I shoulda bought my ticket by now.
Should have that itinerary in hand.
But I don’t.
Why?

Well, there are the reasons you can touch and the reasons you can’t.
The touchable ones are so easy.

I’m freaking busy. I’ve been called up to duty by the company that has led me all along to this place.

Go here, Dee. Go there, Dee. Go up and down and all around, Dee. If you don’t, Dee, we’ll scowl, Dee. We’ll howl and yowl and furrow our brow, Dee.

Oh, but then there are those intangibles. The no-see-ums. The: “Holy shit, I’m scared-ums.”
The ones that jet set my mind and body on an adventure backward. Back to 1994-95.
Shit. Crap. Fuck, man. There she is. Blocked by a dog whose paws are infiltrating my Mustang.
Geez. What do I do? I feel so much, but am so afraid…

Certain friends say that I have a good instinct for humans. To trust my apprehension.
My instinct? Well it’s not firing on all pistons these days. It can’t be.

I wanna see her. I wanna see her life now. I wanna see her life now that went on so gloriously without me. I wanna congratulate her. I wanna be proud of her. But man, these jitters fuck my head up.
What if I feel something again? I can’t have that. I can’t. Won’t.

And now she’s upset with me. Subtle, but pissed.
I can tell. I can feel it.

She’s hurt because she doesn’t want to be let down again. If anyone is owed a debt to them by me, it is surely her.
But it stings, this slap in the face, to be up against grown-up duties.
I can’t go steal her when I’m 60 if I’m not compliant at 40.
The irony remains. She doesn’t need me at all.

Still…

I wanna finally provide something that has always failed me. A safety net. A landing pad and a glance away from the monetary woes. Needed or not. Given freely. Altruistically.

But yeah, there’s that element of fear, foreboding. I’m afraid to see her again.
More paws, more pause.
It is oh so easy to just toss my dollars into the arena in lieu of my heart.

I’m afraid to feel this again. Karma or not.
She’s always sent me spinning, swirling, whirling and twirling around in the atmosphere.
I gotta keep my feet planted. It’s all I know now. It’s what I’m best at.

I know she loves me.
I love her, too.

But daisies are daisies and they’re doomed to die someday.
It sucks.
But it is.
Love them, love them not.
It doesn’t matter, they do what they do.

I’m gonna try like Hell to get to her this year or next.

But here’s the thing:
We’ll never be more than a round globe apart.
This comforts me beyond belief.
Because somewhere in me is that flicker of light that still believes in silly childhood dreams.

I’ll get there, woman.
You just gotta trust me.
For once, it’ll be ok. You’re my friend.
I take it seriously. I can even be good at it nowadays.

But you…

…you have always been the one who saved the daisies, kept the petals and spared their feelings.

There’s a gift in you.

Keep ’em for me, those packets of light, won’t you?

My friend tells me that she’ll not have a happy ending. I think about this now as I type.
A happy ending…
What exactly is a happy ending? Is it where the girl gets the boy? Or the girl gets the girl? Or when the sick child lives on despite some strange disease? Or perhaps it’s when an entire planet is saved from those odd little alien beings…
What is a happy ending?
I think it starts with a happy beginning. A life planned, maybe. Mapped out by the alignment of stars.
You are here.
No really. You ARE here.
My friend comes from two people who love each other. They had a few kids. One was a girl.
The girl grew out as she grew up. Didn’t exactly trod the road to normalcy. But it’s ok. She didn’t screw anyone over along the way. She kept the morals close. Kept them sacred.
But it’s the father who has always frowned upon her. It’s the father’s view that she takes internally. Holds close, even. Isn’t it a travesty how we people, we human beings, internalize the frownings of those who claim to love us?
She’s a good girl. A kind girl.
I know this because I know her. I’ve been on her receiving end. A couple decades as witness. And she took my shit upon her like she was doomed to be dealt it. Like the “frowning-on” of her father she always thought she deserved…And thinks it to this day.
But I’m not him. And she is not any image that he conjours up in his mind. She’s substance and fiber. Life and love. Goodness and kindness.
And if there is any ending at all, it’s a happy one. Because she stole the meaningful virtues and dumped the rest. The closed minded bullshit that pervades, she left. Left it all, left it far…
Hear this, Mr. B****. Your kid is ok.
Hear it now, hear it loud. You must hear us shouting.
I know you do, and it’s okay to admit it.
She needs a happy ending, sir.
I will stand firm when I tell her she has one, yet it is you…
…you who seems to hold that damn key…let it go, we can catch.

I am an inappropriately ungrateful woman. Meaning that I am ever more concerned with myself than others. Especially those that I care about. This has been pointed out to me before. No, not last year, but decades ago. Selfish and mean are two words that found their way to my ears from more than one reliable source. Of course, those people didn’t themselves have those traits. Take Barb, for example.
I have, in my posession, a letter dated 1985. A four-pager, written in tiny hand. Explaining lovingly how and why she thought I was an ass. I keep it for posterity. And for days when I feel entitled or find myself slipping back…
…back to the Dee of old.
The Dee of old. No, no. I’m still the Dee that was. Selfish to the nth degree. But I occasionally get a reprieve. Sometimes the chunks of time are long and measured. Other times not.
An exerpt; “You can be so thoughtless and mean, Dee. Sometimes I feel that you love me with everything you have in you. Then other times you are so cruel. To be on the receiving end of that is the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”
’85, folks. 21 years ago. Fortunately, that person has agreed to let me communicate with her again. I did not deserve the generosity. I’m not trying to be a martyr or seek pity here. Not that at all. Perhaps I just need to remember that I have spent most of my life expecting things from people who loved me. People who owed me nothing. And I gave little in return.
But it’s today. I have new friends, new formations of family. A re-establishment of sisterhood. I was blessed. I’ve been given a gift that I did not earn. The meaning of grace, isn’t it? Something we get in spite of ourselves?
Take this past week for an example:
I had horrific, stifling car problems. I was rescued yet again, by Lu and Vern. Then a family whom owes me no loyalty. A family, a vision of unity and love that strikes me with awe every time I’m near. Eh-net and Charlene and Aubs and Gabs and…the boy.
Ask Barb, ask Lu, ask my staff. I’m probably the last name on a will-call list for favors that might inconvenience me. I don’t want to be that person, that assclown, any more.
I adore my friends and family. New and old. You guys stick around, despite my selfishness.
Thank you. You help me every day to distance myself from the Dee that was. It’s a battle. It’s a journey.
But I need you to know how grateful I am that you’re right here with me.
I love you.

Ha ha. Say THAT 5 times fast.
I can have a friend now. Really, no joke.
I’m not “IN” love with her anymore, I say.
“How do you know, Dee?”, they query. How do I know?
Let me tell you the story…

“IN” love, I’ve been.
None of that smirking from the peanut gallery whom assumes I’m an island…you know who you are, too!
In the 80’s. She rode her motorcycle in a purple dress. I spent insane amounts of time trying this way and that to convince her that she should be with me. Only me. Forever. Let your hands be like glue, I pleaded. She eventually complied on the very same night that I passed out in her shrine. Don’t bother to tell me that God is without humor. Laughing His ass off that night… Waited a teenaged eternity for that moment…
Jingly-jangly-what-nots hanging from every angle. She smelled nice. Like…uh…patchouli.
Dead things hung from her ears. Ha ha. A private joke. If she reads this ever, she’ll chuckle.
What is the word that you want to use that describes the most beautiful creature that you have ever seen? I was 18 then.

(more…)