On my first day of this New Year, that is sure to shape up with much cleaner, concise, purposeful lines- unlike the ripped, burned, gnawed and unraveled edges that created last years shape, (that resulted in a ambiguous pattern that I am still unsure what to make with it) I rode my bike far.
I set out to jog to my friends New Years Day get together. I put on my jogging attire and imagined in my mind how far Beacon Hill might be from my home. A few attendees of the New Years Eve party I had performed at the night before had offered to drive me home, as they saw me unsuccessfully hailing for a cab outside the venue. On the ride home with the strangers they said "when I used to live on Beacon Hill I would take 23rd ave all the way through."
So in my jogging mind I thought "well if they can drive that way, I can run that way".
I have this power with directions, I just "know" where things in the world are. I have an innate sense of direction. Which is probably due to the fact that I grew up on the Pacific ocean and it was really simple to get a grasp of it. The sun rises over the mountains in the east and sets over the ocean in the west. The town was only as thick at the shore, four horizontal streets running east to west and a splatter paint of houses and twisty roads up in the hills; before they became mountains. And the town was held just like bookends between the two geographical masses.
Then I imagined myself super sweaty in white running shoes at this "get together", without even a purse, just an i-pod and a ponytail head, and thought, "Heck, put on something respectable and ride your freaken' bike". Which I did.
Thank goodness, god only knows how I made up the story in my head about Jude living on Beacon Hill, because in reality she and her girlfriend live about 15 miles south of that hood, like outside of Seattle basically. Across the Duwamish River.
I rode my bike up the steep bridge the crossed from the industrial area of south Seattle with huge trucks and huge-er planes, across the thick grey river to "South Park", their neighborhood. Instantly I saw that THIS is where the delicious Mexican food was hiding! I had no idea. Brightly colored storefronts and signs I couldn't read, I was so excited, I fly to San Fran just to eat a decent burrito.
I was a perfect winter day for a long ride. It was grey and misty but surprisingly not too cold, the wind was strong, but again, not too cold. It felt powerful and hard to ride against, the invisible force pushing the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose, at moments threatening to take me and my ridiculously lightweight bike frame away with it.
Arriving at the house was a dream. I stored my bike in Jude's basement where she has her music room. The first thing I noticed were all the posters from Baltimore shows we had gone to and bands we loved loving together. It felt like home, looking at that kind of wallpaper that has been absent from my life for so long.
Upstairs on the fridge held up with a magnet, was Jude's girlfriends high school I.D. In her picture she has one eye closed, like a cartoon wink.
She went to the same high school in the sliver of a beach town that I went to, that all my three sisters went to, that my first girlfriend went to, the same first girlfriend who happened to also be at this New Years day 2010 get together.
Lesbians run in packs and I always joke about the cross over and trade-off girlfriend situations etc. etc. that happen in the Lesbian communities and circles. But I actually really love moments like this. The interconnectedness of the communities from city to city, and all the music and art and friendships and lovers and memories. So many long distance feelings, love letters, heartbreak and scandal. Packing up our lives and driving across the country for a better chance at visibility and safety. Breakups and makeups and sadness and healing.
I suppose that house felt so good because it had been so long. I've known Azsa since I was twelve. I moved my life with Jude from Baltimore to Seattle. We have seen so much together. We've had a lot of time to digest.
So I guess when I am talking about all the clean lines and sharp patterns I'm after this year-maybe not so much.
Perhaps it's just that up close they are coarse and you see all the imperfections and methods of creating that shape that are not so pleasant.
But if you zoom out, with time, the overall shape is solid and the focus is a bit blurred, so the loose ends and desperate cuts don't seem so hostile, you just get the general idea of the thing...
Is this true? Is this helpful to me? Is that shape just one word in the story? It's how we tell ourselves our story, and then how we shape it in our mouth to tell others, it comes out a bit different, safer in voice form.
I know I am too close to all the trauma of 2009 to see any sort of shape at all.
It still feels terrible and dirty and I can't put a story to it.
I know that's how all the shapes felt as they were forming. It's like birth, a total mess, a blob of a thing and it's not till way later that language comes. Perhaps I'm still struggling with the placenta mess and I wont know for quite a while what I've actually made.
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