Love Story
From: SHolmes
9:29 PM on 6/27/92
Joel:
Ya big stud, at least I didn't use the "cat bit" eh? They'd tear into that one in a second, which, would be the point in the first place! I don't like CAUSING trouble, just ADDING to it. - Just kidding.
6/28/92
J-
Yawn...I still haven't recovered from the lost sleep, thank you very much.
Thank you for your alliance with me on the B.B. I met my hero today, BigDC. What a man. Whew! I could SMELL the humanity of the guy coming off the computer screen! I want to BE him. But really, buddy boy, I'm not so hostile as I may sound. I'm not even unusually feisty, just proud of my own potential, that's all. I also tend to burn with the desire to protect myself when my honor is at stake. I deplore the image one may get of me after having read the boards. Let me set you, and anyone else straight, K? Just in case, ya know. But I don't sense much disapproval from you. Just let me satisfy myself. I'm 5'5" in height, medium/athletic build, blonde hair, extremely short in back and on sides, but longish on top, like a surfer cut, I have grey eyes, and a Yugoslavian type face. My mom says when I was little I looked like a pixie, which is why I keep my hair short, cuz I kinda do look like Tinkerbell! With a Slavic tint. Anyway, I love coldness, as in weather, but warmth in humanity. I'm an expert on Sherlock Holmes, who, by the way, is the most appealing man in writing, I read tons of literature, mostly Gothic. I love philosophy, I'm a decent writer, painter, demon racquetball player, and I love poker, but I'm not very good at it. My daughter is three and a half, I was a pregnant sixteen year old. I was so ashamed of it that I moved to a city far away from my home to live with my aunt, and go to school there. We have no connections with her...sperm...I refuse to grace him with the word father. He has no idea where we are, for my daughter's safety, and mine. Ugh...bad subject. Makes my stomach turn. So, there's the surface low down of the gal you befriended. Maybe different from what you thought, maybe same. Doesn't matter. Since you probably will never actually see what I look like, I thought you at least deserve a description, I've seen yours. But I will never go on as Erika, or make a toon of what I look like. There's a profound reason for this, but valid, I don't know. I wanted to go on TSN because I wanted to get to know people as people, without sexual undertones creeping in. I wanted people to think I was a man first, then I could reveal myself to whom I wished. I didn't want to get "clicked" on because some throbbing young teenager thought my toon was hot. I was warned against this on my first day. Sexual undertones aren't bad or anything, it's inevitable with both sexes around, but it can cloud what people really think of each other, the genderless, naked soul underneath. That's what I wanted, and that's what I got. Most everyone knows who I am now. My cover's blown.
all right, all right, I'll go talk to you now. Geez Mr. Patience here...
From: SHolmes
3:54 PM on 6/29/92
ALLMYLUV:
I agree with you about the opinion bit. But, if you don't want disagreement, ya best not post. Almost everything I've said got me into trouble! - In some cases it gained many friends, tho. -
From: SHolmes
11:29 AM on 7/1/92
Children are over rated.
An average 3.5 year old is tired after along day of exhausting physical play in the sun, she's had dinner, bath, softly-read story, and goodnight smooch. This child is so tired. But screaming, not sleeping, is how she thinks she will cure her state. She bolts upright in bed and screams and wails as loud as her lungs will allow. She's not frightened of the dark, she's not lonely, she's just tired. Picture this: You're tired from doing whatever it is you do all day. 11pm, you retire to your bed. You're tired. You start screaming. Neighbors call. They want to know if everything's ok. You answer...... "Oh, I'm just tired." Is this logic? I should say not. Anyone has or knows of a logical three year old, I'll trade ya. Mine's broken.
6/29/92
You fall of chairs, I fall off on-line networks. I got booted, and didn't get back in for 20 damn minutes!!!! My sincerest apologies for having kept you waiting. Although, it seems you didn't. You're not here. Maybe you went to Sierra 1 to write me a letter, and hopefully you'll return here where you belong and find me lurking in your mail room. Though, I won't expect it. Studs need sleep. You should consider insomnia. So, if I may ask, and you may choose whether to answer or not, why is it a mighty stag like you isn't bound hands and feet with the rope of love, and displayed on some leggy brunette's car bumper? Personal question, maybe, but I'll dare.
When I was three months pregnant, my parents pushed me into a summer camp, a CHRISTIAN summer camp, mind you...they thought I needed reform. It wasn't MY fault. That Italian son-of------prided himself in the preying on blossoming young ladies. Naive virgins... Son-of-a ---- anyway... I doubt the circumstances of my pregnancy would interest you. The point of this tiresome story is this: During the camp, I met a young man who lives in LA. I then lived in Montana, anyway, he was there in the delivery room with me and my parents. (yes, obviously I was there. I was the one lying on the table in the middle of the room, with the back arched, the long, low blood curdling scream..) Anyway, for four years, we've been romantic off and on, more off than on. He's still in LA. But right now he's in Australia on some cultural exchange thing, jumping off bridges, out of planes, climbing mountains... pub crawling (bar hopping) sigh...real man-type stuff. Uh-huh. I can think of better man-type stuff he could be doing. Stuff that doesn't make his woman so lonely, and begin to experience rapid heartbeats because of wandering Prince Charmings...
Enough said, I think.
Erika
6/29/92
Joel,
Now you have mail. You were complaining last night about having none, I should think your box would be quite full of love letters, that is, if you felt the need to reply in poetry form, as you were saying. I don't know of any man-to-man poems. Though, I'm sure there are. I have two friends in San Francisco, they're brothers four years apart. One Saturday, I was invited to breakfast with them before one needed to be at work.
We ate near the print shop on Market Street where the eldest works. The cafe was called "Welcome Home", we walked into the crowded dining room to an open table against the back wall. I was the only female in the place. This didn't register in my brain though, not at first. In a room full of robust, hairy men, the only woman in the room is bound to receive acknowledgment of some kind. I considered this, and noticed that all the men were dining in pairs. It was EARLY Saturday morning let me note, perhaps too early for breakfast dates, unless the date began some hours before that. (which was absolutely not true in my case) I shivered, though I have nothing against homosexuality, I've never quite been in a sea of it before. I'm small-town, old-fashioned to a degree, thus accounting for the slowness of me realizing the situation. Boy, the testosterone level in that room nearly drowned me. I was being watched, I guess, by the brothers, who didn't know what kind of place they were taking me to, but they realized it much sooner than I. So, what could we do but laugh. I was only too glad when the time came to leave, and I care not to go again. Why am I telling you this? I think I got started on men-to-men poetry. Forgive the length.
The reason I wrote, besides to pacify you with mail, was to inquire as to what you do when you're not charming young ladies? I mean what's your work? What do you do when you're not working? I mean, who ARE you?
We've established who I am already. Your turn.
TAG! You're it.
Most sincerely,
Erika Lynne
6/29/92
Erika,
I do believe you have my number, young lady. I'll give you the meaningless stuff first. Currently, I am half of the Telecommunications Department at the Orange County Civic Center. Telecommunications is just a fancy term to cover up what we really do; install and maintain the building's phones and computers. (I have been fortunate enough to have been taken under wing as a journeyman.)I spent three years working freelance doing live sound for everybody and anybody in the area. Maximum work, minimum pay, no benefits. Afterwards, I worked my way up to Assistant Manager at one of Camelot Music's top stores. They decided I was "too nice" to become a manager, so they let me go. Those were my manager's actual words. So if I had been an actual jerk, I could have maintained a job I am thankful I now do not have. In August, another job prospect is presenting itself, but will need to be watched closely in order to make a delicate & suitable decision.
Who am I ? I'm not sure I've ever been asked that particular question. I really don't have hobbies to speak of. I have some art, weird T-shirts and buttons. I collect music and certain styles of literature. Collect, meaning more like being very selective, i.e. gothic, horror, philosophy, and some of the most prominent religious books to be found. All of these are not avidly pursued, except for the music. I listen to everything from blues, regional, classical, rock and roll, thrash, industrial, jazz you name it. I am not big on opera, but I have not exposed myself to much other than a Pavarotti concert which was absolute hell for two and a half hours. He sang in a very poor acoustic room.
I guess you could say my interests lie in life. People are most important to me. Most of my friends are women. I find women to be more understanding and communicative than the average male. Almost all of my friends are older than me by at least seven years. My best friend turns fifty one this year and has been my mentor for the past two. Her name is Guelda, or Gigi as she tells everybody. She has taught me what's it's like to love people unconditionally and helped me become a stronger person inside. It would benefit everybody to meet this wonderful lady.
I am one to stand back and observe people, they're conversations, mannerisms, just study them. I don't read excessively like I should. Since I've owned this computer my time has been funneled into it. I collect quotes, read some poetry. I play guitar and the saxophone, but it's been many a year since I've played the horn. I dabble, that's all. I love "B" movies and have seen far too many to ever even admit to seeing. I've traveled extensively around the country and have set a personal goal of making it to Europe in the next couple years. I am single. No girlfriend to speak of. I have a cat, but he lives with my parental units 32 miles away, a seal point Siamese named Seti, after the Pharaoh I long to go to Egypt and see the most magnificent creations known to man, well, that and have my own lifetime's supply of chocolate Yoo Hoo or Mountain Dew! But that's another story...
I drive a 1988 VW Fox, Gambia red. I've been white water rafting at least twice a year for the past four years and play paintball when I can. Just about anything outdoors or around water. Had never been to college, but started my first course this summer and started my second last Friday. I'm not ashamed to admit I decided to go primarily for social reasons. Silly me, found out I liked it; but still have an easy calendar I'm afraid.
I love animals of all types except I'm not fond of spiders or roaches. (Especially since I have the "arm rippin' child eatin' Army proof gargantuan type sneaking in my cottage from time to time.) I take pride in my responsibilities and having a place of my own with no roommate and I find it very discouraging to see how many people around me can't even be on time. I choose my friends carefully, keeping their interests close to heart and work hard at nurturing friendships.
I am sensitive to people's needs and feelings, willing to go out of my way to help them out if I can. I learned early, people take too much for granted and don't spend enough time concentrating on what I think life is all about: people. I try to be as straight forward as I can, knowing this can get me into trouble, but then, if there's loud hollerin' or carrying on going on, I'm usually right in the middle of it it seems ! I do appreciate attention. Not for self gratification, but to show some body did listen. Acknowledgment I guess.
I didn't grow up in a "huggy" family so I have various adopted mothers I try to get all the hugs I can from. Spent my entire youth at church, it seems. Grounds keeper, youth group, acolyte, etc. I have a brother, Josh who I consider the most promising teenager of all time what can I say ? He's family ! He's 16 and a very good friend. I'll see just about any band who comes to town, alone most of the time due to the fact so many people have families or just fall into Orlando's Lazy Unopen Minded Club.
I write. To please myself. If it doesn't please me, it'll never see daylight. I stick mostly to poems, but require genuine inspiration to get started. The past few months I've felt my mind is a sponge and I can't get enough to quench my thirst, feeding off of other people's experiences, my own, literature and I've bought far too many compact discs. So you see, my friend, I try to be "whatcha see is whatcha get."
I like your straight forwardness, appreciate your honesty, and find you to be a very unique and special individual.
Glad we met !
What's this about "Charming young ladies ?"
I'm the one who's been charmed, Erika.
JDG
6/30/92
Sir:
Bit of philosophy for ya. We have something in common, but reverse. Your friends are women, mine, at school, in a social situation, are mostly guys. I see women every day from around the neighborhood who have kids Brenna's age, and they're close friends, but I don't consider it to be a social situation, more like family. As a general rule, girls don't like girls. We're cats. We can't stand competition. We want to be "the fairest of them all" like the wicked queen in Snow White. And what happened when the queen found Snow white to be prettier than her? She tried to kill her. Typical. Happens all the time. I went to a Christian High School in the basement of a church. There were 40 people total, all the way from preschool to seniors. I was one of 4 teenage girls. the other three were sisters. There were 14 teenage boys there. Ha! The competition thing didn't apply there. We played sports against other Christian schools in the state, and were #1 in basketball. Boys, that is, there weren't enough girls to make any team. So we helped the boys. I kept the shot charts during the games, which means I had to sit next to the coach and record on a drawn court on paper, whenever each player tried to shoot, where, what his number was, and if he made it. We did our team, and kept a record of all the others, too. So I was one busy gal trying to see it all. Then, our coach would study it, to learn other teams' quirks, and learn our problems. Perhaps that's why we were #1. So for years, my friends have been guys.
I heartily agree with the immortal Sherlock Holmes. He hated women. Except one. In his 40 years of detection, and enemy crushing, he was outwitted only once. By a woman. She was also breathtakingly beautiful. She was smart as hell. She got him. I think he loved her. He referred to her as "the woman" as if there was only one in the world. But he doesn't know romantic feelings, he came as close as possible. I think. I study that story, it makes me wonder. Anyway, as a whole, I don't like women either. We're CATS, we're jealous, possessive, sensitive, emotional, talkative, too outward.. I prefer to talk to males. True they aren't as conversational, but they're selective in what they say. Which makes for more interesting talk. Unlike women, who'll ramble on and on and put you to sleep. This is general, of course.
So, anyway, there you have it. That's my philosophy on why my friends are guys. I don't like girls, most of them, some are exceptions of course, and I'm just used to being around more guys than girls.
The End.
ELP
7/1/92
To whom it may concern:
I hate making unexpected departures. Though, I was told, always leave 'em wanting you. Ahem... anyway, I do not want you to think I left because I thought you thought I was a cheap whore. Heh, little lighthearted half teasing/half serious statement there for ya. My muscle bound brother Michael demanded the use of his phone and his room, I was occupying both. One does not argue with biceps of that size. I push as far as I can, naturally. But don't anyone try to keep him from his woman. Yikes, I got out of there fast. Because I know better. I'm very smart.
Anyway, sir, I'm not uncomfortable in any way with the words that passed between us. Let me tell ya something. (Kick back, relax, this'll take a while) I think you're a hunk o' burnin' love. My light way of saying, you're extremely arousing. I've thought you were even before I saw that handsome toon of yours. A man's appeal seldom lies in his appearance, why do you think I consider Holmseyboy to be the sexiest man in existence? He certainly wasn't well known for his beauty. You are charming. Gallant. And aside from that, and the arousal, I like who you are. It's fun talking to you, we play well together. That's something not comfortably done in a face-to-face situation. Silliness is easiest to do while hiding behind a blind of some sort. The computer. I'm at my best in all ways but one in writing. The one outside being sex, of course. Ahh... the mention of sex brings me to the point in writing, at last. After all this reading, you deserve a point. You've earned it. Sex should be friendly, no matter where, no matter with who, no matter HOW, it absolutely must be friendly. I don't consider "Slam, bam, thank you ma’am." to be sex. It's female aid in male masturbation. Sex involves two. And between two friends, it's at its best. I assure you, buddy, I'd be quite fine if we never talked of it again. Likewise, being as it's one of the most interesting subjects around at our age, I should also be fine if we talked about it again. And no matter what we say, I STILL think you're a stallion. (You're fine as long as I stick to the more complimentary beasts... but when I bring in barnyard animals...) And so, dear Prince, rest assured that this leggy blonde's a friend of yours to the end. The end being, of course, when my darling sibling decides to jerk TSN out from under his dear sister because he wants his room and his phone back. I like you even if you weren't a big hunk of meat. Remember that, above all else.
All right, I release you. Dismissed. You may go now. You're excused from the table. Push in your chair as you leave, wipe up your crumbs.
The Immortal ELP
7/1/92
One more thing, then I'll never say another word again. Ever. `Till I die. Not to you or anyone else.
Sit down. Listen to my story.
You'll never see this side to me. TSN is the only effective escape from that side of me, and one does need to abandon it occasionally. But, being as the subject is of some interest to you, I'll briefly discuss it. So you get a better idea of who I am in whole. You said in your letter that you've adopted various mothers because you weren't brought up in a "huggy" family. I'm a mother, as you well know. I'm not YOUR mother, but you know that, too. I happen to be just over 2 years younger than you, however, I am A mother, nevertheless. I'm a very tender mommy. My little girl, Brenna Rae, age - not old enough to go to school all day long, sigh... she likes me to sit by her bed at night when I'm tucking her in and softly stroke her long dark hair, or lightly touch my cheek against hers till she falls asleep. Both work, and the choice is up to her which one she wants. I've been physically affectionate with her since she was born, even before that. When I was pregnant, and she'd be restless, which made me SICK, (it's kinda gross to feel another person squirming around inside your abdomen) I'd take a candle into the bathroom, turn off the light, play George Winston (classical piano), and lay back in the warm bath and caress her tiny body by gently pushing on my mountainous belly, which had once been, and now is again, a thin waist. She'd instantly be still. When she was a newborn and the screaming meamies would get her, I'd do the same. Candle, George, bath. I'd lay her on my bare chest in the water, and she could nurse if she wanted to, then she'd eventually calm down and fall asleep. And then I'd lay there and wonder how the hell I was gonna get out of the tub with a slimy wet baby to handle. I breast fed her for 17 months, and would have continued but I got selfish. I wanted my body back. I was tired of sharing. I wanted to drink 17 Cokes a day and not worry about what it would do to the baby. I also wanted my hourglass figure back, which wouldn't return till my body ceased to be a dairy farm. Every time I was nursing Bren, and my brother would walk by, he's howl, "MMOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" He was just JEALOUS, I think.
That's all. Amen. The End.
That was a beautiful story, wasn't it? Sigh.....
7/1/92
Would you quit bothering me? I have a LIFE you know, I can't be perched in your mailroom all day.
I shan't be joining you this evening, much to your dismay. Heh, heh.
I shall be at Nuvo salon in Pleasanton, if you want me. Even if you don't, I'll be there anyway.
7/1/92
Erika,
I HATE when people have to leave unexpectantly, though I doubt any moment would have made it any easier. Your "letter" is in the works. I can't get the brain in gear at this hour so I'll mull it over some more. Fair enough? I've opted for the question/answer session to be one on one (Take that any way you wish.) I'm shy, but only a little bit.
JDG
7/1/92
Snow White:
Strapped to a leggy brunette's bumper.....Now there's a thought. Don't think it won't happen - stranger things have ! (Not enough gutsy brunettes) But that's another story. If you really want the "strange story session", see me in person. I can't even begin to explain here. Okay I'll try to keep in short and sweet since I'm on my way out the door to class. It sounds like you may have been the one S. Holmes fell for. I'd say if he found one woman that captivating, THAT exceptional, he was a lucky man. It's curious how the ropes of love can sometimes keep slipping of the hands and feet because they're not tight enough. Or - one person is a knot expert...
Wandering "Prince Charmings ?", wOndering, maybe.
JDG
7/1/92
Erika,
No, I will NOT wipe the smile from my face! I can't. Really. It is such a turn-on to read one's beautiful thoughts so eloquently placed upon paper. I think you write magnificently. Shit, I'm sitting here, I just got home, and I have so much to say and tell you I don’t know where to begin. I was going to plop down something I wrote for/to you and hit the hay. Yes, I know it's only 6 something. I'm sure you understand. I envy the relationship you portray with your daughter. Wait. Envy isn't the right word I'm looking for. I'm thankful you have such a relationship and you take the time and put forth the effort to show her you care and love hereby being an example, not a parental placebo. I dream of having a daughter of my own someday. I'm not ready yet. And I haven't figured out how I'm gonna do the breast feeding...
I did not begin to think the word "whore" or the likes. I had to be more sure... more cautious... no. What am I trying to say ? I wasn't willing to chance scarring the relationship I have so graciously been allowed to partake in. (Excuse me. My thoughts are severely muddled. Can you tell ? - Oh hush. Who asked you anyway ?) You get the picture. Thankyou for setting me straight. Now we get to play "I can take it further than you will." That sounds like fun to me. Maybe an evening's sexual fantasy, one on one ?
NEW SUBJECT ! (I had planned to sleep after I finish here. I don't even have the desire to check bulletins.) The last thing I need is to wake up with the sheets stuck to me in the middle of the night ! I wouldn't EVEN care. In fact, I'm not sure it won't happen soon enough with you in my head. Let me tell you, Erika, I find it extremely rare for a woman, of any age, to stimulate me the way you do. My hormones are always a mess anyway, my head is filled with thoughts; thoughts of wonder, thoughts of your physical features and how they would feel pressed close to mine - if I met you in the flesh (now THERE'S a thought !) there's no way on earth I'd let you out of my sight !
Thoughts of all shapes, sorts and sizes have crept into my cranium since we've passed in the night.
I said it took inspiration for me to write. You are that inspiration,
Erika. Thankyou.
This one is for you...... (next envelope, please.)
Image (Friend in My Mind)
Image fabricating.
The more I know,
The more I want to know.
Image dissolving.
Wandering thoughts plague.
More insight, the only remedy.
Image abandoning.
My eyes close.
Concentrating. Dreaming.
Image weaving.
