When I decided to start my blog project, WAKING DREAMS, I wasn't sure what would come of it.
I just knew I wanted to write everyday. So when I moved to Fort Worth, TX in January 2010,
my blog, WAKING DREAMS came to be. At first I was journeling daily, my first year of my life
outside of rural Oklahoma. During those early days in the life of WAKING DREAMS, the entries were short, informative, and littered with .jpg images
of the downtown area.
The honeymoon phase from my sudden love affair with life in a big city wore off before summer 2010
even started.
Why?
To be ironically honest, I wasn't being 100% honest. Not even 80% honest. Because despite the fact
I felt happier with my new life in TX I was still confused, still hurt, depressed most of the time...
ANGRY.
I didn't know what true anger felt like until I realized at the end of spring 2010 that I had the life
I always wanted, now, in the present... But what about before now??? I didn't wanna talk or dwell on any
of the past events in my life, most notably, 2009; The final year I spent in Oklahoma. Because when Exodus
Out of Oklahoma took place, I made a pact with myself not to acknowledge anything negative that happened before.
Somehow I convinced myself that as long as I didn't talk about my past, it would cease to have ever existed.
How do you erase an entire lifetime from your memory?
The answer is quite simple:
You don't.
So WAKING DREAMS became the place where I allowed myself to freely exercise my need to be honest.
Not just tragically honest, but genuinely and brutally honest... And through examining publicly,
the rubble of regret, grief and remose I felt, I discovered a multi-dimensional diamond in the rough.
Humility.
Honesty.
Maturity.
The mission of WAKING DREAMS was never clearly defined when it began. Two years later and the mission
is no longer a mission. Because aside from it becoming a wealthy collection of my free thoughts and feelings,
WAKING DREAMS, showed me the kind of life I've always wanted and the blog helped me grow into the kind of person
I've always admired.
The person I was always meant to be.
THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA...
Whenever I get an idea for a story or an art project, I force myself to jot it down immediately. After the idea leaves the sanctuary of my mind and comes face-to-face with me in the physical world, it becomes a living thing, taking up space on the planet, just like you and me. And once I give birth to an idea I refuse to abandon it or give up on it. I have to foster it, scold it, guide it, help it find purpose...
Encourage it to be the best idea it can possibly be.
What happened on Friday, October 28th, 2011? If I didn’t wake up does that mean I’m dead? Or am I still sleeping? Is this a nightmare? Nooooo. It couldn’t be. Why? Because this doesn’t feel scary. It’s no where near horrifying. In fact it feels…
Good?
AT RISE: Friday, October 28th, 2011. Approximately 11:00 A.M., inside of a busy-as-fuck coffee shop located in a downtown metropolis. Warm sunlight fills up the shop. A man in his early 40’s, DOUGLAS, orders a latte then exchanges small talk with the OLDER WOMAN in the shop. The BARISTA behind the bar finishes the OLDER WOMAN’s drink and starts on DOUGLAS’ order.
DOUGLAS: (To the older woman)..it’s for my big speech I’m delivering this afternoon.
BARISTA: (To the older woman) I’ve got your grande hot tea, ma’am.
OLDER WOMAN: (To DOUGLAS) Well, I hope it all goes well for you today. You’re prepared so you’ll do great.
BARISTA: Very cool! I know the one of the first areas he conserved, or I guess, saved would be the better word to--
DOUGLAS: Is that so?
BARISTA: Yep! The Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma.
DOUGLAS: That’s right! How did you know--
BARISTA: I’m Comanche!
DOUGLAS: Really? I’ve done quite a bit of research about the Comanche people.
BARISTA: I also used to live in Oklahoma, near the Wichita Mountains. My mom’s front yard has an amazing panoramic view of Mt. Scott. That was kind of the selling point on the house, for my mom. She says the Wichita mountains are important to our people.
DOUGLAS: So I don’t get to tell you all about Quanah Parker?
BARISTA: Quanah is my fourth generation grandfather. Me; My family; Well my maternal side anyway, we’re direct descendents of Quanah Parker and Esa Rosa-Whitewolf.
DOUGLAS: That’s really amazing! Quanah was a childhood hero of mine.
BARISTA: Get out of here…
DOUGLAS: Yes! I’m a historian for CBS and I also teach history.
BARISTA: Where do you teach at?
DOUGLAS: Rice University. (He extends his arm across the bar.) My name is Douglas.
BARISTA: It’s nice to meet you, sir! My name is… (Points at her name tag)
DOUGLAS: Liz!
BARISTA: Correcto! So, what brings you to Fort Worth, Mr. Douglas?
DOUGLAS: My speech--
BARISTA: Duh! Of course, I don’t know why I--
DOUGLAS: How much do you know about your grandfather?
BARISTA: Well, let’s see….See that historical marker over there, across the street?
DOUGLAS: (Turns around to look and nods his head in agreement.)
BARISTA: Quanah and his family spent a lot of time here in Fort Worth, all over Texas, really. That is, until the Texas Rangers came along. It’s always perplexed me, the United States government creating an entire department of law enforcement for the sole purpose of patrolling Comanche people. Of course the BIA is the same concept… But yes, that marker across the street was made to honor Cynthia Ann Parker, Quanah’s mother.
DOUGLAS: Yes! She was a white--
BARISTA: A white captive? Yep! Which made Quanah, half-white. I got a lot of shit for that growing up. Mainly from my dad’s side of the family. You know, it’s kind of ironic I ended up here. I had no idea there was a historical marker across the street, let alone a historical marker to honor a member of my family. I didn’t even know about it until about a year ago. I came to work early on a Saturday morning so I could explore downtown. I hadn’t been in Fort Worth that long. Since it was a Saturday morning there weren’t a lot of cars parked on the street. I noticed the marker, standing alone and I don’t know, it’s placement seemed, out of place, to me, if that makes sense. When I read the plaque I couldn’t believe it. Of course I called my mom to tell her. She thinks it was fate that brought me here, to this specific spot, like it was my destiny. (Laughs)
DOUGLAS: Do you know about Quanah’s role in the Native American church?
