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Eyes Cast Downward- Memoir Excerpt

Originally hand written in July 2015 Late Spring of 2014.  Just Months before liver failure Our eyes are nearly always cast dow...

Thursday, January 14, 2016

The World Fell Down





It was 11:32 pm on January 10th 2016 and I see his name. Bixbee is on my caller ID and I realize by an abrupt inward tug that inside this woman's body their still lives an innocent and lost little girl. She is cowering somewhere behind my rib cage, peeking through bones, clutching them tight.  I pick up the phone.  I know what my intentions were when I decided to try to get back in contact with him . I wanted to understand who he was fifteen years ago when our lives collided and he was crashed into a curious and introverted fourteen-year-old me. 
A girl with an Army green Jansport that said 
"David Bowie Is My Man!"  in white- out on the front pocket. A girl who was sadder then she thought she ought to be. 
A boy with eyes that whispered answers. 
A lonely girl who wanted someone to give her all those intangible, indescribable promises;
 she thought she was robbed of.

until she had seen Micah's eyes. 
All she saw was someone who would teach her how to live with a sadness that she didn't even know how to describe. Her brain simply said "Him." and her body followed.
 A girl that felt no love, only a yearning and a head full of questions that no one had an answer for. 

An angry girl who was always told to smile.

A girl that disappeared behind a door that this boy (man?) ever so seductively opened for her.  
 She remained in that darkness long after he disappeared. 

I wanted to understand why he treated me the way he did. 
To understand why he said what he said and why certain things remained unsaid. 


 I am writing the story of my life as I come to understand it. 
The key word is "as" in that statement.
I want truth and meaning in anything that I write.
 As I grow spiritually and emotionally 
my perspective changes.
 Less error and more truth. 
A more clear understanding is constantly to be found. 
The more questions I ask myself the more the story evolves
Like drawing out a little bit of poison in your soul with each question. 
I understand now that no one is a complete villain,
not in any honest story. 
There is always a backstory. 
There is always another view. 
Micah is a human being who was also young then.
 Suffering in his own way as all mortals do. 
Some more than others.
 That is a riddle to ponder indefinitely.
I only wanted a fair perspective on this collision of ours. 
I want a truth in my life and in my memory. 
A truth that reads like a crescendo of the mind and lingers long after.
 I wanted to give him Micah a chance to help me do that. 
He had a very large impact on my life and my childish mind came to pretty severe and damaging conclusions.  

While speaking to him, I had to remind myself, over and over again, that I am not fourteen anymore.
I am listening to the voice who of a grown up Bixbee.
 I have not heard his voice for nearly half of my life span. 
It is amazing to me how strong the emotions I am feeling are. I thought this wasn't going to be as difficult as it is.  
It seems this little girl must have been listening to his voice for a while; She is furious. 
This little girl is quite adamant that she is still trapped and thinks this boy was going to be her teacher. 
Her father? 
Her lover? 
What did I think all those years ago?
That little girl was hurting. 
Particularly when he asked,
"what's your worst memory of me". 
A thousand images raced past the back of my eyes. 
It was beyond difficult to answer, he said I did not have to.
(I think and do not say because I do not know if this thought is mine or the girl's thought)
"It is all bad memories, everything I can remember, is a series of brutally painful disappointments, misunderstanding and  humiliations."
I did not say it out loud. 
I couldn't see any reason because I'd forgiven him already.
 Then he asked what the best memory of him was. 
I was silent as I closed my eyes and tried to calm the girl. 
I asked my secret god for truth and no error. 

I took a deep breath and gave the most honest
 answer that I could give.
 An adult Mary Catherine was running the show, (her secret god pulling her strings) and she held the child tight within her and said
"The one and only good memory I have is when I first saw you."

I hold my head in my hands and tense every muscle in my body and think;

"When I heard promises that were never even said."

 The two hundred and seven minute phone call ended. 
Not devastating;
 It was difficult, enlightening but a risky thing to do. 

After a few laughs and a civilized conversation, I knew that a misunderstanding of a long past error between a broken girl is at peace with a boy named Micah.
I am about to go upstairs to and get ready for bed, I need sleep. I am at a loss as to where the time went. I looked at my phone after we hung up it was twenty minutes to three in morning. 
I stopped to talk about Micah to another woman for a little longer than I normally talk to her. 
Trying to process the whole conversation. 
Certain things that remained unsaid. 
She said that most men are like that. 
Nothing helpful. It didn't matter. What are two words?
When suddenly she insults his name by pronouncing David Bowie as if it was a foreign language. 
"Dave- vid Bow-eee?... Dead at..."
Heart stops.

"Wait... What ? 
No, What did you just say?!"
"Who is Davvviid Bow-ee?"
She give's me a genuinely curious expression. 
This infuriates me.
What did you say! 

Death?! 
Dead! 
"Is. He.  Dead?" 
I'm yelling more than actually asking.

"It says's here David Bowie died peacefully...."
 she is reading across her iPhone.

Not ready for this.

"Is this one of those gag sites? 
What website are you on? 
Check again!
This better not be some kind of joke!" 

as If I have the ability to rip the throat out of whoever wrote such a thing. 
If it were to be untrue.

Then.
"CNN.com. says it... (she scrolls down) it's all over the web.


She looked up at me.
 "Mary, who is David Bowie..."

I say nothing; Thoughts race.
My father, my fucking father. 
More of a father then I had ever known. 
The only one that saw what I saw. 
He sang it to me since I was a baby, 1986. 
Not the David Bowie that promised 'me' he would be with 'me' when the world fell down. 
The man that held my hands in my imagination when I would sink into myself at night; lonely, sad, frightened. 
The father I choose since he first sung to me. 
The only one that recognized the sad love in 'my' eyes. 
Not Him because he said that he said he would be there and he always has been.

I felt a breeze move through me.
 I reached up for my chest. 


"No. "

As if the universe just might be bold enough to take something so precious!
My heart literally felt knocked the fuck out of my body.
I covered my mouth to escape whatever was about to come out.

I was awake till nearly five in the morning.
I took a very long warm shower, thinking.
I had another cup of lavender tea, thinking.
 I thought about Micah and just how much I had liked him, it was too much. 
I thought of Jareth, David's character from the movie I escaped into as a child a thousand times or more.
Then,  for the first time, I saw the similarities between the two.

The infantile idea of romantic love that I had formed. 
I see my mistake. 
My mistake.
The human mind is incredible

The synchronicity is enough for me not to doubt anything further.
 I do what I am compelled to do. 
I imagine Bowie as Jareth with that part of me now keeping all those promises. I am not carrying her suffering. He has her little hands. He holds her now. 
I see them spin in gold, whirling in stardust. 
Only love and no such thing as suffering in an infinite golden ballroom that lives between the stars. 

The imagery I meditated on created brought some comfort. 
It made just enough sense for the adult Mary Catherine. 



My heart is bleeding for a beautifully strange little girl. The father she had to imagine was hers.
 A boy named Micah she thought was supposed to 
"Place the moon within her heart"

 As if any mortal could fill that void?

My Mistake.
Two words.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen





3 comments:

  1. Most beautiful. Enlightening. Forgiveness is so brutally powerful and the catharsis is worth countless nods in our unique imaginary little world. Thank you for sharing this with me....

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  2. Forgiveness is so brutally powerful and the catharsis it births is so much more promising than trying to keep the hurt anger hatred deep inside forever caressing the pain with a silly little needle and spoon...thank you. Beautifully written and eloquently spoken.

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    Replies
    1. I thought you would appreciate this one

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