| Day 17 |
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May 17, 2004 The theme this month was partially-imposed from above, our ever-changing band of contributors faced with answering one of three questions: Will love destroy us, or keep us alive? Is God on the side of the werewolves? How will I get home? Surfacing through this restraint came the idea that love is both destructive and redemptive, both terrible to behold and difficult to walk away from, both worthwhile and hard to swallow. There was also a faint thread of lycanthropy, but that may have been the doing of the moon. Elizabeth Edwards (Champaign, Illinois)
Joe Janda (Port Jefferson, New York)
Michelle Ferrara (Brooklyn, New York)
Sara Hays (Washington, DC)
Constance Chang (Astoria, New York)
Pete McClymont (London, England)
Kirsten Carleton (Boston, Massachusetts)
Amanda Cardone (Port Jefferson, New York)
ELIZABETH EDWARDS
Two scenes from a life that seems not my own: A year ago today I stood next to my lover as she married the father of her three year old daughter. It was sunny, and sheep were bleating on the hill behind us. Everyone wept, me perhaps the most for I felt like my life would never be complete now that she was committed to him. Nevermind that I was married, that our relationship had been through so many changes -- I thought this was the end. I stood by her, I sat at her dinner, and I cried myself to sleep. A year removed, she no longer speaks to me, and her absence doesn't burn into me as it once did. Strange how so much has changed. Tonight my three friends came to the coffeeshop while I worked. I stood behind the counter and watched them play games -- my best friend of ten years, my boyfriend, and my friend -- and it was as if I were standing outside my life, watching what it was like before I was here, before the possibility of this life even existed for me. I watched them laugh and drink and talk -- and was a part of it, even though I remained outside. Strange how so much has changed. :: website ::
JOE JANDA
Nothing interesting happened to me on Monday, May 17. I had no profound thoughts. Or even amusing thoughts. Although Joy Division once said that love will tear us apart -- and I think this more likely than werewolves tearing us apart -- I can't quite decide if God sports an 'I heart werewolves' bumper sticker. Oh. Our new cat destroyed some things early Monday. He likes to push things off high shelves. If I were a werewolf I would eat him. Except that I love our little cat, and that perhaps saves his playful destrucive hide. Please don't post this.
MICHELLE FERRARA
Today I traveled to my hometown of Scotch Plains, NJ to attend a wake (or "viewing," as you non-Catholics say) for the younger brother of one of my very dear friends. At 24, Ryan died unexpectedly last Thursday of causes yet to be determined. His death came not only as a shock, but as another blow in an almost impossibly rough year for his family, packed with losses. Funny how that happens sometimes. If God exists, damn it if he doesn't work in some truly mysterious ways. I hadn't seen Ryan's older brother Colin in a few years, and although I was horrified at the circumstances, I looked forward to seeing him this afternoon. A (The?) true love of my life since I was 14 (!!!!), Colin was the first person I ever loved to the point where I couldn't eat, sleep, breathe, etc. The most interesting, kind, brilliant, hilarious, and amazing friend, he was also the first person about whom I ever had the realization that I could spend every day with him and it would never get old. Furthermore, it would never, ever be nearly enough. And 12 years later, I know I'm still right about that. Granted, we've grown up a lot and carved out two totally divergent paths for ourselves. I'm pretty sure that he and I are probably not "meant to be," at least not in that sense. But I can confidently tell you that we will always be dear friends with much love between us. And damn it! Just knowing that that kind of love exists. Unwavering, unaffected by time or distance. That's got to be heartening. And it's got to answer your question. Love will keep us alive, of course! Always, always, always. Also, I am a romantic fool.
SARA RUTH HAYS
I feel surprisingly well after having stayed out late drinking gin and tonics and dancing to rock music the night before. Two aspirin and a glass of water before bedtime does the trick every time. At work Yahoo rules me and at times I am annoyed at a coworker for interrupting my concentration on my cleverly crafted emails by asking some slightly self answerable questions. Then I realize in that moment of annoyance that she is working and I am not, and the guilt seeps in. While checking my email, I also check my horoscope, which mentions that I am articulate and I should put my feelings into writing. It also says that I can find freedom in embracing the moment instead of focusing on the future (something I do entirely too much of). Then I felt some Lutheran guilt because I read my blasphemous horoscope more than I do any sort of religious text. So in my case God is surely on the side of the werewolves. But I don't believe in werewolves so God must surely be on my side. I do feel particularly articulate today, and I'm living quite in the moment. Is it the stars or is someone looking out for me?