BARISTA: Oh yeah. My grandpa, my dad’s dad, well, step-dad actually, was super involved with the Native American church. During the fall and winter time my grandparents hosted peyote meetings every other weekend it seemed. Peyote meetings are like church, except they start on Saturday night. Of course don’t say that to your standard American Christian. They’ll choke on their communion wafers or cut up white bread and Welch’s grape juice. Depends on the region. How do you know so much about peyote?
DOUGLAS: My good friend Hunter Thompson. He was a writer.
BARISTA: You mean Hunter S. Thompson?
DOUGLAS: Yes.
BARISTA: Shut up. How did you--
DOUGLAS: I edited some of his work. After he passed, I became the executor for his literary estate.
BARISTA: This is wild! I can’t believe-- I mean.
DOUGLAS: You’re telling me! I can’t believe I met you, Liz! One of Quanah Parker’s grand daughters!
BARISTA: No! I can’t believe I met you, Mr. Douglas! You edited for Hunter Thompson, a writer I’ve admired since I was like, seventeen! And you’re a professional editor! I’m a writer-- Aspiring writer, and I’m finally at the tail end of finishing my first book. It’s a novella--
DOUGLAS: That’s fantastic! I’m working on a book right now too. My book is about Woody Guthrie. Do you know who Woody Guthrie--
BARISTA: Of course! He’s an huge icon in dustbowl and Oklahoma history.
DOUGLAS: Yes, you know! So tell me Liz, what is your book about?
BARISTA: A lot. (Laughs) Death, Life, Starting over.. It’s kind of a fictional memoir.
DOUGLAS: Sounds interesting! I’ll be spending quite a bit of time going back and forth between my home in Austin and in Oklahoma while I finish my book. I’d love to take a look at your manuscript when you get it finished. Here…(He reaches into his blazer, searching for something to write with.) Let me give you my cell number.
BARISTA: (Quickly swipes a black Sharpie marker from BARISTA 2 and hands it to DOUGLAS.)
DOUGLAS: (Removes the cardboard sleeve from his beverage and writes down his name and number and hands it to BARISTA.) That’s my personal cell phone. I can always be reached at that number. I also text.
BARISTA: Oh man, I’m a texting champ.
DOUGLAS: Is that so?
BARISTA: You have no idea. (She laughs and takes the information and Sharpie marker from DOUGLAS, then she grabs another cardboard sleeve from the bar and jots down her information. She hands it to DOUGLAS.) That’s my cell phone and email too.
DOUGLAS: It was really great meeting you today and talking with you, Liz.
BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas. Seriously, you made my day, my week-- My year.
DOUGLAS: Don’t hesitate to call if you’re down in the Austin area, too!
BARISTA: Will do! And give me a call if you’re in Fort Worth or Oklahoma, I’ll be at one or the other I’m sure.
DOUGLAS: Okay! Have a great day, Liz.
BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas! Have a super awesome day! Hope the speech goes well!
DOUGLAS: (Exiting the coffee shop) Thanks!
BARISTA 2: What was that all about?
BARISTA: The man? He’s a writer and editor, a professional writer and editor. He gave me his cell number and if I understood him right… He wants to be friends and he wants to read my manuscript.
BARISTA 2: That’s awesome! Yay for you!
BARISTA: Thanks. WOW-- Just wow. (She pulls out her iPhone from her back pocket.) It's time.
The BARISTA takes off her apron and exits from behind the bar. BARISTA 2 waves goodbye, then seamlessly switches attention to steaming milk. As the BARISTA exits the coffee shop the steaming sound grows louder and the sunlight shines brighter, until nothing in the scene can be seen or heard clearly.
[END SCENE]
Q. If it’s not a nightmare…?
Honest-to-goodness
Though unreal it seemed
I never knew I had a place
Somewhere
I was meant to be.
All the people, places, and things
each miracle and disaster that occurred
man-made or naturally…
.
All of that is hiSTORY.
* Let it be known for the record, the date today is Saturday, October 29th, 2011.
Just before I fell asleep [for a second time] around midnight, on Friday, October 28th, 2011, I closed my eyes and wandered around in a happy, anxious state of mind. Why, you may ask, was I happy/anxious? Honestly? I was looking forward to work in a few hours because it was payday, and I’d convinced myself that receiving a paycheck would somehow, someway, make the day at work worthwhile. It was under that impression, under that notion, that my brain allowed itself to relax and I stayed asleep until….
I was able to stay there until…
I opened my eyes six hours later at precisely 6 o’clock in the morning. Sometimes I can do that via my internal clock but not Friday morning. NOOOO, I owe kudos for Friday’s wake-up call to two of the most annoying alarms, capable of being programmed on my iPhone to go off just seconds apart from one another. The alarm tones absolutely, positively DID NOT harmonize, but instead, the noise they simultaneously made sounded like two roosters getting choked to death at the hands of a dead-tired, unforgiving man. My hand closest to the edge of the bed felt around the night stand until my fingers located my phone. I touched the phone screen and in an instant, bird sodomy, or at least the sound of it being committed in my house, became non-existent.
6:30am came fast, I thought to myself while I brushed my teeth, sans pre-brush whitening mouthwash. No time for vanity, I was in a hurry, and I fished inside the dryer for all of the pieces of my work uniform.
Black pants…Check. Black polo…Check. Black socks….Black socks….
ONE black sock…The other black sock! Black underwear…No….Hmmm…
Hot pink underwear? They’ll do!
I threw on my work uniform, grabbed my purse and black hoodie, then I headed outside. It was cold and dark, and I sat in the car for a minute while I stared into the rearview mirror. It was kinda creepy outside, quiet, and I wondered if I was truly as alone as I believed myself to be.
I was.
With a struggled key turn, the car’s engine turned on and I rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof so I could…
I could. I did.
I completely disregarded the ban on smoking in the car because I rolled down any and all windows. [This is how I bend the rules for me. I can’t guarantee that my equation for zeroing out a “No you may not/Yes I may”, situation will work for anyone else, so if you wanna try it, try it at your own risk.]
