Bitches, man.

I went back to my favorite restaurant in Brooklyn, the one with the cute Sicilian waiter, a week ago (or something). I don’t remember now exactly how it happened, but I ended up giving him my number and we were on a date a couple days later.

The texts leading up to the date were infrequent and flirtatious- we were meeting for a drink in Union Square and I told him that if he was sweet to me, I might consider going to the beach with him the following day.

He arrived really early for our drink, so when I arrived he was a few drinks in watching the World Cup at the bar. We decided to get a table and have dinner, first he had to smoke. He’s younger than I thought- and I don’t mean in his age per se, more in how he presents himself, dresses and acts. He is about 10-11 years my junior. I was not really feeling much, but I was not (yet) repulsed so I stuck with it.

Dinner was sweet and flirtatious- we sat on the same side of the table, physically at ease with each other. I mentioned early on that regardless of how sweet he was, we would not be going to the beach the next day due to the weather. All that beach stuff was a half joke to me, but I should be more careful with young foreign men. When I said something he found silly or sweet he would pull me close to him and kiss me on the neck or shoulder- I didn’t mind; a couple times our faces/mouths were very close and we nearly kissed but did not. He has a really interesting life story that I was curious to hear more about and it is very sexy to listen to someone look for the right words in Italian. Every now and then, he would teach me how to say things in Italian- which made us laugh, affection was easy with him. He often did this strange twisting thing with his tongue and ran the tip across his crooked teeth which was unsexy- it just confused me.

I was not particularly interested- I found him sort of macho, immature, and kind of sketchy. He also really likes to drink and talked about having a relationship with pot that was a turn-off for me, too. I mean- he is fine as he is, I don’t mean to sound judgey- it’s all good- I just was not feeling him. He was definitely sizing me up to determine what my values were regarding sleeping with his friends- and wanted me to know that they were off limits, which sounded like a bummer because he has a good sized group of young, Italian, soccer playing friends- which, in my imagination, could have entertained me for the whole summer. Alas.

I would have met him a second time- why not. I might have even taken him as a lover, why not. He was very doting and intense and that can be really fun in bed. Plus, not to stereotype but- hey, he is Sicilian! I had a Sicilian lover for many years and he lived up to every delicious stereotype regarding Sicilian men (sexually). I was hopeful. But things sort of took a nosedive when we were getting ready to leave the restaurant and I was preparing to go home. He wanted to take a walk in the park- I obliged. He wanted to sit and talk but the benches were wet so he wanted to go to a bar- I obliged. I sat and waited at a table while he went to the bar for drinks and in the time I was waiting, a man came up and offered to buy me a drink- probably out of good manners or something. My date caught a glimpse of this in the mirror behind the bar and was angry when he got to the table. He asked me what the man wanted and I told him he kindly offered to buy me a drink, no biggie- and my date turned around and yelled to the man ‘Oh? Would you like to come over here and offer to buy ME a drink?”

Ohhhhhhh Christ, here we go.

He turns back to me and asks if I am coming back to Brooklyn with him or are we going to my apartment uptown. I laugh and say that we are not having a sleepover tonight. He proceeds to sit up, stiffen, cross his arms while taking a sip of his (6th) drink. Gives me a dirty look. Starts looking around the bar at the other women there. I laugh again and ask him what’s wrong- he is dismissive, cold. We have some words and it essentially boils down to he felt misled because I am not going to go home with him- and even though I find this disgusting and manipulative, I did apologize if I said or did something to mislead him but that this behavior/exchange was definitely not changing my mind about it. Fucking childish. I tell him that it’s time for me to go home and I stand up to leave. He sucks down his drink and walks past me to the door, holding it wide and looking angrily into the distance as I pass through.

As we walk down the block he says some more bullshit about me going home with him “just to cuddle” and questioning my decision not to, after we seemed to have gotten along so well at dinner. This is all making me even more incredulous and angry, but I stayed pretty cool and just said “I am sorry that you are disappointed, [sexy Italian name here]. Maybe if you want to get together next week for a coffee or something, we can see what’s good then, Ok?”

And here, my friends, is the moment: he turns to me and says, “[my name here in a sexy Italian accent], either you come with me now, or I will just see you around” as he lights a cigarette and raises his arm to hail a cab. Gasp! I blinked hard, mouth agape, then shook my head, turned heel and crossed the avenue. He called out my name and I did not turn back. Go. Fuck. Yourself.

