The End of November

 November 18

Mr. Lizard gave me a hickey. He hated it when I bit him, but I couldn’t help nipping him, especially after I would say something amazedly about how pretty he was, (“You are so cute, little Freshman”) and he’d confidently receive the praise. The nerd. 

When Tonya left the next morning, she found Brett sitting on the steps, playing his guitar. 

“What time did you leave,” she asks.

“Around 8:30. I had to get some sleep in my own bed.”

Later that week Heather(!) asks Brett if he had a good time on Friday. (She didn’t want an answer, she wanted a reaction.) 

He blushes (according to Tonya, according to H.) and says “yeah, we had a lot of fun. She’s a really nice girl.” What does that mean?

I keep having fears of getting cancer. A spot on my arm itched for a week. I woke up with an unreasonable pain in my hip.

Last nite Diane, Michelle & I went out. What sweet joy at comfortable laughter. Simple happiness from casual acceptance. Fun. I wanted someone to share it with though, this morning. 

“Clarkie! I went out with 2 girls last night!”

“Oh wow! Great! How was it—tell me everything!” Such an event. And it was nice.

November 20

Period is coming and hope is leaving. Hope that Brett & I would have a real relationship. He knows I’m going to Chicago, he knows I wanted to see him over Thanksgiving, he knows my number.  1 + 1 + 1 = 0  (Ha! That’s pretty good!) No calls, no letters, no nothing. Was he just another Name? Hear the same songs & to feel something, fill in the blank with the name of your choice.

Is this why he’a been so quiet to Tonya? Did he find something (everything) distasteful in my letters? I hate silence.

Scene: a long shot of 2 people talking, very far away, but something striking about them, maybe a red coat. Behind them (I'm seeing the library) something huge. No sound. Next shot, same huge establishing thing, but much farther away. And one of the characters comes into he shot, walking away from the library. Camera follows character -- we know it's one of the same as the two from the red coat. Just walking, entire conversation is heard as we watch her face. A memory. 

November 25

I am amazingly rational. And it's not just shock. Of course, I knew. This morning, I knew. I called Mom about 1/2 an hour ago. Let me grieve in my own way. I plan what to wear, what teacher to talk to, my schedule. Calculated. 

Is it because I had known for a long time that she was gone? Is it because I thought often about this moment, wondering whether it would be hypocritical to break down when she stopped breathing when she had stopped living weeks ago? It is because I'm truly relieved? 

Of course I'll cry later: Ron will make me cry, Mom will make me cry, others' tears always make me cry. I'll cry for myself. I should laugh w/joy. She is beautiful & good again. Of course, if I start to yell, I'll lose it & sob harsh screams. 

Death sucks.

When someone found out Mrs. Lister had died and the neighbors were converging in front of her house, Ron & I played soccer in the back yard.

November 28

I have no respect for death. I respect life, I respect people. I will give death no power, I won't let it think itself important. 

Mother is weakness, Ron is strength. 

November 29

Film and music? Do you know what the secret is? 

You take a horribly sad piece that drips and match it with something normal, something you see everyday.

Rickie moans, Linda Ronstadt cries good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, the guitar mournfully plucks out Both Sides Now or wails Cause We've Ended as Lovers. 

Place them matter of factly with a normal, unsentimental shot, kids having fun outside somewhere, playing rough games, two young men talking, a girl methodically cleaning her room, a street at twilight, someone asleep in a chair, two people not smiling together, or two people smiling as they pass. Suddenly it aches. 

November Continued

 Nov. 15 cont.

...and he hasn't even touched my bra and we're both breathing fast & I breathe "Brett, Brett, I'm scared" "What?" "I'm scared for you" I whisper. He relaxes & we lay side by side, facing. "It's so fast," I whisper, "I'm trembling" I breathe and I was. "My mind is going about a million miles an hour." "Okay," he says, sitting up. I clutch Garfield. "Let's just relax" he says and I realize I'm as clentched as a fist. Just his arm around my shoulders, he kisses my hair and says "I think we were just scared of ourselves" (I wasn't talking about VD, darling. I get extremely cryptic in these places. I feel so cautious and vulnerable. I can only whisper strange thoughts: "What does this mean?" "I hate myself for hurting you") "I know what you mean, I was trembling too." I think I love him. Then, again, and when I hesitantly kiss his neck, he breathes strangely. And the point again where I have to whisper "do you know what you're doing?" "Yes" "I don't." We relax, the birds are beginning to make noise. "I'm sorry, I was being selfish," he surprises me. "No, I was!" And again, the amazing "What are you thinking?" "That I like you a lot." I look at him and smile, "I like you very much." He has to go. We sit silent forever. It's light outside. "What are we going to do?" Thinking we hear Tonya, we put our hats back on. "I don't know about you, but I don't think of this as a fling. I'm not that kind of guy." "Oh!" I gasp and he says "And you thought chivalry was dead!" "Yes, I did," I murmur as I bend and kiss his palm. We give each other glances and smiles & quizzical looks & laugh at the confusion. "What?" he asks "Nothing," I laugh. "That's just like me," he replies. "Well, let's keep in touch." Such cold words, but I say "if you want to. I want to." I feel so cold as we gather his albums, his game and he leaves while I get paper & a pen. We write our names and it's "Oh well." And one last. I'm confusing him with my looks and he murmurs "I've gotta get out of here" I laugh as he leaves and closes the door. It's 8:30. I go to bed.