I lit a cigarette, (which I found hiding out in my purse), and I inhaled all of the relief it had to offer. Fast forward through the drive to work, past the fancy white lights that illuminate the skyscrapers at dawn, make an effort NOT to run over the obviously organic, fat-free, gluten-free, lactose intolerant, wannabe yuppie runner who runs in place at all of the red lights (and try not to waste too much time wondering why on earth He thinks running in a business district at 7:00am is, “chic”, because it’s not, really), skip over the boring, dirty parking garage that‘s never full, (at least it’s never full in the mornings.)
Ten minutes late.
That’s right, not ten minutes later, ten minutes LATE. Sometimes fifteen, fifteen minutes LATE and I walk into a busy-as-fuck coffee shop located inside of a full-service, hoity-toity metropolitan hotel in downtown DFW. Some people call it their favorite break spot, their life-saver, their sanctuary, a secret meeting spot...
As for me, it’s fun sometimes. It’s been my home-away-from-home a few weeks out of the year. But most of the time I refer to that place, that coffee shop, as work. That’s the place where I work, is what I say to people when they ask me about it.
So there it is, that’s how I began my Friday. But allow me to be honest for a moment; That’s how every single one of my work days start, (give or take a few hours if I’m opening or coming in for a mid-shift).
The End.
[BLACKOUT]
Nope, not on that day. Not on Friday, October 28th, 2011. I didn’t know it until now but that day proved to be one for my personal history books. It was a day I’m certain I won’t forget anytime soon. Fortunate for me, the climax didn’t occur at 7:00am. Because if it happened then I would’ve missed it all together.
There’s a part of me that has to wonder whether or not it’s even possible, if we’re actually capable of “missing out”, on anything? If not, then is it possible that we make OUR OWN destinies by the choices we make for OURselves, (i.e., showing up to work at least ten minutes late).
Being on time or being late on Friday morning would not have affected my outcome, I don’t believe.
So do we guide our fates or are we guided by our destines? Both? Neither? Perhaps it’s all just perception, a heavy helping of living proof and…
I find myself shaking my head at nearly everything since I came back to Texas, post summer excursion in Oklahoma. The fact of the matter is, the summer I spent in Oklahoma didn't go quite as I planned for it to go. That's no one's fault but my own, by the way.
But it wasn't an entirely wasted summer. I got through the first round of editing for ACTs I and II of my script. More than that, I met a plethora of interesting new people, as well as made some acquaintances new bad-ass friends. So before I go into anything remotely negative, (that is, if I still find the need to discuss what didn't go my way after I write this), I'm going to roll out some much deserved shout-outs, mentions, and memories I'll never forget.
To the workshop cast/crew of "THE LOST YEAR" from "A MEMOIR in MOTION":
Ms. Jenn, Albert, Alex, Byron, Dawnyo, Bryan, and Jana...You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that you donated your priceless time helping me edit and promote my script/art project. I wish we had more time together to get through ACT III. Each and everyone of your inputs, words of encouragement and your sole presence will be something I carry with me every step of the way as I continue on my journey along the road this project has lead me upon. I love you guys. And not just in the blase way people say, "Love ya". I truly mean it. I love each of you.
Dearest ChrisROthePROPHET...I wish I could've met you and made you my bff earlier in life. But the fact that I got to share prophecies with you just before you embarked on your own journey means the world to me. Everytime I tell people about the conversation we had that night with Dawnyo, I always compare it to the play Copenhagen. I'll explain that comparison the next time I see your wonderful face in person. Praise JAH! <3
Dear Patrick and Joey, Thanks for being my road dawgs til the end of time. Enough said. <3
Dear Chloe and Kimmy, It was a surprise to see you guys this summer. Thanks for coming to Oklahoma and reminding me that HOME is not just a physical state, but it's also a state of mind.
Dear Ryan, Thanks for NOT pressing charges against me when I threw that boulder at your car windshield. Me NOT going to jail that night was a good thing, I assure you.
To my one and only mentor, Dr. Fennema: I get what you were saying about going the novella route first. I did, in fact, get in a little over my head this summer. Thanks for always being honest and always believing in me and my art. I promise I'm going to make you proud of me soon. <3
It's funny to think I was searching for something this summer and thought I didn't find it. The more I think about it now, what I was looking for was all around me the entire time.
DOCTOR: …I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD! You know who that is! I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD-- You do not know who that is?
LIZ: Um…I don’t know?
DOCTOR: Dracula. The one who needs blood.
LIZ: OH! Now I get it!
DOCTOR: I VANT to THUCK ya BLOOD!
LIZ: I get it.
DOCTOR: It is important we do your blood work. It will take five minutes and then after the screenings we will know. With the possibility-- Cancer-- It is better to find out now…to be sure…
now, not later. To treat as soon as possible.
LIZ: So you’re serious?
DOCTOR: Let me put it to you like this. If you do not do the blood work, the cancer screening, I will not see you. I will… take your chart to one of the other doctors in the hospital and they will decide what to do, not me.
LIZ: Okay, okay.
DOCTOR: Do not forget! I NEED BLOOD!
LIZ: I won’t.
Q. What would you do if your doctor told you he thought you might have cancer? A. I don’t know what you would do but I know what I would do.
I took careless mega strides and mobbed out of the hospital. I'm sure I looked like a pissed-off, overgrown, super-villain as I pushed past everyone and everything in my path. Anger flooded my thought process and drowned out anything else in my mind to the point that I completely forgot to do my blood work before I fled the scene. The sea of cars in the parking lot added to my overwhelmed emotions and I couldn’t remember where I parked. After storming around the parking lot I finally found the right car. Even if I never found it, it wouldn’t have mattered because I was reeling in fury and could’ve managed to walk home solely on the energy volts that electrocuted throughout my body, no problem.
I unlocked the car door and swung it open the way misunderstood teenagers fling objects around when they‘re frustrated at their parents, frustrated with the world. Then I plopped down into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut so I could sulk in privacy.
My eyes glared at the mediocre sized building in front of me. The evil eye I shot at the hospital was childish but it was the only way I felt vindicated from the news I just received. Though it wasn’t the hospital’s fault, it didn’t matter to me. All I knew was that someone or something had to know how I felt about the matter.
Usually I have an arsenal of words to describe people, places, and things in life, in my life especially. For that particular visit to the hospital, however, I had but only one word to define the experience.
