kagablog

I saw the body when I walked in the door. It glinted white off the tiles in the bathroom, through the tiny crack of light that came through the window over the sink. I saw the body, on its back, arms outstretched. Your face was half covered by a towel. I could see your lips, and they were purpleish blue. I peeled the towel off your cheeks, it was damp and stuck. You eyes were squeezed shut. I pressed the backs of my thumbs into them, and you moved a little. Your long eyelashes flattered, and your blue green eyes stared at me and then the ceiling until they closed again.

Until I saw them, I didn’t connect the body with you.

When I called the cops and 911 the neighbours came outside to see what was going on.

That kid from three houses down was peering at us through her mom’s legs, and when the ambulance started moving her dad lifted her up onto his shoulders so she could have a full view. I wonder what that conversation was like. I wonder how they explained that to her. I felt like an animal in a circus though, I was angry. I remember thinking, we are not on display here. Get on with your fucking day. But I didn’t say anything. I smiled tightly and when the paramedic asked me questions I tried to answer them as best I could.

I hadn’t seen you all day, or spoken to you the day before. I had no idea how long you’d been like this. I had no idea what caused it.

When we got to the hospital I had to answer questions about your medical history.

He’s a former drug addict, I told them, trying not to cringe when I saw the nurses face. She was so obviously trying to be professional but she seemed young and new. She was a little too thorough when she asked the questions. I could see the horror in her eyes though. He doesn’t have HIV I wanted to scream. He’s been clean for seven and a half years. Looking at him in the bed, still outstretched, I wondered if that was actually true.

Had he been lying to me lately? He’d been acting weird. I didn’t know anymore.

I told her to the best of my knowledge that he had been clean for years.

I wasn’t considered family, so it took me ages to get to go inside the room.

He has a daughter, I told them. She’s thirteen but she lives in South Africa.

He never married her mother. He’s never been married. He’s thirty five years old. I’m his ex girlfriend. We went out two years ago. We’re still friends. I have no idea who else to call. His father lives in South Africa and his mother is dead.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if was on any medication.

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know. Really.

I read dog eared magazines and pretended to sleep and pretended not to listen to other people’s conversations. I thought about my grandfather who was sick, which was the only other reason to have spent any time in a hospital. They would both be ok, I thought.

They had to be.

I drank twenty five cent coffee and paced the dusty floors, and traced designs with my shoes. I made small talk with nurses and doctors. I watched old ladies being pushed around in wheelchairs, catheters sticking out, grey hair looking greasy, flying out in certain places. The view out the window was of the parking lot.

My chair wasn’t comfortable enough to sleep in. I pretended I was on a plane, needing to sleep so I wouldn’t be jetlagged.

It was 27 hours before they let me see him. Longer than a flight to Australia. Not that I was counting.

You seemed ok. You didn’t look ok, but they said you were, so who was I to argue?

Your face was grey. You had tubes in your arms to feed you and hydrate you.

They didn’t know what caused you to pass out, lose consciousness suddenly.

One minute you were washing your hands, drying them, and then you weren’t. So simple.

It’s a good thing I came by when I did, everyone kept saying.

Otherwise, who knows?

They didn’t know what had caused it. They ran some tests, and had to run some more.

They told you you could leave that afternoon.

I said I would help you to get home. I’d take a cab with you, I’d call the company right then. While they ran your tests, I went back to your house, cleaned it a little.

I put things away, if I knew where they went. I opened windows, let the air in.

I hung and folded clothes. I put your records in piles. Tried to alphabetize a little, or whatever you latest system was.

I checked your messages, wrote things down on paper for you. Bought more paper towels and toilet paper. I tried to help. It seemed easier. Like you’d be healthier if you came back to a nicer place. Like everything could be easily solved with basic organization.

When we got back we sat in the living room, on the floor, at eye level with the coffee table. I sat cross logged, your long thin legs looked lean. You looked flexible, like a yoga teacher. It made me laugh, to see you so sick, looking like the picture of health and alternative medicine. Life is fucked up man.

