12 Greatest Hits / Patsy Cline
My mother hated D. There were a myriad of reasons. She told me a hundred stories, some of which I knew were impossible, others I wasn’t so sure. However, I was stubborn. When D. and I got together, I would have given us a month before our differences annoyed to the point of no return. Instead, since my mother almost instantly forbid us to speak, there was an immediate bond. The result was that ultimately the relationship lasted 6 years.
My third weekend in college, something changed. It was a subtle change, like the shift in light from one season to the next, though the long term effect was rocking like an earthquake.
I had tried to call D. to no avail. This was odd, we had agreed to call and that was not like him. Hours passed and I was getting very worried. Finally reaching his mother, she told me that she thought he was with me, that he had last been seen at my house. That was odd, I tried to call home and got no answer. For hours I spun in a loop of phone calls and endless ringing. I went through fear, anger, certainty of some horrible accident and into the numbing calm that one reaches on the other side of hysteria. I had cried until I simply had no more tears.
Some where around 4 am, I reached D. He sounded weary.
“Where were you? Are you alright? What happened?”
“I was with your mother.”
“All night?” I admit my first reaction was a sinking fear, but it was quickly replaced by hope.
“Yeah. I guess. I got there …it was about 6. I saw her at the post office…” I could hear him checking his watch and almost see him trying to discern how many hours away that was and giving up.
“And…?” I was thinking maybe the tides had changed. They had talked all night. They had gotten to know one another, finally. There would be peace and we could all get along. I would get messages if he left them; I would be welcome in my home… It had been over a year that if he called and she answered, she hung up. Notes left for me, ripped up. Maybe things might change.
“I can’t see you any more.” The words hung in the air. I said nothing. “She told me you were sick, mental, ya know. And if I really loved you, I would do what it takes for you to be better. I do love you. I really want you to be okay…. I’m so tired. I have to go…” And with that the line went dead.
So I was sick. Mentally ill. Maybe she was right. I was miserable. I hated where I was. I didn’t fit in with anyone around me. I certainly cried a lot. She had convinced this person who knew me better than I knew myself that I was unwell… It must be.
I slept for a few hours and called home. Mother took my call. She was friendly and cheerful. She told me of course I could come home, right then. She knew just what to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment