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By Misti Date: 2002 Jul 13 Comment on this Work [[2002.07.13.16.33.13503]] |
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Dear Me, You have been writing love letters all your life. Remember when you were in fifth grade and had a mad crush on Adam Finley, the smart guy with brown eyes and a lopsided smile and a small mole above his upper lip? Your best friend Amy used her new calligraphy set to write an angry letter to Adam for you. You wanted to call him the worst name you could think of because he didn't like you back. So you looked in Amy's dictionary and found the word "chincilla." You dictated the letter and Amy wrote it. Then there was Matt Hale. Dear god. You only saw the guy in Sunday school and church and at choir practice and on the rafting trip and the trip to San Dimas, California. And Superbowl parties and the like. He went to Midland High and you went to Lee High. He was a true Leo. Always strutting his stuff and flirting with every girl who looked at him. He told you once that he liked your dress. Remember how sexy you felt that day? It was a red and black dress. After Matt complimented you on that dress you started buying more red dresses. You read in astrology books that Leo men love the color red because of their fiery nature. And on the bus ride to New Braunfels you saw Matt dancing and singing along to "Great Balls of Fire." So you made a trip to the mall and bought Jerry Lee Lewis's hits on cassette. You wrote stories about Queen Velvet and King Matthew. In the stories you lived with Matt in your infamous "Spanish dream home by the sea." You had parties. Roseanne and River Phoenix came to one of them. Your sister still teases you about those stories. Before you moved away from Midland at seventeen you took Matt for a drive in your Ford Granada. There were no good songs on the radio. You told Matt you loved him and kissed his cheek. He blushed. He was shocked into silence. Then you left Midland for Fredericksburg. Remember Fredericksburg? Don't. Forget Fredericksburg and the snotty, racist, clannish German pricks who made you feel like a big fat zero. If you think of your senior year, think of Chase. Remember the day he introduced himself to you in the hallway and you gave him a knowing smile because you remembered him from first grade. He escorted you in a beauty pageant, the first one you ever won. You sat down with Chase in the hallway and showed him the pictures you had of him in your purse. He was blown away. Remember when you got up and walked away. You looked back and saw him watching you go. You winked and told him you'd see him later. Later, a girl you didn't know from your algebra class asked for your phone number. You gave it to her and you later learned that she gave it to Chase. Remember when he came over to your grandparents' house on his motorcycle. You showed him your tapes...Duran Duran, Pink Floyd, Madonna, the "Dirty Dancing" soundtrack. He was not impressed. He liked Too Short, N.W.A., The Candyman and Vanilla Ice. He was a regular bad ass. He taught you a bit of the lambada and you got chills all over your body. You were beyond blissed out. You didn't have a chance. And there's no way in hell you'll ever forget the coincidence that you both thought was a sign that you were soul mates. He was showing you all the pictures and crap he had in his wallet. He pulled out an Ace of Hearts card. He told you he carried it around for good luck. You said,"I'll be right back." You went to your bedroom and grabbed your purse. Sat down beside Chase on the sofa and showed him the Ace of Hearts card you carried around for good luck. He was blown away. Later, before he left on his motorcycle, you held each other in what you thought was a soul embrace. You looked up at the stars as he held you so tight and you inhaled his Obsession cologne. You thought,"I will mother this man's children someday." It was Chase for a long time. A decade, to be precise. You moved away and dated other guys. But you were completely his. Well, almost completely...remember your first semester of college in San Marcos? Jeff Crump from the history class you despised. You followed him to the park and chatted him up. Made a study date for that night. You didn't study. You studied him but history was not on your mind. He talked about evolution and you defended creation since that was all you knew. You walked to Jack-In-The-Box. Walked up to the drive-up window. Ordered some tacos. Sat at a picnic table. You didn't like the tacos so you gave them to Jeff. You made the comment that it was a "balmy" evening. He didn't know what balmy meant. There were a few more flirtations with Jeff that summer. Then a teary phone call from his girlfriend. She