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Most of the windows in the house are open. it rained last night thank god.
today is Labor Day.
she always remembers it as the old New York lease ending day when everyone moves.
well, remember is a different word.
so many people - well two - had persistently asked her what she was doing for the holiday. her mother's excuse was that she was now a repeater, but what was she going to really say? "whatever the fuck I want to. my stage-four cancer brother gave me some pot, and I'm going to smoke it whenever I want. I'm going to read. I'm going to walk. I'm going to think incessantly about myself."
instead she said something like, "oh probably downtown and then walking on the trail."
it got so tedious inside the house sometimes. and of course she didn't drink anymore.
"you are so cool. we both are. you are beautiful. you'll find a man if you want one. you should have never left Oakland. you're so Oakland."
That's when kristen knew she didn't know her. kristen was many many things but Oakland she was not.
and finding a man.
"you're so immature."
"well, at least all I've got to do is ripen."
He didn't laugh.
she remembers calling him the first time - and being semi-nervous as one always is in these cliff dives.
He sounded irritated, then immediately, "oh, it's you. you have an Oakland number."
"well yes, I just moved from there."
and then later, "god I think it's amazing that you wrote your dissertation on 'rules of the game'. I fucking loved that film. I'm not sure how I came across it - probably the library and a dvd - and I made everyone watch it. They couldn't get through the first twenty minutes."
He laughed, "THAT is what got you - rules of the game?"
She replied with a huge smile, "oh, it was just one of many things - but that was the unique one. you're the first person I've met who's ever liked it."
"you're the first person I've met who's ever heard of it."
they went out for six months in a crispy long distance relationship. she templated the hell out of it.
then much much later, a text in the night from wilmington, "not that it matters, but I love you."
---
"what did I do wrong? all I did was adore you."
it stuck in her craw all the time like a bell ringing.
she wondered if she had been the same and she dreaded that he could feel the
parallel emotion. it stung.
yet, it was better than stewing all the time. it was nicer to be over the "god in fucking heaven on fifteen ponies could you please please please repair me - repair whatever I've done - right whatever sins I have and give me back my man."
and I think that I wouldn't assume my adoration would yield me love from a man - from hymn.
for me, it was more - maybe it was the same - but it was more "yield to me. see me. play with me. let's go. surrender."
god what if he felt the same. what if it was the same.
it was.
that's why
god she was so fucking sick of why.
she wanted to shoot guns environmentally soundly.
go bowling
make love
walk in woods.
swim in pools with cold drinks
walk on oceans
see comedy
play ball
play spades
drink honey mead
learn pickleball.
but not do chores and she wanted those things not alone
but with a playmate
dammit
and she didn't want just any playmate.
she wanted a player.
an audience
a witness.
she theorized that that's what parenting gives you: become a parent, BAM! you've got a witness. She used to call it worshipper.
alas alack and some folks had a troubled relationship with their kids. but she maintained they all knew them like trip guiding gods.
today's her mother's 88th birthday - same as queen Elizabeth the first. kristen was a famewhore.
she had spidery complicated feelings about it all. the trip to myrtle beach had been
something that changed things.
kristen would rather think of love
and paddling a canoe down a gorgeous pure river
with real love in the
"you know what I'm going to say."
"I have no idea."
"oh good."
"I guess."
What else was there to do.
the neighbors were yard-working the hell out of the day - with electric tools of course.
it was cooler
like she said.
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