Yeah, You almost remembered yourself once. Once is enough.
That time you ran into the parked car, what a broken collar bone you have been left with. No insurance, nobody to call the next day. And now you are always going to be reminded with that constant click... You always wake up alone. On the couch, she is sleeping in your piss, again, waking up in your vocal vomit. You know you have tried to remember the good stories. Those that paint me in a good light. Could they ever...?
Florida wasn't easy. The road was less than that. Over the years, the sadness has made me worried. I can't get over the worry. I can't get over the visual of my Mother's face, as she lay, dying, crying, in that clinical bed. By the end, that was all she had. She went far too soon. It should have been me.
That plastic cup with it's sippy lid. That is the memory that will guide me towards Invictus. She took that cup with conviction, with gusto. She needed that cup. It helped her breathe, it curbed the shakes, those fucking shakes, they never left, they got so bad, they were the catalyst that eventually stole her to her early grave.
I am building toward a positive old age. Good thing I have Karate and Cross My Heart to keep me company tonight. Maybe, it really is truly time to write. Maybe, I have been holding it in for far too long. For far too many years...?
Defeat smells like a burning fire. It smells like father burning a Ramones T-shirt for a D on the Math test. Or, an F on a history report. You could always burn anything you wanted, as you were born in Iowa, and you stayed in Iowa for far too long. What a stupid jock you were in High School. A sports star with waning interest, your son couldn't care less. I can't express to you how grateful I am for you getting me out of that state as soon as you did.
This is for her.
From an outsider's view, such a family seems like waves, too many waves... Your family has made me feel like the greatest surfer. Riding the waves with an almost preternatural ability. What blood, through hair. One is curly, one is short, some are straight. You all have the same eyes. If I could write about my own family with a soft brush... I would. I could. If I could truly express how grateful I am to be surrounded by so much love, I would.
We were raised rather well. We never had any shortage of food. We always had an xmuss tree. There was always family around. A loving family with drunken secrets and a threatening ethic. At age 9, as Iowa turned to Wisconsin, it became clear that the streets could and would never contain the waste that I was willing to offer. From Cousin Mike, with his D.R.I. and his Devo and his Dead Milkmen... I became a man. A mess. A constant threat to those Mayville cops with my sticky hands and my savage mouth. Principal, Teacher, Counselor, Mayor... It got so bad you threatened Saint John's. I would have burned that academy to the ground.
You are the saving grace. You will be the catalyst that draws us into ourselves. With Seamus and Seth and Dan and Kayla and Jen and Kelly and floating and a vacation... Shit, Do we ever need a vacation. Our friends could come along. We could go somewhere where the phone was always off the hook. Where there were no schedules, no sick babies, no screaming children and their dumb fuck tourist parents trying to weasel their way to the front of the line. I don't always need the sun to shine. It doesn't matter if the bars only stay open until twelve. It doesn't matter, as long as we're together.