Again.
My professor wanted me to read a paper
The words were three-dimensional--very three-
A peer of the poet
It didn't seem to bother anybody. She walked out on this one long, rambling line about drinking a very bright green Lime Rickey soda. Her florescent orange sweater looked amazing against the
Anyway, she was out there dancing around in her bright red heals on SODA in NEON at the end
on her own A.
In the commotion, I'd noticed what my peers hadn't. As that stainless steel "A" had tumbled and the girl in the orange sweater and cherry red heals tumbled with it, the whole poem had slid
SKIWAMPUS
"That!" I said, standing assertively,
"That is pacing gone wrong before your very eyes, and
I thought I'd made my point. The girl's poem on the wall had once been beautiful. Now it was in shambles. All because some careless soul had knocked off an "A" with her cherry red pumps.
The class just rolled with laughter and went on about seeing Nancy--that was her name, I guess, as that's what they called her, over and over, as she tumbled, and tumbled again and again in their minds, that action just repeated ad nauseam, and they loved it.
Meanwhile.
or wron
g. Where am I goin with this?
Two.
I don't remember it this way, for I don't remember having a phone. However, Lloyd insists that I did. If that is true, one night I received a call. Lloyd was on his way. His wife Maxine had kicked him out of the house. If you know anything about my brother, you know he did absolutely nothing to deserve this. Still, it was what it was. One day he was part of her life. The next he was gone like a letter in a marquee of an abandoned movie theater blown off on a windy day or a neon "A" in a BAR sign blacked out on a very black night. Red B. Black space. Red R.
I was in shock. Although Maxine had started to treat me differently, I wasn't aware there were any problems between them personally. Although Lloyd and I normally had no secrets, out of respect for Maxine, my brother had not shared his marriage problems. I had been locked out of part of his world without even knowing it. When I found out, I knew that he'd done the right thing. Yet, I was stunned--both by his dissolving marriage and by the fact that Lloyd had kept secrets from me.
I really liked Maxine. Although it was hard on me when she became the most important person in Lloyd's life, I was happy for them. I thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him. I wasn't losing a brother; I was gaining a sister. Even after Lloyd showed up at the apartment, I still believed she wasn't capable of something so cold. I didn't know much about relationships, let alone marriage, but I assumed they'd had a fight and that they'd work through it. Yes, Lloyd was welcome to stay awhile. Then he'd get that call and he'd say, "I've missed you too." Things would go back to normal.
Three.
I have this problem. I'm still working on it. Whenever anyone is down, I take it personally. I don't allow those around me the necessity of falling apart. I somehow feel I'm to blame when the shit rains down on them and splashes a bit on me. It's quite selfish really. Sometimes you need to be there for others, to contain their pain for them. You can't do that if you're always worried about your own standing.
Four.
Lloyd, of course, showed up not his usual self. He hated my apartment. It was too small; the bathroom faucet leaked; the toilet had hard water stains. He wanted to get out of that damn cell I was living in. That was his reality, not mine. So, I'd take him on my long walks through Juarez. He didn't really like walking for hours either, at least not to begin with. I should have understood that. I should have welcomed it. He'd certainly put up with a lot of dissatisfaction from me when I was a teenager. Many nights, he had to drop whatever artwork he was working on so that we could go to the dollar movie or to the mall to buy a CD. He and my friends were always having to deal with my restlessness. I was always pushing everyone around me to do something more entertaining. I was always seeking escape from the void gnawing away at my gut. He always accommodated my dysfunction.
Yet, in Lloyd's time of need, I wasn't similarly accommodating. I'd finally found the life I wanted--one where, when I wasn't at school or working, I walked El Paso and Juarez for hours at a time, taking it all in, and then came home late at night, and in the silence of my little apartment, which I loved, sat and wrote whatever came to mind. I was finally discovering who I was, really touching that void for the first time, and all of the sudden Lloyd shows up very unsatisfied and needing a lot of attention. I thought I'd found myself, but I really hadn't. I was like a Buddhist monk who becomes irritated at a homeless man interrupting his meditation by tugging on his robes and asking for alms. Still, that's where I was. To be honest, I'm not sure I've progressed much beyond that. The problem is that there is some part of me that accepts the crap I'm receiving when others are understandably lashing out as really being directed towards me instead of just a manifestation of their own pain. I can't fully be there for them because I'm always assessing my own safety. It's always about me.
A wise man would have been able to say to himself, "Lloyd doesn't give a rats ass about my apartment one way or the other. This isn't about me; it's about Maxine. Just let him whine and complain until time begins to heal his broken soul."
Five.
We soon moved to another apartment. It was much bigger. On the surface, it wasn't much nicer. Both had spectacular views, but both had old sinks, old toilets, and old tubs. My first apartment was actually better maintained. It had been remodeled and had new windows and new carpet. It was sealed from the elements and had the fresh smell of a new home.
Yet, the move was important. Lloyd chose the apartment. We definitely needed more space. More importantly though, Lloyd needed to take over. He needed to assert himself, to have some say in the shape and space in his life. He'd let Maxine run the show. For her career, they'd moved wherever she needed to go. He'd accepted her mom, who lived with her, as his own. He stayed home and painted, his career carefully scheduled around her daily to-do lists: dog, dishes, errands, etc. He'd sacrificed his world to become part of hers. That probably would have all seemed worth it had the marriage worked, but it hadn't. Lloyd needed to establish himself again in the world. My apartment simply wouldn't do. A new place was more than a space; it was a symbol.
As dumb as I was, I did get that much, and the truth is, I liked it too. It was on the fifth floor and had spectacular views. It was unfurnished, and Lloyd got busy building a table, a bench, and then purchased two nice chairs, and restarted his life with me.
Six.
I've gone back and fourth on whether or not to include "Lloyd Moves In" in my book. At first, it didn't seem to be my story to tell. Then, I had that dream last night about pacing, and I realized, This has got to be here. The pacing of my book simply will not work without it.
Why? That's not important now. This section just needs to be here, like a period, a place holder, until meaning can be built up in what follows. Its placement is like large granite stone above a trail in the high Sierra. You see it there, above you, looming with significant shadow, looking like it's ready to roll. You pass below, knowing that even after you pass by it, you will look back now and then, and see it still, even from a distance.
There are markers in our lives, stories that must be told, even if not directly ours, simply because our path winds its way under the weight of them.
Everything is about pacing. Placement.
Whether or not we have a choice in that positioning or not. Lloyd dealt with his rock the way he had to. Later, I would have my own. Later, I would look back and understand the day Lloyd moved in better than I did when I was first under its shadow.
No comments:
Post a Comment