Volunteering at the Overnight Homeless Shelter/Dancing with a Blind Date

 

February 3

I hated waking up hungry & yet knowing I could eat as much as I wanted in a couple of hours in a warm bright and noisy cafeteria. And I don't know where or if they were going to eat anything that day besides the coffee loaded with sugar & cream & the juice we had for them. 

Breakfast! The little squinty eyed boy, quiet, around 12 or 13. The girl in baggy pants, hidden in her tangled long hair, soft & vulnerable as she lay asleep on her side, an arm handing off the mat, her cupped hand opened upward.

"You must be rich," said Jerry, "with your car & going here and all..." I shrugged, said something about my parent inheritance. When said something like alright, I said, "no, I hate it. I would give everything."

Rejection from Reggie was harder than from Brett. He's still one of my favorite people. But last night I loved the touches on my hands & waist and his firm upper arm through his shirt. But too easily I was wet, so quickly, and my brain takes a back seat, I become stupid. 

"So subtly is the fume of life designed,/To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind...the poor treason/Of my stout blood against my staggering brain..."

Oh ha ha! Yesterday the cute quiet guy I've been watching in Theology is sitting across from Reggie in dinner. Walking back to my car past the bus stop, I see Jerry smiling down at what must be SMC chick about 5 inches from his face. Tonite in dinner Julie is wearing the sweater I first admired on Tom. Oh ha ha! Best laid plans, hopes, aspirations....

February 5

When I'm alone: Sometimes I'm so happy, content, laughing. Sometimes, arrgh! I just want to be touched!

The Month I Turned Twenty

January 4

Last year I asked "am I happy? Am I happy?" and stuck to the no-but-I'm-content reply. 

This year: sure, I'm happy lots of times, when I'm laughing, when I see something beautiful & true, specific instances, like Brett & tonite, sledding w/Rhonda & Tammy. But content? Ha! (Bitter, terse laugh)

"We're different," I said 2 Brett. 

"How?"

"You seem serene."

"What do you mean?"

"You seem to have a quiet soul."

"Wait til you hear my music," he countered.

January 6

On Nov. 15 I made my Christmas list. I wanted gifts to be given to me. Now here's my New Years Resolutions list: things I will do or achieve or try myself. 

1. To be at peace with what I do. Not through rationalization after the fact, but from Christian existentialism (yes, this is committing myself), from active, responsible, realistic consideration of all the consequences of my actions. The Christian part involves being aware & as intelligent as you possible can -- you have to be. The existential part is taking total responsibility for self. 

Yeah, I can whine & cringe at my religion's shortcomings, but perhaps sometimes I use it as an excuse to try & blindly chuck everything. But there's still good & bad that goes beyond social norms. There's still black & white left, not everything has slid into that gray "well, ..."

I'm so tired of this self-contempt.

January 9

Silly girl. Wants to put on music and pick up pen and allow the feelings to flood over her just like it was. But remembering him right now, today, is tinged with the slight sourness of the faintly niggling questions, Why hasn't...? Where...? Does he...? 

But they are faint, actually, only flaring up when I read "'I know it sounds terrible & chauvinistic,' says Rod, a 25-year old...rogue, 'but a night of sex can really end my fascination for a woman,'" in Mme. or when I remember his phone calls in December.

(Sat nite, frantically ironing my dress for the formal blind date, I'm supposed to be at Beth's in 10 minutes, I still have 2 buy gas and the phone rings 

"...yes, this is Cindy," 

"This is Brett, remember me?"

"Brett! I can't believe you called! Brett!"

"Well, I just wanted to check up on what's happening with you..."

"Brett! My heart is going boom! boom! boom!"

Did I sound a little forward? I was so happy.)

and the silence  now. 

But the anxiety is (not <-- Freudian slip) very severe, I'm not strangling yet: I put up our picture, then took it down. Well that's today.

"Love fades" said the little old lady clumping down the street in Annie Hall. 

"I don't trust happiness," said Max Sledge, gardening in Tender Mercies.

"Love and romance and sex are not the same," Chuck & I commiserate.

