#55 Red Chair, Bunch of Knives and a Man Named Rocco

The kid won 1^st place in her chess section. She just moved up recently, and won first place in two separate tournaments. I’m sure the family is cheering for her tonight as she lifts her giant trophy over her petite body.

Tonight, I know that secretly they think their kid is smart, very smart.

I know it is true because of the way they cheer for their girl and push her to win. My guess is that she wants to win.

Others can duke it out over who wants to win more. Who will win??? Now, that’s a competition!

Isn’t this an interesting navel gazing exercise.

That is not a question it is a statement.

A man, in a red wheelchair, on the subway was screaming about black supremacy and I looked around at dark skinned people who were rolling their eyes and smirking at his rant. He was loud and scary. He kept yelling at us to recognize him and the triumphs of blacks. It was so aggressive that it made it hard to listen to his words and sympathize with his passionate message. I almost felt like stopping him from screaming, asking him to speak softer, so that I could listen. Maybe everyone would listen. He was threatening and even began his rant, “these are times of uncertain violence and danger!!” I wasn’t sure if he would set off a bomb, pull out a bunch of knives or attempt a spontaneous violent attack. So I kept my head down and read.

Next to me sat a man I will call Rocco. He was giant stranger and had a small hoop earring pierced in the center external fleshy part of the ear that connects to his cheek. I whispered to him without turning my head, “ I am in no mood to be screamed at today.” He just barely smiled and kept his eyes locked on his aging yellowing paperback. The pages were slightly ripped and his hands were so gigantic that they covered almost the entire page as he held his book. I guess I felt safe sitting next to this giant. He might protect me? I doubt it.

I was sitting in the first car of the train. The rant was escalating and I wanted to scream at him, beg him to shut up. I wished I had ear buds and was listing to music to block him out. But he kept going and going.

Finally, the conductor, a black woman, came out of her enclosed driver’s compartment, opened the door- almost hitting him. “Young man, will you please keep it down!”

She closed the door and proceeded to move the train along.

“I won’t keep it down! “ he screamed. “I will never keep it down! That is the problem, people want us to keep it down!”  His screams continued as he moved away from where the conductor spoke to him.  He moved through the train screaming, unrelenting.

He left the car.

I continued reading, but also thought about what he shared. A word trophy to consider.

#54 Blue Girl

I’m sitting on the Uptown 6 train and a woman gets on. Her hair is blue, not ordinary blue but cerulean blue which reminds me of fuchsia henna, except it isn’t henna. It is truly blue. She is young, probably in her mid-20’s and her face is angelic. She is an angel with blue hair. Her skin has a bluish hue and I search for traces of blue henna staining her hairline, near her brow. There is no stain. She is perfect and her skin is flawless. I notice her hand holding the bar next to me. I don’t see any veins or signs of age. Is she human? I wonder. Her hair is long and thick and she is looking at her friend who pales in every way by contrast to the Blue Angel. They are speaking a combination of Spanish and English: Spanglish. I don’t really want to listen to her voice because it detracts from her bluish being.  How can I describe her angelic face: Helena Bonham Carter circa Room With A View. You remember. You cannot take your eyes off her giant eyes, elfin nose and cherubic, pillow lips.

(About 10 years ago, Helena got out of a cab at Prince and Broadway. No one recognized her as she stood there with a tiny map in hand. She was lost. I approached her.

Helena: “Can you tell me where Anthropooologie is?”

Me: “That is on West Broadway. This is Broadway. Walk that way (pointing west) and make a left on West Broadway. Walk past Spring Street and you will see it.”

Helena:”Thank you!”

I don’t say anything because I am playing it cool and pretend I don’t know who she is. She has entered her Tim Burton phase and her hair is piled on her delicate head with many sparkly clips and she is wearing her ragamuffin skirt from the Charlie And The Chocolate Factory film wardrobe. She is clearly in deep.

She will stock up on more of her bohemian stuff at Anthropooologie, no doubt.)

The Blue Angel is talking to her friend.

“Can you believe they treat the kid that way?”

“Oh my god, no!”

(Spanish, Spanish)

“And at a day care center!”

“That is so wrong!”

More Spanish.

I look at her legs. They are stocky, not what I expect, but I’m glad.

I don’t want her to catch me staring.

I look at her fingers. Blue and perfect.

It’s Grand Central and she and her friend depart.

I know I will never see that hair again.

#53 Ten Years Of My Life, Using Three Word Sentences (Age 30-40).

