"somewhere other than inside the out there." -- part twenty six.
a few days ago, i had the privilege to watch two of my favorite people in the world get married. two people who have taken care of me and my boy, two people who present extraordinary role models for every person that they encounter, brilliant and caring. on april fool's day, my boy's dad and stepmom tied the knot (officially) in las vegas with elvis presiding. my friends and i gathered around the computer to watch the wedding live on the internet. christ, sometimes, i really love technology. we had dessert and a couple beers, and we all agreed that it was the best wedding we had ever been to.
"oh, they're adorable!"
"she looks great, did she cut off all her hair?"
"he really can dance!"
it truly was the best wedding we'd ever attended.
i excused myself afterwards because i had started to cry, wishing so vehemently that i could see him on the screen or that he was right next to me for this moment that we'd been waiting for years to witness.
but more than anything, my heart swelled in appreciation that not only had they found each other, but that i have had the pleasure of knowing them.
so, kids, if you're listening out there, congratulations, and we were, all of us, dancing with you.
a day ago, i received an email, rather unexpected from a girl who boy had known, if only for a brief period of time.
today, i called my mom, and she voiced a concern that isn't necessarily unfounded. "don't do anything crazy." and i knew what she meant, by her tone, by her way, by how she knows me. "mom, i'm not that way."
"i know you're not doing well."
"i know, but ..."
"just remember how many people love you."
and it's not about that, but i got off the phone and started to cry because i don't know goodbye. i'm starting to think that i'll never get it.
see, there's this crazy in me.
let's amend that. there's this Crazy in me.
reminiscing with a friend last night and telling him about how i was when all of this first happened, i began to recall the Crazy. i began to realize that that Crazy isn't dead or even hibernating, but it is alive and well, feeding on my insecurities and disillusions. i still pretend. i still waltz comfortably back into, "he's just mad at me, that's why he hasn't called." some days, i completely convince myself that this is the truth.
i can't help but think there's Crazy inside of me.
Crazy is matted-haired and has eyes with five different colors. it sits on a stool too small for its girth, and it reads books that hurt my mind. sometimes, it will look up and try to comfort me with strange webs of "why shouldn't you believe me" and sometimes, i am comforted. other times, i am alone, in this room, with Crazy and we just stare at each other, trying to smite the other one with silence.
so when my mom says, "don't do anything crazy." i think, well, shit, what's Crazy got up those moth-eaten sleeves, and why shouldn't i just go along with Crazy, just a short ride to take it all away.
then i realize, if it weren't for rockstar and explorer and texas boy and superman and all these friends that i've made since, i wouldn't be here. me and Crazy, both, would be in an institution somewhere up north, with my parents calmly pleading with me to get better soon. no one i know deserves that.
i used to think i was completely insane, but boy stopped me right in my mud soaked tracks. he sat with me, and he talked to me. he made me know that i was talking good talk. he had a patience with me that i haven't met since and never knew before. it was saintly.
anyway, god, i really get off on tangents, don't i?
one of his favorite games was the "limp game." he really fucking loved it. basically, we'd be on the living room floor watching a movie or reading together in bed, and suddenly, he wouldn't move. he'd try to make his eyes roll back in his head, but he was never very good at it (not as good as me anyway). if he was holding something, it would go tumbling out of his hand as his entire body went limp. the object of the game was to not only get the other person to move you around to do whatever you needed to do, but it was also to remain limp for the longest period of time without cracking up or instinctively moving or tensing any of your muscles. this got messy very quickly, very frequently, especially once you figured out the other persons weaknesses. for me, it was tickling. i couldn't stand the tickling for very long. for him, it was the pouring of water or threatening to spit on him. we would end laughing and dragging each other around on the floor. i have no idea why he loved that game so much. i guess part of it was that sometimes, it got him out of having to get his own glass of water or turning the air conditioner on.
finding ways to amuse ourselves with slow internet and no cable became really easy. he would learn ani songs for me or play me acoustic versions of the ramones. i would surprise him on my way home from work with smoothies or paint him some picture of an alternate version of us.
we had stopped all the drugs, and i had all but quit cigarettes. we grew up quickly and into the people that we wanted to be together. he drank on occasion, and i cooked dinner almost every night.
that year, we spent our second year anniversary in bed the whole day. we didn't leave the house. i got the day off of work, and he skipped class. we just stayed home and stayed with each other.
he was out of town on my birthday, and i didn't know anyone in town. we didn't have any friends, and so i went to work. it was christmas season, and so we were packed and i got sick like a dog the day before. i was exhausted, but his dad and his stepmom called and renewed my energy.
they took me out to dinner, knowing that i'm not one for fancy restaurants and that i'm a total sucker for fried chicken. they took me to the best place for fried chicken that they knew. it was incredible. i had been tired and lonely, and they just completely changed my attitude. i kind of felt like i was home. not a small feat.
i had renewed faith in the possibility to be happy in new orleans. i didn't need more than what i had, and knowing that made all the difference.
