Noisy Reflection

It was that awkward time of day between strong black coffee and dry red wine and I sat contemplating if I should warm the half cup in front of me, or go find a glass and start on the half bottle left from last night. Life’s jumbled with negotiation, so I go out for a drive. I’ve quit using the air conditioner altogether because I find it so confining. I am yearning for freedom, escape, but I am still directionless. I think about the options while I listen to a CD given to me by one of my older son’s former girl friends when she and her husband visited us last Christmas. I love her wicked little sense of humor. Trac 2 on Tangos & Tantrums is “all his exes” and seems to be written especially for my unconventional elder son. I laugh and wonder if the singer, Sylvia Lewis, had been a guest at her club in Charlotte NC, or if she had especially picked the CD for my enjoyment. The timing of my excursion coincides nicely with the 2 pm awakening of my husband, someone I really don’t want to see until he shakes off his hangover. I also don’t want to talk to him about the fact that my middle son went to a party and didn’t come home last night. He’s way overdue for some fun.

I talked to my girl this morning and although it was 11 am in London, she was slightly drunk, still coming down from a hen party for a coworker the night before. I love how our conversations unfold, like some surreal children’s storybook. She said she had to be at work in an hour and she hadn’t been to bed. I suggested a shower and black coffee before hopping on the tube. She said she would have to get her blond wig and cheerleading costume off first. Before I could ask she said,” You know, crazy American.” We both laughed, because we understand one another perfectly. She said maybe the tub would be good because of all the bruises from the roller derby thing. I didn’t ask, it just made sense somehow. I suggested she get a pot of coffee on right away, and take a cup to the tub, and by the way, how’s your love life. She told me she had a date with a really great man in a few days, then mentioned that he was 20 years her senior, but really interesting, and incidentally, rich. It can’t hurt, as she just pulled $400 off my debit card this week, for which she apologized. I told her poverty wasn’t a prerequisite for love, but just be cautious. I know she will try, but I also know caution has never had an opportunity to take root in her soul. I think of the silly little poem I wrote for her right after she headed off for college. She has to run, so I tell her I love her, that I want to get on a plane today to see her, and that I’m doing great. We laugh, and then suddenly she's gone and the light in my heart flickers for a second, aching for her happiness. I recite the silliness of the poem again and know that she was worth whatever price I paid.

Once I had a little girl whose hair was dark as night
And later green, maroon, or blue, or accidentally, white.
I wrung my hands and cried my tears,
But nothing helped, except the years
So quickly flown, I caught my breath,
And she was gone, and I was left.
So here’s to her, my darling girl
I gave her words to fight the war
And pushed her through a veil of tears,
Away from home, despite my fears.
There is no safety in the world and yet she runs, her heart unfurled
To fight the fight, to right the wrongs, to live the life, to sing the songs.