7/13/10/
there was this moment just now, when i realized i had peed forever. the pee started because Stand By Me had been on until the part where you realize your brother is gone and you have had to pee so bad that it hurt standing and sitting and going. Pee. When you discover that to be something you actually have control over, it’s funny and amazing and terrifying if you are a girl. Because girls know that all boys pee standing up at an appropriate age, and all girls want to be able to be the girl that does it too. And for a few years you think it’s going to be you and then one day you hear that Ashley Shank, the babeliest girl at Creswell Middle School, not only drives a 4×4 but she indeed has also attended Hunter’s Safety Course and at this very moment she is gutting her 5-point on the backside of Cougar Reservoir, just south of where your brother lay; and you decide that today’s the day you’re going to _____ yourself.
Not the gurgle of the calf that dropped from Harold’s heifer weeks before, or the one eyed cat buried in the basket of felines left in the front pasture…not one of these things you felt for could outweigh the counting paces of your dried out roots, beating to the sun of yours and mine. The hush of the single blue heron’s thoughts on the pond your dad dug is enough to quiet a month’s worth of cattle calls, even if there were only two cattle. And so came the day when you told little golden Crystal that her mother was never returning to the house on the Swale and that she would have to inhabit the rope swing forever, because you thought it sounded dreamy and romantic and a thousand other words a child doesn’t know until they’re older.
None of this could quiet the misery for you. It has long since been by my side, in a blur of gray quiet silences and drawn out further than usual moments, gently securing my chin at the direst of interactions.
When that happens you will find it as awkward as hell, girl. You’ll be like, are you serious?? Are you serious right now? This shit actually happened to me? I cannot believe this is going on, because I am under control. I have all this shit figured out and those friends o’mine who think they do are all twisted as shit. I can’t believe you would actually look at me that way. What in the fuck is that look suppose to mean? Is it real? IS IT REAL?! Of course it’s fucking real!!! They don’t even know where I came from. Seriously, they do not. My friends of friends carry rifles like lunch boxes in rear window views. They say it’ll come in handy when I can’t hold it till Wilbur’s caught. Wilbur is the big One that they’re all searching for. When my dad catches it, or Harvey, but mostly my dad, he holds it up with a large East to West swinging grin, to let the world know he found what it was he was looking for here. Which is the look we are all looking for when we come here.
This morning the rain fell hardest. i drove to work without my seat belt on, thinking it was just enough rebellion for 7:30 on a Sunday. Forty-five minutes earlier I had woken up to the sounds of the Northwest out my window, and my cat stretched out like some kind of canvas beside me, face full of slumber, dreaming dreams I could only imagine. These are the mornings it’s the toughest for me to get a move on, when everything I care for is comfortable around me. Once I get going though, it’s a rush of sorts, feeling like I’m the only person I know awake at such a sleepy crack of dawn. The two minute drive to work is a straight stretch, free from lights or stops and just long enough for me to pretend I’m letting her rip on the open road, destination arguably unknown.
You think you know a dog and then you get him out in an early morning downpour and learn a new perspective on things. Some of them behave just as you would expect. Most of them don’t. The wily ones whimper at the gate and cast you doe-eyed gazes that prove they aren’t as rascally wearing a wet suit and raindrops on their nose. The more mellow ones step out of their shells, running laps and going ape shit, especially if they’re with a sibling. In particular, Bela and Marco had a brand new sparkle to their dispositions, charging each other til one ended up bottomed out on the other’s back. They resemble something like koalas, and their owners were sure to let the whole joint know that they are in fact two of only 160-something in the world of whatever the hell breed it is that crosses a marsupial and teaches it to sit.
Then there’s the old ones. These are my favorite. They gladly bebop down the ramp and through the puddles, splashing their way to a half hour of relaxation in the great outdoors. They truly could care less that its pouring buckets with no end in sight and I’m the one with the rain gear. They’ll sit near you, most often in the downpour or on the edge of the inlet where I stand with a roof over my head, just sniffing the air in satisfaction as freight trains roar by. Every so often you receive a kind sideways glance from their gray gentle faces, one that seems to say they’re happy to just be because they know it’s not for much longer. That’s when I step out from under cover and stand with them, letting the heavy fall pound my back and my shoulders and echo into my hood. They usually get comfortable with my presence then, if we haven’t met before, and honor me with a small gesture of trust. Most often they’ll lean in, slowly resting their drizzled heads just above my kneecap, giving me the go ahead that we can be pals. They’ll sit like that forever, thoroughly enjoying themselves as we both let our minds wander through the torrent around us. Little do they know I’m as pleased to share their company.
This tub is my full length feature
two peaks bobbing as Wizard Islands
wrestle the faucet and slide the porcelain slopes
under water its quieter where your childhood rests
you could move on, or end here
analyze untitled shapes of your body
study the sugar ant resting on the rim
this bath gets intimate if you let it
with the rose hip soap and the gentle quake of water
you could become famous here
with your angles and crevasses
letting the nonsense steam off
the tiny audience has doubled on the rim.
2:20 PM
me: carlie and i were just hungover
and our toilet god
bhubbird: dear me
me: wasnt working well
bhubbird: i don’t want to hear about it
me: hahahaha
bhubbird: why would it matter?
it’s not like girls poop.
2:22 PM
me: nope
2:23 PM
me: the only things that come out of our butts are kittens and rainbows
and thats where kittens come from
the end
my end
bhubbird: hahaha
While you are at it, check out my good friend Carlie Leagjeld’s portfolio. She just finished up at American University in DC after two years and is finally back in the state she loves to find work and peace of mind! I’ve always thought her art intricate and otherworldly. Big ups Carlton.
Check out my friend Sarah’s website called Cute Baby Otters. Make sure you’re ready to go “aawwwwww”.
I am always concerned about the well being of my mental state. Especially when I yawn and notice that the dogs at my work are all watching and yawning in unison. I asked my psychology teacher about this because she held up a wrinkled news article about yawning in her never-ending quest to confuse the class. I raised my hand and said, “So that’s why dogs yawn with me!” She seemed very excited at my fragmented sentence and the idea that I could maybe understand what she was getting at. The students near me just shook their heads in bewilderment. Little did they know that I was making psychological revelations of my own.
Today in math class we had a substitute instructor and she ruled. She explained word problems to us as if they were a Caribbean breeze, and Karen and I nailed all of the equations on our group exercise with plenty of time to spare. We were so pleased with ourselves that Karen exclaimed, “Lets eat a scramble!”, which we seriously considered, but then decided against since neither of us were actually hungry.
Two weeks ago was my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. I’m glad I remembered it at all, but I didn’t remember until a few days late, so I sent them a card and a compact disc of oldies music that I thought my mom would really like. I haven’t heard from them. It is disappointing because for a while I told myself they were just on an elaborate vacation to celebrate a lifetime of wedded bliss, but enough time has passed that I have reached other conclusions. Either they are just too busy to reply currently, or they have stepped it up a notch in the Jehovah’s Witnesses brotherhood and gone into seclusion because the end of the world is nigh. When I was a kid, sitting in those damn flip down chairs that had been recycled from the Creswell Cinema and were now covered in red velvety upholstery, I would actually pay close attention to the talks Brother So-and-So was giving from the stage. He would warn of signs of impending doom and quote from the book of Revelations, forecasting that there would be an uprise in natural disasters around the world signaling our final days were fast approaching. This scared the shit out of me, which was the only reason I ever listened intently. My mom would talk about how in the final days, all of God’s people would most likely have to form smaller congregations than the ones we were used to, and essentially go into hiding. At that point, none of them would have much contact with “worldly people”, which is now you and I.
I hadn’t thought much about this concept until the past few weeks that I have been trying to get a hold of my dad. And to be honest, I don’t really think that’s whats going on. But what if it is? I picture my parents, with my sister and her children, living their lives in seclusion and patiently waiting for Armageddon. I can’t help but think that if that was the heightened level of faith they had reached, wouldn’t they want to speak to me for fear that The End could occur at any time, knowing that thereafter they would never have the chance to hear my voice or see my face again?
These are the thoughts I am thinking when I am walking around campus and brushing my teeth and trying to isolate X as the variable. Which is why I’m indefinitely concerned about the well being of my mental state. However, I reason with myself quite a bit about my family. The number one reason I have come up with is that I was never happy as a Jehovah’s Witness. Never. I always felt guilt and shame, even when I didn’t know exactly what I had done wrong. So I reason that I am better off now than I ever was, even without those family ties that most everyone has and frequently take for granted. I feel strong and I feel alive. I would rather feel this intense sense of awareness at all times, knowing that if the end of planet Earth as we know it is near, be it 2012 or sooner or later, I have allowed myself to be happy. Of course happiness is different circumstances for different living things at different times, but I have felt it, often and overwhelmingly. So what more could I really ask for? Besides a scramble.
I wasn’t sure it was Tuesday, but the rain reminded me:
Coffee ground, a Blazer loss, two misguided texts. A giggly house guest leads to a lovers’ quarrel and “Faultlines” through the rain. Fried rice does something, but not the right thing, as the sun becomes unwelcome.