Other words: "Why are you such a nice guy?" He laughs in disbelief "How could you have any regard for me at all after last week?" (Why does it sound like an excuse when he replies) "What somebody does is their own business."

Do you have a good memory, Brett? I'm sitting here, tired, my paper's due tomorrow, Mary & her friend Dan are sitting in the living room & I can hear them laughing as they discuss relationships. He's not the only one to love her. She's widely loved. I have a single page letter, and now, these shreds of a memory.

When the Skies of November Turn Gloomy

November 1

Be happy, Cindy, be happy! New dress (smells like smoke) New haircut (worse than before) dance tomorrow (just another reason 4 anxiety) 2 A papers (but in the same classes, I blew a mid-term and Prof DeVacca made me feel like an idiot) Brett (oh dear). What a day -- people asking me if I felt tired, Core made me cry quietly in the bathroom, at dinner, a whole shelf full of drinks falls down when I pick up a glass. I just stood there and looked.

November 6

Why do I only find time to write the bad things? (Because there will be so much joy in reading them again and knowing they're wrong, wrong, wrong!) A bad thing -- such a huge part of his attraction is Tonya's vehement approval. Ooooh! Truth rips. But what about the good stuff?

Later: I have to write, I have to tell you! I just talked to Tonya (oh gentle reader, go back to the first of the book. That's what she's like -- so loving, so funny, such a friend!) and it kills me to think that he was 50 feet away.

What did he say. What did he do. How did I feel.

He struck a chord in me. And it's in a minor key.

I know I'm being silly. I know how childish and base it is to dwell on simple physical facts that don't really mean much. But oh how wonderful they feel.

I like the night like this. I'm on the first high crest of caffeine and I feel beautiful. The house is quiet but for the clicks of the clock and the rushing of the furnace. I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna do it! 

The scene: a cold impersonal cruel wind is whipping across the hill. Bleak, mammoth utilitarian prison-dorm tower is in the background, far enough away that you can see how huge they are and how little decorates the landscape besides their massive forms. Waiting for the bus? Walking? She's sobbing steadily, making noise. He's confused. Is she another weirdo? Should he bother? What would he say? Are you alright? Can I help you? What's the matter? But he's a decent sort--his parents were good people who showed him respect and politeness. He asks and not stopping, she cries I'm lonely. Oh great, he thinks, a crazed nymphomaniac.

She dreams of love. (that's me)

November 10

Yes, tonite finally, I have the time to tell you. How ridiculous. I've spent the last 5 1/2 hours listening to tapes, rearranging my sweaters and getting thoroughly confused about my classes next semester. Waste, waste, waste.

When I look into my bathroom, I can see, at a certain angle, where the two walls of mirrors meet and reflecting each other in the corner, I can see myself as others see me, instead of a mirror image. We look at each other, that girl and me. Rickie's first song on her new album is "Gravity." Two years ago I wrote a poem "my love is like gravity...my love is heavy in my hands..." She knows me, I think.

November 14

I walk home. The taste of blood is in my mouth, I smell smoke. The wind is cold. I didn't get any mail. I'm wearing a blue shirt, blue sweater, blue gloves, jeans & blue shoes & my blue denim jacket. For dinner I'll change into blue socks and add blue earrings. Guess how I feel? Ha ha ha ha ha! Okay, clean now, I'm a little better. I'm sorry. Such a wonderful thing and I've put it off for so long. I have to tell you what happened at Tonya's! But I'm not in the perfect mellowed, melancholy, quiet mood. I've got stuff on my mind (Core paper, tonite a London meeting and The Graduate!) but I need to put this down before I forget. 

The last nights before I came home, Tonya and I talked, excited. We were going to set me up with Brett across her hall. Seeing her again was just as fun as always, as the best of always. I was so excited getting ready for the party, all day at the apartment I had felt my heart blow up when the doorbell rang. And now people were coming and seeing a boy not even in costume! who looked like Mr. High School, I thought no big deal. Got my jump rope and started to flirt. Mr. Devil! Oh he's a cute one! John, Brett and (weird) Rob. Brett, unusual man of my dreams turned out to be the young-looking yawn boy. 

