Pacific Mist

March 23

What makes a girl smile a wicked smile? It's when things turn around in just one weekend from bad to promising.

They didn't start promising, though …

Friday night I went out and met this young guy and, well, the less you know of it the better. But I was really down, and a bit drunk and I guess I took kinda pity on him. He followed me almost all night, you know, but like a shy animal or something.

However, the next day it always becomes less bright and shiny, doesn't it? I was waiting tables and all of a sudden I hated myself. I was a dumb slut. Or just dumb, wasn't I? How could I deserve any better?

Luckily I have a good poker-face, and I would need it too – with two jobs to earn the daily bread – both of them involving lots of annoying humans. I wonder what would have become of it if I had pushed on becoming a pro-writer or artist or whatever I dreamed about in teen-hood?

Would I have hated myself so much then? Made the same mistakes?

Anyway, I came home Saturday afternoon, totally beat, and things went from bad to worse. Karima had a girl-friend over, a redhead with a snake tattoo on her right arm, and in the kitchen she assured me 'not to worry, Cari – she is totally straight ' and I went 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' and we had the row that had been building for some weeks now and the roof almost lifted.

(I didn't see the redhead afterwards, I guess she snuck out or something. I don't blame her.)

Well, it turns out that the 'bathroom -episode' was really quite deliberate, childish and very raw – emotion-wise. She hadn't been thinking – Karima, flaunting herself like that. She had been angry. Or rather jealous. Because I had had Will over last weekend and we had fucked like rabbits …

And stupid me went: “But he's a guy … “

And Karima almost slapped me and went: “It doesn't matter if he is a Martian, Cari – I want some of that too. I want … I need … “

What? Sex? Love? Both?

Whatever the case, it's a bit hard I guess for a girl who got a lot of the skin on her arms burned badly while she still lived in Pakistan. I didn't tell you that yesterday? Why should I have – you would just have judged her … like I almost did the first time I saw her, when she showed me her arms at that ice cream parlor of all places.

I tried to smooth things and told her that Will was not really … you know. We had just fucked. And I was very much in doubt if I wanted to see him again. He was nice, but no more.

That helped a bit but I think it only did because she could see I was trying hard to make it appear as if it hadn't mattered much – for her sake. Then we got drunk on some of that stale red wine her dad had left last time he visited (I guess conversion to Christianity should have some perks! And we watched movies.

And Sunday I felt a bit better about myself when I woke up, but not so much still … at least not until I saw: Him.

Oh, yes – Him with a capital 'H'.

Okay, okay – I have NO idea if it is 'him' or whatever, but god he looked nice. Apparently a new tenant from just across the road. I saw him Sunday morning cleaning his four-wheeler and I knew he had to be the guy who owned all the boxes that other truck had given birth to on Thursday (when I hadn't seen him).

Nice tan, small beard, definitely well-trained … dark hair, an ass that made itself seen in all the good ways through his jeans, leather west. Oh yeah … I like darker guys, especially when they look like he did.

My heart skipped several beats, and then Karima came into the kitchen and she was in a good mood, and we scrambled some eggs and I dared ask if she had seen him too.

She peaked through the window and said 'oh him' and smiled a bit as if everything was okay, and my shoulders  relaxed.

I went out shopping and looked for him, while the sun gave way to more of the mist coming in from the ocean like it always does here, making everything seem slightly dreamy. Just like I felt.

But he didn't come back. Not that day at least. He had gone off to somewhere in the 4W. Maybe to his cool job at Google or to his farm with purebred horses or … something.

I tried to make myself un-fantasize about him all day, and then in the evening I couldn't anymore and locked myself in my room and was very quiet about it so Karima wouldn't hear. But I didn't come. All of a sudden it didn't seem important. It was crazy. It was not going to be. He couldn't possibly be someone for me – or vice versa. And yet, what if he was?

Then Will called, of course.

And we talked a long time and I remembered why I had invited him home last weekend. One of the most modest guys I've ever met, and able to make you feel like you are the most important thing in his world. Maybe I was. We weren't soulmates or anything. We probably would never be. But I began to understand that maybe it hadn't been so bad last weekend. Maybe he had been there for me in a way that was good and right even if it was just a fling. Maybe I needed to see guys more like that. Maybe I needed to, er, practice if I was ever going to be able to see a guy for real after Jeremy. And god, this guy next door … he was on the top of my list.

So we met downtown (I made some lame excuse to Karima) and then … well, it was nice. Very nice. And the best thing of all … it didn't feel like a substitution, or a cover-up for something I couldn't handle, or just being so horny and drunk I behaved like a whore. It felt right and as something I did out of joy. Nothing more.

Maybe that's what being in love does to you?

Even if it's with another guy.

Even if it may not be love at all – how would I know??

Even if that is probably the strangest and most far-out attempt at rationalization I've done in  while.

