Post by goldenmyst on Dec 6, 2020 21:47:46 GMT -6
Dark Star Child
I rode my bike along the neck of land on the eastern edge of Lake Pontchartrain. I breathed the salty air. The fading sunlight cast my shadow on the road. The Chef Menteur Highway near the Rigolets Pass was alive and humming with thousands of insects and seagulls cackling in a symphony that couldn’t be mimicked by man.
My bike light shone through the darkness, making me known to the drivers. Knowing that if a car came curving too far into the shoulder I could be killed made me quiver. Or maybe it was just the cool air rushing by my lithe, young woman’s body.
As the darkness enclosed me I felt a brisk breeze blow across the marshy islands. I heard seagulls cackle in the night sky above me. Looking up for a moment, I saw their outspread wings stretched against the light of the Gibbous moon which hung suspended in the sphere of starry heaven above my head.
My long hair blew in the breeze as I pedaled faster, feeling a flash of anxiety in my thumping heart. I could see Jupiter ahead on the horizon, a point of light shining like a jewel in the diadem of the cosmic Goddess.
The smells of salt air and algae from the marsh filled me with ecstasy. I loved this land, where I had grown up. I had been on the road now for five miles. My legs ached, but my heart drove me on down the land bridge. I wondered if all the creatures in the marsh, the fish, the birds, the crabs, and oysters felt the same happiness I felt out here in the midst of such beauty.
I was struck by the mystery of life. How, did this living community of interconnected creatures come about? Was it just a cosmic accident or by the design of some intelligence? I liked to think that it was the creation of a loving mother who was part of everything. I was a child of the cosmos, watched over, as I traveled this night road with cold steel machines rushing by inches from my fragile body. My safety was in the hands of the Goddess. I could almost feel her soft touch on my stiff back as I rode through the sweet night air.
I felt warmth fill my chest which emanated from my solar plexus. My body tingled with pleasure as I imagined the loving cosmic mother, embracing me in her strong arms. I thought of quiet places I went as a child when I was afraid. I would go to a pond in the woods and sit under the pine trees. Sometimes I took off my clothes and swam in the cool clear water of the pond. I would float looking up at the pine trees at the deep blue sky, so distant and pure. I felt like I was floating in a womb, protected from any harm, by my loving mother.
All of the earth was my mother. Gaia, the earth mother, was the source from which I sprang. I knew that one day I would return to become part of the earth again. I thought I would be ready when that day came. No regrets. No sad goodbyes would I utter. I would go peacefully into that eternal twilight.
These thoughts passed through my mind as I passed through the Louisiana wetlands. I wondered what the drivers of the cars thought of this place. Could they feel any of the magic I did? I saw the lights of fishing camps which lined the side of the road. They looked so peaceful from my vantage point. I wondered if the people in them knew peace. In this troubled world, there is no real refuge I thought. One day even this marsh will be eroded and disappear into the Gulf of Mexico.
The lake waves constantly lapped against the shore. Perhaps peace is an illusion I thought. But for the moment the world seemed perfect. My ride took me onto the bridge over the inlet which was the vulva where the mother Gulf’s waters mixed with Lake Pontchartrain.
I passed over the bridge and out of the marsh and into the pine forests of Slidell. The trees loomed high above me like giants in the moonlight. I pedaled harder and felt beads of sweat clinging to my brow. I reached up and wiped them.
I came around a curve and looked ahead at the road illuminated by the car lights. As I gazed at the lights of an approaching car, I noticed they seemed to veer to one side. With terror, I realized they were headed right toward me. I pedaled madly and pulled off the road, momentarily taking to the air. I felt a jarring bump as my bike impacted on something and I felt my body, in dreamlike motion, flying over the handlebars and my head crash against something hard and jagged. Then everything went black.
I woke in a hospital bed with a nurse standing over me taking notes. As my eyes flickered open I saw him look at me with concern. I smiled and he relaxed smiling back at me. His face was oval and his eyes were warm brown pools. I was struck by his handsomeness and gentleness as he took my pulse. I looked at his name tag and it said, Bruce. I said, “Bruce is such a manly name.”
I didn’t know what I was saying in the state I was in. He looked down at me with an odd look of discomfort and said, “Well Sandy, you know you’re really lucky to be alive.” His voice was deep and gentle but serious. I said, “I know. I am a fool. My Dad always told me I had my head in the clouds.”
