Before I continue writing about 1996, I just want to make a little statement. Obviously I have been super busy and have not had time to focus on this in a month. In that time, I have been asked by the few people that know about my story and past "Why have you not mentioned two key things? You are 'telling all' in this blog and yet you have failed to make any mention of your past mental illness and what put you there. What gives?"
I should have seen those questions coming. The answer is simple. These are -my- memories of the past. How can I be honest and complete about things I do not recall. All -those- things didn't come to me clearly until I had left New York and was in Chicago. Therefore, I have no intentions of bringing it up until i start writing about 2006. Could I be stalling to give myself more time to understand it? That is absolutely possible. However, again, it makes no sense to talk of such things until I reach the point in my adulthood where all the pieces of my mind became one rational stream of thought.


Ok. So. By spring of 1996, at 16 and a half, I finally was in a "good place". I was in love with a man that was gentle and kind and lo and behold, returned my love. I was writing, painting, and had worked out enough to shed the 50 pounds of 'baby fat' that was holding me back. It didn't seem real, though, because in my -head-, I was still fat and when men whistled at me, I would look around to see who they were looking at. I just could not fathom that I was "attractive" to them. Yet, there was power in it. A power I didn't know how to deal with. O, I was in love with Carlo and had zero interest in being with anyone else, but I was the owner of a new toy. The thing called "sex appeal", or so they said. And I had -no- clue what to do with it. When I looked in the mirror, I saw ugliness, fat, and someone not worthy of the space they took. Yet still, they whistled.
Even though I worked out obsessively and had three jobs, I -still- had time on my hands. I was 16 and never slept. Carlo and I started going to a poolhall to play billards and chill out. I became so comfy there that if I was off but he was at work, I'd go by myself. I always liked to spend time alone to think and reflect and a dark smoky place was just the thing I was into.
Anyway, there were these two old men there ALL the time. Ones name was Maurice but I do not recall the other. They entertained me with stories of their pro days and started to teach me trick shots until I got good. VERY good. It came easy to me because it was all just math. For a couple months I was there almost everyday. The guys started saying things like "Once we're done with you, you should go pro!! We'll train you!!"
Being an artist, I never took it seriously, but I must admit, I was pretty fucking good.
Around this time, I get the rather disturbing news that my brothers wife (the actress) had cheated on him and took off to star in some show on a cruise ship going back and forth to Europe. Jim was crushed and walled up in his apartment in Orlando. He unplugged his phone and was getting horribly irrational. Knowing how we both get when love fails, I immediately show up on his doorstep with a couple suitcases.
"Surprise."
Things were fairly bad for a time but after he talked and cried all he could for Donna, he began to relax and was grateful I had come. Now, Jim had practically raised me but in the five years he had been married, he only saw me a couple times a year. So when I show up on his doorstep a grown woman, all "new wave and darkness", he was pleased and ceased to see me as his baby sister and became my best friend. From that month on, we have related in an adult way, partners in crime, always with the unspoken rule "I will -always- have your back. I will go with whatever you say. If you lie, I lie. If you steal, I steal. We must always speak to each other first, get our story straight, and -then- deal with the rest of the world. Fuck mum and dad. It's just you and me now."
On the third night of my stay, I brought out my little box of pills and he reached for his bong. We got high and stoned together and talked all night about the HORRIBLENESS that was our parents and how we needed to unite against the common enemies. I reflected my views upon my childhood and he told me his memories. We found out that we had -each- been told seperate things. Different versions of the same stories. We became angry and vowed they would never tear us apart again.
"That's it, Jim. You're right. It's you and me now. We must take care of each other from this moment forward."
He nodded and took another hit.

A few weeks later, he couldn't stand it anymore. Sold all his things and got a gig directing the play his wife was in. He wanted to "save his marriage". Our parents married each other a few times (our father has racked up a couple more wives since then. Gotta have the latest, youngest, and thinest model, of course) and watching that made both of us determained to -never- be divorced and to take our vows seriously because obviously the flippant road didn't work out too well. Probably why I have refused to ever be married as of this writing.

As my brother took off to Europe, I waved goodbye. It hurt. Not just because my best friend was leaving, but my arm hurt. There had been pain in the middle of my left arm for almost a month. As the lump grew, I used it less and less. I never told anyone how much pain I was in because whenever I tried to mention it, my mother told me to "stop being so dramatic". One night as my friend and I were dancing, he asked "Where are all your little florishes? Your left arm is just laying there like a paper weight!!"
So I took him to the side, rolled up my blouse to show him my arm. He freaked out and called my mum, demanding she look at this 'thing' growing inside my elbow area. She likewise freaked and we both went to a doctor. The doctor did -not- seem happy as he entered his office to talk to us.
"Well... it -could- be goat. Maybe catscratch fever?" (yes, appearantly there -is- such a thing)
As much as I dislike my mother, I must say she is as intuitive as I am and we both knew that what he was saying was utter bullshit.
"But what do you -really- think she has?" mum asked point blank.
"Cancer. Lymphoma to be exact. All her symptoms are textbook. I want her in the hospital by morning for tests."
My mother walks out in a daze. I go back into the doctors office alone and ask him "Why do you say that?"
He says he didn't want to scare me, but he had seen it before and in a girl my age. She died after 6 months. I don't know why he told me that. My first concern was my mother. So I didn't tell her. I just got into the car and we drove in silence.
"Mum, I'm scared."
"So am I."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlYoYipVXUE

Song Carlo never failed to play from the jukebox selection at the poolhall.