stealing time from one thing and giving it to another.  The bending and shaping of time.
　
My pocketful of hours in the day always runs out before I'm ready for it to.
　
I don't see it as a cruel fact of life.  Today I see it as Debussy performed by someone not ready to play it.  Looking out of Starbuck's window at the intersection of Grant & Academy, I see it all sonically and time is bending all wrong.  It's not being manipulated but it is manipulating us.
　
I did much better when I was living on trains and in their stations. I was at peace with time.  We were friends even.
　
I was happier.
　
And more relaxed.
　
And felt more alive.
　
Now I have a home, which I do love.  And a job, which I enjoy.  And stability, which, well, because I simply cannot afford to live the life of trains.