Bruce held my wrist taking my pulse. He said, “Well you know, it’s ok to dream, but riding a bike at night on a major highway isn’t very wise.”
Our eyes met as he took my pulse. Then he put a thermometer in my mouth to take my temperature. I held it there as he stood writing in his notebook. I noticed that he had a ponytail. I imagined it flowing free against his shoulders. He took the thermometer out of my mouth and I said, “Thank you so much.”
Bruce said, “Get some rest. You’ve had a serious injury. You shouldn’t be talking so much.”
I drifted off to sleep. When I woke the doctor was sitting next to me on the bed. He said, “How are you feeling?”
I said, “Just groovy.”
He said, “I haven’t heard that word used in a while. Well, you’ve had a mild concussion, but you seem over it. I’m going to discharge you tonight.”
I stretched my body under the sheets and asked, “Is Bruce coming back?”
The doctor looked at me quizzically and asked, “Who is Bruce?”
I said, “Never mind.”
He scratched his head and got up walking away.
Bruce came back at lunchtime. He approached me and asked, “How are you doing? Did you get a good rest?”
I said in a dreamy tone of voice, “Oh I am so relaxed. Are you going to take my temperature again?”
He smiled and said, “You seem to just love my attention. I heard you were asking the doctor about me earlier. Maybe that bump on the head shook loose some of your marbles.”
I scowled and said, “No Bruce. You just seem like a really beautiful person. I’d love to be your friend.”
Bruce said, “You probably feel that way because I cared for you after a serious injury. That’s common.”
I said, “Oh nooo, Bruce. You really seem like a special person. I’ve never met anyone as gentle and kind as you.”
He threw back his head laughing and said, “Well, let me tell you, you haven’t seen me when I’m angry. Besides, you’re going to be discharged.”
I said, “You seem so grounded in the real world. I’d love to learn some of that. Wouldn’t you spend time with me and teach me how to be more responsible. I wouldn’t take up too much of your time. I really need your guidance.”
Bruce looked at the chrysanthemums my mother had left sitting on the table by the bed. He asked, “Don’t you have parents? Aren’t you a little old for fathering? I certainly don’t want to be your father.”
I pleaded, “My Dad is too busy to spend time with me. I don’t want you to be my father, just a friend. Please, I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want.”
Bruce picked one of the chrysanthemums out of the vase and lifted it to his nose smelling it. He said, “Well perhaps we can have tea together sometimes.” Then he walked out.
Before I left the hospital he left his phone number with me. I felt energized. Although I was still a little light-headed, I felt a sense of assurance I’d never felt. I knew that with Bruce’s coaxing I’d be able to face the world without fear.
This summer I knew would be special. In the Fall I would go back to Tulane University, but for now, I was free. I called Bruce the day after I got out of the hospital. He was friendly and told me I could come over on Saturday at noon for tea.
I drove down the dirt road and up the hill. St. Tammany Parish was beautiful in the early spring. The sunlight through the trees was warm on my face. I looked and ahead and there was his house. It was a trailer home, with windows that sparkled in the sunlight. It had old gingerbread ornamentation on the roof and windowsills. There were pansies, all purple, red, and green filling the red brick-lined flower beds along the front porch. There was a swing hanging from the front porch. I imagined resting in his arms on the swing as it gently swayed back and forth rocking me like a baby.
I walked between the flower beds, smelling the fresh flowery fragrance. I leaped eagerly up the steps and rang the doorbell. Through the oval window, I could see the blurred image of Bruce as he approached the door. He swung it open and I embraced him kissing him lightly on the cheek. He blushed.
He was wearing suspenders with blue jeans and a red t-shirt. His dark mop of hair fell on his shoulders as I had imagined him back in the hospital. His lips looked kissable as he gently guided me with his fingertips on my shoulder into the sitting room.
We passed through the foyer and into the parlor. There were two large crystal clear windows making up most of the wall. The sun shone through them brilliantly. We sat across from each other on either side of a small round dark oak table. On it were two tiny white china cups, embellished with images of roses. I sat back in the chair and crossed my legs. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table and his feet crossed. He gulped his tea.
I looked at him and he looked at me silently. After an awkward moment of silence, we broke out giggling. He said, “I feel so embarrassed. I really don’t know what to say.”
I said, “Don’t be embarrassed. Why don’t you tell me about your flowers?”
