Wednesday - Meet Virginia
Oct. 18th, 2006 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about Virginia, a girl I met at a party on this day in 2002. I only met her one time, but I've found her hard to forget. For one thing, I love rubbing it in my husband's face that the last time a beautiful 22-year-old woman hit on one of us, it was me, not him.
I remember that day started out bad for me. I woke up sick and got to work late. I got written up and had a very dramatic exchange with my supervisor and the head of personnel. By the time I went home, I felt physically and emotionally exhausted. As I walked in the door, I heard the phone ringing. It was Patty.
"Hey,” she said, “What are you doing tonight?" .
I started to tell her about my awful day at work, but she interrupted me.
"You need to get out of the house. Come to a party with me tonight."
I told her I didn't feel well and I didn't want to go anywhere. It worked about as well as telling Patty no ever did. By the time the call ended, I was writing down the directions to a party that I had no intention of enjoying myself at. Against my better judgement, I freshened up, grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo and margarita mix so I wouldn't have to drink the swill that Patty's friends would have, and drove off to find the ramshackle trailer house in a rural area north of my small town to meet Patty and Bryan.
I walked in and headed toward the kitchen, where I fixed myself a drink. Patty started to introduce me to people, while I smiled and nodded and pretended to care. As we moved into the living room, a young woman stood up from the couch and walked toward me. She was, as we say her in Texas, no bigger than a minute - a slender girl in a tank top with long, chestnut brown hair and a pretty face.
"Isn't she the cutest thing?" she said to another girl, a blond, sitting on the couch. The blond giggled. I looked down at my outfit, a pink peasant blouse and blue jeans, to see what she might find so cute.
"This is Virginia," Patty said, "Paul's girlfriend."
Virginia ran her hand down a small, hippy chick style braid in my hair.
"You're adorable," she said, cocking her head to the side, "Tell me, are you bisexual?"
Now, I never have been supermodel material, but I do have a certain cherubic appeal that some people find nice. I assume they just have a fetish for cherubs, and they never fail to surprise me when I run across them. The question caught me so off guard that I laughed.
"No," I said, shaking my head with a smile, "I'm sorry." Even though I wasn't interested, I was genuinely flattered. My ego needed the boost this exchange was giving me. For the first time all day, it make me feel kind of good about myself.
Virginia sighed and ran her fingers down my cheek.
"Oh, honey," she crooned, "so am I."
As the evening progressed, Virginia never seemed very far away from me, laughing at my jokes and standing as close to me as she could. I reminded her that I wasn't bi and pointed out that I was married, but she only shrugged her shoulders. Her attention was by no means intimidating, just persistent. She was charming and funny, and much less obnoxious than most men who have hit on me.
She did come very close to stealing a kiss at one point. A group of us were sitting in the bathroom. In that small trailer house, there weren't a lot of rooms for people to congregate in, so the bathroom was a natural place to go to get away form the music so we could talk. Patty and Bryan sat against the wall across from the sink, their friend Tom sat on the counter next to the sink, and Virginia sat on the side of the tub. I ended up sitting on the one thing that most resembled a chair, the toilet with the seat closed. I had a couple of margaritas in my system, so I almost failed to notice that Virginia had moved off of the tub and was kneeling in front of me, slowly moving closer as we talked. At the last moment, I put my hands on her shoulders and stopped her as she leaned in toward my face, her lips a few inches from my own. I looked around the room. Patty, Bryan and Tom were all staring. The two men seemed to be holding their breath.
I'm not near drunk enough for this, I thought.
I shook my head. "Nuh, uh," I told her.
"Oh, come on," she said.
I gently pushed her away from me. The guys started breathing again and the conversation started back up. I left the room to stretch my legs, and Virginia sat back down on the tub as I made my retreat.
I didn't see her for a while after that, until Bryan hunted me down in the back bedroom where I was talking with Patty and her friend Deidre, and asked me to come outside. He said Virginia needed someone to talk to, and he though I could help. I always stop drinking a couple of hours before I plan to drive home, and by this point I was stone cold sober. I followed him to the back yard, where Virginia sat in a lawn chair with her face in her hands.
