When I spoke of "Kiss your tears away," I supposed it was intended to be about me to her, kissing her tears away. But Marcie was layered and deep, and it is likely she felt the song encapsulated things we both felt.
She may have felt that sense toward me in the moments that came so slowly and yet inexorably, but I certainly felt them towards her in the moments that went by so quickly and so unmercifully.
But if that song was meaningful then Cut Flowers was even moreso. When Christina and Jane visited, we flipped through albums. In one of them we found my first flowers to her, a couple of roses. They were pressed and I remembered her putting them there.
I suppose she assumed they would remind her of me. Instead, they remind me now of how much she cherished everything. And the song? I'm sure you'll understand the connection beyond the simple titular accident.This selection is a feat of knowledge and intimacy only she could accomplish.
Cut Flowers
(Jim Babjak/Pat DiNizio)
Sentimental gestures never meant that much to me
But if I had her here today
I'd shed a tear for all the world to see
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
A gentle girl who needed all the love I had to give
But I was blind to her and would not give
What she needed most to live
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
Cut flowers pressed between the pages of a book she gave
I go to her and say, "I'm sorry,"
Then I put cut flowers on her grave
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental way
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
I know how very thoughtful and loving and very heartrent she must have been to listen to this and place it on there to ponder. I know it right now. But I also know I don't have to say I am sorry. Our regrets were thankfully resolved.
But wow, it is a beautiful song. Cut Flowers by The Smithereens.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Her MP3 Player-The Smithereens
"Honey, have you ever heard... ?" she asked.
I would nod and smile and she would shake her head, troubled.
"Have you ever heard.. ?"
"No, not that one," I would say. "Who is it by?"
The list of bands whose more obscure songs she liked was extensive, and although I knew the music, she was pulling tracks from earlier works than those my slightly younger years would recall clearly.
As her I-tunes list grew and I converted the songs, then placed them on CDs and finally an open-standards MP3 player, I noticed she asked me to download and place songs more rarely, but when she did, the same ritual was played out.
Only the ones I had not heard or did not have recollection of, usually by bands I knew, were on her list. But I was not to listen to her MP3 player. That changed the day she was in the hospital and I visited. She smiled her lopsided grin and held my hand.
"There's some good music on my MP3 player," she said.
I thought it was a thank you for me, or perhaps a little request, so I asked.
"Do you want me to bring it to you?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No, you listen to it."
I didn't get around to it until before I went to San Francisco, then I listened when I got back again. Every song is a message, and they all hurt right now.
But the one that hurts most at the moment is one that mirrors something I told her when she decided she would likely not make it. From The Smithereens, one of my favorite groups ever, she shared two songs. The first kills me the most.
I don't know if it's her promise or my own she chose this for. But it sounds like my guide right now.
Kiss Your Tears Away
And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away
I never thought I'd run to you
I thought I'd better things to do
But now I can't wait for the day
When by your side I'll lay
And I will kiss your tears away
I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through
I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through
And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away
I remember kissing her tears from her face and holding her, especially in those last few weeks, especially after a tough visit or a rough day. I wish I could have, as painful as those days were, had more days to.
Moments of Marcie is not about just being text-heavy and all that. We do multimedia. You can hear this selection by m=our Marcie free and legal by clicking right here.
I have been trying to look ahead and stretch my wings a bit, but as I share more of her song selections, you'll see where I stumble and why.
Night for now,
F.
I would nod and smile and she would shake her head, troubled.
"Have you ever heard.. ?"
"No, not that one," I would say. "Who is it by?"
The list of bands whose more obscure songs she liked was extensive, and although I knew the music, she was pulling tracks from earlier works than those my slightly younger years would recall clearly.
As her I-tunes list grew and I converted the songs, then placed them on CDs and finally an open-standards MP3 player, I noticed she asked me to download and place songs more rarely, but when she did, the same ritual was played out.
Only the ones I had not heard or did not have recollection of, usually by bands I knew, were on her list. But I was not to listen to her MP3 player. That changed the day she was in the hospital and I visited. She smiled her lopsided grin and held my hand.
"There's some good music on my MP3 player," she said.
I thought it was a thank you for me, or perhaps a little request, so I asked.
"Do you want me to bring it to you?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No, you listen to it."
I didn't get around to it until before I went to San Francisco, then I listened when I got back again. Every song is a message, and they all hurt right now.
But the one that hurts most at the moment is one that mirrors something I told her when she decided she would likely not make it. From The Smithereens, one of my favorite groups ever, she shared two songs. The first kills me the most.
I don't know if it's her promise or my own she chose this for. But it sounds like my guide right now.
Kiss Your Tears Away
And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away
I never thought I'd run to you
I thought I'd better things to do
But now I can't wait for the day
When by your side I'll lay
And I will kiss your tears away
I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through
I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through
And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away
I remember kissing her tears from her face and holding her, especially in those last few weeks, especially after a tough visit or a rough day. I wish I could have, as painful as those days were, had more days to.
Moments of Marcie is not about just being text-heavy and all that. We do multimedia. You can hear this selection by m=our Marcie free and legal by clicking right here.
I have been trying to look ahead and stretch my wings a bit, but as I share more of her song selections, you'll see where I stumble and why.
Night for now,
F.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
San Francisco Then and Next
Marcie and I had planned to move to San Francisco before we returned to San Diego, but there was one complication. Marcie was not able to stay in Humboldt any longer, and was not willing to take a chance on moving to San Francisco without a job to support us.
"Honey, it is way too expensive," she said. "We can't afford it unless we both have jobs."
She was right, of course. But for me to get the job I wanted, at Imagine Networks, I needed a bachelor's, complete and ready to present. That required one more semester, the fall of 1998.
She let it be known by May that it was impossible. "I can't stand it here anymore," she cried, holding her face in her hands and heaving at the shoulders as I held her against me. "I can't do this anymore.
Of course, I had been feeling the strain of her discontentment for some time. She was always picking fights and never really happy. I was through with the anger.
I had no idea that her boss was harassing her. That would have changed a lot of things, including the term of his lifespan.
But there was no time to arrange anything. We returned to San Diego. I was miserable instantly.
I don't know what would have become of us in San Francisco, but I know I would rather be anywhere with her than alone anywhere else. I wish I still had that choice.
But at least I can choose to move and, in so doing, explore that beautiful city for her.
"Honey, it is way too expensive," she said. "We can't afford it unless we both have jobs."
She was right, of course. But for me to get the job I wanted, at Imagine Networks, I needed a bachelor's, complete and ready to present. That required one more semester, the fall of 1998.
She let it be known by May that it was impossible. "I can't stand it here anymore," she cried, holding her face in her hands and heaving at the shoulders as I held her against me. "I can't do this anymore.
Of course, I had been feeling the strain of her discontentment for some time. She was always picking fights and never really happy. I was through with the anger.
I had no idea that her boss was harassing her. That would have changed a lot of things, including the term of his lifespan.
But there was no time to arrange anything. We returned to San Diego. I was miserable instantly.
I don't know what would have become of us in San Francisco, but I know I would rather be anywhere with her than alone anywhere else. I wish I still had that choice.
But at least I can choose to move and, in so doing, explore that beautiful city for her.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
What a trip
There will be no photos shared publicly about my trip, save a few generic skyline shots and, perhaps, an approved shot of the hostesses (once they okay one). I will also not share much about this one here, except the Slow Food Nation event, as Marcie would have been in heaven there.
Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.
Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.
Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...
F.
Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.
Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.
Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...
F.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Coming Home
It wasn't a long trip, but it had been long enough. The cool touch of her hand stroking my forearm welcomed me home after I hauled my bags in. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second, letting the road and the airport slide off me.
She slipped her hand down and behind me, then the other, and buried her face in my chest. I felt her words in my sternum, more than heard them.
"Welcome home, sweetie," she said.
And then the rest of the tension slid off me, and it was time to rest again.
She slipped her hand down and behind me, then the other, and buried her face in my chest. I felt her words in my sternum, more than heard them.
"Welcome home, sweetie," she said.
And then the rest of the tension slid off me, and it was time to rest again.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Cafe Time
It was a rare treat. She walked in and smiled at me from across the little coffee shop and sat at the table. I got up from my own and walked over, sauntering, really.
"Hello," I said. "Come here often?"
"It's my second time," she said. "Well, then. As this is my first, I shall try and develop a habit now, if you agree to do the same."
She blushed and she took my hand. "Okay, that's enough, honey," she said, smiling and, I could tell, a little pleased with me. "No more pickup lines, you already won me. No need to pretend."
I chuckled and sat again and whispered, "Yeah, let's get real, baby. Mmmm hmmmm..."
She looked at me as if her patience was about to be exhausted, but I pressed on. "So what kind of mocha will my little redhead goddess sample today, hmm?"
She smiled and all was well until we both returned to work, our little game over for the moment.
"Hello," I said. "Come here often?"
"It's my second time," she said. "Well, then. As this is my first, I shall try and develop a habit now, if you agree to do the same."
She blushed and she took my hand. "Okay, that's enough, honey," she said, smiling and, I could tell, a little pleased with me. "No more pickup lines, you already won me. No need to pretend."
I chuckled and sat again and whispered, "Yeah, let's get real, baby. Mmmm hmmmm..."
She looked at me as if her patience was about to be exhausted, but I pressed on. "So what kind of mocha will my little redhead goddess sample today, hmm?"
She smiled and all was well until we both returned to work, our little game over for the moment.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
A Blue Yonder (Pt. 1)
She bit her lower lip and her soft little hand was hot, sweaty and squeezing mine hard. She listened to the announcer and she smiled with a squint, teeth still pinching, picking up her lipstick.
Our peaceful struggles and fearsome trysts played in my memory like individual taps on a jazz man's drum kit, perfect rhythm sometimes changing direction just to keep from boring itself. I played with her fingers and could feel her pulse. It had gently tapped for nigh on seven years. It was faster at the moment, and I wondered that I knew well enough to tell.
I smiled at her and she gave me a quizzical look as we headed to the gate.
The music in the airport bar faded behind us, and she squeezed her hand tighter around mine and kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear, "Oh my god, Frank. Here we go."
I couldn't help it and looked down with my mischievous, lopsided smile and said, "Oh Marcie, my little goddess," and kissed her forehead.
She rolled her eyes and we boarded, her hand relaxing just a bit, lying to me as her heartbeat picked up.
Our peaceful struggles and fearsome trysts played in my memory like individual taps on a jazz man's drum kit, perfect rhythm sometimes changing direction just to keep from boring itself. I played with her fingers and could feel her pulse. It had gently tapped for nigh on seven years. It was faster at the moment, and I wondered that I knew well enough to tell.
I smiled at her and she gave me a quizzical look as we headed to the gate.
The music in the airport bar faded behind us, and she squeezed her hand tighter around mine and kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear, "Oh my god, Frank. Here we go."
I couldn't help it and looked down with my mischievous, lopsided smile and said, "Oh Marcie, my little goddess," and kissed her forehead.
She rolled her eyes and we boarded, her hand relaxing just a bit, lying to me as her heartbeat picked up.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Photos from the Debauch, Much to share
The trip has been outlandishly lavish. I'll share more and photos with it when I get a chance. For now, I have to get ready for more lavish outlandishness. My God, I love these women named Christina and Jane, if you didn't know. They simply rock.
They have kept me guessing. Today, they had me at the Slow Food Rocks, the musical component to the Slow Food Nation Festival. Awesome fun was had and pictures (evidence) will be posted.
There was a Marcie moment... I'll share later. Night for now,
F.
They have kept me guessing. Today, they had me at the Slow Food Rocks, the musical component to the Slow Food Nation Festival. Awesome fun was had and pictures (evidence) will be posted.
There was a Marcie moment... I'll share later. Night for now,
F.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Here in San Francisco...