In between sips, he said, “Well there’s really not that much to say. They are a hobby of mine. Since I live alone I have time for hobbies. Gardening helps me feel close to the earth. It’s kind of a spiritual thing.”
I said, “I’ve always loved growing things too. I feel close to the Goddess when I plant seeds. I think nature is like a symphony. When you are filled with joy you sing. I think nature is like a song of the Goddess. It is her expression of joy at being alive. You know the Australian Aborigines have a belief that the world was sung into existence by totemic beings that existed in the Dreamtime.”
Bruce sighed. He said, “Well that’s very beautiful. I’ve never really thought about it that deeply.”
I stretched my legs apart under the table stretching my feet and toes toward Bruce. I said, “But I’m sure you’ve felt it. Maybe you just never articulated it.” The sunlight through the picture windows was hot on my face by then. He said, “Well you don’t seem to be lacking for words. Please tell me more.”
I pulled my feet under the chair, arched my back, and leaned forward with my elbows on the table, my face inches from his. I looked at him intently and said, “Some of the mysteries of life are beyond words. There are things which can be communicated only in a touch which are incomprehensible.” I reached out and brushed a lock of his black hair from his cheeks. His skin was delicate as my fingers traced his lips. He pulled back into his chair, and I said, “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at his lap and said, “No it’s ok. I just don’t know if I’m ready for that. I was hurt once by a woman.”
I grasped his hands and prayerfully folded them in mine. I asked, “How did she hurt you?”
He said, “She dumped me for my brother.”
I kissed his fingertips holding them to my lips. I said, “You know I would never hurt you. I know what it’s like to be hurt. I was sexually abused by my father. I could never do that to another person.”
Bruce looked at me with concern. He asked, “How did you feel after your father did that to you?”
I put his hands flat, palm down on the tabletop, and covered them with mine. I said, “I felt like dying. I even tried to hurt myself. I was put in an institution for a while. Then when I came out he never hurt me again. He gave me gifts to make me feel better. He tried to pretend as if it had never happened. After that Mom divorced Dad. He didn’t go to jail. It was all swept under the rug. Now I live with Mom.”
Bruce kissed me on the forehead. He said, “So now you want me to help you heal?”
I said, “Maybe we can help each other heal.”
Bruce pulled his hands out from under mine placing his over mine. He looked at me with blood-streaked eyes and stroked my hair. He said, “Honey I don’t want to hurt you. You need more than I can give. I wish I could help you, but I myself am broken.”
I felt a sense of abandonment again. I tensed. I pleaded, “But Bruce, I love you! I want to be with you forever.”
He got up and knelt beside me hugging me to his chest. I wept. Soon he led me out to the foyer. He hugged me again and said, “Darling, I hope you get help. I wish I could help you but...”
I felt humiliated. I said, “You’re just like all the others. You let me down.” I ran out, got in the car, and drove swiftly away.
I drove back to Mom’s where she and I were still living in the old Victorian mansion in the Garden District of New Orleans. I stood in the upstairs music room looking down through the parted white lace curtains at the ghostly trees bearded in Spanish moss.
The room had oak floors, white walls, and an old piano in the corner to my right. There was a statue of the goddess Venus sitting on a tall narrow pedestal in the other corner. The room was illuminated with streetlights streaming through the large windows overlooking the balcony. Mom had lit a candelabra in memory of Dad.
Mom walked into the room and stood by me looking out the window. She wore a white gown and looked so beautiful with her red hair in a bun. I looked over at her profile, as we stood side by side. She had wrinkles around her eyes. She looked so sad. She went to the piano and sat down on the bench.
She began playing the raindrop prelude by Chopin. It was one of my favorites. She had played it for me as a young girl when I was scared. I felt comforted. I walked away from the window and stood over Mom as she played. I watched her slender fingers dance across the keys. She stopped playing and looked up at me smiling. She said, “Sandy, I want you to be happy wherever you go.”
She reached out and grabbed my hand. She began weeping and said, “Sandy, I wish I could take some of the pain away. I don’t know-how. I’ve prayed every night for God to ease your suffering.”
I grasped her hand between mine. I lied saying, “Mom, I’m not suffering. I love my life. I feel so free now.”
Mom pulled me close to her and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her sobbing died down. She said, “Sandy, please be truthful with me. Don’t put on that carefree attitude you do with your friends. I know when my girl is hurting.”
I reached down and stroked her hair. Looking down at her I said, “Mom, I don’t feel anything from that anymore. It seems like a dream to me. I’m ready to face life now. I feel so strong inside.”
Mom looked up at me and said, “I want to believe you. God knows I want to believe you. But why do you do reckless things? Do you value your life so little? Why did you risk your life in the marshes?”
I sighed and said, “Mom, I’m not afraid anymore.”
She began playing the piano again.
The semester began at Tulane. I made one close friend. We both were in the theater dept. Her name was Gloria and we went for walks in Audubon Park, went to movies together, and rode bikes on the weekends. She was playing Hedda in the play “Hedda Gabler.”
One afternoon, Gloria and I were watching a documentary on Admiral Peary. We watched the pictures from the expedition to the North Pole. As I gazed at the pictures of ice and snow, I thought how magnificently bleak it was. I told Gloria, “I think I’d like to die in a place like that, far away from civilization with no people, just me and the wind and ice.”
Gloria looked at me with a strange squint. She asked, “Are you ok?”
I said, “Yes of course. Am I being too morbid for you?”
She looked at me and smiled, “I’ve always known you had a few screws loose.”
I laughed and said, “I know. I’m such a deep dark soul. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”
Gloria looked serious and said, “No apologies necessary. Just try not to dwell on death too much. I think you have a propensity toward melancholy. You need to focus on the light.”
I looked at her and said, “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
I went to my dorm room and lay in bed. I felt so tired and fell into a deep sleep. The phone rang. It was Mom. She was crying. She said, “Sandy, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. Your father has died.”
I lay listening to her weeping over the phone. I asked, “How did he die?”
She said, “He committed suicide, Sandy. I want you to come home this weekend. I think we need each other.”
I said, “Oh Mom, I’m ok. Really.” I hung up the phone.
Many nights I didn’t know if I could continue on. I visited Mom a lot on weekends. Mom seemed to wither away after that. It broke her heart to see me so shattered inside. I stopped visiting her and one day a neighbor found her dead collapsed across the piano.
Later I hooked up with men in bars. They were wounded guys needing me to kiss them and make it all better. Then a dude invited me to take tango lessons with him at a University of New Orleans leisure class. My body was learning to enjoy being touched again. And my chastity, like a pink dolphin, fascinated him with a rarity that made me worth his celibacy.
I rode my bike along the neck of land on the eastern edge of Lake Pontchartrain. I breathed the salty air. The fading sunlight cast my shadow on the road. The Chef Menteur Highway near the Rigolets Pass was alive and humming with thousands of insects and seagulls cackling in a symphony that couldn’t be mimicked by man.
My bike light shone through the darkness, making me known to the drivers. Knowing that if a car came curving too far into the shoulder I could be killed made me quiver. Or maybe it was just the cool air rushing by my lithe, young woman’s body.
As the darkness enclosed me I felt a brisk breeze blow across the marshy islands. I heard seagulls cackle in the night sky above me. Looking up for a moment, I saw their outspread wings stretched against the light of the Gibbous moon which hung suspended in the sphere of starry heaven above my head.
My long hair blew in the breeze as I pedaled faster, feeling a flash of anxiety in my thumping heart. I could see Jupiter ahead on the horizon, a point of light shining like a jewel in the diadem of the cosmic Goddess.
The smells of salt air and algae from the marsh filled me with ecstasy. I loved this land, where I had grown up. I had been on the road now for five miles. My legs ached, but my heart drove me on down the land bridge. I wondered if all the creatures in the marsh, the fish, the birds, the crabs, and oysters felt the same happiness I felt out here in the midst of such beauty.
I was struck by the mystery of life. How, did this living community of interconnected creatures come about? Was it just a cosmic accident or by the design of some intelligence? I liked to think that it was the creation of a loving mother who was part of everything. I was a child of the cosmos, watched over, as I traveled this night road with cold steel machines rushing by inches from my fragile body. My safety was in the hands of the Goddess. I could almost feel her soft touch on my stiff back as I rode through the sweet night air.
I felt warmth fill my chest which emanated from my solar plexus. My body tingled with pleasure as I imagined the loving cosmic mother, embracing me in her strong arms. I thought of quiet places I went as a child when I was afraid. I would go to a pond in the woods and sit under the pine trees. Sometimes I took off my clothes and swam in the cool clear water of the pond. I would float looking up at the pine trees at the deep blue sky, so distant and pure. I felt like I was floating in a womb, protected from any harm, by my loving mother.