"Talk to her," Bryan said to her, "she's a minister. She'll listen. She's good." Then he went inside and left me there with her.
I have never taken my Universal Life Ordination seriously because, while it is legal, any ordination you can get over the Internet in five minutes is hardly serious. But Bryan and Patty always did take it serious in a weird way. I joked about drinking and shooting the bull being communion and confession for us, but they didn't seem to take it as a joke. Having been presented to her as someone who could help, I sat down next to the weeping girl and ask what the matter was.
"It's the anniversary of my mom's death," she said, "She died 11 years ago today." It is one of those anniversaries that I, as another grown-up motherless child, could understand the significance of: her mother had been dead for half her life now. I asked how she died.
"It was my fault," Virginia said, "I killed her."
She explained that she got in trouble at school that day, at the start of her 5th-grade year, for talking in class. She had to stay after school, and her mother had to leave work to come pick her up.
"I'd never got in trouble before," she said, "I'd never had to stay after. It was the first time. I knew she was going to be mad."
But her mother never showed up to get her. A drunk driver ran into her car, and she died in the wreck. The drunk, according to Virginia, was the brother-in-law of the county sheriff. He was never charged.
"You didn't kill your mother, the drunk did," I pointed out.
But I wasn't arguing with the logic of a 22-year-old woman; I was auguring with the logic of a guilt-ridden 11-year-old girl.
"If he was responsible, how come he didn't go to jail?" she asked, "If I hadn't been in trouble, she wouldn't have been there for him to run into. So it really is my fault." She was still crying. I searched my mind for word to sooth the little girl inside of her.
"Was she a good mother?" I asked, "Did she love you?"
Virginia's tear-swollen face lit up in a smile. "She was a great mother. A wonderful mother. She was the best mother."
"Do you think she holds you responsible? Do you feel like she's mad at you?"
She shook her head. "She's never been mad at me," she said quietly, "I can feel her sometimes, and she's never mad."
"She loves you. You're her baby," I said, "If she isn't mad at you, then she wants you to forgive yourself. Can't you feel that?"
The wind blew through the trees, making the leaves rustled loudly overhead. A storm was blowing in, and it would rain for the next three days when it hit. Virginia closed her eyes.
"Do you hear that?" she asked, "That's her. I always hear in the wind. That's when she speaks to me."
I listened, and felt a little jealous. I sometimes feel my own mother's presence, but I thought it would be nice to hear her voice every time the wind blew, and for the breeze on my face to feel like a caress. The wind seemed to bring Virginia a lot of comfort. Who was I to call this strange?
"You know she wants you to forgive yourself," I said, "If she was such a good mother, she wants you to be happy. That's what any good mother would want."
The tears still rolled down her face, even as she sat up to feel her mother's caress blow by.
"I want her here," she said, “I want her still alive.”
"I know, I'm sorry. I wish my mother was still here, too."
She leaned forward, and I put my arms around her as she wept. As if to drown out her sobs, the wind, her mother, grew more forceful in the trees above us. Finally, her mother could take no more and the skies opened up and rained upon us, so we ran inside to get out of the storm. By the time we reached the living room, we were both laughing and trying to wipe the rain drops off of our skin. The rain had washed away the last of Virginia's tears. The party had broken up as we talked outside, and it was time that I headed home. I asked if she were okay, hugged her goodbye, and left.
I haven't seen her since.
But each October, she sneaks into my mind, another motherless daughter leaning into my thoughts, as if she's still trying to steal that kiss I wouldn't gave her.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ # ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
I remember that day started out bad for me. I woke up sick and got to work late. I got written up and had a very dramatic exchange with my supervisor and the head of personnel. By the time I went home, I felt physically and emotionally exhausted. As I walked in the door, I heard the phone ringing. It was Patty.
"Hey,” she said, “What are you doing tonight?" .
I started to tell her about my awful day at work, but she interrupted me.
