Stark contrast to the "A Hug" thread
CranMalReign
Posts: 1,928
Well... this thread is in stark (I'm talking sobering, here) contrast to the levity of the "A Hug" thread. Sorry... I'm a firm believer that the world, and all it's little areas, need balance.
So be warned. This might ruin some days.
~~~
A Moment in the Life Of: The Phone Call
June 25, 2000
As he dragged out the pallet loaded with yogurt and shredded cheese, the exact same thing was on his mind as was when he pulled out the pallet with orange juice and ready-made Pillsbury biscuits: Her. For months, he had been begging, pleading, wishing for her to come back to him. He knew he was stupid for letting her go the first time. He knew he was stupid for letting her go the second time. He wanted her back, and she knew he wanted her back. That night, he was so terribly close to never getting her back again.
Three days earlier, he found out that she was engaged. It wasn't a surprise to him, but dear God, did it rip his guts out. He begged her not to catch that flight on Saturday. He couldn't stand to lose her. He felt he still had a chance.
It was 2:30 am, Saturday morning. He hadn't heard from her in days. He had ten hours until she left for the airport, and six of those hours would be spent in that infernal hell hole throwing milk and yogurt on the shelf. He was going mad.
"Tim, get the call on line one. Tim."
His heart skipped a beat. Against all odds, had she called him? Was she finally changing her mind? Was his wish for a movie-like fairytale ending actually coming true? He dropped the handle of the hand jack and ran to the bakery department, the nearest phone. "Hello?"
"Tim, it's Dad. You need to come home."
He was highly disappointed. Whatever had possessed him to conceive the notion that she'd call him at work at almost three in the morning had run off into the cold shadows of reality, giggling wickedly. He now realized that his sister had gone and done something again. Must have been bad, this time. Otherwise, why would he have to go home? There must have been a fight. She must have run away. Maybe she was in jail. "What's the matter?"
"Just come home, I'll tell you when you get here."
It really must be bad. "Alright," he said as he hung up the phone. He wasn't in the mood to go home and listen about some huge fight his sister and father had had. He was already half maddened by losing the love of his life to some slob with a degree she met on the internet. Family was the least of his problems. But dad seemed really stressed. He couldn't just ignore that. So he looked for his manager, told him he had a family emergency, punched out, and left. He expected to be back in a few hours.
As he drove up the interstate, his thoughts were flooded with terrifying (but entirely too realistic) scenarios about losing his girl. Nearly nothing flashed through his head regarding the scene which would unfold when he got home. It would be nothing new. Ever since his sister developed bipolar disorder, she had been making a mess of the family. Things had gotten better in the past few months, but there were still flare-ups. He had all but tuned out the entire family. He didn't really give a shit anymore. He just wanted her.
His thoughts were so overwhelming, that he didn't even notice that he had exited the interstate and was already on his winding, dark back road. Right after the first bend, though, the road was closed off by township police and a small fire crew. He slowly pulled up to the barricade and stopped. A volunteer fireman came up to the car. "Hey, what's goin' on? Can I get through here?"
"There was an accident," was the young man's reply, obviously not wanting to divulge too much information.
But he had divulged enough. Tim's heart sunk suddenly. "Was it a little silver Mazda hatchback? Was a girl driving?"
His sister drove a small Mazda 323 hatchback. She had just gotten it for her 18th birthday. It was Dad's.
"It was a small car."
"Was there a girl driving? Is she okay?"
He was getting very upset, and the fireman obviously had no idea how to react. A police officer then walked toward the car. "What's your name, son?"
"Tim Lenz." His voice was shaking.
The officer and the fireman just looked at each other. The officer then looked back and nodded him forward. And he drove.
Half a mile later he pulled in to his driveway. There were two cars there. There shouldn't have been any. One belonged to the Jackson Township sheriff. He parked halfheartedly and jumped out of the car where he met his neighbors (unseen until he almost knocked them over) in the dark driveway. "Tim!" gasped Teri. "I'm so glad you could come home. Did you drive safely?"
"Where's my sister? Where's Diana?" He didn't even acknowledge that they were talking to him.
