Little ThingsI came home on Friday night expecting to see the manifestation of Jo's perpetual procrastination. Surprisingly though, I saw boxes and suitcases lined up near the front door instead. It hurt, I admit. But somewhere behind the strange, empty feeling of seeing part of our life together packed up neatly and moving on, I felt relief.
It was finally here. The day that both of us had been simultaneously dreading and anxiously awaiting was now upon us. My friend Dole was going to be at the apartment at 10 in the morning in his pickup truck to help load up Jo's things and move her into her East Village apartment. Hopefully we could do it one load, but two trips through the Holland Tunnel wouldn't be the end of the world we said. "Its a good thing we are both strong, strapping lads who are experts in truck-bed arrangement though," we thought. We'd knock this fucker out in 1.
Jo was in a chipper mood actually, and Adam went to his room as soon as we came home. I think he was pretty sad too. Anyway, it was just us hanging out and the atmosphere was surprisingly pleasant. She was handling it much better than me. Funny how that works out sometimes. I had not wanted to have a serious conversation though, and was keeping my composure for the most part, until 1 stupid little thing clicked.
After taking a shower, I was in the hall closet putting my leave-in conditioner in my hair (yes, yes, I swear I'm straight) and I thought about something that happened about 5 years ago.
Flashback at Ricky's on Columbus Circle:
Jo: "Ok, with your new hairstyle, we should get you some good shampoo. Like Bumble and Bumble."
Jason: "Its $12 for this tiny bottle! Total rip-off."
Jo: "Just trust me ok. Its totally worth it. You'll never go back after using expensive shampoo."
Jason: {Reluctantly} "Allright. Should I get the conditioner too?"
Well, Jo was right, and I, well, I .... freaking .... loved it! (ok, you can legitimately call me a "Metro" - whatever that means) Seriously though, it was worth it.
So, as I was putting this juicy little product in my hair - I got sad. Really fucking sad. It kinda just hit me. It hit me how much she had changed and molded me. It hit me how many little fun things I learned from her and how many crazy little outings, like that Ricky's trip, we had in new york, hoboken, and cyprus. And while I knew we couldn't go back to that day and that time, I also knew that it was memories like those that would/will always haunt me. I'm not not so sure that's a good thing, so I'm resigned to the fact that this will be my blessing and my curse - just like everyone else that's lost the person they love. The price of a memory ... right?
Something else was very apparent to me that moment. It is a bit cliche and maybe naive in some sense, but it nevertheless came over me like the Holy Spirit when I was 14 years old -- I'll never love anybody as much, or the way I loved her. Never. I know I'll love again, and in some ways I've already moved on. I'm having fun and moving on with my life I guess. But oh, what I wouldn't give to hold on to that beautiful thing we had that day at Ricky's. Whew ..... Little Things.
Anyway, after I performed my post shower rituals, I wanted to tell Jo one thing before we went to sleep. So I sat down beside her on the couch, told her that I didn't want to get upset or have a serious conversation or anything, but I wanted to tell her one thing.
I leaned over and hugged her neck (I hate when she can see tears in my eyes) and told her that after everything that has happened, good and bad - I wouldn't trade any of it. She said the same thing back to me and we both knew that we were being more honest with each other at that moment than we'd been in a long time.
"Remember when we used to say that we've always been together in previous lives, and that we always managed to mess it up somehow, and thats why we're here again," she asked me.
"Yeah. Let's promise now that we won't mess it up next time, ok?," I managed to get out.
"Ok. I promise."
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I don't know how many more posts I'll write about Jo. I'm sure whoever reads this blog is tired of the same topic, and frankly, I think its time for me to move on now. I guess this blog sort of started the first day that Jo said she was going to move out, and it makes poetical sense that the stories about her end on the day she officially moved out - and the day we both officially started to move on.
But before I sign off, I want to tell you about this one line in one song that keeps coming back to me (I know, I overuse lyrical allusion as well). Of all the songs and lines that remind me of Jo, this one is so simple and apt, its the only one that seems to stay with me. The song is called "Hard Way to Fall" by Ryan Adams, from his new album, "Jacksonville City Nights." The entire song is about how he misses the little things about the woman he lost. While the examples he uses such as her thumbing through magazines backwards, sipping on a glass, etc., are quite good, its the last allegory in the song that goes right through me.
The last verse starts:
"I see her smiling at him
That used to be me.
And .... "
And then Mr. Adams just absolutely nails a metaphor that 5 years ago wasn't even that metaphorical to Jo and I.
He continues:
"I could find her in a thunderstorm, just by the wayyyyy that the rain would fall."
I think about that a lot. And I get an eerily comforting feeling just knowing ... Never. Never again will I be able to shut my eyes and find someone just by the way the rain hits the concrete. What a perfect thing my friends.
Never.
Home?I do admit that I have a tendency to always over-analyze things, put them in some sort of perspective, and make sense of the big picture. While things rarely work out so perfectly in the end, I find this sometimes futile process theraputic (and maybe even "self-righteous" -> hey to McLaine and Ficali McDollar!). Ok, so now .... I'm going to get a little serious.