Well, my journey to San Francisco is complete. I checked into my hotel at 11:00 PM after a great little trip to the Slow Food Preview with Jane and Christina. I tried to get pictures, we'll see how they turned out...
I will take some pictures of the grand debauch as it unfolds. I keep wondering what Marcie and I would be doing if she were with me, but then I catch myself and I am back in the moment where I belong.
I guess that seeing her (now my) friends is going to have me slipping back into those memories and that nostalgia again. But I am not complaining. It's a comfy place and an influence I prosper from.
I will take some pictures of the grand debauch as it unfolds. I keep wondering what Marcie and I would be doing if she were with me, but then I catch myself and I am back in the moment where I belong.
I guess that seeing her (now my) friends is going to have me slipping back into those memories and that nostalgia again. But I am not complaining. It's a comfy place and an influence I prosper from.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Big Job, Big Memories, Big Pain
I have been slowly storing all of Marcie's I-tunes and MP3s on my laptop. Previously, I had somewhat avoided this because the music is so full of her personality. It's like she's in the next room, playing some music.
Which reminds me of something that happened the other day. Marcie loved Concrete Blonde and had a few of their CDs. I had just gotten home and fed Seamus. As I began to stretch before my run, I heard "Lullabye" strain out from the room.
I cautiously asked, croaking, "Marcie?" as I looked around the corner.
No. Seamus sat with his back against the boom box, cleaning himself in his post-dinner frenzy.
That aside, much music is now way too loaded for me. Even the music which came before us is tainted with it, because so much of why we connected was in our love of music and similarity of tastes.
I suppose I will reach back to the music when she has been gone and my memory fades. But for now, I find eery song from our time together just pounding me with memories and then joy, then, a slow sadness as the songs end.
For now, I am just trying to back everything up and make sure her library, so illustrative of her moods as the songs were ordered, map her progression and feelings very clearly.
Even if some of it is painful to comprehend her feelings with, it is at least a window into her that was not lost. It's kind of a journal in music I can read when I am strong enough.
The best part? Looking at her beautiful handwriting on the covers of her backup CDs. I can see so much of her in her loops and lines.
Which reminds me of something that happened the other day. Marcie loved Concrete Blonde and had a few of their CDs. I had just gotten home and fed Seamus. As I began to stretch before my run, I heard "Lullabye" strain out from the room.
I cautiously asked, croaking, "Marcie?" as I looked around the corner.
No. Seamus sat with his back against the boom box, cleaning himself in his post-dinner frenzy.
That aside, much music is now way too loaded for me. Even the music which came before us is tainted with it, because so much of why we connected was in our love of music and similarity of tastes.
I suppose I will reach back to the music when she has been gone and my memory fades. But for now, I find eery song from our time together just pounding me with memories and then joy, then, a slow sadness as the songs end.
For now, I am just trying to back everything up and make sure her library, so illustrative of her moods as the songs were ordered, map her progression and feelings very clearly.
Even if some of it is painful to comprehend her feelings with, it is at least a window into her that was not lost. It's kind of a journal in music I can read when I am strong enough.
The best part? Looking at her beautiful handwriting on the covers of her backup CDs. I can see so much of her in her loops and lines.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Not being good at waiting
I was never the kind to sit and wait,
I was never one to bide time.
But you were always patient,
and with a touch or a word I was calm.
The worst waiting ever for me
was the same as the worst for you.
I charged and demanded action
and you let me, and it was ours.
It did not matter in the end
no rush was in time, no haste.
When I finally knew the time approached
I watched and learned to wait again.
And I may have been patient,
I may have let you bide your time.
A single touch calmed you,
and a word comforted.
I learned to hate waiting anew
not for the time it took,
but for the time it didn't,
and for the time it should have,
because nothing ever hurt more
than when the waiting was over.
I was never one to bide time.
But you were always patient,
and with a touch or a word I was calm.
The worst waiting ever for me
was the same as the worst for you.
I charged and demanded action
and you let me, and it was ours.
It did not matter in the end
no rush was in time, no haste.
When I finally knew the time approached
I watched and learned to wait again.
And I may have been patient,
I may have let you bide your time.
A single touch calmed you,
and a word comforted.
I learned to hate waiting anew
not for the time it took,
but for the time it didn't,
and for the time it should have,
because nothing ever hurt more
than when the waiting was over.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
RiverMannonite pt. 3
I heard the spite and hatred in RiverMannonite's voice and perused him as he arched at the neck to glare, his teeth exposed, snaggled, broken and multi-hued in his curled-lip sneer. He began to struggle, his odd clothes now very obviously (if filthily) revelatory.
He seemed Amish, or perhaps Old Order in many ways. Certainly he was even if Otto wasn't.
He was not old and not young, but he was certainly not stoic or restrained, and one could only guess what he had left his community for, considering his tastes. Any of them would likely bring a shunning. Perhaps he had simply never ended his rumspringa.
Of course, there were other possibilities.
The security guards picked the man up and dusted him off, mostly just smearing the oily dirt on his dark vest. He looked away from me as one of them asked, "Do you want to press charges?"
Tori and the officers spoke and I wandered back to the store to report, knowing that, despite all of the "hubbub," Marcie would want the scoop. She looked up and shook her head.
"He's Amish!" I said in an exclamatory whisper. "HE called me 'English!' Isn't that crazy?
Her eyes were wide and she bit her lower lip. She nodded, "I knew it, I totally knew it. Didn't I say he was like Amish or a Quaker or something? I totally knew."
I listened as her mood turned and her smile grew. "He looked like someone from Witness or something when I first saw him," she said, leaning in close. "He has this really weird accent, too."
I nodded. "Yes, he does."
For weeks, I gathered information and shared it with Marcie, reading her bits and pieces of Amish trivia and tales when she came home. She was fascinated by Rumspringa and meidung.
Of course, fascination and imagination went hand in hand for Marcie, especially where odd people were involved. RiverMannonite was about to acquire a backstory.
And if the facts were not odd enough, the possibilities Marcie dreamed up were, certainly.
