even if i am. (2 page)

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, February 17, 1:16 p.m.
Subject:
Re: inspiration information

kicking it old school

with a little Shuggie Otis attached…

nice touch.

Chas fact
#
2:

My father is a musician. He lives in the backwoods of Minnesota (by himself of course) and plays the blues. Sorta well known around town, and has been in a band since he was young. Bass. As a kid, I think he tried to teach me life lessons through a blues, jazz, or funk song…

If I just broke up with my boyfriend maybe a little John Lee Hooker, or failed some math test how about James Cotton, or maybe a bit depressed he’d throw in Robert Johnson and then tell me the story about the crossroads. (If you don’t know the famed story, you should.)

If I was confused, worried or excited…

how about some Parliament-Funkadelic.

So although all kids took piano lessons, I took bass lessons. I played in a band throughout high school, and then stopped.

just like dance…

I stopped.

hmmmm.

not sure why,

I just did.

grew up I guess.

you should take piano lessons again.

I mean, you’re gonna have to practice

if we start gigging right?

in the meantime

I better look like I’m working!

anymore Anthony fun facts?

Chas

After our morning meeting, my boss and a handful of co-workers were headed back to our desks when there Anthony was, walking toward us in the hall. I was so incredibly excited to see him. I mean, come on: model good-looking. Granted, we were only day two in our e-mail rapport, but I felt like I was in junior high. I wanted to jump up and down, grab someone’s arm and point. “Ohmygod, thereheis, hessocute!” However, our boss was next to me. Co-workers, too. I was thrilled, pleased, charmed, overjoyed, and completely elated to see him, but I played it so cool that I hardly looked at him. I ignored his endearing hello as we passed.
Ohmygod
. I was right — just like junior high, and just as smooth.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, February 18, 1:46 p.m.
Subject:
game face

anthony fun facts…

nothing nearly as interesting

as a backwoods bluesman, the bass,

or parliament-funkadelic

i was raised by a single mom,

in the suburbs of washington DC,

with two adopted brothers —

(the three of us together are a sight)

and we raised each other

while my mother finished grad school

and began working at children’s hospital

as a developmental psychologist for premature infants —

i can’t quite explain what it was like

to have a psychologist for a mother,

but i can tell you,

i still smell it

in my every fiber —

i think i’ve always been a loner,

but usually feel better about it

when it is a choice

rather than the alternative —

my favorite color used to be orange,

when i was the only kid in the second grade

with a backpack of that color,

sometime later i decided green

was much more my style,

much more peaceful —

and am currently looking for the right color

to paint my room from the white it is now…

i live in a six-bedroom house with five others,

an accommodation i am surprised to admit

i have been in for four years —

it sounds absurd, but it is actually

quite nice, comforting, and quaint —

my quiet pleasure are my plants,

which i have picked up at various times

over the years, but water them all on saturdays —

i was born on january 23
rd

and although it’s cheesy,

my eyes always seem to find the clock at 1:23 —

a number that always seems to find me…

this must be sent now

as i’ve been picking at it all morning —

you doin’ okay today?

you seemed a little preoccupied when I passed you,

but maybe that’s just your game face —

lord knows that’s mine

a.

p.s. my favorite parliament song is “the goose”

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, February 18, 3:54 p.m.
Subject:
Re: game face

yep, that’s the game face.

crazy morning meeting,

but I am back to sane.

no, more like balanced.

two adopted bothers eh?

and just your mom?

how about dad?

Me, I’m an only child. I grew up with my mom in a trailer park. Sounds rather redneck on paper. My folks were just kids when they had me. Seventeen. They didn’t have much time to raise a daughter — they were still sorting out their own lives. Matter of fact, they still are.

you, a loner?

you don’t seem like the loner type.

my favorite color is red.

but I am rather fond of green and purple.

you should paint your room green.

it represents healing and relaxation.

a six bedroom house with five others!

that sounds rather tight.

not much room for privacy.

is it all guys? like a frat house?

I am rather fond of plants myself.

Chas fun fact
#
3:

I used to be a landscape designer,

and I water my patio full of plants

on wed nights.

born on July 20.

are we not giving out years for a reason?

okay, okay, the REAL question.

why haven’t you asked me if I have a boyfriend yet?

or do you already know the answer?

or maybe it doesn’t matter?

I anxiously await a response…

Chas

I should’ve been working, but instead I passed the time waiting for his e-mailed reply listening to Shuggie Otis’s “Inspiration Information” every three minutes. Over and over. Like a schoolgirl, I’d sing, “You making me happier, now I am snappier, while I’m with you.” Between each lyric, I checked my inbox to see if he replied.

“You making me happier…”

Nope.

“Now I am snappier…”

Still no.

“While I’m with you…”

Repeat song. Twelve more times.

“You making…”

Finally!

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, February 18, 5:51 p.m.
Subject:
words worth

music was made to suit our moments,

and it is part of life’s game

to rediscover the music that fits

the moments we are living —

i hope this song finds you that way.

although your game face was a bit severe —

i too can be serious at times,

but know that there is another side to that coin —

a side that is goofy, playful,

and sometimes just plain retarded.

the story of my daddy is a long one,

and one i will tell you another time —

instead, i will address

the juicier questions you brought up…

i heard (this sounds so stupid)

that you have a boyfriend —

but didn’t feel like it entered

into the equation of coming to understand

who you are — not yet, anyway.

i don’t want to paint your picture

in the shadow of your relationship —

instead i would rather come to understand you,

all of your “facts” and idiosyncrasies

before learning how you relate

to someone else —

did i feel like i was in seventh grade

when i saw you this morning in the hallway?

certainly.

after sending you my e-mail,

did i check every five minutes

to see if you had written back?

absolutely.

do i feel guilty for geeking out

even though you have a boyfriend?

not at all.

reading your words

and writing my own

is a simple, beautiful pleasure

and one that defies circumstances —

besides, there is so much left to write

before we get to those chapters,

it would seem a shame to jump ahead…

a.

p.s. write back soon

“Real Simple”
Pepe Deluxe

That night the melody kept my speed as the chorus drove me home. Home to a three-day weekend. Home to my routine. Home to Five Year.