Your face drifts towards me.
I am asleep.
Image visualizing.
Intellectual stimulant.
I am awake.
Image sculpting.
Thoughts of you intervene.
Somehow, you are within me.
Image avoiding.
A befriended vision.
Now, a constant memory.
Image withering.
I want to know you.
I can almost see you.
J D G
7/1/92
7/2/92
Excuse me sir, but we've had numerous calls from this host, complaints of women screaming and moaning. Neighbors say they've seen a wolf around, and well, uh, you fit the description, sir. We'll have to search you, I'm afraid. Cuff him, girls.
You have the right to remain silent, however, sighs and groans are acceptable.
----Your local Authority
You,
Ugh, the FILTH I find in my mailbox ! ..... YOU wouldn't know anything 'bout it would you, hmm? It'll take days to sweep it out.
ME
FILTH???!!!!!
7/2/92
Erika,
I wanted you
7/2/92
to know
7/2/92
you deserve
7/2/92
more mail (male ?)
7/2/92
than I could ever send...
Joel
7/3/92
Now that it seems I've wasted approximately one hour of my life reading the "Continue Story" bulletin I've decided in order for people to be able to post any continuations at all they must pass a simple test to provide them with the answer we all so much wish for them to ask themselves: To write or not to write ? GaryRH (I believe that's correct), Hal, somebody under the facade of "SHolmes" - I'll bet she's a cutie, Lucy and the irreplaceable Dove should be the only allowed to contribute.
I can't remember who, but somebody I have had no conversations with asked me to contribute to that. I can see lots of people asking someone off the street to give their input to that mess....Maybe the person saw my measly donations to the poetry board.
A lovely day it's been here in O-towne. To sleep - more restless than usual. I wonder why ! - around 2:30 am. Pried my little peeps open at 8:30 for my 9:30 class. Showered while Josh slept off his curiosity. I told him to go to sleep long before checkers ever began. Drove to Valencia Community College in a daze, found the instructor in the parking lot phrasing, "The school forgot to mention it would be closing today, so see you on Tuesday I guess. “Yeah. Okay Barry. Whatever.
Packed my computer, fins, CDs and clothes for the weekend and trekked off towards Oviedo; that's where my parental-units reside. Stopped by to write a check for my half of the rental car. Once in 'Viderville I decided the first thing of order was a nap! (grabbing the kitties and hauling them over shoulder, fat rolls slipping under arm, down my side. They were only too happy to accommodate me.) My first mistake being overlooking the U.S. atlas beforehand. Again, restless. Is there something wrong with me ?
More of this subject later. I am sitting here at my wee brother's desk while he works and I sip iced tea, listening to Loreena McKennitt. I guess this is what I could consider relaxing. My mind is wandering too far to actually allow my flesh to alleviate. I started "A Prayer for Owen Meany". I got, oh, I'd say about eight whole pages into it, started to feel the book drop to my lap, my head beginning to nod back. What a wimp I am.
My car needs washing. Books beckon. Pet projects ask to be inputted. Kitty cats demand attention - after all, I'm THEIR mommy. (You can stop laughing now.)
Maybe I'll decide after another nap.... hehe
See ya,
JDG
7/3/92
My Image,
Just in case you were thrown off for good, I'll tell you I forfeited the game. You won. I hope you're taking the travel possibility seriously. My travel companion does NOT care where we venture to. The only bind would be rental car. I will look into the feasibility of it. Are you sure this is fine ? Hey, A lot could happen between now and then. Won or lost, you play a mean game of checkers, lady ! I certainly, yet again, have had some very memorable moments spent with my new found friend. It is ALWAYS a pleasure to spend time with you. Even with surprise filth in my mailbox. Since I do not hear your voice beckoning me. I must retire for the evening. I have class tomorrow. No work though. I'm sure I will hear, taste, see, feel....sense you after I have closed my eyes. Goodnight Erika. Pleasant dreams....ZZZZzzzz
JDG
7/3/92
Erika,
I HATE when people have to leave unexpectantly, though I doubt any moment would have made it any easier. Your "letter" is in the works. I can't get the brain in gear at this hour so I'll mull it over some more. Fair enough ? I've opted for the question/answer session to be one on one (take that any way you wish. I'm shy, but only a little bit.
JDG
7/4/92
Joeley my boy, I got a story for ya. Ahem... entitled "How This Here Gal Got Addicted to This Here Computer," by this here gal.
I remember the good old days when I'd plop my butt down on this here chair in front of this here computer to pound out papers for school. I'd be only too happy to leave when I was finished. I hated sitting here. Unless some obnoxious instructor demanded 4 pounds of pure written genius, I'd never come near this here thing. Along came Mr. Todd, my, uh.. boyfriend, who introduced my impressionable younger brother to TSN, who said, "Cool. Girls. I'll take it." He, in turn, bought Todd's account, as Todd would not be needing it anymore since he planned to be trying to die an interesting death in Australia for 6 weeks. Australia is a land where electricity is still undiscovered, thus, no computers. During this guy's last visit before his departure, he and Michael would sit in front of this here square for hours at a stretch. Unfortunately, one must walk past Michael's room to reach MY immaculate double-bedded haven, and Brenna's, a little to the right, or, left if you're facing the opposite way. My copy of "Plato's Republic" lies neatly tucked away on a shelf in my closet. Since my closet lies neatly tucked away in my bedroom, one cannot avoid going there if one wishes to cram the "Republic" before one's final in Philosophy on the following Monday so that one achieves one's well-deserved B+. This being so, I stepped carefully through the hall softly, so as not to announce my presence to anyone happening to be sitting in front of this here computer in Michael's room. Anyone, specifically meaning, Todd. He hadn't learned that I cared not a whit for this here computer, and I hated to be dragged in there every 3 minutes to see something cool. I could see the blue light from the computer under the door. All was silent, except that "computer" sound.
Creepy. I hurried past so I wouldn't get sucked in by the strange force that, to my delight, held my brother and Todd captive, thus, keeping them away from ME. I certainly did not want to be held captive too, and have to JOIN them. Todd left the following morning, after having thoughtfully placed a note upon my pillow with written instructions on how to get onto TSN. "Uh, yeah right, TODD! How utterly romantic of you," I thought bitterly when I saw it. With a cruel chuckle, I placed the paper into my files. (I shoved it under my bed.) Later that same day, I came home from taking my final to find the blessed event of an empty house. Bren was at the neighbor's and I had 2 hours before I had to pick her up. I ran down the hall to dump my purse, books, shoes on the bed.
Pardon me please for leaving abruptly. The screen started freaking out, so I had to mail the letter quick before it was lost forever. To continue, I needed something out of Michael's room. I opened the door, and the window, got what I was looking for, and turned to leave. The door slammed shut before I could get out. The computer flipped on, and I heard a low sexy voice whisper, "Erika... come to me... " I whirled around and saw on the screen the title page of TSN, which I had never seen before. I retrieved the instructions from my "Files" after much effort in searching. First thing said create your character. I tried to get it to mirror me even a little, but nothing came even close. So, I created Holmsey baby. I had no idea I'd be talking to people. I didn't know what "TSN" was at all, I never heard of it. Oh well, no one's looking, I thought, may as well. Then the play sign flashed, so I clicked on it foolishly. Then I clicked on "OK" since I didn't know what else to do. That sounded simple. "OK" could mean a lot of things. Then this weirdo noise came from a little box over on the right of this here computer. Whoa, this is freaky, I thought. Then all these little yellow squares with some words on them appeared. I didn't know they were names of the people on, and I didn't know they saw MINE. Then I saw the words "'PanamaJck asks, "Would that be Mr. SHERLOCK Holmes?" I clicked on reply, I still didn't know what the hell was going on, and I typed in the blank space, "Yes." And so begun the journey.
A few days later, when I tried again after asking my brother to tell me what TSN was, someone named "Mr. Sierra" said "This is MORIARTY!" (H's arch enemy) Then he disappeared, and the name Moriarty appeared. For two weeks from that day on, we were involved in mortal combat, a battle of wits. Complete with a planned murder, tons of mail from phony "witnesses" and life threatening warnings poured into my box every day. I knew it was all just him, but I didn't let on, I'd answer the letters in character. On the day of the planned murder, he didn't show, and has never been seen since. That was also the day I figured him out, and wrote to tell him. But he never got it, I guess. He's gone. Dovetale knows him, but won't tell. It bothered me a lot. I did miss it. I figured I'd just not go on again, I mean, what was the point? But, out of curiosity, I decided to go to the bulletin boards, just to see what it was. I was uninterested till I got to Sierra 4. Then a rage swelled up inside me, my hands shook as I read the opinions. I swore a lot as I read, then at the last post, I decided, "To HELL with it!!" I decided, since I was never going to be on again, that I HAD to say something. I needed to defend MYSELF from these very unaware asses. I could have said nothing at all, and SHOULD have, but my anger would not be released, I couldn't just turn the computer off and storm out of this room. I had work to do FIRST. So, I did, and my fingers flew over the keyboard, my jaw was clenched, and I was shaking a little, I wasn't choosing words carefully as I usually do, thus accounting for the unclearness of my situation. My pride is so huge, and also my shame of becoming pregnant so damn YOUNG, which resulted in my financial duress. They battle each other, both are strong, and cause me to make different decisions in different situations. This time my pride won. So, I posted. I was going to end it there, but I was curious to see the response. Next day I was shocked off my naked butt. I read the replies, and there were not angry degrading insults as I expected, but "hooray"'s and people defending the situation in my favor. 3 jerks, but I think I got 'em almost to apologize. HA! So there! One positive reply struck me in particular. Not for what was said, but the kind of feeling about that person I got. You know how you can kinda tell about how a person is by the tone of their writing? He was very quiet. And I tell ya, I don't remember what happened after that. How did we start talking anyway? I remember seeing your reply, don't remember if I replied to it or not, but I was talking to Dovetale, and she told me to read the B.B., and I thought, "Oh, God, what NOW?" Then I saw her cutsie note about us. I took it as a very lighthearted joke, tactfully done. Then, we're wishing we could have sex with each other. What happened? I'm supposed to be in love, ya know. I don't think you're s'posed to get all hot and bothered about someone else when you're in a satisfying relationship with someone you want to marry. Is that supposed to happen? I really don't know if that's normal. Just a few weeks ago, he and I were in the hear to the redwood forest sleeping together under the stars. Then he left, again. It doesn't matter whether he goes home to LA or to another friggin' country. Same. Can't stay still.
It must piss me off more than I thought, I must resent him WAY more for it than I thought, and be way dissatisfied with it all, because my heart started pounding when I talked to you, though nothing sexual went on. Then. But now.... why? I shouldn't want this. It scares me that I do, and not just cuz of you, but because if I'm so... if I'm thinking about you, then that tells me something about me and Todd. He's extremely flirty with other girls, had computer sex, (don't know if he was with me or not then, I don't believe his "of course not.") so is this the same thing, then? He's got his playboys, his dirty computer software, movies, short skirts at his college, the whole bit. Normal for his age. Expected. But for a guy in love? Maybe understandable if I repulsed him. If I was ugly or fat or something. But I tell ya, Joel, I'm far from any of these. I say that because I see guys looking at me, and it can't possibly be for my personality. How would THEY know if I'm just walking by at school? So, if I'm wanting you desperately, and HE's obviously wanting all these others, is this normal? I can't analyze my relationship with him unless there's input from him. I am very aware of the possibility of there being something wrong. Because I really want you. He's only been gone about 2 weeks. Little more. Pretty frightening stuff, sir. And I'm too tired from my bout of insomnia that my thoughts aren't clear. So, help from you would be much appreciated. Maybe you know if this is normal. Maybe you thought you were in love before. So, TELL ME SOMETHING!!! Whew, excuse the emotional outburst there. It's late. I'm tired. Maybe I can sleep tonight for a change, eh? Then I can make sense! Not ramble on like some emotional WOMAN!
------E
From: Joel
To: SHolmes, 11:30 AM on 7/4/92
Sir, have you figured out who's after you yet ?
The clues are there.
A mystery?
No.
7/4/92
My, What a whirlwind week we've put ourselves through. I was thinking to myself, as I often do, finally, someone I may not have to play "counselor" to. It seems I spend the majority of my time as a very young shrink. I don't mind at all, but when it has happened consistently over the span of a lifetime you begin to wonder what it is you possess within to attract people without the mention of your history trying to bring comfort. Eerie.
You're a strong person if you can acknowledge these questions to yourself. As far as the two of us wanting each other, whether physical or not (I find it necessary to laugh here!), what could feasibly be done anyhow ? I hope you saved your letter and re-read it. It's interesting Todd would portray himself to you the way he does if he were truly interested in marriage. It's not my place to tell you what to do or to give dime-store advice, you know this, so I will try to remain objective only. I said TRY.
A bit of history for you ma'am: Every single female I have ever been romantically involved with has lived at least a minimum of 132 miles away. A bit odd wouldn't you agree ? My best friend in high school moved before we had the chance to become close, physically. Off to New Jersey she flew. We wrote, called, did the birthday thing and Christmas calls. We have seen each other a total of 21 days over the past, it'll be eight years in December. Several points can be derived from this experience; 1) I do know how much a long distance affair can drain you. 2) Distance plays with your head something fierce. 3) Distance doesn't create a hopeless situation. If there is a will, there's a way. It takes two strong people to achieve more than a friendship across the miles. It takes a lot of work, a lot of time, a lot of patience. A lot of strength if there's a strong attraction.
I'd have to say I know this particular relationship would have never happened had we stayed within the city limits. We certainly enriched the other's life measurably - she decided she had grown enough I guess...
Was this the woman I was to marry and have a beautiful family ?A genuine love, yes. To marry, I don't think so. I don't have a lot of admiration for someone who tells me one minute she'll address moving here to be with me, then turns around and stays the night with someone she's seen on and off. "It's not like we had sex or anything !", she protests, "I didn't want to be alone." I feel that way too. A lot. More than I'd like to admit, actually. Is it strength within me ? Is it there is nobody? No. I'm very choosy. I admit that. So sue me.
I know exactly what you mean by being able to tell about a person by the way they write. Not everybody can, trust me. I am amazed at the quantity of people who can't tell verbally! I, however, have a gift, sometimes it seems a curse. The intricate details a person portrays when they write, speak, respond or don't respond, tells more about them than they'll ever know. I'd be willing to bet if they DID know, they'd shut up and never say another word. So many people try to hide the real person they are. I have no use for them.
I remember the first contact you and I had! You, I believe thanked me for sticking up for you on the bulletins. The strange thing is, I didn't know your age, marriage status or ANYTHING. You are the second person I converse with on a regular basis here in this little universe. Both have made the initial conversation with me. I've only been here for a little over a month and a half thanks to my friend BrentF in Dallas. He and I grew up together in Oviedo, known each other just about forever. Since kindergarten, through his term at U of F and now he's moved too.
My dear friend, I think at times, God is either a cruel prankster or I'm being tested for something greater, later in life. Friends moving and all... With each friendship I learn something new to pass on to someone else and practice. I think the latest "lesson" is for me to learn to be more selfish. I'm having to study harder than ever before. I can't thank you enough for following your intuition and initiating conversation. I see most people as being overly cautious here and I've found most females tire of the male bonding techniques submitted to them. Caution isn't always bad. I too, spent very little time here. I grew weary of the video games and the fierce competition between players. If I hadn't found a select few to learn from and converse with, I would have left.
I'd continue, but I have my doubts about loading this WordPerfect file into your mailbox. Hope to see you tonight ! I'll be on 10pm east coast, 6pm west.
Your pal,
Joel
7/05/92
Apparently, my letter was unclear. Not suprising, given my mental state at the time of writing. I do not wish for your counseling services. That's not what I wanted from you. I wanted to know if it was a normal thing for a guy in love to be so lustful towards other girls. You, being male, may know the answer. Which, is why I asked. I was thinking aloud in my letter, not asking for advice. There is no one who could provide that. Except me, of course. I follow my instinct blindly.
Instincts are never wrong. But you always have the choice to obey them or not. That's how I handle Todd. When he talks of marriage "someday", I look him square in the eyes and say, "I'll believe you when I see the ring." Who's to say I'd even say yes. If I were presented with his ring right now, I'd walk up to the nearest body of water and hurl the diamond as far as I could throw. If he truly does want all he speaks of (and I NEVER even bring the subject up.) he's got a lot to learn about how to show it to a young lady. I stress the word LADY. He just may learn too late. He also may never care. Either way, I get the information I require. If he does begin to see me as what I'm worth, so be it. If he doesn't, well, nothing lost. It means that he is not the one for me. It means that somewhere out there is a very lonely man, and we have only to await fate to bring us together. Either way, I'll be quite fine. In the end, I shall get what I need.
Do I sound like I'm chewing you out? I'm not. I want you to understand what my letter wanted from you. And, I already stated that earlier in this letter. Are we clear? Then let's continue as before.....
------Erika
7/5/92
Erika,
Here I sit, absolutely drenched in sweat, squinting my eyes. I do that when I'm tired. A very relaxing afternoon. I hope you had a decent Fourth of July. Our piddley towne didn't even have fireworks. Fine by me, I was rather happily preoccupied, thank you. Nice lunch at some friends house, some Arabic meal. Very tasty. Swam in their pool, practiced my snorkeling techniques, or lack thereof. Let's just leave it at, I wasn't very thirsty after my water interlude. Glad to hear you got almost a decent nights rest. I won't bother to mention I slept until 12:45.
As much as I'd like to hang around here all night long and probe your brain and get all hot and bothered (i.e.: tortured), but I'm going to give a shot at getting to bed before one. I'm beat. If I run into you before I sign off for the evening, let's just say I probably wouldn't sleep at all. So, sweet lady of the night, goodnight & dream
ME
7/5/92
I do believe it's opinion/philosophy time. That's about all one can do while the rest of the world is asleep.
Yesterday my friend Jo and I took our kids to the park, and some teenage girls were sitting on the grass by the swings. While I pushed my daughter, I listened to what they were saying. One, the prettier of the two, was mad, apparently at her boyfriend, or someone she had a crush on. She was complaining to the other girl about how guys don't really care about girls at all, just to show off to their friends about how far they could get. It hit me. I've been trying to put it into words since then. How absurd! What she was saying, sure, I've thought before, but it was so totally WRONG. If you think about it, it's obvious that the opposite is true. Everything that a man loves is referred to as female. The ocean is "she", cars, boats, even the planet Earth is named female! Thousands of women are raped every day. Why is that? Because there must be something inside males that has an irrepressible NEED for woman. It mostly comes out as sexual, but that's how boys express themselves. I baby-sit a 4 year old boy named Robbie, and he has very sexual behavior, unknown to him, but I recognize it. So, it must begin very early. What's this quest in a man? I heard one theory that it's from the "caveman" days, the hunter has not died within the man, society has changed. He needs to capture his prey. I also heard a biblical version, you know how Eve was made from Adam's rib? He's never been complete without that lost rib, so he needs to stay as close to it as possible. Both make sense, I guess. Never again can I justify thinking that men don't care. It's just not true. If I see those girls ever again, it'll be hard not to give them a good shake and say, "Wise up!" It'll be an effort to restrain.
Erika
From: SHolmes
10:37 AM on 7/5/92
Joel: WIMP! Is that all you can do?
From: Joel
3:07 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: o o
/J\ /H i i i I
From: Joel
3:08 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: \o o
J\ /H i i i I
From: Joel
3:11 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: o___
J\
i i |_____o_O/
|
From: Joel
3:12 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: Better watch out, sir.
From: Joel
3:14 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: Want to go a few rounds ?
From: Joel
3:16 PM on 7/5/92
SHolmes: Muwahahahahahahaha!!!!!
From: SHolmes
6:01 PM on 7/5/92
Joel, yeah pal. I do. Name the game, SIR. But I don't draw little wiry dudes on keyboards.
7/5/92
Oh, JOEL! Oh, that was so CUTE! I've never seen such a display of...cuteness in my entire life! Oh, what you do to me, with that little jumping jacks guy. Sigh...you're just so CUTE! (Imitating B.B. in Sierra 8- generals) (you're a lady killer, my friend.)
TA-DA! I did it! 7 hours last night. Getting better. Maybe I'll try for 8 tonight, eh? No, better not push it. Gotta take these things rather slow, or I may have to start at the beginning, 3 hours, again. Loss of sleep does nothing for one's mental state.
Take 'er easy on the female slaying, will ya? We're fragile creatures, we can only take so much masculinity, then we find ourselves begging to be a love slave for life.
---ELP
From: SHolmes
6:37 PM on 7/5/92
"We've spotted Ed McMahon at nine o'clock, sir."
"Heh, heh, heh, now's my chance...," Alex thought. He crept out into the hallway, bowie knife held between his teeth, blood-hungry drool dripped down off it. Alex had become a savage killing machine. The elevator doors opened. Alex pounced on poor ol' Ed, who gasped in sheer terror. Alex did some really gross butchering with that little old knife of his, while screaming with delight,
Pardon me for interrupting the story, but I want you guys to know I agree that the same names shouldn't be used again and again. That's why I killed one, so that it should never be mentioned again. Let's continue....