asked you to promise her that there was nothing between you and Jeff. You could have been a bitch and told her about the time after history class when Jeff came up to and asked you about the note you left in his dorm room. He wanted to know what you wanted. You were a shy virgin. Instead of saying,"I want you" you said,"I don't know." He said,"Misti, you have to know these things." He touched you and you blushed. You didn't tell his girlfriend about that little encounter. You promised here that there was nothing between you and Jeff. Later, your more experienced dorm mate and friend told you that you should have told Jeff's girlfriend the truth. There were other guys mixed in there, from '90 to '99. The rich Baptist plumber whose parents owned a huge ranch. He reminded you of Chase at first but then when you were watching "The Doors" with him he put his arm around you during one of the sex scenes and you were repulsed. You sat on the edge of your seat for the rest of the movie. Then there was Sammy, the goofy Aquarian you met at a party. He was your Trivial Pursuit partner. He reminded you of Chase, too, because he had blonde hair and blue eyes and drove a motorcycle. But nothing happened. Then there was the older man with a mustache who tipped you at work when you were dancing topless at The Wild Rose. He took you out for hamburgers and beer at the restaurant right above the river. You were shy. You never saw him again. In '94 there was Taz. Russell Boyle from Houston. You met him at Job Corps in Tahlequah, Oklahoma...Cherokee Nation. You had him, more or less, for two weeks. He had you for a lot longer than that. Again, he reminded you of Chase. He, too, was a blonde/blue Capricorn bad ass. At the end of '94 you frantically asked Chase for advice during one of your marathon telephone conversations. You wanted to join the Army. Did he think you should? No. He did not. He didn't think you'd last a day in the Army. You joined the Army, anyway, and sent Chase letters about getting up at 4:15 in the morning and jogging and meeting people from Washington and Chicago and San Francisco. You wrote about your M16 and how you loved to shoot it. You wrote about the gas chamber and how "ate up" the drill sergeants told you you were. "Ate up like a soup sandwich." Your boots were never shiny enough and you didn't run fast enough and you couldn't do push-ups. In '95 when you got a medical discharge from the Army you went crazy. Spent all your money on clothes and blonde hair. You bleached your hair yourself at home and it turned orange and green, to your mom's horror. You spent over two hundred dollars to get it corrected in two different hair salons. You went to Little River, a dance club in Kerrville. You met a guy who was eleven years older than you. You danced. You drank until you could hardly stand. He took you home and shared a joint with you and devirginized you. You didn't know his last name. Then there was Walter, who was unhappily married. He had thought all his life that he was a Scorpio. You informed him that he was a Sagittarius. After you had sex with Walter the first time and he was walking you to his truck to take you home, you said,"I didn't catch your name, by the way." When he told you that his name was Walter you felt somewhat cheated. Maybe you wouldn't have had sex with him if you knew his name. Then there was Dallas, the younger guy from Keller. He was another bad ass, but he disguised it with his gentle Libra charm. You had sex with Dallas twice. And it was good. But he went home to his girlfriend and you were nada. Then there was Joe. You had been partying all night with your friend and at Denny's the two of you decided to road trip to Lubbock and go partying there. You tried to walk the ticket. You got away but then some cops chased you down on Main Street. Your friend cried her way out of the two of you spending the night in jail. So then you sped like a bat out of hell to Lubbock. It was night when you left and afternoon when you got there. You went to 7 Eleven and bought some sunset colored condoms. "I will get laid tonight," you vowed with determination. You got a ten dollar motel room across from Raider Stadium. The Stadium Inn, it was called. You and your friend napped and then got ready to go clubbing. Went to a club and danced your asses off. Didn't meet anyone but you were still determined to get laid. Saw some guys in a convertible at a stoplight. Followed them to Whataburger. You saw Joe, a Hispanic man with a goatee and mustache. You decided that you had to have some Joe. Went to Joe's friend's apartment and partied. After the other guys left, your friend went to bed with the guy who lived there. You and Joe were alone on the sofa in the dark, watching country and