I say it's not like the movies because saying it is like the movies and tv seems like a complete bore. the point that I had to include a TV show automatically appears like I toned down the depth of intellectualism in this writing down two separate octaves.
I'm just sitting here snap chatting. with my best friend co-worker..I went to a "memorial sevice" and which seemed like it was torn out of the book of The Virgin Suicides.
a Sears and Roebuck house sitting perfectly in the quirky and unmodernized area about 15 miles outside of the-outerbelt-constant-construction-zone.
an unmarred community that seemed away from the hustle and bustle of town, yet untouched by the horrible grip of Appalachian poverty.
I'm standing, awkwardly drinking some grocer bought red wine, with my mother.. still dressed in my one size too big work pants and an ugly zip sweater.
"perfect." I think to myself. and then I automatically become aware of the awkwardness that registers when you are that strange cousin standing in the corner of the yard with a glass of shitty wine.
you can't help but stare at the door that leads to nowhere on the 2nd story of the Sears-Roebuck home. how the door seems like it could lead to a perfect balcony, yet was somehow forgotten in the somewhat stressful bustle of creating a home.
"ohhhh, James. we somehow forgot the balcony! we have this perfect door that leads to a roof, but I got so caught up in the matching of drapery."
you stare and wonder if that's what happened to your long lost forgotten cousin.
maybe he took a step.
he took a leap onto the long lost balcony.
got lost in the unknown.
he jetpacked off the small side of the house in Delaware Ohio.
and rose far above the view of fresh cutdown trees and slipping privacy fences.
they forgot the drapery.
no one talks about the fact that he's gone. no on talks about what happened. you just seem to be left with your mother's ability to somehow sneak the two of you out of a weird situation.
"do you remember that time when granny Puckett..??"
my mother seems to take this remarkable ability of removing herself from a horribly weird situation and creating her own type of worlds. she doesn't escape from the problem, she sits and creates a new world around it. what an amazing woman.
I stand with my glass of wine and watch as my mother talks and discusses. I'm unusually quiet as she manages to reorganize the world around her. the buzz of the strange Sears-Roebuck house crumbling in the deep descriptions of her sneaking a smoke in the bathroom as a young teenager.
I recoil with her boisterous voice into the comfort behind the scenes and relax with the idea that I can simply disappear.
I am the daughter. I can slip behind the scenes. I have no one else here with me. my family left far behind in the perfect landscape of Suburban Reynoldsburg Ohio.
I stand with my mother. in a simple 45‘ angle behind her. I feel the comfort that I felt in my younger years, being sheltered behind her gigantic personality. I am simply her daughter--not having to face the other realities of the world.
I love my mother, and spending an evening with her makes me realize how similar we hurt in the pain we have had, but how both bodies have responded differently.
we are two separate people, yet we sit in the car on the way home and realize the pain we once shared. the crying nights, and lonely mornings.
we shared these moments once but now just like time they pass. it's now filled with stories about grandchildren and business trips through Kentucky.
a remnant about the hard time we once had, a giant shadow cast upon what we now do.
my mom calls me. she asks how I'm doing, we laugh and carry on, both knowing underneath--the pain we still share for the loss of my father.
maybe he and my cousin both took jetpacks. they both got sick of the strings of gravity and decided to jettison themselves far away from this earth.
far away from grocer wine and Sears-Roebuck homes. far away from the comfort of a woman who creates worlds with worlds, and her strange daughter observing the scenes.
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