Tonny & I talking on the phone the nite before I come to Lawrence, she tells how she was talking to Brett and brought up what I had worried would be a bad situation: explaining to him, "I haven't seen Chuck or Cindy in a long time and I want to spend time w/them...and I know you and Cindy want to have time alone..." I could have kissed her. I love her for being tactful & wise. 

And calling him the same nite, smiling at myself in the mirror over Dad's dressing table. I can't remember any feeling more fine-tuned than happiness, anticipation. Simple, blind, well, more like near sited, clear feelings. 

I loved seeing Tonny again. She was taking out the garbage as I was coming in and both our arms full, we didn't bother trying to hug, just said hi and laughed hard. It was so good being with her and before I knew it the door knocked. 

"Who's that?" 

"Must be Brett," before I have time to be sick w/nervousness, he's in the doorway. I'm wearing my carefully planned outfit (which Tonya & Chuck later dissect), jeans, pink & white cotton sweater, blue dyed denim jacket, white scarf, black hat. Yeah, I guess that is kind of strange. I guess we said hello and he initiated a short hug around my hat. 

Okay, is this stuff I want to remember? Is this only how & when he touched me? Is this the good stuff? Is this an R rated movie? Is this to reassure myself that I'm desirable? What is this? What is this for?

After dropping Tonya off, we walked around downtown Lawrence, looking in shops. I was cold & had to go to the bathroom really bad (not real conducive to clever conversation), but I bought 2 bears & we got some bubble liquid. We went home & talked of nothing til Tonya called to pick her up. Yeah, but a little disappointed. It felt very odd to try & listen to his music in the living room, with Sonya & Tonya walking around, everyone talking. I'd go into T's room, talk to her for a while, flit around. Finally, sitting on the couch,

 |

\|/

I avoided playing Rickie, Brett noticed & commented on it later. I said I felt strong w/T. there & we talked of how she's a good friend, but tries very hard to be ordinary and so is not like us. 

"What's going to happen to people like us?" I ask. 

"We become famous or we don't" he replied. Hmm..

 

 

                            ...his arm comfortable & right around my sholders, we listened & read his Rolling Stones book of reviews. I don't think he was thinking of the book. Tonny has left and after a while I stop reading. We're kissing and oh! oh! I think

January 10

Oh! I think slowly, Oh! He says something about my little chortles, murmurs, sighs (I don't remember, maybe I was smiling & he could tell) and I say "Brett M*****, you make me so happy." "Hey, you too," he replies.

Silly girl. Is she trying to write a risque/steamy/romantic/exciting movie? I want to titled Things I Want to Remember. That's all I want here, just that. But Cindy the editor wants a story to reinforce the details w/context. 

Things: Wrestling a bit on the bed. Growling "grarg" at each other.

Story: I have to change my pad, go back to Tonny's, talking so long, I'm in love! I announce first thing, then he comes too and we all talk for ever so long about fake I.D.'s. I feel stupid, he won't want to kiss me now. But I get my contact case & we go back when Tonny goes to bed. 

Things: "Do you want me to take this off?" "Yeah."

January 11

Story: Listening to Joni Mitchell, I suddenly recognize a dubbed in piece of dialogue "You can't be idealistic your whole life," says Jim Bacchus & Jim & I reply, "Except to yourself. Except to yourself." 

I'm so happily surprised by the Rebel w/out Cause, it must mean something and I tell Brett of watching the film over & over for my term paper. They were so alike. "You're my James Dean," I finished. 

The morning I left, he says, "hey, I almost forgot" and hands me the wrapped package & card, enveloped Cindy that had been sitting on the speaker all weekend. Oh is all I can say, smiling, touched, embarrassed, struck. 

It's a biography of James Dean. Oh! and I grab him, kissing joyfully that wonderful face. 

"What did you think when I told you about him the other nite?" I ask.

"I though, yeah, well alright."

Things: I open my eyes often when we kiss. I want to see his face.

I watch him at my breast. His mouth, his closed lid & long lashes, his reverent hands are the most moving thing I've ever seen.

January 15

Game plan for this semester: I take a step back, out of the spin and don't work so hard for trying to impress instead of appreciate other people. Make an effort to be a friend. And I don't have to be the first on my block. What I will work harder for: school. No blowing off, please. And more exercise, please. These sound suspiciously like New Year's resolutions.