(Before the party, dancing with myselfTM to the English Beat's video in the living room, Sonya says "you've got to meet Brett. You two will really get along." Tonya told me that night the two apartments mixed, "Sonya and Brett just rolled around on the floor and kissed." Oh. "Sonya likes Brett," she said. Sonya is chubby and nice.)

Mr. Devil, you are cute. Shades of pretty boys like Sean. But this one is coming on. So when Tonya said "I'll leave you two alone" on the patio, I grabbed him & pulled him to a corner. Down hill from there. The closet was nice. John & Brett are smoking (the smell is strong) in Brett's bedroom. On the toilet, Tonya says drunk "no matter what happens, Cindy, I love you" and I kiss her from the floor where I've had fits of paralyzed laughing. In the shower, she turns the water on us. Rob, Bron, Tonya, Devil & I are on Rob's bed, he kisses Bron & grabs my breast, then kisses me, fondling Bron's rear. I laugh. Tonya & Brett dancing on the table, John he's ugly, me & Devil to Don't go back to Rockville & Sugar Magnolia. He & I are out of step & out of tune, but pretend to ignore it. And by the time he leaves, (running down the stairs with my jacket, w/out even a touch) the night is long, he is tiresome & not worth the trouble. 

Greg had called drunk and somewhere between his oh so sincere, spastically enthusiastic "Cin!" (Was is Cin? O I hope not) Hi! How are you!?" to our mutual "fuck off!"'s, we argued. I want to call him hypocritical to his face. I even blew off Chuck 4 the little lizard. Tonya's sad pout, "I called him because I needed someone to talk to" strikes more guilt than the pathetic gropings in the bedroom. Mostly an embaressment. 

I join Tonya talking to Brett sitting in the hall. "Is someone mad at me?" he asks -- my first sign of a nice guy. "Did I do something wrong?" Gone, gone, they're all gone and Tonya & Brett & I sit in the living room. We talk, Tonya & I. Brett sits, blinking slowly, turning his head from her to me or just staring straight ahead, a rare "what?" or "wait a minute, who's that?" every once in a while. So we told each other things. The horrible truth about Tonya's parents sickens me. And about Mom & Dad & Nancy & Chris. Not realizing the truth before I said it: "I'll always love Ron the best, " and then I knew. Brett even heard about the attacks. Wow. It would have been transcending enough, but this boy sat there and without a word, listening to us talk for hours. I wonder how much he heard thru clouds of smoke. Next day, "we'll go out next weekend, you & me & Brett," Tonya says. I want to. 

I go back to Jewell & only look for Mr. Ed. Most likely it's best that I don't see him. I want to keep him separate from remembering that awful place (it's the same as ever -- the freshmen learn fast.) And glad to go back to Lawrence. Brett's punk friends weren't all that special, just as little as Bron & Rob & their friend. Why should the way we dress radically change us? Why do people think so?

I did not want to go to the preppy Greek Corbins, I would feel suffocated & hate my forced smile. So us three went to get money & Joe's donuts & to a small bar. I felt so good. I had my jacket back(!) I felt cute in my red shoes, black socks, gray jeans, blue shirt, black sweater, and red beret. The music in the bar was fun. Brett knew "King of the Road." The Hashinger party turned out costume, so we went back to change, I was finished dressing long before Tonya. (I asked B. to zip me up.) Brett's costume was a hat & buttoning his shirt up to his neck. By this time I knew what he did was alright, I knew he was alright. 

The party was such a bore, but Brett & I danced a lot towards the end. T. & I waited while he was talking to a girl though we wanted to leave: "He doesn't have many dates," Tonya says & tells of overhearing him & John talking and Brett saying "did she tell you she had to wash her hair? I hear that a lot." We speculated why girls wouldn't go out with him. (I'm realizing that all this time and I still felt the same way. The whole night I didn't have a clue. Until.) 

And then we left, more donuts & drove around. "C'mon, Tonya, let's just drive around like we used to in high school when there wasn't anything else to do." So we drove out to find a lake.

"I love doing this," I said, "just driving around somewhere for a long time with people." Or something like that. 

"Yeah," said Brett. I'd found out that he did talk. He was in a different state than the last weekend. 

I'm playing with the ends of the jump rope in my lap and he puts his hand on my arm. (I expected it? Yes, the tiny ways that are so unsure, you don't know, and yet? Is he? Does he? And the gesture was a positive answer.)

I'm not going to be coy, I want him to be honest so I look directly at him. He's leaned his head back, looking straight ahead. He doesn't look at me. I keep playing with the rope and slowly he moves his hand to mine. The road is dark, the sky loaded with low clouds lit by the city. We sing Bread and laugh. 

(I see now. The joy as much as that other night -- M.B. & Greg & I, loving them, but this was a serene joy, no ache here.) On the other side of a hill we can see the glow from the headlites of an oncoming car. 

