The Sheila Variations

In honor of Veterans Day:

Here is an entry from my journal when I was a junior in high school. I was madly in love (in an unrequited fashion, getting my practice in for later in life apparently) with the Band President, referred to here as "DW".

NOVEMBER 11 - VETERANS DAY

I am now here at Meredith's. It's 10:00 but it feels like it's midnight. GOD. AM I TIRED.

Today I went over to Mere's bright and early so we could see the parade together. As Mere got ready (she was still in her pjs), we listened to records, looked at rock magazines, and talked about boys. [Uhm, central casting??] We talked about two boys in particular.

Anyway, we started out and the parade had already started so I rudely tore down the sidewalk and perched on the curb looking for the band. Mere caught up with Dolores -- just then the band was going by -- in their blue suits and hats with plumes.

DW wasn't playing. He was leading the whole thing. He was dressed in a white sort of Sergeant Pepper suit with white sneakers - he held a shiny post with a ball on the end [Uhm - a baton, Sheila?] - he waved that. [Now I know I have so much distance between then and now - but come on. I was in love with this guy and suddenly I get to see him as Harold Hill?? Of COURSE I was in love with him!! "76 trombones led the big parade ..." I mean, who could resist??] Around his neck hung a whistle. He's such a big shot. I love it. I almost died when I first saw him. He looked so grand. He was walking backwards, facing the band - arms up - conducting - He kept glancing over his shoulder, and then turning back. I never knew he looked so cute. HE WAS GORGEOUS! Mere quietly stood there letting me sob on her shoulder - then - (the parade was a big 3 minutes) - we went down to Hazard School where the whole parade and everyone gathered for the memorial service for the dead veterans.

The whole walk down, I felt so weird inside. My DW feeling.

Everyone was gathered on the lawn around the big plaque - with all the names on it. The band was standing near it in lines, all holding their instruments. DW stood in line with the first row - but off to the side. He leaned his hands on the post in front of him. I didn't know he was going to be so gorgeous. He looked so solemn.

Mere and I stood smack opposite him. He was looking straight my way. Mere murmured to me, "Sheila, he is looking right at you." "I know. I know."

During the prayer, he bowed his head. [And, uhm, obviously you didn't.] I liked to see that. I like to see that he has a serious side. I could talk seriously to him.

After the ceremony, Mere and I ran over to talk to J as the band walked back to the schoool. J's so cute - she kept ordering me, "Come into the band room, Sheila! Come on! Strike up a conversation!" I kept saying, "Right. Right."

Finally, Mere and I did. It was havoc. All those blue uniforms and plumes running around. J kept giving me burning glares across the room. I casually leaned up against a column in the middle of the room, talking to Mere. ["Casually" my ass.] Suddenly, Mere mouthed hugely, "He's right there." I glanced over my shoulder. There he was. Leaning on the very same post as me. Our backs were touching.

I cannot even explain it. How can anyone explain the feeling? God, I wish I were eloquent. I know exactly the feeling, but I can't put it into words.

It's like this. I like DW so much it aches. It yawns and gnaws away inside me. (How poetic)

Anyway, I turned back to Mere, with an agonized glance - then suddenly DW sort of circled the column - using his shoulder as a pivot - so that he came face to face with me. He is so huge. He turns me on. Tall men! I like that!

He grinned down at me. "So ... how did we look out there marching?"

I wanted to throw myself on him screaming, "YOU ARE SO GORGEOUS!" but I just smiled. "You guys looked really good. Very dignified." "How'd we sound?" "You weren't playing when you passed us." Then someone walked by and asked DW "What time do we gotta be here tomorrow?" DW lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, thinking. His elbow brushed against my forehead. His voice is so deep. "Eight o'clock." I stared at him. "The game starts at eight?" "Oh ... no. But we have to get here early so we can jam and stuff." [I find that absolutely endearing.] "Ah!"

Then DW went off to put his sax away. Mere made this up: DW has "sax appeal". So then. Mere and I waved to J and left. As we left, I heard sly J yell, "See ya tomorrow, Sheila!"

All the way home, Mere and I - I love her - [Note: It is not possible for me to put FOUR underlines beneath the words "I love her" - but just know that that is how it appears in the original] I am the most fortunate girl in the world. Thank you God! THANK YOU, GOD!! Dave turned to talk to me! What am I gonna do?

I'm going to the Homecoming with J and April. Mr. President will probably be there. I will not ask him to dance. I will let him ask me. I think he will if I give him a chance. I'll just strike up a conversation with him. See if he does care or if it's my overactive imagination.

Then - we all went to the Umbrella Factory - the most wonderful little store full of everything - posters of everyone, knick knacks, boxes, jewelry, mobiles - all crammed into a tiny ramshackle building. I bought a new diary. I'm almost run out on this one. My new one is beautiful. It's Chinese - or Japanese? - a woven cover of reds ilk with shiny thread - with little embroidered pagodas and flowers - I love it! And I bought a Jimmy poster [No need for last names. Me and Jimmy Dean - we're like THIS!] and some wicked stationery. [I love when the word "wicked" shows up in this context in these journals. hahahaha]

Then we went to the Gift Barn - a quaint group of stores around a small duck pond. I had run out of money by then but we had a good time anyway. I am exhausted and Mere is now ready for bed - and so am I! [Mere - while I was sleeping over your house - I sat there WRITING IN MY DIARY? How rude. I apologize! I am sure you were busy reading "rock magazines" but still.]

Football game tomorrow.

Diary - this is not a crush!!

Diary Friday

I found this this morning and read it, amazed. I have no memory of any of this.

When I was in college, I had a job at a pizza joint called Pit 'n Patio. It was in walking distance to the beach, and it was a MADHOUSE. There were lots of CRAZY regulars. Oh, and the place served beer - which meant you had to deal with lots of carding of underage kids, and also had to serve up beers to vaguely homeless beach people who would pay for their beer with PENNIES. Counted out on the counter.

I wrote down stories from "the Pit" in my journal. Apparently, there was one regular (and I am kind of remembering her now) - who was 85 years old if she was a day, a small wrinkled crone in a housedress, who would come in every day and have a beer or whatever. Her name was Martha. I was fascinated by Martha. Obviously (judging from this entry in my journal) I grilled her about her life when it was slow at the Pit. I have no memory of interviewing her so rigorously. But obviously I did.

The stories! Who did I think I was, at age 19, in my grimy apron behind the pizza counter? Studs Turkel?

To the people who balk at "TMI", who don't like it when people over-share, all I can say is: You really might be missing out on something pretty extraordinary!

AUGUST

Martha -

One daughter - Pat - who has 7 children - and a great-granddaughter - a baby - who, whenever she sees Martha, runs to her, arms out, crying, "Ma! Ma!"

Pat is a nurse at South County Hospital and loves it. Martha asked her if she ever had any regrets. "Not one."

At first Martha begged her not to be a nurse, but a schoolteacher - anything but a nurse because Martha had experienced so much sickness in her life.

She nursed her mother for 3 years alone - who had cancer. None of her other relatives wanted to do it so she did the best she could, not knowing anything about cancer. Her mother got to be skin and bones. They took off one breast, and lots more ... Martha had to bear up alone. She was not in a good way either.

She didn't cry for days after her mother died. A few nights before her mother died, the two planned out her funeral. Her mother said, "Don't put me in navy - or brown - or black. I want to be in pink orchid." And she was - in a pink dress with ruffled sleeves.

The undertaker was a friend of her mother's, and in spite of her being so thin "he made her look beautiful - like she was 18 years old." She had long long hair and he had it all softly waved. Her coffin was grey velvet with pink taffeta insides. She had her rosary in one hand and someone brought her a dozen roses and said, "I want her to have one in her hand" - so the undertaker slid a red rose in her hand.

Martha could not believe how many people came. "She had so many friends ... but I didn't know that many!" People streamed in - and the friend undertaker told Martha to go home for a while "or there'll be one more coffin here" and he stood in the line for her. He told her that by the end he thought his legs would fall off so many people came.

Her mother was 70 when she died.

Her mother was English - her father Scottish - her great-grandmother Irish ... her father was very stern. Her mother got all of her teeth taken out on one day and was in so much pain she couldn't function. Her father came home and there was no supper fixed and he got so angry at her. "Why did you have them all taken out at once?"

And Martha remembers saying to him, "Don't yell at her - she's in enough agony." She was only around 7 at the time. But he still didn't let up.

Her and her husband - both from Pawtucket - were going to take a trip overseas and move to Florida, but he had a heart attack and they were too afraid to be away. He had 3 heart attacks - the last one killed him.

Listen to this story: He died on the toilet seat at night. Martha was asleep. She woke - he wasn't there - and she found him on the toilet seat - slumped over with his glasses all crooked. She described it so vividly. I felt tears in my eyes. I think she absolutely went into hysteria. She rang the alarm and everybody came running.

A male nurse, a friend, lived nearby, and Martha said to him, "Could you please come and see if my husband is dead or alive?" So he went and felt the pulse in his neck and wrist and turned to Martha and said - I'm sure gently - "Martha, he's been dead for hours." And she had been sleeping. She was in shock - so much so that this nurse held her tight in his arms in the dining room and said firmly, "Martha - cry. Cry. Cry. You have got to cry."

And she told me that she totally soaked the front of his shirt. "I'm getting your shirt so wet." "I don't care. Just cry."

Her daughter is the joy of Martha's life. She sounds like an angel. She does Martha's laundry and every Friday takes her out shopping and out for dinner at the 108 House, and then for a long long drive all the way down to Galilee and all the seaports. On Sunday she always has Martha over for supper and another drive.

When Martha has teeth out and is in great pain, Pat stays overnight with her to help her and make her mashed potatoes and ground-up hamburger.

When Martha and her husband were gonna move to Florida, Pat begged them to stay. "You're my only mother and father ... I need you to be nearby so I can help you if you need it."

I just wanted to get her story down. I think it deserves telling. And Martha deserves to be remembered. So brave and so alone.

"It's terrible living alone. It's so lonely."

"What a life I've led. So full of sickness and death. I didn't want Pat to have to face it too. But she has no regrets. She loves it."

I told her I had just had an extremely scary dream that I had cancer and I had to face death at midnight and I was suddenly so so so afraid of dying I couldn't even think about it (a fear I never really knew I had) and she said, "Well, I broke your dream, honey - cause I talked about cancer. If you have a dream about something and the next day someone talks about it, that means the dream won't happen. So I broke the dream."

Let's see: her mother was so full of cancer at death they had to drain all her blood but she turned black - but it was an open casket so they had to put it back in.

She and her husband (Eddie) used to really raise hell when they were younger and go out drinking and dancing.

One day Martha came into the bathroom and saw Eddie standing there with two things hanging down from his nose and Martha said, "Eddie - for Pete's sake - blow your nose!" And they wouldn't come out - so Eddie took pliers and tried to yank them out. Turns out they were polyps, and he began to bleed profusely. The polyps went all the way back into his head.

Martha miscarried into her hand.

Actually, as the more pathetic it gets, the funnier it gets.

Poor woman!

Diary Friday: going to church in Ireland

In honor of the upcoming Easter weekend, I'm going to post a couple other excerpts from my travel journal, of our time in Ireland as a family. I am 13 years old at this point. We were on Achill Island for a bit, off the west coast of Ireland, and we were there for Easter. Going to church was a huge deal.

But I'll back into it with a couple of the previous entries.

Please keep in mind: 13 years old. I now think of it as "post-Skyward", but still: 13.

I am in IRELAND, and here is what I choose to write about.

WESTPORT, IRELAND

These are some of the fashions here: tight jeans and black and gold leather pumps, grey pinstriped blazers, tube tops, jackets that go below the hips, mini-skirts (black velvet), dotted white tights, red velvet crushed boots, Adidas sneakers, tight-tight-tight spray-painted-on jeans are EVERYWHERE. No one has baggies. [Ed: I am assuming that I am talking about baggie jeans here, which were all the rage in the States at this time. Thank God that trend passed.] They also love bobby socks here, especially with mini skirts. No one has top siders or loafers. [That whole preppy thing was OUT OF CONTROL at my school. I never got into it, so I am sure the lack of top siders on the Emerald Isle was quite a relief.] The girls wear maroon, silver, yellow leather pumps. They seem to be very influenced by the English [Ed: Uhm... what, Sheila? You're 13. What are you talking about??]. All that punk stuff started in England, and it seems to be very big here too. [Oh please, shut up.] Tight jeans are the thing to wear here. White sneakers (yippee) are also popular. Minidresses too, like I've seen in Seventeen. All the girls wear kilts, bobby socks, and black leather Mary Janes shined like a mirror.

ACHILL ISLAND, IRELAND

The towns over here are not towns. Just villages on hills, with like one store and a butcher. The people seem really nice, though. Two boys on bikes literally led us to our B&B. This B&B is called Connaught House. CONNAUGHT, MUNSTER, LEINSTER, ULSTER, MEATH.

My room has a wonderful view of fields, little houses, and then the ocean. There are lots of peat bogs here, and we might be able to cut some peat!!!!!!! [Wow. You're a geek.] Soon we're going downtown to look around. But I don't feel like it because I am SO COLD!!!!! IT'S FREEZING!!!!!

Later:

The walk was ok. It certainly warmed me up. We saw a field of sheep and the babies were the cutest things I have ever seen. All white, with black heads. Siobhan "baaahed" at them all. [Siobhan was 4. The image of her, in Ireland, is a favorite family memory.]

We might go to church tonight but I don't want to because everyone here dresses up SO much for church and all I have is this plaid skirt that looks like it comes from the 50s. And all the girls wear Mary Janes and I only have my saddle shoes. [Saddle shoes? What are you, Lucy Van Pelt?]

I wonder how Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate are. OH I MISS THEM SO MUCH!!!!!

Just thinking about living on this island makes me sick. No t.v., one school, not knowing about fashions. [Oh my God, that is so embarrassing. NOT KNOWING ABOUT FASHIONS? This from a girl wearing SADDLE SHOES??? I am so sorry, lovely people of Achill Island, for my judgment.] All they have here is Irish knit sweaters and skirts. I mean, clothes aren't everything but I want to know something about what is in and what isn't. [Okay, this is getting even more embarrassing. This is awful.]

Our house has the most WONDERFUL living room [I sound schizophrenic. Achill Island BAD, oh wait a minute Achill Island GOOD] with a fire, the softest fur rug in front of it and a HUGE tv. [Hm. I seem to recall you mentioning in the paragraph above this one that the people on the island didn't HAVE tv. Hmmm.] We watched "David Copperfield" all afternoon, and now we are going for a drive up a mountain. This is a very mountainous island.

The old couple who own the B&B are so nice. The old man is so funny, so nice. He said to my father that he looked like Kojak from behind. He has been to America and he said that the sand in Florida was so hot that you could "fry a rasher on it". He also asked us if Rhode Island was very close to Houston!!

[For some reason, the first line of this next entry made me laugh OUT LOUD when I was reading it this morning.]

ACHILL ISLAND, THURSDAY

Last night we watched "Father Damien - the Leper Priest" on TV with Ken Howard. He is SO good. I had already seen the movie before though. [That's the kicker. I had seen FATHER DAMIEN - the effin' LEPER PRIEST twice???]

Today we are going to visit a man's peat bog, and then we are going to look up some old crosses, etc.

I washed my hair this morning, and washed my face, and rubbed in face cream and put on mascara. [Extremely important to list my morning skin ritual, apparently.]

I am getting really sick of the same old breakfast every day. But Dad says that there is this coffee shop in Dublin called Bewley's or something where they sell delicious donuts and jelly pastries, etc. [Sniff, sniff. Bewley's ... one of my favorite pitstops ... now no more ...] My mouth is watering already!

Tomorrow we're going to church.

I should have brought my curling iron.

Diary Friday

What is clear to me now from this journal entry is that one of the things that is actually going on here, although I never say it, is that I am in love with three men at the same time. I never recognized it - because basically I am thick as fog usually - but that is what is happening. Yes, it is possible. Maybe you need to possess an abnormally large heart to achieve such a thing, or a willingness (overall) to let life get chaotic. Both are true for me. I'm not gonna lie. I am not fickle. These three men are giants in my own personal lexicon to this day, and while I have never been a date-r, or someone who was out and about with a million different men (I'm pretty steady and focused) ... it just so happened that on this one 48-hour period in question ... all three men from the past year converged into my life at one specific time.

I put this up today because of Michael, who has pestered me lately until I respond, until I am involved (he WILL. NOT. BE. IGNORED) and while it can be annoying, it also makes me feel cared for. Like it matters. He will not let me hide. He lets himself get upset with me. He wonders where I am and why I am not "there". Grateful, grateful, grateful.

I put this up today because the other men in the entry - referred to as "P" and "M" are, forever forever, men in my heart ... but it is Michael who is the one who is still in my life. I mean, in a real and friend-y kind of way. And isn't that insane. I mean, it is to me, because I feel like I never would have guessed that at the time, but then when I read this crazy journal entry, I think: Yes. Of course. I didn't just guess that that would be the case ... it is there, tangibly, in the words I chose to describe what was, relatively, a casual encounter with him.

What strikes me here is the unbelievable intensity in which I appeared to be able to operate, on an everyday level. I am gobsmacked by my own endurance. And not just that ... but how I used a journal back then, to work things out, to hash out issues, to really TALK to "someone" (a blank book), and try to figure out what was going on.

I no longer use a journal in that way. I barely keep a journal at all.

In this entry, I describe a 48 hour period during the very end of my time in Chicago. David has always said that he felt my life was a "literary conceit", that things line up for me in a neat psychological way that seems unusual to him ... and here it is obvious, in full force.

It was May. I was auditioning for grad school in June. I had a feeling I would get in, and that would mean I would have to move to New York. In August. Everything felt tremulous. On the verge of huge change. I loved Chicago. Chicago changed my life. Saved it. The thought of leaving was absolutely terrible. But I just knew it would happen.

I was recovering from a failed love affair with "P" - but I wasn't recovering very well. I am amazed at how haunted I sound in this entry. It gives me a chill. I would remain haunted by him for years. Haunted still? Well, well, I just have better coping skills now. I see him every now and then when he comes to town, and it's fun and good to see him, I still have one or two pretty bad moments during those times, it seems unavoidable, but philosophy returns in a matter of days, and I can incorporate the loss back into my understanding of life, and that's just the way shit goes down sometimes. Man up.

But at the time of the journal entry, the wound was fresh, and I could not get over it. I wasn't so much sad as baffled by what had happened. It confused me more than anything else.

Meanwhile: I had been hanging out on an almost constant basis with "M", a boy I had met and dated (loose term) from almost my first month upon arrival in Chicago. So we're talking years. By the time of this entry below, we had been going strong in our particular insane vein for four years. I've written quite a bit about him in the past. I cannot describe it except to say: it never had a label, sometimes we saw each other a couple times a week, and there was one time when we went nine months without seeing each other (and I didn't miss him) ... and yet we always kept revolving back to what we had created. I always knew I would hear from him again. He was a crazy man, wild, grumpy, immature, fun, and strangely deep. He was so relaxing for me - or that's how I remember this time anyway - everything else was so crazy, but I could relax with him. Turns out there was a bit more darkness in the scenario which I had forgotten - we had had this huge awful fight at a terrible bar called The Gingerman Tavern and I had vowed never to speak to him again ...which I actually stuck to for about two or three months. He would call and I wouldn't answer. Stuff like that. I don't remember much of this, actually. Strange.

Then there is Michael.

Timing-wise - this diary entry is in May. Michael and I had dated in the autumn of the previous year, and then sort of drifted apart. Nothing bad happened, no falling out, just ... we were at different points in our lives, there was a significant age difference (although it's not significant at all now - but six years was HUGE back then - I was like Mrs. Robinson, for God's sake, sneaking my underage boyfriend into bars so we could go to Trivia Night, and helping him do his laundry), and so we let each other go on our separate ways.

I hadnt held on to Michael, which I think is one of the main reasons why we are such good friends today (but what a bittersweet lesson to have to keep learning ... but that is definitely the theme of my life ... I am a master at this, and should give seminars ... and if anyone says "if you love something set it free" you can expect to be punched straight in the throat by yours truly) ... and was not haunted by him or missing him at the time of this entry. I was far more taken up with the spectre of "P", he was on the forefront, because I sensed I would be moving, and that would make it REALLY be over. But I was definitely missing "M", by then too, because he was the one who - through playing pool with me, driving me around at breakneck speed in his car, climbing through my window at three in the morning, and deciding to order us fast food at 4 in the morning - helped me forget all my troubles.

Into this wilderness stepped Michael. And click click click some things clicked into place. Not with "P", but then, that situation would never "click into place". It was meant to be a mess, and it is still a mess, frankly. I just cope with it better now.

These three men who are all in this entry below I refer to as my "triumvirate". Long-time readers will recognize that. And here they all are in one place (well - in my journal) at the same time. It is rather odd and unsettling to read.

This entry's intense. Much of it makes me laugh out loud.

I was approaching a huge change. I knew I was going to move to New York, even though I hadn't been accepted to grad school yet. But I just knew I would get in ... and that the Chicago phase was about to end. That freaked me out to no end.

In the entry below, only Michael gets to keep his own name. He's earned that. I think he expects it too.

MAY 15

I have FORCED myself to continue forward with my plans, even though I'm apathetic, a huge part of me doesn't want to leave Chicago AT ALL. A huge part of me wants, at least, to be near P. I can't let it go. I can't.

[Then, in the middle of this text, I have written - and I have NO IDEA what it means: "Hello you monkeys and lovers and lovebirds and shriners." Seriously - THAT LINE shows up right after "I can't let it go. I can't." hahahahahahs Shriners?? WHAT???]

But I have to. Or, I certainly can't abandon my plans. I could not live with myself. I am already trying to prepare myself for the wrench of leaving. Also ... about P. It's done. It's over. But in my heart it is so not. I live for word of him. My heart beats faster. But - like a steamroller - I keep making plans, taking the steps, 1-2-3 - without even really thinking about it. Forcing myself. And now I am flying to NYC in June for the audition. I'll deal with the move when it happenns. Listen to how I talk about this - as though moving would be bad.

However, I think I am a pretty evolved person. I think my understanding of and feeling for the shades of grey in life is pretty deep. I understand how good and bad can be mixed. A "good" thing can happen and a really 'bad" thing can be attached to it. That's life. That's being an adult.

I have a problem with the word "happy" anyway. I always have. Happiness, for me, is encapsulated in a moment. Not meant to last. The first glimpse of the skyline as I run around a curve in the lake ... sitting in the sun on my front steps drinking coffee ... dancing on P's feet in the hot darkness, his arms tight around me ... driving with Ann with the windows down singing the theme song to Greatest American Hero at the top of our lungs ...

Moments.

When I feel a burst of contentment ... Happy? I can see clearly (now the rain has gone ...) I don't say "I'm happy". I live in shades of grey, despite all the hyperbolic stances. So I am preparing myself for this wonderful move - and preparing myself for the grieving I will do. Grieving for my life here. But what's weird is - as of now - I am only thinking about the bad side of it. I can't get to the place of excitement, ambition - I don't feel it yet.

I just had a chilling thought.

5/15

[Looks like I put the pen down - because of my 'chilling thought' - went off, did something, and came back to the journal later on the same day ... to write the following:]

Capture my heart and then bite it in two.
I won't forget.

MAY 16

I had to put down the pen. It's too awful. The chilling thought I had was this. It just occurred to me: what if that is going to be my life from now on. Not being able to "get to" excitement, in any pure or unabashed way - but knowing I have to keep forcing myself to make plans, care about things ... force myself to go on living.

Once again, things shift so that the fantasy world is more potent and real than reality. Ann and I talked about that - the times in your life when your life is what you fantasize about.

"There were a couple of months when I couldn't even read books because they couldn't hold my interest like my own life could," said Ann.

She's right.

I cannot picture being in that state again.

I felt it briefly on that frozen day when I had 3 auditions in a row. I revelled in my own life on that day. I revelled in being myself.

I am being too dramatic. I am talking myself into a depression. There is no need to do that. My emotions need fluidity. I do not want to petrify. That is where bitterness comes in. Also, it will kill my acting. [I am really working things out here in writing.]

When depression hits - I go with it. What the hell. I am really sad that this abyss is between me and P. I am devastated that we did not get a chance to add a bit of light to the universe. And I am still overwhelmed by a feeling of wrongness. This is wrong wrong wrong. But mostly I just live with it. I bear it. Somedays I can't bear it. I don't judge myself.

This is why I cannot go to see his shows.

He blots out the sky for me. I get lost in his shadow.

A couple weeks ago I was called in to read for Suburbia - one of the hit shows in Chicago right now. The show is a smash and they're looking to extend it so they were reading for replacements. I would kill to play that role. Despite my huge problems with the script itself - I think I could make something fabulous out of that part.

The audition was on a Saturday morning. I had kind of a weird day - full of serendipity. It was a grey day. Drizzly. I dressed totally Generation X for the audition. Plastic barettes, corduroys, etc. I walked to the Theatre Building - with Liz Phair blasting in my ears. Much wind. Light drizzle.

Walked into the Theatre Building lobby and couldn't see clearly because it was dark after being outside. I sensed a group of waiting actors in one area, so I walked over there, my eyes adjusting. The first actual face I perceived was Michael's. He was sitting down, grinning up at me, wryly - waiting for me to see him. I remember the moment - I was walking with purpose - striding really - and then I saw him. There was that audition-going-on hush in the air so I didn't make a sound - but my heart leapt out of my chest at the sight of him. I have MISSED that boy.

So as I circled aorund the row of chairs between us to get to him, I mouthed silently, "Oh my God!" - my quiet ecstatic reaction to seeing him. I haven't seen him in months. We've talked a couple times on the phone, we always say "Let's get together" but it never happens. I certainly don't want to get into a situation where just meeting for a coffee is a huge fucking ordeal. He knows where to find me if he wants me. We're friends. I think we could be great friends. We had a real connection - that is still apparent. We are not estranged. [Hello, Jane Austen.]

I wanted to dance and sing at the sight of him and I would have if we hadn't been in the cathedral atmosphere of an audition. We had to contain ourselves. He was happy to see me. He played it pretty cool, but I could tell. We were very in sync that whole day. He stood up to meet me and he actually looked kind of moved. It wasn't a simple "Hey, great to see you" - for him or for me. Something happened between us in Ithaca and we both recognized it. We had a fabulous hug amidst all the actors on the floor, filling out forms. We were holding onto each other and he wouldn't let me go. He's Italian. So not Irish. We both were whispering into each other's ears, "It's so good to see you! Oh my God it's so good to see you!" We moved ourselves out of the group of actors so we wouldn't disturb anyone and we basically said "Hi!" ecstatically for 5 minutes. There's something about him that makes me laugh.

After we both auditioned - we hung out for a bit.

I said, "Did you watch our boy on the Oscars?" ("Our boy" means, of course, John Travolta.)

Oh, wait - before this - I said, "Oh! I'm in a show now." He immediately was so excited for me. I love actors. I love my actor friends. Everyone gets so excited for each other. He leapt on the news.

"Really? What?"

"Oh, Michael. It's a Bailiwick gay pride show and it's called Lesbian Bathhouse."

(It is so hard to tell people what I'm doing. "What show are you doing?" "Oh, it's a sweet little romantic comedy called Lesbian Bathhouse." I told M - he actually just called me, story at 10 - anyway - I said to him, "It's called Lesbian Bathhouse." There was a pause, and then he said, "Lesbian Bathhouse? What. The. Fuck." That is generally the reaction.)

But anyway, Michael and I laughed about Lesbian Bathhouse - and then he said, "I always knew you were gay" and I just BURST into laughter. First of all, I was so damn happy to see the boy I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Also - he just goes right back into our little drama - "I always knew you were gay". I love that he thought I was gay at first, and that held him back from making the first move.

Then - I brought up the Oscars and John Travolta. He said, "Of course I watched it."

I said, "I was bummed he lost. How are you doing with it?" Kiddingly serious with him. [John Travolta was his childhood hero]

He said, "Yes, he lost, but ... he looked cool though. Don't you think? Didn't he look cool?"

He is like Christian Slater in True Romance saying that he would fuck Elvis Presley - and only Elvis Presley - no other guy - but he would fuck Elvis. So anyway, as Michael spoke - he kind of became a 14 year old girl right in front of my eyes. He went off into Travolta Dream Land - he kind of stuck his hip out, standing there like Michelangelo's David, a little sexy flirtatious pose - and as he said, "He looked so cool" - he, without thinking about it, started playing with his nipples. [I AM HOWLING right now!] Laughter flowed out of me - unstoppable. I had to say it: "Michael, look at you. And you think I'm gay?" Michael said, "For Travolta, I'm gay."

Here's a serendipitous thing: the 2 of us were both happened to be wearing our Ithaca "uniforms". We basically wore the same clothes every day in Ithaca - and there we were again, on this day so many months later, happening to be wearing the same clothes: I had on my flannel shirt which I bought in Ithaca - he had on the tan corduroy jacket which will forever remind me of Ithaca. He slept in the damn thing, for God's sake. And he told me later - that the Suburbia audition was the first time he had worn it in MONTHS. It was the first spring-ish day - he put it on - and who does he run into on that day but me. And I was wearing my flannel shirt, brown corduroys, and my plastic barrettes.

I sat down to fill out my form, I glanced over at Michael, and he gestured at his jacket like, "Look what I am still wearing."

My audition went really well and they invited me to come see the show that night. They invited Michael too - so we made a date to go together to the show and it was just what I needed. I was in a funk.

The night before Jackie and I had gone to see some improv - and I don't remember why - but I left without saying good-bye to M, who had performed.

Why do I act so weird? I felt so weird about how I acted. He was talking with some people - but he totally knew I was there - we had talked before the show - and then - I just had an implosion and I left without saying goodbye to him. I reverted to my weird behavior.

Then - even weirder - I got home - I walked home thru the drizzly night and I felt so confused at my behavior. I suddenly, also, got this very desolate feeling - and I realized how - without M right now - my romantic life would be at a standstill. He is it. If he goes and starts dating someone else - and I am not his girlfriend and I have never been his girlfriend - not really - then I'll be stuck. However, I am his friend and I should have at least said goodbye or good show or something. That was just plain rude. And my behavior freaked me out. Why am I freaking out? M and I had really got into a nice groove (before the eve of the Gingerman) - but I hold back. He holds back.

It's probably for the best.

But I felt all itchy and edgy on that walk home. I felt sudden panic, too, when I entertained the thought of M getting involved with someone else. I becamse super-conscious of how tenuous it all was - how nothing holds me and M together - nothing. I mean, I have always known that, but I was very uncomfortable about it, suddenly. My heart sank at the thought of losing M. Where would that leave me? He's all I've got - and what we've got is so transient - it has no weight at all. [Speaking with the 20/20 of hindsight, it most certainly did have weight. Things are not always what they seem, my dear.]

Let me say one thing: this has been a very tough winter and spring for me. I have been lonely, sad, depressive - and M has helped me a lot. He has gotten me thru - just by his presence, his kisses, his company. He has helped me bear the sadness - these have been the darkest hardest months for me - and I de-focused all of that all over him. [Lucky him.]

But then - after all that - I left the show last night without saying goodbye. What is that about? So - weirdo that I am - I paged him when I got home and told him I loved his show, which I did, and that I was sorry I left without saying goodbye. He is a fearless giant onstage - he is one of the most exciting performers I have ever seen.

But look at me: I see his show, I don't speak to him afterwards when he is right there in front of me, and then I page him from 3 blocks away. I am crazy right now. I am not behaving in a rational manner. It is all P's fault. I have lost my balance completely.

I went to bed that night - quite uneasy. I got this weird feeling. This weird doomed span-of-time feeling, as in: Maybe this will be my life. Maybe this is it. This peripheral relationship will be all I am capable of. This is it.

And then who did I run into the next day at the audition? But Michael.

A guy who got under my skin, despite all my baggage from P. A guy I could care about, and did care about. This guy who showed me I could care about someone else right after P. The guy who held me down when he kissed me, making me take it, making me stay still, and be in the present moment with him. It was a very significant experience for me. I was all "oh my heart is dead" and Michael randomly showed up last fall and showed me my heart was not dead.

Bringing him coffee in the morning
Trivial Pursuit
Our first kiss - on the living room floor of the drug-addict gay guy they were staying with
Kissing under the waterfall
Breakfast all day long
Talk talk talk
Our fights on the sidewalk
Dancing with him - we loved to dance together
Standing on the porch at night, watching him walk off - the dark trees, leaf shadows, the quiet, the country sounds - assailed by the sweetness of life - my country boyfriend walking away
Falling into his eyeball
Driving around - Laurie driving, Pat up front, me and Michael in back, his head on my lap
The guttering candles at he and Pat's damp dark place - the sound of the river below - the shadows of the leaves
laughing HYSTERICALLY
Joe Daily and my cobalt blue bra [I can't even get into this ... it's too funny and too weird ... the landlord, the angry letter Michael wrote, and my random cobalt blue bra sitting in the middle of the room at a crucial mortifying moment ... too much to discuss ... so funny though]
WINE TASTING MAGIC
The Haunt - that was an underage dance club - I danced on a platform at The Haunt
Oh and that was the night that Laurie cried - she cried at the Haunt. Michael called it "random crying". He said, "I have no idea what's going on with you, Laurie. This is just random crying, as far as I'm concerned." Laurie called him a "goober" and a "wanker" because he did not validate her "random crying".

So anyway - I ran into Michael that very next day at the audition - after my uneasy doom-filled night, all worried about my non-romance with M, and also how weird it was that after all this I didn't feel comfortable talking to M after his show ... and Michael and I had a date for that night to go see Suburbia. It was the perfect medicine. Serendipity. M. doesn't have to be the only guy in my life.

But listen to this craziness - I walked home from the audition. It was about 5:30 pm. I was going to meet Michael back at the theatre at 8 or whatever.

The night before I was all anxious that M. had taken on a boyfriend role in my mind - and I didn't like that, I didn't like having to double-think how I interacted with him - so what did I do? I fled into the night, only to page him from my house three blocks away. I was freaked out at how he had become IT. I don't want him to be IT.

But then ... who did I run into the next day? Michael. Showing me that no, M. is not "it".

It was like: all of these people in my life ... it's almost like I have created them. I have made them all up to serve certain personal purposes.

So I walked home on Southport. Still buzzing from the encounter with my young-buck hot ex-boyfriend Michael. I felt so good about it, and I felt good about my audition and how well it had gone. It had already been a great day and I was looking forward to going to see the show that night with Michael. Michael came out after his reading - I had waited for him. He came over to where I was sitting and said, "I have to hug you again" and he just burrowed himself into me - it was so sweet. He hugs me like he means it.

What I liked about my behavior that day (as opposed to the day before when I blew M off after his show) was how open I was to Michael. I was happy to see him and I let him know. I felt young and unjaded. I lit up at the sight of him. Openly. Trusting he wouldn't get scared and reject me. All was okay.

I need to strip myself of my layers of protection. They isolate me. I no longer want protection.

Hurt me - love me -- Life's too short to miss out on any of it.

And of course - as I walked by the Starbucks by the L tracks - I ran into M.

The whole day I felt like this sorceress. Like I woke up and thought: "Hm. I feel like M is the only man in my life at this moment and I don't like it. I wish I could run into someone who makes me realize that that is not true." And then POOF! "Here's Michael. Hm. I feel very badly about leaving last night without saying goodbye to M. I wish I could run into him so that I can make it up to him." And then POOF. "Here's M."

I was approraching Starbucks on the east side of the street - and then I saw, rounding the NW corner of that intersection - a figure with familiar insane hair and a familiar technicolor coat. I didn't even have time to process the coincidence. After all, I basically knew I was going to run into him. Didn't I? It didn't surprise me at all.

I called out his name. The figure stopped and looked in my direction. He's so scruffy. He's a mole. He didn't see me - I saw him look around - then give up and turn to go to his apartment. So I called out his name again, and this time waved and started towards him. He saw me. Cute smile. He's so cute and awkward. He stood there, gangly, untethered, waiting as I crossed the 2 streets to get to him. At one point, I felt goofy so I did a slow-mo run - and I could hear him start laughing.

He had gone out to order lunch. He had a jar of pink lemonade in one hand. He had clearly just woken up and was getting ready to go to work. We stood there and talked for about 5 minutes. I can't even really remember what we talked about. His show, I told him how good I think he is, I told him about my audition, he told me about his show, and that was it. He went his way, I went mine ... but that weird edgy feeling that had been palpitating around my heart from the night before was gone. I had made my peace with him. It was important to me. He means a lot to me. It's not his fault I'm leaving soon and having a nervous breakdown about it.

Michael and I had a great time that night at the show - there was a distinctly date-like aura over the evening, but we've been through so much together somehow that we are comfortable with all of that. It was great to be with him. Fun. We were giggling like teenagers. He was also ALL OVER ME at ALL TIMES. I like him because he's unafraid, and totally masculine. He's meaty and physical. I am not. I want to be - but whatever, instead I ignore M. and flee into the night, instead of doing what I want to do which is pull him into a corner and hump his thigh. I'm so careful with myself physically - especially if I feel like I could ever be hurt by that person. But there was Michael, playing with my hair, untying my shoes, putting his arm around me - fun, playful, annoying me - not being careful with me. Not being careful with me. I appreciate that.

We were sitting in the theatre and he took my arm in his hands and peered closely at my fingers. "How're the warts?" [bwahahahahaha. This makes me laugh!! When he met me - I had this freakin' awful outbreak on my poor fingers. So attractive, right? But still: my warts took over my life during our entire relationship, which occurred directly in the aftermath of the P breakup. I am convinced that it was because of the stress of the P situation - everything in my body went haywire. I stopped sleeping, eating, I dropped to a size 2 for the first time in, like, ever, my skin changed, and I had warts on my fingers. So there are pictures of Michael and me, in Ithaca, doing whatever - playing cards, reading, and you can see the band-aids on my fingers. Romantic! But it was funny because it had been months - but there was Michael, picking up my hand to peer closely at it.]

Michael's all in my space. I like it. We flirted like maniacs - but because we've already basically had a relationship - there's a different feel to it. It feels safe. The currents run deeper.

As we walked to his car (he has a car!) - he kept hugging me and wrestling with me and whirling me around - I joked at one point, "Hey. Learn boundaries." That kind of pseudo-therapy talk always made Michael laugh so hard. He said, "Fuck you. I can't have boundaries with you." While he's pulling my hair, and grabbing me by my belt buckle, pulling me to him.

We had a ball during the show. We had issues with the production - and with the script - we both felt like we had done great in our auditions, so we had fun, in that bitchy actor way - whispering criticisms to each other. We talked at intermission, getting into it - and of course, all we were doing was telling the other one that they were MUCH better than the actual actor playing it on stage.

Oh, and he laughed openly at my plastic barrettes and called me a "kinder whore".

I feel pretty when I'm with him. Weird. I had that feeling with P, too. P made me feel like I was the inventor of beauty and mystery and sex. Like I was Cleopatra. It's not quite that intense with Michael - but when he looks at me - I just feel the appreciative imprint of his eyes. I feel seen. I wonder if I make him feel the same way. Or is all of this talk, as M says, "a girl thing"?

Oh, and Michael calls me "dude" - the whole "dude" thing was an Ithaca phenomenon - and we all caught it. We all referred to each other as "dude". All of us. We said "Thanks, dude" to the cashier at Ben and Jerry's. Men, women, didn't matter - all were "dude". So he called me "dude" on the way back to the car - and I said, "Dude! God! I forgot about that!"

Out of the blue - in the lobby of the theatre - Michael said very hostilely, very confrontational, "So ... have you seen that 60 year old guy you were in love with?"

Every time Michael references P - he makes him older. So P. is 60 now! I couldn't help but laugh - at the surly attitude, too.

I didn't ask him about his ex-girlfriend - although I wanted to. See? There's the main difference between me and him. I don't ask something if I might not like the answer. He asks.

I want to be more like him. He's not passive-aggressive either. He's out there. Revealed.

But that, so far, was that. It's okay, though. I don't want another peripheral guy. I want a boyfriend.

P and I recently talked a little bit - he's reading Mating now - on my recommendation - and I think that maybe that book plus my letter are the sources of the new look in his eyes recently. A deeper understanding. A kindness. A patience with me. An ability to deal. He doesn't try to jostle me into the way it used to be. We cannot go back.

I have this vision of myself coming back here. 5 years from now. 10 years from now. Whevener. And I can see myself going to see his show - sitting in the back - not letting him know that I'm out there - and I have this feeling - I just KNOW (it's more than just a feeling) that, whatever else may change, our connection won't.

Quantum mechanics at work. 2 alternate separate yet very similar lives travelling along at the same moment. The Double Life of Veronique. We wil not see each other for years. And I can see me - 5 years from now - being really into a certain band, a new book - or, less obvious - I'll be experiencing a sudden random surge of interest in - oh, I don't know - Brigadoon - It doesn't even really matter what it is - and I know that the following will happen: I will be in a big Shenandoah phase, a big Seven Brides for Seven Brothers phase - and I'll sneak to the back of the club to see him play - and during the show P will reference Shenandoah, or Brigadoon, or he'll do a medley from 7 Brides - Whatever. I know that this will happen. [And it did. Again and again and again. Still does.]

Even when we are separated by miles and years - the connection will remain.

Love never dies.

Not really. It's like matter. It cannot be destroyed.

A connection like that - when it happens - can't be erased. You can pretend it is erased - but that would be all it was: Pretense.

We will go on, totally separate, more and more separate every day, but that silver cable will remain.

Nothing gold can stay. Right?

Diary Friday

Member Diary Friday? My desire to "do" Diary Friday comes in waves. Sometimes I am drawn to the high school journals, sometimes to the junior high school journals (even more mortifying) and sometimes - rarely - I am drawn to later entries, when I am a grownup (supposedly). This one I have posted before - and it is not from high school.

I'm going on a private writing retreat this weekend, where I will have lots of space and time for contemplation ... and those journals from my time in Chicago as a woman in my mid20s have a lot to do with what I am working on these days. So, in honor of my own needs, and what I want to focus on ... here is an entry from my time in Chicago.

It is fascinating to me how little I remember about certain things ... but thank God for journals (or - sometimes it's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes things should be forgotten) - but in the case of today's entry, I am so glad I wrote it down in such detail (even though I started to feel anxious just reading it. Holy crap.) But there is quite a bit here that made me laugh out loud, and also that made me filled with this weird fondness of remembrance. Like: wow. How on earth did THIS all work out? It seems so up in the air during this entry (that's because it is), so anxietal ... and yet it did end up 'working out'.

So the background is - I'm living in Chicago, I've been there for less than a year - and in a production of Golden Boy. I met M. that summer (he probably needs no introduction for regular readers) - he got my phone number - and we went out. Sparks flew immediately. But ... were we dating? How could I even tell? We didn't go out to dinner or to a movie. We met up at pool halls and bowling alleys. I was absolutely crazy about him ... but I have to say, my emotions were based on very little information (except my pheromonal response to him which was basically like a nuclear incinerator). He drove me INSANE.

Just to skip ahead in the story: M. was in my life in a major way for 11 years. He was one of the steadiest of friends, and my relationship with him ended up being (in retrospect mostly) one of the deepest of my whole life. But to judge from the beginning of it? You would NEVER know that that would be the case. It seemed to be just a case of hormones run amok. Not that there's anything wrong with that - but it still amazes me how connected we eventually were. Like on an ESP level. He crawled through my window every other night one summer because he seemed to have an aversion to doors, doorbells, and calling me ahead of time. He seemed to know what I needed, which naturally would fluctuate from day to day ... but he just went with it. It was such an important energy for me to discover in a relationship. I had never had it before. He is the star of my journals for a good 5 or 6 years.

I guess I had forgotten how unsure the whole thing was in the beginning (which is the focus of today's entry). I am now looking back on it with the retrospective knowledge that this guy would become one of my most important friends ever. But at the time? He was this unknown - and I was completely nutso about him ... in an out of control pheromonal way that made me feel crazy. We went on a couple of "dates" - to be honest I can't remember much - I know it's all in the journals though - and I realized pretty early on that this guy was WILD. This was not going to be a "dinner and a movie" kind of thing. But I was so fine with that - because I was not in a relationship-y place at ALL.

Anyway. My third date with M. was insane - involving a pool hall, "good gumbo", a towed car, and me lending M. 120 bucks to free his vehicle out of the car jail. I didn't know M. that well at all - but whatever, I leant him the money - even though that was probably most of what I had in the bank at that point. And to be honest - there was another layer to it. I had a method to my madness. If I leant him the money - that was a thread of connection between us. He, being who he was, would feel obligated to pay me back. We'd have to see each other again.

Yes, I am tricky. And yes, it paid off. I was no dummy.

I constantly felt overwhelmed when I was with him. I was just so into the guy. But I constantly struggled with the fact that maybe I shouldn't be? Should I not show it? How can I hide the fact that the man turns me into a PUDDLE??? We clicked so intensely on that level that I found it hard to concentrate on things a day after seeing him ... like my job, and answering phones, and everyday duties. We had only been out 3 or 4 times. I was a maniac.

Anyway - this entry describes the night where I went to the improv club where he always hung out (he's an improv comedian) - and he paid me back the money I had leant to him.

I know. A life-altering experience, right? The world shifted on its axis!

Reading this over now, I am amazed I was able to tolerate my own intensity - my God, listen to me! I'm an intense person. Or - I'm a sensitive person. Meaning - a tiny breath of wind could conceivably blow me over if I'm in the right space. Like I said elsewhere - I never (even in all the years I knew M.) was "over" him. I never took him for granted, and I never didn't felt my knees go weak when I laid eyes on him after not seeing him for a day. I also found him to be endlessly fascinating. Just as a human specimen. And he eventually figured this out about me ... and it was okay by him. It didn't bother him. As a matter of fact, the last time I saw him - in 2003, he said to me, "You can't spend your whole life making a study of me." You wanna bet??

But here -in this entry - only the 4th time I was ever in his presence - it was all still totally tippity unbalanced scary ... I read this and felt it all over again.

Oh, and a cool and weird thing: I was re-reading this this morning - and all of the peripheral people in this entry, every single one of them, all of his friends - they are all famous now. Names you would recognize. I saw many of them just win Emmys, and mill about on the huge stage, accepting awards. At the time I knew them, I was just the "hovering chick" of one of their good friends. They were just kids. 26 year old guys who happened to be extraordinarily funny.

But I'm amazed at how I dissect these moments. It's exhausting and yet I very much admire my analysis. I don't know if I would do that now.

SEPTEMBER

Friday ended up being another "no show" night [for Golden Boy - which was not, sadly enough, a hit. Sometimes we played to 5 people. We would cancel shows if less than 5 people showed up. Horrific.] It broke my heart. I felt crushed. After - when not one soul in this huge city showed up - we all kind of wandered around in a daze, comforting each other. I felt like my heart was cracking. Amelia started cleaning the dressing rooms like a maniac. "I need to do this!" Everyone sat in morbid silence. David went home to Maria. Bryan asked me, "Where'd David go?" "Home. After all, he is a newlywed." Bryan got this very stricken lonely expression. "At least he has someone to go home to."

Eventually, it was just a handful of us - Bobby included - sitting around, reading the stray NY Times lying around. Michael came downstairs, took one look at all of us and said, "Let's get out of here. This is depressing."

So we all went out for Mexican.

D.V. was crying in the darkened theatre and nurturing Earth Mother Kenny was sitting with him. We left word where we would be and took off.

We all had margaritas and a hell of a lot of food. We tried to shake the morose mood. The alcohol helped. There was live music. Bobby seemed to cheer up a little.

We (me, Bobby, Paulie, and Kenny) shared a cab home. It was 10:30 or so. We were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. Kenny glanced at his watch, made an exclamation of surprise - and said, "You guys - you guys -" and then in perfect Poppa cadences and accent said, "Come. We bring him home. Where he belong." [This was one of his lines in the show. Hahahaha] It was hysterically funny - it was 10:30 - exactly when the show would have ended - it also gave me a pin prick of sadness.

The cab dropped me off at home.

I threw on a little black dress, my bleached jacket - and applied RED lipstick, fire engine red. And I was off again, to catch another cab north to the Wrigleyside. [I am amazed at myself. I used to start my evenings at 11 pm. That would be unheard of now. Or - I'd have to be REALLY in love with someone.]

It's funny. I really am like Becca Thatcher now. [That is the funniest reference ever. I was SO into "Life Goes On" at that moment in my life - it was a burning obsession.] I never was before. Nerves would hold me back from action. They never ever stop me from doing something I want to do now. God! Never!

So I was pretty nervous in the cab. For a couple of reasons and on a couple levels. It all goes back to my expectations and worries about how gorgeous guys behave. Especially when you meet a gorgeous guy on his turf. Up until now, I have managed to meet him on neutral ground. It makes a big difference. But I was prepared for the worst. Which is totally strange because M. has exhibited none of the "gorgeous asshole" signs. He has never treated me that way. But still. Here I was - cruising alone to the Wrigleyside (at least I had a mission - retrieving my money - that grounded me somehow. I wasn't going expressly to see him.) [God forbid you should just want to see him!!] So I kept imagining the worst - him being annoyed I was there, him being condescending to me - and I told myself - "If it's like that - then just get my money - and GO."

Thru this whole thing with M. so far - I have preserved my sense of self. Thank God. If there's one thing I need - it's my self.

But he's not interested AT ALL in playing games. In fucking with me. He's into the NOW of it all. What we do and how we are together is just what he likes and wants. Neither of us get freaked out - and it's strange to me and strange to him.

Also - and this is very weird - I have no desire to call him. None! It's very freeing. And - at this point - I wouldn't be surprised if he did call me. And if the desire strikes to call him, I will. But until then - I don't even think about it. I'm too busy. It's just one of those things that IS. Its existence is solid and tangible - and FINE, just the way it is. No need to monkey with it.

I am dropped off at the Wrigleyside [this was a bar - with an improv club on the second floor].

Oh yes - one thing I was rather apprehensive about - but also curious and eager, too - was the prospect of Rob being there. [This made me laugh out loud. I was SO worried about this. Rob was also a comedian - and I think I had gone out on one date with him - the chemistry wasn't there, even though he was nice and funny ... but I was so terrified, on some level, that Rob and M. would start talking to each other, and comparing notes. It's not like I was cheating on either one of them - I was a free agent - but I was so afraid that I would be hanging out with M. and Rob would be there or whatever. It's so ridiculous. Also - no way on EARTH would M. ever talk to Rob about me - even if he knew we had gone out. M. was a gentleman. The soul of discretion. Way more discreet than I was. Anyway - the whole Rob vs. M. thing was tormenting to me - and yet I also totally enjoyed it, I loved the confusion - after 3 years of sterile monogamy.] I actually kind of wanted Rob to be there - the more chaos I invite into my life the better. I want to have adventures. I want my nights to be a series of bizarre encounters, embarrassing sizzling gaffes, of run-ins, of intrigue, of espionage.

So I kind of hoped to see him. See what would happen. Roll with the punches. Embrace anarchy.

I was in a state of alertness. I felt powerful, edgy - but not tense. [Oh, really, Sheila? You're not tense? Okay.] Just ALERT.

The Wrigleyside was wall to wall people. [The place was always pretty much packed 100% with improvisers. It was an insane place. So much fun.] The noise was deafening. I could barely get into the place. Everyone was screaming and roaring and DRUNK. The jukebox was deafening. The bartenders looked frazzled, and were in states of constant motion. I stood there, scanning the crowd, conscious all the while of the fact that I could be being watched - M. could be there somewhere. Where was he?

Also - another word about M. [I have probably written 150,000 words about M. over the years. He is the star of the journals - more so than anybody else - even guys I was madly in love with. Nobody fascinated me like M.] He's not devious - in that kind of self-conscious way. That kind of elaborate ACT that some guys put on and call a personality. (It's always the gorgeous ones, because they know they have power, and they know they will always be forgiven - because of their beauty) Guys like that hold back, they distance themselves, they veil their eyees, they make sure they always look cool and aloof. M. does NOT behave this way. Not once has he pulled a cool or aloof act. He is who he is. He's not tricky. Or cruel. He's honest - but he's not cruel. He's a good person. He really is. [I knew this from the moment I laid eyes on him onstage. And I wasn't wrong.]

Throngs. I started elbowling my way through, looking for him. The place was so packed that I did have a moment of thinking, "What if I can't find him? What if he's already left?"

There's something very precarious and exciting about the Wrigleyside. [Oh God. That is an embarrassing statement. Sheila - it's a BAR. That's it.] It always feels like something is about to happen. And something always does happen to me when I go there. Nature abhors a vacuum - so even those 15 seconds of looking for M. in the crowds felt fraught with expectancy. Any second, some insane person is going to charge over to me and change my life. Demand to know me. Demand to be known by me. Whatever.

Quick, Sheila. Find him quick.

Finally, I caught sight of him [see - it's so silly - but I feel all nervous just re-living this right now!] - sitting over in the corner in the front of the bar - against the wall. Bandana on that gorgeous head. God. He was talking to some people, nodding, listening ... with that listening look in his eyes ... that serious innocent look.

I saw him. I didn't charge right over (as, undoubtedly, Becca would). [HA!!! Becca became my Model for Living.] I did a couple things at once. [Watch how I dissect this. I am giving myself a heart attack here ...] I know I smiled - in anticipation and excitement for whatever was about to come next - I took a deep cleansing breath - to get "cool" - and keep my power.

[Funny thing: I was the one who did the "cool and aloof" thing in this relationship. I totally thought it was necessary - because I felt like M. had so much power over me ... but turns out, it was just me being scared, trying to protect myself - and, on occasion, just being a total ASS. When I look back on this - I think: maybe all those gorgeous guys out there pretending to be cool and aloof - are actually scared little boys inside, trying to protect themselves? Maybe they're just assholes - I know many of them are ... but still ... I find it interesting that I wrote all that stuff about how I liked that M. wasn't cool or aloof ... and there I was, trying to get "cool and aloof".]

But before I did all that - I quick quick quick flitted my eyes over who he was talking to. One person had long hair and I wanted to make sure he wasn't coming on to some girl when I went over. I felt no jealousy or anything like that. It was a totally practical thought. Well, no, it was just a guy with long hair - and I realized that he was basically talking to his fellow team members [Improv clubs usually have "teams" - people who constantly work together. M.'s "team" were made up of the funniest guys in Chicago. Their shows were un-fucking-believable.] Instantly, I deemed it safe to go over. I didn't give it a second thought. Over I went.

I am "specifically brave". M. is Claude Collier, and I am Mary Grace. [References to "Lives of the Saints" - my favorite novel at that time. I adore it still. "Specifically brave" was a phrase used to describe the volatile nutso Mary Grace - a woman who left men in "crumpled heaps" about the town. A real heartbreaker. And Claude Collier was the kind-hearted heavy-drinking INSANE lead of the novel ... an indelible character.]

I have begun to walk through the world - my world - like I belong in it. I have forever tiptoed thru my life - apologizing left and right - for merely taking up space. No more. I belong here. This is MY world.

My heart was POUNDING. [So much for being "cool"!!] I elbowed my way towards him - he still hadn't seen me - he was talking and listening - talking vigorously with 2 others - the big big black-haired guy with glasses from his team (very very good - they're all very very good) - and the long-haired boy. And here I come! What's it gonna be, M? Scorn or pride? Are you gonna blow me off or welcome me? I love this shit.

His face makes me laugh.

Then he saw me - and his face totally lit up in excitement and joy. [Seriously: I re-read this this morning and sighed in relief. I'm reading about my own damn life - but I didn't remember any of this ... and I found myself thinking: "Oh God, I hope he's nice to her. She sounds so fragile to me!" Yeah. That's yourself you're talking about, Sheila.] Any anxieties I may have had just dissolved when I saw how happy he was to see me, and how open and welcoming his face was.

He had this huge smile. "Hey! Hi!"

"Hi, doll."

"I didn't think you were gonna show." he said.

I held out my hand for my money. [HA! Nothing like cutting to the chase. I have never been a "romantic" person - and I appreciated M. because ... he didn't try to romance me. Romance kinda makes me itch. I love LOVE itself - but romance? I can barely keep a straight face.] He reached into his shirt pocket and slapped me a wad of cash. He looked so happy to see me.

Guys can be so different when they're with their friends - and I did not encounter this - he was the same person.

I interrupted the guy conversation - just by walking over - and M's face lit up in recognition and we had this whole exchange with very few words that ended with him giving me a bunch of money. His 2 friends had no idea what was happening, who I was [I hadn't formally met any of them yet - although I had seen them perform a bazillion times] - or why M. was paying me. The 2 of them sat back - staring at me with curiosity. Also staring at M. With this look of: "Who is she? What is happening?" I glanced at them - and their faces were so expressive I started laughing.

I really think that - outside of improv - they lead - well, M. said it - "lame circles" of lives - they hang out at the Wrigleyside and get drunk. [And now they parade up and down red carpets on both coasts, clutching trophies, giving soundbites to entertainment reporters. Amazing!] And here I come - this brand new face - a GIRL too - they're such a macho group, no women - they were staring at M. sending him eye-telegraphs: "Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?" I felt like a celebrity.

I think M. was mostly relieved that I had shown up so that he would no longer have to be under the burden of debt. He fumbled so quickly for the money. "I even kept it in another pocket - separated from my other money - cause otherwise I'd just spend it."

A. - the big black-haired guy - when M. finally introduced us, he said, "Hi. I'm A., and I'm an 8th of a ton." - this was a phrase much repeated over the night. But anyway. A. was the most blatant starer. Once he got over the surprise of this chick in a black minidress coming straight up to M. and being paid - he was full of questions. He wanted to know - and instantly - exactly what our entire story was. He bombarded me with questions.

How did he come to owe you money?
How did you guys meet?
Where was the car towed from?
What? Now - how?
What? Tell me it again?

He kept saying, "Now let me get this straight. You leant this man money?"

A. contemplated the entire situation very seriously, checking me out the whole time, trying to get a line on the whole thing, glancing over at M. to see how he was behaving. The other guy - J. - proceeded to sing a song very loudly, right in my face, trying to get my attention. Then N. came over - he's another absolutely talented guy on the team. He and M., for me, are the best. M. loves N. so much - it is obvious every time he mentions him - Just the thought of the guy makes N. laugh. "The guy inherently knows what is funny." said M.

So M. introduced us (he actually was very good about introducing me this time - he did it right away) - I shook hands all around. I had a moment of awkwardness. Now that I got my $ - should I leave? [Can you imagine how rude and weird that would have been? But that's my dysfunction. I don't tolerate awkwardness well. If I feel it - I disapear in a pouf of smoke. Leaving confused men behind me, going: "Where the hell did that girl go?" Thank God M. was patient with this weirdness of mine.] Does he want me to leave? [Yeah, that happy expression on his face says: "Please leave, Sheila." Sheesh. I was retarded. Or maybe just a quarter tard.]

But then I thought - Fuck it. I'm staying. I ordered a beer. I told M. that no one had shown for our show. His reply: "Ouch." We talked about his show - it had gone really well. M. and N. sat and discussed it - and it was wonderful to listen in. They're so fucking good at it - they respect the form so totally - and they respect each other - they're all about structure - they know that structure serves them rather than limits them. They work together. They talked - about split-second missed moments - and also times when they read each other's minds.

M. loves N. It's obvious onstage and it's obvious off. He trusts him totally. "I knew you could see what I was doing." I drank my beer. I didn't say a word. They were all very welcoming to me, though - very inclusive. Even though there wasn't a woman in the bunch.

M. informed us all that for the next 5 days he was going to be going through an intensive detox. [I'm laughing out loud. Even though it's not really funny] He said, "No drinking, no smoking, and no eating. Just drinking water" and taking this herbal medicine he's really into. "My body needs a purge. It really does."

I said, "Why? You don't feel good?"

"No, y'know? I don't. I'm wrecking myself. So I bought all these herbs from my acupuncturist ---"

A. interrupted. "Your what?"

"My acupuncturist."

"YOUR ACUPUNCTURIST?"

"Yeah, my acupuncturist."

"You have an acupuncturist?"

M.'s eyes can be so serious, so inward-looking. And also, open. He's apocalyptically sexy, I think. [Ha! He's so sexy it's like the end of the world!] We all sat there and discussed acupuncture, making fun of it. The whole thing was like a comedy routine - M. being serious, all of us busting on him. M. is very into it, and would seriously defend it. N. thinks M. is crazy - as far as buying all those herbs goes. N. said, "Fine, if you want to get taken by some pseudo-guru in Oak Park ..." This made M. laugh. God. The laugh. [See what I mean? Overwhelmed by him.]

M. was dreading not smoking. A. started calling M. "Johnny Detox".

At one point, I was standing up against the wall - and A. and M. were both on bar stools. I was drinking my beer, cool as a cuke. There was a lull in the conversation. M. glanced at me, and then didn't look away. He was just STARING at me. With something very kind in his eyes. Something soft. A. was alert as an eagle, watching the whole thing.

M. said, "You're beautiful, you know that?" Reached out and ran his finger along my jaw. Slowly. Then he said to A., "Isn't she beautiful?" He looked back at me, cupped my chin and jaw in his hand. "Isn't this a beautiful girl?"

The whole thing - the action of it - the tenderness - was almost too much to deal with. I couldn't respond. I just stood there and took it.

A. said, "She's blushing."

I was. My face was hot. But weird. I felt beautiful for the first time. Cause of how he was looking at me. [And that's love, folks]

M. kept touching my chin - my jaw line - ran his finger up my jaw bone - ear to chin - said to A., "Look at that. God. Look at that." [I have no memory of this. It's like I'm a racehorse he's assessing or something] I felt mortified - but also GREAT. I didn't move. I just let him examine my jaw to his hearts' content. I was totally alive in this moment. [That sentence chokes me up.] That moment: his touch, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, A. watching ... Believe it or not, M. was not intoxicated either.

Eventually I got me a bar stool. M.'s eyes kill me. Gotta say it. He was very into detox-ing and kept talking about it. He was dreading it but committed to it. He has this admiration for his acupuncturist - "a phenomenal man" - and suddenly - I wasn't paying attention - M. nudged me and gestured to a plastic cup of liquid put down in front of me. He said, "That was sent over you from Nancy." ! [I think that Nancy is ... actually, I have no idea. It has something to do with that Rob person. But I don't know why I wrote an enormous exclamation point there.] I stared at the drink blankly. Sniffed it. Sure enough - it was that same drink she had sent over the night I met Rob. Holy shit. [so dramatic - ha - I have no idea why it's so dramatic]

Meanwhile, M. became seriously intrigued by what was going on - interested and confused by me - "You know Nancy?"

I nodded. My face was hot. He's got eagle eyes. I avoided him - looked around for Nancy - and there she was - at the other end of the bar - smiling and waving Hello to me. I smiled and waved Hello - but I didn't see Rob with her - however, I suddenly felt very very peculiar. It was a huge gesture on her part - ultimately friendly, I believe, but it had the strange flavor of: "Remember Rob? Remember Rob, while you're over there talking to M." And I know that it will get back to Rob that I was at the Wrigleyside with M. [And this I remember: yes, it did get back to Rob that I was "hanging out with M". Next time I saw him, Rob was all: "YOU LIKE HIM BETTER THAN ME!" I finally had to be blunt and say, "Yes. I do like him better than you." Strangely enough, even after that, Rob and I remained friends. Funny funny guy who looked just like Montgomery Clift. Scary good-looking. Hysterically funny.]

So that was bizarre and gave me heart palpitations.

The evening raged on.

At some point I found myself laughing absolutely hysterically with A. He was roaring - he asked me all about myself - what I did - I mentioned Golden Boy - he said, "Hey, you guys got the Critics Choice, didn't you?" I said, "Yup. Didn't bring in an audience though." At one point I told him to fuck off (I'm so shy) - and we made each other laugh.

M. was totally the same person in the bosom of his friends as he is alone with me. Me being there didn't cause him a conflict in his personality. He doesn't split himself like that. He is who he is - with no pretense. In a kind of fearful way, I expected him to be totally different with his friends. Guys do that. And suddenly you feel like an orphan if you're going out with a guy like that. But I should have known better. M. wouldn't be like that. Pretense doesn't fit with his personality.

I had somehow gotten quite quite drunk. All of these people, including the bartender, bought me drinks. I only paid for one beer. So the drunkenness snuck up on me. And that drink from Nancy - sweet as candy but lethal - pushed me over the edge. When I came home I lay in bed, and the room whirled about me. Anyway, I sat on the stool - feelin' sexy, and carefree, and enjoying life. Next to big galumphy M.

Oh - I caught a snippet of a conversation - they all play basketball together - a raging argument occurred about some play - some controversial game they had had - much dispute. M. kept saying, "I totally dogged you. No question about it. Yes, what you say is also true. But STILL. I dogged you." M. then told this story about when he was in high school, playing basketball, and being courted by colleges - all of these colleges vying for him - I started to listen very carefully - watching his face very carefully. He doesn't talk about himself a lot. So I fill in the blanks.

Or, wait. No I don't.

I accept the blanks.

[Sorry, but I think that's a bit profound. And THAT is why we lasted so long.]

I'm very intrigued. Very moved by him. Crazy, huh. My talent for obsession. [Some things never change.]

M. was standing against the front window. I was sitting, talking to A. There was a pause, and M. said, very pointedly, "Nice legs." My crossed legs in the black tights. "Nice legs." he said again. Then to A.: "Aren't they nice?" [Again, with the racehorse assessment behavior.] Poor A. Trying to be like, "Yes. Nice legs." and still be polite.

We still, though, by this point, had had no real physical contact. It is uncanny. Whatever it is between us is all right. I think, too, in looking back, that I went into that bar - with my paranoias - afraid he'd blow me off - that the whole thing would be a smouldering agonizing event full of hot silences and twitchy neuroses (a word: when have I ever experienced this with M.? Never.) So anyways, I was so determined that the night wouldn't go like that that, at first, I think I was giving off the vibes of aloofness. Not cold aloofness - I'm never chilly - but behind my little wall. My casual "Hey, what's up" wall. I would have loved to just fall upon him and hug him - but I felt the need to not do that. At first. However. I think he wanted to hug and kiss me - it was all over his face when he first saw me - it was in his body language, how he said, "Hey!" He's very unconflicted, and unafraid. So I ended up being the one discouraging him touching me, discouraging him warming up to me. At first. Because it's scary to be on someone else's turf, so completely. But - as usual - I was the one with that attitude. Not him.

So he didn't lunge at me - not for a while - but at the first opening that I gave him, the first softening up of my body language - he did. Then he was hugging me, and yanking me to his side, and all that. It was like we were both feeling each other out, protecting ourselves, circling around each other ... reading subliminal messages, all the while just wanting to hug each other.

Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I'm involved in it). [HAHAHAHA]

So we were all talking in a big group. M. said something - the conversation swirled on - but I stopped to ask M. something about his comment. He leaned forward to hear me better - his forehead wrinkles in thought, his serious blue eyes - those listening eyes full of light - intense - and suddenly - with our tiny one on one exchange - he took the sky diving leap. He came across the crowd and wrapped me up in his arms. [Thank GOD he was strong enough to deal with me. I was a mess! So afraid! He could handle it. He also didn't take any of it personally. He knew that my weirdness didn't mean I didn't like him. He knew it meant just the opposite.] He squeezed beside me on my stool - engulfing me in his big eyes. Announced, "Ah. This is much better." Kissed me on the forehead for a very long time. Incredibly sweet. M. noticed A. watching this whole thing. Grinned. I informed A., "I'm good gumbo." (I was drunk.) M. threw back his head and laughed - then bellowed to the entire bar, "YES, BOYS. THIS IS GOOD GUMBO. SHEILA IS GOOD GUMBO. MM-MM." Smacked his lips.

A. was baffled by the dynamic between M. and me. Kept asking us questions.

Oh, this was really funny - M. wanted to sit on my lap [which is so ridiculous - the guy had to be 200 pounds - ] - so we worked it out - he draped his body on my lap - in a way that we could have our arms free, to drink our beers. We weren't kissing or anything, just hanging out, sharing space, being totally happy with it. A. checked the both of us out - looking from M. to me and back. Finally A. said, "Do you guys want to ... talk to each other? ..... Or anything ... like that ...?" [A. was such a funny person. Still is.] It was like A. was giving us suggestions for behavior - trying to help us out - because we hadn't said 2 words to each other in the whole time I was there. It appeared to A. that we were sitting there silently - which was true. But M. and I exist on another level, an existence level, a telepathic level. What you see with us is NOT what you get. [I had known this guy 2 months as I wrote this way. Amazing the confidence with which I believe all of this. And even stranger: I was right. I wasn't just a stalker crazy girl projecting stuff onto this guy ... He really was all that. Hmm. Weird.]

But A. was making a joke - seeming kind of - concerned - anxious to help M. and me interact with each other.

M. and I said, in response, simultaneously: "Oh, we're fine."

M. then said, "That's not what we're about."

And I said at the same time, "We don't really talk."

Which completely threw M. into a tailspin. It was hilarious. I felt that M. and I were saying the same thing - but suddenly M. pulled back from me and said to me, "What do you mean? We talk." He was annoyed. Defending himself as though I were saying something bad about him.

I said, "Yeah, we talk - but it's not like I know one damn thing about you or you know one damn thing about me. That's what I meant." (A. is watching this whole thing like a ping-pong match.)

M. had perplexity and seriousness in his eyes. "Well - I think we exist more in the present."

And I said - because I didn't want him to feel defensive - we are in agreement - I said, "I know we do. I love it."

He gave me that look he had given me that pool playing night - that searching piercing look - trying to see into me. Then he stated, "You're lying."

I said, in the emphatic way that I have - "M. I am TOTALLY not lying."

It was important to me that he knew it. Because that living in the present thing is EXACTLY what I value in him - and what I need right now. I don't want it to be anything else.

He kept giving me that searching look - and then apparently was satisfied that I was telling the truth. He said, "Okay." Then he yelled, "So don't give me that We Don't Talk crap!"

And at that point, I believe he took my entire nose in his mouth. We were back to normal.

I said, "So what are you gonna do during detox?"

"Sleep."

The stopping of smoking is the most incomprehensible thing to him. Even more than the drinking. "I can't imagine not smoking, Sheila. It's gonna be so fucking hard." This detox is inherently temporary. I asked him if he had any desire to quit permanently. He said he did, but not now. He can't fathom life without cigarettes. He also knows, though, that he feels like hell most of the time.

A. said something to M. that gave me a chill. He said, "You realize, buddy, that we aren't gonna see 30."

M. balked at that and started talking feverishly about acupuncture and herbs and energy systems. He has the constitution of a 60 year old man. That's when A. said, "Herbs won't do it, Johnny Detox."

They're a scary crowd. On the edge. In their 20s. Reckless. Out of control. They love each other dearly - and deal with each other on a very honest level. But they rage. They rage. On the edge.

M. was going to go home and go to sleep, begin his Detox hell. He is crazy. But he is cute cute cute.

I am drawn to him in such a STRONG way. His face just kills me.

He told me about setting the money aside in his room for me. "I had to keep it separate from my other money - Like: This money is NOT MINE."

He said, "I told you I was good for it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you told me."

He gave me a massive hug which nearly cracked my ribs. He looks at me with friendliness and no fear. Maybe a little bit of confusion. But ultimately warm. He likes me.

He kissed me. His friend of the present moment. And then he went home to bed. And I caught a cab and went home. Drunker than I realized. I realized my drunkenness only when I got off the stool.

But it was a fun night.

Really fun. The touch of his fingers on my jaw bone. No pressure though. I'm, by nature, a hyper person. But I am comfortable with this non-hyper thing that we are inventing for ourselves. And so far, it's all been okay. I would not be surprised if more adventures were to come our way - but I also would not be surprised if I never saw him again.

Diary Friday

Two entries from my junior year of high school (I posted them 3 years ago or so -but I thought it was time to unearth them.)

The second entry, reading it now, made me laugh so hard that tears streamed down my face. It's about one of our teachers who used to give us all nicknames. I am howling reading them. I am so glad I wrote that crap down!!

Once again, my junior year was when I was WILDLY AND PASSIONATELY IN LOVE ... with a boy who sort of liked me. He liked me as a person, not as a girl, which is devastating (devastating then, devastating now). It took me an entire YEAR to realize that he liked me as a person, not as a girl. Bummer.

In the first entry, my mother gives me some AWESOME advice ... (which, of course, I blatantly ignored for the next 20 years of my life to increasingly tragic results. Sorry, Mum!! Shoulda listened!)

Also, Meredith: In writing about Mr. Butler, I STILL felt punching the air - like I did so many years ago in the high school cafeteria. How I hated that man!!

December 2

Thank God the week is over. And tomorrow -- I shall be in NYC with Drama Class and Mere and Kate and Beth. ["shall"?? Who are you, Elizabeth Bennett??] I really need this break now. I can't wait! The city just excites, exhilarates me. I can forget about stupid Chemistry and stupid school.

Oh yes - I finished my paper for English. I am so proud of it! I worked really hard on it - 12 typed pages. Last night I got 4 - count them - 4 hours of sleep. [Can a diary "count"?] I typed and typed - my back still aches. I got up late and had to dash out without breakfast. I got to school - I felt so weak and light-headed - J. told me my face was stark white. My stomach gnawed painfully - I must have looked gorgeous.