This is some bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.
I needed some relief, anything, so I grabbed my purse off the floorboard of the car and rummaged through it until I found a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Before I lit the cancer stick I ran it underneath my nose, closed my eyes and inhaled the freshness of its menthol vapors. The first drag I took tasted like heaven and the nicotine released most of my mind and body’s tension.
With my memory relaxed and loosened my brain was free to wander and I recalled an event I’d nearly forgotten from my early teen years.
One grey sky afternoon I sat on the carpeted floor of my bedroom and stared into an old metal frame mirror. Looking at my reflection forced introspection and I suddenly decided what I wanted to do with my life.
I want to be famous.
Upon that realization I ran out of my bedroom and into the bathroom where I found something sharp; a safety pin; and returned to my room quickly. I placed the pin on my ivory white bed stand and pulled out a pen and notebook from underneath my bed. Then I ripped a sheet of paper out from the notebook and placed the paper on the night stand.
What happened next is almost too embarrassing to admit.
I proceeded to write a contract out with the devil. The outline was simple. The devil would agree to help me become famous in my lifetime and in exchange for the devil’s aid, I would surrender my soul to him upon my death. Why would I need it after I died anyway? I thought. To make the deal official, I pricked my finger and signed the contract in blood. Once the blood dried, I folded up the paper contract and placed it underneath my mattress.
It remained there for three years.
I’d forgotten about the contract until I moved out of my parents house when I turned 17 years old. At first I didn't know what I had uncovered as I pulled the mattress off of my bed and I almost tossed the contract in the trash. Once I recognized what I was holding, I unfolded it and read my sacrilegious vow again. My signed-in-blood signature was still clearly legible so I figured it was still legal and binding and I wondered when the Devil was going to pay up on his end of the bargain.
Since that day when I was 14 years old and decided what I wanted to do with my life, I never wasted a single moment thinking about the latter part of the contract; the day I’d have to pay up on my end. I never thought about it it, that is, until the day my doctor asked me for a sample of my blood to examine, because he thought I might have cancer.
But that can’t be right because I’m not famous yet. The contract clearly states that I have to be famous in my lifetime, not posthumously, after my death. So if I die before I’m famous, that whole giving-my-soul-to-Satan thing is null and void.
The answer to my possible diagnosis became clear. It was wrong, and someone obviously didn’t get the memo about the contract.
And as she herself split into two
Rotating in agony between two ultimate forces The pendulum of choice began its dance
It seems easy, you imagine, to gravitate instantly and unwaveringly towards good
But she wondered...
How can I protect something so perfect
Without evil?
THE PROLOGUE
Early Sunday morning...
PATRICK: Did you hear the news?! LIZ: No. What's up? PATRICK: Osama Bin Laden is dead! LIZ: Shut the fuck up! Really? PATRICK: Ya, it's been all over the news! Where have you been? LIZ: I'm not really sure.
I was sure of only one thing last Sunday morning; I was the last person in the United States to hear about the death of the world's most feared terrorist. So why was I the last to know? To discover why, we have to dive deep into the depths of time, roughly four weeks ago, and begin our search there.
SEA LEVEL I
My mother came to visit the week of April 11th, 2011. It wasn't just to visit. This was also the weekend of the Ft. Worth Main St. Arts Festival and because my hours at work were extended, she came to help me care for Adam. On the second day of the festival I was running fifteen minutes late to work and missed the bus, so my mother drove me to work in my brother's car. On her way back to the house the car overheated. Thankfully my mother made it back to our house safely but the car wasn't doing so well. My brother took a look at it and drove it around the block to see if it would be an easy fix. Since the car still wasn't running right, he parked it in our driveway and said it would stay there until he had the time and money to have it looked at by a mechanic.
No big deal, Ryan's car is still running.
My brother and I can take the bus to work until we get the car fixed.
Not a problem.
So we moved forward from the incident and the festival rolled on. Once the hoopla came to its end and my hours at work went back to normal my mother returned to Oklahoma.
Of course that isn't the end of this journey into the sea of WHY.|
SEA LEVEL II
I definitely missed my mother's presence in our home, but it was nice to have Adam all to myself again, especially since I had a three day mini-break from work after the festival. The situation with the out-of-commission car still sat in our driveway, but it didn't seem so bleak. I was almost done with my time at Starbucks anyway and my brother wouldn't be without a car too long because I planned to help him with the repairs the first week of May.
Neither my brother nor I planned for the next financial woe, our huge cell phone bill, which came in the mail the last week of April. I take the blame for the enormous bill because I went over on the data usage in March while I was in Oklahoma for a week, finishing the final draft of my first full length play/book, THE LOST YEAR. So our phones were disconnected. It was inconvenient but my brother and I were getting paid soon, so we decided to cut our losses for the time being [pun intended], and we put the bill off until our next payday.
Easter Sunday was my final day as a barista though it was scheduled to be Tuesday, April 26th, 2011. This happened because after Easter, I spent the following Monday night and Tuesday morning curled up in pain on a tiny chair in the waiting area of the emergency room at JPS Medical Center. The pain was so severe that even as I overheard a news update about Michael Vick speaking out against a new dog fighting game, I couldn't bring myself to grin over the irony.
After it was all said and done the doctor told me I had a bacterial infection from food poisoning. It was embarrassing to call-in on my last day of work, or rather to have Ryan call-in for me.
It was the least he could do. Considering it was my brother-- NOT Ryan-- Who stayed with me at the emergency room.
It didn't end there either. So we dive deeper.
SEA LEVEL III
The days that followed after my stint in the emergency room I spent in isolation at home. Without a car or a phone, I stayed in bed until Adam came home from school. Then I moved my station upstairs and we watched TV together on the couch until Ryan came home. Ryan and Adam ate and I watched since I still had no appetite. Then we went to bed.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat.
On Thursday I decided I was tired of being cut off from the rest of society so I got online and decided to catch up with people via email, chat, etc... Two weeks had passed since I checked in with anyone and I couldn’t tell you that I honestly noticed until I was forced to stay home because I’d been so busy until then.