"You'd better come inside, Tim," insisted Tony.
"Is she alright?"
"You'd better come inside."
He knew it was bad. He knew she was going to be in the hospital for a while. Teri was holding his hand, which at that point had become very cold and very clammy. She walked him up the stairs in to the living room where his parents were on the couch and Officer Seibel and another officer were standing with their hands behind their backs. Why weren't his parents at the hospital? Were they waiting for me? That was ridiculous! They should be at the hospital with her! He could have found his way himself!
He stopped halfway up the steps. "How is she?"
Mom looked up from the ground and just gazed into his face. She had this strange look, a baffled look. Horrified. Baffled horror. "Diana is dead, Tim. She's dead."
So be warned. This might ruin some days.
~~~
A Moment in the Life Of: The Phone Call
June 25, 2000
As he dragged out the pallet loaded with yogurt and shredded cheese, the exact same thing was on his mind as was when he pulled out the pallet with orange juice and ready-made Pillsbury biscuits: Her. For months, he had been begging, pleading, wishing for her to come back to him. He knew he was stupid for letting her go the first time. He knew he was stupid for letting her go the second time. He wanted her back, and she knew he wanted her back. That night, he was so terribly close to never getting her back again.
Three days earlier, he found out that she was engaged. It wasn't a surprise to him, but dear God, did it rip his guts out. He begged her not to catch that flight on Saturday. He couldn't stand to lose her. He felt he still had a chance.
It was 2:30 am, Saturday morning. He hadn't heard from her in days. He had ten hours until she left for the airport, and six of those hours would be spent in that infernal hell hole throwing milk and yogurt on the shelf. He was going mad.
"Tim, get the call on line one. Tim."
His heart skipped a beat. Against all odds, had she called him? Was she finally changing her mind? Was his wish for a movie-like fairytale ending actually coming true? He dropped the handle of the hand jack and ran to the bakery department, the nearest phone. "Hello?"
"Tim, it's Dad. You need to come home."
He was highly disappointed. Whatever had possessed him to conceive the notion that she'd call him at work at almost three in the morning had run off into the cold shadows of reality, giggling wickedly. He now realized that his sister had gone and done something again. Must have been bad, this time. Otherwise, why would he have to go home? There must have been a fight. She must have run away. Maybe she was in jail. "What's the matter?"
"Just come home, I'll tell you when you get here."
It really must be bad. "Alright," he said as he hung up the phone. He wasn't in the mood to go home and listen about some huge fight his sister and father had had. He was already half maddened by losing the love of his life to some slob with a degree she met on the internet. Family was the least of his problems. But dad seemed really stressed. He couldn't just ignore that. So he looked for his manager, told him he had a family emergency, punched out, and left. He expected to be back in a few hours.
As he drove up the interstate, his thoughts were flooded with terrifying (but entirely too realistic) scenarios about losing his girl. Nearly nothing flashed through his head regarding the scene which would unfold when he got home. It would be nothing new. Ever since his sister developed bipolar disorder, she had been making a mess of the family. Things had gotten better in the past few months, but there were still flare-ups. He had all but tuned out the entire family. He didn't really give a shit anymore. He just wanted her.
His thoughts were so overwhelming, that he didn't even notice that he had exited the interstate and was already on his winding, dark back road. Right after the first bend, though, the road was closed off by township police and a small fire crew. He slowly pulled up to the barricade and stopped. A volunteer fireman came up to the car. "Hey, what's goin' on? Can I get through here?"
"There was an accident," was the young man's reply, obviously not wanting to divulge too much information.
But he had divulged enough. Tim's heart sunk suddenly. "Was it a little silver Mazda hatchback? Was a girl driving?"
His sister drove a small Mazda 323 hatchback. She had just gotten it for her 18th birthday. It was Dad's.
"It was a small car."
"Was there a girl driving? Is she okay?"
He was getting very upset, and the fireman obviously had no idea how to react. A police officer then walked toward the car. "What's your name, son?"
"Tim Lenz." His voice was shaking.