I knew going down to Alabama last week that my grandmother had been sick. High blood pressure, extreme fatigue, loss of appetite, for example, were not normal symptoms of my - believe it or not - extremely healthy 91 year old gradma. She had sounded a little older on the phone, she had the same questions more than once, and she claimed she can't do housework anymore. Milo, being the eternal optimist, chalked this up to "granny talk" and figured she would be good ol' granny when I saw her.
Alas, when we finally went over she was in most ways, good ol' granny. She was dressed up that first day, smiling and laughing, but she didn't get out of the chair. When we left, my dad said that's the best she's looked in a long time.
"Grandson therapy!", I proudly noted in my head. Gets 'em every time.
The next time was different though. She started off strong again, but seemed to get tired quickly. She thought I was my uncle for several minutes, even saying in between sentences that her memory is just not there.
"No granny, I wasn't born when your mom died. That was Uncle Jim," I tried to politely point out.
Then on Thanksgiving day, we were going to my Uncle's for traditional T-day lunch, and when we arrived, I found out that Granny couldn't make it because she didn't feel up to it.
"Wow," I thought, something's not right.
My brothers and I saw her and Grandad a couple more times and she was back and forth. For a few minutes she was in high spirits, and then "Granny" would go away. It was ok though, because I knew she was really enjoying our company. But today, as I came by, alone, for the last time before leaving town, it was different. For the first time since I had been home, she came to the door instead of Grandad. She just walked so damn slow. I swear it took her 20 seconds to walk 10 feet. I could only stay for 10 minutes or so, so it was a quick visit to say goodbye. As I was leaving she started crying and I didn't want to look her in the eye. I didn't want to see what I'm afraid of. So I hugged her and told her to take care of herself, and I'll see them both soon. I hope that comes true.
Ok, going back in time a few minutes - before I came to my grandparents' house to say goodbye - I took a drive by my old house. It's only 2 blocks from my grandparents, so it was an easy detour.
3007 17th Avenue was the house I moved into when I was 11, and that my mom kept until last year. It was the house we grew up in. It was our
home. Every time I came home late, drove home from college, or came from the airport - this driveway was the first one I pulled into. Mom was always home and my room was always there. Down the stairs, last door on the right. How ya doin old friend?
When I drove down the hill today though to look at our house, I got a creepy feeling though. I saw someone else in
OUR yard doing
MY yardwork. They were blowing leaves - just like we used to do. They had tools in the shed - just like we did. And they had the living room blinds open - just like we always did. Except it wasn't us and it was totally different. What could I do though? It now was their house, and I had to get to my grandparents.
So as I left my grandparents' house 15 minutes later I took an extra long look at them on the porch waving goodbye - just in case - and drove towards Florence. And with a tear in my eye, as I turned onto Hatch Boulevard, it hit me ...
Driving down a road I've driven down a million times, leaving the houses I've driven away from my entire life - I realized, or maybe just admitted for the first time, that home wasn't "home" anymore. My mom already left, most of my friends too, and my grandparents will inevitably going soon as well. What was this place? I was just a stranger visiting times I used to know. So then and there came that damn melancholy feeling I can't seem to shake lately.
As I was pondering on the loss of "home" though, I flipped on the radio and tuned it to my old favorite country station. The song that was playing wasn't some lame ass new country tune though. It was a cheesy old country song that came out when I was about 16 years old, and I thought about Brad and I driving in his T-topped yellow Camero, making fun of the lyrics while singing along to every word.
It felt good that I still remembered every word - and it felt great to still sing along.
When I came to the redlight by the empty TVA parking lot, I instinctively remembered the timing and peculiarities of this light, and knew I didn't have to come to a complete stop. And as I coasted through that intersection, singing along to a 12 year old country song, I somehow shook that melancholy albatross for the moment ...
"Hmmm." I sighed.
"It was good to be home."
Early Morning flight to alabama ... getting up at 4;30 am, and got back from paris at 8:00 pm. oh my. have some news though, so I'm preparing ... a bientot.
Ice Cubin' It
{note this is 2 days old ... I'm such a blog slacker}
Strange title I know. I'm just trying to be cute. Anyway, the title stems from the Ice Cube song - It was a Good Day, because today, thank God, was a good day. I really wanted those, and I've wanted one for a while now.
True, there have been good moments in the past few weeks, and I've certainly been biding my time with shallow, materialistic gifts to myself (see a few posts down), but its been a while since I've had a truly fulfilling day. Now, before I go on, please realize that my main concern at this moment is my reader's worrying about my mental health and well-being. So while today was good and fulfilling, there's going to be no earth shattering news - just a positive journal for once.
Firstly, I spoke with Jo earlier, and while I don't have the details yet, she intimated that she
may have a job . This may confuse some of the readers as to why this would make me happy, and I'm not going to go into detail here for her privacy's sake, but irregardless of our status and situation I don't want her living across the pond. So, finger's crossed this works out.
