By my side

Bram's sister had her son on my son's birthday. They named him Bram, of course. I haven't met the little guy yet. I'm a bit afraid to. Never mind the messy family stuff and how much I dread dealing with Bram's mom. I dread saying his name. It is still too new, too fresh for me. I am glad that Bram's family has arrived at the point where they can name this child Bram in honor and remembrance of his amazing uncle. I understand the point. But I just don't know if I can say the name.
So of course I have been thinking about Bram a lot lately. Let's be truthful: I always think about Bram. It's as if he is a presence at my side. A different kind of presence. 'Cause he was always by my side.
Before I go to sleep, in an attempt to calm and quelch the racing thoughts that keep me up all night (that were kept at bay by Bram sleeping by my side), I think of happy times with Bram, happy places we visited, happy houses we lived in... In these memories, I don't get a lot of Bram's face. What I have is a memory of him standing/sitting/lying beside me, talking in my ear, close so I could feel his breath, almost like he was telling me secrets.
The close ear talking was Bram's solution to dealing with my deafness, but it always felt so intimate, so special, so... I don't know; it made our life a secret from others. I helped him see. He helped me hear. And most of my memories are of Bram beside me. Holding my hand. Talking in my ear. Playing with my hair. Kissing my head and my hands. Always by my side.

Monkey's paw

Many years ago...how many? 15? 20? 10? I don't remember; I didn't write it down...
Many years ago, I sat out on the front porch of the house I owned in Eastside Estates, smoking and looking at the stars. It was sometime after Bram and I had started dating, I know, because I loved Bram from our first date and I remember sitting on the porch, my heart full of love and yearning.
I know that Bram and I were not dating at the time and I was so very sad, so sad. I sat out on my front porch after the kids had gone to bed, looking at the stars, smoking, and wishing Bram were with me. I looked up into the night sky, pondering existence, wondering why my life always seemed so off track, why other people seemed to get what they want while I always seemed to lose, and wondering who was in charge of all of this and what they were up to.
I saw a shooting star and I made a wish on it. I wished out loud to the universe to let Bram and me be together, to let us find love and laughter and a good life together.
And someone, something up there heard me and granted my wish.
My life with Bram was charmed. We were never rich, but we got by. We were happy and rarely argued. My kids had a dad and I had a husband--the most perfect husband I could ever have hoped for. I felt that Bram and I were meant to be, that it was ordained in the stars that we be together, that nothing and no one could ever ruin our Eden.
But it seems I forgot the truth in the old stories of Genies, magic fish, the monkey's paw. Wish-granters are sly and out to trick you. You have to be very careful about what you wish for, how you phrase your wish because wish-granters are always looking for the twist.
I was granted my wish. I got to be with Bram, to be loved by Bram, to feel safe and adored and strong as long as Bram was with me.
But I forgot to specify how long.

Weekend in Minot

I went to Minot this past weekend.
I went to take measurements of actors for a show I am costuming. Magic City Campus is performing "The Importance of Being Earnest" in April and my old good friend Alphonse has asked me to design and build the costumes. Our young people are giants nowadays...
I got a ride to Minot with my colleague Brad, who was heading to good ol' MSU to adjudicate the Paula-directed "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."
The trip to Minot was enjoyable. Brad is a good guy, friendly and able to talk to just about anyone. He makes me feel comfortable and we had a real nice conversation all the way there. I navigated him around Minot: "Over there is my mother's house--she doesn't know I'm here this weekend..." "There is the church where Bram and I got married..." "This is the high school--it has the prettiest stage..." "There is the Subway that someone parked a car in late one night--Bram and I lived in a house right behind it..." "This is the Summer Theatre Amphitheatre; I did costumes there for over a decade and it's where Bram and I met..." "Here's the Cenex where someone told me my brake belts were squealing--when Bram and I first moved in together, we lived right behind the Cenex..." "And here's Hartnett Hall, where the play will be tonight, and where Bram and I spent much of our courtship and marriage..."
I spent the early evening with Aili, my very pregnant sister-in-law. I love Aili. And Derek. I wish I lived closer to them so I could visit them more. And also so I could be there when Aili has their baby...
I met Brad back at Hartnett to watch the play with him. Everyone I know had to come greet me and hug me, touch me, look at me. I was touched, but also, it made me tense. It makes me somewhat uneasy because I feel they are checking up on me, making sure I'm not still losing weight, I haven't started cutting myself, or lost my mind entirely. It also makes me feel naked, because Bram always led the way into groups. People shouted his name when they saw him and touched him. Then they would smile at me and talk to Bram. Now there is only me to greet and no one is really sure how. I'm not sure how. I don't know how to be me without him yet.
Pastor Janet, the woman who performed our marriage ceremony and our reaffirmation a year later, was seated directly in front of me. I introduced her and her husband to Brad.
(My mother decided a few weeks ago that since I mention Brad so often, we must be dating. WTF? I told her we weren't, but I guess I don't know my own self or my own life, because my mom has details of these dates Brad and I have been on. I had to keep saying my mom's name until I was sure I had her full attention--which took a good long while, believe me--and explain to her loudly that I was not dating now and likely would never date again, and if I did date again it would certainly be a long time from now, because I AM STILL IN LOVE WITH BRAM. I told Brad that we were apparently dating and he high-fived me and asked if we had had fun...)
The play was much better than I expected it to be. But, you know, being in Minot, sitting in Hartnett Hall, watching a play on our beloved stage...
sitting by a friend , a nice man, who is not Bram...
seeing people who don't readily recognize me because I am missing my better half...
I found myself looking down at my wrists and thinking, "What the fuck? Go ahead and slash 'em. This ain't ever gonna get better.
I went to Minot this weekend and it made me fell hopeless and suicidal. It made me acknowledge Bram's absence.
I don't want it to be real; I want to go on believing he's on a long vacation and he'll be back soon. Any day now.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum,
bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let the aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead,
scribbling on the sky the message, “He is dead.”
Put crepe bows ‘round the white necks of the public doves,
let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East, and West,
my working week and my Sunday rest,
my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
for nothing now can ever come to any good.