The officer and the fireman just looked at each other. The officer then looked back and nodded him forward. And he drove.
Half a mile later he pulled in to his driveway. There were two cars there. There shouldn't have been any. One belonged to the Jackson Township sheriff. He parked halfheartedly and jumped out of the car where he met his neighbors (unseen until he almost knocked them over) in the dark driveway. "Tim!" gasped Teri. "I'm so glad you could come home. Did you drive safely?"
"Where's my sister? Where's Diana?" He didn't even acknowledge that they were talking to him.
"You'd better come inside, Tim," insisted Tony.
"Is she alright?"
"You'd better come inside."
He knew it was bad. He knew she was going to be in the hospital for a while. Teri was holding his hand, which at that point had become very cold and very clammy. She walked him up the stairs in to the living room where his parents were on the couch and Officer Seibel and another officer were standing with their hands behind their backs. Why weren't his parents at the hospital? Were they waiting for me? That was ridiculous! They should be at the hospital with her! He could have found his way himself!
He stopped halfway up the steps. "How is she?"
Mom looked up from the ground and just gazed into his face. She had this strange look, a baffled look. Horrified. Baffled horror. "Diana is dead, Tim. She's dead."
- 98 Pgh
- 00 Pgh
- 03 Pgh|Philly|PSU|Camden 1+2|Hershey
- 04 Boston 1|Reading
- 05 Philly
- 06 Camden 1+2|Pgh
- 08 Camden 1+2|Hartford|Mansfield 2
- 09 Philly 1 [EV]|Toronto|Spectrum 1-4
- 10 Cleveland|Buffalo
- 11 Philly [EV]|PJ20
- 12 Philly
- 13 London|Pgh|Buff|Philly 1+2|Balt
- 14 Cincy|StL
- 16 Philly 1+2|Philly 2 [TotD]
- 18 Boston 1+2
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Comments
Go for it. I'm not at all queasy about it. You'll see by the date it happened a long time ago.
No open wounds... And if I wasn't willing to talk about it, I wouldn't have posted it.
and you weren't kidding, not much in the mood for playtime anymore - maybe later.
thanks for posting this CranMal.
Hrm. Sorry. I didn't want to piss on anybody's fun. I was just looking through my stuff and that one was screaming to be posted. :(
If I killed the "A Hug" thread... I'm sorry!
the whole time i was reading it, something inside was begging for this to be purely fictional.
i'm sorry that it wasn't.
no apologies here, no worries either.
you can't kill the thread - come on you've been around us a while now.
like you said its all about balance....this happens to be our serious moment, but we can't be serious all the time. not even most of the time.
But what would it have meant to you if it was fictional? Oftentimes, the stories best told are those that really happened.
That was probably the day my life was saved, too. I try to look at it that way. It's really the only way I can take anything away from that night.
#1 Is Tim you? (just want to be sure?)
#2 If so, did the problem with the girlfriend seem so small in comparison?
#3 If so, how long did it take for you to heal? And how?
# 4 If so, how are you, your mom, your dad, holding up?
#4 If so, (not a question), a comment. I love you for posting this! So real! So heartfelt! So sad! So, man, I'm welling up! It really did take balls to post that! Thank-you!
Alrighty then... I'll be keeping an eye on the Hug thread looking for a heartbeat... last I checked, it hadn't been updated in 25 minutes.
Yes.
The problem with the girlfriend almost evaporated in comparison. For weeks, I was depressed. Lonely. Loathing. Hurting. In fact, in the days up to my sister's accident, I became dangerous to myself. Driving like an idiot, running red lights, not wearing the seatbelt, speeding... just because I wanted to die but was still too chickenshit to actively do something. So I was going to facilitate it. But I was getting scary. Then my sister died... and I saw real tragedy... and I saw death... and I promptly pulled my head out of my self-pitying ass and grieved. But loved life again. And gave the girlfriend the finger. Especially since I called her before she left and told her... she cried... and promised to send flowers when she got to South Carolina... and hung up. Oh, what a day.