CONSTANCE CHANG
2 out of 3 ain't bad. Every once in awhile we are afforded a pregnant pause in the otherwise relentless flouting of justice. If not for these pauses, one might be inclined to believe that higher beings side with the hobgoblins, demons, and werewolves of our current Administration. But on this particular Day 17, I went to court and justice was upheld. I was given an Adjournment in Contemplation of Dismissal for my recent arrest, which means that barring further arrests in the next 6 months, I will get my hideous mug shot back. This particular leniency was doled out by a kind judge, who seemed to be gently laughing at the miscarriage of justice that landed me in the clink in the first place. I later found out that she was the former NYC councilwoman who had tirelessly championed ferret rights. An animal lover, of course! I have found without fail that you can trust those who love animals to do the right thing. (Rest in peace, Spencer Kaputski.) When I read the paper, through teary eyes, I raised my stapler in solidarity with all the lovely couples previously sustained by love, alone, but who on Day 17, made it legal in Massachusetts, just for good measure. In light of the evidence presented here, on Day 17, love keeps us alive (and free)!
PETE McCLYMONT
"Jesus is my Homeboy." Or so said the guy's baseball cap at Balham station. There are so many ways to get home, each with it's ups and downs. When the day drags, like it did on Monday, when I'm stuck in the office rather than being out and about, thoughts turn to the journey home, a sit in the garden and a beer. Tube to Balham, bus almost to doorstep -- lazy man. Tube to Victoria, train to West Norwood and walk -- the bog standard. Or, the nuclear option, bus from Waterloo Bridge to Norwood Road and schlepp up the hill -- over an hour, but a good way to unwind and read a book. I left work at about quarter to six as usual. I was the last left in the office as usual. When there's only six people working in the building that's not difficult. Delays on the Northern Line due to overrunning engineering work made the choice easy -- by train from Victoria. Bummer. The 1807 sits in the yard all day: unseasonably warm weather this week. So I sweated all the way to Norwood. Thank Jesus Homeboy for beer and refrigerator. :: website ::
KIRSTEN CARLETON
The morning was a drive, a long one. I went westward to the college I hoped to be returning to in the fall. The circumstances of my leaving were ambiguous even to me, but they had something to do with violence, drink, and a love affair gone wrong. My readmission interview was at eleven, and though I was making good time across the pike, I was cutting it close. Afterwards, I wandered the campus briefly before calling anybody to tell them the good news. I passed dorms I had once lived in, walked paths that I had often walked. Never fall in love with your best friend, I thought forcefully to myself. That way lies disaster and heartbreak. My second phone call was to a boy, a good friend. He applauded me for my success, my imminent return to the world of academia. His voice made the news real. I hung up and started for my car and the long drive home. Again, I tried to warn myself: never fall in love with your best friend. :: website ::
AMANDA CARDONE
At five in the morning on the 17th I awoke to a loud crash and the sound of a startled bird chirping away next door. Confused and groggy, I lay in bed while Joe went to see what was amiss. He demanded answers from our new cat: "What was it, Bob? What happened?" I rolled over and began to hope it wasn't my fancy silver serving dishes, or our favorite collection of Around the World mugs, both of which are placed somewhat precariously above our kitchen cupboards. Then I heard a sigh. "Oh baby, you're not going to be very happy with Bob." "What was it?" I yelled loudly through our apartment which is impressively soundproof, but only from within, as we are constantly subjected to noise from next door (like the bird), and outside (like the motorcycle maniacs who for some reason find it appropriate to constantly rev their engines up and down the main street of a quaint little portside village on the Long Island Sound). "The monkey bowl." What on earth is a monkey bowl? I wondered. We've got a number of monkeys out there in the living room -- a see-no-evil monkey from Sao Paolo, Brazil, and some little monkey figurines which keep their eyes out for him, but none of these are in the shape of a bowl. Joe corrected himself: "I mean frog bowl." Still slightly baffled, I padded my way down the hall to discover for myself the terrible tragedy which had befallen one of my most favorite material possessions. Nearly two years ago to this day, during a visit to California, I bought a bamboo plant contained in the most darling container full of stones and surrounded by frogs which stare up at the plant as though it is their own personal, ribbiting god. I toted this plant and container from Los Angeles to San Luis Obispo in a rental car, and then from San Luis Obispo to San Francisco, and then on an airplane from SF to Pittsburgh. A few months later, it traveled with me when I moved to Long Island, and has survived every move around the island since then. It is always greeted with enthusiasm by guests -- just the other night, on the 14th, a new visitor raved about the uniqueness of the "frog bowl." But as well as it could survive car trips and airplane trips all over the country, it seems that it was unable to survive my playful tuxedo-coated kitten, who, under the influence of the werewolves howling at him in the dead of night, was coaxed into shattering my beloved plant's circle of adoring frogs. |