—W.H. Auden

1-2-3-4

So, yeah. I just watched the video for “1-2-3-4” by Feist for the first time. I loved it. Silly me; it made me cry.
I watched it and I thought how much fun it was and how Bram would have loved it and then I was very sorry that he never got to see it.
He also never read “The Stand,” by Stephen King. It’s one of my favorite books and I read it once a year. I could never discuss it with Bram; he didn’t want me to spoil it. He intended to read it; he was just waiting for the perfect weather. Yeah, it’s a weird excuse, but if you know Bram it makes perfect sense.
I read way faster than he did. He was not a slow reader; I’m just a crazy speed reader. When we were dating, Bram worked at a bookstore. When books didn’t sell at the store, they were ‘stripped,’ the covers sent back to the publisher and the bodies of the books tossed. Sometimes Bram would snag a few of these coverless books and bring them home. OH! They were terrible books! We’re talking about books that didn’t sell…
Bram and I would grab one of these terrible books, a pack of smokes each, enough change to buy coffee, and head to Perkins. We were college students; we didn’t have much money. This was our entertainment…
Since I read faster, I would start. I read the first page of the book, front and back, and then ripped it out and gave it to Bram. He would the read the same page and set it in a pile when he was done. The waitress would refill our coffee and take away pages of the book as we finished them. We would often stay there until we’d finished our packs of cigarettes, reading horribly written books and complaining and giggling the whole time.
Later, when we were making more money, Bram bought me books. Some of his friends chided him for not giving me more “romantic” gifts, but Bram loved me; he knew the way to my heart. He bought me tons of books. And every time we had to move, we would all bitch about moving all those heavy books.
I read for about an hour every night before bed now. Bram and I used to go outside before bed and smoke and talk for about half an hour. I miss those conversations. I also have a hard time sleeping without Bram in the bed beside me. Reading books Bram bought me is the closest ritual I have now to those bedtime talks.
I think I will read “The Stand” again now. And when I go to bed and have my nightly chat with Bram, I will share it with him.
I miss him so terribly. It is a huge gaping hole in my soul that I don’t think will ever heal.

teeth

My teeth are rotting.
I always used to have good teeth, no problem with cavities, although I did have to have eight teeth pulled at age thirteen cause my teeth were too big for my mouth.
I guess I really never spent much time looking at my teeth; I kept them clean and moved on.
The thing is I don’t remember even cleaning my teeth for weeks after Bram died. I know that sounds pretty gross, but I was in such despair. I’d get in the shower and not wash; just stand under the steaming water…
And I don’t remember eating much either. I know I drank a LOT of Coca-cola, and eating things that Nick and Monica made me eat. I also remember vomiting up many of those meals. I couldn’t keep anything down. I lost a LOT of weight, and very quickly. So HEY—severe trauma is a great weight loss plan! I’m still having trouble keeping food down. To be honest, I don’t remember eating much of anything from the time Bram died until I moved to Grand Forks.
Once I got into the good house here, my mind seemed to clear up a bit and I finally looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair is suddenly quite grey. I guess I shouldn’t say suddenly: I’ve been dying my hair to cover the grey since I was about 25. But not taking care of the touch-up dye jobs for ten months certainly revealed my true hair color. My hair is also crazy long and full of split ends and I haven’t been to get a professional cut in over a year.
So I look in the mirror and see all this long frizzy grey hair and I think, “When did I turn so old?” And I look closer for wrinkles and besides the crow’s feet at my eyes (which I’ve always kinda liked) I see two deep lines running between my eyes, from frowning nonstop. And deep lines running from the edges of my mouth, giving me a perma-frown. To erase the frown, I bare my teeth into a huge fake smile. And I see it. My teeth are rotting.
My first thought is of Bram. He can’t see me looking like this! How have I allowed this to happen? I always kept myself looking nice for him. He hated makeup and over-styled hair, but I kept my hair colored and trimmed. I tried to watch my weight so he’d still find me attractive, even though he said he’d love me even if I were fat enough to roll around town. But I wanted to look nice for him, so I stayed neat and clean…
I think I should cut my hair, and I have even pulled out the scissors to do it myself, or looked up stylists in town. But then I have this crazy thought that I can’t move beyond or reason myself out of.
What if I change my appearance? Will Bram recognize me if--when--we meet again?
Now I know this is crazy. If Bram and I loved each others’ souls, and the soul is the eternal part of us, won’t we be able to recognize one another in the afterlife? What if I live to be 100 (please god don’t let it be so)? I’ll certainly look different then! AND. I just explained that I no longer look the way I did the last time Bram saw me.
So, color and cut the hair and fix the stupid teeth.
But I can’t seem to do it.
Since Bram died, I have developed a severe mistrust of doctors and I can’t seem to make myself go see one, no matter how bad I feel. Apparently in my mind dentists are doctors, too. And they might misdiagnose me, leading to my untimely death. But every night I pray to be released from my Bram-less life, so an untimely death would be a good thing, right?
Or maybe I want to stay unwell and unattractive because I don’t deserve to be alive when Bram is not?
And what if a miracle happens and I suddenly am able to will and wish Bram alive and he were to find me looking like this?
I know that I am perhaps more than a little crazy without Bram to point out the illogic in my thinking. He centered me and now I can’t think myself out of my puzzles.

