Tears of a Clown

I cried. Softly and uncontrollably. It was a good cry. A happy cry. And, then, a releasing cry. It was a cry for sleep, and youth lost, and youth found, and youth remembered. It was a cry for home and for happiness and for all the dreams that will never be. It became a cry that lost all meaning other than the act of crying in itself.

A long lost, wonderful, memorable friend from back home granted me a wish. She scanned some pictures of me from...what year was that, girl? 1979? (Yeah, we were in kindergarten, then...yeah...) Man, did I ever have some massive hair going there. You know, I wasn't nearly as geeky looking as I always thought I was. The braces (four years - count 'em - four!) were some big hunks of steel on my smile, though. I hadn't remembered the incident. It's still a kinda fuzzy "I might remember that" on the edge of my brain moment. But, as I mentioned, I need pictures. I think that out of all the wonderful gifts I've been given in my life, that was definitely right up there. And the timing couldn't have been any better.

I need those pictures. All of them. Of the good times, the not so good times, and even the terribly embarassing things I'd rather not remember. They're all a part of my life. Parts that are missing because of unfortunate circumstance. Pictures (especially to someone like me) are such a connection to who we are - reminding us of who we were and how we got where we stand.

I was married once before...a long time ago in a land far, far away. It was a heady and romantic time in my life. I won't bore you with the not so fantastic details, only to say that I remember the marriage and my first husband with much more fondness than he remembers me.

That's right, folks, it was totally and completely the Warbler's fault. Other than the fact that he was silly enough to marry me when I so obviously shouldn't have been married.

But I no longer have access to any pictures of that time in my life. Nothing of the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, the trip to DisneyWorld and SeaWorld (or the picture of the bus stop bench in Orlando that said "StomachWorld"). There are no pictures of Marc, or Frank or Cyndi...D&D in Scotty's house (and, yes, he did beam us up) - Christmas in Galesburg. Just because those times are long past and the marriage didn't last, it doesn't make those memories any less important. Not having those pictures...well, it's almost like "You've been a bad girl and now you can't have any pictures for dessert." (Desert? Dessert? Always had a problem with that. I want the one the dromedary does NOT traverse)

I've lost all these memories - of myself and others. I've lost the ability to look at a picture of my first love (who still is a damn decent guy, btw, but really shouldn't have let me in on the fact that his wife is the size and width of a Barbie Doll!) and think back on how incredibly naive and stupid (yes, I said stupid) we were. So many pictures we used to take: Barbara, Debbie, Brad, Lisa, Lindsey. And later, Renee, Kathy, Erik, Mike, Scotty D., Mark S. (who really was only part of the magnificent seven because he was dating my best friend). Balaji, Gopie, Pam and Kathy S., John J. Pictures from Cinderella and Fiddler and Two By Two (which I actually found on the City Theatre of Independence web site - man did I still have some massive hair!)

I know they're just pictures. But with my lumplike gray matter, sometimes I need those pictures to trip the memories.

Like the pictures my girl from back home sent me. I didn't remember the Benji dog. I'm pretty sure my mom didn't let me keep him, either. I don't remember what happened to him. I do, however, remember that shirt! I don't, though, remember ever being that skinny! I do, though, remember every Friday night for two or three years was spent either at my house or her house. I learned so much (including the particulars of a certain conjugal act, after which hearing the details I exclaimed "Ewwww!!! I'm not ever doing that!!!!!).

So I cried. Not because of the conjugal act. I don't know if I cried because of the need to connect with home - or just because it was an incredibly nice thing to do at a time when I could so use an incredibly nice thing.

Thanks, B. Who loves ya, baby?

P.S. The move date is set for Aug. 10. Please pray for my patience - and my husband's life.