jtk@lakesys.UUCP (11/29/87)
When Alteration Finds; I wake up perspiring. That dream again. My stomach gives me a quick shot of pain. An adrenaline rush. I run to the bathroom toilet seeking to expel the bile that is welling up in my gut. Withdrawal. My total being craving the drug denied me by Venus. The gods gave a whimsical chuckle. The figure that looks back at me in the mirror is gaunt. Streams of spittle, tears, bile, and mucin distorted the doppelg nger that ob- serves me through the looking glass. His bloodied eyes look into mine. Pupils of ebony black, dilated by fear, anger, rage. RIt has been reported in scientific journals that when kissing, an endorphin is secreted from the uvula; that when absorbed by the mucous membranes of the mouth and skin, will produce irrational behavior and wild mood alterations. This may be a portion of the biochemical reaction we emotionally refer to as love.S RShe made me an addict,S I screamed at the empty room. The response was the muted laughter of the wind in trees beyond the window and the sorrowful song of an ambulance siren in the distant urban clatter. RI do love you...S she whispered in the memories of a crumpled note on the bedroom floor. If only memories could be stored on magnetic media, rather than the complex biochemical matrix we call self. Then I would expunge my mind of this madness by erasure, reformatting, or overwriting. The morning sun sweetly kissed the drops of rain that clung to the leaves of the tree outside my door. Reflecting dancing dapples of light swirled across the windows of my empty apartment. Another day with- out you my love. The sound of the city. A million human activities. Life goes on. The story unfolding in each blinding moment of reality. The billions of interactions of an interactive universe. I but a single entity in the schema. Why do I place so much faith in love? Dear reader: Have you read the sonnets of the great bard? Have you seen any of the Greek tragedies? Love is the handmaiden of the Muse. Love has moved hu- manity to greatness. The truth of our love shall be measured in the nobility of our actions. I wash my face of sorrow. I climb into my clothes like a knight donning his armor. A million neurons within my skull crackle with the energy of faith. Honor, truth, love... they fill the haggard image in the bathroom mirror with renewed strength. I pick my keys up from the place on the floor, where in despair I dashed them the night before. I smile. With luck I may catch a glimpse of her again. The love is strong, but then again, perhaps the love will never win. I lock the door of my apartment, as if to lock away my empty soul. The concrete sidewalk has the aroma of the nightUs rain. The rich humid summer air brings with it the scent of life, and the stench of decay. A passing delivery truck roars down the street, leaving behind it a wake of noise that jars the senses. I look to the clock on the church tower to the north. The bell rings nine. I enter my car. I seal the windows. I wrap myself in a protective cocoon of steel, plastic, music, and conditioned air. Drops of rain cling to impres- sions of her lips on my left side view mirror. I think of her. I feel no pain, no madness, no fear... only love. The crescendo of classic music pulsates through the speakers. I drive to work. Another day begins. As I perform my mundane duties at work my thoughts wander. A part of my mind is focused on work, a part is focused on her. I remember. &&&&&&& I moved into a lower flat in the area of Milwaukee known as River West. It was owned by a bartender friend of mine, who resided in the attic. I was unemployed. The majority of my income came from monies owed to me by my former employer. These where doled out to me in monthly allotments. In addition, I was borrowing heavily from my parents. Jeff, an artist/writer friend of mine, had agreed to share the flat with me. I had agreed to paint and fix up the flat in exchange for a rent credit from my landlord. After a day of painting the living room and dining room I decided to do something creative. I looked at the blank east wall of the kitchen. RPerhaps a picture,S I thought. I lifted the brush to the wall, and began to paint. Mixing the shades of paint I had selected for the other rooms, I created a five foot tall image of a womanUs face. Jeff stopped in. I proudly showed him the painting. RI know that woman,S he explained to me. RItUs just a made up face,S I informed Jeff. RIt looks just like her. You must meet her.S Through some unknown quirk of the fates, I had painted the face of my future love. I canUt really place exactly when I met her. I think it was in passing one day when Jeff came in to the apartment with her. He had been right. She was the face on the wall. She was seven and one half years my elder. A woman who had grown up in the sixties. A rebel