That Night...

(CAUTION: Violent content)

That night and that place weren't that different from any other college campus around the country. 

Oingo Boingo greeted us as we walked into the frat house...

"It's a dead man's party
Who could ask for more
Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door
Leave your body and soul at the door . . . "  they sang.

I had arrived on campus the night before. Debbie and Vandy ended up being room mates at the School of Mines after high school. Both of them wanted to be engineers. I wanted to be a teacher, so I stayed in Greeley attending the university there.  

It was a beautiful drive to their dorm. The road wound against the bottom of the foothills.  It was fall, we were young and we lived in dorms. What could be better?  

Debbie, always the bubbly one was grinning ear to ear and immediately looking around to find someone she knew. Vandy, the self proclaimed black witch and Stevie Nicks fan stood there a minute biting her already red cuticles before she started off for the keg. I stood there in my jeans, pink shirt and hot pink tie hoping everyone knew that Annie Hall had recently made it ok.  

The rooms were filling up quickly with jocks, and geeks, and girls. Giggly girls. Cute girls.  The kind of girls the jocks and geeks liked.  I could smell the beer that had already been spilled on the floor in several places and the faint smell of clove cigarettes from the lips of a beatnik-wannabe in the dining room.  

Vandy came back with an extra beer and an invitation to go out back.  

"There's more people out there.  And hot tubs!" she giggled.  

Oh god... I knew Vandy would end up naked in the hot tub with some guy by the end of the evening. But, it only took her an hour. 

Debbie had found the people she was looking for, and they sat on bean bags off to the side of the living room discussing the physics of fluids and how that would apply their budding careers.  

My tie and I took up residence leaning on the side of the pool table, just watching all that was going on around us.  

"Hi, my name is Scott. Do you go to school here?"  His voice and breath were too close to my ear for me to turn without breaking his nose, so I had to step forward to turn around.  

"Hi...umm, Gina, and no, I don't"  I said.

We shook hands and engaged in the kind of talk that takes place in situations like that; nervous, meaningless, flirty.  The kind of talk that seems like comfort for two, or too, lonely people. 

He liked the tie and I liked that he had touched my hand. Not because I wanted a boy... but because I wanted a human connection, because I wondered what it would feel like to kiss someone, because I had had one too many beers.  

The night crept on about as slowly as his hand crept up my leg. He was very attentive to my drinks... always making sure I had plenty, and I felt lucky that I wasn't being slobbered on by him like some of the giggly girls were now being slobbered on by the geeks and jocks. 

At some point ,  I don't really remember when, he wanted to show me his high school year book.  We weaved our way through bodies and beer bottles to his room.  The room was blue, not dark blue, but light blue, the color of icebergs in the ocean and it made me shiver.  There were two beds, his and his room mates. The latter of which, I was a bit shocked to see, was occupied by a couple who didn't know or care that we had just walked in.  

Scott took my arm and pulled me to the back where there was a  sort of room within a room  with bookshelves, a desk, and a chair.  He reached into one of the bookshelves and pulled down a black bound book with silver lettering and then flipped the pages till he found the one he wanted.  I took the book from him and brought it closer, trying to find him among the other players.  I was just about to point him out, when I was thrown to the ground. 

The carpet smelled like dirty socks and McDonald's french fries. It was blue too, dark blue.  His hand went to the back of my head and clinched my hair, clothes being pulled and stretched, and hands... everywhere hands...and I remember thinking.. "how did he end up inside of me so quickly?", but he did.. and I felt myself rip. 

I thought I heard someone whisper "stop, please stop".  

Why where they whispering?  

"Yell at him.. SCREAM at him, please, make him stop."  

I tried to look back.. but saw no one.  

He thrust so hard...I swear I could feel him in my throat, but really it was the screams that were stuck there.  I tried to focus on a cobweb in the corner, on the ceiling, but his body kept getting in the way... so instead, I tried to look through him.  

I was squinting.. the dark was so fucking bright.  Why did it have to be so bright? My head hit the desk leg as he finished. 

"Tell anyone, and I'll deny it... "  he threatened.

I laid there... for minutes...or hours, it was hard to say. I turned my head to the right and I saw a hand clutching my tie... it's knuckles where white and bulging and it wore my class ring. That same hand ran between my legs to wipe away the blood that had been painted there, and then along with another, dressed me.  

As I sat there... finally able to bring the cobweb into focus... it occurred to me that someone was playing that tape again...  

"...leave your body at the door
Leave your body and soul at the door . . . "

Part of the Posse

Wow! Ever have one of those times where words just don't fit?  For those of us who write, it's kind of an odd feeling.  But, that's how I feel this morning.  I woke up  to indulge myself in reading all my favorite blogs and see that I have been added to Margo Moon and Starr Ann's Posse over at the Starr Ann Chronicles!

