I’m not much of a binger, I’ve never had the stamina for the excessive 

trip out of step 

hypervigilence;there’s a word 

memoir/some untidy fragments

I start to think about the version of me my mother had. I never had before. I take myself out of the story to see only hers —or try, but you know, often I think, I was my mother’s total creation; her Frankenstein …..

but I can only speak from myself so, subjective despite it all

I start now with a heartbreaking memory

 of …. one of the times she abandoned us. 

it was something she did after the shouting matches at home; doors slam—then out she goes with tyres screeching. It was a roller coaster at home. The Florida years. Where did she go? 

Where did she go? 

For weeks on end.

Anyway, this time, she returned from —this time from New York; one such at attempts at peacetimes at home life when I knew she would be returning that night. My grandmother was there with us. She made us go to bed. My aunt was there. It was late and I stayed up to listen. My heart broke for weeks over her. I was almost five. I didn’t think she’d come back. Ever. I heard her come in through the front door. I crept out from the nursery and stood by the stairs hiding in the shadows watching. I will always remember how beautiful she was. How beautiful she looked in the hallway. All golden, like a movie star. She wore a dark green fitted dress that was satin with black velvet pumps that had little sparkling rhinestones woven through…. and I could not bear to be so far from her that I removed myself from the shadows 

It is strange to remember how stranger-like she always was to me; like some phantom I never got near, always out of reach; yet I idolized her and worshipped her more than myself 

to see her from twenty years after her passing, I was still such a girl when she left really, I never could have understood what I was to her. Why she kept me so far away. The very danger and threat of my constant existence. The very need for my needing to exist for her in her life. What I signified to her. 

She saw me from the hall and told the others to give her a minute with me. She had her bags and motioned I follow her to the master bedroom. There she set down a bag and pulled out a box. 

When she opened the box for me, inside was one of those priceless “Sasha dolls” (I’d never seen one before) who looked about five who had the same shade of red hair as me and the same color eyes as me. Now, I never played with dolls but, this one was different somehow. Perhaps that was when the Celf self-actualized. But—do you see, as I had not ….

You see, I did not know she had given up a child when she was young; previous to her second marriage, final marriage. My mother had a checkered past she never told us about. That there was also an annulled marriage is only a hint of what any of us know. What became of my mother’s first child? No clue. Only old black and white pictures found locked in a secret case of her with the child.

Only now can I understand that moment ….the crisis as it happed to me around five. When her second husband beat me unconscious and resulted in a long term trauma reaction that kept me from school for six weeks. 

When she asked me if I’d like to be sent away to my ‘real dad’ …. Only now do I see what it meant to her. As that other man had been the love of her life; me—the lovechild—she’d already given up one. I begged her. I couldn’t leave her. I begged her. Till I was sick. I wept until I was distraught and inconsolable and went into a trance. My worst fear in life was to be abandoned by her forever. And how often she did that. But …. on her side: Her only choice was to disguise me. Had she sent me to my real dad —my life would have been so different. As he only lived a few more years anyway, so, I think she had no choice but to hide me in plain sight. 

Pinocchio shots (Greg&Diandra story)

 

“I heard about your divorce,” he said meeting her eyes steadily, “and ….about your son…. the custody— I’m sorry.”

“Oh….” Diandra looked away and quickly blinked. In a snap she seemed to go frozen; she turned away in profile pretending to refold the napkin that was there on the table beside her. Took a moment to recover. And by some kind of knee-jerk, practiced yet automatic response, she quipped, “that should teach me not to marry into a wealthy family; they know all the lawyers to suck out your soul….”she stayed that way in profile finding the pattern on the napkin distracting enough to help her avoid letting herself fall into a pit of hell of emotions. 

It was then that the person who took their order returned with two coffees; both in a cup and saucer with froth but to Diandra’s surprise the server placed a shot glass beside each before walking away. 

Diandra looked at Greg

He reached over to the shot glass that was beside her and winked, as he poured it into the froth of her cup,

“just a shot of Kahlua.” 

It was the timing of its arrival which served its appeal and as the evening’s rain had left its chill —so, with only a second’s hesitation did she wait to reach for the cup. 

It went down smoothly. So smoothly. She drank half of it straight away. It’s warm, burning fire brought some heat back into her bones. It took a few seconds more for the buzz to hit her. 

