The days were growing colder and intensity in my soul stronger.  I had been back in therapy for a while and was dicing through my past struggles.  Rolling over rocks and kicking through spiders brought into the light.  It was a dyer time but had to be done.  I was facing it head-on and it was actually clearing away the fog of the present and dare I say, future.  Each session brought with it a bit more clarity and sense of self.  One I needed, to make good heartfelt moves.

Life was simple.  One car.  A job from home.  She was in school.  We were living a refined poor family’s lifestyle.  That too was helping with the serenity – so little to distract from what really mattered.  Milk was delivered to our doorstep late on Sunday night.  I collected it early each Monday and started the car to drop her off at the bus she rode to Denver for school.

We had a plan and these sacrifices were continually deemed worth it to create a future for ourselves and our little family.

Most days I rode my bike.  I rode across town to therapy and any little errands I could run.  There was a good deal of solitude for me those days as she was often away at school and I was home working or playing or writing.  I accredit much of the feeling to all the inner-digging I had been doing.  It was drawing to the surface what was and wasn’t important to me.  It was refining my thoughts and disposing of the waste.

The day I decided to make my move was one I’ll revel in for eternity.  I’ve never felt such a strong spark or certainty in my entire life as I did the moment I knew it was time to take action.

I’ve always been the “potential” girl.  The one with so many opportunities if I would but follow one through to it’s finish.  I just never did and hence never became the “success” girl – only the “potential” girl.  I was a lonely stone never carried to the top of a great mountain and in my position lonely stone meant very little.

Yet, in that moment, when I cast aside every other person’s expectations and desires for my life and claimed my own it was earth shattering.  I was heaved into the galaxy of possibility and all around me was motion, movement, momentum, and life.

I was bundled in my cycling clothes as I entered the small corner art gallery.  The bells on the door rang as I walked in, the red door drifted shut behind me.  I smiled at the lady behind the desk.  She looked somewhat uneasy at my attire and smiled back slightly.

Obligatorily, she asked, “anything we can help you with, today?”

And unlike usual, I quickly professed, “YES!”

I led her back to the case in the room opposite to where we were.  I pointed down at the glass making sure not to leave a smudge, because although I may be covered in sweat and mud from my ride, I still had my manners.

“That one.  May I see that one?” I questioned as if she might refuse.

She unlocked the case and reached for a ring.  “This one?”

“No, no, the one in front of it.  That one.” I knelt down and pointed from a different direction.

She collected the correct one and pulled it from the back of the case and up to the glass countertop.

“May I?” I asked before picking it up.

“Yes,” she smiled slightly more this time.

I gazed into the piece of art, through the openings and around the patterns.  So intricate.  So delicate.  Just like her.  Uniquely remarkable and elegant.  I must have gasped without realizing it.  The woman behind the counter began to tell me about the artist and her work.

I slid it on my ring finger and tested the fit.  I laid it carefully back on the counter and dug into my inside jersey pocket where I had carefully transported another ring that I snuck from her jewelry box that morning.  “Can you tell me the size of this?” I asked and handed her the old band.

The woman slide the ring onto her sizing wand and spat out the number.  I asked if they had this ring, pointing to the one on the counter, in that size.  She handed me back the ring I had brought and placed the impeccably perfect ring on the wand.  It was a quarter size bigger.  We discussed the scenario and with her assistance it was decided that this particular ring would work and was on sale too.

I glanced at the tiny tag and saw the enormous price.  I was fiscally poor.  I wasn’t sure how, but I knew I had to do this.  It was my most certain moment.

“I’ll take it.  It’s the one.  She’s the one.”  I told the woman, not sure if she caught my greater meaning or not.  “How much do you need today to reserve it for me?”  I dug in my wallet for the amount and without batting an eye the ring was mine for no one else to take in my absence.

I rolled home a new man.  I didn’t know where I’d get the remainder of the money and I didn’t care.  I was doing this and nothing in my life had felt so right.  Not Jesus.  Not horses.  Not other relationships. Nothing.

I was giddy when I spoke with her next.  I saw right away that I would not be able to contain myself very long and this process had to be sped along for the sake of my nervous excitement and the slim chance another charming prince would ride up and claim her for his own in my impoverished state.

I worked that week and the following to sell a handful of things left over from my bike racing.  It felt like I was counting pennies from a piggy bank.  It felt slow and tedious.  It felt surreal and magical.

