Saturday, July 18, 2009

Poolside.

When I want to post something new, I get the same feeling before jumping into a swimming pool. The water is always too bright in the sun, like the white computer screen. The thought of jumping right in is daunting because of the shock of the cold, but easing in for me atleast feels a little better. Then again I do everything so roundaboutly(that even a word?). But I always know once I sink in and swim, there's no getting me out. Underwater is like being able to sit in your own head; it's empty and silent unless you want to change that.

I sat out by my pool all day today. I felt slightly guilty just lounging by my pool. I knew I should be organizing my room or cashing in my checks or I could have even went and registered for classes. But instead my dad and I moseyed out back together, sat in the sun perpendicular to eachother, listened to Springsteen, and opened our books. I had a book on philosophy, and he had a book on murder and mystery I believe. I think those are his favorites, or whatever it is that Harlan Coben writes about.

Neither of us read though.
It was nice just to talk. To take in the backyard. To look at the pool, clear and inviting. We talked about life. My dad and I can do these things once in a while but only on our own terms. We won't open up to anyone but ourselves and once in a very great while to eachother. The other day I drove him to work because his brake line went. We rode in complete silence for most of the way listening to a mixed cd. Yet today we talked for hours. About little league. About driving. About trips. About lyrics. About ambitions. About why we want the things we want out of life. I know he sees what I envision myself becoming as a little incomplete, a little lonely. But that's just me and he is learning to accept that. I know he wonders why I envision life alone but he wont ask and that's why we talk for as long as we do. There's no pressure, he just lets me talk.

My mom however, she badgers. Everything is a desperate attempt to connect, to find answers, to ask questions. I feel bad because I don't think I give her enough time, or enough answers but I don't have the latter, which leaves me not wanting to give her the chance to ask. Sure, we laugh and giggle at TV shows and coo over our dogs but I know she gets jealous when dad and I talk. Lately, she has been saying more and more " why don't we ever just talk?" or " you never talk to me". Mom, I will. Just listen.

Well, after my dad left me on the deck, it was shady enough for the puppies to sit out with me. And finally I read a little. I sat in the heavy July heat listening to the June bug whine and the filter bubble and Rt. 18 distantly hum with pollution and traffic. Teddy came out and we talked.
It's still surprising to me but I can really relate to Teddy now. I noticed it today. I asked him for advice on something I had been grappling with all day and he had the right answer. It was crude and funny how he put it but essentially he told me what I needed to hear. He gave a wise answer and when we talked our eyes met and I never noticed that we had the same eyes. Same shape and color and everything. It makes sense since we're siblings, but it was jarring to see something I thought was unique about myself on someone else.

I told him I wanted to go on a trip with him, and I think a NYC road trip to watch the redsox play is now in the works. He's older and can do things for himself now. Instead of looking at Teddy as a little brother, a chore, etc. I see him as someone I want to be around because it's always fun and always enlightening. The little bastard surprises me with things he has done and what he has to say. But I think he has always been full of these surprises. Now I'm just taking the time to listen.

Families are a lot like sea glass. So shiny and sharp at first until daily routine, fights, spilled milk, bills, messy rooms, teenage angst, financial stress, changing jobs all crash over thm until they dull and smooth. Some dissintegrate against the rocks, but some ride out the tide, changing with it, pieces eroding away. Yet when you think all those years were filled with nothing but the ebbing and flowing of stress and anger, you stop and find something smooth and beautiful and treasured and rare. And it's nice to keep.

Sidenote: When I told my dad I wanted to go on a trip he asked to where.
"Savannah because it's haunted. Will you come with me?" He smiled and said "When? I only have one vacation left from work and I think I'm gunna save it for the winter".

" I wanna go in August. I have to month off and I wanna drive down so I can see other things too."

"Me and mom did that. I'd only fly. Long drive, Elaine." That's where it kinda clicked with me. He went back to looking at his book and I sat there feeling my anger bubble again. Instead of stowing it away, I really examined it this time and asked myself why am I angry now?

Truthfully, I want a discovery all my own. I want to be green and new in someplace with someone who won't say "I've done this/seen this/ had this before". But so many people I know have done/seen things between eighth grade trips, past adventures, random drives. Now even my dad has already done my dream trip. I guess I was angry because I felt jipped somehow. My dad took Teddy to cool new places following the Redsox for the last couple of years. They saw Toronto, Baltimore, Philly, D.C., and along the way Niagra Falls and the Great Lakes and other places they cruised into. I don't know, it isn't their fault at all, I opted out of some because of the label "baseball trip". I never thought I could go and make it my own.

I guess I jipped myself.

I don't know what I was expecting out of this post. Usually I feel clarity, or relief. But right now my head is still turning with different thoughts that I can't quite catch and articulate. Maybe I'll write more later or maybe I'll just go for a swim. It's early still and warm and I'm stalling for other things I have to do. I think I'll go swim and end my day where it started, easing into the water and listening to just me.

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