Once again - French picked me up. [Shorthand translation: HE was in my French class, so I got to be in his presence; hence, the "pickmeup".] French comes at a perfect time for me -- in the middle of the day. Project Adventure days [a gym class that HE was in with me] are heaven. First period just sets me off in a good mood. I don't have to struggle on to get to period 4. [Okay, Sheila ... so ... you might want to look at your propensity to WILT when you are not in the presence of the guy you love. Not a good habit to get into.]

He has no idea. [THANK GOD.]

I came home today and thought about him really intensely. [hahahahahahahahahaha The image of that] I didn't think about us [There is no "us"], or asking him to dance - but I thought about him. He's a person. Why is that so thrilling to me? I just look at him - hair combed, glasses - Mum said to me, "I think at the dance, you should wait for him to ask you. You've let him know, don't push it. But also - you don't want to take away from his masculinity, his maleness." It sounds sexist but I know what she means. If he does feel something, then I want to give him a chance to do something about it first. I hate being such a dreamer. I'm gonna be crushed someday. [Yes. You will. You will be crushed over ... and over ... and over ... and over ... ]

I think humans are beautiful. Aren't people beautiful? I imagine his growth [as in height? or his soul-growth?] and his teenager-hood - He is a teenager. Just like everyone else. He has up days, down days. I don't really know what I'm trying to say but -- I know that when he looks at me, I feel in awe of nature for just creating life. Individuals. Created out of the stuff of nature. Atoms. Molecules. And him -- I mean - who is he? What is it like inside his head? Does he have questions or fears about sex? Is he a virgin? Oh God I don't even want to contemplate that one. I wonder if I look as virgin pure as I feel (and am!!!!)

I think the masculine race is wonderful.

[Race? Ah well. To a 16 year old girl, boys sure are a different race.]

December 3

Dance tomorrow night. I am not going. I wouldn't care about it if he weren't there. [All eggs in one basket. A basket who liked me as a PERSON, not as a GIRL. Not a good idea.] That was the reason I went to Homecoming and it was going to be the reason I went to this one. He is now at Harvard representing some little country and debating. [This must be Model UN. At least I hope it is. Otherwise I have no idea what he was up to. "Representing some little country"?? Unofficially? Or ... hahahahaha] I WISH I WERE THERE! I'll have to get April to tell me all about it.

Next week - the 15th - the band puts on their annual Christmas concert in the gym. Of course I planned on going. Now what I didn't know was that he is in the Stage Band and -- he has a solo where he stands up alone to play. J. says he really gets into it, leaning into the music. I can't wait!

I have too much homework. I feel extremely close to a mental breakdown. [hahahahahahahaha.]

Every night I stay up until midnight. Chemistry is plaguing my life out, no thanks to Mr. Amoeba Man [the teacher, a man we all despised]. I really am teaching myself Chemistry. History is so boring. Mr. Butler is really sexist. He openly tells the girls in our class he doesn't think it's right that girls wear pants. "Oh, Kelly, you look very pretty today. It's a shame that girls wear sweatpants nowadays." Kelly has gym right before History. Asshole. I mean, he's a nice grandfatherly sort of guy, but he condescends to the girls when they ask questions, and treats the boys like members of his team. It gets a bit much!! [I'll say. Fuck HIM, Sheila, fuck HIM. Don't give him another thought. Not worth it. He was actually NOT a nice grandfatherly type. He was a dick. Anyone who treats girls in their class the way he treated us girls is a dick, I don't give a shit how old he is.]

First period studies and gym are heaven. Studies -- of course we never study! Studies are not there to study in, are you crazy?

Kate, J., April and I sit at one table and cry with laughter for forty-five minutes. It's a blast!

Math is crazy. Mr. James is crazy. He throws chalk and erasers at people. He threw a pencil at me - it hit me in the tooth. [I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING] He gives everyone nicknames. He calls Kim Gately - Rusty. (Think about it.) He calls Dawn Wemmer - Sunrise. He calls Tim Devinck - Leonardo. Steve W. has his hair cut really evenly - he is called Bowl. Mark W. has the same haircut, and he is called Bowl II. John Marcus is called Aurelius. Sue Rice is called Corn Flakes. He calls me Marsha. (As in Marsha Malley). Oh yeah, and there's this kid in our class named Tuan Do - Mr. James calls him Don Ho. Sean O'Brien is this kid who looks like a leprechaun, or an elf, maybe. Or the Baby New Year in the Christmas special. Mr. James always calls him Baby New Year, right to his face. "Who knows the answer - Baby New Year?" [Is anyone else guffawing right now? This is all SO inappropriate and SO FUNNY] Everyone laughs in that class so much. The kids who don't have nicknames feel left out. Mr. James is always saying, "Hey, come on, Sean - wake up! New Years is coming!"

I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE CHRISTMAS CONCERT! [I find the lack of segue and the capital letters quite alarming]

My favorite author, by the way, is JUDITH GUEST. [Where the hell did THAT come from?] Oh my God - her books honestly make me cry. It's rare to find a book just as good as the movie or vice versa. But - it runs both ways here, with her Ordinary People. I loved both equally. I bought her 2nd book Second Heaven in NYC. I love how she writes. Her characters are wonderful! I'd love to act in a movie of one of her books. I'd love to be able to have one of her characters and say, "That's my character." If I was a guy, I would have killed to play Conrad!! I hope Judith Guest keeps writing more and more and more and more.

God, this entry is boring. I'm bored just writing it - so I am going back to Chemistry and p⁺ and e^- and moles and Avagadro's number and 6.02 x 10²³ and I can't wait!

Diary Friday

This mortifying entry is from the summer in between my sophomore and junior year. Frankly, I sound bi-polar. The ending just cracks me up. It is 100% sincere.

August 17

I am SO happy! I'm TOO happy! The past few days have been perfect. Before I fell asleep every night, I would think: Wow - this has been a perfect day.

On Sunday, we went up to Jimmy's "Country Club", as we all call it. [Ed: Jimmy was a beloved uncle - and also my godfather. Truly, one of the most memorable characters you would ever meet in your life. He had a house, and in the backyard was a pool and a tennis court. The O'Malleys would convene onto this 'country club' with regularity during the summer. God bless Uncle Jimmy. He was a true original.]

Gerald is getting married!!! [Ed: Gerald is a cousin. He's a big-wig in the US military with kids who are now adults. So basically what I'm trying to say is I am terribly old..]

Last week was freezing, Diary! [I must proclaim "Diary!" just to affirm how cold it was!] It went all the way down to the 50s, and I was pulling out of my winter drawers turtlenecks and flannel nightgowns! But Sunday turned out to be really warm. It was, of course, another gorgeous relaxing day. Jimmy is such a good host, and we all feel calmed down when we leave. [Ed: Tears. I miss him.]

Oh yeah, on Saturday I went shopping - got pants, 2 sweaters, sneakers, and a Police album. The Police are my new passion. Give me Sting. [I demand it. Give me Sting.] So anyway, I brought my tape of it, and I lay out in the warm sun on the thick grass - I mean, the grass is like a blanket - and I wrote my story beside the pool. I didn't feel like going in, but after a while I went to practice my tennis. Jimmy has this machine that is great - it shoots balls at you - so it's really good for practice. Jimmy showed me the stance, and the grip (I think I'm the only person in the world who loves John McEnroe - I DO!) and I hit back the balls until my elbow hurt - my hands hurt too! They were shaking! I rested for a while, then went back to play tennis.

My dad is so funny. He likes to show off to little kids and get them to laugh. He always goes up on the diving board and demands the attention of all in and around the pool to watch his "Olympic Dive", or his "Triple Sow-Cow". Then he'll sort of fall off into the water with his legs all tangled up, or bow-legged. It's hilarious. [I love my father.]

After a while, I got hot, and I dove in the cool blue water. It felt so good.

We were all in there for so long - doing "Fame" jumps off the board - and Peter Pan jumps - we had SO MUCH FUN!

Riding home, Jean and I sang camp songs ("Have you seen Jesus, My Lord?"), and then the rest of the time - me and Brendan - who have both been reading All the President's Men, asked Mum and Dad all sorts of Watergate questions. [Brendan was 13, I was 15, and we're asking questions about Howard Hunt and Deep Throat. Love it.]

The sky -- The sun had just gone down, so behind us there were clouds with the sun right behind it - so the whole cloud glittered and was outlined in silver. The whole sky was clear -- sort of a soft lavendar color with long strips of clouds -- then there was this wicked vision [Ed: The slang of the time! "Wicked" is still used, with regularity, in Rhode Island.] : the sky had turned all shimmering gold and there were dark smoky grey clouds rising above the gold, and clouds below the gold too - so it honestly looked like a lake reflecting the golden sunset - and the clouds looked like the mountains and trees around the lake. Try to imagine it. It was gorgeous!!!

Then on Monday - when I came riding back from my paper route, Karen hailed me from the B's yard, and I ran over to see her hair cut and after she left, Bobby and I sat on his lawn and talked from 5 to 8:30!!! He is SO wicked! [Ed: That is one of the funniest things I have ever read in my life. "He is SO wicked!!"] He is the nicest boy, and he is so honest. If you want to talk about a real teen-age boy [Ed: Uh ... who are you talking to, Sheila? Also - I'm not quite clear what you mean here. YOU are a teenager. Are you a good judge??] -- he is it. He's worried about how he has no muscles. He told me about that. He doesn't like his skinniness. Really, he doesn't look bad though. He is really slim. He tells me everything. He wants to be a doctor. He really wants to fit in and be accepted in high school. He feels shy, though. I can tell him anything too. It's really great!

Mere likes him (she has for 2 years) and I have kept her secret faithfully. But then - I was just lying there - and out of the blue, he asked, "Is it true that Mere liked me?"

I almost had a coronary.

I just went, "Uh ... uh ..." I was NOT going to say anything. He did all the talking.

I went nuts. I just lay there, heart throbbing, lips shut tight for fear that I might spill something out.

I kept her secret! I didn't say a word!

But we had a really good time. He is a very different kid, whether he knows it or not. A good person. Mere deserves that. She really does.

Yesterday was a nothing day, and today was a "teenager day". [Ed: I was always on the outside, looking in at my own life, saying: "Wow, I am so acting like a 16 year old right now...".]

I went over to Mere's, we walked up to the malls - we were like: Let's totally be teenyboppers today - we had lunch at (where else?) McDonalds - and shopped. We browsed through CWT - I LOVE their clothes. Mere got a shirt. We tried on wonderful Lady Di hats. We went to Weathervane [God, the nostalgia!!] -- there's a pleated skirt there that I am absolutely in love with. Then we left and walked down to Richie's House of Bargains [Ed: A record store. It must be said in the Rhode Island accent. "Bah-gnz.".]. I bought another Police album with a breathtaking profile of Sting on the front. . I am hooked. I have this thing for Sting. I cry. Really I do! I saw a picture of him doing a concert with a broken arm in a sling. Oh, break my heart! Sting in a sling! I guess I have this thing for Sting in a sling.

Also, on Saturday I saw that James Dean documentary again. [Ed: Okay - so add him onto the heap. Sting, John McEnroe, and Jimmy Dean.] If anyone were to ask me: "Who is your ultimate idol?" - it would be James Dean. No one comes close. Well, maybe Marlon Brando. But I like Jimmy better. When they started showing all the funeral shots, with the shiny coffin and gravestone -- he was so young, he had so much going for him. Tears streaked my face. I kept whispering, "Why, Jimmy? Why?"

When you think about it, it is heartbreaking.

Diary Friday

This one is almost too embarrassing for me to get through.

When I was a freshman in high school, my parents yanked us out of school - all 4 of us - ranging in age from 14 to 4 - and brought us over to Ireland. I was the oldest. I was a devoted diary-keeper. I read some of this stuff and tears of laughter stream down my face.

April 3

Logan Airport, 10:00 pm It is raining like crazy, and it was lightning and thundering. But Aunt Anne called Aer Lingus and everything is on schedule. I am psyched but I am pretending that I am cool as a cucumber. I'm going to be very adult on this trip. [And then immediately write a diary entry that could not be more adolescent if I tried! Ha!!]

As of 10:00 pm I am sitting in a chair after going through that metal zapper machine (without a hitch, I might add) [I'm surprised your braces didn't set off the "metal zapper machine" - which is called a METAL DETECTOR, Sheila.] and watching all the punk white sneakers stroll by. I am crazy about white sneakers (Rick Springfield, Rod Stewart, Blackie Parrish and Darryl Hall all wear them), a contributing factor to my fondness for them. [WHAT???? What are you TALKING about? White sneakers are "punk", Sheila? "PUNK"? Uh ... Are you sure about that? Sid Vicious is punk, okay? Putting one safety pin through the lapel of the purple coat you bought at Weathervane does not make you punk. Also, "white sneakers" were never punk. Ever. Also, the Blackie Parrish reference is KILLING ME. I suppose the REAL appeal was that he 'wore white sneakers'. Jesus, Sheila, that is just so crazy.]

I'm pretty punk tonight with my jeans, purple coat and safety pins. [NO YOU'RE NOT. YOU'RE NOT "PRETTY PUNK". Just STOP.]

But why am I talking about this??? My family is going to Ireland!!! I am going to miss all of my friends incredibly. Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate. I've never even been on a plane before and I am stocked up with gum.

I went to a Good Works play last night with Mere, Betsy, and Beth. Brian C. was there. OH GOD. I love those three kids so much! Mere, Betsy and Beth.

10:15 pm [ That time stamp kills me. I started the whole entry at "10:00 pm". I then wrote a couple of paragraphs - see above. Then I state "10:15 pm." It's not like a huge gap, like I wrote the first section at 10:00 am, and the next time I mention the time it's 3:00 pm. Like: a lot can happen in 6 hours that would warrant an update. But I clearly had only been writing for 15 minutes! What is the purpose of listing that "10:15 pm"? Obviously nothing earth-shattering had gone down since I had written "10:00 pm". It kills me!! ]

I am now on the plane all buckled in next to Brendan (thrrrills. he's gonna talk the whole way). I have a window seat, nanny nanny boo boo. (Oh, how adult I'm being.) [This whole paragraph is horrifying to me, on multiple levels.]

We have a really nice English stewardess. I like her accent. She's talking to us. Her best friend's name is Siobhan. Imaaaaaaagine that!

A grease bomb just walked by.

I have never been so frightened. We are going a trillion miles an hour. Don't let me die. We are up SO high! I'm really scared, folks. [Folks?? Who ya' talkin' to?]

1:00 am (6:00 Irish time)
We just had dinner.

Guess what movie they're showing ? FOUL PLAY. Is that a coincidence or what? (I am madly in love with Chevy Chase.)

April 4
County Clare
Watching the sunrise out of the plane windows was gorgeous. All the clouds were pink and orange and we couldn't even see the ocean. And flying in over Ireland -oh, it was so pretty! All of the fields divided by hedges - oh, it was so wild. But I forgot to chew gum on the way down and it felt as if someone was pounding on my head with a hammer. [I'm shaking with laughter. I went to the trouble to buy chewing gum to guard against ear-popping during the plane-landing. And then completely forgot about it.]

We had to stand in line at the Shannon airport and wait around. We got this tiny gold car that is so cute. We drove around those winding streets lined with tall hedges and after an hour or so we found a place to stay - McMahon's Bed and Breakfast Place. It is in Ennistymon. The beds are so comfortable (featherbeds) and Mrs. McMahon is so nice. So are all the people here. They all wave. We unwound for an hour or so and then we went down the street to the Falls Hotel. There we found a river and beautiful waterfalls. Dad took some pictures and then we took off in the car for the Cliffs of Moher. The roads were thin and high and we could look down over the hills and thatched roofs . It was great!

But the cliffs! They were SO incredible. I felt quite nauseous because they were so high. I only went up to this tiny stone castle but Jean, Brendan and Dad went all the way up to the top. It was SO FAR DOWN. I almost couldn't look.

We took a different ride home and on the way back we stopped in Kilfenora to watch an Irish football game. We stopped and we asked this girl if we had missed the whole thing. And she said in her Irish brogue, "No, we've got another half to go." I like listening to them talk.

We watched the game and it was not at all like our football. The ball was round and they dribbled and pushed and shoved. It was kind of neat.

But I was wiped out and slept the whole way home. I went upstairs and wrote letters to Betsy, Mere, and Beth until supper. We washed up and Mrs. McMahon served us soup and lamb and homemade French fries. It was delicious. Jean loved the soup but I didn't, so I drank some of my broth, then we secretly switched bowls.

After supper we went upstairs and we took care of Siobhan while Mum and Dad went for a walk.

I listened to my SK Pades tape and then got into my pjs. ["I listened to my SK Pades tape". Now, I am not even sure what I am referring to here. SK Pades is a variety show, put on by the junior class every year at my high school. It's meant to bond the class together so that they can then face the difficult last year. But it's for the JUNIOR class. I was only a freshman at the time of the trip to Ireland. So ... what I am gathering is that I had snuck a tape recorder into the SK Pades of that year, the class two years ahead of me, taped the whole thing, and then hauled the tape around Ireland with me, listening to it like a lunatic. Please remember, too, that this was pre-Walkman. Or, if there were Walkmans in existence, I sure didn't have one. So when I say "I listened to my SK Pades tape" what that means is that I had a little cassette recorder, and played the damn tape for all to hear, which also means that saying "I listened to the tape" is not quite correct. What it means is "I made everybody in my room at the B&B listen to the SK Pades tape with me." I was clearly insane, and probably should have been in an institution.]

I was the only one who got into my pajamas.

God, I am so tired. I'm going to bed.

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

I am 15 years old here and I have a LOT going on.

1. Preparing for my confirmation
2. "Co-ed cast party" for a school play - co-ed!! What - had I just moved to Rhode Island from Saudi Arabia?
3. Spinning dreams in my head of learning to play the accordion
4. Obsessing about James Dean

It's amazing I had time to eat or bathe.

APRIL

Slept over Mere's. I was exhausted. Mere is teaching herself to juggle and balls were flying everywhere. We watched For Your Eyes Only and The Jerk. Oh, Steve Martin. We woke up - Mere's curls were all tousled, and my hair looked like a mohawk. We all shuffled into the kitchen and had an English breakfast - which was like an Irish breakfast - bacon, eggs, toast - except in Ireland we had sausages. We listened to the radio while we ate, and Jayne came in. She has a cold and had to work the night before. Anyway, we ate, and Mere juggled, and we all talked. [That image makes me SO HAPPY] Here's the plan: Mere is going to become a really good juggler and she'll get a job at the hospital as a clown, and her grandmother has a simple octave note accordian and I can teach myself to play it and we'll be a team. Wouldn't that be neat? [Only if your highest ambition is to be Patch Adams. Sheila, do you honestly want to play the ACCORDION at a hospital? Don't you have enough social problems in high school?]

I bought some clothes that make me look really thin!

And then Saturday at 5:00 there's gonna be a cast party for Scapino. Everyone's gonna be there. That'll be so neat! A co-ed party! [What is this - "Bye Bye Birdie"?] I mean, I've been to co-ed parties, but not real ones with cute neat guys. The only other co-ed party I went to was when I was 13, and we played spin the bottle. Hopefully this one will be different. [Uhm, what's better than spin the bottle?]

Then after the party!! AT 11:30 PM!!! JIMMY DEAN!!!! I can't wait! I have been waiting for this day all week. [The entire week of journal entries is interspersed with such outbursts - because I knew that Rebel without a cause being on TV on Saturday night. This is pre-VCR (at least in my home!). So I was dependent on the networks, I read TV Guide every week - I HAD to - because if I missed something, I would then have to wait another YEAR for it to come to television again!]

Friday
God, I have to do some catching up!

First - cast party. It was great. They had the video of Scapino [this was a play done by the Drama Club. And it was, I swear, amazing - I still remember a lot of it. There were SO many talented people in our Drama Club that year.] Everyone was there! Even Matt M! [He was gorgeous, aloof, and seemed like a grown man even though he was 17. Also: very talented. Still in Ye Olde biz, too, which doesn't surprise me at all.] Watching the video was great. I kept glancing at Matt when he was laughing. He is a breathtaking looking person. And T. is adorable. OK, maybe I do have a crush. Who cares? T. had on a black blazer with a Beatles pin and he just looked so cute. After that, we all had pizza, and then watched Stir Crazy. [HAHAHAHAHAHA OH. my. God. I love that movie!! Makes me laugh just thinking about it.] Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor. What a pair they are. I kept watching T. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and his face was intent and curious. But then, of course, there had to be a nude scene. The nude woman was dancing all over the screen - and I can't even explain it - we all just sat there like zombies, and all the girls tried to look blase and cool about it, and I whispered to Beth, "Watch the boys." Oh God, it was a riot. T. kept fidgeting and moving around ... Beth and I almost lost it watching how uncomfortable all the boys looked. But it was fun.

Then I went home and sat around waiting around until 11:30 and then I watched Jimmy Dean. Diary, I think he is the best actor in the world. [Woah. But whatever. Dean appealed to me so much at that time in my life because he was rebellious, unconventional, and sensitive. High school felt cruel to me. Especially boys. So a sensitive guy, who could be gentle, and sweet ... It killed me. His work meant a great deal to me back then. Also: I was learning from him. I was already interested in acting, and ... I STUDIED him. I wasn't just a fan. Not much has changed in my life, actually] I am not saying that in a childish way. I mean it: He is the best actor in the world. [Uhm ... Laurette Taylor? Eleanora Duse? Lawrence Olivier? Brando??] I am not saying this in a passionate moment either. [Oh, I see. You are saying it in the cold clear light of LOGIC. hahahaha I love how vehement I am. I'm STILL like that!] I still can't get him out of my mind. His face is magnificent - this is the first whole movie I've seen with him. [Wow. No wonder I was flipping out.] I was even shocked by him. Like - he was unpredictable. I had no idea what he would do next. GOD HE CAN ACT. He blew me away. I mean, I found myself focusing on his every move, every mannerism, gesture, every expression, every fucking word [Ooh, a rare swear from my teenage self!] ... The man was a genius.

There was a scene where he was drunk and the policeman is searching him and he gets ticklish and starts to giggle like a little kid. And I read where he wasn't directed to do that. That was all instinct. All from within him. Man. That blows me away. And just his tenderness, his awkwardness - He portrayed what every damn person goes through so well. I don't know what else to say!

After, I went up to my room and sat like a blob, feeling inside so much but I could never put it into words. My feelings were so excessive. It was too much. I felt as if I was gonna explode! I still can't get over it.

On Monday, we went up to the Boston Marathon. I took Mere. I couldn't wait for her to meet Lisa. [My cousin] We had a great time. Here were the jokes of the day:

-- ... You are so beautiful ...

-- getting the water and cups

-- running across the street

-- Ken and the wheelchairs

-- Hey, she thinks you're cute

-- These people hate us

You see, I hate to let memories slip by. They're precious. I can't bear to let anything be forgotten. [I have no idea what most of those jokes I just listed are.] Memories are the most important thing to me. I never throw anything out. I can't throw out the memory. I need to have all the frayed stories, dried flowers, and folded drawings - they're what keeps me going.

I think Mere had fun. I'm glad. It was fun. [Mere, I wonder if you showed my cousin Lisa how you could juggle??]

This morning, I got up at 8 and it was POURING. That day I went to URI to spend the day with a drama student - you know, go to their classes, absorb stuff. I was really psyched. I was hoping to meet some gorgeous guys. Andrei Hartt for one. [I have not thought of that name since ... the early 1980s. But suddenly his face just popped back into my head. I loved him.] He was in Academania. He was SO talented. SO SO talented. [Was he as good as James Dean though?] Jessica knows him. He wants to be on Broadway but he's majoring in computer science. [HAHAHAHAHAHAHA]

It was a great day but tiring because I spend the whole day just sitting and watching. But I absorbed and learned more than I did in a whole half-year of Drama class. We watched students do really intense improvisations. Some were just -- I don't know what I was expecting, but God, those kids are great. I mean -- really, they are kids, and they were so ... I don't know. They had so much depth and their acting didn't look like acting.

Then on Wednesday - listen to this day:

10:00 - dentist appointment.

12:00 - 2:00 - shopping for my confirmation dress.

2:30 - haircut

3:30 - orthodontist

I did not stop moving the entire day. At least the shopping was successful. I got two dresses! My confirmation dress is sort of a rough off-white material with a white rounded collar and ruffles down the front. It looks really nice on me and makes my stomach look flat and my boobs look fuller. I mean, I look sophisticated. Then I got this GORGEOUS dress. When it's not on me it looks like a maternity dress, but not when it's on me. [Horrible sentence structure. Horrible dress.] I look like a model in it. It's just like Susan's - the one I told you about. [Then there is a small drawing of the dress] And I got beautiful marshmallow pink heel shoes with a purse to match. I look like a successful career woman. [Uhm ... do "successful career women" wear MARSHMALLOW PINK HEELS????]

On Thursday, I babysat from 8:30 to 3:00 and I GOT $15.00! And today I helped this neighboring woman supervise her daughter's birthday party. It was fun. She paid me 6 bucks. [Jesus. What a bunch of cheapskates.] So I made $21 in 2 days!!!! [Wow. I was excited about that. I think you were being taken advantage of, Sheil-babe.]

And tomorrow is my confirmation.

I'll reflect on what that means to my life tomorrow. I'm too exhausted right now.

[The Catholic Church can wait, basically, for my moment of contemplation. After all, I bought marshmallow-pink heels for the big day ... WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT FROM ME??]

Diary Friday: A Chicago Winter

Not really full diary entries, just quotes and snippets and fragments I scribbled in the back of notebooks that I kept during a 4 month period in Chicago. I've posted some of this before. Some make me LAUGH, others make that whole time just spring back to life in a weird way. It was so intense, good lord. It was from a particularly manic winter of my life which I look back on fondly, although it was completely insane and ended up with me making the decision, in around March I think it was - to pick up and move from Chicago and go to New York City. So it was a crazy time.

I won't give too much background - it's funner to post these things without context, I think - except to say that the guy I reference as "M" was my main flame in Chicago, a particularly insane person (the one who would climb through my window at 3 o'clock in the morning) - and he and I had stopped seeing each other for a couple of months - and the details of it all escape me, although I do know that it involved him blocking me out of his bedroom by putting a humidifier against the door - and then me deciding that a good way to retailiate would be to leave a daily haiku on his answering machine. For FORTY DAYS. It was that kind of time in my life. Full of focused and committed frivolity.

Anyway, it appears from the fragments below that M. had reappeared - as he always did, actually - for years on end ... and we had reconnected and were once again thick as thieves. If memory serves, this brief reconnection would be interrupted by a glitch known to me as "The night of the Gingerman" where I refused to speak to him for, oh, 4 months? But again, I'll leave all that unsaid. It's funnier, actually.

Ann and I are obviously up to NO GOOD throughout most of this time, and it is making me LAUGH. We are always scheming and I am cracking up. Most of the quotes below involves the two of us "weaving webs of lies" because you know why? Because it was fun. It is fun to "weave a web of lies".

And the bit about me crying and how M. handled it ... I'm still laughing. It says who he is (and who I am, actually) perfectly.

DEC. TO MARCH

Joe: "Member in Pulp Fiction --"
Ann: "No, see now, that was Sheila."

Ann: "Is that the one where your hair is different?"
Me: "No, that's your fantasy."

Me: "I'm just gonna be myself--"
Ann: "I think you should. Of course, if you need to be married ..."

Me: "I think M. knew he could show up and I would let him know I wanted him to be there --"
Ann: "Or you'd blatantly ignore him like that night at the Wrigleyside."

Fragments from M.'s improv show
"Thank you, Gore Vidal."

"Gash (like a wound) - is offended."

"I wish I was a deformed midget."

1/13
Guess who crash-bang-boomed back into my life this week? M. I can't discuss the chemistry anymore (but of course I still will) - but it just exists. We're friends. M. is my friend. I really can see myself now paging him from a scary L platform somewhere and he'd come and save me. How do I BEGIN? Being with M. - after a year - is so familiar. It's like my maroon sweater or something. Oh, who KNOWS. I adore him. Like this is a surprise. It's a surprise to him, I think.

Mitchell: "Something has happened that I keep forgetting."

Me: "Isn't it great that M. is back in my life?"
Ann: "I think it's totally great, even though you know this is only going to lead to haikus and humidifiers."

Snippets from M.'s improv show
"I usually save an extra seat for the Narrator."

Roy, the Idiot Man-Child from the Service Station

"You're not even a zoologist!"

"Of course, we need to park on a street where there is a raging fire." - Me and Ann

Exchange between casting agent and M.
Casting agent: "The character is constantly getting into situations he needs to get out of. He's also a hopeless romantic. Do you think you can do that?"
M.: "I like acting."

M. to me, when he wouldn't let me drive his car: "There are traction issues that you just can't understand."

Fragments - from M.'s improv show
"Leave some room, John!"

"I like working with pigs!"

"You're gonna have to wear an eyepatch!"

From Vindication:
I have not the constitution, the education, the ability to concentrate. I fear for my sanity sometimes. There are days when I am on the edge of tears. Sometimes I am so restless I do not know what to do. Sometimes I can talk all night, like King George, you know. I am too, too happy, and in the same day I can be sad beyond hope. Sometimes teaching the girls is all I can do. Sometimes I am magnificent at it. Sometimes I do not know what to do with myself, my hands, my eyes. I want to fling myself down on the grass, embrace it, thank it, each little stem of it. I want a beautiful blue dress, shimmery, the color of the ocean. I want to be the ocean and the clouds. No, not the clouds, that is too far away.

"Well, that will make you more three-dimensional." - Me (weaving a web of lies with Ann Marie)

"You sent the man 30 haikus. I don't think he'll mind if you come to a couple of his shows." - Ann

We were all talking about what our "type" was. I had just come back from a weekend with M. I said, "My type of guy punctuates each sentence with a shot of Rumpelmans."

Me to M.: "I have a kinder-whore appeal ... or at least so I've been told."

Joey, talking to the television, as we watched 30something: "These are nice people, Susannah. They want to like you because they love Garry."

I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass thru me

M.: "There came a point when I was - whatever, it was clear to my parents that I had to be having sex by that time - I was 23, whatever - and my mom said something to me like, 'Well, at least you're not having sex,' and I had to say, 'Mom. Look. I'm having sex.' and she said, 'I'm glad you're not having sex.' Total denial. She couldn't even hear what I was saying. I think my mom could walk in on me actually having sex, and she'd be like, 'I'm so glad you're studying!'"

From the party 12/10
"These Oreos are insanely delicious." - Joey

"You just never know what will happen with broccoli." - Me

"I just kicked a pig." - Ann

Heard simultaneously by Ann:
Me: (with a mouth full of food) "I have an eating disorder."
Mitchell: "I can honestly say I've never slept with ----- oh, wait --- yes, I have."

George and Ann, providing dialogue to an old movie, with the sound turned down:
George: "That's why your dancing frustrates me - because I can't move!"
Ann: "Well, don't you think I understand that? I mean, look at my eyebrows!"

Ann: "I was thinking about your life the other day ..."

2/20
Me: Hi, honey.
M.: Hi, spanky.

Jackie: "The symptoms of this disease are: trouble with social skills .... long legs ... developing breasts as a man - and small tightly formed gonads."

2/24
M. calls my house - Jackie picks up.
Jackie: "Hello. Tony's Pizza Palace."
M.: "I'd like a Sheila to go."
Jackie: "And what would you like on that?"
M.: "Nothing."

2/23
Me: "I have my period."
M.: "What else is new."

Me to M. (and I was dead serious): "It would totally not surprise me if I disappeared into a white slavery sex ring at some point."

Me to Mitchell (about M.): "Isn't he so sweet?"
Mitchell: "He is. He is sweet." Long pause. "He's a lunatic."

Mitchell: "The improv jam is pushing all my buttons."

Mitchell to me: "If you say 'improv jam' one more time, I'm going to scream at the top of my lungs."

2/26
Crying in M.'s arms - it was, God, 3 am? I said later, "Sorry for crying like such a werewolf." Not aware that werewolves were big criers. But anyway, I couldn't stop. It wasn't sadness, though. I had been so wound up for about a week, and then I relaxed with him, and started to cry, and then I couldn't stop. For about an hour. Poor man. I kept saying to him, "Don't be scared - the tears are good tears ... I'm happy ... I'm so happy ..." He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, he was holding me, and he said, drily, "I hope you don't mind if I just take your word for it that you're happy, okay? I mean, you're fucking crying ..." "I'm just happy, M, I'm happy ..." "Okay, okay, you're happy. Christ."

1/13
7 a.m. Jazz Bulls. The place closed its doors at 6 a.m. M. was working - so there was grey weird light seeping into the basement windows. Everything looked weird. Pre-dawn. It felt like we were the only 2 people on the earth. M. said, "You want some coffee before you go to work?" "You mean ... go out?" I didn't think there'd be time for that. He scoffed at the "out" question. "No - I can make you coffee here. You want some?" "God, yes." I hoisted myself up onto the bar and sat there as M made a pot of coffee. His pants were totally ripped by that loony Christine bitch. I loved watching him shuffle around dealing with filters and coffee and water. He was adorable. All the while we were talking about us. I told him how comfortable I felt with him. At one point I fell into a depression, having to go to work after being up all night. I said, "I can't believe I'm going to work right now."

He was standing with his back to me, pouring coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Just black. And strong. And please don't say 'You like it like you like your men' or whatever. Everyone says that."

He poured sugar and cream into his own coffee, handed me mine, which I began to devour (it didn't even make a dent in my exhaustion) and then stood there, stirring his own coffee. We were lost in our own thoughts. He was deep in contemplation. Turns out, it was about me - but I didn't guess that in that moment. He was just pondering me, perched on top of the counter, pale, sipping the coffee he made for me, in the dawn-lit bar where he works, half an hour away from having to go to my job.

He turned to stare at me, still stirring his coffee. He looked at me for a long time. Contemplatively. I didn't ask what he was looking at me like that for. I just looked back at him. Then he said - slowly - choosing his words - or, no - not choosing his words - M. doesn't really do that - but slowly, as though this idea had just occurred to him and surprised him: "You must really like me."

That is SUCH a funny moment if I really ponder it. I've known this guy for 3 years, and now he says, in a tone of awe, "You must really like me!" It was so sincere. I started laughing. "Of course I like you. What are you, a moron?" Laughing at him. "You didn't know that I like you?"

"Well - no - I mean, I know you like me. But, I mean, you must like me. You've gotten no sleep because of me, and you're about to go to work - I mean, there's not too many people I'd do that for." (He didn't say if he'd do it for me or not.) "I think it's rare."

I felt like I should say something, but I didn't know what to say. M. sensed that in me, because he said, quickly, reassuring, "No, I mean - it's cool - that you like me - I mean ... I guess I just didn't know." He went back into contemplative stirring-coffee mode.

"Well, now you know." I said.

We drank coffee, not talking, the air clear between us. Both of us thinking. About the other. He gets shy. Like he doesn't want to say too much, or ruin anything.

He said, looking down into his coffee, "I feel like there's not a word evolved enough for what we are."

Fragile moment. I didn't speak. I let it hover. He had more to say. I knew it. He said, "You have always struck me, from the very beginning as ... someone who ... wanted to different than what you are."

That was an ambiguous thing to say. I saw 2 possible interpretations - or, no, actually - now I see the 2 interpretations - but this is how I took it at the time: Sheila, you have been trying to be something you're not.

So I felt a little chilled by that. I pursued it. "What do you ..."

He meant what he had said - but it wasn't the negative interpretation that I put on it. He meant that: I'm not satisfied anymore with being unhappy, repressed, uptight - and I am determined to get over myself, and get better, push through these barriers I have up.

I did not know that he had perceived that from the beginning. I remember him saying to me on a tequila-soaked summer's eve, when I was all upset and weepy, "Your journey ... has just begun." He knew. How did he know?

He explained what he meant: "The first time we went out ... " (neither of us know how to define this whole damn thing - we have no words - there are not words evolved enough for what we are) "Well - I told you this - you were so - " (he stopped talking, and then kind of hugged his arms around himself, put his head down - to show how closed I was and uptight) "And I wasn't -- sure how to handle it ... I wasn't sure if you ..." (unfinished sentence, wincing expression, awkward, shy) "But then ... you kept ..." (stopped himself - and smiled - and I knew what he meant. I had kept calling him, kept making myself available - he didn't say it in a mean way. It's the truth.) I said, grinning, "I kept coming back for more, huh." "Well ... yeah ... so I figured ... Okay ... This person is ..." (all of this accompanied with those subtle facial expressions and hand gestures he does - we transcend words - the expression and the gesture he made conveyed my whole life: pushing through, frustrated, upset, sick of being upset ... wanting to be happy. He saw all that?) I nodded in agreement with his interpretation of me. He said, nearly unable to get it out - too awkward and vulnerable, "So ... it's kind of cool, Sheila ... to see how you have progressed. It's ..." He stopped. It's like I was inside of him. Like he could hear those words "how you have progressed" and to him they suddenly sounded patronizing. But no. They were not. I said, softly, "It is cool, M. It is cool."

Diary Friday

Yet another entry from my junior year in high school for Diary Friday: My junior year: an unrequited love with the passion of a thousand suns blossoms for a guy named David. It's funny - he was Band President and the other day at 30 Rock I was in the drugstore, in line, and there were all these high school kids in line, too - being loud and goofy (I actually heard one of them use the word "nifty" - and NOT with ironic snark-quotes around it - they actually thought that something they saw was "nifty". Brill.) - and they were all wearing bright blue T-shirts declaring that they were the members of a high school band in Oklahoma or something like that. I tried to read the shirts closer - but all I made out was: Band 2008 - and they were all just so cute and excited and, yes, being obnoxious, but come on, they were 15 years old. And David popped into my mind, from high school. Suddenly in high school I was all about going to all the band concerts because HE HE HE would be there!!! Naturally, nothing ever happened with David. But he took up an entire year of my life.

JAN. 2

J. slept over last night. We had a really good time talking about - what else?? We looked them up in yearbooks of long ago. [Long ago! hahahahaha 2 years before?] My, my, they both have improved!! We looked at all the 'senior guys' of last year - Matt B., Josh L., Bobby R., Matt M., John A. - we speculated on "who has and who hasn't." Yes, I know we shouldn't but I am curious and I do wonder. [Sheila, your diary doesn't JUDGE you. Not for curiousity about sex or anything else. Calm down.] How does it happen? (Wait) What I mean is - I know that some kids have slept together but how do they lead up to it? Are they drunk? Is it in a car? (Blah) How will it happen with me? I hope it's not like [then I drew an arrow up to where I wrote "Is it in a car?"] I think I have good judgment and I know what I want. Dolores gave me a Playgirl for my birthday with Harrison Ford on the cover. We looked at that for a while and I'm sorry but it is disgusting! Yuk!!! Those men are so gross!! I have made up my mind to remain a virgin. (Well maybe not - but still!!!) Some of the stories they have in there - I feel so so soiled after reading them. I'm scared, Diary. Does everyone have oral sex? Has everyone been doing that all this time? Euuu! Sex, to me, has always seemed so natural and beautiful [you coulda fooled me] (I mean - the way I thought it was supposed to be) - just a joining of two people who really love each other [ah, your 4th grade sex-ed class did you well!]. But the people in there do all these gross things with each other and I try to imagine myself - I just can't. I'm afraid. I'm so naive. Oral sex? I'm scared.

Also though, I was just browsing through the magazine just now - the pictures I just flipped by - those don't 'do' anything for me [hahahaha, I love how now I'm talking like a sexual woman of the world. "Yeah, that doesn't do anything for me ..."] - all the guys are ugly anyway - but the stories - so explicit! I felt myself drawn in - I wanted to read more - I couldn't pull my eyes away. A lot of it is gross and unintelligent but some of it ...

After I put it away I turned on my radio to "Every Breath You Take", turned off all the lights in my room and lay on my back on the floor. Of course David came into my mind and I thought about him - not gross indecent things [what??? "Indecent"? Who are you, Mullah O'Malley?] But just generally - I pictured him kneeling beside me on my floor and leaning over to kiss me. I'm sorry but to me, holding hands and gently kissing seems more romantic than that stupid oral stuff. [hahahahahahahahaha]

Maybe I'm a baby. I haven't even been kissed yet. So how do I know?

But reading those stories, I started to feel sort of hot, and I thought about Dave. [And that, dear Sheila, is the whole point of erotica. The end.] I threw the magazine in my drawer and picked you up to write this down. Normally I'm not so perverted. I don't like feeling so perverted.

You know what J. also said? "You know, if something ever happens between us - I mean - Don't you think it might shock them over how passionately we feel towards them already?" "I know! I know! He has no idea of the extent. I'm glad. I wonder what he'd do if he read my diary." "Well, Sheila - if I ever read some guy's diary and I found my name in every entry, everything I've ever said, every single move I make - I think I'd be frightened off." "Me to. It's weird how they just don't know. I'm glad he doesn't."

I am too. Maybe he does get the picture, but is shy or doesn't know what to do about it. What am I supposed to do?

[One quick note: I love how the song I chose to listen to in order to go deeper into my "perverted" feelings about David is the ultimate creepy stalker song. Hahahahaha]

Diary Friday

It is time now to return to my junior year in high school. I have tried to put it off, but I can no longer do so. I am 16 years old. I am so in love with a boy named David that I sound like a raving lunatic in my diary. The whole thing is unrequited - we didn't date or anything like that ... My love for him was based on stolen moments in class and in the hallways when David revealed himself as the kindest man on the face of the earth. Or so he was to my eyes. I LOVED HIM.

FEB 11

Diary do I have a LOT to tell you. OH GOD! My happiness mug is full and overflowing! This happiness scares me [as well it should, because it is based on a delusion, Sheila. But let's move on.]. So much has happened to me. [My last entry in the journal was the day before. hahahahaha] I don't know where to start. All right - it's gonna work with me and David. If all goes smoothly and I don't botch it up. [That makes my heart ache. How willing I am to take full responsibility ... it'll be my fault somehow.] It's going to work! OH DIARY I'VE WAITED SO LONG! [There is not a font large enough to replicate that sentence] Finally. Oh I'm so happy, Diary. It hasn't happened yet but I have a feeling it won't be long. If not this week, definitely at the dance. Oh I feel like a tragic hero. My arrogance is my tragic flaw. [I love that!!] But I'm so happy.

Let me start from the beginning. Last night, we all went to the game. J., Kate, Mere and I. It was a long confusing night and I'm still sort of mixed up. Of course Dave was there looking positively gorgeous - positively gorgeous. [Why say it once when twice does just as well?] Oh Diary I can't stand it.

We all sat down to watch the game. I kept my eye on David as he walked back and forth from the lobby and gym. I love how he walks and I love his tan sweater. I love watching him do everything. There was this little kid - around 4 years old - he was like hyperactive - he never stopped moving - but he was breakdancing and doing all sorts of wicked things [ah, the days when "wicked" was adjective enough!] - Dave was watching him, talking a little bit to him. Little people with big boys - Oh I could die. It's so sweet.

During the whole game, at times he would glance up my way [Sheila, you're in the gym. It's a huge building] but me THE DOPE would immediately look away. This happened a few times. I just froze up. JERK!

Then the Varsity games started. With his wild funny announcing - I watched him do it, all leaned over and into it.

During the V game, I went down to talk to Mr. Hodge who had been giving me significant glances across the gym. [Mr. Hodge had known me since I was 5 years old - the Hodges are old dear friends of the O'Malleys - and now he was my French teacher.] We were standing right near Dave, but we talked about him anyway. Mr. Hodge said, "I can see the vibes in class and I would say the vibes are favorable." Eeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkllllllllll [My writing then descends into feverish scribbles] He said he can see Dave pacing himself to walk with me. Funny - I thought it was me who did that. He also said, "Seriously - I think he knows something is there. I think he can see it." Can he? What does he see? I kept glancing over at him, face intent on the game.

I'm being tortured.

Trav and Cris came in - they were talking awhile to Dave. I was clutching Kate's knee. For some reason, them talking to each other, shaking hands - Suddenly I said to Mere, "Let's go say hi to Trav!" [And a year later, in my senior year - Trav became my first - sort of - boyfriend. So there's all this swirling stuff going on here.] Perfect excuse. So we went down there - I chickened out about 5 times, then I just walked over saying, "Hi, Trav!" I look back on that and it was a dumb move!! I didn't say a word to Dave, although that's my only reason for living lately! [Calm down. Thanks.]

Well, we were all just talking and Dave came over to our little group - Trav, Cris, me, Mere, Kate, and J. and said, "Here we have the entire core of the SK Drama Club." And - I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! I COULD NOT SAY A WORD! Oh, I could kill myself!

Later - we were all back on the bleachers and Kate said, "Sheila, he really wanted you to reply - I could see it." "OH I BLEW IT. I BLEW IT!" Why do I freeze up? [I have no idea, but get used to it. You'll be doing it in your 30s as well.] What is my problem?

For the rest of the night, Dave was talking to Meg O'Leary. [Which is so hysterical - I have no memory of her, but apparently the fact that she was talking to HER warranted the underlining.] At first I was full of despair but Kate said, "Sheila - he has no reason to be jealous of Travis so you have no reason to be jealous of Meg." Was he jealous of Trav? I mean, he did walk right over - AND I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! [Yeah, we heard you the first time.] Oh, it probably looks like I like Trav. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO [Yes. That's it. Just random "O"s unfurling across the page in desperation.] If only I had said something!!! I'M SUCH A JERK. [I want to intervene and tell myself to stop being so mean to myself. It's killing me to see how I do that.] Dave is so cute. What if he does like me -

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

After the game, I had made up my mind to say something to him. But - I couldn't approach him. It was awful. He was alone, getting together his equipment - but - Oh! I'm such a wimp. I was standing so near to him - trying to open my mouth.

J. is mouthing hate messages across the gym to me - ordering me to DO IT. [I am laughing out loud. I love my friends.]

So I looked at him and our eyes met. I smiled and said, "Hi, Dave." And Diary - Oh he didn't even say 'hi' back. He just gave me this little tight smile. [Ouch. I'm feeling that all over again.] My heart sank. I practically fled to my friends and announced that it was all over. I WANTED TO LEAVE. Oh God- I was so miserable. He hated me! No one believed me that he didn't say anything. Mere said I probably murmured, "Hi, Dave" into my collar [Mere - HAHAHAHA I love you! You totally busted me!] but I didn't! J. told me to try again, but I knew I couldn't go back over there to say anything.

Besides, he has disappeared into the school. J. practically screamed, "I've got to put my flute away! Let's go to the Band Room!" [David was Band president. Hence, J.'s brilliant plan.] So we rushed off into the hall.

Turns out he was just putting back the equipment in a storage room. While he was doing this, J. and I both took inordinately long drinks of water. With perfect timing, just as he closed the door, we straightened and started walking back too so that he was right behind us. He started crooning in his low low voice, "Head for Busch Beer ..." I turned around to grin at him - no reason - just a starting point. He looked down at me and said, "What ... do you hate me, Sheila?" (J. then shot out the door into the gym and ran away from us. Subtle.) This (what he said) took me by surprise, so I said very sincerely, "No! I don't hate you!" (Not hard to be sincere there.)

We were now out in the gym and - he said - "Oh, so you just dislike me, huh?" "No! Dave - No! I don't!" I was just standing there. Now I think back on it and I'm glad I didn't treat it lightly, like, "Oh yeah, Dave, I despise you" because when I said, "No I don't, Dave!", he said to me after a pause, "Well. That makes me feel really good."

Diary - I swear to God if my life had depended on it - I could not say anything. Oh poor Dave. My jaw just dropped - I turned around - Mr. Hodge was right behind me, leering at me. [hahahahahaha] Leanne came over to talk to me - Dave was LOOKING at me - but - Oh God my tongue became a shag rug. I wonder if he was watching me as I tore over to J., Kate and Mere. I looked pretty suspicious. I threw my arms around all 3 of them, cried "MY DEAR FRIENDS!" and kissed each one of them. YIPPEE! [Meanwhile, you just left Dave there hanging ... but it's okay. You're 16.]

While we were waiting for Mr. W. to pick us up - I was a spaceshot. I sat on a table and I just was floating around! In the car on the way home I kept saying, "Oh, please, somebody bring me back to earth!" Kate said, "No I don't want to."

But - this scares me. It IS working. IT IS.

Oh God. What do I say to him on Monday? I practically admitted out loud that I really like him.

Oh DAVE - DAVE!!!!!!!!! [That last "Dave" is actually underlined 7 times - and the exclamation points cartwheel off down the page, sometimes showing up upside down, sideways ... I cannot control my own punctuation.]

He said, "That makes me feel really good."

!!!!!!!!!

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

Let's get mortified, shall we? This diary entry describes a Hawaiian dance in my sophomore year of high school.

Fri. Jan. 21

Tonight was a Hawaiian dance. I tell you, I was not looking forward to it, because the last dance was a disaster area. I didn't go Hawaiian, but I did borrow a lei when I got there. It wasn't even half-way full, but practically everyone was Hawaiian.

Travis had on a grass skirt made out of garbage bag strips. And Joel had a grass skirt and man-hole-cover sized glasses. Betsy had on a long wrap-around skirt with huge blue flowers, and the DJ had on all white, a white top-hat and a white ruffled suit and this blue light was on him, so he sort of glowed. And he took requests so I asked for Devo, The Clash, J. Geils, Adam Ant, Loverboy.

(I love that I listed all of the band names. Total time-travel hilarity)

God, I love music!

And when he put on Stray Cat Strut, I did my tap dance. (Oh my God, I sound like such a geek. You DID YOUR TAP DANCE?? And then you WONDERED why no cute guys asked you to dance??? Meredith: if you are reading this, you will know exactly the tap dance I am referring to.)

All those great songs - I go WILD. We all do. We SWEAT! (Right, Beth?) It is so fun. The minute I hear the beginning notes of "Jerkin' Back and Forth" or "Rock Lobster" or "Workin' for the Weekend", we all race out onto the floor, going INSANE. I dance until my throat is dry and my legs ache.

I'm not fooling myself. I had an awful time. I loved the music, but John was there. (hahahahaha "I danced until my legs ached! I had an awful time!" Also, when I read over this this morning, I thought: who the hell is John? And then - I remembered. Some guy I had a crush on, who said about 3 words to me, and I convinced myself it was true love.) I saw him come in and I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't take my eyes off him and then Betsy grabbed my arm and said sternly, "Forget him, Sheila!" (And here I am, 280 years later, and I still find myself in situations where my friends have to speak to me sternly, and say stuff like, "Forget him, Sheila!" Such as we are made.)

Betsy went on sternly, "He has on a girl's headband. Please forget him."

(Best putdown ever)

Then we walked off, arms around each other, and for a while I did forget. (Little did I know that I eventually would forget so completely that I would read over this entry decades later and think, dimly: Who the hell is John? Ha! Revenge.) I talked to Mr. Hodge, and some good songs came on, and there were some songs that Mere and I had to make fun of. We would strut around, eyes closed. (Uhm, girls? That's how you make fun of the songs? You strut around, eyes closed? I'm not sure I get the joke.)

Oh, and a TV cameraman was there for some reason, and he was filming us, and he took close-up shots of me charleston-ing to "Goody Two Shoes" (How unbelievably embarrassing. CHARLESTON???), he also filmed me and my friends going WILD to "Rock Lobster". He filmed all of us going "down ... down ... down..." onto the floor. The entire gym full of kids falls down onto the floor at the end of "Rock Lobster". Anyway, I asked him later what the film was about, and he said that it was for a special on teenage alcoholism.

What? I said to him, "I'm not drunk!" And he laughed and went, "I'm not going to say you are."

John was dancing with another girl and when he knew I was nearby he kissed her. (Uh, Sheila, are you sure of your facts here? Are you sure that it was because of YOUR hovering presence that he kissed her?)

So I'm really proud of the way I handled myself. I didn't look at him, or look jealous, or even acknowledge him, and I danced like I never danced before. (Flashdance?) I feel like I looked pretty bubbly, with my mini skirt, sweatshirt, tie, white tights, and skips, (HAHAHAHA. My TIE??) and with my - ahem - peripheral vision I knew he kept looking over at me. My heart cracked in two and all I wanted to do was sob, but I danced and laughed - Man, it was hard work. I wanted to cry. I HATE MYSELF FOR LOVING SO MUCH.

So I acted "up". I was crazy. I felt insane. I had no control. After cavorting madly to show John I didn't give a fuckin' shit about his buns, I went over to sit down cause it was a slow song, and Patty sat beside me and said, "I'm really sorry. I tried to warn you, but I feel bad for you." I said to her, "What has it been? 3 girls in 2 months?" And she said, "Well, just be glad you weren't one of those girls." I nodded.

So I sat through the slow song, chin in my hands, staring out at the big silver ball twirling above. I felt kind of bad. Kate hugged me. I just sat staring off. Why do I STILL like him, even when he's been a bastard? Probably cause I know that underneath he's really a nice guy. (And here the womanly pattern begins. Falling in love with an asshole's hidden potential.)

Diary Friday

Not a typical entry, and some of these quotes have made it onto the blog before. In the back of each journal I keep (and I don't really keep a journal anymore, but that's beside the point) - I list funny things people have said, quotes, etc - things I love and want to remember but don't necessarily want to write an entire entry about. Some of these quotes make me laugh so hard now that I can barely speak. It's even funnier to see them out of context. These quotes are all from 1997 - a big year. I was in the thick of grad school - acting - so it's ALL about acting for me (although many of these quotes have nothing to do with acting). My mentor at school, my greatest acting teacher and friend - is the "Sam" below - who shows up so repeatedly. Every Friday we had a horrifying workshop called the P/D Unit (the Playwriters/Directors Unit) - modeled on the same thing done at the Actors Studio. The playwrights in the program would bring in work they had been writing - the directors would be assigned (or jostle for positionn in front of projects they thought might have legs) - and the actors would be the guinea pigs. Some of these projects went on to great success - either as thesis projects, or as productions out in the real world. So the stakes were high - you couldn't be lackadaisacle in the PD Unit. You had to look around, figure out which projects were good - and do your best to be in them. Many times that was not difficult. Good plays are not a dime a dozen and most of the stuff we worked on in PD Unite was crap. But boy, there were a few gems. I was lucky enough to get into two of them - but not without a lot of sturm und drang and sleepless nights and all that. Ambition, you know. But you take a bunch of stressed out people - who spend the majority of their time with one another - and then you add the fact that everyone's an artist - and then you put them all in a room - for an entire day - where all you do is perform, and talk, and perform again ... it can make for some hilarity. Sam was the head of our PD Unit. The guy is a genius. But he also does not stand on ceremony. He had no problem with saying, after a scene was done, "Well, that really bored me." Because, when you think about it: boredom is very important. To quote John Strasberg, son of Lee Strasberg: "Boredom is very important in life. It lets you know when something is wrong." So when Sam was bored, he didn't think: "I am being rude, I need to pay better attention." No. Because who wants to see a play where you have to fight with your own boredom? Sam would be like, "That was boring. Let's find out what's wrong." He was hilarious, too. (Is, I should say).

Not all of these quotes are from the PD Unit - but the "Sam" ones always are. 1997. A crazy year.

My dear friends will recognize themselves here as well.

1997 QUOTES

"Do whatever you want to do. Just don't have a rod up your ass and think you're playing Shaw." - Sam

"Somebody needs to call him up and tell him he's an asshole!" - Maria W. on Scott Hamilton

"Are we still not allowed to be naked in school?" - Kara

"I'm glad you're back ... even though I didn't know you were gone." - Ann

"M. and I were not really made for public viewing. We were a private exhibit. Invitation Only." - Me

"Who the hell is Tex Watson?" - Barbara

"SLUGWORTH." - Ann

"When she styled it, I looked like Sylvia Plath in her college years." - Maria M.

"You mean ... Hamlet gets in the elevator ... but he won't go down?" - Leslie

"I need to get some new cuss words. I want to start using words like 'asshole' and 'bitch.'" - Stephen

"...his snowbeard penis." - Jackie

"Buhsh 'n Pudding ..." - Shelagh, trying to say "button pushing"

"Speaking of surly and disrespectful, where is Kara?" - Sam

Quote from Gingerbread Lady: "My apartment is on a sublet from Mary Todd Lincoln."

Sam: "If you do a high-class piece that lays an egg, no one will think: 'Boy, that's a high-class broad.'"

Sam: "I wouldn't care if you had them do it on pogo sticks."

Sam to D.: "To whatever degree you can get it up, try to create some authentic misery."

Sam: "Method acting the stereotype is eyeballing your partner, mumbling, breaking up your sentences in illogical ways. You can be 100% full of shit and be a Method actor."

Sam: "I studied with Strasberg for 21 years and I never felt that gave me the license to be an asshole."
Michael: "So where'd you get your license then?"

"So I want you to operate out of complete panic." - Gene

"I'm on a roll! I'm on a very second-rate roll here!" - Sam

"It's a great mistake to try to be original." - Sam

"Acting is not a relaxing job." - Sam

"So. You've just heard from the portobellos ..." - Sam

"I had a bolt of stress that you didn't know where he worked. Literally. I had a bolt of stress .... You know, for the coma contingency." - Ann

Me to Wade: "So I went to the Book Fair ..."
Wade burst into laughter.
Wade: "I love you, Sheila."
Me: "Oh, Wade. I love you too."

"If I could say goodbye to you in Rebus form I would ..." - Me to Ann

"I wish there was such a thing as Open Boob Night." - Brooke

"Where Alan Thicke meets Frankenstein ..." - Ann

"Will you marry me. Let's get married, Sheila." - Michael - Las Vegas. New Year's. 1997.

"And then Tim hugged me." Long pause. "Well, electronically." - Ann

"She puts marshmallows on brownies!" - Maria's indictment of Jo

"She then plunged a dagger into my heart. Literally. She impaled me with her horns." - Ann

"Honey Nut Clusters, steamed squash, and red wine ..." - Jen, describing our nights at home

"I always get cast as the eunuch or the fool." - John

Kevin: "I just said 'Fuck it'."
Pause.
Robert: "Which is Latin for 'Be Free!'"

"Relaxation should not be a spectacle." - Sam

Me: "What about Adam?"
Ann: "Oh please. That rumor has already been squelched."

"And then, of course, there was the Bo Deans debacle ..." - Me to Kate

"Hoffman's won Oscars playing morons and bums." - Sam

"Once you get to my stage, you have no standards, and you just feel grateful to still be standing here!" - Sam

"It seems to me, Rodney, that the importance of the hyoid bone is in having one." - Robert

Shelagh: "Isn't it true that Meryl Streep used to throw up before she used to go onstage?"
Cheryl: "Yeah, but that's because she was drunk."
Shelagh: "Oh! Okay! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

"I am so charmed by him that I can barely sleep." - Mitchell on Scott Wolf

"Who do I have to fuck to get out of here is what I want to know." - Sam

"What am I - the Profiler?" - Mere

"This is so Cohort One." - Matt

Discussion about Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein:
Maria: "What annoyed me was that he called the movie 'Mary Shelley's Frankenstein' when it clearly should have been called 'My Chest.'"

"A half-hour where you stink is no great shakes." - Sam

Diary Friday

Another excerpt from the autobiography I wrote when I was 13. I am now going to embarrass my friend Mere. Good times! Here I describe the beginning of junior high - which was uniformly terrible.

SHEILA'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY

After sixth grade, we were all looking forward to going into the Junior High together. I don't know why, because it was such a bad year. I wasn't in classes with ANY of my friends, I hardly ever saw them, and somehow I became the class scapegoat. People laughed at me as I walked by, left mean notes in my locker, gave me crank calls, and snickered. Don't ask me why. I didn't even know half the people, I didn't talk to them, I never did anything to them. See, in grade school, having clean nice hair, good clothes, and a boyfriend, wasn't crucial, and suddenly these things were the most important things in life. So I kept wearing what I wanted and everyone made fun of me so much that I was scared to walk up and get an ice cream at lunch. I still plodded along, but my life became worse and worse. I started to get Cs and I was mean to my Mom. I hated everyone. I dreaded school. School, instead of being my usual slice of paradise, became a chore! I would fake sickness to stay home. I'd cough and retch so much that my mother would let me stay home. But things weren't that better there. I would fight with my mother, and storm off to my room to write useless stories. I'm very vague, because I already have a depressing diary of those days. But since I had no friends I saw in school, I became friends with Laura, which was good at the time. She was more unpopular than I was! The thing is, though, that the popular kids in our school were the nice ones. I talked to them, and they didn't laugh at me. It was the losers who made fun of me. Now I know that the only reason they made fun of me is that they know they're losers and they have to find a scapegoat to make themselves feel better. Now I can laugh in their faces. But then - it stripped away my confidence. I hated myself with a passion. I looked at my face in the mirror and despised it. I really resent those kids. But you know what? SOMEDAY I will be a great actress or a rich archaeologist, or a famous journalist, and I will look at those gutter scums and smirk. I CAN'T WAIT. [Now that is a worthy goal. Many people have become famous for just such this reason.]

Anyway, Laura turned out to be a jerk. She clung to me. Maybe for support or something. But she was jealous of any other friendships I had. I was friends with another girl named Debby (another mistake) and Laura - whenever she saw me with Debby, she would come over and laugh about a secret of ours to make Debby jealous. It got worse and worse, until we were all in Science, and we sat at the same table and I was between them. It was TERRIBLE. It got so bad that I hated both of them. Each pulling me in different directions. So I changed my seat and gloated at their hurt faces. [hahahahaha I love that] I really started to hate them!

Most of this is recorded in my other Diary. But it wasn't THAT bad. [Uhm ... it wasn't? You're gonna say it wasn't "that bad" NOW??] It was just that I had to start brand new making friends.

But I made acquaintances that year (Kate, Beth, Meredith) that now are my best friends. They were so chummy with each other - I envied them. I sort of know Beth and Kate because of church and Sunday School, but I had never met Mere before. And I thought she was the best thing to ever hit this earth. She was tall and thin and pretty and always wore jeans and they always looked good on her. ["Clothes look good on her."] She was so - "breezy". I don't know. And I admired her. On '50s day, at the end of school, she wore this puffy pink skirt with a big blue flower in the "poodle spot" and when we went out to play softball it was all sunny and warm and we were out in the outfield and (I better stop this run-on). So anyway, we started to Charleston and I still remember what she looked like with her skirt swirling around her.

And one little odd tidbit I remember, is on 50s day, we were all in Ecology and I glanced over at Mere beside Beth. She was sitting in her chair with her legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and her pink skirt was flounced out around her. I admired her so much then, with the bobby socks and penny loafers. And she and Beth were laughing about something. She looked so easy and free. They both did! I was always so tense, and I wanted to be like Meredith!

It is so strange because now she is my BEST friend and I don't idolize her anymore! Sorry, Mere!

7th grade was a bummer. Eighth grade was better because I was in classes with J., and Betsy and Mere and Beth. Mere and I sat beside each other in math and we had the best time making fun of the teacher. He loved being macho. [hahahahahaha] When he wrote on the board, he clenched and unclenched his fist. He wore tight pants - polyester - and he had a bright orange shirt. On one of his shirt backs was a stain that looked like a semi-colon and it remained there the entire year. [I am howling!] He also wore shiny black shoes with buckles, so we called him "Mr. Pilgrim" and "Mr. Turkey". We wrote notes back and forth the entire period (honestly, literally - I still have some of them and they are a scream.) Sometimes I would laugh so hard during class I felt trapped and suffocated and tears would course down my cheeks. Math suddenly became the highlight of my day.

I remember that on the last few days of school, our teacher would take us out to play softball (he was very into baseball). He would play, and loved "showing off" to us. Actually, Mere and I would be roaring about him the whole time. [God. We were so mean to him!! But man, how many hours of fun did he provide us, Mere ... we just thought he was so hysterical] Mere looked so cute standing out in the field in her jeans with her baseball glove. [I swear, Mere, I wasn't a creepy stalker - even though I appeared to keep notes on your outfits on a daily basis!!] She was so funny. I remember one fatal day when we started to laugh so hard during a "silent time" that my stomach ached from trying to hold it in. It was during a fire drill and we were all standing outside in the sunshine in silent lines. The sun was so bright. We were all standing there silently. And suddenly I noticed Mr. Mellor, a bald math teacher, standing on the pavement. The sun actually caused his head to glow. I turned to Mere and whispered to her, "Look at Mr. Mellor. His head ..." and then I went completely out of control and Mere started to laugh, too, and it was so hard to stop! From trying to repress our laughter, we made much more noise than otherwise. We laughed hysterically, silently, and shaking, until our breath ran out, and we had to take huge deep breaths before collapsing again. I tried to hold back the laughter but then I would burst out with a loud guffaw.

Oh, another highlight of that year was when our math class was out playing softball and I was out bopping around in the outfield with my glove and our teacher was up to bat (oh, what a man) and he, in his tight blue pants that clung, went tearing around the bases and suddenly he froze and sort of sidled back to home, and picked up his glove to put it over his rear. All of us were staring at him like he was bonkers. Some of the kids back at home plate started roaring with laughter, but none of us outfielders could see what had happened. Then he started running towards the school, still holding the glove in place over his butt. As he went past me, he hissed, "I split my pants."

Everyone heard, though. I stood stock still. I could hardly believe it! Then suddenly, Michele L., the pitcher, shrieked with laughter and fell down onto the ground - and then mass hysteria followed. None of us could believe that our macho teacher had split his pants!!!

Diary Friday

When I was 12 years old, I wrote my autobiography. It is one of the most complete obsessive documents in my entire history. I remember almost NONE of it - although there are certain things that have made it thru the mists of time ... things I've written about on the blog from time to time ... but the thing that is so funny about this document (and it's gotta be about 80 pages long) is that I am writing about "childhood" from a much closer vantage point than I would now ... I actually still AM a child, although, of course, to a 12 year old, her 4 year old self seems like ancient history. So the games we played, the playground shenanigans - all of that stuff which diminishes with time - is laid out here, clear as day. It's kind of a creepy document, truth be told - and I feel like it can't have been ME that wrote it!! But it was.

Here I am, as an 8th grader, recounting the long-ago days of 6th grade. Naturally - to long-time readers, folks like Keith and Andrew will be familiar. (Keith post - Andrew post) Oh, and the whole Artful Dodger thing appears to have its roots back in the 6th grade.

SHEILA'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Now sixth grade. I begin a new paragraph because sixth grade was the - it was the best year of my life. It still is. Sixth grade was heaven. Pure and simple. My teacher Mrs. Dickison was funny and "cool". I had all the best guys in my class - Keith, Andrew ... we had a crazy time. We cut down on Mrs. Dickison and we taped little pieces of paper on our desks and counted all of her jokes - we made fun of her about it and she loved it. She was great. We had a substitute - Miss Mullaney. I honestly can't complain much about her, because she loved me and always complimented me and called me a "real character". But other than that, she was only nice to the boys who always teased her - but she was terrible to this one girl - Jennifer M. She (Miss Mullaney) would look at Jennifer's spelling notebook and say to the class, 'Everyone look! I hope you all work so your spelling book does not look like this."

I started the year badly, because I was so mad that neither J. or Betsy was in my class. But we met at recess to sing. [hahahahahaha] That year, we began to outgrow orphans [hahahaha Shorthand: any make-believe game we played always involved us being orphans. We LOVED orphans] but we did have this trend where 4 girls would get together after school and act out Little Women. I HAD to be Jo. Looking back, I really was very bossy! [Ah yes, looking back ... way back ... to the year before last!!] But, that year - a new girl came to school - Brooke S., and I was terrified that I was going to lose Betsy. [Well. Last weekend showed us how needless my fears were way back then!] All of a sudden, she was really into boys. I mean, she and Brooke went on a date with two guys! [What?? No memory of any of this.] I didn't spend as much time with Betsy. I don't think I was jealous. [Ya don't???] I was just afraid of losing her.

Betsy fainted that year. This was a big event. She just toppled over in Art. Then, she became a heroine, and everyone would drag her over to the sandbox and say, "Faint again, Betsy!"

EVERYONE joined chorus that year. It was marvelous. ["Marvelous"?? What are you, Joan Crawford??] Chorus was always the highpoint of my week. It was so fun skimming down the hall to the Caf to sing for an hour. And we sang all "Oliver" songs which was great. Betsy, J. and I loved it so much we squealed whenever Mrs. Shay announced the song. And when she announced that the play that year was to be Oliver, I remember leaping out of my seat, arms in the air. We were all SO excited. And we auditioned. Betsy almost knew she was going to be Nancy because she heard Mrs. Shay say so, and I wanted so passionately to be the Artful Dodger that I convinced myself I was perfect for the role, and J. didn't know who she wanted to be.

Then, the day came. We all raced (literally) down the hall and slid into our seats. I remember my heart pounding as I sank low in my seat, suddenly boweled over [I think you mean "bowled over" Sheila. You weren't toppled by a bunch of hurtling bowel movements.] by the fact that I might not get it. I almost burst into tears right then. [And that feeling persists to this day. I have never ever grown out of that kind of passionate WANTING thing that happens] I closed my eyes the whole time she was reading the cast list. Then she said, "Sheila O'Malley ... Artful Dodger" and I screamed and clapped my hand over my mouth. "Betsy ... Nancy ... and J. - Fagin!" I whirled around to gape at J. and J.'s eyes bugged out and she seemed like a rag doll because she slumped in her seat. It was perfect! Three best friends with three leading roles! When we were dismissed row by row, Betsy was out first, then me. Then J. came hurtling out of the room, arms open wide. We all screamed (I mean, really) and threw our arms around each other to dance and cavort around in a circle. What a day.

I could relate to you every single Oliver rehearsal, they are so clear. We got away with murder, but those rehearsals were so much fun. I went through school in a trance of happiness. And it was great, up there performing with all your friends. Of course, we weren't in all the scenes. What did we do, when left alone? Oh, God. The school was always empty and dark. So we explored to our heart's content. Mostly J. and I because Betsy didn't come in until much later scenes and the scenes were split at a certain point. Mrs. Shay did not keep tabs on us at all. We zoomed around. This is not in chronological order. This play happened in June. Anyway, it was positively boiling. I could feel the sweat drip down my back and my chin had sweat dripping off it. It was unbearable. So three of us - me, J. and Jennifer snuck into the kitchen and snooped for so long! We pushed this button and all of a sudden, out of this thing - water was spraying full blast. Such a commotion followed to turn it off. Whenever J. walked by, she'd switch it on and say in this Steve Martin-eyebrows-raised voice, "Hey - wanna take a shower?" We peeked in the refrigerator and lo and behold there was a bucket full of huge chunks of ice. Freezing refreshing ice! We all stared at each other and fearlessly took huge bits. Mmmm, it was good. We took it back into the shadowy caf where rehearsal was going on, and it immediately melted. We snuck into the Nurse's office and gave each other wild rides up and down the school halls in wheelchairs. [I am howling with laughter.] I remember standing up on stage singing and I glanced out the cafeteria door and saw J. zoom by in a wheelchair, legs up, arms out, head back, hair flying. Poor me! I tried so hard to keep from laughing.

J. and I would sneak around backstage. And we discovered this door and we opened it to peer in. Apparently, it was where the janitor unwound. It was a miniscule little place with one armchair, and shelves of magazines. We dashed for them, hoping to find some dirty ones. We squeezed with GREAT difficulty into the chair with a pile of magazines on our laps that we started to go through. We had the BEST time, even though there were no dirty magazines.

And one time, J. was rehearsing one of her songs. She was onstage alone, pacing up and down. And Steve W. (Bill Sikes) was backstage shooting spitballs at her. Now I WISH that I had been in the audience to see this. J., so involved in her song, glanced backstage, saw a spitball flying at her, screamed and "hit the deck". Poor Mrs. Shay. Watching this scene when suddenly her actress throws herself on the floor. Betsy and I were falling all over with laughter backstage.

The performances themselves are too vivid to go into detail with now, because it is past midnight. And one day J. and I didn't have anything to do, and neither did Natasha, so we sat down on some mats and Natasha started telling us about periods. She already had hers, so she was our worldly informer. ["worldly informer" - hahahahahaha] And Natasha kept going, "Well, they have this cardboard applicator that sticks into you" and J. and me were gaping at her and holding our stomachs. I felt so disgusted! So after that J. and I snuck away and ran down to the bathroom where we vowed to tell the other when "it" happened. It was so dumb. The vow went something like this, "We vow to tell each other when 'bleep' (that's what we called it) happens and what it is like. Signing off from CBS News, this is J. and Sheila." We were so dumb!!

The play was finally put on. It was good, but it had pages of fiascoes. First of all, the curtain broke, so two people had to hide behind it and pull it closed. It was really ruining the dramatic ending, because the curtain closed really jerkily and you could see two pairs of feet underneath it, and when it was closed, this finger was sticking out, holding it together. A repercussion of the broken curtain was that this rope dangled down in the center of the stage from somewhere up in the flies. We just had to work around it, but it looked bizarre. Well, of course, something had to happen. Sally G. played a messenger and she ran on stage, faced 'Oliver' and 'Mr Brownlow', said her line, and ran off. Sally decided to take matters into her own hands, and casually grabbed the rope and took it off with her. She made it seem like a totally normal thing for her to be doing. But, alas, alas, when she got offstage it swung out of her hands, flew back onstage, and knocked poor Oliver Twist right in the eye.