"It's God," says Brett. 

 

November 15

What I want. It's very simple. 1. To go to London. 2. Satisfaction with Greg (I don't know exactly how but the present situation still pricks at me, a cut that won't heal, a tiny rock in my shoe, a speck in my eye) 3. To have Brett.

Shit. This paper I don't want to do. I don't feel creative or articulate tonight. Or even clever. How about: ?... T. and I are changing places. In high school she's quiet and has a few friends, I'm loud and gregarious. Full circle, peut-etra? 

Okay, okay, I know what you really want to know. What happened after that. How long has it been? 2 weeks & 6 days. I can't remember and feel shuddering wonderful surge anymore. I've run out of adrenaline. 

After the donut, my mouth felt moldy and tasted like a horrible smell. We were running out of gas so Tonya turned the car around on the bridge (I never did see the lake beneath us) and drove back. I was embarrassed a little, and hoped she didn't feel like just a driver with us sitting there touching hands.  

We got back to the apartment, talking about Woody Allen movies. He's seen every one of them. Tonya suggests Trivial Pursuit and I read a couple of cards. We drift around, making drinks, changing clothes, dancing to the Big Chill. Finally! I brush my teeth (ahh! And I know) and change into Tonya's jeans & green polo & the red beret. Brett's drinking vodka & orange juice & cranberry juice, no--7-Up & vodka and Tonya has rum and Coke. I drink water. Again, we sit, Tonya at one end of the long couch, Brett in his cap, I say to T., "hey! You're in the minority when it concerns hats here!"

Brett in between us at the other end and me on the short couch at right angles. A few Trivial questions, Groovy Greats, Brett goes to get something and while Tonya's in the kitchen, I say, "Tonya! Tonya!" I'm embarrassed, I think she knows what I mean -- what should I do? But she was nonchalant (Later, she told me she didn't even know we were holding hands in the car "If I'd known that, I would have gone to bed earlier.")

He returns, she goes to bed. We listen to Joni Mitchell, Simon & Garfunkel, Crosby, Stills & Nash. We talk about movies. Ouch! I bore him with my long drawn out description of The Graduate, but he's so nice to sit there & calmly listen. (There! I did feel it. A slight jump, a squeeze of the heart. Not completely gone.) 

And we play with Heather's stuffed Garfield & Pooky & Odie. The animals are touching & kissing each other while we talk of other things. He changes an album, I sit on the floor. I trace Garfield's mouth with my finger. He plays with Garfield's ears. And after a very long time, his fingers touch mine. We stop talking. I sit absolutely still, barely breathing, staring at our two hands. This time I don't look at him.

My heart beats behind my face. We don't say a word. The record ends. He gets up to change it and my decision is to sit against the long couch. I hug Garfield tightly and he returns, his arm around my shoulders now. I only lean my head down on his shoulder, he turns his head and we kiss. A long kiss. I hug Garfield tighter, then my arms spread to hold him. The record ends. 

"What do you want to hear" is the first thing he says. "Your heart" I reply, against his chest. He goes & returns. Can I look at him? What do I see? Heavy lidded eyes with long lashes, wide cheeks, smooth and broad, red mouth. 

Hours and he's no more than touched my waist under my shirt. He returns again & I pull him down, pulling off our hats. (There it is. Through me.) I'm moving and he is too. (I can't remember & how I've tried, when I began to know this. The 3 way attic with Tonya & Greg? Involuntary.)

It's wonderful and I'm breathing quickly and when he kisses my ear I nearly go crazy. My mind has begun a dream state (not John's harsh colors, but word equations) ...

October 1984

 October 6

I'm bleeding again. (I knew this would happen.) And even though I sit quietly at my desk, I slowly change clothes, I steadily, calmly eat chocolate and apples (all the food I have in the house), I am RAGING. Could it be only getting 7 hours last nite. No! It couldn't be. And yet I look at things, my eyes don't focus, I can't concentrate, my mind whips from one uncomfortable memory to another. (I just changed again.) I'm close to tears every hour or so. I know (I just changed again) what it is -- the sugar and the SYR last nite. Thank you, Lord, it's not as bad as waking up to shame, not even wanting to let your mind touch on the horrible things you've done the nite before, but. He was polite, kind and considerate. I don't want to think about (my fault, guilt) why he didn't have even fun.

October 13

The last traces of the strange echo of a period. Joe King Carrasco, Entre Nous, Kramer Vs. Kramer, and tonite, Dark Circle. I skipped The Shining, plutoneum gave me enough terror for one nite. 

A few things: Last year, it was to get here. Now it is to get to London. I need it, I want it. My goal. I will be crushed if not accepted. 

