ninanevermore

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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about the day I first learned the Leslie's son had an aneurysm. It was spring of 1993, and I was a few weeks away from graduating from college at the age of 23, because I couldn't think of any way to put it off any more. I put a whole 6 years into getting that 4 year degree, because my father was willing to pay for it and because I still didn't know what I wanted to be or where I wanted to go in my life. To tell the truth, I still don't. Stalling, by taking a minimum class load and changing majors ever so often, in order to keep my diploma at bay was the best tactic I could come up with, but my scheme had just about run it's course.

I was born with brains and just enough charm to get me by, but these things could not make up for an appalling lack of ambition. I am one of those quaint, useless people born to follow where ever the wind blows me, like a small autumn leaf. When there is no wind, I lie on the ground and molder with all the other useless leaves.

I was alone in my college apartment sitting at the dining room table, when the phone rang. It was my kid sister-in-law, Pat, and she was almost hysterical.

( A Proxy Pillar of Strength )

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my conversation with my cousin in Tennessee, Leslie, last night. All of my conversations with Leslie give me something to think about for days afterward, and this one was no exception. Leslie – family rebel, aging flower child, ex biker chick, and a formerly certified alcohol and drug abuse counselor who has rediscovered the pleasures of drinking and smoking even as a mailing center in Colorado prepares to send out her AARP membership card – has a way of putting a different perspective on things than I ever would have come up with on my own. Last night she passed on some tips on raising a toddler.

( Raising a DIY Kid )

Today on my drive into work, I glanced over at The Ferris Wheel as I sat at the stoplight and caught the eye of The Carney. I haven't written about The Carney for a while (aside from the night noblwish asked me to show her where I see him), because I've been annoyed with him about my cousin in Tennessee.

I've learned not to get sore at The Carney over someone dying, because I understand it's all in a day's work. It is the uncertainty about Cameron that drives me crazy. So many times over the years I've thought Cam's time was near and prepared to mourn him, and each time it has been a false alarm. It wears a person thin, and puts me in the morally uncomfortable position of sometimes thinking that I would just as soon the whole thing be over with.

I nodded at The Carney, and I guess from way he raised his eyebrows that the expression on my face must have been cold. He shrugged his shoulders at me and extended his hands out to the sides, palms up. It's not his fault - he only stops the ride when it's time. I nodded again and I gave him a wry half smile.

His smiled back - a full smile, not a half one, making mine look stingy - and crushed out his cigarette on the post of the gate he stands next to. He reached in his shirt pocket and took out his harmonica. I'd almost forgotten that he keeps it with him. He pantomimed rolling down an old-fashioned car window, the kind where you crank a handle in a circle to lower the glass. I powered my window down just as the light was about to turn green. He pressed the harp to his lips and began to play a bluesy, vaguely gospelly melody. I've heard the tune before, but could not put my finger on where. As I drove off, I could still hear it in my car, or maybe just in my mind, even after The Ferris Wheel blinked out of sight a few feel past the intersection.

Whatever it was, I was still humming it to myself when I sat down at my desk at work. I've had it in my head all day: death's melody, haunting, a little bluesy, a little bit gospel sounding, and oddly, unexpectedly, comforting.

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my last conversation with my cousin Leslie, who's son is brain damaged from an aneurism that burst in his head 13 years ago. His condition is deteriorating, and she called me this weekend to let me know that her gut instinct tells her that this is the beginning of the end.

( The Beginning of The End )