Remembering...

His arm squeezed my ribcage, his cheek pressed against my chest. And, he told me, "I've missed this." ( referring to cuddling with a woman. He told me he hadn't had a girlfriend in two years. With what I know now, I believe it. ) His voice was warm and simple and sweet. There was not a trace of guile in it, or the bottled-up rage that I would much later see that he carried around inside him. For that night, this was all there was. I let it fill me like morphine and lull me into a sweet haze. It's the sort of drug I could live on, but I know better than to think it represents anything substantial or real.

This story comes to an abrupt an admittedly lame ending. But, maybe that was because it had no real plotline to begin with. I'm not sure why it's worth talking about or even thinking about, now. I used to be an adrenaline junkie. I was addicted to feeling that crazy, larger-than-life passion. This was more getting used to and getting attached to someone gradually. It was just an ongoing, incoherent jumble of events.

Devil's Night

Recently, I learned something that changes the way I view my entire childhood. And, it actually happened quite innocently. I was reading one of those jokes that were a list of signs that you're from Detroit. I laughed at most of them, since they were so disturbingly true. Then, I came to the one that said, "You thought that Devil's Night was a national holiday."

All I could think was, "Um...it isn't?"

I tried to think back and remember if I've heard anyone from another state mention it. Actually, I couldn't think of anyone. But, somehow this was still hard to accept.

So, I did a google search. One listing came up for a book called "Devil's Night and Other True Tales of Detroit". WTF? Not only does the rest of the country not celebrate it, but they thought it was just some urban legend?

Now, for those of you who don't know, Devil's Night is the night before Halloween that's traditionally for criminal activity and destruction. In the suburbs, this meant that kids would do lame things like toilet paper houses. It was those cool inner-city kids that would burn down houses - just for fun! I used to watch the news in fascination.

But, I don't think it's such a big thing, anymore. Of course, people still talk about it, but I wasn't really worried that kids would annoy me this year.

I did find a few other facts while searching for this. It seems the tradition predates World War II. I wouldn't have expected that. And, it's tied to something similar in Germany, but the German holiday is a lot less sinister. And, as of 2006, the inner-city of Detroit is still the most dangerous place in North America. Oh, I love Wikipedia.

What I Do When I Can't Sleep

Some people, when they can't sleep, start pacing, or turn on the TV, or maybe, drink warm milk. I write my stream of consciousness until I fall asleep. Then, later I look back and have no idea what I was trying to say. Here's a sample.

A warm hand on the cheek. Bitter brandy at the bottom of a glass. Colors and lights swirl in a delirium. They taunt you and put your mind to sleep. A hand tugs your shoulder and you're swept along.

Daylight. High heels from the night before lying next to your bed. Hair draped over the pillow. There's a teasing hint of vagrant memories lurking inside you. Should you touch them? In a moment, you might be ecstatic or devastated.

Getting dressed, you throw on dark glasses to walk out into the sharp, cold morning sun...or so no one sees your eyes as you slip into the day to day world. You see a variety of faces, some brightly colored, others muted and fading. It's getting harder to remember their names these days. But, you have a friendly greeting for each one.

Then, a door slams shut. You are alone and the flood of emotion can be released. You can remember a whisper, a song, a warm breath on your neck. You can remember the parts that never really happened, but haunted you in your dreams......

( I think that was the point where I finally got sleepy. )