Draw of the Outlaw

I was just a girl when I met him under that tree in Eugene, but I can't help but think that I shoulda had the guts to run off and elope with that guy from frisco choppers when I had the chance.   I knew he was mine right away.  He sat down on the fence next to me for a long time and said nothing until he held my hand.  And I was in heaven for the whole weekend.  He wanted forever but I was starting to see there was something about him that was a little too south of crazy.  So I left him in a parking lot and cried in the backseat all the 48 hour drive back home to Canada.   On the 49th hour I started theatre school and I forgot all about him.  What a fork in the road.  Maybe I missed my calling.  I could have been a real good ol lady.  

Blue Christmas

An Agosti Christmas Memory: 
This was way before it got all popular on the TV - and her own version had a definite G rating. For some reason the attacks came upon her mostly when she was doing the seasonal baking. Maybe it was The King crooning Blue Christmas in the background that inspired her. She did once swoon on the hood of his car. Anyway, she'd be pulling cookies out of the oven and we'd remember from the year before. "Mom! Mom! Do that thing!!" At first she'd say no, then she'd start to laugh, and then she'd throw the dishtowel over her shoulder and shake her lil white butt like nobody ever seen. And we all would cheer! Yup, my mom could twerk. I'd love to know where she picked that up.

Friday Night Snapshot

Friday night snapshot 

Me and one of my best friends (we call each other Bubbi) are sitting at the bar over 2 huge pieces of chocolate cake discussing the feeling of when something good is over.

Me: It's like when you lose a really great lover. Everyone after 
is just so... lacking, so meh, so useless.
Bubbi: Like when your favourite lipstick is discontinued.
Both of Us: Oh yaaa.

A few minutes of silent contemplation pass.

Bubbi, holding her fork midair says to me, "I think what you are doing is amazing and I… just… want... you to know… that I am always here for you." Her last few words are muffled by emotion. We drop our forks, burst into tears and cling to one another, sobbing, soaking the crook of each other's necks, lost in the bubble of one of our longest friendships. Then, suddenly, a guy from the birthday party table is standing over us.

Guy: It's my birthday and I really want you to come over and have
some cake.

Bubbi and I peel off of each other and look up at him, mascara dripping down our faces, and gesture towards our plates.
Me and Bubbi: Huh? We already have 2 pieces.
Guy: Oh its ok. I have Exlax.
Um wha??? Bubbi and I look into each others' eyes and silently communicate our plan for escape. BUBBI OUT.

Hot Line

Very cold morning on the St Clair street car. A very tall 70+ year old man wearing an impressive fur hat passes me his transfer. On it he has written his email and the number for The Dance Hotline. 
Me: Oh? Thank you. Uh, what kind of dance?
Him: (in an accent I can't quite place) English.
Me: Oh okay. Thank you. Uh so much.

Silence.
His long grey coat is impeccable; his scarf wrapped around his neck tucked in perfectly flat. My head barely reaches his chest, which is still high and strong. But I don't think I should be looking at that.

So I smile at him real quick and look down and slightly back. My grip on the pole tightens a bit. I am aware of other of the other passengers assessing this transaction. My cheeks are pink. My lungs are tight. For some reason I want to bite my fingernails like I did in grade 2. I resist but it takes strength.

We are at his stop and it's safe to look up again. With a fluid jerk of his wrist he flips his phone open and looks at it intently. "I am off to work now." Then he leans in and looks me straight in the eye, "but I get off at 9." He snaps his phone shut and disembarks all in one motion. The furs on his hat, soldiers jumping to attention, now outside in the winter air.

His exit leaves a big space on the car. I exhale. I fold the transfer once, and place it politely in my left hand pocket. I look back and forth but no one meets my gaze. Hm hm hm. What is the Dance Hotline? What is this English dancing? Hey, what the heck is this sensation warming across my ribs? Wait a minute... Wha? Whoa. Big Daddy, I think that's a move you're making! Ha! Well whaddaya know! And then: I consider... maybe, you know, maybe I will call. Not that this is my scene. Or my age range, tyvm. Or that I am even interested or looking. But the timing! And the cajones! That kind of direct and brave connect oughtta be rewarded, non?

I am back.

The egg in my head finally cracks open:  New light comes in and with it the thought: time to end the self imposed exile, the almost political insistence that sorry, I know you want to do things,  but I must right now have a-lot of a-lone time. (I go thru these phases, if you've you known me for a while, you'll have seen.)  While it is important and brave to go deep and in, have your own personal emotional revolution, cocoon,  go from buried seed to a brave and painful shoot,  burn down and rise up, have those huge revelations during the 40 days and 40 nights… well, frankly I am now bored of it. A couple lil moments shifted it all and now I want to be out of the cave and around the fire with The People..  Maybe even BE one of The People. ha! so. Universe. Here I am.