I ordered Chinese. You ate egg rolls while I poked holes with my plastic fork in the Styrofoam take out container. I didn’t eat, and you pretended not to notice, which was nice of you. It was not the time to fight about anything.

I was resigned to my eating disorder. I did not want to go to hospital. It was not something I felt like discussing then or over.

You told me you were going to London. England, obviously, you said sharply when I asked. What the hell kind of music would I make in London Ontario?

I sighed. I wasn’t a worldly music producer who got to make cool pop records and meet crazy celebrities who’d had all the plastic surgery and did all the drugs and cheated on each other more than even the tabloids could imagine. I wasn’t living a fabulous jet setting life. I was a fourth year university student studying art and creative writing.

I was becoming less and less impressive by the minute.

You put the leftovers in the fridge and said you needed to go to bed. It was 7:45.

I said it was ok, I had to go anyway. You had told me about London before, the pop music capital of Europe, blah blah blah. I don’t know why, but until that night I guess I never really believed you were serious. I mean, you say a lot of things, don’t you?

I guess I didn’t believe you’d really leave. Sell your house and everything. I didn’t know you could do it so easily.

I didn’t know you’d want to.

Part of me thought it was better, healthier. Our friendship is weird, I always thought that.

Maybe it’s holding me back from moving on, from being in other serious relationships? Maybe it was holding you back too. Maybe this would be better. You’d move to London and your career would flourish. You’d work on multi million dollar projects all the time.

You’d go to award shows and be creative. I’d stay here and live a different life.

Maybe that was how it was always meant to be.

You left two months later. I surprised myself by being shocked and then angry.

I’d make up excuses not to talk. I’d say I was studying and busy. I’d tell you I had friends over even though I knew you were calling from long distance.

You always sounded injured and it made me happy. It made me happy to know you still cared, which made me feel terrible.

I was the worst person ever. I still couldn’t really talk to you for longer than ten minutes at a time. You did all the talking, which was strange.

I had nothing to say.

One day you called in March. I was home, even though it was 2:30 in the afternoon.

You were at a clinic there. You said you’d been feeling sick. They’d taken tests. They’d figured it out. It was Hepatitis. They knew for sure.

It may have been acquired in your time as an addict. It may have been dormant for that long, they couldn’t be sure. They didn’t know, no one knew there was no cure.

Don’t know don’t know don’t know. No one knew anything about anything.

I tried to listen. I tried to focus and picture it. Again, it did not compute.

We talked for over an hour. I said I’d come visit next month.

God you said, trying to make a joke. If I had known I was going to get sick and die anyway, I could’ve been doing heroin all these years.

I said I had to go then. I got off the phone and vomited. I vomited until I felt better. It took about half an hour. I thought about it. Thought about what to say to you.

Thought about how much you hated yourself to put yourself through it in the first place.

Thought about how hard it was for you to recover. We’d been friends for so long before.

Years. It took you years.

You always wore long sleeved shirts even in summer.

You woke up at night, shaking, years later.

You sweated in winter.

You overdosed when you were young and stupid. Drugs were the thing to do, you said, you just went too far. You always sensed the way people felt when you showed them your track marks, or when you told them you used to be an addict. They looked at you like, thank god I never went that far. Thank god I knew when to say when. Thank god I’m not like you. And you were right, I could see it too. They were thinking they were better than you. They weren’t you know. I didn’t say that enough at the time. They weren’t better, they just took less risks.

You lived life to the fullest my friend. You really did.

You were braver than me. You experienced, you got out there and tried. You lived it all.

You died a month later, two weeks before my plane ticket was booked for.

I knew it was coming but I couldn’t believe it. Nothing helped to prepare me. I’d walk down the street and it would hit me, these were things you might never see again. Light hitting the trees, squirrels, kids in coats running out of school. I cried all the time.

I never knew I’d never get to see you again.

You had friends, I’m not sure you knew it, but you had a lot of friends.

You had a great kid, that you know, but you had a lot of friends who loved you.

Friends like me, who were sorry they didn’t try hard enough to understand, who didn’t take you seriously enough, who didn’t do everything they could when they had a chance.