He seemed Amish, or perhaps Old Order in many ways. Certainly he was even if Otto wasn't.
He was not old and not young, but he was certainly not stoic or restrained, and one could only guess what he had left his community for, considering his tastes. Any of them would likely bring a shunning. Perhaps he had simply never ended his rumspringa.
Of course, there were other possibilities.
The security guards picked the man up and dusted him off, mostly just smearing the oily dirt on his dark vest. He looked away from me as one of them asked, "Do you want to press charges?"
Tori and the officers spoke and I wandered back to the store to report, knowing that, despite all of the "hubbub," Marcie would want the scoop. She looked up and shook her head.
"He's Amish!" I said in an exclamatory whisper. "HE called me 'English!' Isn't that crazy?
Her eyes were wide and she bit her lower lip. She nodded, "I knew it, I totally knew it. Didn't I say he was like Amish or a Quaker or something? I totally knew."
I listened as her mood turned and her smile grew. "He looked like someone from Witness or something when I first saw him," she said, leaning in close. "He has this really weird accent, too."
I nodded. "Yes, he does."
For weeks, I gathered information and shared it with Marcie, reading her bits and pieces of Amish trivia and tales when she came home. She was fascinated by Rumspringa and meidung.
Of course, fascination and imagination went hand in hand for Marcie, especially where odd people were involved. RiverMannonite was about to acquire a backstory.
And if the facts were not odd enough, the possibilities Marcie dreamed up were, certainly.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Morning
She sat on the couch with her feet propped on the table and a gigantic mug of coffee carefully nestled in her lap, supported by the folds of her kimono. She smiled as I came into the room and gently rocked her legs at the knees as her eyes followed me. I blushed and she sipped, and no one said, "good morning," because it was understood.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
RiverMannonite pt. 2
Marcie was surprised to see me that Wednesday. I slipped off the 25 and wandered into the Mission Valley Center mall, watching her from across the walkway as she worked for a few minutes. I walked in and waited by the counter.
"Hi, honey," she said, annoyance painted on her face, but curiosity and concern in her voice. "What brings you here?"
I smiled and hugged her, but she let me know there would be no smooching in the store with a tight-lipped glare. She whispered, "Our regional manager is in the back with Amy. Knock it off."
I decided to pick up a candy bar and whispered my apology as I let her go with a touch of the arm. She watched then returned to the register and counting out Maia. I went to the candy bar area.
Skor, $100,000 bar, Payday. I remember thinking of how capitalistically named candy bars were. I also considered the "Toffee Fay, it's too good for kids" campaign, obviously designed to pique children's interest.
By the time I had thought over the social engineering behind candies, staring at each one and finding fault with all of them, I was no longer in the mood for a candy bar. I wanted a soda. However, I was beginning to regret my logic as critical thinking and political science classes as I considered the misdeeds of the various soda companies.
The door entry ringer announced a new customer and I looked up to see a dirty, thin man of perhaps 30 walk in, hunched and his face down. I looked to Marcie.
"That's him," she mouthed, pointing over her head as he walked, and holding her nose, then sticking out her tongue, then holding her hand to her throat and making a "choking face" to emphasize her point. She rolled her eyes and glared at his back as he made a beeline for the feminine products.
I understood. He stank.I don't know if it was her obvious discomfort, his sullen look, or my own simple sense of trouble-making humor, but I decided to join him.
I looked over my shoulder at Marcie and she covered her face, shaking her head.
I sauntered up to him. "Nice stuff, huh?" I asked.
He ignored me and stared, mouth a little agape at the Tampax "easy-applicator" tampon box he had selected. I picked up a package of "super duty" CVS-branded maxi pads and looked at them for a minute, shaking my head as if in agreement.
"These are for the real bleeders, aren't they?" I asked, showing him the box.
He looked at me with the stare of a man unsure. I showed him the package and he dropped the Tampax to take it, which I picked up and replaced on the shelf.
"Real bleeders?" he said. "These are for blood?"
His breath smelled like he had eaten swamp rat stew and his body odor was noxious. He read the label and turned the box. "Where?" he asked . 'Where does it say for blood?"
He put the box back on the shelf and looked at me as if I had kicked his dog. He spoke again, a distinct hint of German in his voice. "You are a liar."
"No, no," I said. "These are for women to wear when they have their monthly periods."
He walked to the back of the store with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss me. He began touching the cheap bras and I shrugged, walking back to the front. Marcie looked livid.
"Frank, knock it off," she said under her breath as I put a diet coke on the counter. "I am so embarrassed. Just please go home."
She grabbed the phone and looked right past me. "Hey! You have to pay for that!" she said as he flew out the door, bra clutched in his hand, ignoring her. She spoke into the phone.
"A guy in a black wide-brim hat and a vest just ran out with a bra and didn't pay," she said. "Yes! YES! That's him. Oh, thank you."
She took my money and shook her head. "Go home," she said. "I'll see you later."
Amy came out and waved a hello to me as I started to head for the door. "Marcie, did he just leave here with a bra?"
Marcie nodded.
"Okay, that's it," she said. "He is not stealing from here again. You called mall security?"
Marcie nodded, "They said they know who he is and they know how he'll try to get away."
Marcie darted a glance at me and Amy shook her head. "Okay, well, I will be at Mall security."
I decided to follow her and see what could be seen, but it turned out I didn't have to go far, and neither did she. There he was, on his belly, two fat security men, one Black and one White, holding him down as he spit and struggled next to their parking meter cart.
The bra was a few feet away, on the asphalt, grimy. RiverMannonite looked up at me, hateful and angry, "Stupid English! Now look! Look what happened!"
Suddenly, much of this made sense. But there were questions, and as he was hauled away, I decided to surprise Marcie with the answers.
"Hi, honey," she said, annoyance painted on her face, but curiosity and concern in her voice. "What brings you here?"
I smiled and hugged her, but she let me know there would be no smooching in the store with a tight-lipped glare. She whispered, "Our regional manager is in the back with Amy. Knock it off."
