Naked, I move through the house. I pull a short glass from the cupboard… Ice, the smell of Whiskey as I pour myself a drink.
Leaden colored sky is visible outside. I can remember when the sky here was black and the constellations fought with the edge of the Milky Way for my attention.
Twinkling lights on the desert floor tell the sad truth. Civilization has caught up with me. The sea of humans has surrounded my Island of peace and quiet. Soon the view of the stars will be completely blotted out except in power failures. The desert going dark is unlikely with the computer control of the electrical grid.
Breeze feels good as I scratch my sack. Another slug of Whiskey, warm glow spreading from my gut. Sad about the stars…
I’ve tossed and turned for the past two hours but sleep has evaded me. Normally I’d have anesthetized myself by engaging in oldest and most primal of activities, falling asleep sweaty, sticky, and drugged by the frantic, satisfying release of my own endorphins. Somehow I just can’t get into the head space for that to be any fun.
I’m caged. Caged by thoughts unbidden, desires unfulfilled. Caged like an animal by a cacophony of noise in my head.
I’m tired, exhausted in fact.
The Whiskey is good. I’m reminded of Hemingway.
He was a drinker too. My puerile prose is pig shit compared to his. Self doubt and fear well up inside me.
Two words explode into my conscience.
Eight Months
It takes me a minute to figure out what that means. Another sip of Whiskey, then it hits me.
Eight months ago a thoughtless child who wanted to be treated like a man left my house and I’ve heard not one word from him since then. Until recently…
What I do hear is “I want to clear the air“
What air? There’s nothing to clear, nothing more to be said. I told him that there are consequences to his actions.
IF you lie, people will eventually lose faith in your words and will become mistrustful of you. He lied repeatedly. His lies weren’t even over big issues he lied about the most inconsequential of things.
The lies told eight months ago, placed me at odds with his Dad. I felt relief when he left, at least I wasn’t going to have to continue to waste energy puzzling out what was real and what wasn’t. Where he was really going and where he’d wanted me to think he was. In the end it didn’t matter. His Dad still held me responsible for not keeping a lid on the child. He was 18… legally an adult what was I expected to do? Ground him?
I’ve mourned the loss, gotten over the anger, stopped asking questions for which I’ll never have answers and gotten on with my life. In honesty I say that I’m done. (Or rather I was done.)
Why should we waste each others time with another tearful apology that I can’t help but be suspicious of. How is he trying to manipulate me? What angle is he working? What more drama am I going to be sucked into?
Then I know the answer. His Dad is once again angry with me because I’m unwilling to “Clear Air” which doesn’t need to be cleared. I’m the bad guy… Again… Wheeeee! Another trip on the drama merry go round!
I hope that this child realizes just how much love his Dad has for him. I pray that he’s not manipulating and trading on his Fathers love, because it would break my heart to see his Dad’s heart broken again. Regardless of the state of our friendship I don’t want to see the Man hurt by a manipulative child.
I’ve probably lost a friend. Sleep is hard won for me because I’m mourning that loss too. I’m angry at the child for not just leaving will enough alone.
I can’t apologize for being who I am. I can’t nod and say “there there”, when I’m convinced that my forgiveness is simply another ploy so that I can be used again. I’ve already heard way too many of those apologies, they led to many fights with my Significant Other and Eight Months of complete silence.
Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, You’d think if I was important there’d have at least been a text message however ingenuine saying, “Happy <Insert Holiday Here>”
But here I am. The wound reopened because the child wants to clear his conscience or at least to go through the motions. Now though, I’ve got a fresh wound and an irreparably damaged possibly dying friendship to boot.
At least I understand one of the elements causing sleep to flee before me.
Odd how putting that on even metaphorical paper is like pulling a splinter out of my brain.
Time to pour another glass.
3AM
My Mom is just waking up on the East Cost.
A cloud has just come across from the South West bringing with it a light shower. The last of the visible stars in the East have been obstructed.
It’s a fair trade.
The smell of rain is comforting to me. The heavy drops on the roof and pinging off the deck rails is welcome, maybe it will last long enough to lull me to sleep.
I’m worried about getting a job. Not that I don’t want a job but that I can’t seem to get hired. The monsters of my past and fear of a future where I can’t pay my bills form a Mobius of approximately 30 years.
That’s a distasteful thought. That the cycles of my life are 30 years of struggle, hard work, sweat, and tears where I reach a modicum of success followed by a precipitous fall losing everything, only to start over again.
Suddenly I really miss smoking. The Whiskey is making me feel better.
I’d love to be laying here in bed listening to the rain breaking all the rules. smoking, drinking, naked windows wide open, carving a brief respite from the chaos of my thoughts.
I’ll take this as it is right now. I’m not asking for anything more.
Time to turn the computer off and just breathe.