Hello Walls

Fell into some of my old journals and couldn't get out. So difficult to believe sometimes that they are me. That I was that person. So much melancholy, angst, pain and even rage. Is that just the way it is when you're that age? Cuz it's all sunshine and daisies now.

But looking back I'm reminded of so many things, things I forget about. Thinking about the D-D-T cokehead chronicles. The thing with cokeheads is that they are not to be trusted, ever, under any circumstances. They lie. They may have the best of intentions, they might love you to death, but they really just can't help themselves. They don't know how to do anything else.

The first D was a trickster. The first time we were alone happened because he lied to me in order to get me away from the rest of the group. He lied and I went with him willingly and then he pointed for me to see something that wasn't there and when I least expected it he totally jumped me. I knew nothing until suddenly I was being pulled into his arms and kissed. One of those moments where the kiss comes out of nowhere and I'm oblivious, blind-sided, shocked . . . but not unresponsive. I liked the first D afterall. I just never dreamed he liked me back. I must be naive. It's the only answer. Why else does that keep happening to me? The surprise kiss. These things don't happen to other girls.

Before the first D there was Kev's surprise kiss. Kev never believed me, never believed that I didn't see it coming I mean. When he asked me to turn out the lamp and I leaned down toward the light and into him, I actually intended to turn out the lamp and then leave. The kiss was a complete shock. A good shock, I had been stalking him for months . . . but shocking nonetheless. Another trickster, though the lie about the lamp was slightly less innovative than the first D's lie about the brook with the waterfall. Then again Kev was not a master liar, not a cokehead.

The first D was a liar, but not a very good one as he was easily caught out on many occasions. He was jealous and moody and demanding and together we were a supernova romance -- explosive, intense, hot, too much. I fled after only 10 months, but did not recover for many years. I even tried to come back once. The only time I've ever done that.

T was another surprise kisser. He had been hanging out at the club a lot, a regular. Cute as a button, he was. Boyish good looks. But a cokehead. He was somewhat younger than me and his life was spiraling. I had a strong desire to mother him. He had a good job, but he called in sick at least once a week if not more. He wandered night and day, like he was looking for something. I liked him. He had a pleasant way about him and he could make me laugh.

We went out one night to another club, in town, to play pool and socialise. I thought nothing of this, we were friends afterall. I didn't even recognise his not-so-smooth attempts at flirting. When we walked into the club he leaned into my ear and asked me what it felt like to have everyone looking at me. Perhaps more effective had there been other girls present. I laughed so hard, pinched his cheek and made some remark about the worse pick-up line in history. I never imagined it actually was a real attempt.

We closed that club and went back to close mine, or open for after-hours, whichever way you looked at it. I was headed behind the bar to get us drinks and wham! The surprise kiss. I wasn't prepared. I pulled away and he turned red and starting apologising and I continued on to get the drinks, told him it was okay, I was just a little stunned. He didn't get the surprise thing, figured I must've seen this coming. How naive can one girl be? But I really hadn't. And it shook me a little. The awkward moment passed. We hung out drinking and watching tv for hours, and as the sun started coming up, I thought why the hell not? And kissed him.

But T was a major cokehead, not to be trusted, and I knew it. I laid down the rules right from the beginning. I didn't want anything serious, no comittment, no jealousy, no promises, no disappointments. He agreed. And then we continued to see each other almost every night of the week for many months. His downward decline was a terrible thing to watch. I tried to encourage him to quit because he was a bright boy, he could've done anything he wanted. He was smart. He mentioned looking for work in Alberta and I told him to go for it. He needed a change. Maybe he could pull himself together with a new job in a new place, away from old friends. He started looking online and found a good job (ironically in pharmaceuticals), got hired, planned to move. I was happy for him. I thought this was a good chance for him to straighten up and get his life in order.

He joked that I should go with him. I laughed and said maybe, but I had no intention of leaving. I didn't take the thing seriously. We had rules. We were just playing around I thought. Friends. Then jealousy reared one morning when he found me playing cards with the second D and others. He was not following the rules, and even if he wasn't nothing had happened for him to be jealous about. The whole thing ended with him crying in the car as he dropped me off at work, telling me I broke his heart. How much of that was the never-ending coke binge and how much was sincere? I still don't know. He left the next day and I've never seen him since. I've heard of him though. People are under the impression he's kicked the habit. He's got a girl and a kid and a house and a job, so maybe he's okay.

Which brings me to the second D of the card game, the worse liar of them all. T at the very least never tried to hide his habit. It was out there. The second D would claim allergies when you asked about his runny nose. He told my mother he was allergic to KFC one time and I spit beer all across the bar in my laughter. He would borrow money and never give it back. He would snort in the bathroom and then come out, look you in the eye, and say he'd been clean for three weeks. He'd make up reasons to send me out of the room when lines were going to be done, so I would never see anything. On many occasions I told him I didn't like the secrets, the hiding, it wasn't necessary. I think he was ashamed. He didn't want me to know how bad it really was. But I knew. It was obvious he had a bad problem. In more honest moments he told me he dreamed about piles of white powder that he couldn't get to and a terrible thirst like he was in a desert.