And, when Mr Bumble was meandering through the audience singing his long sad song, we were all backstage, trying to move off the orphanage scene quietly. Well, someone tried to carry off this huge stack of bowls and of course they fell. The noise was earth-shattering with bowls rolling and bumping. They weren't breakable, but the whole audience laughed.

Oh, and another thing about rehearsals, there was this really sad ending, and I desperately wanted to be onstage for it. But the ending only involved J. walking sadly off, leaving Bill and Nancy dead behind her. Well, I was pretty headstrong, and I, during rehearsals, stayed onstage anyway, and it was all dark and blue and gloomy with a street lamp, and J. hissed to me, "Mrs. Shay doesn't want you here!" [I am SHAKING with laughter. Sheila: GET OFF THE STAGE. YOU ARE NOT IN THE SCENE.] And since she was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, I said, "I'll hide in your hood." Well, that sent us off into hysterics. We both had this vision of J. (Fagin) slowly trudging offstage with me bouncing along in her hood.

But back to the performances - I did have a pretty good costume. A battered jacket with tails, suede shoes, old tweed pants, and about a million vests and a tie. Anyway, during one of my numbers, I had to do a cartwheel. [I love the following anecdote. I love how I was being SO unprofessional - and Betsy called me on it - ONSTAGE. Now that's a friend!!] I had some problems in this area. The first performance I toppled off the stage and into the chorus. Mass pandemonium. And the second one - I had to stroll onstage counting some money [TWO TOIMES TWO equaows FOW-AH ...] and like a dumbie, I unthinkingly put the coins in my pocket. So when the time came for my cartwheel, I suddenly realized what would happen if I turned over so as we all were dancing, I took the coins out and, still singing, I shoved my hand out behind me towards Jen Q., another of my best friends, for her to take them. She didn't understand, and I was so mean. I glared ferociously at her and she looked terrified because she didn't know what I wanted. As I soft-shoed with Betsy, I sulked as I sang. And Betsy hissed, "What the hell is wrong with you?" But just then, my cartwheel came, and I plunged in. Well, the money flew out all over the stage with a shattering noise. I was almost crying, but I kept going. Jen, the dear, immediaetly ad-libbed and pounced on the coins, as though she really was a greedy little thief. [GOOD for Jen!!! Bravo!]

Being in that play was the crowning glory of my 'career' in elementary school. It made me famous. When I go back to visit, all the little kids know who I am.

Mrs. Dickison was the most popular teacher - she was funny and clever and she put on a Christmas play every year, and she was the leader of the annual gong show that I told you about.

That year I had so much trouble with math. I would slip out of class and sit in the hall crying.

That year I also fell in love passionately - so passionately that it has stuck all the years since. I still have a mild crush. It was on Andrew and it was incredibly severe. He was a long-term neighborhood buddy, and all of a sudden I was madly in love with him. I always think of him as my very first love. It was a glorious year for being in love. [hahahahaha I was 11.] I looked forward to every day and it was terrific because we became friends and he knew I liked him, but that didn't stop him from being so nice to me. I was in heaven! A new girl came to school that year - Michele L. - and she was short and pretty and nice but I had my suspicions about her and Andrew. Nothing was really happening but if Andrew (he was really smart) went over to help Michele with her math or something, Mrs. Dickison would call over to them, "Hey, you two! Can you continue your love affair some other time" and the whole class would laugh. And I would be thinking, "Oh, why can't I be Michele?"

But Andrew and I became really close. During the Christmas play, I won the part of Grace, a young orphan [An orphan! My TRUE first love!!] and he got Dicky, my brother. [Dicky? WTF??] I had the best time at reherasals. There was one scene where I had to strut on stage decked out in a coat and hat and I had to prance around yelling "PARADE! PARADE!" and Andrew had to jump up and pick up my train and cavort around with me. I loved that scene so much and I had so much FUN!

And there was one scene where I had to kiss Keith M. - just a little peck on the cheek, but I dreaded it worse than the plague. I did it, and all the little kids in the audience whistled, but I survived. [Yeah, sounds like a real ordeal there ...] Rehearsals were fun though. The whole class would file down into the Multi-purpose room and Mrs. Dickison would be so busy with directing, that the rest of us would sprawl on the gymnastics mats and talk. And I remember that once we were painting scenery and the rest of the class had gone to get paint or something, so Keith and I were left alone in the Auditorium, drawing some backdrops. And I remember that I had loved my appearance that morning. I was wearing a yellow collar shirt and jeans. I didn't realize that my shirt was rather see-through and I was wearing one of those undershirts with the straps, so I guess it looked like a bra. Now, I had nothing up there then. In fact, Andrew often warmly referred to them as mosquito bites. [My language is killing me here. "warmly referred to them as ...."] You see, every other girl in sixth grade had started to develop, but not me. And Andrew would walk by, calling, "Hey, you better put some band-aids on those mosquito bites!" [Ah, young love!] Anyway, Keith said to me that day in the auditorium - and we were totally alone - "So. Are you wearing a bra, Sheila?" Horrified, I stood up and stalked out of the room, embarrassed and mad. Keith was yelling after me, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It just looks like that's a bra!" [This is hilarious. I am so sending this post to Keith today. Little 11 year old flirting!!]

I remember that after Oliver, I came back to class and I sat down and Andrew, with his little lopsided grin, asked me, 'What was your name in that play again?" and I, heart pounding, said, "Artful Dodger" and he went, "No, the other one," and I said, "Oh. Jack Dawkins." And then he laughed. I loved how he laughed. For the rest of the year, he called me "Jackie."

The winter was great, with a lot of snow, and a swamp in the woods froze over, so every day after school I'd go home, get my skates, and tramp down there with the rest of the neighborhood friends. Every single day I'd skate from 3:30 to 5:30 or so. We had so much fun. Katy and Jen. Q. - my best friends since I was five - would be there. We all lived on the same street and were called "The Three Muskateers". Non-stop movement for two hours, and then we'd go back to the Quinn's for something warm to eat or drink. Andrew would be there and he is such a great skater. Even now, at the roller rink, he is very light and easy as he goes backwards, and turns. [Andrew was a great athlete, in general]

It got to be a tradition that we would play Chase and the boys would steal the girls' hats and we'd have to try and get them back. Andrew ALWAYS stole MY hat, nobody else's - and no matter how hard I tried I could not get it back. I would zoom after him and suddenly, in a flash, he would twirl around and be skating off the other way. The swamp was a gorgeous place to skate. The little streams through the woods had also frozen, so we could skate along the ice through the fairy-land snowy forest. There was a thin tree rising out of the ice, and we would grab onto it and twirl around it. And there was one triumphant day when I got Andrew's hat. I reached out my arm as he twirled around the tree, and snatched his black and yellow Bruin's hat. I was ecstatic!! I tore off, clutching it to me, but he was right behind me. He was much faster, so he passed me, and twirled around so he was facing me. Then he stopped abruptly, and I smashed into him, and both of us teetered and fell, all tangled up. I was holding the hat under me, so he was tugging at my arms and sitting on me. I started to get cold and so I wriggled away from him and zoomed off. I raced through the ice path, tore around the corner and there was this enormous crowd of boys waiting for me. They pounced on me. I swear, I was on the bottom of this pile of boys. I was laughing so hard. Of course, they got the hat. All of it was good-natured, except one jerk kept kicking me in the arm with his skate. [Yup. There's always one douchebag who ruins any good-natured fun.] It hurt, that sharp blade. After laughing, I started to cry - because that jerk was kicking me and I couldn't get away - I was yelling, "GET OFF ME!" Andrew, my hero, pulled me out from under the crowd - and I skated off to the side. I pulled up my jacket to look at my arm and it was all cut up and purple. I was fuming, because I had been having fun. So the next time the jerk skated by me, I put out my foot and tripped him - watched him topple into the weeds, and laughed out loud and pointed at him. My day improved after that.

Diary Friday

Here's an excerpt from my travel journal, of our time in Ireland as a family. I am 13 years old. I find this first excerpt hysterical. I am in IRELAND, and here is what I choose to write about. Look at how I launch right in to my main concerns. I am in a foreign land for the first time, and I obviously have my priorities straight.

WESTPORT, IRELAND

These are some of the fashions here: tight jeans and black and gold leather pumps, grey pinstriped blazers, tube tops, jackets that go below the hips, mini-skirts (black velvet), dotted white tights, red velvet crushed boots, Adidas sneakers, tight-tight-tight spray-painted-on jeans are EVERYWHERE. No one has baggies. [Ed: I am assuming that I am talking about baggie jeans here, which were all the rage in the States at this time.] They also love bobby socks here, especially with mini skirts. [Oh my God - do you remember that look??] No one has top siders or loafers. [That whole preppy thing was OUT OF CONTROL at my school. I never got into it, so I am sure the lack of top siders on the Emerald Isle was quite a relief.] The girls wear maroon, silver, yellow leather pumps. They seem to be very influenced by the English [Ed: Uhm... what, Sheila? You're 13. What are you talking about??]. All that punk stuff started in England, and it seems to be very big here too. Tight jeans are the thing to wear here. White sneakers (yippee) are also popular. Minidresses too, like I've seen in Seventeen. All the girls wear kilts, bobby socks, and black leather Mary Janes shined like a mirror.

[Ed: You may wonder why I shrieked "yippee" about white sneakers. Here is the RIDICULOUS reason, from another journal entry at this time. And yes, Blackie Parrish is involved.]

ACHILL ISLAND, IRELAND

The towns over here are not towns. [Now now Sheila, they are to the Irish. Just because they seem different to YOU!] Just villages on hills, with like one store and a butcher. The people seem really nice, though. Two boys on bikes literally led us to our B&B. This B&B is called Connaught House. CONNAUGHT, MUNSTER, LEINSTER, ULSTER, MEATH. [Ed: Ahem. We were made to memorize these place-names as tots in order to get our allowances.]

My room has a wonderful view of fields, little houses, and then the ocean. There are lots of peat bogs here, and we might be able to cut some peat!!!!!!! [Wow. How's it goin' there, geek?] Soon we're going downtown to look around. But I don't feel like it because I am SO COLD!!!!! IT'S FREEZING!!!!!

Later:

The walk was ok. It certainly warmed me up. We saw a field of sheep and the babies were the cutest things I have ever seen. All white, with black heads. Siobhan "baaahed" at them all. [Siobhan was 4. The image of her, in Ireland, is a favorite family memory.]

We might go to church tonight but I don't want to because everyone here dresses up SO much for church and all I have is this plaid skirt that looks like it comes from the 50s. [Beth? I bet you will remember that skirt.] And all the girls wear Mary Janes and I only have my saddle shoes. [Saddle shoes? What are you, Lucy Van Pelt?]

I wonder how Mere and Betsy and Beth and Kate are. OH I MISS THEM SO MUCH!!!!!

Just thinking about living on this island makes me sick. [My God, Sheila!! Up till now you've seemed enthusiastic! Why the change?.] No t.v., one school, not knowing about fashions. [This from a girl wearing saddle shoes in the early 1980s. I am so sorry, lovely people of Achill Island, for my judgment.] All they have here is Irish knit sweaters and skirts. I mean, clothes aren't everything but I want to know something about what is in and what isn't. [This is awful. I considered not posting that last paragraph, due to my mortification]

Our house has the most WONDERFUL living room [I sound schizophrenic. Achill Island BAD, oh wait a minute Achill Island GOOD] with a fire, the softest fur rug in front of it and a HUGE tv. [Hm. I seem to recall you mentioning in the paragraph above this one that the people on the island didn't HAVE tv. Hmmm.] We watched "David Copperfield" all afternoon, and now we are going for a drive up a mountain. This is a very mountainous island.

The old couple who own the B&B are so nice. The old man is so funny, so nice. He said to my father that he looked like Kojak from behind. He has been to America and he said that the sand in Florida was so hot that you could "fry a rasher on it". He also asked us if Rhode Island was very close to Houston!!

[For some reason, the first line of this next entry made me laugh OUT LOUD when I was reading it this morning.]

ACHILL ISLAND, THURSDAY

Last night we watched "Father Damien - the Leper Priest" on TV with Ken Howard. [HAHAHA What???? However - member Ken Howard? The white shadow? Loved him.] He is SO good. I had already seen the movie before though. [That's the kicker. I had seen FATHER DAMIEN - THE LEPER PRIEST twice???]

Today we are going to visit a man's peat bog, and then we are going to look up some old crosses, etc.

I washed my hair this morning, and washed my face, and rubbed in face cream and put on mascara. [Extremely important to list my morning skin ritual, apparently.]

I am getting really sick of the same old breakfast every day. But Dad says that there is this coffee shop in Dublin called Bewley's or something where they sell delicious donuts and jelly pastries, etc. [Sniff, sniff. Bewley's ... one of my favorite pitstops ... now no more ...] My mouth is watering already!

Tomorrow we're going to church.

I should have brought my curling iron.

Diary Friday

Here's a Diary Friday I posted way back in 2003 - but I am posting it again.

It's chock-full of stories about friends - and family ... it's like my whole life entire is encapsulated in these ridiculous entries.

I am 16 years old here. I am finishing up my junior year. I have finals. I am haggard and worn out. Summer comes. I go on my first date. I don't know - it's just a week of entries - but it's a goldmine. We all still remember Betsy running into the waves fully clothed.

June 13

I took the Math test. I was shaking with fear even though I really did study (I had brought my math notebook home, luckily). Kate had told me that the test was a positive nightmare. So I went in there and took it but I didn't find it horrendous. I didn't get a few problems, but I knew more than I didn't know. But still - today Kate told me she got a 55. KATE!! I don't think she's failed a test in her life.

So I was dreading Math. I've been on such a downer, starting yesterday - what a cavern I'm in - and to fail a Math test! I may never recover emotionally! [I was dead serious.] We only had 2 tests other than that one this quarter. On one I got an 80, on the other I got a 69. My average was a 74 or something. A 55 would really boost my average. [hahahahahahahaha] When I found out the highest grade in the class was an 85, I prepared myself. BUT! I got an 80! AND I got a C for the quarter!! [This was good news for me, not bad. I worked my ass off for that C.)

Today has been so hot and sticky. I stayed after school with J. so we could clear out our locker (an impossible huge gross task). You should have seen it. It was all my junk too. A winter coat, sneakers, sweats, pants, a sweater, a turtleneck, 3 pairs of mittens, 1 pair of gloves - all in a bag which was totally useless and ripped down the side. I also had my silver shamrock wand from when we did "Cinderella" in Drama.

J. and I were both really tired and hot and sweaty, so together we lugged the stupid bag (which I called "mental" and J. went off into gales of laughter) down to the library. It was so hot on the 3rd floor and we were laughing so hard. We went into the library to find a box but there weren't any. We saw some in the janitor's room, and were going to steal one, but there were newspapers in all of them.

Then we went into the back room in the library and saw a cardboard box full of books. No one was around so we dumped the books out, and ran out with the box. I honestly thought I was going to wet my pants I was laughing so hard. We both were. Since we aren't allowed to take out books anymore (end of school and all), J. snuck 3 books out without signing them out. (Ah yes, to be in that kind of mood).

My box was so heavy. J. held one side, I held the other. We looked so ridiculous. The minute we picked the box up, I said, solemnly, "There seems to be a silver shamrock in this box" ... and J. started laughing - when J. laughs she makes me laugh - we both got so weak from laughing, we lost our grips and the box fell. We finally thought we got it under control, so picked up the box again, took 2 steps, and then fell down roaring with laughter again.

It was a fun day. We spent all of gym looking through the yearbook and planning what we were going to write for our senior blurbs next year.

We have one day of classes left. Then finals. Then SUMMER.

I deserve it. Oh boy, do I deserve a very long break, full of independence. I am now hooked on "Guiding Light". No more boring "General Hospital". So all summer I will watch it!

I can't wait til finals are done. I am exhausted. I am really worn out and ugly.

June 16

I went to school, took my History final. 100 multiple choice questions. It was a joke. I see the entire world as a multiple-choice question now. My eyes are spinning about in my head. Butler's gonna scale the tests though. I did study hard. I HAVE TO DO WELL. I got an A this quarter though!! So that final - it wasn't hard - but it was the first final, so I was really tired after it.

Mrs. Franco assigned us a paper for Thursday. I cannot believe she did that. Mine was a 9-page masterpiece though. I'm very proud of it. I wrote it on Hemingway. Farewell to Arms.

All of Thursday was exhausting, nerve-wracking review. I started despairing. I was drowning, overwhelmed. Then - oh, I don't know how late or how early I stayed up Thursday night - just studying and studying and studying. For the History final. I mean - how long could I study? An entire year of US History in one test? How detailed could it be?? Well, it was detailed, and it was very dumb.

After my History final, I came home, and had the most wonderful time relaxing, with records. No one else was home, so I played the piano, and sang.

Mum came home. I am always in a foul mood after finals, so she came home today, and I think this was the first time she ever told me to go watch my soap opera. "Sheila, just go watch your soap opera, please."

Ha!

Today was a beautiful day - even a little chilly. Brilliantly clear and sunny. Lush green, yellow sun, blue blue sky. Kate called me and we decided to "do something".

I just wasn't in the mood for studying tonight. I have all night, and all day tomorrow.

So Kate invited me and Beth out, and the 3 of us went down to Narragansett Beach for a walk.

It was about 6 pm I guess. Just at sunset. We all rolled up our jeans, and took a long long walk. The sky was indescribable. I felt God there. So much.

The sky changed every time we looked up at it. I think it was the most spectacular sky I have ever seen. Where the sun went down, it was like an explosion. It was gold and shimmering - huge clouds billowing out - all red and orange - and all around the sunset were big thick bright clouds, and stretching off around that, the clouds got wispier and stretched out really long, so they looked like they were zooming off into the distance - all in a blur. The sky was exploding.

So the 3 of us sat down to watch the sky. As though it were a movie.

The waves were lapping. Whenever the waves receded, it was perfectly silent.

Then 3 solitary seagulls - teeny black Vs - flew across the gold sky.

It was weird. It was like the gulls were a mirror of the 3 of us, sitting on the sand. We were them, they were us.

That was when I felt God the most.

It was weird, but later, the 3 of us talked about it - and Beth and Kate had noticed the 3 black seagulls too.

The sky out over the water got darker and darker blue - sort of muted, and deep - a twilight-dusk-blue - and the water was darkly deeply blue. For a while, the sky stretching out over the ocean was glowing with this soft subtle rose-lavendar color - and the waves that lapped (it was a gentle night surf) were all shimmering with this pinky-purple from the sky. Then, again, there were those "rushing" pink clouds -almost reaching for the sunset. It was so peaceful.

The walk we took was really long. By the time we headed back, it started to get dark, so the sky had calmed the hell down. But we could look across the water to the town, all glimmering with lights.

I had this wish that someone was beside me, a boy, holding my hand. And we could sit and watch the sunset.

The beach was sparsely populated - but most were couples. One couple in rolled-up jeans, barefeet, were wading along through the water holding hands. There was one couple huddled together in a lifeguard's chair.

That sky was so bursting with beauty that I could not believe it. It was OVERFLOWING with God.

Then we all went to Newport Creamery for ice cream.

Kate kept saying, "I really feel 17 right now."

We got back into the car, put the radio on, and it was 50s night - so as we drove along, we were laughing at how much it felt like we were in "American Grafitti" or something - cruisin' along, Saturday night, Wolfman Jack, rock 'n roll, just being teenagers.

And now? I am in the right frame of mind to study for the entire day tomorrow.

11:30 pm

I have never studied so long in my whole entire life. All day. I have Chemistry and French tomorrow.

But I am not dreading them anymore. Hey. I have studied massively. I will go in there, and I will do my best. It is only 2 hours out of my whole life. I will survive. Life will go on, whatever happens.

Dad and I had so much fun tonight. I recited practically the entire Chemistry book to him - just for practice - it felt good to rattle it all off, but Dad was so funny - I mean, he didn't even know if what I was saying was right or not, and he so didn't care!

I'd say, "So. Dad. You want to hear about Molality, Dad?"

And he'd say, eyes in his book, "No, not particularly, Sheila."

But I would rattle off the definition at him anyway.

I told him all the rules, all the formulas, and he would just sit there, behind his book the whole time. I'd babble on about protons and neutrons and he would just look at me with this totally bland deadpan face.

He'd say, "You know what Avagadro's number is????Why?"

Dad, I honestly do not have an answer for that. But I do know what Avagadro's number is, and quite frankly, I wish I didn't.

Wednesday is the Drama final, which is just going to be fun. We each have to sing a "character song" and a "love song". Then the entire class has to put on a production number. It is so incredibly fun. For "character" I'm singing "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows", I think it's a vaudeville song that Judy Garland sang a lot - when her name was Frances Gumm - [Look at me, filling in my own diary on Judy Garland's early career.] and then for my "long song" I'm singing "This Can't Be Love" from The Boys from Syracuse. For the "production number" the whole class is gonna do "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. We're all gonna dress up 50s, and bop around being total stereotypes. Kris, Betsy, Joe, Beth, Kate -it's gonna be great.

June 18

It is not a pleasant feeling to look in the mirror and see an old woman. [I am 16 years old at the point of writing this sentence.]

June 19

I cannot even explain to you what the past few days have been like for me. I don't want to see my report card. EVERY final has been SO HARD. Chemistry! It's NOT that I didn't study - I DID I DID! I have gotten about 6 hours of sleep since Sunday. But all my finals have been SO HARD. Chemistry wasn't even that. It was just impossible, it was outrageous, and it was TOTALLY unfair. I am so glad I am out of there. I hate Mr. A. I hate hate hate him. I don't think even HE cares about Avagadro's number. I think he's just happy to have a paycheck. He always wanted to trick us. He would purposefully make the language of the quiz questions confusing - and then not care when everybody got confused, he wanted us to be baffled. He was a tricky teacher, and I don't like being tricked. Good riddance to protons, neutrons, and stupid Avagadro.

June 20

Oh Diary! summer is here! I survived my finals! Not without blemishes. ["Blemishes", Sheila? That's a bad image.] The finals this year - every single one (except English, which I got a 99 on) was SO HARD. I got a C for the year in Math and Chemistry. I do not understand this. I worked harder this year than any other year.

But today - officially - truly - I am a senior. A senior.

We aren't underclassmen anymore. There's a whole new mentality with being a senior.

One more year.

After school got out today (oh yeah - the Drama final was so fun! Mrs. McNeil gave out what she called "Drammy Awards" Kate and I tied for "best love song" - we couldn't believe it!! And, of course, the whole class got one for "Best Production Number" -since, basically, we had no competition.) [hahahahahahahahaha] Anyway, after school got out, Kate and I, again, wanted to "do something". She had her car. So we called J. from school (she had just had her Chemistry exam and was suicidal), so we went to pick her up. I was still in a school frame of mine - it still hasn't sunk in -SUMMER - wonderful summer! After this year of hell, it is like an outpouring of relief, a huge catharsis.

We drove to Kate's house and we had such a great time. We made scrambled eggs and toast (it was only 11 am) and we ate outside on the porch with an umbrella table. The sun was warm and bright, everything was glowing, and we all just basked in this new feeling: 2 and a half months of NO SCHOOL. And also - now we only have one more year. It gives us a very strange feeling of peace. I have not been at peace one day this year. I DO NOT EXAGGERATE. [Sheila, who are you yelling at? You're just writing in your diary. Nobody said you were exaggerating. Also: you ARE exaggerating. It's okay. ] I can't remember ONE DAY this year when I didn't feel all rumpled up, or scared about school - and now it's summer, and I can just take a long 2 and a half month deep breath.

After lunch, we went inside and talked until 3:30. From 12 to 1, we talked about finals. From 1 to 3:30 we talked about boys.

We reminisced. We talked about all the good times we had with all 3 of those boys.

I'm not sorry. I mean, there were times this year when I felt so good, perfectly good through and through. I have never felt so great. I remember it all. How happy I was. And I am glad for that. [I talk as though I am an old old woman, looking back over my long long life.] I am still so MAD that it didn't happen between us. I still don't know why. He did care. I know he did. [No, he didn't.]

But still -we had a great time, talking about the whole year, with those 3 guys. J. and I laughed about how we had actually planned out, in our minds, our double dates. Which, of course, never occurred. We talked over everything that had happened to everyone. J. being asked to dance and how unbelievably exciting that was, DW asking me if I hated him and then J. flying out the door, trying to make herself invisible (I love that girl!!), we talked about Project Adventure (we devoted a good half-hour to that), we talked about all the dances - we talked about the whole fun and nightmarish year.

J. and Kate were telling me about when they found out that I wasn't gonna go to the prom cause he said no. I had called Kate IMMEDIATELY, and then called J. where she was babysitting. J. told me, "When you called me, I thought right away that he had said Yes, because you were out of breath -I thought you were excited - and when you told me, it was like - oh my GOD - this huge CALAMITY!" Kate said, "I know! I know! I just wandered around saying to myself, 'He said no. He said no', trying to make myself believe it, but I couldn't believe it!"

This is true for me too: when one of my friends is down, or has a calamity, I feel it with them.

And - big news: J. overheard that Nick and Eric were going to "Ghostbusters" tonight down at the Pier Cinema - so we decided to go and stalk them. And then be like: "Wow! You're here at "Ghostbusters" too?? What an unbelievable coincidence!!" Hee hee.

Today is the FIRST DAY OF SUMMER. I am young, I am healthy, and I am a SENIOR. But still - I don't want my report card. My total grades aren't bad, but my finals are awful. Okay - my grades for the year - I'm guessing:

History: B (probably ? I got an A in 4th quarter)
Chemistry: C
French: B ????
Math: C (God willing)
English: A
Drama: A

This is what I hope and pray. Well, what can I do now. It's over.

So after the time at Kate's, I went home, I got into jeans, and had a wonderful time just being a vegetable. I watched "Guiding Light". I listened to records. I sighed a lot. I feel like I still have to keep studying. I can't really realize it's summer yet.

Then, at about 6:30, I got ready to go out and stalk those boys at "Ghostbusters". [hahahahahaha] I had on my dad's Oxford shirt (everyone wears their dad's clothes now. It is the latest thing), jeans, metallic red socks, and my white plastic sunglasses.

Betsy and Mere came too. We got there late, so the lights were already off, and we had to fumble around for seats. We actually had to split up. J. and I sat together. The other 3 sat in 2 rows behind us.

That movie - was absolutely hysterical.

J. and I were losing it. We were laughing SO LOUD and SO HARD. There was a couple beside us who were so embarrassing. I mean, they may as well have had all of their clothes off. J. and I silently judged them harshly. But still - that damn Marshmellow Man as tall as a building ... J. and I were out of control. Especially that moment where they all see the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man appear for the first time, barreling down the boulevard - and they all slowly look at Dan Akroyd - who says, ashamed, "I couldn't help it ... I tried to keep my mind clear ... but that was the first thing that popped into my head..." J. and I LOST IT.

After the movie, the sun had just set and the sky was glowing, so we all decided to go for another walk on the beach. Nick was there, Eric wasn't ... a whole crowd of kids from the sophomore (now junior) class was there, at the movie. We all went down to the beach and took off our shoes.

The sky was a soft pink and blue - gorgeous - it was getting dim ... twilight ... As we all ran down onto the sand, it really hit me, for the first time for real, that it is SUMMER. And I don't have to study anything for over 2 months. It was exhilarating.

We all started dancing madly down at the shore - I was tap-dancing in the waves - we all went absolutely crazy - dancing, running, singing, screaming - We shouted to each other, "1! 2! 3!" - and would take long runs, and all kick our heels in the air at the same time. Mere could do two heel-kicks to everybody else's one.

After being a total tired ugly zombie for a week, or a month, (or, actually, the whole year) I felt so invigorated. Not pretty, though. I really look pretty awful right now. I have bags under my eyes. I look very old and tired. [16 years old. Yup..

But still! I felt so alive, dancing on that dusky beach. It was a clear night, too, so all the stars were coming out. We walked in the waves. The surf was huge and crashing.

I felt so great - so free - like a senior in high school should.

The whole sophomore crowd had joined us. We all walked. Starry summer sky.

And then - suddenly - out of nowhere - Betsy ran into the water, with her clothes on, and dove in.

We all were screeching at the top of our lungs, watching her diving through the waves, fully clothed. She was totally soaked! And laughing her head off! We all were!

As we walked back, Betsy, Mere and I walked together, and Kate and J. were far behind.

It really was dark by that time, the sky was full of stars and it looked massive - huge - eternal. I felt like I was spinning and dizzy when I stared up at it.

It was just really nice, wading along on the beach, finals over, school over, in my dad's big comfy shirt, cold water, gorgeous sky, feeling good inside, with my friends.

June 23

Oh LORD! T just asked me out to a movie! I'm going on a date with him!!

I'm not making it a huge romantic thing, but STILL. He called me up. He asked me.

My mom answered - it was for me, so she came to get me. I picked up the phone, and he went, "Hey, Sheila Junior! I almost just asked your mom for a date!"

That made me laugh.

We're going to see "Top Secret". Please God, don't let it be obscene. Don't let there be any naked love scenes, because I think I would die of embarrassment.

He said on the phone, "I know this is really junior high-ish and everything, but ..."

I loved that. His humor about himself asking me out on a date.

I called J. the second I hung up with him, and said, "T just called me and asked me out to the movies." She screamed, "Oh, I can't wait to go write it down in my diary!"

Read other Diary Fridays here...

Diary Friday

This is a re-post. I thought, in honor of all the Joyce posts recently, I thought I'd go back and find a Diary Friday entry that had to do with Dublin. Sadly, it's a mortifying experience to read as well as re-live. I am 14 years old here. We have been in Ireland for forever at this point. I did my schoolwork in various B&B rooms throughout the countryside. I was at the height of horrid adolescence- I find these terrible, TERRIBLE I tell you! We had flown into the Shannon airport - and spent the majority of time on the west of Ireland. So to arrive in a city just thrilled me no end. I was such a snob.

IRELAND

We started off for Dublin and I am SO excited!!! I CAN'T WAIT!!!!! YIPPEE!!! [Ed: I do not believe there is a font large enough to imitate what that looks like in my journal. Continue.] The drive was long but FINALLY WE CAME INTO THE CITY!!!! [See previous note.] Oh, I love the city! It was exactly like New York but with no skyscrapers. The traffic was terrible, but it gave us plenty of time to look around. People - kids - everyone was out - trillions of college kids. [I believe my rapture here is due to the fact that we had spent so much time out in the Wild West, and I had so had it with seeing Abbeys and monasteries. I'm guessing here, but I think that's what's going on here.]

Dad pointed out Trinity College and St. Stephen's Green. We finally found a place to park, we paid the parking meter, and walked off for St. Stephen's. Mum said it was gorgeous. We walked down the sidewalk looking at everything.

I saw the most incredible punk couple [Ha. I was ALL ABOUT being "punk" - only it was such a watered-down American version as to have absolutely nothing to do with the "real thing". So I felt like, whenever I saw kids with mohawks and safety pins and stuff - IN IRELAND - I was confronted with the genesis of the movement.] She had safety pins through her hand, earrings in her nose, and a bleached mohawk.

When we went through the iron gates into the green, it was -- oh, it was so so beautiful. All shady with all the college kids lying around sleeping, and we came to a stream with mallards and Siobhan immediately sat down to watch. There was a gazebo beside the stream (not as nice as the one in Adare BY FAR.) [Ha ha. Listen to me. Judging the gazebos.] I passed around it, trying to find an opening in the wooden fence so I could get in, and I tripped on a MICROSCOPIC iron stake and fell on my face. [Damn, I hate those microscopic iron stakes.] A whole group of jerky girls started to roar with laughter but some college guy helped me up. OH, I was so so so embarrassed! [Ehm, I'm embarrassed right now, reading about my own embarrassment.] I still blush thinking about it. How dorky I must have looked. It's awful.

We walked along the stream and we came into another part of the park - a sunny stretch of grass with a big fountain and flower gardens. I wish I was a poet so I could put it into words! [And then I proceed to put it into words anyway.] Rows of yellow tulips with small violet flowers in front. Red and orange tulips arranged with velvety maroon flowers weaving in and out. They were just incredible. I have never seen so many perfect gorgeous flowers in my life. Some yellow ones, pink tulips - I could have looked at them all day.

We sat by the fountain. Siobhan wanted to take a swim.

We got up again and walked on the winding path past three roaring crying ladies and then went down a lane with trees overarching us and college kids lying on blankets with books. [I am shaking with laughter right now. Who were the "three roaring crying ladies"?? Were they roaring with laughter, I hope? I don't think they just staggered down the path in St. Stephen's Green, roaring with sobs in public. ]

When we neared the gate leading out into the big hustle-bustle city, Siobhan didn't want to go. But she was good about it. [Oh, little Siobhan! She was four!!] When we came out we decided to find a place to have lunch. We hadn't found a B&B yet, but we were all starving. We found a coffee shop that looked relatively normal on the outside. Well, I took my tray with two raisin scones on it, and stared down the stairs. When I came to the bottom I came out into a plush, dim, orange-tinted room with one of those silver balls of light twirling around and bar stools and mirrors on all the walls and low tables and couches and strange lights flashing!!! I went, "OH MY GOD." I was in shock. I was in a bar! [My innocence touches me, weirdly.]

We slowly sat down on a maroon velvet couch by a low table with three bar stools. It was so dim in there, it was hard to see. Siobhan kept saying, "I can't see my food!" [The image of Siobhan is killing me here!!] My scones were delicious although I picked out all the raisins. [HAHAHA]

It was all rather bizarre and I was glad to get out of there.

While Mum took Jean and Siobhan to the bathroom, me, Dad and Bren crossed the street to watch a cricket game. It was really strange and they wore white dickies [HA! Dickies! ], and vests, and everything! When Mum, Jean, and Siobhan came out, we walked around for a while and passed the college and Mum told me about the Book of Kells.

When we got back to our car, we got in and went off to find a B&B. It was the most maddening search. There just didn't seem to be one single B&B in all of Dublin. I swear, we drove around for an hour and a half, and Dad went to the outskirts of Dublin and I didn't want to stay there! No city!!! [I think what I mean by "no city" is exactly the opposite. I wanted to stay IN the city. Hmm. I am sure I was a huge brat during the search. I can feel it in the prose. Sorry, Mum and Dad. ] We still couldn't find one and we were all getting extremely bored and tired.

I was getting worried because the big Eurovision song contest was on tonight at 8:00 and I didn't want to miss it although it was only like 4:30. [This is so hilarious. Jean?? "Dah after dah"? My sister Jean and I were absolutely OBSESSED with the Eurovision song contest.]

Well. Heave a sigh! [Uhm - who ya' talkin' to, Sheila?] We finally found one!! The Oslo House, a big brick B&B on a nice residential street not far from Phoenix Park. And Dad said it's not a far bus ride into Dublin at all. [To appease his bratty teenage daughter who wanted to be among the "punk" people in the city.] And the B&B seems really nice and I have my own huge double bed all to myself! What luxury!

We hung around for a while. I read so much History that I got bags under my eyes. (Slight exaggeration). [Ha. Thanks for letting us know that, you 13 year old girl.]

After a while, we decided to walk down to Phoenix Park. Mum said that it was like Central Park, in that it was huge. It was huge and it was gorgeous - at least the tiny bit I saw of it. There was a playground that Siobhan adored [Again - the image of Siobhan on this trip is killing me!], and when she finished see-sawing, we went up these stone steps (shady) lined with vines, trees, and big bushes, and we came out to a hill with a house on it, surrounded by trees. We walked past that and came out to an ENORMOUS FIELD scattered with benches and amazing flower arrangements. [Uh oh. Here we go again.] Tulips of this lemon yellow color I have never seen before and pink and orange tulips, and yellow flowers that almost shined. It was so beautiful.

The sun was just going down and Mum and Dad got into a conversation with this weird guy. I went down to look at the swans. Oh, they were gorgeous. This proud father glided around the pond, and the mother sat on her eggs on this huge nest. We pet this cute black dog, and we went down to the zoo but it wasn't opened so we came back and Mum bought me some new batteries. Isn't she wonderful? [Mum. I apologize for how many times I needed you to "get batteries" for me. I was clearly a lunatic and should have been in an institution. I was fixated on batteries. I am crying with laughter right now. I am "roaring and crying" perhaps?]

When we got home, I did some more homework and then we watched the contest and I taped it. It was terrific!

[Now here's the deal with the Eurovision Song Contest. Countries from - duh - all over Europe are represented. Music groups from all over the feckin' place compete. Some of them speak English, but most do not. Hence - most of the songs that Jean and I loved were not sung in English, and yet we got to know the sound of the lyrics anyway, and would sing along pphonetically in our gibberish-sounding made-up version of Greek, or German, or whatever. So that should explain the bizarre next paragraph.]

My favorite songs are Mona ya Guppy from Cypress and Dah after Dah from Sweden. I also liked One Step Further (England) and En Beyshen Freeden (Germany). Germany won and I was thrilled. The girl was 17 and she was so happy!!! [And so began my life-long love of awards shows of any kind. Bring 'em on. Wish I could see award shows every day.] The song means "A Little Peace" and it was really touching. She sang it again in 7 languages, and everyone clapped whenever she switched languages. Shivers ran up and down my back!

I always feel like crying whenever someone has people cheering for them. [This is why I still love awards shows. And the Olympics. I still "feel like crying whenever someone has people cheering for them".] I cried at Charles and Di's wedding when they came out on the balcony. I couldn't help it! [Sheila, you could have helped it if you tried.]

It was a terrific night and day.

Diary Friday

Christmas of my junior year in high school.

DECEMBER 24

[Beside the date, I have written a star with emanating beams coming out of it. Bethlehem, etc.]

Finally I am getting into the Christmas spirit. I've been a drip these past few days. When we decorated our tree, I just couldn't get into it. [Ah, adolescence] I haven't been "into it" until today. I feel so excited. Tomorrow is Christmas!

And Diary, I swear. It is a blizzard outside. There's more than an inch of snow! Today I went over Mere's. The minute I stepped out of the car I was pelted madly with snowballs from all sides. They all exploded in my ears. I just stood there. I must have looked pretty pitiful just standing there, face like an albino, because all of a sudden I was surrounded by Mere, Jayne and Dolores -

Oh my God it is snowing so hard! I can hardly see the trees outside and everything across the street is covered in a veil of snow. Wow!

Anyway, all of them cooing "Ooohhh!" they took me into the house where Jayne gave me her presents. One was this lavendar stationary sprinkled with little purple stars and in one corner is this golden moon with a profile - it's so pretty! lNow I don't have to write her letters to her on ugly yellow-lined paper and - Diary - are you sitting? [Can a diary sit?] - a lifesize poster of The Police. It's gorgeous! I can't wait to hang it up.

After that, we all trooped outside where we commenced what turned out to be an hour long snowball fight. Me and Jayne against Mere and Dolores. I am awful in snowball fights but it was so fun! Dolores once slipped and fell - splat - face forward into the snow. I doubt I've laughed that hard in a long time - it will be a timeless image. Then we switched partners - Me and Mere against Jayne and Dolores. It was so fun. Mere and I would huddle in conspiracy - in the end, we surrendered. Mere had been hit in the ear 3 times!

We went inside. I could not feel my toes. Mere ran around to get slippers for everyone. It was so cozy. Mrs. W. made us all chicken and star soup. I kept staring out the window. It was coming down so thickly! It was then that I started feeling Christmasy and all toasty warm inside.

See, every Christmas Eve there's a gathering on the D's lawn - all these families come, everyone sings Christmas carols - then Santa comes and hands out presents. After that, everyone goes into the D's for food. Chicken wings, pizza, crackers, dip - The Hodges are always there. Anyway, I got home - it was madly blizzarding outside. We all bundled up and went to the D's. Already it was dark, but God it was freezing. I mean, biting chilling cold with a sharp wind blowing little icy bits - Santa was late, so the whole circle was jumping up and down, chattering out carols. It was so nice - just a little group of people under the starry sky in the snow - if only it hadn't been so freezing! Finally Santa arrived, all red and white - he sat in the chair to give out gifts. He took so long [Damn that Santa!] Everyone was so cold. I felt mildly ridiculous as I walked up to get my gift. I mean, I was the oldest one there. After Katy and I got our presents, we both ran into the house. I immediately changed into my hightops. My present was one of those magic 8-balls - they were quite the fad a million years ago. I didn't know they were still manufactured! Of course, Kate and I sat around it asking it, "Does David love Sheila? Will he dance with her?" Etc. More than half the answers came out: Most definitely No.

Maybe I should ponder this over. [Yeah, I'm thinkin' you should.]

Then we came home. We always exchange the family gifts Christmas Eve - the ones the kids have bought for each other and Mum and Dad. I couldn't WAIT to see everyone open their presents. Oh yeah, I got Brendan his much desired hockey puck. He really wanted one. I love my family. I love everyone so much. I hope they can tell, even though I don't show it. [Uhm ....... Sheila? Maybe you should, uhm, show it? Just a suggestion] Mum says she can tell but I sure don't give her much to go by. And Dad. I'm getting misty-eyed now just thinking about him.

Brendan. Brendan and me have gotten so close thse past few months. I have the most hysterical brother in the world. Whatever he does now makes me laugh. Brendan gave me a little box with a painting on it that looks to me like a Renoir. Everyone knows I love little knick-knacks. And his card! Okay, last night: I honestly thought I was going to vomit I was laughing so hard. I had to run from Brendan to escape. Okay, there's this really stupid show on called Boone, about a country farm boy in the 50s who wants to be a rock singer. Really really stupid. Brendan spent about an hour making fun of it. He's like, "Everyone's so stereo-typed. The stern but righteous father. All he ever says is, 'Boone ------ go to school.' It's like, 'Oh, Dad, I'm in trouble! What do I do?' 'Go to school.'" But the funniest thing is - before a commercial break - they always say "Boone will continue in a moment" and they show a picture of Boone - he's playing his guitar - and then they freeze him as he finishes in this Elvis pose. Brendan kept imitating that pose until I thought I was going to die from laughing so hard. I went to the bathroom at one point, and when I came out Brendan was standing right there in the doorway - in the Elvis pose. My Lord, I never thought something would ever strike me that funny. And - Brendan said, "Also, why did they name him Boone? They should have named him Beaver. Leave it to Boone." When he said "Leave it to Boone", that was the breaking point for me - I ran up the stairs to my room laughing so hard I thought my lungs would burn up - and Brendan was chasing me, doing the Elvis pose on each step.

So. That's the preface. Brendan's card is a hand-drawn picture of Boone: loafers, rolled-up jeans, Argyle sweater, guitar - in the Elvis pose - and he's saying, "Leave it to me!" I am hanging it on my wall.

Siobhan gave me a little metal box with a painting of a huge mansion on it - it looks like the Brideshead Revisited house. Jean gave me a beautiful painted parrot. Siobhan is so so so cute. I gave those two some stickers - they're both in the midst of sticker mania - they have sticker collections and sticker books - I loved loved loved seeing Siobhan's cute little face light up when she opened hers. She was smiling as she spread them all out to look at each one - she said, "Thank you, Sheila!" but it wasn't in a "dutiful" way and I felt so warm and happy inside. The same when Jean opened hers.

And when Mum and Dad opened theirs!! This is the first year I've had enough money to buy them things so I was really psyched. And I was worried because Mum doesn't like me to spent money on her [which is so hysterical, considering my gift for her probably cost 10 bucks - IF THAT] but I wanted to. Mum opened hers first - she has laryngitis now and can only croak to be heard. But she started taking out the tissue and she smiled her "Mum" smile [I'm in tears right now as I type this] and croaked, "It seems to have a handle!" Then she took out her mug and her jaw just fell - her mug looked so beautiful to me. I think she was really happy. She admired it and kissed me. Dad's present was exactly the same size so he was saying, "Hmm, I wonder what it could be!" He really liked his too. He said, "You know, I really do need one!" [More tears. God bless parents.] Dad said, "It seems like we're the only family who doesn't have a nice supply of mugs." Mum croaked, "Yes, we have to do with tin baby cups and plastic Red Sox glasses." Immediately, Mum went out to pour coffee in both of them - Dad kept looking at the paintings on his mug - I think they really did like that.

Oh, I'd love to be a professional gift-giver! I love it so much!!! I like it better than getting!

I'd better go to bed now or Santa's not goign to come.

Oh yeah, wait - I was a little 'worried' (if that's the word) that Siobhan didn't believe in Santa. She's so grown-up in most other ways and I want her to believe in him as long as she can. I believed in him until I was about 10!! [Yeah, well, you're retarded.] Anyway, suddenly when we were all sitting happily with our gifts, Siobhan stood up - looking really worried and said, palms outstretched, "There are so many presents under the tree." (Ones from relatives/godparents) "How is Santa gonna fit anymore?" Oh, I wanted to run over to her and squeeze and squeeze her!

We put out milk and cookies of course and she was so eager, rushing around in her feety pajamas, arranging the plate on the mantle.

Oh, she's too cute for words! YAY!!

Thank you, God, Thank you for blessing me. I keep trying to be worthy of your love. I hope someday I can be!!

Diary Friday

This is a repeat Diary Friday. And there's an update (unbelievably) to the story. I'll post it as a note at the end of the entry.

Every so often I come across an entry that is too good not to share ... but is so embarrassing (even more so than usual) that I hesitate. HOWEVER. In an earlier Diary Friday, a discussion ensued among my group of friends about this one day that a "rock group" came and played at an assembly - it was some Don't Do Drugs assembly - and this "rock group" (gotta put the quotations there) was part of that propaganda onslaught. We all lost our minds - and then that very night, they put on a concert in our gym - a rock concert. We all went (except for Betsy, sadly). Anyway- we could not remember the name of the damn "rock group" - and Betsy finally came up with it: Freedom Jam.

My entry describing the Freedom Jam rock concert is so mortifying that even I, with my love of self-exposure, find it nearly unbearable to read. I'm in my sophomore year of high school.

But here we go.

I give to you:

FREEDOM JAM!

TUESDAY

[written across the top of this page are the words FREEDOM JAM in massive massive letters]

LORD WHAT A DAY! NO FRENCH TEST CAUSE OF AN ASSEMBLY. WAIT TILL YOU HEAR ABOUT THE ASSEMBLY! [This is like a wartime telegraph. Lord what a day Stop. No French test Stop ...]

OK, it wasn't just a normal assembly. It was a CONCERT from a rock group - Freedom Jam. [Even my language there shows that I have no idea what I'm talking about. "a concert FROM a rock group"? What?]

Oh God!

I was in study first period, and I heard them rehearsing. I mean, they were REAL ROCK. [I am so sorry. I just ... I have nothing to say ...] I ran in there and got a good seat. The whole place filled up and kids had to sit on the floor. The whole set-up was all these speakers and microphones and synthesizers and a big yellow drum set up high. Then Josh Lott came out [Josh Lott!! He was so HOT!] and everybody screamed. This boy is a senior with the most incredible face, an even more incredible body, and he wears plaid pants. He's a freak. He's not conceited though. In fact, he is a National Merit scholar. He just stood there - adorably - waiting for us to finish, and he made a speech about the band and ended by yelling, "HERE'S FREEDOM JAM!" [This is so damn hysterical. It's like U2 came to our school or something.] The whole place screeched and I felt shivers as the guys ran out and immediately began to play. It was fabulous!! Smashing drums and guitars ... and the keyboards player. Oh my Lord. I'll tell you about him later. [Oh God. Please don't.]

They were excellent. All of them were about college age. There was a black lead singer, two white guitarists, a drummer [and here I wrote a little heart. Yes. A small heart.] and a piano player [another heart, this one much bigger.] All were good-looking and they sounded like a real rock group! [Holy crap. How awful!!! Why didn't I say "band"? Why did I say "group"? It's so geeky!!!]

They played some Ozzy and they played Loverboy [bwahahahahaha] and Men at Work. Piano player did harmony. I loved how he played. The lead guy wore olive drab, one guitarist had frizzy hair and woire this black suit with a holster [excuse me? A holster?], the other wore this red, white and blue soldier suit, the drummer wore a sailor middy [I am laughing out loud at all of this - THE DRUMMER WORE A SAILOR MIDDY? WTF? Is he Little Orphan Annie???] and the keyboard -- oh my heart. He was really small and lithe, and he had blonde hair and the most CUTE face. He was so small! And he wore a red, white and blue striped vest, white shirt, a red, white and blue garter on one arm [oh God, member that look??], black bow tie, black pants, and Darryl Hall sneakers. [The outfits are killing me.] I swear, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

After they sang, they talked and stuff, and did some skits [Oh man.] pertaining to music throughout America's history. They started off in 1776 and turned all of these patriotic tunes into rock songs. They were hilarious. Then, they went through the Civil War, WWI, the 20s, the 30s, 40s, 50s ... the lead guy did Elvis. Oh God! He had on this white glittery suit with spangles and a belt with a HUGE belt buckle, and this guitar with Elvis all over it, and he did the most hysterical things with his hips and eyes. [I am shaking with laughter. "So do you like that guy?" "Ah, whatever. He's all hips and eyes."] And he pointed to Heidi in the audience and made her stand up (she was so red) and point at him (she was laughing so hard) and he started to sing, "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog!" and she dropped right back in her seat! The 60s - "She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah" - I particular remember that the keyboards (Tom Caffey) was very cute in this. Oh, and when they got up to present, the drummer, who was also gorgeous, sang "Even the Nights Are Better" [Oh man - that song!!] and he took Heather Cavanagh out of the audience and up onto the stage with him and she was in hysterics as he was singing this romantic song to her, and he fell on his knee before her and (her face was red) she sat on his knee and he gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. [You probably couldn't get away with that now. Some overly-sensitive kid would claim that she was "traumatized" or "sexually harassed". I do think the "ain't nothin' but a hound dog" thing is kinda mean, though. Come to think of it. If they had picked me to stand up - and I felt so ugly and fat ANYWAY - and to be called out like that? It would have been awful. I don't think I would have sued the school, though. Okay. Onward.]

They were such great musicians and I can tell that they really care about each other. [Omigod.] AND- drumroll - during one of the songs, this is honestly true, I swear to the Lord, I was sitting there, chin in my hands, just watching Tom Caffey - Just watching him. And I guess he felt my eyes on him [Uhm ... he was on stage ... he had 800 pairs of eyes on him ... I almost wanted to cut this next part out, because it's just too awful - but here we go.] so he looked over at me, and THEN - he leaned on his elbows, put his chin in his hands, and stared back at me. Imitating me. [Oh wow. I remember that now. I FLIPPED OUT. He had called me out, personally. Thrilling!!] This is the honest-to-goodness truth. I tell you, I died! I went crazy!

After that, I was even more in love, and he kept looking over at me, as he was pounding away on the keys, and smiling at me. I was really brave once, and waved.

And at the end, they each talked to us and he finished with this touching speech about freedom. These guys are no space-outs. No way. [Did you walk into the assembly assuming they would be space-outs? I'm confused.] He talked about feeling proud of America - not just in times of crisis, like with the Iranian hostages - but always. But he talked about how when the crisis is over - like with Iran - the feeling of togetherness goes away, the spirit goes away. He also talked about name-calling. He said, "It strips away people's freedom. Names like 'nigger, honkie, spic ...' " [Wow. Again. You could never get away with this now.] Some kids in the back started laughing when he said those words, and he went, "Yeah, you may laugh now, but it's not funny. Not really." Mr. Hodge said to me later that teachers and parents can't make speeches like that to us because we know them so well. We just roll our eyes. But a rock group can and does make more of an impression. Not only were those guys talented, funny and gorgeous - they also really stand for something special and sacred. I love every one of them. They deserve to become stars.

And tomorrow night they're giving a REAL ROCK CONCERT and I am going! They said they could come down and meet us and I really want to meet Tom Caffey. What a day!

WHAT A DAY! After that, I could not think about anything else.

WEDNESDAY

I went to the concert. I'm crying. How can I put it into words?

I brought my camera, my tape recorder. [hahahahaha] And, after - Tom Caffey signed my dollar and shook my hand. He was standing up on a chair, and I went over and said, "Can you sign my dollar?" [After his patriotic speech, you ask him to deface our nation's currency??] He grinned at me, took it, and said seriously, "Yes. I will sign your dollar." Then he gave it back to me and I, in a fit of bravery, "Oh, could you shake my hand?" And oh Diary, he took my hand and squeezed it.

Oh Lord, it HURTS! MY HEART. I shouldn't do this to myself.

I got some great pictures - we sat down, and suddenly all the lights went out, it was pitch-black and when the lights flashed on, THERE THEY ALL WERE AT THEIR INSTRUMENTS! We all were screaming so loud! The music was louder. I'm practically deaf now. My ears are still ringing.

I got a great picture of Tom at his keyboards. [Oh yeah, we're on a first name basis now] Let's see. He had on a blue and white striped tight T shirt, blue handkerchiefs around his wrists [hahahahaha], tight black leather pants, white leg warmers and Darryl Hall sneakers. [That is absolutely hilarious. Leg warmers]

And Rick, the lead guy, made a speech and he said, "Y'know, people think that it's cool to have drugs, drink, whatever. But we want to let you know that the show you just saw, and yesterday morning's show, has been totally done without the use of alcohol or drugs. You don't need to do all that to have a great time." We all just screamed so loud! (Well. Except for a few spacey dorks)

Diary, I honestly don't know how to say what is going on inside me. I want to laugh, sing, make out with someone, scream, dance, but most of all cry. I get so emotionally worked up. They all just seemed so nice ... as guys, as a group, as people ...

They said they would come back to SK and I swear - no matter where I am - I'm gonna come back to see them. [I can see it now ... I'm walking along the Great Wall of China when my cell phone rings. I answer. "Sheila ... just wanted to let you know ... Freedom Jam will be playing tomorrow at SK ..." I immediately leap off the Great Wall and run to the nearest airport to get myself home.]

I can't even write what I'm feeling now. It has something to do with boys. And wanting a boy in my life. I have each image of the last two days etched in my brain forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

UPDATE, December 7, 2007:

Last year, I checked my email ... and saw the name "Tom Caffey" in my Inbox. It sounded vaguely familiar ... do I know him? Who is it? Opened it up ... to find a beautiful email of thanks from FREAKIN' TOM CAFFEY OF FREEDOM JAM ... 24 years after the fact. His sister (Charlotte Caffey - yeah, THAT Charlotte Caffey) had somehow come across my post - maybe she had Googled her brother's name or something ... read my old Diary Friday (the thought of a Go-Go reading my blog is honestly just too much for me to deal with) ... and passed it on to her brother. And so Tom Caffey emailed me, and we corresponded for a bit ... and he was absolutely lovely. He said he found it strangely emotional to read my Diary Friday - even though it was funny as well. You know, he was a young musician at the time (and he's still friends with his fellow group members) - and he said it was nice to know that what they did was so appreciated (even though it's insane, the way I wrote about them.) I seriously reverted to my high school age when I saw he had emailed me. The keyboardist from Freedom Jam emailed me!!! Nearly a quarter of a CENTURY after the show they did, once upon a time, in the gym at my high school. The Internet is pretty damn cool.

Diary Friday

In honor of an old DEAR friend who has just "found" me through the Internet: Phil!!! I can't even begin to describe the adventures I had with this person, how much he was in my life at one point - how insanely funny he is - and how COOL it is to be back in touch with him again. Our biggest adventure ever was performing at the Milwaukee Summer Fest (there was also that little matter of our run-in with the law) - and so here, in all its highly edited glory, is a Diary Friday of that experience.

I performed with Pat McCurdy at the Milwaukee Summer Fest. He hired me, and 3 friends (Ann Marie, Kenny, and Phil) to be his back-up group. We made up goofy dances and the like. We spent 4 days in Milwaukee, having various adventures.

It is, to date, maybe the most fun I have ever had in my entire life.

I've left out the snarky present-day comments that I usually do with Diary Friday, interjecting my judgment on who I was in the past. I still can't snark about who I was in that 4 day period - my exhilaration, my commitment, my excitement ... I was so ALIVE in those 4 days. No snarking about that!

I still tremble with laughter at some of these old jokes. "Please don't ever leave me alone with Connie. Promise me." "I promise."

Phil's daily bag-stress.

Oh, and I also just BURST into laughter right now when I remembered Pat interrupting my pre-show prayer.

We're standing in a circle before the show, each saying a little prayer. We're goofing on the Madonna prayer-circle she does before each show - but we're kind of serious. It's a bonding group experience - getting psyched to do the show. It comes my turn. We're all standing in a circle, holding hands.

I'm like, "Dear God, help us to do really well tonight. We thank you for this opportun--"
Pat interrupts, he obviously hasn't been listening to me at all: "Sheila, you are stacked."

hahahahaha Guffawing right now!!

SUMMER Milwaukee Summer Fest

The inside of my head is a kaleidoscope. It feels like I have been gone for weeks. This has been an "epoch" in my life, as Anne of Green Gables would say. The shows were unbelievable. A fantasy. A dream come true. Literally thousands of people cheering. All of us bursting through the green curtains, the music pounding, the lights hot and bright, the screaming throngs, yes, throngs - what a RUSH. As Phil said after the first show, "This was huge. This was huge." That's the perfect word. The whole thing was huge.

Monday in Milwaukee:
The first night the show ended up being canceled. It had begun to rain. The sky was apocalyptic. Black and swirling and ominous with lightning forks. The sky was greenish as well. It was gorgeous, in a way, but we all resented it. Phil said, in regards to the sky being green, "That's not right. That's never right." He's such a sailor.

The images of our time swirl by me.

The 4 of us in the back of the van, wearing our freshly ironed Pat T-shirts (Ann did that at the hotel) and shorts (girls in black, boys in green) and as Pat was taking corners we were all falling into each other and propping each other up.

I announced, "We have no boundaries anymore."

Pipe picked us up.

The 4 of us were insane, waiting for him down in the lobby. Pipe laughed at us. "You guys didn't have to wait down here!"

I was jittery and nervous.

Every time Pipe would break suddenly or make a fast turn, Phil would yell out, "Hey! There's dancers back here!"

We all had secret moments of bonding and excitement, through touching and eye contact. I love my fellow dancers. By the second show, we had leapfrogged to the point where we were all like brothers and sisters. It was great.

We went and picked up Mike. He was standing on the sidewalk outside of his apartment, holding his guitar, with 2 cowboy hats piled on his head -to give to me and Ann Marie for our line-dancing during "Imagine a Picture". He remembered!

We then went to go get Pat. The rain hadn't really started yet when we pulled up in front of Pat's house - we were all feeling a little bit claustrophobic in the un-airconditioned van. We all got out. The sky was spectacular. The 4 of us hooked our feet up on this iron fence, holding onto the bars, and watched the sky as though it were a movie. The wind was enormous. The trees were all freaked out with the leaves turned upside down and grey. The air was thick and grey. The sky was angry and filled with incredible lightning. Everything was greenish. It was all so beautiful, but I couldn't really succumb to the beauty because I wanted us to perform so badly. My insides were a total circus.

There were so many moments when I would step outside myself and the experience for a second, and look around at my beautiful fellow cast members, all of us in crisp white Pat T-shirts, and I would have to burst into laughter. Ann and I had our cowgirl hats on, and we went to a parked car to check out our reflections. We practiced our line dance on the sidewalk.

Then Pat came out of his house - we all piled into the van. Pat drove and Pipe climbed into the back with us dancers and we were off.

We sat in Parking Lot E for an hour. We were waiting for the word: show or no show. It poured tropically for that whole time. No A/C. No windows, except for the 2 in front and those had to be open only a crack because the rain was being blown in horizontal lines by the frigging funnel clouds all around us. The stuffiness was nearly unbearable. I kept thinking someone would call the ASPCA like they do with dogs trapped in cars at the beach.

"My tongue is swelling." I said.

"I think it's lightening up," said Kenny, when the downpour reached its heaviest moment. He literally had to yell to be heard. We roared with laughter.

We could hear the crowd screaming for the BoDeans - they weren't performing outside - so their show was on.

Ann finally declared, "I don't care anymore!" and went outside. Now, it was only drizzling - the downpour had stopped. We all got out to breathe the cooler air.

Eventually, the show was canceled.

Meanwhile, Bob, Ann's new boyfriend, way on the other side of the midway, was trying to scam his way over to the Miller Oasis by saying to various Summer Fest employees, "My girlfriend is performing tonight!" Is that the funniest thing?

Pipe dropped us all off at the hotel. Once we dancers were all alone with each other, we felt more comfortable expressing our open disappointment. We had all kept instinctively quiet in the van. We're grateful to be involved at all, but once we were alone, we all were like: SHIT. And of course, by this point, it had cleared up and was now a beautiful cool night.

The boys drove back up to the farmhouse where they were staying. We all were slightly disheartened. We had reached such a fevered pitch getting ready beforehand in the motel room, all for naught.

Ann and I crashed in the lovely air-conditioning. We had basically moved in. Clothes hanging, hot rollers everywhere, makeup scattered. When Pat walked in on Wednesday, he glanced around and said, "You live here now." The nesting instinct.

Oh, this is funny:

It is scary how in sync Ann and I are. More and more, we shriek things out in unison. Weird things, obscure things, out-of-nowhere things. She and I were meant to be friends. It had to happen. At one point in the van, we said an entire sentence in unison. There was a pause. Everyone is so used to this by now, but Phil couldn't help but say, "You guys really do speak in unison more than anyone else I know."

Tuesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I awoke. In unison. Of course.

It was early and we needed coffee so we went out in search of a Dunkin Donuts. It was already very hot. There was a whitish haze in the air. We ate at the D&D we finally found, and then drove back to the hotel room (our home).

Kenny had had this idea of getting T-shirts made up for all of us, Summer Fest/Pat McCurdy shirts. None of us could stop saying the words "I'm with Pat" the entire time. So we wanted the shirts to say "I'm with Pat" across the front. Ann and I decided to do a little research on our own so we got out our Milwaukee yellow pages and started making calls. We alternated. Comparison shopped. Asked a million questions. Ann took notes. We were all spread out on her bed, phone books, phone in between us, pad of paper, we were very business-like. We were also very into instant gratification, and it didn't look like it was gonna happen.

"I want this now," said Ann.

During all of this, Ann decided that she wanted to get a massage, so she started making calls regarding that and she found one right down the street. As she was discussing prices with this woman, I decided that I wanted to get one too. Ann basically told this woman our whole life story in order for us to get appointments that day. "You see, we're only in town for a couple of days because we're performing at Milwaukee Summer Fest-" (Ann rolled her eyes at me, and I burst into laughter.) So Edel, the masseuse, rearranged her schedule for us.

Ann said, "I am totally unembattled about this. I want a massage today." Ann Marie makes things happen. Our appointments were later in the day so we decided to go have lunch at a Mexican restaurant that Ted recommended to me. I called the restaurant (Ann and I were all about the yellow pages this morning), got directions (which Ann and I later chose to ignore, somehow feeling that we knew the city better than the native who gave us the directions), and we set off.

It was a hot hazy day.

We shrieked along the freeway. It was so fun to be on a kind of vacation together. Summer! A whole day of nothingness! In Milwaukee! With this enormously exciting event in the evening.

We had the windows rolled down. Ann was driving fast, it was windy and loud - glorious! Then, suddenly, Ann rolled up my window and my fingers got crushed. Then followed a white-hot three seconds of total chaos. Poor Ann. Suddenly I started screaming at the top of my lungs in total panic, "OPEN THE WINDOW! OPEN THE WINDOW!" At first Ann thought I was joking since my screaming was so hyperbolic. For the one second that she thought I was joking, and the window didn't go down, I then thought that the window was stuck, so then I really lost my mind. "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" Then she rolled down the window - oh, I just BURST into laughter just now remembering this whole thing, the 2 of us screaming and crying - I was clutching my clawed hand, and then I burst into stormy primal tears. It was a physiologically-based cry, like sneezing or sleeping. It was a literal bursting into tears. I cried for 20 minutes.

Poor Ann felt so bad, and so she started crying, and there we were. Cruising down the freeway, both of us in tears.

She kept imploring, "Bend your fingers! Can you bend them?"

Just writing this down is making me laugh.

Once I began crying, I started crying about my whole life, and how clumsy I am (even though this was not a case of clumsiness). I could not stop crying once I started. Ann kept saying, with tears streaming down her face, "This wasn't your fault!"

Well, my fingers are fine. They were a little bruised the next day but that was it.

Somehow, though, the crying released many of the stress toxins I had coursing through my veins. Out they came with my tears. It was a great stress-reducer. Also, once all the toxins were out, the crying stopped immediately.

It was like a huge clap of thunder. The pressure released, the sky was clear again, the air cool and fresh.

We had a lingering Mexican lunch that was very yummy and we both had 2 margaritas. We had a surly rude waitress. I sucked down my 2 drinks, limp as a dishrag from the crying, and then had a nice tequila buzz, and then Ann and I had a fascinating terrific discussion about religion. It was a GREAT talk.

We left the restaurant, emerged into the hot air, and drove off, singing along to "Close Every Door" from Joseph, at the tops of our lungs. Windows wide open. The weather was a sauna.

We went and had incredible massages.

The whole day was about toxin expulsion. Crying, tequila, huge conversation about religion, massage. We left Edel's with oil on our skin, in these uplifted spacy states, like we had been roaming the Milky Way and were trying to relearn our bodies again.

We went back to A/C land. There was a busted soda machine in the lobby. Ann pressed the Coke button, she didn't even put any money in, and it was like winning a slot machine. Cokes kept pouring out. We were laughing hysterically. We loaded ourselves down with so many cans that we could not open our door. Girls, take a step back. We got a bucket of ice and filled it with our free sodas.

Just as funny was the boys showing up at our door later on, we opened up the door to admit them, and there they were, beaming with glee and greed, each holding about 7 cans of soda. They thought they would surprise us. I swung open the door so that they could see the bucket overflowing with our soda cans.

The 4 of us were out of control. We really did have the comfort level of siblings with each other. We ruled the hotel from Room 230. We were filming a "backstage video" of our experience - so we moved furniture, we filmed in the lobby. We stole sodas.

We then had a quick run-through in the room. We definitely weren't as insanely excited as we had been the night before. We were a tiny bit jaded because of the cancellation.

Pipe came to get us and called up from the parking lot. He could hear our raucous behavior from down below.

We all bustled about. We each had a bag filled with stuff for the show. Phil continuously lost track of his bag. "Where's my bag? Where's my bag?" "Have you seen my bag?" "No, I'm fine - just having my daily bag stress." It got to the point where every time I heard the word "bag" come out of Phil's mouth, I'd start to laugh.

Ann was in charge of all the hats in the show. She said, "Do you want me to own the hats?" "Own" the hats. She meant "own" in an emotional sense, as in "taking responsibility" - which is so damn funny.

We climbed into the van with a very different energy from the night before.

It was hazy and extraordinarily hot, but we were at least confident that a show would happen. Pipe was so cute, pointing out Milwaukee landmarks to us (we, who were blind in the back), telling us stories about buildings.

We arrived at the Fest and went to Lot E again. We all piled out again.

I was amazed by the overpass. It fascinated me so much that Pat eventually started to referring to it as "Sheila's bridge". Pat had tickets for all of us, and we clustered around him like children waiting for dad to dole out allowance. All of us in our matching outfits. GOOFY. We were little Pat McCurdy chicklets. Then we were off, walking briskly through the throngs, holding bags, guitars, hats. Excitement mounting. Every third person we passed hailed Pat. "Pat!" "Hey, there's Pat!" "Pat, where you playing?" "Pat! Hi!"

Crowds and crowds of people. Hazy pink night. Neon beer signs everywhere. Sounds of music, sounds of screams from where Janet Jackson was performing. Everything was shimmery. And above it all was that magical prehistoric-looking overpass. Everything was so vital, so incredible. I'm ALIVE. It was one of those nights when I love everyone I see. It was so much fun, walking briskly through the Fest and its throngs with Pat.

We got to the Miller Oasis with its monolithic stage. Pat took us around to the back where there was a ramp going up into the backstage area, which was teeming with activity, security people on the edge, another band setting up, their entourage milling about.

This was funny: the name of the band preceding us was something along the lines of "Malatini". As were were driving over, someone asked, "Who's going before us?" and I said, "Mahi Mahi." This was a big hit, and within about 10 minutes, it was assimilated into everyone's vocabulary. Later, at the Fest, I overheard Pipe Jim say to someone, totally seriously, "Okay, so once Mahi Mahi finishes ..."

None of us felt like exploring the Fest. We all felt the need to be in the immediate backstage area. There was so much to soak up! So many sensations! This was so big-time for us. In our own chaotic way, the 4 of us needed to focus. We needed to be all about the show. We had to wear Miller Oasis stickers. I loved having mine. We were all very into our stickers. Every moment was memorable, it was that kind of evening. Every image was a keeper. It was one of those rare times in life where I could totally observe my own life and think, "How cool! Look at how COOL my life is!" And yet I was still present in every moment. Vivid vivid VIVID. Technicolor. My eyes saw everything with microscopic clarity.

There were kegs of free beer backstage. There were 3 dressing rooms and the bands rotated. They were air conditioned and they had a terrible smell. The carpet was red and stained. Pat looked at the stain, glanced at me and said, "Musicians", shaking his head.

I immediately began to set up all my stuff, hanging up my change of costume, laying out all the shit I'd need during the show. It was so funny because during our "backstage video" - we faked a fight between the 4 of us in the hotel room, we all began bickering and bitching at each other, and the entire time I kept packing up my bag, arranging my stuff on the bed, and Phil yelled at me, "Oh, the whole WORLD belongs to Sheila, right??" Hysterical. It became this big joke, and then there I was - totally taking over one corner of the dressing room with all my stuff.

Kenny gathered all of us players together and we went into the backstage area to discuss logistics. We talked through stuff, got familiar. I just love the images so much of the 4 of us in shorts and Pat McCurdy T-shirts and sneakers and red stickers, walking around, having quick little summit meetings.

"Okay, so during Drive in Reverse..."
"All right, then, so we'll come on from this side for Groovy Thing..."
"Should I set up the cowboy hats here or--"
"Kenny, will you come on from this side for Mick, because..."

We wrote out the song list twice and taped them up where we could refer to them if we needed to during the frenzy of the show. There were all kinds of long-haired roadie types walking around and I was consummately in the way. I said, "Excuse me" 10 times. Ann and I loved to stand in the huge open "door" and watch the Summer Festers walk by, eating, drinking beer, looking up at us. With our Miller Oasis stickers. It gave us a nice important feeling.

We were all totally stressed, waiting for the show to begin. Pipe later called us all "jungle animals", because we were all 4 of us pacing back and forth. Separately. In our own worlds.

The 4 of us and Pat stood in a circle before the show (like Madonna did with her dancers in "Truth or Dare") to bond, and get psyched, and offer up wishes, one by one, to God. In the middle of my turn, in the middle of one of my sentences, Pat, who had been looking at me, totally interrupted my prayer and said, "Sheila, you are stacked."

I am still laughing about that.

The show of course was magic. Dreams come true. Thousands of screaming people.

After the show, the 4 dancers stood in the dressing room, soaking wet with sweat, speaking all at the same time, drinking free beer, talking nonstop. It was a raging success for all of us. I think Pat was very relieved. We were all blithering and chattering, twitching with adrenaline.

The 4 of us went out with Pipe and Mike afterwards to a bar, where a bunch of their friends were. Phil and Kenny were really into partying, but I was not due to my increasing recording anxiety. The bar was very smoky so I started having a mild panic attack that I would wake up the next day with no voice.

Connie was at the bar. Basically, Ann Marie is deathly afraid of Connie. She confessed this to me. "Don't ever leave me alone with Connie." I promised.

Pipe came over to me and Ann and was so sweet, talking to us, being mellow, telling us stories, taking care of us. He'd make you soup at a low moment. He'd rub your feet. He's a caretaker.

Kenny and Phil stayed on at the bar, and the rest of us left.

The night was unbelievably hot, and the air actually felt thick. We were all laughing about how Ann's mom used to say to her kids, "Don't hang" on nights such as this.

There we were, 1:30 in the morning, drowsing off to sleep in the back of the van as Pipe drove us through the deserted streets of Milwaukee.

The guys were going to crash in our room, and they promised us that they would be quiet.

And they were SO NOT QUIET when they came in. they were giggling like, literally, 8-year-old brothers. Ann and I had crawled into the same bed, and we fell fast asleep.

Wednesday in Milwaukee
Ann and I woke up, in unison, and LOVED the image of bare-chested straight-guys Kenny and Phil in bed together. The mood of hilarity began.

Kenny woke up and introduced a sleepy Phil as "Joe" and said that he had met "Joe" at "the Pabst stage." We did some more filming of our backstage video, and then the boys drove up to spend the day at the farmhouse. Kenny's sister from France was coming in that day with her husband and daughter. It was a very funny ruffled sleepy morning with the boys.

I was tightly coiled up - knowing that I was recording the duet with Pat later that day.

Mike and Ann made plans for the morning. He was in a tour guide mode. They went to go take a tour of a brewery, and then Pat came to pick me up, and we drove to the studio. I took one look at the recording booth and had a brief flash, "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." But I instantly repressed the freak-out.

All I can say about the recording experience is that it was just perfect. I loved it so much. Once we were both in the booth, headphones on, I felt ready. No more fear. Before, I had clearly been showing some tension because Pat had taken me by the shoulders and shook me. Hard.

