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| Did I cause Hurricane Irene, too? |
Summer
season is taken over,
it's
quiet, like new fallen snow.
I told you
summer stories
but
outside it's getting mighty cold.
I told you
everything I could about me,
Told you
everything I could.
How would
you feel if the world
was
falling apart all around you,
if pieces
of the sky were falling…
Been
a month since I’ve written. Inside my head I keep hearing that old song, “Before
Believing,” covered by Emmylou Harris on her Pieces of the Sky album given to me back in the day by my first
cousin, Marianne--born “Marion”-- who rechristened herself Marianne, in homage to
Marianne Faithfull [her real name; some people just get born lucky, name-wise
anyway]. Cousin Marion/Marianne was my epitome of savoir faire; in fact, she
taught me the phrase, savoir faire.
Back in the aforementioned day, I played
“Before Believing” so many times it wore trenches into the vinyl’s grooves.
I've been
singing "Before Believing" since the sky starting falling when I told Jamie the truth: that his
real father was not from a sperm bank but rather is a married older [than me; I feel old enough]
art dealer living in London who, upon partial recovery from his stroke and re-committing to making good on his old promise to pay Jamie's college tuition, expressed his longing to meet his son. [http://tinyurl.com/3cjc9rh]
It didn't go well.
It went unwell.
Badly, proceedeth it.
After finishing up from dog and house sitting for his art professor [http://tinyurl.com/3cwh89y], Jamie returned home, brimming over with creative energies and a palpable excitement--and insistence upon--my making good on my promise to help locate his sperm bank dad. [Goddamn that movie, The Kids Are Alright.]
It was time for the truth, as I have known for the past, oh, 51 blog posts.
Epic story short: Jamie decided to take a leave of absence from university. At the invitation of his father, Geoff--who confessed to his now-estranged wife the existence of his American son--Jamie's spending the fall in London. With Geoff.
Jamie was supposed to leave Sept 1, but, with all the hub-bubery about hurricane Irene, left last night. Geoff pulled some strings and got him onto a British Air flight. Business class.
I'm not adopting the victim's role here. I lied. For a long time. But I mothered for a long time too. I didn't expect to become the Villain.
"Give it time. The noise will quiet down. You and Jamie are the most bonded mom and son combo I know. Jeff and Jamie." That's what Miriam told me this morning on the phone.
I replied, "And Geoff makes three," and hung up on her.
Jamie's best friend's mother drove Jamie to the airport. I wasn't invited.
Maybe the noise will quiet down soon.
Maybe I could adopt a few Hurricane Irene evacuees so that it's not so quiet up here.
Maybe that would move the stylus from the scratch in the record where it's gotten stuck:
I told you everything I could . . .
