Five Houses Down

I saw a ghost the other day.

I was driving through a nice part of town, a part of town with wide, tree-lined streets and houses set well back on nicely-trimmed lawns. Everyone drives 25 mph and has a car manufactured within the last five years. All the kids go to college and all the dogs get groomed religiously, although few go to church.

A girl was walking down the street. She was probably...ten, maybe twelve. Long hair. Jeans ending at the knee. A blouse with three-quarter sleeves. She looked like she had freckles. She looked like she probably kicked boys in the shins, snuck cigarettes behind the dumpster at school, wore eyeshadow two years before everyone else. She looked like she had an older sister who got into trouble and taught her younger sister everything she knew. She looked like she had a hyperactive younger brother that had to sit in the hallway a lot in school.

In short, she looked like my best friend from 4th grade.

Erin (I won't give her last name in case she Googles herself) lived down the street from me from third grade until 5th or 6th grade, when her parents got divorced and her mom moved away to get remarried. She had an older sister, a younger brother, a parakeet and a wealth of disfunction, much of which she took out on her long-suffering best friend. Me.

Erin was, to put it bluntly, a bitch.

We frequently were a group of three: Erin, me and our friend, Kelly (whose name I really am changing). Kelly lived further away and required a mom to drive her to our houses to play, at least until she got old enough to ride her bike that far. Erin used Kelly in efficient fashion--to put me in my place. If she was mad at me, Kelly was invited over and I was exiled. If she wanted to make me nervous, Kelly would be invited to spend the night, but not me. Kelly frequently got the friendship pins that I was denied. They'd ride bikes together, leaving me at home.

I remember one instance vividly, when Erin kicked me off her canopy bed in the middle of some board game, telling me I was fat and that I should go home. I think I walked home in tears that day. And probably went back the next day for more.

When Kelly and I got into the "gifted" program, notable mostly in our school for getting to take cool trips and learning how to play chess, Erin mocked both of us. With hindsight, I know that's because she wasn't asked to join. When she was, the next year, it automatically became the coolest, most exciting and magical group in the entire world, if not the universe.

As we got older, our worlds expanded a bit. I joined a swim team, which meant I was no longer at her mercy for great swaths of summer. Plus, I could do something physically better than her, which intimidated her a bit, I think. We got into different activities. She did horseback riding, I think, and I started getting more involved in music.

By the time her parents were getting divorced, we weren't as close as we used to be. She moved to a town about twenty minutes away and we rarely saw each other after that. At the time, I seriously wondered if our world was ending--our world of reading books in the den, making forts in the woods, playing in the creek, playing basketball on roller skates in Tommy's driveway, crawling through the sewer system in our subdivision. And it was. But mostly because we were growing up, not because she moved away.

Now, as I look back, I realize that her moving away was one of the best things that ever happened to me. If we'd gone on to high school together, I would have constantly been worrying about what Erin thought. Will she be mean to me if I win this award? Will she hate me if I get the part in the play? Will she speak to me if I beat her grade?

Instead, I have really good memories of growing up, some with her and some without her. I remember getting stuck in the mud in the creek next to her house and our friend Amanda's dad coming to rescue me. I remember waving at Tommy and Andy from beneath the grating in Tommy's yard when we'd run through the maze of tunnels making up the drainage system in the neighborhood. I remember Halloweens and Christmases and Kelly's brother's room, painted to look like Pink Floyd's The Wall album cover.

I don't remember the crying and the fights and the not speaking. At least, not much. And I think of Erin somewhat fondly, at least, for making me into the person I am today. A person who took that kind of treatment. But who won't take it much any more.

NOTICE

Today is being cancelled due to lack of interest.

The first notice of the problem took place at approximately 5:00, when the alarm went into "snooze" mode and remained there for approximately 36 minutes.

Continuing difficulties were noticed during the following events: attempted exercise, locating clothing for the day, showering, making the bed and finding shoes. Final status was assumed upon the location of thrown-up hair balls on cream-colored carpet at approximately 7:02 a.m.