And then - we did the duet in one take. Live. So what will end up being on the CD will be us actually singing to each other - rather than him recording his part, and then me recording my part separately. We went through it once, together, just to get the feel for it - and then it ended up coming out perfectly.

We sat and listened to it afterwards for about 3 times. It was so weird. Hearing my voice floating through the recording studio.

By the time we left, for Pat to drive me back to the hotel, the sun rays were long and lazy. It was still really hot. We were tired, relieved, happy. When I walked back into Room 230, Ann was asleep in the room. The silence of the air-conditioned space surrounded me. It's a strange thing, living in a motel. It's hard to settle. Ann and I did as much as we could, filled the drawers with clothes, made our beds, but I guess it's harder to settle down emotionally.

Stasis in darkness. Surreal. Time outside of time.

Then the insanity for that night's show started up again.

Ann was having some kind of allergy attack which she fought as best she could.

We began our preparations again, waiting for the boys to arrive. It was a tiny bit rainy again. When the boys showed up - Kenny said something wonderful. He said to us, "You guys, let's try to remember ... even if tonight is canceled - let's try to hold onto the fact that we at least got to do it once. And last night was so incredible. Let's not forget that, no matter what." He was right.

We had a mini-rehearsal in the room again. There was something so heartwarming about every moment. Phil doing "jazz hands", and reminding all of us not to forget our "jazz hands", is enough to carry me through many a darkened hour.

We all were high on each other, cracking each other up. Our windows were open for air circulation. We feared that Ann Marie was having a reaction to too much air-conditioning in her life. Pipe pulled into the parking lot. Room 230 faced front, right over the lot - we had just run through one of the big "dance numbers". We had to laugh as we did it. We were just so ridiculous. And when we finished it, we all started clapping and screaming and cavorting, and this is when Pipe got out of the van. We heard a voice call up to us.

He said, "I heard the commotion and thought: 'Gee, who could that be ...'"

We are children. And off we went again, carrying bags and hats and various hair products.

The rain stopped.

There was the excitement, again, of getting our tickets and walking through the crowd, and gaping up at "Sheila's bridge". Jackie and Ken were coming!

We were all, by this point, so "over" the Miller Oasis thing. We put on our stickers, totally blase, stashed our stuff, and then scattered to the 4 winds to explore. Ann and I walked around, in our Pat T-shirts and stickers. We saw a lot of drunken scenes. The ground underfoot was slick and sticky with spilled beer. We saw a girl fall off a picnic table into a puddle of beer and then get dragged off by her 2 friends. We saw girls dancing on picnic tables wearing white bikini tops and shorts.

It was a gorgeous night, hazy but cool. The pressure of the day released.

Ann and I passed by one of those little fake recording studios. By this point, we had only 10 minutes til we were supposed to be back at the Oasis, so we totally pulled rank on the other people in line, flashing our stickers at the people working: "We're performing in 20 minutes- can you squeeze us in fast?" They did. We put on headphones and literally shrieked our way through "Like a Virgin". God. It really sounds AWFUL. Total impulse thing. Ann is such a great friend for adventures like that.

We all converged on the Mecca that was the Miller Oasis. Ann and I stood on the little cement stairwell balcony, sipping free beer, and watching the parade go by. We soaked up the attention we got just for being backstage.

The show, again, was beyond belief. Over 3000 people cheering for us. The sound they made was a literal ROAR.

After the show, Pat had to go do another show at one of the local clubs - so we all tagged along. We rode in the back of the equipment van. So fun. All of us drinking beer out of paper cups, holding Pat masks, laughing at all the groups we saw out of the back of the van, wearing Pat masks, strolling through the streets. It was as though a strange cult had come to town.

At the club, it was like we were stars. People flocked around us, bought us drinks. The 4 of us all sat at one table at the club, wearing our "I'm With Pat" T-shirts that Kenny had pro-actively gotten done. Kenny's sister and her husband were there with us. We were this little enclave. I had on my black shorts, my fishnet stockings, my combat boots, my derby. Like Madonna's girlie show or something.

Shots of liquor that tasted like Dentyne were bought for all of us. We were totally carousing.

Ann Marie ran into people who were clients of hers from her actual job - so WEIRD. So who knows that they think of her life now. People had this impression that this was what we did for a living, traveled around with Pat, wearing "Pat" uniforms.

Pat played Drive in Reverse during his show at the club, and the 4 of us stormed the stage to do our GOOFY dance. I was laughing so hard. We were the biggest geeks in the world. We had so much attention paid to us. We sat at our VIP table, pounding back beers, bouncing off the walls, reliving the shows, dancing with each other, giving each other love and affirmation about the amazing-ness of this entire experience.

Phil was taking pictures and burning all of our corneas.

Diary Friday

Ah, yet another excerpt from my frenzied roller-coaster journal from my junior year in high school. My unrequited love for David was slowly blossoming. It didn't hit its height until February or March of the next year ... but it's beginning here, in December. I ache, I throb, I pine!

DECEMBER

What a long pleasant day this has been. [What are you, 45 years old with the "pleasant"??] I worked from 9 to 1 but it's always slow in the mornings [I worked at the nearby public library, you can see photos of it here] so I didn't have to go tearing around. J. worked from 12 to 5 so we got to work an hour with each other. Charlotte left for lunch and the library was empty except for us, so we sat at the desk slipping books and talking about BOYS. How to handle that mysterious race. [I have learned, through long years of experience, that "boys" are actually another GENDER, not another race. But ah, I am young here. And a lunatic.] You know, I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong. I don't do anything. [And that right there is the issue, girl] How long do you suppose is reasonable time for me to wait? I'm sick of waiting and I feel like I ought to be doing something about it - but what? [The question still remains] I can't just stand up and scream, "HEY GUYS! LOOK! IT'S TRUE! I AM AVAILABLE!" (Hmm - that's a thought.) I walk around now with a perpetual ache inside. It hurts so bad. It's not a sharp piercing pain but a grinding away that makes me want to moan and flop on the floor. [Good Lord!!] In spite of this though, life seems incredibly wonderful to me.

Yesterday I was walking home alone from the library at 5. It's already dark by then with just a slight whisper of sunset on the horizon. It was chilly and dark, the street lamps were on and I, with my bookbag and mittens on, was walking home. I love that part of the day. I was on South Road alone, but I felt very secure. When I'm alone - never ever am I lovely. My imagination is so great that people who really aren't there can suddenly materialize beside me [this is still true] and suddenly, I felt that David was walking along with me, our mittened hands clasped - I could even hear our soft serious conversation but I couldn't make out the words. But it became so real to me. It's a bad habit. I always feel like the world is a big awful terrible thick fog when I stop pretending and get home - if it were only real! If it were only real!

I think, though, that if it were real I couldn't put it down here right. I'd screw it up trying to find the right words. I have enough trouble just trying to relay gym class.

The sky today honestly took my breath away. I had to stop and just stare. Mum, Jean, Siobhan and I all ran out to the car for the 5 o'clock mass. Just as I opened the front door, I looked up. Glowing through the dark silhouette of trees - oh the skies - it was a muted rose, very gentle and whispery, as though someone had lightly brushed with a paint brush - the pink slowly melted into lavendar which then spread all out into a silvery deep blue. For once the twilight sky was really a very mysterious blue, and the moon just softly shone. I just stood outside the car looking. I felt so achey inside.

Then in church - I love our church and I love being a Catholic. Father Creedon is a wonderful man. I really love him. Anyway, usually when we sing the Our Father song - the entire congregation joins hands - people spread out across the aisle- Oh, I feel positively uplifted sometimes, singing, holding hands - the warmth of strangers [Yes. I am a 16 year old Blanche Dubois]. But tonight, in accordance with Advent, Father Creedon said, "I am going to ask you to do something during the singing of the Our Father which will feel rather uncomfortable. At Christ the King, we hold hands during it - but tonight we will not." Then the familiar beautiful music started and all of us were singing - but it felt so weird. I can't really explain it - but I missed it - it was awkward just standing there singing - without holding hands. But - involuntarily I felt my head lift up, my hands came out of my pockets - and I could feel my voice just flowing out of me - I felt as though just standing there wasn't near enough. I just wish I had wings. Walking on two feet is so commonplace especially especially when your head is in the sunset. [Oh, for God's SAKE!]

You know what? [Get ready for no segue] I can't go on pretending anymore. When I was in like 7th or 8th grade, I lived in a dream world. I came home from school, went to my room, talked to myself and Andrew in my head for hours. Then - that was enough. That made me feel happy. But not anymore. Suddenly pretending isn't enough. It's all fine but -

Oh GOD I need so much more!!!!

Diary Friday

The following entry is from my junior year in high school when I was TOTALLY in love with a guy named David. I was in love in an unrequited vaguely stalker-ish kind of way, and every single notebook I have from that year is filled with David details. It all ended tragically, as such things do.

I sound rather manic in this entry. I also refer to another person - another HUMAN BEING - as a "warthog". God forgive me.

FEB 7

I feel like I'm on an inevitable course. [What are you, an Olympic luger all of a sudden?] I hope of success - why do I want to have doubts? Of course you know who I'm talking about. I'm so muddled up inside. Everyone else had the worst days of their lives - because their days were so awful I began to think - "Okay - when is the axe going to fall on me?" Bad luck does happen in 3s, you know. [Okay, Sheila, I want you to try - just TRY - to not sound so insane. Thanks.]

It's so very hard to be happy when everyone around you is sobbing. [Good point]

Okay - with J. - Lisa - the warthog - came up to J. in band saying, "Guess who called me last night? .... Nick!" Oh, she just wants to dig that knife in. Why J.? J. deserves it so much. I can not stand this. Also - why Lisa?? Why the girl we all hate so much? [I have no idea who Lisa is now. I'm sorry, in retrospect, Lisa, that I referred to you as a 'warthog'. That was not very nice.] I don't understand this! It's all so unfair.

Then = this is so unbelievable - I can not believe this - the editor of The Rebellion, the school paper - N. (gag choke wheeze) - she's a tyrant. We fondly refer to her as the pirhana. [hahahahaha GOD!!!] She's a jerk as an editor and a jerk as a person. She likes ERIC! Why? And in French IV sent him a Valentine Gram calling him cupids and stuff - why? If they only knew what pain they were causing! [Sheila, what are you TALKING about??]

My day was really peachy.

We stayed after for rehearsal. J. was upstairs in the Rebellion meeting. That's how she found out about the Valentine Gram. I was in the Music Room. I noticed that Kate was gone - she had gone off to find J. I knew that something was wrong with J. from English on - she turned to me and said, flatout, "It's over. I have no hope left." But she didn't elaborate. After class, Kate was hugging J. consolingly - I just walked on - I'm not gonna force her to tell me.

Then we went to rehearsal and both disappeared. Mr. Crothers came late so I was sent off to find them./ I found them on the 3rd floor - Kate huddled against the wall. I knew something had just happened. I guess it was my pride that kept me from asking what was wrong. I just saw them, said, "The Crud's back!" and turned to go. If they want to tell me, they will. Well, they caught up to me and did tell me. We were about ten minutes late to rehearsal because we just stood in a doorway hugging each other. Kate just looked at me and said, "I really need a hug, Sheila." Those poor kids. Why of all people them? It does seem like fate is working against us. Why? I was just talking to Kate on the phone and I said, "I'm sick of having to handle things." Every day I go to school - I can't just live. Maybe this me growing up but it doesn't feel good. I don't want to have to go through life continually having to deal, cope - whatever! I used to make fun of J. cause she always says, "I cannot handle any more of this." But I know what she means. How much more are we supposed to take. [I love the dramatic language. Especially because all of this despair was brought about by a warthog and a Valentine Gram]

My day went good. I felt sort of obliged to be depressed because they were. Kate kept saying, "Sheila, don't try to convince yourself that your situation is like ours." But it is hard. I am so cautious sometimes. I'll be talking to him and I'll show a little bit of myself. Immediately afterwards, I can feel myself shying away. Maybe it's only me. Everyone's saying to me, "You've got nothing to worry about, Sheila." But I do. I have to! I've never felt this way before. It's the first time I've ever gotten anything back but I don't want to misinterpret it in my awe that a boy is actually talking to me. [sniff. That part kinda kills me.]

Diary, these are the facts: He does talk to me an awful lot. But so what? Am I denying to myself that he might care? Why would I do that? Anne was saying it's probably because I don't have much confidence in myself in that area. True true. I wonder why!

Anyways, today was a bowling day. [And ... what does that have to do with anything??] It was freezing out. We were all heading through the parking lot. I was walking with Kate, J., and April. David was right ahead of us. Just as we started over the little hill to the field, he turned to look at us and said something like, "So when's the next SK Pades meeting?" I said, "Tonight after school." As we cane over the hill, suddenly he was beside us, walking with us. My three friends sort of drifted ahead - as one - leaving the two of us alone. [hahahahahaha I love girlfriends!!] We walked together all the way there and we talked the whole way. When I'm talking to him, I really don't think about what I say. I just blabber on mindlessly. [And is this a good romantic tactic, Sheila?]

He was saying, "Today after school, I have to get to Smithfield by 3." He obviously wanted me to ask why he was going to Smithfield, so I inquired, "Why?" And he explained that there was a rehearsal for the All-State Band. Not thinking, I blurted, "Oh, when is that? Can I come and see you?" (Don't be too obvious now or anything.) He said, "Sure you can come, but I don't know when it is yet ... I'm looking forward to it. It'll be the first time when I get to play with a band that really amounts to anything." He grinned down at me. I glanced around to see if Nick, J., Justin or anyone else from band was around. I said, "Ssssh!" He shrugged. "I know a lot of kids feel that way. I mean, I've been playing ever since junior high but you really can't consider that anything of musical worth ..." I was laughing. The junior high band is the target of many jokes.

At this point April and Peter were running around and cracking all the ice in the frozen footprints. David grinned at me and said, "I always used to do that ..." [ahhhh, he speaks like a wise old sage, looking back on his boyhood days of frivolity! The dude was 17 years old! Ha!!] "I'd be 10 minutes late to everything cause I had to crush all the ice footprints." My heart pounded. He reveals parts of himself to me - I can't believe I'm walking along talking to him!

We were walking along the sidewalk. I had just asked Peter what his utopia was. We had to create our own Utopia for class. [hahahahaha We had just read the book, I remember that project now. I also remember how we all created "utopias" and the teacher repeatedly would point out the flaws in our utopias ... showing us that what we had really created was a sterile fascist totalitarian society. It was a great class project.] Peter explained his utopia to me. There was a population cap of 3,000 or something and if they went over that then people had to migrate. David interjected, "Yeah, mine was just like that. If the population exceeded 1,000 people were encouraged to jump off cliffs." I groaned. "My utopia is so stupid" I said. Then he said something like, "Do you really care what she thinks about you?" [Meaning: the teacher] I said, "I liked Mr. Crothers, though." He nodded, "Oh yeah, the Crud's great. Probably one of my best teachers. I really learned a lot in his class." I sat there nodding. I really did agree with him though.

It was so wicked. [haha. Not wicked cool or wicked awesome - just WICKED] We were walking together! I felt so weird - a weird feeling, but I liked it.

Occasionally Kate or J. would turn around just to see if we were still talking. They were far ahead of us - I don't know what they were talking about - but I felt weird anyway.

Then we started talking about Freshman Honors English and how dumb it was. MS. P. She just got married - she's keeping the MS. and always corrects you if you say "Mrs" or whatever. All sorts of rumors are going on about her - she had a kid out of wedlock or something. [Oh my God, listen to you gossip! And yes - the fact that she wants to be called 'Ms' is SO UNBELIEVABLY SUSPICIOUS that there HAS to be an illegitimate baby in the picture!!!] David was telling me about what he heard - something about a freshman student and the baby - I got a thrill out of this.

Don't ask me about these odd things I have. For instance: I would love to watch Davide tie his shoe, or button his shirt, or clean his glasses. I know they have to get dirty sometime! He got a haircut - he looks so spiffy and GORGEOUS! God, I imagine him as the scissors clip away! [holy crap!! How embarrassing!] Okay, I am obsessed!!

We got to the alleys - I walked in - he was right behind me so as I walked in I sort of held the door so he could take it. Our fingers brushed against each other. I wonder if he even noticed.

Well, bowling was positively heaven. HEAVEN! Fate was once again looking over me. The alleys are set up so that it goes in 2s - 2 lanes, one desk with 2 spaces for scoring - each one has a semicircle of seats around it - [Dude, that's the setup of every bowling alley from here to Outer Mongolia] So it's 2 pairs of kids in each section. Well. It was me and April - and - by some freak chance - David and Jeff. I was so excited. My heart was pounding. I was praying fervently, Thank you! Thank you! [God, up in heaven, dealing with issues like war and poverty and natural disaster, hears my prayer and is like: Wait ... what is she thanking me for? For placing David beside her at the bowling alley???]

It was GREAT! I got on my shoes - I was sitting right next to David as we both took off our normal shoes and put on the ugly bowling ones. I found myself glancing down inconspicuously at his socks - his white wonderful socks! Something is definitely wrong with me.

I did so awfully bowling-wise. I wonder why. I got a 45. Diary, a 45! That means that every other try I got a gutter ball. I didn't CARE though!!

Sometimes April would be taking her turn and so would Jeff so David and I would be sitting side by side, scoring - his pencil didn't work so we shared a pencil. Yes, we shared my pencil! [Why don't you guys just get married immediately??] I loved how he handed it to me. He showed me once again how to score spares and strikes. I wonder if he watched me while I was bowling. God, I hope not! I sure watched him.

OH GOD! [God, in heaven, dealing with tornadoes and explosions and famines, is distracted by my cry ... "who's that calling me? Oh ... HER again?"]

One time he had 3 pins left to knock over - he rolled the ball, it knocked over the 2 in front of the third and the last one remained standing. He looked really perplexed as he came to sit next to me. "I don't understand how that is possible. If the ball is rolling straight ... how can it ..." We were laughing about it. He looked at his score sheet. "I have 5 9s on my sheet." I said, "That's better than 9 5s."

I killed my wrist - David asked me how I was holding the ball so I showed him and he said, "No - use the middle finger and the fourth." It seemed like whenever he knocked down another nine pins, he'd turn around and look at me. I was having the blast of my life. The blast.

Diary, sometimes I think my spool is unwinding. [what???? There is no segue here - we go right into unwinding spools!] My mother says I am a strong person, but am I? I do not feel strong. I want to be but - if some great absolute tragedy came over me - like if I were paralyzed or went blind - how would I handle it? Sometimes I want to be tested fiercely - see what I'm made of. I feel so - sort of fragile sometimes - like one more incident and I'll go berserk. Every now and then I go berserk - I mean, like crying all night, lying in my room, crying more - but I know that my life will be a struggle. And in a way, that's good. I've said before: I don't want to drift through life. I won't drift. But will I be able to take it? I feel so helpless sometimes when I think of all the years of pain and suffering I might be facing. Greater pain than what I am feeling now. How will I deal with it? Can I grow? Who am I? Oh, it is an important question and I need to know.

All Diary Fridays here

Diary Friday

Okay. Get ready for some sappy Americana, teenage-girl-diary style! Sheila, circa age 13 or something, going with her family to see Carl Yazstremski's second to last game with the Red Sox. It is a propos today, of all days. Just cause. Afraid to say more. Let's just put one foot in front of the other, people. And remember where we came from.

October 1 YAZ DAY
We got home so so so late last night. It was SO FUN. I love baseball. I always have. And Fenway Park! All of Boston. The people in Boston are so nice. So friendly. Very down to earth. Boston really comes alive on home games.

And now - Yaz Fever is in!

As we came down the little narrow street towards Fenway Park - it was packed with screaming people waving Yaz banners. And as we were driving up, we passed this schoolbus full of kids, they all had on Yaz hats - and were really rowdy. We started waving at them - I whipped off Jean's Yaz hat [Sheila: did you ask your sister if you could steal her hat?], and they all started applauding and cheering with us. The whole bus waved banners at us, and the whole street went nuts!!

Inside Fenway Park, it was a mad house. And coming out into the stands, with the lights, and the sizzling excitement, and the teams right there warming up ... Our seats were really good. Right along the third baseline.

We looked for Yaz but couldn't find him. I felt like I was waiting for the curtain to open on a big show or something. [What a penetratingly original analogy]

At 7:30, they announced the line-up. Yaz was fifth. We all went wild when they called his name. The crowd was screaming and screaming and screaming - we just would not stop. It was great.

I love Boston. I love the Red Sox. I love the people in Boston.

The game started. Cleveland was up first.

I wish we could have seen Yaz play first, but he was the designated hitter. When they announced Dennis Eckersley, Brendan went, "Oh, don't boo!" Everyone did, anyway.

And Jim Rice was right out there. I LOVE JIM RICE. It was so amazing to see all these stars and players I have idolized since I was 8 years old! They were all right there!!

When the Red Sox were up, you could just feel the anticipation. Just waiting for Yaz. He was up 5th. But everyone went hysterical whenever anyone made a hit. I got so worked up!

Then - oh God - when Yaz was on deck - all these camera flashes went off - everywhere across the Park - blinding! All I could do was just stare at Yaz warming up. He is such a hero to me. I swear that nobody was watching the actual game. They were just watching him.

Then - when he was up - and he started for the plate - I can't explain it.

Or - yes, I can. [Hahahahaha I knew you could]

All of Fenway Park immediately stood up and cheered and cheered and cheered - I was leaping, waving my arms, SCREAMING. This went on for about five minutes. Or longer. Really! No one got tired, no one could stop.

Yaz just stood there with his bat - and stood there - as the whole Park went NUTS - and after a while, he turned to us, and tipped his hat.

Oh my God, it was so beautiful the way he did it.

We all went bonkers!

Me and Brendan were screaming and waving, Jean was crying - then Yaz tipped his hat again - It was positively wonderful.

I almost cried. I wonder if Yaz almost cried.

Finally - FINALLY - we all sat down, still all revved up. Then - he took his stance - and on the first pitch - you could hear this CRACK - the crack of the bat - and everyone JUMPED UP again - yelling, screaming, going positively crazy - I almost had a coronary. It was a single, but we got to see Yaz hit. We got to see Yaz hit. This will be the last time we ever get to see Yaz hit.

I have always loved Yaz. He seems like a really nice guy - or something. Like he has kept his feet on the ground. And the way he tipped his hat to all of us - to all of Boston - I still feel like crying, when I think of it.

The other amazing thing about the night was when we all stood up for "The Star-Spangled Banner".

It is very hard NOT to feel patriotic - with the flag waving in the wind against the dark sky, and everyone around you, hands on their hearts, singing LOUD.

America really is beautiful.

Baseball games make me realize that all over again.

Diary Friday

Hey, member Diary Friday?

It comes in waves ... sometimes I'm into it, sometimes I'm not. I came across this entry last night and it made me laugh out loud. I had forgotten much of it. This is from my second year in grad school - and my roommate Jen and I threw a party.

Some of this might seem like gibberish - it was just my impressions in the aftermath of the party ... but I re-read it this morning, in tears of laughter.

And I still love Wade. He was one of my best friends in school, he was a cocky talented sensitive dude from Texas, so so smart, and we were drawn to one another from the first day (we had a memorable excursion on 18th street after our first dance class - I didn't even know him!) - I don't know, he was a wild boy, a "bad" boy, I guess - and we clicked. He was irreverent. And FUNNY, man. I could talk to him about anything. He also is responsible for me becoming aware of this particular gentleman (http://www.fartingpreacher.org) , and for that I am extremely grateful. He had it on video tape - Wade stayed with me for a couple of months - and we would sit on the floor, pop in the tape, and watch it over. And over. And over. And over. Sometimes we would smooch, you know ... smooch like high school teenagers ... but then sometimes we didn't. I don't know. We were good friends. Friends with benefits, I suppose. So we were relaxed about the smooching thing, and way too busy with grad school to get all bogged down or serious relationship-ish. But there are times when, sorry, a girl MUST smooch ... One can only deal with so much school. It is also important to go out and drink beer and slam-dance and then makeout for hours on end. On occasion.

And we'd be blatant about it. Like a business transaction.

"If I don't make out with someone and soon, I am gonna freak out."
"How 'bout tonight?"
"Cool. See ya after class."

Wade is one of the funniest people I have ever met. And he is also very kind and deep and exciting to be around. (I haven't seen Wade in years - I think not since then. Wade is a sort of peripheral star in this - one of the most popular posts I have ever written.)

The following diary entry makes me miss him.

DECEMBER

Last night’s party. A collage of impressions still flickers thru my brain today. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of awe: Look at everyone! Moments of sadness and acute loneliness. Hysterical shrieking laughter. Looking around at OUR APARTMENT filled with people. Awareness of life. How miraculous it seems. How did I get here? Look at the people in my life! Marcus. Wade. Jen. Who ARE these people? I LOVE them! Life is constantly evolving. You never know what’s gonna happen.

I had a party. I had a party and it wasn’t a totally hair-raising experience. I had fun. I let go.

I am so glad Brendan and Maria came. And Brett. A mixing of worlds which pleased me. Brett did Superman for all of my brand new friends. I watched Jen discover it. I have seen it a million times, but it still makes me howl. It was gorgeous! I love moments like that.

Colored lights in living room. Candles everywhere. Lots of food laid out. I was a hostess! Clip-clopping around my apartment in my velvet pants. Giorgio on my wrists, lighting candles, cooking pasta.

The living room looked beautiful. Festive. Comfy.

Rain coming down. Snow. Thunder. Lightning. Our guests dripping wet. It was a good group. A beautiful blend.

Jen is just the perfect roommate for me. We totally GET each other. She shares my issues with party-giving. She TOTALLY understands me. No judgment. We kept checking in with each other over the night. “How ya doin?” “No judgment!”

Leslie W. kept saying, “You 2 have such nice patterns!” Meaning behaviorally. Nice patterns. Our feverish huddles of affirmation in the vestibule.

Hysterical laughter mixed with hysterical tears right before everyone arrived. Jen said, right at me: “I’m scared!” God, I love that. She fucking meant it. Then she slid down the wall. “I think I just have to cry a little bit.”

Also, when it was 2 minutes past our invite time, and no one had showed up yet, Jen announced, “I’m feeling fat and unpopular.”

Then, she looked around frantically at a room FILLED with people and wailed, “Nobody came!”

She said to me anxiously, “I just hope people have a good time.”

“Jen, I hope you have a good time.”

This struck her. She filled up with tears. “Thanks for saying that.”

And we did have a good time. Many magic moments.

J. came with desserts she had made and a Xmas carol CD. Bren and Maria did come, they weren’t going to. Having my worlds meet. Not as stressful as I thought. Wade meeting Maria. Brett meeting Marcus. Bren and Marcus hit it off.

The next morning over breakfast, Marcus said to Bren, “I think we could be friends.”

Marcus commenting on the natural slope of the floor, and advising people, “Don’t resist the floor.”

Music. Annie Lennox’s Diva. Bjork. The Beatles. Joan Armatrading.

Wade called me COLLECT and asked me for directions. My heart sang. He called me “hon”.

I walked into the living room, and Maria, Brett, and Marcus were sitting on the floor. Maria was talking and Marcus said to Maria, as I walked in: “That was a long-ass saga.”

Brett glanced up at me and said, “We asked Maria how she and Brendan met, and she started the story when she was 12.”

We all sat in the living room playing Celebrity. So much fucking fun.

During Celebrity, Maria, in trying to describe King Kong - said: “He’s a monkey! He’s the head of state!” Wade and I were just SCREAMING and rolling around laughing about that. Wade couldn't stop repeating it. "He's a monkey ... he's the head of state ..." I am in love with Wade.

Celebrity went on raucously until around 3.

The party began dispersing. Various bedding down activities. A bunch of folks slept over. Brendan and Maria slept in our extra room (The Embassy in the Kingdom of Peace). Amy slept on the futon in the living room. Marcus slept with Jen. And Wade and Brett slept with me. The 3 of us in my bed. We tossed and turned simultaneously. Meaning we moved as one. I curled up against Wade’s back in my bed, Brett curled up against my back, and we all fell asleep. At one point, I got up to go to the bathroom, and the sight, on coming back to my room, of Wade and Brett in my bed together, just made me LAUGH.

Wade had to get up and go to work. I set the alarm for him. It was a beautiful day, sun streaming thru the windows. Wade showered. I stood in the kitchen in my pjs, slumbering partiers all around me, the room ABLAZE with sunshine. Call me dysfunctional but it made me feel good to be able to do something for Wade.

We then did imitations of our jazz dance teacher in the kitchen.

Others started waking. Lazy morning. . 4 or 5 of us piled on my bed, sleepy-haired, rather hilarious. Wade stood in my doorway, Sammy was up on his shoulders, climbing around, meowing - and Wade was speaking in his faux German decadent accent: “Don’t smile, Sammy.”

I saw Wade to the door. As he left, he paused, glanced back into the apartment, relived the entire night in a moment’s time, and then exclaimed with gusto, “Man, I had a blast!”

Diary Saturday

This is for my dear friends from high school. You know who you are. I was a senior in college here. In love for really the first time (not counting Ralph Macchio, of course). And he was in love with me. My first real boyfriend. So that's my context - (his name was - is - Antonio). He shows up in this entry because he was all I could think about. We had been dating since June - and this entry is from January of the next year. Oh, and this entire New Year's party was documented with photos. Best party photos ever. If my friends give me permission, I'll post the pictures of us dancing. They're briliant!!

JANUARY 2ND

Mere had the coolest New Year's party I've ever been to. It was so wild for ALL of us (except for J.) to be together. It's been so long since last Christmas, I guess. It was a wild time. I didn't get too drunk - but managed to stay consistently buzzed for about 4 straight hours. [Spoken like a true Irish lass.]

Some pretty rare magical moments.

I pretty much hung out in Mere's room - with Mere and Betsy and Kate and Beth (poor Beth was sick and lay sprawled on the futon weakly for the whole party), and at one point - the 5 of us began to relive high school.

And Betsy made the comment that for once - it was wonderful. It made us extremely happy to be talking about those years. We were OUT OF CONTROL. We all BECAME 15.

All we did was - one after the other - play THE songs from our high school dances - songs we have not herd in years. Ecstatic songs - to actually transport us in time.

And it was infectious. All 5 of us had the same experience hearing those songs. And even poor sick Beth got up to dance wildly.

The Go Gos - Our Lips are Sealed
We Got the Beat
B-52s - Rock Lobster
Devo - Jerkin' back and forth
Rocky Horror - Time Warp

The only one missing was Freeze Frame.

And all we could do was scream - yell the old lyrics - dance crazily - like we used to - at all the old high school dances.

Especially Devo. There were all these robotic little motions and gestures we used to do ["You got me.... jerking UP HIGH ... you got me ... jerkin' DOWN LOW ..."] - and we all remembered all of them. And as we all started to do them - the laughter!

The 5 of us were out of control. Trying to sing but we were laughing SO hard, and dancing - It was a great great time. And some kid took a bunch of pictures with my camera and I HOPE they came out. [Oh, did they ever] It was totally exhausting. We were drenched. Then we all joined the rest of the party for the countdown. It was so exciting - the mood was infectious. Champagne bottles, screams.

Member me and Brooke? [who ya talkin' to, Sheila? Your diary? Or yourself? Or your eternal audience?] Hugging, crouched on the floor in front of the TV in a shower of champagne spray ... It's one of my favorite New Year's memories. That and Dave W.'s party. [David - I called you "Dave"??? When did I ever call you Dave?]

So it became the new year.

The year of indecision and change.
-- GRADUATION
-- LIFE

[And, little did I know, but the beginning of a couple of years of unremitting misery which would end, finally, with me screaming at two gently helpful and baffled cops in the middle of a crowded road in Woodland Hills, California, while wearing a Holly Hobbie jumper, tennis sneakers, and a ponytail. Having to be taken into the back of their car because I was so out of control. Leaning over into the front seat like a lunatic, showing them the emptiness of my wallet. Sneering at the two of them, 'Hey! Look at that! YA EVER SEE ANYTHING SO EMPTY IN YOUR LIFE?' That was the nadir. I escaped to Chicago directly following that event. To begin my REAL life. So, uhm, yeah. "Indecision and change" is definitely coming up. ]

We all were hugging and screaming - I hugged people I didn't know. Mere was crying! She came over to me and we hugged and hugged - I almost started to cry - It was a great hug. I am SO glad I went to this party. [I have no memory of this. Thanks for the great hug, Mere!]

15 seconds into our New Year, Mere and I were in the middle of our fantastic tight embrace when there was a crash. We ignored it. Beth was pulling at Mere's sweater, murmuring, "Mere ... Mere ..." We pulled apart just in time to see Mere's housemate and her boyfriend (who wears all black and smokes a pipe - as though he created the image. Dork.) furiously storming out of the apartment - he was dragging her, she was soaked - and then - bang. They were gone. Murmurings, curiosity, anxiety - and then instantly the party picked up again, as though nothing had happened. "Happy New Year!"

The entire night I was periodically calling Antonio. [This was way pre-cell phone, obviously.] Charging it to home, of course, but I was suffering from withdrawal. I hadn't talked to him the entire day before. I love him so much! Sometimes my feelings surprise me. They are so warm and gentle. Usually I feel crazed and electric. Not very restful and not very nurturing. You know, the old "please pass the mustard" syndrome. [This was a joke between me and Antonio - who was always much more openly demonstrative than I was. And there was the infamous moment, at some romantic dinner in a candlelit restaurant - when he said something mushy to me - can't remember what - and my response was - in all seriousness - "Please pass the mustard." hahahaha We instantly turned it into a joke, and we actually still joke about it today. It's become an entire personality type. "So he's a 'please pass the mustard' type ..." "Ah. Yes. Totally understand." Love Antonio - great sense of humor.] While he definitely is the more nurturing of us, I am definitely beside him on this journey - 100%. [Humorously - I wrote a "2" over the "1" ... to make it "200%". Very interesting. I could write a whole post about that, and what it says about our relationship, but more importantly, what it says about me. But that is for another time! 100%, 200%, what's the dif, right?] Antonio is becoming a fixture - an integral part of me. If I dwell on this, it scares me. So I do not dwell. [Excellent policy.] But occasionally I do say it out loud, just to try it on for size. Eventually, it will become part of my vocab - in the same way that I will become used to saying the words "I love you" and "boyfriend". It's all still so new.

I was having such a happy time - it made me miss him all the more. And Mere had talked to her boyfriend in Canada - huddled by the phone - and he had gone off on this poetical flight, telling her about the "sparkling snow" - so I just had to call Antonio!

My happiness wouldn't be totally complete and the night wouldn't be totally perfect without hearing his voice, making contact with him.

It was a really long party - started at about 7:00 - I got the wild inspiration to call him - even though he was in Vancouver with his buddy going skiing - But it was urgent. My love! I MUST TALK TO HIM. I MUST. I MISS HIM. So I attempted many times, mostly operator trouble - [Man. We have it so good now with cell phones] Mere has Sprint, not AT&T, but my call finally got through. Over the course of the night, I became quite intimate with the clerk at Crystal Lodge. "Hi there! It's me again!" I would say. He must have thought Antonio was this poor henpecked dude with a bratty pestering girlfriend, or that he was off on a tryst in Vancouver with some stripper/snow bunny and I was an enraged rejected lover. But I didn't care. I was desperate to hear his voice and laugh with him and say, "Happy New Year".

I was kind of drunk, so I was operating on impulse.

I love operating on impulses. I do it so rarely.

3 hour time change. I called him the first time at like 8:30, which he had said was the best time. But there was no one there. Saddened, I hung up. It had become a subliminal mission.

Called back 2 hours later. Still no answer. I was stumped. Saw dancing visions of neon bars and naked boobs. Bummer. Partied on for 2 more hours - danced - chowed down - laughed hysterically - took fun pictures - MANY pictures - and kept a nice consistent drunk going. A nice pleasant party drunk.

It became the new year. Blah blah.

Things chilled out and we congregated back in Mere's room again with dim lights, incense, music, good rocking times. MUCH fun. At about 12:30 or so, I remembered that I had a boyfriend [hahahahahahahaha] and that I had once upon a time desperately wanted to call him.

Oh yeah, one of the earlier times I had called and talked to the clerk again, he said, "Do you want to leave a message?" And I said, drunkenly, "Yeah, okay. Could you tell him that Sheila called? He can't get in touch with me, but sure. Tell him I called." Very helpful message, Sheila.

So I tried to call Vancouver once it became THIS year about 4 or 5 times. Nasal operator voice: "Due to intense holiday calling ..." Etc. Quite frustrating. FINALLY, I got an operator, and she put me through. AND HE WAS THERE!

My honey! As I was waiting for Room 338 to answer, I felt like my heart was on hold. I sat in my little shadowy corner on Mere's futon and surrounded by silk pillow, with the sounds of the party fading away around me - I heard nothing but the rings of the phone in Vancouver and the waiting silence in my own brain. The anticipation. Jesus.

I cannot fucking wait to see him. And kiss him.

Greg answered. I asked for Tonio. I couldn't really tell how loud or shrill I was speaking because I had been at the party for so long, and the decibel level was pretty intense. I had been screaming "jerkin' back and forth" for a good 3 hours by that point. So I'm sure I shrieked in Greg's ear. Then there was Tonio! And he was so HAPPY to hear my voice. I almost cried - He had gotten my message, and had been trying to find me. "But there was no answer at your house! Where do you think they all were? And I thought it might be too late to call your parents' house ..." "Yeah! I'm in Boston! With all of my friends from high school!"

Introductory chatter.

Then we exploded. "I MISS YOU." "I MISS YOU SO MUCH." "I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU." He makes my spine crinkle. And I just CRINKLED when I heard his voice.

I described the party to him in enthusiastic detail. He kind of moaned, "Oh, that sounds fun ... I wish I was there ..." I moaned back, "I wish you were here, too!"

Cool thing was: It was still the old year where he was. I was speaking to him from the future, basically.

I kept saying (shrieking), "I am talking to you across time!"

Like Richard and Leslie! [Oh, for God's sake. Those two again?] They have a new book out, by the way.

We blabbed endlessly. We blab endlessly.

He and Greg went heli-skiing, dropped off by helicopter on some untouched mountaintop already tested for avalanches. Jesus, Tonio. He said he has taken mounds of pictures. It sounded magnificent, monumental, and totally scary. Jean was very impressed when I told her that. "He must be a great skier." He swears he's not, but I have my doubts.

He's so cute. He's the planner. He is determined to get me to go skiing [he never did.] - he wrote me one long letter where, step by step, he told me what we would do. He ended his long paragraph with a decisive, "There. I have it all planned."

I said, "I'm not too wasted." "No, you sound pretty coherent."

That reminds me: in the middle of the Halloween party - there were so fucking many people in my house. And I really was bombed. I was Edie - with silver hair, hoop earrings, white face, white lips, fake lashes, tight halter, black tights, and bandaids on my arms. Mitchell was Andy. We were perfect. It was a magnificent party even though it was altogether too crazy. [This is the party where my friend Beth, dressed as a clown, bitched out two random partygoers. Story here. It's hilarious.] Anyways, Janeen comes over - she was dressed as a genie - and grabs me off the dance floor where I had been madly gyrating and screams at me, "ANTONIO'S ON THE PHONE!" I TORE up the stairs, secluded myself in Tom's room [uhm, now Beth's husband. The tangled web here is gorgeous.] - the house was vibrating with noise - and I picked up the phone.

And that's all I remember.

The next day I racked my brains - "what the hell did I say to him?" I was a little nervous - but he loves the memory of it now. I was incoherently babbling to him, raving about my costume, and Mitchell's costume, and everybody's costume ... I told him the costume of every person at that party, and there had to be 150 people in my house. This was a long-distance call.

So when I called him at Mere's from the New Year's party -we were laughing about that call from the Halloween party - he said, "What was it you kept saying to me? It was so cute!" Of course I remembered and shrieked in a shrill mushy drunk voice, "I LOVED YOUR LETTER!" He started howling with laughter - that fantastic boisterous laughter that I have always adored so much [Antonio has the best laugh in the world. Everyone who knows him agrees. It's a consensus. You hear him laugh, and you MUST laugh too.] Much laughter.

I hung up with him and I felt absolutely totally whole.

Let's hope I can sustain it.

Everyone has been saying how shitty this year has been for them - and yeah, part of it sucked - but for the majority, it's been the most amazing year of my life. Tonio says it's the same way for him. "Yeah, a lot of this year was bad ... but after June ... [when we hooked up] ... everything looked up."

God, that makes me feel so good.

Best New Year's party ever. [And that assessment still stands!!]

1997 quotes. No context.

"Somebody needs to call him up and tell him he's an asshole!" - Maria W. on Scott Hamilton

"I'm glad you're back ... even though I didn't know you were gone." - Ann

"M. and I were not really made for public viewing. We were a private exhibit. Invitation Only." - Me

"Who the hell is Tex Watson?" - Barbara

"SLUGWORTH." - Ann

"When she styled it, I looked like Sylvia Plath in her college years." - Maria M.

"I need to get some new cuss words. I want to start using words like 'asshole' and 'bitch.'" - Stephen

"...his snowbeard penis." - Jackie

"Buhsh 'n Pudding ..." - Shelagh, trying to say "button pushing"

"So I want you to operate out of complete panic." - Gene

"I'm on a roll! I'm on a very second-rate roll here!" - Sam

"It's a great mistake to try to be original." - Sam

"This is not a relaxing job." - Sam

"So. You've just heard from the portobellos ..." - Sam

"I had a bolt of stress that you didn't know where he worked. Literally. I had a bolt of stress .... You know, for the coma contingency." - Ann

"If I could say goodbye to you in a Rebus form I would ..." - Me to Ann

"I wish there was such a thing as Open Boob Night." - Brooke

"Where Alan Thicke meets Frankenstein ..." - Ann

"And then Tim hugged me." Long pause. "Well, electronically." - Ann

"She puts marshmallows on brownies!" - Maria's indictment of Jo

"She then plunged a dagger into my heart. Literally. She impaled me with her horns." - Ann

"Honey Nut Clusters, steamed squash, and red wine ..." - Jen, describing our nights at home

Kevin: "I just said 'Fuck it'."
Pause.
Robert: "Which is Latin for 'Be Free!'"

Me: "What about Adam?"
Ann: "Oh please. That rumor has already been squelched."

"And then, of course, there was the Bo Deans debacle ..." - Me to Kate

"Once you get to my stage, you have no standards, and you just feel grateful to still be standing here!" - Sam

"It seems to me, Rodney, that the importance of the hyoid bone is in having one." - Robert

Shelagh: "Isn't it true that Meryl Streep used to throw up before she used to go onstage?"
Cheryl: "Yeah, but that's because she was drunk."
Shelagh: "Oh! Okay! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

"I am so charmed by him that I can barely sleep." - Mitchell on Scott Wolf

"What am I - the Profiler?" - Mere

"This is so Cohort One." - Matt

Discussion about Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein:
Maria: "What annoyed me was that he called the movie 'Mary Shelley's Frankenstein' when it clearly should have been called 'My Chest.'"

How I used to write in my journal

December

Sitting across from Michael at the Golden Apple. A drizzly day. My spanking new saddle shoes. Michael chowing on waffles with gusto. I always used to love watching him eat. And the eyes. I could lose myself in them. (Well, I did!) And when he would become aware of something - the semi-homeless man who sat near us - the way he takes things in. And the kindness, too. The kindness in his eyes revealing the kindness in his heart. Listening, eyes on me, mouth full. We are sort of restless in one another's presence. Ants in our pants. It's like at any second we're about to start eating each other alive and ripping our clothes off. Yet we don't. And the repression of that impulse at all times causes some stress.

First half of talk. Acting. My plans. Our plans. But underneath it all I was thinking, Michael. You proposed marriage to me. What is up with THAT? Fuck acting!

This, to me, was different from my need to get laid. I could justify that away. Okay, it's not gonna happen. Yes, it's a disappointment. You're sick of living like a nun, but that is no reason to throw yourself at Michael. When Michael and I sleep together, it's gonna be fuckin' serious, fuckin' for real, and so I could have a little dialogue with my horn-dog self, banking her fires.

But this I wanted to push. I felt entitled to do so.

It would not be okay with me if he and I parted company without talking about marriage. It needed to happen. And I realized it would have to be me that did it. So I did. A lull came, and then Michael said, "What else?" And I said, grinning, "Well, it's funny, and kinda weird. I just received a marriage proposal out of the blue!"

And the changes that went over Michael's face - that funny face he makes - the face captured in the hysterical picture of me and him being forced to play cards. The sort of flared nostrils, the smile playing about his lips - a contemplative humorous making-fun-of-himself face.

He said, slowly, realizing the terrain was changing, coming into the game with me, "Really?" Taking on the rules of the game I set up.

I said, "Yeah! Can you believe it?"

Still with that funny flared-nostril pseudo-serious face, pouring syrup on his waffles, glancing at me quickly, looking away, inhaling, all with something very real going on underneath. Then he said, "I'm jealous."

"Really!" I said, interested in that response. "You are?"

My heart was in my throat. Since I was determined to really discuss this, we didn't stay in game-land for very long. We both got so nervous though. Like: Are we really talking about this?

There was a moment where Michael got sort of openly nervous and skittish, and I suddenly got this weird sensation that I was pressuring him, and I immediately realized the absurdity of that. He's the one who said, "Will you marry me?" I didn't say it! He did. We're 9 years old.

I said to him, "Michael, the only reason we are having this conversation right now is because you proposed marriage. I'm just dealing with the reality of your proposal."

He started laughing. "I know. I take full responsibility for anything that happens from here on out."

We had a really excellent talk about getting married. About each other, about what we want in our lives, what we want from a relationship, what we found in each other that autumn in Ithaca. He, at one point, got really nervous - so nervous that he started feeling physically ill. He insisted it had more to do with the waffles he had just wolfed down, but I was skeptical. I didn't give him a hard time about it, though.

He said, "I asked you to marry me because I meant it." (I took note of the past tense, but shut my mouth and just listened. Let him have his say.) "Also" - with a sort of wry twist of his mouth, "I asked you because I felt pretty certain you'd say no. It was an impulse. You had really been on my mind, and in that moment, I wanted to marry you, but it was also my way of saying to you - Keep me on the back burner. Make sure I'm on the back burner. Somewhere. When you get ready to settle down, I want to be considered."

I just listened. I'm good at that.

But then I told him that I would actually not say no. "If" he asked me to marry him (for real, I mean, not our practice run) - I would not say no. I would say yes.

He could not believe his ears. He thought he hadn't heard right.

"What?"

Everything got even more electrically charged between us. We were listening to each other thru the pores of our skin. Trying to figure out what we really were saying.

He was stunned.

"You're kidding me ... right?"

"Why do you think I'm kidding you? No, I'm not kidding you. If you asked me to marry you right now, I would say yes." I had no fear from then on.

So he thought and thought about this new development, looking at me with semi-apprehensive eyes, trying to see if I was teasing - Then he said (and I loved this, it was such a Me moment, such a Sheila moment), "You like me that much?"

Not love, but like. I was so charmed by that, it was so truthful, so us.

I started laughing. "Yes, I like you that much. There's nothing you could do that would make me not like you that much." [Still true, by the way. Still true. Thank you, God. Thank you for Michael.]

He kept thinking about me liking him "that much". I didn't say anything. I waited. And what was his comment, after another long contemplative pause? He said, relishing each word, "That ... is .... so .... cool!"

Now, for me, there was such a beauty in his phrasology. ("Watch your phrasology!" "Not one more poop out of you!" "I think he means peep." "Great honk!" "Watch your phrasology!")

But his word choices:

"You like me that much?"
"That is so cool!"

The childlike nature of his word choices ... suits me. It's endearing to me. That kind of shit makes the world go round for me. These insights into people's hearts, the way these men that I love negotiate their ways thru the world. They are so rare. They are rare and precious jewels. I cherish them. I cherish their rarity. I hover over it. I guard it with my life. With my own rarity.

I love love love it that Michael thinks it's "cool" that I "like" him enough to marry him. This, to me, is familiar somehow. Like that song I sang at Jackie's wedding. "Feels like home to me ... Feels like I'm all the way back where I come from ... Feels like home to me ... Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong ..."

Reminds me also of the last line of Cuckoo's Nest. "I been away a long time."

My God.

You recognize your home even if you have been away from it a long time.

I don't even know if I love Michael, but I do know that he's home.

I knew that something very true happened between us in Ithaca, even though our outer circumstances may have been artificial. The feeling of lying with my head in his lap, being read to ... and chasing each other, drunk, thru the sunset-drenched fields, laughing and screaming and kissing ... and drinking coffee every morning, reading our respective books ... It felt so natural. We had such a groove.

And I have to back up a little bit, and say, about it being "artificial" and all:

Maybe to a civilian it would be "artificial", but this sort of thing is the actor's world. It's my reality. Relationships start on location all the time. Or with touring shows. Romances start that way all the time. It makes total sense to me. It also appeals to my cut-to-the-chase mentality. With the focus being mainly on work. The intensity of that atmosphere, the intimacy it fosters - it's REAL. We are actors. We are gypsies. Our homes are always semi-temporary, our families are makeshift. We form intense bonds quickly. We thrive in a high energy atmosphere. I am not a normal person. I am not a regular citizen. I am a fringe-dweller and proud of it.

So Michael and I dated for 6 weeks. So what? To us, in out of town mode, it felt like a year. So much happened. John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands knew each other only 4 months before they got married. And it began out of their work. He came to see her in a play, went backstage to meet her, and 4 months later, they got hitched.

Who am I talking to right now? The doubters, the skeptics.

He and I talked about marriage, our concept of it. I told him how I, unfortunately, told many people about his proposal, and it set into a motion a cycle of conversations with my friends, all who weighed in with opinions on whether I should or should not. "You have no idea what you have started. I mean, I've had arguments - actual arguments - with friends about this." How to say that what had happened between Michael and I three years ago was enough for me to take the proposal seriously. Michael wanted me to just keep talking, so that he could calm himself down (and digest his waffles. Uh-huh.) "Keep talking. Don't stop talking." So I kept going. I talked. I talked my head off for half an hour, my saddle shoe-d feet up on the booth opposite me, Michael's hand on my foot. An anchor. I babbled. He was perfectly happy to sit and listen and soak up every word. Then it was his turn and he talked. It was so great.

I even told him my fears about domesticity. That married women seem to discuss curtains with such desperate seriousness ... so it makes me feel like interest in curtains is a requirement of marriage - and I just could not be less interested. I never will be interested. I mean, I want curtains, of course, I don't want people to be able to stare into my apartment, but that's about it. But see how this is what I talk about when I talk about being afraid of marriage? It's about losing my self - feeling like I can't just be who I am - wild Sheila - but also - marriage, as it is discussed, seems to be all about domestic concerns, and that stuff does not interest me at all. It stresses me out, actually. I don't want to get neurotic about shit I don't care about. What if I don't obsess about sun-dried tomato dip and curtains and wine racks? T. required me to be interested in that stuff. It bored me to tears. He couldn't just let me be. It put the fear of relationships into me forever. I had to pretend to give a shit in order to not piss him off. I can't have that again. So that was basically what I was babbling about like a lunatic, nursing my 8th refill of joe. But Michael, of course, didn't treat me like a lunatic. He listened seriously. The good thing, though, is that he is NOT on the side of my neuroses. T. was. He played up the neuroses, he argued with me about my neuroses, tried to talk me out of them - which naturally made things worse. Michael is supportive if I'm insecure, but he doesn't go there. He says stuff like, "Okay. You're totally acting crazy right now." But he's on the side of my strength, my bigness, my reality, my sexiness, my uniqueness. He doesn't give credence to crazy stuff.

He said, "Marriage, to me, is not about materialistic things. Like curtains, plates, a house. It's about companionship. A partnership. That's all. Going thru life together as opposed to by yourself."

I talked a lot about myself - and the other marriage proposal I had - the one I turned down - I just felt like a round-hole of marriage was being offered to me, the square peg. I would have to fit into that concept of marriage, rather than make up my own way. And so somehow, to me, in my lexicon, his out of the blue proposal made a lot of sense to me. It suited me. And if I were to get married, it would of course be in these sort of abnormal impulsive circumstances. And it's hard to explain to people who truly fit in to a more traditional set-up. It's okay that they fit in to the status quo. But I don't. And this feels right to me.

He couldn't get over the fact that I was dead serious. My response was: well, sure - why not? I have come to the point in my life where I trust responses like that. There I was - with T. - deeply ensconced in a relationship - and when he proposed to me - deep within my soul, an alarm bell rang. Something held me back. My gut feeling. Thank God I listened to it.

And why shouldn't I listen to my gut here?

I said, "I just have this sense about you, Michael. About you and me together. And I don't even know what to call it. We haven't even given it a shot yet, but I still have this feeling. That there is something to explore here. The way you look at the world, the way you look at theatre and art, what you seem to aspire to - and the fact that you care about things. You have ideals. You get angry at the same things I do. You have zero tolerance for the same shit as me. I don't know. There's a kinship here - I felt it in Ithaca, and I feel it now."

I loved this, too. At one point, Michael said, "So .... what does Mitchell think of all of this?"

That just makes me laugh. Everyone always needs to know what Mitchell thinks. I'm so glad that Michael and Mitchell know each other. Because Michael is this unknown entity to everyone else - but Mitchell has experienced him, and us together. Michael knows how much I trust Mitchell so he wanted to know Mitchell's opinion.

Now of course Mitchell had told me that David had come to him, saying, "Tell me about this Michael guy. Who is he? What do we think of him?" And Mitchell said, "In a way - in a wierd way - what's going on between Sheila and Michael - is true love."

So I told Michael that. No response yet - he was pondering it - listening.

I said, "Mitchell said that when he first heard that you had proposed to me, his first thought was, 'Wow, that's kind of crazy' ... and then his second thought was, 'Huh. But it makes sense.'"

That was sort of my response, too. Like: Wow! Crazy! But then ... well, let me think about it ...

That was Ann's feeling about it as well. Taken aback at first, then immediate acceptance. "Oh. Well. Of course. That makes total sense."

So hearing of Mitchell's validation calmed Michael down. Mitchell has a lot of power. But I feel that he deserves it. He's earned it. Also, to quote Mitchell - I don't give him any more power than I give myself. That's the beauty of it.

I did say to Michael, "God, it's scary how much we both need Mitchell's endorsement! Like - what if he said he didn't think it was a good idea?"

We talked a lot about Relationship One. Our first stab at it. And he was so self-deprecating that I finally had to yell at him. "Will you cut that out, please??"

He felt like he had to apologize profusely, and I felt like that was totally unnecessary. He was talking about his insane jealousy towards me ("Why were you talking to that guy?" "You like Pat better than me. What did you guys talk about?" Etc. He wore on my last nerve.) "You shouldn't have had to deal with that," he said. I told him that no one had ever been as openly jealous with me as he was and I had kind of gotten off on it, although it was a very new sort of energy for me to deal with. Like the time he yelled at me after talking with Pat about Tropic of Cancer. He was beside himself. "You know how I feel about that book. Why were you talking about it with him??" "Uhm ... cause he asked me if I liked the book? Uhm ..."

He said, "I was a mess. I treated you unfairly." On and on with the beating himself up, as though he thought that was what I needed from him. I said, "I don't feel that way. Don't say that to me cause you feel I want to hear that." I also said, "And, as you recall, I wasn't in the best place either, Michael. It wasn't like I was totally healthy and you were a psycho. There was the ghost of the Baby Boomer - the timing was off. For both of us." I don't know if I convinced him or not but I really tried.

We kept bursting into nervous laughter, because we were actually talking about getting married. We felt so subversive.

He said to me, "Logistically, it would not be good. We're on separate coasts."

I kept saying, "Look. I don't want to get into some anxietal unhappy long distance situation with you. That is the farthest thing from my mind. I tell you this - I am ready. In terms of being ready for a real relationship. But I'm so not into pressure. Also, I don't want to get SAD about this. Know what I mean? I've never been SAD about you and I don't want to start now. I don't want this to turn into a sad thing before we've even discovered what's here. You know?" I really feel strongly about this. So we discussed logistics.

Then he qualified all of this by saying, "Besides, I can't marry you yet. My parents would kill me!" That made me laugh. "They don't even know who you are! So we'd have to work on that before we get married. I mean, God!" I just sat there in my saddle shoes, drinking black coffee, beaming at him.

Then he really got to the heart of the matter. Another level of truth. I saw it happen. And I waited to hear what he would say. There was a sort of cautious tentative look to him, he was a little bit afraid to verbalize it. I was staring at him, sending him "It's okay, it's safe" vibes. And he said, "Okay ... see ... here's the thing I'm thinking now. This all makes me very afraid because .... what you are offering me here is an opportunity. You know? And - if I choose now not to take it .... And then ... I lose you ... and you find someone else while you're waiting for me - well ... then I'm gonna have so many regrets. I'll have to live with the fact that I let you go - and I lost you ..."

Now I - from my side of the fence - with all my experiences - this speech of his really hit home with me. And I couldn't say to him, "Oh, no, that's not true" - because it is true. Life is about living with regrets. At least a mature life is about living with regrets. And - yes. Maybe we are at a crossroads, and yes, he might lose me. To whomever comes along next. I realize that. And - yes. This is tough decision. Or whatever - it's a risk. The whole thing I went through with P. taught me so much about love and loss and regret and letting go. I felt like Methuselah sitting there across from Michael.

I nodded at him. "Well, yes. See, that's the thing."

That's the way life is.

It's a gamble either way.

You play, you win. You play, you lose.

It was just so great to talk about it openly. Because I wasn't about to say, "Oh, I'll wait till you're ready" - I wasn't about to say "I'll move to LA in June" - No. That's not true for me, it's not what I want. I have already MADE those mistakes.

So now? It's a risk.

Michael and I may not end up together. I'll live. It won't destroy me. I may meet someone else in the next year who sweeps me off my feet and that'll be that. I'll have to break the news to him, but if he told me he was seriously dating someone - I mean, I'll live. That's all I can say. I'll live. I may experience severe disappointment but I know, too, that no promises were made. He would not be betraying me. If I got together with someone now, I wouldn't feel like I was cheating on Michael ... and that is where we stand right now.

Life's a risk.

You play. You win. You lose. You play.

And I feel so much more philosophical about all of this since P. I don't have as many needs. And I'm also honest.

I said, "Don't make some hasty decision because you're afraid of losing me. That will never work. But yes. You are right. You may end up having to live with that regret. That's the way life is."

But he seemed really afraid. I found the whole thing so damn poignant. Just the words being said: Losing you, regrets, the future, opportunity ... human beings trying to work it out.

And we sort of left it at that.

I mean, leave it to me to let things remain in this uncertain risky place, but that felt the most right to me. For now. It may change. I may end up moving out there, or falling in love with someone. Do I love him? People have asked me that. Am I in love with him? I do not know. Probably not. Love Shmove. There! I'm fascinated by him, I am challenged by him, I have vast feelings of tenderness for him, I find him intensely sexually attractive, I find him mysterious, interesting, he's very funny, we have the same absurd sense of humor. I love him, quite definitely. But in love? Does there have to be a difference? I remember Paul Newman's answer to the question: What is the key to your long-lasting marriage to Joanne Woodward? "We have a lot of laughter and a lot of lust." Not a word about love. That suits me. That makes sense to me.

I have no idea what love means. What in love means. I feel like we could have an incredible sex life. I feel like we would have titanic arguments. I feel like the jealousy thing is part of who he is, and I'd have to deal with that. I feel like we could be silent together, reading, cooking, hanging out. There's a peace in our energy together. Does all of this add up to love? Maybe to me it could.

So we left it at that. The words were out there. Everything spoken out into the universe, and so now we just have to see what happens. No neuroses, please. I don't want to miss him. Before I've even gotten used to him. I'm so used to being sad about the men in my life. I don't want to be sad about Michael.

He asked me if I was dating anyone, and I said no. He didn't believe me. He refused to believe me. He got angry at me for lying to him, actually.

Later that night, Michael and I were back at Mitchell's. He and I fell asleep on the couch together, wrapped up in each other's arms, pig-piled. I think we were both having a shared narcoleptic episode. Like, we lay down on the couch, turned on the TV, and both CRASHED at the same moment. We had an exhausting day. So Mitchell came home to see this Romeo and Juliet tableau on his couch. We woke up, and lay there, and Mitchell stood over us, and talked to us. Rather firmly. Asking us if we had come to a decision.

Michael and I both said things along the lines of, "Well, I don't want to assume ..." "I don't want to assume that Sheila ..." "I don't want to assume that Michael ..." Mitchell finally said, frustrated, "One of you had better start assuming something." He had had it with both of us. Michael said, "Tell us what to do." Mitchell went off to the kitchen to get a drink, saying, "I think you should spend the rest of your lives together. What more do you want from me?"

This is how I used to write in my journal

It was August 21.

A Death in the Family had just closed. My going-away party was the next week. I had gotten so sick, and I was still sick on August 21. I had 102 degree fever. I remember actually having some tnesion with Jackie about this because yes, I was totally sick - but I could not/would not take a day of rest. I only had a week left. I won't DIE. I must plow through. Somehow I made it through the last weekend of the show; I remember sitting in my big scene with Kate, alternately chilled and hot with fever - and I cannot describe it any other way than to say that I was totally and unselfconsciously in the moment. I had no awareness that I was onstage, that there was anything in this world besides me and Kate.

I would walk home after the show - hot hot summer nights, crowded summer streets - I felt like I was floating through space and time. My feet weren't touching the sidewalk. My legs ached. Finally home, take medicine, and lie in bed, tossing, turning, hot, feverish ...

I called M. in a panic on the most feverish day. [Ahem.] He was gentle and sweet. I told him I only had a week left in Chicago and I needed to see him. I was afraid that it wouldn't happen. I needed him so much that summer. He reassured me. "Don't worry. We'll see each other. You just get better, okay?"

I lay on my green velvet coach moaning. It was 110 degrees out anyway.

George was going to Ireland with his family that week, so he wouldn't come to my going-away party. We both were pretty sad about it. We had become quite good friends that summer. Death in the Family was a magical experience. He wanted to take me out to dinner that Monday night, so the two of us could have some closure, have a proper good-bye night. I thought that was really nice.

Now.

As far as I was concerned, as far as I knew - August 21st was the second to last of his shows I'd go to that summer, if ever. August 28th was the last show, and I was leaving town the 29th. So the 28th was going to be a big extravaganza. Everyone would be there. Ann, Mitchell, Jim ... I wanted to buy a new dress, by the 28th I wouldn't be sick anymore. I had all kinds of ideas. I wanted to sing "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" with him. I had a huge event in my head.

Now.

The way it actually ended up turning out ... despite the tearing in my heart (which I wouldn't have been able to avoid anyway) was "perfect". Meant to be.

I was trying to control our goodbye scene. With the dress and the star-studded night. I was playing puppeteer. I thought it was best that way. To make our private goodbye a public event.

This ended up being an incredible lesson for me.

Because I had to deal with a huge loss in the way it actually turned out. I ended up having to say goodbye to him, and that whole experience, alone. There was no event. All of this symbolic stuff - all of this "last time" stuff - really meant something to me - and it never happened, except in my head. I thought it would help: To sit beside Ann, to sit beside Mitchell, and know that it was over. To be aware of the ending as it was ending. To honor that.

As it turned out, the last time we all went to his show ... we didn't know it was the last time.

We always thought we had more time.

And so I had to grieve that. And so did Ann. So did Mitchell. So did Jim.

No one was there on August 21. I was there. With my fever. Ken happened to be there. And a full audience was there, too. But none of my posse. Me and Ken. And that was it.

On the other side of things, it was, for once in our lives together, not a crowd scene. I had him TOTALLY to myself. I only had to deal with me, and my emotions. I was so sick, too. I had no veneer. I was weak from sickness, I was open, I wasn't dressed to the nines, I had no armor on (sartorial or emotional). I resented that, at first. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. And yet when are we ever ready? I wouldn't have been ready on the 28th either. I just would have had a nicer outfit on.

So I was sad that Ann wasn't there - but (and Ann got this) the way it ended made sense. Eventually. In the Big Picture. Of me. And him. It was right. Because the first time we met was not a public event. Not when I went up onstage to sing. It was when he saw me through the window and came out and joined me on the sidewalk. To talk. Just me and him.

The universe takes care of you.

It provides sense.

You just have to pay attention.

And accept the sense in the answers that are given, not in the answers you want.

None of this took away from the blow I felt in the original moment. On August 21. I don't know if I could sensorally re-create it. It was so visceral, so enormous - a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Here's another "miracle". I had made a tape for him. I took my time with it. I kept a copy for myself, knowing I would want to revisit it some day.) I cried the entire time I made the tape. It took me hours. I was like a crazy woman, up at 3 a.m., drinking wine, all of the lights on in the living room, surrounded by tapes. Mitchell got afraid for me, but I kept assuring him I was okay. I needed to do this.

I called the tape: "Only Connect." Because of Howard's End. Life changes, life moves on, progress happens, landscapes change. All of this is inevitable. Yet if your mission during your brief stay on this planet is "only connect", you will not have missed your life. Making that tape was life or fucking death to me. It was life or fucking death that he hear it.

And so on the 21st, sick as a dog, having dinner with George, I happened to have my book bag with me - with the tape in it - already in a manila envelope, no less, even though I was planning on giving it to him on the 28th - our last night.

Here.

Here are the words that I need: the chilling words: to think that he could have left our final meeting to chance like that. He knew he didn't have a show on the 28th. How could he have been sure I would show on the 21st? What if I hadn't shown? What would have been his thought process then? Would he have called me to say goodbye? To let me know he didn't have a show on the 28th? I almost didn't go on the 21st. I was so fucking sick. I went on a whim. If I hadn't gone, I would have thought, "Well, whatever. I'll see him next week." And what a tragedy that would have been. A crushing blow, something I wouldn't ever not regret. To not see him that one last time. On our native soil. To have our paths miss each other so closely. Also: to know he didn't call me to let me know ... How could he be so cavalier? Clearly, it wasn't as important to him. Or he couldn't admit how important it was. Of course all of this is hypothetical. It didn't happen this way, but it very well may have. The whole thing was left up to luck, and that is what I find so haunting, so terrible.

Thinking about what really happened - by accident - on August 21 - and how it makes a terrible kind of sense to me, and comparing it to the hypothetical: me blithely heading out on the 28th, in my new dress, ready to leave town the next morning ... only to find that there is no show ... and that I will not be able to say goodbye ...

It gives me a cold flash. And he almost let that happen.

All of this did not occur to me until way later.

George walked me to the door of the club. As though it was my house. We had a big long tearful hug. I remember distinctly that I had that translucent shimmery feeling that goes along with really high fevers. I was transparent. My emotions were not just on the surface. They were the surface. But at the same time, I occasionally had that faraway roar in my ears. I felt very otherworldly, and removed. Like I was some invisible spirit hovering in the back. I have felt that way there before - especially after the whole thing between us ended - as though I were dead and re-visiting the earth.

I wasn't even positive that I could be seen.

I had on a big white man's shirt. I had on paint-stained faded jeans. I had on hightops. My hiar was long and loose. I had on no makeup and I still looked like death warmed over. I will never forget the glassy marbles my eyes had become at the height of my fever. The scary time, the time of the advancing icebergs. So I still looked sick on the 21st. Especially in my eyes.

Nobody knew I was there. I couldn't face going backstage to say hi. I set myself up way in the back. I don't think the show had started yet. The crowd was pretty sparse. I found a stool back by the sound board and perched there, sipping water, listening to the roar of the wintry sea in my ears, riding the waves of my fever. I had no connection to my flesh, not really, but then suddenly I'd be shivering, or burning up, or achey. I should have been home and in bed. No doubt about it. This was Jackie's worry.

But the universe knew I had to be there, and so the universe made sure I was there.

Somewhere, halfway through the first set it happened. He said something about the following week, then he stopped himself and said, "Oh, I won't be here next week ... so, the week after then ..." Totally casual, no big deal to him.

But sitting in the back, on my stool, I felt the bottom fall out. And then I was falling. I could not comprehend it. It was too immediate. Too big. I was holding on to something during this freefall - but everything else froze. I mean, the show went on. I could perceive that sounds were still being made, but I could not hear them. It was only the roaring beat of my heart that I could hear.

And I could not understand. Immediately.

It was beyond the pale.

I had to realize it. I fought it - but I had to realize it. It seemed essential that I realize what was happening. Tonight's it. Tonight's the last night. There will be no extravaganza on the 28th. Where I can be fabulous and a star and appreciated.

This is it.

Ready or not.

This is it.

That's another thing that turned out to be a blessing. I was not "ready" to say goodbye to him. I can overthink and overintellectualize something to death. But on August 21, I couldn't plan or orchestrate anything.

So I was thrown off guard, not to mention having a high fever. I had to deal with everything at once. I had to let go - there and then - of the thought of me and Ann at our last show on the 28th - I had to say goodbye to the fantasy - there and then.

And it changed everything. It was like an acting exercise where suddenly the stakes are raised 100% higher. And everything suddenly becomes more interesting. Immediate.

The whole atmosphere changed when I learned that this - right now - would be the last time. Whereas before, I was floating in my haze of sickness, watching him up on stage, aware of the dull ache I always felt when I would go to his shows, a low level drone of pain under the smiles ... and after the realization, it was like I was WHIZZING through space at full speed, heading directly for him, the air full of pure oxygen and knifes, high-pitched music, silver particles. Hang on ... this is IT. I'm not ready. We don't care! This is IT!

Hazard.

I cannot express the ineffable.

And somewhere admist all of this white-hot noise and internal chaos, I felt this hot bath of relief, immense, that I happened to have "Only Connect" in my bag. How fortuituous. Why was I carrying it that night? No reason. I didn't plan on giving it to him until the 28th. And so the gods smiled.

For once.

After the first assault of pain, a painful painful sweetness came. A love so sweet and big and yearning that I thought I might die. My love for this man physically hurt me. So I would wait it out, pressing in on my heart with my hand, riding the waves of it, like an earache, a stomach flu.

I sat in the back, in my dark feverish corner, no one knew I was there, with tears pouring down my ravaged face. The music blared, music made by him, and I sobbed into my hands, watching him through my fingers, aching, aching, aching.

I wasn't, of course, just crying about the letting go of August 28. I was crying about the letting go of him. That old hurt. And once the tears started to come, basically I cried off and on for the rest of the night. They woud not stop. It became a casual thing, my tears. I said, in the van ride home, "Do not be alarmed. I just can't stop crying. You can keep talking. Seriously, don't mind me. Ignore the tears."

My resistance was already shot, burned off by the fever. I could fight nothing, and it didn't even occur to me to fight. If our last night had been the 28th, I would have fought it the entire way.

Heart breaking, my heart singing out over and again.

Goodbye goodbye goodbye

Hidden in the back, shadowed, protected, disguised, laughing with love at his stupid jokes, clapping and clapping and clapping.

I was all alone. And it was right that it turned out the way it did. That I could sit in the dark, alone, watching the show, weeping, laughing, having a totally private experience. It was a gift, actually. It had its sad side, but it was a gift.

It had a symmetry to it. As the whole thing with him did. The first night - I went to go see him by himself. And it was in August. I wore my tight black button down shirt, my tight olive-green mermaid skirt. I sat, come to think of it, exactly where I sat on August 21st, on a stool by the sound board, in the back, in the dark. And I was alone that first night. Heady with freedom and independence.

But then - years later - sitting there, a week before leaving town - alone still, and independent, but "heady with freedom"? Not quite. Oh yes, I was free. But heady? Far from it.

It is a terrible thing to be free.

I did not let him know I was there. Not yet. Then he took a break. I tried to get myself together before I saw him, but it was impossible.

I moved up to the side of the stage during the break. I would watch the second set from there. I did not go backstage. I sat quietly behind the speakers, still invisible - quiet, pale, in tears - quiet constant tears.

Eventually Ken emerged from backstage - as did Jim - to find teary-eyed Sheila hiding behind the speakers. Jim, of course, gave me a big hug. He was always so sweet and so good to me. And Ken totally took care of me, in his own way, for the rest of the night. Ken had come to see Death in the Family, on his own initiative, had heard me talk about it, got tickets, and came to see it. I had no idea he was there.

Ken had never seen me in such a state as I was in on the 21st. But he handled it beautifully. He let me alone, and yet he stuck by me. We stood up against the wall together and watched the second set. I was totally split open, I couldn't hold anything back. Every song played, I felt it again. The associations, the memories, my love for him. I had no Kleenex. The cuffs of my big white shirt were drenched.

Before the show started, Ken and I were talking. I said, broken, "So this is my last show, Ken. This is it. I thought he would be playing next week."

Ken didn't say anything for a while. Then he told me that he was a huge Ramones fan - and he saw them 40 times or something. And he told me that when they broke up, they went on tour one last time, and Ken saw them play, knowing that this was it. This was it. The end of an era. Then he said, with his ducktail, and his thick-rimmed glasses, "Tonight is a close second to that."

It killed me.

I am loved. I am loved. And it has changed me forever.

