rough patch

I had this dream on March 18th and I wrote it down but decided not to post it until I felt happy again.

I dreamt I was getting ready for my wedding day. I was back at my parents’ house on the west coast, getting dressed and trying to herd everyone out the house because the limo was waiting.  As I walked to the limo, I realized that I was wearing a black dress, buttoned up the front and belted. I thought that I would rather be wearing white, but it was obviously too late to find another dress.

The wedding was outside, and there were only a handful of chairs set up. Random people from high school were sitting down and I thought, of course they were, because I was back west, who else would come? But then Karen walked by.   It was briefly a relief to see her, but now it was time for me to walk up to the alter. I realized that it was Tyler waiting for me, like Tyler and Elizabeth, my best married friends. I picked out her wedding dress two summers ago and then I zipped her into it and blew bubbles when she and Tyler walked down the aisle. In the dream I saw him, and I thought, no, he’s Elizabeth’s, and then suddenly she was there, nodding at me, and I understood it was something they were doing for me as a favor for a friend. I wasn’t marrying him, he was just standing with me; I was there alone.

It was a sunny afternoon, beautiful green grass and moss covered stone closing us in, and it was meant to be a celebration but I was wearing black. It wasn’t a wedding. It was a funeral. Everyone was there to observe that I was always going to be alone.

--

I’m an oily person. Is there a grosser way of saying that? I run moist.  I don’t run dry but in the winters I get patches of dry skin in between my fingers that blister up and peel away in patches.

Karen and I met at the Eaton Center. She bought shoes, I bought nothing, and then we headed over to the distillery district.  We ordered chicken wings and a ploughman’s dinner and I told her about the dream.

“So that’s pretty obvious,” she said.

“My subconscious isn’t even trying to be subtle.”

We got a taster flight and also tasted each other’s beer. I said that I’d been sad, but that night it felt further and further away. The walls were a painted brick, the back of the booth black wood panels. I told her about going to Elle’s party with all the couples.  I rubbed over my knuckles and then gave my hand to Karen to show her the peeling skin.

“Oh, your rough patch.”  Karen looked up at me.  “You’re going through a rough patch.”

--

The gym I've joined has a pool, and sometimes I go swimming. I like doing things alone, but I don’t want to eat or exercise where someone can see me. The pool closes at 6:30 and one Sunday I went for 5:30 when I thought everyone would be eating dinner. There was a man swimming laps, but he left before I did, and for half an hour I had the pool to myself. We hadn’t had daylight savings yet, and the sun was just starting the set behind one of the other apartment buildings but for a brief moment it was right over the roof of the building. The last of the sunlight ignited over the surface of the water. I stood in the middle of the pool, my hands floating, and watched the brilliant shards of light flash in the water. The pool was silent and it felt like a baptism.

--

One Saturday in April, I had to work, so I drove straight to Tyler and Elizabeth’s place and stayed the night so I could still drink.

He grilled up these fish burgers they bought at the St. Lawrence Market and steamed artichokes which we ate with garlic butter. We were meant to watch Homeland, but we stayed up until 2 talking instead.

I said I didn’t understand guys who would live with a woman but not want to marry her (particularly this one couple that we’d all grown up with).

Elizabeth said that it was different to be married because you had a joint bank account. That it wasn’t both people contributing equally: all money was ‘our’ money.  She’s been working while Tyler finishes law school and everything she earned was for both of them.

Tyler said yes, but that it was more so the idea that you’re planning a life sixty years in the future with someone. An entire life together. That it was different to live together (split the rent) than to plan to make every decision for the rest of your life with another person.

When I was younger, I hated being the third wheel, but now I love my couple friends.  Tyler and Elizabeth are like my yuppie mom and dad. I slept on a mattress in their living room and in the morning they made waffles while I cleaned the rest of the dishes.  I’d found the perfect space to park my car and walking over to it in the morning, and then driving home, the city felt smaller than usual. More manageable.

--

I went to New York with my actual parents.

