Connections

Last spring found me lying in bed, spurning daylight, dragged out, alone. I was suicidal and fearful of actually taking my own life. I finally contacted a few close friends, and talked about my darkness, knowing that expressing it would help change it. 

One friend asked me if I wanted him to call the police. I hedged for a bit, then said no. I didn’t trust the police to “protect and serve.” 

Another friend listened to me, talked about her life too, and at the end of our meeting at the coffee shop, she said very seriously that she didn’t want me to do it.

Then another friend, whom I texted on and off all night, invited me to her country home, for some company; and escape from the city and my morbid thoughts. I took her up on the invitation, longing for connection and hope. 

I drove down the next morning, it was 7 miles outside of a midwestern small town, about an hour south of the city, on a gravel road with almost no traffic, I felt some relief just having quiet surround me, as I lived on a busy street in the inner city. When I got there, I went around to the sidewalk on the side of the house without stairs. I knocked, and she answered from a dank, partially finished  basement.

It was good to see her, and her youthful decorations, she was happy to see me, too. Her cats came and visited us at her small, cast-iron table, then drifted back to shadowy corners. We sat while music surrounded us, talking on men, ghosts, magic, cats, and spells. I could feel the recharging of my energy.

She spoke often of a young man at work who had the same name as her ex-lover. We laughed about that, and she didn’t really show how attracted to him she was at that point. I left that night, saying that I’d love to come down again, and thanking her for helping me out in my time of need.

She invited me down again, about a month later, to witness her new love, a young man with whom I had an immediate liking. He was a little older than my daughter, and being of Irish ancestry, he was a natural story teller. We were all drinking Jamison, an Irish whiskey. Hope rose in this triad, as we consumed each other’s laughter and company hungrily, and drank most of the liquor, until the midnight hours.

Dreams of laughter echoed through dusty channels of my heart as I slept. I woke early, predawn, and he woke shortly thereafter, so we drove to the small town nearby, getting milk, a coffee drink for me, and some soda for him and her. Later that day, before I left for the city, I drove them in to get more liquor and soda. She had just quit her job, and the two of them absorbed each other in their freedom, youth, and alcohol.

Driving home, I felt deep satisfaction to have connected with both of them, they had invited me to observe their ethereal link of love, and it was beautiful to me. I was so happy that they had found each other in such an unlikely place.

She and I stayed in touch, and in a phone call, she told me that she had blacked out, and he had knocked her across a room. She vowed to change her drinking habits, because she became mean when she blacked out. He had felt terrible about his burst of temper with her, and asked her forgiveness. She did forgive him, and they lived, breathed, and fed each other music and enchantment.

One day she called me and they escaped that musty basement to live cramped, sleeping, and consummating on a dingy mattress on the floor of my boxy living room. At first, it was wonderful for all of us. They each looked for jobs, she getting one first, then he. They contributed what they could financially, though he lost his job due to cultural difference and prejudiced management. He became more anxious, and was drinking more often.

Dark music flowed in his veins, he introduced me to alternative hip-hop, moving me into his young world. I found that I liked the hip-hop and rap he played for me from YouTube, and asked him to write down the artists, which he did for me. He also played death rock, which I didn’t care much for, and would ask him to turn it down. He always did, I appreciated that, and played him music from my collection of CDs, some that he liked. I gave him my electric guitar so he could play, while looking for work. Something that eased his anxiety.

Riffs flowed from an unused guitar, he was a good player, and set to learning some new songs off YouTube. This lasted until his money ran out, and he pawned the guitar and amp so he could have money for alcohol. We were looking for a place to live for the three of us, and had applied for a care taking position at a place in a better neighborhood. The new landlord provided them with some paid work, but he was an ass, and we withdrew from the position.

His violence rose toward her with every drink he took, and one night we kicked him out, because he was hurting her, and she was too scared of him to sleep. She had changed her drinking habits, but he was back to liquor every day. We shoved him out the apartment door, and he left, leaving his things at my apartment. She discovered that he had stolen one of her diamond rings, and had pawned it for more liquor money. After a full day and night, he met her at her bus stop on her way to her regular job.

When I picked her up at work, I was stunned to see him there. I asked him what the hell he was doing, and she explained that he wanted another chance, and would switch to only drinking beer. I was a little skeptical, but she convinced me to let him in the car and take him home with us. He had told her that he meant to buy the ring back from the pawn shop, not just sell it outright. We both forgave him and for a couple weeks, he did only drink beer, and they talked outside in private when they had problems, and were kind to each other, love shaking out of the shadows.

He started up with liquor again, pushed her down hard on the granite outside, tried to strangle her as they were trying to sleep. She showed me the bruise on her thigh, and I knew it was no good. She didn't come back the one night, only to reappear after a day with an ultimatum. “He goes or I go,” she said, “I’m too afraid to sleep here, he could kill me.” He put on a face of charm, attempting to fool us into thinking he would never do that, but he had been drinking, and soon lost his temper. He began insulting her, and she returned his insults. I told them both that I chose her over him. He then grabbed her phone, took it apart, and threw the battery at the baseboard heaters. Then he threw the remaining pieces at her. She came over to the table where he and I sat, and I told her to stay away from him, he was shimmering with rage.

She backed off, and reassembled the phone, he demanded to use her phone to call his friend in NY. She coldly gave him the phone and he talked for about an hour, still venomous. Finally, he started packing up his few belongings, and headed out to the streets. He roamed briefly, only a few cool days and nights. I didn’t take his phone calls, but she took one, and met him outside to say goodbye. The next day he returned to New York with a bus ticket bought for him by a church.

We both missed his fire, music, storytelling, company; the kind, loving side of him. She moved in desolation throughout her days and found a different job. We moved to a larger apartment where she still mourned him for awhile, talking on the phone to him when he called. She thought of visiting New York, but then they has a nasty fight, and ended all contact. He became only memory, having left indelible marks on our souls.