Even if I felt a pang of guilt about Karima, until I remembered her smile in the kitchen and that we were friends and that she could just possibly have the potential to be my best friend ever.

So … nothing out of this world happened here. And I'm not even going to go graphic. I'm still floating too much right now – and in a good way, and soon I have to get up and go to work with too little sleep, as usual.

But with the memory of spring sunlight through that mist.

Aw, you are so sweet! (And I am SO glad you like it!!) 

Hugs,

C

April 4

I was going to lie to you.

I was going to write that I put on my clothes and tip-toed over to my beautiful neighbor's drive way and found some excuse to get to talk to him, now that he was finally home. Or maybe just watch him. (A little creepy perhaps, I know, but I think this crush is slowly becoming serious … and when it becomes serious like that it also becomes a form of madness, right?)

But I was stuck. On my bed. In my room. My heart was hammering like it wanted to escape my chest and I couldn't move and so I didn't. And an hour or so later when I did 'happen' to pass by his drive way, taking out our garbage, then I saw that the four wheeler had gone again and everything was dark inside his apartment, blinds down.

And things didn't become less messy during breakfast, when I found Karima in the kitchen chatting away on the phone and then hanging up and saying “I love you too” quickly, when I finally dragged myself in there to get something to eat before I starved.

Without thinking, I went: “Now. who was that?”. And Karima went: 'Oh … you remember the girl from the other day?'

“The redhead?”

'Her name's Amy.”

And she said she thought they might begin dating. Karima and Amy. Her first real date.

And words just tripped out of my mouth: “But I thought you said she was straight?”

And Karima looked at me like she couldn't decide if it was a bit pathetic or not that I couldn't understand a big public secret, or something like that, something which – to Karima's eyes- seemed to have been right there, in plain sight all along.

“She is open-minded, Cari,” Karima said with added patience. “She wants to see if it's something for her.”

“I don't understand,” I blurted.

“People don't always fit into boxes like 'straight' or 'gay' or 'bisexual',” Karima continued, and now I couldn't tell if she was really annoyed with me, or embarrassed, or some indefinable in-between.

“Oh,” I just said and began pouring milk on my cornflakes.

“Have you never just thought – just a little – about what … it would be like?” Karima asked, looking at me like she had to be ready to duck from something I would throw her way, any second now.

I didn't. I just shook my head.

“No, I've never wondered what 'it would be like'. No offense.”

She smiled nervously: “Well, Amy does – and we're really … I mean, we really have so much in common. I think this could be for real, Cari!”

And then I just felt ice in my stomach and couldn't take my eyes from her scars on the arms.

“Karima – are you sure … she is serious? I … don't want you to … “

“What?” she snapped back. “Are you afraid it's some 'I'm desperate because of my ruined skin' – ” she waved her left arm demonstratively at me ” – and that Amy is just going to break my heart or something to fulfill a little fantasy of hers?”

“Something like that … ” I looked down and the cornflakes looked back at me and I felt absolutely no appetite.

“Well, I wouldn't say you are exactly an expert on women-to-women relationships, are you now?” Karima said while getting up and pushing in the chair hard against the small table.

And by the time I had formulated a semblance of an answer, she had already gone to her room, and didn't want to press it, although I was also a bit angry with her for mistrusting me like that.

Hell, I was concerned about her … and about this Amy-character who was straight one day and “open-minded” the other day. What the hell was she going to do with my best friend? How come I had never heard of her before the other day? If she left Karima even more insecure and down than she already was at times, I felt like hunting her – Amy – down and throwing her into the Bay or something. Sleep with the fishes, baby – see how they like your need for a little fling because you suddenly feel oh-so “open-minded” …

And then I went to work and went home and went out in the evening. Usual Cari tactics to distract herself from what he doesn't really have the courage to do.

*

Later in the week I went out again, and even if it was just an ordinary boring weekday on both occasions I easily snatched into my net what I thought I needed.

I had tried to call Will, but he had gone undercover somewhere, so I figured that relieved me of any obligation. Although I did miss him and hoped he would be back. If he would then apparently, like Mr. Mysterious next door, it would not be anytime soon. So I had to take care of myself. And I did.

The first guy was from Australia, actually an exchange student, perhaps with a bit of aboriginal in his blood. Very dark and handsome. We talked a lot about how much I really wanted to go to Australia and then we went home to his dorm room and he did me so well, I felt I was on a cloud for the next two days. Like I had had some really good booze that didn't give me a headache – almost. He did give me his phone number, too, but didn't answer my calls later on. That was kind of … unsettling.

And so when I got afraid that maybe the headache would come I threw out my net again, and this time it was just a nice guy – Asian in fact – who I happened to chat up, at a bar near the harbor front; a place I really hadn't counted on hanging out for long, much less find anyone I would take a liking to. But he was very much the gentleman, I kid you not, and I let myself fall for it and I didn't regret it – at least not right away.