So

So.
Somehow my mom got it into her head that I was dating one of my colleagues from work.
I shouldn’t say “somehow.” I think I can recall the conversation that gave rise to this idea, but my mother, being who she is, took it and ran with it to whole new, high and unexpected levels.
To make a short story long:
The department I work in at my university is worried about enrollment and recruitment. I don’t think that’s all that unusual in these economic times, and if our enrollment doesn’t grow, our department can’t grow and then enrollment doesn’t grow…it’s a vicious circle.
So.
We are supposed to go out to the area high schools when they produce plays , watch the plays, and then talk to the kids afterwards about coming and joining our program. The problem with this is: I’m cripplingly shy. Yes, so shy that it’s difficult for me to speak to strangers. Yes, even high school kids. So my colleague Brad volunteered to go with me. We’d partner up.
The weekend Brad and I were supposed to go see our high school play, my mom wanted me to come home and visit her (she lives 3-4 hours away from me.) Relieved I had an excuse to not go get driven crazy by my mom, when she called I airily told her, “I can’t this weekend. I have a date.”
Didja ever see that episode of “Scrubs” when JD has an operatic tenor sing out ‘mistaaaake!’ every time JD makes one? Imagine that here.
So.
My mom came to visit me a weekend or so ago and she asks me how my ‘relationship’ is going. I’m quite confused. My mother and I don’t communicate well at all, but she finally gets me to remember my ‘mistaaaake’. She reminds me of my ‘date.’ Except, in her mind, I’ve told her about several such dates. Two at least, she insists. WTF?
“Mother, I am NOT dating anyone.”
“Yes, you told me about them.”
“No, no, I have not been on a date in many years.”
“Yes, you’ve been on at least two…”
“No Mother. NO dates—“
Yes, you called me and told me all about them.”
“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM! LISTEN TO ME:I have not been on a date in over ten years, unless you want to count going out with Bram while we were married. I have NOT been on ANY dates since Bram died. I do not foresee myself ever going on any dates ever again. EVER.”
So.
Yes, my mom is more than slightly nuts. I know she doesn’t really hear or see me. I don’t mean that as in, she’s in her own little world, near-catatonic. No. She has never really seen ME. She always seemed to see my sister quite clearly and hear her and I don’t know…pay attention to her. After my sister died, that seeing passed on to my niece, my sister’s child. My mom doesn’t SEE me. I can’t explain it. She has always talked over me and rearranged my past to suit her needs. Whatever.
Two months after Bram died, at Christmas, she asked me why I wasn’t feeling better. Hello? My husband died in my arms while the kids and I tried desperately to save him. The man I loved more than anything or anyone in the world…but yeah, I’ll just put that behind me in two months and move on with my life. And I guess start dating again ASAP.
Bram could make my mom hear and see me. I don’t know how. His gaze on me made me shine, become more real to her? I don’t know. I didn’t speak to her once for almost 4 full years. Bram stood by my decision to not be wounded by her any more. He protected me from her. He protected me from many things.
Post Script: When I told my colleague Brad we had been on two dates, he immediately asked me out, because as he said, “Guess what happens on the third date?” Brad is a very nice man and a good friend. But not my Bram. No one is.
Post Post Script: Bram used to point out to me all the time that I preface my stories with the word “so.” He thought it was cute, a quick way of saying, “listen I have something to share.”
SO. Every ‘so’ in this story is for my Baby.