western videos. You were drinking Budweiser longnecks. Joe teased you."You've been on that same beer all night, girl," he said. He told you that you needed to just chug it and get another beer. I said,"I know you have an ulterior motive. You want me to get drunk so that I'll be an easy lay." Joe protested. Then you got down on the floor to go to sleep. But you were sly. You engaged in a heavy makeout session. He was a good kisser. He said,"You have gorgeous eyes, hon." Joe tried to make love to you but he...couldn't...get it...up. You were insulted. He blamed it on all the beer. You didn't know about that but you took his word for it. You held each other and fell asleep in each other's arms. Then there was Jay. Oh god. Don't remember Jay. Oh, but you have to. To slay the Jabberwocky you have to look him dead in his eyes. You can't run from the Jabberwocky. So. Jay. Joseph Barton Roberts. A guy born on the exact same day as Matt Hale. August 19, 1972. Year of the Rat, appropriately enough. Jay had a paralyzed right arm. You felt sorry for him. Beyond that, you liked him right away. He was everything you weren't...confident, extroverted, seemingly on top of things. He came from good stock. His parents were millionaires. They lived at Tierra Linda, which was a prestigious place to live. You were dazzled. You went for it. You moved into a rent house together after fucking each other for a week. The first night in your new home you were scared, suddenly. You were playing Scrabble in bed. You looked at Jay and thought,"Who is he and why in the hell am I here???" He calmed you down. You recited a William Carlos Williams poem and asked him if he knew what it meant. He gave you some bullshit answer. You thought,"So he isn't an intellectual. He only has one good arm yet he kicks ass at pool. And he's fun. And the sex is bombastic." There was the road trip to Vegas. The hot checks. The discovery that Jay was still married to his first wife and had two little girls he wasn't supporting. By then it was too late. You were stuck in a co-dependent relationship. One that would literally change your life forever. You went through your pregnancy alone. Lived on welfare because you were too sick to work. Puked your guts out everyday. Gave birth to your daughter with your mom and sister there cheering you on. You didn't want them there. You wanted Jay there. But Jay was with Jennifer, a trust fund brat, in Houston. So you gave birth to your daughter. And she was beautiful and awesome. The first time she looked at you with her innocent blue eyes you fell to pieces. You had a fierce maternal instinct. You wanted to keep your daughter but knew that you couldn't. You remembered your sketchy job history and what it was like living on welfare. Being ashamed at the grocery store as you paid for your food with food stamps. You knew that you would have to put your daughter in daycare if you kept her. And it would be hard. You didn't have the strength for it. You wanted much, much more for your daughter than you could provide. She was a miniature goddess, an angel, a princess. She deserved nothing but the absolute best. So you gave her to her adoptive parents. Went home that night and hallucinated all night long. Thought you could hear her crying. You kept forgetting that she was no longer in your womb. You talked to yourself, thinking you were talking to her in your womb. You had talked to her for months. Read countless books to her as she grew inside your womb. Played music for her. You were alone with her. You delighted over her every kick. Then she was gone and you had this void and no idea how to fill it. You tried to go back to college but couldn't make it work. You started writing more poetry than you had ever written in your life. You got drunk sometimes. This was supposed to be a love letter to myself. All I can think of are all the men I've ever loved and the consequences of my choices. I don't love myself right now. But I want to start. I want to take risks and live every fucking day like it's my last. I don't want to be sixty years old someday and think of all the life I wasted. I want my life to count for something. I want to give more and get more back. I want to start making sense. I want to go to bed smiling and wake up smiling. I want to feel things. I don't want to be numb. I am ready to bury my past and start living in the perfect present. All the men I've mentioned had a hand in forming the woman I've become. But not a single one of them were there during the hardest, most heartbreaking times of my life. It was just me in all my tattered, shattered glory. I have two choices. I can be bitter or I can be brave. I'm going to hike a canyon now. Hiking a canyon is as good a place as any to start. Love, Me |