Because in the morning, when I came home there was a strange emptiness in my mind, just like that damn driveway of my neighbor's, and just like that grey nothing  above the ocean that couldn't decide if it wanted to show clouds or sunshine or the sky above or a combination of it all. It was just grey and dull like so often, like the mist that usually curls along the coastline had decided to smear itself permanently over the dome of heaven blanking everything else out.

Just like I blanked everything else out … everything that I couldn't quite handle yet. So I got off the bus a few miles from our road and went to a view point that I quite liked and just sat there in the damp grass, trying to get my thoughts together.

I needed to think about what I really wanted to do – no, who I really wanted to be.

I liked the guys. I liked a good roll in the hay.

But I also felt grey inside, like that sky. I felt I needed something more – someone more …

Would it be the guy next door?

No. He was  – he couldn't be anything else than – fantasy. Just my disturbed mind going round in circles and coming back to him.

So who did I want to meet? A man who was so much better than my ex? Of course. But what was 'better'? Did I really have any idea anymore? I had spent the last three years just fucking everything male with a pulse and pretending it was so liberating. And sometimes it was – like with Will. But it was never quite enough.

And then some asshole like Jeremy came along and snared me into his net, and I fell for it, and had the scars and bruises to prove it. And I go right back to chasing guys I don't have to relate to for more than one night.

The safe course.

So why was I so concerned about Karima? I should be bloody concerned about myself. I was the one who didn't take chances … with my heart.

What kind of man could I possibly do that with?

I didn't know anymore and the blank, grey sky above didn't feel like showing me any guiding stars tonight. It would be like this, a dull overcast, until night fell.

Thanks so much! These past weeks have been a MESS, but I'll have a new – extended – diary up in a week or so I reckon. Prepare for More Shocking Developments  – esp. about who the hell is straight and who isn't!!

-C

Apr 26

Nothing ever works out as planned. At least not in my life.

This was a day with sun, unlike most other days. Karima and I were sitting in the small garden plot outside our little bit of home. Folding chairs and a couple of beers.

We would've looked so lesbian, except that we didn't.

And I didn't mention what kind of thoughts I had actually had about that – in the recent weeks. It didn't matter. We were not an item. We were friends.

But we did talk about Amy, and all the doubts – did she just want Karima as a distraction from her own problems? As an experiment that she could end any time? As a funny diversion from who-knows-what?

Karima's doubts were as deep as the scars on her arms. And they would probably never go away – the doubts or the scars. She got the latter when she crawled out of that burning house in Pakistan that the Taleban set fire to, because her father programmed computers for some local base that was a bit too cozy with US personel, coming in from across the border. Or just because. Who knows what goes on in the minds of madmen?

I didn't even know what went on in my own mind and I didn't care any longer. Not this afternoon in the sun. Not when the mist seemed so far away over the ocean.

Not even when Mr. Nice from next door came home to his own for a change and stopped, got out of the car and nodded our way. Maybe he was a vet? He looked the part. Just as he looked like a cowboy. He couldn've been anyone, really, and wouldn't it have been a twist of irony if the war somehow had made peace with itself on our doorstep. Now all we needed was some terrorist retiree in one of the other condos and it would be a crazy movie. Just like the ones that sometimes show up on TV and are called news.

I didn't care a lot about war and terrorism or fantasies about men, I hardly knew. Not any more. But I did care about scars – and we talked a lot that afternoon, and Karima asked me why I didn't take guys home anymore, as if 3 weeks counted for a lifetime …

I told her that I was probably lesbian and we laughed and opened another beer. Then she asked about my stepfather, and my jobs, and if I was all right because I had been locking myself quite a lot in my room these past many evenings.

And I said I just needed to think. That was all. Let's talk about Amy. Or the future. Or if it would be nice to go to the beach soon.

You see, we live in Montara, as if you had not already guessed. Here the mist lives with us, but some days are bright and clear.

And I saw one thing clearly that afternoon: I didn't need to have sex all the time with all kinds of guys. I didn't need to do it with girls, either – hell no. Even if you can't help wondering what it would be like when you live with Karima and hear her war-stories all the time … from the city, from the bars of loneliness.

I didn't even need to be online all the time.

I didn't need to pretend I was a lost writer who had this diary-project that everybody should swoon over. Say: 'Oh my gosh – you are so good. You can still make it!'

I don't think I can make it. Or maybe I can.

And maybe I can find a good man.

But I need to curl up somewhere and … try to decide who he is, and then who I am.

Otherwise – how are we ever going to find each other?

And have all the mindboggling, passionate, out-of-this-world, so-good-you-could-cry SEX that this story can never be about … because I don't have that in my life …

… yet.

***

Home–home! Where is that land?
For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
And sets my sail to seek another sky.

Alfred Noyes: Memories Of The Pacific Coast