During the second set - He had Ken sing - "Summertime Blues" - I was so glad he had Ken sing on my last night there. It meant a lot to me. I knew he did it for me. It was like my own private show. And at some point, during the second set - he started doing shots. He and I hadn't spoken yet and I had no idea what he was going through. I had no idea if he was conscious that we would not see each other again, that this was it - did he get it? Is he aware of the moment?

And once the shots started being tossed back - that's how I realized: he knows.

Now. Here is what happened next. Some girl, a regular in his audience, was moving to Thailand. For her, it was a very meaningful experience: her last show!! He had no fucking clue who she was. She was sitting in the back - and she must have sent a note up to the stage, requesting a song for her last night. He was in the middle of doing his third shot and he said, "That one went out to so and so ... this is her last night here because she's moving to Thailand ..."

Let me preface all of this by saying I was not expecting what happened next to happen. I was so discombobulated by the change in schedule, I knew it was my last show, but I was so sick - I was so plain - I didn't feel festive or dressed up or ready to sing with him for the last time. I was not ready. It became an intensely private night for me, even though I was surrounded by a crowd. It was just me, in the dark, focusing on him. As though he were the Planet Earth and I was standing on the moon looking back at him. Being able to see him whole. Surrounded by eons of empty cold space, unfamiliar lunar landscape - but there he was, thousands of miles away - a mindblowing sight, something to revel in. Look at him! My home! How I love my home. Why am I so far away.

After the farewell speech for Thailand Girl, he pulled the rug out from under me by saying, "It's somebody else's last night here --" It took me a second to realize what was about to happen, and when I did I just wasn't ready. I wasn't prepared. I couldn't be cool. And in retrospect, for that, I am thankful. Because what followed was one of the most intense love-bombing 5 minutes of my whole life - and I was not removed from the experience in any way, I had no time to sidestep the intensity of it (which would have happened if I had had time to gear up for it and to orchestrate the whole thing.) So when I realized what was next, I felt this plummeting, a stunned stasis, and my mind panicked - Oh God - not ready - no no no - not ready - no!!

I'm avoiding writing it down. By writing it down I finalize it. It becomes a thing. The writing becomes the experience, rather than the experience itself.

"It's somebody else's last night here ... this someone has been -- an important -- part of ... my shows ..." (I was Alice in Wonderland, drowning in my own tears) He joked, "Lord knows, she's bailed my ass out of trouble - times without number - " (Jim and Ken burst into laughter) "But it's time for her to move on. She's moving to New York City. This is right for her. It's where she needs to go." Everything was silent, and full, and horrible, and wonderful. It was like we were the only two people in the world, and everything of importance was being left unsaid. But we knew. We knew. He said, "But of course she'll come back and visit us, won't she?" And he looked over at me.

I must be honest. At that point, the thought of ever coming back to "visit" was so awful that it could not be contemplated. No.

This is the kind of love you never recover from.

I knew what he needed from me to make the moment complete, in terms of entertainment value. He needed me to call out cheerily, "Of course I'll come back!" But I could not do it. I was not being manipulative. I was being truthful. I could not speak. I just stared up at him, mute. ".....come back and visit us? ..." Visit? What a pale flimsy excuse for life.

It was only a brief pause, he was looking down at me, and I up at him - and I could see him die in that pause. Then he said, panicked - "Please say yes."

He needed my voice. My promise. This whole exchange was edged with humor on his side, he was in front of the crowd - but the core of it was deadly serious.

Please do not say to me that I will never see you again.

Please come back and visit.

Say you will.

Say you will.

I could not get any voice out, so I just nodded. Sort of cursory, I admit. Okay, okay, I say yes ... It was only to stop that look in his eyes.

I sometimes wonder if my pain is just a pale reflection of his pain.

The thought has crossed my mind. He has never told me so I don't know. But then, waking up at 3 a.m., that one time, feeling what I felt then, that Bob Dylan song: "You're gonna have to leave me now, I know. But I'll see you in the stars above, in the tall grass,in the ones I love, You're gonna make me lonesome when you go."

That was all there in his "Please say yes!"

And then he said, "So." and he raised his shot glass. I looked out at the entire club - and the whole club raised their glasses into the air, all of them looking at me.

"To Sheila!" he said.

Then the whole crowd screamed, "To Sheila!"

This really happened.

Then the cheering began. Endless. I wilted against the wall - bombarded with images - every single face burned into my memory - all of those raised glasses at me - the roar of the voices - the smiles - the love. They were all screaming as loud as they could, and it kept coming at me and coming at me. I held my hand over my bursting my heart. I managed to blow a very meaningful kiss at everyone - and I was in the perfect emotional place for such a gesture. I meant it.

I looked up at him once during this part and he was looking over and down at me - nodding - nodding, like, "You see that? You see what you have done? You see that?" We looked at each other, and I bombarded him with what was in my heart, and he took it. He saw it. He nodded. It was just us. Then he said into the mike, softly, over the cheers, but looking down at me, "You are loved, Sheila O'Malley. You are loved."

Caritas.

That moment has seemed to me either tragic or beautiful. It depends on where I'm standing.

The end was so near.

I forced myself to not cower behind the speaker. I knew, instinctively, that I had to let myself be blown to pieces like this. That it would not come again. I would be cheating myself. So I faced the crowd - all of those faces - with mouths wide open and cheering - beer glasses shoved in the air at me - and I held my hand over my heart, I had this huge smile on my face - and I bowed. The cheering intensified. I bowed again. It was - it IS - one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me.

I think for him too. I saw his face. The depths of that quiet Irish soul were stirred. Shaken.

Everyone wanted me to sing. I knew I couldn't. I was wrecked. I couldn't clamp down against it, I hadn't had time to get ready. I was sick, and I could not sing in that state. He came away from the mike and walked over to where I was - and the club had begun to chant my name, over and over, like some strange Chicago Sheila cult - and he leaned down towars me, my big gentle giant, I was still pressing my hand down over my heart, with tears streaming down my face - he was leaning down, I was leaning up, we were reaching towards each other - tension - magnetism - repelling forces - he said (and he was all about me, he would have done anything for me that night), "Do you want to sing?" I shook my head. He nodded. Of course. Moved back to the mike to explain to the chanting crowd that I was sick, I couldn't sing.

Once the cheering finally died down, I saw him have to take a moment. Just a little one, of re-grouping. My heart went out to him. He took this big shaky sigh, and then shook his head, as if to clear it out. And plunged back into his music. His world.

Then it was over. The show was done. The lights went up. He disappeared. I sat on the edge of the stage, tears kept bubbling over, but I was so happy too. Ken came up to me and said, "I'm not really hip on goodbyes, so I'm gonna bag out now - I just want you to know ---" and then he got all choked up, in his manly 1950s way. He couldn't finish.

I nodded. "I know."

We hugged for a really long time.

Then he was gone.

So many people came up to me to say goodbye and wish me luck. People I didn't know. People I had never seen before in my life. I was sitting there, blowing my nose, waterworks, they would say their peace, and I would thank them from the bottom of my heart, tell them how much it meant to me.

I was sort of putting off seeing him. He was back there, I knew that, and I was 10 feet away. Finally I was ready. He was on the other side of the backdrop, and he was ready too. We could not see each other, mind you. But we moved towards each other at the same moment and we met up by the black curtain. We stood looking at each other for a moment, it was this private silent "hello" moment - no longer than that - because then I went right at him, or he went right at me - I put my arms up - he stepped into my arms - and he held me - I held him back - the hug expanded, deepened, tightened - neither of us let go. At some point, the desultory tears became sobs. He's not good with that stuff, but he did okay here. The sounds that were coming out of me, howling into his chest, alarmed even me - once I heard the first sob wrench out of me, I was gone. I was choking, racked with it. And he was never a stoic stalwart granite guy. Tears made him anxious, restless, and sometimes cruel. He kept holding me, as strong as could be, but at that first sound that came out, he caught his breath. I heard it. I felt it all through him.

He couldn't reconcile the two things - his dream-girl, his love girl, and the tear-stained girl in his arms.

"I didn't only want Louise's flesh, I wanted her bones, her blood, her tissues, the sinews that bound her together. I would have held her to me though time had stripped away the tones and textures of her skin. I could have held her for a thousand years until the skeleton itself rubbed to dust. What are you that makes me feel thus? Who are you for whom time has no meaning? In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm."

Finally, we both pulled back. He was holding my face, wiping away the tears, looking at me, lasering into me - the first thing I could say was, "I'm disappointed - I thought you would be here next week ..." He made this sound in his throat, like he was looking at a mortally wounded animal in the street. It was a compassionate sound, am empathetic sound, a sound of acute identification.

"I know," he said. (His rhythm was different. He wasn't racing all over me, hasty, clumsy, pawing me, trying to jostle me out of emotions he found confronting. He had an infinite gentleness and stillness and sadness about him.) He did not feign indifference - like he would do sometimes, just to hurt me, shrugging right in my face, like, "Oh well, whatever." He knew what it meant to me. He was kind. He allowed me to be sad. He allowed me to fucking love him.

I held out the manila envelope - "This is a gift for you. I can't believe I happened to have it on me tonight. I was gonna give it to you next week."

He took it. Made no move to open it.

I said, "Don't open it now."

He put it in his duffel bag.

Then he turned on me and yelled at me for being sick. He was dead serious. "Why are you sick?" He raised his voice. He found my sickness intolerable. I raised my voice back. "I'm just sick. There is no reason. Back off." This made him smile.

He calmed down and asked me seriously about my illness, how I really was. I told him about Maureen making a house call. The way he was listening to me - in that way he was - those eyes, boring into me. Searching for my essence. I told him about calling M., and begging to see him, how M. was taking care of me. He doesn't like the thought of M., I can see his eyes go dead when I mention him, but I figure the whole truth can be told now. You set me free, remember.

He asked me 100 questions about my life, where would I live, would I get a job, when was I leaving - exactly - like: what time in the morning (what are you gonna do about it? Show up at the 11th hour? Because I'm crazy enough to hope for that). I suddenly remembered that I happened to have a Death in the Family program in my bag - and I reference him, and singing with him, in my bio. I said, "Oh! I want to show you this!" I rummaged thru the bag, took it out and handed it to him, finger showing him the spot. He read it, hungrily. Of course. He is basically a hungry guy.

And something happened to him when he read it. I hesitate to say everything, describe everything, but I watched his energy change - right in front of me. He has told me he loves me. Of course. But words are nothing compared to what I saw on his face in that moment. It was like I saw his heart get bigger. It got so big that I felt it pressing in on me. He couldn't even say anything. He read the bio, and then just looked at me, with this kindness in his face, tenderness, and he said, "Can I keep this?"

I nodded.

Up until that point, I had been all about my own pain. It took up so much room. But then I could sense the pain he was in, the pain he would continue to be in, how much I mean to him.

Then we were getting ready to leave. He had to go get paid, so he had to leave me for a second - he was pretty freaked out, and all about me - "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back. Don't move." He knows me too well. He knew the odds of me suddenly disappearing into the night in a poof of smoke were pretty high. So he left, and I sat backstage, alone. The tears, like I said, wouldn't stop, but at the same time I felt ultra-calm. And then we left, through the crowded bar, with him escorting me protectively. Holding onto my arm, moving me through the throngs. As we left, so many people called out to me as we passed, "Goodbye Sheila!" "Good luck!" "We'll miss you!" Shadowed by him, pale and sick, feeling very small nextto him, walking out of that place for what would be the last time.

I didn't look back. I didn't take a last-glance-around moment. I just walked out.

Oh, the van. Oh, deserted Lincoln Ave. Oh, the traffic light. Oh, the New Seminary. Oh, the Emerald Queen. Floods of memories. As I climbed up into the front seat of the van, I sighed all that out. A big loud shaky sigh. As we drove away, I craned my neck to watch the club disappear. Nobody spoke.

He leaned over and touched my leg. "I meant what I said back there. About you bailing me out." Jim and I both started laughing, and he was laughing too. "Remember, Jim? My God, I'd be playing a show and people would be hating on me, or not into it and I'd have you sing and you'd turn it all around. So many times that happened. Right, Jim?" Jim was still laughing. "Totally."

"You were my savior," he said, and I just let that comment lie there.

He turned onto Halsted. Northward.

There were stretches of silence during the drive. And at some point, he started reminiscing. About our countless drives up Southport on those sweltering summer nights.

"What was the name of that store that you always used to scream out whenever we would pass by it?"

"WHIMSY!" I shouted.

"Yes! Whimsy! Oh my God - and remember that big weird Deutschland place that looked like it was made for Nazi meetings?"

"Oh yeah! You were obsessed with that place. You'd slow down as we passed it to stare at it."

It was during the drive that he told me he had done "a little reading" on the Actors Studio. He said, "From what I know about the Actors Studio - it's a place where famous actors can go, and work privately - is that right?"

"Yes. You're right."

He nodded, intent on me, intent on the road. I loved how he drove, leaning forward, involved. I remember he was trying to ask me about the makeup of the program, and he wasn't really expressing it but I knew what he was saying, so I said breezily, as we hit Belmont, "Oh, I'm sure it'll be a mecca of multiculturalism."

He laughed as only he could. He never missed a signal from me. He always got me - got my tone, the jokes, the snark, the points I made. Never had to explain myself twice to him. So he ROARED - roared at my word choice, but also roared at the fact that I had understood what he was getting at.

He looked over at me. I smiled. I felt very soft, very loving. He smiled, too - but there was so much else in it. A painful wince. What could he do to bridge the gap? How could he get more involved? It was never enough, with him. He always wanted more, more, more. But he cannot have it anymore. The gap will just keep getting wider. This is the nature of life. But it's hard for him to deal with that. There's a gap between his impulse and what he is allowed to do. It makes him wordless sometimes, caught. He can't reach out and kiss me. And in lieu of that ... what gesture would be appropriate? We never found the right gestures.

He finally said, "Well .... I think it's all wonderful."

Jim's voice, quiet, came from the back seat, "We're really excited for you."

They started asking me about neighborhoods in New York, where I would be living. I mentioned my classes down in the West Village, and he got so worked up he started riffing on his imagination:

"Oh, I can just see it. You'll be walking down the street in the Village, holding books in your arms, and it'll be chilly and crisp enough that it's time to wear sweaters again - and you'll be with a guy who looks vaguely like Bob Dylan ..."

He would do this to me all the time. Flesh out hypotheticals, imagining me in different circumstances - evidence of his visceral involvement with me. It always killed me when he would do that. I loved it, but it killed me. I need to be loved like that. Anything less will not satisfy, from here on out, and that is awful, and beautiful. Awful because I had to say goodbye to it, and never really could say hello to it - beautiful because I almost had it. I got a taste. Just a taste. It changed me for good.

When he went off on his fantasy of me in the Village, I turned away from him, hand clamped over my mouth, pressing my head against the glass. Here it comes again.

"Please stop ..." I managed to say. He looked over at me, stopped, turned back to the road. Jim reached up from the back of the van, and rubbed my shoulders, so nice. Then we reached Addison, and I had Breakdown # 89. I said, "What is wrong with me? I don't want to leave. This is my home. This is my home. What am I doing?? Am I insane?"

They bombarded me with positiveness. With love.
Sheila, it's gonna be so great.
This is a great thing.
It's right.
You're gonna do so well.
Everything is going to be okay.

Finally, he turned onto Wayne. There was my homelight gleaming. Silence fell over us. The end was here.

"Wind chimes," he said, as he pulled the van to a stop.

No one said anything. He got out of the van - ready to walk up the porch steps with me. Once he was out, I turned around in my seat to face Jim.

"Well, Jim."

"Well, baby."

I leaned back and we hugged for a really long time.

"Thanks for the fond care, Jim." A joke from way back when. A raunchy conversation had taken place - and Jim had apparently (behind my back) said something raunchy about me, and it had gotten back to me. I of course then had to go and bust on him about it, "Oh, so I heard that you said such and such about me ...", and he was mortified. His defensive response was, "I meant it with fond care." Now that is a joke that just keeps on giving.

As we pulled back, his eyes were all shiny. I said, "I really hope our paths cross again."

"I'm sure they will, sweetie."

I climbed out of the van, where he was waiting on the curb for me. He took my hand, the street was so quiet, in such a Wayne Street way. It wasn't a main street, so there were the big trees, and the crickets, and the silent darkened houses - but Addison was half a block away, so there was also the urban hum of a busy street, underneath the quiet. And the haunting occasional "ping" of my wind chimes, weaving through it all.

We walked up my steps. Neither of us leading or following. Then his arms were around me, and I went off into Waterworks again - the wind chimes like mistletoe - there was a wet patch on his T-shirt from my tears when I finally pulled back. But I was holding onto his big body so tight - and we said what we had to say. It's all kind of blurry now, that part.

You mean everything to me
I will miss you
Thank you for everything
No. No. Thank you.

Then he pulled back - gripping my arms - he made me look at him, forced me to - and said, with a fierceness and seriousness I had never seen, "And remember, Sheila. Always remember. If you ever have a day where you feel like you are not loved, where you feel like you are alone - just know that I am here. I am out here - even if we don't talk or communicate - I want you to stop, and just know that I'm here and I love you." He was shaking me. My arms were bruised from his fingers the next day.

"Okay, okay ... " I said. That was all I could say.

Then he left me. It was hard for him to do so.

The night started with him being far away from me, onstage, me on stool in the back, then closer - he got bigger - I was standing beside the stage - he was above me - then we were one on one, eye to eye, and then - he walked down my porch steps, getting smaller again, and then he was in the van ...

As he broke away from me and went back to the van, I heard an insistent "MEOW" coming at me. These were in the days when Sammy had discovered a way to escape by squeezing his body between the screen and the window. So I would leave for work, for the show, Sammy would be inside, it was heat wave days - so the windows were open - I'd come home and Sammy would come bounding over from a neighbor's yard. Like a dog. He tasted the fruits of freedom that summer. Unfettered.

So - as he got into the van, as Jim moved up into the front seat, window rolled down - there was Sammy, coming down the dark sidewalk towards me, meowing like crazy. Hello, hello, hello ... glad to see you? Am I in trouble? Is it okay that I escaped? Is it okay?

My face was wet from the tears, the collar of my shirt wet, my sleeves, the cuffs ... I came down the steps, "Hi, my baby boy! How'd you get out?" I scooped up my purring beautiful cat who has been such a comfort to me, curling up by my head as I cried myself to sleep.

Jim laughed from the van, a soft sound, and I laughed too. Everything felt soft and gentle and kind and summery, bittersweet. "He escaped!" I informed Jim.

The van started up - I could only see his hands on the wheel. Jim was on the passenger side. I stood there, watching - Jim called out softly to me, "We love you." I waved my fingers at them. "I love you too." The van started to move, I watched it go. Both men had their arms out the windows, waving goodbye, as they drove up Wayne and out of sight. I could see his arm coming up over the van, so he was steering with his right hand, and Jim's arm coming out of the passenger side - pale arms - waving - coming out to me through the darkness, getting smaller and smaller and smaller ....

The last time I saw them.

I must add something to all of this, having just read over what I wrote. I needed to write it. And I just have. I cried as I wrote it. But after all of this - I know that this is not the way it happened at all. It eludes language. Life, love, goodbyes. This is a reconstruction. A facade. It didn't happen that way at all. The real event is between all the words.

Diary Friday

I'm all emotional today because I hung out with Keith M. for a marathon 10 hours ... he was in town this week, and we met up, and had this awesome time together, and ... he's my childhood friend. It's a strange thing. I'll write about it more when I'm not so under-slept, over-whelmed, hung-over ... and any other unders and overs you can think of.

I wrote about Keith M. and who he was to me here (and, I guess, who he still is to me).

See, I'm all teary-eyed right now. How often in life do we get such a chance? To reunite with an old old friend ... someone who "knew you when" ... and not just in a superficial way - or not just a catch-up talk at a high school reunion (although our last reunion was really intense - for both of us - we talked about that too) - but a serious re-connecting? Like in a real life kind of way? I just feel so lucky, so happy right now, and I'm crying. I obviously have a lot of great friends from childhood, who are still my friends today. Thank you, God. These people are my rocks, my anchors, my dearest friends. Betsy and Michele - from grade school, and then Beth and Mere from junior high. Keith and I talked a lot about that, and why such friendships are so poignant - and important - like what exactly is it ... it's not just nostalgia. It is something else.

We hashed that one out yesterday (in about hour 2 of our marathon day) - sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching little kids play - just like he and I used to play. There were kids on the swings, kids chasing each other, sliding down slides ... and I was listening intently to Keith, commenting, talking, listening, nodding, all that stuff - but I was also sitting there, and seeing in my minds eye the ghosts of us - when we were little ... at recess ... doing the very things the kids around us were doing at that very moment. Chasing each other, screaming, dangling precariously from jungle gyms, running as fast as we could, etc. Keith is a man now. I'm a woman. But we were children together and ... those kids we once were ... are still there, they are still us, they are part of us. Maybe that's why I'm writing this with tears streaming down my face. I talked with Keith, and I knew him, even with the "20 year gap" in our friendship. Amazing. I just feel so freakin' lucky. We have grown and matured ... but he is that person I remember from 2nd grade, 3rd grade, high school. There is a continuum here - a piece of myself that is somehow contained in Keith.

We are not islands. Memory is a collective thing. Little pieces of who we are, memories ... are contained in other people, not just in our own minds. Like we were just batting back and forth the memories yesterday, throwing out names, telling stories, having the past wash over us, bolts from the blue - "remember that??" Talking with Keith for 10 straight hours yesterday was not hard at all. There wasn't one awkward silence. We got into it, man. hahaha Like - no small talk. We went right to it. Politics, God, relationships, our childhood, issues we struggle with - who we are - our flaws - what we want - our dreams - sex, life ... It was a marathon. Lots of laughter, too. He said to me within the first 5 minutes of seeing each other, "It is my goal that by the end of the night you will either be crying - or laughing so hard you piss your pants." hahahaha It was that kind of reconnection. And we could have kept going. It's just that it finally was 1 a.m. and we were wiped out. I need to just let this percolate for a while. It was so so good to see him, sweet, strong, intense, poignant, and also just plain old fun. How much fun it was to sit in a bar with Keith - KEITH! - my childhood friend! - and drink beer, and talk like maniacs about our lives?

So in honor of him, and to embarrass him - here are a couple of Diary Friday entries - I've posted them before ... apparently I wrote about Keith in my diary a lot as a high schooler ... this was something I did not remember. I always had a fondness for Keith, I always liked him - but after grade school, our cliques diverged ... but I was always aware of him. Not in a stalker kind of way - just a kind of familiarity that I found comforting. And also (judging from these diary entries) exhilarating.

But first: a picture of us then. And I'm bummed - we kept saying we needed to take a picture of us together now - but we were just so wrapped up in our conversation for 10 hours that we never took the picture. I did take a picture of his back as he walked away from me in one of the bars we hung out in. Yes, there was more than one bar. hahaha But it's a blurry cell phone photo ...

Guess the ghosts of us then will have to do:

Keith and me - we're 11 years old here. sniff, sniff. I'm a mess.

These two entries are from my junior year in high school:

NOVEMBER

WHAT A DAY!! I've got to tell you! Have I told you about Keith M? It feels like I have. He is -- the -- (I swear to God) nicest guy at our school. Wow. My heart almost hurts. He is gonna grow up to be one fantastic guy. He already is. It's unusual. I mean, the popular guys in our class - they're nice and everything - but not very sensitive. It seems like they make fun of everyone. They can be mean. But Keith! KEITH! What a name. [Uhm, okay - not only am I probably embarrassing Keith reading this, but now I'M embarrassed. It's the "What a name" moment that got me. Okay, onward.] He never makes fun of freshmen or unpopular kids. He's nice to everyone. But he's not overly sweet. He's sort of a tough guy, you know? [I ADORE my complex character analysis here.]

He's in my Chemistry and Math. He is a good student. He wants to understand and do well. It gives me a thrill whenever he says my name. [AHHHHH! How embarrassing!!] It's like: "He knows who I am!" But of course he does! I've been in his class since first grade. We were a "couple" in 4th grade. (Really heavy stuff. You know. I stole his comb and giggled when he came near me.) But in junior high, I drifted apart from all my old friends. They all became popular - Keith, Andrew - but now - this year, I just love being in classes with him. My old childhood friend.

I keep thinking I've told you this! [Er - I believe the "you" is referencing my journal] There's that moment in gym class - where a retarded kid showed up and he'd be doing his best, and everyone would be snickering- but Keith M. sat there, staunchly, firmly, calling out, "Great cut! Okay! Keep your eye on the ball! That's it!" You know -- pep talk. Whatever. GOD.

Keith M. has such a great start on being human. I told my mom that story about Keith in gym class and she went, "Now him. He will grow up to be an even nicer man." She's right. He's so friendly. We can talk to each other. I don't know. I feel comfortable with him.

[I have to just interject here. The fact that I wrote about Keith M so much and so rapturously in my journals is kind of surprising to me - not that he isn't a worthy object - but that I don't remember doing so. I don't remember having RAVED about him so consistently - his name comes up constantly in these old journals - and it's really amazing to look back and go: "Wow. He really meant a lot to me. Who knew??"]

I had gone on a field trip today with Drama to see Glass Menagerie and I came home and wondered who to call from Math to find out what I missed. I really don't know anyone in my class, not well enough to call anyway - so I thought of Keith - not that I know Keith like a brother - but God, the opportunity was there - I grabbed it. I was nervous though. I practiced what I would say. O God! [I am striking myself as unbelievably sweet here. Also, I love that I didn't write "Oh God" but I wrote "O God" ... it's a much more dramatic and poetic spelling, which was completely appropriate - seeing as I WAS ABOUT TO CALL KEITH M! I was so dramatic. Sheesh] I looked up his number.

I remember every second of this phone call. Keith has a distinct way of talking. His voice ... it sounds - not sharp - but clear. He is the best looking boy in our class, I swear. Heart pounding, I said to myself, "Cut it out, Sheila!" and dialed.

It rang twice.

"Hello?" It was his father, I guess. I could hear the news on in the background. Just saying, "May I please speak to Keith" gave me a heart attack. What was he thinking as he came to get the phone? Would he be bummed out that it was me? But really what I was thinking was just his name ... Keith. [Sheila, his name is Keith. Please get over it.]

"Just a minute," and he went off to get Keith and I thought, "Oh my God, he's home!" I wasn't nervous - just - I don't know. I really like him. But 4th grade is so far away now.

There was a pause - then I heard this sort of close voice, "Yeah! I got it!" His sharp clear voice. He picked up the phone. [Listen to how I am writing about this - I am writing as though calling Keith to get the math homework is literally the biggest cliffhanger ever. O God!] He said "Hello?"

I pushed on - "Hi Keith? This is Sheila from Math class." Dumb thing to say. We have been friends since six-year-old-dom. But he said, "Oh! Hi!" Really friendly. Not sort of suspicious, like: "Oh no - what does she want?" I once called Andrew in the 6th grade - Mary Lou answered and went running off screaming, "ANDREW! IT'S A GIRL!" [hahahahahahaha]

I said, "Uh ... I was wondering, since I wasn't there today if we had a quiz or what the homework is ..."

"Oh - okay. Uh ..."

I love how -- I just -- He just was so nice - very amiable. I have such an inferiority complex, especially with boys. I think everyone's suspicious of me. And I think that if they guess that I like them - they will be bummed out about it. It's weird.

He said, "We didn't have a quiz today but I believe we're having a test on Friday and - okay, the homework is the - uh - Chapter Review - Chapter Summary - whatever, and that's on page ... Do you have your book with you?"

[Look at that. I have almost no memory of this enormous cliffhanger of a moment in my life - but I would bet that that's almost word for word what Keith said. I had a knack - and still have it - for remembering conversations, no matter how benign or trivial - with word to word detail.]

"Uh - no -" I whipped out a pencil to mark it down. He said, "Well, it's either on 109 or 129 - I'm not sure - but one of those." I wrote that down quickly on my Glass Menagereie program and said, "Okay. Got it. Thanks a lot, Keith." "Yeah, sure." "Okay. Bye." "Bye."

AND THEN WE HUNG UP!

[If you could only see how huge those letters are in my journal. Hahahaha They're enormous. I am shouting "AND THEN WE HUNG UP". As though hanging up the phone is the most AMAZING development in this whole cliffhanger.]

Keith seems so natural - not inhibited - I can't explain this. I don't idolize him - even though I sit here going, "HE KNOWS WHO I AM!" It's not like that. I don't idolize him. I just care for him. He is special. That�s all. His whole personality. I know that conversation doesn�t sound thrilling � but Diary � all the other guys � I mean, I don�t know if they even know who I am � but you had to have been on that phone. He was not � Okay. I know. I remember. I know why he's different, and special. That�s what matters. I mean, I don�t think he likes me or anything, but it is the fact that he treats me so kindly, like a pal, like a friend � It comes so easily to me when I am with him. With all other boys � even the ones I grew up with � it�s always so weird and awkward. They act like I want something from them � just by talking to them. Keith never does that. Conversation comes naturally with us. Me, Keith, and Bill always end up sitting near each other because of our last names. That last sentence had awful grammar, and sorry about that. Anyway, in Chemistry, I sit in back of Bill who sits in back of Keith. One day, Mr. Amoeba started handing out papers for a �pop quiz� � ooh, isn�t he cool and scary � [Uhm, can you tell I despised that teacher?] Keith groaned, "Oh, great. Here goes another grade down the tubes." I said - not really to him - just to myself, and anyone who felt like listening: "Think positive!" Bill heard me. He leaned forward, tapped Keith on the shoulder, and said, "Excuse me, Keith. Sheila O'Malley wants you to think positive." [hahahahahaha] Keith turned around and grinned at me, giving the thumbs-up sign.

I can't believe how much I care for this kid. How has this happened? Just a friendship is more than enough.

Aren't human beings and human nature the most wonderful things in the world??????

DECEMBER

Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?

Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]

Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.

Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]

Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.

Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.

You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.

It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.

Isn't that wonderful?

I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]

Here's the entire Diary Friday archive if you're interested.

DECEMBER

Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?

Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]

Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.

Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]

Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.

Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.

You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.

It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.

Isn't that wonderful?

I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]

Diary Friday

This entry is from the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. I appear to be quite a little horndog. Yet I also have a good head on my shoulders.

Nothing has changed.

JULY 4

It's only 11:00 on this patriotic day so nothing happened so I shall describe yesterday. [Not sure how A follows B there, but I suppose it's irrelevant. Moving on!]

J. was working and she called me to come up and have lunch with her. So I walked up and we walked down to Ricky's Pizza. We picked up right where we left off. I swear - that's all we talk about when we're together. I've said it before - we're kindred souls. I mean, she'll say something about how she feels or what she thinks, and it could have been me talking. It's really weird but so nice to not have to explain myself or have to try to convince her. I mean, it's stupid but even in here I feel like I'm - I feel like I have to continually stick up for myself as though "someone" is thinking, "Right, Sheila. We believe you." (sarcastically) J. and me - we just talk - I know she doesn't lie about her feelings and she knows I don't lie.

I guess the thing is - It's just unfair.

And - already I'm hearing that stupid "someone" saying, "Oh yeah? Well everything's unfair, Cookie." I seem to have a great scorn for myself but - what I feel is what I feel, and it's just too bad.

EVERY single cute guy I see - I look at, and I wonder about him. And I never get any looks like that. I mean, I know that glances across a pizza parlor mean nothing - but still. It'd be nice to get some recognition, have someone notice me, whisper about me. I don't ever get second glances from guys. Shit, I look EVERYONE over. So does J.

We walked into Ricky's and both silently inspected everyone. J. said, "Nope. Nobody." Then we were both laughing, "Oh God! We're awful!" We got our pizza and talked and talked about everything. I was sitting with my back to the window, she was facing the window. As we were talking, suddenly I saw her eyes get all buggy and I knew immediately that GUYS were out the window. [Like some rare species of animal!] I turned around and just glanced, because it was so obvious anyway. I saw very briefly 2 guys getting out of this old white car. I turned around and we gaped at each other. They came in and they were so cute! In shorts, battered white sneaks - and their shorts were khaki and oversized. They had on sweatshirts and were sort of bronzed by the sun and they were adorable. They sat up at the counter and were laughing HYSTERICALLY about something. They were about 18 or 19. There are advantages to living in a college town. Wherever I go, I am on the lookout for gorgeous men. [Sheila, you're 15 years old.]

Then the guys left and we sighed.

We talked about sex. I suppose you --- Wait a minute. There I go again. You are a book. What do I care what "you think"? You're a fucking book. I think about sex and it's like this big mystery. I wonder about it. Is it fun? I mean, sometimes I think about sex and I know I'm not ready now. And I don't think I'll be ready for a while. I think I'll know when I'm ready. I'll know when it's right. But it seems like - EVERYONE'S having sex now. I mean, some people you just know are not virgins anymore. I mean, A. has been going out with the same girl for about 3 years. She goes to the University of Colorado - she graduated a year ago. Guess where A. is going to college? I'm SURE they're having sex. I can't help but look at some people and wonder: "Have they?"

I don't plan to get married for centuries. Maybe in my late 20s or early 30s. Or whenever it is that I find HIM. I'm not gonna get married until I make something of myself, make something of my life. I'm not gonna get married the day after college graduation. I really want to be on my own.

I do want to have kids though.

But still, Catholics say that sex before marriage is wrong. And I can see that point. But I also think that sex before you're ready is wrong too. There's an emotional side to all of this.

And DIARY. What if I fall in love with someone - I mean really fall in love with someone - and he falls really in love with me (oh yeah?) and we're only 24 or 20 or something? I mean, what happens then? I won't get married just so I can have sex legally. Now I have no trouble saying no. I mean if someone started coming on to me now (fat chance) I'd be like, "Please get out of my face, you gross low-life." [hahahaha How about just saying, "No thanks"??]

It seems like everything in college moves so fast. I know that I will not sleep with someone unless I want to. Peer pressure doesn't work with me. [ha. I love that I knew that about myself. It's always been true.] I mean, I want to have sex now - I think about it all the time - but I can't, and I wouldn't anyway. There's a difference wanting to and being ready to. I mean, I wasn't even going out with DW but (THE TRUTH) I wanted to sleep with him SO MUCH. I'd get really embarrassed and awkward when he'd be beside me, because I'd be thinking about sex. But I know I'm not ready. Are you kidding me? I think it's a very indiscernable difference sometimes - but a very important one. I hope that when the time comes, I will know when I'm ready.

It seems like such a huge scary thing, like grown-ups are shouting at us all the time, 'OH MY GOD! DON'T HAVE SEX WITH EACH OTHER! IT WOULD BE A TRAGEDY! OH MY GOD!" Meanwhile, kids are sleeping with each other, and it doesn't seem to be all that much of a tragedy. You just have to know who you are. Everything's so confusing now because I feel like I have to make up my mind how to proceed - like, what philosophy I am going to have about sex - but I don't know yet. I hope I don't make any fatal mistakes.

So this is what we talked about. We started back to the library, and she said, "When people drive by, don't you check out who the driver is?" And I said, "I don't believe this." Constantly, I peer into cars. [Please stop doing that, Creepy Girl] Especially when I'm walking around campus. There are all the fraternities on sunny days - all the guys stretched out on the slanted roofs in shorts - they bring out mattresses and radios. As I walk by I feel my heart quicken.

SO as we walked back to the library, this truck drove by with 2 people in the front seat. One who was driving and one - we both saw him at the same time - and he was a GOD! I mean, an incredibly gorgeous human being. Mirrored glasses, sort of deep golden hair that stuck up really punky [please don't say "punky". Thanks] - and his FACE! He was exquisite.

J. and I saw him at exactly the same moment [I am just laughing at the thought of us - two 16 year old girls, strolling around, literally GAWKING at all the male flora and fauna]. As the truck zoomed by we whirled to face each other screaming. [hahaha!!] We stumbled back to the library in awe of this god we have never met and never will again. It's like we're both on this man hunt. Summer would be so boring without our manhunt.

I haven't seen DW for a month. That is strange. I expect to see him wherever I go. His face is still always in my mind. Wherever I am, I sort of unconsciously look for an old brown station wagon. I'm stupid. I am a stupid person.

Last night my family MADE me come to the beach with them ["Family time" cannot compete with "roving manhunt"] even though I don't have a suit. My legs were so hairy I looked male. But my family practically shoved me into the car. I was embarrassed about my legs and was mad. I was even more mad when we got to the beach because the beach was FULL of gorgeous college guys. I looked so ugly and white. I just want to be hip. I try so hard to be cool, to not be so awkward. I don't mean by doing dumb things, I don't mean altering my entire personality like I see some other girls do - What I mean by cool is - A.N. cool. Cool to me is - [okay, get ready for my definition of cool, and please envision the Duran Duran video I had just watched] punky hair, mirrored glasses, fingerless gloves, confidence, secure - secure almost bordering on arrogance. [Fingerless gloves and arrogance ... I am shaking wtih laughter] I just felt so self-conscious last night. I felt so ugly. And the GUYS on the beach - stretched out, in cut offs, mirrored glasses, blonde hair - [I'm in love with these men still] and the LIFE GUARD. He was a BABE. Immediately I sat on my towel to hide my gross legs. I like having smooth legs. I felt really really embarrassed.

Oh, and guess who walked by right in front of me. JW! [He was this guy I had had a crush on a year or so before - I think we exchanged 2 or 3 words - but my crush lasted the entire school year.] Just seeing him was like, "Oh God. Get away from me." He didn't see me. I doubt he even knows me. He's such an egoist. I look at him and laugh! It looks like he's always holding his breath - because he wants to stick his chest out like a big tough guy - But seeing him was a reminder of my lack of social life. This is J.'s picture of our social life.

[Then comes a drawing of us - 2 girls - with tears down our faces and sad mouths - a big barrier beside us - that is labeled 'BERLIN WALL' - and on the other side is a group of people - and an arrow is pointing to the group saying 'OUR SOCIAL LIVES'

10:30 July 4

I am in such a great mood! I just went to the fireworks display. It's a huge deal - I mean, throngs of people go to Old Mountain Field - our town turns into a throbbing mecca. I've only been once before because all the other July 4ths I was at camp.

Well. Unlike last night at the beach, I did feel cool. We went to a cookout at the Quinn's - it was nice talking to Jen - she's a good kid. Me, her, and Katy - you want to talk best friends? We were IT! Three Muskateers. We were ALWAYS together. ALWAYS. We were friends forever. Then Katy and I moved and I went into junior high, Katy went to another elementary school - so we just never saw each other. I mean, it's not like we ever had a fallout - we just saw each other very rarely. So it was really nice to talk to Jen again.

Then we went to Old Mountain Field. Traffic was stopped up all along the highways. There were SO MANY people. The field looked like the beach on a hot day. I had just done my hair so it looked cool. [Yes, but was it "punky"?] I was carrying a blanket - and we (my family) were looking for a place to sit down. And suddenly I heard, "Hey! Sheila!" I looked around and saw TS hailing me. [TS was a good friend of me and also the rest of my core group of friends - he had graduated a couple of years before I did - and at some point during my senior year he and I started dating. He was, I guess, my first boyfriend. We went to my senior prom together.]

Oh yeah - I forgot - this was weird. Mum and I went to this bagels store and as we went in TS and K.O. came out. It was strange. We were talking. I admit that I have a little crush on TS - and I have ever since I met him. I like having him for a friend. I really do. [And we're friends now - after over 20 years of not seeing each other. What are the odds] AND if I don't have a boyfriend next year, I'll ask him to the Senior Prom. I know he'd go unless he was totally broke. I considered asking him this year. Beth wanted me to - kept encouraging me to call him and ask. But when DW said no [DW - my crush of the entire year prior. I asked him to my prom and he freakin' said NO! Now THAT is a tragedy.] I couldn't think of anybody else. NO WAY.

TS was sitting on a blanket holding a guitar. M.M. was sprawled out next to him in that languorous manner he always assumes - and Beth was sitting on a bigger blanket nearby. Turns out that TS was there with his 2 older brothers and their wives and kids. Well, TS motioned to me to come over so I went over and sat on my blanket. You can't believe how cute his family is. All in all - there were about 5 little kids - including a one-month-old baby. And a 2 year old - so cute - and TS' BROTHERS - they are just as hysterical as he is. What a blast it must be in that family. When TS (who was sitting crosslegged on the ground) laughed - he would sort of fall back on his back - and all of his brothers did that - so basically they were all rolling around with laughter. They're all so nice, so close. Oh, and the 2 year old got lost about 3 times while I was there and TS would go off looking for him - he loves playing with the kids - he was playing peek a boo with the 2 year old and a paper plate. There was something so adorable about it. Big men going "kootchy kootchy koo" in a baby voice and all that. TS was tickling the kids and wrestling with them. M.M. was (of course) very blase, didn't even say hello to me. But he was halfway nice. [How is "not saying hello" "halfway nice"??] If ONLY he weren't the best looking guy I have ever seen in my life. He looks like Paul Newman. And with every passing year he gets better. He is flawless. He's even more gorgeous than when he was in high school. [No!] He's also very funny. He makes me laugh. TS is more like a friend - when I laugh with him, it's like laughing with Beth or Mere or Betsy. M.M. makes me nervous a little bit. Of course I don't show it.

One of TS's nieces was cold and she asked if she could wear M.M.'s sweatshirt. he said sure - it was a gown on her. Floor length. The arms dangled on the ground. She looked like a jawa. TS was laughing at her, and he was holding the baby - sort of awkwardly - but tenderly - letting the baby suck on his pinky finger.

The fireowkrs were nice. Beth and I talked with TS the whole way through it, of course. Not M.M. though. He was sprawled on his back on the ground and he got mad at us whenever we spoke. "You just missed the best one!" We were all telling jokes, and he wasn't laughing. TS said to him, "Oh. You don't laugh at our jokes, right?" M.M. said, deadly serious, "Not while I'm watching fireworks." So funny.

Slowly it got dark and the fireworks started. It's amazing how excited everyone got - and it was contageous. Everyone was cheering 'OOH"-ing - TS too. I think I could maybe have a serious crush here. He's such a nice person.

Anyway, TS said, as we all clapped for one of the fireworks, "This is ridiculous how people explode for inanimate explosions." That started us off laughing because after that I found it impossible to cheer for them without laughing and remembering what he said. After every single huge blast, Beth and I would listen for the babies. It was hilarious. There would be a huge BOOM and following right after - babies all over the field would start screaming, in unison.

Beth and I can have so much fun together. She kept hitting TS when he would tease her and tell him that he sucked. "You suck. I hate you."

We laugh, and have fun - it's great. I like TS. I like everyone. And I love America too. (Had to throw that in there, it being the 4th and all) So we all had a lot of fun, and it makes me feel warm inside. M.M. and TS (Oh Lord, they crack me up) were SO funny. They planned this. There was a grand finale - with bursting fireworks all at the same time, and the whole crowd started screaming and cheering. We were all sitting in a little clearing and everyone started clapping, screaming, for the fireworks - and MM and TS stood up and started bowing in the direction of the crowd, nodding their heads modestly, waving. Beth and I were in convulsions on the ground looking up at them. They were these 2 big tall figures silhouetted against the fireworks.

It was FUN and it was also like a miracle, suddenly running into them out of the whole field - so many people there - and I found them. I was dreading running into DW. Maybe it wouldn't have been traumatic for him, but for ME.

TS is coming over in a couple of weeks to come see the movie. [In my group of friends there is only ONE movie ... and that's the one we made together - called "The Troubled Days and Nights of Lovers, Husbands, Wives, Children, in Hope and Despair"] He's looking forward to it. I can't WAIT to show it to him. He'll love it.

Afterwards, we all went to Newport Creamery for ice cream. He said, "I can't wait to see Dolores in the movie." I started LAUGHING, just thinking about her performance. "Just you wait!" I said to him.

Dolores shocked us all.

Diary Friday

A cornucopia of high school mortification. Not only will I mortify myself but I will mortify Mere, Jayne, and Betsy. Yay! I'm takin' you all down with me. (Beth, you're getting off scot free this time.)

This is from the beginning of my junior year of high school (before DW came into my life, and completely took over EVERY SINGLE ENTRY)

SEPTEMBER 1

cadillac
cardiac

[Note: those two words are written in the top left corner of the page. I have no idea why.]

I am now braceless. [I think you mean braceS-less] At least on the top. When I first saw myself I was like, "Ohhh! Put them back on!" [Similar to my crying fit when the brace was taken off my legs as a baby. I missed my brace! WAAHHHHH!] But now - this is a momentous day. I really do look good. I am on my way to beauty. [If you could see pictures of me at this time, you would laugh. But that's neither here nor there. I had felt so damn ugly with those braces - and I had had them for 3 years - so it's nice to see my happiness with my own looks here. Not the normal self-loathing that percolates in the journal] I don't have to smile and hide my teeth anymore! I can look glamorous and grown-up. My teeth are SO straight and I love them!!! I've spent the entire afternoon flirting with my reflection in the mirror. I am on top of the world!

Getting them off really hurt (in fact I yealled once) but after that - it was fine!

Then Mum dropped me off at Mere's and Mr. W. let me in (I gave him an enormous toothy smile) and as i came down through the front hall I heard two pairs of feet pounding down the stairs. When Mere saw me she screamed and leaped around me [I seriously have the best friends in the entire world, and always have] and Jayne came zooming down crying, "Oh, let me see! Let me see!" For a while we just stood in the hall talking about getting braces off and I smled a lot. They (my teeth) feel so loose - like they would fall out if I touched them. I showed them my beautiful swollen bloody gums. [hahahaha]

Mere is such a wonderful friend. So is Jayne. They were both as excited as I was!

We went up to Mere's room. Jayne is leaving for college in Maine TOMORROW! [There isn't a font big enough to reflect how large the word "tomorrow" appears in the journal] Can you believe it? Jayne in college! Her room is a disaster area with all her packing. I can't believe she won't be in school this year! I am really gonna miss her. But she says she's a good letter writer, so I can't wait to have our letters flying back and forth from Maine and RI. It just won't be the same, though. I'm gonna miss her. Classes start on Tuesday and everything. Jayne in college! With a roommate! [Will wonders never cease??] She'll be home at Thanksgiving. THANKSGIVING! [again, see comment above about largeness of fonts, etc.] I won't see her until then! Do you know how weird that's gonna be?

Wow. Everyone is leaving and parting and saying goodbye. [Everyone?] I hate it. [Yup. And I still do.]

We hung out in Mere's room and listened to records and talked. Mere polished her silver necklace, Jayne showed me her fifth grade composition book (hysterical) and then at 20 of five I caught the bus and rode home. (I bought a People magazine with an article about Sting, and I bought their first album).

Also - Brian was in the car when Mum came to pick me up - and he called me over to see my teeth. He is SO nice. I think I have a little crush. (Oh, how philosophical).

I hate myself sometimes. [Woah, nelly, where's the segue??] I am vain, sullen, clutzy, aloof, dumb. I am a dork who thinks she is beautiful. I am an ugly girl who pretends she is a beautiful glamorous star, who pretends she could sleep with Sting and Al Pacino. I can't tell reality. I believe all what I imagine - and I do not like who I am. I wish I were urbane, and smart, and out of high school - so I can start over and not be such a doof.

[I have nothing to say. The self-hatred was real. I'll let it stand.]

I think Mere is bummed because of Jayne leaving. I know those two are really close. Mere was acting sort of quiet - and then Mr. W. yelled up the stairs to tell Jayne to hurry up and do some chore and Jayne said, "What?" and Mere cried, "Oh! Jayne, I forgot. Dad told me to tell you to do it." Jayne said, "Oh - see, Dad? Don't yell at me - yell at her!" Jayne ran downstairs and we sat in Mere's room, and Mere was quietly shoving down cards for solitaire, pushing down the cards sort of violently. Then out of the blue she said, "I hate myself." [It's an epidemic, apparently] Mere is so amazing. Always herself. [Breezy?] Not like me. I'm floundering right now. I'm trying to make myself into somebody I'm proud of - eccentric, weird, like James Dean - but Mere never puts on an act. She's funny and lively - but I know she has a serious side, she thinks about things, serious things. [Mere, Mere, Mere, you're glib.] So when she said "I hate myself" I just stared at her. "Why?" "I just - I always forget things and then other people get yelled at because of me." "Mere, I do that too! You know - 'Oh Mum, I forgot - Dad called 3 hours ago and needs a ride home.'" We started laughing. For a while, we talked about our faults, faults we wish we didn't have.

In NYC last December was the first time I ever saw her down - it was because of B.B. Me, Mere, and J. were sharing a room - and we all came in to settle down and Mere immediately slammed into the bathroom and locked herself in. J. and I got into our pajamas and had an absolutely hysterical time - laughing until we thought we were gonna barf - [That's so sensitive, girls. Mere is locked in the bathroom and you're rolling around in hysterics?] - we were laughing about Playgirl and dildos - we were throwing ourselves around on the beds with mirth. [I actually have a picture of that. We're holding a Playgirl, and we are seriously crying with laughter] Later, Mere still hadn't come out - and J. and I stood meekly at the door, looking at each other, wondering what to do. Finally - we softly knocked. I said, "Mere, all you all right?" The door flew open and Mere threw her potato chips all over the room and stalked to her bed. [Meredith - I have no memory of this. You threw potato chips around?]

I want to be there for Meredith. [Then how 'bout you put the dildo down, Sheila, stop laughing like a hyena, and go and talk to her???]

SEPTEMBER 2

GREAT DAY.

9:00 pm - East of Eden was on. [Member when you would have to wait for movies you loved to actually come on television - and what a big deal it was?] Right as it started, the phone rang and Siobhan called me to the phone. I ran to get it - "Hello?"

"Are you watching what I think you're watching?" It was Betsy.

"BETSY! You're home?" [Where else would you be? Camp, maybe?]

"Yeah! How are ya?"

"Good! How are - Oh! I got my braces off!"

"Really? Do they look good?"

"They look wicked!" [Not wicked good, wicked cool, wicked beautiful, or wicked ugly. Just plain old "wicked"]

"Oh my God, there he is." [meaning James Dean, I am imagining]

"Gotta go."

"Bye."

"Bye."

We both slammed down our phones and I am sure we both raced back to the television. I had never seen the beginning of the movie.

Diary - 3 movies. That man did 3 movies and LOOK at the impact! His movements, his face, the moving expressions, the hurt little boy face, the way he swings his whole body to turn around, hands shoved in his pockets, the posture - he is so great.

After, we went downtown to get my retainer [after? Oh. I get it. It was on at 9 AM. It was still summer vacation, I guess.]. If you do not know what a retainer is, it defies description. Then I invited Betsy to go to the beach with us. We had so much fun! I hadn't seen her in so long. At the beach, we lay out on towels for a long time, talking about Jimmy [you know, first name as well as nickname basis ...] and school and camp and Texas (Betsy went to a Happening conferernce in Houston). And we walked up to the pavilion for a soda - we talked about the Sadies [as in Sadie Hawkins] - and we tried to think of someone for me to ask. Someone from camp maybe. No more stupid macho dorks from our school. NO WAY. I AM DONE. [I had just come off of a thwarted doomed crush with one of those "macho dorks" and was extremely bitter. Hence my eventual crush on DW - the hot band geek.]

The ocean was massively grossly seaweedy that day but we braved it. We had a blast. Slowly we made our way through the seaweed, occasionally saying to each other, in calm voices, "This is really nauseating." "This is so gross." "I am totally disgusted right now." [hahahahaha] We survived though and went out really far where there was no seaweed. We would be bobbing there, having this deep conversation about boys, or God, or camp, and a wave would crash over us, our heads would go under - then we'd come up and continue talking as though there had been no interruption at all.

Diary Friday

This entry is from my first semester of college. I think I was about 3 weeks in at this point - living in an all girl's dorm - referred to by the rest of the college lovingly as "The Dyke Dorm" - thanks, guys! - and trying to adjust to the new schedule, the new life. In the middle of all of this came Hurricane Gloria - and one of the coolest most memorable nights of, I think, my entire life - when Betsy and Kate and I went down to the beach in the immediately aftermath of the hurricane. Anne Shirley would call it an "epoch" - it has echoes in the night when Emily Byrd Starr gets trapped in the church and Teddy saves her. Not the horror part of it - but the sweet soulful part in the cemetery afterwards. Anyway, that's the entry below.

SEPT. 26

Too much is happening. Too much is going on for me to describe. I've already skipped about a million things.

But ....

I don't know.

I can't find the time or the words. [Then please stop writing sentence fragments. Thanks.]

I've been working very hard.

Last weekend Mere and Jayne came home! [Both away at college, too] You don't know how excited I was when Mum called to tell me. I miss her. I miss everyone.

And I never really faced how I really feel here until Mere and I talked. (I slept over on Friday). It was so so wonderful to see her. I can't even tell you. I can't even describe how damned happy we were to see each other. It feels like 10 years since the summer ended.

SEPT. 27

As I write, Hurricane Gloria is whirling outside my window. (I'm home now.) Practically the entire coast has been evacuated. Most of the college has gone home. No classes today - cancelled. If anyone stays - they have to go stay in the gym. So all the dorms are empty. Before Krista and I evacuated - we put huge Xs on our window in tape - everyone was doing that. The wind is roaring. The sky is the oddest white color - almost blinding. Sometimes the wind actually screams and I can hear all the branches slapping against the house. I'm home now. No electricity. The entire neighborhood looks like a disaster area. Leaves everywhere, fallen branches, split trees, chaos. It's almost too dark to write.

A lot has been happening to me. I've only had a few good times so far here at college. I could count them now.

The first time I talked to Debbie - the time we talked for 2 hours and told our life stories - [God, Beth - member Debbie? Not your Debbie - but my Debbie, in the dorm with me??] the first time I saw all the Picnic people again - when Antonio and Brett came to get me and take me out for ice cream - [So weird. 4 years later, Antonio would become my first serious boyfriend.] Yesterday was a good time too. Other than that I must admit it's been grossly disappointing. [It's been 3 weeks, Sheila. Calm down.]

Especially in the male department. [hahahaha As opposed to the English department, you mean?]

I thought that half the things I'd been encountering I'd left behind. I thought it would be so much more open, and not as judgmental. I mean, I don't blame myself. So many damn people told me, "Oh Sheila - just wait for college!! It's so much better!!"

Lie.

This is supposed to be an institution of fucking higher education and the guys are more immature than the idiots in seventh grade. Crueller too. They don't care who they hurt. And it does hurt.

That night Antonio and Brett took me out - I told them all about it.

After the hugging between us, Antonio announced, "We brought you presents!"

This was even more unexpected. I stared at them. I still try to imagine it. The two of them deciding, probably spur of the moment, to come visit me in the Dyke Dorm, and gathering up those bizarre gifts for me - probably with much hilarity. I can see them doing it but I can't believe it. They found the dorm - Brett and Antonio coming to get me, rescue me. I still can't believe it.

I hadn't noticed in my frenzy of hurtling down the stairs to meet them that Antonio had a battered Providence Journal newspaper-bag around his neck. He then took it off and proudly began pulling out my gifts:

-- Two huge red plastic lobsters
-- an old musty-smelling copy of Cass Timberlane

[Okay, I had forgotten about the gifts, and they STILL make me laugh.]

We were all on the floor laughing. Those were my gifts. I stared at the gifts in numb silence as they tensely waited for my reaction - and then we all exploded. It was fantastic.

(I have no idea what time it is. I'm writing my candlelight. I can actually hear the trees falling around the neighborhood.)

My fingers were trembling with excitement. There is just something about Antonio's face. [Foreshadowing!] Brett is so damn familiar to me now - it's a beautiful familiarity - I love him so much - but Antonio excites me. His laughter and smile thrills me.

They were bubbling over, laughing hysterically at the thought of me - the 16 year old girl from the year before - in college. "How are you? How's it going?"

At that point, everything was so shitty. I can't remember exactly what I said. I mentioned something about how apparently I was now living in the "Dyke Dorm" and some guy had seen me sitting at my desk - as he walked by in the street below - and shouted up something rude at me, about "dykes" or whatever - and Antonio's and Brett's reactions were so cute - these indignant "Oh"s - protective hands on me.

Brett gave me a push. "Come on - go get your stuff. We're taking you out on the town."

I was so glad to see them that I impulsively hugged both of them and said, "I'll be back in one second" and tore madly back up the stairs. Poor Kate was sitting calmly back in my room and then I come barreling back in with a dirty newspaper-route bag around my neck brandishing 2 plastic lobsters. I grabbed my key, my jeans jacket and ran back down - I looked so grungy - my sweatshirt, loafters, no makeup, plain hair ... [Sheila ... wanna throw on some lipstick? What is your problem?] I ran back down the stairs and saw Antonio standing at the controls of the Ms. Pacman game in the lobby with Brett hovering over his shoulder. I skipped over and peeked between them to watch.

Brett informed me, "Antonio's doing real good in spite of the fact that it says 'Game Over'."

The fact that Antonio was only pretending to play struck me as hysterically funny - we all were giddy - and then we left. Do you know how odd I felt? A gorgeous guy on either arm? The other cruel douchebags in college can go fuck themselves.

We decided to take a walk on the Quad. The street was shining from the dampness. The sky was all murky and everything was wet and very very quiet. Well - we were making noise. We were talking a mile a minute. I said something about how so far I hated the men in college. I told them about how I had to listen to my roommate and her boyfriend have sex in the lower bunk and how awkward I felt. Antonio and Brett just stared at me. It was so hysterical. Then I told them about the guys who were mean to me and who stood around in my room making mean comments about "You gonna write about this in your diary?" Antonio started looking very ominous, like he wanted to beat someone up. [Foreshadowing!] Somewhere inside of me I was loving this male attention - it was accepting, protective, humorous. Oh, and I told Brett and Antonio about the one drunk guy who made fun of me for not drinking, and then told his friends he bet I was a virgin. The dude said something like, "Yeah, I'm bettin' that Sheila is NOT a partying woman" - in this really mean way. [Oh, I would so kick that douche's ass now. Yes I am a virgin, and no I don't party - and I'm PROUD of it, mo-fo!] Oh, and I told Brett and Antonio too about the conversation about AIDS that started on my floor once - and some guy said this really prejudiced thing about how it started - about how gays all just fuck too much - and I was just being quiet, because I was so enraged - and one guy said something like, "And now AIDS keeps spreading because everyone is just fucking each other ..." Then he looked straight at me and said, "Well. Maybe not everyone." [I have no memory of any of this. Thank God.]

Brett and Antonio were kind of stunned into silence - and Antonio finally said, "Oh, I get it. He wasn't getting anything from you - not getting a rise out of you - nothing - so he decided to just attack. What an asshole."

We went to the center of the Quad and lay on our backs. We talked about classes, requirements, theatre (Brett has one of the leads in Woolgatherer - Liz is the other lead) - Kimber's class - the Meisner technique (which I will try to explain later). It was great. Brett had pulled me to him, so I lay there with my head on his chest, as we talked. I felt like a contented kitten or something, the three of us talking softly.

Antonio picked his head up to look at me and said, "You need someone older, Sheila. You're not gonna find many guys on this campus with your maturity level." It was a fight to hold back fluttering my eyelashes at him. [Foreshadowing! Antonio was 7 years older than me. But his comment here was innocent. Our romance didn't blossom until I was a senior. So he was just being supportive here. Just turns out he was right - and turns out that he, unbeknownst to himself, was talking about himself.]

I said, "I've always felt older than my age. When will I catch up?"

"No, no. The question is - when will you find your match. Don't worry about it, Sheila. I'm sure you have felt older - but it'll be to your advantage eventually. It will."

Antonio? Who is he???

They both just blow me away. There is so much still to find out about Antonio [he was a relatively new friend to me - obviously I had kind of a crush on him] Even though there is nothing romantic with either of these guys - they still just make me feel attractive and good - as a girl.

We decided to go out for ice cream so we stood up, damp with dew. The Quad is always softly lit with orange - only it was very dim cause of the fog. I said to them as we walked, "Thank you very much for saving me from a night of drudgery." We headed back towards the parking lot where Brett's car was. Brett suddenly became like a gangster mafia guy, saying, "Listen, Sheila. If any guy even looks at you the wrong way - just tell us. We'll take care of him." He said the word 'him' so contemptuously, so full of hate. I started giggling. "No, I've got a better plan--" Brett went on. "Tell us if a guy talks to you - asks for your number. If he asks for your phone number - just give him my phone number." We were all just laughing so hard. Antonio throws back his head when he laughs - he laughs with so much joy, it is totally contagious. [This is still true - he has one of the best laughs I know]

Antonio burst, "Can't you see it? 'Hello, is Sheila there?' 'LEAVE HER ALONE YOU DOUCHEBAG.'"

We passed Fiji - the frat that everyone tells you: "Don't go there". They are assholes. They are juvenile. They are despicable. As we walked by, I pointed at it and said, "I have been warned against going there ..." Brett then vaulted over onto Fiji's empty lawn and started wildly flailing his fists at the frat house, muttering, "Come on out, motherfuckers - I dare ya - I'll take you all on - come on out ..." Jumping up and down, sparring like a boxer, flinging his arms in wide arcs. Antonio and I were staggering around laughing, watching him, his black silhouette against the orange street-lamp light. He looked nuts.

If Picnic had never happened - I'd probably still be mooning around waiting for some miraculous change. Now it's like - a little bit of that agonizing waiting has been alleviated. I have actually witnessed and felt the goodness in men and it gives me hope - I don't need to be convinced that Brett cares for me, or Antonio - I can feel it. They are for REAL. They are not figments of my imagination.

Thank God.

Thank God.

I thank GOD for the both of them.

SEPT. 29

I'm back at school. Came back last night because this is the only place in the world with power. I probably ruined my eyes writing reams and reams by candlelight.

On Friday night after Gloria had blown through - totally wreaking havoc along the coast - Betsy called. Our entire house was pitch black and my family was playing Trivial Pursuit around a candle. Betsy was home for the weekend. All she said was, "Want a visitor?" I cried, "Yes! Come over!"

Although the governor made an announcement that no one should drive except emergency vehicles - Betsy drove over. There are trees on the street, felled wires, telephone poles cracked, fallen branches, no street lights - and nevertheless, Betsy eventually did pull into the driveway.

We went and picked up Kate [I am amazed that my parents let me go!! Thanks Mum and Dad!] - the roads were disasters. They were hazordous - but also exciting. No stop lights or street lights - every single house was in shadow - with little flickering candles in the windows. You could also see flashlight beams moving ... or sometimes a candle flame - moving from window to window - you could see that people were moving around.

We picked up Kate and decided to "live on the edge" - so we drove down to the beach.

I will never ever forget the beauty of that night.

I have never seen anything like it. Ever. And probably never will again.

There was a gorgeous night sky. The moon was totally full to bursting and bright bright white. The rest of the sky was totally clear - and not a black color - it was a magical color - almost silvery - moonlit - with stars and stars and stars and stars - dizzying circles of stars. No clouds. It was wild too. Breathless.

The minute we got out of the car at the beach we all quickly drew in our breaths - at the sight of the ocean.

First of all, the moon was right over the water so the whole expanse just danced and shimmered with moonlight. Looking at it, entranced, I practically tricked myself into believing it was alive. It appeared to be a living entity, heaving and sparkling.

Then there were the waves. They were scary. But exhilarating too. Exhilarating. Huge. 20 foot tall waves. The hugest damn waves I have ever seen - and they never stopped. Ranks of them kept advancing in, one mountain after another. They kept crashing on the sand - huge high foam - over and over.

I held my breath. We all just kept gasping and clutching each other. We sat on the sea wall and watched. I swear to God - that ocean was alive. And it was the most beautiful thing in nature I have ever witnessed.

The moon and the water - silverness and thrashing foam and the sound of the crash - the feeling of the boom when the waves hit - I cleansed myself - my soul - watching all of this.

The waves were the closest things to tidal waves I have ever seen. I was looking at something that was dangerous, powerful - something that could rip me to shreds if I jumped in. The almost brutal feeling of the whole scene was part of its beauty. The scariness, the sounds, the chaos, the closeness of it -

Hurricane Gloria was right there.

And we were at one with it. With that damn moon turning the whole scene into something totally magical, beyond belief.

Diary Friday

High school journals have obviously lost their humor for me, recently. I'm all about Chicago now. I know a lot of readers like the adolescent entries - and I'll eventually get back to them - but for now, Chicago. And M. is on the ol' noggin, naturally, so here's another M. entry. This is from 1995. We had known each other 3 years by this point. I think it's March, 1995 in this entry... and I made the decision to move to New York in, I think, April or May -so things are already turbulent here. The ice is starting to break up, so to speak, and I'm starting to look at other options. Or - I'm not even aware that I'm looking at my future and which way I want to go ... but I AM. When the decision was made, boom, that was it. Naturally, I had some setbacks along the road, emotionally, including the 103 degree fever 4 weeks before I moved ... but that's all just how I operate. Always has been, always will. Also - M. and I, at the point of this entry, are about to have a huge blow-out at a place called Gingerman Tavern - that place will always be infamous in my memory, me storming home at 3 in the morning, then speaking to him like he was a halfwit when he called me at 4 in the morning wondering where I had gone - I even slowed down my speech, so he could understand - Bitch!!!, and then refusing to take his calls thereafter, etc. - I can't remember when that occurred - must have been shortly after this entry (I can feel it coming as I re-read this entry - I'm getting annoyed with him already) - and I didn't talk to him for months because of "the night of the Gingerman". Hahahaha So absurd - if the bar was called anything else it might not be so absurd. But once my plans to leave for New York became more and more definite, and I started uprooting myself ... he and I made up, I have no memory how that came about ... but I know I felt like - Okay, this is ridiculous. I'm LEAVING. I'm not gonna hold a grudge and deprive myself of seeing M.

This entry came to my mind today because I watched Dane Cook's Vicious Circle last night - which I love - and he has all of this hiLARious relationship observation stuff, which never ever gets old. That man (on my bench as he is) makes me LAUGH. His whole "you girls are brain ninjas" thing - and his observation about girls getting snacks at the movies (it's so right ON - makes me LAUGH!!!!! - both sides of his observations - the girl side and the guy side. Beautiful.) And also the differences in how the sexes argue. Man, he's so damn funny. But anyway, a lot of this entry reminded me of Dane Cook's observations, so I thought - Okay. I'll post this. Really NOTHING happens ... but it's chock-full of that kind of observational specificity. I am amazed at how I wrote in my own journal back in those days. The obsessive detail. I would never write like this now. Not in a journal, anyway.

MARCH??? 1995

I felt the rumblings of codependence with M. the night at Higgins. There was one point where I felt like I was him. I felt sick to my stomach. I could not enjoy myself with him - he seemed into oblivion, or something. I don't find him to be a closed person, actually. I am way more closed than he is - but there is an element to him that remains mysterious. Holed up in some tower. P. came up. [This was an important ex-girlfriend. A big deal in his life] Let me try to dredge up the source. He would reference her - and I would ask him ?s about what he said. I want him to feel like he can talk to me - I'm not gonna get jealous and hissy - (although I was jealous and hissy about that crazy bitch at Jazz Bulls, that's true).

See? Codependent. He is the last person I need to be codependent with. His behavior can be so FUNKY and strange.

I told him that I did feel a bit awkward at Bitches [this was a show I had gone to see - Mitchell was in it, a bunch of my friends, and also a guy I had gone on a couple dates with. A guy I had to let down easy - like he really thought we were "dating" - and blah blah ... I wasn't into it, though, and had to have a "talk" with him. It was ikky. Anyway, I had told M. all about it.]

M. said, and this was kind of a cute moment, "Oh, because of your old boyfriend?" Boyfriend! We had gone thru the "How could he be in Bitches? Aren't they all gay?" exchange - but I finally got him to understand it was a mix of sexualities in the show. I said, "Yeah, I felt a little awkward - especially since I was dashing here to meet you after." He said, "So you didn't hang out after the show to say hi to him?" I shook my head. M. scolded me. "Sheila! He was probably expecting to see you!" I said, "I know. I feel bad about it now."

What else can I say. I called B. and apologized a couple days later. I should have hung out to at least say Hi to him. It was my duty since I was the one doing the breaking up. I actually, oh God, I have to admit it, rather enjoyed being scolded by M. There was something endearing about it.

When he saw that I knew he was right, when he saw me concede that he was right - my attitude was: Well, it's done now, I feel bad about it, but what can I do now? When he saw that expression on my face, he let me off the hook and said, "Well, I know how you feel actually. I mean, I still see P. maybe once a month - but I don't tell her I'm seeing you or anything - I just leave that stuff unsaid."

He said, "I like simplicity. Simple situations. Simple ... simple ... simple ..." with long slow flat-line gestures with his hands. On his right hand, up near the first knuckles on his index and middle finger is a brownish-yellow stain from cigarettes. I grab his hand and inspect it - holding his fingers 1/2 an inch away from my eyes. It's kind of gross, and yet I am also mesmerized by it.

I don't know what it was - but over the course of the night - I felt M. getting disturbed - but he was pushing it away - As far as I was concerned, he was emanating pain. I felt something very different about him this night. I didn't push him. I didn't want to shatter the spell - I made my inside very very still, and just focused on him. I was a safe pool. And I sent him brain waves. Leap in, the water's fine. I'm safe, M., I'm safe. But he kept trying to shuck off the mood he was in - I don't know, I guess we just don't communicate very well on that other level. As I said before, I'm really not into de-focusing. I can't do it. [Give it time, Sheila. You will turn "de-focusing" into a true art form] He, having made me sad, tried to jostle me out of it. I said, "I'm okay, M. You don't have to cheer me up. I'm just sad sometimes, when I'm with you." He was very kind, very kind. I can't think of another word to use for what he was then. Kind. Assuring me that he was all right. He wasn't angry with me, which I thought he might be - he hates being "pitied" - but he actually seemed to really appreciate the fact that I might feel sorry for him. He validated it.) "I'm really okay, Sheila - don't worry so much about me. Okay? Sheila?" Nudging me. "Okay?"

I said, "Sometimes you just strike me as a very sad person. And that makes me sad."

He - still with this kindness towards me - didn't say anything - but gave me the most common M. look in his lexicon of looks - the incoherent (yet totally clear, to me) fill-in-the-blanks look. I filled in the blank with: "Thanks for thinking of me that way, but it's not necessary. There's nothing I can do about how you see me." I shrugged back at him, giving him my own version of the fill-in-the-blanks look - and my look said, "I can't help but feel the way I feel. You are sad."

We left it at that. [I think it's so curious that I thought we "didn't communicate very well" and here I am - 2 seconds later - describing what is basically an entirely telepathic conversation.] However, we could not get away from this feeling between us. I'm sure a lot of that had to do with me. I won't pretend I'm not feeling something. I'm okay with sadness, and ... that night I felt a piercing sadness. He brings that sensation in me sometimes. It was manageable, no big deal. I deal with my stuff. And I don't think he does.

He's dangerous for me because he can elicit such a motherly fix-it response from me. I want to soothe him, help him rest, give him a respite, help him ... I can't help it when I am with him. He couldn't find a stapler and I looked for one with him with a vengeance. So at Higgins - I suddenly just became preoccupied with M.'s life. And - I was down for the count. Everything he did after that struck me as more evidence of his sadness, how lonely he is, how stuck ... the potential is within him - He is a genius, actually. He's talented, he's opinionated, he's a poet, his MIND! He said - putting himself out to me - trying to shake me out of my mood - "I'm gonna be fine, Sheila, okay? Please don't be sad anymore."

I found myself in a crumpled kind of mood. Very tired, pensive, introspective, and a little bit sad. And none of these moods are condusive to time with M. And I didn't feel like pretending. I should have just gone home. He kept looking over at me - and once, I looked back - and we looked at each other for a while, and then he commented, kind of laughingly affectionate, "You have the most incredibly concerned look on your face." He ended up being very gentle with me, which surprised me. I thought he would get frustrated - but he started treating me as though I were the sad one. He was taking care of me.

The whole thing was so dysfunctional. I am so sucked into this now. I am him, he is me.

M. mentioned to me a couple of times over the night that he wasn't feeling well.

I had - on the night we met up at Southport Lanes - stopped at Osco on the way - I bought myself a Peppermint Patty and I bought him a Snickers. Or maybe it was a Milky Way. He was so pleased and cute, putting it in his pocket. So he, 3 days later at Higgins - put his hand on his stomach. "I don't feel well."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, it's not that. Something besides that."

"Have you eaten anything all day? What have you eaten today?"

He truly thought about this. "Not much. I ate the Snickers you gave me."

"Is that it?"

I think he nodded. I was horrified. And also angry. It was then that I truly took him on. At least for that night. As my responsibility. I had had it.

"M., what is your problem. You are killing yourself. You have to eat." I stood up and jerked on his arm. "Come on. Let's go. Let's go get you some food."

He had mentioned earlier (as though it were some far-off unattainable dream) that he craved an omelette from some all-night joint on Ashland, a place I never heard of. He told me in 3-D detail what he wanted. Exactly. He probably mentioned it 2 or 3 times, in the way that he gets stuck on such things. Dry Sol. Coffee tables. Razors. It was that kind of thing. He spins his wheels. It takes him forever to take action. So I am very proactive with him. To balance things out. I get very butch. I decided that we should go to the all-night joint and put some food into him. Fill him up with a 3-egg omelette like he said he wanted.

I stood up. I suddenly could not stand to be in that fucking bar for one more second. M. hadn't finished his drink.