"DEATH TO HAS-BEEN TV PERSONALITIES!!!" With wicked laughter following, of course. I'm happy to report, dear friends, that Alex did a good job, and with luck, we shall never meet up with Ed again.
7/5/92
Miss,
By chance have you visited Sierra 8 lately ?
-J
7/6/92
I strongly advise you to never speak to me again, you'll regret it with every fiber in your body. Disaster of catastrophic proportions will befall you. I'm jinxed, cursed. Everywhere I go, trouble is close behind me. When it is to my advantage, I don't mind, but that's seldom the way it is. Life's not like that. Trouble of some sort is always happening. We became friends through a little bit of trouble I was in. And now, again, but not so big. In person I usually sit in silent observation, but the very moment I part my lips to speak, thunder rolls in the distance, and all grows dark. I exaggerate a little, of course, but the general idea is true. STAY AWAY FROM ME. For your own personal safety.
---A slightly saddened S.H.
P.S. This message will self-destruct..........................
7/6/92
To the Editor:
Lost in space yet again. Being shoved out there is nothing but annoying to me, it's trying to return that makes me crazy.
My phrase holds three pages, front and back, of information. I don't think you can guess wrong. One word is the main answer, thousands fall just behind. I wrote it out of anger, and that right there is all I will tell you. However, I will say if you guess one of the answers correctly.
Perhaps if you saw it in my writing, you could understand better. (If you could READ my writing. Long, angular, slanted forward...tough for even me.) How 'bout my typing. I know you've written it down so now you have two.
If the result was intended,
I kneel to the instigator.
Success was achieved.
I like talking to you. But I don't feel as if I've ever gotten a satisfying amount.
You play guitar? Fits.
Erika Lynne
Size 8. Same as everyone else.
7/6/92
Again ! Stolen from my near clutches, though I'd never dream of holding you any firmer than the finest china. Call waiting's a bitch, huh ? I appreciate you staying around this evening, happenstance or not. It's always a pleasurable and well spent time.
Are you going to tell me your shoe size ? He-he. About your quote: Are you asking me for an answer or do you want to see how close, if at all, my answer is to yours ? I wrote it down, so I'll give it some more thought. It makes sense. I like it.
How could I not ?
Mentally yours,
Joeldine
7/7/92
Lie down. Relax. Listen.
"Why is it I feel like the child and you seem the adult", she asked. I blindly looked back. No answer. How did this happen ? When did it start ? Was it you who talked to me first or was it the other way around, I honestly can't remember any details. I remember calling your name every morning and looking for a sign. Something to show your presence. Something to make me feel complete. The days rolled along. We never saw each other much. I remember, I remember driving to pick you up. I was very nervous. Cold hands. Fidgety. We drove a mile from your home, maybe only half. Coming to a stop, I turned to you. You had no idea what was about to befall you. I smiled, shaking throughout my entire body, thoughts of what was to come, to be, consequences. Inhaling, fumbling over my first few words and restarting, I asked if I could kiss you. I distinctly remember the look of astonishment on your young face.
You stopped breathing. Erratic thought patterns a hundred miles a second. Yes, astonished. "Meet me half way ?", I asked, almost a whisper. You leaned towards me, your eyes fell disallowing sight, closed. I had no idea what I should expect. I had dated younger men, but never a distance more than four years. This was something different. Something new. I inhaled as you gingerly took my lips in your own. Time stopped. A closing car interrupted what was the result of waiting for the right moment and eons of wishing. You can never be too careful. People see things. People tell things. People should not see this. My body was warm with perspiration and sex. Could you tell ? I can't perceive what you do and do not know. Wishing for the physical is one thing, but knowing you is going to take some time. I should feel ashamed of myself for my thoughts and actions, yet, somehow, for some reason, this seems so right to me.
Have a nice weekend. See you in class on Monday.
7/7/92
I keep a journal. You know this because I told you, like the guitar dabbling. In it I record the high and low emotional peaks experienced throughout the day. Encompassing daily activities, routines cast aside usually. The irregular or out of the ordinary things I run across. Mind you, it isn't addressed "Dear diary" or filled with the same type of entries you commonly hear about being used in movies or books, the imaginary characters plotting their way through life, telling secrets to a book. Incriminating the innocent. Mine, I write as though someone were to pick it up off the raggedy shelf found in the attic years from now. At each entry you'll find a date stipulating. I try my best to provide information showing both sides of a story, as in the case of a married friend who has thoughts of an affair and possible divorce or a friend who secretly wants her husband to die, ending his illness, quenching her burden or a phone call received at two thirty in the morning. An attempt at suicide.
Filling it's pages, tales of actual personal accounts of excursions, get-togethers, weddings, nothings. To the average citizen most reading would be quite nothing. Nothing physical. Nothing gained. Nothing accomplished. Nothing. If they were able to open their eyes, they'd see my experiences accounted for tell the real story of my life, so far. The relief given providing the wife strength to continue loving her husband, enabling her to avoid a nervous breakdown. Comfort to the skeptical wife looking for a way out of a disfunctionate marriage. Relief to a sixteen year old girl who has a bottle of pills in her hand as she speaks softly into the handset. Stuttering. Crying.
You're asking yourself, "Why would someone want to inscribe such things ? Why is he telling me this ? Why does he bother ?"
Therapy. If I told of the things first hand I'd be locked up for sure. Rarely have I read my own past. I'm not interested. Memories linger, yes. But gone they are. Recording an event as seen through your own eyes is quite interesting. Dusting each page carefully as you turned it you'd find the highest of highs right in front of you. It may not be a big deal in the course of a full week, but in the course of a single day, magnificent. Sliding down the rocks in North Carolina with friends from around the world, splashing everywhere, screaming at the tops of our lungs as we plunge into the frigid liquid awaiting us at the bottom. And of course you'll have to read about the ride up state in the back of a pickemup truck, all four of us. Rain, thirty degrees. A spectacular trip ! Oh, and the new girl everybody had the hots for who wouldn't give them the time of day. Quiet. Shy, sure. Pools of glistening blue eyes. The heads turned and the talk started as she left with the writer. Paintball wars. Injuries we're all proud of, but have now faded, all that's left are these words of history. The summer Brent and I attacked the mountains of Montana. The look on the rental car manager when we returned his vehicle! Priceless is what it was! The layers of earth on his car were thicker than the paint. And the mileage.... Fourteen hundred and some odd miles in a week. Hard to believe. Not a fight between us, only bad food and lots of gas. Every day accounted for. Every back road, ahem, short cut to hell, every cow and animal encountered, dead or alive. The dead ones are cooler. You can play "Identify That Dead Animal" at seventy miles an hour. That's as fast as a GEO will go. It shakes at fifty five. Oh, that previous figure, the 75 MPH, that's downhill. A large hill. A mountain, actually.
Let's do this again soon. I feel much better.
JDG
7/8/92
You call ME eloquent? I say it's you. Your words whirl the mind of the reader up into yours, I look out at the world through your eyes when I read something of yours. I have never.....never mind.
I shall never record the day's events the same day of their occurrence. Never. How terrifying for me. The pages of my book would be drenched in tears. I don't lead a sad life, no dramatic childhood, nothing like that. I tend to bury my past as I go. I have only one friend left from my high school days. She lives in Montana. I buried the rest. I don't know why. I kiss things off readily. I'm very good at good-bye. If I'm the one that's done the leaving, I don't know how I'd be if I were the one buried deep into the soil by the hand of another. Todd leaves me to go home. But that's different, I think. Though I love him less every day because of it. Meet Christie. She lives in South Carolina. In all the world, there is not a child who looks more like her mother. Even more than her older sister, Brenna. Christie is my second child. She was conceived in a relationship based on physical attraction. Never went deeper. Pregnancy occurred due to pure carelessness. He suggested marriage. I laughed. Then he joined in. When the laughter died down, he offered me money to pay for an abortion. I slapped him, and demanded his immediate departure. He left, I never saw him again.
I'm a metaphysical person, I believe in fate, destiny. I never felt that the soul within my body was meant to be raised by my hand. I never felt belonging. Perhaps it was my defense. I had neighbors at the time, with a seven year old son. The woman worked at the Crisis Pregnancy Center, I went to see her, but didn't say I was pregnant. I just "dropped in for a visit." Once I heard her mention that for five years, she had been trying to conceive, with no success. She was on adoption waiting lists all over the state. Girls have abortions here, so there aren't many babies born to be adopted. I brought the subject up casually, to dig for information. My first ultrasound was 2 weeks later, I was given a photo of the fetus in my womb. I summoned a little courage, and walked down the street to her house, photo in hand. I sat down at her mention, tears already spilling onto my cheeks. I said, I remember every second of it, "Uh.. Donna, about that baby you've been wanting...." I handed her the photo, shaking. She put her hand to her mouth, and said, "Oh my GOD." Then she cried for joy. I left the pic on her couch, and got up and left. I could have chosen an agency who would locate parents for my child, but that baby belonged to the family I had chosen, not clients in a file. The best way to tell a good parent is by getting to know the child. I knew theirs. He was wonderful. I remember being about 7 months pregnant, after his parents had THE TALK with him. I used to take him and Brenna for walks together. One day, he raised his sky blue eyes up to mine and said, "Erika, can I have a baby sister just like Brenna?" I turned away, he made me start crying for some reason. I answered, "I'll try, Steven. "Donna and both my parents were in the labor room with me. Donna helped deliver her baby. The doctor eased the head and shoulders out, then Donna gently pulled the rest of her little bloody body out of mine, which went into shock right about then. I didn't have any pain medication during either of my deliveries. A woman's body was designed, every inch, for the sole purpose of childbirth. It knows what to do. I say let it. Anyway, I left the hospital 4 hours later, at my doctor's reluctant signature. I had to go NOW I told her, or I wouldn't be leaving empty handed. I left, I don't remember how those days passed afterwards. The pain washed the memory away. I do remember taking lots of hot, hot showers. I didn't want my family to hear me crying, so I'd do my weeping under the running water. She'll be two years old in November, I haven't cried for a year and a half over her. I had to attain a philosophical view of it, or I couldn't have lived on. I shot myself up above the earth, and looked down upon it all. So small it looked then. I came back down, happier. I also felt honored. Somebody trusted me with that little soul. I was her vessel. Someone knew I'd get her where she needed to be. And, for whatever reason, Christie needed things from my body in order to become the person she's destined to be. Genes, appearance, whatever. Her entrance to life was chosen to be through MY body, out of all the others she could have been born to.
And that's my secret.
7/8/92
Erika,
Speaking with a friend of mine, your name, well.... you came up and after all I had mentioned this person sat silently and looked me in the eye. "What do you think ?", she asked. "What do I think!" She repeated the question.
"I believe I am addicted."
Hence the reason for this quickie. You, my dear friend, have become the center of my evenings. A spark in a dark hour. Inspiration. (The reason I'm so friggin' tired in the morn?)
No regrets I say !
No regrets.
So, you may not have love letters in this here mailbox, but you got something a whole lot better ! Me.
(Tho I didn't think I'd fit at first.)
JDG
From: Hiding (Aka: ERIKA)
3:31 PM on 7/9/92
Be cool... just be cool. You were in the beginning. Perhaps that's why it began. You let go of your icy control somewhere. You should have held it tighter. Now look at you. Is this what you wish? You don't look pleased to me. Loss of sleep does nothing for one's beauty. You were fine when the interest was sexual. Sex is easy, always has been. The mistake occurred when you became his friend. Even worse, you told him. Shame on you. You know better than that. Every day since the moment you released the precious control, it's gotten worse. It grows to be profound. Stop it now, before you love. It's close on your heels, young lady. Look behind you. You cry, CRY at his poetry?!! Your pitiful little heart flutters childishly at the sight of his name? PLEASE. Grit your teeth and stop. Before he notices your pathetic state. That, my dear, is suicide. That's when the heart grows fragile. When he knows. Even now, you are overcome with sadness. First step to heartbreak. Snap out of it. Be tough. Be cool.
Or be a damn good actress.
7/9/92
Oh, Master, please have mercy on me. You see, I didn't get my daily Joel injection. Withdrawal something fierce. I'm trembling, my chest is heaving, my thoughts are clouded, my hands like ice. Be kind, sir, help this desperate young woman before she withers away. Please. Just touch me. Just once, touch me. Anywhere on my skin. Any part of you, any will do. And hold yourself to me for a moment, so I may absorb you. One touch is all I ask, be it inside or out. Touch me, and watch me melt away.
7/9/92
What's this I hear? What's this I see? I am sitting?! For more than 2 minutes at a time? I don't hear "MAMA!!!!" being screeched in the background? What's going on? There's no child crawling all over me while I'm trying to type? What the hell do you think is going on?
Mommy's day off.
I get one a week. I trade kids with some moms in the neighborhood, we each have the gang at our houses for five hours a week, one entire afternoon. Tuesday was my day for them. I cheat, I take them to the mall or the park. Heh, heh. Kills time, the house stays clean. Today...I rest. It's not really in my nature to rest, so I do the same things I always do, but UNINTERRUPTED. That, my sweet Prince, can even make laundry fun to me.
My point in writing is not to tell you about laundry, it's too soon for a subject so tender. I write because PanamaJck wrote to me, and wanted to know when he should be ready for us. I requested his assistance, he knows San Francisco - he lives there. We were thinking that the four of us could go hang there for the day, and into the evening. Would you and your friend like that? I love the weirdo hole-in-the-wall cafes that you'd never venture to alone, but I don't think Mr. Jack is into that, and I don't know about you and what's-her-name. (no disrespect, I just don't know her name.
Your bud with the bod,
E.L. Podobnik
(dig the Yugoslavian name, sir!)
7/10/92
Thoughts to consider:
It looks like we'll arrive in Carson City on August 24th, then south to Sacramento & Oakland on the 25th. It'll be close, keeping in mind this is still planning stages. I'm expecting more information on some Colorado stuff in the next week and rafting hasn't been decided. That'll be played by ear, I think. I've set time aside for all possibilities. This puts absolute leaving dates at September 3rd or the afternoon of the second. As I stated, I've been to SF when I was younger. I vaguely remember Fisherman's Wharf. I'm more interested in the out of the way places myself. Cafes, clubs, nothings. I'm easy to entertain. Give me a piece of string and I'll occupy my time for hours ! Really, feel no need to entertain or plan for anything. All I ask is you set aside time to spend with me, initially, and we'll play the rest as it comes. Deal? As for PanamaJack, if you want for us to venture forth with him for an evening, great! Maybe we can find a friend for Melanie? I've briefly explained I'm setting aside time for you. She'll be ready for some time alone by then. I'll approach that subject more delicately tomorrow when we go over my renovations. Received news I neglected to plan properly around Mr. Feinberg's wedding (Ohh, there's that queasy feeling I get when I think about it.). We arrive home on the fifth. His wedding is at 1pm on the sixth. Therefore...I can't make the rehearsal. He says, "That's okay. You'll just have to standing in front of over three hundred people without a clue!" I exclaimed. "Since when are there 300 people ?!? You said there'd only be a small family wedding, Brent." "Yeah, well. Her mother got a little carried away." "I'll say. Maybe because they're getting rid of their freeloading daughter?", I said, but withholding the word, freeloading. Another story.
Maybe another time.
JDG
7/10/92
So I figured I'd have a nice evening at home. Check mail. No lights. Think tank. Ponder. Eventually, sleep. Checked mail. Fredrick's of Hollywood catalog. Shit, nice timing, I mumbled to the catalog company knowing well they could not hear. Placed it under a stack of a stack of papers. Actually, it's not bad. I feel cluttered when I can't see the pictures, sayings and cartoons under the glass on my desk. Waaa ! All that effort to keep them nice and straight and from collecting that viscous villain MOLD. I hate mold. I'm allergic to it. And just about anything under the sun that takes a fancy to floating around our already polluted atmosphere. Ce la Vie.
Why did you think it was fitting to know I try to play guitar? I find that interesting. I guess I'm more interested in knowing if it's the fact I'm musically inclined or if it's because I play guitar specifically. I never did pin down your phrase meaning. Maybe if I did see the original? Time to practice & annoy the live-in spiders. Maybe I'll liven up after a rigorous workout on the strings......I'm usually too wound up to sleep afterwards. Better watch out, "B.W.T.B."
(I like it - I've no doubt it fits. )
Joel
7/10/92
Erika,
Sorry Darlin', but I do have to get at least four hours of sleep. Though I could talk to you forever it seems...
I hate to burst your bubble, Erika. I'm real. Yes, shy at first, but you've been shown the real thing. A small fraction of who I am. Still need proof after tomorrow, I'll let you talk to Gigi when you call. She's better than any business card ever to be printed up!
Take care Princess.
Until then.
Joel
7/10/92
Oh, you were so wonderful last night Scott....uh.. I mean...Joel...
You get no why's. It just is. Of course you're musically inclined, that's apparent. Well, ok, I'll try to give you a why. Lemme think up one...Ah-ha, yes, that'll do. Sit up straight, don't you know it's bad for your back to sit like that? Now pay attention. I don't find it fitting that you play guitar, or try, as you said, because it's the guitar specifically, and it's not because you're musically inclined. I think it's because of your poetry that makes me think it's fitting. I've read all you've provided TSN with, and whatever you write in letters. Even when it's not a poem exactly...it's still poetry. I love to read anything written by the male hand. You may say I'm profoundly interested in the mind of man. Music is poetry without words. Words may be added to it beautifully, but it's not necessary. I like the image of a man alone in a darkened room...alone, his face intent on the music he's creating with his thin hands. No one may break in upon his thoughts, they belong to the music only. The magic would be gone if someone witnessed this. An intimate moment between the human form and the soul. I said before, I'm deeply metaphysical...open to any possibilities. There are some things I firmly believe in. The highest of these is the immortal genderless soul imprisoned within a human body. For whatever reason, our perfect souls need to learn what it is to be human. A considerable step down. Once born into the body, and everyday forward the soul becomes buried deeper within the flesh. It needs escape occasionally. I think that's why we sleep. To provide the soul with a chance to escape the body. So we have dreams to occupy our brains while the soul quietly slips out the back door. I think our souls also escape the body through writing. Through the creation of music. It's called expression. For we are not truly these bodies, we merely use them so we may gather information through them. We are not male and female really. We're both. And I don't think our souls will die. Perhaps they continue life in other forms, perhaps they don't need to. Maybe we're done after 80 years. Maybe it takes a lot longer than that for the quest to end.
Why is it fitting that you play the guitar? If you still wonder, maybe you didn't pay attention.
----Erika
7/11/92
Erika,
Plans're set.
If you'll still have me, it looks like I'm yours for the whole week.
What to do.....What to do.....
ME
7/11/92
Erika,
I tried to give you info at the beginning of "Salutations", but when I loaded my file, it was promptly erased. Go figure. Anyhow, "Salutations" is something I'm quite proud of. By far, the most appealing to me in my measly collection, measly meaning size. It took approximately four hours to compose including a list of words almost two pages in length. I think you'll like it. I do.
Joel
7/11/92
Mr. Instigator, sir:
It has now been proven that this young man does indeed have a voice. Fine one, at that. Yet wonder remains in her mind. One left, one that she dares acknowledge, that is. The form in which he presents himself. Body? Vapor? Either would not fall on her unexpected. Some senses cannot be relied upon. They exist to deceive. Perhaps, when the day arrives...she could reach her hand out to him...touch him...if only to appease her curiosity. They both must have patience. Some things take time to be proven. She won't mind. She delights in her sense of touch. And, after all, one can never be too sure of anything.....
---The Kneeler
7/11/92
E-
Take THAT, my friend! If your powers of deduction are in working order, you may have observed.....
my angry sentences in which I gave you a few days ago were written.....
to you. HA! It's not bad, yet not good, either. And what the one word is exactly, I will tell... when I feel like it. Guessing would be a waste of your time. Don't.
But you will. Won't you? You'll try. That's ok. I think that you can't guess that one word.
Stop looking at me like that.
Oh, ok. I give you this, so you may not have need to think of it again. It's not profound in meaning. It carries no danger. It isn't tender, yet it isn't harsh.
Now...it's long gone. It came to me for 14 hours exactly...then ran off.
That's all. I don't mean to taunt you, buddy. Maybe that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm sorry, if so. I'm a little bit nice, I guess.
I look forward to it, my friend.
From: SHolmes
9:01 PM on 7/12/92
I am a young woman (yes) of profound appreciation for those who dare post on the opinions. They are aware of possible attack, yet they venture to speak and not lie passive. They possess the bravery needed to create a stir in life, and in turn, help to change it.