I think about it all the time.

I don’t know how much else I can promise, but I promise you I’ll never forget.

I’ll never ever forget.

I thought about her
I didn’t think about how she’d look now
She’s beautiful, but that you know you see you breathe
I know she is and so are you when you’re with her
So are both of you
But I thought about what she’d be like
With a name like
What an individual she’d be
If the world was hard on her for being who she is
She could come home and talk to you, and you’d understand
What it’s like to be a renegade
you’d talk to her with understanding
without ever looking down
with love
And she’d be ok, she’d always be ok
People who say you can’t protect your kid from the world are wrong
You can you can love them and accept them
and make them feel that everything they feel and are is ok
Then they’d have a fighting chance of finding their strength
She’ll be resilient, I just know it, and creative
You’re both going to be the best.

I’m not angry with you for what you can’t give anymore

I’m not hurt or frustrated at the fact that you’re not warm or loving or anything I need

I don’t expect as much as I did

I’m sensitive like you

But I try to communicate it

We’re not so different you and I

I spent so long trying to be and didn’t succeed in all ways

I have parts of you in who I am

I can’t communicate to you but that doesn’t mean in my mind

That I don’t feel angry or hurt or worthless or inferior or any of the things you want me to feel

It doesn’t mean I don’t resent you

That I got a lobotomy while you were sleeping

That I’ve suddenly changed

That now I’ll straighten up and fly right

Morph into the thin sleek Ivy League well earning religious girl success you’ve always wanted me to be

It just means for now or maybe always I guess

I’ve learned to let it go ( for my own health not yours)

It doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed

What it means is I’ve learned not to hurt myself every time you hurt me

That part will never change, I know

I’m going to stop believing you

I’m going to start caring slightly less.

There is water coming out the sides of my eyes

Leaking dripping involuntary

You know how it is

Swallow down beer in the darkest corner

The cheap stuff whatever they have on tap

Dry peanuts salt that sticks in the back of your throat

Seeds that you knock back to fill any silence

If you fill your body you can fill your soul

I feel so lonely sometimes when I talk to you

And I don’t like how that feels

It didn’t used to be this way

We were once on the same page, weren’t we

There was once a we to speak of

My body is shaking now but I say I’m cold

It’s the weather you know how it is

Is there so much distance between us that you can’t read me anymore

Or do you not care as much as you used to

I’m going to go home run my hands under cold water

Watch the blue ( I have no gloves) turn to red

I’m going to lie in the bath with the lights off

Tell myself I did everything I could

I fought when it was time to fight and I understood when it was time to understand

I’m going to cry and hope when you can’t see me

I’m going to let go only when I’m ready

I’m not ready to give up on you yet ( even though I know that everything is changing I see it I see you)

I don’t know how it changed

I don’t know how I went from being important to you

To be an afterthought occasionally

What happened you never pick up the phone anymore

Did all the effort always come from me

I can’t remember anymore

You lie to him so much

Lie by omission

Make him think you’re someone else

How often did you lie to me

How often did I fall for it

You don’t need me anymore

I wish I didn’t need you either

I wish I wasn’t so disappointed

I wish I’d somehow seen this coming.

When you ask me how I pass the time

I have nothing to say to you

I have spent the days browsing

Doing nothing but research on

Subjects that are of little interest to you

I know I’m not interesting to you anymore

It’s not your fault their attitude rubbed off on you

I understand I know

I am here to serve

I know my place

I’m glad you know it too now finally

I wish things were different sometimes.

There is no space in this place to be a person

Their needs are blocks built like a game of tetris

Each player is strategic

I have nowhere to move

I keep getting crushed and folded shoved into small space

Contorted and distorted until I don’t even exist anymore

I understand why you don’t have time for these conversations

I do

I just wish you could understand for a second

What it’s like to live under the weight of all this expectation

And to know that it’s never good enough.

