now that my dad had passed away and my mom is so frail, I thought this would be a good time to reconnect with my sister. Perhaps I had misconceptions about her as she might have about me. We could finally get close. Maybe be friendly to each other. I had visions of outings with her and her kids and grandkids; visions of my nephew dropping off the girls to be with their Aunt Sara. But none of that panned out quite like I thought.
Unfortunately, neither sister has any misconceptions. We are so completely different in wrong ways, and yet so eerily alike in wrong ways. We just don't match up. It's a very sad thing, to know that you're born into a family of strangers. I had always felt like I was a female Meursault, from The Stranger. In fact, when I first read that book, I thought "Wow. So there really are other families like mine!" For some reason, Rosemary and I both suffer from an intense inability to properly emote. I'm probably more emotionally expressive than she is, but the fact is that for both of us, when the going gets tough, we withdraw. She and I are both the very people necessary in a time of crisis. Perhaps she and I would have made good nurses, or generals. When a really bad thing happens, we spring into action, take decisive measures and work with whatever we have.
Or so I thought. Truth is, we both simply don't know how to handle ourselves in times of crises, and our coping mechanism is to literally jump out of our skins and become someone else entirely. Weird, huh? But this has come in handy lately. We've had several bouts of my mom getting dangerously ill.
But on a day to day basis, she and I just don't get along. I find her repressed and cold. She finds me flaky and irresponsible. Neither one of us is willing to open up and let the other one in. We're still strangers from the same family. Like that old joke: I'm an only child, and if you don't believe me ask my sister. Ah, well. Such is life.
So if I can't get close to my family like I thought, who can I reconnect with? I became nostalgic for the kids I went to school with. Coming from a small town, there were friends I knew since kindergarten. Many of them never left town, and I craved that acceptance. I needed to align myself with people: to network.
When I lived in Austin, I had it pretty good for the most part. I had a good job as an educational interpreter for ACC and TSU. My work environment was probably the best anyone could ever ask for. I was tutoring ESL students in writing. My former students from Round Rock High School stayed in touch with me and gave me that blessed reassurance that I was a good teacher, a good person to know. That's a very hard thing to leave behind.
So I find myself in Grand Prairie trying to reestablish what I had in Austin. Major setbacks. I don't really know anybody. As fate would have it, my new insurance agent turned out to be my best friend from high school. She was my first contact. Patricia is vibrant, assertive and really so much fun. So that was one small hurdle.
Then I found Cheryl, another friend of mine from high school. Cheryl is intelligent, resourceful and has a quiet grace about her that makes her so enjoyable to be with. Through Cheryl I've gotten back in touch with some other folks, such as Skip Johnson, whose mother used to take me to school. I had known Skip since kindergarten. He's now an insurance salesman by day and a rock bassist by night. His wife, although from Houston, knows the complete history of Grand Praire ISD.
Other people I've gotten to see briefly are Roxann Combs, who used to live down the street from me; Mike Brown, who is just the nicest person on this planet; Vickie Holland, who I used to believe was the epitome of beauty (and, well, she's still quite a beautiful person). Thanks to Facebook, I've found a number of old classmates, many of them right here in town.
Then there's David Read. How can I describe him? He's a force to be reckoned with. He's an entrepreneur, a writer, producer, salesman. He likes to have coffee at the Brass Bean. So do a lot of Grand Prairie folks. So I find myself having coffee with him and then before I know it, David and I are planning our 40th high school reunion.
At first it seemed like a great idea. Nothing to it, right? Just pick a couple of places and "Voila!" He picked one place; I picked another. So easy. The cool kids will now look at all my wonderful work that they didn't have to do and then I will be looked at with new respect and admiration. But how do we contact people? How do we know who's coming? What will those former cool kids think? What will people think about not including them on the planning? There wasn't any planning. We just kind of made things up as we went along. Isn't there an alumni association that's supposed to be doing this?
Wait a minute! I was not one of the cool kids. I was not popular. I didn't even have a letter jacket. In fact, my most vivid recollections of my senior year were of me trying to keep from killing myself. What the Hell am I doing planning this stupid party? For the past month I've been vascillating between "Oh my God!!! I must do this right or else..." and "Ah, fuck 'em!" I don't even know if I will recognize anyone or if anyone will recognize me. I don't know what to wear. I feel foolish and impotent.
And yet, I want to go. I want to dance. I know I'm almost sixty, but I don't care. I don't really think of myself as old. I just want to let loose and have fun.
We'll see what Friday brings.
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