Painting large paintings.  Painted tiny paintings. Wallpaper flowery collages. Great Soho studio.  Met cool people. Mourned a relationship. Lasted many years. Ended in sorrow. Killed with pain. Loved the studio. Enjoying the space. Attacking the surfaces. Needed great attention. Felt largely ignored. Confused about creativity.  Made great friend. She moved away.  Felt betrayed first. I was incorrect. Great friendships endure. Even with marriage. Deceived by distance. Worked corporate office.  Learned about textiles. Enjoyed quality furniture. Never cared before. Too much money.  Quality does count. Living downtown alone. Needing to search. Crazy for love. Longing for companionship. Entertaining two cats. Lived with me. Many, many years. Was I cruel? One cat died. Having great times. Travelling the west.  Communing with nature. Dating several men. Sleeping around some.  Hated dating scene. Had first hangover. Had last hangover.  Tequila, vodka headache. Never threw up. Slept with someone. One ugly penis. His bad complexion. He used me. I used him! Needed a break. Flew to Denver. Drove over Rockies. Treacherous, slick roadways. Tiny weak car. Drove too much. Got too tired. Felt great excitement . Discovered red rocks. Amazed by landscape. Never thought possible. Drove through Moab. Enjoyed Monument Valley. Valley of the Gods. Goose Neck view. Stood Four Corners. Needles Overlook canyon. Inspired many paintings. Listened to Enya. Driving down switchbacks. Panic and fear. Proud of accomplishment. Followed the map. Hiking in desert. Stopped abstract painting. Didn’t work out. Started grad school. Packed up paintings. Gave them away. Forgot about that. Moving toward future. Began psychoanalytic training . Finished it all. Started second training. Loved the work. Work at clinic. Worked with kids. Started private practice. Got first office. Hated crazy landlord. Learned to budget. Figured out friends.  Parents moved south. Cater waiter jobs. Back rooms  Met. Secret passages, MOMA. Set tables correctly. Served from left. Collect from right. Crushes gay men. Not sure why. Hate friends wedding. Felt I couldn’t. Didn’t understand why. Not sure how. East Village apartment. Had no closet. Lots of hair.  Lots of dust. Across from mosque.  Call to prayer. Two times daily.  Sick cow sound. Wish I understood. Never understood Ramadan. Rugs on street. 11^th and 1st.  Men kneeling east. Blocking the street. Near Tompkins Square. Visit Brooklyn friends. Some had babies. Some got married. Some got divorced. Some moved away. Some all above.  I felt strange. Biological time clock. Tick tick tick. Hated my period. What’s it for? Travelled to NE. Had a boyfriend. He didn’t click. I tried hard. Wished for magic. Never did work. Hard break up. On Nantucket pier.  Felt so dumb. Never spoke again. Mailed a box.  Stuff left behind. An Italian dish. Wish him well. Feared broken heart. Once again tangled. Not the case. I got lucky. Met nice person. Deserve this luck? Why so soon? He was desperate. So was I. We fit together. Got super lucky. A good egg. Move in together. He wanted kids. I was 40. So we tried. I got pregnant. I had baby. Love of life.  Things move fast. Tick tock tick. Never can  trust. The truth hurts. Anger rules all. No, fear does. Follows you around. Never passes fairly.  Life not fair. Waiting for death. Other shoe drops. Eventually finding out. No short cuts. Luck is lucky. Fear is temporary. Child grows fast. Contains lessons learned. To learn someday. Hidden in hair. Falls behind couch. Crawls under fridge. Eats away lining. Mites eating wool. Destroy all sweaters. Time for Bloomingdale’s. Waiting for sales. New white sheets.  High thread count. Don’t stain sheets. Red ruins white. 

#52 Age Of Innocence

In.no.cent. adj. 1. free from moral wrong. 2. not guilty (of a crime, etc.).3a simple;guileless. b pretending to be guileless. 4 harmless. n. innocent person, esp a young child. inno.cence n. innocen.cy nin.no.cent.ly adv.

adj. virtuous, moral, righteous, good, pure, chaste. 2 guiltless, blameless, (in the) clear 3 a unsuspecting, unsuspicious, ingenious, trusting; naïve. b demure, coy, meek. 4 well-intentioned, safe, tame. n. infant, babe, child; ingénue, virgin.

What is defined above encapsulates some of my subconscious ideal beliefs about us.  Our little group.  Little, intimate, protected. Idealized.  A giant everlasting embrace.

Where did this come from? Generations proceed us and protect us (and lie to us).

If it is not us, it is someone else. Another family, another time and broken. Not innocent.

Treasure this.  If not, together, holding hands we will jump off the 10^th floor balcony with a fantastic view of the ocean as we fly.

We are together.

Shag carpeting in both bedrooms. Pink & yellow. The giant beanbag chair and Dior Rose comforter and brown velvet love seats. Innocent.  Before the kissing, the sex the heartache the space that separates us from each other in passionate dirty confusion. Like the first time I saw Playboy magazines in Dorie Rivkin’s basement. A woman with huge breasts in blue water with her blonde hair floating around her head and in front of her face; not anything holding her back, or down. She is smiling seductively and I know that it she is not smiling at me, but at someone else.  Maybe I knew she was smiling at me and I could feel it. I think she was smiling at Dorie’s dad.

(Not her mom.)

Floating.

A special secret smile.

And there is a scene going on outside, poolside. Like something out of The Graduate with Mrs. Robinson and her friends wearing leopard skin print bikinis and sipping cocktails.  This is not a typical pool party for us, but we were invited. I don’t feel comfortable and something is off.  I’m a little scared and want to go home.