Movie scene: A party scene, 2 tall people are talking, she is also in the circle, looking at them, close up on her face going tennis style back & forth, trying to add comments important only to herself. Not sympathetic, almost contempt, she's almost pitiable. We might feel sorry for her, but not because she's included, but because she is behaving so inexcusably.

I'm always so alone. Am I shy? I'm putting men on a platform, it's time some fell off. I dont' think of them like I think of girls --> stupid of me. I'm embarrassed for being alone so much, but I don't want to impose and I don't want to settle for something insincere and forced. I had a realization how lonely I had been yesterday when sitting down next to Tim/Peter, he starts with "How the hell are ya!?" and from that we spent the rest of the hour in that fun, landsliding laughing that's so easy. I've missed that. W/Tonya, w/Melissa, w/Shannon (sometimes), w/Greg, w/Tim Parsons. You know, silliness. 

Oct. 15

Last nite I dreamed that I gave birth. I was pregnant and very frightened & nervous of the pain, laying down between other women, rows of them, waiting. Too much, I got up and left into an empty room where I realized it was happening. No pain. I was all alone and it came, large and wet & red & beautiful. I held it and gently turned the helpless child over so it could cough up some mucus, I think the placenta. I woke up feeling tender and feminine. I want a baby.

October 17

Jewell moments. The first time I really laughed, sitting with Jane, she explains how badly she wants to witness, two boys say hi Jane and sit down before I know it. They talk with her, her cousins, I'm flustered and quiet. One absently shakes sugar onto the table then grinds it into a powder with the glass holder. They tell a story about Jane's brother driving to California, his girlfriend in the front seat holding a bass drum and I laughed. I am still grateful for that happy laugh they gave me. 

And the awful nightmare of waking up in blinding, glaring spotlite sun in my eyes while KA's sang below.

Notre Dame moments. My first meal, crowded dining hall, "is anyone sitting here" greeted with silence. Who I thought was a very upperclassman with a cute haircut turns out to be a sophomore or freshman girl from Mexico. On the other side an obnoxious loudly good-looking blond in a Fuck art, let's dance t-shirt. He slobs down Capt. Crunch & tells me the story of N.D.'s fight to keep it in '83. 

My lowest moment, I haven't slept in 30 hours, the paper I just turned in feels like a C at best, I'm dirty, no raincoat or umbrella in the rain, I'm skipping my first class, cold, wind, stumbling. I begin to sing Jesus loves me, this I know and a bicycle skids past. I stop, embarrassed, feeling like a crazy, dirty, tired bag lady. 

A transcending moment. I stop on my way home to watch a moment of a soccer game. I stand at the gate outside the light, the fog is so thick only half the field is visible, they run through the mist, brightly lit. 

October 19

It's not a question of being good. I haven't had to try and not think about the (certain parts) past, I just haven't. Well, I have had a lot of stupid fantasies about romantic or joyful reunions with Mr. Ed. I mean, you have to admit that it's going to be good to go where people are looking forward to seeing me again. Not having people around me constantly does take away from being able to have experiences that turn into old jokes. Oh well. 

Today I met a couple of guys, one funny, one nice and found out Diane's name. And Tim/Peter is still killing me. And I'm wearing my new N.D. sweatshirt, so I'm not denying this place at all. I feel so comfortable here. But I'm digressing. What I meant to write was a little ancient history review. 

"Guess who I talked to last nite?" Tonya asked. (Now that's getting to be an old joke, even if she doesn't know it's funny. The answer is always the same, every time she asks.) Uh oh, she changed her mind to sympathy when I repeated the old standby, "he's got some serious problem/hangups/sexual inhibitions" (take your pick). Anyway, she said to him, "I think Cindy deserves an apology." That line will go down in our chronicles as one of the most beautiful gifts she ever gave me. It ranks up there with the black dress and her occasional "I was so proud of you." I screamed when she told me she said that. Anyway, his reaction was surprise. "He said he didn't even think you'd talk to him," she says. I don't know. I think one of the thousand things that never came out in the open was his occasional acting. I could easily (easily? more than that, I'll slide into it!) believe him pretending to be contrite for a while. And I could never confront him. The only think I want to say to him is clear, concise, unarguable. 

"Greg, we never talked about the important things." 

Okay, maybe they weren't important, but that's getting too metaphysical. On the shallow terms of our relationship, they were important. Anyway, "Greg, we never even talked about the first time you kissed me." How ridiculous. We had more fun than anyone, but you blew it, you blew it. It could have been fine 4 a long long time but you blew it, you blew it. What's going 2 happen? Do you want to give him even Regret? Sometimes, yeah, when I remember, "Greg!" 