My stress level was amplified by 100% when I was forewarned that Ryan’s mother, who was flying in from Oregon that day, had some ill feelings toward Adam. When I heard this I wasn’t surprised because last winter I learned she wasn’t too keen on rowdy children. But whatever, it’s her loss if she doesn’t want to get to know Adam. Whatever didn’t last ten seconds before my blood pressure shot through the roof and all I could think was, “Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?! Who the fuck says they don’t like a six year old little boy?! Especially one they’ve only met twice?!”
I was livid and everything in my sight from that point wassplashed with fresh blood red tint. Thoughts circled around in my mind about how I could maneuver meeting her at the airport and claw her eyes out. I don’t care how crass that sounds, that’s my motherly instinct: To protect my cub by any means I see necessary.
TO: All inhabitants of the universe FROM: Liz, (Adam’s Mother) SUBJECT: First and last warning.
MEMO
NO ONE and I mean NO ONE is allowed to speak ill of my child or cause harm to him in ANY way. Especially in my presence or not in my presence. Especially if I know you or DON’T know you. I would do ANYTHING to defend my child. ANYTHING. I don’t care who or what it is that disrespected or approached him in any negative manner. My only care is to destroy it IMMEDIATELY.
There’s the official memo in case anyone needs to see it.
Ryan’s mom arrived and he confronted her alone about the issue. She claimed that what she said was misinterpreted. At first I didn’t believe her at all because I know that even if it wasn’t exactly how she felt, there’s always a little truth in every bit of hearsay. After a few days my anger at Ryan's mother began to fade, but only slightly. My defenses were and are still up.
The last Friday in April came and along with it, my paycheck. I tried to pay the cell phone bill online that day and my bank wouldn’t process the payment. I tried over and over--Nothing. Without a phone I couldn’t call customer service to ask them WTF was going on. Then on Saturday I tried again and had the same issues. So I used Ryan’s phone to call and attempt to pay ATT but the payment again wouldn’t process. I checked my bank balance to make sure I had the money and it was all there. I didn’t understand.
Ryan went to visit his mother this weekend and I stayed at home in isolation from the world outside.
I say isolation but I wasn’t entirely alone. Confusion, anger, paranoia, hopelessness, and finally apathy all crashed into my world Friday thru Sunday. These feelings that I used to run around with all the time hadn’t squatted within my psyche or soul in years. By the time I realized they returned for an extended stay they were already in my house; shoes off, kicked back on the couch, feet up, as if existing within me was their second home.
So what did I do?
I went upstairs and opened a bottle of wine and offered them all drinks of course.That's what any great hostess would do.
Once I felt less apprehensive, [thanks to the wine], me and my former negative feelings hung out on the balcony and smoked cigarettes, catching up with each other. Suddenly in the middle of our reunion I remembered an email I received earlier in the week from FUSION Theatre. The theatre informed me that their ten minute play contest submission deadline had been extended till Sunday at 11:59pm. So all together me and my insanities sat down and wrote a ten minute script this weekend, MICAH + SHELLY, and I emailed the final draft to FUSION at 11:47pm on Sunday night.
When my brother came home from work that night I was sitting in front of my laptop scanning my new script. That’s when he informed me of the death of Osama Bin Laden and I was unaffected. Even if I wanted to be affected by the news there wasn’t any room left inside of me to feel anything else. So I shrugged my shoulders about the event and continued to analyze my script.
Monday came and FINALLY, I spoke to a person and not an automated service from ATT. The customer service representative said our account balance was overdue and we had to go into an ATT store to pay the bill in cash. So on Tuesday morning that’s exactly what my brother and I did.
And we took the bus to get there and back.
After I vented my inner strife through words and produced a script, and the phone issue was resolved I still didn’t feel...normal. Then I remembered I was supposed to be moving to Oklahoma in a few days. I felt overwhelmed and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
How could I forget?!
THE EPILOGUE
So much shit happened in the course of nearly a month that I forgot about the summer. I’m back on my path now and it only seems fitting that I’d be finishing the last of my to-do list in the few days prior to leaving. That’s a signature Liz move; to binge tasks at the speed of light. Why would this move be any different?
Looking back on it today, the past month and stress it brought along felt like THE LOST YEAR, but it wasn’t. Even in that realization it was frightening, experiencing emotional flashbacks of terror, emptiness, the urgent need to protect my son and myself, mistrusting the world and even myself. I began to feel like things were crumbling around me again—But that wasn’t the case. Granted, some of the stress from this month is still hanging in the air; It's not as apocalyptic as it seemed.
So why was I the last to learn about the most important news in recent U.S. history?
There are numerous reasons why.
In the end, I guess the terrorist was the last thing in my world to fear.
RUSS: They're like a gang of pirates on the west side.
LIZ: That's what you really want me to write for the press release?
You want me to refer to Eighth Circuit's following as, 'a gang of pirates'?
RUSS: It's the truth! It is what it is, girl.
LIZ: That's gonna be your quote of the year.
RUSS: What's that? 'Gang of pirates'?
LIZ: 'On the west side'.
RUSS: Exactly. Like I said; It is what it is.
I had the pleasure of catching up with Mr. Russ, [guitarist for Fort Worth, TX based band Eighth Circuit], this afternoon at Mi Cocina. The sun wasn't quite at it's highest peak in the sky so we were able to catch up without being forced to squint at each other during our afternoon on-the-patio rendezvous. Russ and I talked and listened equally throughout our visit and as usual, I watched him devour the food on his plate while I tinkered around with my entree.
It doesn't matter who it is, I hesitate to allow another human being witness me tearing a meal up as if it were my last. This exclusion includes myself, too.
After our picturesque lunch date and exchange of life updates, Russ walked me back to work, and we hugged it out before I walked back into the employee entrance of the building where I work. Most of the time Russ and I spend together is rushed and brief, but I'm always left with a sense of calm after talking to him. Though today our visit was a partial goodbye-for-now, the feeling I had after we parted ways still made me smile for the rest of the day.
I have to admit I've grown attached to his positive presence in my life and I wasn't ready to tell him goodbye-for-now. But his parting words of encouragement regarding my summer plans gave me a boost of reassurance and confidence in my recent decision, so saying goodbye wasn't too tragic. What decision am I speaking about, exactly?
