|
"you play you win. you play you lose. you play."
she had loved that line - that writer (Jeanette winterson) from the get go. She claimed that she played "all in", but there was a nuance to it. Let's take the last hand. The Leon Experience. (fuck).
he had no idea? that she was a beautiful human who held onto a very messy festering wound behind the armor. She always lied by omission, but she told so much that she obfuscated. it was strategic. she had learned this shit long long ago. never trust them until they don't contradict themselves. test them after that, and then voila!
she had loved Kent for the same reason her sister had loved her second husband. her sister's husband had passed out face first into his spaghetti on their first date. Kent had told her that he sometimes thought his father never really saw him - loved him. that grappled her ass to his heart - big time. in fact, it's silly maybe (oh it's not) but she remembers being on that beach - siesta key - the fog spring break from Athens - this arrogant boy she openly mocked, and she loved him. from that moment.
vulnerability - intimacy let her in.
she trusted that he could understand. she played all in.
but she didn't play 'all in' like you'd think, because a part of her - perhaps a big part - held back. she was smart. this narcissi. she could tell if you were for her in about fifteen seconds. she was great at HR. she was great at casting.
"if you get pregnant - and god I can't believe you still get your period, we'll have to go to New York and get an abortion because this cracker state doesn't allow it - but we'd keep the baby."
she nearly fell off her pram.
what the fuck.
in.
all in.
but from a distance of course. he had to say the magic words that made her feel safe.
he never said them.
except once.
something he didn't even remember.
he gave her a conjoined acorn (two fused together) when she had picked one up on their walk.
this is why she sits in suttee imagining that he was so close to knowing her, but fuck.
today was not like that. today was six plus months later. he was long gone. didn't give a fuck. never even said 'hey' done done done. it was unusual, but ok. she had tried to do all the things, but nothing had worked.
He once said to her (she thinks she remembers almost everything but know it must be fiction-ish by now), "you know why I drink tequila?" she asked with the biggest smile on her in-love face, "why!", he told the story of a shoot (he loved telling stories of his shoots - his hunting trips) when a director he thought was cool at the end of the day when the big-wigs (he was one of course) gathered - and the director asked for a quadruple shot of tequila. "and you know what? I was like I'll try that."
today, she had seen a worm coming out of a cat's ass she never wanted, and had hopped in the car to get it medicine - a huge pill she couldn't shove down it's throat, and she had cried. Her car had sputtered while sitting at a red light, and she had caved.
but fuck it
tomorrow was another day.
that night terror that she had - the feeling of being claustrophobic on earth in a delusion - kind of like that tv show silo but alone - she was petrified when it happened. the only thing that could ever make it feel bearable is if someone shared it with her - if someone could hold her hand.
but she was so used to no one holding her hand. she was so used to doing it herself. she kind of felt like she had been born and her mission had been, "be charming, and shut the fuck up."
it was weird that you had come to Atlanta to see her last halloween. she had been surprised, but oh well. the concert wasn't that great although people loved it. the dinner was mediocre. the hotel room was where you told her she had soft skin when she had begged, "please say something nice about me - something you like."
god
it
had
all
been
so
confusing.
but she understood. it was very very very very very normal to have very important people go away.
and she had thought you had loved her. she really had. she had thought you were just shy.
one day maybe she'd laugh.
now she just sat on her ass for six plus months going, "who am I"
the golf cart girls roll by. it's a July Wednesday evening. you've just finished watching jeapordy and heading to your bar/church. she'll see if she can get back into her habit of watching 48 hours - stories about lovers murdering each other.
you play you win.
you play you lose.
I fucking played.
I fucking lost.
there was your mother's plexiglass daisy in front of her always - until she fucking smashed it into the woods. and many would not believe it,
was this love?
I'd take you back into my arms in a heartbeat, but I'd make you kiss me for real.
some wouldn't care. some wouldn't believe me - and only you would know what she means. and it doesn't matter to anyone but me - of course - but she sits on that sofa - her - and tries so fucking hard to figure out how she can get free of her cage of testing insecurity and feel love for the next time that a quasar comes into her solar system, but the thing she thinks of that kills her - the thing that is right next to her all the time
is the glass you tapped when you announced your arrival.
and when she was going to get the cat worm medicine on I-75 -braving it because it was the quickest route - she passed the sign to Valdosta and she thought fucking Valdosta.
it will always be you.
and an empty town and a tub and hope.
"here comes the rain again. falling on my head like a new emotion."
and you had come to Atlanta for halloween. you had stayed. you never announced it. you always just surprised her. you were so kind. you bought her a t-shirt at the kiosk when you bought your own for "big thief". she was struck because spouse number two had fucked that up at her birthday concert for arcade fire (the douche). and then you had played with her in her home town kind of. she hadn't grown up in that house, but she had been away at college when they moved there and beyond. you took her to target. you walked in the woods on the unpaved path while she wore her hoodie with the security tag still on it. you made a comment that she had not yet sent you her mystery novel draft, she laughed, "oh you mean the mystery I will never finish", but she had finished it after you had dumped her. it was a matter of pride.
that night, halloween, while her parents were in Florida and she was babysitting the cat that had no fur on its tummy - you sat in the Archie and Edith chairs in the sun porch tv room and watched "halloween" and you went to a stupid pub and she wore a costume "I always wear a costume on halloween - I'm a drama queen - even when I'm alone." it was quadruple plaid. no one really noticed. you bought pot gummies you had brought from Detroit. she was struck that you wouldn't do it with her, and she was also struck by your further generosity when you gifted her all of them.
it felt weird. she had thought "he must love me a little right. this is ok to try...to hope.."
oh narcissi. ouch.
pray prey
|