She felt it hit her and was glad of it, feeling her limbs all suddenly go limp. The interiors of the establishment became so rosy. Perhaps slightly fuzzy. Diandra licked the residual froth from the corner of her mouth as she looked up at Greg now.

What were they just talking about? Oh yes…. she reached for the cup again and took another swallow, then looked back at Greg again. 

He was shrugging out of his jacket. He wore a navy blue knit pullover; it suited him somehow ….he was older yes—no longer that boy….but he was still in his eyes. Like that Kate Bush song. Yes, she could still see him there. Even though ….gone was the boy’s face. 

A lightweight. The rest of the shot had by now begun to hit her. 

It was as though time was just stopped for a minute as she looked at him now. And she thought about how often over the years she thought about him. Wondered about him. Wondered how he was. Was he happy? Married? Did he ever think about her?

“What about you?” Diandra asked, now quite brave with Mexican courage, “I’d expect you’d have barefoot and pregnant and half a brood of your own by now!” which she said with much more force of enthusiasm than she at all felt, just as she turned to watch some people walk past; who’d just walked in from the rain —as if finding something in this interesting  

There was a sharp silence that suddenly fell.

She felt it. 

You could almost see the shadow fall.

How is it that she could always feel him? Even after all these years. As when she could always tell, back in those days, whenever he was near. She could always feel …. what he was thinking….sometimes feeling ….often feeling ….but she never relied upon this as he often contradicted his own deepest emotions and wishes which she never understood about him. 

She looked up at him as his hand reached across to hers, grabbing hold of it suddenly and sharply,

“But —did— you?”

Diandra Pim stared up at him like one caught in a spider web. A familiar feeling …..she’d long forgot she felt around him…. yes it was the kind of feeling one has when a part of you wants to run…. while the other part of you wants to melt into the very thing it fears 

Even as she flinched, she kept her hand there. Under his. Their eyes locked. As she felt that invisible cape of his sweep around her and engulf her as if falling into what always felt was some secret cave

There they were again after all these years, just sitting across the table now. So weird to be after so many years of wondering. 

And ….rather tipsy. Such that it made her feel languid and lazy and heavy in the chair that she sank a bit and as he watched her sink into the chair, he realized she forgot the question. But it didn’t really matter. Greg waved to the server and held up the shot glass and signaled two more with his fingers. Which was completely lost on Diandra Pim only upon its arrival 

“Ohhh….” she sat up straight now and laughed. She looked up at the server who just did a polite kind of nod and walked away

“I thought we should at least toast to our own little reunion,” Greg said now looking at her and holding up the shot glass closest to him, “what do you think—to Miss Pim?”

It was the mischief in his eye that made her lean forward thoughtfully because it made her remember things about him. And it reminded her of ….

her own eyes became mischievous as she raised the shot glass,

“how about to— the time I borrowed your sister’s uniform….”

they both would have remembered what this occasion marked

but she didn’t wait for his response, just boldly knocked his shot glass 

took a deep breath before she drank the shot down

and there it was like —not a big elephant but maybe a sleeping Dumbo —who lay there, maybe —a bit snuggly— but at the moment intentionally ignored 

He had taken the shot. She didn’t see his reaction to the toast. Not that she could have, as he hid his own secret smile behind his own fist as he drank the shot

“So how’s book editing?” he asked her, putting down the glass

Now feeling no pain, she threw back her long wavy hair and said,

“I have walked away from all that! I quit my job on Friday!”

“You quit your job?” he wasn’t sure if it was just the effects of the alcohol or was it the jet lag?

“Yeah!” 

and now realized she was actually upset but the alcohol was helping her hide it.

“Are you ok?” he asked studying her face

She seemed to go blank,

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you quit?” he asked

“So—I accepted the wedding invite months ago! Right? Everything was set and ….Last minute my boss told me I couldn’t go! I was literally arranging my ride to the airport and ending the call when he just said, ‘oh sorry, nobody else can cover this!’ —which is a lie, but whatever….” 

only now did it actually hit her as she was telling Greg now 

“That was—three days ago?” he asked as he realized she said Friday 

“Yeah…. my flight was for Saturday …. it wasn’t so much that I paid for a flight or that I really wanted to go—but this wasn’t the first time something like this happened where I had to put my own life on hold…. for what though?” Diandra sat there looking at the empty shot glass a minute “I have wasted so much of my life being responsible and working hard without appreciation through holidays too—and, I’ll never get those years back, you know? Maybe I snapped —shit….but I have no idea what I’m going to do —I mean…. when I quit my asshole boss laughed in my face saying ‘good luck finding anything without me for a reference!’ And do you know what I said? I must have been insane with hysteria at the moment because I told him I was getting my own manuscript published over here! As if! But I said that as I walked out like a big dumb fucking Pinocchio!!!”