I decided to pick up a candy bar and whispered my apology as I let her go with a touch of the arm. She watched then returned to the register and counting out Maia. I went to the candy bar area.
Skor, $100,000 bar, Payday. I remember thinking of how capitalistically named candy bars were. I also considered the "Toffee Fay, it's too good for kids" campaign, obviously designed to pique children's interest.
By the time I had thought over the social engineering behind candies, staring at each one and finding fault with all of them, I was no longer in the mood for a candy bar. I wanted a soda. However, I was beginning to regret my logic as critical thinking and political science classes as I considered the misdeeds of the various soda companies.
The door entry ringer announced a new customer and I looked up to see a dirty, thin man of perhaps 30 walk in, hunched and his face down. I looked to Marcie.
"That's him," she mouthed, pointing over her head as he walked, and holding her nose, then sticking out her tongue, then holding her hand to her throat and making a "choking face" to emphasize her point. She rolled her eyes and glared at his back as he made a beeline for the feminine products.
I understood. He stank.I don't know if it was her obvious discomfort, his sullen look, or my own simple sense of trouble-making humor, but I decided to join him.
I looked over my shoulder at Marcie and she covered her face, shaking her head.
I sauntered up to him. "Nice stuff, huh?" I asked.
He ignored me and stared, mouth a little agape at the Tampax "easy-applicator" tampon box he had selected. I picked up a package of "super duty" CVS-branded maxi pads and looked at them for a minute, shaking my head as if in agreement.
"These are for the real bleeders, aren't they?" I asked, showing him the box.
He looked at me with the stare of a man unsure. I showed him the package and he dropped the Tampax to take it, which I picked up and replaced on the shelf.
"Real bleeders?" he said. "These are for blood?"
His breath smelled like he had eaten swamp rat stew and his body odor was noxious. He read the label and turned the box. "Where?" he asked . 'Where does it say for blood?"
He put the box back on the shelf and looked at me as if I had kicked his dog. He spoke again, a distinct hint of German in his voice. "You are a liar."
"No, no," I said. "These are for women to wear when they have their monthly periods."
He walked to the back of the store with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss me. He began touching the cheap bras and I shrugged, walking back to the front. Marcie looked livid.
"Frank, knock it off," she said under her breath as I put a diet coke on the counter. "I am so embarrassed. Just please go home."
She grabbed the phone and looked right past me. "Hey! You have to pay for that!" she said as he flew out the door, bra clutched in his hand, ignoring her. She spoke into the phone.
"A guy in a black wide-brim hat and a vest just ran out with a bra and didn't pay," she said. "Yes! YES! That's him. Oh, thank you."
She took my money and shook her head. "Go home," she said. "I'll see you later."
Amy came out and waved a hello to me as I started to head for the door. "Marcie, did he just leave here with a bra?"
Marcie nodded.
"Okay, that's it," she said. "He is not stealing from here again. You called mall security?"
Marcie nodded, "They said they know who he is and they know how he'll try to get away."
Marcie darted a glance at me and Amy shook her head. "Okay, well, I will be at Mall security."
I decided to follow her and see what could be seen, but it turned out I didn't have to go far, and neither did she. There he was, on his belly, two fat security men, one Black and one White, holding him down as he spit and struggled next to their parking meter cart.
The bra was a few feet away, on the asphalt, grimy. RiverMannonite looked up at me, hateful and angry, "Stupid English! Now look! Look what happened!"
Suddenly, much of this made sense. But there were questions, and as he was hauled away, I decided to surprise Marcie with the answers.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Characters: RiverMannonite
Marcie's proximity to the river would, she said, almost always create a "parade of urchins from crazytown." She said that lovingly, and she was generally not very concerned at the number of homeless and uncommunicative drifters who floated in and back out through the doors of her CVS store.
There was one exception. Marcie was not comfortable around one person in particular, though she was able to make light of him. I only saw him once up close.
She had been calling him the Riverman for a long time. According to her, this was the young man who had been in an altercation with Otto. He always wore the same thing.
She told me about him it in lieu of explaining why she was tense one evening. Of course, I knew he was the source of the tension within a minute, as she sometimes did not directly answer me when I asked what was wrong.
"SO, this guy came into work, and he's kind of one of our freaks. He has a black hat with a brim, a vest with hooks and a collar-less, filthy white shirt," she said. "He wears old-fashioned spectacles and he stinks. And he's perverted."
"Perverted?" I asked. Marcie was not one to pay too much mind, which meant he was a bad case.
"Yes, but not like a flasher or anything," she said.
"Does he ogle you?" I asked.
"A little, but that's not what's perverted about him," she said. "He does that to everyone. You'll think I'm crazy if I tell you."
I shook my head. "No, I think you'll be fine. Tell me."
She leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. "Okay, so he comes in every once in a while and he walks around the store, then he goes to the women's section and looks at all the feminine hygiene products."
"Okay, so he looks at the douches and the napkins and tampons?" I asked, somewhat dismissive.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me a little closer.
"He gets off on it," she said. "I watched him stare... STARE at the Tampax boxes one time for three hours, looking at the drawings. He started at the drawings on the maxipads, too, holding them in the light. He spent an hour smelling the box, looking at it, shaking it..."
I began to understand. "Wow, that's a little kooked."
She nodded silently in agreement. "He also plays with the cheap underwear and the bras we have in the back," she said. "And he touches everything. Then, he leaves really fast, every time, and he kind of gives me this nasty smile when he leaves. It's SO GROSS!"
I laughed and she began to crack up. "You know he's going to find a bathroom for a private moment," she joked. "Ohhh, seeexy... a tampon, oh yeah. Ha!"
The stress melted off her, but she was not completely relaxed. "He always smells like the river, too. The whole place stinks when he leaves like rotten water."
She started chopping onions and paused. "He gives me these totally nasty looks, too, when I watch him," she said. "It sucksthat he's started to come back in again. Ugh."
So I decided that I would have to lay eyes on him, and perhaps send a nasty look of my own his way. I would also find out there was more to this character than a fetish, homelessness and a lack of hygiene.
There was one exception. Marcie was not comfortable around one person in particular, though she was able to make light of him. I only saw him once up close.
She had been calling him the Riverman for a long time. According to her, this was the young man who had been in an altercation with Otto. He always wore the same thing.
She told me about him it in lieu of explaining why she was tense one evening. Of course, I knew he was the source of the tension within a minute, as she sometimes did not directly answer me when I asked what was wrong.
"SO, this guy came into work, and he's kind of one of our freaks. He has a black hat with a brim, a vest with hooks and a collar-less, filthy white shirt," she said. "He wears old-fashioned spectacles and he stinks. And he's perverted."
"Perverted?" I asked. Marcie was not one to pay too much mind, which meant he was a bad case.
"Yes, but not like a flasher or anything," she said.
"Does he ogle you?" I asked.
"A little, but that's not what's perverted about him," she said. "He does that to everyone. You'll think I'm crazy if I tell you."
I shook my head. "No, I think you'll be fine. Tell me."
She leaned in close and spoke in a hushed tone. "Okay, so he comes in every once in a while and he walks around the store, then he goes to the women's section and looks at all the feminine hygiene products."
"Okay, so he looks at the douches and the napkins and tampons?" I asked, somewhat dismissive.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me a little closer.
"He gets off on it," she said. "I watched him stare... STARE at the Tampax boxes one time for three hours, looking at the drawings. He started at the drawings on the maxipads, too, holding them in the light. He spent an hour smelling the box, looking at it, shaking it..."
I began to understand. "Wow, that's a little kooked."
She nodded silently in agreement. "He also plays with the cheap underwear and the bras we have in the back," she said. "And he touches everything. Then, he leaves really fast, every time, and he kind of gives me this nasty smile when he leaves. It's SO GROSS!"
I laughed and she began to crack up. "You know he's going to find a bathroom for a private moment," she joked. "Ohhh, seeexy... a tampon, oh yeah. Ha!"
The stress melted off her, but she was not completely relaxed. "He always smells like the river, too. The whole place stinks when he leaves like rotten water."
She started chopping onions and paused. "He gives me these totally nasty looks, too, when I watch him," she said. "It sucksthat he's started to come back in again. Ugh."
So I decided that I would have to lay eyes on him, and perhaps send a nasty look of my own his way. I would also find out there was more to this character than a fetish, homelessness and a lack of hygiene.
Monday, August 18, 2008
What a bummer, but also an opportunity
So, today Marcie received her renewal for a driver's license in the mail. I have come to expect the endless entreaties for aid from the animal charities, the cancer materials from Kaiser, the Komen information and the book clubs, magazine renewal appeals and requests from NetFlix.
How is it that the state cannot figure out she is gone?
It hit me very hard today to read their little reminder for her to send them money and renew her license. But then it struck me. I could have a nice, new copy of her license, renewed past her death, with a clear picture of her from a healthier time.
I just may do it and then write a report about it. It would help the state deficit, too, I imagine.
How is it that the state cannot figure out she is gone?
It hit me very hard today to read their little reminder for her to send them money and renew her license. But then it struck me. I could have a nice, new copy of her license, renewed past her death, with a clear picture of her from a healthier time.
I just may do it and then write a report about it. It would help the state deficit, too, I imagine.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Hard Listening
They listen so they will not feel
the pounding.
I pass them by.
Their ears are sealed.
Every voice they hear is a choice,
and never their own,
and rarely is it one they love.
I listen so I can still hear
the whispers
that pass them by.
My ears are clear.
Every hint of you is so choice,
as you were my own.
and remain the one I yearn for.
the pounding.
I pass them by.
Their ears are sealed.
Every voice they hear is a choice,
and never their own,
and rarely is it one they love.
I listen so I can still hear
the whispers
that pass them by.
My ears are clear.
Every hint of you is so choice,
as you were my own.
and remain the one I yearn for.
Friday, August 15, 2008
MumbletyPeggy (pt. 2)
The black veils rustled as the little figure turned to Marcie then looked away. Peggy muttered and made intricate motions with her clawlike fingers in the air in fron of her, waving them at the rows of painkillers.
I stayed back and was going to go wait by Maia when I heard the mumbles.
"Oh, oh, oh no. Oh no!" she said, her voice low and her. "Oh what does she WANT?! Oh, dear, what does she WANT?"
I stayed back bnut just within earshot as I saw Marcie's toes lift... and fall. Lift... and fall. She waited, then spoke.
"Would you like a basket for your stuff so you don't have to carry them in your pocket, Peggy?" Marcie asked, looking smug and absolutely not in the least bit fazed as the gestures became more agitated and rapid.
Marcie stepped back and grabbed a blue hand basket, then held it out, its two handles open. "Just put them in there and you can carry this while you shop for all your things," Marcie said.
Peggy's hand clenched into a crooked, aged fist and then her fingers flicked and shook as she made repeated grabbing motions in the air.
"So she so she so she so she does, does, does that she does, and she knows, knows, knows." the croaking voice, clearer and older now, crackled. "Fine."
Her gnarled talons, now clearer still as she turned to Marcie, flicked in unison, then her left hand snaked into her dress and the other shook and waved up and down a little. A box of Advil rattled several times, two or three in the air above the basket, before she dropped them in it.
Marcie handed Peggy the basket and Peggy took it and marched away, her veils clinging to her face a little as she walked rapidly down the aisle. Marcie waited and watched in th mirrors, then changed lanes to the snack aisle.
Marcie watched her like a hawk. The woman wandered the aisles and threw random items into the basket, her hands each time making a pattern of passes and gestures in front of the shelf before dropping the items in.
A cinstant stream of gibberish punctuated by her stream of thought in words poured forth:
"Msh mup mup mup Mup MUP!
"Whir whir whir whir whir whir whir were not whir word."
