behindtheax

never mind

I can feel a rave coming on. I’m going to let myself go and just keep it in my private journal if it gets too much to post. Greg is safe in NY. Called me a few times. I got the work I was doing for him done and client is happy. The mall trip was fun. I love my kids. We made a cake Friday night because we were bored and had tacos and salad for supper. I watched The Illusionist. I liked it. They had a friend over and I could hear them laughing most of the evening away in Monica’s bedroom. It was a nice weekend. And because Greg wasn’t here, I could crack open the window in our bedroom and let in all that fresh air to sleep in, and have the dogs up on the bed with me – until Bow growled at Cinnamon and Cinnamon got down, and then Bow kept circling and scratching at my sheets trying to get comfortable until I growled at her and she got down. Then I fell asleep and dreamed crazy dreams. They were triggered from the phone call from my sister. She had called Friday evening before heading off to Dad’s banquet thing, and she was crying. And she talked to me for a long time about how difficult things are with the divorce and how slow everything is progressing, and I felt just so far away and didn’t know what advice to offer her. We talked for a fair amount of time and she said I was helpful and apologized for talking my ear off, and after she hung up I was a little confused because my spirits were up, and I couldn’t understand how that could be after listening to my distraught sister. But then I realized it was just having that connection with home for a whole forty minutes. I know that sounds selfish, but I miss her and the family, and am happy when they reach out regardless what the reason. There was always this “Out of sight, out of mind,’ mentality with them – and that is only because there are so many of us that one can easily get misplaced. And I was always an observer in my family anyway. Not an actual participant so I didn’t really make that much of a dent when I left. Like, I have five brothers and if one called me right now, I would eat the cat. Mind you I don’t call them either. But still it makes me sad that a whole lifetime is slowly going by and we said so little to each other.

I think it is why I conquer up the red truck so much in my head. Actually it was a number of red trucks. The first vehicle I ever remembered my family owning was a red truck, and in my teen years, it was the big Ford super cab (that dad had for work) that I learned to drive in, and then my brother bought a red truck (GMC I think) and even at one point Greg had a small red truck (Toyota) And I guess I thought some day I would also have a red truck – If I own a red truck therefore I am, sort of philosophy. Once I had that truck I would cease being an observer and become an actual participant. But the thing is I never bought a red truck.

The last time I drove a red truck I was coming back from visiting my sister (back home). She lives about fifteen minutes out of town and I had pulled into a gas station to fill it up. It was Andy’s red truck and it was pretty beat up by that point. And it was dusk and the light from the pumps encapsulated me and the truck and the moths and mosquitoes and the quiet of that country road and I remember feeling – this is me. It was a point in my life when the city was getting way too much for me and I ached to be home on the river again. Now, every time I get homesick, that red truck pops into my head. William’s has his wheelbarrow and Kane his sled. I have a beat up red truck – (although i forget what they symbolize? Regret? Lost Innocence?

posted by mary j. @ 9:04 AM