All of the earth was my mother. Gaia, the earth mother, was the source from which I sprang. I knew that one day I would return to become part of the earth again. I thought I would be ready when that day came. No regrets. No sad goodbyes would I utter. I would go peacefully into that eternal twilight.
These thoughts passed through my mind as I passed through the Louisiana wetlands. I wondered what the drivers of the cars thought of this place. Could they feel any of the magic I did? I saw the lights of fishing camps which lined the side of the road. They looked so peaceful from my vantage point. I wondered if the people in them knew peace. In this troubled world, there is no real refuge I thought. One day even this marsh will be eroded and disappear into the Gulf of Mexico.
The lake waves constantly lapped against the shore. Perhaps peace is an illusion I thought. But for the moment the world seemed perfect. My ride took me onto the bridge over the inlet which was the vulva where the mother Gulf’s waters mixed with Lake Pontchartrain.
I passed over the bridge and out of the marsh and into the pine forests of Slidell. The trees loomed high above me like giants in the moonlight. I pedaled harder and felt beads of sweat clinging to my brow. I reached up and wiped them.
I came around a curve and looked ahead at the road illuminated by the car lights. As I gazed at the lights of an approaching car, I noticed they seemed to veer to one side. With terror, I realized they were headed right toward me. I pedaled madly and pulled off the road, momentarily taking to the air. I felt a jarring bump as my bike impacted on something and I felt my body, in dreamlike motion, flying over the handlebars and my head crash against something hard and jagged. Then everything went black.
I woke in a hospital bed with a nurse standing over me taking notes. As my eyes flickered open I saw him look at me with concern. I smiled and he relaxed smiling back at me. His face was oval and his eyes were warm brown pools. I was struck by his handsomeness and gentleness as he took my pulse. I looked at his name tag and it said, Bruce. I said, “Bruce is such a manly name.”
I didn’t know what I was saying in the state I was in. He looked down at me with an odd look of discomfort and said, “Well Sandy, you know you’re really lucky to be alive.” His voice was deep and gentle but serious. I said, “I know. I am a fool. My Dad always told me I had my head in the clouds.”
Bruce held my wrist taking my pulse. He said, “Well you know, it’s ok to dream, but riding a bike at night on a major highway isn’t very wise.”
Our eyes met as he took my pulse. Then he put a thermometer in my mouth to take my temperature. I held it there as he stood writing in his notebook. I noticed that he had a ponytail. I imagined it flowing free against his shoulders. He took the thermometer out of my mouth and I said, “Thank you so much.”
Bruce said, “Get some rest. You’ve had a serious injury. You shouldn’t be talking so much.”
I drifted off to sleep. When I woke the doctor was sitting next to me on the bed. He said, “How are you feeling?”
I said, “Just groovy.”
He said, “I haven’t heard that word used in a while. Well, you’ve had a mild concussion, but you seem over it. I’m going to discharge you tonight.”
I stretched my body under the sheets and asked, “Is Bruce coming back?”
The doctor looked at me quizzically and asked, “Who is Bruce?”
I said, “Never mind.”
He scratched his head and got up walking away.
Bruce came back at lunchtime. He approached me and asked, “How are you doing? Did you get a good rest?”
I said in a dreamy tone of voice, “Oh I am so relaxed. Are you going to take my temperature again?”
He smiled and said, “You seem to just love my attention. I heard you were asking the doctor about me earlier. Maybe that bump on the head shook loose some of your marbles.”
I scowled and said, “No Bruce. You just seem like a really beautiful person. I’d love to be your friend.”
Bruce said, “You probably feel that way because I cared for you after a serious injury. That’s common.”
I said, “Oh nooo, Bruce. You really seem like a special person. I’ve never met anyone as gentle and kind as you.”
He threw back his head laughing and said, “Well, let me tell you, you haven’t seen me when I’m angry. Besides, you’re going to be discharged.”
I said, “You seem so grounded in the real world. I’d love to learn some of that. Wouldn’t you spend time with me and teach me how to be more responsible. I wouldn’t take up too much of your time. I really need your guidance.”
Bruce looked at the chrysanthemums my mother had left sitting on the table by the bed. He asked, “Don’t you have parents? Aren’t you a little old for fathering? I certainly don’t want to be your father.”
I pleaded, “My Dad is too busy to spend time with me. I don’t want you to be my father, just a friend. Please, I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want.”