In the event that the system difficulties continue, tomorrow may also be at risk. Check your local stations for updates on this crisis.

Come On Down and Meet Your Maker

Every year, about this time, I get a sudden metaphorical itch between my shoulder blades. There's a feeling like something should be happening, something major, something earth-shattering and utterly life-changing. As though the world as we know it stands on a precipise, just waiting to topple over.

And then I think to myself, "Oh, yeah, isn't it time for Captain Trips?"

I read The Stand by Stephen King almost every year about this time. I don't always even read all of it. I'll read the beginning. I'll read the end. I'll read one particular storyline through. I usually skip the parts about Lloyd.

And every year, after finishing the book, I make a plan. The post-apocolyptic plan.

I have a place to go in the event of a world-wide plague that kills off 99.9% of the population. I have a house all picked out, right on the shore. It is built like a bunker and even has a generator or two. There's a fireplace when it is cold and a beach when it is warm and a place to plant vegetables and a place to keep a horse, if necessary. It is close enough to a big town and closer to some small towns. I could store all kinds of necessities there in the various rooms of the warren-like basement. And, since it is a summer house, there would be few of the dearly departed around the area that I'd have to worry about running into.

I know how I'd get there. I have vehicles picked out to get to the place. I'd stop at the National Guard bunker on the way out of town in order to stock up on guns and ammo, not that I couldn't just loot the ol' Gander Mountain on the way out of town. I know where the good camping places are, so I could stock up on dehydrated food. And I'd be close to an unending water source.

I've spent hours upon hours since the age of 11, planning for the eventuality of the summer plague outlined in King's book. I've figured out how to strap the family pet to the back of a motor scooter, just in case. I know which books I'd take and which I'd leave behind. I have an envelope of photos that I could just grab and go, if necessary.

One might even say that I'm obsessed.

Of course, it has never even crossed my mind that I might not be one of the people who survives. What fun would that be?

Practicality

I cried in my car this morning.

I remember, when my dad died, one of the women with whom I worked gave me a box of kleenex and said, "Keep this in your car. You'll need it." And she was right.

The car is a very cathartic, yet practical, place to cry. You can be sobbing your heart out about a myriad of issues: a dead relative, a lost job, a broken heart, the fact that you're about to turn 36 years old and have absolutely nothing to show for it. You have the illusion of privacy. And yet, you can still be out, moving around, getting somewhere, getting something accomplished. Even when you're miserable, you can still be moving from one place to another, driving through an ATM, going to work, driving to school.

Even when we can't eliminate misery from our lives, at least we can still live our lives while experiencing misery.

Yet Another Query...

Why is it that, when I go to someplace nice, like a lovely restaurant, a new and fancy bar, or, perhaps, a nice wedding, I still always manage to sit at the table discussing bestiality and anal probes?

Good Wishes

There have been a number of weddings I've been to in my past that I wasn't particularly excited about, for one reason or another. Because I had to wear a hi-lo dress in a bright blue shade that made me look like Violet from "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" after the blueberry gum. Because someone wanted me to sing "Sunrise/Sunset" and I didn't have an accompaniest and I'd been sick for about a week beforehand. Because I looked reaaaaaalllllly fat in that one bridesmaid dress.

Sometimes I wasn't looking forward to the wedding because I wasn't going to know anyone there. Sometimes it was because I didn't think the couple was a good match. Sometimes it was because I knew that there was no way there was ever going to be a wedding involving me and whatever sad sack I'd drafted into going as my date. Sometimes it was because I knew whoever my date was was never going to ask me to be in a wedding with him.

My friend got married yesterday. The weather was perfect. The sun, which has been hiding behind a drape of grey the likes of which hasn't been seen in these parts in years, came out for the entire day. The ground, saturated with water that hadn't yet drained into the overflowing rivers around here, actually dried out enough for the women to wear heels and not sink into the mud. The setting was gorgeous, the sunset was beautiful and the mosquitos were held at bay.

This was a wedding where everyone was happy. This was a wedding where people wanted to stay, to talk, to hang out and share stories. Not only was this an event that joined two people, it was a really good party. And I'm relatively certain that the bride knows there are few compliments higher than that--to have thrown a really good party.

I wish many things for the couple: health and happiness, wealth and wisdom, years of joy in all of its forms and the strength to deal with life when it isn't always joyous. And I hope that all of their days are as filled with laughter and fun and stories and memories as their wedding day was.

And that they always have someone available to make that last beer run of the night.

Hammer and Sickle

There are workers outside tearing up every bush, flower and growing thing withing ten feet of my building.

Someone is chiseling away at...something nearby. It sounds like Andy Dufresne behind the Farrah poster.

They "fixed" the bathroom yesterday and it smells like someone died.

The light fixture in the hallway is flickering and I'm expecting the girl from "The Grudge" to appear at any moment.

The light is out in the bathroom in the handicapped stall.

One of the printers is broken and in pieces.

I'm living in a Soviet republic circa 1983.

Yet Another Sign I Have No Life

Yesterday, over drinks, a group of friends discussed the dynamics of mass texting. When you're sitting alone in a bar, waiting for someone to show up, and you send a text to everyone in your address book: "Where are you? I'm tired of drinking alone." And then you wait for some responses from whoever might be in the area and in the mood for a beer.

"You always answer the text. Like, right away," my friend says to me. "Even if you're someplace crazy. Like, in another state."

"Yeah, you text back, like, crazy fast," another guy said. "I've barely finished texting when I get a response back from you."

Yes, that's all true. Because I do nothing else but stare at my phone all day, willing it to chime to let me know that, yes, someone out there is thinking about me, even though I'm just one more name on their list of people to drink with. BECAUSE I HAVE NO LIFE!!!

That's all, carry on. I have to get back to monitoring my phone.

Blowin' in the Wind

A boy just asked a friend of mine about me. Well, he's a guy, technically. I mean, who says, "I met a man the other night?" I don't refer to them as "men." They're guys, or dudes, or idiots. But I digress.

So he asked about me. I can understand that, the feeling out about someone else's potential landmines, crazy ex's and other issues. So, in the interest of full(ly partial) disclosure, here's a self-compiled list of what I might consider to be red flags for someone entering into a relationship with me:

1) I wear heels. If you have a complex about being short, don't hang out with me.

2) I may know more about John Wayne movies than you do. Don't let this make you feel like less of a man. I also probably know more about WWII movies in general, as well as anything about the Civil War. And I'm not afraid to argue about it.

3) I won't talk to you in a movie theatre, not even during the previews. Comments are allowed only between previews.

4) I won't rub your feet.

5) I will probably only go to adventurous restaurants for the first few months of our relationship. Then I will tell you that I really don't like fish/curry/MSG/meat/salt/or dairy.

6) I don't cook meat. In my family, the man grills. Even in snow.

7) I may watch more football than you. I will probably also watch more college basketball. But I refuse to watch Ultimate Fighting unless I'm drunk.

8) No brown liquor allowed in the house.

9) I exert control over the remote.

10) I have guy friends. Get over it.

11) My guy friends are assholes and will probably be mean to you. Get over it.

12) If you golf, I will insist on going. If you don't, I will go with my guy friends. You should get over that, too.

13) I'm still friends with ex's. However, they are ex's. So don't panic.

14) I go to bed early and wake up early.

15) I hate to be late. To anything.

16) I will make you return phone calls you don't want to return.

17) I have a cat. She will sit on you and lick your nose in the morning. I don't mind if you pick her up and toss her on the floor but if you kick her, we're done.

18) I hate yard work. And chores. A house will be clean but never spotless. Unless you want to hire a cleaning lady. An idea I fully endorse.

19) If we don't agree on politics, we shouldn't discuss them at all.

20) If you wear a hat in a restaurant and it is later than 10 a.m., I'll never be seen in public with you again.