Wouldn't that be something? If I could create such an enduring story to last over a century, and given freedom by so many interpretations throughout the arts? No... this is simply a story of a lonely child, that became a lonely young adult who on very rare occasion, would become impulsive. This starts with an unkind admission that perhaps I knew only of "It's a Wonderful Life" through satire, before ever really watching the movie. That moment happened one Christmas Eve.
This is not a great story, and I am far from flattering as a main character. My girlfriend (engaged to a college-attending junior), was going away to meet her cousin and his family for Christmas. She asked me if I "would keep her closest and only friend company during Christmas because she will be alone." I said I would, and she handed me a slip of paper with Christine's phone number on it. It seemed obvious to me at the time that she was serious about this request. The mere thought of sharing a "sacred" holiday with someone I'd only briefly met, terrified me. My entire relationship with the girlfriend was terrifying enough.
Obviously, the story doesn't end here. Christmas Eve morning, I would have rathered done anything than the contemporary Christmas with my parents, and I left my body. I called the friend and asked her if she was open to "just doing a movie and having a meal together?" As I recall, my thought pattern at the time was akin to "putting a ball in her court" and "I can't be scolded for not doing what the girlfriend asked" - there also was a bravado about going outside the box that had worked successfully in attaining said girlfriend. My recollections about this moment are probably colored by my own lenses, much like my parent's ideas about my childhood. I did not expect this stranger to meet my bluff, she afterall was just a satellite in the solar system that was my girlfriend; "her anxieties are mine to a fault". Not only did she call the bluff, she told me to bring music, and what to get from the store.
I was living in Tampa, Christine was on the edge of Seminole, right before you get to the intercoastal. I arrived at her house at dusk, she looked so much different than our brief encounter on the Publix bread aisle. Christine invited me in, and our sentences to one another were awkward and tight... she asked me to put on some music, and she alternated her time between the kitchen and sitting in the dark corner of the room opposite of me on the couch. I believe the house was hers, and her parents house was on the same property - but they were away for the holidays in Germany. I asked the obvious, "I don't think they really love one another anymore and it's just uncomfortable." The house looked and felt as heavily German as one could muster in a mid-century home on the edges of Seminole. This entire aspect of Christine was unfurling in front of me; her heritage via decor and paintings, her history as a ballerina, her features - blonde, fair, pallid. Vividly, I remember the sensation of being swooned by this young woman for no other reason than what my simplistic rationale could formulate into culture. But she was also, inescapably attractive to me.
"Catastrophe Ballet" was not so much her thing, as much as the Dead Can Dance and This Mortal Coil she withdrew from her collection of records. On went "The Serpent's Egg", Jimmy Stewart now at a point of desperation; muted; our reason for meeting tonight. As dinner cooked, Christine would emerge with "Can I ask you a question?" - followed by my agreeable assurances, and then increasingly probing questions about my relationship with her best friend. This was at least my perception until I began to realize that I was being lead upon a path that was not the reality I arrived with. Christine must have thought me stupid at first, but then realized that my sincerity was rooted in ignorance and inexperience. We spent many hours together, throughout the incredible meal she made, and all three TMC albums until something between us shifted. I still don't know what happened; perhaps two fragile people finding hope in one another, perhaps sympathy mistaken for romantic feelings; perhaps two people under the weight of my gf finding a light she did not allow either of us to have? Yeah, it turns out the gf was as controlling of Christine as she was of me, only she had endured it throughout high school.
The following day, I called Christine, and asked if I could come over? She was taken aback, working on restoring some bookcases, she hadn't planned on company. I offered a gift. She agreed. I gave her the only thing I had been proud of up to that point in my life; a pencil drawing I had done of Andy Warhol, framed and ready to hang. I don't know what she truly thought of the gift, probably less impressed than I was, but we spent an evening together talking. Our discussion shifted to more intimate things, and she and I made out in the waning light of Christmas Day. I should mention how annoyed my mom was that I left on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - it changed the dynamic of family Christmas from then on. Anyway, Christine invited me to stay the night, but did not want to extend intimacy beyond what we had already shared until after the girlfriend returned.
This is where I will end this tale. It isn't my finest hour. I think about Christine more often that I think about that gf. So many things changed that Christmas - in my head, I refer to it as my "Late Judy Blumer". To this day, I can imagine such an incredible life with Christine... she was so intelligent, and liked such amazing music, and was intrigued by me... not something I was accustomed to. But this is the moment in my life that I broke Christmas for my mom, and carved my first scar upon myself for my failures to do the right thing. I acted with my cock instead of my heart or mind - and I deserved the pain I received. Christine did not. The guilt from that moment should have been a life lesson, it wasn't. The "girlfriends" of the world bait my insecurities every time.
Christmas, "It's A Wonderful Life", they invite me to a different person, a different life; one I embraced and destroyed in the course of a few days. Reality crash in the most ironic way for my gf; but betrayal and a passage back under foot for Christine... or so I assume. Maybe it was enough for her to bail on the whole affair, no pun intended. It was my first intention to die... I remember that as well. My holidays - setting fire to the happiness and stepping out as a cruel after thought... how long until it works? Until either I win, or guilt wins?
This Ascension - "Carol Of The Bells"
No comments:
Post a Comment