mr dave

I am the lobbed j!zz.

This past month has been rather substantial for me, I started a new 9-5 Monday to Friday job after working graveyard shift for the past 4 years last week, I coincidentally decided to stopped smoking weed a few days before finding out I had the job, and earlier in the month I got to enjoy the sound of a really old skeleton from my closet clattering its way to the forefront of my psyche.

So yeah, 2-3 weeks ago I walked into my kitchen to make dinner and notice there’s a message on the phone, I hit the button in hopes it was about a job, instead I get this…

Oui, Allo? J’appelle pour David LastName, le fils de Parent’s Names . Si c’est bien toi je suis Liz – aka the slut my father left us for j’aimerai bien te voir, j’ai parler avec ta soeur il y a quelque mois, je suis en ville et si tu veux me contacter…. blah, blah-blah, blah-blah.

Pardon the grammatical errors in my French; it’s been a while, but… yeah. The last time I’d heard her voice was a good 25 years ago when I was around 10. When my little sister got married last Summer we found out that she’d found her on Facebook and contacted her. My sister dealt with things differently and being that Liz was only 20 when it all went down back in 1981 I think she saw her more like a really cool older sister type person when we’d visit our father during Summer break, especially considering they worked in the entertainment industry and had to stay hip and fashionable. Either way she had her on Facebook and we all got to see what she looked like now and got banal details about the last 20 years of her life, married, works for an airline (hence being housed overnight at a hotel in town when she called – incidentally right around the corner from where I live). It was more of a ‘so yeah check this out’ as opposed to a ‘oh look at how she’s done’ thing.

She left her number in the message and asked that I text her or something, I’ve never even had a cell phone, never mind a smart phone, I was going to try sending something to her phone through email but then I had to reboot my internet connection and accidentally deleted the answering machine message when I flipped the power bar. It’s probably for the best.

On one hand I wouldn’t have minded getting in touch with her, but deep down I know not a single one of those useless f*cks would ever own up to their sh!t. The last time I talked to my uncle he ‘Didn’t remember that particular band’s name’. My paternal grandmother has dementia and I’d be the monster if I ever called her out on being a proto-Kris Jenner who’d screw over her grandkids to protect her family’s destiny to be publicly celebrated. My father did finally admit to having made ‘mistakes’ in the past but we were in the middle of a road trip and I just kind of tanked the subject because I didn’t want to risk flipping out and becoming stranded on the side of a highway. I mean really, it would hurt his feelings if I flipped out at the fact that he chose to screw over his family for pussy.

They will sum it all up in a sentence
A verdict made by those who know
I'm ready to make a commitment
I'm willing to make love to concrete

The fact that it still bothers me is entirely my fault. It’s always been my fault. There have always been plenty of kids out there who had it worse; I should be ashamed for even trying to talk about it.

That’s the verdict that got fed to me from every side while growing up. Everyone knew the details, not a single one of them ever came clean, not on my father’s side, nor my mother’s. Fact is, whether you’re drowning in a puddle or in the middle of an ocean you’re still drowning and if you can’t find the surface then it doesn’t matter how deep it is you still need help. My well meaning Aunt who was always the first to tell us we could talk to her about anything has yet to grasp this simple concept.

The first bit was only ever spoken once, by my mom about 6 months after it all broke apart. I don’t blame her, especially not now that I’m older than she was and can honestly try putting myself in those shoes. I figure it was close to her own birthday in March (the split happened in November), I remember being in the living room and trying to clean up with my little sister. I remember wearing my cowboy boots that were starting to squeeze my toes a bit too much and realizing it meant I was growing and becoming a bigger boy – something that often got stressed whenever my father left (While I’m gone you’re the man of the house and you need to help take care of your mom and little sister). I remember it was a dismal day, cloudy and pissing rain. I remember my mom in the kitchen making dinner and stressing out because we needed to get the place clean before my father arrived for dinner (he still wanted to be part of ‘our’ family, but wanted to maintain ‘his’ life on the side).

I don’t remember what triggered it, probably just being too slow at picking up the toys but she flipped, she started screaming at us then let out ‘YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY YOUR DAD LEFT!?!?! HE LEFT BECAUSE YOU’RE BAD KIDS! THAT’S WHY HE LEFT! NOW I’M GOING TO LEAVE TOO!!!’ then she grabbed her purse and walked out.

I remember standing in the living room, my mind racing, if I could keep my little sister calm we could be fine until my father arrived later in the afternoon then I could explain to him what happened and he’d fix things. She didn’t stay calm. She started bawling and ran to the door, once she started I couldn’t help but follow. My mom only made it to the end of the driveway. I don’t blame her for any of it, she was forced into a horrible situation and snapped. She hates the fact that it happened too, but it did.

My skin is a layer of soot
I'm spending my days scrubbing
I'm trying so hard to act like nothing happened(no one left to blame)
I'm trying so hard to find that fresh clean smell(no one left to blame)

It was like drowning in sh!t, while everyone around me kept telling me I was special and good and everything was fine and that it wasn’t sh!t it was chocolate. If it was really chocolate why did they always keep me at arm’s length and handled with gloves? I’d been conditioned to ignore the obvious for so long that when my late uncle (the one who took me Strat shopping for my 19th b-day) found out the truth he went behind his wife’s back (the well meaning Aunt) and tried to address it directly with me. I remember a kind of WTF? Look of shock in his face when I reassured him everything was OK and that it was all fine. Just act like nothing happened and be good and things will fall back into place eventually.

Later in life I’d always get comments like “So where’s your girlfriend Dave? / Why don’t you have a girlfriend Dave?” It took me a while to articulate my answer but it eventually became – You can only burn something so much before all you’re left with is a handful of ashes. I’m 35, I’ve had like 2 relationships if you count that insanity in Baltimore as anything. The other used me as a rebound Summer fling that, come to find out, was also getting me to sex her up the same way her uncle used to do her when she was a little girl.

I don’t even consider the possibility of dating anymore.

Cruel words sleep above me
Mounting and teasing

This is the other reason I’d consider talking to Liz. I want to be able to sleep without raging either when I'm trying to fall asleep or as I'm waking up. The drug abuse did help in the early days but all it really did was obscure the devils and demons with fog. They were always still there in the back of my head, the clattering of the skeletons could still be heard through the coughing fits, free to enjoy the pleasure of their sins and half-truths while all the guilt was filtered back onto my shoulders. And all the while the only thought going through my head…

I’M SORRY!

sssssssoooooOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!

__________________
i am the universe