He catches up to me a block or two later, grabs my arm, I want to spit. Tries to spew all this pathetic dramatic bullshit about all the people who have let him down, how he does not meet women like me everyday and really wants to do whatever he has to do to make it up to me. My head is pulled back like a turtle and I am shaking it no, no, no. I said “I don’t want this [insert big arm gestures from him to me, circle around the air in between] in my life. This is crazy. So thank you for dinner, but, goodnight” and as he continues to try and explain, I hailed HIM a cab- gesture him in, he tries to kiss me and I turn my head, close the door on him, as he is calling out for me to text him when I get home.

Sure. No problem.

Needless to say, we are not going out again and I will have to connect to that crew of young Italian soccer players some other way 😉 I’m sure I will think of something…

 

 

xxx

Headlamps in the Lion’s Den

I have started and erased a sentence 8 times because I want to start this story the right way.  Been away from this, from you; and this story can get lost in the telling.

An old friend visited me last night.

We both have long been spiritual seekers-  sometimes humans come out that way; I did.  I was born during the Week of the Seeker. It wasn’t always clear in language that GOD is what I was seeking- sometimes it was connection, creativity, meaning, nature, sexuality- but it was always with me; and he (the friend who visited me last night) was the same from childhood too, though his seeking was always native and natural,Earthy, sexual.  Like I was the little girl in the outfield with the balls just rolling past because I was picking flowers and singing to the clouds and he was the messy muddy boy of frogs and fires.  We did not know each other as children, but grown, it is our wounded inner littles that often come out to play.

I remember vividly the first time I saw him- it was like that scene in the movie Requiem for a Dream (here) where they shoot up- prick, surge, dilate, swooosh and giggle- the pheromones detonating way before hello.  I saw his response across the room.  Within a week, I found him on Facebook; we exchanged veiled, charged messages (he had a girlfriend) and then I offered to lend him some gear for an upcoming solo camping trip he was taking.  A headlamp, sleeping bag.  The exchange that set it off was something like:

B(oy): So how will I get this gear from you?

G(irl): You can stop by my house to pick it up.  [Address provided]

B:  Sure.  I will walk into the Lion’s Den.

G:  Great, see you soon then.

When he came to pick up the gear, I served him tea and we played dress up.  He stood me on a foot stool in my green lace tights and adorned me with belts and feathers; I made him a crown of hydrangeas and a sequined bandeau.  It was late September, Indian Summer and we were very, very warm taking long, close breaths of each other- practically levitating from the energy building between us.  Twenty something and he had the dimple/brown eyed/crooked teeth trifecta that I lose my mind(panties) for; I was taut and leggy like a deer, wide open eyes like the sea.  That night we kissed and it broke the spell- I turned him out into the night with the headlamp and sleeping bag.

The next week is kind of blurry in my mind, but he reminded me of some of the details when I saw him last night.  There was the drive out into the hills to stargaze in the grass when the forbidden hesitations drove us wild; the ungraceful break up; climbing up my fire escape and staying in my bed for 2 days with the phone off.  Going back to his apartment to face what he had to face and then sitting on my stoop tying a bracelet he made around my wrist while he told me he was going to try and work things out at home.  It wasn’t love between us but it was something and I was sad to see him go, but I understood on a soul-level the necessity of what he had to do.  The mess that followed was not dignifying to anyone involved- violent threats and psychotic jealous all night phone calls, police reports, carrying mace.  More drama than I had seen in some time and I was glad, so glad, when it stopped.  We stayed away from each other for a long time- at first, deliberately and later just by virtue of leading different lives.  At some point we made a peace- I was seriously involved and living with someone else and we had both grown enough to prioritize forgiveness and love above all.  I think, too, that we had recognized the divinity in each other from the start but were using a very primitive language to express it.

To be honest, over the years I did not think much of him and was sort of forbidden to be even a casual acquaintance to him by my boyfriend at the time.  Funny the things that happen.  I guess I noticed who he was dating and sometimes heard of some of the more dramatic spectacles- I was probably judgy and cunty about all of it.  We had many mutual friends and a sort of peaceful ambivalence that worked.

