Wait...so that's a thing?

     [Yesterday] was a tough day. I wrote for the first time about my friend whom I lost and it took quite a toll on me. I figured...let's follow it with one that would make me feel better. I am going to definitely run this by a certain someone before I publish because I have a feeling this may get a little personal. Read at your own risk. sidebar: I asked him if he'd be ok with me publishing this and he said nonchalantly, "sure." I love the free spirit he is. I love his fearlessness. Thank you, Honey. I wrote this because I really feel like we have a great story. xoxo

     About four-ish years ago, when I first started going to karaoke shows after my divorce, I frequented a pub that I still go to on a regular basis. The guy who runs the karaoke there is responsible for all of the friends that I have right now. S has been the catalyst of so many friendships and has brought an island of misfit toys together. I really feel like he is our glue. There's a lot that can be discussed in the short amount of time it takes to pick your song and put it in the queue. I've had conversations that have ranged from serious relationship advice to let's-guess-who's-not-wearing-underwear-tonight. I really don't know how he tolerates us sometimes.

     One Tuesday night my group of best friends were sitting at our table. I guess kind of like in school in the cafeteria. We had our area and people knew it was/is ours. I go to karaoke because I like to sing and I happen to have a kick-ass group of friends who can all really sing. Yeah, there may be a few random clinkers here and there where someone would get up and sound like a dying cat, but who cares? It's supposed to be fun, and that it has been. A lot of times if people are talking and I want to listen to who's singing, I'll get up and stand by myself. As I'm standing there, another group comes in. People know them but I'm thinking, "Who just came into my bar?" Not in a bitchy way...ok, maybe a little bitchy. I'm territorial. There's a couple that walk up to S and it's obvious he knows them. The girl, when she is talking, is beautiful. She radiates a glow. Is she the typical societal glow...no...she's got wild black curls and a smile that made you want to be near her. The guy she's with seems much more reserved. Quiet. He smiles with his eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses and looks like he's going to picture day at school with his collared shirt and sweater. I've soon learned that I'm about to hear some crazy singing from the girl so I should hold onto my hat. The music starts,
"So 1, 2, 3, take my hand and come with me because you look so fine and i really wanna make you mine."
She smiles when she sings and looks like she's having so much fun, she's so at ease, and wow, she sounded like an angel. I had a new girl-crush for sure. It's time for the quiet one to sing. By this time I've walked back over to my table and started talking to R talking about how good my new crush was. I wish I could remember the song he sang.  I want to say it was, "Oh Darling," maybe by the Beatles, but I'm not sure. What I remember is Shy-guy starts to sing, I looked at him, I looked at my table of friends, I looked back at him, I turn to my friends and in the loudest voice I say,

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" 

How do I describe this without sounding trite? Imagine a singer who's not looking at anyone in the audience because he is staring at the words on the screen while holding the microphone stand with both hands. Now imagine the seemingly nervous looking singer opens his mouth and his soul is bared to everyone. If you can imagine when you hear a song on the radio, or even in person, that touches you. Almost like the music floats down from the sky and wraps around you like a soft blanket. That's what it felt like to me on my skin. His voice has just a touch of grittiness to it that makes you pay attention rather than talking to your friends at the table and looking at the Cubs score on the tv. I couldn't believe it and just kept saying, "You've got to be kidding me," as I've been known to do when I think something is that good.
     Time passes. Years in fact, since that night. I would see both of them out, but they weren't together anymore. I would ask ( LL) if he would let me pick a song for him to sing and he would always say yes to me. Did I have a crush? Of course I did. Did I ever think anything would ever happen? Fuck no. I'm a hundred years older than he is, and my usual type is tattooed, loud and obnoxious, bikers who may or may not have a drinking problem. If there were a polar opposite, LL was it. I would still flirt with him and tell him he could sing me the phone book and I'd listen over and over. (Start over at the A's again...) He'd still hold the mic like it was trying to escape his grip, he'd still maintain eye contact with the screen or sometimes even close his eyes completely. But his voice...
"...Free me, leave me
Watch me as I'm going down
Free me, see me
Look at me, I'm falling and I'm falling..."
Is it weird that I can't remember what I had for breakfast today, but I can remember this song he sang two years ago at a place in Mount Prospect?
While all this is happening, in my parallel universe I'm dealing with a man who would break my heart constantly. I became so broken and triggered easily by choices made that I'll probably talk about later. I don't want him to taint my writing here.