"Come on, M. Let's go. Let's get out of here and get you some food. You haven't eaten in 24 hours. That is bad." He hesitated - and I went through the roof. "Come ON. Let's GO." I wanted to smack him.

We left. The line of winos sitting at the bar all called, "BYE, M.!!" He's Norm from Cheers.

As we walked out, I geared myself up for the next inevitable confrontation. He parked right outside the door, illegally, of course. The sidewalk was streaked with ice - thick ice. When we got out there, I said, totally friendly, nonthreatening, no big deal, "M., why don't you let me drive." (This is a story I will never tell my parents.) [Hi, Mum and Dad!]

He reacted as though we had had this confrontation 100 times, even though this was the first. He never got angry with me, or defensive, or hostile. He remained affectionate, friendly, amused thru all of this. Kind. But still. He would not give me the keys. He held them back (all 75 keys) from my outreaching hands. "No no no no no no - I'm fine."

"Come on. It's not a big deal. Just let me drive." I wasn't being hostile or threatening. "Humor me, then. Maybe I'm being paranoid - but humor me. Okay?"

He kept holding the keys up over my head - and I started to reach for them - and got a hold of them. We wrestled briefly for them. It became a serious scuffle.

"Sheila - no -"

I then slipped on the ice and fell on my ass onto the sidewalk, which pissed me off. I had a huge bruise on my butt the next day. When I went down, he started laughing and went to help me up but I was too mad at him by that point - and pushed his hands away - got up myself - fuming. "Do you think I can't drive? The diner is 3 blocks away. Give me the goddamn keys."

"No. This car - there are traction issues that you just can't understand." (It was only afterwards that I realized how funny this was.)

"I've driven cars like this one. I can drive a stick. Give me the goddamn keys."

I should not have gotten into that car. I was a 10 minute walk from my house. The tenor of the whole evening was so bizarre. By this point, M. didn't seem drunk at all - our wrestling seemed to sober him up - but still. It was like we were friendly and yet serious opponents. 2 pirates on separate ships. He assured me, "I'm fine. Don't worry." And he opened the door for me, standing there, holding it open for me.

Oh no, wait, I just remembered the worst part - and in the millisecond of remembrance I felt the same flutter of fear and alarm that I felt then. This was when it stopped being a joke to me. Or, it hadn't been a joke - I really did want him to give me the keys - but it hadn't really become a fight yet. When it became a scuffling match, he was holding the keys up and away from me - and I was reaching and jumping - saying, "Give them - oh, Christ - come on - it's not a big deal ..." This was the kind of stuff I was saying. And there was still an element of laughter in all of this - even when I fell. And then he said, teasing, in this evil sing-song (and I get a chill remembering it), "Tonight's the night you die!" With a taunting face.

The second he said it he was sorry. But that was way too late for me. And I went fucking ballistic. I started screaming at him. "HEY. Don't you EVER talk to me like that! My GOD! What a HORRIBLE thing to say to me - "

He didn't mean to say it - and as I went crazy, he immediately started trying to take it back. So underneath my explosion, he was saying, "Oh, hold on a second ... I didn't mean that - No no no - Sheila - no - " responding directly to my fear, and I was afraid. I hated how he said that "tonight's the night you die" to me. It was so so awful. I was in tears - and he was grabbing hold of me - trying to calm me down, but he had really shaken me up with that comment - and I was shaking him off, smacking at his hands, shouting up into his face, "Maybe you don't like your life, but don't you DARE fuck with mine." He was gentle and sorry and soothing - "I'm sorry - you know I didn't mean that - I'm sorry ... Please please forgive me ..." I was tense and tight.

He held the door open, giving me the kindest most reassuring look. "I'm fine. Okay? I'm fine."

I got into the car. I have nothing to say in my defense. As I got in, I didn't want to be a hypocrite and start praying, since I was at that moment exercising my free will - but I was still filled with this sensation of "Please" - sending out - yes, they were prayerful vibes. I was all aggressive with M. too. I slammed the door as I sat down, slammed it in his face.

M., as he started the car, kept up this steady stream of reassurances. "You can have confidence in me. I am a very good driver--"

"Please shut the fuck up and concentrate on what you're doing. Thanks."

[My GOD. Mean Sheila!! M. actually wasn't all that drunk and I wasn't drunk at all ... I remember this night very well. He was driving me crazy - and I was trying to wrench back some control. We never fought. We were not a fight-y type couple. We were relaxed, improvisational, non-judgy, and ... well, believe it or not, he was always - and probably still is - a safe haven. And me for him too. But things spiralled this night. And the Gingerman is a couple weeks in our future. No surprise.]

I felt like I had to be as alert as possible. It was like I was trying to drive the car thru my brain waves. I watched him like a hawk. I put all of my energy into being a total BITCH. [hahahaha]

He drove totally fine, by the way. I won't ever do that again - but he did drive calmly, reasonably, and didn't make one error. He didn't tease me by going too fast, or revving the engine, swerving on purpose - switching the headlights off - He did none of those things. He could sense I was NOT in the mood to be teased. I had put my life into this maniac's hands. I will not be that stupid again. If I was killed in a drunk driving accident, and M. lived - that would ruin his life. [Wow. Notice my codependence here. If I die - HIS life would be ruined. Man!!!] So no. I will never do such a thing again. I don't live my life with that level of denial.

He pulled out of his illegal parking space. I expected to get into a fiery wreck immediately. I gave him orders like an Ice Queen from the Planet of Bitch-Land.

"Stop sign."

"Slow down."

"Stop sign again."

I was being as annoying as I possibly could be. Oh, and I actually made a mistake. We stopped at a stop sign. He signalled to go right and I jumped all over him: "What are you doing? This is a one-way street." He got very cold and contained and controlled. Said to me, "Look closely at that sign and tell me what you see."

I did and I was totally wrong. It was a one-way sign but it was twisted around so it appeared to be facing us and referring to the cross-street - but it wasn't.

I subsided. "Oh. Sorry."

The whole evening's cumulative effect was upsetting. I was depressed. He was being so nice to me. It was killing me. His niceness, conciliatory - I could not WAIT to be at his apartment and to be off the fucking road. I knew I was not being true to myself. This is not how I live my life.

We drove up Belmont towards Ashland. He drove very moderately. I was wound tight as a top. Fuming. Sad. Anxious. Alert - eyes fixed on the road. He started trying to talk to me about something else, and I didn't even hear him. He realized I didn't and then he got all worried about me. For real.

"Heyyyyy --" he said, reaching out and taking my hand. He was serious. "What's wrong?" I couldn't answer. So much was wrong. When I didn't answer, he got even more nervous and prodding - gentle. "Hey." He held my hand tighter - looking over at me - alternatiing watching the road and looking at me.

When he'd look at me, I'd snap, "Please watch the road."

He ignored me and said, "Okay. Sheila. You're very upset right now with me. What is it? Is it me? Or ... is it that stupid thing I said back there? What is it?"

I couldn't look at him because I was too busy driving the car with my brain waves. "I am upset. You make me upset." [Horrible answer. Dane Cook would have a field day with that one, and rightly so.]

He launched into a monologue of justifications, still holding my hand in his lap. Telling me he was fine, he's a good driver, I didn't have to worry about him. He tried to make a joke - it fell flat - I was consumed. He jostled my hand, friendly, trying to perk me up. "Hey! That was a joke!" He seemed really worried about how mad I was, how detached I had become from him.

Even though, this whole thing was sincere - neither of us were playacting at all - but in retrospect, I was aware of my 3rd eye observing this whole thing, watching, commenting on it, enjoying it in a weird way. Watching M. being nervous, soothing, reassuring - it was very interesting to me. He turned right on Ashland and then we hit the diner (no, not literally). The diner was actually called something like the 3-Egg-er.

He parallel-parked on School or Roscoe - brilliantly, of course. He could bring moonlight into a chamber. [Oh my God, you did NOT just quote "Midsummer Night's Dream" to describe M.'s parallel parking skills.]

By this point, I had chilled out slightly. He was driving so responsibly, so normally, that I felt pretty positive that we'd at least make it the block and a half back to his place. I still did not like the situation and I was not happy with myself at all.

We both got out and went into the diner. It was almost 3 in the morning. This diner was BOMBED by flourescent light. Horrific. Like an electrocution. There were about 3 booths and a curving counter. Open kitchen and greasy grill. The waitress was in her 60s, silvery-blue eye makeup caked on her eyelids, clearly fake teeth, no lips. M. and I walked in. The whole night we were in this constant state of bickering. Never unfriendly outright - until the keys moment - but we were definitely getting on each other's nerves.

There was a booth full of wandering Generation X-ers. M. and I had a whole different edge to us. I was now part of the Chicago underbelly. I was in a diner at 3 am with my black-haired pale-skinned man. M. and I stood, staring up at the menu on the wall.

"What do you want?" he said to me. The air was now clear between us. (Or clear-er). Once I was out of that damn car.

"Oh, I'm not gonna have anything." I said.

"Really?" He was all concerned and worried again. Why wasn't I eating? What did that mean? Was I upset again? He took it very personally.

"Yeah, I'm not that hungry." Which was a lie. I was hungry. Not for anything cooked on that nasty grill, though. Also, I was totally doing that weird female "Oh, I have no appetite" behavior that drives M. insane. [And Dane Cook as well. Ha]

"Really? You're not gonna get anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Really. I'm not hungry."

"Well ... then ..." he was at a loss. Part of his reality had been that we both were ordering food and I was shaking up that plan. He wanted me to order food. I actually was very close to ordering something to make him happy but I refrained. The whole night I was so mixed up. I should have ordered to make me happy. I hadn't had dinner - I was very hungry! [I love how I bitched him out for his eating habits and there it is - and it's 3 am and I probably hadn't eaten since 4:30 pm the day before. Ahhh, being young and hypocritical and self-righteous - and to be forgiven for it!]

M. was disgruntled. He felt weird about ordering food without me. Like it was rude and ungentlemanly or something. He ordered mounds of food (none of which was an omelette). [hahahahaha] He ordered 2 cheeseburgers, french fries, chili, onion rings - He went insane. He was very cute ordering. Despite everything, I still was finding him so cute. Like: Ohhhh, look at M. ordering food. It was that kind of thing.

We sat at the counter waiting. He was still acting all worried about me, worried I was mad at him. He sat right next to me, being very touchy with me (as in affectionate), nudging me, kissing me, stuff like that.

I began to play a part, randomly, just to amuse myself and him. I became this tough swaggering greaser girl - like Rizzo. I was wearing my leather jacket, had the red lips, so I became this Rizzo girl, squinting up at the menu on the wall, being surly and uncooperative. I was making M. laugh. With every change of expression, he'd burst out laughing - "What was that face?"

He was smoking. [Smoking inside!! Ahhhh ... the long-ago days ...] He looked like death warmed over. I wanted a cigarette as a prop for my character. Rizzo was definitely a smoker. I reached across his arms for his cigarette - we were comfortably sprawled and draped all over each other - "Gimme a drag," I demanded.

He suddenly got totally serious. "No." And it was not a "No, I don't want to share" No. There was more to it.

"Come on," I said. "Give me your cigarette."

He held it back, like he had done with his keys. But he wasn't amused. He was so serious.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Don't ever joke about smoking, or start it as a joke. It's not something you should kid about. I've licked the coke addiction - but cigarettes? Don't even kid about it, Sheila. I'll kick your ass if you start smoking."

"Have you ever tried to quit?"

"About 10 times."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't wish this addiction on my worst enemy."

"Okay, okay."

He got his 2 big white bags of greasy lardy food, and we were off. He now seemed totally sober. We drove back to his place. The TV was on. N. was not home. [Okay. That alone is hilarious to me.] We sat in the living room. It was 4 in the morning by this point.

He sat on one couch, and I lay down on the other one. He grinned at me. Happy that I seemed happy again. "Isn't that the best couch?" he said. Next thing you know, he'd start going off on the best Coffee Table in the World.

"It's amazing. It's so long." I stretched like a cat.

We watched TV. M. sat, pulling the food out of the bags, spreading it out all over the already cluttered infamous table. I was kind of tired, but also kind of wired too because of the "tension" in the air. My brain was still very alert. M., as he unpacked all his food, started telling me about this National Geographic show he had seen about lions. He described it to me, in detail, for about 15 minutes. It was one of those times when he could have gone on for 45 more minutes and I still would have been a rapt audience. He was too fucking adorable for words. He was telling me how "the pride" works. He told me some of the scenes that blew him away - the lions lying on tree branches - he told me all about the lion/hyena dynamic and how that all breaks down.

Enough said. M. talking to me about lions was one of the best moments of the night. He described to me how AMAZED he was by their heads and how huge they are and also the expressions in their eyes.

"They really do have expressions, don't they," I said.

M. said, in a very final and-that's-all-there-is-to-say tone, "They're human beings."

As he was talking to me, telling me stories about lions, I had a couple of impulses to crawl over my couch to his couch and smother him with kisses. So fucking CUTE. Meanwhile, he was unwrapping vile-looking grey hamburgers. He glanced at me at one point, "It's because of behavior like this that I'm gaining weight."

"This is true."

Here's a part that cracks me up - and how I knew I was doing that "Oh I'm not hungry" bullshit that girls do sometimes.

He took out the fries, and the styrofoam cup of chili. He took the cap off the chili. Suddenly I was ravenous and I knew I had to have some of that chili. Oh, and I'm sorry to be so fucking crazy - but he did not get French Fries - they were actually homefries. And when he took those out and I saw them - browned, actual little potatoes - just how I like them - I knew I had to have some of those too.

I was a bit embarrassed since we had had such a scene at the diner over me not being hungry. Yet there I was, drooling like a lion on a tree branch, over his homefries and chili.

I was very tentative about asking for anything, thinking I might get a passive-aggressive refusal. "No. You had your chance. This is my food." But M. happened to look over at me, and saw the blatant desire on my face. He immediately became Mr. What's Mine Is Yours. Eat, Papa, Eat! Not a speck of attitude.

"You're hungry, aren't you? Eat! Have whatever you want!"

"Can I have some chili?"

"Yeah! Have some! You want a hamburger? I have 2!"

"Those homefries look good."

"Eat as much as you want. Here's a spoon for the chili. I can't eat all this. You sure you don't want a cheeseburger?"

"No. This is fine. Thank you." I took up the spoon and settled down to having some chili. M. was being very solicitous, offering me everything, like a maitre d. "You want a bite? Do you like onion rings? Do you want some?"

"Ohhh, this chili is good."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I'll save you some. Don't worry."

"Oh, it's okay. Eat it all if you want."

He was Mr. Share Boy.

We clearly blended boundaries a little bit over the course of this evening. I was so ready to go home the next day - and get back to myself. But - for those brief hours I was in it - it was kind of nice. I've become such a separatist in my relationships with men and there was something satisfying (even though sometimes upsetting) about getting under each other's skin, the way we did.

We drank flat soda.

Once we finished eating, M. became suddenly curious about the couch he was sitting on. "It came with the apartment. Apparently it's a pull-out bed too. I've never pulled it out though."

The next thing you know the 2 of us were moving the massive coffee table so that we could pull out the bed. Then M. was trotting back to his room to get sheets and comforter. We made the bed. The second the bed was out and made, I knew I had to go to sleep immediately. It was an instant reaction. I need to get into that bed and I will be fast asleep in about 5 minutes.

We had started to watch a kung fu movie, as well as Planet of the Apes, going back and forth. [And there, folks, is one of my definitions of heaven] So we lay in bed, watching, laughing. It can be so comfortable for the two of us. I am not self-conscious at all with him.

Finally, I was drifting off with such a vengeance that I climbed under the puff. M. followed my lead. We left the TV on, sans sound. All the lights were off. I was halfway gone and I could feel M. tucking the puff around my back, making sure I was snug, then he lay down, with his arm on top of the puff.

"Where's your arm?" I asked.

"What arm?"

"The arm that should be under the covers and holding me."

This made him laugh. I was almost asleep, and still making demands.

He said, "Is my leg too heavy? Is it bothering you?"

"Oh no. I love it."

"I'm glad. P. was so ... small ... she always felt like I was crushing her."

I lay in the dark, suddenly awake, and now kind of insulted, because I obviously was not "small". That was his implication. "Thanks a lot," I grumbled.

He hastened, all nervous, - "No!--"

I started laughing. I seriously was almost asleep by this point. "I know, I know, I'm kidding ..."

He kept going - "No ... no ... you're ... you weigh more than 90 pounds. And that's good. You're a human being - not a pipe-cleaner doll."

I started guffawing.

So I fell asleep - and I could feel his heartbeat against my back. Through his skin. I could feel it pulsing. My heart just went out to his heart. I wanted so badly to reach in there and make it all better, take away his pain - It wasn't really a coherent thought. It was just an impulse. I love his heart. I love his life. I love the fact that he is alive. And I will protect his life. I will stand on the side of his health, his life. That's my decision.

We totally fell asleep in about 2 minutes.

And N. came home, at one point. [Gotta love all of this youthful out-at-5-am stuff. I would be flattened for days if I behaved like this now.] I had already been asleep, and the sound of the keys in the door woke me up. I did not look up as N. came in. I pretended I was still asleep. M. and I both played dead. This is actually a pretty funny moment. N. [who is now famous. I just chuckle at this.] comes into his own aparment - at 5 am or whatever - and was confronted with his own living room overtaken by me and M. crashed on a pull-out bed when M. has a perfectly good bed down the hall. N. stood over us, at the side of the bed for a second, looking down at us, and then said, quietly, to himself, "What the hell is going on?"

I almost laughed out loud.

Then he went down the hall to his room. And he left before we woke up.

I woke up first and I was ready to go home. I was wiped OUT. Gave him a quick kiss and left. Squinting into the daylight like a mole. When I got home, I felt like Return from Oz. I was so glad to see my house, my room, Samuel. I was like - where did I just GO?

1992 Diary Flotsam and Jetsam

"That's how I got my bum eye." - Christian

Scenes: Be IN the event. You gotta want it.

"Oh, look. A whore. Running." - M. [I am laughing out loud. Too long a story to set up but I had completely forgotten about it - and he was referring to ME - but obviously it was a joke - and the dry way he said it - with all those end stops - "Oh look. A whore. Running."]

Paul: "Sheila - do you have something about colored tights and sweaters?"
Bobby: "It's called fashion, Paul."

Mitchell on Shane: "He's a pathological Barney Rubble ... He's ... squat ... and uptight."

Jackie: "You can sit on the back porch and drink wine in a gingham slip."

10/8/92
"I PAINT WHAT I SEE." - Bill Hurt

"Nice necklace. Deal with me, bitch!"

"I'm not friendly. I'm just a siren." - Me

Jackie: "How long are you gonna stay here?"
Me: "As long as it takes, baby."

Christian: "I didn't know DNA could do that."

"You're totally slut-hetero."

Me: "I think P. likes me!"
Mitchell: "Sheila, I think he recognized you."

"He called me 'babe'."
"Why do I have to deal with that?"

Samuel is just the dearest little cat - so cuddly, so warm. He and Mitchell bonded instantly. He's a good companion. I must rattle on like a bimbo. This is what my journals have become about. I just CANNOT write about the big bad wolf. Can't. Some people use journals to hash shit out. I used to use my journal in that way. And now all I do is talk about boys. Golden Boy is teaching me so much - and not just about acting. It's about escape. The value of escape. I write and write and write about all of my BOYS. Gives me ... joy? Maybe not joy. But I have not one iota of desire to write about my demons in here. I need to push them away.

I will rave about men and analyze the tiniest encounters and dwell obsessively upon miniscule moments and have entire relationships in my head - beginning middle end ... I am fucking evolved enough. Time for escape. Escape thru P.M. and the M. Saga. Last night, Jackie, David, Mitchell and I went to see P.M. - I made them go - and it was his birthday at midnight - we all got noise blowers - there was cake - bagpipes - a girl riverdanced for him - He blew out the candles. I wonder what he's really like, and if I will ever get to know him.

But meanwhile. I am in total M. Mania. He truly is a sweetheart. He is. Drunken bacchanals notwithstanding. He is a totally fucked up sweetheart. He's got a good heart pounding in there.

A sad heart - but a good one.

-- Bryan smoking smoke rings
-- Amelia in white - she looks so fragile - absolutely breakable
-- Michael - hair slicked back - he bruised a couple ribs over the weekend - now walks like an old man. I am bonding with Michael. We make each other giggle like irresponsible maniacs and Bobby has to tell us to shut up.

10/1
*Listen - so that you're ready to go when you talk - Listening is forward-propelled

Sc. 2 - Get back the drowsiness - until later in the scene
Fight: don't play the end of it. Go hit by hit
Play the fullness of being involved

Sc. 5 - Don't hug Poppa
"Gee, Poppa" - Action: asking Poppa if I can come over to him

My illnesses always seem to be psychosomatic. Germs assault me after a catharsis ... so now I am sick sick sick. And this is the closing weekend of Golden Boy. Lots of anxiety and sadness about that. But right now I am battling these germs with every ounce of energy I have. Clenching up again. My skin is peeling, my nose is chapped. I feel gross. Woke up groggy 2 nights ago, fucked up from Nyquil but aware too that something was SERIOUSLY WRONG. I felt AWFUL. Stumbled blindly to the toilet and proceeded to get sick for half an hour. I'm just breaking down all over the place. Systems fucking shutting DOWN. When I get sick, I get sick like I do everything else in my life. I do it BIG. With a fucking flourish.

10/15
Innocence upsets Neil. He feels he must attack it, tarnish it, bring it down.

Mitchell bought an entire Vanity Fair mag. simply because there was a Calvin Klein Marky Mark ad in it. Whatever works, babe. Whatever works.

I keep running into old flames. I've only lived here for 6 months and I already have heaps of old flames, scattered up and down the Lake shore.

1997/1998 Acting Notebook

A continuation from this. I've gotten a lot of emails and personal comments about these notebooks - people appreciating them, and feeling inspired by them. So here's another notebook, picking up where that last one left off. It's devastating too because I begin rehearsals for the Macbeth In Half an Hour monstrosity. I shiver in remembrance.

I had so many different projects going on - that I think the notes I kept was my way of keeping myself on track. I probably would not need to take such detailed notes now. But God - it all just rushes back to me, seeing all of this.

PD Unit
Hello Out There - Sam: "2 damaged people find a moment of magic."

11/6 Classics
Rent: Rob Roy - study Tim Roth. His manners. Negotiating status.

11/11 Classics
"hidden direction" in Shakespeare's verse

Hamlet's speech to the players: Live by it.

What is your intention?
To get onto the stage, dear boy. - Sir John Gielgud

"instinctive apprehension of situations" - on Elizabethan actors

1st scene in Merchant - "Ham it up a bit"

"Theatre is nature highly organized." - Ben Kingsley

11/11 PD Unit

"The PD ... boring or otherwise ..." - Sam

"While she's making all this $ on a soap opera, she can do her creepy parts off-Broadway." - Sam

"Don't try to pull yourself together. Fall apart." - Sam to K.

"I feel like a two-bit whore. Next!" - Sam

11/13 Classics

My monologue: don't lie! Keep it simple. Let it go. Plow right through the list - don't linger. Get it out.

Beware of parallel choices, in terms of preparation.

Doug on Ernie Martin: "He ran Actors Studio West with so much love" -

Stimulus - response
Method: create the stimulus - not the response. Pavlov's Dogs, etc.

Doug on inner thought processes of actors: "I'm not a good actor ... I can't create ... my mom and dad will withhold love ..."

Create a situation where you do what the character does.

Doug: "I don't think Polonius ever speaks in prose. He was born speaking in verse. He probably cried in verse."

Doug, on engraving of William Shakespeare: "I mean, this guy looks like a dork."

"We made out inappropriately ... and then he had a moment ..." - Leslie, on Ophelia's speech about Hamlet attacking her

11/13 German Lullaby rehearsal
How long has Polly been gone?
How overdue is she?
It's 3 a.m.
Something's wrong and I know it.
Anxiety.
Smoking?

11/18 Classics

We speak in sound bytes and subtext.

Doug: "Get into a state where you release all of who you are so that control is not an issue."

Doug: "That's the risk. That's the job."

Doug: "Do everything you're scared to do. Go crazy!"

Over-acting is doing more than you feel.

Doug, on failed love: "You may be able to deal with it better, but you don't get over it. You have a hole in your heart forever."

11/18 PD Unit

After the Fall - just relax. Speak. Don't do more than you feel. Be open.

11/20 Classics

"Shakespeare scares you? Why should you teach yourself to run from these things?" - Doug

Incorporate rhetoric into truthful behavior.

If you get the thoughts right, you'll start doing what the character does.

Balanchine's favorite dancers were the ones who spun into walls. Not so careful, not so aware of where they were.

Robin Williams/Jim Carrey - fearless. Moment to moment. Literally second to second expressing what is in their heads.

"Gentle! God! You can call me anything but don't call me gentle!" - John describing a fellow spear-carrier's improvisation during a production of Julius Caesar - they all called him the "Gentle God guy"

11/25 Classics

Doug: "So how was that for you?"
Eileen: "I had fun ... for a chance.

!! Always make the choice that the character is as smart as you or smarter. You may be playing an idiot - but he is negotiating life to the best of his facilities.

Every character has a hidden agenda or secret. Meryl Street in Bridges of Madison County - her secret was she never loved her husband. Make the secret as a conscious choice - and then let it do its work. Use this in As You Like It. I love him. I'm a woman.

"I just gotta get thru the scene." - Al Pacino

"What's it about?" - Doug to Amanda, on her book called Trusting God
"It's about herb gardens." - Amanda

11/25 Macbeth
Try the speech like a telegram - look for only the operative words
What are the most important words to get across the message

11/25 PD Unit

"I don't think it's self-indulgent unless it's self-indulgent." - Sam on crying in stage

Loss. Immediate sensory responses?
WTC bombing.

"Tom?"
"Never mind."

K. says that everything is a "double-edged sword". He uses that phrase all the time. He's so fucking stupid and he thinks that makes him sound smart. Let's count how many times he says "double-edged sword" in the next 3 hours.

"If she's peeing loudly, that's a beer-drinkin' woman." - Tom

Eileen: "I know that women are bad lays, too."

"Are you a spy from Juilliard?" - Sam to Brenda

Sam: "The 'chink in the armor' is not a racial slur ..."

Lesley began throwing paper airplanes at Christine. Everyone is falling apart.

Acting in film:
Think loud.
Talk low.

Sam: "Every scene is Fight or Fuck. Make a choice. Do you want to fight the person you're in the scene with? Or do you want to fuck them? Fight of fuck. Choose."

"You were doing some oddly inappropriate emotional work ..." - Sam to Tom

"in the hallowed halls of ivy ..." - Sam

12/2 PD Unit

"I'm totally confused from an organizational point of view." - Sam

"Totally uninhibited. No apologies. Go." - Sam

Liz: "Every woman in this room has gotten their period --"
Sam: "I don't want that kind of talk here."

According to D., there is only one play in the world. 2 Trains Running. Hamlet? Hedda Gabler? Forget about it. There's only one goddamn play in the world, apparently.

12/4 Classics
Tell the truth.
If you're awkward, give it to the audience with no more or no less than what you feel.

Parenthetical: think of it as an aside

Doug: "Sometimes physicalizing it dissipates the impulse to express it in complex long sentences."

John: "Should I talk about all of my fears before I start?"

Heaven stands in for God (somtimes) - check the edited editions to see what the consensus was

Let the verse direct you

Words at end of lines (with no punctuation): to be punched, accented, but keep going. The operative words at end of line
Mary had a little lamb whose
fleece was white as snow ...

12/4 PD Unit

"Do you want to speak, Richard, or are you just breathing?" - Sam

Brenda told Sam that she is a soprano. Sam said, "I don't care what you call yourself, your high notes stink."

"Life is short. Keep moving." - Sam

Brenda: "Should I use my body?"
Sam: "If you don't use it, I will."

Sam on Method acting: "I'm flopping around honestly in my moments."

Sam: "The punchline is 'The cocksuckers are throwing paper clips' - so you can work your way backwards from there."

I am so sick at heart today for some reason. I hurt all over. My heart hurts. I want to get out of here

12/9 Classics "It came and went ... but it kept going." - Leslie

Cover yourself with the choices you made.

Everything is useful.

Leslie and Amanda - Juliet and the Nurse
obstacles in the scene. "Peter, stay at gate."
"Where is your mother?"

"saying goodbye" - Leslie

Tom "To be or not to be"
musical notes.
1st line: The actor knows his action from the 1st line, 11 beats
Question (capitalized): That is the Quest-ion. Search.
Whether 'tis - contractions are rhetorical figures of speech

Tom: "I'm like racin' ahead on this shit."

Tom: "So should I take it back to the same tired part of the thing?"

Doug: Sublimate means to take your pain, and to make it sublime.

"The demon is smiling because it's being exposed." - Doug to G.

12/9 PD Unit

If you really go after your objective, that takes care of the pacing.

"If you 2 ever decide to start a theatre company ... count me in." - Sam

"Go out, say the line, and get the hell off." - Sam

"They need you to go Ping when it comes up." - Sam on playing the triangle in a huge orchestra

Have you read about Jack Nicholson on the Terms of Endearment set?

"If Alaska is germane to your piece ..." - Leslie

12/9 Macbeth

Gene: "Don't take anything for granted when you're fucking with witches."

12/11 Classics
Taming of the Shrew - Doug told me after I stole his heart. Hugged me after class. "And you ... you stole my heart."

12/11 PD Unit
"I hate it when I don't get jokes." - Elena

There's something weird going on today.

Cosmology. Meryl Streep in House of Spirits

Sam: "Trust yourself. Don't be conservative. Go out on a limb."

Kara: "There's something almost superior to people who are spiritually intact."

Sam: "It's always a mistake for an actor to fight his own instrument. It is like a violin saying, 'I wish I was a piano.'"

"Get Strasberg out of your ass and think about somebody else for a second!" - Sam

"You can't be like - 'I'm not ready for the moment to end' ..." - Sam on being in Les Miz

12/12 Gertrude Down rehearsal
warehouse
outskirts of huge metropolis
Blade Runner
Morning After
Glengarry Glen Ross
Reservoir Dogs

Gertrude: knowledge.
How do you get to Gertrude? The little piece of paper from Gertrude means you're set

Vix: like Michael Madsen. Cool She is the only character who speaks correctly, with proper grammar.

The allegiance of thieves
Territory. Struggle for power
Aggression - get what you want

Lenny's a loose cannon

Chain of command:
Gertrude
|
Her crew
______________________
|
Vix
|
Beadie
|
Huff
|
Lenny
|
Dimples

Vix: am I gay?
"I took an oath" ??

Huff deliverws the plans
Margharitte: who is she?

12/16 PD Unit

"Is that that long-lost play by Chekhov?" - Sam

"I'm a little afraid of my boss." - Barbara

Hamlet to the players: Do not saw the air.

12/16 Gertrude Down Margheritte: did she used to be one of us? Are we missing someone?

I want to break the patterns of my life.

The library: do we normally meet in the library? Leaving messages in books, periodicals? Is Gertrude a librarian?

Whatever my relationship is with Margheritte (lovers?) - it determines how I see Beadie

After the Fall: Notes
Center of attention
Light seems to come from her
She glows
She laughs in the center of her circle of light and love
She looks like an ordinary girl - became American dream girl - she had to dream herself up
Champagne, silver coloring
She feels the image - lives it. I become my own fantasy
Restless and alive
The Misfits: across breakfast table from Clark Gable. She looks at him and says, "You really like me, don't you?"
Walks like a cat in a new house
She is possessable - men sense it
a wild spirit -
like meringue - alabaster -
Innocent. "Here was a girl you'd think would be super aware of guys coming onto her - and she went right past that into another space - far more childlike and interesting."
Modest
I'd rather be a symbol for SEX than some of the other things people are symbols for
Orphan.
Sex is not a dirty word to her - it is others who make it dirty. By itself, it is the purest thing in the world.
She was able to walk into a crowded room and spot anyone who had spent time in orphanages. "Do you like me?" in the eyes - an appeal out of bottomless loneliness

PD Unit
I love how Sam interrupts scenes.

Sam: "So I saw that you had such ecstatic oneness with the part that you were barely in the room with us."

Sam: "The scene lays a royal egg. And I'm thinking: This is not what Stanislavski had in mind."

After the Fall: Notes
Her footprints on a beach are a straight line - this throws pelvis in motion.
Only understands literal truth. Nuance and irony are lost on her.
Raped
Sense of humor collapses when painful images come up
Ludicrously provocative in how she dresses.
ee cummings poem: laughs in thoroughly unaffected way at "it's spring!" - lame balloon man - naive wonder
Surrounded by darkness
She senses she is doomed
She never had the right to her own sadness
No faith
Sees all men as boys with needs for her to fulfill - she just stands aside observing herself
Frigid sexually. No orgasms.
Men = their need
She is incapable of condemning other people
Has no common sense
She knows that men only want happy girls.
She likes old men. Aged men evoke in her an intense awareness of her own power - it turns to pity, love - this is security
Yawning terror
unrelenting uncertainty
can't rest or sleep - addicted to pills, bourbon
adores children and old people - everybody else is dangerous and have to be disarmed by her sexuality
Given power over others by mysterious common consent - no one knows why
quick to laugh
she demands a hero
crazy nobility
uncanny instinct for threat - no reserves to withstand it
Botticelli's Venus
doesn't believe in her own innocence
cursed by her mother

Remember how she listens in Bus Stop

After the Fall: Notes
Quentin's quest for connection to his own life
Tenuousness of human connection
Suddenly - after being loved - you can be thrown into the street - abolished
Play is in the form of a confession
Maggie: seeming truth-bearer
Quentin: constricted, mind-bound - looks to her for the revival of his life
Miller searching for a form that would unearth the dynamics of denial
Unstated question in Camus' book: not how to live with a bad conscience - but how to find out why one went to another's rescue - only to help in his defeat by collaborating in obscuring reality

Camus' The Fall:
about trouble with women - but this is overshadowed by the male narrator's concentration on ethics
How can one ever judge another person once one has committed the act of indifference to a stranger's call for help?

The play: stream of consciousness, abrupt disappearances, verges on montage
Survivor Guilt

After the Fall: Fact Sheet
I work at the switchboard of a law firm in NY
They don't allow dogs where I live. Is it a hotel? SRO?
I don't have a refrigerator
Just bought a phonograph - paying in installments - I only have one record (what record is it?)
"They laugh. I'm a joke to them." They/Them: Men
"I had about 10 or 20 records in Washington but my friend got sick and I had to leave." What does that mean? Washington? What's that about?
Judge Cruise - dying - I tried to say goodbye - Family offered me $1000 - Alexander the chauffeur drove me out to his grave
I left Judge a couple times, but he didn't want me to leave
Used to demonstrate hair preparations in department stores
Sent to conventions - supposed to entertain businessmen - (call girl)
I sleep in the park when it's hot in my room
Quentin: "She's quite stupid, silly kid. She said some ridiculous things. But she wasn't defending anything, or accusing - she was just there, like a tree or a cat."
Quentin: "It would have been easy to make love to her."
Never graduated high school
I like poetry
In the top 3 as a singer
Being courted by a prince - met him at El Morocco
"went up" to see my father - where's up?
My father left when I was 18 months - said I wasn't his
Christening a submarine in Groton shipyard - public appearances
I go to an analyst
Mother used to get dressed in the closet (modest() and smoke in there. She was very moral. She tried to kill me once with a pillow on my face cause I would turn out bad because of her
Masseurs say I have a good back
I disguise myself when I go out
My fake name: Miss None. Like nothing. "I can never remember a fake name, so I just have to think of nothing and that's me."
Sex: "I was with a lot of men, but I never got anything for it. It was like charity, see. My analyst said I gave to those in need. Whereas, I'm not an institution ..."
"She was chewed and spat out by a long line of grinning men."
"You seem to think you owe people whatever they demand."
The worst thing I ever did: I slept with 2 men on the same day. I am haunted by this.
Cream puffs, birthday dress, apples
Tried to die long before I met Quentin
"I been killed by a lot of people. Some couldn't hardly spell."
Who is Frank?

Transition Idea:
2nd scene: Bathrobe lying on mattress
Flowers
Drink/glasses - one drink already poured
I walk out of first scene
"Little Girl Blue" plays
I am in the new set - lights dim - I want to be a sort of silhouette
Take off shoes - unbutton dress - take off dress - take off bra - put on robe - tie robe - drink from drink already poured - sit on bed - Quentin enters
White terricloth robe with hotel insignia - too big - it's important that my pajamas be too big - obviously belonging to a man
Need: 50s bra. Half-slip. Or maybe full slip? Like Maggie in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?

Notes from Mitchell:
Trust Sheila's innocence. Don't try to show her innocence. Trust that it is already there. She is you already. She's you without your edge.

1/7/98 After the Fall
Is Quentin different? What about him is different? What is Quentin? Not who?
Why did mom get dressed in the closet? Shame, rigid, repressed - or ashamed of smoking?
Where is my mother now?
Refrigerator references: I have no refrigerator in the first scene, and 2 freezers in the second scene
What is the relationship with my agent? I'm obviously sleeping with him. Or blowjobs in return for professional protection and career management.
Focus on Quentin. Full focus. Do not get distracted by my own stuff. Eyes always on him. Soak him up

Her line of logic - like a child.
Dog - refrigerator.
It makes perfect sense to me

Page 5: "Why, they going to fire me now?"

Open book. "How could I keep a dog?" (Come on, you know my life!)

Who is Judge Cruze?

"NOW" - in the moment impulsive
Conscious afterwards (Scuse me about my hair ...)

2nd scene: What is frightening me?

I call Quentin - not expecting him to answer - it is midnight. I ask him Can you come over? Why?
The mother story: what is the logic of it? She is "absorbed in her own connections" - what is that about?
Does Maggie know she is smart?
"You're like a god" - what do I mean by this?
My entire life has happened because of him - why?
"You're very moral" he says to me. No one has ever said that to me before.

What do I want from him in this scene?

"They laughed" - it is a stab in the chest (Betty the Loon) - where is my self-esteem?

She is not philosophical about herself.

"I hate the taste" - what do I love about the effect of alcohol? Be specific. Why do I bring it up? How much have I had before this? Is it a martini?

What would other men in this situation do to me? How would they behave as opposed to Q?

Am I testing him at all?
I respect him for not making a pass at me - but do I feel rejected too?
What role dow sex play in my life? What do I get out of it?

1/9/98 After the Fall

1st scene: What usually happens in this sort of situation - talking to strange men? It's not happening her. This surprises me. Who is this man?
--Dirt from Judge's grave - why?
--What is the relationship with Alexander? Give him a blowjob so that he will take me to the grave
-- Why did I leave the judge a couple of times?

2nd scene: Try to use sex to make my panic go away
Panic attack
Need for physical contact - it makes the bad stuff go away - sex is the only remedy
Drunkenness - don't forget she's drunk

p. 9: "What did you mean - it gave you a satisfaction?"
-- where does that come from?
-- It's a clear shift in thought - a gear shift

p. 11 "I don't know anybody like that" - cover up disappointment - he won't be staying with me. I did call someone, asshole! I called you!

Would you open the closet door? Everything stripped away.

Do I normally spend my time with men ignoring my fears so I can alleviate theirs?

It's okay for you to be a man with me, Quentin

2nd scene: If this scene didn't happen, what would I be doing?
My agent is in Jamaica - am I in his house? Who usually deals with my loneliness and depression and where are they now? Why don't I call my analyst? Is he in California? Or is Quentin the last person I called? What would have happened if he didn't answer?

1st scene: What am I doing in the park? Does it have to do with Judge Cruze's family?
Dirt: Have I been carrying it around with me for a while? Did I just come back from the grave?

1/12/98 Gertrude Down
Don't look for approval from anyone

Bank heist
-- Beadie is in the middle of telling the story

You have to have arrogance to survive in this world

Down the rope - close to Gertrude - Knowledge - Power

Vix: Narcissist. Self-involved. It's all about me.

I'm late to the meeting. Why am I late?
We are all operating on different levels of knowlege - Secrets - Everything has meaning

Don't get distracted. Be like a lion staring at an unaware zebra.

1/13/98 Actors Studio Session
Estelle Parsons moderating

1st scene: director Pete Masterson
Tom and Kelly
Okay, what is happening in this scene? Is this an improv? What is the objective?
Acting on your impuluses only is not acting. Remember John Strasberg. I'm just seeing impulse going on.
Relationship?
Her gum?

Pete: letting the actors explore the scene. This is beginning work.

God, you really just have to be so honest up there. Don't pull your punches - don't defend - talk about your choices

How do you effectively say what you worked on.

Arthur Penn's here too.

How to talk about your work without just talking about the plot, or explaining the script.

Estelle: "You talk about him, you talk about the play ... what about you?"

*What did you work on today?*

Just answer the ?
I feel like she judges the character. I feel like she thinks the character is stupid.

Estelle: "A lot of the work was very general."

Harvey Keitel is moderating on Jan. 27

2nd scene - improv
He belches. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Belch. "You motherfucker."

"You're a fuckin' fruitcake, you know that?"

"Whatsa matter, guru?"

"You don't know, Mr. Skirt Man, what I'm gonna do to you."

"Let's see what it does to me. Don't impose. And I really succeeded in that."

"I did not trust my own quiet. I didn't trust that I didn't want to speak."

Arthur Penn: "That was so intensely joyful to watch. I could have stayed here for days. I could have had sandwiches brought in."

I am in love with him!!
Now that is an actor.

"My character has a problem."

"Well, I've been known to make weak chocies."

"Well, when you put it that way ......" Laughter. "Always nice talking wtih you, Arthur."

If you try to avoid cliches ... you go into Cliche-Land.

1/14/98 After the Fall: Notes I've always wanted people to see me, the real person You know why I make fun of myself? So I'll do it before they do. That way it's not so bad, doesn't hurt so much. It's either commit suicide or laugh. Gemini hold nothing back. "She personalized the whole world." Monroe freaked out once about eating a chicken - started weeping: "It had a mother." Intense identification with animals. No shame She could be so subverient and helpless and yet she wound up dominating everyone Her life was like a war zone. She was parasitic. Take take take take. Demand. Live off the juice of others. She's a good liar. Life is balck and white - all or nothing - life is intense. She never forgets, and never forgives. Obsessed with finding Freudian theories for everything.

countless abortions
rapes
no self-consciousness about her body
not a material girl

* What would happen if she allowed herself to be strong? Could anyone tolerate it?

2nd scene: "I have to initiate relationships. With men it's hands off. They don't know what the hell to do with me. After they get me, they don't know what to do either."

She has the psychology of a loving woman who has been treated like a whore her whole life

Help Help Help
I feel life coming closer
When all I want is to die

I saw a star slide down the sky,
blinding the North as it went by,
too burning and too quick to hold,
too lovely to be bought or sold,
good only to make wishes on
and then forever to be gone.

1/18/98 Gertrude Down
Gautier wardrobe, maybe?
Men's suits tailored for women
Elastica

1/20/98 Classics
"Rules are designed to minimize thinking." - Doug

Concentration is a barometer. It's God's way of telling you you didn't make a strong enough choice.

Don't apply yourself to the task if it's not working. Change the task.

After the Fall: Mitchell's notes

"See what happens if you do one rehearsal just as Sheila."

"This is a woman who hasn't learned not to play the subtext."

-- dresses too sexy for office
-- lays it too much on the line

"You open yourself up for attack if you play the subtext."

Think about me, and my role at Lounge Ax with P.: that line I was afraid to cross of being perceived as a joke, a bimbo, a whore. Paranoid about how I was perceived. Am I a joke? What are people saying about P. and me? I have to be in control of that - of how I am perceived - so make a joke out of myself before others can. The point is is that I am in on the joke.

"Men are at the mercy of her sexuality - and so is she."

1/20/98 PD Unit "And if you're a talented prick, who needs you?" - Sam

You aren't only emotionally connected in naturalism

Lee Strasberg: "Your trump card is always the disaster that's befalling you in the moment."

Diary Friday

This one's for Mitchell. Well, you all can read it too ... but he left me a message yesterday about how we were always "partners in crime" ... which ... we just WERE. The adventures he and I had. Nuts. (Someday I have to tell the story of Mitchell shouting at someone we had just met - yes, SHOUTING - "Look. I am a shrieking Zionist!!" I was like: Wow, we just started talking to this person 5 seconds ago ... and we're already here at this point? Well, all righty then. Oh - and that guy deserved it. We kept running into him over the years, and we ALWAYS referred to him as "PLO Guy." No matter WHAT good things the guy ever did ... he was always "PLO Guy". "Oh guess who's here." "Who." "PLO Guy." "Oh, shit. Has he seen us?" "I don't think so." "Let's escape into the night then.") But also: You know that whole "wingman" theory of modern human courtship? Mitchell is literally the best wingman a girl could ever have (even though girls aren't supposed to have wingmans, I guess). But seriously ... you need a wingman? Mitchell is your guy. He's so brilliant that you never even REALIZE that you are dealing with a wingman. He's that good. I've been approached by wingmen before ... and they should be wearing a sign around their neck: "HI. I AM A WINGMAN." This is tiresome. But someone who can do it undercover? That is impressive.

This diary entry is a sequel to the one I posted last week. It's the next time I saw M., I think - at least according to the ol' journal. M., the brawny man who's been on my brain for a bit. Just because of such and such. The first sentence of the following entry kind of sums up my entire emotional state that summer and fall.

OCTOBER

Okay, now, what's my next adventure. Oh yes. Jackie was performing at the Wrigleyside that Thursday - and finally I could go to see her! Being freed from Golden Boy - and David and Mitchell were going - Jackie, Phil, Bridget - it was also MJF's birthday, all kinds of things.

I came home from work. MJF and David had met for coffee. I primped for 2 hours before meeting them. [hahahahahahaha I am shaking with laughter. Ah, youth. First of all: that you would primp for 2 hours. Second of all: that you would then recount that fact in your journal. hahahahaha] I was out of control. By the time I left the apartment, I was a sight. Later that night, M. said I looked "scalding". Thank God. Time well spent. [hahaha Honest to God. I had never been called "pretty" before though - never. So I cut my vain self some slack here. My first boyfriend said he liked my looks because they "weren't classically beautiful". Any woman knows that this is not a compliment. He never called me "pretty". But M. did. From the start. At first I was like: "I'm sorry ... what is this word pretty ... I do not speak that language." So if I sound vain ... that's because I kind of was. I was getting some self-esteem is what was happening. I calmed down eventually. But this diary entry is from the middle of that whirlwind.]

I went to meet MJF and David at a coffee shop up near the Wrigleyside. Bobby was with them. Bobby was actually going to go out with us. I was in a riotous mood. David had just gotten a root canal [Oh man. I remember that now. He was in agony!!] and his face was all swollen and he was in some major pain.

We headed for the theatre - Bobby marvelled at our group dynamic. He had never met MJF before. We arrived at The Wrigleyside. I remember thinking - "What if all THREE of them - Phil - M. - Rob - are there?" [Okay ... this can't be explained with any brevity. I was a playah, apparently.] I kind of hoped they all would be. To add intrigue and awkwardness and excitement.

I was so excited to see Jackie perform. It made me feel a little sick inside - watching friends onstage always does - even when I fully trust their abilities, as I do Jackie's.

We got a front row table. The place was packed and loud and wild. Just how I like it. [Oh shut up. ] Jackie came over to us. She did so well, by the way. We were all VERY proud of her. Bridget and her friends came - we pulled up a table - Phil showed up - he has a goatee now -

I spotted M. wandering around in the back, drinking a beer. He had on this big floppy jacket he got in New Orleans [I am laughing out loud - it's the multicolored coat!! Immortalized here, years later!] - "It's a banana picker's coat," he told me. (Whatever that means) It has big different colored squares - of red and black - picked out with gold thread [I am shaking with laughter. The thing was just as hideous as it sounds, and he wore it pretty much every day for 4 years. But underneath the jacket - he would wear a white T-shirt, and battered jeans. Like - the dude NEVER dressed up. I am just laughing - this is the first mention of the "banana picker's jacket" - I eventually would get so annoyed when he would re-tell me the story of how he bought it, and the story behind it that I would interrupt him and say, "M. You have told me this story 800 times. Yes. It's from New Orleans. Yes. Banana pickers wore it. Please don't ever tell me the story again." But at this moment - it was all new.] - it's very flashy. He had it on that first night we met out at Wise Fool's Pub [I guess that was our first date? I have no memory of it, believe it or not]. He had on this bright turquoise T-shirt under that - and black pants - and big sneakers.

I could feel him see me right away. Like radar.

Then Rob arrived. We were sitting right at the head of the stairs - I turned around just as he was emerging - so I was the first person he saw. He actually was amazingly cool (for one of the most neurotic people I've ever met) - he saw me and his face lit up in recognition and greeting - there was very little weirdness.

The show, in general, was pretty bad. M. and Co. did not perform. There were some pretty agonizing moments - 2 or 3 people did really good work, Jackie included - Jackie did a wonderful Rogers and Hammerstein song - I was very very proud of her - she was "on" - and what's even cooler - is she knew she was on. When you can start gaging yourself that way - it's a good sign. So she could feel herself being connected. She was confident. She felt good about her work. I was so glad for her.

Rob performed. I'd never seen him perform before - he was GREAT! The dude always could make me laugh. [hahaha I went on one date with him and I'm talking about him as though we had been married for 17 years.] The very first time he opened his mouth - we all ROARED. The subject for the night was "Panic" - and each person stepped out of the line and said something they were panicked about - and Rob stepped out and said calmly, "I don't know if my sweater is for a boy or a girl." There was this thunderclap of laughter - Oh, and it really was a very very bad sweater (for a boy or for a girl) - and I could just tell that people had been giving him grief about the sweater all day. [And how about the banana picker's coat, Sheila? You gonna comment on THAT sartorial choice, or are you gonna let it slide - because it's M. wearing it?]

M. ran the whole show - did the intro - explained the rules - told us, as the audience, what was "expected" of us - he ran the dream [This was a very fun improv game. What it was was: They would ask someone from the audience to come up and tell about their day. Someone from the improv group - in this case M. - would ask questions. "What did you have for breakfast?" "And then what did you do?" "And then what?" Etc. Then the audience member would go sit down - and the improv team, based on what the audience member had revealed - would act out, collectively, "So and So's Dream". And it was all of those daily events twisted - or magnified - or morphed - it was always hysterically funny.] I got to just sit back and feast my eyes on M. M. is a big and, as David described him, "thick" guy - with manic blue eyes - that seem to shoot laser beams of light off the stage - they really do - his eyes are electric and wild - Especially when the lights hit him, and he's laughing, or whatever he's doing. They are amazing eyes. [They are.] Holding a beer bottle loosely by the neck in his hands - he's kind of gangly - and the VOICE. Like I said before I even knew this guy - I could pick his voice out of a crowd. His voice - his phrasing - the hugeness of his voice - the way his jaw kind of juts out - so that sometimes he bumbles words - That doesn't sound attractive at all - BUT IT IS. And the hair. The insane black hair. However, he could be totally bald and I would still find him hot. [Lucky M.] The voice reverberates. And the more I watch him - especially sitting in the audience - being able to really sit back and SEE him ... the more I can see this ... almost fragile honesty and openness. I know that sounds like a jerky thing to say - and it's not always true. Because he does have a kind of swagger about him as well. Yes, that is a very good word for it. He has a swagger. But just the way he was asking the volunteer from the audience questions about her day - and reacting to her - listening to her - picking up on things she wasn't aware that she said - but never making fun of her. His expression had this gorgeous honesty - or openness - He can't help it or hide it. He may try to cover it up with swagger, or drown it with alcohol - but it doesn't matter. It is so there. MJF even noticed it. Something about M. made him turn around and say to me, "He's a nice guy, isn't he?" Because it's not always immediately apparent that M. is nice. But ... he is. He touches me. Surprising. I don't know what it is, but for the most part he is "big, dumb, and embarrassing". For the most part, he is a very sad guy, pretty isolated, pretty inside of himself. But the look of him talking to Sarah, or to Mick - or to me, too - that look that comes into his eyes sometimes ... It just kills me. Does everyone see it? I think a lot of people miss that about him. They see the swagger and nothing else.

David left early because the pain in his mouth became too huge. After the show, Bobby took off - I had to pee so bad so I said to MJF - "Tell Jackie to meet me downstairs." The bathroom is down in the bar so I charged downstairs, went into the bar, and ran smack into M. He got that crazy "gumbo" look in his eyes when he saw me. [Why does that statement make total sense. I don't know, but it just does.] We reached out, and touched each other hello - I said, "Hey" - and he looked like he was about to either do a bird call or take my nose in his mouth, or scream, "GOOD GUMBO." I went on my way to the bathroom and he probably went straight to the bar and proceeded his self-destruction for the evening. But - there was no awkwardness. None. The only "awkwardness" I felt was before we made contact - we both knew the other one was there - because there is NO reason to be awkward. Or insecure. It doesn't even occur to me to be either of these things when I am talking with this boy. I never duck and hide. [Not yet. But eventually you will. Once you become closer - you will start to ignore him in public. Because you're nuts.]

So for a brief second we kind of circled each other - in passing - my hands on his stomach - his hands touching my neck - and then the night careened on.

We all (me and Phil and Jackie and MJF and Bridget) hung out and drank and had fun. (I drank FAR too much.) The place was packed. The music was enormously loud. MJF and I screamed over the music at Jackie about her work and how proud we were of her.

Oh, at one point during the show - the atmosphere on stage was growing increasingly hostile towards women. Hostility like that has a scent. There were 2 women up there (Jackie wasn't one of them) to the 10 men up there - and it was scary to watch the men (in very subtle insidious ways) turn on the women - they closed ranks on them - put them down - used the women as the butts of their jokes ... all kinds of misogynistic bullshit going on. It's a fine line - but it was definitely crossed. It was scary. And the women up there were talented - had every right to be up there - much better than the majority of the guys up there attacking her (again, it was all very subtle). And one guy - whom MJF and I instantly loathed - he's up there only for himself - and, as MJF said, "He is not nearly as cute as he thinks he is" - his whole thing is setting up funny moments for himself. He's just the kind of improviser that M. despises. The ones who are only out for themselves. But anyway - this guy said this hugely hostile thing - now, I am as rude as anyone - I'm not a prude - and like I said, it's a fine line - When jokes like that are not meant to put me down, dismiss me, threaten me, embarrass me, narrow me down to what I've got between my legs ... I'm fine with them. But this guy said something about this one girl's "titties - and it totally went over the line - you could feel it in the room - other audience members reacted too, not just me - It was just not embraced as a funny remark. And I suddenly was so enraged at what was taking place on that stage. Fuckers. Making that nice talented girl up there feel embarrassed - it was a remark meant to put her in her place. "Don't think you can play with the big boys. You're just titties to us." That's what was going on up there. He used her - a fellow improviser - to get a cheap laugh - which he didn't get anyway. I couldn't help it - I "Boo"ed loudly - and a bunch of people applauded my Boo. [hahahaha I'm stirring up shit in the improv club.] It needed to be done. I felt it needed to be done. Hostility towards women isn't okay. I won't be a part of it, I won't be in the presence of it and not say anything. I don't give a fuck.

I felt kind of weird after - I hoped that the girl didn't think I was booing her - I was booing specifically the hostility of that boy. I mentioned to Bridget how torn I felt about it - and she said that she was glad I did it - she had felt the same way - and she had gone into the bathroom after that one improv - and the improv girl was in the bathroom, too, totally upset and crying.

All of this is a lead-in to another story. 2 guys on Jackie's team came over and joined our group. Nice guys, I guess - but they seemed open and friendly - but I ended up getting into a huge fight with one of them about the "Boo" issue. And my anger is not "graceful" - MJF said he turned away for 2 minutes, turned back, and I was reading that one guy the riot act. Anyway, those guys did not know what they were getting into when they called me "defensive", and when that one guy said the girl up there "started it". I went in for the kill. I was not out of control - I was very articulate - and then one said, "You're defensive." I replied, "No. This is not defensiveness. This is anger. There's a difference." MJF leapt in, at one point, calmly - backing me up - he confirmed the hostile atmosphere towards women up on that stage - and wouldn't ya know, once a GUY said it, they shut up. Sexist fuckers. I know no reticence right now - when it comes to speaking my mind. This phase needs to happen though. It'll chill out, eventually.

The second they saw how angry I was - they did 2 things: They closed ranks on me, ganged up on me. But then, in the next second - after I said the "this is anger" thing - they dropped the subject like a hot potato.

MJF said, "They totally conceded your point, do you realize that?"

Jackie and Bridget took off, MJF and I stayed so he could finish his drink. It was his birthday! So finally MJF and I got up to go. I was coherent, lively, but make no mistake - I was very drunk. ["Make no mistake"?? Hahahaha Who ya talkin' to?] MJF and I walked all the way home from the Wrigleyside - it was freezing cold and very windy - neither of us really recall the walk. It's like there was a wrinkle in time, and suddenly we were in the apartment, the walk having been walked.

But there is one more M. encounter to dwell upon and pick apart. [hahahaha Honest to God. ] M. was sitting at the bar. By himself. A. was standing by the door with some popcorn. I don't know why - but that was the tableau that was going on as MJF and I walked towards the door to leave. As I swooped by M., I kind of grabbed him from behind - on his waist - briefly - as I went by. "See ya" - and kept going. He reached out for me. "Where you going?" he asked. (Oh, for Christ's sake. I have been sitting here all night and you haven't spoken to me. So I'm leaving now.) He tried to stop me. Oh, so NOW you pay attention to me! But I kept walking. Nope. Too late. [Sheila! You're hard core! I think this was part of the reason M. liked me. I was not a pushover. I was WEIRD, most definitely - but no pushover.]

A. stopped us at the door. He recognized me from the last time. He offered us some popcorn. We told him good show. Or - the first thing I said to him was, "Good show tonight."

He gave me this deadly serious stare - one eyebrow cocked up - and he said to me, in the voice of a cowboy in an old Western movie, "Yeah, well, I think you need to make your peace with that man over there, little lady." Gesturing at M.

WHAT?

I told MJF that later, and MJF said, "What does that mean?"

That was my reaction too. They all talk like that, too - as if they're in some gangster movie, or Western, or film noir - or some hardened detective who's seen too much too soon. I was talking to G. once, and he was telling me about some girl he was into. I said, "What's she look like?" And he said, "She has a face that could make a priest kick a hole thru a stained glass window." Ha. And I met her - and you know what? She did!

But these guys - they narrate things - they jump out of conversations that are going on and suddenly narrate to an invisible audience - They do inner dialogues of conflict, but they say it out loud - It's hysterical. And you know, too, that they see themselves that way - with stark dramatic lighting, clouds of cigarette smoke, and bursts of terrifying music. This is the imaginary world these guys swagger through.

So A. was just looking out for M., I guess. Taking care of his friend. Had they spoken about it? A. had obviously noticed that M. and I hadn't said 2 words the whole night. Make my peace with him, though? What?

So. I walked back over to M. MJF very deftly kept talking to A., eating A.'s popcorn. Said to me later, "Did you notice how I kept the friend occupied?"

(This is just how I imagined it would be when MJF moved to Chicago - the 2 of us setting each other up with men - and then talking later, manically, about every detail.)

So. I leaned on the bar next to M. Smiling at him. No words between us. His eyes kind of stun me. So I said, "How was detox?" (I plunged in as though no time had gone by at all.) And he took no time at all to leap into the here and now with me. No think time needed. No small talk. Ever.

He said emphatically, with utter commitment, "Oh, GOD. It was AWFUL. It was just TERRIBLE. No drinking, smoking, or eating for 4 days - just water. It was like being dead. And all through the 4th day, all I could think about was getting back into the race again."

When he said, "It was AWFUL", I said - sympathetic, "Oh, honey." It kind of just slipped out. I never called him "honey" before. No wonder why he looks at me with confusion and curiosity.

We talked about the show. I was talking, and he interrupted me bluntly, and said, "You look scalding hot tonight." This shut me up for a second. I couldn't respond. And then I kept talking about the improv show as though that interruption hadn't even happened. I confessed that I was the one who Booed. I didn't want him to be mad at me for that. So I explained why I Boo'ed. I mentioned the difference between the guys he works with - and that loathsome guy. I never ever feel like M. and his friends dislike women. I never watch their shows and feel like they use women for cheap jokes. Even though there's lots of rude macho swagger - it doesn't have that snippy hostility ... fine line. Also: you can make fun of women, as long as it's funny. Do whatever you want to do - but it sure as shit better be funny. I said to M., "It seems like with you and your team - you are so in sync - you never go for the easy laugh. It's all so intelligent, and connected - It's like you guys can read each other's minds or something." He said, "It's not that we read each other's minds. We just DO it. We know how to do it. We know the craft and we DO it. We're not up there for ourselves, or to do punch lines." I said, "You trust each other. That's obvious."

M. said that he didn't like running the shows - he did well, though and I told him so.

I asked him what he was doing for Halloween. I saw this brief ... thing ... flicker in his eyes - a thing I did not like. Something I can't put my finger on - but I responded to it, in a tired voice, "Don't worry. I'm not asking you out."

This stopped him short, and he gave me this ... weird inner-directed look. Like - he had been busted, or something - like I had read his mind, and it made him feel uneasy. I didn't say anything. I just let him stew in his own awkward juices. He said, "I'll be here. There's a Halloween party after the show that night."

I said, "I'm going to a party D.C. is having." [Now this was odd - but D.C. was a friend of my friend David's - great guy - and somehow we discovered, thru conversation, that D.C. had gone to high school with M. This was when I still knew ZERO about M. Oh - and that party? It was the Woody Allen/Mia Farrow party. I have more to say about ... this whole "don't worry, I'm not asking you out" thing. Fascinating. More so now than ever. ]

I gestured at MJF and said, "That's my new roommate over there. We're going as Woody Allen and Mia Farrow."

The Woody/Mia thing didn't register - all he heard was the word "roommate".

"Roommate? You have a roommate? Sheila, all you have is a room. That is not an apartment. It is a room."

"He's my best friend. He just moved here."

M. was totally overwhelmed trying to imagine 2 people living in my apartment. He said again, "But it's just a room."

A. and MJF eventually came over. I said, "M., this is MJF." They shook hands. My heart cracked in a million pieces.

I said to MJF, "He can't believe I have a roommate - with the size of my apartment being what it is."

MJF said to M., "Oh, that's right! You've been in that room!" (As though it were just occurring to him. I love him.)

M. is this big thuggish open-faced guy - with eyes that kind of wince and squint at you - trying to figure you out - weighing you in the balance - trustworthy or no? - also, like - well, like he said, "I'm beyond the point of small talk." Why is he so endearing to me? Somehow, the thing has not imploded into awkwardness. [Oh - and years later - circa 2003 - over 10 years after this - M. and I relived a lot of our first encounters, just in conversation - and just LAUGHED at how WEIRD we both were.]

As we all talked, A., again, was as alert as a high-beam. He watched everybody closely.

MJF and M. bonded in annoyance about Samuel. [hahahaha That was my awesome awesome cat.] Samuel and MJF have totally bonded - Samuel loves MJF much more than me - but there are times when MJF wishes Samuel would LAY OFF in his tireless pursuit of love and closeness.

M., on the other hand, just doesn't like cats. Samuel did not perceive this, however, and insisted upon curling himself around M.'s ankles, and meowing pointedly up at him, like: "I DEMAND LOVE FROM YOU!"

M. said, "That cat is only interested in shedding all over you. That's it."

He couldn't get over me having a roommate. He called me "Room" - just to bust my balls. Finally, MJF and I decided to leave. We said bye - and M. said, "See you around ............ Room."

[See, this still cracks me up.]

Bye, M. Bye, Mr. No Small Talk. Bye, Mr. Social WEIRDO.

But all in all. Not a lot of awkwardness. [WHAT????? No awkwardness? Are you kidding me?? I'm glad YOU'RE oblivious to it, Sheila!!]

Diary Friday

Not a high school entry. Those aren't the notebooks calling to me these days. It is fascinating to me how little I remember about certain things ... but thank God for journals (or - sometimes it's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes things should be forgotten) - but in the case of today's entry, I am so glad I wrote it down in such detail (even though I started to feel anxious just reading it. Holy crap.) But there is quite a bit here that made me laugh out loud, and also that made me filled with this weird fondness of remembrance. Like: wow. How on earth did THIS all work out? It seems so up in the air during this entry (that's because it is), so anxietal ... and yet it did end up 'working out'. So the background is - it's September 1992 - I'm living in Chicago, and in a production of Golden Boy. I met M. that summer - he got my phone number - and we went out. It was very intermittent, though, and ... well, I guess I had forgotten how unsure the whole thing was. I am now looking back on it with the retrospective knowledge that this guy would become one of my most important friends ever. But at the time? He was this unknown - and I was completely nutso about him ... in an out of control pheromonal way that made me feel crazy. We went on a couple of "dates" - to be honest I can't remember much - I know it's all in the journals though - and I realized pretty early on that this guy was WILD. This was not going to be a "dinner and a movie" kind of thing. But I was so fine with that - because I was not in a relationship-y place at ALL.

Anyhoo. My third date with M. was insane - involving a pool hall, "good gumbo", a towed car, and me lending M. 120 bucks to free his vehicle out of the car jail. I didn't know M. that well at all - but whatever, I leant him the money - even though that was probably most of what I had in the bank at that point. And to be honest - there was another layer to it. If I leant him the money - that was a thread of connection between us. He, being who he was, would feel obligated to pay me back. We'd have to see each other again.

This was part of me feeling overwhelmed when I was with him. I was just so into the guy. But I constantly struggled with the fact that maybe I shouldn't be? Oh, and to be clear, we had already had a couple of lunatic making-out sessions, where the combustability I felt in our first meeting came to full fruition. I was not wrong in thinking we would click sexually. We clicked so intensely on that level that I found it hard to concentrate on things a day after seeing him ... like my job, and answering phones, and everyday duties. But anyway. Despite the nights-long clutches we had had ... nothing was "set" yet. We had only been out 3 or 4 times.

Anyway - this entry describes the night where I went to the improv club where he always hung out (he's an improv comedian) - and he paid me back the money I had leant to him.

I know. A life-altering experience, right?

For me, it actually kind of was. I'm an intense person. Or - I'm a sensitive person. Meaning - a tiny breath of wind could conceivably blow me over if I'm in the right space. Like I said elsewhere - I never (even in all the years I knew M.) was "over" him. I never was not in that X-ray vision totally alert state of mind. I found him to be endlessly fascinating. And he eventually figured this out about me ... and it was okay by him. It didn't bother him.

But here - the 4th time I was in his presence - it was all still totally tippity unbalanced scary ... I read this and felt it all over again.

Oh, and a cool and weird thing: I was re-reading this this morning - and all of the peripheral people in this entry, every single one of them, all of his friends - they are all famous now. Names you would recognize. Emmy award winners. Writers. Comedians. It's so wild. At the time I knew them, I was just the "hovering chick" of one of their good friends. They were just kids. 26 year old guys who happened to be extraordinarily funny.

But I'm amazed at how I dissect these moments. It's exhausting and yet I very much admire my analysis. I don't know if I would do that now.

SEPTEMBER

Friday ended up being another "no show" night [for Golden Boy - which was not, sadly enough, a hit. Sometimes we played to 5 people. We would cancel shows if less than 5 people showed up. Horrific.] It broke my heart. I felt crushed. After - when not one soul in this huge city showed up - we all kind of wandered around in a daze, comforting each other. I felt like my heart was cracking. Amelia started cleaning the dressing rooms like a maniac. "I need to do this!" Everyone sat in morbid silence. David went home to Maria. Bryan asked me, "Where'd David go?" "Home. After all, he is a newlywed." Bryan got this very stricken lonely expression. "At least he has someone to go home to."

Eventually, it was just a handful of us - Bobby included - sitting around, reading the stray NY Times lying around. Michael came downstairs, took one look at all of us and said, "Let's get out of here. This is depressing."

So we all went out for Mexican.

D.V. was crying in the darkened theatre and nurturing Earth Mother Kenny was sitting with him. We left word where we would be and took off.

We all had margaritas and a hell of a lot of food. We tried to shake the morose mood. The alcohol helped. There was live music. Bobby seemed to cheer up a little.

We (me, Bobby, Paulie, and Kenny) shared a cab home. It was 10:30 or so. We were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. Kenny glanced at his watch, made an exclamation of surprise - and said, "You guys - you guys -" and then in perfect Poppa cadences and accent said, "Come. We bring him home. Where he belong." [This was one of his lines in the show. Hahahaha] It was hysterically funny - it was 10:30 - exactly when the show would have ended - it also gave me a pin prick of sadness.

The cab dropped me off at home.

I threw on a little black dress, my bleached jacket - and applied RED lipstick, fire engine red. And I was off again, to catch another cab north to the Wrigleyside. [I am amazed at myself. I used to start my evenings at 11 pm. That would be unheard of now. Or - I'd have to be REALLY in love with someone.]

It's funny. I really am like Becca Thatcher now. [That is the funniest reference ever. I was SO into "Life Goes On" at this moment.] I never was before. Nerves would hold me back from action. They never ever stop me from doing something I want to do now. God! Never!

So I was pretty nervous in the cab. For a couple of reasons and on a couple levels. It all goes back to my expectations and worries about how gorgeous guys behave. Especially when you meet a gorgeous guy on his turf. Up until now, I have managed to meet him on neutral ground. It makes a big difference. But I was prepared for the worst. Which is totally strange because M. has exhibited none of the "gorgeous asshole" signs. He has never treated me that way. But still. Here I was - cruising alone to the Wrigleyside (at least I had a mission - retrieving my money - that grounded me somehow. I wasn't going expressly to see him.) [God forbid you should just want to see him!!] So I kept imagining the worst - him being annoyed I was there, him being condescending to me - and I told myself - "If it's like that - then just get my money - and GO."

Thru this whole thing with M. so far - I have preserved my sense of self. Thank God. If there's one thing I need - it's my self.

But he's not interested AT ALL in playing games. In fucking with me. He's into the NOW of it all. What we do and how we are together is just what he likes and wants. Neither of us get freaked out - and it's strange to me and strange to him.

Also - and this is very weird - I have no desire to call him. None! It's very freeing. And - at this point - I wouldn't be surprised if he did call me. And if the desire strikes to call him, I will. But until then - I don't even think about it. I'm too busy. It's just one of those things that IS. Its existence is solid and tangible - and FINE, just the way it is. No need to monkey with it.

I am dropped off at the Wrigleyside [this was a bar - with an improv club on the second floor].

Oh yes - one thing I was rather apprehensive about - but also curious and eager, too - was the prospect of Rob being there. [This made me laugh out loud. I was SO worried about this. Rob was also a comedian - and I think I had gone out on one date with him - the chemistry wasn't there, even though he was nice and funny ... but I was so terrified, on some level, that Rob and M. would start talking to each other, and comparing notes. It's not like I was cheating on either one of them - I was a free agent - but I was so afraid that I would be hanging out with M. and Rob would be there or whatever. It's so ridiculous. Also - no way on EARTH would M. ever talk to Rob about me - even if he knew we had gone out. M. was a gentleman. The soul of discretion. Way more discreet than I was. Anyway - the whole Rob vs. M. thing was tormenting to me - and yet I also totally enjoyed it, I loved the confusion - after 3 years of sterile monogamy.] I actually kind of wanted Rob to be there - the more chaos I invite into my life the better. I want to have adventures. I want my nights to be a series of bizarre encounters, embarrassing sizzling gaffes, of run-ins, of intrigue, of espionage.

So I kind of hoped to see him. See what would happen. Roll with the punches. Embrace anarchy.

I was in a state of alertness. I felt powerful, edgy - but not tense. [Oh, really, Sheila? You're not tense? Okay.] Just ALERT.

The Wrigleyside was wall to wall people. [The place was always pretty much packed 100% with improvisers. It was an insane place. So much fun.] The noise was deafening. I could barely get into the place. Everyone was screaming and roaring and DRUNK. The jukebox was deafening. The bartenders looked frazzled, and were in states of constant motion. I stood there, scanning the crowd, conscious all the while of the fact that I could be being watched - M. could be there somewhere. Where was he?

Also - another word about M. [I have probably written 150,000 words about M. over the years. He is the star of the journals - more so than anybody else - even guys I was madly in love with. Nobody fascinated me like M.] He's not devious - in that kind of self-conscious way. That kind of elaborate ACT that some guys put on and call a personality. (It's always the gorgeous ones, because they know they have power, and they know they will always be forgiven - because of their beauty) Guys like that hold back, they distance themselves, they veil their eyees, they make sure they always look cool and aloof. M. does NOT behave this way. Not once has he pulled a cool or aloof act. He is who he is. He's not tricky. Or cruel. He's honest - but he's not cruel. He's a good person. He really is. [I knew this from the moment I laid eyes on him onstage. And I wasn't wrong.]

Throngs. I started elbowling my way through, looking for him. The place was so packed that I did have a moment of thinking, "What if I can't find him? What if he's already left?"

There's something very precarious and exciting about the Wrigleyside. [Oh God. That is an embarrassing statement. Sheila - it's a BAR. That's it.] It always feels like something is about to happen. And something always does happen to me when I go there. Nature abhors a vacuum - so even those 15 seconds of looking for M. in the crowds felt fraught with expectancy. Any second, some insane person is going to charge over to me and change my life. Demand to know me. Demand to be known by me. Whatever.