But then at the same time I laugh at him, but at the same time shake my head in pity not without a little disgust at him still trying to get Kyla, still itching to get back for Homecoming. What's going to happen? What is he and I going to do? I can tell already it's going 2B something. Is it necessary that people think I've changed? I used to think so, but those "changes" that are really called maturity aren't necessarily the ones that just anyone can see. How profound. I'm so glad I wrote that. Another comforting, reassuring, sound rationalization. Anyone, another chapter. I know there is some deep psychological reason I fooled around with John that has nothing to do with him. As in wanting to achieve the rightness of full circle w/Mary Beth. To get the upper hand? To irreparably finalize it? How about: Mike is so nice & kind & polite & funny & neat & great that I have to get him to hate me. And having M.B. hate me is a lot less frustrating than just having her indifferent. Wow. That last one really hits close to home. 

What do I want? to happen. I know I don't want to see John. Those situations are so cut & dried. I'm in the position to be angry or to want him. I'm neither. I don't really care. This is weird! If Greg & John both said "c'mere baby & give me a kiss," I'd prefer Greg. How odd. How odd.  Now isn't that weird? Maybe there's hope that I can mix love and sex when I'm married. I mean John is so strong and gorgeous, he should be the obvious choice for a kiss. Oh dear. There are a lot of possibilities this break. KU, back home, Jewell. Oh dear. I don't want confusion, but I think I'm going to get at least a little, no matter what. Anyway. What do I want? Mary Bell doesn't know, and I see John. Big NO! She won't speak to me and Amy waves from a distance, then looks at MB & turns away. I could deal w/it. Why does that appeal to me so much? I've already answered that. And I would feel strong -- I can affect her. Even: She slaps my face. No, her style is sharper than that, echos of The Children's Hour. I've seen her hatred of Carla & Debbie M. How could she touch me? I guess thru Amy & maybe Jim or maybe even some others? I don't know. Would I like her needing me again? Of course.

October 28

My reply? A sweet, hard kiss, as good as fast, hot tears.

Later:  Rickie has a new album. How right. I listen to her and I am strong. I can be strong enough. To wait? To go on? To look back? To write? "I love so much that the risk of showing it doesn't scare me <-- or, I care so much, I don't care if you don't care," I thot at the airport. 

September, 1984 at the Catholic college

 

September 22

I can't believe it! I found Bill! Bill! (Ooops, forgot) A few days before, (no kidding) I was thinking one morning (you know, morning thoughts) that I didn't even remember what he looked like. And what an obsession that had been. Anyway, Ann, his sister goes here. I met her and I could remember her face and hair. He's in the Air Force, he just got married in June (!) and he was coming up that day to see Ann. Bill Weiderman. I can't believe it. I would love to see him, but there's no feeling. I love wrapping up the mystery, though. 

This has been a weird period. I'm a week early, no kinky dreams, no cramps, little acne and not much blood, not even red. I'm not even sure this is it, but there is something. Little emotion or confusion, but I did start to cry in the cafeteria yesterday, reading an article by a priest about funeral rites for a miscarriage.

 

September 23 

See? I can't study in my room -- too many distractions. Anyway. Great movie scene idea: Girl is talking to guy, smiling and probably hugging her books, tight. She goes home and repeats what she said in the mirror. The wind was blowing in the first shot, so she takes out a hairdryer to get the same effect. 

I tried on the Black Dress tonite and it has changed. Doesn't fit me the way it used to, not half the old thrill. You know what's missing? Tonya. I miss her. 

 

September 25

I am falling apart. My only reason for being at Jewell was to get good grades so I could come here and now the prime reason I'm here is to get a good education. I'm not cutting it -- I haven't done a satisfying, complete piece of work since I got here. Last night I didn't sleep and yet the result of the effort was incomplete, unorganized, desparate. 

Sept. 27

In Core today, Prof. DeVacca (is this stupid class what's changing my life? What's making me unhappy? What's making me question God? What's taking away the friendship & love from our relationship and turning it into an ignorant child demanding answer to questions that she doesn't understand?) proposed that research has shown when we daydream, which he referred to as revealing our subconscious, we think predominantly of sex, death and God or religion, in that order. Sounds like a lot of my night dreams. 

Today, walking to class, I remembered my dream last night and almost cried. (I'm close to tears often lately. Maybe it's just the red, but it's not. I'm not red, today just leaves wetness and smell. How gross.) I dreamed: (wait. I think this bloodless period is bothering me more than it seems. This has never happened before. And early.) I dreamed: Mary and I are watching, startled, and then I look at her watching, she turns to me, her face lit up and she says (or as most people speak in my dreams, she didn't say it, just garbled words but I understand the meaning) "C'mon, let's go!"

It was Armageddon, no, it was soldiers' killing in the street, shooting people down. It was death. She was running joyfully to a certain death and so glad to go. (Oh how these words strip the emotion from the memory, limiting it to the page, now I can only remember what I've written, as if that were all.) I held back and the dream ended. 

