2.16.22

Writing to find the place inside, which is outside, which is on the line, or besides the line, the line itself. Anne Carson said: "If you are not the free person you want to be, you must find a place to tell the truth about that." 

I'm writing to that place, where I might tell the truth about this, even if I can't escape it. It's not the truth that matters, Carson says, but the telling. I must have always known this, even as a child I could not stop looking for the place or the people where I might tell all of this to. My mother called me big mouth. I thought I might swallow the whole world with that mouth. When I was very young I would sit in the still Southern California heat and put my head between my knees and squint at the tops of my knees until the lines blurred. I would carefully try to peel apart then, with my fingertips the edges of things. I believed in different dimensions. I used to think as well that my shadow lived a different life from mine in the night when I was asleep. I looked down at my feet and wondered how I could rip the seams that connected me from my shadow so she might be free. 

My words now are trying to reach for the edge of things, for the place where the telling might peel apart the seams of my life. It's not freedom but the recounting of a dream about it that has propelled me here. Carson speaks of a person who is standing alone in a house, looking for a place to do the telling. I am sitting here doing the telling. Whether or not it will find you I cannot know. 

The other day, after seeing you - I wrote - Is it true we only know our own histories? 

Earlier today, I walked into the water store and the Filipino man standing at the counter looked at me with immediate recognition, as if he was waiting for me to walk in today right at the time that I did. He said hello my friend and I felt sure we knew each other. He walked up to me and took the gallon water jug from my hands. Water was 5 cents more expensive than I thought it'd be so I said hold on I will go to my car to get 5 more cents. He said no problem my friend I will fill this up for you and it will be ready for you when you return. I walked back into the store and he handed me my jug and I said what was your name again? He said Jon. He said I haven't seen you since 2016 and the reason is because I had a stroke. I said it is nice to see you again Jon. I am happy to see you.And I meant it, even though this was the first time we were meeting, I knew we weren't strangers. He said I survived my stroke because I took care of my body. It's clean, you see. My body is clean. When I was at the hospital, the doctor said they were ready to give up on me. They had placed a blanket on me and were ready for me to die. But I didn't die. It took me years but I'm walking again now. You can see that. What you need, when you think you cannot move is to try and move. Maybe at first your body won't like it but soon it will feel okay. You need the circulation in your body. You have to move. There were tears in Jon's eyes. He wore these beautiful turquoise rimmed glasses. He was a beautiful man. 

Look at me, Jon said, I am 68. This is my second life. There's no one to thank but God. I thanked the doctors but the doctors said - don't thank me, thank God. Jon pointed up at the ceiling. I came here to help my friend today. Not for money. There's a saying, Jon said to me, that goes, it's not about having deep pockets but a big heart. He drew a heart on his chest. He said, my name is Jon. It was good to see you. He gave a big laugh and said I will see you my friend again, when I see you. 

I said it was so good to see you Jon. 

I stumbled into my car with my water after that and I thought about Jon and how much he looked like the last person I loved and I drove all the way home to think about him and figure out how to tell about him and what only he knew about himself.