I decided to go back to Oklahoma for the summer to workshop the book/script project I've been working on the past year.
I came to the decision about a month ago, gave my notice to the HR department at my workplace, then solidified my choice yesterday when I gave my boss my two weeks notice. Much to my surprise my employer is supportive of this decision and allowed me to take the option of a leave-of-absence so I can come back to work with them when I move back to Texas in August.
With so much running smoothly along my newly chosen path, it's hard not to anticipate some speed bumps along the way. I can't help but feel anxious because I'm used to things falling apart. As negative as that sounds, I have to be honest with myself.
It is what it is, I suppose.
Regardless of my fear of my own failure, I'm excited about this summer. Daniel, my art twin, is coming back from his journey in San Fransisco, to work with me on the project in Oklahoma this summer. I say excited but the better phrase to use would be fucking ecstatic. I'm fucking ecstatic to see Daniel again and work with him, sharing the pursuit of making this art vision; something I've only dreamed about; into a reality.
Daniel isn't the only piece helping this puzzle see it's completion. Ms. Jana has helped me along this path for the past few months and will be traveling with us for the summer on our ARTventure. I'm truly honored and gracious that she is willing to be part of this ARTdeavor. Outside of our work, I'm also proud to say that she's one of my best friends too.
There's still a ton of planning that needs to be mapped out and I have a few more goodbye-for-now's that I need to say in the next couple of weeks before I leave Texas for the summer. I worry that I won't be able to get everything done but I have faith that the path will work itself out along the way. It always does, even when it doesn't go exactly as planned.
That's the beauty in what it is, I suppose.
I got plenty of time
You got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
Out of the passing of time Never for money, always for love<3 [HOME]
is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there THIS must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you or did you find me?
If someone asks
THIS is where I'll be
Why can't I go back to sleep? I'm not stressed out about anything... Maybe I'm just anxious about going to Oklahoma?
Last week, on the night before I left to visit my mother, something woke me up. Not abruptly, but not so easy, either. I sat straight up and got out of bed and headed upstairs. The time on the clock in the kitchen said 3am, exactly. Since I knew I wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, I found my iPhone and headphones to keep myself entertained and walked into the living room and got comfy on the sofa.
The house was dark because everyone else was asleep except for me.
Everyone slept. Everyone sleeps.
Everyone SLEEPS except for me...
From my spot on the sofa, I lazily turned my head and stared at the front door. Then I remembered a conversation Ryan and I had two weeks ago.
RYAN: I swear I locked the upstairs door before I left to go running and when I came back the door was all wide open and the screen door was swinging back and forth. I swear I shut the screen door too before I left because you know, there’s a special trick to get it closed. And then last week when the window in Patrick’s room somehow opened itself and it was pushed all the way up...I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it’s... I don’t know...
These claims I would've taken with a grain of salt from anyone else, but I know Ryan. He’s OCD about doors and windows being locked and he checks them at least three times before he leaves, so I knew he was telling the truth.
What on earth could be causing the sudden burst of unexplained activity in the house?
Then it dawned on me; I still have dad's stuff here.
Just as fast as I got out of bed; I rose from my horizontal position on the couch after I put it all together. Melancholy and relief rushed over me and sent a shudder that began at the back of my cerebellum and raced down my spine.
I never knew the two feelings could co-exist in one moment; Melancholy and relief. I knew it was time.
Myfather passed away two years ago, and though that may seem forever ago, it feels like yesterday to me. Only in the past year did I begin to deal with the grief over his loss which was the hardest loss I've ever had to cope with in my life. My dad's sudden illness and death progressed so quickly, I was not prepared for him to leave the physical earth when he died on March 14, 2009.
After his death I held onto the memory of him. This included the material things that made me feel like he was still near; The flag that covered his casket at his funeral, his military jacket, and his favorite ball caps. Even when I moved to Texas in January 2010, the items moved with me.
The move to Texas was more than just a physical relocation, it was the start of a spiritual journey; my first, true, self-chosen path. This journey led me to what I've been searching for; my purpose in life: ART; but more specifically, writing. This hasn't been a solo journey, though. I believe my father; his spirit; has been with me this whole time. Not just because I had his things, but because he wanted to stay with me and I don't know why, exactly.
Maybe it was because he didn't find his own path in life until it was too late and he wanted to make sure I found mine? Or maybe he wanted to know I forgave him and that I forgave myself; both of us, for taking life for granted, and he wanted to see me do something more than what he showed me while he was alive.
I don't know.
All I know for certain is that I'm not LOST anymore. I've found peace and happiness in my life. Now it's time for my dad to begin HIS spiritual journey...where ever that may lead.
I know it's time for you to go HOME, dad.
The next day, just before we left for the visit to Oklahoma, I packed my father's flag, his military jacket, and his ball caps in the car. I made sure they were safe and secure before I closed the door.
It was nice outside and I looked out at the trees in our neighborhood. Then I noticed someone walking in the street. It was an older man, medium build with white hair. He was wearing shorts and tennis shoes and his socks were pulled up to his knees. In each of his hands he was carrying a brown paper sack and I noticed the tops of the bags. Yep, that's two quarts of beer alright. I wonder where he's going? Would he tell me if I asked him? I wonder if he even knows?
He looked so familiar, with the exception of a missing ball cap, that I nearly ran after him to get a better look at his face but something told me to let it go.
Let HIM go.
The man turned around and spotted me along his path on the opposite side of the road. We gazed into each other's eyes and he smiled softly at me with his lips closed. I returned his soft smile and waved goodbye. Then the man turned his focus back toward the setting sun in front of him and I watched him walk into the end-of-day horizon.
He looked uncertain yet content.
On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy
and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
I was thinking to myself
"This could be heaven or this could be hell."
For my father, Roland Anthony Torralba, on his 2nd year Death Birthday.
SOWING THE SEEDS of a short story
When I was around six years old and my family lived in White Settlement, Texas, my father took me with him while he drove around on the outskirts of town... and he drank.