Keeping it real simple

Making me feel so simple

Being close you know

If you’re trying to make me

Feel uneasy

You’re doing it right baby.

Knowing my pleasure in reading his e-mails, and writing my own, I wondered if we could “keep it simple.” I wondered why he attached this particular song. Dissected the lyrics. Overanalyzed the e-mails. Wondering why his words were written like song lyrics themselves, and how strange it was that my own writing fell into his rhythm so quickly. Believing in things like chance and fate. Thinking about our conversations, driving home in a daydream. Letting the song mark the moment. Only three days since I saw him at the copy machine. Three days and I was falling. I had a head full of doubt and a heart full of promise. Then again, I’m
really
romantic about the beginning of things.

chapter two

real simple

When you’re in a long-term relationship and work a nine-to-five job, three-day weekends are the rage. You get to catch up on fun tasks like grocery shopping and laundry. As I strolled through an overcrowded Trader Joe’s with my boyfriend, this weekend was no exception.

Grocery shopping meant visits to three different stores so we could buy the brand names Five Year preferred. We weren’t the kind of couple that held hands while perusing the shelves. We came in to buy and get out. Five Year would tackle the frozen foods while I hit the dairy section. We were a disciplined grocery shopping team with years of practice.

“Hey, I think we’re out of toothpaste,” I yelled down aisle three.

He agreed as he headed toward the pasta sauce. “They don’t carry Colgate, though,” he shouted back.

“I’ll check to see what they have?”

As I scanned the limited Trader Joe’s selection of toothpaste, I discovered a brand named Tom’s of Maine.
Hmm. I wonder if this is any good.
I read the ingredients on the back of the box, then screwed open the cap to smell. It didn’t smell Colgate fresh, but I figured we could try something different. It’s natural, I thought. He might go for that. I threw it in the cart and moved on to the bread aisle.

As we stood in the checkout line unloading the cart, Five Year noticed the Tom’s of Maine and set it aside.

“I like the taste of Colgate,” he confirmed.

“Can’t we try something new?”

“You can if you want, but I’m still gonna get Colgate at the other store.”

Provoked, I put the toothpaste back on the conveyer belt.

…

As I got ready for bed that night, I saw the Tom’s of Maine sitting next to the Colgate. I couldn’t wait to use it. I opened the cap and squeezed the usual amount onto my toothbrush and started brushing. Up, down, right, left. Rinse. Repeat. WOW! This was the freshest tasting toothpaste I had ever experienced. It burned my gums, but in an “I’m-killing-bacteria-and-bad-breath” kind of way. As I scrubbed my teeth, I wondered why I hadn’t used this before. No seriously though. It’s better for you, it’s natural, and it’s so incredibly fresh tasting.

“Doesn’t that stuff taste horrible? Isn’t Colgate better?” Five Year asked, as he passed the bathroom.

Is Colgate better? Do I even like Colgate? Have I settled on a type of toothpaste? I started thinking back to the kinds of toothpaste I had used in previous relationships. I backtracked to my childhood, when my parents bought the toothpaste. I remember it being three different colors swirled together. I even remember the time when we ran out, and my mother made me brush my teeth with baking soda and water. Definitely memorable. But Colgate? When did I decide I preferred Colgate? I couldn’t mark a definitive time. Had I really settled on a toothpaste for him? Five Year was set in his ways. Granted he was twelve years older and, as he explained throughout our relationship, “I’ve had more time to figure out what I like.” This toothpaste incident was the perfect example. He was certainly not going to try something different. Why did I think he would? He knew what he preferred. These battles I had lost many times before. Why should toothpaste be any different?
Am I so dependent that I can’t pick out my own toothpaste? Am I overreacting? It’s just toothpaste, right?

Confused, I crawled into bed and turned off the light. “I’m going to sleep now,” I yelled toward our living room. “Come tuck me in.”

…

Since high school I’ve had one relationship after another. It didn’t help that I reversed my formative years; I maximized promiscuity in high school, and then suffered teen angst in my college dropout years. All the other girls were happily moving forward, striving towards careers in anthropology, business, and communications; seeking spouses and white picket fences. I cranked up the harsh heartbreak of Sarah McLachlan while they graduated with business degrees or married high school sweethearts. I contemplated my adolescence while exacerbating my despair by camouflaging my individuality in relationships.

I would chase men like other girls declared majors, each one giving me something to believe in, something to strive towards, and something to graduate with. Once in love, I’d disappear. I’d give up my being to the comfort of being in someone’s arms — everything I had, everything I was. Self-identity seemed unnecessary as I struggled to understand love.

Of course after months of dating, I’d eventually blame and criticize my partner for not being “good enough.” I’d find reasons to get out. He’s too ugly, too romantic, too nice, too pathetic, too energetic, too old, too young, too close, too different. Did he always chew with his mouth open? I’d blame the disgusting sound of him chewing, stating, “I could never stay in
that
relationship,” then seamlessly pick a different major with barely a summer’s break. I was in a rut, a big, fat rut, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.