Less than two weeks passed and I returned to the gallery with the remainder of the money burning holes through my hands and pockets.  I didn’t have a proposal planned but I needed that ring.  That one.  Now.  I’d like to think the woman at the gallery was surprised at my impeccable speed.

I did think it.

She placed the exquisite ring in a case that snapped in the front and I bounded out the door making the bells clash against the glass wildly.  I could have screamed for joy.  I did scream inside the chapel ceiling of my mouth, long and heroically.  For once, life meant more than only me and I was going to show it.

I couldn’t wait for the perfect moment.  I needed this perfect ring on her perfect hand and that was all.

I cancelled our couples therapy session that night.  I left a message on our therapist machine saying something extremely important had come up and I’d be glad to explain it to her at our next session.  I wanted Erika to be able to make the announcement.

I picked Erika up from the bus stop.  She was under no impression that the day was any different from any other.  She complained about a student in a class who was always interrupting and dragging the lectures off track.  She talked about the paper she needed to write and exam coming up later that week.  I listened and tried hard to not lose track of our goal.

We swung by the house to change and head to therapy per the schedule.  I tucked the ring box in my coat pocket. It excited me like a burning coal in my hand, only without the pain of burning, just the thrill.

I began driving in the direction of our appointment.  All was usual.  Except that my hands were sweaty.  My heart was pounding at a bike racing pace.  My vision was spotty and my breathing was certainly fast.  I tried to remain calm.  The dancing in my stomach was like butterflies on speed, dipped in lightening and strung by bungee cords.  It was excitement I’d never felt.  Ever.

Near the usual turn to the office I made a dramatic U-turn.  She pointed at an open parking space and nearly shouted lest I miss it.

“We’re not parking.” I said calmly.

“What? Why? We’re going to be late.” She rang.

“Where not going to therapy today.” I said softly.

“Why? What are you doing? I’m confused.”  My little information seeker was perturbed.  And she had never known me to be good at surprises.

“I need to take you somewhere.  Somewhere special.  I called Mary already and she isn’t expecting us this week.  It’s okay, trust me.

She calmed down a bit, though still confused and somewhat bothered.

I drove two blocks and then made a right turn and a left into a parking area by the road.  I stopped the car.  She looked at me like I was crazy.  I flashed a silly, giddy, nervous grin. I pushed back my seat and turned to face her.

I wasn’t on one knee, there were no smoke messages in the sky, but  there were fireworks in that car that afternoon.

I began, “I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life.  I really, really mean that.” My voice was quivering as if to hold back the overflow of emotion and tears just behind my words.  I felt it all so powerfully it overtook me. “From the moment we parked here three years ago and had our talk, I’ve loved you.  I know I fought it.  I know I’ve fucked up.  I know I haven’t been perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I have and do love you.”

I tried to choke back the tears but they came anyway, streaming down my face the sincerity of my words were strong.

“Where I come from, you’re supposed to ask the girl’s father before doing this, but I took the liberty to not ask and hope for his approval later.” I tried to break the seriousness just a bit.  I dug into my pocket and pulled out the little black box with the snap on the front.

Her eyes widened and her mouth was gapping open in disbelief.  Fully, expecting an IOU note in the ring slot I unsnapped the box and let the folds open.  There in the center of the tiny cushion rested her ring.  Her impeccably unique, different from every other girl’s, ring.

She was stunned.  Absolutely stunned.

“You’re crazy!” she cried.  “You’re just nuts!”

“Erika, will you spend the rest of your life with me?” I asked with all my beating heart.

She was still silent for what seemed an eternity.  She was trying to take it all in and I was trying to remember how to breathe.  Both of us were most certainly consumed by the moment.  And in true lover’s fashion, the planets aligned and time stood absolutely still waiting for her answer.

Finally, and with the beauty of a true Love’s voice she said, “I’d love to.”

We kissed passionately barely noticing the tears and snot and drool.  Barely noticing the millions of obstacles that lie before us. Barely noticing the adversity of my past and baggage I carted around.

Love spoke louder than all else and the purity of desire between us was like the countenance of a greek god astride his magical stead.  Fully majestic and respectable.  All my struggles in coming to terms with my sexuality.  All of her past relationship heartache.  All of our current day adversities with finances and daily hardships were wiped away in a moment and all things were good.  Wholly, purely good.

We embraced between gazing at each other and the ring on her finger.  She twirled it around examining every fine detail.  I watched her and examined her every fine detail too.