“Do you have a manuscript?” 

“Well—no, not at the moment. There’s never any time because of….” but she didn’t finish the sentence she started 

“So what would it be about?” Greg watched her as she considered his question 

“Well—there is something I have been working on; it’s an involved work which contains stories within stories ….maybe it’s silly but it’s always been important to me only ….I’m not even really sure I see it as something in print or —anyway—“she changed her tone to signal she meant to drop it

“No—what? What is it then?” he smiled now encouraging her

“I don’t really know—an exploration —a search for what any of it matters for….” said with a heavy sigh, Diandra reached for the empty shot glass and tipped it to catch any last drops 

“Another shot?” Greg asked her and signaled before she could answer. Then he said, “is this about that ‘On-Going Conversation’ as told through the world’s cultural arts?”

Diandra suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and stared at him. When the shock wore off she said,

“you remember.”

ye old Side Street Curiosity

 A Recap :

When last we left that adorable little Side Street, there was something of a mystery about; or at least a few to name 

But before we get too in over our heads or even —what about ‘is that English for tea?’—it’s best to break this off into tiny cucumber sandwich bites or, alternatively, a vegan nori roll quartered thrice 

….just where were they? 

About to have tea after Grant’s sudden appearance in her kitchen ….and a guy named Guy  who had mysteriously been honored to serve as King Leopold’s guardian; curious detail that but perhaps not significant 

Then of course there was the Canadian, not French, inspector Pierre Reaux’s laundry lists of rapacious demands along with his indignant accusations of being purposely kept in the dark over details connected to the crimes by his arch rival —on the American side of the border New York detective Sullivan, whose police station just happened to be conveniently located right downtown, a brisk walk from the Side Street Book Shoppe; never mind what inspector Pierre Reaux may imagine but he is good at details that sometimes amounts to yielding actual useful evidence which is actually the only reason Sullivan ever put up with the arrogant inspector.

But instead of all that …..a small bite of sticky rice wrapped in kelp and a suggestion of wasabi and ginger to clear the mind and palette 

We are back in that little kitchen back in February with a rumpled Grant and was it—yes,

  Faun making tea ….

***********

“So the only reason they’re even letting me go—for now—is because they can’t find a motive,” Grant’s words could not have been more shocking 

“So—“ Faun still couldn’t wrap her head around it, “you’re saying two more relatives just suddenly died—back in England now?”

“Well, one was back last December and it seemed then as natural causes but —and now his nephew—so…. I was not named in the will so, it turns out that that’s what is connection with the others,” Grant had explained over his, by then, third cup of tea. Granted, it was good tea; fresh black tea leaves from a tin with oil of bergamot, the scent filling the warm kitchen. 

Faun was reaching for the kettle to refill the pot with fresh leaves as Grant was saying,

“so, I need to find out who’s behind this because they keep looking at me as though I’m hiding some motive.”

“They can’t really believe you would be behind murder?” Faun had been too stunned to know what else to say 

“Well, you do see, don’t you Faun—I am the only relative —or person associated with Arthur Bishop…. the Bishops; there’s Aunt Fiona too—but, I am the only association connected that is both here in America and also back home, and these murders are happening in both places.”

“While you’re there….” Faun said flatly and yet pensively as the obvious thought begged to say 

“Yes….”

“Then I guess I better help you solve this before the Side Street Book Shoppe becomes a ye old Curiosity Shop of neighborly malicious  gossip and ruins everyone’s joy.”

To be continued 

shots in the dark (greg&diandra)

 

Only, he had known her name was Diandra. 

He watched her now as he sat across from her 

“Do they really serve coffee here?” Diandra Pim looked doubtful as she observed the length of the very bar-like counter where a friendly group were loudly talking while doing shots of something.

“You doubt my claim they have great coffee?”

His expression as he said this made her nervous as his eyes, although shadowed in the dim lighting, bore into her.

She glanced away and then back at him,

“Im just an American, what do I know? you English say you’re having tea but it turns out that actually means you’re having a major meal, what is that? I don’t get it—it’s like —eating lunch—or is it supper—what is supper anyway—is there also lunch? or no, that’s dinner, isn’t it so then what —like elevenzies?—I guess, anyway…. yeah, so, why not be drinking coffee out of shot glasses?—a nice americano with a peel of lemon, add an umbrella for some style,” and as she said this there was a loud hoot from the crowd at the bar as somebody chugged something down 

“You still do that,” Greg said watching her

“What?”

But somebody showed up to take their order 

But she forgot to repeat the question after he walked away 

She was tapping her fingers on the table top when he reached across the table to stop her by covering her hand. Her eyes were alarmed when she looked up at him. Her eyes. They were just as he remembered them. How quickly they became wild like a trapped deer. Which is why he said,

“I lied to you.” His hand was still there. 

“What?” she wasn’t sure she heard that right and …. he was still looking at her in that intense way. The same way he always had like ….the very first time she saw him in the school hallway. It made her shudder. Now too…. How could she forget ….that memory; boy-man that he was.

“I knew you would be back for Jo’s wedding,” he said and now there was an intentional glint of mischief in his eyes 

Sometimes there are people you know that if you never saw them for fifty years you know you’d pick up right where you left as soon as you were in each other’s presence.

Diandra at this moment was subject to such a phenomena. And she forgot herself. In that moment she did not feel worried or nervous because ….it was as if their last conversation by the swings was only last week. And it was their separate peace because nobody ….could know….but it was Greg who had, even then, made the move

Diandra had a moment to realize now why out of nowhere Jo’s invite came. They had lost touch ages ago. And Diandra had moved so many times since Jo knew her that there was a real bewilderment over why Jo took the trouble to find her. They had not really been that close; just two student teachers who started at the same school. Sometimes they went out drinking after a day student teaching at the school or Jo would set up a double date but—no, they were never that close. She wound up staying with the school and became a teacher there while Diandra never looked back, changing fields, she became a social worker back in the states, focusing on troubled teens. But switched fields again and became a publishing editor believing it was a way in to becoming a published author, but so overworked, there was never any time to write. 

“So it was you,” she said looking back up at him 

He just watched her with a slight smile 

“You told her to invite me—yes, now it makes sense —you know, I mean—I couldn’t imagine she’d ….”

But now Diandra drew her brows together, as a thought occurred to her

“Did you tell her?”

At first Greg only looked at her. Then slowly he smiled again,

“no….” 

it won’t be written or spoken about in the news media because nobody wants to acknowledge the looming, dreading feeling on the horizon no matter what is the outcome of the US election. I cannot pretend to not be aware of the tinder stick ready to burst into flames. civil war—2;did I suggest that? but it feels likely.there will be dispute and the polarities are so flammable.it is hard to imagine what safe plans there are to make as we see other countries crumble I think we are not immune to this.my mood has been, by this, less able dream because I fear for the nightmare….it has been hard to know what to write; avoiding the approaching horizon of this and as well, I guess, my own icky horizon as the years catch up

go there into that dark canyon, go there with all that is you within that feels and breathes and jump full force within its fires 

do you feel it burn at your most valuable heartbreaks ~ and sets alight the flame that casts your soul alive 

burn one’s soul alive. that solely soul that is the Celf full of cells of celves to…..just burn into the sky; a comet; a retina stain 

echoes

voices

historical memories

blown down an archeological time capsule forgotten long after by man.kind

I resolve to be better at acceptance 

I forget to remember.

isnt that interesting?

what was that?

stories high

I used to laugh at my mother; on Sundays her favorite sport was taking her mother of pearl antique opera glasses and go to the window. She’d step between the drape and look across at the apartments across from our Amsterdam flat. She knew what everyone was up to, it was really shamelessly shocking of her. But she told me, anyway, about the man and his lover and how they drank coffee naked together. Then there was the woman who dragged out the entire contents of her flat onto the balcony. And all day she would beat out rugs over the railing. 

If you look out from her opera glassses there were more than a hundred or so stories there.