     About two months ago R and I go to a different venue for karaoke. It's not S doing it and I am pretty spoiled by his sound system and him so I'm a bit of a snob...hard to believe, I know. R's kids are with their mother for a vacation and he needed to get out. I was happy to meet him.We see some friends who are in our social circle and although the music was making my ears bleed, it was possible to scream your conversation. LL walks in. Oh yay! His eyes aren't smiling. He doesn't look himself.
"HEY! How are you? What's wrong?" I scream into his face.
"It's nothing. My girlfriend and I just broke up..." (more talk about what had happened)
"Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry." Screaming this just didn't have the soothing effect I normally would have wanted.
LL sings a song that I'm pretty sure had meaning behind it it. It's pained and has this dubstep-y part to it that makes the audience wooooohooo. He looks different to me now. His dark hair has grown so long that the curls are more relaxed and the loose curls that fall around his face are perfectly imperfect. He can put it up now and I really like it. I'm a big fan of longer hair. Not a big fan of body hair, though. There's something about a man taking off a sweater, but looking like he's still wearing a sweater.  (shudder)
    LL is fun to flirt with. He's quiet, but assertive. Funny as all hell, too. Although he looks sad, distracted, his eyes show me who he is. He's free. He's...free. This word just keeps coming to my mind.

     After a few weeks pass, my kids leave for camp and I am feeling incredibly blue. I go out on a Thursday to one of S's shows and I get to see the crew that I only get to hang with in the summer. I'm chatting with the girls, having drinks, meeting new people who have come into the fold, laughing a lot.  LL walks in. The same shy boy I saw 4 years ago, (now, I don't mean boy like he's a kid. He's definitely a man, but I saw him differently back then) walks in to [bar] and our friends are rushing up to say hello to him. People are genuinely happy to see him and that makes me feel good. I can't think of one person who has ever said, "Oh, fuck. LL is here.  What an asshole." Nobody. What is it like to be held so high and yet maintain this humbleness? He comes over and says hi and something snaps in my brain. God, he's sexy. How is it I'm just noticing this?  I walk over to S at the dj booth and I look at one of my girlfriends who is sitting up by S and I say, "I totally want to make out with LL tonight."  Now, this is not something I would normally just come out and say about LL. Never has that even been in my mind. Without missing a beat, Rh says to me, "Ok, take this cigarette. See if he wants to go smoke."
"But I don't smoke."
"Who cares! Do you want to get some alone time with him?" As she's saying this to me and handing me a smoke, LL walks by with cigarette in hand and asks me, "Are you going outside to smoke?"
"Yes...yes, I am." How did I sound like a game show host just now?  I turn and get the ok-eyes from Rh and out the door we go.
flirt...flirt...flirt...eyelashes...smile...(I'm talking about me here, not him.) We talk about everything and nothing. It's raining on us.Not hard. It's so hot, I welcomed it. He's adorable. Soft voice. Easy. We've both have had a few cocktails. I'm skinning my hair back over my head out of my face.
"Do you want to go in?"
"I ain't made of sugar, Honey."
"Do you want me to light that now?" He motions to my cigarette.
"Um, LL, I have to be honest with you...I...don't smoke." 
"Really? So?..."
"This was a plan so I could be alone with you for a bit. Rh helped me."
"Wait...there was a plan? Nobody's ever made a...plan. That's awesome."
I move towards him and now we are standing talking uncomfortably close. I look up at him and smirk. More talking about nothing...

BLAM!