If ever there was perfection in a moment it was then.  Then and our first kiss.  Two perfect moments, undoubtedly to be followed by more.

Who gets that?  Who really gets to experience perfection on a planet crawling with imperfections.

I like to think the ones who love hard enough to push the imperfections away long enough to see the clarity within.  It’s like a perfect diamond, placed on the perfect woman’s hand at the perfect moment in time.  Even life’s idiosyncrasies can’t get in the way of that line-up.

Thankfully.

May 26, 2012 we invite you to join us to solidify our proposal?
Filed under: Aspirations, Community, Sappy Love Stuff, The Depths Tagged: Colorado Springs, edoll, family, freedom, jackie boy, love ]]> http://mindbanter.wordpress.com/2011/12/05/she-said-youre-crazy/feed/ 2 smusick wedding http://mindbanter.wordpress.com/2011/11/06/jacks-first-bike-race/ http://mindbanter.wordpress.com/2011/11/06/jacks-first-bike-race/#comments Mon, 07 Nov 2011 01:24:42 +0000 smusick https://mindbanter.wordpress.com/2011/11/06/jacks-first-bike-race/ ]]>

Part of me wanted to show my discharge paperwork from the most recent psych ward, lest anyone “try this at home”.  Unsafe.  Mostly insane.  I wore it well.  Why not, right.

I was marching down from 14,000 to 13,000, to 12,583, to treeline.  It was on one of the steep parts of the trail that I felt a pebble in the sole of my sandal.  Erika was in front of me in her flashy trail runners.  I mumbled, “Wait up, I have a rock in my sole.”  But, immediately, I thought “I have a rock in my SOUL.”

I chewed this thought slowly like a grazing cow.  Swallowed.  Waited for it come back up and chewed more.  The cud of thought tasted strongly with each re-chewing.

What is the rock in my soul, I thought?  Why is it so difficult to understand the makeup of the soul and just how to nurture it or relieve it of its mourning?

Deep sighs followed deep thoughts as I trod on.

Near the bottom of the mountain the friction of my Chaco started to blister the sole of my foot.  The whole sole – soul analogy was getting overbearing by this point.  I wanted my mind to stop analyzing and let me enjoy the final strides of another mountain conquered.

The following day, I sat down in my therapist’s office and yet again attempted to cipher through the core of myself.  Down where the soul rests (or doesn’t rest at all in my case).  Tears swelled up in my eyes when I confessed that I felt a martyr for faith, family, and sexuality and that maybe I would have made a bigger impact dead than alive.  My therapist cried too.

There’s a rock in my soul.  It irritates me most of the time.  I try to finger it free.  To relieve the rubbing that ails me.  I try to adjust my stride to it.  I try to ignore it.

With utmost sincerity, I admit to the fact that I have been very severe and irrational in my thinking in the past.  I was recently editing some of my writing from years ago and realized how I have in fact evolved.  Yet, the strand of me that remains is one of hurt – simple human hurt.  I’ve wanted to believe I was immuned to this kind of hurt but I know without anyone telling me that human hurt and I began at an early age.

My deepest conviction as a child was to not be a sinner (which I severely failed) and to help (even save) people less fortunate than me (something I could never do enough – immeasurable as it was).  And so the story of my young life unfolded.

I was an emotional child.  I think I attempted to convey the depth of my faith through the overflow of my tears.  And truly I was heartbroken by my sinful nature.  I was utterly overwhelmed by the darkness in the world.  I was often sad.  Due to my sadness I secluded myself.

Yet, all along the way, I did a seemingly fantastic job of disguising my misery and torn soul.   I confessed often.  I checked off the boxes of my religious gain and strived to out preform my brothers and sisters in Christ.  I even went so far as to pray for the opportunity to be a martyr for my faith.  That I, like the prophets, would live a life worthy of my death for not renouncing my faith.

Now, multiply these extreme stances by two decades and fuel them with the fervor of prayer upon prayer.  Add a dash of pride in being better than the next mortal on the church bench and then throw in the utmost support and encouragement of every adult who I respected.  Finish it off with a fall from grace and betrayal like that of Judas and BAM!

My life held ZERO meaning.

Confusion became me.  Guilt engulfed my thoughts and actions.  I second-guessed my every step and didn’t trust any relationship.  I behaved recklessly.