I am immature. Mary has the grasp of what death means -- being with the Lord, being with the Lord. I'm seeing death as the end of this world. If I see God's glory in the world around me, what happens when I don't see this world? I will see God's glory, greater than anything in an imperfect world. I will see the Lord. God, teach me. Come, Lord Jesus. I am crying so often lately. I know I'd be better off dead, Mary said. 

Amy Grant says, "In a little while, we'll be with the Father."

September 29

Here I sit, waiting for my hands to warm up and my cunt to calm down. Before the date, (waiting and waiting, adrenaline surging, anxiety so high I almost couldn't handle simple motions like hanging up a pair of jeans, [sudden realization John was right: oral fixation, eating when you're horny. I'm not, (that is body and mind and brain) but just now I went to the kitchen and gnawed on the rock-hard dry remains of a 5 day old pizza] the attacks wanting me to drop everything, stop cleaning up my room and wring my hands, check every clock in the house to make sure they're all synchronized and run out in the street to see if they couldn't find the house. I wondered who was the Blind Date, he or I. Turns out, c'etait moi. 

Poor thing, how embarrassing the whole thing was. But the kiss (of course) of requisite, of expectation, of duty, turned me on. When body starts to say go, go, Go, GO, GO! brain starts to wonder and falter, well..., but mind, calm, sober, rationale, still says, okay have a little fun, but we know our primary goal, "get inside the house as soon as possible."

Sophomore College Transfer to Notre Dame

 Cindy--

I always wanted to read your journal, but I guess being able to write in your journal is even better...I know you don't need more things to pack, but I wanted to get you a special gift that really meant something. I wanted it to bring tears to your eyes, but I'll settle for a smile from your full voluputous lips. Shit! I knew I'd spell something wrong or make a mistake if I used ink! :( Remember, if there is ever a fire, grab this first!! You've really taken a lot of huge strides since I've known you -- from short to long hair, (okay, I know it's the way around, but it would look bad if I crossed it out...) from Venture canvas casuals to Keds. From baggie jeans to GuessTM second skins, and last but not least -- from a spiral to a fabric covered journal. Oooo. Impressive. Keep track of all your crushes and all other important details...Your memories can never be taken away from you. 

Love Always, Tonya 

P.S. Take care of the Black Dress!!! 

August 15, 1984

 

August 22

Finally! I've been writing letters, annoyed because I have to keep my audience in mind and slip in a question for them every once in a while to keep their interest. Now I can write all about myself! Selfish girl! I'm sitting in my hopelessly mismatched bedroom (yellow walls, yellow, green & orange rug, yellow, green and cream floral print curtains, olive green chair, dark wood trim and my contribution of a pastel yellow, pink & blue bedspread & jaunty blue throw pillow.) I could really love this room. Don't forget the pink phone! I know why I love Judy Cool's room so much. The dream. I had a dream that I found a dorm room with hug windows on all three walls and a loft bed. When I walked into Judy's room, I gasped with recognition. Maybe it was just the sun shining brightly in the lat afternoon or the trees through the windows or the wood floor that gave it an open, airy feeling. The windows were huge. I need light. My house will have such windows in every room. The feeling of loss and frustration that I try to push away is the same when I think of Judy or Mr. Ed. Christy (bless her!) said he'd probably was so friendly at the Psychedelic Furs concert just because I was there. I was available and convenient. Nothing wrong with that. If you can't be with the one you love... Everytime I think of Tonya giving me this and the black dress and the earrings and pin, I get all soft inside. It's so easy to love her. She is a dear friend.

Do you believe in things? Mementos? Memorabilia? Something to remember you by? If the house were burning, what would you grab? I felt like a vagrant coming to South Bend with a carload of possessions and a purseful of money and no place to live. I don't want to feel cluttered. I want active "things" -- that I can use or continue or wear or whatever.

August 30

Red, but the trail end. A strange period. The first day, Saturday, I fainted in Mass. One minute, I was fighting back nausea and flashing hot and cold, but I've had that happen before. I put my hands on the seat in front ome to steady myself and the next thing, I felt physical relief, but my mind was doing crazy things, like a bad, fast, confused dream. Then I could hear hushed voices and I was sitting. "Did I faint?" How embarrassing, but then I felt too sick to care. I was helped home by a really nice Italian family (cute son) and got into bed. I threw up and slept for a few hours. I've never had such problems: headache, bad, B-A-D cramps, light-headed and tired. Do I love to fall. Fear of flying? No. Love of Falling. Perhaps. But that was last year. That was William Jewell College. 

Today we saw a film in Communications and Theater 104: The Wild Horse's Dream. Wild Horses fighting, running through marshes, mud, fog, and fire in slow motion. The power. Why I wrote today.  Remember the first time you hear The Ghost in You? No, but I remember the first time I became aware of it: Driving past Glenwood Theater with Christy, Scott, Sherri, who else?, I heard and said, "Isn't that sad? Isn't that the saddest song you've ever heard?"

