Apr. 09, 2003 - 22:00:00
Dear Vincent,
Enter Cheryl. Cheryl is a non obtrusive presence. She comes and goes and there a few who remember if she has or hasn't been. And amidst those who notice her there are those who would never indicate that they have done so. She hunches herself as a arrogant hero humbled, yet know her and you will know that such a quiet spirit never invited a humbling. Know her, and know that her mind surpasses your own. You cannot conceive of how much distance she has on you. You're not mentally fluent enough for that. She passed you so quickly, so long ago that it hardly matters that you were ever there. It takes time to pass, and the time it took to pass you was not significant in the slightest. More apt to say that you were a light and you were extinguished- that's how quickly it happened. It's not beneath her to understand how she out classes you. But she doesn't understand. Once she reached a certain level of knowledge she understood that she knew nothing, and the pit drops out of her stomachs when she wakes in the morning and thinks of all the things she is going to know. Of all the things there are to know. Like breathing, she inhales knowledge and it's not enough. It seems that Cheryl's existence is blighted by only one thing- that her lungs have only got a certain capacity for air. Within the confines of a day she can take in only so much knowledge. Averted eyes, gaze distracted by that which is not easily seen. Part of the reason Cheryl goes unnoticed is that she isn't entirely where she is when she's there. Like Rip Van Winkle, or Walter Mitty or Gatsby, Cheryl can be counted among one of the great dreamers of our time, fictional or otherwise. Cheryl is my friend and we trade awe and need.
Two years. It took two years to get Cheryl to speak to me. Accustomed to going unnoticed and more accustomed to getting teased when noticed Cheryl was the most difficult person to have a conversation with I'd ever met in my life. We built our friendship on silent exchanges- smiles and book trading. I can still remember sitting in 7th grade English class watching Cheryl long before she ever talked to me. The boy behind me said, "She's crazy." But she was inside a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird and I knew that she couldn't be. "You see that in her hands?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "I bet you think that's a doorstop." I told him. Cheryl is well versed in the study of humanity. So, she's a beautiful writer. Always has been. I anticipate reading her books to my children. They will be the better for having seen some of the workings of such a brilliant woman's mind. Originally, my friendship with Cheryl was fraught with some bitterness. I adored her but admittedly was envious of her talent. It was when I became clear sighted enough to realize that she was gifted, not talented that I began to lay small jealousies to rest. It was several years later when she confided that she had fought the same battle, only she'd always wanted my articulateness and -talk to the world- way. I wonder if it was an exchange we would have made, given the choice? Cheryl can't vocalize things very well. Her voice will always speak through her pen more than fluently. She herself says that she has a million things to say, but somehow they choke themselves before she can get them out. It has taken some years, but we have become fast friends.
I'm telling you all this, Vincent, to reiterate something she wrote. We exchange things we write quite a bit. We comment, we return. Yesterday she gave me an informal essay on the creative forces. Vincent, it ended with one truly breath taking sentence. It is not a testament to the standards she exceeds as a writer, it's just beautiful.
"Not one of us has lived long enough." -Cheryl
To completely change topics:
A dance friend of mine, Rie, is reading "Helter Skelter" which is a novel about the serial killer Charles Manson. She tells me that the book is on a government list, along with other novels like "Mein Kampf" and "The Little Red Book." Apparently, if you read a certain number of books on 'the list' in a certain amount of time the government red flags you. When I asked Rie why she was reading it, she responded, "I'm interested. And I think it would be kinda fun to get red flagged." How's that for contrary?
Rie and I were in chemistry together in 11th grade. My chemistry teacher was an obstreperous moron who had an opinion on everything. Naturally, he and I didn't get along. He always seemed so sure his opinion was the right one that sometimes I altered my own opinions momentarily to delight in contradicting him. Rie came into school one day crying- the family cat, Snickers (may he rest in peace) had gone to a better place the night before. The chemistry teacher, let's call him Mr. Senseless seized this as an opportunity to discuss why animals don't have the capacity to love. I raised my hand and asked him if he loved his children. "Of course," responded Mr. Senseless cautiously...(He was wary of me by that point in the year.) "Prove it." I demanded. I believe that was the only argument I ever decisively won with him. You really can't win arguments with people like him.
Today I worked for a little bit at a nursery in town- I'm usually there Sundays anyway but they were short on help today. I played Star Wars themes on kazoos with a little boy named Jeremy. This was not before Jeremy had to re teach me how to play kazoo, the knowledge had left me. I spent several minutes blowing into it with no sound to show for my efforts. Finally, exasperated five year old Jeremy took my face between his hands and regarding me seriously, said slowly and patiently, "don't blow, hum." The Darth Vader melody was particularly entertaining. I'm never going to look at Darth Vader without laughing again.
Advice: I try to resist the temptation. I'm nosy though. Should have been a reporter.
They hung some plants from the ceiling at the library. It looks like some horror movie from the 40s where the evil plant is going to grow on top of the whole city. I knew I didn't like the looks of it and I liked it even less when I realized that one of the plants blocks the clock in my line of vision from my table. Devious. I have to find a new table.
Neurotically,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