Bruce picked one of the chrysanthemums out of the vase and lifted it to his nose smelling it. He said, “Well perhaps we can have tea together sometimes.” Then he walked out.
Before I left the hospital he left his phone number with me. I felt energized. Although I was still a little light-headed, I felt a sense of assurance I’d never felt. I knew that with Bruce’s coaxing I’d be able to face the world without fear.
This summer I knew would be special. In the Fall I would go back to Tulane University, but for now, I was free. I called Bruce the day after I got out of the hospital. He was friendly and told me I could come over on Saturday at noon for tea.
I drove down the dirt road and up the hill. St. Tammany Parish was beautiful in the early spring. The sunlight through the trees was warm on my face. I looked and ahead and there was his house. It was a trailer home, with windows that sparkled in the sunlight. It had old gingerbread ornamentation on the roof and windowsills. There were pansies, all purple, red, and green filling the red brick-lined flower beds along the front porch. There was a swing hanging from the front porch. I imagined resting in his arms on the swing as it gently swayed back and forth rocking me like a baby.
I walked between the flower beds, smelling the fresh flowery fragrance. I leaped eagerly up the steps and rang the doorbell. Through the oval window, I could see the blurred image of Bruce as he approached the door. He swung it open and I embraced him kissing him lightly on the cheek. He blushed.
He was wearing suspenders with blue jeans and a red t-shirt. His dark mop of hair fell on his shoulders as I had imagined him back in the hospital. His lips looked kissable as he gently guided me with his fingertips on my shoulder into the sitting room.
We passed through the foyer and into the parlor. There were two large crystal clear windows making up most of the wall. The sun shone through them brilliantly. We sat across from each other on either side of a small round dark oak table. On it were two tiny white china cups, embellished with images of roses. I sat back in the chair and crossed my legs. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table and his feet crossed. He gulped his tea.
I looked at him and he looked at me silently. After an awkward moment of silence, we broke out giggling. He said, “I feel so embarrassed. I really don’t know what to say.”
I said, “Don’t be embarrassed. Why don’t you tell me about your flowers?”
In between sips, he said, “Well there’s really not that much to say. They are a hobby of mine. Since I live alone I have time for hobbies. Gardening helps me feel close to the earth. It’s kind of a spiritual thing.”
I said, “I’ve always loved growing things too. I feel close to the Goddess when I plant seeds. I think nature is like a symphony. When you are filled with joy you sing. I think nature is like a song of the Goddess. It is her expression of joy at being alive. You know the Australian Aborigines have a belief that the world was sung into existence by totemic beings that existed in the Dreamtime.”
Bruce sighed. He said, “Well that’s very beautiful. I’ve never really thought about it that deeply.”
I stretched my legs apart under the table stretching my feet and toes toward Bruce. I said, “But I’m sure you’ve felt it. Maybe you just never articulated it.” The sunlight through the picture windows was hot on my face by then. He said, “Well you don’t seem to be lacking for words. Please tell me more.”
I pulled my feet under the chair, arched my back, and leaned forward with my elbows on the table, my face inches from his. I looked at him intently and said, “Some of the mysteries of life are beyond words. There are things which can be communicated only in a touch which are incomprehensible.” I reached out and brushed a lock of his black hair from his cheeks. His skin was delicate as my fingers traced his lips. He pulled back into his chair, and I said, “I’m sorry.”
He looked down at his lap and said, “No it’s ok. I just don’t know if I’m ready for that. I was hurt once by a woman.”
I grasped his hands and prayerfully folded them in mine. I asked, “How did she hurt you?”
He said, “She dumped me for my brother.”
I kissed his fingertips holding them to my lips. I said, “You know I would never hurt you. I know what it’s like to be hurt. I was sexually abused by my father. I could never do that to another person.”
Bruce looked at me with concern. He asked, “How did you feel after your father did that to you?”
I put his hands flat, palm down on the tabletop, and covered them with mine. I said, “I felt like dying. I even tried to hurt myself. I was put in an institution for a while. Then when I came out he never hurt me again. He gave me gifts to make me feel better. He tried to pretend as if it had never happened. After that Mom divorced Dad. He didn’t go to jail. It was all swept under the rug. Now I live with Mom.”
Bruce kissed me on the forehead. He said, “So now you want me to help you heal?”
I said, “Maybe we can help each other heal.”
Bruce pulled his hands out from under mine placing his over mine. He looked at me with blood-streaked eyes and stroked my hair. He said, “Honey I don’t want to hurt you. You need more than I can give. I wish I could help you, but I myself am broken.”
I felt a sense of abandonment again. I tensed. I pleaded, “But Bruce, I love you! I want to be with you forever.”
He got up and knelt beside me hugging me to his chest. I wept. Soon he led me out to the foyer. He hugged me again and said, “Darling, I hope you get help. I wish I could help you but...”
I felt humiliated. I said, “You’re just like all the others. You let me down.” I ran out, got in the car, and drove swiftly away.
I drove back to Mom’s where she and I were still living in the old Victorian mansion in the Garden District of New Orleans. I stood in the upstairs music room looking down through the parted white lace curtains at the ghostly trees bearded in Spanish moss.
The room had oak floors, white walls, and an old piano in the corner to my right. There was a statue of the goddess Venus sitting on a tall narrow pedestal in the other corner. The room was illuminated with streetlights streaming through the large windows overlooking the balcony. Mom had lit a candelabra in memory of Dad.
Mom walked into the room and stood by me looking out the window. She wore a white gown and looked so beautiful with her red hair in a bun. I looked over at her profile, as we stood side by side. She had wrinkles around her eyes. She looked so sad. She went to the piano and sat down on the bench.
She began playing the raindrop prelude by Chopin. It was one of my favorites. She had played it for me as a young girl when I was scared. I felt comforted. I walked away from the window and stood over Mom as she played. I watched her slender fingers dance across the keys. She stopped playing and looked up at me smiling. She said, “Sandy, I want you to be happy wherever you go.”
She reached out and grabbed my hand. She began weeping and said, “Sandy, I wish I could take some of the pain away. I don’t know-how. I’ve prayed every night for God to ease your suffering.”
I grasped her hand between mine. I lied saying, “Mom, I’m not suffering. I love my life. I feel so free now.”
Mom pulled me close to her and wrapped her arms around my waist. Her sobbing died down. She said, “Sandy, please be truthful with me. Don’t put on that carefree attitude you do with your friends. I know when my girl is hurting.”
I reached down and stroked her hair. Looking down at her I said, “Mom, I don’t feel anything from that anymore. It seems like a dream to me. I’m ready to face life now. I feel so strong inside.”
Mom looked up at me and said, “I want to believe you. God knows I want to believe you. But why do you do reckless things? Do you value your life so little? Why did you risk your life in the marshes?”
I sighed and said, “Mom, I’m not afraid anymore.”
She began playing the piano again.
The semester began at Tulane. I made one close friend. We both were in the theater dept. Her name was Gloria and we went for walks in Audubon Park, went to movies together, and rode bikes on the weekends. She was playing Hedda in the play “Hedda Gabler.”
One afternoon, Gloria and I were watching a documentary on Admiral Peary. We watched the pictures from the expedition to the North Pole. As I gazed at the pictures of ice and snow, I thought how magnificently bleak it was. I told Gloria, “I think I’d like to die in a place like that, far away from civilization with no people, just me and the wind and ice.”
Gloria looked at me with a strange squint. She asked, “Are you ok?”
I said, “Yes of course. Am I being too morbid for you?”
She looked at me and smiled, “I’ve always known you had a few screws loose.”
I laughed and said, “I know. I’m such a deep dark soul. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”
Gloria looked serious and said, “No apologies necessary. Just try not to dwell on death too much. I think you have a propensity toward melancholy. You need to focus on the light.”
I looked at her and said, “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”
I went to my dorm room and lay in bed. I felt so tired and fell into a deep sleep. The phone rang. It was Mom. She was crying. She said, “Sandy, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. Your father has died.”
I lay listening to her weeping over the phone. I asked, “How did he die?”
She said, “He committed suicide, Sandy. I want you to come home this weekend. I think we need each other.”
I said, “Oh Mom, I’m ok. Really.” I hung up the phone.
Many nights I didn’t know if I could continue on. I visited Mom a lot on weekends. Mom seemed to wither away after that. It broke her heart to see me so shattered inside. I stopped visiting her and one day a neighbor found her dead collapsed across the piano.
Later I hooked up with men in bars. They were wounded guys needing me to kiss them and make it all better. Then a dude invited me to take tango lessons with him at a University of New Orleans leisure class. My body was learning to enjoy being touched again. And my chastity, like a pink dolphin, fascinated him with a rarity that made me worth his celibacy.
