San Francisco Dreamin'
04 October 2007
Fly Like a Bird
I recently found an old friend on the Internet. Adrian and I had lost touch over ten years ago. Relationships change, we lived in different states. I was single, then I wasn't, then I was again - for a while. It was way back when... I knew her when she first came out - because I was her first. It was so much fun - what with the stomach butterflies and the constant sex. But, it wouldn't last. It couldn't, really. We were off in different directions - the big wonderful world offered us choices, and ours were each different.
Last time I saw her was back in the early 90's. I think it was in Fremont. Somehow we had hooked up - I was working for a Big Tech Company in the valley, she was working for Novell. I don't remember the details.
My roomie and I spent an awkward afternoon at the condo she shared with her then-partner (who was going to a culinary school). After that, the only time I heard of her again was through a mutual friend living in New York. Some friendships are like that, I think. Somewhere on the pole, but not very high up. You know? That was okay. We had good memories.
Then, recently, I was googling something about service for PC's, or some such thing, and her name came up in the list. I blinked.
Could there be more than one?
(Her name is rather asynchronous - I do not think there is another like it to this day.) I had to sign up to some techie site to send her an email - only 250 characters! - because her email address was protected. A few days later, I heard back from her.
She is living up in Wyoming with the love of her life, three horses and a dog and two cats. So, we started up a new friendship, me sharing with her about my partner, my girls; she has been sharing with me about her life on the ranch.
We have good memories, and we can both look back and smile. It makes me feel as if I can fly like a bird knowing that good things happen to good people.
Last time I saw her was back in the early 90's. I think it was in Fremont. Somehow we had hooked up - I was working for a Big Tech Company in the valley, she was working for Novell. I don't remember the details.
My roomie and I spent an awkward afternoon at the condo she shared with her then-partner (who was going to a culinary school). After that, the only time I heard of her again was through a mutual friend living in New York. Some friendships are like that, I think. Somewhere on the pole, but not very high up. You know? That was okay. We had good memories.
Then, recently, I was googling something about service for PC's, or some such thing, and her name came up in the list. I blinked.
Could there be more than one?
(Her name is rather asynchronous - I do not think there is another like it to this day.) I had to sign up to some techie site to send her an email - only 250 characters! - because her email address was protected. A few days later, I heard back from her.
She is living up in Wyoming with the love of her life, three horses and a dog and two cats. So, we started up a new friendship, me sharing with her about my partner, my girls; she has been sharing with me about her life on the ranch.
We have good memories, and we can both look back and smile. It makes me feel as if I can fly like a bird knowing that good things happen to good people.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 5:14 PM
|
19 September 2007
Catholic Folk Mass Redux
I have been wondering what ever happened to Ann. She introduced me to the music of Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins, and yes, even John Denver. I was quite naive in 1972 - not like I am today. Then, I was young and fresh, a guitar slung on my back wherever I went. I'd earn a bit of money at the local coffeehouses singing folk tunes. I could sing much better than I could play, but then, it was a package deal.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 9:10 PM
|
18 September 2007
Bringing Down the House
Vignette in time. A memory, from a time so long ago.
A bottomless pit grew in my stomach as I gazed over the grey ocean below. As I stood at the edge of the cliff, ice plant and moss under my feet, all I could think about was the woman I had loved for a brief time. My stomach did flip-flops as I recalled the intimate moments we had together.
It would never happen again.
The turmoil of the ocean was mirrored in my gut. How could life bring me to such a high only to dash everything down onto the rocks? How could I love with my whole being and find that love would not be returned in kind?
What else could I do? The rocks below, at the foot of the cliff, well they could be no more painful than the ones I had already been thrown to. The whole idea seemed appealing at that moment. I couldn't trust myself. I had lost her. It just would never happen again. There is no golden touch. I was lost. I don't even know if I knew where I was at that moment.
"Hey, Tawanda! What are you doing out here?"
It was Lynn, a co-worker. I hadn't heard her come up on me. She stirred me out of myself and back into the moment.
"Oh, hey. I was just watching the ocean." I didn't really want to talk to her. But she lingered anyway.
"Well, you sure looked like you were ready to jump or something."
Was it that obvious? I had no clear thought that I wanted to do anything like that. My body language must have spoken more loudly than I could know.
"Nah. I was just thinking. Stuff. You know."
And with that short exchange, I felt somehow renewed. Ready to build again. How can that be?
It just was.
And I started to live once again.
A bottomless pit grew in my stomach as I gazed over the grey ocean below. As I stood at the edge of the cliff, ice plant and moss under my feet, all I could think about was the woman I had loved for a brief time. My stomach did flip-flops as I recalled the intimate moments we had together.
It would never happen again.
The turmoil of the ocean was mirrored in my gut. How could life bring me to such a high only to dash everything down onto the rocks? How could I love with my whole being and find that love would not be returned in kind?
What else could I do? The rocks below, at the foot of the cliff, well they could be no more painful than the ones I had already been thrown to. The whole idea seemed appealing at that moment. I couldn't trust myself. I had lost her. It just would never happen again. There is no golden touch. I was lost. I don't even know if I knew where I was at that moment.
"Hey, Tawanda! What are you doing out here?"
It was Lynn, a co-worker. I hadn't heard her come up on me. She stirred me out of myself and back into the moment.
"Oh, hey. I was just watching the ocean." I didn't really want to talk to her. But she lingered anyway.
"Well, you sure looked like you were ready to jump or something."
Was it that obvious? I had no clear thought that I wanted to do anything like that. My body language must have spoken more loudly than I could know.
"Nah. I was just thinking. Stuff. You know."
And with that short exchange, I felt somehow renewed. Ready to build again. How can that be?
It just was.
And I started to live once again.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 7:23 AM
|
