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,
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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.
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