August 31

Last day. Brown edges. I am nineteen and I'm lonely. For someone to talk to.

September 4

Feeling much better, thank you. I wonder what it feels like to have your protons decay? I'm writing a song (gradually, actually, I'm thinking of a song) called "I Thought I Saw You." Catchy, huh? The lyrics are something like: I thought I saw you/Alone/In the rain and the cold, etc. and then the chorus builds into I thought I saw you, but I was wrong. Then a bridge about how they had broken up and then, predictably, the last verse has I thot I saw you/Leaving the party/With her/Happy, laughing, and the last quite I thot I saw you and I was right, I was right or "it wasn't a mistake" or I wasn't wrong or I saw clearly, or whatever, but repeating over and over and fade. How sad.

People are nice here. But why oh why are these professors so intent on harming my faith. What did I ever do to them? It's unfair. What are they giving up to replace our beliefs?

In dinner the other night, I sat down by three guys, I didn't think anything of it until I noticed the blond cat-corner across from me was moving slowly, bent over the table, occasionally moving his hand in front of his face in a strange way. The other two boys were quiet and natural, addressing him every once in a while. I looked at him maybe twice and then couldn't anymore. He was so beautiful. His eyes were huge with long lashes. He had the face of a angel. Multiple sclerosis? Spinal bifida? Cerebral palsy? I don't know the names of these things. As I cried and straightened Scott's turned hands, pulling him coordinated, I would weep over this boy, holding him close, folding, moving, pulling into place, perhaps my arms around his head, kissing his eyes, tears falling freely on his face.

 

September 9

Hello, nothing to say, but I'm in a good mood and feel like writing. Amazing how different this is from Jewell. Jewell is actually as bad as I thought it was! I like myself better here BUT I had an important revelation a couple of days ago. One of the reasons I might have come here is that I wanted a religious environment where everyone believed as I do. I wanted someplace secure and safe. God is showing me, I think, that I can't just physically run away from test of my faith. They're all over the place here. One problem I haven't had (PTL) is lust. Good-looking guys all over the place, but I talk to them and there's none of that uncomfortable fire down below. I like being detached (sometimes), but I don't know how long I'll want to keep from committing myself to any friends.

September 13

Whoops! I fell into a Jewell mood tonight. I better hurry up and start making some history for myself here. Am I a stoic? Reading Epictetus's Handbook, I felt a comfortable sureness of how right it was. Not all, of course, but a lot of the philosophy falls along the lines of what I so admired in Jeff and Lauren: I often think "What would Lauren do?" or "...think about this?" Mostly its answer is "It's no big deal." Simple, just not giving any situation any credit (?) or much value (?) buy not worrying or even giving it much thought.

That's my Philosophy class. As for Arts & Letters Core, I actually feel myself learning as I sit and listen and strain to find an answer inside my head and discover connections and revelation opened before me. But. My ideas about God are perhaps changing. How could I lost my faith? How could I? I don't rely on scientific proof, my beliefs aren't based in logic. But. Oh how I wanted to burst into tears in class today. Just sit in the half circle, sobbing, everyone silent with shock, watching. "So, we were just talking to ourselves?" Here. Here's my first Notre Dame tears. Why? Because losing your faith is nothing to cry about. You'd never have anything to cry about again. Why? Because I felt abused yesterday, people looking at me like I was insane. Because my feet hurt. Because Jewell was so bad and this is so good (not perfect, I'm realistic, you know, or at least trying to be) Because places like Jewell exist. Because I'm lonely. I don't care, I just want somebody to talk to, somebody who's not doing it because they feel obligated or responsible or who wants anything from me. Just somebody to sit and chit and sit and chit-chat and smile. Really. Just for fun. Because I love my God. My Lord. My Father.

Andrew Wyeth. Have you seen "Christina's World"? Her back to us, she seems to be reaching for her home. She's crawling, pulling herself along the ground. I'd always pictured her young and tender and beautiful and wild (the hair blowing out form its ties, she wanted to be out in the sun-warmed grass, even if it was for only a while, even if it did mean a hard climb back up the hill.) Christina was an old woman, thick, wrinkled face, large nose, tiny eyes. Wyeth makes her beautiful. No, just pulled out her beauty for us to see.

My greatest fear. "You look ridiculous."

Will I be silent as I die? "Oh. This is happening." When I fainted, my car accident, there was confusion, then I sat, I began to understand that this had happened to me. Do I remember taking N. & C.'s deaths like that? No. Do I remember lying on the ground feeling like that. I think so. Perhaps I'll scream in fear or surprise, then pass the confusion and sirens in my head (the end of the world will sound like that and thousands of discordant voices) and I'll start understanding.