I guess technically, I'm still healing. Hence, me posting this to strangers. Kind of cleansing. It's been 4 1/2 years now (the prose was actually written about a year after she died). I just had to accept what had happened, pull from it whatever good I could, and move on. I still think of her during Yellow Ledbetter... but that's another story. Small one.
My parents still dwell. They took it very very hard. My sister is still a huge topic of conversation at all times. They go to this meeting called "Compassionate Friends" where it's parents who have lost children. I can't imagine what they've gone through, but they're improving. Still has an affect on me and my baby sister, though.
Thank you.
i'm a head in the clouds kinda girl - music, movies, books, art - its all as real to me as my own life when its done well. so if it was purely fictional - which i was choosing to believe that it was until i read a subsequent post - my eyes were full of tears and was totally choked up over it.
knowing that its real, thinking what it was like to live through - thats when the tears just fell - they couldn't help themselves.
i believe that a day like that can "save you" in a way - if you want it to. we all have our trials and heartache and all the pain associated with them and i also believe its what we do with them that makes us who we are. B.E. said it better than i managed to do, but you get the drift of it i hope.
coleen knows what she's talking about,
that which almost kills us
also changes us
and makes us a living being
I'm glad you got a new lease on life and I hope your parents are able to let her rest in peace soon, that they let their wounds heal, that they still remember her fondly and are able to move on and feel somewhat whole again. After all, they do have you and your little sister to look out for still and you are just as important! It must be dreadfully difficult for all of you!
My heartfelt sympathy goes out to all of you!
Wish I could give YOU a great big hug Tim!
Take it easy!
See what I mean, though? Know that it is real made them fall... Idunno... that's the difference for me.
Anyway, yah... you hafta pull what good you can from it. Otherwise, it eats you up. And while that may have produced some killer poetry... I'd rather never write again.
Ironically... both of us have moved out. I'm living across the state and my sister got married... empty nest syndrome, I guess.
So I'm worried.
But thank you. I'll offer something a little more upbeat next time. BALANCE!
i understand that better than you might think.
i also believe had it never happened at all, you still would have something inside you driving you to write. people don't write the way you do or the way some of the shining stars of the poetry forum write, without being meant to do it. and i'm not talking about a divine being for those that doesn't resonate with, i mean it in the way a spider knows how to spin a web without ever being taught.
Don't worry about being upbeat! And I totally agree with your earlier comment about taking the good from it and not letting it eat you up!----Abso-freaking-lutely!
All the best!
Heh... that just seems funny to me if only because I make my living by writing computer source code. Not much room for creativity there.
no thats how you pay your bills - that is how you accumulate money to LIVE your life. it isn't your living because living isn't what you're doing while you trade your hours there.
its all the rest thats meant for your living and in those hours you are creative and writing and laughing and loving and crying and raging and dreaming and all the rest that make up this thing that is actually living.
its a matter of semantics (right seta?) but its a mistake we all make from time to time.
i'm not sure i agree with this because i had a huge life-changing event and i changed, drastically, and really i don't think i ever would have become who i am had that event not happened...i would still be who i was and that person didn't write, didn't read, didn't create anything worthwhile...thinking about it, i'm still fairly new to this writing and poetry bonaza...say 3 or 4 years...if that could be considered new...but then agian maybe there's somethign called fate pushing at all our backs and we have no free will so i would have ended up this way...or maybe we have free will and i wouldn't have...or maybe i need to shut up and just go back to giving spankings to naughty school girls...
Nah, don't shut up & don't stop giving spankings to naughty school girls either!
i like that you disagree with me, i disagree with me sometimes too.....well honestly, i disagree with me frequently.
but you're response brings up the whole topic of fate vs. free will and since i tend to prefer things in varying shades of grey, i believe our lives our a little bit of both. a little bit of nature and a little bit of nurture. genetics gives you a certain set of "givens" to exist within but nurture forces you to choose how you work with what you have. i think in an oversimplified way that this is how fate and free will work.
i'm not saying that anyone here HAS to be a writer but there are those that have a natural inclination toward doing it well if the notion ever strikes them to pick up a pen or pencil or bang away on a keyboard. you know you much better than i do of course but i've already expressed to you my beliefs about your ability. i can't imagine that is something you would have learned - the mechanics and technique possibly but thats about all. the rest of it came from you and maybe the life altering event is the way you came to accept it as a part of yourself. but you may, under different circumstances, have happened upon that same realization.
i don't know my mind moves in currents and changes like the wind so maybe i ought to be shhhhh as well and take my punishments as they are deserved.