 The door swings open, "Hey, LL! You wanna go smoke?!" LL says ok, asks if I'm staying, then off he went.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? NO! COCKBLOCKED!!! No, really. If he would've turned around and saw my face, it was like the commercials you see where Sarah Mclaughlan is singing and you have the dogs with the sad eyes looking through the holes of the fence, shaking. "...In the arms of the angel..." I swear I should've just thrown one of the tables at her and knocked her out cold so he would've stayed. Some time goes by but it seems like three hours. I am not leaving here without kissing that man. Let me tell you something about me.  I've been skinny, I've been fluffy, it's never made a difference in going for what I want. When I taught at the pole studio, I was the heaviest girl there for a while. Then I got a divorce and the weight fell off...and now back on again. When I would dance, never did anyone say, "Look how big she is." I've never let my weight deter me from anything. I don't know why I felt compelled to say that. It's weird...more men seem to approach me when I'm heavier. Hmm, don't know. Ok, back to LL. My mind is made up. Pucker up, Sir, because, oh, it's SO going to happen. But then more time passed...(another three pseudo-hours went by). So I decided I'd get in the car and just go. It's not meant to happen. Get a grip, Robyn. Why would he want to be with you like that? Rh comes out to leave, visibly upset about something happening in a show she's in. She sees me and starts to talk. LL moseys up and looks at me like, "You're leaving?"
"Well the least you can do is get out of the car while we smoke," Rh tells me.
I get out. I go back to the hair flipping and eye-making at LL. His smile is beautiful. Rh leaves and it's me and LL alone again. More close talking. More of me giggling like a schoolgirl. I come to terms with either I am going to have to make this happen or I may be waiting until the Messiah comes.
I stare at him with my head cocked to the side, my eyes squinting, "I am so going to put my face on your face right now." Wait...What? that's what you say to him? I couldn't help but laugh at what I'd said. Through his laughter he says, "Ok."
Oh fuck! He said ok? I realize now I have to do it. He called my bluff.
"Uhhhh...you ready?" Oh my God. Have I lost all of my cool? Have I forgotten all of my tools? Did I just become an instant asshole?
"Yep." Was he answering my inside or outside voice?
In front of [bar] I reach up on my toes, lower my eyes to look at his lips, I'm holding my breath and he starts to lean in to me. It took forever to finally feel his kiss...and...believe when I tell you, it was the softest, most sensuous kiss I have EVER had. Now...this princess has kissed a lot of frogs in her day. So, I really feel like I have a baseline to go off of. I come back down from my tiptoes and exhale. What the fuck just happened? Before I can answer my own question, I pop back up and kiss him again. This time it's so much more. His hands press into my back. My hands are in his hair with my fingers threaded in his black curls and I'm pulling him into me. His hand touches my cheek and his thumb grazes over my lips as he kisses me slowly. Deliberately. I love the taste in his mouth. I'm inhaling him as we are full-on making out in the parking lot next to the door and I don't have a fuck to give. I am so oblivious to everything except what LL is doing with his tongue, you could've set my hair on fire and I would've said, "What's that smell? Is something burning?"

 I'm taking a pause here for a minute

     I should've stayed. I should've gone back in and taken up more time with him. I had no reason to leave, but I did. I went home...awestruck and still saying to myself, Did that really just happen? LL did that? Why am I surprised? He was a total ninja about his singing. I had no idea how personable and funny he was. He has now proved that he is very sensual and extremely sexy...wait...doesn't do him justice...oozes.  He oozes sex and sensuality. (I know you're reading this now, LL, and want to shake your head, but it's true.) So of course he'd be the best kiss I've ever had?
  
     Should I tell you now about the next time we kissed? Or the first time we were alone? It's going to have to be in another post because each time I'm with him it's better than the last. But I will tell you this...that man does things to my mind, my body, my soul, that I can only guess what it would be like if I were in heaven. Where could this possibly be going? Who knows. LL is my lesson on patience and mindfulness. To stay in the moment with him right now. Not thinking about when I'll get to see him again, but to just be. This morning I told him that. I ran my hands along his body and smelled his skin. My head was asking when would the next time be? But instead I focused on now. I have conjured a great man, my Darlings. I have sucked in the perfect soul healer and I'm a genius, lol. As always, I am ever grateful for the space that you hold for me to write about happy things, sad things...whatever. Just thank you.