We listened to the radio on every single one of these joyrides. I wasn't aware that drinking and driving were illegal at this time, so I loved spending the time with my father and never thought anything else of it. As inappropriate as it was, we bonded deeply during these adventures because there were minimal distractions. It was simply us in a car, talking, and listening to the AM/FM radio. He sang-a-long to every random song that came on the radio and I learned the words to nearly every pop song, post 1950, from riding around in the car with my dad.
I remember one song in particular and associate it with the time the police finally caught on to my father's unlawful behavior. It was one evening after my mother came home from work and she couldn't find me or my dad. She called the police and they issued an Amber Alert searching for my father; the accused kidnapper; and me, the alleged kidnappee.
We had no idea we were being searched for. All I was aware of in that moment was the song playing on the radio and the sound of my dad’s voice, as he sang it to me...
Sea of love...sea of love...join with me...
I saw flashing lights flicker on the dashboard of the car and I turned the radio volume down. My father looked in the rear view mirror, still singing along to the song, lightly. "Don't worry dad. I've got on my seat belt." I assured from the passenger seat.
I had no idea that the seat belt was going to be the least of the officer's concerns during that stop. My dad continued to sing along to the song as he pulled off onto a grassy knoll. He turned the car off but he pulled the key back. I could faintly hear the music from the radio still playing in the background. The officer came up to the car with his gun drawn and I remember trying to figure out what the big deal was. In my head we didn't do anything wrong. We were just hanging out like we always did.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to step out of the car," the officer instructed.
It was then I realized that my dad was familiar with this procedure because he did everything per the officer's instruction, like it was second nature. I was embarrassed once I put it all together. My father knew he was in the wrong. Though I was angry at him for misleading me into what I thought was normal adult behavior, I continued to stand by him, literally. My dad had his hands leaned against the car while the officer questioned him and I did the same and leaned my hands against the car too.
"Got any guns sir?"
"Nope no guns", my father replied. Then my dad asked me, "Got any guns Beth?"
"Nope no guns", I assured him.
"Got any knives sir?" the officer inquired.
Again, my father gave his solemn word, "Nope". Then my father asked,
"You got any knives Beth?"
I assured him and the officers, "Nope. No knives, dad."
The officer handcuffed my father and read him his Miranda rights. I remember looking at my dad wondering what was going to happen next and he interrupted my fear with a question, "Are you paying attention to what they're saying, Beth?"
I stopped being fearful and started taking note of every little detail I could.
I gave my full attention to the situation at hand[cuff].
The officer told me to get in the back of his car. I looked at my father and waited for his nod of approval. Once I got it, I followed the officer to the car. From the backseat, I watched a second patrol car drive up and my father was taken away in that car. I still wasn't fearful at this point because I held onto my father's words like gospel, Are you paying attention to what they're saying? I also found solace in the song my father sang to me. I couldn't get it out of my head.
...Sea of love...sea of love...join with me....
As the officer drove me to the police department, I remained silent, (just as they told my father he had the right to do). The officer began asking me all sorts of questions, but I only answered one of them;
"Did your daddy take you with him and you didn't want to go with him?"
I glared past the cage-like covering from the backseat and into the rear view mirror. I could see the officer's eyes in that mirror, fixed on me. His face begged for me to oblige him.
“NO WAY!!!! I always want to go with my dad when he rides around! I don't ever want to stay at home!”
That wasn't what the officer wanted to hear but I didn't care because I wasn't going to lie. I knew what kidnapping was and kidnapping was not this case. The officer continued to ask me things but I didn't want to talk to him because I felt like he was attempting to lead me into a falsified story. My father was in the wrong, but not for the reasons the officers were hoping to discover.
The kidnapping charges against my father were dropped and he was formally charged with driving under the influence. He served less than a month in the Tarrant County jail and his driver's license was revoked. After that incident he never got his license reinstated in Texas, or any other state for that matter.
So that was the last joyride my father and I ever took together.
I had all but forgotten about the incident and the song until recently. I was listening to an internet radio station and I immediately recognized the melody. I haven't heard this song in ages! What's the name of this song, anyway? and I maximized the station's window so I could find out the title. Then, after all these years, shrouded in mystery, I learned the correct lyrics and the name of the unknown song from that incident with my father.
Hearing it made me feel like I was with my dad again, driving on the outskirts of Fort Worth, TX.
Feel the pain
Talk about it
If you're a worried man
then shout about it
Open hearts
feel about it
Open minds
think about it
Everyone
Read in the books in the crannies and the nooks There are books to read!
Time to eat all your words
Swallow your pride
Open your eyes
-- Sowing the Seeds of Love/TEARS FOR FEARS
Dear Dad,
I never got to tell you this when you were here so I want to tell you now, THANK YOU FOR YOU. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be who I am, today. I love you and I miss you even more. I don't know if there is an afterlife, but I hope there is so I can connect with you again; somehow, somewhere, someday.
Love always,
The dream stood out in my memory long after I woke up because it was an actual dream, it wasn't a nightmare or night terror. The latter is what I usually experience and wake up from violently in the middle of the night. But not a few days ago. No, nooo, this was quite the opposite. The dream didn't wake me up in any manner of hostility. In fact, the dream I had restored my faith in myself, my relationship with my son, my family bonds, and in my ARTwork.
In the dream, I was running toward my house. It was a perfect day. The sun was out and the sky above me was clear and blue. I felt my heart speed up in a good way and my adrenaline was pumping, releasing feel good endorphins into my blood stream. Once I saw Patrick's car and Ryan's car parked out in the driveway, I sped up and darted inside the house and ran up our spiral staircase. I was slightly out of breath but I didn't feel anything except gratitude for the opportunity to be out of breath from my run.
Patrick, Adam and Ryan were standing in the living room. When I made eye contact with them they each smiled at me.
LIZ: Guess what?! PATRICK: What's that? RYAN: What's up? LIZ: I can run again!
They didn't respond with anything except for nods of encouragement and smiles.
When I woke up from the dream my opened eyes met the already risen morning sun that shone through the cracks of the blinds on the windows downstairs, in our bedroom. I looked at the metal staircase and smiled as I remembered what it felt like to run up the stairs in my dream with good news. Then I rolled over in bed and saw Adam waking up. He shot me a soft smile while he rubbed his eyes. Then he crawled over Ryan and kissed me.