From: Jim
SHolmes - what makes YOU think you can post an opinion on this board? the absurdity!!! Don’t post here, we don’t want to hear it!!!----Take it elsewhere!!! (just kidding)
From: SHolmes
12:29 PM on 7/13/92
JIM....you're lucky for that "just kidding" part, buddy boy.
From: HAL9000
2:20 PM on 7/13/92
Thanks, SHolmes, but it's really pretty safe here. I think that's
part of the charm...
From: Joel
4:13 PM on 7/13/92
Say SHolmes, what have YOU posted to cause a stir in any of us ? Or
need I ask ?
From: SHolmes
4:56 PM on 7/13/92
Joel: My stirring days are over. I've taken up another sport.
7/12/92
If there is any doubt in your mind about that being taunting, let me clarify it for you. Yes. You are certainly enjoying yourself it seems. But rest assured, I will not lose sleep over it. It will remain in a small cubicle in the back corner of my mind saved for just such things. I too look forward to our conversation.
And the vapor test.
JDG
The third day, huh ? I'll wait.
7/12/92
Sincerely, I do not mean to taunt you so. (twinkle in eye) But you should know, whatever I meant to tease about and whatever was purely accidental...I'm always good for my word. I've arranged three days for Brenna to be with either a neighbor or home with her grandparents. 3 out of 7, we have alone, to do whatever. There's a secluded beach somewhere around here, (but where, I'm not sure) (map, I'll look at a map.) There's lots of things around here, where we can escape to if we wish to be alone. My house is certainly not the place for that, as you shall see.
You are a crazy man. No, I think adventurous is a more appropriate word. I like ya for it.
------Erika
7/12/92
Doc,
I'm elated about the news! It was kind of your father. Kind of you to ask for the time too. It'll do you good. I do see how a friend's early pregnancy has affected her adult life by leaving her feeling she's missed out on so much life. She's not a very strong person though. We say she's a pissant due to her temper and size. I certainly think a person grows up faster if they have a child early. I'm just going by what I've observed. I believe one can be enriched as you well know. I'm interested in seeing your interaction with Brenna. I doubt you'll surprise me. I can't promise not to laugh though when it comes time for speeches!
Just wanted to drop you a short note so you'd have something to read while I sleep the day away tomorrow. Unless someone calls, which seems inevitable. Sometimes it's ok. Depends how affectionate the voice is on the other end.
Joel
7/12/92
I need a break. Dinner was created after my nine fifteen jaunt to the grocery store. Spaghetti sauce over shells, carrots, the baby kind. Already peeled and washed, Mountain Dew. In what used to be a clean room, which is now the remnants of what looks like a cyclone disaster, I have made a place only I can fit. Surrounding myself in mounds of paper, pictures, magazines and the like. I found various items I had given up for lost or more likely carted away by those conspirators, the spiders.
I've arranged these items before me in such a logical manner. Discarded magazines to my right. These will be donated and Dad, or, to coin a phrase - the male unit, can take them to the jail for the birds. To the right of this pile lies what I will call "I might have a possible use for these, but probably not" stack. Here sits magazines containing sheet music of which I will continue to hoard, but will never learn more than a few bars. Between these two lies the garbage pile. Trash. Kept this long but haven't used or read. Rubbish. At the corner of my right knee you'll find the litter I have to yet go through, mostly articles, pictures, odd items, curious fancies and that sort of thing. Left of my left knee are the chosens I must plow through again. A second helping of time to waste, if you will. Contained therein are more undecideds. To my left is the culprit. Sitting. Looking at me. Asking me to feed it. No way. I can't believe it held this much garbage!
I must now sort the picture and articles and place them in their respected folders. I'll most likely have to make a couple new ones. Band photos, reviews, both album and concert in theirs. Travel, in its. A select few women in theirs. The abstract and eye catching in theirs, I guess the women could go in there, eh? Then there's the articles. Acquired from magazines, newspapers, friends, wherever. I too am interested in the mind of the opposite sex. I know there's a book available titled something to the effect of, "Things Women Want Men to Know, but Won't Tell Them." I'm close on the title, but unsure. There's a quote in a song by Soundgarden called Power Trip. Chris Cornell, tongue in cheek, sings of wanting to write the magazines the housewives read. I think he's on to something. My reason for collecting such items? Personal interest. Intrigue. Incite. Knowledge is a powerful weapon. To use this weapon, you must have wisdom, common sense. I've wanted wisdom for a long time. Almost all my life. As far back as I can remember. I even asked God for some. I think God said, "It will cost you. A price, yes a price of some sort. Now, let me think." Well, ol God is still thinking, I'll bet. Seriously, this has been a pursuit. Still is. My steadily growing, but piddley collection contains something every male and female alike should find interesting. After all, it was directed at somebody when it was written. Was it not ? Anywho, I've covered the spectrum ranging from "Attention, men: What kind of kisser are you ?" I laughed at this one and was thankful I had nothing to worry about. Letters to Ann Landers stating reasons why not to bring children into this world. Common etiquette. Behavioral flexibility. The multi-orgasmic male. Why men are intimidated by intimacy. Psychologists say: Teach young boys to talk about their feelings. Women in love with sex. Maturity - What it is and isn't. Size means little to a good lover. Doesn't every woman have her own ideas about what makes a man great in bed ? Toward a state of self-esteem. And so forth......
Some of my favourite books are by authors like Robert Fulghum, "All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Kindergarten," along with his other two, but they aren't as insightful. H. Jackson Brown Jr.'s "Life's Little Instruction Book" and "Live, Learn, The Pass it On. “The Book of Questions" is a nifty one I'd think you'd like, by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.
Know any more? You're getting warmer.
JDG
9/12/92
ELP
I want you to know I've left you a great opening for the "add-a-chapter" board. So put this away and get your butt over there and show your stuff!
Don't let me down
7/12/92
Laundry:
Here's How
1. Never strip the bed of it's linens, wash them, and put them back on the bed all in the same day. First day, strip the bed, and carefully assemble the sheets in the darkest corner of your domain, in something of a crumpled "I don't care" fashion. This must remain so for the following 3 days. Thus, you are forced to slumber upon the bare mattress. Deal with it. You want to do this in the correct manner, do you not? Those sheets need time to ferment, let them rest. When the acceptable amount of time has elapsed, (the fourth day) the sheets may now be moved approximately 17 feet toward the washer. Now you may leave them in the exact center of the longest hallway you own. Proceed to collecting all other laundry, clean or not...you can't tell the difference anyway with 'em all shoved under your bed. Pile those babies on the top of the sheet heap. Let the games begin.
2. Laundry is a versatile form of entertainment. I am burdened with an infernal need of jumping over things. A light skip? Ha-ha. I think not. Running start, powerful, long leap into the wind. (or the wall) I jump over anything, anybody. I shall meet you and say, "Mighty fine to meet you sir," I shall be thinking, "....wonder if I could clear 'im..." Laundry requires my bounding no less than 86 times, both ways.
3. There are many methods of actually avoiding getting the
laundry into the machine. Be creative. Establish your best avoidance activity...and spend many hours perfecting it.
4. The fatal day. You've spent the six maximum allowable days wisely.
Fun's over. Wash the damn things.
A domestic tip from one happy housekeeper to another.
7/13/92
Just wanted you to sit up straight. (the jerk bit)
Ahem...to the matter at hand. I've spoken with PanamaJck, and like the gallant gentleman he is, he suggested that he drive to get you, Melanie, and me on the day we see him. Thus avoiding a minor dilemma of mine. Where the hell is San Francisco? True, I've been there many, many times. My argument is this: So? I propose that on the day you and I meet, we breakfast together. If you're awake. Then we've got several hours alone together before 2:00, which, according to my proposition, is when Carlos will pick us up. We then proceed to S.F. and go to the first bar we see, then stumble about town the rest of the day in a drunken stupor. Or rather, we go to the daytime things like the Wharf and such, when sunset is upon us, we journey to a cliff house overlooking the sea for dinner. After that...is left open. This is what Mr. Jack and I worked out, so it's in your hands to mold further if you like. I have two reasons for preferring this route. First is Melanie. I think, on her first day here, maybe she'd prefer not to be so away from you, the only one she knows. I dare to assume her quite a capable woman, but maybe she has some questions about what's around here. Perhaps she and Carlos will make friends. (Nothing implied) Second, so that it frees up an extra day for me with the baby-sitting arrangement. Then we've got three solid days to go off to the forest, if you still wish for it. Have your people contact me with a revised document, if necessary.
Amen.
7/13/92
I just re-read your letter about the things you read. I was interested, and felt a need to reply. I, too, love Robert Fulghum. I have all three of his works. I agree that the first was most insightful...I liked best the story of the little girl who wanted to be a mermaid. I mostly read murders, though....not because I like bloody deaths, I just like to see the puzzle afterward. I'm very picky in the kind of murders I read, I stick to the higher-class stories...which means less gore and more mystery. Those writers would be Sir Conan Doyle...the master, then Agatha Christie (Almost read all she wrote, which is near 100.) but lots of her stories aren't good, they grew worse as she got older. If the reader can figure out the mystery...it wasn't a good one. I also like Lawrence Sanders, Tom Clancy, Larry McMurtry (the spelling of these are just off-hand), Richard Bach, John Steinbeck, and Dr. Dwayne Dyer. Bach and Dyer are metaphysical stories... deep, almost unbelievable, but absolutely beautiful...I read to sleep mostly. It's hard for me to wind down. I read usually for an hour before I'm relaxed enough to sleep.
When I was in high school, my friend Jodi and I went shyly into the "family" section of the bookstore...which is where the sex was kept - but not the X-rated kind. We, there in the store, read through the book "What Turns Men On", if we bought it our mothers would find it somehow and then hang us both. I fell in love in that book. The title is misleading. There's plenty of sexual things in there, techniques, positions...but there's also a lot of romance in it. It's written by a group of men who are simply answering questions of a survey given to them by a group of women. I fell deep. I never knew how love looked in the eye of a male. I don't mean the generic love beaten to death by people every day, I mean sexual lust, deep admiration for beauty, respect for minds, companionship, friendship, marriage, parenthood, old age...everything was in there. That's when my interest in the opposite sex began, I mean REAL interest... not just interest in hot and heavy kissing sessions, which is so characteristic of a 15 year old. But I kept that part, too.
7/13/92
Cutie,
LOVED the add-a-post ! I even went back to read it again - to see if the goosebumps on my back and shoulders would show twice.
They did.
See you soon.
7/14/92
Your Highness;
Forgive me, your Grace. I must express disapproval over the female subjects of your kingdom. Wisdom is a characteristic not applicable to them. How any lady fair can stand to not be with you in your bedchamber is a question to me. Perhaps, Dear Prince, any lady of the court would not be worthy of your attentions. Royalty can afford to be selective. The kiss of Heaven is with the lady you choose to slumber upon your chest, if I may be so bold as to say, Sire.
A most loyal, admiring,
distant subject.
7/14/92
Lady, more than fair:
M'lady, it is I who have expressed disapproval over my kingdom's female subjects. No lady of this court is worthy of my attentions. However, there is told to me, a place far from my homeland in which a loyal. admiring subject resides. It is she I long for. If she were bold enough to accept my attentions, surely I could be worthy of her, could I not ? I hear she is adventuresome and wise. Heaven has kissed her cheek. I would give up my throne to share my bed chamber with this lady fair. After all, Royalty can be selective.
Royalty has chosen.
A most grateful, prosperous and distant Prince.
From: SHolmes
8:53 PM on 7/14/92
HAL9000:
Never assume you're safe, for that's when trouble begins to nip at your heels. - I like your poetry, by the way.
7/15/92
Highya Cutie !
Don't know if I'll be able to join you this evening, shall see what schedule allows. , I think I miscalculated milage wrong from Grand Junction to Oakland - looks more like seven hundred miles. Oh well....
Sleep well ? I didn't.
JDG
7/15/92
You:
Can you come out and play ?
- Him -
7/15/92
My cup of tea before bed, it seems. I do long for these evenings with you. Remember what I said about the 800#. Any time is fine. I suppose before 11:30am would be okay too, but sane people should be slumbering then. It's probably a matter of time before you blip back on the screen, but I must bid thee farewell once again.
You dreamt, but how long did you sleep? I wish it were you who was in this time zone. I wish it were you I could snuggle up against when I lay down my head.
Instead of my pillow.
Goodnight, my sweet. Sleep deep.
7/15/92
I like to look in shadows sweating on the wall. I get excited when I hear your footsteps in the hall. Outside your balcony, I have a room with a view....and I'm watching you. I dial your telephone each and every afternoon. I wait by your door till you're asleep at night and when you're alone I know when you turn out the light.
I'm gonna get close to you. Oh, so close to you.
You fumble for your keys, I'm six or seven steps behind you I'm so close to you. Are you terrified of me ? What do I know about you? How did I find out?
You think I'm a fool or maybe some kind of lunatic. Say I'm wasting my time but I know what to do with it. It's as plain as black and white.
I'm gonna get close to you.
If you knew my infinate charm there'd be no reason to be so alarmed. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right. Maybe I'm some kind of lunatic? You say I'm wasting all of my time, but I know what to do with it. It's as plain as black and white.
I'm gonna get close to you.
I'm like a hungry criminal and your protection is minimal.
So minimal.
I give you this, maybe as a preface to something I'm mulling about in my mind. It is very erotic when I think about the pictures in my mind. Originally written as lyrics, I think, but never recorded. Queensryche decided to include this little ditty on their 1986 recording. Dal Bello is the only author name available. Tell me what you think. You always do.
I like ya for it.
All yours.
-J
7/16/92
Oh, that voice ! I am compelled to tell you my heart flutters to the sound of your vocals. I can't even describe how it sounds to myself ! I can choose from a lot of words but there is no one and nothing like it here on earth. In Heaven maybe.....
I may just have to save those messages for a while, Princess. If I could, I'd have a poem or just soft spoken words to play every night before I close my eyes. Certainly this would invoke dreams!
I'm truly sorry I missed the real you.
But I'll live.
Maybe.
7/16/92
The word for you is:
A LLURING.
From: Joel
7:36 PM on 7/16/92
WANTED:
Alluring beauty. Must have wit, charm and most of all, life. Brains a must. Grey eyes, terrific sense of humour, adventure and a smile. Children okay.
From: Joel
7:37 PM on 7/16/92
WAIT.
From: Joel
7:38 PM on 7/16/92
Found just the one.
Nevermind.
7/16/92
E:
Missed my Erika fix. How long before the next feeding?
(Keep up with the personals?)
ME
7/17/92
(S, as in Sleeping)
No, I don't keep up with the personals, I used to...but not much held my interest within them. Shall I start again? 12:08, (in the night), Michael showed me how to fix the problem with the modem. I wanted to write to you before I joined Brenna in my bed. (she and her friends remodeled her room yesterday, so today I had to repaint the entire thing, 2 coats, the fumes in her room are still pretty bad, so she has to sleep with me tonight. That's fine, if you like little bony feet digging in your ribs. She sleeps diagonally. I push her over to the other side of the bed, but she scoots back over, and kicks me again. (But she's awful cute, I love to watch her sleeping.)
Go on. Next letter. I couldn't bear to combine them into one.
7/17/92
"You can't see the stars in California." The bitter statement remained clear in her memory, spoken from a resentful heart on the eve of her move to CA. She laughed softly to herself, and with her Diet Coke can toasted the "starless California sky," in which, the constellations were in full bloom. Out there, sitting on the porch with her knees drawn up to her chest, she concentrated on the stars, trying to remember the names of some that she learned in Astronomy class. Close attention was paid to those toward the east. On the other edge of the continent, would he see the same arrangement in the sky if he were to look up right now? Ha, she thought, if he were to look up, he'd see the ceiling above his bed. After all, it's 2am there. He's sleeping....she tried in earnest to imagine his resting body. Not easy, since his form in any manner was unknown to her. Yet she had encountered his skin against her own over a thousand times, in her dreams....fleeting thoughts while washing dishes, while reaching for shampoo in the shower, waiting for the greenlight in the left turning lane. The longer scenarios take place during her morning run, late in the night when she finds it difficult to sleep.... Some are torridly sexual - igniting her blood as it pulses through her veins at the very thought of his body inside hers, or even thoughts that haven't gone that far...his hands sliding down the sides of her figure... her hands moving up his thighs, down his back, through his hair, against his chest...their lips touching softly... then there are those thoughts that have little to do with sex...curiosities, admiration for his words- for that's all she knows with him, words. Their attraction would never have occurred, had it not been for their words to each other. Strange, in the physical world, most attractions begin in the opposite way. She is glad for the change of pace. This is new to her. She's curious to see how much the sky has changed since she came inside, so she leaves you now to take a quick look, before she sleeps.
E
7/17/92
I gazed upon our brightly lit moon this evening. I usually think to myself or mumble quietly under my breath about green cheese, men in the moon. Cats, cows, silver spoons. Tonight, as I looked harder than usual and thought about your words to me. I smiled at all the passersby and quietly went on my way.
JDG
7/18/92
My friend. Go outside. Look for the moon, in all it's splendor. If you spy it, as I did earlier, remember I take you in my thoughts wherever I go. Each time more abundantly than the last. Gaze at it, Erika.
Think of me.
Goodnight Princess.
7/18/92
JOEL!
HEY, JOEL!
Where are you, buddy?
I've been out there shouting your name for the past hour, can't you hear me? No, wait...you've fallen and you can't get up right? Well, here...take my hand, I'll pull you up.
On second thought, maybe I'll just get down there on the floor WITH you, eh? Perhaps I could convince you not to keep calling for help.
Hey, c'mon back Joel. I'll let ya see my letter from the White House personally signed by George Bush! (I really do have one, ya know.) (what......you don't like him?) (ahh, neither do I, I'm gonna SELL it when he dies!!!)
All in fun, of course, of course.
(but I really do have one, ya know)
7/18/92
Be cool, Erika... just be cool. You were in the beginning, perhaps that's why it began. You let go of your icy control somewhere. You should have held it tighter. Now look at you. Is this what you wish? You don't look pleased to me. You look a wreck. Loss of sleep does nothing for one's beauty. You were fine when the interest was sexual. Sex is easy, always has been. The mistake occurred when you became his friend. You admitted it to him- even worse. You said, "This leggy blonde is a friend of yours till the end." Shame on you, you know better than that. Every day since you released that precious control, it's gotten worse. It grows to be profound. Stop it now, before you fall into the blackened pit. It's close on your heels, young lady, look behind you. You cry, CRY at his poetry??!!! Your pitiful little heart flutters childishly at the sight of his name?! PLEASE. Grit your teeth and stop! Before he notices your pathetic state, that, my dear, would be suicide. That's when the heart becomes fragile, when he knows. Even now, you are overcome with it. Snap out of it. Be tough. Be cool. Or be a damn good actress.
7/18/92
Aid me, if you will. The time is 11:05pm here right now. Tell me when you are able, what the time says on the envelope. Does it transfer to your time? I read the personals in Sierra 1. I thought of responding on a post, but reconsidered for your sake. I'd have to change my name first. SHolmes isn't commonly known as female. I saved your butt, bud! About the post, I was charmed beyond description. You do have a way, sir, of aiming that charm of yours. Must a taken some mighty tough practice. I am not easily enchanted. However, my defenses are not at their best when mystical young Princes ride by on their noble steeds, and cast their mesmerizing words in my direction. I, then, am but a breathless starry-eyed young maiden...at their mercy.
So, ok now, if I say that I'm not going to be on line at all, then that means I'll be on twice. You see a fine example of this right before your eyes. Just goes to show ya, sometimes I'm wrong. Heh, you've seen MANY fine examples of this right before your very eyes. But, don't leak that to Moriarty. That would assure my death.
Would you run down your music list again, but in a letter, so I can remember the names?
Now. I crash. Night.
From: SHolmes
To: Joel, 10:49 AM on 7/19/92
Looks as if I should check the bulletins more often, buddy. You are everywhere....
From: Moriarty
10:46 AM on 7/19/92
Ole' SHolmes is a merry ole' soul
And a merry ole' soul is she
She can hear all the clues
And all the news
But she can't catch Moriarty
7/19/92
Ah-ha-ha.... (rubbing my hands together) I'll make an insomniac out of you yet....
Kidding aside (well, part of it), I do regret having mentioned anything about my letter to you last night. Wait a sec....or do I? Let me rethink this.....
Ok, to rephrase. It pleases me that we talked to each other last night. I regret the time it was on your side of the country. You should consider getting that fixed.
7/19/92
Last time, I swear.
Ahem... This is good. Sit up.