Story: First nite when I came back to change myself, Tonny says I have a hickey on my neck. And one on each earlobe. "You animal," I tease at Brett when he comes over. The next morning in the shower I notice the huge purple marks over each of my nipples, tool. I wear turtlenecks for days, until Christmas morning, opening presents in my robe, Ron yells, "hey! what's that on your neck, Cindy? A hickey!"

Things: He's biting me and it's the cruelest torture I've ever been through. I'm moaning and clenching my fist. I can't stand it. I hit the wall and then hit his back with my fist. Oh! He stops & looks at me.

"Oh my God," he says. "What am I doing? What am I doing!?" 

I've never seen him so upsets. "I'm so sorry," he apologizes profusely and can only lay there, amazed and silent. I don't say anything. I can't believe it.

Story: I wake up and don't know what to say as we get dressed. I go to take a shower and breakfast. Tonya has left for work. I knock on his door, he hasn't showered yet, to tell him I'm going to Walmart. Only 3 hours of sleep or so, but I'm brightly wide awake. After shopping fast for Xmas gifts, I come back and there's no answer at his door. Or his phone. I watch MTV and know he's skipped out. What a perfect opportunity when I went to the store: he calls his dad & leaves before I came back.

I hear that familiar wonderful laughter on the stairs & Chuck & Tonya are here. I'm jumping up & down & hugging him & he says I look like Audrey Hepburn & a lot better than he expected. He's blonder & funny & the same as if I'd seen him last week instead of June. We go to Valentino's to eat, come back & Brett had only been asleep. 

I introduce them & they shake hands, my boys, my tow men friends. Tonya had told Brett that Chuck's gay. They are both kind, nice people and acted friendly towards each other. Chuck & I go pick up my sweater, buy off Tonny, buy drink mix and return. With drinks, me with water, we watch a very unfunny Sat. Nite Live, I laugh at Chuck's cute face asleep, Tonya spilling a jar of red taco sauce in her lap, screaming, helpless, for someone to get a towel -- Brett gets it finally. 

And I'm glancing through a magazine, Brett points to a quote about how people only really listen to you when you're talking to yourself. 

Later, he says something under his breath & sure enough, we all ask "what?"

We aren't holding hands though we're sitting close enough to and I'm thinking about it. Tonny says she's going to bed, Chuck says he's going to bed. I don't say anything but goodnite. We sit as they leave. Seconds & then a knock. Brett gets up & opens the door. I hear him say thanks! & come in saying, "something for you." Tonya left my contact case & saline out in the hall. 

The next day she laughs, saying "Brett knows me so well. He waved at the peephole in the door -- he knew I'd be looking out!" 

We watch MTV, this time his arm around my shoulder. We talk a little but are silent during the Big Red "Kiss a little longer" commercial & the beautiful Boys of Summer video. 

Pick out records & go to his room. We sit on the side of the bed & unlace and take off our shoes. Listen to the Secret Police and I can't hold back for "Because We've Ended as Lovers" and I turn to him, "this is my favorite" and we're quickly horizontal. 

"And it always sounded so sad before. Why doesn't it sound sad now?" I murmur. And I whisper: "I may as well try to catch the wind..."

Things: "Brett," I whisper. "What?" "I want you to ... say my name." "Cindy," he says "Cindy."

I take off my sweater & shirt, throwing them across the room. He's unfastening my bra, I offer to help with a movement of my hands, but he won't let me.

January 17

Well, serves me right for writing on & on, wringing out my memory for the tiniest bit of thrill. Last nite I had a kinky dream. Dennis Quaid/Harrison Ford is leaving me, I put my arms around his neck to how we could be serious, I am serious, he backs into another room. Thinks, then, "okay." We're sitting on a chair, facing each other.  

GROSS!! READ W/CAUTION!

"Is this how you want it?" Dennis/Harrison asks. I look down. "I've never...I'm..." He quickly understands & thinks, then, "okay, then how about, I do you, then you do me, okay?" He's accommodating enough. I'm so wet, it feels like water is splashing on my down under. And ye, I do enjoy the kiss. But more unpleasant interludes w/others & my punishment! 