A couple years later, he bubbled up in my consciousness because I was about 6 months out of the serious relationship and was looking to forget myself in someone else’s charm for a while.  In hindsight, the whole thing was pretty shitty- I manipulated and seduced him because I was hurting badly.  My hurts appealed to his instincts to heal and provide for someone, and he was trying to have a real relationship with me.  It was about two weeks and it hurt both of us but we managed to cut it off, give it space to breathe and be friends.  There was a little sputter one night and I went to his house, got mine and left- which was a cold cruel thing to do.

Hurt people hurt people, is what he told me.

So again we just became like a piece of art on the wall of each other’s imaginations- he was there/not there, it was peaceful, dormant, a non issue.  It was more than an old hook up but way less than a broken relationship, and it was fine.  I admired him in many ways for his creativity, playfulness, and spirituality.  He dated a very close friend of mine and while at first I was hopeful for them because I cared for them both and thought they might just be perfect for each other, in the end when that didn’t flourish, I sided with her and disposed of him energetically.

Fast forward to yesterday, 2 lightyears later: through a series of “coincidences” I was struck by some nostalgia for him, and decided to just reach out and invite him to coffee because I knew he was nearby and that he was moving very far away, very soon.  I wanted to make amends and be enchanted by his stories and his light.  I felt nothing but warmth and goodness, even if it was impulsive and wildly unpredictable for me to contact him.  And as our connection has always been a little reckless and hard to follow- it would make sense that hours later he is in my yoga class and we are like old friends.  I think the old friend feeling came both from that spiritual connection and that this story took place over the course of 6-7 years.  That and a lot of my affection for him is derived vicariously through the relationships he has with our mutual friends.

It was a beautiful night and I think that came from both of us being open to whatever evolved and that we were coming together as whole adult people.  I was able to apologize for the things I had done to harm him, he gave me the gift of forgiveness.  We were able to talk about our lives without reservation, and acknowledge the chemistry that remains between us.  We were discussing other relationships and he said something about mistaking chemistry for real connection that really struck me- we had both done that very same a dozen times.  We’ve grown into people who want to be able to express ourselves fully- including sexually- and we were comfortable relating to each other in what was a familiar but also totally new way.  And then something happened that rocked me, unexpectedly- like only intimacy with someone who truly knows you and cares for you can do.  In a half embrace we were nuzzling as he was touching me, and just as the sensation began to climax, he pulled my body close to him and held me tight in a full embrace, saying “I’ve got you, baby, it’s ok, I’ve got you” and my tears gasped out from a hidden place; buried in his neck, crying into our hair, he did not ease up and did not let go- he made space for whatever was releasing in me.  I guess in a way, for some time I had been experiencing orgasms in isolation- even in the company of lovers- like I sought the oblivion of them, “riding the outer ring of my own private Saturn” (the great poet Sean Daley, here:

It had been too long since I had been with someone who wanted me to connect to them in that moment, for me to feel safe enough to actually feel what was happening and to stay with me, or with them, there.  It was very humane and beautiful; and as friends we were able to move from that sacred moment into others sweet and silly and soon, sleepy.

This is exactly what I would seek to create in my own Utopia of what polyamory and “friends with benefits” would be.  Because look, he is great but I don’t have any longing to be anything different or more than the moments we share when we share them.  Most likely, I will not see him again for some time and I feel so peaceful about that- just blessing him on to the next thing knowing that he is doing the same for me.  What we shared last night- all of it- was previously unavailable to us.  It’s like one of the secret levels in a video game- we, or I, did not have the code, but do now.

It’s late and I’m tired so I’m getting a little rambly but I’m pretty sure there is a synthesis here, a complete loop, another dimension…  inwardly reorganized.  Makes me think of that spiritual tradition where people believe that we are born perfect and complete and that the whole life process is just about remembering all these things we are born knowing, our souls code.  I just remembered something; tho I can’t articulate it exactly, the visceral sensation is one of remembering and wholeness, I feel complete and recognizable to myself.

The other night I went to see a show with one of our mutual friends, and the nostalgia for this friend was ignited because our mutual friend had just gone to a show with him a few days before.  In the second encore, the musicians covered  Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper, the poetry of which has always been striking to me.

