I typically don't dream much. Or, if you want to get all technical, it's rare for me to retain my dreams to the point where I realize they exist once morning rolls around. Lately, though, my late night apparitions have been common and consist of people I once knew.
Such as Tyler, from highschool. He was a pretty optimistic guy, even though he never seemed to get the vertical growth spurt the rest of us were entitled to. He was always short, but it never really got to him. He had menial jobs from time to time, saving up what he could. One week he came to me and asked if I could drive him into town to hit the grocery store; his parents had both lost their jobs and food was running thin. We took the afternoon and overloaded a shopping cart with all sorts of essentials. The cashier remarked something along the lines of, "Wow, you guys have got this all figured out!" when we approached the till and Tyller emptied his savings account. We drove back to his house and I helped put all the food away. I remember sitting there playing Goldeneye, as awkward as a teen can be, when his mom arrived home. She cried and cried and hugged her son in the kitchen. She thanked me too, and I offered a sheepish "no problem" or something. I didn't really do much to contribute. Tyller stood pretty damn tall that day. I haven't talked to him since graduation.
OTIS! Not a person, but a cream-coloured teddy bear hamster. He got the name from looking like, well, oats. And from the Christopher Reeve's first Superman movie, in which Luthor's henchman was Otis. He had his own theme music and everything. Anyways, my sister and I both got our hamsters one year for Christmas. At one point he made an escape from the cage and went missing for about a week. I had almost written him off when my oldest sister came knocking at my door late one night. There, in her hands, was my cream-coloured fuzzball looking like Steve McQueen after a failed attempt in the Great Escape. Apparently he was found rustling around in some boxes. He died after a long and uneventful life, as hamsters tend to do. He was buried in the flower garden. He was my first pet, in a way.
Elissa, the New York Girlfriend. I don't know quite how to frame this one; she was a sweet girl and I was overwhelmed with life. I was in an incredibly terrible headspace to have a relationship, but I still feel decidedly lucky that our paths crossed the way it did. Having someone else to see the world through really helped me better appreciate where I was and experience the city around me. I think we had a lot of good times. She had an amazingly cute smile. I remember when she scored the job she wanted, and when we went to see A Gentleman's Guide to Murder on broadway, and when she took me to this niche little dessert cafe and we ate something that looked like a small potted plant. I remember kissing her on the cheek before she got off the subway. One dark and rainy night toward the end of our time together, I got out of an Elbow concert and went over to help her pack up from her dorm room.
I think it was a relationship of circumstances, and it dissolved shortly after I left. A lot of that falls on my shoulders - I was pretty overwhelmed with my life, and I wasn't capable of handling things particularly well at the time. A few years ago she told me she doesn't want to have anything to do with me, and I don't blame her. I still think fondly on our time together, though. It really added a bit of magic and richness to those 10 months of my life. I hope she's well.
Then there's the Chicken Lady. Through some winding circumstances, I've found myself in her home and sorting through every conceivable type of personal belonging. I fished out some unmarked cassette tapes from the bottom of one box, and after a bit of mental-reorientation, I figured out how to play them on a stereo I found in a bedroom closet. Lo and behold, it was her voice. Reading some novel, I think, as a way to practice her English. She sounded younger than I remember her, and the last time I heard her was on a voicemail she left me. Despite my effort, it got deleted from my inbox. Hearing her voice hit me like a brick. It made me feel self-conscious as I rifled through the leftover fragments of her life.
I've been learning a lot about her as I pass over every single item she owned. She liked her stationary - I have a giant box of pens and pencils and have at least a dozen pairs of scissors. I've turned up at least two-dozen notebooks, not a single one that had been filled more than half way. Most consist of notes from school, random phone numbers, and simple tasks to be completed. Some of them were more like journals. She must've been really lonely, she talked quite a bit about how she shouldn't love or trust anyone. And yet in life, I noticed how she'd find a person and cling to them as long as they'd let her. Myself included. I found one passage that simply reads, "I am short, argumentative, stubborn." I had a chuckle at that one, with how blunt of an assessment it was.
Apparently she was also quite a reader. I've been uncovering stacks of books. One of which was a paperback copy Of Mice and Men. On the back is a little seal that reads, "John Steinbeck - Winner of the Nobel Prize". In blue ball point it has been authoritatively crossed out with a note reading, "Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid, Stupid + Stupid". What a great little window into her psyche. It's odd how I'm getting to know her better now than ever before, even though she's gone.
-Cril
Efforts of lovers
Left in my mind
I sing in the reaches
We'll see what we find
People they come together
People they fall apart
No one can stop us now
'Cause we are all made of stars
Moby - We Are All Made of Stars
No comments:
Post a Comment