I've watched Margo and Starr Ann over the fences for awhile, and always see the flickerglow in the their window, but being a little shy, hadn't quite made my way to the stables for a proper hello. 

This past weekend, a mutual friend with a capital F helped me meet Miss Margo, and what a pleasure it was. So to wake up this morning.... with me and my horse Bolero, as members of the posse... overwhelming.  So much so that Bolero and I went for a morning ride, just to reflect on the new year, new friends, new beginnings.  

We rode out, not to far... and we weren't going to be long...so I didn't even bother with a saddle or a bit... I just used his halter and lead rope as a makeshift headstall and reigns.  Bolero's walking gait is always smooth. Long, slow strides that just rock you into the center of yourself and your surroundings. I just let my head bob, and back sway in unison with his as we walked to his favorite spot.

It's a spot... just on the edge of town, where the city fades away to the north and prairies open to the south.  With the morning sun rising in the East, he turns... to face West... stops... throws his head back and snorts... white billowing breath like a steam engines release from his nostrils... horse-speak for  "We're Here".  

He shifts his weight to the left and so do I.  We just sit there in the quiet... looking across the barren, frosted field to the mountains dipped in snow.  

We let the rising sun warm our backs while a chilly wind tickled my nose and played in Bolero's mane.  

"I'm happy...", I whispered to Bolero. 

His head came back to the side and he gently tapped my leg with his nose... as if to say... 

"Let's RIDE!"

It's All Relative

There's a blonde haired, six year old. We share the recessive gene for blue eyes and a middle name.  We share a mom... kind-of... he thinks of her as a grandma, she's not... but he *is* a grandson.

He only see's his grandfather once in awhile and when he does, he says that his breath smells like beer.  He won't know, at least for awhile, that his grandmother smelled of beer too, the day they pulled her dead body from the wreckage. 

He won't know, at least for awhile...that same grandma touched his father as a lover when he was his age and that maybe that has something to do with the fact that he can't see daddy any more. Lawyers, judges and jail cells say so.  

He cries sometimes when he starts thinking too much about his mom. He doesn't understand the light bulb that burned his head 4 years ago, the one that cooked her meth, was the one that took her and has her hidden only miles from him.

He doesn't know that the man and woman he lives with are his great-aunt and uncle.  He just just calls them mom and dad.  My mom... his paternal great-aunt... is Bonnie to him... and he loves her he does know that.  He knows too that she  loves him. He gets to visit once a month or so. 

When he visits he gets to see Nana... my grandmother, his great grandmother, mother of 5, daughter of two... Nana. He does know that visiting her means cookies and kisses. 

He does know, that when he visits,  people... me and my sister and her boyfriend, travel miles to see him.  He doesn't know that we are second cousins... we are just Bonnie's daughters... or Gina or Shannon and Shawn. The one's who always have gifts for him and tease him and play rockets with him. 

He doesn't know that when we go out with him and people refer to him as my son or that I wish I had adopted him when I had the chance.

So the blonde haired, blue eyed six year old,  as we're sitting in a restaurant, leans over and whispers...  

"Gina, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No", I say.

"So, you're just a girl?" he asks. 

"Yep... I'm just a girl" I say.

He doesn't know... it's all relative.

Connections

In a previous life; yes even before the one where cable modems slid effortlessly upon my testing rack, before the executive babysitting gig, before the graphic artist thing, before the office manager thing, and before another staff babysitting job... before all of those, but after the wal-mart and movie theater popcorn jockey stint... I was an operator. 
A pick up the phone, dial zero and someone on the the other end answers with knowledge of all things telephone kind of operator.  

It's probably one of the most interesting jobs I've ever had. In spite of never having a set schedule, sitting in a call center where we sat lined like chattel going to market and in spite of having to raise a yellow colored card to let the managers know we needed to pee ... in spite of all that... it brought experiences that are too strange to be anything but true. 

The job of an operator, in practice, is rather mindless.  Wait for the beep in your headset, push a button, announce yourself, connect the caller to their number, push another button to disconnect, wait for the beep and repeat. However, every once in awhile, there comes a call that just, well... it just gives you a story to tell forever.  Lucky for me I have many stories to tell. 

One includes dark construction sites in the middle of the night and a gun, one involves the sound of the panic in a foreigners voice, one involves going back in time,  but those are posts for another day, not this one.  This post is about finding common ground. Making that caller's connection possible with nothing more than the ability to speak canine.  

80% of the calls coming to my station were for collect call connections, and a good chunk of those originated in jails and psych wards. Another good chunk of request for collect calls came from pay phones. Random people on the streets with no money trying to find someone who will take their call.  All of these calls were funneled into the room where I sat, headset on and waiting for a beep.  

