My Mother loved the fact her boys were together. In some way it made her more complete. I think it simply enabled her to drive us both bat shit with one phone call.
I had found another 'her' at a Mexican restaurant where I was working in Los Colinas. She was five years older and an ex-cheerleader.
I was hooked. We saw each other every day for a month and culminated the relationship with four lobsters, a lot of drawn butter and plastic sheets on her bed. (I said my depravity was not bottomless, I didn't say it wasn't deep.)
We hung out with some friends of hers who were into staying awake for a week at a time and who also smoked weed. I stayed off the crank, but got right back into the weed. I have a huge denial system, one that will tell me as long as it's not alcohol it's okay. Today, I know that anything I do to cut me off from reality is doing more harm than good, so I elect to feel the hurt, knowing it will eventually go away.
My grandmother died at my Mom's house during this period after a lengthy battle with cancer and she left my brother and I both $1,000. If I don't sound broken up about this it's because we were not close. She thought me far too much like my Dad, and hated us both.
We took a trip to Florida with the cash and I took my new 'her' with us. We went to Crystal River and swam with the Manatees. Awesome experience until she woke up in the middle of the night screaming I was her dead grandfather (who as luck would have it had a similar tattoo and molested her as a child.) The crazier they are the more they love me.
She wound up moving to California for her career. The nerve. (This was the late eighties when it was considered cool for a woman to tear your heart out to further her career, so she was the coolest.) Yeah, I know...how could I have gotten that attached in a month...do you forget who we are dealing with?
This was back when that was all I needed to fix whatever the fuck it was that was wrong with me. This meant I had to find another one, and do the dance all over again. (I was starting to tire of the process, but wouldn't become completely exhausted with it for another 12 years. Talk about never say die...Jesus wept.)
So I found a new seafood place to work in, not half a block from our apartment. Started hanging out with another waiter who was a part time musician, who had done time and I started drinking on the sly. I at least think it was sly, as I didn't do it in front of my brother, but felt it okay to smoke weed sitting in the open windowsill of my bedroom, while my brother literally prayed in the next room.
The dark was starting to close in again and I soon performed an act that will probably seal my fate and send me to hell. Not as bad as if I were Kosher and ate a bit of bacon, god forbid, because I think my God is bigger than sending me to hell over a fucking side dish, but, pretty bad all the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment