Hi Marc
I don't know who you'd be now. You're far away in time and death, but I'm still here on Earth. Can you believe I'm 40? What would you be doing now, if you'd lived to be 40? Would you have come right out of the closet and found a way to be happy?
How was suicide anyway? Have you reincarnated? I think you probably have.
If you hadn't gassed yourself in your car a week before your 17th birthday, I reckon you would've become a really good barista, travelled the world, fucked lots of hot guys in bathrooms after doing some coke, narrowly missed getting HIV, returned to New Zealand and met a nice graphic designer and settled down with a dog. Maybe a griffin. You'd have complained that he was a bit too messy (your boyfriend, not the griffin), and you'd still spend a disproportionate amount of time in front of the mirror. You'd probably like drum n bass and have ended up in Grey Lynn. You might be a Pilates Instructor and definitely vegetarian.
I was really pissed off with you for a long time. I got suicidal too, but I got through it. It took about seven years for the pain to really lift off my chest. I know you're ok, because I can feel it. I can feel that you've healed, and that the next part of your eternal journey is so joy filled. I just wish it hadn't been so painful to lose you. It was really hard. You were so shut down towards the end, that fake smile plastered on your face.
So I'm thinking of you this morning, and how we wouldn't even be in touch anymore. I didn't really retain high school friendships.
I'm facebook friends with a couple though. Do you remember Louisa? She was always nice. Yeah, the stoned one.
Here's something that'll make you laugh though - internet dating is NORMAL ! It isn't solely the preserve of the perve! I took a break from it, but now I'm back in the game.
I'm going to call my last date
The Wanker.
The Wanker was a little bit ugly with a fairly hot body, especially for a 47 year old. I'd already had two dates (one coffee, the next was dinner at his house). The dinner at his house was a success. He was drinking whiskey and I was drinking wine. We ate, we talked, he asked if I'd ever been to Club Something or Other (a sex club) and told me about going there and getting his cock sucked by a dude's wife while he talked to the dude. Interesting. Well, I'm all for too much information, love it.
I made it clear that a sex club wasn't my thing, that sex as recreation wasn't up my alley (and he was VERY interested in my alley). He told me about the demise of his marriage, 12 years, feeling like it's over after five.
I felt relaxed, I felt like I could get to like him despite his open admiration of Phil Collins. I'm flexible. I'm open. A bit too open maybe. Well I liked the advert with the gorilla drumming, so hey, guess I must like Phil Collins too.
Anyway, the Wanker had good sexual energy. Potent. Ended up kissing for ages, it got rather steamy. He went on and on about my bum, and oooh how he'd like to do something to it. Let him know that anal wasn't my thing. He insisted that if it's done properly that it's good. I'm sure he's right, but I don't know that I want a man to desire my A hole more than my V hole.
Realised it was probably time to go home. The following week he texted morning and night "I miss your kiss" etc. Shivers of lust passed through my body all week.
I was planning to fuck his brains out on our third date if all went well. I was wondering if I could really have a relationship with a bloke ... a basic kiwi bloke who likes to watch rugby on his giant plasma screen whilst nursing a whiskey. His actual name was Kevin. Kevin. It sounds a bit hard and unyeilding doesn't it? A bloke called Kevin.
He had a fine idea, to drive out to the Miranda hotsprings on Saturday, then get something to eat on the way back. Nice, a thoughtful and interesting plan. He picked me up, we kissed briefly and after I'd packed some ciabatta, ham, pineapple, fetta cheese and hummus, we were on our way.
It was a bit strange. He didn't talk at all, unless prompted by me. It was impossible to tell what he was or wasn't thinking. He didn't seem at all interested in me. He could have had a blow up doll next to him. In fact, that might be his dream woman. A blow up doll with a good greasy arsehole.
He said he didn't really talk unless he'd had a few drinks. I still tried. I asked him all sorts of questions and was tolerant of the 80's music he had playing. I tried to bring forward my own mellow energy, looked at the scenery slipping by, admired the hawks circling in a darkening sky.
We got to the pools, and he paid, which I thought was considerate. We ate the snack I'd bought along and he indicated to the kiddie pool in front of us
"I've had a wank in that pool" he laughed
I laughed too. I said "how old were you?" imagining he must have been 12.
"Ahh," he shrugged, "about 18".
I made no further comment. Wanking in the hotpools at 12 is understandable. At 18 it's just ... a bit yucky. Hey man, I'm not trying to judge ... but I'm gonna have to.
Even though we'd been kissing and dry humping like maniacs the last time we'd seen each other, he wasn't reaching out. It seemed to take forever to make physical contact. We moved into the bigger cooler pool, kissed and hugged a bit. There was still nice physical chemistry. He'd probably fuck like a barstard, but his appropriateness levels were out of whack. I was trying to find something in common other than sexual chemistry.
"That Maori chick has got huge tits," he observed, "bet the rest of her is huge too."
Um. Ok.
At at another point
"I've got the edge. And I'm naughty. And you like that."
Er, right. Told my mum about that one, and she said
"It sounds like some line a friend told him about ... say this and women like it."