"You need to get out of the house. Come to a party with me tonight."
I told her I didn't feel well and I didn't want to go anywhere. It worked about as well as telling Patty no ever did. By the time the call ended, I was writing down the directions to a party that I had no intention of enjoying myself at. Against my better judgement, I freshened up, grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo and margarita mix so I wouldn't have to drink the swill that Patty's friends would have, and drove off to find the ramshackle trailer house in a rural area north of my small town to meet Patty and Bryan.
I walked in and headed toward the kitchen, where I fixed myself a drink. Patty started to introduce me to people, while I smiled and nodded and pretended to care. As we moved into the living room, a young woman stood up from the couch and walked toward me. She was, as we say her in Texas, no bigger than a minute - a slender girl in a tank top with long, chestnut brown hair and a pretty face.
"Isn't she the cutest thing?" she said to another girl, a blond, sitting on the couch. The blond giggled. I looked down at my outfit, a pink peasant blouse and blue jeans, to see what she might find so cute.
"This is Virginia," Patty said, "Paul's girlfriend."
Virginia ran her hand down a small, hippy chick style braid in my hair.
"You're adorable," she said, cocking her head to the side, "Tell me, are you bisexual?"
Now, I never have been supermodel material, but I do have a certain cherubic appeal that some people find nice. I assume they just have a fetish for cherubs, and they never fail to surprise me when I run across them. The question caught me so off guard that I laughed.
"No," I said, shaking my head with a smile, "I'm sorry." Even though I wasn't interested, I was genuinely flattered. My ego needed the boost this exchange was giving me. For the first time all day, it make me feel kind of good about myself.
Virginia sighed and ran her fingers down my cheek.
"Oh, honey," she crooned, "so am I."
As the evening progressed, Virginia never seemed very far away from me, laughing at my jokes and standing as close to me as she could. I reminded her that I wasn't bi and pointed out that I was married, but she only shrugged her shoulders. Her attention was by no means intimidating, just persistent. She was charming and funny, and much less obnoxious than most men who have hit on me.
She did come very close to stealing a kiss at one point. A group of us were sitting in the bathroom. In that small trailer house, there weren't a lot of rooms for people to congregate in, so the bathroom was a natural place to go to get away form the music so we could talk. Patty and Bryan sat against the wall across from the sink, their friend Tom sat on the counter next to the sink, and Virginia sat on the side of the tub. I ended up sitting on the one thing that most resembled a chair, the toilet with the seat closed. I had a couple of margaritas in my system, so I almost failed to notice that Virginia had moved off of the tub and was kneeling in front of me, slowly moving closer as we talked. At the last moment, I put my hands on her shoulders and stopped her as she leaned in toward my face, her lips a few inches from my own. I looked around the room. Patty, Bryan and Tom were all staring. The two men seemed to be holding their breath.
I'm not near drunk enough for this, I thought.
I shook my head. "Nuh, uh," I told her.
"Oh, come on," she said.
I gently pushed her away from me. The guys started breathing again and the conversation started back up. I left the room to stretch my legs, and Virginia sat back down on the tub as I made my retreat.
I didn't see her for a while after that, until Bryan hunted me down in the back bedroom where I was talking with Patty and her friend Deidre, and asked me to come outside. He said Virginia needed someone to talk to, and he though I could help. I always stop drinking a couple of hours before I plan to drive home, and by this point I was stone cold sober. I followed him to the back yard, where Virginia sat in a lawn chair with her face in her hands.
"Talk to her," Bryan said to her, "she's a minister. She'll listen. She's good." Then he went inside and left me there with her.
I have never taken my Universal Life Ordination seriously because, while it is legal, any ordination you can get over the Internet in five minutes is hardly serious. But Bryan and Patty always did take it serious in a weird way. I joked about drinking and shooting the bull being communion and confession for us, but they didn't seem to take it as a joke. Having been presented to her as someone who could help, I sat down next to the weeping girl and ask what the matter was.
"It's the anniversary of my mom's death," she said, "She died 11 years ago today." It is one of those anniversaries that I, as another grown-up motherless child, could understand the significance of: her mother had been dead for half her life now. I asked how she died.
"It was my fault," Virginia said, "I killed her."
She explained that she got in trouble at school that day, at the start of her 5th-grade year, for talking in class. She had to stay after school, and her mother had to leave work to come pick her up.
"I'd never got in trouble before," she said, "I'd never had to stay after. It was the first time. I knew she was going to be mad."
But her mother never showed up to get her. A drunk driver ran into her car, and she died in the wreck. The drunk, according to Virginia, was the brother-in-law of the county sheriff. He was never charged.
"You didn't kill your mother, the drunk did," I pointed out.
But I wasn't arguing with the logic of a 22-year-old woman; I was auguring with the logic of a guilt-ridden 11-year-old girl.
"If he was responsible, how come he didn't go to jail?" she asked, "If I hadn't been in trouble, she wouldn't have been there for him to run into. So it really is my fault." She was still crying. I searched my mind for word to sooth the little girl inside of her.
"Was she a good mother?" I asked, "Did she love you?"
Virginia's tear-swollen face lit up in a smile. "She was a great mother. A wonderful mother. She was the best mother."
"Do you think she holds you responsible? Do you feel like she's mad at you?"
She shook her head. "She's never been mad at me," she said quietly, "I can feel her sometimes, and she's never mad."
"She loves you. You're her baby," I said, "If she isn't mad at you, then she wants you to forgive yourself. Can't you feel that?"
The wind blew through the trees, making the leaves rustled loudly overhead. A storm was blowing in, and it would rain for the next three days when it hit. Virginia closed her eyes.
"Do you hear that?" she asked, "That's her. I always hear in the wind. That's when she speaks to me."
I listened, and felt a little jealous. I sometimes feel my own mother's presence, but I thought it would be nice to hear her voice every time the wind blew, and for the breeze on my face to feel like a caress. The wind seemed to bring Virginia a lot of comfort. Who was I to call this strange?
"You know she wants you to forgive yourself," I said, "If she was such a good mother, she wants you to be happy. That's what any good mother would want."
The tears still rolled down her face, even as she sat up to feel her mother's caress blow by.
"I want her here," she said, “I want her still alive.”
"I know, I'm sorry. I wish my mother was still here, too."
She leaned forward, and I put my arms around her as she wept. As if to drown out her sobs, the wind, her mother, grew more forceful in the trees above us. Finally, her mother could take no more and the skies opened up and rained upon us, so we ran inside to get out of the storm. By the time we reached the living room, we were both laughing and trying to wipe the rain drops off of our skin. The rain had washed away the last of Virginia's tears. The party had broken up as we talked outside, and it was time that I headed home. I asked if she were okay, hugged her goodbye, and left.
I haven't seen her since.
But each October, she sneaks into my mind, another motherless daughter leaning into my thoughts, as if she's still trying to steal that kiss I wouldn't gave her.
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Date: 2006-10-18 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 11:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-19 04:17 pm (UTC)Commenting on the comments
Date: 2006-10-19 05:32 pm (UTC)Re: Commenting on the comments
Date: 2006-10-19 05:43 pm (UTC)She really was cute, though. If I'd been into chicks, it would have been a very good night for me. ;D
no subject
Date: 2006-10-22 05:48 pm (UTC)Perhaps it was just the one time that you were needed by someone in the universe. It sounds like she'd been carrying around that guilt for 11 years, and you were probably the first person to ever affirm her feelings. That's huge. I'm sure she'll never forget that conversation. Hopefully it meant that the dam broke and she would seek further help rather than keep internalizing her feelings.
You never know - sometimes I ask to have followup to a situation/meeting and it happens, sometimes it doesn't. If it's meant to happen, it will. :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-23 08:33 pm (UTC)She told me she was an artist (a painter); whenever I'm in any of the galleries in my little town I look for her name on the paintings, to see if just maybe she's around somewhere.