"Where did she go where did she go where did she go? Go go go?" she said. "No. No. No. She didn't go, she didn't go."
Whenever Peggy noticed Marcie watching, the babble took on a different tone and Peggy would make wild, lingering ritualistic gestures, occasionally freezing her hand in some contorted state and turning back to the products.
Marcie looked over at me and shook her head, then turned her attention back to Peggy.
"Are you ready, Peggy?" she asked. "Should I help you carry your stuff?"
Marcie walked down and Peggy handed her the basket, loaded with yarn and candy and various medicine and drugstore items. Marcie waited and put out her hand.
Peggy reached into her clothes and produced a container of Maalox.
Marcie sighed, putting it in the basket and putting her hand out again. Peggy this time produced a large bottle of Centrum vitamins, a small stuffed Winnie the Pooh car mirror hanger, and a silver-topped ball point pen.
"Oh, that's all, all all," she muttered. "Smumf smuf smuff smumf."
Marcie gestured for Peggy to go to the front counter ahead of her and the crone's wobble turned into a rustling, off-kilter but high-speed stagger. She walked right past me, past the registers and to the door.
"No, I don't, I don't, I don't," she said as she turned and this time flicked her hair and veils off her face, revealing her angry snarl of a visage and raising her hand, which slipped and flopped and grasped and made fists of itself at a fever pitch.
Her free hand flipped her veils away from her shoulder and she opened her left eye. She appeared to be aiming, but then I noticed her right eye was closed as if sewn that way, and the skin there did not frame a socket so much as sag and pool atop the cheekbone.
"Mmmm, mmm, mmm you," she said as Marcie came and stood next to me, staring at her dispassionately. "You you you you YOU! MMMM! MMMMMFSH!"
Now both her hands flipped and clawed at air in intricate patterns that had to be killer for any arthritis she may have suffered, but she persisted and her face twisted into a grimace and a one-eyed squint.
"Huu- UH!" she said, then slipped through the door, pulling her veils back down as she mumbled off into the mall, her voice fading as she went past the store glass. "She, she, she she does and she knows, and mmm mmm mmm..."
I turned to Marcie and she closed her eyes and shook her head, then sighed. "She is so crazy," she said. "If she didn't shoplift every time, almost, I would enjoy watching her anyways."
Marcie looked at me as I stared at her and rolled her eyes, then mocked Peggy's hand movements, closing one eye. "I, I, I have, have have, have to put it all back, back back!" she said, exasperated, then turned and got to it as I guffawed.
I stayed back and was going to go wait by Maia when I heard the mumbles.
"Oh, oh, oh no. Oh no!" she said, her voice low and her. "Oh what does she WANT?! Oh, dear, what does she WANT?"
I stayed back bnut just within earshot as I saw Marcie's toes lift... and fall. Lift... and fall. She waited, then spoke.
"Would you like a basket for your stuff so you don't have to carry them in your pocket, Peggy?" Marcie asked, looking smug and absolutely not in the least bit fazed as the gestures became more agitated and rapid.
Marcie stepped back and grabbed a blue hand basket, then held it out, its two handles open. "Just put them in there and you can carry this while you shop for all your things," Marcie said.
Peggy's hand clenched into a crooked, aged fist and then her fingers flicked and shook as she made repeated grabbing motions in the air.
"So she so she so she so she does, does, does that she does, and she knows, knows, knows." the croaking voice, clearer and older now, crackled. "Fine."
Her gnarled talons, now clearer still as she turned to Marcie, flicked in unison, then her left hand snaked into her dress and the other shook and waved up and down a little. A box of Advil rattled several times, two or three in the air above the basket, before she dropped them in it.
Marcie handed Peggy the basket and Peggy took it and marched away, her veils clinging to her face a little as she walked rapidly down the aisle. Marcie waited and watched in th mirrors, then changed lanes to the snack aisle.
Marcie watched her like a hawk. The woman wandered the aisles and threw random items into the basket, her hands each time making a pattern of passes and gestures in front of the shelf before dropping the items in.
A cinstant stream of gibberish punctuated by her stream of thought in words poured forth:
"Msh mup mup mup Mup MUP!
"Whir whir whir whir whir whir whir were not whir word."
"Where did she go where did she go where did she go? Go go go?" she said. "No. No. No. She didn't go, she didn't go."
Whenever Peggy noticed Marcie watching, the babble took on a different tone and Peggy would make wild, lingering ritualistic gestures, occasionally freezing her hand in some contorted state and turning back to the products.
Marcie looked over at me and shook her head, then turned her attention back to Peggy.
"Are you ready, Peggy?" she asked. "Should I help you carry your stuff?"
Marcie walked down and Peggy handed her the basket, loaded with yarn and candy and various medicine and drugstore items. Marcie waited and put out her hand.
Peggy reached into her clothes and produced a container of Maalox.
Marcie sighed, putting it in the basket and putting her hand out again. Peggy this time produced a large bottle of Centrum vitamins, a small stuffed Winnie the Pooh car mirror hanger, and a silver-topped ball point pen.
"Oh, that's all, all all," she muttered. "Smumf smuf smuff smumf."
Marcie gestured for Peggy to go to the front counter ahead of her and the crone's wobble turned into a rustling, off-kilter but high-speed stagger. She walked right past me, past the registers and to the door.
"No, I don't, I don't, I don't," she said as she turned and this time flicked her hair and veils off her face, revealing her angry snarl of a visage and raising her hand, which slipped and flopped and grasped and made fists of itself at a fever pitch.
Her free hand flipped her veils away from her shoulder and she opened her left eye. She appeared to be aiming, but then I noticed her right eye was closed as if sewn that way, and the skin there did not frame a socket so much as sag and pool atop the cheekbone.
"Mmmm, mmm, mmm you," she said as Marcie came and stood next to me, staring at her dispassionately. "You you you you YOU! MMMM! MMMMMFSH!"
Now both her hands flipped and clawed at air in intricate patterns that had to be killer for any arthritis she may have suffered, but she persisted and her face twisted into a grimace and a one-eyed squint.
