On the drive to the ferry all the worries I’d had that he was sick manifested in my open palm against the back of his seat. He was talking about politics and I was trying to heal him with happy thoughts because somehow still at 35 I think that can happen. My ability to believe in spite of all evidence to the contrary is one of my greatest strengths. I know for certain that it can’t hurt and I only know for maybe that it won’t help. So with open hand I thought about him being well and about how health can be shared and I sent it along the invisible wires connecting me to him and him to me. All the while he was making us laugh with perfectly timed jokes. All the time, my hand was pressed against the dark gray leather.
That was Friday.
Then Saturday.
Then Sunday.
And Monday. A birthday party for Erik. I hated the pants I was wearing. And the fishnets dug into the soles of my feet. I painted him a painting in about 20 minutes that I wish I had 40 for instead. Todd was there and oh my. All. I. Could. Think. About. Was. Hating. My. Pants. But then there was this polar bear. And she was reading poems and singing songs. And she said: the only thing standing between me and everything I want for my life is my own self hatred. Drinking my drink and silently loathing my pants - that struck a chord with me. I was like YEAH. I could be a fucking SUPERHERO if I could just stop thinking that I can’t be a fucking superhero. I was having my own mini ah-ha moment when all of a sudden the crowd starts going wild. Hooting. Hollering. Clapping. People were cheering their own potential. Acknowledging their self-loating. WOW! We really are all the same! Just like I HEART Huckabees said! At that very moment, I decided to hate my pants a little bit less.
Shall we bring this full circle? SHALL WE?
On Tuesday I told him about the party, the polar bear, the terrible pants. Him of the open palm against the leather seat. Him of the well timed jokes. I could see he was a little surprised that I’d admit so readily to self-doubt. Self-hatred. Bad pants. And all so cheerfully! I spent the rest of the afternoon not thinking a thing of it when PLUNK! - an email from him. He wanted to “give me the response I deserved” to our conversation and proceeded to pen the nicest and most you-go-girl three paragraphs that have ever been written in my honor. I wept. I wrote back. I remembered my hand on the back of his car seat.
15 comments:
Yeah, I got a question...
That Polar Bear is the smartest f'n animal I've ever heard.
Daily: I got 600 on you, but you got 10 months on me. Yeah, I guess I do have a question. Do you take cream in your coffee?
Jay: Go here! You can watch her sing! www.ilovevladimir.com
ZOMG we are both Pisces!
I like your writing by the way! Magically realistic!!
We should be blog buddies at least.
Shaun: It feels naughty calling you "Shauny Cakes" given our vast age difference however it feels total fine being blog friends! And you know what else? Pisces totaly ROCK!!
didn't you know? you can have a squirrel as a pet. we do it up here ;-)
frankly, the best "back seat"
story i've ever read... (not that i've read oogles of "back seat" stories, but, you know)
--detroitjoel
I'm sending you optical health through invisible wires between us. You *are* a superhero.
-Boo
And all I could think about was I hate my pants.
I love that. It's so true.
NYABG: No way? How does that work - they're so frisky?!?
Joel from Detroit: Thank you. It's the best backseat story I ever wrote!
Boo: Hooray for not going blind! Hooray for there sometimes being very small reasons why one's pupil might be slightly larger than one's other pupil.
Sprizee: Pants hating is a critical component of the human condition.
well it's actually a very stringent selection process - cause it's a little known fact that squirrels, up here, vy to get the chance to be our pets. just kidding, but i do know a photographer that raised an abandoned squirrel from a baby - and now it tries to hide nuts in her ears and gets jealous fits and chitters angrily at them!
NYABG: I like the idea of sifting through pet applications from squirrels. I wonder what they'd write in their personal statements?
Daily, Mike: Um. No. You're more famous than me. I haven't a chance. Le sigh.
Word Verification: mytsrepe
MySpace in Greek?
Your ability to believe in spite of the evidence to the contrary- is inspiring.
News & Seduction: I have daydreams and reality aversion for days.
Daily: Do I need to start a profile viewing campaign? Do I need to make flyers? What's the prize in this contest that I'm technically already losing?
AND.
Nice use of crack in that last joke. I could hear the rim shot in my head. Ba dum bump. Cissss.
Daily: Do you like the Big Gulp? You can tell me. I'll only tease you a little tiny amount. Like an ice cube in your Big Gulp's amount. And yes. Of course I take cream in my coffee. My taste buds are developed only to that of a 9 year old. I take a lot of cream in it and sugar too. A lot of sugar.
AND.
The prize? Hmmm. Given that I'm sure to lose, I think you are asking the wrong girl. I guess I'd say that the winner has to send the loser a handmade postcard. Or something. I'd say the the loser has to do very little or maybe the loser has to paint a painting of a girl with 6 fingers. Yeah. Either of those would do.
Campaign. Campaign away!
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