Time After Time

Cyndi Lauper

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,

And think of you

Caught up in circles confusion –
Is nothing new
Flashback – warm nights –
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after –

Sometimes you picture me –
I’m walking too far ahead
You’re calling to me, I can’t hear
What you’ve said –
Then you say – go slow –
I fall behind –
The second hand unwinds

If you’re lost you can look – and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you – I’ll be waiting
Time after time

After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows – you’re wondering
If I’m OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time—

xxx

In Good Company

Whooops I meant to post this on the eve of my 36th birthday (2 days ago)(it was beautiful, thank you).  Paula is probably 36 now too.

http://www.nytimes.com/video/opinion/100000002593981/35-and-single.html

 

xxx

The Upper Left Quadrant & The Over/Under

I may have mentioned somewhere along the way that during the 100/100 project, I met a woman that I would like to date.  I tend to be pretty hetero in my relationship conquests- when I was younger and drinking heavily I slept with a bunch of women, but have not really dated any. I find some women incredibly sexy and when I watch porn it is most often girl-on-girl or threesomes; this is pretty vanilla, I’m sure it somehow relates to internalized sexism and objectification but I don’t want to talk about that today. THE POINT IS that it is unusual for me to want to date a woman- you know, charm her, care for her, want to learn everything about her, explore and relate to her complex inner workings PLUS have a lot of sex with her- like an actual relationship.

So this woman is obviously exceptional.

Turns out, as it would, that she has been pretty active in the polyamorist/swingers community- not that I should be surprised by this AT ALL given who and what I seem to attract.  And some nudist group… but all this in addition to being brilliant, successful, generous, loving, so fun to be around and blindingly beautiful, inside and out.  Talking with her about my experience with my lover was really insightful… a little tough to swallow, but insightful- because to me it was, like, unfathomable, that someone could not connect emotionally and spiritually to a lover, ESPECIALLY to ME, but she set me straight with that nonsense.  Maybe I can’t do it.  But other people- for myriad reasons that extend from trauma to drugs to conscious emotional shut downs, do it all the time.  Even with compelling little me 😉  She advises that I stop seeing the lover individually but stay friends with him- go to a party, invite him as a third where applicable.  I don’t necessarily agree with her, I would still like to see him.  She and I are going to attend some parties together this summer- so, however I get entree into this world, all signs continue to point me there.

We have a date tonight- er, I don’t know if we call them dates yet- we see each other regularly and have a lot of shared interests so we have a lot of tentative plans.  Semantics, not the point.  We are going to a class on orgasmic meditation (OM)– not where we practice the technique on each other (more on THAT another time) but we prepare ourselves in other ways through breathing and meditation to have more spiritually expansive orgasms.  Or something like that.  Make sure to click around on that link up there- this is some information you do not want to miss if you are a woman, or a man who is interested in women having orgasms.

In other news…

Have you ever heard the expression “The best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else”??

Cute expression, right?! 😉 It’s not really been my style in the past… I tried it, once.  It was not good for me or him- I felt like I was on fire with anger and he caught feelings and got hurt because I was using him.  That felt super shitty and was a mess to clean up.  I don’t think it has to be that way at all- that was just my first try at it.

If you read my last post, then you know I was having some feelings regarding really wanting someone that I cannot have.  Yesterday afternoon as I was listening to more Sharon Van Etten and repotting some plants in the beautiful Brooklyn sunshine, it struck me that a good way to get this out of my system would be a nice little toss with  someone hot & new.  You know, a one night stand.  Honestly, I haven’t had one of those since maybe 2004 but I considered it a good idea.  I just don’t want to think about it anymore- I want it back on a shelf and out of my veins, right now.  I meant what I wrote about circling the wagons, too- I am so not interested in “finding” anyone right now- but if someone turns up, well- maybe.  Maybe.

I did, however, get this little idea in my head and I started to think specifically about a man who works at my favorite restaurant, which I had plans to go to last night.  He is tall and foreign (Italian :)) and super charming, maybe a little young, definitely someone who I once considered out of my league.  I don’t think that way anymore, as you know.  I put that specific idea aside and simply put it out there for the Universe that if She sees fit, to please put someone sweet in my path tonight for a little rendezvous.  A night cap in the garden.  Heh heh.