LIZ: I love you more than you will ever know.
Adam hugged me and fell into my arms and we cuddled. Then Ryan woke up.
LIZ: Good morning... RYAN: Hey.... LIZ: I love you. RYAN: I love you. (To Adam) And I love you too!
Adam took both Ryan and I into his arms and he kissed us each on the forehead. Then he jumped back to his side of our shared bed and began searching for an iDevice on the night stand.
LIZ: How do you feel this morning? RYAN: Better. How about you? LIZ: I feel great. RYAN: Good.
Of course I realize every day of my life will not begin as dreamy as that day began, but experiencing those few minutes of happiness reminded me of why I love my son and my boyfriend, and also, why I enjoy living. After I got to work later that morning and made lattes and frappuccinos for the masses, I deciphered the meaning of the amazing dream I had.
It had something to do with getting back to being honest with myself, my ARTwork, and being honest in my relationship with Ryan. Of all of the previous listed, hashing out the differences and issues Ryan and I have faced lately helped me the most in my path back to my pursuit of happiness; my path to making my good dreams my reality. After I came to terms with the fact that our relationship was out of my control, other than being the best possible partner I could be, I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.
Somewhere in the past couple of months I lost my true self. It wasn't Ryan's fault. It was my own fault. I got caught up in trying to be someone I wasn't in an effort to fit into Ryan's life plans. And though I do believe that love is all about learning to compromise, I started to compromise on issues I didn't feel were right for me at all. The longer I kept my mouth shut and kept agreeing to things I didn't want, the further away from my true self I wandered.
I wandered off so far that I almost forgot what it was like to even beme: The young woman who is fierce, witty, happy, intelligent, generous, and most of all; GRATEFUL for every happy moment and every not-so-happy moment of her life.
The fact[s] of the matter, or rather, the lessons I learned on this detour in my pursuit of happiness were:
You can't make anyone happy if you're not happy yourself. Compromise is important in love as is communication. No matter how much you fear letting someone down or fear scaring them away, you have to be honest with them and you also have to be honest with yourself. It's okay to have a bad day and you're not a total failure at life if you have one or even more than one bad day. Life's a bitch, but she's a pretty bitch, so it evens out in the end. If you feel like you're spending too much time, too much money,
or too much energy, you most definitely probably are. Acknowledging what you think and how you feel is proof of your existence. The best way to pay homage to your own existence is to be yourself, truthfully, always. Take time to check out the grand things life has to offer and when you can,
take time to notice the slightest things you encounter along your life's journey.
It's kind of funny but in this very moment as I wrap up this blog entry, I realize that I've come to the stage in my grief from losing my father, my grandfather, and a family member to homicide in 2009, that I've been trying to reach for a while now.
Acceptance.
For the first time in my life I'm not afraid to be who I am. I'm not fearful or embarrassed to share the story of who I am, where I have been, and to indulge in my plans for my life journey; post grief. I'm not afraid to be depressed, or angry...nor do I feel overwhelming guilt for becoming a better person from the tragedies I've seen and lived through. I'm not afraid of the good things that come my way and I'm not afraid to fail.
Most of all, I'm not afraid to let myself be happy alone or in the company of others.
Acceptance.
It finally found me and I didn't even realize it was near.
ACCEPTANCE: Now that we're face to face, what do you wanna do? LIZ: I don't know for sure. Probably continue finishing the book/script and do my damnedest to get it stage ready this year. I'm happy that you foundme! Right now I really wanna get this project off the ground so is it okay if we get together and catch up a little later? I'm trying to stick to my schedule so I can stay on track! ACCEPTANCE: Girl, I just wanted to say hi and see how you were doing! You look great!Call me when you get back into town and we can catch up then. No worries! LIZ: I'm okay with that! ACCEPTANCE: Me too! And look, you were in the process of accepting that entire time and you didn't even realize how close you were, girl! LIZ: I have a tendency to do that, to overlook what's in front of me, all around me! ACCEPTANCE: No sweat girl we all do it! Just be safe and have fun working on your writing project this summer! I hope it all goes well! LIZ: Thanks! I hope you have a good summer too! ACCEPTANCE: Adios! LIZ: Bye!
Our meeting wasn't quite as long or dramatic as I thought it would be. I expected it to be more drawn out, more teary and mournful but it wasn't. Sometimes what we expect is the last thing we receive and I'm happy to say that I've learned that lesson on this early morning: Sunday, March 6th 2011. I'm also happy that running into acceptance didn't veer me off my path or distract me from my goal to get my ARTwork ready for a new level.
All in all;
I'm okay with my family and my friends. I'm okay with you and not knowing how you are
or what you're thinking
Exactly
I'm okay with where I'm heading artistically. I accept all of the places I've been and haven't been with and without you with and without my dad with and without him & she... I accept all of that.
Most importantly
I accept all of my life
and all of your life + the loss of life x1
x2
x3
Divided both you and me.
The good and the bad
every godforsaken moment
of sanity
and insanity
the dirty
and the clarity
I see it now
and I accept it all
Entirely.
LIZ: I'm starting to think my soul is nomadic for all of eternity. RANDALL: No way. No nomadice souls allowed. LIZ: Tell me whyyyyy RANDALL: In a fully lit room: CLOSE YOUR EYES LEAN YOUR EYELIDS ON YOUR FIST WITH PRESSURE FOR 20 SECONDS, LIFT UP, OPEN YOUR EYES, AND SEE THE SPARKLES. That is why. LIZ: Ughhhh that makes no sense lol and now my eyes are all fucked up. RANDALL: Think about it. LIZ: Okay, give me a minute to wrap my mind around it.
One minute later...
LIZ: I think I just got it.
RANDALL: What did you take from it?
LIZ: That I'm searching for things that are already around me.
RANDALL: Not so much that are all around you but are out there.
LIZ: I see. Pun intended.
RANDALL: Nice pun.
Prone to wander, I feel it.
Here's my heart, take and seal it
seal it for thy courts above.
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing.
Tune my heart to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it
Mount of thy unchanginglove
-- Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing/SUFJAN STEVENS