----------------
I see my dark green rolled-up sweatshirt sleeves. My hands are scrubbing the camping dishes as I crouch by the creekside. But it's my arms I watch. I wonder how many more camping trips are left in my beloved over-sized sweatshirt. It's already pretty roughed up from being washed in the creek. I should postpone washing it as long as possible, or, try not to get it so dirty....I catch his movement in the corner of my eye. I raise my head. Blue Levi's, soft golden-brown leather jacket, dark brown hair, unshaven cheek....He's sitting on the picnic table bench, leaning forward, elbows resting on spread knees, right hand reaching toward the fire to adjust a log. His eyes are fixed on the flames. His presence did not disrupt the natural setting of the wilderness. He belonged. It was as if the trees had personally asked him to come sit at their roots, while their branches swept down to embrace him. His beauty had never struck me as deeply as it did right then. His still figure set me ablaze. I felt my mouth water. There he sat in his profound silence. I wanted badly to pounce on him like some animal.
I wanted to remove his clothing.
I didn't move.
I wanted to tear into his flesh.
I didn't move.
I wanted to swallow that man whole, engulf him, surround him with my bare body, take him deeply within my walls.
And I could have.
But I didn't move.
Instead I drew a breath, bent my head down to what I had been doing. I stood, and slowly walked away from him. I walked away, a young woman more in love with this man than sixty seconds before.
P.S. This is my imagination talking. It never actually happened.
7/19/92
I have not forgotten you, my friend! I'll do one better on the music list. If you get me your home address I'll send you the tape I'm making. Possibly two - I don't think I can fit what I want to include on one volume. Deal? I've been seeing the cute little sign on my screen saying I'm over my sixty hour allotment. I never dreamed I'd use twenty when I started here ! At least until the end of the month I will have to try to stick to letters - or the 800 number if you like. Either is better than less contact by "chatting."
About your imagination... quite an active one. I like it. Well, more than like it, I appreciate it, compliment you on it, desire it and thrive upon it.
And this is just your mind I'm talking about.......
Missed you.
-J
7/20/92
Upon entering our little game, you make yourself a possible enemy target. You have accepted dangerous work. I shall make sure you are well compensated. You no doubt require payment of some sort. It is customary for the woman in charge to take her most prized employees deep into the woods, far from civilization, where a little noise won't be minded. The forest has been known to transform cold business-minded bosses into torrid lovers. Something about the lighting, the lack of pollution, the soft sounds of the creek nearby...the city skin is slowly peeled away, leaving the body bare with animalistic desire--to be released upon well deserving hired help. However, if you prefer a check...
Most sincerely,
S.H.
7/20/92
Thought I'd drop a note while we spoke. Hey, get IN here! I hate being alone at this hour, you know? There is so much needing to be done before I leave in a little over twenty some odd days. People look at me and they know I'm anxious to go to California. Colorado isn't even interesting to me. I may have to pray for more strength to hold myself together and beat the frustration as we get closer to the day.
I understand Shel Silverstein's magnetism with Brenna. I've heard him read over and over since I was a wee lad. I read him for myself up until my late, oh, late yesterday afternoon! I ran across a picture disc album of him singing/chanting his own works. Very weird. I didn't care for it, but it was an experience I had not had so - I had to do it. What can I say?
My hour is at an end, I must bid thee farewell yet again. But only
for a moment, though an eternity it shall seem.
Your Buddy
7/20/92
I hate to seem "all business" this evening/morning - and don't ask me why I'm up at this hour knowing I have to work tomorrow....If I knew I'd tell you. Maybe you did make an insomniac? Nah, impossible. Okay, the instant you send a letter, your time is printed on the outside of the envelope. I think the information should be duplicated inside as well, but that's just me. I still need to know what version of Word Perfect you have. Oh, thought you might like to know. Though I keep everything you send to me personally, I keep what I send you. These are placed in chronological order, which isn't difficult when I stay on top of things, but slack off and I'm in a heap of trouble. Therefore, creating a more complete picture.
Just food for the brain.
ME
ENTER ME
Luminescent staring words.
Intercepting.
Lingering.
Seeing.
Enter me.
Fluidly painted shadows.
Absorbing.
Wondering.
Ghosting.
Enter me.
Tangible carbon phrases.
Coveting.
Digesting.
Feeling.
Enter me.
Responses and imagination partaken.
Reposing.
Desiring.
Meandering.
Enter me.
Elixired by words alone.
Knowing.
Dreaming.
Yearning.
Enter me.
JDG 7/20/92
7/21/92
My dear, even if I were flat broke, out of work, uneducated, unfed, unclothed and in need of dental work for an interview with Ed McMahon to be on Star Search........
STILL, no check.
What do you think I am !
NORMAL ?
He he he he he
THUMP !
- J
7/21/92
Brenna can recite most of Shel Silverstein's poems (skipping words here and there) because I've read them to her so much. We have "A Light in the Attic" and "Where the Sidewalk Ends." You wouldn't think a three year old would appreciate poetry, huh? Those books I've read to her since she was a baby though, to soothe her to sleep. (And because they're some of the few books I can STAND to read a zillion times.
I hope we run into each other soon.
7/21/92
(Wild laughter)
I am STOKED!!! I seldom use such language, but in this instance, it's justified. I just finished my daily fight with my mother, snatched up the newspaper's classified section....and...there it was. I fell into a trance as I read "Young, single mom seeks responsible female roommate to share four bedroom home" I called her, and we fell in love. (heh, not literally, you know that) But we go to the same college, we're the same age, we both have similar childrearing philosophies....and it's available August first. HA! I can almost even afford it, too.
I'm STOKED, once again.
See you on line tonight, I hope.
7/21/92
Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!
I HATE when I miss your calls! (Though I love the messages.)
I can keep those....
I guess that's strike three for me, eh? Am I out?
At least walk me!
Pet me.
Hold me.
Tease me (oops! Slippance)
Feed me.
Have me.
Call me back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(At work, tomorrow. 2 PM, my time)
ME
7/21/92
You,
In case you get your butt back here this evening, I'll be sitting here at my computer companion typing my brains out. I will, however, check S4 & S1 at the top of the hour - 11 PM for me.
Now to wipe these varmits off my shoulder......
- J
7/22/92
Considerable thought has been put into choosing your occupation within my service. Possessing the qualifications that you do, you are most suited to a post of personal assistance. The work is varied, requires almost no effort on your part, and you will hold many titles. I now present a list of those.
-Instructor of Music
-Intellectual Jump-Starter
-Fellow Star-Gazer
-Late-Night Conversationalist
-Bathing Companion
-Massage Therapist
-Professor of Sexual Exploration
-Ideal Demonstrator of What It is to be Male
-Poetry Provider
Should any of these titles disagree with you....tough.
With Respect,
S.H.
7/22/92
Yes, tough day. But not as tough as some.
I'm not sure what happened on the phone today, but something did, then I heard the operator telling me to please hang up and try again. Then a little domestic problem arose, and I was from then till now, runnin' my ass off after those kids.
Sorry. I'll try again.
- E
7/22/92
Princess:
I attempted to send you the CD list, but TSN only accepts up to 18 pages of it. I'll pack it with your things. Like some lunch with that ? How about some sugar ?
How about some TLC ?
I'd want YOU for lunch.
AND dinner.
In-between meals.
Nice menu.
Must be the house specialty.
7/23/92
It is so frustrating, yet a turn-on to be in here writing you one thing and you are talking to me at the same time. I hate not being able to see your face. My mental picture isn't even half way complete. I'll have to live with it, huh? I'll make it. Just what I need; more drive to see you!
I finished my serial number project today. Finally! After a year of putting this off, it's done at long last. That takes some weight off my shoulders. We finished a major undertaking at work too. More weight off. I feel I can breath a little easier. Which reminds me. Scuba class at 8am tomorrow.
Whew. What a week. I stayed late tonight to make up time for tomorrow's class and this morning's mishap. Not bad. I was at dinner for three of those hours - shhh. Our secret, okay? I'm bad. I know. After working a whole two hours this morning I turned to Ricardo and inquired if he minded I went ahead and took a lunch to fiddle with my fax card. Besides, after the long due process of data entry I forgot my CD list and needed to Xerox copies
Not necessarily an uneventful day, but.... I don't know. One of those moods trying to haunt me and get me? They have a tendency to do that. They rarely win. Ha ha. Boogers, they are.
JDG
7/23/92
HEY!!! SHUT THAT THING OFF!!!
(yelling to whatever organ keeps producing the not-needed-at-the-moment lubrication)
Yes. I want you. Badly. I want to have sex, I want to make love, and I want to screw mindlessly.
Three different ways of doing the same beautiful thing. I want them ALL. And N O W.
I think about the initial penetration, the very first one, after slowly easing into it. Tight at first, you know. But that's what feels so GOOD. Once in, I can picture pressing you into me, and keeping you there for a minute, `till I catch my breath, and am ready for movement. I'm shaking with lust. I want to feel you all over, with my hands, with my lips. I want to leave no spaces between our naked bodies. I want you inside me. I want to kiss you all over your neck, your chest, nipples, stomach, cock, balls, thighs, calves....oh, Joel, everywhere. Everywhere.
God, I better leave before the heat from my trembling fingers melts the keyboard.
7/23/92
I don't know where it came from. yes, I do. Somehow my mind decided it was perfectly rational not to set the alarm last night. I think my body is rebelling and trying to tell me something. I thought it a bit too bright out when I opened my peeps. "Good morning, Richard," I said, opening the office door. Well, I exaggerate a tad. Office, it 'taint. It's more of a gallery of collective findings. In the back you have your basic homemade cardboard button collage of all the assundrous pins left from the shows. You have your "Joel Gomer collection of weirdness" poster gallery from Hell. Wall to wall, it goes. Ceiling too. we've got your magnets - and magnet art, courtesy my younger brother. It's a picture of a male cat, human like legs, no less, having anal sex with a man. Totally sick. It'll stay until somebody complains. He-he It's drawn a lot of attention, that's for sure. Any way you turn you're bound to see a stolen sign on the wall, fake brick-work, stickers from the illustrious Surf Expo and odds and ends like you wouldn't believe. John Smetanka, he's the one who always goes around saying in his whiny voice, "Christ this, and Christ that..." He's Richard's boss. He made the other departments take down all posters and pictures. He comes in to our wall carnival and looks around his whole visit, never seeing just one thing. I think he's too confused by it all. Let him be confused.
J
7/23/92
I sit in disbelief. Thanks to Mr. Eidell up the street, my father and mother attempt to FORBID me to go camping with you. They were fine, until BILL brought it to their knowledge that it's dangerous for a young girl to venture into the forest alone with a man she has never met. My argument, as it so often is, is this: "SO??!!!!" I leaned forward, looked my mother straight in her green eyes, and said, "Mom... danger is my middle name. I could tell you everything, but then I'd have to kill you."
She doesn't understand spy humor. Or, maybe it's just mine.
ME: I'm going.
THEM: The HELL you are young lady!
ME: I'm going.
THEM: We won't watch your daughter then.
ME: I can make other arrangements.
THEM: This is irresponsible, and DANGEROUS--- you don't even know this guy.
ME: Wrong. Irresponsible, perhaps, but I've spent countless hours getting to know this guy.
THEM: Over the COMPUTER, that's not much, Erika Lynne.
ME: So? If I thought it wasn't safe, I wouldn't be going.
THEM: You're NOT going.
ME: 'Course I am.
MOTHER: I can't wait until I don't have to worry about you anymore, you kids are nothing but STRESS for your father and I.
FATHER: Sharon, that's not true.
ME: I'm almost 21, you no longer have control over my choices.
THEM: We never did.
ME: Smiling: Yeah... that's true.
They still forbid it, I'm to hear more of it later. But, we all know who wins. Hmm... this reminds me of when I was 14, I swear we had the same words, but over me riding in a car driven by a high school boy. You know, I could have lied at the beginning, by not saying it'd be just the two of us. But, I think I've used up my lying allowance, from when I was rebellious and 16. Young WOMEN, smart ones, should be able to stand in the sun, and cast no shadow. No hidden guilty events for me, thank you. I say what I'm doing, then once I've warded off the protests.. .do it. Boy, does this sound rebellious or what? I'm past a certain amount of that, but with the way my parents are, I'm left with no choice but to rebel. Don't worry, this doesn't even have much to do with you or that we're going camping... the real underlying issue is CONTROL. If it wasn't this, it would be something else. But, there would be SOMETHING, count on it.
Crazy? Certainly. Safe? Who knows? Irrational? Perhaps. Is it going to happen? Yeah. And I love it. Things may cool down, once I'm gone, but hey, then it wouldn't even matter, now would it? Anyway... if they knew you, they'd have no cause for worry, (if they really knew ME, then yes, they'd worry.
-Erika
7/24/92
Good morning. For once, it is I who get to write as you slumber. What pleasure it must be to lie by your side and gaze upon your slender body as it rests. The placement of your hair as it has fallen just over your forehead, brushing it back I'd see your eyelids still. No movement anywhere to be seen. Just the slow beating of your pulse flowing through my chest. You look so content. No need to dream of far away princes this day. I'd continue to look for as long as you were asleep, pulling you back close to me if you decide to move a bit. Why do I not sleep? I obtain great sense of pleasure and peace from this. A feeling of protection. I'd make sure I held you until you finally opened your sleepy eyelids, maybe I'd sneak a kiss or two before you did, suddenly remembering you were safe and weren’t about to be let go.
There's something very sensual about kissing one's eyelashes. I think I'd sneak a kiss there too.
7/24/92
Carlos mentioned Brenna fell last night. I hope it was nothing serious. Busy day. Up by 6:45, no shower, it's pool day in class. `Sposed to be in the water by 8am. Not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Got kicked out of the pool early due to our instructor not going through the proper channels of reservations. Fine. Turned in my lists for State Farm. The lady looked at me and said, "Looks like you've been busy." Cute. Real cute. Just what I wanted to hear. What'd she think I'd do ? Make up what I own ? To work, pay day you know. Wasted too much time there and left for the bank around 11:30. Of course, one must eat while out gallivanting around town when he should be at work, should he not? I thought you'd see it my way. Tomorrow I have a three hour test. Oh joy. I'm not looking forward to it. At least it doesn't start until 1pm. Laundry's done. I still need to eat supper though. Are you available ? I am so ready to just sit and talk with you. About anything. About nothing. Just sit and hold your hand or laying down, side by side looking at the night sky all night. Just enough skin touching skin to keep the chills away. This would be the most relaxing thing I can think of off the top of my head. A bottle of wine, sparkling cider is just as good, finger food of sorts, maybe some grapes - green ones of course, one sleeping bag and thou.
To be continued.
7/30/92
Grey was the sky that morning, July 30, in the year 2053. No rain fell, but the sweet, moist air promised that soon the water would come.
In a worn chair of wood his aged body sat, near an open window in the white-walled rest home. As she prepared the syringe for his weekly allergy shot, the youngest nurse wondered how on Earth the elderly could sit so still for so long. This one in particular sat longer than the others. "He's at death's door," one of the older nurses had remarked without feeling, "he's afraid movement will push him in head first." She stood to the left of him, and took up his thin arm. "God I hate this part," she muttered as she inserted the needle and gently eased the medication into his vein. He raised his eyes to her and winked, then smiled charmingly. She smiled right back...looking for the first time deeply into his eyes, while tears welled up in hers. "How beautiful," she thought. She bent to kneel at his side, never taking her eyes off his. Her tears spilled silently onto her pale cheeks. She knew those eyes of his would be closing soon...never to be opened up again. She planned to find another job when it happened. Caring for the old and the sick she could do no longer. She couldn't achieve the distance needed when the deaths came. A heart can only break so many times - and this gentle man broke her heart every day. The flame of life within this man had become delicate, liable to extinguish at the slightest breeze...and his only visitors belonged to the medical profession. His hand quivered as he reached for her hand. His grip was unexpectedly firm. Rain began to fall outside. It streamed through the window screen and dripped down the wall, forming a small puddle at his feet. He looked up at the cloudy sky, laughed a little, and whispered, "She always used grey." The nurse knew that 84-year-olds make little sense at times, and she had been taught to humor them. "Who?" she asked politely.
"It was so long ago...so long..." he said - more to himself than to her. "Those old letters are still up in that hot old attic somewhere, I'll bet. Saved 'em all, you know. Ahh...she was a smart girl, knew what she was doing. She always wrote on grey paper...it was just a shade or two off her own eye color. She wanted to insure her memory slot in my brain, so she provided little consistencies to make it easier for me to recall. Once in a while, on a rainy day, when the sky mirrors her eyes, I just sit back in this chair with my eyes closed...and remember..."
Then he fell silent, watching the rain, breathing softly. She dared not break in upon his thoughts, so she waited - wondering what his sad brown eyes saw in the falling rain that remained invisible to her. Ghosts danced before him and took his mind away with them, back to the days when the ghosts were solid in form, and he could touch them as before. He held tightest to the laughing one, the one with eyes like the moody sky
Abruptly his remembrance faded. He turned to her and said with a wink, "Now you get back to work, young lady, or I'll have to spank your behind." She wiped her tears on her sleeve, then rose to go, pausing by the door. She looked over his dying cage of flesh, seated by the window...same as any other day. Yet tomorrow would be different...she blew a quiet kiss to the form that faced away from her, and closed the door gently behind her...then turned in her resignation at the front desk.
* * *
The morning of July 30, 2053...stormy clouds hung over the hospital where her sick body lay. Her great-grandson, just sixteen, sat in the chair to the right of her bed. The room was still, and the air held no sounds but for the wheezy breathing of the dying woman. Her eyes, still bright, mirrored the clouds in color as she watched the rain beating against her window. She had a dreamy expression upon her sallow face. He knew she was seeing something in the falling rain which he did not. She smiled a bit, and drew a breath. "Oh good," he thought, "a story's coming. C'mon Gramma P, one more...just one more for me please," he mentally urged her. He loved hearing her stories of life in the late 1900's, when she was considered wild...with her unconventional ideas and actions, her philosophies that confused anyone she told them to. The ground in the forest behind her little house knew their footsteps well, his and his great-grandmother's. Many after-school hours were spent on nature walks with Gramma P, when thoughts were exchanged, memories shared, ideas and wishes confessed. He sought her willing ears often, because nothing he told her made her cringe. When it was his turn for listening...smiles seldom left his wide-eyed face. Soon her lips would seal, never allowing speech to pass through again. She reached out for his hand. Her grip was unexpectedly strong. Without taking her eyes off the weather, she said softly, "I once knew a Prince. Inside his young, regal body lived the most beautiful soul in the Western Hemisphere. He was a smart boy, knew what he was doing. Somehow he built a direct line from his heart to my mind. The effect was intoxicating. To insure his memory slot in my brain he gave to me countless written words which I will never forget. Once in a while, on a rainy day, I sit propped up in this bed with my eyes closed...and remember..." She gazed into her great-grandson's eyes for a moment, slightly struggling for breath after her brief speech. She whispered, "You better get yourself home, young man, you know how that mother of yours worries. Now get." He bent down and kissed her bony cheek. "I'll be back same time tomorrow, Gramma P." She smiled warmly, then turned her eyes back to the rain outside her window. He looked over her dying cage of flesh lying in the hospital bed, the same as many days before. Yet tomorrow would be different...he closed the door gently behind him, and walked slowly home in the storm.
September 9, 1992
Oh how disgusting. `Xcuse me, won't you, while I throw up... (imagine puke sounds during this pause) (Aw, c'mon sir, don't tell me that's your best... make it, like, more choking, cough more... hmm... that'll have to do, I s`pose.) It was positively nauseating, Joel. Today, everybody, ALL the people except ME, were walking around holding hands... actually touching their skins together...ugh... oh and one guy I saw KISSED the girl holding his hand - RIGHT ON HER CHEEK ! No wait, this one takes it... some pregnant chick slipped her bare hand into her guy's back pocket. Ew, ew, ew. She could probably feel his butt muscles work while he walked. G-ROSS !!! It's like, some freakin' LOVE FEST around here. Makes me sick. They're all smiling like idiots and making googly-eyes at each other. Northern California's having, apparently, some kind of Touchy-Feely-SAP-Movement that, thank God, I was not invited to participate in. I'd have said, "Ha! Me? Don't be an idiot. That's sick."
Jealous ? Who's jealous ?!!
Missin' you.
Erika
Oh God, no. No ! No !! Two ants walked across my window sill... riding piggy-back. Ugh... (Utter truth.) Good Night.
9/24/92
I wonder if they've rid of the smell yet? Too bad about the water leak. Doctor's offices are bad enough without having to whiff the wafts of sour mustiness. "Third floor, please. Thank you," as the doors closed tightly, shaking just a hair back `n'forth as we rose off the ground. Wednesday, Dew in hand and beginning to numb my fingers, I brought one along just in case. Late night on the phone, you know. AGAIN. If only I had any self control at all... Love is like that; at least it's like that with me. The doors opened. The LED sign read, `2nd floor.' One more to go. I held my breath as the vertical carriage paused to spill its under `2000 pound capacity' cargo. Smell's still there. But, not as bad. Quickly I went through the miniature lobby, doors almost within arms reach of each other as I stepped onto firm, safe ground. Just around the corner is the office, which I frequent almost every fourth day of the week for what they tell me is `medicine' to help decrease the symptoms of allergies. "It hasn't been proven shots will help, but there's a good chance they will. That'll be fifty dollars, sir." That's what I get in response to any question. You know doctors, the scientific knowitalls who have no specific satisfactory answer to anything asked. Except the price of the visit, but that's NEVER satisfactory. "Good morning, Denise. How art thou?," as I added my name to their office Legal pad. No matter how early I get there anymore it seems there's people waiting to have their blood stolen. They call it "blood work". It's my turn. Move it folks! Are they anxious? Did they arrive the day before yesterday and decide to spend the night? They all look as though they had. If I felt as bad as these people appeared, I'd keep my blood, thankyou. I signed my name and entered The Door. The Door is where you have to go when your name is called, only then can you rise from your seat.
I entered the next room unannounced, deciding to see if I could get a little better service if they saw me sitting there, waiting.
thought popped into my brain; Serviced by a doctor of the medical profession? Wasn't service closer to a specialty of an auto mechanic? I can picture somebody saying, "High, I'm here to get fixed. Do you have a pad to sign in on? Thanks, you're a pal. "It worked for a while, now they tell me we're called in the order they receive the folders. I'm supposed to believe?
Cattle. I know what we're considered. They have all day long to suck the life out of us; already dying by our accord and none too happy to spend more time at our physician's than in the pleasant company of a friend or by one's self. People stared, raising their eyebrows and crinkling their noses. Nobody's preventing them from walking through the same Door. Well, maybe Glena. She's the head butcher. She really enjoys her work, I can tell. If she needs to exert extra force to jab a rather large object into your arm, by God she will! She's not afraid of anything. Oh, I'm sure she's afraid of SOMETHING, I just don't know what it could possibly be. She's probably one of those people who's afraid of things like bellybutton lint, or maybe, fishing.
On this particular morning I strolled into Medicined Merriment, Nurse Glena hadn't heard me come around the corner. No magazines to read so I always look about; to see who's there, if Teresa has arrived yet, if they're any loose donuts lying around, calling my name from behind a desk top, that type thing. My eyes widened twice their size. I was found out, making a light gasp in total belief. I had been right all along! They had tried to deny me truth. Before having an inkling chance to disappear to a chair, she grinned, placing the needle back into her pile, good as new. She put away her wet stone and said, "Now, we can't treat you as though you're better than everyone else, can we?" She filled the vile with frigid serum from under the counter. "Com'on, honey. Left arm this week," wiping alcohol up and down and around and 'round my upper arm. She approached her weapon, holding it to the light, approvingly nodded and smiled to herself, then directed it towards me and my warm life's sheath, addly muttering, "That's odd. Skin's kinda tough."
October 13, 1992
Lessee, My Dear, what can I tell you about the tunes contained herein? Other than music isn't for one to own. He who chooses music as his own, casting it aside if something relating to it goes awry, is a fool. Music is not one's to own, but it is it's own, accountable to no one. Let me begin, shall we?
1) Don Felder, a former Eagle member - All of You. One of the sexiest songs in existence. No further explanation needed. I want all of you, or none.
2) Cheap Trick - Reach Out. An obscure song, also from the Heavy Metal soundtrack. Kinda cool.
3) Don Felder - Heavy Metal (Takin' A Ride). This one actually gets airplay from time to time. Somethin' different.
4) Donald Fagan - True Companion. Actually, I wish there weren't any vocals at all. I like music which creates a mood, thought you might like a taste of this.
5) Nazareth - Crazy (A Suitable Case for Treatment). This song caught my attention the very first time I heard it ! Even though processed, the vocals are... uhm... "mental". This is from the soundtrack as the others before it. Strangely enough, the collection is, by far these artists' best efforts, rarely being played publicly or discovered.
6) Trust - Prefabricated. A French band who doesn't have a whole lot of material in english. It's a wee bit on the hard-edged side, but I think you can handle it, especially if you say you can tolerate Godflesh.
7) Stevie Nicks - Blue Lamp. Didn't I tell you it was one of her best. Forgive the lack of quality, I never have been big into turntable playback. Another mood creator for me. Such a voice.
8) Foreigner - Girl On the Moon. Dreamy. I like the idea of his. What I want to know is, "Is it really a dream?". Remember Thomas Dolby? (Blinded by Science & One of Our Submarines), he's the light-touch keyboard player. His finishing touches helped make this recording one of Foreigner's biggest, and my favourite.
9) Extreme - More Than Words. Now, I know you said you hadn't heard this, but I find it hard to believe. Either way, listen closely to the words, (though a beautiful piece without), this has been part of my philosophy since I learned to emotionally take my first steps. I believe you know the theory.
10) Temple of the Dog - Wooden Jesus. The Man. The Voice. It matters not what this man says to me, I'd listen whole-heartedly. I'm speaking of Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. This was a side-project with former members of Mother Love Bone and Eddy Vedder of Pearl Jam, in loving memory of the deceased lead singer of M.L.B. Chris has a solo song on the Singles soundtrack. Fabulous, of course. The man is a giant. (Have I conveyed I admire this guy's gifts? - Jus' checkin')
11) John Kilzer - Wet Picasso. Just a laid-back, in the wind type of song. Lyrical tact. Very creative. Got MY attention, and keeps it.
12) This Picture - Death's Sweet Religion. Not near as sad sounding as the title suggests. Quite descriptive. He speaks of a person making him feel alive; being alive in you. I know what he's feeling. I am alive in you and there are places I have never been, right inside my own mind. Come with me, Erika, show me the way.
13) Sting - They Dance Alone (Gueca Solo). I was going to include Sting's Secret Marriage, but there is nothing secret about us it seems. Hell, who cares anyway? You can still hear it, but here. This one, well, it's sad. I like it. All of Sting's creations don't stir me. This hits a certain spot inside somewhere, deep.
Tape #two: Mr. Bungle (i.e. "fuck up", according to Webster)
1) Travolta. Kinda rude, talkin' `bout Mr. Travolta and Mr. Swayze like that. Like Mike needs permission ! (I wouldn't want to be on this man's shit-list.)
2) Slowly Growing Deaf. Hmmm. Starts nicely. Ends just as nicely. In-between? Well... Hmmm.
3) Squeeze Me Macaroni. Left off to make room. You missed out on the man taking a dump during the interview. Too bad, huh?
4) Carousel. Creates perfect atmosphere. Anything could happen at this carnival. His carnival.
5) Egg. I think this is actually about an egg. Just plain weirdness. You can't relax with this playing, the music alone is too screwed up. Very busy. Gotta wonder about the musicians years from now.
6) Stubb (A Dubb). Family dog tune. Cool.
7) My Ass is on Fire. Not sure the intent or correlation with the title, it fits, yet doesn't. A powerful twister of a song.
8) The Girls of Porn. You want an imaginative view of porn through the eyes of a male? Here y'ar, babe. Keep the volume low during the intro, it could be taken offensively by wandering ears, or your own.
9) Love is A Fist. Emotionally violent. Angry. Aggressive. Aggressive music is a must, even if a tear jerker.
10) Dead Goon. This is the one about autoeroticasphyxiation. Though it's topic is bizarre for most, it fits as aggressive, playful and almost tender. Outstanding.
This takes the listener on a voyage to all dimensions, both far and wide, deep and high. Even if you don't "get into it", I'm sure you'll be fascinated by the imagination of Mr. Patton. I'm not sure how much of the music itself is written, if any, by him, but it is his band.
Have a safe trip.
December 3, 1992
May not look like much of a tree, or like what some folks think a tree should look like, and you may never see its likeness in a yard or a forest. But it's my tree. I made it carefully. I drew every one of its leaves individually. Maybe that would seem senseless to some, since I rub my finger over the leaves to sorta smear them together. All that time spent on detail that probably most people couldn't see, unless they looked real hard, but then, there are some who will, and, upon close inspection, they will see the care in my work. My love of life poured into this tree, I caressed each cell as I drew, I imagined it was a real, living tree. A tree that maybe, if the right person were to stand under its green canopy, its presence would caress that person's tender heart, very gently, and in silence. And maybe this person would close his brown eyes, breathe deeply, and feel the heart of the tree warming him with the life within. Then, this tree would feel so beautiful in that moment, its roots' grip on the nurturing earth would become a little stronger, and its branches would grow a little, so its leaves would receive a little more sunshine. This tree may not suit the common ideas of trees, but in its way, it can be grand, for it was built with such care. And, to boot, it's a pretty good metaphor.
December 7, 1992
Joel,
It's not artwork - it's a letter. Welcome once again to the obscure, metaphorical mind of your wife. The road is you and I. The dotted line in the center is the separation scars on our souls - which becomes less apparent as the road gets closer to the horizon. The horizon means ecstasy, heaven, the finish line of this 80 years.
I love you, partner
Erika
February 14, 1993
Not because it's February 14, 1993
but
just
because...
You would probably die if I could hug you as hard as I'd like to. I wonder if you can hear my voice over my silliness with you. If I dump cold water on your back, or jump out at you out of nowhere and frighten you, or pinch your cheeks and say how cute you are, or make gruesome noises on your body with my mouth, or make a fist as if I were going to throttle you because you're so bad, or cry at night because of a dream I had that I left you, or give you purposely overwet kisses... it's because I can't tell you how much I feel for you. My actions attempt in many ways, from silliness to sadness. Although I'm always showing you, I know you know. Exactly how much. When I tell you that I love you, or that you're wonderful, I know you can feel the impact of what I'm saying in spite of the words' inability to carry that impact. You are my favourite human being, in all ways. And the one I want the very closest to me. It's a damn good thing we've got the rest of our lives, because it will take that long for my thirst for you to be quenched.
Forever,
Erika
March 3, 1993
My dear Prince.. I know what a beautiful person you are. You know it, too. Sometimes one just needs a little reminding in order to reclaim that statement lost. Thank you are lame words overly used, but let me say them now. They, at least, point in the desired direction - though they don't go the desired distance. I thank you, Joel, for the work you did to obtain a home for us, and I thank you for going to work nearly every day so we can keep this home, even though we'd both rather you never had to leave here. Thank you for the sweat you pour to beautify our home. Thanks for saying, "Here, Erika, it's ours." Although you're tired when you come home, you still help with daily household maintenance, and cooking, and dishes, and bathing the child... thank you. Thanks for taking Brenna's little hand to show her the way... ways she couldn't learn from me. Thank you for being such a wonderfully available daddy, and for the affection and rowdiness and the storytimes and the breakfasts you give her. Thank you for giving. She will remember with pride and warmth. She'll tell her kids about their mischievous, funny Grandpa, who was always ready with the wild tickling fingers + hoots and hollers that go with. Thank you for touching my face. Thank you for holding me at night. Thanks for being a beautiful lover. Thank you for your sensitivity. Thanks for saying, "I'm sorry," when you feel it, even those times when I think there is no need. Thank you for your protectiveness, it's one of the thousand ways you show me that I'm important to you. Thanks for trying with the dog, and for your honesty about having your fill of her. Yes, thank you for your honesty and sincerity. You're finely tuned into "us," aware of changes or separations. Thanks for being just as uneasy with the strangeness of separation as I am. Thank you for sharing your pain with me. I care about what hurts you. Thank you for being gross, it makes me laugh and frees me up to unleash my grossness too. Thank you Joel, for this friendship, this hand in hand partnership. Thanks for those times when we've got work to do, but we end up making love instead, and leave the work for another day. Ah, it may be hell on productivity, but it's heaven for the heart. Thanks for bearing with me when I'm being difficult, or requiring "high maintenance." (Oh, `bout every month or so...) Thank you for offering view of your journal. Rarely does one find somebody unafraid of another seeing their bare naked thoughts + feelings. Thanks for offering view of your naked butt, too, and tolerating my lovin' hands in your pits.
Your loving barge...
uh, wife,
E. Lynne
April 22, 1993
Joel:
Lie back.
Be still.
Let me do everything.
Relax.
Feel.
Breathe.
Watch me.
Then come.
Erika
May 4, 1993
Your Highness ~
Since the day your strong arm pulled me close to your body, then laid me down beside you, I've never wished to leave your side. In silence, hysteria, sadness, humour, and in intimate speech, I am the most content when our bodies are very near. Each morning when duties of the court call you away from me, part of me, part of my heart rips away from my chest and goes with you. At present, my mind is vague and confused, and sometimes my reason is a team of wild horses set free from their reins, fiercely beating the ground with their hooves as they flee in every direction. My logic is the man left standing solitary in a cloud of dust, holding in his hands the limp, empty reins. I live each day wrapped in fear. Uncertainty. In the past few days my words have left my lips twisted from how they formed in my brain. Some of my words may be termed unreliable. When my fear is wiped from me in the approaching weeks, we may see evidence of solidity once again. Of thoughts liquid and level. Of words spoken as they were intended. Until then you may rely upon this: I am your lady. I will always be your lady. You are the Prince of my world. Together we shall mold all factors of our existence as we wish. My mind is weak, yes, for now. My love is strong, for always. Wind blows through our minds, moving things around, changing. Wind never touches the soul ~ it's well protected by the body encasing it. My soul loves yours. My soul IS yours. The same soul split in two parts. Hurricanes scatter worries through my mind, yet I am so in love with you, dear Prince, that no forces can alter the love.
Touch me now.
Your Lady awaits.
Happy Anniversary !!!
And here's to many many more wonderful times to come.
(we started with three. we'll soon be having four and the madness may never end)
-J
5/25/93
June 6, 1993
The shadows in my eyes blurred your face, so close to mine. Your fragile hands trembled with age and despair as you stroked the hair off my forehead.
Whispering sweetly, "Joseph, my darling...oh, Joe..." over and over through your weeping voice. My head lay in your lap, my body limp across the dirt beneath us, moving slightly as you rocked back and forth... a little too hard for the state of my form - but you were frantic. You lifted your beautiful lined face up to the sky in a desperate prayer for help. The Ireland farm, tended with care for all our years together, stretched out behind you, and was the backdrop for my last visual feast of my wife. Strands of red still wound their way through your thick grey hair. Wind caught up the loose curls and let them fall against your back, then took them up again. The clouds crept over my eyes more every second. Your image became indistinguishable, mixed in with the rest of our surroundings. Ah, but that gentle voice rang clear, as you repeated my name. "Erin dear..." I answered with dry lips. You touched your wet cheek to mine, your tears were my last awareness of sensation. Moments later I died in your lap. The body of my soul was moved and more vigorously as you rocked harder, and as you body shook. It was something like diving into a pool, death... only upwards instead of down. Before I plunged into the ecstasy of relief, I took a look back at you, this time your image clearer than my eyes ever had the pleasure of seeing you. You didn't let go. You held my body to you. You didn't let go...
...and soon I saw you dive into ecstasy toward me. Stripped of human form, we merged together, you and I. We then shared one spirit... just as it began before we were born. We remained so for infinity - until you had to go. It was time to begin again, one step higher than before. Our soul had rested and restored itself. Your parents were chosen... on the night they made love, I watched half of me seep away, downward to earth... very slowly. You moved further with each of your father's entrances. As they reached their divine goal, you were gone from my side. But not from my sight. As every inch of you took human shape, you slowly forgot me. But I watched. I sang to you in your mother's womb. I was there as you were painfully thrust into The World. I cried with you. I missed you. You were unaware of me... soon it would be my turn to lose awareness of you... until the day we would once again discover each other. So far away. As your male body lay in your crib, I watched you stir. For a moment you brown eyes opened... and you felt frightened. You had forgotten what happened. You didn't understand where you were, nor what. I whispered comfort in your ear. I wrapped my spirit around your little body. You were soothed back to sleep. I watched every cell of you grow into a little boy. You walked, you got angry, you fell down, you got hurt, you were tickled, you were fed, and held, and loved. I saw it all. It was beautiful. I never left you. I never will.
I was born to my parents while you were fighting over a toy truck with your friend. And from that moment on, life became a journey to find each other again. Everything we did taught us, everything we learned made us compatible when we met. That sweet, glorious summer. One year ago. Infinite history is behind us. And ahead. I've known you in many forms, in many places, many times. But I've always known you.
June 9, 1993
Joel... here's the fax for my father. Josh left a little bit ago. Breakfast lasted three hours. He bared his lonely soul to me. I listened, and bared some myself. We talked about Christy, Annie, your parents, you (rather fondly... we had much the same view of you), jerks, bitches, boring people, movies, books, sad situations, tempers and love. Lot ta' say, that young boy of yours. Lot in that heart of his. How like you he is. I saw some of myself now and then, also. Baby brother misses his best friend. I told him his friend misses his baby brother too...
See you in a few hours.
June 20, 1993
(Accompanying two small infant sock-shoes in a clear box.)
For the little, tiny feet of the little tiny soul awaiting to descend upon us from the stars...
And a happy, well-deserved Dad's Day to you, My Love.
Erika
June 26, 1993
Dear Sir:
I feel I must explain myself to you, though perhaps there isn't the need. Whether it be hormonal trips, or legitimate problems, I always run away from you. I assume you've noticed this. I may physically go, or just replace myself with silence. I'm proud. I get ashamed when I begin to feel like crying. My thought pattern, I've discovered, is like this...when somehow my feelings get hurt, I stick my chin up in the air and storm away from the offense to prevent further embarrassment. When my femininity is acting up, I feel awkward because I can't place a reason for my feelings. I've been trying to see it from your angle...always being fled from. I'd hate it if you ran away from me. I'd feel like you maybe didn't really love me, if you always went away like that. So then I wondered about the security I give you. You've mentioned a few times about me threatening to leave for real, implied of course, by however I had done it. Threats are no way to conduct a friendship. I don't threaten you. I'm aware it looks exactly like that. Since I am a bit wary of being mistreated, I relay the conditions I will not stand for. The rare moments a sliver of the conditions I speak of shows itself, perhaps wrongly perceived by me, blood rushes to my thighs readying my body for retreat. Yeah, part of me is afraid, a little. Part is awfully tender, like a fading bruise I guess. I wonder if my flight response to nearly everything that reaches what I see as a dangerous level is causing a wedge between us. When I have isolated myself all I can think of is you, I replay our interaction repeatedly through my head, searching for right or wrong...and I'm always wrong in leaving. I then usually begin fighting with myself to get back to you. Once you've left, it's real hard to return on your own will. It's happened so often lately that I don't feel as close to you as I did a while ago. I don't feel the burning flame of us being in love, like we did. Yes of course we ARE in love, but are we also growing apart, beginning to irritate each other. We don't seem as careful with each other as we were when I first came here. We now let petty situations come between us, and tones of voices aren't guarded...they're let loose. Not all, but some. More than we're used to. And I hate every bit. It's not right. it's like them...the other marriages I've seen. Haven't we always felt so proud of how unlike them we are? I find myself taking offense to a lot, and you careless with your tone. Is this natural for our stage of life together? I don't like it. Lately I've wanted to bury myself into your chest so that I feel surrounded by you. I'm craving more intimacy, and I don't know how to go about it. I don't know if you feel the same thing. We have not changed from the day we encountered each other on the computer, so what's the matter now? Have our priorities slipped a little? This may have only a little bit of founding to it, since my body is all out of whack with all the hormone changes, so bear with me if that's the case. I never never want to leave the room, and you alone when we're having trouble. But I am fighting against it, and my return time is sooner. It may be working. Please let me know if you think there's something wrong lately or what. Then tell me it's my female imagination.
July 17, 1993
I remember the face I stared into for hours straight at the hotel in California. Never have I felt so respected and loved, and respectful and loving. We didn't talk about our feelings for each other because it was written plainly on each other's faces. it was felt so much we didn't need words. This is the same face that lusted after naked women while he poured his filth all over me from behind. One year later. In all the sons-of-bitches I've encountered, I've never been as hurt as I am today by my soulmate. I wish all this never happened, but there it is in front of me. I can't rationalize it away this time. I've been knowingly disregarded, dishonored, disrespected, nastied, betrayed, deceived, and shit on all over. From day one he's known the thing which kills me to the core. Yet he continued. He considered it trivial. Not worth getting upset over. He also lied to himself, which is worse than lying to me. He knew damn well it was a little more than trivial, to be the cause of so much distance between us. Or is the cause of my worst heartbreak considered trivial to him? Therefore he kept shitting on me, and hid it from me out of the kindness of his heart so I wouldn't get hurt. He's placed me as the parent, and he the sixteen year old. Sneaking behind my back so he wouldn't get "caught", so I wouldn't "scold him." Never mind the shit lying around me with his stink on it. That wasn't reason to stop. "Who cares? I'll be careful not to get caught. What she doesn't know won't hurt her." But the principle of what it means, my feelings, all of our fights and pain because of it... wasn't incentive for him to stop. This is no different than the letter I wrote, switching roles, to show the male what it would be like for him if the female did these things to him. No different. Only he's more discreet. I hate it when he treats me like a parent. It breaks my heart that I should even have to ASK him to stop. When you're in love with someone, isn't this common sense? Isn't this natural when you've found your soulmate ? It breaks my heart even more that he ever did stop. He had me convinced that I was seeing things. He told me he DID stop. The more of his words I remember about it, the more deceit I see. And now we're having a baby. I haven't had time to think of whether or nor I trust him, or will believe him anymore. I'm still trying to get up off the ground... the force of his flying shit was so strong it knocked me down. I feel rotten. This is how you treat someone you don't care about. This does not say love in any way. I don't feel his love today. I don't know if he really does love me, is really IN LOVE with me... because everything I feel because of what he's done suggests otherwise.
