Belly of the Whale

9.
Today is the day. In a little less than twelve hours I get to do my presentation. I am damned excited, pretty funny. I feel good. It is early but I’m up and at it, listening to a little Willy and Waylon, “A good hearted woman in love with a good timen’ man.”

Well that’s about it I guess. I’m just so stoked I wanted to write about it.

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Well it went good and bad. People enjoyed it and stayed after to here me speak, but my organization floundered. I couldn’t use my notes at all. I have to just wing it. Which I did but I was scattered and inarticulate. But I got through and people were impressed. Wilson said he really wanted to take another class with me. I want to sign up for the Dante/Joyce graduate seminar as opposed to the Joyce class I am now in. I may ask but that will be a lot of work – so what!

SO I am happy and cheerful; I went to the bar and had a Baily’s and won a game of pool. Life is good. Now back to work.



12.11.03
It is hard to know what to believe about this, but last night Widge was ill. He was liking his lips constantly. I went to give him a little food around two am and went back to bed. When he came back, he walked into the living room then walked past the door again, and then when he realized that I was in bed he started coming to get in the bed, but something seemed to distract him. He whined and started to snap at something invisible that moved from the foot of the bed to the head. As this happened I heard a loud wine, remenesent of the ”dying rabbit” sound. I jumped out, “what the hell?” I assumed immediately that there must have been a mouse, regardless that I have no mice. Widge seemed to limp and fell over into bed and began to whimper and tremble through every muscle, powerful shivers of what seemed to me to be fear.

I jumped out of bed and turned on the lights thinking there was something terribly wrong with my dog. He was freaking out. I tried to comfort him and think about what had happened. It was then I realized that as he was snapping he wasn’t looking down, but about 12-16 inches about the ground. Plus, my mattress is on the ground? And what was that whine? I swear I heard it move past me. After five minutes or more Widge stopped shaking. We went in the kitchen for a little bit. It was then I started to realize the possibility that Widge saw something that I couldn’t see.

14.
I need to write so that I can try and capture an emotion. Tonight has been one of those rare nights, a night where you look into someone’s face and see years and experiences juxtaposed with their smiles. So many things past before my heart and eyes tonight, but then again, so much was just me, my emotion, what was up welling and isolated to my life, my times.

Jamie Rinker called. It is a rare day when she calls, but always welcomed. I love to know she is thinking about me. Sometimes she seems to far away. But she and I and Libby go all the way back to my first days in Missoula, my first summer, living in the back of my truck with Widge, playing pool games for beer money. That was almost five years ago.

So much has changed. I see so little of those girls that used to be such a part of my life. What did we ever do really? Pot lucks mostly, lots of good talks; I flirted with Libby to little avail. Recently those days have felt awfully far away.

But Jamie called this afternoon. She was still in bed, having had a rather consumptuous evening the night before, Friday night. Next week is exams week, so lots of us are finishing up and have a lot to celebrate. Jamie has only one exam and is graduating. We I have only one paper and a story, both of which are well in hand. We decided that we should have a dinner and catch up before Winter Break sweeps us off in different directions.

“Should we go cheap or expensive?” I ask. After a bit of deliberation we decide to “go big,” and eat sushi at Sushi Hanna’s, my favorite restaurant. I haven’t dined in a while so I got out my nice shoes and a cashmere sweater. I stopped into Warden’s Market and picked up a bottle of sake—a celebratory energy was rising in me. Jamie can be counted on to get dressed up for diner, and she is such an attractive girl. She arrived, casually late of course, wearing a suede sailor’s cap and a nice wool overcoat. I bought dinner; it is the Christmas season and all, and that way I could order a two-person platter I wanted.

Everything we talked about was personal: failed relationships, best relationships, “knights in Shining Armor” vs. “Prince Charming,” why I date crazy women (no offense, I love you all), and on and on. We closed the restaurant. But the conversation was overflowing, so she offered to buy a round of drinks at Charlie’s. I wasn’t planning on going out, I’m not a goin’ out kind of guy these days. But there was something about catching up, being close again to a girl I haven’t seen in a long while, and also it is Christmas, the fall has been so difficult and exhausting. Now things are winding down; the pressure is off; I am enjoying the work that remains; time is on my side. So we finished the sake and went arm in arm to Chuck’s.

We sat at the bar and the bartenders were taking shots together in a ring. The music was loud and had a lot of bass. We ordered a Baily’s for me and a Jamison’s for her and the conversation continued as before. “Easterners can’t kiss” she said, “I mean Northeasterners—Southerners are fine,” she continued. I saw Ed and Nick, Bradley came and talked for a bit, Wendy walked by without a smile, without stopping. Dustin just got back in town and he told us about Alaska, his new job, his new love. We never really get to talk. He is a good man.

Even Chris Simpson showed up. We had a few more rounds. I kept looking over my shoulder to the end of the bar to where “the Cambodian” and Wendy were drinking. It was nice to see her, strange not to talk to her. Looking at the clock on her phone, Jamie says, “Tonight is Libby’s birthday, we’ve got to go meet up with her when she gets off work.” The days have flown by and I didn’t realize that today had been the thirteenth, a midnight it would be the fourteenth. I’d get to see Libby; I haven’t seen Libby in such a long time.

We drink more. We meet some nice new folks, friends of Scott and Ed’s. We grab our coats and make out for the Rhino to meet Libby. I can’t help but stop and say “Hi” and “Merry Christmas” to Wendy and Bradley. She didn’t say much. Dustin walks with us to the next bar.

Jamie races in the back; Dustin and I mosey in the front. Libby was by the door and greeted us with a big smile. Little Erin was with her and a bunch of friends I didn’t know. We all hugged and I sang a verse of the birthday song in her ear. She told me I was a good singer which I overwhelmingly am not. Jamie came rushing up from the back, now clearly drunk, but seemingly overwhelmed with emotion. She was exuberant. She hugged everyone and then decided to by shots, trying not to cry. She doesn’t get to see anyone anymore either. As Jamie scampered off I talked with Libby about some old postcards I had mailed her this summer from India. She didn’t get them, thought they were lost in the mail, only to find them at her mother’s house over Thanksgiving holidays. I told her I had just this week found another one I had never mailed. Jamie came back with the drinks. I took a stool and sat back and looked at this group. I had virtually lived with Jamie and Libby when I had first come to town. I had suffered through the death of Corey with them. But, god, it seems like it has been such a long time, seeing these girls together laughing, Jamie was now crying, all together. They are so beautiful, all of them. They are my friends, my first here. I care about them so much and I know they love me though it is easy to forget.

Last call passed and the lights came on. Some were gathering for after hours, but it was now way “after” my curfew. Now drunk myself, I just stared at them. Jamie was still crying when I decided to say goodbye. I’m a hugger by nature, and when Jamie said goodbye she told me she wanted a good “serious” hug, and reminded me of a hug we shared years ago: “it went on for hours,” she said. I had almost forgotten; I can’t believe it.

Feeling loved by old friends is a joy. This is Christmas. The act of remembering, reawakening the relationships that have been dormant, the act of remembering whom is important, the act of allowing yourself to remember maybe is what is important. I don’t know; it doesn’t matter—I am just telling a story about a night when I spent time with old friends. I saw them in an old light on a new day. We are older, better people, different then before, but our hearts are the same, our compassion the same, the reason I loved them in the beginning is the same. So why let it go.