A caller if he/she tried a collect call more than once, could connect with me one time and my neighboring co-worker the next. It wasn't uncommon for prisoners to call so many times that he could tell you which operators were on duty, and who you were sitting next to.  These type of people were the "regulars".  

The Woofer was a regular.  

At least once per shift, one of the operators would yell out... "The dog is on the loose!", and we knew that sometime within the next couple of hours, several of us would end up blowing our call completion times because we had to deal.. with The Woofer.   

A call from The Woofer went something like this.... 

Beep Beep....  
"U S West, this is Gina, how can I connect your call?" 

"Woof"  he would say, which really, didn't answer my question completely.

"I'm sorry, I'll need a phone number and the manner in which you would like to pay for the call" I would say.

"(Woof Woof Woof)Woof Woof Woof  - Woff Woof Woof Woof"  he would bark in telephone number format. 

"Sir, Are you trying to make a collect call?" I would ask.

"Woof"  he would confirm.

In most cases, this is where the operator would "disconnect"... hang up.  We were timed on how long it took to complete our calls and The Woofer took too much time.  

It was near the end of a very long double shift and nearing 2 o'clock in the morning when The Woofer ended up on my headset. I was tired, I was facing going home to an empty apartment, I was new to a big city.. and did I say I was tired?  

Beep Beep.... 

"U S West, this is Gina, how can I connect your call?" 

"Woof"...

...you remember the conversation;  then it struck me...  

"Thank you sir, that number was (Woof Woof Woof) Woof Woof Woof - Woof Woof Woof Woof. Is that correct?"  

Silence.

"Sir, was that the correct number?" I asked again. 

"Woooof..." he said, with a tone of surprise.

"Fine, Let me connect you."

I had dialed my own home phone number, knowing The Woofer and I would both hear the phone ring, but only I knew that no one would answer.  

"Wait!" came a voice from the other end.

"Sir?" I said.  "Is there something wrong?"  

"I changed my mind." he said. "But Ma'am..."  

"Yes?"  

"Thank You."  

"And thank you, for using U S West.  Have a nice evening Sir."  I said as I disconnected for the evening.

That was the last time the Woofer's call ever came to my station, but I like to think it wasn't the last time there was a connection.

Mornings (12/2007)

click .

"and that was Sarah Mclachlan with Building A Mystery.  Up next Bon Jovi's new one on 97.3FM KBCO at 5:30 am."

(1)  dog kiss on the nose

(2). "Time to get up!, Time to get up! Time to get up!"  ugh... I'm not a morning person. 

(3) "BEEP BEEP BEEP.... BEEP BEEEP BEEEP...."

(4)  coffee is done 
      "Arf! Arf! Arf... it's cold out here let us in"

(5)  Shower, I need a shower. Ahhh.... warm water

(6)  Oh... NOW I have to pee?! 
      WOOF!

(7) 156 pound Mastiff needs morning bone.  "MEOW! NOW!"

(8)  cats want out. 
       "...and now for the weather, it's Kathy Sabin."
       "Thanks Ron, ya... it's going to be a cold one today so don't forget your mittens."

(9)  small dogs running in circles at my feet

(10).... take dogs for a walk. 

Whew...okay... dogs in, cats out, keys....keys.... Where the hell did I put my keys?!!!!!!

Clap! Clap!

(11) "beep, beep"... keys attached to clapper technology. Nice. 

With all these reminders its a wonder I can get myself dressed in the mor.... 

Aww ....Shit!

The Preciousness of Being Gullible

Ah, my shaved headed little friend, your haughty smile made me giggle. A child playing with an empty box thinking it's the best thing ever, too gullible to realize the toys that belonged inside are being enjoyed by another. A little sad, but precious just the same.

Look around little one...

unguarded ....part 2

I have been unguarded at how I simply can not find the words to finish unguarded part one. But really, it only boils down to only one word...Betrayal. Of course this single word trails into others, infidelity, lies, deceit etc., but one can wrap them all up with a big bow in a box called "Betrayal". A trait beyond  redemption, though the betrayer has even deceived themselves into thinking otherwise.

After returning the u-haul, I opened the door to what I know now, was not the beginnings of betrayal, but the middle of it. It began with the first email two years before....and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

It was a rouse well played. I know now, I should have expected nothing more.

 If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck,  no matter how far it runs, or how much it thinks it's a swan,  and more importantly, no matter how much it claims to be a swan, ...it's still a duck.

And already, it has been proven so....several times over...and will continue on still.

Unguarded...no, not any more.

And that was my lesson.

The upside....I still get to fall in love for the first time! Falling in love with someone who really doesn't exist except in lies and deceit...gets you an automatic reset :-)