Not only did that Italian (Sicilian) man turn out to be one of our servers, but he is also a friend of the woman I was having dinner with so we were introduced.  Kiss kiss like the Europeans do.  Apparently, when I left the table to wash up, he came over to talk with my friend and said to her ‘your friend is very beautiful’ which was very sweet. Then when she left the table he came over to talk to me and we had one of those ridiculous/nervous/cute conversations, like we had no game.  It was on, I could feel it- I just felt a little shy about making a move once my friend came back.  As we were getting ready to leave, he came over and took our picture, then asked for a picture with each of us individually… then let us know that he was heading out for a night cap and asked us what we were drinking.  It was a clear opening, and I didn’t take it.  I balked, out of some respect or other feeling regarding our mutual friend.  When he hugged me goodbye, he kissed me on the cheek and stood back, continuing to hold my hand- he confirmed that he had my name right, and told me to please come back and see him soon.  I thanked him and told him I would, then wiggled out of there in my little mini dress, smiling.

Don’t you think I didn’t regret it, like I didn’t want to turn back and be there waiting for him when he walked out the door.  Meeeoooww. Nice that the Universe agrees I need to keep on, and quick- whether that is the old over/under or an OM class with my sweetie while I maintain this other more inward focus,entirely.

cheers to letters & sodas

xxx

 

Set It Off!

Welcome SUMMERTIME with 87 degrees in NYC on the Tuesday after Memorial Day.  Ready for a swim; show ya skin; Gemini season.  I don’t know why but I have been having nightmares for days.

Time to turn that round.  Turn this up:

#obsessed

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/

#informed

http://www.kitchendaily.com/read/hibiscus-flower-water-recipe

#refreshed

xxx

Day 13: From the Boudoir: Vulnerability

August 1998: A group of us had been working together in a restaurant for a little over a year.  We were young and beautiful and totally wild- so boheme, so alive.  Revelers, artists, drug addicts, drunk by noon- swapping lovers and cigarettes casually, Royalty in an isolated scene of brilliance and waste.  I vaguely remember waking up around 11am, melatonin pills mixed with bong hits and iced coffee, floating around in any water we could find until around 2… then we would shower together because it was faster & the tub would back up to our shins from our long long mermaid hair; roll out dewy in little dresses and springy wet curls, smokes blazing, to work, waiting tables.  We worked really hard and made tons of money for 20 year olds- often drinking our way through shifts, leaving each other bumps on the backs of toilets in the restrooms.  We would take our drinks with us when we left the bar after work, sometimes long after work, always too intoxicated to drive- and then we would head about 15 minutes north and find our friends in this tiny 3 bar town on the Hudson River.

I remember exactly what I was wearing the night that I fell in love with him.  I remember it was mid August and I was all bronze and blond wisp highlights, pepper freckled and never wearing any underwear, high like a hot air balloon and good to go, for most anything, most of the time.  Strappy black sundress with tiny white dots, entering a packed bar humming and twinkling and clinking like these places always do in memory, bar doors and windows open to the night.   Forgetting that I was still wearing my apron until my amigo the drummer came and affectionately reached his hands behind my back and kissed me on the lips while he untied it, low slung on my hips, laughing back and pulling me by the hand to the bar.  We were shooting Jack and celebrating because a few great friends, who I only knew by legend, had just returned from The Lemon Wheel.

One of them had caught my eye at The White Party a few months before. That night we all wore white and were handed Ecstasy upon arrival; TVs tuned to other rooms in the house, drone music and ultraviolets, whisky bottles and free sweet love in every corner and on the floor.  Ten foot red bullseye painted in the hallway, mannequins with fur boleros and never enough cigarettes to last the night.  I saw him there passing through rooms and across the TV screens, and then he passed through the walls, passed and gone and I didn’t think of him again until this night in August.

We locked eyes across the room, like young lovers do, in bars.  My heart burst into confetti and fireworks.  Made our way across the room, like Bollywood magnet people, to collapse deep into the black leather corner of a booth, surrounded by friends.  Holding hands and massaging thighs under the table while we laughed and shared stories of the summer with our friends, a long armed philodendron like a Beltane crown behind our heads.  I had a disposable camera from vacation with a few frames left, which was drunkenly passed around the table, later to find someone captured our first kiss— the paint on his shirt, my moonstone necklace, faces fitting like puzzle pieces- we had the same coloring, aura and song.  Trays and trays of shots and drinks all night long, I don’t even remember lifting 2 of the carved stone shot glasses as a memento of our evening before we left together.  I don’t remember driving home, except for some flashes of night air and whizzz passing through the windows, while we sang Dave Matthews ‘Crash’ loud as sailors…