I've explained to you what you've left me with. I don't want a rebuttal, or an explanation, or a defense. Don't tell me it's in the past. This is from yesterday. Don't be angry with me, either. This times it's not me. Be a man and simply face what you've done without trying to shift blame on me for reacting. This time I've not reacted wrongly. You have to face it, Joel, if we are to build a strong foundation. I don't want and "rebuilding", because the deceit has been going on for a while. I want NEW foundations, new trust, new respect, mutual respect. Don't put this on me. Please don't. If you do, it tells me you're still scared of me enough to need to take the blame and your guilt away from you. You must bear it. You. I'll be right here. I will not hold a grudge against you. I will forgive you and love and build with you a new bond between us... one that can't be broken again. But you MUST face what you've done, or we can never begin.
July 23, 1993
Dahlink:
I take the time, the prescious time we do have together, for granted. I feel all I've ever felt when sitting on the floor of my one bedroom apartment, but I don't take the simple time to sit and write you now often enough - for the simple, yet stupid reason, of having the time actually WITH you. I can and do say anything. I can say anything anytime I want.. I want you to consider this the first of many attempts to write and share another outlet of my expression. I do miss your letters. I also miss doing my own, sealing them up forever, until you are to receive them in your very own mailbox. Even if you're only miles from me, it still seems just as far. Hopefully I still have lots to say.
Let's continue, not as we have been, but in newer directions. Let's look for new things, new ways to express ourselves. Now, I lose my head in our home and sometimes I just space out. Know I want to help us build our new foundation strong, not on second guesses, but the way we came to know each other in the first place; by heart and soul. Details don't always matter. We know business can't be cast asside completely, I do want to try to minimize it. I love when you come to me with a new idea for our home, like the painting or stenciling ideas. I'll be right beside you when you need help. With each new ideas and new energies you reach, I see a little more of you finding yourself. I'm not entirely sure you feel you have "found you." But, if someone asked me, I'd tell `em you have.
I feel thought-jumbly. No matter. Thoughts of new horizons are streaking through my tiny brain at warp factor 9! I think about our new child every single time I touch and see you. The thought of, less than a year ago, the two of us, without physically meeting but knowing who we are, discussing our own facination of creating a life form; the epitome of our own lives. If someone asks me my definition of success, I tell them we are successful. We have so much to look forward to in our long lives together... Yes, I truly believe lots of the things from the movie the other night. You will ALWAYS be beautiful to me. My life is with you. You make me want to say pop things like, "You make my heart sing," AND "Oh-oh oh-oh oh oh oh-oh," AND other riduculous Whitneyish things. You understand why. The same reason we have such a good time reading stories to brenna and throwing the cats around and cleaning our home and planning time together whilst the cleaning still isn't finished...
It's cause we're so in love with each other we can't stand to be apart.
I miss you, here at work.
Just a little bit'o me for you.
August 4, 1993
Lady, more than fair:
Forgive me, Your Grace. Your Prince of the Kingdom has been out looking for beastly dragons to slay. He looks for his Heavensent cheek-kissed maiden by his side. The Royal Court would never allow such an adventuresome and wise lady on the battlefield. Sometimes dragon slaying has its day. Not this day. His maiden is most important.
There is no Court without thee, Fair Maiden.
P.C.
Fairest Lady of the Royal Court:
You can bet your sweet, succulent ass I'll be leaving the battle fields on time - if not sooner, my Dearest. This trembling flesh you speak of, you mention no names, yet, I know thine flesh only trembles in one Royal Bed Chamber - the same as mine. Whenst I returneth with fresh fruits from the far away land of la Publis', imported for thine own mouth, we shall feast, not only upon the sweetness of God's gifts, but upon each of our fleshes. You are the nourishment I wish to infeast. Awaiting your presence.
Y.R.H.
August 9, 1993
We've always spoken about how wonderful it will be when we are old together. Well... here's a taste of what it may be like. I look forward to spending each and every day with you. We may be young now, but we're getting older every second we laugh, play and cry. At least we're together.
Of course... you'll have more laughing, playing and crying - `cause YOU'RE younger!
Youth is a gift of nature, but age is a work of art. Age is a matter of mind; if you don't mind , it doesn't matter. The aging process is a lot like grapes, some turn to vinegar but the best turn to wine. Wrinkles are only the by-paths of many smiles. The longer we live the more we learn it is not who has the most - it is who makes the most of what he has. Smart enough to know better, old enough not to care. Old enough to know my limit, young enough to exceed it. You have to climb the mountain to appreciate the beauty of the view. Age stiffens the joints but softens the heart. Only when your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and ice of cynicism do you grow old. The tomorrow I worried about is better than the yesterday. In spite of the cost of living, it's still popular. Peace is when time doesn't matter as it passes by. We grow old as soon as we cease to love and trust. I'm old enough to know the rules and smart enough to break them. Young at heart, slightly older in other places. As we grow older and wiser, we talk less and say more. Growing older we learn miracles are great, but they are so darn unpredictable. So long as the heart receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, and courage you will be young. We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. You are young at any age if you are planning for tomorrow. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old. It's up to us whether age brings wisdom or age comes alone. A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams. Growing gracefully slower of step is only walking nearer to God . Growing old wisely means making more opportunities than we find. If I'd known I was going to live so long, I'd have taken better care of myself. Growing older means realizing that our life is what our thoughts make it. Years wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Accept the changes age brings and stay alive inside. As we age we should lead our life so we wouldn't be ashamed to sell the family parrot to the town gossip. No one grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old only by deserting their ideas. Youth is the time for adventure of the body, but age triumphs of the mind. In this life the old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, and the young know everything. Grandchildren are God's gift for growing older. Don't laugh at old age - some folks never make it. A man is not old as long as he is seeking something. Age... Is a matter of feeling, not of years. The tide of life is sometimes very rough, but each storm ridden makes us a better captain of our souls. As we grow older, we learn that the wisest man is usually he who thinks himself the least so. regardless of their age, most folks are not as old as they hope to be. Reaching my age isn't bad at all, especially when you consider the alternative. At my age I don't have to act responsible. The secret... find an age and stick to it. Snow on the roof doesn't mean there's a fire in the furnace. I'm in the prime of my life - it just takes a little longer to get primed.
To be fifty years young is sometimes more cheerful and hopeful than to be twenty years old. At 20 years of age the will reigns; at 30 the wit, and 40 the judgment. You are as young as your self-confidence, as old as your despair. Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending. Gray hair is the silver dust of the stars. Let me grow lovely, growing old - So many fine things to do; Laces, and gold, And silks need not be new; And there is healing in old trees, Old streets a glamour hold; Why may not I, as well as these, Grow lovely, growing old? Years teach us that knowledge becomes wisdom only after it has been put to practical use. Hardening of the heart ages people more quickly than hardening of the arteries. Some hearts, like evening primroses, open more beautifully in the shadows of life. We live in deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths, in feelings, not in figures on the dial. The older we get, the more we realize - after all is said and done, more is said than done. Age does not depend upon years, but upon temperament and health. Some men are born old, and some never grow so. People who have the most birthdays live the longest. As we age we learn riches are mental, not material. Age is like love. It cannot be hidden. Age is the best possible fire extinguisher for flaming youth. Youth is wasted on the young. Aging... When the onset of wrinkles is balanced by the gift of wisdom. As we age we realize that we get treated in life the way we have trained others to treat us. As we grow older we are a lot like plants - some of us seed while others bloom profusely. Measure your life by the joys that it brings, not by the years. Measure it by the smiles and the songs, not by the tears. If wrinkles must be written upon our brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should never grow old. We neither get better nor worse as we get older, but more like ourselves. Life is a gift, to live is an opportunity, to give is an obligation, and to grow old is a privilege. 29 and holding. 30 and better than ever. 40 and fabulous. 50 and fantastic. 60 and sensational. 70 and celebrating.
With
Learn with me.
Anything. Everything.
Let me learn from you.
Show me life I've yet to experience.
Go with me.
Show me your favourite everything.
Tell me why.
Look with me.
Help me understand what we see.
Ponder with me.
Question.
Wonder with me.
Share your dreams.
Ask more questions.
Consume with me.
Take my soul _ it's yours, sharing.
Consume me.
Venture with me.
We'll go, then decide.
Hold with me.
Onto everything, Dear.
Hold me.
Read with me.
Mine, yours, anyone's.
Understand with me.
The known and the UN.
Sit with me.
Always sit close enough to touch.
Swim with me.
Knowledge awaits my friend.
Dive in.
Laugh with me.
Don't try, it'll happen.
Desire with me.
Thirst and drink from every goblet.
Grow with me.
Build me a step, higher.
I'll help build you a step.
Partake with me.
Physical nutrients.
Chances.
Experiences.
Life.
Lay with me.
Allow me pleasures of silence, uninhibited.
Look at me.
Show me you're feeling.
Come with me.
Let me drink of your body's anointments.
Fornicate with me.
Wrap my body with yours.
Inside forever.
I want you to be with me, flourishing..
Almost one year later & still holds true, every last word of it. I just wanted to share it with you again - a reminder, in a way. I'm far more eloquent upon a sheet of flattened tree with ink than by mouth. The tongue allows for sloppiness.
Happy 22nd Birthday, Erika.
8/23/93
JDG
September 2, 1993
I love all you differences, from the hair on you body to the way you pronounce, "afternoon." We have to be different from each other, if we weren't, we'd be no better off than if we were alone. It's our combined ideas and strengths that will make us great, we'll teach other, (and our children), and help us achieve one of our marriage goals "to help each other be the best person we can be." The positive virtues of our differences can be momentarily forgotten during high stress times. when the money is tight, the workload is heavy, and stress is repressed. We both want certain things done, and an idea of how to do it. What's important to me isn't necessarily what's also important to you, and vice-versa. But things like that pertain only to the small parts of life. You and I hold the really important the same in our minds. We very rarely have ANY problems relating directly to each other. That says something. It says problems or misunderstandings about the small things can be avoided. We can avoid distance due to where what should go, and such like that. The key is communication, compromise, and caring. All done with care and grace. It doesn't matter about little details differences. You and I are both good at what we do, we each know what we're doing, and we have good ideas. And we're each willing to give a little on both sides so that both can be satisfied. I feel like I'm using a lot of words here. I hope at least I'm making some sense. I say the key is communication, compromise, and caring, but the door is grace. It has to be a wide span of grace, allowing lots of room for both of us to fit in it, not single files, but side by side. Lots of room for all of me, all of you, every little tiny difference. We need to pass through it without bumping the borders of the door, which could hurt us. Hands held, heads high, plenty of room, mistakes accepted, love abound, the best of friends will saunter through the very same room behind the door of grace, with the key of communication, compromise, and caring (in case the door becomes locked against us), over the wide open threshold, shutting the door after we pass through (so the bills can't get in
pudding.
Lots of Lof,
- Erika
September 5, 1993
E.
I see the way you look at your husband...
Sometimes you look at him like a piece of meat, a piece of naked flesh, with your hungry eyes; pealing the clothing away from his body like some carnivorous animal.
You gaze at him as he enters any room you are within; no matter if it's dark or light in the room - you still look. You feed off whatever it is you need from just looking.
I'll bet you want to watch as he enters your tight wetness every single time, thrusting to and fro, light then soft then furiously. But you cannot. I think you look when you can get a breath, then see him pounding into your flesh with his form from within your clouded, sex starved mind.
You look at him. He sees you. He looks back at you.
I watch the way you sneak peaks of him at dinner, in the kitchen, while he brushes his teeth and how you try to see his shape as it's leaving the bed chambers each morning after he's kissed you farewell.
Sometimes you look right through him, almost in a dreamlike state - maybe to see the meat of what he's saying instead of the outter shell of formed words. You can be seen gazing through any open window of your home; looking. Showing.
Do you always search when you look his way? Do you look to keep track of where he is so your mind can rest, knowing he's not far from your life; that he's coming back? Deary, is your brain thinking he, just possibly, might still be a vapour?
The way you look at your soulmate, you, always purring so loudly, shouts your love to this man in front of every single awakened person you pass. Your daughter sees it. Your husband sees it. Everybody sees it. I'll bet your husband would die for you - just because of the way you make him feel, just by the way you look at him.
September 10, 1993
He... he caresses my face. He holds me to his chest. He's committed his love to only me, and his body and his life. He saw a picture of my heart once, he looked at it for a long time. He holds my hand while he drives the car. He does in the house what I can't. He brought me a milkshake when I was sick. He holds me before he leaves for work. He's afraid of accidentally hurting my body. He kisses my belly, which now holds our child. He loves me. May all that's beautiful come to him.
Erika
September 11, 1993
M'Love,
Never enough, it's just never enough. But then, what would become of us if we could have our wishes granted... lying entangled in each other's arms, absorbing all we can of the flesh, sleeping and waking together as the day rolls on outside, each meal eaten sensuously on the bed or on the grass or on the roof, making love whenever the mood seizes us, swimming naked in a shady pond to cool ourselves, whispering and giggling and queiving and tickling. What then, I ask you ? Ahh, but the Fates don't see it fit to grant us this heaven just yet... but those naughty Fates like teasing, don't they? A little bit of heaven every day for us. I thank them for what we are blessed with. More than I dared ask for. But I secretly become greedy for more time in heaven. It's said that parting is such sweet sorrow. I understand this now. It wouldn't be pleasant to realize on day that good-bye rolls too easily off my tongue. I love you so that good-bye comes through much effort, and peeling my fingers away from your body is never easy. My head can watch the clock and see only mere hours separating us. My heart feels the miles. It's been almost a year and I haven't gotten used to it. We'll know our love is sweet if I never do.
The Bulbous One
October 2, 1993
1:28am
Dear Joel,
I'm sitting here in our bed alone, waiting for you. It seems my life is filled with waiting for you... to finish chores, to come home from work, for your movies to get over. I say my life seems "filled" with waiting, but that's an exaggeration. In actuality it's only a little bit each day. I don't know if you've ever waited for me, but waiting for you is one of the hardest things I do. It hurts my heart, because I miss you, because I'm addicted to you, because while you're out of my reach I never know if the next time I see you I'll be wearing widow's black. Sounds extreme perhaps. If you ever have to wait and worry for me, you'll understand. You may already. There's a lot of worry, justified or not. That's for one reason only. I love you. Not just a "Good-bye, I love you," on the phone, or in the mornings before you leave for work, or a "You're so cute, I love you," as I appreciate your qualities, no. I mean, this is a "hands-on-your-face-look-you-dead-in-the-eye- I - LOVE - YOU - JOEL - DAVID - GOMER - I-LOVE-YOU!" Waiting for you sucks as it is, but you've always come home to me. Yet occasionally a part of me worries that someday you won't. That I'll see a grim-faced policeman on the threshold of our home at you expected arrival time, instead of the one love of my life. When you and our wonderful Joshua go off to see Merciful Fate, I've decided I should go stay with your mom, if it's all right with her. You'll be gone most of the night, and I'd tear myself up with worry if I was left alone here. All those drunken drivers on the road, and the just plain idiots out there don't care a whit for your life, beyond distress at their being in trouble for accidentally taking it. And you, wired from the concert and driving fast home because it's late... and me 10 years later having our only offspring tell a friend, "I never met my father." Me, 4 months from now in the delivery room, shrieking with pain at our baby's first cry, because I'm alone. Sounds rather gruesome, I know, and very imaginary. But oh God Joel, don't get hurt please. Don't leave me. When you hear me ask you to, "be careful" or express concern for your safety, I wonder if you think I'm just mothering you, or if you pass it off as nothing's going to happen to you. And I say bullshit, nobody ever knows these things before they happen. Everybody thinks they'll always be fine. Yet reality is that a lot of them are wrong. I don't mean to be so morbid. It's very important to me that you hear my plea to you. You're mortal. Remember it. Drive like it. Do whatever you can to protect it. Because I can count 6 people who'd be destroyed without you. The seventh one is me, but I can't put a word to what I'd be if you were gone. Remember, my darling, you're never truly alone anymore. Picture me, our baby, and Brenna with you in the car. Because we're the ones who are killed if you die. Joel I'm sorry this letter is so awful. But lying here tonight without you is hard and it's only temporary. I couldn't stand it if it was permanent. I couldn't catch the fleeting thought in time before it developed into this. I guess I was too tired to chase after it and lock it back up in a dark corner of my heart where it came from.
Hear this now, my young man, I don't have the physical ability to express to you the power of my love for you. My body couldn't possibly contain such feeling without bursting open. Maybe, when we're in Heaven together and aren't restricted by bodies, I'll finally get to show you how I love you, after all my life of only just grazing the surface.
Forever,
Erika
10/16/93
The unrestrained voices of angry people are ringing in my ears. The Mexican neighbor yelling, "Fuck this,' Fuckin' this,' I don't give a fuck!'" at his girlfriend or his kids or whoever... the cigarette-mouthed mother down the block screeching, "Get off that damn bike!" at her son as she belts him on the leg... my own tiresome voice shouting, "Leave me alone!" at my beloved husband as I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower full blast so I can't hear him anymore...
Everybody. Quiet, please. Let's not yell. We are talking too loud to be heard by the ears of those we quarrel with. However, we are being listened to. By a silent observer. Or two. Or three. Or sixty-billion. Today I hang my hot-blooded head in shame because of this. The word `universe' literally means `one song.' All the souls on the planet are chorus members. Every time one of us forgets to sing and begins yelling instead, the song becomes ugly. It is difficult for those around the yelling one to remain in tune, so the song gets uglier, then they become angry at the sound and begin yelling as well... still uglier the song becomes. It just doesn't end. It's a shameful thing to tell the audience, "This is our song for you," and come forth with sounds so rotten and unclear... and at such VOLUME. Perhaps the audience members cover their ears and silently turn away with tears in their eyes. God... the unborn children... the deepest part of our lives...
October 21, 1993
- E
Why marry, you ask? Because religion isn't enough. Because life isn't enough. Because being alone isn't enough. None of these things feels right. The things in our lives which we have become accustomed to, being together, are natural feeling. The things which prose new things, whether it be draining the washer when it's broke, sorting the much too olde squiggly creepies from the fridge in which we partake of food we both chose to nourish our bodies or planning a short gallivant across state to escape humanity; replenish our souls, one on one. Why marry, you ask? You can have all the animals and children on earth at your disposal, to give to and to learn. You can only learn so much from a child. Children teach a lot about the things of which we had forgotten; playing is a big one. Being carefree and barefoot. One needs a person. Someone who can care and give and need and teach and learn. Someone to feed and to feed off of. This was God's intent, I believe. Not just a suave Kemosabe to romp with when we feel the urge. Not just a smiling beauty to require services of in the household nature. Not a cook. Not a maid. Not a driver. A partner. A playmate. To travel through this thing someone probed once and dispelled as LIFE. Well, my dear friend, life as we know it shall be full of playing and reminding, if necessary, of the necessity to play. The necessity to learn and inquire. A spouse isn't someone to ask `What's for dinner'. They are a person to say to, "What shall we have together. you and I? Shall we eat upstairs in our bed, where the crumbs can slide between our toes as they fall into our nice cozy clean sheets? And can I put my fingers in your arm pits cause it's cool?" Laughter. Love. Life. LIFE. Splendour and exuberation from what we create with our lives together as we could never do as a single entity. Why marry, you ask? To experiment. To do as we have observed within our parent's marriages and to cut the crap which we choose not to have within our own. To fly. To think and swim. And coast when the wind blows beneaths our wings carrying us higher. Just because we may slide into coasting on the breeze, one still must learn to steer properly to regain and maintain the height they both achieved together from intense effort. Trials. Errors. It ain't easy being green at these things. They happen whether you're married or not. When you're in love with someone who's watching and standing to the right hand side of you, you can learn more effectively. You want to, more earnestly. Support. Shoulders. Laps. Warm tummies and smooth, hairy or not, thighs to warm up to and wrap around. Arms to gently tug and caress the entire length of you every single day and night of the rest of our lives together. Why marry, you ask? If you have to ask, I'll tell you again.
- J
January 20, 1994
I was sittin' here thinkin' ta myself... (There ain't nobody else ta think ta.) Anyhow, I wuz athinkin' about the craziest thing I ever done. I'd have ta say, the craziest thing is ALSO the most important, the hardest and the most dear to maheart.