You don’t think about me enough is what I’m trying to say, I guess
You don’t think about how bad I have it too

Everything about this place makes me uncomfortable

The walls and the furniture the papers in neat stacks the books so out of reach

Everyone finds it hard to breathe in here

Everyone is afraid of breaking things

I find myself shoving food down by throat to escape the terrible loneliness and boredom

I find myself sleeping all day to make the hours go faster

I don’t know what I want anyway

I just wish I was somewhere else

I wish I had solutions, a gameplan

I wish I knew what we could do to save ourselves

How to pass the time

I wish I knew how to make myself happy here.

He was missing two fingers
From an accident he’d had as a kid
He ran away from his mom, climbed an electric fence
And lost part of both
The feeling his nails part of the tops
It didn’t make him look so strange
He was awkward looking already
6 foot 3 skinny
When he walked around with no clothes on
He looked like a greyhound
There was something graceless and funny about him
From the way he brought wine and a box set of Family Guy to our first date
To the way he left his first answering machine message in a fake
Scottish accent
I asked if I could call him my boyfriend
He said he didn’t mind
You can call me Suzie if you want, he said
I laughed
When I needed glue for an art project he stole some from the art store
he was working in
Three finger discount, he said
As if saying it made the truth less awful
It’s a working class principle I think, survival of life
Be the first to call yourself on terrible things that are true about you
And everyone laughs and shrugs their shoulders
I never knew he’d turn out to be so controlling
He called his stubbornness being proud
But that didn’t change anything
We fought so many times
He cried when I was sick
But wouldn’t tell me that he loved me
He always called me every second day, not every day
With no explanation
He had secrets that he told me he would take with him to his grave
Secrets from his childhood
He wouldn’t tell me more than that
But he told me things I didn’t want to know
About the drugs he did as a teenager
The neighbourhood he grew up in
The first time he had sex at 14
The time he had sex in a cemetery as a gothy teenager
The way the light made it look romantic
But nothing I ever told him about any guy ever made him jealous
Nothing I did ever made him want me enough
When he broke up with me
I was dazed and sad and confused and more hurt than I’d ever been
I tried to hurt him in any way I could
I didn’t understand how he could just cut me off
Out of his life like a limb he no longer needed
It took me so long to forgive myself.
( if you’re reading this, somehow, I just want you to know that I’m sorry)

If I could, I would tell you all the reasons I am angry with you
I would list them, number them, organize them as neatly and
articulately as I could
Use big enough words to impress you
Throw in some legal jargon
I cheated off your test in standard two
I don’t know if you ever knew or even remember
I copied all the information about cumulus clouds and rainflow
The whole diagram that you knew off by heart when we had a pop quiz one day
I fooled the teacher into thinking I was smarter than I was
But I never fooled you
You’re a big shot lawyer now, but you’re never big enough
You never earn enough
You’re never secure enough
I’m still an artist who plays with paints and spends too much and eats
too much crap
And doesn’t go the gym enough
I’m not as lonely as we used to be
Remember when we were teenagers, nerdy
We used to read Ann Michaels and trade notes on writers
Even last year we traded notes on Antjie Krog
Even you had to concede to how brilliant she is
I told you to read more Afrikaans writers- you’re missing out, I
thought, like you always do
You achieve too much, you don’t live enough
But then I live too much I’m sure
I know I do
I know I have
When did we grow apart
When did you start to hate me so much
When did you start to resent me like this
Last year after we fought
After you judged me unfairly
After I lost my temper
After I said things I couldn’t take back
Things I’ve already forgotten
You said you took down all the pictures of us
The one of us wearing puffy dresses at parties when we were ten
The one where were both anorexic and not talking about it
The one when we started to look like ourselves
You are my oldest friend
When I think of my childhood, you’re always there
All our history
In the end everything just dust
Ashes shadows history black out over
And the worst part is you never told me why
You just keep making excuses keep telling me you’re busy keep avoiding
me slowly
Til you phased me out
I’m not angry anymore.

Desirae told me she wants to have a kid the other night. She came flat
out and said it, no beating around the bush. When we first met, I
loved how she’d just speak her mind, how she’d say the things everyone
else was thinking but was always too afraid to say. Des is never
scared of offending anyone. A lot of people pretend not to care what
people think, but Des truly doesn’t. Like, if she has something to
say, she’ll just say it, you know, and fuck everyone. She’s like that,
my girl. She just runs her mouth. The thing is, she doesn’t always
think before she says stuff, and that’s sometimes the problem with
her. She’s like an overexcited kid, she gets these ideas, and cause
she’s so cute when she’s into something, you want to go and make her
happy, but it’s crazy, cause I’m still using, and she knows it, even
if she pretends not to, even if she turns a blind green eye she’s
still seeing it, you know? We have no money, and frankly I’d rather
spend it on the stuff it takes to make me happy, I mean besides what
kind of father would I be if I couldn’t keep myself satisfied? H for
me is like fashion is for women, or sports if for jocks, it’s just
essential, it’s just what I need, it’s just that simple. But according
to almost everyone, ever, that would make me an unfit parent, so it’s
kind of a no brainer, I mean come on.
I love Des, I really do. I have no idea where it even came from. I
mean, we’d been fighting all the time, yelling and she slept on the
couch for like a week, and now all of a sudden she’s whispering things
to me at 5:00 am about how she wants to have my baby. I mean, a part
of me thinks it’s really romantic, and she’d be a swell mom, she
really would. But it’s not the right time. Not now, no way. I told her
maybe though, cause I could see the hurt on her face. I can’t say no
to her ever. It’s one of the biggest differences between us. I’m
always afraid of offending people. Worst of all for me is hurting her.
I’ve never loved anyone in the world the way I love Desirae.

I’ll tell you the truth; the first time I was pregnant with Jason’s
kid wasn’t the miscarriage. I got pregnant before that, accidently. It
wasn’t one of those things, where the condom broke, or we forgot to
use one, or I forgot to take a pill. It wasn’t spur of the moment on
the kitchen table lovemaking, or even just a roll around in the bed.
The truth is, I don’t know when I conceived, but I first noticed
something was wrong when I stopped getting my period. I was tired all
the time, and two months had rolled by with no period, not even a drop
of blood, and you can chalk it up to stress, but I knew something was
up. My breasts felt swollen all the time, and I was irritable, like I
was constantly on the verge of getting my period, but didn’t.
Pregnancies in movies are one of those things, where the guy
practically throws the girl up in the air, you know, twirls her all
lady like and confirms his love. I had these vague ideas of making a
kids room in our place, painting it pink or blue, or yellow, dropping
out of school, being a mom, but who was I kidding you know? We weren’t
ready. It wasn’t a cause for celebration it was a cause of
unbelievable stress. I stopped sleeping at night, I started pacing,
making the floor boards creak. I didn’t think I would but I got
attached to my belly, I got attached to the flesh. It was so strange,
I always thought moms who talked to their stomachs and read them
stories and played music for them were cracked, I was always pro
choice when I was younger, like in high school debates and all that,
but suddenly I couldn’t stop crying all the time. It’s one of those
things that seems impossible to actually do. I mean, I did it, but I
barely remember how. It was out of necessity. Not out of desire to, it
was out of need. It was circumstantial, that was that. All the cliché
things you hear about after, like it being difficult to walk by parks
full of kids, or see them running around on the sidewalks in front of
you is true. It broke my heart every time. It was over so fast,
possibly even faster than it took to conceive, isn’t that amazing? I
mean when you think about it, it really is.
I remember being in high school, when I was 16 or so, and hearing
this Ani Difranco song about abortion, and thinking that my life
wasn’t interesting enough. Life gets real when you deal with that
stuff, I remember thinking. Here’s the thing, the thing I never knew
before- life just gets infinitely more complicated the older you get.
It never ends. The challenges never go away, the hills just constantly
get steeper. My life is worse than it used to be. It’s harder and not
more interesting. I never tell people this stuff because I don’t want
them to judge Jason. I was 19 at the time, and in college. He was only
24, we were babies. We were just not ready. The truth is, I know he’s
still not. But I still love him. Am I sick? I wish I knew if my love
was rational or just plain ridiculous.