 Hmmmm, the songs I would pick for this post...
Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard
Kiss by Prince

I am grateful for:
summer rain
conjuring the perfect moment
songs that make me forget where I am
karaoke
slow kisses
perfect timing

I can't see nothing. Gotta open my eye. Cut me, Mick.

I'm not a drinker...but if I was...

This is a post I had completely forgot I had written and just found in a random folder the other day. I had to call a friend to ask her if how I had written about it was how it happened in her memory. I hope the ridiculousness of my early dating makes you laugh, or at least have gratitude that your dating life isn't so bad after all.  

Soon after I was separated and continuing with my divorce and I stepped into the pool of internet dating, I started out on a Jewish dating site. I figured my cousin met her husband on J-Date, my neighbor told me her sister met her husband there, why not. Even though finding a husband was the last thing on my mind. I really have no idea if I'll ever get married again. Not because I'm against the idea. More of a lack of fish left in the sea. Who knows, maybe someday. I am new to the in's and out's of the rules and I've been talking to this guy online. We've talked on the phone and he seems pretty cool, why not just have him come over? I've since learned that you don't do that. You meet the guy pretty quickly to make sure they're not 75 when they say their 40 and you meet them in a public place so they don't club you over the head and stick you in their trunk. I know better now...kinda. I'll call the guy J. He is an airline mechanic, has a car, and, fuck, I dunno, has a pulse so that makes him viable.  I hadn't been on a date in forever.  I didn't know what the hell I was doing. J and I decide to meet in person. I invite him to come over. When I open the door, there he stood in all his  5'6"ish glory. He is wearing what was once a dark concert t-shirt with cut sleeves, jeans, and cowboy boots...with no socks...in July.  I know this because when I asked if he wanted to take off his shoes, he told me it wouldn't be a good idea since he wasn't wearing socks and his feet were sweating. Fantastic. He has two bags with him and in each bag, four ginormous bottles of the cheapest white Zinfandel you can buy. What freakin' party is this guy going to? I had already mentioned to him I am not a big drinker.  Anybody who knows anything about me knows I don't really drink. Just not my thing.  I'm whacked out enough without it.  Apparently this guy wants to put me in an AA meeting smoking cigarettes and drinking copious amounts of coffee. I invite J in and we sit down on my couch. This is going back a couple of years when I'd first moved into my apartment.  I pretty much walked away from my marriage with my shoes, my clothes, a lamp my mother gave me, and my favorite pot that I cook with. (reminds me of the movie, "The Jerk," where he leaves with a remote, a paddleball, a chair...etc) So when J asks me for a corkscrew and I don't even drink...I had nothing. 

"I'm so sorry. I don't have anything to open these ginormous, cheap bottles with."

"That's ok," he says while pulling out a pocket knife, snapping it open with one swift downward movement,  then cuts into the bottles.  That's right.  I said bottles. He opens two of the four and starts pouring the glasses like he's filling a Goddammed swimming pool. J hands me my glass and does the obligatory CHEERS. Ah, yes. It tastes like lighter fluid to me, but I appreciate the effort.  

We have small talk and I notice while he's talking to me, he keeps putting his hand over his mouth.  First, let me see if I can describe him to you.  He isn't your typical Jew.  I mean, yes, he's kinda short and stocky, but he had been in the military many years before so he was still wearing it high and tight. And not many Jewish (American) men go into the military or are mechanics. I don't say that to offend, they just don't.  Israeli men, on the other hand...they have a mandatory time in the army of three years. I am thinking of one Israeli in particular who was in the Mossad (Special Forces) and also played pro basketball. I should really blog about him.  He was (is) gorgeous and manly. Not like the Deer Hunter sitting on my couch in this story. 

Ok, where was I? Yes, so J puts his hand over his mouth when he's talking to me. Finally I ask him what gives? 

"I'm embarrassed to tell you." 

More embarrassed then not wearing socks with your boots on a hot, hot day?

J starts to tell me the story of a party he'd had at his house the night before. 

"Everybody was really fucked up and there was a girl there who, when she drinks, tries to fight everybody." 

Lovely. Please, tell me more.

He continues with the story, but every time he gets to a part in his riveting tale where something he's describing is physical, he stands up and goes over by the sliding glass doors. "...and so then I tell everybody they have to get out, right?..." he stands up and puts his hands up like he's waiting to catch a football. "...but this girl, she doesn't want to leave and my friend grabs her to carry her out.  Right before he gets her out of the door, she turns around and punches me right in the face.*POW* And that's how my tooth got chipped." He comes and sits back on the couch. 

Do people just not look at my face when they are talking. Because I can't imagine it looking anything short of horrified while he's talking.

"So basically you got your ass kicked by a girl last night?" I say half jokingly, half not.

"Heh heh, I guess so. Hey, drink up." He hands me my glass of gasoline.

He's already halfway through his bottle. I should've just given him one of those hats with the cup holders on each side and the straws that go to your mouth. Jesus. More small talk.  Blah blah blah him him him blah blah blah tattoos.

"How many tattoos you got?" He asks

"I think nine? What about you."  

Oh boy.  Big mistake for asking this seemingly harmless question. Oh my God, I hope I can describe this and give you the feelings that were rushing through my body. Here goes. He has a tattoo up on his left shoulder-chest area that he could've easily accessed through the neck of his faded black t-shirt. But instead, very slowly he stares intensely into my eyes, takes his right hand and skims over his head of no hair, while simultaneously leaning back on the couch, pulling up his shirt with his left hand exposing his hairy Teletubby belly and man-boobs, showing me some faded shape of an amoeba that is also ensconced in chest hair. I could swear I heard some electric guitar music and a drum machine in the background. All that was missing was a wind machine and a sax solo. Bless his heart, I don't even know how to fix this grammatically or  know if the punctuation is right.  (taking a moment) Please, don't get me wrong. I have no problems if a man has a little extra cushion on him. I'm fluffy, myself. But this was just fifty shades of fucked up. *sigh*  

After this display of sheer animal magnetism happened, I decided it was time to call it a night. I thanked J for coming over. He took one of the two unopened bottles of wine and announces, "I'll leave the other one for you." 

Oh, no, really, you are too kind. If I don't drink it, I can use it to remove the nail polish I spilled on the table. With that, J left, and I took a mental Silkwood shower to scrub that image off of my brain.

Months later I have my best friend, K, and a couple other friends to my apartment for one of our Wine and Cheese grown-up parties.  We would get together, have beautiful cheeses, meats, crackers, and drinks and just all hang out together. It was cheaper and safer. 

"I'll just have beer," Kir says. 

"Do you have any wine?" asks my friend, L.

"I have this one," I hold up a red, "and I have this bottle of Zin.  It's not the best, but I'll never drink it." I pull out the COSTCO sized bottle that was from my meeting with J. 

We are all sitting around the table in my kitchen. We laugh and tell stories. L, who is single like I am, starts to tell us about a new guy she's seeing.

"...and he's really nice...lives in (city)...he's an airline mechanic..." 

And as she is telling us about him, I am starting to sink into my chair.  Kir notices what my reaction is and looks at me like, "What the fuck is wrong with you? You look sick" L keeps talking about this new guy and how he seemed nice. Finally when I just can't deny what I'm hearing anymore, I lock eyes with Kir with a very serious look, I lean back in my chair, run my hand over my head and pull my shirt up...

                                                        *GASP*

"NO FUCKING WAY!" she yells clapping her hands together and starts laughing. I am mortified. She knows the entire story of the porno-shirt-lift move, the multiple bottles of bad wine, the cowboy boots, the knife...sweet Jesus, she knows everything. I looked at her again, motioning to the bottle of wine.  
"That's the same bottle??" she asks.
I nod my head yes. 