When I woke the next day to a perfect summer morning, birds sun breezy and soft clean sheets, he was laying there watching me, eyes like blue ice marbles, indentation in the bridge of his once badly broken nose.   He had taken too big of a nitrous hit at the festival and fallen on his head and there were red blotches of broken blood vessels on the whites of his eyes, yellow-purple ring remnants of a shiner.  I remember feeling a little embarrassed, when I got up to pee, stepping out of the bed to find 3 wrappers and neatly tied condoms in the waste basket.  I think we had made love on the roof; I think we may have been up all night; I think we spilled wine in the bed.  I took a shower, coming back into the lemon-sun & diamond dust room, he was standing on his head in my bed, singing along to Octopus’ Garden, toppling over to smile at me.  He tugged on my towel and pulled me back into the soft bed, watching my eyes as he went down on me, legs skin hands and white light.  So in love, so in love- like only relatively unbroken 20 year old summertime girls could be.

The next few weeks were both winged and endless, as he was away to work in the city and I was barely touching the ground.  Developing those pictures to find our kiss, I kept that picture over the speedometer in my car and listened only to the mix tape he made for me, with the sparkle sun and moon stickers, his own songs mixed in.  I told them all we were decidedly in love- he was The One, and we were so happy to have found each other.  It felt true, between the lines and bottles, bodies of other lovers and dreaming of him every night, as he whispered ‘you are the light of the world’ and the world seemed to pixilate and fade.

He came back mid-September, we stayed up all night confessing our love and gratitude for finding each other, to each other and anyone else who wanted to listen to us while we blew lines and and kept our hands warm in each others sweaters and draw string pants.  The next morning, in the back yard, entwined and gazing, stream of consciousness word associations and nothing that made any sense at all.  A hedgehog passed us by and a friend knocked on the window to invite us in for breakfast.  Together we quietly and happily washed all the dishes, soapy hands sliding up each others forearms, kisses nuzzles and giggles.  I was wearing a red sweater, first hints of autumn descending, somersaults in the hallway by the stairwell.  Sitting on the back of my car before I went to work that afternoon, our plan was that when he came back from another couple of weeks of work, that he would move in with me and I would support us while he looked for work.  It felt very matter of fact, our certainty in finding each other, followed only by the certainty that together was how we would be from that moment on.

The next week, prophetic dreams and the highest vibrations.  Collecting fabric for his quilt, buying a guitar to sing him songs, yard sale block parties in the street.  Updating everyone on our plans- some people so thrilled, and others pointing out how insane this might be.  Nothing in me questioned any of it or him for a second ever, from the moment we locked eyes in the bar.  I watched the map of my life unfold and populate like an animated movie in my mind.  The picture on my dash wrinkling in the corners from all of the times that I pulled it out to kiss it and slip it back between the plastic and the glass.

That Saturday the restaurant was busier than ever, the smell of hickory smoke in the crisp September air.  Scandal breaks when the bartender from our sister restaurant calls to see if I am there, because she just found out there was a murder in town and she heard the victim was me.  It’s 8pm and the place is jumping, none of us can really piece together what is happening but we know something has gone horribly wrong and it is very very close to us.  By 10pm we can shake off the mistaken identity, but it is confirmed that someone was killed that night. We heard the description of the person who committed the murder, it rang familiar but couldn’t place him.  We were all accounted for, between where we were and the satellite houses, and so we cleaned up and decided to go home.  I was about a mile down the road and turned around to go back to the restaurant to grab a couple bottles of wine for the bath. I walked through the front doors, ceiling lofted and light above me- saw my friends turn to me, faces falling, everything kind of slows as one of them moves toward me, arm around my shoulder taking me out to the front lawn.  He looked in my eyes and told me that my love had killed his ex-girlfriend, my legs gave out beneath me.  I called my closest friend, choking and unable to speak into the receiver- she said my name and told me to come to the house immediately.

We held vigil all night, piecing together the timeline and the facts, between our house and the main house where the SWAT team had surrounded and arrested him earlier.  The last kindness I remember that evening was my friend cracking open the door to the back bedroom, where I was half passed out and sobbing.  He came into my bed and spooned me, saying that a friend had called to make sure I was alright, and was I alright? it was going to be alright.  shhhhhhhh…  shhhhhhhhhh…  it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok…