In-Betweens

You can't forget the in-betweens:

Chicago in early May – I've finished my first month-plus of traveling and have decided not to settle anywhere for at least a few more months, perhaps a year. I drove up to the city with my Dad, who was going to a conference, to get my boxes from my ex-girlfriend's apartment. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I didn't shave for three days because I knew that she liked me stubbly.

When I got there, the apartment felt like I'd never lived there, and I realized that it had felt that same way even while I was living there. It was Mother's day, and my ex was out with her family, so I had the place to myself for half an hour. I didn't walk into my former office, because I didn't want to violate the privacy of what was now her bedroom, although I think Grace the cat was hiding under the bed. The cat certainly didn't come out to greet me wherever she was. I looked in the hallway closet and was touched that my ex had folded all of my clothes left behind. I tried to keep them that way as I loaded them into trash bags.

She came in when I was about halfway through and although her dreadlocks were shorter, she was her usual incredible beautiful. We hugged for about two or three seconds, and it wasn't super awkward. I had brought a bottle of wine for her and some cat nip toys for Grace the cat, and I wondered if this whole affair was a little like how it felt to be a divorced Dad. We hadn't talked all throughout April except to be coldly polite and handle logistical stuff, like switching the name on our RCN service. I think I needed that distance, but if you read the closure post, we didn't part on the best of terms.

But in Chicago in early May with the last of my boxes nearly packed away we got to drink wine that day. I ordered take-out from our favorite Thai place. And I got to hug her for longer and say, “I'm sorry for blaming any of my unhappiness on you and for the times that I made you sad. I'm glad for the times that I made you happy, and I'm honored to know you.”

I held her while I said that and kissed her ear. She was wearing the pearl earrings that I'd bought her long ago at a Chicago park art fair. We cuddled on the white couch that I've always found to be uncomfortable and watched episodes of American Dad. And her body, which I had grown to know too well to the point of vastly underappreciating it, was new and marvelous once more. I ended up giving her a back rub and eventually focused on her adorable bubble butt like I always do. When I spread her legs apart, she was glistening. We didn't want to resist. I watched her make her silent O-face and came seconds after she did, collapsing on top of her.

Before I left later that night, we said we loved each other and were sure as hell glad that we weren't together anymore. I've been trying to classify that and avoid any potential jealousy along the way, since I think that emotion is typically ugly and a waste of time. And as time winds on, I've sometimes found my attempts at classification frustrating until realizing that I shouldn't classify what feels natural. We are both no longer a major factor in the other person's life, and that should be freeing. Yet I still feel this timeless love, which I think Bob Marley pretty much nailed here

And that's about all – when you've realized that you've been in a good place but still have to separate yourself from there to get better yourself. Knowing that has released a huge weight, this pressure that I didn't even know existed until it was gone.

New Orleans/Jackson (Late May/Early June)

Post-Rapture, I've set up a blood test to see if there are any viral consequences for my pre-Rapture night. I ride a bike whose seat is much too low, and I'm sweaty once I get there. Although the two blood tests cost $150, it takes the medical aide less than two minutes to fill up a few vials with my blood. There isn't immediate relief, since the results will be back in 2-5 days. Suspense!

Both tests come back negative, although I will do a double-check in a few months.

I also get to meet Mr. Bailey, an artist who lives next door to my little brother and watches out for him from time to time. He shows me the artwork in his backyard, and he's been following a daisy theme for some of the pieces. Mr. Bailey tells me how he was broke as a kid and would give his girlfriends free daisies instead of expensive roses - some girls got it, some didn't. I especially like one picture with a poser-stalker-demon daisy coiled around a real daisy while it sucks away its daisiness. Mr Bailey says, "that deadly daisy will make you feel beautiful for a day."

I get excited when he shows me this abstract swirl painting done on handle-less cupboard door because it looks an extremely detailed satellite photo of an alien planet stretched into a rectangular map. When I tell him this, he gives me the painting for free. I couldn't articulate it a the time, but it reminded me that there are whole worlds that I've been missing out on. The painting will be the centerpiece for wherever I finally decide to call home.

And The financial aftermath of my night out in New Orleans is $60.00 plus ATM fee, since my blue debit card was indeed stolen by someone at Dixie Diva's (probably Chanel). The card is to my local bank in Jackson, and I'm back, so I visit to see if I can recover any of the stolen funds. The woman helping me is a gracefully middle-aged Southern lady named Francie. I bring my card statements and we pore through the charges.

Several of the charges are two attempts for $280 at Dixie's Diva's, then an attempt at $200 at some other ATM, then $100 - $80 – and finally $60 is where the ATM finally yielded. As we go through the charges, I start overexplaining to Francie.

“Yeah, I met this person. And she seemed really nice. She even told me about her sister and trying to be a nurse and being from Memphis. And so we went and got some drinks, but this place was uh – dark, so I don't usually do this, but she seemed trustworthy, so I let her shine her phone while I was putting in my PIN. And once I realized that these weren't the people I though they were and uh – left, then it wasn't until the day after that I noticed my card was gone,” I say. The tips of my ears are burning.

Francie is polite, but I wonder what she thinks behind her fixed smile. In the end, I don't get the $60.00 back because fraud doesn't cover withdrawals when person in possession of the card had my PIN. I do manage to get about $12.00 back – most of that is from a swipe at McDonald's. Oh yeah – the charge at McDonald's was – I can't make this up – that charge was for $6.66.

Los Angeles (mid-June through today)

I've been out in SoCal since June 4^th, and now, I'm attending the residency for my low-rez MFA program in creative writing. We've rented a beach house, and I have a master bedroom to myself. My residency is progressing smoothly – I make more connections, finally bond with my class, and get my first choice of mentor. My beach house roommates notify me one day that I woke them up with sleep-yelling. At first, I don't believe them, since I woke up that morning feeling happy and refreshed. I also can't remember any of my dreams. All I know is that I had a renewed desire to visit Detroit that morning.

I skip to today, because Hollywood deserves a post of its own. I've waked and baked with a friend who takes me to the Airport. I decide to request a pat down rather than use the full body scan on my SuperBall – I'll be getting enough of that with my upcoming CT scan, but I dread the confrontation – add to this that someone calls a warning code that sounds like “B – Rom” over the intercom before I can ask to be touched; the security lines stop and the security line workers tell all passengers to take a step away from their bags. We hang there, alet prairie dogs scouting the terrain, waiting to issue our warning calls once we see the first violent flurry of motion. After a minute, the intercom blare issues a resume command. The TSA pat down guy is super-chill and doesn't ask any embarrassing questions. I'm realizing that interactions don't always have to be confrontations. And the plane is boarding, and right now I'm trying not to over-analyze this still-elusive happiness that's been making more appearances lately.