wanderers this morning came by. where did they go graceful in the morning light? to banner fair, to follow you softly In the cold mountain air. through the forest, down to your grave where the birds wait and the tall grasses wave. they do not know you anymore. dear shadow alive and well, how can the body die? you tell me everything, anything true. In the town one morning I went staggering through premonitions of my death, I don't see anybody that dear to me. dear shadow alive and well, how can the body die? you tell me everything, anything true. I don't know what I have done, I'm turning myself to a demon. I don't know what I have done, I'm turning myself to a demon.
2/26/10- I woke up in anna's warmth, comforted and strong. Chan playing softly, reminding me of a familiar time and year. Coffee and picture sifting all morning. Tears, anxiety and inevitable preparation. 12 sandwiches made. 3:00-destination: st. louis. 4 brothers + myself + good, bad, ugly, dirty conversation. It was good to hear keith's side of this debacle and life in general. It's odd we have the same father but don't know each other. Bless his soul, he's paying for everything. Everything. "You look homely and mean today." -"I'm sorry, I didn't know leggings, boots, an extra large sweater, scarf and aviators weren't fashionable enough. Sorry. And hey, fuck you! And fuck Aeropostale." 4 hours in. Mexican for dinner. Shrimp nachos? Ok! I fell into directly into a shrimp coma for the last hour of the trip. Don't worry, I used a pair of dirty jeans for a pillow, woke up to realized I missed out on best buddies. I wanted a fucking best buddy of 44oz of cola. Pick your battles steph. Hotel arrival. By this point giggling is happening. I'm talking only laughing perry's can do. We decide the hotel bar is key. Low and behold a birthday party karaoke extravaganza is happening. The dj urges us to add him on facebook. Fucking 2010. One vodka tonic later jamie's feeling uncomfortable being one of 3 white people (myself, keither and james.) in the large bar/lounge and we must leave. Bed time. Jimma and I share appropriately. After slamming a diet cola and burst of giggles, I'm ready to pass the fuck out. "Steph, our butts are touching." -"yeah well, I'm cold!" "..sigh. I wish I was sleeping next to dj instead." Goodnight.
2/27/10-
Happy Birthday Deej.
8:30am- waking up to bon iver always makes me nostalgic. Coffee. I'm cosmetically ready for the day. Makeup feels nice, although putting it on I realize it's a waste. Oh well, I need the boost. Today's the day. Chris is sick. 101 temperature. $20 worth of meds. We're at the hospital. But of course not without a few fights between the boys. I've never met more sensitive men with such raging testosterone levels. Failed mediating on my part. Alas, 14th floor. Room 14485. The smell of hospital reminds of not only my own unimportant ear surgeries (the age more than anything tragic) but mom's unlucky numerous nights spent incoherent and unhealthy. We meet floralyn and the dr. Cancer. People always say it's the worst, ugliest word in this goddamn language. Truth. Truth, fucking disgusting truth. Class 4 pancreatic cancer. I'm last in line to file in the room. At the last possible minute my body betrays and weakens with loss of all motor function. I'm as light as a feather and I'd rather the wind blow me away than walk forward. Tears. Dj grabs my hand, "don't cry nonny, you're making me cry." It's here. it's in my face. Dad. It's not dad. 50lbs lost, he's half the size of the hospital bed. His eyes are empty, his hands yellow and cold. Jaundice. Bilirubin. I take my time and try to compose myself. Surprisingly I'm the first one to have my alone time. Worst. He can barely speak and as I grab his hand, he puts so much effort into rubbing it but then drifts back out and his hand goes cold and limp. I panic quickly, hyperventilate and suddenly am aware of my gag reflex. He opens his eyes, hazy and unrecognizable. So fucked. So fucked up. We come in and out of the room for the rest of the day.. each of us streaming tears, no one expected to see him old. Old and gaunt. I call julia, I need her voice. Something about it. 13 years, she's worth it in every way imaginable. And I love her. I just need to sob, let it go in an obscene sort of way. I want to get back to dad- it's all about time. He needs a nap and asks me to lay in the bed next to him. I of course don't sleep but stare at him making sure the slightest sniff le doesn't wake him and his chest keeps moving. There it was: the worst feeling I will ever know: my father's dying and this is exactly what he's going to look in his casket. The pillow is officially soaking with eyeliner and tears but I can't close my eyes even for a second. It was like one of those movies you can't quite relate to- I was memorizing every line, every surprising throat click (I myself click every night), every hair, every eyelash, every bone freshly sticking out from underneath his sallow skin. I'm in a bad dream right? Fucking wake me up. James walks in, whispers with tears, "he just.. looks. so old." Silence. A few more hour, dad's rundown and needs serious rest. My eyes are burning, I'm physically and emotionally exhausted. Keith feels the need for us to digest another 3 course meal. I can feel the fat gathering at my dainty ankles, not to mention an already bloated belly. Shouldn't complain, it's more food than I've eaten in the past week. Garmin tells us half an hour to a chinese buffet. Ok. Across st. louis and an hour later I'm throwing up ice cream (yeah, ice cream is key at a chinese buffet.) "God jimma, look how big my thighs are huge." -"no, look at mine steph." "You just have child bearing thighs steph!" Thank you for piping in chris. I love jamie so much. Who else can make eating ice cream like a 10 year old slut hilarious? Laughter is wonderful. Chris is pouting, he can't eat, he's sick, everyone's laughing, racial slurs are flyin' (not out of my mouth mind you.) Chris, "how long you think it'd take you to get raped in this neighborhood? Your time starts when you leave the car." Keith, "chris, how long you think it'd take before YOU got raped?! Jamie's would be traded nightly for a pack of lucky strikes." Dj; "don't take my jamie, I broke that jeeba's ass in!" Jesus christ these are the times I cherish.
7:30pm- It's almost unfortunate it's back to the hospital and reality. Dad's awake though! He's in his red plaid robe and checking his email. Picture time. His voice is louder but different. It's old, it's soft, it's there, but it's not. We're still high off our laughing binge thank god. I watch him try to upload the pictures. This is a man who has two new mac computers, one with one of those 20 inch screens, an extra monitor, dvd printer, printers for his photography business (basically equipment I have no idea about..) and couldn't even remember how to copy pictures into a separate folder. Fucking weird. Time for papa's bedtime. He grabs each of our hand and says he loves us and goodnight. I tell him he looks pretty. He says "you're pretty nonny. You're coming home with me right nonny? I need you to help take care of me.. Only if you want to." -"Of course I want to daddy."
9:00pm- chris has a meltdown/freak out in the car. We're poking fun at him because it's so easy and he's been playing a 'sick and pouty card' all day. Go figure. Insults keith, who happens to be having the most fun joking around. Typical chris. We yell at him. Seriously, how disrespectful. Fuck chris. Emotions are just all out of whack with everyone. We drop him off at the hotel. We drive around. Elvis- only fool rush in comes on. Dad and my song. I look over and jamie's crying too. Then we're both sobbing but quietly out the window to ourselves. I can't see his baby heart break. Another song reminds us of him. Jimma looks at me, "you know what's fucked up? I'll be 20 in six months." Long stare. This is the shit that gets me. Dad won't see so much. Think positive- I could go on forever.
9:30pm- Best buddies and site-see downtown st. louis and have a photo shoot around the arch? Definitely. (I'll quit soda next week I swear.) More driving around. I think we all just want to exhaust ourselves. We're just a bunch of junk yard dogs.
No comments:
Post a Comment