I guess one person's edge is another persons blunt knife.
I'd prefer an edgy taste in music, or a love of heights, not a rude disregard of manners. Despite this, I still wanted to have a good time. We teased each other a little bit, he kept feeling my arse and longed to get into it. Then I decided to lay it down. That I've had sex with two men in the last five years. One was my off-on relationship. I think this information sunk in and he probably thought "well I'm not going to get into her arse anytime soon".
We talked about happiness.
"No one's ever happy with me" he said
"Do you really mean that?"
"Well," he said "No one's ever really happy."
"I am." I responded
"No you're not."
"Um, no, really I am."
"Well I'm not saying I don't have periods of contentment, but I wouldn't say that's happiness."
I considered his statement.
"Well I do have times of darkness, and in the past I've been depressed, but now I'd say I feel a pretty consistent level of happiness most of the time. I wake up and I'm glad. I look for reasons to be grateful."
Cos that's the thing isn't it, to actively create what you want. To know you are the only one who can make yourself happy or unhappy. What is 'happy'? Is it getting your cock sucked in a sex club, or admiring the way light falls in the evening? Is it that moment between sober and blissfully intoxicated, or the rise in your heart upon stroking the cat? Is it lying in bed, drinking coffee, reading and feeling 'yes'.
It could be that some of them are not on the radar at all, that being sucked off in a sex club is one man's nightmare, or that reading in bed sounds boring and tiresome to some. Surely it's about growing your appreciation of whatever it is that you call the state of happy. Grow it. Soak in it whenever it comes.
After the pools we got fish and chips, driving along the seabird coast. It was beautiful.
"God, mangroves are ugly aren't they?" he commented.
"Ah, well, I know what you mean, but I guess when I look at them I think of how they support the bird life, and it makes them beautiful to me."
No reply to that one.
The fish n chips were fantastic. His non-talking stance was becoming harder for me to cope with. I asked if we could have a quick look at the beach from another angle. It's a muddy beach (hello, mangroves!) but it was more exposed and I wanted to stand out in it, feeling the hills and sky.
"Ok, as long as your'e quick" he said. Ugh. It reminded me of a relationship I used to be in where I always felt like I was being rushed or controlled, that opportunities to love life more were always crushed.
He sat in the car with the engine idling while I got out to admire the view, the beautiful stones on the foreshore, the birds picking through the shallows.
It was like being with a grumpy old fucking grandad or something. I picked up an egg shaped rock and walked back to the car. I opened the passenger door and smiled.
"Why don't you come out here for a minute, it feels so good."
"Nah," he said, "It's a shit hole. I've lived right on a beach for 15 years before, this is nothing."
I took the egg shaped rock and threw it directly between his eyes. He fell unconscious onto his steering wheel, it set off the horn in the car and the sound shattered the silence, pouring out into the empty space. I stood still, my arms hanging limply by my sides.
(Ok, that last part isn't true.)
I got back into the car and asked if he really couldn't see the beauty in that scene, and he said he'd been to every beautiful beach in the world ... so nah, it's a shit hole. I smiled.
"But I was standing there" (so you could have come and kissed me)
"Just because you enjoy something doesn't mean someone else does."
"Yes, I know that, but sometimes it can feel good to share a moment with someone, even if it's not entirely your thing."
"Well you wouldn't watch a rugby game though"
"Well you wouldn't watch a rugby game though"
"Well I would actually. I have done before, and I even watched a bit of that opening night game with my flatmate's son."
"Yeah, Sonny Bull Williams ..."
"Yeah, he passes really well."
"Nah, I mean, he's got a really good body."
God. What is it with men going on about that guy? It's like they have a man-crush on him.
"Well yeah, he's got a good body, but me and Jaiman were admiring the way he passed the ball. Even I could see he was good at that. So even though I'm not interested in rugby, I'd still watch it if it meant a lot to someone or if it was a big occasion."
Silence ensued.
And more silence.
The only things he asked me were
"Did you know this car was diesel?"
and
"What time do you like to go to bed?"
He knew nothing about me other than what I'd freely offered up.
I looked at the hills and trees slipping by. I didn't know until we were close to my house that he'd been planning to watch the rugby that evening. So I was home without plans on a Saturday night! What a prick. Prick. Isn't that a great word?
I don't really mind though. He's the ideal prick for someone. A sort of hard arsed lady who wants a dick up her bum and no faffing around the mangroves thanks very much. I call it like I see it, and I'm not happy and no one is, that's my reality. Pass me the whiskey and maybe I'll talk.
Well Marc,
It's sad and good to think of you. Who you were, who you might have been, and what you are now.
Nothing ever really dies. I know that's true, and yet it's sometimes hard to believe when I'm still here on Earth in a Mortal body. What's it like to be free of a body? I've only astral traveled twice that I can recall, and it freaked me out a bit.
If you have reincarnated, which I think you would have done by now, then I hope it's going well. I'm sending you love. I'm asking you to stick with it this time. If you end up heading for a deep depression again then find a way to get help. You were such a creative, quirky guy. We were always laughing about something or somebody.
Lots of Love
Candice xxx
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