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“I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.

~Oscar Wilde



What can I say? I’ve been thinking about what to write for three or four days now. Always write a story after a trip to St. Louis, Soulard, The Center of my Universe, Joanie’s.



Always.



I got to spend the better part of three days with people that were glad to see me. More than one person whispered in my ear, while either hugging me or shaking my hand, that I was a good man. I got to eat a crispy chicken sammich with bacon. Twice. I drank too much and smoked too much. I cussed too much. I laughed more than I have in months.



I got to spend the better part of two of those days with in arm’s reach of a woman I adore. My Muse. I’ve got that tattooed on my arm so I can keep it close. Under my skin. Muse.



I actually sat upstairs in the place for the first time ever so I could watch her and steal a word or two. She sat down with me when it slowed down and she listened as I talked about my Grandfather passing and how my Grandmother was handling it. I told her the same things I told my Mom. That she wouldn’t last long, how could you after that amount of time with someone? I told her I would be happy when she got to see her man again. She just let me talk, never interrupted, even though I still do.



She asked me how my health was doing and I told her some days I felt okay and some days I felt like I was dying slowly too fast.



I met a man from Mississippi, who came to Soulard from England the month after I left. He has a daughter that was born in the same hospital in Hawaii that I was. Same as Mona. He is leaving this July to go back to England. I saw the same look in his eyes as he gazed upon inspiration as I am sure I have when I dare look in that direction.



I listened as I was told by that inspiration how he had helped her family out a lot. I walked over to him later and whispered in his ear, "I just want to tell you I appreciate the things you have done for her family. I’ve been all over this country and met hundreds of people. Known good women in a dozen places. No one means more to me." He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, "She was the first person I met in Soulard. She is as kind hearted as they come. She means the world to me too." "You’re a good man Tom." "You are too Kevin."



Twelve hours I sat there on Sunday. Twelve damn good hours. It might as well have been five minutes.



"Are you still reading the stories?" "Yes." "Are you still listening to all of those CDs?" "Yes. I have a "Kevin book" with all of your letters and stories in it, and I have a "Kevin’s music" with all of the CDs you made in it."



Who says the mix tape was a thing of the 90s?



"You’ve got a Kevin book and a Kevin’s music?" "I do" "That makes me smile. Thank you." "You don’t have to say thanks."



"You know Johnny Cash sings a song called Rose of my Heart?" "Really?" "I’ll send it to you."



She tells me she hasn’t read everything. Time. She tells me she has read all of the "book" I left for her the day I moved away from my favorite place in the world. I change the subject fast and tell her I have something nice and short to read and I’ll give it to her before I leave. That is the second time she has mentioned finishing it and I changed the subject both times.



"Bared my soul."



No reply just a smile which is as good a reply as any.



"Got your name, what I call you in my stories, etched into my skin for eternity."



Smile



"That takes a lot of, hell what is the word I am looking for, starts with a C?



"Commitment?"



"Yeah that’s it."



"Hey Kevin you want another shot of Tuaca?" "Please."



"I told Mom that I was with you and she is going to keep Kayne tonight." "You want to go out later?"



I said yes knowing full well I was going no where but across the street to lay my head down on Kirby’s couch. When the time rolled around I told her I was going to bail on her and go get some rest. I hugged her sister who was on my other side and told her it was the best hug I have had in a long time. "I miss you Kevin. You’re a good guy."



I half hugged my drinking buddy for the day. Felt like I was going to combust and said, "You should go home. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful."



It took my 15 minutes to walk 20 feet.



I should go back and ask her to just stay with me. What if something happens? I should go back. No, just keep walking. Go back. Keep walking.



I walked back into that bar Monday morning.



"You look like ****." "You got me drunk Kevin." "I went home dear. I feel fine."



I ate my sandwich, which Mona bought, and turned down one for the road. I took a picture with Mona and she whispered into my ear, "Thank you for the stories". I shook my head when I figured out someone had given in and was asleep upstairs.



I hugged Mona and walked out the door. It was a lovely weekend. The beginning was just like I expected and so was the end. The middle was a pleasant surprise. Every time I hear the words, "He might be moving back" come out of those lips I get a little bit closer.



Bared my soul.



It really is the Center of the Universe. People from all over the country and the world end up in that place. Some forever, some for just a short while. No one forgets it. All it takes is one look in those eyes or one smile from Mona; one night listening to Al talk about poker. One crispy chicken sammich with bacon and you’d never be the same again.



A snowy night in late February. A summer drink seminar. Looking around and realizing that the ages of the people sitting at the bar ranged from 6 to 80 and at some point every single person at that bar was involved in a conversation with every one else.



The better part of two days with in arms reach of a woman I adore.



Kevin









Mona and me:

Mate....

Make something happen or move on. You are driving yourself mad. I thought this was just a piece of fiction 'til I got to the photos - good fiction, mind you! "Wear your tribulation like a rose."

Muses stay muses. They never become more or less or anything else.

Clodhopper;827344 wrote: Mate....

Make something happen or move on. You are driving yourself mad. I thought this was just a piece of fiction 'til I got to the photos - good fiction, mind you! "Wear your tribulation like a rose."

Muses stay muses. They never become more or less or anything else.


I drove myself mad years ago. It was a nice trip.

Everyone always thinks it's fiction.

That sort of madness is not a nice trip. It's loneliness and self pity and too much alcohol and going round and round one question until you've created a deep, dark hole where no-one can reach you.

She has her life, her loves, her job, people that are there every day, and a significant visitor (you). You are a very small and probably rather worrying part of her life. From what you've written she must be aware of your feelings. Has she given you a clear, unambiguous "come on" signal? Again, from what you've written - no.

Conclusion: she doesn't want you the way you want her. Accept it. Move on.

Clodhopper;828089 wrote: That sort of madness is not a nice trip. It's loneliness and self pity and too much alcohol and going round and round one question until you've created a deep, dark hole where no-one can reach you.

She has her life, her loves, her job, people that are there every day, and a significant visitor (you). You are a very small and probably rather worrying part of her life. From what you've written she must be aware of your feelings. Has she given you a clear, unambiguous "come on" signal? Again, from what you've written - no.

Conclusion: she doesn't want you the way you want her. Accept it. Move on.


I'm glad you know the both of us so well. The situation, the history, the present. I'm glad you are able to extrapolate a deep dark hole of self pity from a story about a friend and once lover who enjoys reading my stories and my taste in music.

I appreciate the candor and the observations. I'm sure it was prefaced by the hundreds of stories I have written over the past year detailing the past two years of this relationship as well as the dozens and dozens I have written describing the last oh, 17 years of my life.

Next time you are following close behind my Muse and I listening to the talk and watching our friendship speak up and I'll buy you a drink.



Until then I'll let the next story speak the rest for me.

http://www.forumgarden.com/forums/showt ... post828763

I am absolutely not upset or angry with your choice of comments. I really do appreciate them.



KB

KB, thanks for not being offended!

I came back and re-read my comment and was a bit startled at how harsh it appeared - it wasn't my intent to be harsh, but I was a touch hungover after a good night with friends:o... the self censor wasn't operating as it usually does. Perhaps as well it was because I've been in a situation fairly similar to the one you describe and was critical of myself for the reasons I gave. Sometimes I can be very harsh, perhaps too harsh, on myself!:rolleyes:

At the same time words and writing reveal the author, often more than the author consciously realises, and that's a risk we take when we post or write anything. I'm not boasting when I say that the close analysis of writing is a strength of mine.

Anyway, I'll get on and read your next piece now.

Nothing quite like appreciation! I remember the buzz I got when some of my poetry did well and strangers were very nice about it. (Head swells at the memory and Clods can't fit it through the door)

Fell free to say and write what ever you wish. It's better than staring at a blank response area. I know where I stand with her and she with me. This forum is full of the situation.

It is a beautiful thing I wouldn't trade for all the gold in the world. My strength lies in my writing and writing exactly what I want to write knowing the effect it will have. I say exactly what I want to say when I want to say it.

Clodhopper;828782 wrote:

Nothing quite like appreciation! I remember the buzz I got when some of my poetry did well and strangers were very nice about it. (Head swells at the memory and Clods can't fit it through the door)


No strangers quoted there except for the obvious one and the woman from Glasgow.

KB.;828786 wrote: No strangers quoted there except for the obvious one and the woman from Glasgow.


The strangers are the ones I really value as lit crit - the rest could just be friends being nice. Paranoid? Me?:wah:

I say exactly what I want to say when I want to say it.


I've no doubt you do - but that doesn't mean that it can't reveal more about you and your situation than you are aware of! We all do it! Words are damned hard to pin down. They wriggle!:wah:

Like my best friend told me, "No it is good, if it wasn't I just wouldn't say anything."

Of course a lot of people don;t say anything. Haha.