in thought and action, she had left the farmlands of her origins in northern Wisconsin to experience life in San Fransisco and New York. She had lived life on the edge. After giving birth to a child in New York, she re- turned to Wisconsin. She had taken up residence in an apartment formerly owned by Steve, the proprietor of a local corner Pub. She had become a resident of River West. The River West area of Milwaukee is a melting pot of culture and thought. To the east are the homes of MilwaukeeUs wealthy, to the west is MilwaukeeUs ghetto. Because of its proximity to the University Wis- consin Milwaukee, and its low rental rates, it is inhabited by a large number of students on a limited in- come. A large number of former 60Us activists live in the area, in addition to low income families from all races and ethnic backgrounds. The multi-family duplexes are intermixed with small single family houses built by Polish immigrants in the 1890Us. Two large Polish Catholic churches dominate the area. They serve the dwindling Polish community that once made up the majority of the population. The area has per- haps the largest concentration of musicians, artists, intellectuals, and political activists in Wisconsin. Some have called it the new Soho, others have called it a slum, I call it home. A month or so after the painting had dried on the wall, she started to date another writer friend of mine named Bill. On occasions the three of us would go out together. She had deep affection for Bill, affection that would come to haunt me. I admired this woman who went with Bill. We became friends. Jeff moved in with his girl friend Barb. I acquired a new apartment mate. In fall I went to school and had a brief fling with a local artist. Winter came, and then the spring, and then my time for love. I had grown more familiar with her through the passage of that winter and spring. We would chat in SteveUs Pub, and on occasions discuss life over a six pack, or a cup of coffee in her kitchen. I did small fa- vors for her, like giving her a ride to the airport, or taking care of her daughter for an afternoon. One day out of the blue she invited me out. Chris Isaak was performing at the New York Club. She had known one of the guitarists when she lived in California, and desired to talk with him. Robert, another friend of ours, accompanied us. I danced with her, she danced with the band. Chris Isaak sang: RIf I had to tell you now the way I feel about you IUd say nothing.S RWhen I try to tell you how I feel about you know I only end up crying.S RThis love will last.S RThis love will last.S After talking with her friend in the band, we moved on to a downtown bar. Robert left us to our own demise. I smiled and looked into her eyes. Intoxicated by her presence and a handful of imported beer, we picked up her daughter from the sitter and drove back to her house. We climbed the stairs to her apartment. Something was in the air. She put her daughter to bed. I had a feeling of dread. In the hall, outside her door, I kissed her like no woman before. We shifted from the hall into her bathroom. We kissed some more. Kissing still we fell to the floor. She pulled me to her bedroom, we pulled our clothes apart. My ears began to ring, it was the pounding of my heart. We became lovers. &&&&&&&& I drop my screwdriver. IUm shaken by my own remembrances. I sit down on a chair behind the work bench. My hands tremble as I light a cigaret. Knotted muscles in my abdomen give me a warning shot. RThink only of the love, not of the pain.S I relax. Back to work again. My thoughts drift. I remember her. &&&&&&&& We would lie in her bed after making love and talk about our past experiences. We opened each others worlds. If the talk became too serious I would tell some bad joke or pun. We shared each other. And when the talk was done, we would make love again. Exhausted, we would fall asleep in each others arms. Only to make love again when the morning came. Wishing not to get too involved I attempted to negotiate with her. RHow do you feel about me?S I asked. RYour fun!S she responded, RI like having sex with you.S RI donUt want to make any commitment. I will agree to come over three nights a week, if that is O.K. with you,S She agreed. A few weeks later, in a playful ploy, I invited a girl over to my house to watch T.V. The next day I let it be known to her that this girl had been to my house. She was jealous. I was flattered. We started to show our affections publicly. On a warm spring day we had a water pistol fight in the corner Pub. We acted like kids. Kids in love. She would invite me over to dinner. We would eat, then make love. One afternoon, after drinking one too many Weiss Beers, I asked her RWould you be the mother of my children?S I asked her to be my wife. She smiled and nodded. That night I became very sick. The