Quick, Sheila. Find him quick.

Finally, I caught sight of him [see - it's so silly - but I feel all nervous just re-living this right now!] - sitting over in the corner in the front of the bar - against the wall. Bandana on that gorgeous head. God. He was talking to some people, nodding, listening ... with that listening look in his eyes ... that serious innocent look.

I saw him. I didn't charge right over (as, undoubtedly, Becca would). [HA!!! Becca became my Model for Living.] I did a couple things at once. [Watch how I dissect this. I am giving myself a heart attack here ...] I know I smiled - in anticipation and excitement for whatever was about to come next - I took a deep cleansing breath - to get "cool" - and keep my power.

[Funny thing: I was the one who did the "cool and aloof" thing in this relationship. I totally thought it was necessary - because I felt like M. had so much power over me ... but turns out, it was just me being scared, trying to protect myself - and, on occasion, just being a total ASS. When I look back on this - I think: maybe all those gorgeous guys out there pretending to be cool and aloof - are actually scared little boys inside, trying to protect themselves? Maybe they're just assholes - I know many of them are ... but still ... I find it interesting that I wrote all that stuff about how I liked that M. wasn't cool or aloof ... and there I was, trying to get "cool and aloof".]

But before I did all that - I quick quick quick flitted my eyes over who he was talking to. One person had long hair and I wanted to make sure he wasn't coming on to some girl when I went over. I felt no jealousy or anything like that. It was a totally practical thought. Well, no, it was just a guy with long hair - and I realized that he was basically talking to his fellow team members [Improv clubs usually have "teams" - people who constantly work together. M.'s "team" were made up of the funniest guys in Chicago. Their shows were un-fucking-believable.] Instantly, I deemed it safe to go over. I didn't give it a second thought. Over I went.

I am "specifically brave". M. is Claude Collier, and I am Mary Grace. [References to "Lives of the Saints" - my favorite novel at that time. I adore it still. "Specifically brave" was a phrase used to describe the volatile nutso Mary Grace - a woman who left men in "crumpled heaps" about the town. A real heartbreaker. And Claude Collier was the kind-hearted heavy-drinking INSANE lead of the novel ... an indelible character.]

I have begun to walk through the world - my world - like I belong in it. I have forever tiptoed thru my life - apologizing left and right - for merely taking up space. No more. I belong here. This is MY world.

My heart was POUNDING. [So much for being "cool"!!] I elbowed my way towards him - he still hadn't seen me - he was talking and listening - talking vigorously with 2 others - the big big black-haired guy with glasses from his team (very very good - they're all very very good) - and the long-haired boy. And here I come! What's it gonna be, M? Scorn or pride? Are you gonna blow me off or welcome me? I love this shit.

His face makes me laugh.

Then he saw me - and his face totally lit up in excitement and joy. [Seriously: I re-read this this morning and sighed in relief. I'm reading about my own damn life - but I didn't remember any of this ... and I found myself thinking: "Oh God, I hope he's nice to her. She sounds so fragile to me!" Yeah. That's yourself you're talking about, Sheila.] Any anxieties I may have had just dissolved when I saw how happy he was to see me, and how open and welcoming his face was.

He had this huge smile. "Hey! Hi!"

"Hi, doll."

"I didn't think you were gonna show." he said.

I held out my hand for my money. [HA! Nothing like cutting to the chase. I have never been a "romantic" person - and I appreciated M. because ... he didn't try to romance me. Romance kinda makes me itch. I love LOVE itself - but romance? I can barely keep a straight face.] He reached into his shirt pocket and slapped me a wad of cash. He looked so happy to see me.

Guys can be so different when they're with their friends - and I did not encounter this - he was the same person.

I interrupted the guy conversation - just by walking over - and M's face lit up in recognition and we had this whole exchange with very few words that ended with him giving me a bunch of money. His 2 friends had no idea what was happening, who I was [I hadn't formally met any of them yet - although I had seen them perform a bazillion times] - or why M. was paying me. The 2 of them sat back - staring at me with curiosity. Also staring at M. With this look of: "Who is she? What is happening?" I glanced at them - and their faces were so expressive I started laughing.

I really think that - outside of improv - they lead - well, M. said it - "lame circles" of lives - they hang out at the Wrigleyside and get drunk. [And now they parade up and down red carpets on both coasts, clutching trophies, giving soundbites to entertainment reporters. Amazing!] And here I come - this brand new face - a GIRL too - they're such a macho group, no women - they were staring at M. sending him eye-telegraphs: "Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?" I felt like a celebrity.

I think M. was mostly relieved that I had shown up so that he would no longer have to be under the burden of debt. He fumbled so quickly for the money. "I even kept it in another pocket - separated from my other money - cause otherwise I'd just spend it."

A. - the big black-haired guy - when M. finally introduced us, he said, "Hi. I'm A., and I'm an 8th of a ton." - this was a phrase much repeated over the night. But anyway. A. was the most blatant starer. Once he got over the surprise of this chick in a black minidress coming straight up to M. and being paid - he was full of questions. He wanted to know - and instantly - exactly what our entire story was. He bombarded me with questions.

How did he come to owe you money?
How did you guys meet?
Where was the car towed from?
What? Now - how?
What? Tell me it again?

He kept saying, "Now let me get this straight. You leant this man money?"

A. contemplated the entire situation very seriously, checking me out the whole time, trying to get a line on the whole thing, glancing over at M. to see how he was behaving. The other guy - J. - proceeded to sing a song very loudly, right in my face, trying to get my attention. Then N. came over - he's another absolutely talented guy on the team. He and M., for me, are the best. M. loves N. so much - it is obvious every time he mentions him - Just the thought of the guy makes N. laugh. "The guy inherently knows what is funny." said M.

So M. introduced us (he actually was very good about introducing me this time - he did it right away) - I shook hands all around. I had a moment of awkwardness. Now that I got my $ - should I leave? [Can you imagine how rude and weird that would have been? But that's my dysfunction. I don't tolerate awkwardness well. If I feel it - I disapear in a pouf of smoke. Leaving confused men behind me, going: "Where the hell did that girl go?" Thank God M. was patient with this weirdness of mine.] Does he want me to leave? [Yeah, that happy expression on his face says: "Please leave, Sheila." Sheesh. I was retarded. Or maybe just a quarter tard.]

But then I thought - Fuck it. I'm staying. I ordered a beer. I told M. that no one had shown for our show. His reply: "Ouch." We talked about his show - it had gone really well. M. and N. sat and discussed it - and it was wonderful to listen in. They're so fucking good at it - they respect the form so totally - and they respect each other - they're all about structure - they know that structure serves them rather than limits them. They work together. They talked - about split-second missed moments - and also times when they read each other's minds.

M. loves N. It's obvious onstage and it's obvious off. He trusts him totally. "I knew you could see what I was doing." I drank my beer. I didn't say a word. They were all very welcoming to me, though - very inclusive. Even though there wasn't a woman in the bunch.

M. informed us all that for the next 5 days he was going to be going through an intensive detox. [I'm laughing out loud. Even though it's not really funny] He said, "No drinking, no smoking, and no eating. Just drinking water" and taking this herbal medicine he's really into. "My body needs a purge. It really does."

I said, "Why? You don't feel good?"

"No, y'know? I don't. I'm wrecking myself. So I bought all these herbs from my acupuncturist ---"

A. interrupted. "Your what?"

"My acupuncturist."

"YOUR ACUPUNCTURIST?"

"Yeah, my acupuncturist."

"You have an acupuncturist?"

M.'s eyes can be so serious, so inward-looking. And also, open. He's apocalyptically sexy, I think. [Ha! He's so sexy it's like the end of the world!] We all sat there and discussed acupuncture, making fun of it. The whole thing was like a comedy routine - M. being serious, all of us busting on him. M. is very into it, and would seriously defend it. N. thinks M. is crazy - as far as buying all those herbs goes. N. said, "Fine, if you want to get taken by some pseudo-guru in Oak Park ..." This made M. laugh. God. The laugh. [See what I mean? Overwhelmed by him.]

M. was dreading not smoking. A. started calling M. "Johnny Detox".

At one point, I was standing up against the wall - and A. and M. were both on bar stools. I was drinking my beer, cool as a cuke. There was a lull in the conversation. M. glanced at me, and then didn't look away. He was just STARING at me. With something very kind in his eyes. Something soft. A. was alert as an eagle, watching the whole thing.

M. said, "You're beautiful, you know that?" Reached out and ran his finger along my jaw. Slowly. Then he said to A., "Isn't she beautiful?" He looked back at me, cupped my chin and jaw in his hand. "Isn't this a beautiful girl?"

The whole thing - the action of it - the tenderness - was almost too much to deal with. I couldn't respond. I just stood there and took it.

A. said, "She's blushing."

I was. My face was hot. But weird. I felt beautiful for the first time. Cause of how he was looking at me. [And that's love, folks]

M. kept touching my chin - my jaw line - ran his finger up my jaw bone - ear to chin - said to A., "Look at that. God. Look at that." [I have no memory of this. It's like I'm a racehorse he's assessing or something] I felt mortified - but also GREAT. I didn't move. I just let him examine my jaw to his hearts' content. I was totally alive in this moment. [That sentence chokes me up.] That moment: his touch, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, A. watching ... Believe it or not, M. was not intoxicated either.

Eventually I got me a bar stool. M.'s eyes kill me. Gotta say it. He was very into detox-ing and kept talking about it. He was dreading it but committed to it. He has this admiration for his acupuncturist - "a phenomenal man" - and suddenly - I wasn't paying attention - M. nudged me and gestured to a plastic cup of liquid put down in front of me. He said, "That was sent over you from Nancy." ! [I think that Nancy is ... actually, I have no idea. It has something to do with that Rob person. But I don't know why I wrote an enormous exclamation point there.] I stared at the drink blankly. Sniffed it. Sure enough - it was that same drink she had sent over the night I met Rob. Holy shit. [so dramatic - ha - I have no idea why it's so dramatic]

Meanwhile, M. became seriously intrigued by what was going on - interested and confused by me - "You know Nancy?"

I nodded. My face was hot. He's got eagle eyes. I avoided him - looked around for Nancy - and there she was - at the other end of the bar - smiling and waving Hello to me. I smiled and waved Hello - but I didn't see Rob with her - however, I suddenly felt very very peculiar. It was a huge gesture on her part - ultimately friendly, I believe, but it had the strange flavor of: "Remember Rob? Remember Rob, while you're over there talking to M." And I know that it will get back to Rob that I was at the Wrigleyside with M. [And this I remember: yes, it did get back to Rob that I was "hanging out with M". Next time I saw him, Rob was all: "YOU LIKE HIM BETTER THAN ME!" I finally had to be blunt and say, "Yes. I do like him better than you." Strangely enough, even after that, Rob and I remained friends. Funny funny guy who looked just like Montgomery Clift. Scary good-looking. Hysterically funny.]

So that was bizarre and gave me heart palpitations.

The evening raged on.

At some point I found myself laughing absolutely hysterically with A. He was roaring - he asked me all about myself - what I did - I mentioned Golden Boy - he said, "Hey, you guys got the Critics Choice, didn't you?" I said, "Yup. Didn't bring in an audience though." At one point I told him to fuck off (I'm so shy) - and we made each other laugh.

M. was totally the same person in the bosom of his friends as he is alone with me. Me being there didn't cause him a conflict in his personality. He doesn't split himself like that. He is who he is - with no pretense. In a kind of fearful way, I expected him to be totally different with his friends. Guys do that. And suddenly you feel like an orphan if you're going out with a guy like that. But I should have known better. M. wouldn't be like that. Pretense doesn't fit with his personality.

I had somehow gotten quite quite drunk. All of these people, including the bartender, bought me drinks. I only paid for one beer. So the drunkenness snuck up on me. And that drink from Nancy - sweet as candy but lethal - pushed me over the edge. When I came home I lay in bed, and the room whirled about me. Anyway, I sat on the stool - feelin' sexy, and carefree, and enjoying life. Next to big galumphy M.

Oh - I caught a snippet of a conversation - they all play basketball together - a raging argument occurred about some play - some controversial game they had had - much dispute. M. kept saying, "I totally dogged you. No question about it. Yes, what you say is also true. But STILL. I dogged you." M. then told this story about when he was in high school, playing basketball, and being courted by colleges - all of these colleges vying for him - I started to listen very carefully - watching his face very carefully. He doesn't talk about himself a lot. So I fill in the blanks.

Or, wait. No I don't.

I accept the blanks.

[Sorry, but I think that's a bit profound. And THAT is why we lasted so long.]

I'm very intrigued. Very moved by him. Crazy, huh. My talent for obsession. [Some things never change.]

M. was standing against the front window. I was sitting, talking to A. There was a pause, and M. said, very pointedly, "Nice legs." My crossed legs in the black tights. "Nice legs." he said again. Then to A.: "Aren't they nice?" [Again, with the racehorse assessment behavior.] Poor A. Trying to be like, "Yes. Nice legs." and still be polite.

We still, though, by this point, had had no real physical contact. It is uncanny. Whatever it is between us is all right. I think, too, in looking back, that I went into that bar - with my paranoias - afraid he'd blow me off - that the whole thing would be a smouldering agonizing event full of hot silences and twitchy neuroses (a word: when have I ever experienced this with M.? Never.) So anyways, I was so determined that the night wouldn't go like that that, at first, I think I was giving off the vibes of aloofness. Not cold aloofness - I'm never chilly - but behind my little wall. My casual "Hey, what's up" wall. I would have loved to just fall upon him and hug him - but I felt the need to not do that. At first. However. I think he wanted to hug and kiss me - it was all over his face when he first saw me - it was in his body language, how he said, "Hey!" He's very unconflicted, and unafraid. So I ended up being the one discouraging him touching me, discouraging him warming up to me. At first. Because it's scary to be on someone else's turf, so completely. But - as usual - I was the one with that attitude. Not him.

So he didn't lunge at me - not for a while - but at the first opening that I gave him, the first softening up of my body language - he did. Then he was hugging me, and yanking me to his side, and all that. It was like we were both feeling each other out, protecting ourselves, circling around each other ... reading subliminal messages, all the while just wanting to hug each other.

Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I'm involved in it). [HAHAHAHA]

So we were all talking in a big group. M. said something - the conversation swirled on - but I stopped to ask M. something about his comment. He leaned forward to hear me better - his forehead wrinkles in thought, his serious blue eyes - those listening eyes full of light - intense - and suddenly - with our tiny one on one exchange - he took the sky diving leap. He came across the crowd and wrapped me up in his arms. [Thank GOD he was strong enough to deal with me. I was a mess! So afraid! He could handle it. He also didn't take any of it personally. He knew that my weirdness didn't mean I didn't like him. He knew it meant just the opposite.] He squeezed beside me on my stool - engulfing me in his big eyes. Announced, "Ah. This is much better." Kissed me on the forehead for a very long time. Incredibly sweet. M. noticed A. watching this whole thing. Grinned. I informed A., "I'm good gumbo." (I was drunk.) M. threw back his head and laughed - then bellowed to the entire bar, "YES, BOYS. THIS IS GOOD GUMBO. SHEILA IS GOOD GUMBO. MM-MM." Smacked his lips.

A. was baffled by the dynamic between M. and me. Kept asking us questions.

Oh, this was really funny - M. wanted to sit on my lap [which is so ridiculous - the guy had to be 200 pounds - ] - so we worked it out - he draped his body on my lap - in a way that we could have our arms free, to drink our beers. We weren't kissing or anything, just hanging out, sharing space, being totally happy with it. A. checked the both of us out - looking from M. to me and back. Finally A. said, "Do you guys want to ... talk to each other? ..... Or anything ... like that ...?" [A. was such a funny person. Still is.] It was like A. was giving us suggestions for behavior - trying to help us out - because we hadn't said 2 words to each other in the whole time I was there. It appeared to A. that we were sitting there silently - which was true. But M. and I exist on another level, an existence level, a telepathic level. What you see with us is NOT what you get. [I had known this guy 2 months as I wrote this way. Amazing the confidence with which I believe all of this. And even stranger: I was right. I wasn't just a stalker crazy girl projecting stuff onto this guy ... He really was all that. Hmm. Weird.]

But A. was making a joke - seeming kind of - concerned - anxious to help M. and me interact with each other.

M. and I said, in response, simultaneously: "Oh, we're fine."

M. then said, "That's not what we're about."

And I said, "We don't really talk."

Which completely threw M. into a tailspin. It was hilarious. I felt that M. and I were saying the same thing - but suddenly M. pulled back from me and said to me, "What do you mean? We talk." He was annoyed. Defending himself as though I were saying something bad about him.

I said, "Yeah, we talk - but it's not like I know one damn thing about you or you know one damn thing about me. That's what I meant." (A. is watching this whole thing like a ping-pong match.)

M. had perplexity and seriousness in his eyes. "Well - I think we exist more in the present."

And I said - because I didn't want him to feel defensive - we are in agreement - I said, "I know we do. I love it."

He gave me that look he had given me that pool playing night - that searching piercing look - trying to see into me. Then he stated, "You're lying."

I said, in the emphatic way that I have - "M. I am TOTALLY not lying."

It was important to me that he knew it. Because that living in the present thing is EXACTLY what I value in him - and what I need right now. I don't want it to be anything else.

He kept giving me that searching look - and then apparently was satisfied that I was telling the truth. He said, "Okay." Then he yelled, "So don't give me that We Don't Talk crap!"

And at that point, I believe he took my entire nose in his mouth. We were back to normal.

I said, "So what are you gonna do during detox?"

"Sleep."

The stopping of smoking is the most incomprehensible thing to him. Even more than the drinking. "I can't imagine not smoking, Sheila. It's gonna be so fucking hard." This detox is inherently temporary. I asked him if he had any desire to quit permanently. He said he did, but not now. He can't fathom life without cigarettes. He also knows, though, that he feels like hell most of the time.

A. said something to M. that gave me a chill. He said, "You realize, buddy, that we aren't gonna see 30."

M. balked at that and started talking feverishly about acupuncture and herbs and energy systems. He has the constitution of a 60 year old man. That's when A. said, "Herbs won't do it, Johnny Detox."

They're a scary crowd. On the edge. In their 20s. Reckless. Out of control. They love each other dearly - and deal with each other on a very honest level. But they rage. They rage. On the edge.

M. was going to go home and go to sleep, begin his Detox hell. He is crazy. But he is cute cute cute.

I am drawn to him in such a STRONG way. His face just kills me.

He told me about setting the money aside in his room for me. "I had to keep it separate from my other money - Like: This money is NOT MINE."

He said, "I told you I was good for it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you told me."

He gave me a massive hug which nearly cracked my ribs. He looks at me with friendliness and no fear. Maybe a little bit of confusion. But ultimately warm. He likes me.

He kissed me. His friend of the present moment. And then he went home to bed. And I caught a cab and went home. Drunker than I realized. I realized my drunkenness only when I got off the stool.

But it was a fun night.

Really fun. The touch of his fingers on my jaw bone. No pressure though. I'm, by nature, a hyper person. But I am comfortable with this non-hyper thing that we are inventing for ourselves. And so far, it's all been okay. I would not be surprised if more adventures were to come our way - but I also would not be surprised if I never saw him again.

Jan. to March 1995 Diary flotsam and jetsam

Quotes, snippets, fragments ... some of this I don't remember at all ... some is as vivid to me as a newsreel flickering of my own life before my own eyes ... I never go thru old journals - except the old high school ones for Diary Friday, but yesterday I went through some of them from this crazy 3-month period in Chicago (or, I should say - one of MANY crazy 3 month periods in Chicago) - I wasn't sure why I picked those particular journals out of the box, it was very random (seemingly) - but it soon became clear to me why those were the ones I chose to browse through. I was HOWLING with laughter at points, but ... there was other stuff, too. Quiet, memories, the whole thing coming back to me. Deep in thought these days. I've got stuff to do. (Ann - some of this stuff was just making me GUFFAW.)

Joe: "Member in Pulp Fiction --"
Ann: "No, see now, that was Sheila."

Ann: "Is that the one where your hair is different?"
Me: "No, that's your fantasy."

Me: "I'm just gonna be myself--"
Ann: "I think you should. Of course, if you need to be married ..."

Me: "I think M. knew he could show up and I would let him know I wanted him to be there --"
Ann: "Or you'd blatantly ignore him like that night at the Wrigleyside."

Fragments from M.'s improv show
"Thank you, Gore Vidal."

"Gash - Like a Wound - is offended."

"I wish I was a deformed midget.

1/13/95
Guess who crash-bang-boomed back into my life this week? M. We're quite a pair. I can't discuss the chemistry anymore (but of course I still will) - but it just exists. We're friends. M. is my friend. I really can see myself now paging him from a scary L platform somewhere and he'd come and save me. How do I BEGIN? Being with M. - after a year - is so familiar. It's like my maroon sweater or something. Oh, who KNOWS. I adore him. Like this is a surprise. It's a surprise to him, I think.

Mitchell: "Something has happened that I keep forgetting."

Me: "Isn't it great that M. is back in my life?"
Ann: "I think it's totally great, even though you know this is only going to lead to haikus and humidifiers."

Snippets from M.'s improv show
"I usually save an extra seat for the Narrator."

Roy, the Idiot Man-Child from the Service Station

"You're not even a zoologist!"

"Of course, we need to park on a street where there is a raging fire." - Me and Ann

Exchange between casting agent and M.
Casting agent: "The character is constantly getting into situations he needs to get out of. He's also a hopeless romantic. Do you think you can do that?"
M.: "I like acting."

M. to me, on that horrible night: "There are traction issues that you just can't understand."

Fragments - from M.'s improv show
"Leave some room, John!"

"I like working with pigs!"

"You're gonna have to wear an eyepatch!"

From Vindication:
I have not the constitution, the education, the ability to concentrate. I fear for my sanity sometimes. There are days when I am on the edge of tears. Sometimes I am so restless I do not know what to do. Sometimes I can talk all night, like King George, you know. I am too, too happy, and in the same day I can be sad beyond hope. Sometimes teaching the girls is all I can do. Sometimes I am magnificent at it. Sometimes I do not know what to do with myself, my hands, my eyes. I want to fling myself down on the grass, embrace it, thank it, each little stem of it. I want a beautiful blue dress, shimmery, the color of the ocean. I want to be the ocean and the clouds. No, not the clouds, that is too far away.

"Well, that will make you more three-dimensional." - Me (weaving a web of lies with Ann Marie)

"You sent the man 30 haikus. I don't think he'll mind if you come to a couple of his shows." - Ann

We were all talking about what our "type" was. I had just come back from a weekend with M. I said, "My type of guy punctuates each sentence with a shot of Rumpelmans."

Me to M.: "I have a kinder-whore appeal ... or at least so I've been told."

Joey, talking to the television, as we watched 30something: "These are nice people, Susannah. They want to like you because they love Garry."

I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass thru me

M.: "There came a point when I was - whatever, it was clear to my parents that I had to be having sex by that time - I was 23, whatever - and my mom said something to me like, 'Well, at least you're not having sex,' and I had to say, 'Mom. Look, I'm having sex.' and she said, 'I'm glad you're not having sex.' Total denial. She couldn't even hear what I was saying. I think my mom could walk in on me actually having sex, and she'd be like, 'I'm so glad you're studying!'"

From the party 12/10/94
"These Oreos are insanely delicious." - Joey

"You just never know what will happen with broccoli." - Me

"I just kicked a pig." - Ann

Heard simultaneously by Ann:
Me: (with a mouth full of food) "I have an eating disorder."
Mitchell: "I can honestly say I've never slept with ----- oh, wait --- yes, I have."

George and Ann, providing dialogue to an old movie, with the sound turned down:
George: "That's why your dancing frustrates me - because I can't move!"
Ann: "Well, don't you think I understand that? I mean, look at my eyebrows!"

Ann: "I was thinking about your life the other day ..."

2/20/95
Me: Hi, honey.
M.: Hi, spanky.

Jackie: "The symptoms of this disease are: trouble with social skills .... long legs ... developing breasts as a man - and small tightly formed gonads."

2/24/95
M. calls my house - Jackie picks up.
Jackie: "Hello. Tony's Pizza Palace."
M.: "I'd like a Sheila to go."
Jackie: "And what would you like on that?"
M.: "Nothing."

2/23/95
Me: "I have my period."
M.: "What else is new."

Me to M. (and I was dead serious): "It would totally not surprise me if I disappeared into a white slavery sex ring at some point."

Me to Mitchell (about M.): "Isn't he so sweet?"
Mitchell: "He is. He is sweet." Long pause. "He's a lunatic."

Mitchell: "The improv jam is pushing all my buttons."

Mitchell to me: "If you say 'improv jam' one more time, I'm going to scream at the top of my lungs."

2/26/95
Crying in M.'s arms - it was, God, 3 am? I said later, "Sorry for crying like such a werewolf." Not aware that werewolves were big criers. But anyway, I couldn't stop. It wasn't sadness, though. I had been so wound up for about a week, and then I relaxed with him, and started to cry, and then I couldn't stop. For about an hour. Poor man. I kept saying to him, "Don't be scared - the tears are good tears ... I'm happy ... I'm so happy ..." He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, he was holding me, and he said, drily, "I hope you don't mind if I just take your word for it that you're happy, okay? I mean, you're fucking crying ..." "I'm just happy, M, I'm happy ..." "Okay, okay, you're happy. Christ."

1/13/95
7 a.m. Jazz Bulls. The place closed its doors at 6 a.m. M. was working - so there was grey weird light seeping into the basement windows. Everything looked weird. Pre-dawn. It felt like we were the only 2 people on the earth. M. said, "You want some coffee before you go to work?" "You mean ... go out?" I didn't think there'd be time for that. He scoffed at the "out" question. "No - I can make you coffee here. You want some?" "God, yes." I hoisted myself up onto the bar and sat there as M made a pot of coffee. His pants were totally ripped by that loony Christine bitch. I loved watching him shuffle around dealing with filters and coffee and water. He was adorable. All the while we were talking about us. I told him how comfortable I felt with him. At one point I fell into a depression, having to go to work after being up all night. I said, "I can't believe I'm going to work right now."

He was standing with his back to me, pouring coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Just black. And strong. And please don't say 'You like it like you like your men' or whatever. Everyone says that."

He poured sugar and cream into his own coffee, handed me mine, which I began to devour (it didn't even make a dent in my exhaustion) and then stood there, stirring his own coffee. We were lost in our own thoughts. He was deep in contemplation. Turns out, it was about me - but I didn't guess that in that moment. He was just pondering me, perched on top of the counter, pale, sipping the coffee he made for me, in the dawn-lit bar where he works, half an hour away from having to go to my job.

He turned to stare at me, still stirring his coffee. He looked at me for a long time. Contemplatively. I didn't ask what he was looking at me like that for. I just looked back at him. Then he said - slowly - choosing his words - or, no - not choosing his words - M. doesn't really do that - but slowly, as though this idea had just occurred to him and surprised him: "You must really like me."

That is SUCH a funny moment if I really ponder it. I've known this guy for 3 years, and now he says, in a tone of awe, "You must really like me!" It was so sincere. I started laughing. "Of course I like you. What are you, a moron?" Laughing at him. "You didn't know that I like you?"

"Well - no - I mean, I know you like me. But, I mean, you must like me. You've gotten no sleep because of me, and you're about to go to work - I mean, there's not too many people I'd do that for." (He didn't say if he'd do it for me or not.) "I think it's rare."

I felt like I should say something, but I didn't know what to say. M. sensed that in me, because he said, quickly, reassuring, "No, I mean - it's cool - that you like me - I mean ... I guess I just didn't know." He went back into contemplative stirring-coffee mode.

"Well, now you know." I said.

We drank coffee, not talking, the air clear between us. Both of us thinking. About the other. He gets shy. Like he doesn't want to say too much, or ruin anything.

He said, looking down into his coffee, "I feel like there's not a word evolved enough for what we are."

Fragile moment. I didn't speak. I let it hover. He had more to say. I knew it. He said, "You have always struck me, from the very beginning as ... someone who ... wanted to different than what you are."

That was an ambiguous thing to say. I saw 2 possible interpretations - or, no, actually - now I see the 2 interpretations - but this is how I took it at the time: Sheila, you have been trying to be something you're not.

So I felt a little chilled by that. I pursued it. "What do you ..."

He meant what he had said - but it wasn't the negative interpretation that I put on it. He meant that: I'm not satisfied anymore with being unhappy, repressed, uptight - and I am determined to get over myself, and get better, push through these barriers I have up.

I did not know that he had perceived that from the beginning. I remember him saying to me on a tequila-soaked summer's eve, when I was all upset and weepy, "Your journey ... has just begun." He knew. How did he know?

He explained what he meant: "The first time we went out ... " (neither of us know how to define this whole damn thing - we have no words - there are not words evolved enough for what we are) "Well - I told you this - you were so - " (he stopped talking, and then kind of hugged his arms around himself, put his head down - to show how closed I was and uptight) "And I wasn't -- sure how to handle it ... I wasn't sure if you ..." (unfinished sentence, wincing expression, awkward, shy) "But then ... you kept ..." (stopped himself - and smiled - and I knew what he meant. I had kept calling him, kept making myself available - he didn't say it in a mean way. It's the truth.) I said, grinning, "I kept coming back for more, huh." "Well ... yeah ... so I figured ... Okay ... This person is ..." (all of this accompanied with those subtle facial expressions and hand gestures he does - we transcend words - the expression and the gesture he made conveyed my whole life: pushing through, frustrated, upset, sick of being upset ... wanting to be happy. He saw all that?) I nodded in agreement with his interpretation of me. He said, nearly unable to get it out - too awkward and vulnerable, "So ... it's kind of cool, Sheila ... to see how you have progressed. It's ..." He stopped. It's like I was inside of him. Like he could hear those words "how you have progressed" and to him they suddenly sounded patronizing. But no. They were not. I said, softly, "It is cool, M. It is cool."

Diary Friday

I didn't know what to write in honor of today, which is World AIDS Day. Alex, of course, cuts to the heart of the matter. And there's also this montage.

Two of my best friends have this disease. And I think of Joey, Michael ... those I knew who have passed ... young young people ...

I decided to post a diary entry from the summer of 1996.

I wanted to write something in honor of today, and I immediately thought of the summer of 1996, so I went digging for the journal to find it. I knew what the journal itself looked like (I'm crazy like that) - and found it in no time. It's a big old-fashioned ledger book. I read the entries I was looking for. And suddenly, the terror and the grief came flooding back. That was 10 years ago. TEN YEARS AGO. In those first few moments ... I thought that my best friend would die within the year. It was a death sentence. The thought was so wrenching that when I think of Alex - losing ALL of her friends - having to say goodbye to ALL of her friends ... I just don't know how one survives it. I mean, we do ... we all survive horrors, grief can be lived with, endured ... but my memory of those first moments remain (although I never think about them anymore). My best friend is still here. He is healthy. But he is HIV positive. But when I "got the call" in 1996, it was as though the clock suddenly sped up - sands racing through the hourglass - no time, no time left at all ...

This is in remembrance of all of those who have lost someone to this dread disease, this is in remembrance of all of those who have passed. This is also in honor of those who continue to fight the disease, those who live with it, those who walk side by side with it every day.

I am lucky. I am lucky that my two friends are still alive. That I can cherish every stinking moment that I have with them. I have been given that time. By modern medicine. Others were not so lucky.

Remember them today.

JULY 3 1996

Finally talked to my dear MJF. It's been way too long. We are constantly either exactly neck and neck or one step ahead of one another. I mean that - we talk - and it has been over a month since I saw him - and of course we did the whole catching up thing - but - we don't have to explain ourselves. I said one sentence about plannig the shower, and he knew every button it would push in me. Like: "Were you stressed about the cards?"

JULY 11, 1996

Words.

So sad. I can't even begin to express this.

It's odd - troubling - amusing - how used to looking for the drama I am - I act out uncertain moments in my head - to prepare -

It's a comfortable known place - the playacting

It's absurd what - comes up - surfaces - when death is involved

My thought process today - I mean it is absurd where my mind went and is still going. Then I catch myself. Look at yourself! I mean, I know I am in shock.

I can't realize it yet. It is like I am in a nightmare.

I forget and then remember again. Dash of cold water --

It's MJF.

I just can't - Or - I can ...

And I was at my desk today - doing my stupid job - thinking and thinking - in some sort of horrible dream - but - still - not really feeling it -

Then somewhere - it - smacked me on the side of the head - out of left field - I was gasping - and holding my heart -

and then it subsided -

leaving me cold and achey again.

I bought a ticket to Chicago forr 2 weeks from today.

JULY 24

Bought a ticket 2 weeks ago to Chicago on the1st - wave of this nightmare.

A waking nightmare.

But now - MJF is a part of this study - the Cocktail - he has been flown to NYC for a month - lots of drugs - it could save his life. It might not. He arrived yesterday.

And now I'm flying tomorrow to Chicago see MJF - only MJF's here in NYC.

JULY 26

I'm in Madison Wisconsin. It's all been a whirlwind. I spent yesterday morning with David and MJF in Hoboken.

MJF.

I saw MJF.

It's all still so freakish - and scary - I can't realize it somehow ...

I have a friend who has a terminal disease now - and - I must adjust. Seeing MJF is - so normal - we're so close - we would have moments of forgetfulness - and we would talk about other things - but then - in the pause that would follow, the virus would always reassert its presence. Jackie said to me, "It's in the room with us."

MJF looks very skinny to me - yet he looks strong. He is on a rigid and scary pill regimen. To skip any one of these pills, to forget - is to let the virus grab the reins. He was decribing to me the sense of urgency in this frantic pill-popping. He's bombarding the virus (and the rest of his body) - To stop is lethal. In my head I got a picture of the crazy whack-a-mole games. I said, "It's sort of like --" and I couldn't get the word out - I did one vague gesture - and MJF nodded and said, "Yeah. Whack a mole."

Beauty.

But he's scared. Terrified. I am too.

Out of nowhere he said, "Oh, Sheila. What have I done to myself?"

He has it.

He has it.

I just can't get used to it yet.

I feel that he is very blessed to be part of this study - maybe this virus can be regulated - Look at how far they have come in 5 years ... If he can hang on for 5 more - who knows what other advances will come ...

But the pills are making MJF sick.

It's horrible to see. I feel so hopeless. No, not hopeless. I feel helpless.

There was lots of hysterical laughing. We all were battling back terror and despair. We talked about this. I felt giddy.

I was walking up the flights of steps to David and Maria's - my heart was pounding. I was about to see MJF and how WEIRD it is that it is here in Hoboken and not in Chicago. What does that mean? Anything? It's got to mean something!

I got to the 2nd flight and I heard MJF's loud wonderful laugh - I love that laugh! - I had a feeling that some crazy tableau was waiting for me. I opened the door. David was standing right there - one arm up against the wall - in a sexy pose - hand on hip - TOTALLY NAKED - with his penis tucked beetween his legs so he looked like he had a vagina - and he said to me coquettishly (which was so grotesque), in a Cockney accent, "Tell me ... am I pretty?"

MJF was around the corner, unseen - and I heard his laugh - that shocked pleased MJF laugh - I tried to comprehend what was before me, could not do it, and turned and walked away. Causing much hilarity.

So there was that element to our time together.

And then there were moments when we'd all well up - or one of us would - There were lots of scared silences during which we'd reach out to touch each other. Silent comfort. We're all so scared.

MJF has mounds of pill bottles - and a chart so he can mark down what he's taken ...

It's so weird - creepy - to actually get used to it. I haven't really begun to do that yet. Except for those first days - I'm sort of blocking now. MJF and I talk a lot on the phone - about the Olympics, his shows, Jeremy - not just AIDS. I realize how good I am at making people laugh when things get heavy. I do that.

We would be having a very serious conversation - I remember one in particular - and then I made some crack - I couldn't help myself - and MJF and David were literally falling down with laughter, staggering about.

I'm not doing it to discount the seriousness. I'm not doing it because I'm uncomfortable with sadness - I'm doing it because I sense in my bones that we need to laugh. I respect that power of laughter. It's not really a conscious thing =- writing it down makes it conscious - but in the moment I just do it.

I mean, that bizarre humor was already inherent in the situation. ("Am I pretty?") David and MJF took me to the Newark Airport, sending me off to visit MJF in Chicago. I mean - WHAT???

It's surreal. I almost didn't want to go. Missing out on time with MJF. But MJF said, "Something's going to happen this weekend, Sheila."

We're all getting into mysticism here.

Trying desperately to MAKE SENSE of this.

God. God be with me.

AUG. 21, 1996

Hoboken. The feeling in the streets there. A nice wind. Wide sidewalks. Entrepreneurs. Walking towards my friends - could see Jim's walk clearly.

Meeting. Hugs. Maria looks beautiful. Just beautiful.

Restaurant. Red and white tablecloths. The kids - 2 such dif. babies - dominating attention. At one point, all kinds of conversation going on - Maria and Brooke involved in talking - while Emma had Maria's finger in her mouth and Brooke was dangling a toy in front of Mackenzie.

Brooke - cool and beautiful - long denim skirt, birkenstocks, pastel blue toenail polish, no makeup and a peach colored bandana. Fabulous. The 2 of us were awkwardly and hilariously rolling the stroller out of the restaurant and I said to her, "We look like an alternative lifestyles couple." 2 lesbians with their baby. She had been solicited earlier. Pulled over to a cab. "Want to make a little $?" Upset her. "Do I look like a prostitute?" With her baby, her bandana, her sandals ...??

Can't realize that MJF is leaving. The 2 of us ....

I will write him a letter. It is good to be together, yet at the same time it's like we're holding each other at bay right now. Death is between us. We even tried to admit to each other tonight. We hugged goodbye and I felt nothing. Cold as a stone.

Denial. So deep. I could barely appreciate him, so much else was going on ...

We are now forming a new friendship in a new landscape.

I made an awkward bumbling toast - to being together, to love, to health, to MJF - I wanted to try to break through my own banality. We haven't all been together since David and Maria's wedding. 1992. Years.

Maria's wonderful emotional approving "Yes, let's" smile across the table at me when I raised my glass -

Clink.

MJF ... I think he's afraid to go there. As I am. Before this whole study happened - there were those 2 or 3 days of - terror. God. It is all so surreal. How to talk about it. How to honor it. I have no idea.

I had brought Liz's angel cards. The ones she gave me. We each picked one.

Jim - Beauty
Me - Healing (God. And the Angel Card of last new Year's Eve: Openness - That prepared me. I have to be open in order to heal.)

MJF's was tres interasant: Obedience.

Wow. That brought a coldness over the table. None of us could really deal wtih it.

David - Courage

Maria - God, what did she get? Oh yes. Peace.

Brooke also got courage.

Interesting point: People took out their cards and were keeping them - when actually you sholud put the card right back into the pile.

So David picked Courage, passed the plate to Maria - she picked - and then passed it to Brooke - who glanced around the table - and anxiously said, "Everyone should put their cards back in! You sholudn't keep them!"

So we all put them back in, she shuffled them up - and she got Courage too. So - subconsciously - perhaps she knew what she needed.

I love all that. Helps me make sense of life. Helps me bear things. Helps me have joy.

We are all so exhausted. So scared.

Diary Friday

And here is an entry which completely proves the power of cinema. Especially "movies with meanings".

It also affirms the power of Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy in particular.

I'm 15 years old ... it's my summer vacation ... here we go!!

JULY 10

I haven't been doing ANYTHING! Yesterday all I did was watch TV. The Great Gatsby was on. [hahaha I don't know why that strikes me as funny. But I did love that movie. Strangely enough. I think it's kind of awful now. But anyhoo. I sat around on my summer vacation watching ... The Great Gatsby?] And my weekday schedule is sleep till about 10, and just laze around until 12:30 and then follows my great soap opera stretch. [Oh man. I must have been driving my parents crazy.] Ryan's Hope, All My Children (skip One Life to Live) and then General Hospital - and then I do my paper route. Yawn. Yes, it is boring. I have to get a job. [Yes, you do.]

But oh, I have to tell you about Thursday. First of all, I got my ears pierced. See, my mother drove Mere and I up to the big malls - the one with the escalators and fountains. [Sheila, you have been to that "big mall" a gazillion times. Why do you suddenly feel the need to describe it? Also, Rhode Islanders - especially southern Rhode Islanders - does this language not sound familiar and crack you up?? "The big malls"?? "The big malls up there in the city"!! As opposed to the rinky-dink little mall in our town with Waldenbooks, Weathervane, Zero Wampum, and Richie's House-a Bah-gnz to keep us occupied.] She also had to do some birthday shopping so she dropped me and Mere off at the cinema so we could see War Games. There was a total of 7 people in the theatre (including us). It was GREAT! No bratty noisy kids. We bought candy, etc., and the movie started.

[Okay, here comes the embarrassing part. It's kind of long.]

The movie is totally anti-nuclear war. And Matthew Broderick - I am sorry, I really am [ha, as though my crushes BURDEN my journal], but add another name to the long list of heart throbs. [See? Embarrassing. What ... the JOURNAL is gonna add the name to a list? Who ya talkin' to?] I know it gets monotonous but he really is an excellent actor. He won a Tony and he's like 21 years old!! He is really good. And he's cute too. He has sort of a baby face - huge eyes - wide mouth - God, he was so good! [Wild that this was way before Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Matthew Broderick wasn't yet a household name. ] So was his girlfriend. I am not sure of her name [Uhm. Ally Sheedy. Again, this is pre-Breakfast Club, and it is hard to imagine a world BEFORE Breakfast Club ... but here we are. Where I did not know Ally Sheedy's name.] - but I would have loved to play that part. I felt like I could relate to her. At the beginning she was just a silly giggly teenybopper and by the end she was sensitive and caring [So ... uhm ... the character had an ARC? Is that what you're trying to say?]

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE IT AGAIN! I can't go into the whole plot because it is massively confusing [Uhm. It is?] but by the end World War III is just about to be launched and they can't stop it because it's a stupid computer doing everything. So David Lightman (Matt) [Oh God. I am already shortening his name, as though I know him well enough to call him "Matt", not "Matthew".] tries to stop it by playing games with it to break the code. He starts to play Tic Tac Toe with it because an old strange professor said that WWIII would be like Tic Tac Toe - no winner. I mean, he's right. How can you win a nuclear war? You can't. (By the way, it drives me crazy when people say 'nucular'.) [And it still does. You won't even believe how MUCH it will end up driving you crazy, Sheila. Say, around 2002, 2003. You will shout at televisions, etc. ] So in this frenzied scene, the computer starts to zoom through trillions of combinations of Tic Tac Toe as it also plays out all the different turnouts of WWIII on its huge screens - the scene is crazy and sort of scary. And the last line in the movie is on the screen by the computer - Finally, the screens go blank and these words appear: I suggest another game. The only winning movie is ... not to play. Doesn't that give you shivers? God, it did me. If only people could think that way!! You can't just WIN a war like that. But I LOVE movies like that - with meanings. [hahahahahaha I'm sorry. Movies with meanings. I love myself here. I am so sincere.]

And Matthew Broderick did a really good job, I think. He was really impressive. I mean, half of the movie was computer talk, and him staring at a computer screen - and it could have been boring. I am glad they made it through the eyes of a kid. Somehow, it made the story less technical or something. And Matthew really held his own up against all those machines. [I actually think this is a rather astute observation. The majority of that movie is Broderick fiddling with computers. And yet he manages to convey an increasing sense of urgency, fear, vulnerability ... It could so easily have NOT been so, with an actor who wasn't so good.]

And - see - the movie could have been boring - but they put humanism in it. They put in the sub-plot of David and the girl and those two had some GREAT conversations. I think the most meaningful part was when the two of them were on this remote island with this eccentric old scientist who was a hermit. (He invented the big computer who played WWIII like a game). And the 2 of them went to find him to tell him he was the only one who could stop it. His house was cluttered with relics and dinosaur pictures and globes and all sorts of -- stuff. And to the kids dismay, he seems very blase about WWIII. And he says some things that really make you think, and make you scared. [This is pre-Berlin Wall falling - by the way: anniversary of that 2 days ago. Yip!! I know now that as I wrote this journal entry, the Soviet Imperium was cracking at the seams ... but I did not know that, and I was terrified of nuclear war, and terrified of a war between the Soviets and the US. NuCLEar war. I saw "The Day After". I read "On the Beach". I was freakin' scared. This movie totally tapped into those fears.] The scientist was saying stuff that scared me. Stuff like - I don't matter. Human beings don't matter. We don't matter. If the world blew up tomorrow, the sun would keep shining, the planets would keep going, no one would notice. In spite of this, I still, deep down, believe that things would change. So I don't agree. I think we do matter. Why, though? If we are stupid enough to destroy our world, the only world we have, then maybe we shouldn't matter. Maybe we should blow ourselves up, maybe we don't deserve to go on surviving. I don't know. I always push these thoughts out. Probably cause I'm too conceited. Like I think my life matters to the universe. We are all conceited. But it bothers me when I hear people say blase stuff like that - like the Professor was saying in the movie: "If we blew up tomorrow, it won't matter. Nature will just start over again ..." and the expressions on those two kids faces! I knew just how they felt!! Jennifer went, "But I'm only 17! I'm too young to die!" I may sound like a philosopher or it may sound like a bunch of crap - but I do think humans have a need to know they matter, that they have made their mark. I know I do. And if I thought the world was gonna blow up tomorrow - I don't know what I do! I haven't done anything to mean anything. It makes you realize how short a time we do have.

Well, I hope that if anyone is dumb enough to start WWIII, I'm either unaware of our immediate destruction so I won't go around dreading it, or old enough so I've lived my life and reached my goals, whatever they are. [Ah, Sheila. You are so young. "reached my goals". You say it so blithely, so easily.] That's what David said, in my favorite scene in the whole movie. They get frustrated with the Professor and left and start wandering around the island looking for a boat. But it's nighttime and they can't find a boat! So then Jennifer, who is an exercise freak, [as well as a raging anorexic, but that's another story] kicks off her shoes and says, "Come on! You want to try to swim for it? We can make it!" And David, who is now totally helpless, sighs, "It's gotta be 3 or 4 miles..." and she scoffs, "3 or 4 miles. Come on!!" And then he says, "I can't swim." She stares at him. "You live in Seattle and you can't swim" and David sinks down onto a log. "I always thought there'd be time." (God, what a line. Isn't it true of everyone?) Then there is this silence where Jennifer is frozen, just staring at him through the dark. Matthew was so good here. You could just feel his confusion - etc - he's all mized up. "I wish I didn't know about this. I wish I could just be asleep and then tomorrow would be the end ...." Can't you see? Isn't that true? If I knew it was coming, I think I'd kill myself before it happened. Just sitting around waiting to die would be hell on earth. I'd slit my wrists.

And he sits there, in tears almost, and she comes over and sits next to him and says cheerily, but softly, "You know, I was gonna be on TV this week." David looks up and stares at her. "Really?" "Yeah. Me and a couple of girls from my dance class were gonna do some aerobics." And then he grinned at her in his sweet way. "Wow! The movies!" She laughed. "No big deal. No one would have watched it anyway." Pause. David: "I would've." Shivers. Then he sort of took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Meanwhile, I am in the audience having a heart attack.

I pray I meet someone someday who is like a mixture of the conglomeration of men I have in my mind. [a mixture of the conglomeration?? And wait for it. Here comes the "the conglomeration". I truly hesitate to print this, because I open myself up for scorn - but here comes the list!!] Harrison Ford, James Dean, Matthew Broderick, John Stamos, JW, Lew S., Travis, Matt, Josh B. [Dear Rhode Island friends - let me know if you need any explanation for the Lew and the Josh ... although I think you will be able to guess.]

I am one desperate girl. I've never even kissed anybody. Will I have to wait for an impending nucular war to get a kiss? Oh well, I don't care. It's so much FUN and until I get bored of these crushes, I will keep having them. [Uhm. Uhm. Uhm. Uhm.]

But really, War Games was excellent. I KNOW Matthew Broderick will do more. He's on Broadway now - Brighton Beach Memoris - I hope - see every year Drama class goes to NYC for the weekend to see a play and I'm gonna push for that one. Even if the rest of the class goes to something else, I'm allowed to go to that one. I would die. I really really would. [I ended up not being able to wait for the Drama class trip in, say, December. I ended up being so on fire with the "Matt" Broderick thing - that I went down to NYC in August - stayed with my aunt Regina - and she got us tickets to go see it. It was heaven on earth. He was just as good as everyone was saying. He's even better live.]

To see him in person - acting - right in front of me! HELP!

I would love to act with him someday.

I love him I love him I love him

Diary Friday

I forgot it was Friday.

That tells you where MY mind has been.

Okay - I am picking this entry for one sentence alone. I still can barely type due to the laughter. It's when I start railing about Odysseus ... just so you know what I'm talking about.

This is from early on in my junior year.

There is MUCH to be embarrassed about here.

Well, first of all, just check out the first sentence.

Sept. 21

Sting is so intelligent. It blows me away. Okay - you know Oedipus? [Uhm ... not personally, no] In "King of Pain" there's a line "There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out..." Can you believe it?? [Yes, actually, I can believe it. I know YOU just discovered Oedipus - but pretty much everyone else on the planet already knows about him. Welcome to being educated!]

Today at school was good. We had auditions for Cinderella. I tried out for the Fairy Godmother. She's funny, she speaks in an Irish brogue, I love the way it feels rolling off my tongue. [Oh, do ya now?]

Mrs. Franco gave us a surprise in-class essay today: How is the theme of loyalty central to The Odyssey?

That is so easy. [Oh. The contempt for the ease of her question.] Loyalty is everywhere! Penelope, Telemakhos - not Odysseus. J. and I both hate the man. He is an arrogant dork who lies and sleeps with a nymph while his wife mourns and thinks that only he is trustworthy. YUK!

Yesterday we broke up into discussion groups to talk about Odysseus. I heard J. say, immediately, to her group across the room, "I have nothing to say but 'I hate Odysseus.'" HaHa! Homer!

Today in gym when we had to run through the tires my foot twisted and I fell. [Mere - you got a visual on that??] Now I can't even walk on it. I hope it's not strained.

Then I had to walk on stilts [Seriously, guys, I am DYING right now typing this out ... I can't breathe ... Oh ... you HAD to walk on stilts? What??] and DW [first mention of him in the diary, peeps!! Foreshadowing!] kept helping me get up but then I'd teeter and totter and wobble and fall off right onto him, holding onto his neck so I wouldn't kill his ankle again. [Normally, in high school gym, you play soccer. Or volleyball. Or basketball. We practiced stilt walking, apparently. I have no memory of this.]

Alex - whenever he walks by - April and I just look at each other, lips pressed together. [What a strange image. I know what I MEAN - because Alex was the notorious "hot guy" in the school ... but my response to hotness is to look at my friend and press my lips together? Mkay.] Today he strolled into gym in shorts and a T, hair sticking up, stud in his ear [ohmygod, he was so cool, right? So John Taylor!], books under his arm, black punk glasses [please don't say "punk"] and Sony Walkman [You knew the brand name?] in his ears. That is what I mean by cool. Alex is cool. What's more - he is gorgeous.

OK, Diary, brace yourself [I hate it when I talk directly to my diary, it's so embarrassing.] Actually, forget it. [WHAT? Tease.] It's past midnight and I'm sleepy.

Tomorrow's subject to remind me - Chris W.

Enough to tantalize you, huh? [Oh, please stop. Also, I NEVER get back to what I was going to say about Chris. Hahahaha I never mention it again. And now, my writing gets HUGE and sprawls across the page in a frenzy]

I CAN'T BELIEVE how much better I'm feeling. GOD CAN DO ANYTHING!

THANK YOU GOD for creating the glorious human race!

Diary Friday

I know. It's been a while.

It comes in waves - my desire to do the diary thing. I can't do it if I'm not in the mood - it's too exposing. I need to be in the mood for that kind of thing.

Okay, so here's one from my sophomore year in high school. It's mortifying (and fun) for me to share this.)

JANUARY 7

J. came home with me today. I cannot explain the fun. [And then I proceed to "explain the fun"]

17 says that a hearty laugh is equal to a 3-mile run. [And we all know that we must do whatever Seventeen magazine tells us!!] If that is so, then why am I not anorexic?

We watched GH [those initials should need no explanation] and almost cried when Noah hurt Tiffany. [hahahaha Noah!!!!]

We went up to my room and oddly enough we talked seriously for a long time. About prejudice and the Ku Klux Klan. [Like I said in the first paragraph - "I cannot explain the fun". The FUN of discussing the KKK!] I am terrified of those men. I have horrible nightmares and I hate them so much. How -- HOW can someone not like someone because - OF THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN!!! Or their religion? It is totally unfathomable to me. And it makes me so mad. I could never put the feelings into words. It really really scares me. [Still does, hon. Let's add "sexual orientation" onto that list - and we'll be completely up to date with my current-day feelings.]

We were called downstairs at 5:30 and I had 3 pieces of pizza!!! [Hence, the lack of anorexia] I am so ashamed.

We left right after for Tootsie.

Guess who was there? Mere, Beth, Michelle and Jayne! [Okay, now that is completely BIZARRE. That is exactly the grouping that got together last Saturday for Mere's black-belt graduation. Ah, continuity. How I love thee.] We all sat together. I think it was better the second time, because I knew what to expect - and none of the lines flew by me. When Bill Murray said, "You slut" - I swear, Mere and I were leaning over, holding our stomachs, and just LAUGHING. It was great.

When we got home, J. and I went into the den and - I revealed some deep secrets - and I could NOT believe that she did the same thing. I really must sound desperate but, at times, I do pretend that I have a boyfriend. When I'm alone, I act out imaginary scenes with him, and fights, and I turn on Barry Manilow music when we make up. [That is literally the funniest most embarrassing thing I have ever heard in my life.] I lie in bed and pretend that we've just made love. I swear, I am in need of a dildo. [I cannot BELIEVE I knew that word. ??????? I am shocked at myself.] We were laughing so hard though because we both do the SAME things and we never knew about it! I kept going, "I feel as if a great weight has been taken off my shoulders!" We compared stories and laughed endlessly because J. said, "Well, my purple pillow is my boyfriend," and I said, "Well, my backrest is really good cause it sort of has arms." We laughed about that for about 15 minutes. I tell you, I'm laughing now!!! J. kept saying it. "It sort of has arms!" I can't believe that I actually told someone my deep dark secret and found that she did it too. We were lying on the floor in the den, ROARING. But of course we both laugh silently. If anyone had listened at the door, they wouldn't have thought we were in there.

At 1:00, we were still up - so we watched a Barbra Streisand movie that was on: "Owl and the Pussycat."

And now, the sun is "spitting morning" into my face. BYE!

Diary Saturday

Presented without too much comment from me beforehand. This one is not high school. It's a memory that Michael and I touched on - a stupid memory, really, just a time we ran into each other at an audition and then at a show and how fun it was - and I knew I had written about it. I wanted to find this entry and I did (took me about 2 minutes of digging thru the ol' diary box) ... So I read the damn thing and it's an odd entry. It's inTENSE. I am on the cusp. I am making the moves to move from Chicago. I have set it in motion. But nothing has happened yet. But it's coming. I can sense it. I was recovering from this failed love affair with the Baby Boomer - but I wasn't recovering very well. I am amazed at how haunted I sound in this entry. And I would remain haunted by him for freakin' years. I finally stabbed his ghost in the damn heart about 5 years ago (hahaha) - and have made some peace with it. Writing this helped too. But I was a mess at the point of this diary entry. But meanwhile: I was hanging out on an almost constant basis with Window-Boy at this point - especially since I somehow sensed that my time in Chicago was coming to an end. He was so relaxing for me - or that's how I remember this time anyway - everything else was so crazy, but I could relax with HIM. Turns out there was a bit more darkness in the scenario which I had forgotten - but it comes back, reading this entry. I don't remember much of it, actually. Strange. Timing-wise - this diary entry is in May. Michael and I had dated in the autumn of the previous year, and then sort of drifted apart. Nothing bad happened, no falling out, just ... well. The death-mask debacle and other tragedies. So then in May - changes coming - weirdness with Window-Boy - missing Baby Boomer ... and I run into Michael.

This entry's intense. Not high school giddy silliness. Although much of it did make me laugh out loud. I'll refer to Baby Boomer as BB and Window-Boy as WB in the entry below. Lucky Michael gets to keep his own name.

MAY 15

I have FORCED myself to continue forward with my plans, even though I'm apathetic, a huge part of me doesn't want to leave Chicago AT ALL. A huge part of me wants, at least, to be near BB. [Ouch] I can't let it go. I can't. [Then, in the middle of this text, I have written - and I have NO IDEA what it means: "Hello you monkeys and lovers and lovebirds and shriners." Seriously - THAT LINE shows up right after "I can't let it go. I can't." hahahahahahs Shriners?? WHAT???] But I have to. Or, I certainly can't abandon my plans. I could not live with myself. I am already trying to prepare myself for the wrench of leaving. Also ... BB. It's done. It's over. But in my heart it is so not. I live for word of him. My heart beats faster. But - like a steamroller - I keep making plans, taking the steps, 1-2-3 - without even really thinking about it. Forcing myself. And now I am flying to NYC in June for the audition. I'll deal with the move when it happenns. Listen to how I talk about this - as though moving would be bad.

However, I think I am a pretty evolved person. I think my understanding of and feeling for the shades of grey in life is pretty deep. I understand how good and bad can be mixed. A "good" thing can happen and a really 'bad" thing can be attached to it. That's life. That's being an adult.

I have a problem with the word "happy" anyway. I always have. Happiness, for me, is encapsulated in a moment. Not meant to last. The first glimpse of the skyline as I run around a curve in the lake ... sitting in the sun on my front steps drinking coffee ... dancing on BB's feet in the hot darkness, his arms tight around me ... driving with Ann with the windows down singing the theme song to Greatest American Hero at the top of our lungs ...

Moments.

When I feel a burst of contentment ... Happy? I can see clearly (now the rain has gone ...) I don't say "I'm happy". I live in shades of grey, despite all the hyperbolic stances. So I am preparing myself for this wonderful move - and preparing myself for the grieving I will do. Grieving for my life here. But what's weird is - as of now - I am only thinking about the bad side of it. I can't get to the place of excitement, ambition - I don't feel it yet.

I just had a chilling thought.

5/15

[I'm not sure what's up with the dates. Looks like I put the pen down - because of my 'chilling thought' - went off, did something, and came back to the journal later. And I pick up the train of thought with these lovely 2 lines, full of positivity]

Capture my heart and then bite it in two.
I won't forget.

MAY 16

I had to put down the pen. It's too awful. The chilling thought I had was this. It just occurred to me: what if that is going to be my life from now on. Not being able to "get to" excitement, in any pure or unabashed way - but knowing I have to keep forcing myself to make plans, care about things ... force myself to go on living.

Once again, things shift so that the fantasy world is more potent and real than reality. Ann and I talked about that - the times in your life when your life is what you fantasize about.

"There were a couple of months when I couldn't even read books because they couldn't hold my interest like my own life could," said Ann.

She's right.

I cannot picture being in that state again.

I felt it briefly on that frozen day when I had 3 auditions in a row. I revelled in my own life on that day. I revelled in being myself.

I am being too dramatic. I am talking myself into a depression. There is no need to do that. My emotions need fluidity. I do not want to petrify. That is where bitterness comes in. Also, it will kill my acting. [Jesus. I do not write in my journal like this anymore. I am really working things out here in writing.]

When depression hits - I go with it. What the hell. I am really sad that this abyss is between me and BB. I am devastated that we did not get a chance to add a bit of light to the universe. And I am still overwhelmed by a feeling of wrongness. This is wrong wrong wrong. But mostly I just live with it. I bear it. Somedays I can't bear it. I don't judge myself.

This is why I cannot go to see his shows.

He blots out the sky for me. I get lost in his shadow.

A couple weeks ago I was called in to read for Suburbia - one of the hit shows in Chicago right now. The show is a smash and they're looking to extend it so they were reading for replacements. I would kill to play that role. Despite my huge problems with the script itself - I think I could make something fabulous out of that part. The audition was on a Saturday morning. I had kind of a weird day - full of serendipity. It was a grey day. Drizzly. I dressed totally Generation X for the audition. Plastic barettes, corduroys, etc. I walked to the Theatre Building - with Liz Phair blasting in my ears. Much wind. Light drizzle. Walked into the Theatre Building lobby and couldn't see clearly because it was dark after being outside. I sensed a group of waiting actors in one area, so I walked over there, my eyes adjusting. The first actual face I perceived was Michael's. He was sitting down, grinning up at me, wryly - waiting for me to see him. I remember the moment - I was walking with purpose - striding really - and then I saw him. There was that audition-going-on hush in the air so I didn't make a sound - but my heart leapt out of my chest at the sight of him. I have MISSED that boy. So as I circled aorund the row of chairs between us to get to him, I mouthed silently, "Oh my God!" - my quiet ecstatic reaction to seeing him. I haven't seen him in months. We've talked a couple times on the phone, we always say "Let's get together" but it never happens. I certainly don't want to get into a situation where just meeting for a coffee is a huge fucking ordeal. He knows where to find me if he wants me. We're friends. I think we could be great friends. We had a real connection - that is still apparent. We are not estranged. [hahahahaha What are you - feckin' Jane Austen???]

I wanted to dance and sing at the sight of him and I would have if we hadn't been in the cathedral atmosphere of an audition. We had to contain ourselves. He was happy to see me. He played it pretty cool, but I could tell. We were very in sync that whole day. He stood up to meet me and he actually looked kind of moved. It wasn't a simple "Hey, great to see you" - for him or for me. Something happened between us in Ithaca and we both recognized it. We had afabulous hug amidst all the actors on the floor, filling out forms. We were holding onto each other and he wouldn't let me go. He's Italian. So not Irish. We both were whispering into each other's ears, "It's so good to see you! Oh my God it's so good to see you!" We moved ourselves out of the group of actors so we wouldn't disturb anyone and we basically said "Hi!" ecstatically for 5 minutes. There's something about him that makes me laugh.

After we both auditioned - we hung out for a bit.

I said, "Did you watch our boy on the Oscars?" ("Our boy" means, of course, John Travolta.)

Oh, wait - before this - I said, "Oh! I'm in a show now." He immediately was so excited for me. I love actors. I love my actor friends. Everyone gets so excited for each other. He leapt on the news.

"Really? What?"

"Oh, Michael. It's a Bailiwick gay pride show and it's called Lesbian Bathhouse."

(It is so hard to tell people what I'm doing. "What show are you doing?" "Oh, it's a sweet little romantic comedy called Lesbian Bathhouse." I told WB - he actually just called me, story at 10 - [hahahahaha I'm so self-dramatic. Still am.] - anyway - I said to him, "It's called Lesbian Bathhouse." There was a pause, and then he said, "Lesbian Bathhouse? What. The. Fuck." That is generally the reaction.) But anyway, Michael and I laughed about Lesbian Bathhouse - and then he said, "I always knew you were gay" and I just BURST into laughter. First of all, I was so damn happy to see the boy I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Also - he just goes right back into our little drama - "I always knew you were gay". I love that he thought I was gay at first, and that held him back from making the first move. [I had forgotten this - but now I remember vividly. It's hilarious.]

Then - I brought up the Oscars and John Travolta. He said, "Of course I watched it."

"I was bummed he lost. How are you doing with it?" Kiddingly serious wiht him. [John Travolta was his childhood hero, basically]

He said, "Yes, he lost, but ... he looked cool though. Don't you think? Didn't he look cool?"

He is like Christian Slater in True Romance saying that he would fuck Elvis Presley - and only Elvis Presley - no other guy - but he would fuck Elvis. So anyway, as Michael spoke - he kind of became a 14 year old girl right in front of my eyes. He went off into Travolta Dream Land - he kind of stuck his hip out, stanidng there like Michelangelo's David, a little sexy flirtatious pose - and as he said, "He looked so cool" - he, without thinking about it, started playing with his nipples. [I AM HOWLING. He's reminding me of my crazy friend David.] Laughter just flowed out of me - unstoppable. I had to say it: "Michael, look at you. And you think I'm gay?" Michael said, "For Travolta, I'm gay."

[I can't stop laughing.]

Here's a serendipitous thing: the 2 of us were both wearing our Ithaca "uniforms". We basically wore the same clothes every day in Ithaca - comfort was key. I had on my flannel shirt which I bought in Ithaca - he had on the tan corduroy jacket [hahahahahaha] which will forever remind me of Ithaca. He slept in the damn thing, for God's sake. And he told me later - that that was the first time he had worn it in MONTHS [to the Suburbia audition]. It was the first spring-ish day - he put it on - and who does he run into but me. And I am wearing my flannel shirt, brown corduroys, and my plastic barrettes. I sat down to fill out my form, I glanced over at Michael, and he gestured at his jacket like, "Look what I am still wearing."

My audition went really well and they invited me to come see the show that night. They invited Michael too - so we had a date to go together and it was just what I needed. Because I was in a funk. The night before Jackie and I had gone to see some improv - and I don't remember why - but I left without saying good-bye to WB. [Surprise, surprise. I was always blatantly ignoring him, even though ... I didn't WANT TO. ] Why do I act so weird? I felt so weird about how I acted. He was talking with some people - but he totally knew I was there - we had talked before the show - and then - I just had an implosion and I left without saying goodbye to him. I reverted to my weird behavior. [Humorous side note: WB would come to meet up with me at some venue. I'd already be there with Mitchell and Ann. I would see WB come in and instead of running over to greet him happily - I would breezily pretend I didn't see him for about half an hour, until I could calm down. So ridiculous. But I was so into him and afraid that if he knew how much he would disappear. But the funniest thing is that during one of these times when I was ignoring him - Mitchell went over to talk to him. "Hey, WB, how you doing?" WB said, smiling, "I'm just waiting for Sheila to stop ignoring me. Should be about another 20 minutes." He had my number, boy. I am so lucky he put up with that shit. And he did. He understood. He didn't take it personally. Kind of amazing.]

Then - even weirder - I got home - I walked home thru the drizzly night and I felt so confused at my behavior. I suddenly, also, got this very desolate feeling - and I realized how - without WB - my romantic life would be at a standstill. He is it. If he goes and starts dating someone else - and I am not his girlfriend and I have never been his girlfriend - not really - then I'll be stuck. However, I am his friend and I should have at least said goodbye or good show or something. That was just plain rude. And my behavior freaked me out. Why am I freaking out? WB and I had really got into a nice groove (before the eve of the Gingerman) [that is hysterical - in my own little world, that statement "the eve of the Gingerman" makes total sense.] - but I hold back. He holds back.

It's probably for the best.

But I felt all itchy and edgy on that walk home. I felt sudden panic, too, when I entertained the thought of WB getting involved with someone else. I becamse super-conscious of how tenuous it all was - how nothing holds me and WB together - nothing. I mean, I have always known that, but I was very uncomfortable about it, suddenly. My heart sank at the thought of losing WB. Where would that leave me? He's all I've got - and what we've got is so transient - it has no weight at all. [Oh, oh. I speak with the 20/20 of hindsight. It most certainly DOES have weight. Things are not always what they seem, my dear.] Let me say one thing: this has been a very tough winter and spring for me. I have been lonely, sad, depressive - and WB has helped me a lot. He has gotten me thru - just by his presence. He has helped me bear the sadness - these have been the darkest hardest months for me - and I de-focused all of that all over him. [hahaha Lucky him.]

But then - after all that - I left without saying goodbye. So - weirdo that I am - I paged him when I got home and told him I loved his show, which I did, and that I was sorry I left without saying goodbye. He is a fearless giant onstage - he is one of the most exciting performers I have ever seen. I love to watch him just GO. But look at me: I see his show, I don't speak to him, and then I page him from 3 blocks away. I am crazy right now. I am not behaving in a rational manner. It is all BB's fault. I have lost my balance completely.

I went to bed that night - quite uneasy. I got this weird feeling. This weird doomed span-of-time feeling, as in: Maybe this will be my life. Maybe this is it. This peripheral relationship will be all I am capable of. This is it.

And then who do run into the next day? But Michael. A guy who got under my skin. A guy I could care about, and did care about. This guy who showed me I could care about someone else right after BB. It was a very significant experience for me. I was all "oh my heart is dead" and Michael randomly showed up and showed me my heart was not dead. [Ahem]

Bringing him coffee in the morning
Trivial Pursuit
Our first kiss - on the living room floor of the drug-addict gay guy they were staying with
Kissing under the waterfall
Breakfast all day long
Talk talk talk
Our fights on the sidewalk
Dancing with him - we loved to dance together
Standing on the porch at night, watching him walk off - the dark trees, leaf shadows, the quiet, the country sounds - assailed by the sweetness of life - my country boyfriend walking away
Falling into his eyeball
Driving around - Laurie driving, Pat up front, me and Michael in back, his head on my lap
The guttering candles at he and Pat's damp dark place - the sound of the river below - the shadows of the leaves
laughing HYSTERICALLY
Joe Daily and my cobalt blue bra [ohmigod ... I can't even get into this ... we actually laughed about this recently ... the landlord, the angry letter, and my random cobalt blue bra ... too much to discuss ... so funny though]
WINE TASTING MAGIC
The Haunt - my God - that name just popped into my head - I danced on a platform at The Haunt
Oh and that was the night that Laurie cried - she cried at the Haunt. Michael called it "random crying". He said, "I have no idea what's going on with you, Laurie. This is just random crying, as far as I'm concerned." Laurie called him a "goober" and a "wanker" because he did not validate her "random crying".

[I vaguely remember SOME of this. I do not remember our first kiss, or the gay drug addict. Did Pat and Michael stay at some other place before they moved to the dark damp place where the electricity kept going out? Was there some drama? No memory of it. I remember the waterfall. I do not remember dancing on a platform - although I do remember the 'random crying'. ]

So anyway - I ran into Michael that very next day - after my uneasy doom-filled night [again with the drama ... but like I said earlier: I was on the cusp of a HUGE change ... I knew it ... I was dealing with the repercussions of it ... even though it wasn't reality yet] - and we had a date for that night to go see Suburbia. It was the perfect medicine. Serendipity. WB doesn't have to be the only guy in my life.

But listen to this craziness - I walked home from the audition. It was about 5:30. I would meet Michael back at the theatre at 8 or whatever. So anyway, Mitchell told me, weeks ago, that he had run into WB on the Starbucks on Southport at 5:30 one random evening. The Starbucks is only one block out of my way and it is right across from WB's apartment - so I walked that way. I have no justification for that except that I am crazy and obsessive.

It was such a funny up and down day that way. The night before I was all anxious that WB had taken on a boyfriend role - so what do I do? I flee into the night, only to page him from my house. Freaked out at how he had become IT. But then ... who do I run into the next day? It was like: all of thse people in my life ... it's almost like I have created them. I have made them all up to serve certain personal purposes.

So I walked home via the Starbucks on the corner. Still buzzing from the encounter with my young-buck hot ex-boyfriend. I felt so good about it, and I felt good about my audition and how well it had gone. It had already been a great day and I was looking forward to going to see the show that night with Michael. He came out after his reading - I waited for him. He came over to where I was sitting and said, "I have to hug you again" and he just burrowed himself into me - it was so sweet. He hugs me like he means it.

What I liked about my behavior that day (as opposed to the day before when I blew WB off) was how open I was to him. I was happy to see him and I let him know. I felt young and unjaded. I lit up at the sight of him. All was okay. I need to strip myself of my layers of protection. They isolate me. I no longer want protection.

Hurt me - love me -- Life's too short to miss out on any of it.

And of course - as I walked by the Starbucks - I ran into WB. The whole day I felt like this sorceress. Like: "Hm. I feel like WB is the only man in my life and I don't like it. I wish I could run into someone who makes me realize that that is not true. POOF! Here's Michael. Hm. I feel very badly about leaving without saying goodbye to WB. I wish I could run into him so that I can make it up to him. POOF. Here's WB."

It was so funny. I was approraching Starbucks on the east side of the street - and then I see, rounding the NW corner of that intersection - a figure with familiar insane hair and a familiar technicolor coat [I AM LAUGHING OUT LOUD. "Go go go Joseph ... to the other window!"]. I didn't even have time to process the coincidence. After all, I basically knew I was going to run into him. Didn't I? It didn't surprise me at all.

I called out his name. The figure stopped and looked in mmy direction. He's so scruffy. He's a mole. He didn't see me - I saw him look - then give up and turn to go to his apartment. So I called out his name again, and this time waved and started towards him. He saw me. Cute smile. He's so cute and awkward. He stood there, gangly, untethered, waiting as I crossed the 2 streets to get to him. At one point, I felt goofy so I did a slow-mo run - and I could hear him start laughing.

He had gone out to order lunch. He had a jar of pink lemonade in one hand. He had clearly just woken up and was getting ready to go to work. We stood there and talked for about 5 minutes. I can't even really remember what we talked about. His show, I told him how good I think he is, I told him about my audition, he told me about his show, and that was it. He went his way, I went mine ... but that weird edgy feeling that had been palpitating around my heart was gone. I had made my peace with him. It was important to me. He means a lot to me. It's not his fault I'm leaving soon and having a nervous breakdown about it.

