Sunday, September 12, 2004

Telling Wideman's Story - Life Part One - Chapter e

She needs something to happen in our relationship. She tells me that we need to go through something that bonds us together and helps us as a couple. I don’t understand or never will understand to explain away things in that way. Sometimes things don’t happen clearly in our memories. We can look back at all the things that happened in our world and they’ll come out as varied scenes as if from a movie where the story fades to black instead of continuing on. Memories of past triumphs are disconnected. We remember things as they occur and occasionally we’ll never forget what we thought. That will stick to us forever as if it were needed somehow. But sometimes some things don’t happen to people. Nothing can occur and people can be all the stronger for it. The neat little domestic lifestyle that we built for ourselves is what I want. I need the girl in the supporting role adds scenery to my mind whereas she needs something to be done. A story she can pass down to her grandchildren. Something that she can live on, and brace for a new day. A reason for another day. I can just be happy sitting idly so long as I have her to be the supporting role in my story.

She needs a story. She needs something she can look back on with regret or something that she can look back on smile and take pride in her actions. She needs something to push her towards another day, another time, another adventure. She needs something to be for life. The rut of my existence apparently is not good enough her. But things will happen. Time has no meanings for her. She needs everything that can happen in her life to happen in consecutive days she can battle the obstacles and continue, forecasting the trials for others, being a survivor to what life can dish and resting on her laurels. She can’t sense that all things will occur that need occur for her to continue. Life doesn’t happen all in a bottle. She feels as if the scenery of her mind is black with emptiness. Nothing has happened for her. Black as the absence of the color in a world that she’s missing. My mind contains the backdrop of white. I see all the colors of the world I’m living in all at once. She needs something to happen to us. She’s getting bored with being in love. The complacency that shouldn’t occur until every seven years appears to happen every seven days. Weekly she wants us to strive at or strive for something, she can’t figure out which, but life isn’t what it should be, isn’t what it could be. But actions bring out drama for me, and she could do without drama I hear her report to friends on the telephone. Forcing stuff to happen just lets life fly by with no recollection of the time wasted encountering meaningless obstacles, takes away opportunities for something, something that can truly reshape the course of our existence together, something that won’t dirty our air.

I can sense her urgency for something to occur to us. She can’t stand anymore the talks we have in the car, I know she’s been up at night, never sleeping, always dreaming for something. On yet another night she stays awake and doesn’t rest, this time I awaken. She’s surprised as she feels that all these times I’ve been awake too. She tells me that nothing happens that lets her know that she loves me. She cries. Tears start to flow singularly, slowing down her cheeks. Her mouth scrunches and then the tears start to flow. She knows she loves me, but she can’t equate how or why. I remind her that that’s true love, that’s not an affection towards me. We’re bound to be together. She doesn’t seem to like that answer and shakes it off like a pitcher waiting for the fastball sign. I throw another option to her. I’ll tell her a story of one of our undocumented triumphs that makes us what we’ll become in the future.

We’ve been throwing the idea around to get married for some time now and we secretly start to live with each other on a fulltime basis with all the benefits. As men often do, I start to get restless and I start worrying about what more can there be in life. I start daydreaming about moving out to California, the land of milk and honey can settle my undying thirst for life. My girl now is great but she’s turning into some lady from may past that I can learn from and use the lessons for my future girl. The girl that will bring all my life into focus. I plan to move California and I start to settle out the details. I pack, I find a place to stay, I start saying my good-byes to all the people that care for me. I’m ready to live and finally the life I’ve always been searching before. I tell my lady and she tells me she’s pregnant. She’s sad as she knows vaguely of my plans but she now knows she’ll always be the reason I never left. I can hang this on her head for all the times that we spend together. She tells me I can go, but I’m a man, and men have to do what’s right for their lady and for their child. I cancel all my plans to live life, to be in California, and I stay at home to marry my girl and be the father to my child. To celebrate our marriage, we sit in our room and heat up a spoon and I pour some heroin on the spoon, she licks the back of a stamp laced with acid and we chill for awhile. We talk of our plans to be a husband and wife architecture team and all the buildings we shall build. Over the years, the buzz of the drugs wear off, we’re living just to be living. Our love for each other wears down to nothing, and our child is the only thing that keeps us happy. Unfortunately it reminds us of each other, of what used to be, of what could have been. We fulfill our neat little domestic life all the way through. We strived and we’re always together. We’re always bonded to each other.

She explains to me the horridness of my story and I tell her that’s what’s love is all about. Love burns out eventually, there are no actions in life that makes our love stronger, we don’t strive, we only survive and eventually we wear each other down to the point of acceptance and we continue on together until the end. She begs me to stop as I explain to her that through our battles in the story, we as a couple will be stronger for the wear. This story can live lividly in your mind until your old enough where it will become true and where you think if we can outlive that, we can go on forever, forever in love with each other, our experience of my almost bolting to California bonded us through our child. She laughs at the ridiculousness of reasoning, but not a laugh for it being funny, a laugh as her body knows not how else to respond to this foreign way to consider something she knew all about, memory and stories of life. Sometimes our stories, she reasons, can become part of our existence and people are better for knowing stories and equating them into their memories.

She’s glad she kept me from moving to California. What would a life never lived be like if I had moved to California and had abandoned her and the bastard child. What a wonderful mother she’ll be, she thinks. Her head jolts together images of her with child, teaching it things it never knew, expunging wisdom, and filling its head with ideas. The child can be anything it wants to be, has all its future ahead of it, much like herself now, but she’s with child and that’s the most important thing. She can sacrifice whatever it is that she’ll become for the sake of child.

She’s a mother and she’s fallen back asleep for the first time since we started sleeping in the same bed. I continue to lie awake worrying whether she’ll leave me for one who can give her true stories to live out. We haven’t done anything yet worthwhile, we’re both lying and waiting for a future to come, she may want to start grabbing for one. I fear I’ll always be content waiting for one to arrive. I need to start to worry when she starts grabbing. She may see that we’re meant for each other, and hopefully she’ll never see that unfortunately because of this, I’m dragging her down. I’m keeping her from doing stuff, from being whatever she wants. There shouldn’t be so much of a sacrifice of identity for the relationship. Relationships are for making two stronger as one, whereas ours apparently is weakening us to the point of one. I’ll never change, but I could under the right circumstances, I’ll be free to slide out and be one, but she’s slowly dying inside, contorting herself to be part of two, she’s morphing into something else for the sake of two, she’s losing her one for our two. She’s becoming something completely else, her appearance and personality haven’t changed but she’s not the same. She needs not to know this because I don’t know if I can ever get another to be a part of a two with me, I’ve wasted too much energy on our two, too much energy not doing anything, being complacent, and I’ve already planned her as part of my mental scenery for the rest of my life, she’s written in, she can’t leave. I can’t go back to sleep.