Memories @ MindSay

All day long I thought of death. I thought of how I'd find Mikey lying alone in his apartment, stiff and cold. I thought about the phone call I'd make to the police. I thought about how I'd have to explain to them he has no family that cares to speak to him or have him around and would probably be glad he was dead. I thought about his belongings, where would they go? I thought about whether he'd even have a funeral or would they just cremate him as they do those without family or financial means? I thought if I'd ask for his ashes and where I'd scatter them. I thought about the tears I'd cry, the anger I'd feel, the regret for not having saved him, the hurt of losing a good friend, the hole in my life knowing he was gone.

 

I remember last summer, a Saturday, when he and I drove to Yellow Springs so he could visit his parent's gravesite. How we knelt down and pulled weeds from around the headstones, how he spoke of them, how the hot sun beat down on our backs, how we laughed as we realized we were doing the same thing we basically did during the week, lawn care. How we drove by his old house just outside the cemetery on the outskirts of town, how he told me what it used to look like when he was a kid, how he rode his skateboard down the sloped driveway and busted his knee, how his military father didn't give a shit and his mother couldn't comfort his wounds because she died of cancer when he was young. How we went into the woods and found the actual Yellow Springs, bubbling with life. How we found a fallen tree trunk 60 feet away from the Springs, how we both lay down on the ground with our heads on the trunk and fell asleep for about an hour while tourists and hikers walked by no doubt wondering who these two idiots were. How we didn't care.

 

How he showed up one day with a terrible black eye and told me he fell. How I knew it was a lie, because he knew if he told me who did it I'd beat the hell out of 'em, because he is a peaceful man, rarely raised to anger. How he told me how proud he was of me when I told him I was quitting the smoking, drinking, doping.....the hug he gave me, the first time he said "love you man."

 

After work today I drove to his apartment, my wife silent beside me, knowing my thoughts and fearing the same as I. I bounded out of the SUV, made her stay and locked the doors, told her to keep it running, it's a bad neighborhood he lives in. I took the steps by twos to his door, took a deep breath and pounded hard, calling his name. Nothing. A downstairs door opened, some guy looked out, saw the look in my eyes and slammed the door shut. I waited a few seconds, my heart trying to bust open my ribcage, and pounded again. Nothing. My hands shook as I took the keys out of my pocket and just as I was about to open his door, it swung wide and there he stood, shirtless, smelling unbathed, looking like a skeleton, hollowed eyes encircled with black rings, hair in a ponytail as usual. I grabbed him and pulled him to me tightly for a moment, then in anger I stepped back and grabbed his unshaven face with both hands and said "What the fuck man?!?"

 

He said "I'm sorry, did you think you'd find me dead?" And I said "What the hell do you think? I've been worried all damn day, calling you, texting you".....then I lost my ability to speak. He kept saying he was sorry he didn't mean to worry me, that he had turned his phone off (he knows I know he was lying about that but I didn't offer rebuttal).

 

Turns out he's been mad dope sick, spent his whole paycheck on boy. I knew it.

 

I pulled him to my breast and held him close. I told him he is like a brother to me. I told him to take care of himself. I asked if he needed anything. He said no.

 

I stepped back, walked to the door, turned and touched his face, told him I loved him.

 

I'm having a hard time coming down from the day.

 

I'd like to thank all of my friends who replied with concerns, thoughts, and prayers.

1981, Springfield, Missouri:  Fishing was my thing.  I lived in an area where it was wooded all around.  Perfect place to go exploring and camping.  However I wasn't a complete outdoorsy tomboy.  As pictured in the vintage photo below, I still felt the need to wear socks to protect the soles of my feet from sharp pebbles and hot sand.  And look at the lovely fashion choices I made: a Budwesier towel for a cape, a bathing suit that I was in the process of quickly outgrowing, and fire engine red shorts that I was just about to slip back on.  My hair was cut by my mother.  She gave me crooked bangs (I hated getting my hair cut)!  I had the ugliest shoes, too.  This gray and orange hand-me-downs that were slightly too big for me.  Behind me there are people on a raft with peddles.  About an hour or so after this picture was taken, I was bitten by a water mocassin snake and nearly drowned!  Lucky for me the water was shallow and I wasn't too faraway from other people.
1978, Wisconsin State Fair:  There was this one ride that was sort of like a giant see saw that would go back and forth.  I'm sure there's a name for it, but I can't remember it exactly.  I was only 8, this was an adult ride, and seemed really scary.  But the funniest thing about it was there always seemed to be a woman or girl who would get on the ride and when the thing would tilt up high enough for it to make a complete circle in the air, she'd lose the contents of her purse.  I remember hearing the excited screams and seeing women lose their purses.  Almost every time the ride was running!  It also proved to be a dangerous ride.  I no longer see those rides at fairs.  I remember someone falling off one, and that was it!  My babysitter used to call it the "losing your shit" ride.