More exciting than the fastest of the frigid racing waters of the Appalachian Mountains, (more powerful than silent E), further adventuresome than frolicking through bear infested forests of the most natural of parks, (able to leap capital T in a single bound), sometimes more vigorous than splaying down the deepest caverns and granite faces, more beautiful than the dispassionate oceans of Southern Mexico, even more serene than the depths of blue seventy feet below...
None of these can compare to my life with you, Erika.
None of em.
Happy Valentine’s Day !
So you may reference it at your will... I will scribe a tid bit or two for you.
Yes, your beauty astounds me as well as arouses my every cell. Beauty does NOT, however, cause my attraction to you. Beauty alone cannote make the blood flow to my loins. The best way for me to express myself to you is with show. I’m not good at complimentary verbal expression, it’s not easily come by for me. When we are blessed enough with lots of time alone, we don’t commonly express our disapproval or requests in tones of sarcasm or distaste. When I said I needed to get my shit together, I referred to coping with work’s outside forces external of our marriage and refraining from allowing their accessibility at home. We both have dealt with a lot of new things in our lives together, separate and as one, some we tell, some we don’t think worth mentioning. My point, yes, I think I may actually have one; we deal with these new things in different ways. Unfortunately, some of our learning comes under abstract circumstances, whether outside forces intervene or maybe we’re just edgy sometimes.
Without your personality I could not be so at ease with myself while with you. You cause stirred laughter at the oddest times. You give me a sense of wanting to soar higher than I have known. I get impatient, yes, sometimes. I can compromise and work with you on anything. The peace I feel when I’m in your arms or when you’re in mine can not be replaced by just any warm body, only your warm body. You make my soul rest when close in heart. I want to explore the world with you. I’ll never push my views on you or anyone. I only ask them to be heard. In a way, it’s because of you I share my views. I don’t normally share with anyone and it’s nice to share once in a while, if it’s wanted. You make it easier to cope. You reassure with your love to boost my spirit. You are a fine example in parenting and stamina for child tolerance. Your feelings towards what is right, is right for you and is something for me to observe when you have instinctual feelings towards raising our children. Your manner can calm most anyone who feels ill at ease. Most of all, you do really make me happy. While I am working on complimentary expression, please hear my voice through the way I touch you. I love you, Erika.
Your loving Pal, Husband, Buddy, Friend For Life & Cohort,
Joel
2/14/94
Brenna:
I found some pictures we might be able to use on your felt board. Tell me what you think!
- love daddy
What to say when words have recently stung...when ears are fragile...when two hearts lie in shattered pieces...when two souls root through the rubble trying to find each other, what does one say? Excessive vowels and consonants in desperate combinations may fill the ears with sound, but their power ends there. Speech cannot bandage the heart. Yet we try. And try. It's instinct. For a while talking can soothe. Then, in failure to mend, the words sound alike, and begin to repeat themselves. When blame is cast no longer, and the pointing fingers are set down...when the "I love yous" are said, yet tears continue their flow...we are lost in the wreckage of our own doing. It's time for one strong arm to feel for another, obtain a fierce grip - and pull. The direction must be toward the body of the strong arm, and then together pull upwards. It's the only way to escape the downward suction of the hurtful words we lie in. We must then walk away from the pit, remaining huddled together for warmth and safety, for a long time. Just because we may no longer see our wreckage doesn't mean it can't appear beneath our feet at any given moment during the delicate aftermath. It can return in full force, gaining strength with repetition. However, by remaining clung together we give the past no power over us. It can be defeated, provided we do the defeating together. Now...my friend...hold your arm still so that my strong arm can grip it. Ready?
Friday, February 3, 1989
I lay flat on the paper-covered examining table, legs up in stirrups, spread apart quite an uncomfortable distance. But then, everything's uncomfortable when you're nine and a half months pregnant. Dr. Nehl's face was intently focused on my miserably exposed crotch. His brows were drawn in a worried fashion. He raised his head a little and spoke without looking into my eyes. The only time he looked at me in the eye was when I was fully clothed. For an OB/GYN doctor, and such an old one at that, he sure was uneasy around half-naked patients. Perhaps he had some idea how hard it was for us to BE half-naked, and didn't want to make it worse with eye contact. I think I would have preferred to be looked in the eye, though. It would have made me less uptight, certainly not more. He said in his quiet, low voice, "If you don't go into labor over the weekend, I'll have to induce it on Monday." Then he put his hand to his chin, and thought for a second. He spoke again, even quieter, " Lemme try something here... maybe it'll help your body get the message." I inhaled sharply, due to the pain of what he called " scraping of the membranes." I choose not to describe it. the very thought, to this day, almost four years later, causes my legs to cross involuntarily. However, this man knew his medicine. Ten o'clock that evening, I sat on the living room couch watching my family freak because I was in labor. They rushed around the house, packing the hospital gear our Lamaze instructor told us we must bring. Pillows, chapstick, quarters for the phone when "it" happened, extra socks, tennis balls (for use in massage in the case of back labor), and plenty of ice, for I'd been forbidden to drink anything, but I'd be allowed to suck on ice cubes. Finally the car rolled out of our snow-covered driveway. I began to shake a little, and tears rolled down my cheeks. Never have I felt such terror. I was being driven to where Hell awaited my arrival. For months I had woken up in the night screaming from my nightmares about giving birth. And every day, I got closer to my horrible dreams becoming reality. In that car, on the way to the hospital... I knew I had come face to face with what I had feared for so long. There was nothing I, or anybody else, could do to stop it from happening. I was being placed right into its hands.
The best advice, pertaining to anything, I have ever been given was provided by an art teacher. She had instructed me for three years in sculpture, oil painting, water colour, and pencil drawing. When I became pregnant, and grew too "obvious" to attend my Christian High School, she drove to my house to continue our lessons. We shot the breeze, as she watched me paint. I told her how afraid I was of childbirth once, and while I spoke my hands began to shake. She took the brush out of my hand, and took up both my hands in hers. She looked me dead in the eye and said, in her Brooklyn accent, "Hon, you just pretend that pain is a dark, empty warehouse. Walk right through that door, and lay your body downright in the middle of the building. Be still, and let its walls crash down around you." I thought she was insane, LET the pain come, and HOLD STILL for it ??!!! Her words came floating back tome, as I looked out the car window on the way to meet the "warehouse." She had produced five children, all natural-no-medication deliveries. I promised her I'd try to do as she said. had written my request for no pain medication of any kind to be given to me, unless of course, something went wrong and they'd have to do a c-section. I was determined, despite my horror, to follow through, and let my body carry out its function without chemical interference.
The contractions then weren't any worse than strong menstrual cramps. There was a good space in between each one. My mother had called a few of my closest friends before we left the house, so they'd be there waiting at the hospital to surprise me when we arrived. I walked through the doors of the maternity ward, and my best friend Angel came rushing at me with wide open arms. Her hugs meant the world to me, and nothing could have calmed me better at that very moment. My head felt so much lighter, and my fear descended a bit. I was quickly ushered off to the laboring room by a homosexual, sadistic nurse. (Perhaps I exaggerate a little. Nah.) After she finished doing every disgusting, painful thing she could think of to me, I was allowed to go hang out in the waiting room with my friends for a while. The contractions grew stronger, and closer together. Soon, when they came, my breath was taken away. The nurse came to retrieve me all too soon. "She musta found something else she could stick into me," I whispered to Angel as I walked out to follow behind the nurse. Well I was right. No surprise. It was an honest-to-god knitting needle. I wrinkled up my nose in disgust, and said doubtfully, "What are you gonna do with that thing?" She gave me a warm, comforting smile, and said, “You’ll like this part, I promise. Don't be afraid." And jab...then a quick yank... then flood. She had broken my water, and expected a small trickle into the bucket beneath my feet. She received instead, a gushing river which soaked her (heh, heh), and my mother, and the bed and the floor and the hospital gown I was dressed in, and splashed some on the wall and the window. I was proud, and relieved because the water felt cold and soothing as it flowed out of me. My stomach sunk down about two inches when the water was all out. The skin molded a little to my baby's body underneath. When it kicked, I could see a little bump where it's foot was. It was gross. I get queasy about that sort of thing. I was utterly unprepared for what that broken bag of water would bring. Transition. Hard labor. The muscles in each phase of labor are mirrored by the different hardnesses in a leg. The inside of your thigh, early labor. The top, active labor. The knee cap, transition. Here is where I become hazy. Since I was given no medication, my mind had to figure out how to deal with the pain. It chose concentration, so all of my other senses were wiped out. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, and the only sensation I felt was the pain. The only tying in existence for me, was pain. The hurt was so intense that it was the only thing my brain could handle at once, and brains are made to process many things at a time. It must not apply to women in labor. When the pain was at its worst, even my thoughts were wiped out. I was left with a pounding heart full of fear, and a body no longer under my control. Pain was Master. It held me tight between its jaws, piercing me mercilessly with its jagged fangs, then letting go enough so I'd relax a little, then it'd thrash me again, harder than 15 seconds before. I was tossed about in this blackness, this world of excruciating jabs for hours I thought. In reality it was only twenty minutes. I had no sense of anything, let alone time. Then, far away, I heard my name being shouted. I pried my eyes open a slit, and saw misty images in pale yellow masks moving around the room. Everything was shiny, and lights were everywhere. Too bright, I thought, just as the pain snatched me back into its grasp, and I left the world once again, and returned to my hellish nightmare - which had a way of making me forget there was ever any other way of feeling, besides the hurt. Like I said, pain was ALL that existed. I had forgotten the rest of the world. The Master release me fully for almost twenty seconds. I actually felt no pain at all. But I was terrified because I knew it would be back before I could even catch my breath. It washed over me again, and this time it forced me to bear down with all of my strength. A voice screamed, "DON'T PUSH - DOCTOR'S NOT READY YET!!!" I didn't understand, but the yelling pissed me off. I screamed back, "I'M NOT PUSHING GODDAMN IT!!!" Well, I really wasn't. My muscles were, yes, but my body was no longer under my brain's influence. I lost control over it the second labor began. It didn't need me. It knew exactly what to do, and how, and when, and by God it was going to do it, with my help or without. Do you have any idea what it's like to feel your body performing a miracle, all by itself, and you have nothing to do with it ? Every time the pain returned, the muscles pushed. The doctor's voice came to my ears, "clear and commanding, talking to his nurse, "That baby is NOW!" Then I felt a cold knife between my legs. He had to cut the vagina opening to make it easier for the baby to come out. I felt the sharp metal, slicing through me, I threw my head back and screamed, long and low. Yet, I was strangely relieved to feel pain not caused by an invisible force. I knew where the pain was coming from for the first time in hours. His voice came again, after I finished screaming, "That baby's yours with the next push. When the contraction comes, hold your breath and push while I count to ten, and DON'T LET UP!" Baby? I thought... and then it all came back tome... there was a reason for all this hell... a baby was the result... and I was THERE. I wanted this child suddenly, with an overwhelming desire, the next contraction began, and I pushed with all my soul, and I let out the strongest scream I'd ever sounded. I was screaming at the pain, as if by screaming I was saying, "Go back to hell, and don't come back !" I heard my mother shout, "It's coming, it's coming, look at its black hair, oh my God!" The doctor worked the shoulders out, then told me to let my muscles go limp so I could feel him pull her tiny body the rest of the way out of my body. I cannot attempt to put to words how that felt when he pulled her out, I can only say that it didn't hurt a bit. I heard a baby's cry, a nurse touched my hair and said, "Your little girl's here. “They sat me up a bit so I could see her, as the doctor laid her on my bare skin between my left thigh and hip, so he could cut the cord. I took one look at her jet black wavy hair, large dark blue eyes blinking from the lights, and her tiny body covered with blood, and I began to cry. I reached out and touched her hand. Her fingers wrapped around mine instantly. Then the nurses whisked her away to do all the medical stuff she needed to have done, and I collapsed back on the delivery table from pure exhaustion. My body started shaking pretty hard, and I got very cold suddenly. I went into a kind of shock from all the pain I had felt a few minutes before. It was 1:52 am, February 4. The nurses covered me up a little, while the doctor stitched me up. I made the mistake of opening my eyes at the wrong time, I looked straight into the mirror aimed at my crotch so those standing behind me could see the birth, and I saw... the goriest sight in the world, because it was my own body... I fainted then, and woke up in a different room, one less shiny and bright, thank God. I was all clean, and had a new, less revealing hospital gown on. My mother sat in a rocking chair across the room, holding a tiny bundle to her chest. She saw that I was awake, and said, "Would you like to hold your little baby girl? I think she wants her mommy." Mommy?!! Mother... that sounded so strange to me. I, seventeen years old, was a mother. I took my child into my arms, somewhat awkwardly, and she opened her little eyes, and began to cry. The nurse came in, and said, "Ahh, she smells her mama, she's hungry." Oh my God, I thought, no. But yes, I had to at least try it once. I unbuttoned the gown in front, feeling extremely shy about it, and the nurse showed me what to do. Then both me and my daughter fell asleep during our first nursing session. Oh, but I was happy. My child lay on my bare skin, and life was so good.
ELP
Now, you're gonna have to sit down to read this. And for godsakes, lady, try to calm down! Take one: They think I'm out of order. That I know somebody, or have vital criminal evidence against somebody, or worse; that I'm special. Well, I just MIGHT know somebody... And MAYBE I-DO have evidence to win any trial against me... And yes. I AM special. But I REFUSE to wear-their clothes any longer than absolutely necessary. Everybody brings themselves to work, dressed and ready to get at it. Not me. No-sirrey-bob. I figure I can waste a good ten to fifteen-minutes for each changing. I'll even plan an extra five minutes before AND after lunch to-change. Grant me to feel human for just one short lived hour. I see them look at me, glancing-away quickly as I turn to meet their intrusive gape within the corner of my eye. "Who the hell-does he think he is? Who gave HIM permission to walk around here in street clothes? It IS-against the rules, you know. If I were to try to get away with something like that even once I'd-be reprimanded immediately," I hear 'em say with their faces slightly scowled. "Nice uniform,"- they say. Or, "Wish I could do that..." I can't let them in on my secret, can I? It takes weeks-upon months to learn the art of Uniform Dodging. If they were to hear me telling the Head-Cheese, "I just arrived... I'm on my way out... Mine are dirty, no really... I'm on my way-there now, yeah, to pick up my clean supply..." I'd get killeded for sure! No, I can't bring-myself to give away those secrets, after all, I'm the ONLY one who can get away with it on a-scheduled basis. Sure, I know I can get out of it. I'd find a way somehow. One no longer needs-skill to operate with the higher echelon. Not when you're in with the secretaries. The things-they'll say in defense. Unbelievable. I'm told, "Go on now, get. He's on a long distance-call...(words fade into a sincerely concerned face with a dab of `you stinker, I can't believe I'm-doing this for you) Now get moving !" What'rethey gonna do! Fire me for appearing pleasant-in public instead of the part of a janitor? That I'd like to see. The world is a strange place to-most of us. Those who pitch a fit, yet arrive in khaki, day after day on their own accord, should-turn their noses elsewhere. The rest of us will change only when we absolutely have to. Now, Erika. Blow out the candle when you're done. Did you say your prayers ?
JDG
Recipe For Life Together
From the kitchen of Erika and Joel
1 pt. Me c. Sex of Any Variety
1 pt. You 4 c. Communication
Dash Humour 2 T. Openness
2 lbs. Willingness Pinch Eternal Youth
8 g. Courage l b. Playfulness
4 qt. Comradery Splash Tears
1 Gallon Understanding Infinite Amount of Love
Mix well, no rushing. Time provides the best flavour. Add ingredients in alternating fashion. Bake in two warm hearts. Don't set the timer. It will never be done. Spice to desired taste. Sample at will, in any amount. There will always be a lot more.
Ma'am:
Wouldn't it be cool to write in the typeset fitting for the style of writng? I mean if you were to create something taking place in the future, then you should at least type as though you were in the future, writing past tense. We owe it to the reader. We could take them way back to Old English Towne and tell stories as though it were fresh out of the towne paper. Maybe just talk about plain old Europe and it's bland characteristics - just to poke fun. You could always pretend to be sitting down at the riverside on a log justa chewin'the fat, as your parental units might say.. Ever want to appear as though you were in medieval times, telling, first hand, of dragons and princes and princesses from another land? Maybe a magician here and there with his, or her,(I like female magicians better anyhow; more cleavage, and their wands of love intertwined within their thighs... Did you ever dream of seeing your name up in lights on the 42nd Street Marqee, perhaps Broadway on the long play? A sequel to the Arabian Nights or one no one has dreamt of yet, stories of anew. Maybe a trip through Ambrosia, the Andes - no, not the mint kind, silly girl. Maybe you've thought of being an architect through time. I know you wouldn't care to rewrite a bible or two, just for the heck of it. Who would? I'd like to see one, a story, actually written in Hell. A goofy child's story made livelier just by the addition of whacky characters. Just think what one could do with the infinite amount of imagination before ever reaching the point of writing it down. I've seen you do it, and I'll keep coming back for more. Hell, I'm coming now.
J.D.G.
A Kiss of Thought
Let me,
Let me kiss the thoughts you had this morning.
Let me,
Let me hold on to the warm smiling caress you gave the evening we slipped into slumber together.
Like we do almost every night.
Let me,
Let me remember, as I traipse off to the battle field, your good-morning blinks.
They make me laugh.
Let me,
Let me coolly fondle myself, remembering our nights.
Our mornings.
Our afternoons.
Our moments of escape.
Our moments of passion.
Let me,
Let me see your face as the moon coyly hides while we make love.
Allow me the pleasure of seeing your sacred form entwining mine.
Let me,
Let me wonder how you fare throughout our days apart.
One day we’ll not have to leave each other.
Let me,
Let me know you will never wish me to stop pleasing you.
I get no greater pleasure than being cause for and sharing your pleasure.
Life is pleasure - even when it’s haywire.
Let us,
Let us play together until we never pass this way again.
Let us explore all we can imagine.
Let us go places we’ve only heard about.
I want to see everything while we still have the option to get and go.
Let me,
Let me sleep within your grasp, just knowing you’re nearby makes everything seem okay.
Let me,
Let me protect and swallow you when you need me.
Allow me the simple need to be with you without speaking.
Let me,
Let me speak to you without words.
Let me,
Let me kiss your mind.
It's the most complex thing I've ever encountered, pregnancy. The biological is only one fourth of what I go through. The emotional takes up the rest. Not only do you deal with the present goings-on, the past also washes over you. You re-assess all previous pains. Somehow you must work through them a second or third time. Why is it that carrying a child floods you with every emotion you've ever felt? No wonder I'm so tired at the end of the day. I've done a whole lot of feeling by six o'clock, and a whole lot of body work as well. I don't live in the immediate present time. Sometimes I even forget where I am. I'm in yesterday, an hour ago, two minutes from now, thirty-seven years ahead. There's so much mental preparation when you're carrying a child. When that baby's born, that very minute you've got to be READY. You'll have little time to work on anything of your own. You're emotionally responsible for another person, whose life rests in your hands. The mind knows now's the time for a little Spring Cleaning. Get rid of the shit, because soon an innocence like you've never imagined will be dependant on your mind. It's all Nature's doing. Nothing about pregnancy is voluntary. For a very short time, your body takes on a new ownership. God's holding the papers now. Humans can be trusted to command their own ships...except during pregnancy. He knows our human minds can never REALLY comprehend what's going on during such a time. Besides, Creation is His job. That's what he's doing. I believe his hands have taken up residence in my womb. He'll hand the reins over to me once the child he made can sustain life without my body. So he makes me feel an indescribable amount of emotions, feelings makes me softer, more sensitive, more compassionate. I'll gradually not need so much of these qualities as the child learns to communicate with speech. Until then I'll need all that my mood swings mold me into right now. A parent always has a sixth sense pertaining only to their children. We'll always have that. Much to the teenage child's dismay. But when the child is just born, we need 80% more. Of everything. That time is so crucial. I must learn to believe every tear that falls onto my cheek is a major part of a Heavenly Miracle. God is shaping the child the man I love and I created, God's shaping me into a mother. What child wants to creep onto a cold mother's lap? Aren't mothers warm and so, so soft? With tears of love and understanding that spill onto the blessed child's head as he sleeps? Yes, that's what mothers are. An envelopment of tenderness. Because that's what God wants his tiny Creations to have. I've never felt so honored before Him as I have during pregnancy. I can feel his Purity within me, as he stays with me, working on this new life inside me. Maybe that's why I'm less tolerant of the things impure in the world now. I don't think I'm any purer than anybody else. But for me personally...this is the purest I'll ever get. It's the height of good for me. Because, for some reason, God chose Joel's and my bodies to bring this very specific soul into the world. We were hand picked for this particular person. And that's very honorable. VERY good.
I'm still learning what mothers are. But tell me, what's the other half of the Chosen team? What's a father?
posted by Joel @ 3:41 PM
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