--

I started another writing class. One woman (probably the weakest writer in the class) keeps talking about how she wants to make a career out of doing this. I still don’t understand how anyone can admit to wanting to be a writer, but this time around, I’ve actually been telling people that I’m taking the class. I’ve shown a few people the stuff I’ve been writing, and when someone asks what I’m working on, I can mostly tell them without freezing up and having to awkwardly change the subject.  I’ve spent so many years guarding various selves that it’s almost comical how safe it feels just to be honest.

--

Two days ago, on Friday night, Tyler and Elizabeth came over for dinner. I made fajitas (kinda) with shredded chicken, refried beans, canned corn, avocado slices, and a homemade salsa of sorts that Tyler put together while I put everything else into bowls.

We finally got through the last three episodes of Homeland and high fived in celebration.

“You both have such soft palms,” I said.  “I really enjoyed that.”

--

Yesterday, Karen came over in the morning.  We got ready to go to the pool, and I fussed that because it was coming on noon, there might be other people in the pool, like children, but she said never mind that.  We walked over in flip flops, me in a blue striped summer dress, her in a floral onesie, both of us in open winter jackets.

Her bathing suit looked like baby’s first swim suit: strapless with a ruffle around the waist and pink and white stripes.  There were two other women in the pool, but no children.  We splashed around getting used to the water, cooler than the heated deck, and I started lunging around.

“Oh,” Karen said, laughing. “You’re a water baby. I didn’t realize.”

“What’s that?”

“People react two ways when they get in water. You’re like --” and then she shimmied around in demonstration.

“Yeah, I love it,” I said. “Now I’ve proven my island cred.”  We both grew up on Vancouver Island.

Before we settled into swimming laps, we had handstand contests (Okay, do a handstand and then spread your legs. Scissor kicks. A somersault into a handstand).  We pretended to be boats and sculled across the pool with one leg bent in the air.  We took turns carrying each other like babies from one end of the pool to the other, chatting, “Baywatch, Baywatch, Baywatch.”

We looked over at the other ladies and Karen said, “So we’re the children you were afraid would be in the pool.”

--

After swimming we walked to brunch and finally ate around 2:30 - the first time that day for me. We had a couple drinks as well and by the time we were finished the meal, I was done.

“You’re already napping, aren’t you?” Karen said as we walked back to my place.

“I really am.”

She put her still-wet swimsuit in the empty bag the tortilla shells came in last night and headed out, and I lay down for a nap. A couple hours later, my alarm clock went off at 7 when I was meant to get ready to head out, but it took me several tries to actually get out of bed.

I texted Casey to say I was going to be late: Had an apocalyptic nap.

When I finally showed up, meeting her, her boyfriend, and her other friend so we could go to a concert, she asked if I’d eaten, and then gave me a bowl of soup (mushroom, broccoli, chickpea, with coconut milk), toast and butter.  If we hadn’t already bought tickets to the show, there’s no way I would have made it out of my house, but it was a little easier now that someone was taking care of me.

Once I was sat down at the table, she put a can of beer in front of me.

“Casey. This is an embarrassment of riches,” I said.

It was still hard to make it out of the house and I trailed behind on the walk to the subway. Lee’s Palace was small and crowded, and the opening acts were good but the crowd was inexplicably full of old men with beautiful young women.  A 40+ man, shorter than me, in a blue fleece jacket, stood right in front of me and kept leaning back as he drunkenly pet at a twenty something young woman. Even though we were both standing, it felt like he was sitting in my lap.

Finally Casey said, “Come here,” and then she and her boyfriend stepped backward to make room for me to stand in front of them. It was like having neutral mom and dad standing behind me, and I felt comfortable in the crowd.

July Talk was the main act, and the crowd was rowdy, not fully a mosh pit but a couple drunk guys trying to turn it into one. In between the songs, Leah Fay said, “How are we all doing?  Is everyone feeling safe? Anyone getting touched inappropriately? What’s happening at the front here? It’s okay if you dance, but you can’t crush these little girls against the front of the stage.”

As I get older, I feel so drawn to women who can look after things.  I loved that she was minding the crowd.  It was an amazing show.

--

Today, R came to my house and we walked to the Farmhouse Tavern for lunch.  It was supposed to rain all weekend, but this afternoon the sun was coming out in that May way, where it’s slightly overcast but still bright. It was warm enough that I almost didn’t need a jacket, and it was the first time that it’s actually felt like spring.