idea of committing myself to a women given my current state was too much to bear. I ended up on her bathroom floor, curled up in the fetal position, in a pool of cold sweat. At this time I was very depressed. My money was running out, and my job prospects looked dim. I had asked my apartment mate to move out, due to an ongoing feud between her dog and my furnishings. Facing a growing number of creditors and a rent bill I couldnUt pay, I retreated into a black depression. I disappeared for a week. I hid in my room and dreamed. She sent me camomile tea, and a letter wishing me well. She kissed the side mirrors of my car, leaving the imprint of her lips in pink lipstick. If not for her I would have retreated into nothingness. RYou havenUt been the same since you asked me to marry you,S she told me. RI am afraid of committing myself to you.S I thought but did not say. Then in a flash I realized: RI love this woman.S Our love making changed after that. It became more frequent, and more frenzied. I wanted to impregnate her. I wanted her to have my child. That thought changed the nature of sex with her. Now she was a wom- an, and I a man. We made love with our hands clasped together. We seemed to fuse into one being, one person, one spirit. The deep instincts of life gave an unexplainable new joy to the act sex. I tried to wish her IUD out of existence. I could feel it deep inside her, protecting her from my desires. I woke up in the middle of the night. The rain gently fell outside her open bedroom window. All was still. She lying next to me. I looked at her sleeping so peacefully. I spoke to her in my thoughts. RDo you know this is more that just sexual attraction?S RDo you understand this makes me complete?S RDo you understand how much I love you?S RNever have I known such happiness.S RNever have I known such love.S RNever have I known such joy.S RYou are my friend.S RYou are my love.S RYou are my life.S Those where the happiest days of my life. No greater joy than to spend an afternoon with her and her daughter. We would sit in the overstuffed chair in her living room embracing each other. Or wrestle with each other like children at play. To kiss her and to hold her gave me great joy. We would walk the streets with her daughter between us. I the father, she the mother, her daughter our daughter. I started work at my current job then. I would spend the evenings at her house. She would rouse me in the morning. To me she was already my wife. One night after making love to her she informed me that she was feeling pressure in he ovaries. Her pe- riod had been short that month. She suspected that she was pregnant. I, suspecting nothing, told her to go to the doctor. The River West community is in many ways like a small town. The rumors spread that we were to be wed. The waving tongues of gossip started to take their toll on our relationship. A few days later we went over to the Clawing Lion to have a hamburger. On the way we stopped in front of the local newspaper office. A truck was unloading newspapers. I had worked at that office on and off during the prior year as an unpaid volunteer. I stopped the car and lent my hand to help in the unloading of the newspapers. As we passed the newspapers down the line into the basement of the newspaper office Jim, the publisher and founder of the paper told me RI hear weUre going to have a little you around soon.S RThatUs not true,S I informed him. RWho told you that?S I inquired. RJeffS said he. It disturbed me that the staff of the local newspaper would know that she thought herself pregnant before I. In retrospect I can put it together with the night that she commented about feeling odd. I returned to the car where she sat waiting. RYou didnUt tell me you where pregnant.S RIUm going to a doctor to be tested,S she informed me. RNext thing you know we will be reading about where we are sending our child to school...S I sarcasticly quipped as we drove down the block. I was mad that the rumor mill had acquired the news before I. RIUll do the honorable thing and go to city hall with you and get married, if the test should prove posi- tive. I want to marry you... make my child legitimate. We can have a proper wedding next year, in a church.S I spoke the right words, but the thought of trying to raise two children on what income I had at the time turned my speech cold and feelingless. She could feel my fears. It affected her. We went to Bastille days, an annual celebration of French culture held in the streets of downtown Mil- waukee. There we drank champagne and danced to French folk music. The test proved negative. Something died in the two of us. Fear of commitment crept in. Now it was her turn. She had told her mother of my offer to marry her. Soon I would meet her mother. Unfortunately the seed of destruction had been planted. Love was being