The Quest.

"Yeah, like I can't do this no more."  And so started the quest.  Focus on the quest. It may not get me out of here but at least it is something to do.

"I would like to say I just got burned but no it is more like I just burned myself.  You don't know until you try.  Back to the quest."  At least it was nice to see Myra back.

On he went.  There were others.  He could see them - climbing as well.  He could barely make out the bodies on the side of the wall ascending through the gully and then on the summit two more people.  "How they must feel.  This would be me someday.", he thought with envy.  The southwest ridge first and then the gully.  Nobody would do the southwest ridge it is too long and too strenuous.  Two miles of brush, then over a mosquito infested creek covered in thorns and stickers, then the climb in earnest, through more brush and then four thousand feet of talus and finally the ridge starting with knife edge followed by the gap in the mountain, the minor summit, the down climb and finally the summit proper.  He could only dream of the day, the moment, that moment.  That moment he was watching two people experience and another two about ready to.

Then it would be the gully followed by the traverse.

Realization.

Most people actually do make it out.  He'd seen it and experienced it for himself.  It was nice when he would find someone to walk with.  He had just been walking with someone who found their way out.  Sometimes they would just vanish like Myra but other times he would just start losing the connection with them until they would become transparent like a ghost. They might fade in, become a little more vivid, fade out, come back in like clouds parting and then fade out completely and they were gone.  Which was the case with Tara.  Now he was alone.

Many people don't make it out and now he knew he would be one of them.  He started seeing the signs that the other's before him had seen.  Primarily it was the dead ends.  He was a master at spotting them.  Plus, he knew he had done too much.  He had done too much damage.  Even when he got out he started right in again. Actually to be honest he had never stopped.  He'd been doing it since age 11 as he had been programmed.  He'd been trained, became a master at it and then, well, that is all he knew.  These skills that were now second nature to him were no longer needed and maybe this is where one ends up?  He began to wonder.

It occurred to him, "On the outside, she had not faded.  She died.  Or, was she killed?  He couldn't couldn't distinguish between the two but it didn't matter.  People die here all the time.  The death is usually horrible not like in the other world.  "The other fucking world." he ruminated.  He did not know how to get there and figured this was it.  Suicide. not an option.  You come back.  He'd seen those that come back, just right where they left off.

"There must be some kinda way outta here said the joker to the thief."

The Sun did Shine but then. . .

Eleven years later.  Eleven fucking years later.  He came back through.  He was on the trail back in the same area where she had left and on a whim he decided to take a detour just to see.  Just for shits and digs.  A little shocked he saw some of her stuff, not much but it was hers for sure.  She was back.

A lot had happened.  He had found the way out and was able to see the sun and blue sky.  The smoke was gone.  There were no fires.  The vegetation was green and lush.  But here he was.  He was back in this world.  The world of the rain.  And this time he knew.  He knew the rain was not going to stop.  ever.  He knew he would not be getting out this time.  On December 8th of 2011 the first of the thunderstorms had come in.  It was huge.  But what would come in 2015 would make that first one seem like just a drizzle. There was a let up but near the end of 2014 the rain was constant and would get much worse until Dec 6th of 2015.  That following morning he woke up on the cold wet earth look back from where he had come and just like 10 years before almost to the day the way back was gone.  All he could see was the dark fog. The rain continued.

He had been in this world for one and a half years trying to find a way out and there she was and she was in the rain too.  This time he would leave her alone.  But he decided as long as he was in the area he would check in now and then but he know she would probably leave. He would just have to watch her from a distance.  Maybe she would notice him and contact him but that would be the only way they would ever talk if they were to ever talk again.  He'd gotten use to false hopes.

It had just occurred to him that maybe she had found a way out all those years ago and now she was back in. "Eleven fucking years ago!" he thought.

She's writing again. So good to see.

May 31 2006

He looked straight ahead with an air of determination. A rain drop slid down his nose and clung to the end as he surveyed what lay ahead. The mist had now turned to rain. She was gone.

MyRiseAbove said...
JUNE 06, 2006 1:58 PMI'm here.

How lovely, the sound of her voice.  He could only imagine.  But at 1:58 in the afternoon on June 6 of 2006 his world would light up as it always did when she would say something.  They walked on.  He in relief.

It would only be a couple of days later that she would stop coming around for good.  He went back to the usual spot where he could find her.  All her belongings - everything packed up and gone leaving only the matted grass and broken twigs where she had slept.

The rain continued.

More on Mercy Street.

45 Mercy Street - Poem by Anne Sexton

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was...
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down -
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks. 

Anne Sexton

No Valerie

E-mail to Tara:

No, No hike.

I did go for a hike up Humphreys with some guys from work.  While we were on the hike my phone dialed Valarie's number. (pocket dial)  This is very weird because her number wasn't up on the que for dialing.  I hadn't called her. . .  actually ever.  Usually a pocket dial will happen with the most recent person I talked with on the phone or someone on the the top of my contacts.  She was in neither.  We had texted though and calls can be made from the text app.  And that is probably what happened.  However, I had had a text conversation with one other person after her.  It should have pulled the most recent one which was not her but it didn't.

  

So she got a message on her phone with a bunch of thunder and pocket sounds.  I was actually just getting back into treeline on Humphreys when it happened. My phone did all kinds of other things which I explained in the message I sent her when I got home.  Here is that message:

"Hi Valerie. It looks like my phone pocket dialed you while I was on my hike so you may have gotten a messed up message. You weren't alone though my phone also sent a gibberish e-mail to my financial adviser, opened my bank app, and sent a gibberish text to a coworker. . . Sorry. I am really embarrassed. Thanks for talking with me yesterday - it really helped. Hope you're having a good day."

I did not get anything back. Nothing.  Not a "That's okay. hope you had a good hike." or anything like that.  My fucking higher power is working over time to do for me what I can't do for myself.  Awesome.  Yes she would be better than suicide but it looks like it's suicide.  I am fucking being punished. 

I am actually having a really bad day in case you couldn't tell.  I am very weepy and missing Wendy.  I really feel like shit.  I really feel alone.  I really fucking hate this.

I really hope I die soon.

Take care

Andy
_____________________________________________
The next post.  45 Mercy Street a Poem by Anne Sexton seems to get it.

searching for a street sign - 

namely MERCY STREET. 

Not there. 

Valerie.

I can't believe I did that.  We both went up to put the books in the box after the meeting.  I said, "Can I talk to you after the meeting?"  She said, "Yes."

We talked after the meeting.  I asked if the offer still stood to call and talk to her.  She said, "Sure." I told her that I need to reach out.  It seems like everyone I talk to is going through wonderful times.  It seems like she is going through a trying time in her life and I have been well for the last four and a half years.  I can not go through another winter like last winter.  (Holy shit that was horrible. - as an aside.)

As we talked she talked about schedule and that she would like to go for a hike.  (Totally did not see that one coming.)   I told her I was going to be gone for basically two weeks and that I was going to go up Humphrey's Peak tomorrow with some people from work at around 8 am.  I immediately got a look from her like, "Are you sure you want to do that?"   I said, "Yeah, I know.  You think it's too late to start the hike?"  She said, "Yeah, I wouldn't start that late.  The storms have been coming in around noon."  She then said she had been thinking about going up Humphreys but was going to start around 6. (Once again, did not see that one.)  I told her that that sounded like a better idea.  She said she had made other plans for tomorrow but wasn't sure if they would work out.  If the plans fell through she would do Humphrey's.  (Coincidence?)  We seemed to both arrive at "That would be a good hike to do together."  So I am supposed to text her tonight to see if she is going up Humphrey's tomorrow at 6.

Now I am all fucking nervous and shit.  Really?  Come on!

It feels that possibly she might be thinking beyond friends. . . I hope.  I can not read these things at all.  But it needs to be friends for what ever we do together.  But it would be so nice if it went straight to waking up together Monday morning.  The other thing is Humphrey's is a bit of a "commit."  If things go south then there we are on the side of the mountain on a rather strenuous hike.  It is 3500 ft over 6 miles.  Once again, it is just two acquaintances basically going out on a hike.  It would be no different than a meet up.  But it would be different than a meet up because we would be talking about intense stuff I would imagine - actually I would hope.  Like I said, totally did not see this one coming when I woke up this morning.

I don't even know her and I am wanting to be in a relationship with her.  I am a drowning man grasping at anything to save my life.  I am not saying she is "just anything." but I don't know how crazy she might be.  There is a lot of drama in her life which I could get dragged into.  She did talk about how her ex-husband who she calls her "former spouse" is finally taking AA seriously.  She can her it in the way he talks and that gives her hope.  Seems like if he "got" the program she might be drawn back to him and . . . well, you know, that would be a bit painful.

If I had to bet.  I would bet I will not be hiking up Humphrey's with her tomorrow.  It will be a bit relieving if she says the other plans are on.

Then I go up Humphrey's at 8 am and get struck by lightening.  Really not a bad option so long as I don't survive.

Sobriety Sets In. . . Crap. . .

I think I gotta nother Marcia (“Mar see’ uh” not Marsha) thing going on here.   Read the previous post.

Tell Me Lies. Tell Me Sweet Little. . .

Monika tell me a sweet little lie, like you love me.  Except, leave out the “lie” part.  I would so love to hold you, feel the back of my fingers gently brush the side of the beautiful dark skin of your cheek.  I wish I could say these words to you.

I so loved it when you came into my office this morning.  We were bantering.  I told you that you were getting chunky which of course we both know is not even close to being true.  I am so smitten with you.  You were talking about how old you are.  You’re 28!  Hello!  You’re a girl, such a lovely young girl.  At one point I raised my hand up in exasperation about how “old” you think you are.  You then, met my hand with yours in kind of a playful sort of punch.  I wasn’t expecting it.  The feel of you skin on mine.  It was a very soft hit and long enough for me to feel.

Sometimes, maybe most of the time, I think that the possibility exists.