"Huu- UH!" she said, then slipped through the door, pulling her veils back down as she mumbled off into the mall, her voice fading as she went past the store glass. "She, she, she she does and she knows, and mmm mmm mmm..."
I turned to Marcie and she closed her eyes and shook her head, then sighed. "She is so crazy," she said. "If she didn't shoplift every time, almost, I would enjoy watching her anyways."
Marcie looked at me as I stared at her and rolled her eyes, then mocked Peggy's hand movements, closing one eye. "I, I, I have, have have, have to put it all back, back back!" she said, exasperated, then turned and got to it as I guffawed.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
MumbletyPeggy
I went and visited Marcie at CVS several times, all but two of them completely against her will. Nevertheless, her coworkers were nice and she admitted years later that she enjoyed my visits.
One of those visits was more than a little entertaining. It happened to be one I was invited to conduct. Marcie and I were going to head to the cafe by May Company and enjoy a lunch, then after her work day ended see a movie.
We needed no movie that night.
I was engaging Marcie in very light banter, whiling away time in the near-vacant store as she tended the front counter. Her eyes locked and then narrowed and she looked past me as a hunched, black-garbed figure tottered in.
"Smsh mup rummum mubbum mum," a distinctly female but whispery voice said, the sounds wafting out from under multiple veils of black lace under a wide-brimmed hat. I saw no face.
Marcie watched and made eye contact with a coworker named Maia, who came to the front and took over the counter. Marcie slipped out from behind it, eyes locked on the slow, unsteady figure as it lurched and hobbled into the aisles.
The words became clearer but no more sensible as we got closer.
"So she so she so she so she does, does, does, goes there, she does, yes, yes, yes," the woman said under her masking veils. "I know. I know. I know."
I looked at Marcie, who stood with one arm under her breasts and the other propped on its hand, playing with the curls by her ear as she watched intently.
"Who is..." I started to ask, but her hand stopped me cold.
She leaned in close. "That's Peggy," she said, quietly. "She's a regular but you have to watch her or she leaves without paying. She hates me because I watch her the whole time and I make her show me ID when she writes her checks."
Peggy had offended Marcie by screaming bloody murder when she was caught leaving the store with unpaid-for goods. She made good, but a security guard had yelled at Marcie for stopping Peggy and bringing her back in by the arm.
"Everybody was looking at me and thought I was totally abusing her," she said. "And that's just too bad, because I don't care what age you are. Nobody shoplifts from me."
But her actions had ended with her boss allowing the woman to return. That did not mean Marcie let her get away with anything. In fact, Marcie was now even tougher with Peggy.
"I do not like her," she said. "So I just watch her and let her get pissed off at me. I don't care if she doesn't like it."
Marcie cut off the conversation and marched forward as Peggy pulled a large container of Advil off the shelf and into her many layers of clothes. She smiled and turned her head a bit, looking down at the woman.
"Can I help you with that Advil, Peggy? Do you want to know how much it cost?" she asked.
And that's how the MumbletyPeggy game began.
One of those visits was more than a little entertaining. It happened to be one I was invited to conduct. Marcie and I were going to head to the cafe by May Company and enjoy a lunch, then after her work day ended see a movie.
We needed no movie that night.
I was engaging Marcie in very light banter, whiling away time in the near-vacant store as she tended the front counter. Her eyes locked and then narrowed and she looked past me as a hunched, black-garbed figure tottered in.
"Smsh mup rummum mubbum mum," a distinctly female but whispery voice said, the sounds wafting out from under multiple veils of black lace under a wide-brimmed hat. I saw no face.
Marcie watched and made eye contact with a coworker named Maia, who came to the front and took over the counter. Marcie slipped out from behind it, eyes locked on the slow, unsteady figure as it lurched and hobbled into the aisles.
The words became clearer but no more sensible as we got closer.
"So she so she so she so she does, does, does, goes there, she does, yes, yes, yes," the woman said under her masking veils. "I know. I know. I know."
I looked at Marcie, who stood with one arm under her breasts and the other propped on its hand, playing with the curls by her ear as she watched intently.
"Who is..." I started to ask, but her hand stopped me cold.
She leaned in close. "That's Peggy," she said, quietly. "She's a regular but you have to watch her or she leaves without paying. She hates me because I watch her the whole time and I make her show me ID when she writes her checks."
Peggy had offended Marcie by screaming bloody murder when she was caught leaving the store with unpaid-for goods. She made good, but a security guard had yelled at Marcie for stopping Peggy and bringing her back in by the arm.
"Everybody was looking at me and thought I was totally abusing her," she said. "And that's just too bad, because I don't care what age you are. Nobody shoplifts from me."
But her actions had ended with her boss allowing the woman to return. That did not mean Marcie let her get away with anything. In fact, Marcie was now even tougher with Peggy.
"I do not like her," she said. "So I just watch her and let her get pissed off at me. I don't care if she doesn't like it."
Marcie cut off the conversation and marched forward as Peggy pulled a large container of Advil off the shelf and into her many layers of clothes. She smiled and turned her head a bit, looking down at the woman.
"Can I help you with that Advil, Peggy? Do you want to know how much it cost?" she asked.
And that's how the MumbletyPeggy game began.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Call for Input-When Marcie made you laugh
Okay, folks. I need your help. I am going to write about The Mumbler and RiverMannonite next, but Marcie had a beautiful wit and a very unique sense of humor. I would like to share that side of her, as well.
Marcie interacted with me differently from how she she interacted with her friends. Share some of your stories about your moments of silliness, joy or humor with her with me and let me know if i can post them.
Moments of her wisdom, intelligence, cleverness or quirkiness would be wonderful to share, too.
Thanks, folks!
Marcie interacted with me differently from how she she interacted with her friends. Share some of your stories about your moments of silliness, joy or humor with her with me and let me know if i can post them.
Moments of her wisdom, intelligence, cleverness or quirkiness would be wonderful to share, too.
Thanks, folks!