replaced by doubt, doubt by fear. A few days before her mother came to town she sent me a letter. RThis is a bulletin from your local baker. Sit down and donUt be too annoyed.S RWhen IUm with you, you know IUm a happy girl. I do love you and what you can do.S RHowever! I need some time; some space to consult my astrologer, my muse and my inner source of peace. It would be in your best interest to just not apply any pressure right now.S RIUm a fish you know P first I swim in this direction; then the opposite.S RGive me some time or IUll just vanish. I can disappear.. No foolinU.S It came to me one afternoon that love is more meaningful between a man and a woman when they speak with each other openly, honestly, and from the heart. I lost the ability to be honest with her after my pro- posal. I think this is primarily due to falling into the vortex of male sovereignty. That is to say, the male in our society is expected to bear the burden of responsibility for the economic well being of the family, rather than collectively working with his spouse/lover/partner. That is inherently sexist. Is it not more im- portant to share the burdens of life, rather than stoically suffering? If my mind is burdened with acting out the male role, how can I be open and honest? If she asks RWhat is the wrong with you?S, must I ignore her for the sake of my male ego? The male ego pushes me away from sharing/loving/openness, it builds a wall of distrust that burdens our relationship to the point of breaking. &&&&&&& The time to leave work has come. Another day of work is done. RI love her,S rings inside my head. Fear and love. Affection and dread. I stiffly march out to my car. As I sit in the driverUs seat, her lip prints smile at me, and in my mindUs eye I smile at her. I drive down the rain slicked streets. back to the corner pub where we had so many interactions. Steve is playing chess with a customer. I sip on a tonic and lime. I open the paper, as is now my habit, and read the horoscope; first mine then hers. RWhy have the stars denied me love?S I ask the nothingness that surrounds my being. I look in the mirror above the bar, in the reflection I can see her photograph on the wall behind me. I smile at her image. Her image does nothing. I look through the front window toward her apartment down the street. I think of her, I love. I unlock the door of my apartment. I am greeted by the emptiness. I move to the book shelf. I take The Riverside Shakespeare from the shelf. I open it to sonnet 116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love Which alters when alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove O no, it is an ever-fixed mark Thatbears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. My mind wanders. I reflect. &&&&&&& I was to meet her in the evening at SteveUs pub. A note was left behind the bar. It was a reminder to be at her house the next morning. I went home late that night. Somehow I could feel that I was slowly losing her. She had gone out with Jeff, Barb, and Bill that night... She was wrestling with her past... She was moving away from me. The next morning I groggily slipped on some clothes and dragged myself over to her apartment. We drank coffee and discussed stopping at the store. This was the day that I was to go with her to a family pic- nic. She was nervous. Something was upsetting her. We stopped at Sentry to pick up charcoal, hamburger and hot dogs before departing for her family home to the north. She snapped at me. She was upset. I could not understand why. She nervously polished the ends of her fingernails with her thumbnail. Her eyes where downcast. She was fighting with herself. Tears welled in her eyes. I glanced between the road and her face. She saw me looking at her out of the corner of her eye and tilted her head away from me. A tear rolled down her face and dropped to the floor. RI still love Bill,S she said. RYou told me you were over him.S RI thought I was.S I suddenly felt empty and alone. RThis is not going to be a good day,S I thought as I gripped the steering wheel in anger. We talked at each other all the way there. As the car rolled into the parking lot of the picnic grounds we put on happy faces. Masks of happiness for her mother and family. Her mother had been told of my offer of marriage to her. Her mother was happy to see us. She introduced me to her grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They all expressed long term expectations for us. I was lost in thought. I wanted to understand why she had told me she still loved Bill. Her daughter had been staying with her mother. Not knowing what to say to her I played baseball with her relatives and gave my time to her daughter. My mind wandered. I was upset. From the picnic we went to a cabin that her mother had rented. Tension pervaded the pine scented air. RSheUs