It’s no surprise that my life was fragile enough to destroy in 2010.  For, I was not who I was designed to be.  Designed by religion to carry out an existence that benefited the very system that created it.  Not a life that was my own, but slavery to an idea I had no assurance of when I met my ruin.

Now, hear me when I say, this is MUCH more complex than the preceding sentences.  However, this was my perception of my reality and for anyone to say he or she knew better would be to say you lived through every experience I had.  How can I judge you when I think that way?!

Yet we do, sweet little fellow humans, we always do.

Still, I am not so nieve to think that I can get away with anything because you don’t know me or what I’ve been through.  I’m no victim to my past.  I choose to be a scholar of it.  I realize we can’t exist together in society, much less community, if we are driven by our misunderstanding of one another.  I do want to understand other peoples’ struggles.  I confess, I get uncomfortable quickly when I try to feel what someone else has experienced.

The more I share the story of my coming out as a lesbian to my hyper conservative family, or my suicide attempt the more I realize how little I understand about the sorrow that sweeps over a soul who is rejected or alone.  I set out months ago to solve a frightening problem called suicide due to depression when you feel outcast.  Today, I realize there’s nothing for me to say except:

Love the ones near you.  Watch the corners of your world for anyone isolated. Follow your gut.  Protect your family and friends.  Respond to the ones who reach for you.  And listen just listen – not only to words, but to silence.  Silence is a place where many lives are lost…

…at least that’s my experience.

Hundreds of flies were swarming above and crawling on him when I knelt and reached for his rear legs.  My calloused hand touched his two hind paws.  Already stiff.  I lifted him.  Dead weight made the six month old feel triple his body weight.  He hung in the curved position he was lying.  No cooperation on his part as I fumbled with the limp plastic bag and his firmly stiffened body.  Brownish yellow fluid strung from his mouth as I wrestled the bag around him.  And plop, he fell with a lunge into the trash bag and I turned toward the front of the house for a shovel.

“Di jew find one?”

Mom was leaning over the rail of the front porch.

“No,”

“Look out at the garden. Luther may have a posthole digger or something you cud use.”

The dead body slapped against my leg as I slumbered up the dusty road to the family cemetery.  I had to switch hands half way.  He was surprisingly heavy.  Dead-heavy.  At the top of the mountain I dropped him in the grass outside the fenced graveyard where Mamaw finally lies next to her husband of so long ago.  They spend every night together now.

I never met my Grandpa.  I knew the dead pup better,  I whispered under my breath so as not to offend relatives.

I moseyed around the exterior of the fence and sank my long-handled shovel into the ground once I found a patch of ground free of thick weeds and undergrowth.  The top soil denied being broken at first.  Hand up, shovel in, foot push, yank back.  I turned sod over again and again.  I thought of human graves.  I wouldn’t mind being a grave digger.  It was hard work- the kind you keep doing until you’ve sank your shovel enough times to lob in the horrible body.

After what was actually quiet a while, but felt like a couple of minutes, I jabbed the shovel in the mound of dirt piled by the hole and walked up the bank.  I stood tall and stretched my back.  I wiped the sweat from my forehead like an old country farmer in the hayfield.  Then, with one hand I wrapped my fingers around the top of the trash bag and drug it down to its final destination.  With the other hand I dug into my pocket for my knife and opened it against my upper thigh.  I cut the plastic bag from head to tail right along the spin of the critter.  He plummeted toward the red dirt and landed with a thump.

I leaned across the carcass-filled hole and grabbed my shovel.  I pocked and gouged at the stiff body until I got it situated as far down in the hole as I could manage.  The sound of his innards bursting and tearing drifted up from the hole as I forced his little legs in against his belly.  The skin was separating from his flesh and wrinkling up like that of an infant with extra growing room.  When I had determined he was as comfortable as eternal lying would allow I scooped up that first shovel full of dirt.  I held it over his bundled-up remains.

I waited.

I don’t know exactly why I paused here, but it seemed necessary somehow. A hundred thoughts flashed through my mind.

I didn’t move.

He didn’t move.

He was certainly dead.  Red clay crumbled over his side like brown sugar on a bowl of burnt oatmeal.  I stopped and absorbed the appearance of death in its final form.  His black poke-dotted legs were crossed uncomfortably.  His smooth black nose stuck up out of the dirt like a person reaching for surface air in a deep lake of dirt.

The covering process moved rapidly and in only a few minutes the terrible deed was done. Leaving me undone in every possible way.   ~~~