L and I went out with the same guy but had VERY different experiences with him. Oh, boy this is awkward. I tell L what happened when I met J. I am crying from laughing. I don't know whether to feel bad about it or not. L sends J a text saying that she's at my apartment drinking the shitty wine he brought.
 His text back...

"You guys wanna have a threesome?" 

 Yup. That kinda sums it up. I wrote the majority of this today in my Starbucks and regular I know sat with me for a while and another woman that he knew sat with us also. We talked about dating, how my screening process has changed, where to meet and where not to meet men. I love the man's perspective. I love men, truly, so don't get the wrong idea that I think they're all idiots. The men who are in my life at this moment are wonderful, loving men that give me what I need right now.

I wrote this in January and just kinda forgot about it. I'm reading the last paragraph and it still rings true. I do love to see the world through the, "Man's glasses," and I certainly don't think men are idiots. The men who are in my life now really are wonderful, giving, loving, and strong men who can handle me at my best and my worst...and the one's who can't usually fall by the wayside soon enough. Thank you for giving me the space to get this story out of my brain to make room for more ridiculousness. I really do enjoy the madness...and wow, if I could publish the madness that is happening now...I'm even blushing. So my dance-break songs for this post...
Stain by Mz Ann Thropik
Y I Do by Zebra Katz
Pussy Control by Prince
Eye Of The Tiger by Survivor

The idea is to put on one of these songs and to dance your hardest for 30-60 seconds to let out whatever is in your body.

I Am Grateful for:
Bad wine and good friends
Lovely Perfume
the strong men and women I love

People would come up to me and say, "Hey, do people ever come up to you?"

     "I just don't think I can do this. I have no idea what I'm doing." I sobbed on the phone standing in the kitchen of my empty apartment. "The kids are gone. They hate it here."
"I'm coming over after work, ok? You just need someone to hold you for a good ten minutes," he laughs a small laugh.
"Ok, but you watch your hands," half crying half laughing.
I open my door at 5:30 and he's standing there, so tall, so handsome, gentle smile. He steps in, the door closes, and he wraps his arms around me. J is so tall, he's lost more weight. I feel like I could wrap my arms around him twice. He puts his chin on the top of my head and I feel him breathing on my hair. His hands press into my back as he runs one up to my neck and the other down to my waist.
"Don't even think about it," I laugh.
"I'm not. Well, I'm thinking about it."
He held me while I cried and talked about how scared I was. It seemed like forever, but he never stopped holding me until I was so snotty he had to let go. Pretty picture, I'm sure. He held my face in his hands and said, "You hungry?"
Sniffling and wiping my puffy eyes, "When am I NOT hungry?"
"Boston Market?"
"You drive."
"Deal." He kisses my face and we leave.

     If you've never had a friend that offers you Boston Market when you are having a major meltdown, you should get one right away. But that was J's character. He was the guy who could say the driest joke to you and you'd laugh while he stood there straight as an arrow as if to say, "What? It's a legitimate question. Have you ever..." and the craziest shit would come out. I once had powdered water but didn't know what to add to it...Morning text messages, "Hey Beautiful, have a good day," would light up my phone...and I have a feeling many other girls' phones as well. But it didn't matter. He made you feel like it was for you. Our timing always seemed off, though. I was dating someone, he would be single. He'd be dating someone, I'd be single. And always in the back of my mind was my fear of his disease. J was diabetic. The kind that made him check his insulin constantly. He'd tire easily. Always needed a bathroom close by. He'd never take his shoes off except to go to bed, and even then, he never took off his socks. I don't think I ever saw his feet. I don't know if he even had feet. He had to have the corners of his eyes sewn because the diabetes affected his eyes and he gave himself injections at every meal. But even through all that, he still was positive and happy...and dirty, lol. We would all go sing  in Waukegan at a bar where our friend did the karaoke. J could sing and dance. The kind where you'd look at the women sitting at the tables and they'd just be staring because he was so adorable and sexy. Every year, God, I feel like this is so disjointed as I'm telling you all of this, but the memories of this time in my life are coming back in weird order. Ok, so every year J would celebrate his birthday with two other men that were dear friends. One of whom I've written an entry on my blog about. (J's roomate) More disjointedness...J and I never ended up in a relationship other than what we were for two reasons. 1. The timing was always off with us and 2. I had a horrible fear of loving him and losing him if the diabetes ever got that bad. You have no idea how much of a bitch I feel for even letting that out. I've only said that out loud to two people. (exhale) Ok, the birthday party celebrations...so everybody knew that I taught pole and lap dance as my job. For J's birthday, my gf, Kir, sang his favorite song, "Still Loving You," by Scorpions, and I pulled his chair out in the middle of the dance floor and made his face turn 5 shades of red. It was epic, lol.  There are still pictures that pop up from time to time that people will mention. Wow, his girlfriend hated me that night...good, she didn't deserve him. I wouldn't change that night at all. More out of order memories popping up.
My apartment was the meetup place for all of us. I'd have wine and cheese parties and we'd all sit around laughing and playing games. I had my pole in the living room and we'd all fuck around on it. I don't know how I would've gotten through that period in my life if it wasn't for my friends. Kir often reminds me of the time she was in my bedroom on the phone with her man and I come stumbling in trying to find a pair of my 6-inch shoes so I could show off the latest ass-over-my-head move. Everyone would sleep over. J would come over and we'd watch movies on the air mattress in my living room. I find it hilarious that Boston Market was our place. I'd meet him up by Great America to go to the one there. I'd sit in his car while he'd show me the DVD player in the dash, or the speaker-thingys that were the size of a couch in the trunk. All the while, he never acted like anything bothered him. He was my rock.
Segues have never been my thing, so stay with me for a second. A few years back there was a, "thing," going around the Sister Goddess community that was called Hosting An Angel or something like that. It was a very calming and peaceful gesture with candle lighting and invoking positivity into the space. It lasts for a few days and then you pass it on to others so they can bring it into their homes. I bring it up because it was my turn to host while what I'm about to tell you was happening.
J and I would text and hang out. I would bring him soup and crackers when he was sick. He would come and hug me with his infamous hugs when I would ask. Time passed. One day I got a call from W, his roommate that I dated and wrote about.
"Robyn, I have to tell you something. J is in the hospital. He's in a coma. He's going to be ok, but it's bad."
"What? Where? What happened."
W tells me. I may need to stop for a bit.
"His alarm was going off and he wouldn't get up. I figured I'd let him sleep. My girlfriend needed to get her car out so I took his keys and moved the car. He seemed really tired, so I let him sleep for about 45 more minutes. When I went back into his room to wake him up, he was face down on the floor. I turned him over and he was blue. We called 911 and I did CPR on him until the paramedics took over."
I'm holding the phone. I hear the words. I hear W's cadence of when he talks and it's very distinct.
"Ok, but he's ok? He's going to wake up?"
"He's going to be ok. They were able to bring him back. He's at [hospital]."
I reach out to our circle of friends and tell them I'll go to the hospital as our, "representative," because there's so many of us and they're not going to want all of us at the hospital. As it turns out, I am very good under these types of situations. I'm not a crier. I don't flip out. I watch. I ask.
I make my way to the hospital. I tell the desk who I am there to see and they tell me I have to wait because the nurses were cleaning him up. Cleaning him up? Ok. I'll wait. I waited 45 minutes to where they'll finally let me in. His family, I'd been told, had gone to the cafeteria.  I walk in to see J connected to tubes on top of tubes, beeping machines, it was shocking.
"Yeah, sorry it took so long, but we had to change the entire bed," the male nurse says.
I know exactly what happened. W lied to me. W had no idea I have any type of medical background. What W failed to mention was that J was brain dead. J's body had completely evacuated just as I walked on his floor and that's what they were cleaning up. His body was there, but he was gone. J's dad and girlfriend came back into the room and I am dumbfounded. I'm so mad because I went there thinking he was going to be ok. I tell the family I was there on behalf of all of us. I grab his hand. I stroke his hair. I tell him stories in his ear about how I'm going to show everyone all the inappropriate pictures he's ever sent me. "Open your eyes or I'm going to tell everyone the tuna can story." But I know he's not going to open his eyes. I look at him laying in the bed. The sheets are clean and smell like hospital. His goatee is too long and I tell him I don't like it. I whisper, "I totally thought this was your dad's girlfriend and was about to tell him well done, Sir, getting this young thing." I kiss his hand and in my mind I tell him goodbye, I love you. The family tells me they're going to turn the machines off, but that J's mother is not accepting that her boy is gone yet so they are waiting. I get back in my car and the first thing I do is call W.
"What the fuck, W! How could you say he's going to be ok? He's not! He's gone!" I'm screaming at him.
"Robyn, I didn't know how to tell you. I knew he was gone when they took him in the ambulance. I'm sorry. I just couldn't take that hope away from you." I walk in the door, look at the white candles and flowers I have for the angel exercise, and I drop to my knees and wail. In my head all I can ask is, "Where is he? Where is his soul if his body is still here breathing?" I stayed there for a long time. I sat with my back against the door and sobbed, my entire body heaving.