{update ... she got a 3 month contract job! Yay for Jo}
Secondly, I spoke with my mom today, who has been having some trouble with her job and commissions. And let me tell you, when a kid has to worry about his mother, it just seems to bring everything down. The amount of guilt and anger that one can have (one being me of course) from mixed up emotions of parent/child role reversal is quite disturbing actually, and my mom had great news today about her finances. I felt soooo much better after hearing that. Seriously, you have no idea how much of a burden was lifted.
Now I'm off to meet Ficali, Dub, and some friends for drinks. Yee haw. Its a good night to party in NYC.
Today I Get My Life Coach At 6:15 this evening I will meet Ficali for drinks. But not just any drinks. We will be discussing the details of my life. Ok, you may say - that's normal for 2 friends meeting for drinks after work. However, what you don't know is that Ficali has agreed to be ... {drum roll please}
My "Life Coach." Crazy huh?
So what is a life coach anyway? Honestly, I have no effing clue, but I know I need one.
Plus, I'm sure my Life Coach knows what she's doing ... right?
See Ya' Ole BoyIt killed me. It really did. But I'll get to that later.
Almost a month ago Jo left for London. I had this whole, good blog entry written about it too. There was no background descriptions about the scenario and there was no commentary. It was just what she said and what I said - in screenplay format. Obviously, I never published it though, and it'll probably sit forever in my blogger.com drafts page. Don't ask me why I didn't publish either, because I really don't know.
It was a sad day though. Really fucking sad. We hung out for a few (weird) hours and the cabbie blew his horn for her 5 minutes early. As soon as we heard the horn, we both stood up and I broke down as I hugged her goodbye. Yeah, I really lost my cool and all - but only for about 20 seconds. We had to get downstairs.
So I carried her bag down and walked her to the cab. As he was putting her bag in the trunk we kissed goodbye. It was strange. We didn't kiss goodbye like friends or people who are breaking up. We kissed goodbye like we used to. Damn it hurt.
I watched the cab drive down Hudson Street and made sure she knew I did so. After it faded out of sight, I rushed upstairs and - you guessed it - lost it. It was quite pathetic actually, but damn that apartment was lonely. Thank God I had French class that night or I may have just died in there. Really, I might have.
Anyway, that's the story of the day Jo left for London, and I'm telling this story today because she's flying back tonight - and I don't know why. We haven't really talked while she's been gone. She hasn't told me if she has a job, interviews, if she's just coming to get her stuff ... nothing. We had left things in good terms - as good as they can be - and we were getting along, but she seemed different when I talked to her yesterday and when I got her email.
It was a cold and straightforward email. Not alot of emotion you know. And it made me sad. It shouldn't have, but it did. It was right about lunch time and Dub asked what I wanted to do for lunch. I didn't want to announce anything to the crew back here, so I just quietly IM'ed him and told him I was going to do my own thing for lunch. He was cool with that of course.
So with no direction whatsoever, I walked outside into a stunning, gorgeous, beautiful New York October day with nowhere to hide. It was almost sickening. I walked a half block in the first direction I could think of and stopped to light a cigarette. Yeah, I thought, if I'm sucking in nicotine, that'll keep the water from eyes - it actually worked by the way.
It was then I decided that I didn't want to eat food for lunch. I didn't want to be healthy. In fact I wanted to self-destruct. Aha! I thought ... I wanted beer. And not just one either. I wanted to get fucking hammered, but I knew better than that, so two beers would have to do.
So I stood outside an Irish bar to finish my cigarette and stared at the marvellous weather and felt ... like I wanted to die. And I did. For those few moments, I really missed Jo, and the old days, and just thought about how fucking hard everything is. I wasn't suicidal or anything, and I wasn't even that
depressed. I was just overcome with this apathetic, melancholy feeling that right then - at that moment - if a big truck came flying into the sidewalk and took me out, it wouldn't be that bad.
Now before you worry about me too much, that thought was fleeting and by the time my American Spirit had burned to its butt, I was over that. But I just kept thinking about that email - and that's what was killing me (to borrow from Holden Caulfield). Cold and to the point - 1 paragraph long ... but I could handle those attributes. It was the way she signed it damn it.
This time there was no, "I miss you" or "Love" or "Hope you're doing well" or anything like that this time. She just said, with no capitalization, "see ya' ole boy - Jo"
That killed me. It really did.
Slacker
I'm a slacker blogger I know. You have to believe me when I say that I do THINK about blog topics all the time though. Some of the blog thoughts that have crossed my brain have been:
1) Being a horrid subway card swiper
2) The ideosyncrasies of learning French
3) The day Jo left for London
4) Ridiculously unnecessary bills I pay each month
5) Ficali's new apartment and its proximity to my work
6) My upcoming trips to Paris and Alabama
Which topics would you (my 2 to 3 readers) like to see most?
thanks in advance,
Milo