Freud would say even in my dreams, I really do want justice. And so gross black bugs attack me w/long black soft stingers that leave black dots that I know will infect me & rot my parts.

Why did I have it? Thinking of Brett all the time, wondering if when he went for my zipper, ("Brett, we can't" "Don't worry, nothing will happen" --> I did trust him, I just didn't want him 2 know I was on the rag) he wanted to kiss me. And how ordered it seems: first time just kissing, then the breasts & hand jobs, then I guess my dream. Then we break up because I won't go all the way. But even that is hopeful, so I better stick w/now & not presuppose.         I also had it from reading Hotel New Hampshire and talking w/Michelle.

But enough is enough. This is the last of it.

Things: Oh please slow down I thought to his heart and his rapid breath. So I tried, not knowing what I was doing, no finesse, no delicacy. His sharp moans were beautiful. And then he was somehow heavier, more solid and with me as he lay quiet. "Okay?" I whispered. "Alright?" I was questioning him and what I had done. "Yeah" was all he said.

Things: When I awoke, we were laying face to face, our lips just touching. One by one, separated my long pauses when we dozed, we pressed against each others' mouths until we were awake and began again.

Okay. There, I've finished it and I want to go on to new things. 

 

 

 January 21

Why oh why? Because this pen is red with all its nasty connotations, because in 5 days I will be a score of years old. Two decades. Because I've gotten no letters since I came back. Because the Edna Vincent Milay poem I just read ended "let me make it plain/I find this frenzy insufficient reason/For conversation when we meet again." (Oh! How could she!)

BUT! To save me: I feel happier this semester, talking to people makes me so happy.

January 24

This is the last day of my period. I almost miss it.

I will be 20 years old on Saturday, two days form now.

In Sophie's Choice he calls it "briny" and a "mossy swamp." I can't understand the appeal. It's obviously not for us.

Why did I do that? To resolve it -- to have the last word, to bring satisfaction. Oh I was so happy as I left Reggie's room, so ecstatic. Of all the scenes I'd imagined, none of them were this -- success. Why didn't the good feeling remain?

Because I was expecting disaster & got a little conversation and because I gradually calmed down to see the flaws in the little conversation, c'est tout.

January 27

Happy, happy, happy. I woke this morning in Diane's room, looking out the huge windows into a massive expanse of white & blue sky. Half asleep, I tell Diane I feel like I'm flying as I lay back in bed, looking up at the sky over me.

I am happy imagining myself poor. I mean, look at this room! Look at these possessions! I only need a few clothes. Music. I don't feel strongly about much else -- letters, photographs, hyes, but take my books, want my little paraphernalia, junk, stuff?

January 31

Brett is gone. Oh dear. 3 months. Look at all those pages about him! But they're all wrong. Tonya's "don't cry, Cindy, it's not worth it" is wrong, Diane's "that asshole! I wish they could send this in a telegram," flipping off the ceiling. "Fuck you just isn't enough..." is all wrong. Even my tears aren't quite right. Nor is this letter I'm writing.

The best thing I never had.

Two in the Morning

 

 

 

 

 

January 3, 1985

Maybe I should be reassured by my consistency, by my equilibrium. Reading that a body's metabolism tends to stabilize someone's weight so the longer you've been at a certain weight, the harder it is to lose or gain, it felt so right and familiar, I felt that I had already knew it. 

Some things are like that -- they are so right and true, the confirm a part of myself as I learn them for the first time. But I'm digressing. What I mean is I'm returning again. Give me nothing to do, empty days & slow nites and my thot processes return to the old paths. Despair & fresh hope over & over again, undecided between gregarious & anti-social behavior & tendencies & motives. I agonize over simple phone calls or whether I should go on another pointless shopping trip. Another old associate returned for this vacation is the old fervor to work my body out of its unhealthy, inactive state. I'm hungry again for that drug that comes from pain, sweat & pride and leaves me quietly euphoric & relaxed. 

Maybe the impulse for body love is a subconscious act of self-preservation, to rescue me from the anxiety & harm of too much time on my hands to berate myself. More deja vu! I'm sitting on the floor in front of the heating vent. Memories of hot feet & hod back on the hard kitchen floor, my neck hurting from leaning against the cabinet, 6:30 in the morning, half-asleep, eyes hurting, dreading getting dressed for school. 

