Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Snow in Summer, Ice Skating on Sand

I'm in a house with my son. His father is next door and there are unexpected visitors. My hair is up in curlers, I am not fully dressed, the house is a mess, and the brother is here with his new wife. He's the popular brother. I watch a DVD memory of his wife and him on a huge boat. The wife swims with a killer whale, like some people swim with "trained" dolphins. It is amazing for her...and for him. Isaac! You've got to see this!

They are moving out next door. I'm relieved. I look out the window at the view of the coast from high above on my craggy mountain top. It's beginning to hail on this August day. As it turns to snow I gather my little dog in my arms to experience the outside. No shoes on my feet we watch the highway below and as the snow plow slows the passing mail truck we hitch a ride on the hood, feeling undiscovered. As the mail truck passes the snow plow and picks up speed it turns sharply into a gated drive to the left, quickly and abruptly enough for us to slide off the hood. "Hey, you can hitch a ride any time, you don't have to hide, that is what I'm here for. All you have to do is bang when you want me to stop."

We walk to the back of the mail-truck which has become a touring trolley with open sides and dollhouse benches and toys inside for kids. My little doggy is now my four year old son. He finds a little girl to play with. I sit next to a young mother with strawberry colored hair. "You are so lucky to be so rich," she says, "someday I'll have that too." "Really?" I replied, "You think I'm fortunate?! Thanks. Thanks for proving my suspicions...this is proof that you are what you think you are."

"I am a single mom. No traditional job. No income. Section 8 housing subsidy and unemployment sustain me when I'm not selling my lamp work beads. But I am happy. My son is happy. My life is happy. I appear to you to be what I think I am." But I am lonely.

I get off the bus and walk into the park. I am alone. I am thin. I am self-conscious of being unpresentable, too casual, a little to bohemian styled. I walk by a small group of young, "hip" people, noticing a man a little younger than me, who has also noticed me. I walk by several times. I love the little sundress of yellow but feel the need to continually adjust it around my breasts. "You're wearing it all wrong, " he says.

I'm shocked by his first words so slightly inappropriate and feel just as slightly shy. "Look at the binding; it's all wrong, let me fix it." We are alone. He fixes my dress. I am momentarily exposed. I say not a word in the exchange, but feel every thought. I'm scared of feeling this, he's elated. He calls someone. "I won't be back. I'm in love."

Another day. I'm in the park. I'm on my period, and again exposed and embarrassed, as much by my condition as I am with my attempts to cover it. He's so happy. He is thin, tall, curly haired and mustached, and he smiles and when he does I can hear laughter and joy. He has a friend. She points out the error of my ways. He laughs and says, "Let's just take care of that," and does. His friend is a blonde woman and she is teasing him about his giddiness, and points out that they are wearing the same clothes. "Were you channelling my closet?!" They laugh. My first words, "They look better on her. Your pants are too big."

He is not insulted. He turns around, "Doesn't my ass look better than hers?" as he pulls the black leather chino's forward to fit tightly in the rear. I laugh. He finds pins to keep them looking tight, intent on pleasing me. He disappears. His friend is still there, no longer the tall, Blondy with long hair, but now a short, voluptuous woman with rounded cupie face, and curly red hair. She lay next to me and whispers words of confidence and kisses me on the mouth; a sweet, juicy "smak!"

I know he's coming. He's looking for me. I wonder if he will find me as I take a walk outside the hotel rooms of the beachy resort. There is water and sand on the ground as if at the edge of the shore, but the ocean is not in sight. The water floats slightly above the thin layer of silty softness, creating a liquid ice rink. I test out my skills not to slip as I simply walk. He's here. He's behind me. He's watching. I can feel him. I begin to skate, gracefully, back and forth, not acknowledging but knowing, performing little loops and figure-8's. I stop at the edge of the causeway where two women are jogging. He stands next to me. I'm happy. Complete. I don't say anything. I don't have to. I look at him and I look at joy, and I'm excited and long will this last, how long can I keep my silence?

The phone rang me to reality. Wow, that was nice.