Monday, December 14, 2009

The Beginning: Redux

"It is always best to start at the beginning" - Glinda, the Good Witch, from The Wizard of Oz
"Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking" - The Scarecrow, from The Wizard of Oz
Can you tell that my daughter is "into" The Wizard of Oz? Yeah...she's three. However, it beats THE HELL out of Alvin and the Chipmunks; thanks to Lemmy, who gave us a copy of it (originally intended, I think, for my son; appropriated to an ANNOYING EXTENT by my daughter), I've probably seen AatC AT LEAST 70 or 80 times. Horrible stuff. Every time I watch it, I think..."If this is all it takes...why the hell am I not a millionaire?" SERIOUSLY.
Okay, the title. Well, I am absolutely amazed at the sincere sweetness of the people from whom I've received comments, so...I am going to throw out that kinda short piece that will, eventually I hope, be a first chapter of a memoir (or maybe a "true-life story"; don't you love that? A new "genre"...kind of like an historical novel, I suppose, but used when the story that's being written is something less than historical - I think). Honestly, it's not like I think that anyone is waiting with bated breath - and it is just that kind of self-involvement, or the seeming self-involvement, that kept me from writing a blog. I mean...who really cares what I have to say? But then again...what do I have to lose? And now, of course, there's that "kindness of strangers" aspect for which I was thoroughly unprepared. Just an FYI...this is all the complete, 100% unvarnished truth. And, please...if you care to comment, be brutally honest. I don't know why the hell the whole thing centered and not just the title, but I'm hitting "publish post" before I have time to delete the whole goddamn thing.
Eponymous: After Me

Once upon a time…

“What were you doing in my house?” This is said low, almost conversationally.

“Uh, what, no, I wasn’t in…I’m really glad you’re here! No, not in…I, I, need to take something…Do you know where the Petersons live? Around here?” This is what I said. What I thought was, Apocalypse. Right fucking now. From behind me, there is hollering.

In a beautiful kingdom…

“What the fuck are you doing? I called the cops! Don’t make a move!” I’m terrified, yet strangely detached at the same time, something I probably couldn’t achieve had I been trying. My eyes wide, I look around…this is really happening. And then I bolt for the car. More yelling. “Block her in! Block her in!”

Far, far away…

The baby. Oh, God…the baby. She’s in the backseat, but I don’t know if she’s sleeping, just being quiet, or overwhelmed at all of the activity. I cannot get away. I am blocked in. I get out of the car again. “Please. Don’t. I’m so sorry. I’ll just…here. Take them back.” They are a handful of pills. Painkillers. And here’s the rub, the irony, the bitter pill, pun definitely intended: There are twelve of them, an even dozen…and barely enough to do anything but make me somewhat nauseated from the amount of acetaminophen they contain. The narcotic itself, or, I should say, the amount contained in what would surely be a whopper dose to someone who doesn’t have the tolerance of a male bull elephant in his prime – or, you know, a drug addict – is no longer enough to do anything much to my consciousness. And let me tell you something even crazier: In my glove compartment is a prescription bottle with about 50 painkillers, stronger than the ones in my jacket pocket. And yet, I have just broken the law – although, of course, that’s not how I’ve characterized this “visit” to the home of friends, at least not to myself – for something that is less by every measure.

Lived a beautiful princess…

Did I hear this right? Did he just threaten to hit me with a baseball bat? Strangely, this seems like a great idea. I mean, if he hits me…then he’s in trouble, too, probably bigger trouble than me, but then, how will I explain THAT, because of course I am ultimately going to talk myself out of this, and my husband will never know. Probably. Or, he’ll know a version of events that will only somewhat resemble the ones actually taking place. Because I can do this, I am charming, and I am smart, and, under the right kind of pressure, quite the actress. Oh, and let’s not forget that I’m a Good Person. And, of course…I have the baby.

“Take them, here, just…I’ll just give them back, and then, you know…this never happened, okay, here they are.” And I put them down somewhere…I think on the back bumper of their van. It’s incredibly difficult to believe that this once seemed like a good, even innocuous idea; you know, just something to break up the monotony of the day. Certainly I’ve gotten away with this twice already, and the haul was much better on each of those occasions.

I. Am not. Her.

The cops have landed. What I am, is fucked.

5 comments:

giggles said...

OMG.I.cannot.stop.myself.from.reading.this.
Um.. I feel like a horrible voyeur. looking at something I shouldn't. but unable to stop myself. Do not stop writing. I hope it will be cathartic, like Steve(?) says. Cuz, in a twisted, sordid, sick, I'm so glad it wasn't me kinda way... I'm gonna "enjoy" reading this blog....

Have you read "Night of the Gun"? David Carr, if I remember. This story, your story is along those lines.... I have a weird fascination of reading these types of horror stories and the real life people who emerge, somehow, in some shape from them. It seems to me, you are one of those lucky people. I betcha Lemmy and your kids are grateful for that....

Eponymous said...

To Giggles: Thank you, thank you, thank you. As I said in the very first post...I got nice feedback on this writing, but I have to say that the field wasn't, to my way of thinking, level. Voyeuristic? Aren't we all? Here's something else: Shortly after the event described in the post, I was ordered into an outpatient drug program. Each participant had to give what's called a "CD (chemical dependency) history", and mine culminated with what you just read. The reactions - to a person - from the group were: "Wow. And I thought I had it bad!" Ummm...thanks? But I wouldn't have put it out there if I didn't want it read. I will absolutely check out "Night of the Gun"...it sounds strangely familiar, and I'm wondering if my sister didn't perhaps recommend it. Thank you, again, for your kindness!

Kirk Jusko said...

If it's any consolation, you seemed to have lived a much more interesting life than I have.

Booksteve said...

Most of us bloggers spend a lot of time becoming someone different online than we are in real life. We're cooler, hipper, funnier--not shy, scared or worried about how someone might react to the real "me" because the real me rarely enters the online picture. Then someone like you comes along and shows us that the hard road--the REAL road--doesn't make us bad people no matter what we've been through. YOur honesty is refreshing. Thank you for it. (BTW-Your writing style is gripping, also.)

Leah said...

Wow! A gripping experience.