In the movies, they turn off the machines, the beeping slows down on the machine...
This is where I had to stop for a minute. I'm literally screaming at my computer because I've never written about this. My throat feels like I have a tennis ball in it. FUCK! Gimme a second. 

...the beeping slows down on the machine until there is a steady tone. They turn of the noise and it's done. Not so in real life.  They turn off the machines and it becomes a waiting game. The organs start to shut down and it could be days before it's finally over. My friends and I keep in constant contact with each other so if there's any news, we all know immediately. It's been a few days and I am on my way into the city to teach at S-Factor. I hit the 90/94 split when the text message comes from my friend, AJ.
"Jason passed away two hours ago." He goes on to say something about services being planned and I am in the car silently, mindlessly driving. I am looking for an exit to turn around so I can just go home when a call comes in. I never answer if it's a number I don't know, but I answered this one. It's one of my Sisters who is visiting from CA. She was having major medical issues and waiting for some news that would change her life forever. "When I found out you were teaching the class, I knew the Universe was giving me a sign." I can't remember if that was exactly it, but along those lines. I answered back in tears, "V, I just learned my friend has passed and you are saving my life just as much as I am yours. I'll see you in a few minutes." I walk into my studio and Jo looks at me and says, "What's wrong?" I burst into tears. She takes me by the hands and leads me into a back area where we sit on the floor and I tell her what's happened. Leave it to my Jo, she grabs a glass of champagne from the event that we were having in an hour, and asks me if I want a Valium. It's the only thing that made me laugh. Can you imagine me teaching a class on booze and Valium? I taught my classes like a village idiot anyway. I go into class and tell all my students what happened and that I would try to hold it together as best as I could. I don't think there was a dry eye in class that day.
I could go into what J's funeral was like.  All the people that came. The crying/laughing while everyone told  hilarious stories about what a perv he was. How he loved Halloween and could do the sickest makeup. We all went and ate afterwards and shared our own stories that wouldn't have been proper to do in front of his parents, lol. I'll tell you one. "Robyn, my dick is at least six inches...around...I mean, it's like a tuna can. It's only 21/2 inches long, but...(and then he'd hold his hands up making a circle)..." I'd get random pictures of tuna cans while he'd be shopping in a store. Or I'd send him a pic and say, "Thinking of you."

J's birthday is coming up in about two weeks. He'd have been 42, I think. He's been gone 4ish years and I couldn't write a word about him until today. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with this entry yet. It's not funny, nor witty. There's no real point to it except to tell you about an opportunity I missed on loving a man who had so much love to give. Someone who could hold you and make you feel like nothing could harm you as long as his hands were there. And that almost anything feels better after some chicken and cornbread. If I do publish this and you've made it this far, thank you. Thank you for holding this space for me to tell you about how I saw him, my beautiful friend. How I loved him. How he loved me.


Song picks:
What If I Said by Anita Cochran and Steve Wariner
Lightening Crashes by Live
Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe