I can close my eyes and relive riding with you in that funky brown Pinto down Old Spanish Trail, while you ripped through the gears, reaching 80 mph in a car that shouldn't have gone over 40, and I remember laughing and yelling,"FASTER!!" but I cant remember the sound of your voice, and that breaks my heart. I remember sitting in that cafe with you down near the U of A and we were eating lunch and talking about art and where I was thinking about going to college and you looked tired...I should have known then that time was soo short for us. I remember sitting at the kitchen table in grandmas house and we were looking at some pictures of your art that had been sold a long time ago and some that you were working on, the Gila Monster was just a sketch then and I already loved it. You always inspired me, I remember that and you smelled like spearmint gum and paint.Those memories always make me smile.
I can close my eyes and picture the face of a young man with brown hair and blue eyes and they lean ropey muscles of someone just becoming a man.His dimpled smile and his friendly,open face that never held the look of contempt for me that so many others held. I remember the touch of his hand as he helped me up in gym class one day, the way he looked as he moved while throwing a football and how his brown hair set off his eyes and cheekbones.I remember the way my heart raced and it felt like the world outside the little bubble were in just ceased to exist when he walked into the room. I remember feeling that rush of love and passion and desire with the intensity that only an adolescent heart in the throes of that first, all consuming love can feel.I remember writing his name over and over in my notebook and stealing glances at him in class,hoping for another smile, and the way my heart felt like it just exploded in joy when he would grace me with a casual grin.I remember the white, hot, never-ending,soul destroying, life changing moment when my father so casually announced that he had died in a car accident just down the road from my house. I remember driving past that scene, days later and the scorch marks were still there, for years they were there, I relived it every day...but no one ever knew, because he lived in my memories,perfect and handsome and kind.
My memories of happier times are a little more difficult to come by, but they are there; the memory of a concert hall,filled to over capacity with hormonally challenged teens, all fired up and raging due to the delayed start of the show. Myself and my friends lucky to be front row, center in the crush of sweating, chanting bodies,'OZZY!OZZY!OZZY!" the lights going down and then coming up on stage and the music beginning, so loud that my body vibrated and my heart raced and I yelled and moved seemingly without control, for hours, my friends around me, all dancing and singing and alive.It was a moment in time that lives on forever in my mind, though 3 of my friends are gone.
Another concert, over 20 years later, my children with me and for the first time in 10 years we are safe and free and not worried about being in ,"trouble".Anxious and still worried though, feeling more apprehensive about being out in public, looking around for threats but trying not to be obvious, feeling out of place as a whore in church, but wanting soo desperately to let kids have a good time. Finding the right place, and feeling horrible that we only had $2.38 to buy a single drink and one donut and a bottle of water, but trying to make the best of it, sitting on the bench outside, tired but happy we had made it to the right place and watching as the cars arrived with the band in it. Feeling my daughter tense and jump in excitement beside me on the bench as she sees her hero step out of the truck,she squeezed my hand and her voice squeaked in excitement. Trying to maintain her calm as he walked over to sit on the curb where they were setting up,feeling happy and amazed to be so close to something that has made us so happy through the dark times and feeling lighter and more at peace than I have felt in a decade, all I can feel is my daughters joy radiating all around me, we sit on the curb and embrace the happy as the funky little band of beautiful boys sings songs that we know mostly by heart and we soar along with the music.My memory is sharp of the concert ending and of feeling strong and happy and ready to walk over for the next show, yet...my daughter, she needed more. She wanted to meet her hero, and I knew I had to do it. I remember feeling a quick rush of fear, as I approached him, coupled with embarrassment for wearing that stupid ,"Cougars" shirt that seemed soo funny earlier in the morning when my son suggested it as a joke, and as I approached the young man, I went into cop mode, watching for any micro-gesture or expression change that would suggest irritation or threat or danger to my child, but as I spoke to him, he just smiled and my heart melted. I remember he reached out to her and I didn't flinch,or draw her away, I got my son to take the picture and I remember I thanked the young man copiously for his kindness, and then he thanked me and he reached out and patted me on the shoulder.Patted me on the shoulder...the first time I had had any strange man touch me in over 2 years. I remember my sons gasp as he awaited my reaction, but I didn't, I remember just feeling happy, as if I had been overwhelmed with some weird drug, as we walked away from the show I remember thanking the rest of the band members and one of the other beautiful young men ,Hi 5'ing " my daughter, and I was taken aback by how beautiful his eyes were and how open his smile was, and I remember feeling as if I were drunk on happiness as we made it out of the parking lot on our way to the next show.
That memory is the brightest right now, because my daughter keeps me reliving it, but I have soo many other that help push back the darkness. The memories of playing with Fergus and watching how he slobbered all over my boys and chased them when they would steal his soccer ball. The sounds of Sticky singing along to "Reaper" in the back of the van or in the living room when we did out little concerts. Watching Sticky walk for the first time and hearing him say ,"Mom" clearly for the first time or seeing him walking in line with all his classmates and knowing that he has friends, even though he has Downs Syndrome and some days that makes life hard. Seeing Stubby and him play together on Halo and how their faces look so serious in concentration as they battle and get frustrated with each other . The memories of my boys sustain me right now,because that is all I have of them until things change, but there are soo many of them that they keep me going.
Working on building new memories is not difficult now that we are free. Though soo many of those that I loved are gone,I am working hard to try and get out and meet new people, make new connections and try and break my reclusive habits for the sake of my kids. Chance is constantly on my case about getting out and meeting,"Real people", and he knows I long to make friends that I have things in common with, but I tend to hold back out of fear of seeing them become memories as well. More of my friends are dead than are alive, and that is a hard place to be, perhaps its due to my former career choices, but most of my close compatriots have passed and I am at a loss as to what to do about getting out and meeting new people when I am not sure where to go and how to go about that. Church is not the place for me. God and I had a disagreement with each other when I was 14, and he has held a grudge against me ever since, and due to my stubborn nature, I refuse to be the first to surrender and apologize, so we just maintain a distance. I tried going to church, but when the giant preacher tried to strong arm me into something I was not ready for , it just came time to part ways, so I just use the time on Wednesdays and Sundays when my kids are gone to clean house.
My school has been delayed due to my university not employing anyone to answer phones to let me know if they actually received my paperwork or what my status is or anything else of that nature, so I will be going in Winter instead of Fall, so that cuts off one social opportunity.
The bar scene really isn't my thing, Im not much of a drinker, and I haven't gotten to dance in over 10 years, so I highly suspect that I have forgotten how. Its okay though, we have had laughter and I am sitting here smiling because even as my grumpy older son comes wandering out of his room with his hair all askew, his boxers hanging off his butt even though one of the blinds if open, and he is grumbling at me for having my music too loud, I can remember his laughter as he called me a ,"Nerd" and a,'raging fangirl" last week when I dropped my computer after I got I tweet from an actor that I think simply hung the moon. I remember how my sons face lit up as he teased me and he laughed at my embarrassment. 'Mom, its okay to like a dude, but it would kinda help if it was at least a real dude." and then his laughter as he picked on me for defending the actor as ,"real". These memories push back the horror and the dark and the sad, and they push me to making more bright ones in the hope that maybe, someday I wont see the dark anymore.
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