Sitting on the Balcony, Talking to Myself

”What’s with the huge saw? It looks ancient, man.”

“It is ancient. It used to belong to Dad, remember? It’s the same one.”

“Well, why do you have it here? You got some acute sawing happening here on this teeny balcony on the second floor? Doesn’t Dad need it himself?”

“No. He doesn’t. Not anymore.”

“Oh my god –”

“No! It’s not that! He’s very much alive!”

“Shit! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry. It’s just – the house is gone, Mimou.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. Mom and Dad sold it last year. Everything had to go. It was this whole big thing. We were fighting so much… They moved into a condo so all the outdoors tools, everything from the attic, the yard furniture, all gone.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I know.”

“But why did you want to have the saw?”

“Well, he’s had it since always. I remember it since we were little. I couldn’t bare to see it thrown out. And of course, you know, in case of robbers.”

“Robbers, really? What you gonna do, saw them in half and then separate the boxes, reciting abracadabra?”

“Yes exactly, that’s the plan.”

“And what is it with the painted toenails? And all this sun? You actually like it here? I’m in agony! It’s too hot. And where’s the ashtray?”

“We don’t smoke anymore. Trust me, you’ll feel better. The sun? I know it seems strange, but we actually love the sun now.”

“Since when?”

“I guess since we discovered excellent sun blocks. But I kind of remember this, the reluctance to sit in the sun. I remember wanting to have the curtains drawn all the time at some point.”

“Yes, let’s have them drawn, Alex.”

“Let’s not. Here, have some sunblock. It’s spf 50.”

“Yeah ok fine. Are you seriously telling me we don’t smoke anymore? I’m dying for a cigarette.”

“No, you are not. You are dying for the memory of the smoke floating through the hot summer air, the feeling of the luxury of it, giving yourself an excuse to sit in the sun for a minute. But I’m telling you, if you had the memory of the pain of going through three months of physical withdrawal, you would be feeling exactly like I am. I mean do I miss the feeling? Sure, sometimes. But all I have to do is think about those months of sheer torture, and a whole year after that, learning to think and negotiate life without cigarette breaks or smokes to calm your nerves, smoking when drinking or that precious morning cigarette. Having to find altogether new kinds of bonding rituals for social functions that don’t involve smoking. Of course, there are no bonding rituals for social functions as powerful as the pleasurable guilt of a shared smoke. Still, imagining having to go through all that again, I lose even the tiniest smidgen of wanting to smoke.”

“And the toenails?”

“I find it interesting that you should notice them so pointedly. Did we not use to fancy that sort of thing?”

“No, it’s not that exactly. It’s just – going through the trouble of it, I guess.”

“A lot of things that didn’t use to seem worth it in our twenties have become more important to me now.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know, liking the small stuff, liking the trouble of it, appreciating it more. The sun. Tending to those house plants back there.”

“Yes I just saw them. There are so many of them!”

“And, you know, sleeping.”

“Sleeping?”

“Yes. You will experience the most horrible two years of our life so far, losing your sleep altogether, I’m talking serious insomnia, then losing your marbles as consequence. I mean I look okay now, but you should have seen me a couple of years ago. See these lines around my mouth and eyes? That’s when all that happened. I was on four different kinds of drugs, you know, sleeping pills, anti-depressants, strong sedatives for hysterical bouts of violent anger, and pills for heartburn.”

“Heartburn? Grandpa?”

“I think partly, yes, but also, it was a side effect from the sleeping pills. I couldn’t drink red wine at all anymore. Or eat paprika. Or pizza.”

“No red wine!? That must have been pure torture! Wait a sec, you were drinking with that load of drugs?”

“Yes, it was torture. I still can’t drink red wine to this day. But it’s okay. There is white wine. And sparkling wine. And champagne.”

“I don’t know, Alex, it sure sounds a little irresponsible to me.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was just – I don’t know. You think about going through two years of your life trying to just – hang in there, maintain a semblance of normalcy, while weeks turn into months, then months into a full year of sleeping forty-five minutes per night, without at some point resorting to a glass or two of some soothing cold wine! Actually, I’m working myself into an appetite for some right now.”

“But, why? Why did this happen?”

“We fell in love. Then, we just kept on falling.”

“Love? Really?”

“Yes. It is the most dangerous thing in the world. This is something I know now. It was like a ton of bricks on the head.”

“Well, I’d like to think we already knew it then. What happened?”

“What do you mean? Nothing happened. I saw a bunch of doctors. Some were pricks. Some were nice. Eventually I kind of realized no one was going to solve or overcome the insomnia on my behalf. I had to do something myself, other than keep booking appointments and cry myself to unsleep every night. So I started to exercise and dance. I mean really go at it hard. I got to the point in my journal writing when I realized it would no longer do. I started to write a blog. Eventually I was able to drop the pills.”

“Really? All of them?”

“Almost. The heartburn pills I no longer take under any circumstance, they nearly destroyed our goddamn teeth, but I still have the benzodiazepine handy on my bed stand in case of… in case there is trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“I don’t know, if I can’t sleep for a few nights and start going a bit crazy in the head.”

“So I guess we are no longer with Max. What’s a blog?”

“No. He’s married now, you know. To no one we really know. It’s kind of like a column. A semi-autobiographical collection of narratives online. On the Internet.”

“What?! On the Internet? Oh my god. This is terrible!”

“Why is it terrible? Mimou? I am so glad I will finally get over that juvenile insecurity of ours.”

“And why don’t we know Max’s wife? Are we no longer in any contact with him? That makes me want to cry.”

“It’s okay. I know it sounds harsh, but really, you are so young. After Max, there was Ben. We were together for a long time. He proposed, you know.”

“What? And did we accept?”

“Yes, but it didn’t work out, in the end. And now there’s Daryl.”

“Daryl, the insomnia guy? You’ve got to be kidding me, there’s no way that is his real name!”

“Of course it isn’t! Just like Mimou isn’t yours, either. But yes, Daryl is the insomnia guy.”

“But what about all the really important stuff? I mean you look so good now, are you on our basic diet still?”

“I don’t look that different from you. The real difference is I have learned to like the way I look instead of constantly looking for flaws, like what you used to do all the time. And all because some dickhead once said you were ugly. Young people really should have a thicker filter. But they don’t, I remember, we used to be so thin-skinned. Anyone could bring us down so easily. It was all so dramatic all the time.”

“And are we now less dramatic?”

“Touché.”

“But what about the diet?”

“Well, I still love Stephen King. He is still alive and writing, you know! Both his sons are writers, too. He wrote a sequel to The Shining, but it didn’t turn out as well as one might have hoped. I finally tackled Virginia Woolf, remember how we used to be so intimidated by her mere author portrait?”

“Yes, I was so afraid of Virginia Woolf.”

“What else, let’s see. Oh, there is so much wonderful music now, you will just die! We are still really into music.”

“What about TV?”

“TV is not really where it’s at, anymore. There is the idea of a TV series, still, but they make an entire season at one fell swoop and then you can watch it in its entirety, or one by one, from a streaming service.”

“More Internet? What are you turning into?”

“Trust me, I am still as clueless, tech-wise, as we always were. It’s just, this is how it is, you sort of have to know these things if you want to function in life now. But it’s not like The Matrix. The leather jacket look is so passé. It’s more like, I don’t know, Steel Magnolias meet the scene at the beginning of Aliens where Ripley is recovering in that super functional room with the multiple screens and the generic, blank overalls and the colorless, pictureless walls and swishing sliding doors. Just kidding. It’s just like Steel Magnolias, period. Not too many things have changed, in our life. It just feels enormous for you now.”

“Are you a successful writer? With the blog?”

“Sure, kid, why not.”

“Is Peri okay?”

“We haven’t seen Peri at all in fifteen years. I hear she is also married with kids.”

“…”

“Look, Mimou, our life is not so bad. You are just asking the wrong questions, questions that are only going to hurt you, because you don’t know any better. I know it seems impossible to imagine your life without these people, but trust me, we are doing fine. Life is long, and friendships don’t always stand the test of time. Relationships sure as shit don’t. So there were some people we loved that are no longer present in our every day lives. That doesn’t mean they were the wrong people, or that the experiences were pointless, or futile, or having had your heart in your sleeve was a bad thing. We have dear, dear friends. There is great love in our life. God, I’m so happy I am no longer in my twenties.”

“So, you are happy? With the insomnia guy?”

“He makes me happy, yes. He sometimes makes me sad, too, but that is how it is. He’s the one who said we should be getting our writing out there. And I don’t know, suddenly it no longer seemed like the world’s hardest thing anymore.”

“I guess going through the wringer of the sleeplessness might have contributed to that – fearlessness.”

“Yes, perhaps it did.”

“And what about the world? What’s going on there?”

“Let me put it this way: it hasn’t ended yet. A lot of shit has gone down since the late Nineties. Some of it good. A lot of it horrible. You would never believe if I told you who the President of The United States of America is right now.”

“Leopold and Loeb?”

“Funny. You are not far off, though. He does consider himself some sort of super human being who doesn’t need to follow the rules of humanity.”

“Any words of wisdom before I have to go?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving me advice, The Ghost of Youth Past?”

“I’m not sure how it works. I got nothing. Maybe to not cry so much? Your hair looks nice like that.”

“Thanks. We were always abundant cryers, weren’t we? I guess if I had to choose some words that you could actually hear in nineteen-ninety-eight, I would tell you to be a little less afraid all the time. You are beautiful, your body is beautiful, shame is the most useless emotion there is, and that you were made to feel shame about your appearance is horrendous, unspeakable, repulsive. The guys who picked on you were morons. Life is exquisite. There is so much to life for and be happy about. Relish your sleep because you are about to lose it. Don’t worry about what others think of you so much. Don’t worry about ending up alone, or not being able to write the perfect sentence. You will be loved a lot. Your family loves you. Your friends love you. Daryl loves you. He will change your life. Let change happen. Daryl will be the one to give you that pivotal push you need to start publishing your pieces. Save money, because you will lose your heart to beautiful clothes and become vain and poor. Drive a lot, because that lovely car of ours will rust away and fall apart soon. Never lose your sense of humor. Which, I think, we haven’t.”

“No, we haven’t. I mean the saw? It’s like ‘Watch out, you fiends, I’m holding a bow saw and I’m not afraid to use it!’”

“Yes, especially since I screwed off the saw blade to not hurt myself with it. That’s just the frame there. It’s in the same ball park as Giles’ response when Spike tries to threaten him while having the chip in his head. ‘If you don’t stop that right now, I’ll –‘ ‘What? Lick me to death?’”

“I’m so happy you still quote Buffy.”

“So am I, kid. So am I. So I guess I’ll see ya.”

In celebration of your upcoming b-day, J., my lion hearted girl.