stubborn. Just like her mother,S I told her mother while looking at my loveUs little girl. We wan- dered about the cabin grounds until the sun dipped low on the western horizon. RYou will come up and play horseshoes with me,S her mother said to me. I didnUt respond. I was worried about what my love had told me in the car. RWill I even see you again?S I thought. On our way back to Milwaukee we stopped at her family homestead. She showed me the farm that had once belonged to her father. She showed me her fatherUs cabin. I was upset. I didnUt respond well. On the Interstate she started talking again of us... or should I say her. She was backing out. Cold feet! I tried to reassure her. I tried to speak only of what we would do when we were married. RI must understand why I canUt have a long term relationship,S she told me. RIf you have problems with relationships see a shrink!S She was talking about herself. I was talking about us. RI want to be celibate for six months. I donUt want to go with anybody,S she told me. RWhat about me!S I yelled like a wounded animal. We returned to SteveUs corner pub. She avoided me. She talked with anyone but me. RYouUre so possessive,S she spat at me. RYouUve treated me like shit all day.S I mumbled. I ran out. If I am to create a meaningful and lasting relationship, I must learn to open my heart, hear her needs, pay attention to love. &&&&&&& I go to my empty bedroom and slip my clothes off. After turning off the light, I stare at the ceiling. I feel cold and alone. The warm summer rain softly beats against the window. Conversations drift down from the upstairs apartment. A woman laughs. The rain speaks to me of that night not long ago. &&&&&&& I was worried. Did she understand how much I love her. I wrote a note. It had been a week since the pic- nic. I feared her anger. I found it hard to call her. I found it hard to find the courage to talk with her. I tried to express my thoughts on paper. I folded up the note and walked to her apartment. A mutual friend of her and I had told me she would be up north with her mother. I thought I would just push the note under her door and leave. At her door I hear noise. I knocked. A muffled RWhoUs there?S came back. RItUs me.S A muffled response came back. It sounded to me like RGo away.S I was hearing the future. I dropped the note and went to the corner pub. I was starting my second Weiss Beer when she came in. She was radiant. Somehow I could not bring myself to tell here I thought she was lovely. I offered her a beer. RI went to the door and you were gone.S RI thought you told me to go away.S We sat and talked about anything but us. RMay I buy you dinner?S RYes,S she said. We ate at the little Chinese restaurant on the corner of Locust street and Bremen. My apatite was dimmed by the thoughts that flowed through my head. I could only think of her. Since I am fundamentally a shy person, I found it hard to speak to her of my love. As we walked down the street toward her house I clutched a bag of leftovers in my hand. RCome back in an hour,S she said. RIUll drop off these leftovers at my house and return in an hour.S She turned and entered her apartment. I went home. An hour passed and I returned. I found the door to her building locked. RWhat now?S I thought. I went to the bar across the street from her house. I drank a beer with a fellow I bump into now ed with a TclickU. I walked across the street to her house and called her name. No response. I threw dimes at her window. No response. I threw quarters at her window. No response. I threw rocks at her balcony screen door. No response. I climbed the ash bin next to the garage behind her house. Through her balcony door I could see the T.V. was on. She was there. She was with a man. I scurried to the foot of her balcony. I screamed her name. I threaten to kill the man who was with her. She came out. RGo away!S she yelled. RLetUs talk,S I screamed back. She retreated into her apartment. I went mad. Below her bedroom window, in the dark, in the pouring rain, a once proud figure, begging to see her again. Love is not sending roses or singing melodious song beneath a balcony on a moonlit night. It is the in- teraction between two beings. It lives and grows when both parties involved are willing to learn from each other, and accommodate the needs of the individual within the matrix of the relationship. &&&&&&& I humble myself before her. Evil rumors fill my ears. Never trust what people say of others. Truth is only found by seeking. I close my eyes wishing for sleep to carry me away from my thoughts. Slowly... inevitably... sleep. I dream. I dream I wake up in the middle of the night. The rain gently falls outside her open bedroom win- dow. All is still. She lies next to me. I look at her sleeping so peacefully. My love. I wake up perspiring. That dream again....