I used to have an old web page up when I was in college... and part of my web page was a discussion of Free Will vs. an Omnicient God, and how they can't both exist at the same time.
What you said just reminded me of that.
forever and really never make any sense and just confuse myself
and everyone else...that being said...
SPANK
proving my point exactly, i defy all logic and reason.
i make no sense and perhaps tomorrow i will defend to the end of the earth that fate and destiny rule or lives. but then again, i may just say its all free will or maybe i won't.
that being said.....
mr. goulet, i believe YOU started fate vs. free will. don't think you'll escape this one so easily.
when you least expect it...
expect it.
And it IS all semantics, thanks coleen.
Tim, if I may call you so, while I have been fortunate in life to not have had many people die around me (though a few that i have known), I do know the feeling of waking up due to the death of another. I got the fabled morning phone call when my best friend hung herself in high school. It shook me quite a bit though it felt entirely natural and fated to be.
I never felt comfortable with those two feelings staring each other eye to eye, though they make sense to me now.
I had the same feeling when I received a phone call from my father when the prediction I had made concerning what was to happen at Columbine High School came true 4 years later, and that my brother had been taken into custody by the Jefferson County Police Department as a possible suspect in the shootings.
Funny, it was the first time I had worn my black trench coat in several months.
Coleen was saying something about predisposition towards writing. Perhaps so. Nature. Nurture. It's all environmental to me. Within and without. I have told stories for as long as I have been able to talk. Words have forever been my weapons and my verification, my one way in which I have always felt as though I could separate myself from others or protect myself from others, or even just to prove that I am my own person and that I do, in fact, live and breathe as any normal human being does.
But then, I have always tended to the odd. I never really did drugs because I always felt as though I was strange enough as it is. Who needs to be beyond it? I have prophetic and universalist dreams aplenty already, I don't need to add fuel to this fire. It burns with cold fusion enough as it is.
CranMal. I am pleased to see that you made it out of your tunnel alive, albeit in many pieces. It is good to have you on this board adding your brand of balance and humanity. I feel honored, as I am sure these others do, by the fact that you choose to post your empathies and sympathies and emotive feats alongside the rest of us.
In the hopes of the brave new world, we linger and journey ever so softly forward.
with affection,
seta
Supersorry, Tim :(
Thank you so much for your post. It is greatly, greatly appreciated.
And I'm glad to feel so welcomed among you all. I'm happy to have found this place where I can open up and share... and be shared with. It's an incredible feeling, but obviously you know that already.
As for writing being destined or predisposed... I think we're all born with certain talents, and it's up to us to find them. For all I know, I could be a master welder. But I've never tried, so that will be an untapped talent. I first discovered writing in 10th grade when the girl I loved was with my best friend. I spewed out a few lines. These were nurtured by my 11th grade English teacher who had given us several poetry assignments and encouraged me personally to persue writing.
But then it left me. Nothing to write about anymore.
Until in college I was bored and jotted something down. Then my negative feelings at the time began leaking out. Still a trickle until the Mary fiasco of '99 (the girlfriend in my prose above). Then the floodgates opened, and only then did I decide (accept? realize?) that I was a writer.
It was in there. I just had to discover and accept it.
So in a manner of speaking, I think we are predisposed from birth. I had absolutely no "nurture" in that sense growing up. It was all math and science and smartypants stuff. Though I wrote a few stories now and again, that's it.
Anyway, I'm getting away from myself. Just know that I'm so glad to have finally given in and come here (I eyed this forum for months, never having the nerve to come in), and I so look forward to interacting with all of you amazing (albeit cyber) people!
Thanks for the opportunity!
BTW: Yes, you can call me Tim if you want.