1988, Almond, Wisconsin:  That was a very dry summer.  I remember the lakes and streams shrinking.  I was hanging out with my boyfriend, Kevin, a lot.  So much so that the Heavy Metal hair band music he listened to became the soundtrack of my life at that time.  It was a summer where we did a lot of road trips.  My favorite drink was a carbonized sugar water flavored with Peach juice and I used to find it at every gas station we stopped at.  They came in these little round plastic bottles.  I can't find this drink anywhere now.  But, incidentally, when I am sipping a peachy drink, am near a gas station in a car sweating in the summer heat, and I hear old school metal music, I am transported to a time when I was much more innocent and arrogant.  A time when I dated a really unthoughtful boyfriend who used to make me wait in the car a lot while he visited with his friends.  I felt like an abandoned dog.  The memory is both sad and weird.  It makes me grateful for who I am now.

1999, downtown Stevens Point, Wisconsin:  I temporarily lived with my brother in a terribly cramped apartment downtown on the square.  Most nights were quiet enough, but often we were often besieged by hippie drunks outside pounding on drums.  Now, normally I don't complain about hippie types because, most often, they aren't that hard to deal with, but this particular summer they were out in crowds with drums.  Big kettle drums.  Big bass drums.  And bongos.  The sound of the drums would vibrate in between the walls of the buildings on the square.  It was one thing to deal with it during the day, quite another during the night.  When it got to be 3am and the drums were still going, I would pull on my over coat and storm down to the square and scream at the hippies, demanding they stop.  I couldn't sleep!  And especially on week nights this was going on.   And what did they do when I told them to shut up?  I was accused of infringing upon their right to express themselves.  "Well, what about my right to peace?"  You can imagine the irony.  I'm asking for peace.  From hippies!  Jeez. 

The only other "thunder" I had to deal with were the big ass summer storms we had then.  Being so close to the Wisconsin river and living in an ancient building with thin walls, the thunder would blast me out of bed.  It was the most uncomfortable apartment I ever lived in.  Oh, and then there were my neighbor's kids throwing fire crackers from the roof.  Now that was a mess.   

Here is one of the most beautiful photos I ever took of the sky right outside my bedroom window from that summer:

So yes, yes, yes! Graduation is tomorrow. I gotta say, I'm soooooo totally excited! I mean, I don't know what's going on ... But these past 2 days that I spent signing Yearbooks & getting my own signed ... I don't know. It didn't really have much of an impact on me. I got home & read everything that was written to me & yes, they were all sweet & sincere & what most people would consider as "touching" (I was very picky with who signed this Yearbook), but well, I didn't cry or anything. The most any of them got out of me was an "Aww ..."

Meanwhile, classmates, teachers, & staff have been coming up to me & telling me how great I am & how much they'll miss me, etc. etc. & I'm just all bright & cheerful looking & listening to them, nodding at appropriate spots & saying the right things, while they look like they're about to get all teary-eyed just talking ...

I'm guessing the deal is that it hasn't all fully registered yet, at least not in my mind. Maybe & most likely tomorrow during the actual ceremony, the emotions will catch up. But really, graduating from h/s isn't a funeral event like some people are making it out to be ... It's a chapter completed and done with. We move on. I knew this coming into h/s & was prepared to leave the 1st day I stepped foot into THS. Sure, I've made some extremely great friends & other awesome people (some of which will be attending the same college as me) but geez. I don't know.

But I'm all set for tomorrow. In a sense. I have a great burgundy dress & cute silver kitten heels (I decided to not go too high) ... I'm not sure what I'll do with my hair. I wanna get the tips cut at least. But time's ticking too fast ... I'll do my nails myself. I just hope tomorrow goes well (practices have been awful!) & I don't get lost on my way to the hall (Yikes! That'll totally stink).

As I walk along this Earth,
I wonder if anyone sees me,
or if they see my mask.
My mask shields me,
heals me,
protects me from harm,
because all I ever hear are bitter-sweet goodbyes.

As I analyze my past,
I wonder if people want me,
or want what they see.
Forever I have lost love
over such a retched act
and all I ever hear are bitter-sweet goodbyes.

As I puzzle over the present,
I wonder if someone needs me,
or if I just need me,
or if I just need them.
Someone to guide me when I am lost,
help me when I am weak,
and love me when all else sends hatred.
But all I ever hear are bitter-sweet goodbyes.

As I dream about the future, I wonder if I try too hard,
or not hard enough.
I have conquered tears and fears to reach my goals
but have I really succeeded?
For all I ever hear are bitter-sweet goodbyes.