But still, he was my anchor, my safe place to fall. I could count on him to drop everything and be there when I needed him, he'd even drop the coke . . . or at least bring it along. A lot of people didn't know anything was going on, just thought we were friends. And we were friends, best friends, we went everywhere together and did everything. We would laugh so hard we'd be in pain afterward. He would argue with me, debate, and he was quick. I liked that. He was also stubborn, wouldn't back down, and I liked that too. He knew just when to let me win and when to whip my ass. We always had a good time and the simplest things seemed to be fun when we were together. But he always wanted more from me than I was willing to give. It frustrated him completely. We would have terrible fights and he'd go into jealous rages.

The thing with the second D was that I really liked him. I liked him so much it scared the shit out of me.

I remember the day I realised how much he liked me. We were talking about some party we had been to, some crazy scheme we got involved in. I was low on details. I had the story down but setting/costumes/props were fuzzy. He remembered everything, especially about me. Described what I had worn, how my hair was done, which colour it was, the earrings I had on, my shoes . . . it was the most unusual conversation I've ever had with him. This night was an insignificant night from a few years earlier like so many others and yet he was exactly right, he had the details. That scared me to death. But then when he went on and he knew what I wearing the first time he ever saw me, the first thing I ever said to him, the way I smelled the first time we danced. It was too intense for me. Nobody ever paid that much attention before, or if they did, they didn't tell me.

This of course sent love-phobic me into a tailspin, on the run. I didn't see him for months. And you've heard this story before I'm sure, I must've blogged about it, but as soon as I decided that I was done running, it was time to get real and grow up, as soon as I made up my mind to see if he wanted to try a boyfriend/girlfriend non-platonic relationship like "normal" people, he called and said he was moving to Alberta. I never told him, didn't want to ruin his second chance at a good life without the drugs. Like with T, I figured if he got away from his friends he'd stand a better chance of breaking all the habits. So, I kept my mouth shut and I just went and spent the last week with him, talked him through it because he was afraid to go, he'd never been away and I had. I helped him pack. I eased his mind. And he never knew that if he hadn't called me that afternoon I would've called him that evening to tell him I was crazy about him.

Ahh, but he was still a cokehead, right. So the universe steps in to stop me from making a big mistake. Five and a half years later I know this and I'm thankful for her intervention. It was the best thing that could've happened. He is out of my life for good and while we're probably both better for it, I definitely am for sure.

Which brings me to the journal entries I mentioned way back at the beginning of this saga that brought all these memories to the surface today. I stumbled across them as I looked for my quitting smoking piece. And it appears I was still waffling on the subject over three years ago.

January 1st, 2002

2002. Who would have ever dreamed that the 80's would slip away? And then just once you've adjusted to the 90's, it's time for the new millenium, and now that too is all old hat. 2002. No big deal . . . except that D called on the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve. Difficult to say who was more excited, me or F. Perhaps me, even though outwardly F was busting. After the initial shock, I kept things in check. Same house, same girl (girl! she's old enough to be his mother), the hint of a visit in spring. Only a visit. Probably with the girl, depending on schedules, he said. And the only thing that sticks out is when I asked how that whole girl thing was working out he said, "Good. Good. Really good." Trying to convince me or himself? This didn't sound like him. And then added, "It's not the same . . ." Not the same, trailing off into nothing . . . Not the same as what? As it used to be in the beginning with her? As it once was with us? As it could've been with us? As it was with anyone from here? Is he making a simple statement on the cultural change of locale? I don't know. Am I trying to read something where there is nothing to be read? And what if he does come home? What do I do? After all this time . . . do I tell him? Can I stand to shake things up like that? What if he brings her and there isn't a moment with him by myself? And even worse what if he is amazingly happy and they are great together and I must suffer in silence and watch what could've been me. I don't know if I can pretend, if I'm up for the act. Surely he'd see through it, like I always saw through his. And worse, she may see through it and call me on it. And all of this thought and consideration and contemplation on a maybe idea, me wanting to try and trusting nobody else to try with. How nuts is that? My problem has always been timing. My timing is way off. By the time I reach a comfort zone, a trust level, a good place, the buggers have run off. Every time. Timing is the D concern. I waited too long.

Mood: trifle melancholy, but mostly optimistic and happy
Drinking: coffee, black . . . eating what possibly might be the worse potato dish in the history of potatoes, a disgrace to my Irish roots
Listening To: Eurthymics, Angel
Hair: pulled off my face, held with a white scrunchie