august 24

whatever it takes

I've discovered a great way to always have something yummy around the house to eat and not spend a lot of money: bake a chocolate cake. It only costs a few bucks and if you substitute the oil with apple sauce it's kinda low in fat, too. Yumm. I even frosted the middle with raspberry jam to liven it up. Like chocolate cake with chocolate frosting needs any livening up. Double yum.

living in dreamland

I had a dream about Vincent two nights ago, a really wonderful dream. We were hanging out at a pool hall, like the one where we met, with friends from the past and from the present. We talked, about what I don't know, and played pool and drank beer. I felt relaxed, relieved, happy. His best friend, Luke, who hated me when we were kids, was there and decided I was okay after all. Then we were hanging out at my mother's house, leaning against the counters in the kitchen, just laughing and talking and enjoying each other's company. Somewhere in the dream I gave him that big hug and kiss I've been wanting to give him since I found out he died.

Last night, after watching ER where one of the nurses deals with her bipolar mother's depression and suicide attempt, I dreamed again about Vincent. I was in a small, dark house, and our friend Jeff was wasted in the living room, passed out on a couch. I asked him where Vincent was and he just said, "Babe, don't bother." I didn't listen to him and found him upstairs in a bedroom, twisted up in blankets. In previous dreams Vincent looked like he did when we were 14, with golden blonde hair down to his shoulders. In this one, his hair was cut short, like it is in his memorial photo, and his clothes were black and dirty. I could barely see his eyes. He wasn't happy to see me, and writhed and moaned, like he was in physical pain.

I don't remember what happened next, but I know I was trying to explain to him that I wanted to help him, not prolong his agony. It was hard to reason with him. Then I was in my mother's house, again looking for him. I heard noises in the bedroom that had been mine in high school and found him there, a noose around his neck; he was trying to tie the other end to a bar in the doorway. I screamed and cried and held him and begged him not to leave me again. I still couldn't see his eyes. There were strange streams of water running down his cheeks, exaggerated tears. He told me, softly, "There's nothing you can do." Knowing that this was my "second chance," I tried to explain to him what happened the first time. Then I woke up.

Today I drove by his old house, where he grew up and where he lived after he got home from the Navy, until his parents moved to the coast. You would never know it was the same house. It had a new dormer on the second floor, fancy new front door, fresh paint, landscaped yard. When Vincent lived there it was a rental and his parents never had the money or the wherewithal to do anything to it. He was ashamed of this house, which was sad, because even in it's state of disrepair, it was cute. He compared it to my fancy colonial house with the expensive antique furniture. If only he could see my mom's house now. He'd laugh.

The house is meaningless to me now. I don't know why I went there. He's not there, his family isn't there. There's nothing there that reminds me of him. There's no place to go to feel close to him. The cafe where I'd sit and write him letters while he was in Alaska is now a toy shop. The planetarium where we first kissed closed years ago. There's Council Crest, where we spent many fabulous afternoons making out in the dark, private corners on the edge of the forest. But I can't go there because that's where I was supposed to meet him on New Year's Eve 1999, a promise I'd made to him 13 years prior, and didn't keep, even though I fully remembered. I hope to God he wasn't there that night. I hope I never find out if he was or not. I would go to place in the forest where he hanged himself, but I don't know where that is.

I desperately want to go somewhere, talk to someone, who can help me find the end of this story. I haven't heard back from the newspaper where he worked. I can't find Sam. I'm afraid to call Luke; I don't know if he knows Vincent is dead and I'm sure he doesn't want to hear it from me, considering how much he hated me. Or maybe none of that matters. It was so long ago. When I was looking up a number in the phone book the other day Luke's name jumped out at me. I Googled him and there again, his phone number was the first entry. I wondered if this was a sign. I'm thinking I should call him, just so I can avoid feeling, once again, like I should have done something, even though it was scary, just to see. Like I wish I had found Vincent before he died, even though I was terrified of what I might find. How do you start that conversation?

"Hello?"

"Hello, Luke. This is Katherine S. I dated Vincent K. when we were in high school..."

What would come next?

and in the middle of all this...more excitement

A. may have a new job opportunity. It's doing what he's doing now, but for another company, and not on his own. I know this is somewhat disappointing to him but he would be working for a woman who seems to know her shit and is building her department in a way he can get behind. It's a bittersweet time, but I'm desperately proud of him. He told me via ICQ**:

double-A: (4:06 PM) Company W is interested in me, but only on a full-time employee basis. I'm going in to talk with them on Monday @ 1:30, and they said that I should be prepared to be there until about 4:30. They're close to making someone else an offer, but she was impressed enough in our meeting that they're holding off making the offer until they can talk to me. I think if they make me an offer, I'm going to have to take it.

Kat: (4:08 PM) I think that's very exciting. Look at it this way: All on your own, you decided you wanted to learn how to do something that you not only love, but know the market needs. You risked a lot to do this. You learned a lot. Earned the respect of many people, themselves respected members of our industry. That, to me, is incredible success.

double-A: (4:12 PM) Thanks. I needed that.

**Note of irony: The ad in my ICQ viewer during this conversation read simply, "Get out of debt." Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.

I know he's heartbroken. He wants to do this on his own, but this fucked up economy is getting to be too much. One of us has to make some money. And this week, I'm not the one doing that. I'm to busy mourning dead ex-boyfriends. And eating chocolate cake.