It's not quite 2 and I'm the only one awake. I feel peaceful late at nite. Maybe because I can be sure I'm not missing anything, Or is that just the niggling pressure to be normal & there4 so sociable talking?

This all leads to no, the all is the reason I want to go to summer school at KU this summer. No matter how much I hate the pressures of deadlines, I need to fill up my life. I mean, I hate this empty living when all I do is spend money & think too deeply & seriously about trite thots. It's not very pleasant to have the strongest emotions of the day in reaction to the extra brownie I had after dinner when 3 weeks ago I was having discussions about methanol treatments and existentialism and theories about recurrent themes in world religions (i.e. for preservation of authority) (what was the name of that theory?) 

The other reason is that there is nothing for me here. My family will always be here, yeah, but I don't really care all that strongly about old ties. Am I running away from bad memories? I hope not. 

Okay, enough of that. You know my mood. Here's an old fantasy to clear the air a bit. This summer I spent the nite at Christy's one Sat. We stayed up til about 3, recording albums & talking. The next morning she gets up to go to church w/Mom, Dad & Grandpa. Scott had come in late the nite before, before he left we had done flips on Christy's bed, laughing at the wildness of throwing yourself violently through the air. When Christy left for church, I was so dead, I went back to sleep for a while, then got up & left. Even though she told me to go on sleeping, for some reason I felt uncomfortable about staying & beat a hasty exit. 

My fantasy: as soon as I hear the door close behind them, I go into their parents bedroom & make sure the car leaves. I go to Scott's door. My heart's pounding as I quietly open the door & creep in. I slip under the covers and lay against his back. Only then does he wake up. I go no further than this. I just like the thot of sleeping with him in the waterbed. 

Shit. It's 3:30 already. I don't have time for the epic of indulgence. Lie! I have gangs of time, I'm just afraid my mind isn't clear enough to remember everything right now. But I can start this: what we listened to.

Fri.

Joan Armatrading, Lou Reed live, 

Rickie: her first & Volcano

                                                                                                           Joni Mitchell live

Sat

Secret Police, Rolling Stones (Some Girls?) Elvis (My Aim is True)

Morning

Julian Lennon (Valotte) 

P.S. Driving home from the grocery story, (<-- important detail to add credibility, to show the thought was significant & good & perhaps true enuf to survive time. But then again, I think there's been quite a few really good ones that just got forgotten. The precious, delicate ideas that escaped) I think, "I'm just going through a phase. I'm irreverent."

December, 1984. South Bend, IN; Lawrence, KS; Kansas City, MO

December 1

Cindy you fart! You little fart! But I am so happy. Reggie Schroeder. Ahh. "It's so hard at first" I said, playing Maureen McGovern in Ordinary People. 

"Yeah, I know," he said. And "You're the first interesting person I've met at one of these." And "Well, give us a kiss."

Oh I hope he heard my "you're nice!" And I do like him. I'm so happy & excited. You silly girl. Not 2 days after Brett sent me The Wonderful Letter. Oh Brett. 

They are very alike, well, a little alike, well they have a few similarities. Oh shit. And I know today I was thinking about what if I had this situation & hot far I could take it. Maybe I have ESP.

Am I going to have 2 periods each month from now on? Very strange.

Ooo ooo new sensations.

Tell Brett -- I Hate the Beach Boys, Bus Plunge, Cowboy Lips, Helter Skelter & I Wanna Whole Lotta Love. Road Warrior, Repo Man, Clockwork Orange.

Tell Reggie -- Repo man w/Circle Jerks

Tell Yourself -- This can work out. We can all be happy.

Oh ha ha ha ha ha! If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with!!

December 4

Shit. There's no joy in Clarksville. Shit, I think this will affect how I write & talk to Brett. And I feel so guilty knowing I have to keep this from Tonya. Knowing I have to keep this from Tonya. How can any of this turn out? Kick out Reggie, run to Brett & it eventually has to end. All things come to an end. And then what does Tonya do -- she has said how close they've become, how much she wants him to be a very dear friend. Great. The shit we dive into. But maybe I'm jumping ahead -- I am, but last nite he was already saying we'll go to Chicago, I'll see his room, we'll do this & that, drive across the country w/his best friend. Shit and of course jerky Cindy compromises, I laugh at witnessing Baptists, I nod about drugs (another thing he said we'd do together) although I did say I'd never done anything. It was so stiff at first, for the longest time. And then gradually, I forgot where I was & who he was & what we were doing and the ideas we were talking about filled my eyes & ears. Long silences. I mean a lot of at least 10-15 second pauses. But I didn't mind, did he? I felt like a geek. Is he really interested? Do I want him to be? And the movie! Magnificent, but was he uncomfortable? I wasn't, even with the rape, rape, rape & phallic crap & shots directly above & below (close shots) of a naked woman. But hold his hand? Through that? How does he view women? (Important.) 

I'm going to make a main stream movie to embarrass: a scene focusing on a guy's agony over trying to hold her hand in a movie.

P.S.!

So that's it! I listen to Rickie, talk to Mary, write letters, put on eye makeup (like Alex, I guess I feel evil), look at my nails, but ignore my philosophy paper due tomorrow at 10:10 & the Cosmos test over 4 chapters I haven't read at 2. 

I know why. Self-destructive behavior. We fulfill our expectations.

I feel so guilty about possibly hurting 2 wonderful people. Plus Tonya, Fuck me, I deserve it. Ooooo! Cindy! Save yourself!

Lord? Save me? oooh, I moan.

Why can't I find a Christian? Why are they both into drugs? Why is Jeff into drugs? (I still have faint fantasies about marrying him.) "Oh we-e belong together..." rips through me & I'm short of breath...

Reggie said he put a copper wire in an outlet to find out what would happen & it felt like someone was pounding on his chest & his back. He did it twice.

Sparkles fall & birds fly, the sun sets & children are quiet, thoughtful, as Rickie sings. The little girl hugs a street light post and looks at evening sky.

Kiss, kiss, kiss, Cindy's horny. I would have shot us from far away, perhaps from behind the car door so you could only see the tops of our heads meet. You'd have to look carefully to see us. First time, then I smile & reach for another. And after I check again my number, a goodbye one. Ah. Short, sweet, ouch. I'm hurting tonight. 

December 10 

I want Reggie to be my friend, but I'm pessimistic. Of if only it could work. But friendship should  be as spontaneous as love. But when people say "let's be friends," they usually aren't taking into account if they like the person or not, they're just saying, "let's not be lovers." I'm going to work at this one.

Tell Reggie -- Guitar, Earth Kitt, tapes, Huge, the X, postcard

I don't want Brett to be physical for different reasons than we're friends. I love talking to him. I don't want to separate the... Oh, I don't know what's going to happen. 

Isn't it funny how things work out? How can always count on life to be different than your expectations, though.

I want Reggie to be my friend.

Images of meeting Brett (I think this was how he left), tightly clutching hands at waist level between us, stand still & tilt just slightly! my head to kiss.

December 14

I'm so unhappy! But I'm laughing as I wail. Oh, I don't know, I feel listless, studying for my film final is such a joke. I'm in the process of getting Boring grades, you know? But happy when I think of getting home, when I read The Eighth Day -- so incredible! 

And Reggie! Now my thots of him will always have that bleak, barren, cold, sterile, intimidating dorm room as the background with the Specials sparse reagae saying "you're wondering now what to do now you know this is the end." And I can't concentrate on my Cosmos in the cruel sharp yet dim light as he, his back 2 me, washes & washes carefully his face. I hate my smile, my forced, stupid questions. Silence. I can't even make him smile. This is a different boy than the wunderkind at the dance & the movie. This is not a friend. Oh good. I've decided now, right now, that I'm not pretending his is anymore. 

I still get a pang when I look up Mr. E's picture. I wonder which one will fade faster? Okay, okay, I'll admit it -- still having fantasies. Still loving to make him laugh.

December 17

Since Sat. nite when I saw the student film/video show, I've had trouble falling asleep. I keep getting ideas & already worrying about assignments. It's so exciting. What I'm anxious about: I don't think I think in very funny ways, I don't get funny ideas. But if I try to do something serious, people have little patience with it. Or maybe that's just me. People like 2 laugh, even at pathetic attempts at humor (unless they're so self-conscious, you just cringe at their screaming Laugh! Laugh! at me!) <-- I don't know, it's complicated, but I get more serious ideas than funny ones. 

1. Satire on Bowie's China Girl video: SMC chick. Half-screen "Bowie" singing & throwing his hips around, ha, ha, like video. Other half, people making really queer faces. Side view of both, she says ssshh and scrapes her face on her incredibly long fingernails. Cafeteria, she's waiting for him w/a tray, he grabs it & throws it straight up in air. She's gorgeous, foufy hair, lots of makeup, $ clothes, she covers hier face & then turns into cold cream on face (like China Girl's white makeup), hair in curlers, in sweats. He grabs her & they kiss, but I don't have expensive track, so they just shuffle around in a circle while they kiss. Oh ha ha. The glass doors of the Chinese restaurant become La Fortune's front door. 

Dec. 17 Later.

I called Brett this afternoon. He's so fun and exciting and funny and kind. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve you. Just days now. This is Mon. nite. I'll be home Wed. nite! 

Home! Finals are just an irritating nusance in my way, but I'll get through them. What (oh what!) is going to happen? I can't even image what (of course I'm imagining, ha!) we'll meet like. My house, his house, Lawrence, the hallway, the parking lot, Tonya's apt, his, w/Chuck, w/Tonya, w/Rob, ha! what if Lounge Lizard was there!?!! I still want that hard, still kiss of a few pages back. I can't wait to see the curve ball life is going to throw me on this one. I want us to have fun: Winsteads, the Plaza, the museum?, used clothes stores, bars, movies we rent. I want us to have fun. I don't want sex. Oh dear, I hope there's not a problem. 

Why I love him: He is kind, he is funny & he like Rickie. Coolsville! He even loved Coolsville! 

I know why, I found out tonite why remembering being young is so poignant for me, why it feels so. Rickie reminds me of being little and playing. It all ended w/Nancy. That was the summer before 6th grade, time to grow up. No more playmate. No more play, for weeks just because it was physically impossible, then emotionally and then it was time I had outgrown it. Maybe I'm just waxing psychological because Mary said (before she left!) it must have had a strong affect on me, both occurring in my developing/formative years.

RED!

December 24

This is not going to end well. Waiting for Dad to bring back my car so I can finish X-mas shopping. This is not going to end well, I'm still crazy right now. I can't think except in very short-term lengths of time. Here, let me tell you some junk: Thurs. got my hair cut short! Do I look like my mother now? 

(For the first time that I can remember, Ron said something about our parents. I'm getting ready to go out w/Sherri & Christy & he looks at me & says "you haven't changed since you were 3 years old," not fondly. "I can remember when I was about 6 years old & going into (pause) Mom's room and you were smearing lipstick all over your face." He said Mom.) 

Oh Mr. Berger, you know Truth.

 

Reddish

 December 25

<--- Okay, to finish. A nicer Christmas, family-wise, then many, but I feel corrupt. Chuck's stories about gay priests and Tonya's malicious quips & laughter felt especially sacrilegious on Christmas Eve. I didn't go to Mass. The radio played part of Like a Virgin, then switched to Jingle Bells as if someone had been caught playing a bad joke and I said "I'm being punished for not being sorry for fooling around w/Brett." I mean, it's Christmas! I bought rum at Hen House, so frightened my face (felt like crying) dead serious.  

At Chuck's we baked sugar cookies, drank egg nog & laughed w/Mrs. Johnson (he says I'm her). 

I can't decide if I feel bad and consequently guilty or not. That was last nite. 

This morning Ron loudly notices my hickey (3 1/2 days old & still hanging on, though not as dark as the bruises on my breasts) "and you were supposed to be at church!" 

I don't say anything, but can't lie out of it. But this is just crap to tell Tonya to make her laugh...Back to the perils of my life.

Oh Mr. Berger, you know Truth. The girl I am with Christy & Sherry is not the girl who Reggie thinks he knows is not the same as that Cindy Girl is not Diane & Michelle's friend who is barely similar to Tonya's best friend. I am not the same with different people, it's more than an act. I guess I should be the same girl with everyone who is the same girl that I live with when I'm alone. When I'm alone, I have to look at myself. Can't hide. Or do I, in rationalizations & apathy & oblivion? Do I mind? Do I like them all? I'm compromising. "Remember Jim, you choose your friends, don't let them choose you!" I am the hypocritical chameleon. Will the real Cindy please stand up?

Sunday nite John C called. Yuck. "What? You looking for some kind of long-term, meaningful relationship here?" Oh ha ha ha! I'd love to say that to him, but I could care less if I don't get the chance. In generic terms, I told Ron some of the situation and he shocked me by calling me a victim, not believing I was in control of my life & destiny. Doesn't that sound familiar?! "I am the victim," I've whined so many times. Wow. I will be an existentialist -- responsible for myself & my actions. Not blaming someone else.

And back, back more to

December 27

<---To conclude! 

"It's much too late 4 goodbye," Chuck, Tonya, Brett & I tried to watch The Big Chill & Manhattan on a rented VCR last nite but it wouldn't work so we went to see The Cotton Club. I could barely think of a thing to say all nite. And when we dropped him off in Lenexa, he & I went inside to get Windex for the car windshield. (This is rambling on as pointlessly as I felt) We walk back from the dark kitchen, I'm at the door & he touches my shoulder. /We said nothing, not even when he opened the door & we went outside. He was taking the train the next morning. At the car Tonya asked him if he was going to Heather's wedding & he said no. Goodbye & he was gone. When I wrote this is not going to end well, I didn't even image this ending, not bad, not good, just inevitable & out of our control. I should have expected something totally different than I was expecting. Driving home, I felt deeply, deeply tired, sick to nausea and very sad.

That was last nite. The nite before, Christmas nite, I was at Tonya's & we made prank phone calls, trying to connect Kyla to Mrs. Frischer & Greg to Missy H.

Later. We were expecting Chuck to come over to see Valley Girl when the doorbell rang so seeing an oh so familiar head & hearing Kyla's laugh shocked me to my socks. Tonya & I both screamed & ran out of the room. We were laughing hysterically, trying to get out the back door while T's mom grinned & they stood, slightly amused, sheepish. Finally, we sat down & there was some conversation. I didn't help. The last time I had talked to Greg was on the phone at Tonya's Halloween party (When Tonya mentioned something about it, he mumbled something about being in a strange/unusual state that night, as if being drunk gave him an excuse.) The last time I'd seen him was in July or Aug. when he was at Crown Center one Fri. nite with Eli & Christina. I don't remember the last time I had seen Kyla, probably the last nite we had a fight at Greg's brother's? During Lent? Months. 

December 29

This joke is getting old & the confusion too great for the worth the material. (Well...then again...) Let's just summarize 4 now: 

Drove home Wed. 

Thur: Hair cut, dinner w/Christy & Sherri. 

Fri: Drove to Lawrence. Tonny, Brett & I drive to K.C., she works while we buy Teddy Bears, comes back, goes out again, we listen & kiss in his room, come back, go out again, I spend the night. 

Sat: I'm wide awake while I shop, T. works, Brett disappears, Chuck comes, he & I eat at Valentino's, buy off Tonya, go back to the appts. & watch T.V. I spend the nite. 

Sun. Goodbye & I return to major stress & sleep. Jeanne, hyper & childish. 

Mon. Finish my shopping, wrapping & T. & I go to Chuck's house. 

Tues. calm holiday, presents & dinner & Tonny's where we make the calls & G & K pay a call. Chuck comes & we watch Valley Girl. 

Wed. We 3 go shopping Plaza & Westport, then pick up Brett for the VCR failure, then Cotton Club. "So, when are you leaving, Brett?" "My train leaves tomorrow morning." "What!" Goodbye.

Thurs. Trapped at home til Tonny rescued me to get Trading Places & Big Chill & dinner. Goodbye Chuck.

Fri. Mom & I shopping & I stay home except for embarrassing myself w/Nancy Johnson. Today is Saturday & I'm going shopping w/Christy. But you know what I remember the most & the easiest. What he said, how we touched, and moved.