Michael and I had a great time that night at the show - there was a distinctly date-like aura over the evening, but we've been through so much together somehow that we are comfortable with all of that. It was great to be with him. Fun. We were giggling like teenagers. He was also ALL OVER ME at ALL TIMES. [hahahaha SO "not Irish"] I like him because he's unafraid, and also totally masculine. He's meaty and physical. I am not. I want to be - but whatever, instead I ignore WB and flee into the night. I'm so careful with myself physically - especially if I feel like I could ever be hurt by that person. But there was Michael, playing with my hair, untying my shoes [hahahaha], putting his arm around me - fun, playful, annoying me - not being careful with me. Not being careful with me. I appreciate that. We were sitting in the theatre and he took my arm in his hands and peerred closely at my fingers. "How're the warts?" [bwahahahahaha. When he met me - I had this freakin' awful outbreak on my poor fingers. I am convinced that it was because of the stress of this failed love affair with BB - everything in my body went haywire. I stopped sleeping, eating, my skin changed, and I had warts on my fingers. So there are pictures of Michael and me, in Ithaca, doing whatever - playing cards, reading, and you can see the band-aids on my fingers. Sad little Sheila, body freaking out.] Michael's all in my space. I like it. We flirted like maniacs - but because we've already basically had a relationship - there's a different feel to it. It feels safe. The currents run deeper.

As we walked to his car (he has a car!) - he kept hugging me and wrestling with me and whirling me around - I joked at one point, "Hey. Learn boundaries." That kind of pseudo-therapy talk always made Michael laugh so hard. He said, "Fuck you. I can't have boundaries with you." While he's pulling my hair, and grabbing me by my belt buckle, pulling me to him.

We had a ball during the show. We had issues with the production - and with the script - we both felt like we had done great in our auditions, so we had fun, in that bitchy actor way - whispering criticisms to each other. We talked at intermission, getting into it - and of course, all we were doing was telling the other one that they were MUCH better than the actual actor playing it on stage.

Oh, and he laughed openly at my plastic barrettes and called me a "kinder whore".

I feel pretty when I'm with him. Weird. I had that feeling with BB, too. BB made me feel like I was the inventor of beauty and mystery and sex. Like I was Cleopatra. It's not quite that intense with Michael - but when he looks at me - I just feel the appreciative imprint of his eyes. I feel seen. I wonder if I make him feel the same way. Or is all of this talk, as WB says, "a girl thing"?

Oh, and Michael calls me "dude" - the whole "dude" thing was an Ithaca phenomenon - and we all caught it. We all referred to each other as "dude". All of us. We said "Thanks, dude" to the cashier at Ben and Jerry's. Men, women, didn't matter - all were "dude". So he called me "dude" on the way back to the car - and I said, "Dude! God! I forgot about that!"

Oh, and out of the blue - in the lobby of the theatre - Michael said very hostilely, very confrontational, "So ... have you seen that 60 year old guy you were in love with?" [this is so so funny to me. Some things never change.]

Every time Michael references BB - he makes him older. So he's 60 now! I couldn't help but laugh - at the surly attitude, too.

I didn't ask him about his ex-girlfriend - although I wanted to. See? There's the main difference between me and him. I don't ask something if I might not like the answer. He asks. I want to be more like him. He's not passive-aggressive either. He's out there. Revealed.

But that, so far, was that. It's okay, though. I don't want another peripheral guy. I want a boyfriend. A companion.

BB and I recently talked a little bit - he's reading Mating now - on my recommendation - and I think that maybe that book plus my letter are the sources of the new look in his eyes recently. A deeper understanding. A kindness. A patience with me. An ability to deal. He doesn't try to jostle me into the way it used to be. We cannot go back.

I have this vision of myself coming back here. 5 years from now. 10 years from now. Whevener. And I can see myself going to see his show - sitting in the back - not letting him know that I'm out there - and I have this feeling - I just KNOW (it's more than just a feeling) that, whatever else may change, our connection won't. [Weird. I had no idea how right I would be.]

Quantum mechanics at work. 2 alternate separate yet very similar lives travelling along at the same moment. The Double Life of Veronique. We wil not see each other for years. And I can see me - 5 years from now - being really into a certain band, a new book - or, less obvious - I'll be experiencing a sudden random surge of interest in - oh, I don't know - Brigadoon - It doesn't even really matter what it is - and I know that the following will happen: I will be in a big Shenandoah phase, a big Seven Brides for Seven Brothers phase - and I'll sneak to the back of the club to see him play - and BB will reference Shenandoah, or Brigadoon, or he'll do a medley from 7 Brides - Whatever. I know that this will happen. [Yes. It will happen. Over. And over. And over. It happened last summer when I went to see one of his shows. I accept it now. Whatever. We're on the same trajectory - except they are parallel lines - we intersected briefly - but that was it. Now we're parallel] Even when we are separated by miles and years - the connection will remain.

Love never dies.

Not really. It's like matter. It cannot be destroyed.

A connection like that - when it happens - can't be erased. You can pretend it is erased - but that would be all it was: Pretense.

We will go on, totally separate, more and more separate every day, but that silver cable will remain.

Nothing gold can stay. Right?

Diary whatever

Okay - so this is a long entry. It is also a repeat. It is also not from high school. And today is not Friday.

This morning I found myself reading this entry (which I originally posted as a two-parter - due to its LENGTH) and literally SHAKING with laughter. I was wiping tears off of my face.

I don't know why it's so funny - it's just a silly Saturday night in Chicago - but for some reason, the way I wrote it continuously strikes me as a freakin' RIOT. It hurts - the laughter.

So I figured I'd post it again. Because it makes me happy. It also makes me glad I kept a journal. Because for the most part I am NOT glad that I keep a journal. Ghosts, you know. But with entries like this? That can come up out of the past and not just make me nostalgic or wistful - but make me HOWL?

This is from my time in Chicago. I

I also loved reading this this morning because Michael is coming to stay with me next week while he's in New York - it's been a couple of years since I saw him - so I was just GUFFAWING reading some of this stuff, in memory of his ridiculous and kind of crabby sense of humor. The LM Montgomery moment I am STILL laughing about. Seriously. I can't stop laughing. It's probably a "you had to be there" thing, but - man. I had forgotten about it - and just the way he said "Who is LM Montgomery" - with no preamble - he had just silently noticed that I had 200 of her books - and so he injected that into the conversation, in this overly calm but pissed way. Again - can't explain it - but I HOWLED this morning when I read it. I had no idea back then that he and I would remain friends. It kinda didn't seem to be going in that direction, did it - even though we obviously liked each other.

So here goes. A long long entry, which I've posted before, which does not take place in high school, which I am posting on a Thursday.

Ann Marie: Look out!! Gourd comin' at ya!

Also - very bizarre: Alex is one of my best friends now. This is the first time she appears in my journal - but just as someone I've heard of, through her reputation, and because Mitchell knew her. And now? We're thick as thieves. Weird - to see that I had NO IDEA that she and I would become such good friends.

She remembers the "crazy girl who sent the cumquat backstage", by the way. "Who is that insane person who just sent you a cumquat?" Uhm, that would be me. Your future friend. Nice to meet ya.

November

Yesterday was a weird epic day. A day that has brought perspective. Oxygen.

Last week, I would call Michael every half-hour, and he was never there. [HA!!!!! I mean, already it's comedic. I'm showing my own youth here as well.] Even at 12:30 at night. So I was basically like the Bride of Frankenstein. I was all about getting in touch with him. I had no perspective.

The next phase would have involved haikus - except he has no answering machine to leave them on. Shucks.

[Ed: Explanation here.]

I woke up early on Saturday. It was a miserable day. Pouring rain. Very windy. Leftovers of landlord's Halloween party still all over the front porch. Gourds and pumpkins and huge sheathes of corn husks. Melancholy. Autumn. Cozy. I made a pot of coffee, I was in longjohns, slippers, flannel shirt. I burned incense, turned on my Xmas lights - had cereal, strawberries. Sat on my bed with purring Samuel, reading Obabakoak, drinking coffee. [You were reading WHAT? Please don't throw around a word like Obabakoak casually.] Total solitude. Morning. Blustery storm outside. Warmth and comfort inside.

Michael called at 10:30 or so. [Ed: I had forgotten this, but he and I had had a date to go see "Mexican death masks" at a museum. It became a short-hand. "So after the death-masks..." "Okay, so we do death masks, then we grab some lunch..."] He had just woken up. He and his roommate needed to go meet with their landlord at a place on Belmont and Lincoln - near me - so I told him to call me when they were done and come over. I gave him directions.

I highly doubted he would make it to my place without a hitch.

A couple hours go by. He calls again. Clearly from a pay phone. He told me they were done at the landlords and would head over. They were only a 5 minute drive away.

Half an hour goes by. Mitchell comes home. Every car that goes by, I'm peering out my window, like a stupid high schooler waiting for her stupid prom date. Is that him yet? Is that him yet? I kept talking to him, via the drenched grey landscape. "Dude, it should not take this long."

The phone rings. I knew it would be him.

"Hello?" I said.

He clearly was no longer at a pay phone, and now he was speaking in a subversive undertone, as though he were a spy in enemy territory.

"I'm almost there," he said, and I BURST into laughter.

What was he doing - stopping on every corner to call? Okay, I'm 4 blocks away. Hi, it's me again. Now I'm 3 blocks away. I'm almost there. The call is now coming from inside the house.

It cracked me up.

I said, "WHAT is going on? Where are you?"

Then - still in the subversive spy voice, "I'll explain later."

So he was in some intriguing situation. I said, "Okay." We hung up.

15 minutes later, the phone rings. I didn't even say "Hello" this time. I just laughed directly into the receiver.

I had already given up my dream o' death masks. I just wanted him to ARRIVE.

So he had to whisper to me why he wasn't able to get there yet. He was stranded. I told him to ditch Dan and get the hell over to my apartment. NOW.

He said, "Well, just read - relax - I'll get there eventually."

Read? Does the Bride of Frankenstein read??

Half an hour later, he shows up at the door. He had brought me a roast beef sandwich from Arby's. It charmed me. It was an obvious bribe, a "Don't be mad" bribe, but it charmed me nonetheless. We sat. We talked. He makes me laugh.

He said, "I have got to get my haircut. I look like Albert Brooks."

He told me his whole long involved story of the morning. It was kind of boring. [hahahahahahahahahahaha] I showed him around my apartment. He inspected everything. Like a spy. We went in my room. He perused every item. He saw something I have on my wall, and stopped. He didn't say anything, just stopped and stared at it. 20 minutes later he said to me, "I don't think I've ever met another girl who is a John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands fan."

This amazed me. "Really??"

We lay on our backs on my bed, talking. Then he said, after a pause, "You're gonna be mad."

I knew immediately. Our death-masks trips was off. Our night at the movies was off. Our whole date was off. Turns out, he was going to see another play that night and he didn't invite me. This turned into an enormous argument.

Which then turned into a wrestling match. Literally. We were rolling around on my floor, wrestling - for REAL - I kept trying to pin him. He kept trying tp pin me. We knocked over a lamp. We had a blast. We took out all our aggressions. Mitchell must have been like, "Jesus, people, I'm trying to have a quiet morning..." Crashes - screams - emanating from my bedroom.

Finally, I got off him and said, "You're avoiding assimilating me into your life. And that's fine. Really it is. I just don't want you to PRETEND that you are not doing that. I want you to realize what you are doing."

He looked at me with this dawning realization on his face and said the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life. "Have I hurt your feelings over this past week?" It suddenly dawned on him. Then he said to himself, in dismay, "I'm hurting your feelings."

It takes men a while to realize I actually have feelings. I'm used to it, so I try to be patient with them.

I said, "Yeah. You were avoiding me all week. And PRETENDING like you weren't. Don't do that. Just be straight."

Michael said, "I need time to assimilate you." There was a long long pause and then he said, "You're not buying that one, aren't you?"

I told him I thought something else was going on. I was eager to invite him to do stuff. Impulsively. Not like some big thing. But in an impulsive friendly way. I hate having everything be a big deal - I'm an essentially casual girl. It's how I run my life.

"Hi - we're going to a movie at the Esquire - the 1 pm show - meet us there-"

"We're meeting up tonight at blah blah blah - want to join?"

Stuff like that. I want to include him in those little outings. He doesn't want to include me in his. But he's pretending like it's just LIFE that is intervening - like the whole rigmarole of him even arriving at my apartment - how it took him 3 hours to go a distance of 4 blocks. Something in him is resisting this relationship - and that's OKAY - I just need him to ADMIT it.

Before I kill him.

So anyway, we ended up having a good talk about it, after beating the crap out of each other on my bedroom floor.

He told me he has the tendency to ignore people he really cares about.

My response? "Wow, lucky me."

He doted on me in Ithaca. He would say, "Don't mind me. I'm just doting." "If my doting becomes annoying, just slap me." "Can I dote on you for, like, 2 seconds, and then I'll leave you alone?"

The doting ended when we crossed the Chicago county-line.

He was sorry, he felt bad, he doesn't want to hurt me, he apologized - etc. I was uninterested in all of that. I said, "Just don't ignore me. If you don't want to see me, tell me you don't want to see me. But don't ignore my phone calls. Don't do that to me."

"I won't."

It's weird. Nothing was a big deal in Ithaca, and everything is a big deal here. I don't like big deals. I want to show up on his doorstep with coffee, and not have it be a big deal. I want to have brief over-it phone conversations - "Okay, meet you there - bye" - not all this cloak and dagger stuff.

Also, when I said to him, "Well, I'm disappointed that you're canceling our date today" he FREAKED OUT. "I can't stand it! I can't stand it! Disappointment is WAY worse than anger!!"

This is what happens when you date a boy of 20 years of age.

I said, "Well - Jesus, I'm just telling you I'm disappointed. It's not some huge tragedy. I'm just disappointed. You want me to pretend I'm not? We had a date today. You're blowing me off."

He scowled.

Oh, such a funny thing happened too. We were hanging out in my room, talking, whatever - I still laugh when I think of this.

"I have a question for you," Michael said, in an ominously calm voice.

I waited.

He spoke. "Who is L.M. Montgomery?"

[Ed: That is so freakin' funny. I have about 50 L.M. Montgomery books, all lined up on my bookshelves. It was so funny the way he said it. No preamble. Also, like: it almost made him ANGRY.]

He asked me a lot of questions about "the Baby Boomer" [This was his scornful name for the guy I had been in love with before I met him.]. I dodged answering. But he kept pesetering. "What would you do if he called you up today and said, 'I'm wrong. I love you. Marry me.' What would you do?"

"He will never do that," I responded flatly. "It's over. He's gonna marry that girl." [He did.]

"I know! Just pretend. What if he did?"

He got all ominous and threatening about him. "Does he call you? Do you ever see him? Do you call him?"

I said, "No. No. No. No to all of that." He didn't believe me. But I was telling the truth.

Anyway, finally, he left. It was about 5 pm. I was pissed. I had made no plans for that night, because we had had a date, and now I was stuck. It was getting dark, rainy.

I walked him out to the porch, and as he walked down my street, I stood on my porch, calling after him, mocking, "WHOO-HOO! It's Saturday night!! It's Sheila's Saturday night - with roast beef sandwiches from Arby's! whoo-hoo! Look out! I don't know WHAT'S gonna happen!" I preyed on his guilt.

[8/31/2006 Note: I am noticing times overlapping here - layers of time - Less than a year later, he would show up at midnight to say goodbye to me on that very porch. I know this is a link-heavy post but whatever, here's another one. On that rainy day when Michael and I did NOT go to see the death masks - I had no idea that by that same time next year I would be fully ensconced in New York City, having completely uprooted my life in Chicago in August. No idea that that was even a possibility. And I had no idea that Michael would NOT come to my going-away dinner, OR to my going-away party - but that he WOULD show up, by himself, at midnight, the night before I left for a private good-bye. That was the kind of friendship we had. End 8/31/2006 Note]

But I can never hold a grudge with him. This is what separates me from the Bride of Frankenstein.

Anyway, I came back into my apartment, stood alone in my apartment for about 10 seconds, I felt kind of rattly, echoey - with this infinitesimal night stretching out ahead of me - so I picked up the phone and called Ann Marie.

Part I of my day ended. Part II beginning.

Ann, as it turns out, was sitting in her house having a parallel experience. Ann and I always end up having parallel experiences, even when our extenuating circumstances are very different. She is so great - she is immediately present. She jump-starts. I do that too. We never need catch-up time with one another.

She was totally confused at why I was calling her when I was supposed to be "doing death masks" with Michael.

"What happened?" she demanded.

And then, of course, we talked it out feverishly. Analyzed, discussed, theorized, hypothesized - picked that shit APART!! I wasn't in a rage or anything. The whole thing actually seems kind of comedic - but still, I am a bit disturbed. So we had a good old talk about it. And she told me about her circumstances as well. Antivenom. Etc. Very long story.

I said, "Let's do something! Want to do something?"

In a millisecond she was along for the ride.

We have been wanting for a while to go dancing at Whiskey River, a country-western bar, so we decided to do that and I suggested going to see the late-night show of Hamlet at Improv Olympic. Mitchell saw it when it first opened and said it was one of the funniest things he had ever seen in his life.

A bit of background. It's Hamlet, the musical.

Jeff Richmond, the pianist for all those improv shows, wrote it - it's a campy musical - like No No Nanette, or something - goofy and campy. Gertrude has a vamp number like "My Heart Belongs to Daddy', only it's entitled, "Mama is a Boy's Best Friend". It's a runaway hit, and doing really well. It's in the late night spot at the new Improv Olympic on Belmont. Alexandra Billings is playing Gertrude, and Mitchell says she is positively amazing. [So bizarre - I hadn't even met her at this point!!! It would be years and years before I met her. Before we did THIS together.] Alexandra makes entrances, as Gertrude, as though she is Bea Arthur or Helen Hayes or some Grande Dame of the American Theatre - and she completely pulls it off. She's getting extraordinary reviews.

While I was in Ithaca, I talked on the phone with Mitchell once and he told me that he had run into M. at Higgins one night.

[8/31/06 Note: At this point - I guess M. had started to date somebody else, pretty seriously, so obviously I wasn't seeing him anymore. By the way - the entire Triumvirate is in this post. Every single one of them. They always seem to go together even though they do not know each other and never did. They don't even know that they have me in common. So M. found a girlfriend and that was that in terms of us. I was fine with that. I obviously had found a boyfriend - even though he was 20 and it took him 3 hours to go 2 blocks - but I had also fell in love with someone before that - even though he was a Baby Boomer and I just don't want to talk about it anymore. In a short enough time, both M. and I were single again, and we kinda called each other like: "Hi. I'm single now. Are you? Yes? Me too. Okay. Good. Meet ya at Southport Lanes in half an hour. Let's go bowling and make out." End 8/31/06 Note]

M. One of the people in my life who is filled with dark magic. As a matter of fact, there is nobody else that has the same brand of dark magic for me as M. I do not know why this is true, because the man is utterly insane, but it most definitely is true.

So anyway, Mitchell told me about their exchange. Of course M. was, as Mitchell put it, "painfully awkward". Of course he was. I would be surprised if he were anything but - but also, there's that sweetness he has -

Other people see only his painful awkwardness. Many of them interpret it as contempt, or scorn. Like, he couldn't be bothered. Or he doesn't want to talk to them. These people could not be more wrong. They miss the sweetness underneath.

I honestly do not know if anyone else sees him quite the way I do.

Very strange. When people hear I was involved with him, they give me this look, this shocked look, like, "Really???" This baffles me, because - all I can see is his sweetness. I know he's weird and socially awkward and grumpy and crabby and bizarre - but what a joy he is, too!

Mitchell told me about his exchange with M. - (and now watch how I relate it as though I were there).

After the usual niceties were exchanged (and niceties with M. are always very painful, because he just seems to ENDURE them), Mitchell told M. that I was out of town doing a show. M. was awkwardly interested.

Anyway, as Mitchell relayed all of this to me, he said, "You know he's playing Claudius."

And no - I did not know that M. was now playing Claudius in Hamlet, the Musical. M.? singing and dancing? In a musical??? I could not stand the thought of it. it was positively too wonderful and too funny to contemplate.

"We have to see it," I said.

"I have to see M. do it," Mitchell said. "The other guy who played Claudis was this short fat troll-like guy - which was funny enough - having a troll be married to Alexandra Billings - but M. is so big and virile and handsome - it'll be interesting to see his take on it. also - to watch the dynamic between M. and Alexandra. I literally cannot imagine what that will be like."

Basically, I just want to see M. do a box step. I fear that I might laugh so hard I will split into a million pieces. Or that my heart will shatter onto the floor at the mere sight of M., the painfully awkward grumpy weirdo, doing a BOX STEP. It just makes me happy to think of it.

So Mitchell apparently said to M., "Hey, I hear you're in Hamlet! That is so great! I didn't know you could sing!"

This is my favorite part. In response to that, M. got kind of defensive and said, "I sing! ... I sing - like Sheila sings."

He gave Mitchell a frame of reference. Using my name. Which I think is just so comedic.

It was M.'s way of saying, "I'm not just Sheila's goof-ball friend - I have a good voice - like Sheila's..."

It was like when M. was trying to convince Mitchell that he was a valid member of his high school dance troupe.

[8/31/06 Note: I cannot tell you how hard I laugh now when I read that. I remember that night. It was a tequila-soaked night. Mitchell refused to believe that M., big strapping jock boy, had been in a dance troupe in high school. Refused. "M., you were not in a dance troupe. Come on!" So M. did a chassé, RIGHT AT Mitchell - very aggressively - like: "SEE? SEE ME CHASSÉ? Now you believe me?" We were in a crowded bar, too - Mitchell and I perched on bar stools, with M. suddenly doing this bad jazz combination right at us - See? I am crying with laughter right now. Later, Mitchell said to me, "I literally didn't know what to do. The man chasséd right in my face." End 8/31/06 Note]

So there are my background stories, and so Ann and I decided to go see Hamlet. It was an 11 pm show. I called for reservations. I was so DRIVEN to make something out of this evening which started out as a huge BUST.

And I had this very funny personal interlude with whoever was taking reservations. It was a guy = I didn't ask his name- I called, and told the voice I would like to reserve tickets.

He said, "Okay, hold on one sec. I've got the TV on too loud."

Er ... was the box office in someone's house?

Anyway, it could have ended there, but he sounded friendly, so I said, "What're you watching?"

And what followed was this hilarious conversation - and for some reason - it just gave me so much joy. We should have exchanged phone numbers. He just cracked me UP.

I said, "What're you watching?"

"That movie with Madonna and Harvey Keitel?"

"Oh, I heard that was very bad. How is it?"

"Yeah ... I know it got bad reviews - but it's really not that bad. A lot of it is very interesting, actually. Harvey Keitel plays a director, and it's cool to watch him, see what he might be like as a director - and through a lot of it, you can't tell what is real and what isn't."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah, it is," he said.

"I love Harvey Keitel. Have you seen Pulp Fiction?" [Ed: Wow - time travel moment!!.]

This guy on the other end was so forthcoming and so friendly - we talked openly about the ups and downs of Harvey Keitel's career.

Total strangers.

It was so funny, too, because Mitchell was sitting right there, and as far as he was concerned, I had just been calling the box office, and then I end up blithering with some person as though I have known him all my life. Mitchell was giving me such a funny look, like 'Who the hell are you talking to, Sheila?'

My new best friend and I got back to the Madonna/Harvey Keitel movie - and he actually said, "No, it's not bad at all. I really think you'd like it."

That was the funniest moment of this conversation. Like - he knows my taste in movies now.

He said, "I think the people who had problems with it were ..." and he hesitated. I could feel him trying to find the right words through the phone line.

I filled in the blank, taking a wild guess. "Shrill feminists?"

Apparently, that was the PERFECT term - I had put it for him perfectly! Also, he probably wanted to say something along the lines of "shrill feminists", but wouldn't ... because he was talking to a woman, a female ... He wouldn't just assume that I've got my own brand of political incorrectedness going on for myself. He was being polite, careful. Men and women can be too careful with one another, until we realize that we speak the same language. But there are all kinds of land mines that could explode, if you don't look out. And in that moment when he hesitated, he was looking out.

See how I analyze a phone conversation with a stranger?? But I know I'm right. That was EXACTLY what he went through in that pause.

But once I gave him the "all clear" sign, by saying "shrill feminists", he said, almost relieved, "Yes! Exactly. Exactly. Shrill feminists would definitely not dig this movie."

I don't know why this encounter gave me so much joy, but it did.

Finally I ordered my tickets. Then we hung up with cheery good-byes, happy our paths had crossed.

I don't know. If I had been in any danger of being in the doldrums before, because of the death-mask debacle, after talking to that box office guy I was out of danger. I love fortuitous out-of-the-blue moments like that, where you can randomly connect with another human being. They are gifts the day gives you.

I wish I could send him a card.

Ann and I went to Whiskey River and had a TOTAL BLAST.

Oh wait, I'm forgetting one absolutely insane thing. Before Ann arrived, I suddenly got the idea that I wanted to send M. a little good-luck gourd backstage. Some people send flowers. In this case, I preferred to send a gourd. As I mentioned before, our steps are covered in darling gourds, some all mottled and warty, some dark-green with orange bumps, some were smooth and orange, like little grenades.

I am insane.

So I went out and picked out a small orange grenade, I dried it all off - there was still a blustery rain storm going on - and wrote on it: "To M. - have a great show - From Sheila." I was pretty much laughing the entire time.

I put the gourd in a paper bag.

When Ann and I got out of the car to go into Whiskey River, I felt a tiny (insane) twinge of separation anxiety re: my sad little gourd in its bag, and what is so FUNNY and so WONDERFUL is that Ann could feel this without me even having to say anything (and how crazy am I to feel anxious about being away from a gourd) - but she looked at me for a second, felt my anxiety, and then said the craziest thing of the night, "Do you want me to crack the window?"

I know for certain that I will forget that she said that, and some day - years from now - I will re-read that, and burst into laughter.

We spent about 3 hours at Whiskey River. We sat at the bar, eating free food, wolfing down chicken wings - we were all about food - and consumption - guess we were hungry - that fucking roast beef sandwich hadn't filled me up - Once she and I started eating, all conversation stopped. It was pathetic. We both noticed it, and then of course had to exaggerate it for comic effect and do various goofy improvs. Like one of us would start to talk to the other, and the other would raise her hand imperiously and say something like, "Please. Not now." "Don't talk to me while I'm eating."

And then we danced. It was totally crowded, and we had a ball. It was so much fun, and just what I needed.

Who needs death masks.

We then left, and shrieked up towards Belmont. Parked. Walked. The place was already nearly full. I got all goofy and nervous about seeing M. Had a couple vertigoes. I gave my gourd in a bag to the girl in the box office.

"Please give this to M.," I said. What if she peeked inside??

"He's not here yet."

Then - I got completely paranoid. I imagined that she was looking at me in some kind of sinister perusal. I even leapt to the frightening possibility that this was his new girlfriend, helping out at the box office. I'm not chasing M. right now - of course I'm not -I love that he has a girlfriend, and I'm happy for him - but - she would probably be pissed if she knew his ex was sending him random gourds. [Ed: Uhm - yeah. I would be pissed if some ex-girlfriend was randomly sending my boyfriend gourds.]

I should be committed. I told Ann that I was afraid that the girl at the box office was maybe his girlfriend. She said, "I think you're insane."

[Ed: Laughing!!]

Then I admitted to her that EVEN STILL - even after all that has gone down - I have now known this man for 2 years - even still, I had this fear that he would get the gourd, look at my name, and it would take him a second to figure out who I was.

Ann said, "Oh, now that is really crazy."

No. You know what is really crazy? Sending a guy a GOURD in the first place.

At a couple of points, before the show began, Ann and I would suddenly burst into laughter at M. getting the gourd. Opening the paper bag in front of the rest of the cast.

"You gave him a gourd!!" Ann was hysterical.

And let me just say some things about the show: it was absolutely fantastic. An absolute blast. The script is unabashedly GOOFY, and it is exactly my sense of humor. Tom Lehrer-ish.

The lights go down after one scene. Lights come up. Hamlet comes onstage. Alone. The lights are dim. He comes down center stage. You know he is about to start the "To be or not to be" speech. He stands there for a second, looking out into the darkness contemplatively. He puts his arm up in a parody of Shakespearean acting, and begins, loudly: "To be - or not - to be -"

And then the doorbell rings, interrupting him.

And he keeps trying to get back to his soliloquy, and he keeps getting interrupted. It is goofy, and very funny.

Watching M. as Claudius, my boy filled with dark magic. I just have to say that it made me ridiculously happy to watch him dance around, singing and acting. I was goofily happy. He wore a colored cape. Which - I can't even describe how funny that is. He wore a crown. And he would do this completely obvious evil behavior, like winking at Gertrude over Hamlet's head, openly scheming, openly rolling his eyes.

He reminded me of Alan Rickman in Robin Hood. An over-the-top villain. Sneaking around like Bela Lugosi. The mere sight of his face makes me laugh. He also now has a sleazy little mustache and beard.

And yes, as he assured Mitchell, he "sings ... like Sheila sings ..." Hearing him harmonize, with that goofy campy music, was sheer liquid delight.

The audience laughed from pretty much start to finish. Our stomachs hurt.

Alexandra Billings BLEW OUR MINDS. She is a force of nature.

We waited after the show to say Hello.

I mean, I couldn't just leave after sending him a gourd like that.

We stood at the top of the aisle, where he wouldn't miss us. he came out from backstage, long-haired, jeans, cigarette dangling. He came towards us, but he was looking past us. Maybe he was looking for us. If he got the gourd, he knew we were out there.

[Ed: See, it's casually crazy sentences like that which absolutely crack me up. "If he got the gourd, he knew we were out there." What??]

I stuck my hand out in his line of vision to get his attention. He stopped - saw me. And any stupid STUPID fears I might have had completely dissolved with the expression on his face when he saw me.

Sheer joy.

I said, "Hi!" And then - the joy was on hold -for just one second - he said, with a strange stopped feeling, "Hi - hold on one second - Stay put. Don't move. I want you to meet my girlfriend. Last time you came to an improv show, she bitched me out for not introducing you."

She did?

Then he disappeared. I could hear him calling into the theatre, "Angie! Angie!" anyway, I had enough time to have a brief private pow-wow with Ann.

It went like this, rapid-fire dialogue, under the breath:

"Oh my God. He's getting Angie."

"Oh, God."

"How do I look? Be honest. Do I look okay?"

"Yes."

I was nervous to meet the girlfriend, and yet my heart felt like it had little wings beating. Little joyous wings. I can't really explain it. Somehow = M. and I - two dysfunctional strange people - got through to each other. I don't know how we did it, but we did. I also don't know why I keep doubting it. but I do.

So there he was - summoning Angie to come meet me. I heard him say to her, "Sheila's here - come meet Sheila."

I felt a wee bit ridiculous. Does she know about the gourd?

[Ed: Again, funny funny. I write that as though that is a normal thing to say.]

And here's the kicker: I am NOT in love with him. He may have the world's dark magic, but I am not in love with him. These feelings have nothing to do with love or anything like that. They just are. It's a one-of-a-kind relationships, that could never ever be duplicated. It's about fondness. Pure and simple. Mutual fondness. Punctuated by painful awkwardness. Unembattled affection, friendly, occasionally weird - no big deal.

So suddenly, there was Angie. And M. fled. I think it was all too much for him, and he needed to regroup. He is the most awkward man alive. And this? Having Angie meet me? The only other important woman in his life? I think M. would have spontaneously combusted, and she and I would have spent all our time trying to take care of him. It was good that he fled.

He dumped Angie into our laps, and then dashed away, with nary a word.

We all introduced ourselves, shook hands, nice nice nice, smile smile smile. Angie didn't seem- well, she was not a bitch, she was not mean - but I didn't feel kindred-spirit potential in her.

However, I cut her all the slack in the world, knowing what it feels like to be a threatened girlfriend. She wasn't prepared for my being there. So what was going through her mind? Like - does she think I'm stalking him, or trying to make trouble? If I were her, I would think that.

So I cut her a tremendous amount of slack.

She is very petite, tiny bones. Very pretty, wears a lot of makeup. Her eyelashes were so long and so black that they cast a shadow across her cheekbones, in a very pretty way. Her face is perfect porcelain. Her hair is auburn ringlets.

I was doing my best to just be as polite and as un-threatening as it is possible to be. It took a lot of concentration.

I don't think it would be possible for her to like me. I didn't want her to like me, and if I were in her shoes, I wouldn't have liked me. But I did want her to know I posed no threat, and I respect their relationship. (Gourds notwithstanding.)

M. had told me, last time I ran into him, that she had finally said to him, "Look ... if you need to still be friends with that girl ... I'm okay with that. Just don't hide it from me." That was what his whole: "Sheila's here!" moment was about. So I can tell that she is actually kind of a cool chick. She knows that she can't expect a man to be a blank slate.

But she had to assert her territory, and I completely let her. I let her run the show.

We did not have a conversation. She talked at us. Which was fine. Completely understandable. She yanked the conversation into her control by commenting on our names. "Oh my God - Such Irish Catholic names! It makes me afraid! Like I shouldn't cuss in front of you guys or something!"

Ann and I laughed - but it was forced - I felt forced, anyway. But it was okay. I understand territories. I understood her need to stake her claim. M. is her territory now. She needed to subtly let me know that.

We laughed obligingly and I said, "Dont' sweat it. We're fallen cherubs." Which perhaps was not the most appropriate thing to say, seeing as I was trying to be un-threatening and normal. [After sending someone a gourd?]

But it was okay, because she didn't really hear me.

"Is this your first time seeing the show?" she asked.

"Yes..." we both said, and she then told this very long story about M.'s opening night, and his problems with his costume and Ann and I listened and laughed where we should laugh and neither of us said a word. I may sound like I'm being a bitch here but I'm not. I do not begrudge her this at all. I probably would have acted the same way.

During her entire story, what I was REALLY hearing was her silent subtext, which was: "He's mine. He's mine now. He's mine now." Of course. I would have done the same thing. She kept using the words "my boyfriend". She never ever said his name. It was "my boyfriend, my boyfriend, my boyfriend..." Again, a territorial thing.

She was very dramatic. Smoking a cigarette, very glamorous, the shadows of her eyelashes, the pale pale skin.

At the end of her story, M. came back and joined us (having regrouped his awkward emotions in the bathroom. I relate.)

I felt that my job in this entire awkward exchange was to cut EVERYBODY slack. Let them be weird, awkward, hostile, strange - while I remained cool and gracious and friendly. I think, all in all, it worked.

He was sweet with her. Very protective. Obviously proud of her. It was heartwarming to see. Love sits well on him. It really does.

I did tell him I hated his mustache though and told him he looked like a sleaze-ball.

[Ed: Guys - I seriously cannot breathe right now. I am dying of laughter. I saw no contradiction, apparently, by saying that I was cutting everyone slack -and then turning around and telling him TO HIS FACE that he looked like a sleazeball. I can't breathe. I.]

Ann and I raved to him about the show. We told him our stomachs hurt from laughing. At one point, Angie walked away to talk to someone. And suddenly - spontaneously - wonderfully - M. put his arms around me and gave me this huge and (of course, what else) very awkward hug. We could never be anything but awkward in this situation, but it is the friendliest most okay awkwardness on the planet. We revel in the awkwardness.

I wasn't expecting him to hug me like that. We were never big huggers anyway. So I kind of awkwardly hugged him back, and I just could feel this gladness emanating off of him. Glad-ness to see me, and so happy to introduce me to his new girl. Closure. Or something.

Who would have ever thought ...

He asked me questions about Ithaca and the show I did.

At one point I said, "M.. You wearing a crown. I mean, come on. It's so funny."

I said to Mitchell later, "It is so weird. Because - essentially - the role he has played in my life has been quite peripheral."

Mitchell said, "Yeah. But also, at the same time, somehow profound."

Perfectly put. M. has been peripheral and yet somehow profound.

I said to him, "Oh hey, my CD should be coming out next month!" (Oh, it's my CD now?)

[Ed: The CD to which I refer was a duet I did with Pat McCurdy on this album. M. and I had been together when Pat wrote the song for me, and asked me to do it - so there was some background there.]

M. knew exactly what I was talking about - he lit up with interest.

"You're on it?"

"So I hear. So check your local Tower Records in December."

M. beamed at me with pride.

He then said, "Well. I should probably get going."

I reached out and touched his arm. "Great show, M.. It is so good to see you."

He said, at the same time, "Thanks for coming, Sheila. You too."

I said, "Please tell Angie we said good-bye, won't you?"

"I will, I will."

We were both strangely moved. I can't explain it. We were strangely moved.

We backed away, saying, "Bye!"

We are both the better for having had that exchange. For whatever reason. The whole thing. Meeting Angie. Maybe she can relax about me now. I hope so. I wish him the best. In all things.

But still. Sending him a gourd.

I certainly rescued my night from the death mask spiral. It was epic. I'm very happy. In a very goofy way.

Diary Friday

This is kind of a short one - wrapping up the entry from last week. I continue to blab on about the most Important Thing on the Planet: filling out my senior yearbook blurb.

January 13

My favorite songs are pretty self-explanatory. I think "Celebrate Life" is really called "Life is a Celebration" but I know what I mean. [Oh man - Betsy - member that song?? It was from the TV show "Fame". ] I also put The Hall of the Mountain King. [bwahahahahahaha]

My pet peeves speak for themselves. Instead of "authority abusers" I was tempted to write "Mr. Ameoba" - but in my mind those two are one and the same. I also put "Junior Year" down - I knew I was gonna write that even before my junior year ended. [Oooh. You're psychic, Sheila.]

For "Who do I want to be on a desert island with" I was gonna write "Band-Aid except for Bananarama" [holy crap - that's hysterical] - but that seemed to me a little bit kinky. 5,000,000 guys and ME?? [Uhm ... yes ... so what's the problem here?] So I wrote Matt Broderick [Matt. Not Matthew. Yeah.] He is my #1 most favorite actor living on this earth today.

For my goal - I wrote : To always remain aware - to always have ambition - to always look at the stars.

I don't know where that came from. I couldn't ever think of anything to put for my goal that didn't sound really trite and stupid. "To be an actress" "To get married" "To always succeed". No - how 'bout "To sound really stupid when I write down my goal"? Besides - to be an actress is what my life will be. It is too personal to me, it makes me feel too emotional to just write "La la la to be an actress la la la" I KNOW that that is my goal for what I'm going to do - but how I'm going to live - how do I want to LIVE my life? So I don't know where I wrote came from - I just said it - and I mean it - and that's about the only thing in my blurb that is real - I mean, the Sheila that I am deep down.

When I saw the words "Favorite Hero" there was no one else for me write except Jimmy. [No last name necessary apparently] He is. He is my Hero. My idol. My ideal. [Hon, he made 3 movies and then died. But ... okay. He's your hero. That's cool!!]

I loved writing my Favorite Hangout - I wrote "Bonnet Shores". A lot of kids put down stuff like "whereever the party is" - Yeah, nice life. [But ... didn't you party a lot at Bonnet Shores? Why so judgmental?]

Ever since Picnic, so many new things have entered myh life - new people, new places, new feelings, new experiences - I feel so much more alive and excited by life. If I had filled out my senior blurb last year, I don't think one of my answers would have been what I wrote down now. I didn't even know that those people existed, that 280 Bonnet Shores was even there - I'd never heard of the play Picnic - and now look at me! All of a sudden!

The hardest part of the blurb was filling out the will. Oh dear. I decided that when I sign all my friends yearbooks - that's when I'll tell them how much I love them. I only had a few lines for my will. I had to write really small as it is and I couldn't leave something to everyone I wanted to - like Stephanie or Keith or Laura -

It took me five drafts to get to my finished product. It was so funny how seriously we all took it.

I have such an awful cold. I look like Death. [Yes. I capitalized it] My nose is red and all chapped. My lips are so chapped that they crack when I smile. I have tan-grey shadows under my eyes and my right eye - maybe I have pink eye or something, but it's all bloodshot and glassy. So I'm a real beauty queen at this moment.

January 14

I am doing so bad this quarter. Oh my God. Except in English. I'm so scared. But I really don't care. As long as I pass. As long as I live through these last weeks. Ugh. I feel so dead and dreary. I can't breathe through my nose. I can't taste food. Why is everything so awful now? I feel so gross and miserable.

Something happened to me on Friday during school. It all started with that awful TS ordeal. [He was the guy I had been sort of dating - although I have no memory of the "awful ordeal" I reference here] It got me depressed. Then I got worse and worse during study - Sometimes I get so listless. Sometimes nothing seems to matter and everything seems so much bigger than we are. Life is so big. Right now, in my life, I have no enthusiasm for anything. I really do feel dead. I look like a corpse. I am getting terrible grades. My nose is stuffed up. I can't fuckin' breathe. I hate it at school. I hate that building. I hate high school so much. Right now, I feel nothing.

When I lovewd DW, part of the beauty of it was how much I felt. No matter what feeling I was having, it somehow assured me that I was alive. I mean, when I was totally miserable, at least I was feeling something. It was even a little joyous to have that misery because it was so intense. I'd never felt that much before. I was living.

I don't feel anything now.

I think Brett's birthday is this month. I've got to realize that I'm HUMAN - I can't help it. I miss him so much.

I love January and February because walking home from the library is so spectacular. I don't even mind the cold. It's all part of the freezing beauty of the sunset. On Saturday, I almost cried. I came outside. I had worked 12 to 5 in that stuffy library and this rush of cold air stung my cheeks. There's snow on the ground and - if I disregarded the stoplights and the paved road - I could completely imagine that I was back in time, in a little colonial town. The church spire across the street - I could see it through the treetops - which looked really dark against the sky. The sun had just set and the whole sky was a really deep blue. Then peeping through the trees behind the church was a flaming orange and crimson sunset - with thick heavy lavendar clouds. And the snow. And the cold. I stood on the steps. The white church glowed bluishly in the dusk, and way way up in the sky next to the steeple was the first glimmering white star. Seeing that star - I felt so full. I stood there staring, and sort of let myself feel a prayer, feel a wish.

On the walk home, I kept that star in view.

I love winter. I love the cold and the exploding sunsets. I feel such wonder.

I think I'd rather feel pain than nothing. I really would.

Today was so awful.

1st period - Math - got back a test - 68
2nd period - Physiology - got back a test - 66
3rd period - English - paper assigned for tomorrow - had to write an in-class intro today (yeah, I was really in the mood after my spectacularly wonderful morning)

Something feels really wrong. Nothing is moving me. I tried to cry when I got home from Phys Wrecks - I really felt like crying inside - but I couldn't. I just stared at my face in the mirror. Every study period I sit, head in my arms, TRYING to think - pray - find something that makes me happy - or sad.

I feel like I need to see Brett. Let him call. I need him now. I think about seeing him again, and my heart flutters - I feel shivery and strange - seeing his face - his real face - touching him, talking to him, being with him - I miss him. Maybe seeing him again will make me start feeling again. I have tears in my eyes. I miss him. I really need him to call me. He probably won't. But I ache for it anyway.

Look what I found today. I wrote this the day after my junior year ended. I totally forgot I had written this:

"When life overwhelms me -
When my entire existence revolves around a sterile brick building called High School -
When it begins to seem as though I am taking time out from school to go home -
When I start to convince myself that because I fail one quiz I am destined to be an apple seller -
And that because I didn't go to the Prom it's time to think about convents -
I wonder.
But then I remember -
End of EXAM WEEK Junior Year
Going to the beach at sunset
Dancing hysterically on the shore, jeans rolled up
While the sky explodes in the west -
And the silvery foam whirls around our toes -
We run madly on the sand
As darkness gently rains down.
The stars, and the tinsel moon, and the ocean reflecting
the liquid orange-gold-crimson
And us - my wonderful friends and I -
celebrating our freedom, our youth
The sky was so vast it overwhelmed me.
I am just on the threshold - OF WHAT?"

I wish I knew who I was. Oh yeah, I found out today: I got "Best Actress" (yippee). Is that who I am? I feel so dead today. I'm tired of everything.

Diary Friday

More Picnic! It's all a mish-mash here. I'm now in my second semester, senior year ... so high school is starting to wind down. This entry is all about the earth-shaking moment that is:

Filling out the blurb to go by your picture in the senior yearbook.

These are some of the most important choices you must make as a teenager. I obviously took it VERY seriously.

JANUARY 13

For the past few days my friends and I have been totally engrossed in filling out our seior blurbs. I can't believe how INTO it we all were. Wherever you looked in school was a senior diligently filling it out. J. and I had the best time doing ours together. We both did about 4 rough drafts. It was so hysterical. In some ways they were hard to fill out. I mean, that little blurb was supposed to represent me. I really wanted it to. I remember when I was an underclassman, poring over every senior blurb - practically memorizing each one. I couldn't help but keep in mind what people would think when they read mine. I kept crossing things out and it would get so messy that I'd have to get another form. Whenever any teacher would give free time, out would come the blurb sheets. We also voted for Senior Superlatives. They were almost harder than the blurbs because millions of names could fit in each one. As far as I can tell, I think I'm getting Best Actress. In fact, I bet it's unanimous. I mean, I'd be in the library, or the caf, and seniors I don't even know (who didn't know I was there) would be saying, "How do you spell Sheila?"

Here, for lack of anything better to do, I'll explain my senior blurb.

My nicknames: Chicago. [which is funny, since I ended up living there many years later] When we were either freshmen or sophomores, somehow Betsy and Mere and I dubbed Beth New York. We also gave ourselves city nicknames. Betsy was Boston, Mere was LA and I was Chicago. They would call me, "Hey, Windy!" or "Hey, you! Hi there, murder capital of the world!" Then I also put as a nickname Sheila Squealah - which is what TS calls me.

Miyako, April's Japanese student, can NOT pronounce my name - it's always "Shira" - J. thinks it's very funny so that's what she calls me now.

During Picnic, one of the jokes that evolved backstage generated from that horrifying movie Magic - really scary - where this marionette comes alive and talks. Liz would freak people out because she could make herself look like that marionette - huge bug eyes, false dead smile - and she'd say in this really raspy whispering voice, "Sheeeeeeeeeeeeila." It wouold make my skin crawl - especially when she did it backstage among the blackness of the curtains and I could see the whites of her eyes. I described it to everyone at school, and now- at spasmodic moments - one of us will assume the face and call someone's name -

"Meeeeeeeeeeeeeredith ..."
"Beeeeeeeeetsy"

It could be scary. J. really exaggerates it. And now she goes, "Shira ....... Shira ...."

I also put down "Millie" as my nickname. I really do answer to it. During rehearsal, on and offstage I was referred to as Millie. When we'd get notes, we'd all be our character names. Once Liz called me to tell me that Joe was coming to get me to come up and see her play. I answered the phone. She said, "Is Millie there? This is her mother speaking." I have a feeling that she would have said that regardless of who answered. Once my mother answsered the phone, and she was saying, "Who do you want? Billy?" I tried to lunge for the phone. "It's for me! They want Millie!" It turned out to be a wrong number and I was quite laughed at by my family.

My favorite quote I found on a little ripped-up calendar under the desk at the library. I was trying to calculate how much someone owed and was counting the days and I read it and I felt my throat clog up, my eyes filmed over - I reached for a pencil and a piece of scrap paper. I love that quote.

Another quote was from our movie (the movie) The Troubled Days and Nights of Husbands, Wives, Lovers and Children in Hope and Despair (which, by the way, is now 4 parts long - over 2 hours long.) We just filmed part 4 over Christmas vacation. And - as the cleaver murderess Andrea - there's one moment when I'm looking straight into the camera and - I don't know what word can describe it - I'm sort of cackling - but it doesn't sound like a witch. It sounds like a deep gutteral "Hm Hm Hm" - it is one of the most hysterical things I've ever done - and I say it all the time now.

Another quote I put down is one of my numerous favorite lines from my FAVORITE movie What's Up Doc. Mere, J and I can recite that movie.

"I am Hugh."
"You are me?"
"No. I am Hugh."
"Stop saying that! Make him stop saying that!"
______

"That's a person named Eunice?"
________

"You are not going to say, 'Hi, my name is Howard.' Anyone can say that! Anyone!"
"Anyone named Howard."
_______________

"They broke into my home."
"That's breaking and entering."
"And they brought her with them forcibly!"
"That's kidnapping."
"They tried to molest me."
Long pause.
"That's unbelievable."

I suppose my favorite foods are self-explanatory. Every year I buy two huge onion bagels from Penn Station with so much cream cheese that it oozes off the side. Every bite is wonderful. The place is a really scummy place, but those bagels! Also, every time Mummy Gina visits she makes her sticky cinnamon rolls. Oh my God. I could eat 5,000,000 of those delectable things. And I could also live on Chicken McNuggets.

Of course - my diaries are my favorite objects. I'm on #9 now. [wow. I'm only 9 diaries in???] I don't know why I write so much or so faithfully. I think partly so I can try to make sense of the feelings I have, or try to discover what the feelings are. If my diaries were ever lost I'd feel like a big chunk of my life was missing. One of the funniest things to do is to read my old diaries. Who was I?? I read things that I wrote a long time ago that sound so stupid to me now. About sex: "No way am I ready. Past making out? Forget it. Even in college I don't think I'll be ready. But I refuse to go through my whole life a virgin, okay? If I really love someone - and if there is no pressure involved - and both of us know that it's right, then maybe I would consider having sex. In my late 20s or so I am pretty sure that I will be ready. That sounds normal, huh?" Did I actually write those juvenile things? I did not know WHAT I was talking about!

My cleaver from the movie is also one of my favorite objects. There is one point in Part II when I do a mad dance with a cleaver to "Hall of the Mountain King". When we were watching this part, Mere glanced at me and said, "Sheila, why am I friends with you?" [hahahahahahahahahahaha] But I also do little drawings of cleavers - as symbols for frustrating and anger. Through my junior year, little cleavers were sprinkled ALL OVER my notebook margins. [Okay, that sounds scary]

I've already explained about my dark glasses and how I love them. [Get ready for some wardrobe talk now. MORTIFYING!] Whenever I wear my jeans jacket, I hook one of boughs into a button hole - I love feeling cool. [If you love feeling cool, then I would not hook my sunglasses into my jeans jacket. Just a tip.] When we all went roller skating, I wore my huge blazer, my Hawaiian shirt, and my jeans - I also wore my dark glasses. I bring them everywhere. [Hon ... they're sunglasses. What is the big deal. They cost 5 bucks at CVS. Calm down.] Roller skating was heaven by the way - HEAVEN!! "Old Time Rock and Roll" came on [I almost don't want to type out this next part it's so embarrassing] - and - I felt so ... something about whizzing along on roller skates - I just felt so exuberant - dancing - music - and when that song came on - I whipped out my glasses and put them on. [AHHHHHH I'M SO EMBARRASSED] I couldn't stand how COOL I felt bopping along. Brett went zooming up to tell Joe to look at me - and I could hear Brett saying, "Look at her! She's hot! Sheila is HOT." [hmmmmmm!!!] I felt it too - I guess I felt hot that night. I really liked David too. [the birthday boy from yesterday!!] We skated hand in hand for about half an hour - kidding around, trying to go backwards. He is so sweet.

Now I have to tell a story that I never told because I never had time. I never told about my birthday. My birthday this year was the best birthday I've ever had. First of all, I'm 17 now. It's a cool age to be. I can see dirty movies now! [hahahahahahaha what???] The whole day was so perfect. I had an inkling that Picnic people were gonna do something. They all knew it was my birthday. The night before, Brett drove me, Liz and Joe home. Joe and I were in the back, Brett and Liz in front. Right before Liz got out at her sorority, she said to Brett, "Are you doing anything tomorrow around 3:00?" He said no. She leaned over and whispered something to him. He nodded, glancing back at me, "Okay." Joe and I were yelling, "HEY! No fair!" I just had this feeling, though ...

My family got up an hour early to give me my presents. i've never appreciated my birthday like I did this year. We were into dress rehearsals. My life was a whirlwind. Opening Night was 2 days awya. I was SO happy and full and excited and living in a flurry. Perfect time to turn 17.

I got wonderful presents - and I got black corduroy pedal pushers that are now my favorite article of clothing. Siobhan made me a card - that - well. Only little kids can touch me that way. It's SO CUTE. And -

I GOT A STEREO!

It was such a wonderful warm birthday. I felt sincerely happy.

Then I went to school. I was feeling everything so strongly. My life was so full. I got a hug from everyone. The first person I saw was April. She made m e 3 little origami birds - she knows I love origami. [I do?] Kate gave me this really special book called Markings by Dag Hammerskold. I haven't really read it yet. It's not a cover to cover kind of book. It's the diary of a man and about his spiritual life. I just open it up sometimes and see what it can tell me.

"But at some moment I did answer Yes to Someone - or Something - and from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore, my life, in self-surrender, had a goal."
"What I ask for is absurd: that life shall have a meaning.
What I strive for is impossible: that my life shall acquire a meaning."

One of my favorite passages:

"Never measure the height of a mountain until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was."

Do you see what a high I am operating on at all times? [Yes. I do. Take it down a notch. Thanks.]

Betsy made me a key chain [that I adored and had for years until it literally fell apart] - with a collage on it - a picture of the barn, a picture of a red rose, a picture of James Dean, my face from the freshman toga picture, a picture of me on my retreat, a picture of Betsy - she always makes her presents. And she gave me a card - I read it alone and it is precious.

Beth gave me a certificate guaranteeing me dinner with Beth at the restaurant of my choice. Hey - I still haven't taken her up on that! I feel so close to her.

J. didn't give me my present till that library party Opening Night. It was a pink glass bead necklace and I LOVE IT.

They all put birthday and Break a leg announcements on for me - I felt so loved and special and happy. And I had a dress rehearsal that night. My first real dress rehearsal. I was nervous and sick inside.

So I came up to the theatre - totally forgetting to anticipate that something was gonna happen for my brithday. I came into the lobby and signed in. That was when jennifer came up to me with a letter from Michelle - it touched me SO MUCH that she remembered! It just blew me away. I stood there alone in the lobby talking to myself, "Oh, this is so sweet ... thank you so much ..." I walked down the hall to the girls dressing room and just as I walked past the guys dressing room door, Brett came hurtling out looking around frantically. Then he saw me and SHOUTED, "HEY! Happy Birthday!" and swung me up in a huge tight hug. Then he dragged me into the dressing room. Liz and Joe sat there waiting - they saw me and burst into song. Brett kept his arm around me. Liz presented me with a wrapped package and an envelope. I was so moved, so touched. As they sang, I just stood there saying, "Oh, you guys - " holding my present, beaming at them. I love them all DEARLY.

I opened the envelope first. I burst out laughing. It was a picture of a marionette with an eerie grin on his face. Inside it said, "Happy birthday, Dummy" - and they wrote under "dummy" my ame.

I felt so honored and special and thankful. Just that I was there - that my life was the way it was. I felt a little bit of trepidation in opening the present because the box looked rather suspicious. I thought that it was gonna be a dousche, or condoms - or something embarrassing. I could feel myself trying to think up a reaction before I even opened it. I opened it - and the minute I saw the words on the box - I burst out laughing. It said: THE SPERM BANK. Total mass hysteria broke loose. They all yelled, "Open it!" So I did.

Diary, it is a big hollow white china sperm - with a slot in the top so it is, indeed, a sperm "bank". It now holds an honored position on the top shelf of my bookcase.

Then Brett said, "Hey, did you sign in?"

I n odded. They all glanced at each other. Brett said, "You did?" I nodded. Brett pushed me towards the door. "Well, go and sign in again." I didn't know what he was talkig about - the 4 of us went back to the lobby and I peered at the sign-in sheet to see if my check was there. Yes - there it was. Then I glanced up - and tacked up over the sign-in sheet - was a HUGE sign - I felt this jolt inside - it said HAPPY BIRTHDAY - in huge round gold and silver letters - and SHEILA O'MALLEY in block red and blue letters. Then there was a 17 in block numbers - and on the top was written in purple, "And you KNOW what you can do!" (That line was my main stumbling block in the play). Brett made the sign - I LOVE IT SO MUCH. If the house was burning down, I would grab that sign. I adore it. It's hanging on the wall right above my sperm bank. I hugged everyone, Joanna came running in - she remembered too - gave me a big tight hug. PERFECT BIRTHDAY. My best one yet. Brett told me a few nights later at Giro's: "When we went shopping for your birthday I saw this thing that I was gonna get you - I don't know why - a big James Dean poster - it just seemed like a thing you'd like." "Brett - I am obsessed with that guy. How did you know?"

Anyway, that's a long story to explain why "sperm bank" is listed as one of my favorite objects in my senior blurb.

Oh - and under Favorite Person - I just put "all my friends" - also Don Juan - which is a whole other story. I am glad I can somehow incorporate these Picnic stories in. Okay - there was a party at Brett and Joe's on November 16 and I was gonna sleep over. Eventually I didn't but it was a good time - only Picnic people - it was really quiet and intimate. These people are all so into ghost stories that it isn't even funny. Apparently our theatre has its own ghost - George. Everything bad is blamed on him. They told a lot of weird true stories about things that happened to them. For atmosphere, we turned off all the lights and lit one candle so it was really creepy. Jennifer is so cute - she's so free with her emotions. Someone would be telling a ghost story and you could hear her moaning, "Oh my gosh" in the corner. After that, we turned on the lights and played Dr. Shrink. What it is is - we sat in a circle. Someone started, like, "If Linda were a food, what food would she be?" Everyone writes down their answers and passes it in to the person who asked the question. Then the person reads them aloud and you have to guess who wrote it. As you can imagine, it got pretty personal.

Liz's question was, "If you were an alcoholic drink, what drink would you be?" I groaned. I have NO idea! So she changed it to any drink. "And anyone who says lemonade is in big trouble." I wrote down, "A glass of damn milk, okay?" which ended up bringing the house down.

Lenny said, "If there were a movie made about Brett's life - no - no - If there were a movie made about Brett's sex life - what would it be called?" When he said that, I almost dropped out of that round. I have NO idea - it feels so personal - I had no idea what to say. Everyone was around me, giggling as they wrote down their answers. Bretet just sat there grinning resignedly. "Okay. Okay. I can take it." I didn't want to make too big a deal over how lost I felt. So I fianlly just scribbled something down and passed it in. When Lenny started to read the answers out loud - oh my God, it was so hysterical.

Jennifer's was 'The Big Chill' - that was the #1 favorite answer
Liz wrote (a line from Picnic) "Beggars can't be chooser"
There were bursts of hysteria at every answer - and as Lenny kept reading I realized that mine was like the only semi-nice one. I wanted to sink through the floor. I wanted to somehow subtly disappear and take my answer with me. [hahahahahaha] I sat in agony. Waiting. Then Lenny came to mine - he read it to himself and then said, "Okay - who wrote Don Juan?" Everyone started screeching with laughter - the blush crept up my cheeks - I got totally hot in the face - my big huge smile gave me away - I sort of raised my hand - Brett shouted, "THANK YOU! OH! THANK YOU!" and practically attacked me. He had really been ragged on for about 5 minutes. I was so glad that it all turned out okay and I didn't hate myself for writing Don Juan anymore.

And that's why I put Don Juan as one of my favorite people. [Sheila, you do realize that by saying a 'sperm bank' is your favorite object and that 'Don Juan' is your favorite person - you may be giving people an incorrect impression of you???]

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
Part 20Closing Night party - part 1
Part 21 Closing Night party - part 2
Part 22 Brett and I go see 2010 - part 1

Diary Friday

Here's the continuing story of Brett and I going out to see 2010 - which was obviously the most earth-shaking night in all of human history. There are still many Picnic stories to tell - and eventually I get to them all. It's just that real life, present life, takes over. I'm going chronologically - this is how my diary reads. It is not a literal document. It is not a narrative meant for an audience. It's a diary.

And Brett - when you read this - get ready for some MAJOR praise.

This is incredibly long.

JANUARY 5

I was just listening to my Jackson Browe tape - which means more to me than anyone ever knows. [hahahahahahahahahahaha] Especially Holy On/Hold Out. Oh, dear Lord.

Liz brought her tape one night to listen to as we did our makeup for the show. (I never wore any. Because of how I blush. Kimber told me not to wear stage makeup.) I always just sat around in my costume watching everyone else. It took me 2 seconds to get into my costume - plaid man's shirt, rolled-up jeans, bobby socks, ripped sneakers. [First picture here] Actually, it wasn't a costume. [hahahaha] So anyway, everyone would be doing makeup, etc. and Liz turned on this tape. (My mirror was next to hers). She told me she'd seen them in concert. She said, "You guys - you've got to hear this song." And she turned it on. We all just sat and listened.

Diary, it was like being on drugs. [And, uhm, what exactly do you know about being on drugs, Sheila?] That song makes me feel so high and uplifted. Liz sat listening, eyes closed, with this dreamy smile on her face. [Oh Liz. I love you so much!] By the end, Linda had tears in her eyes, and she said, "That is so beautiful." I looked over at Jennifer who had tears on her cheeks and I said, "I hope I fall in love like that someday." [careful what you wish for!] And she nodded, still crying, "Oh God, baby, I hope so too." She always calls me "baby". I love it.

So I bought the tape during our trip to New York and just sit around listening to that song. Oh, the lyrics!

And it just came to the line: "Give up your heart and you lose your way - Trusting another to feel that way ..." And I felt shivers all over me, and suddenly I knew that I had to keep writing in my diary. It's been 4 weeks since I saw Brett! I hope I don't cry when I see him next. Oh, I probably will, though.

It snowed today. The moon is glowing so that I look out in the dark and everything sort of glows and shimmers. I spent a wonderful day at Mere's and when Betsy and I went out to the car - we had to just stop and look around. It was freezing cold and crisp - and - the moon - the snow looked eerie. Glimmering. The whole earth looks different. The sky is FILLED with stars. Nighttime in the winter is so big and endless. The stars make me think of Brett. [Oh for God's sake.] I just stood there, thinking about him.

I didn't know what to say after the movie. [Uhm - okay - wrenching back into the story now where we left off!] If we had gone to see Beverly Hills Cop the night would not have been what it was. We would have chatted about it - "I love Eddie Murphy", "I liked this part" "It was funy when ..." But 2010 - it left my jaw hanging open. I had questions in my mind I wanted to talk about - I wanted to discuss it - discuss what it all might mean. And he felt the same way. We went to the car. The whole long ride home [the unbelievably long ride home from the Showcase Cinema!] we talked. The atmosphere was so different from the ride up. God, he is so like me it scares me. When he talks, I hear my own voice. It's a comfort. To know that. Talking about that movie was talking about life and the universe and what it all means.

I said, "Do you believe that there are other worlds and more life out there?"

And immediately he said, "Oh God, yes. I think we'd be very egotistical to think that we're the only ones."

J. and I had almost the exact same conversation last night. We talked about the universe and how GROSS it is. [hahaha] IT NEVER ENDS AND THIS IS SO GROSS. And if it does end - what is beyond it. Diary. IT NEVER ENDS. Even grosser - it's been here FOREVER. IT HAS BEEN HERE FOREVER. And if it hasn't been - what was here before? I can't understand the whole "never ends" thing. I cannot comprehend eternity. I mean, I can feel in awe of it - but I cannot fathom it. Oh, life is so confusing when you think of being part of a universe that never ever ends. EUUUU! That is SO GROSS! GROSS! Of COURSE there are other worlds out there. We can't be the only ones. But then - who are they? Where are they out there? The universe makes me cry. It confuses me.

On the beach with Brett, he said something that has been on my mind ever since. He said, "And when I die - I think that I'll become a part of all this. This is where I'll be." And he was looking up at the stars. Is that what happens? Do we become a part of the universe - which is a reality of forever? Do we become star dust? I mentioned it to J. last night and she said, "Oh, I feel so weird inside!" I'll never get the answer either.

We talked on the way home about other worlds and the universe and "Why?" [Ah. Youth.] He said something that gave me awful tingles. He said, "Remember in the movie how they said 'All these worlds are yours except Europa?' Well - what if it's happened before and they said that about us - 'All worlds are yours except Planet Earth?' What if someone's out there watching us and observing - "

I hate thinking about that. But I have before! Thinking about aliens observing me as I do normal things and thinking "What the hell is she doing?" What if there are intelligent beings out there? Oh WOW! Who are they? I just sit here trying my best to imagine it but I can't picture it at ALL. OUT THERE

You can see how emotional I get about this. [Uhm ... just this?]

It was so neat talking to him about it. I've never talked to a guy like that before - but I wasn't even thinking about it. I was too busy talking. I was honestly engrossed. [I date the real beginning of our friendship to this night. Because Picnic had nothing to do with it.] We stopped at a gas station and got sodas. While he put in gas, I sat in the car (it was freezing). And I was shaking. It was not from the cold. But it was uncontrollable. I could feel my shoulders trembling. It was because of him. Not because I felt in love with him, but -

I was trembling because he is who he is, and he is a beautiful human being. My faith has been severely battered lately - but with him - just one person - there's HOPE for the human race. I don't know what I'm feeling. I just know I feel GOOD!

When we started on our way again, I just burst, "I feel so GOOD right now!"

"I know! Me too! I'm almost exploding!"

I felt like I had voice his very own thoughts. He's so real. I really have to work at convincing myself that he isn't pulling my leg. But - he isn't! I don't think there's a better word for Brett than "sincere". I feel different with him. It's hard to explain. I sort of accept the fact now that we are really really close friends. I mean before I would go berserk when he hugged me or something - but then - that 2010 night - we were NOT on two different planes. We were on the same plane. TS and I are on different dimensions, for Pete's sake. That was what really got to me. I wasn't sitting there going, "This is so great that he actually wants to talk to me -- " I was sitting there talking with him. That's why I was shivering. That's what moved me. I was shaking madly.

He pulled into my driveway - I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I really wasn't. I felt like I had just started to talk with him. We'd never talked like that before. I wanted to talk more. But I didn't know what to do. It was about midnight. I looked at him - wishing we weren't in my driveway. But I had to say goodnight. Believe me, I tried. I took a deep breath - "Well ..." and then he just LOOKED at me - his glasses shining in the dark, this gentle caring smile on his lips - Hell. So I (I am so terrific!) - I said, "Want to come in for a while?" (30 years from now I will still be patting myself on the back for doing that, for being brave enough.) Even more terrific, when I said that, he sort of bounced in his seat, turned off the car, and said, "I was hoping you'd ask me!" (All 3 simultaneous.) I was oblivious to any pain I have ever felt in my life. I felt only joy. He meant it. He was waiting for me to ask him in. I had such a good feeling inside me. I didn't want to cut our night off in mid air.

So we both jumped out of the car. The living room light was on so I was afraid that Dad would be sitting up waiting. But - incredibly - he wasn't. No one was up. The house was quiet. Fate was so with me that night. I had to throw away my soda can so I showed him around - the kitchen, the dining room, back to the living room. "Very New Englandy," was his comment.

In the living room, I sat on the couch and he sat down across from me in the chair. I didn't know how to pick up from where we left off. So we sort of just sat there staring at each other, smiling awkwardly. I can't quite remember, but we did somehow pick it up.

That talk in the living room - I will live it over in my head happily for an eternity. [heh heh] I already have a 1,000,000 times. We just talked for so long. About being aware. That's what our talk was all about. How the majority of people in this world are not aware. They go through life not even realizing that life is happening. I am so aware of life around me that I feel strange and very small. Like looking at the sky. Maybe the reason why I was drawn to Brett, and why suddenly we've become so close, is because we are both sensitive and aware - we can pick up on someone else who feels the same way. At least that's what we talked about.

I told him about my theory about myself. "I think that even if I lived in a shanty with awful kids - I'd want to be conscious. I'd have to be." [A shanty? Awful kids? What?] And he sat there nodding, understanding. We talked about wanting to feel important and significant. All the talk about the universe always makes me feel like less than a speck like - I sit here worrying about the dumbest things. None of it matters -I don't matter. But talking with Brett, it made me feel like - I DO MATTER! WE ALL DO. It's important to me to feel like - we matter. Like - we are here to do something. There is a meaning to all of this.

Listen to this: "Here is a test to find if your mission on earth is finished. If you're still alive, it isn't." That's the whole point. I'm gonna try to solve all those answers while I'm alive but - I won't know until I'm dead. [It's all kind of weird reading this now. Very weird.] Brett doesn't think so. He thinks that we can find it here. That the answer is already here. TS doesn't believe in God or anything. He said, "A book on evolution was the clincher for me." When I think of the beginning of man, I feel very strange inside. I can't think about it too often. But when I do - somehow humanity got to where it is now. HOW? Where did we come from? We did evolve but - there's more to it than that. Are we an accident of nature? Or is there a reason? To me, it all has got to mean something. Brett said, "It HAS to be a combination of evolution and something bigger." I've never talked about this before with anyone - we could have talked like that forever. I sat on the couch, feet tucked up under me, arms huddled in. I was shaking so violently I was sure he could see. The atmosphere got TOTALLY one on one later. We talked a long time about what everything means - if there is an answer - and also: what is the question?

And there was this silence. I wasn't looking at him - I was so moved and worked up. And in that silence, I decided to tell him about the retreat. It was a BIGGIE for me. I don't really talk about it to anyone except kids who have been on it. It's just too much to describe. But with Brett, I had the feeling that he would understand. It's a wonderful feeling to be UNDERSTOOD by someone. [I'm all choked up right now. Yes, young Sheila. It is.] It took a lot to look up at him and start to talk about it. The way he looked at me - I can still see it as clear as though he were right here. It was weird - talking about ideas and concepts - I was totally at ease. And then talking about myself - I got shy and awkward. [Uhm. Still the case.] My voice sounded weird and quiet to me. I kept talking - I explained it to him in words I'd never verbalized before. I hadn't even thought them really either. But I described it as best I could. I said, "It was like - in one weekend - in 3 days - I found the answer. I didn't know what it was I found and I sort of lose it off and on but - then - I had found it. And for 3 days - I knew. It was like - the answer was here and I could feel it. I didn't have to go off searching for this huge thing. The answer was here among humanity." That wiped me out. Saying all that made me feel -- Oh. They're just words on a paper right now, but - I was sweating. I felt on the verge of crying. I was aware of him across from me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees - LOOKING AT ME. He wasn't staring off into space, contemplating it - he was LOOKING AT ME. I knew it - but I wasn't ready to look up at him. It sounded so weird from inside my head to hear me say that - But I did. And I don't regret it.

And you know, looking back on what I said - it's very obscure, very vague - but Brett got it. He didn't say, "I got it" but I could FEEL that he got it.

And the pause that followed was so long that with TS I would have hung myself.

Dead silence.

Me staring at my shoes and trying to regain control and knowing that Brett was staring intently at me. His eyes were - I mean, I was so spread open that I felt like he saw inside me just by looking at me. I think he did.

We were quiet for so long.

I didn't know 2 people could be quiet like that without being asleep or watching a movie. [hahahahaha] And WE WEREN'T AWKWARD. He knew I was vulnerable, and he will protect that. The silence helped me. It was good. Vulnerability scares me.

Finally, I slowly looked up at him - he was still sitting there leaning forward, STARING - the expression - so intent, so fixed. Somehow I said, (veddy veddy softly), "Do you have any idea what I just said?"

He didn't answer right away. When he did answer, I shivered. His voice AND WHAT HE SAID. He said, "While you were talking - I felt like there was nobody else on the earth. But you and me ... I felt like a part of you."

The silence after that was so delicate that I could feel it. I just sat there, trembling. So afraid of how MUCH I was feeling, how tremulously happy I felt. Neither of us said anything.

Sometimes I have trouble meeting eyes with someone and looking at them. With DW, I'd look away whenever he'd glance anywhere in my near and far vicinity. For some reason, it really scared me to think of locking eyes with someone. It always has scared me. I felt so exposed. I have changed so much from last year - Even from this summer. And when our eyes met, I didn't break the silence. I just let us LOOK AT EACH OTHER. Do you know what a big step that was for me? I have this great huge fear when things get deep - when things may be beginning to roll. I think I have so much fear of romance. I am just petrified for when it really happens. My first kiss? I'm petrified about it, whenever that will be. I AM SO SCARED. [hahahaha what?? Calm down, Sheila. It's gonna be okay.] But it's like that Billy Joel song Leave a Tender Moment Alone. In fact, when I look at the whole song - it could be by me. I mean, I complain about TS constantly making jokes - and I'm not that bad - but I get sonervous when things get new and different that I can't even deal with it.

Even though I'm in love
Sometimes I get so afraid
I'll say something so wrong
Just to have something to say
I know the moment isn't right
To tell him a comical line
To keep the conversation light
I guess I'm just frightened out of my mind
But if that's how I feel
Then it's the best feeling I've ever known
It's undeniably real
Leave a tender moment aline
Yes, I know I'm in love
But just when I ought to relax
I put my foot in my mouth
Cause I'm just avoiding the facts
If he gets too close
If I need some room to escape
When the moment arose
I'd tell him it's all a mistake
Leave a tender moment alone
But it's not only me
Breaking down when the tension gets high
Just when I'm in a serious mood
He is suddenly quiet and shy
I know the momen isn't right
To hold my emotions inside
To change the attitude tonight
I've run out of places to hide ...

I could have written that.

The first time I ever slept over his house was the Saturday after Opening Night. It was a WEIRD NIGHT. Brett drove me and Joe over. It was a HUGE party with a keg. I'd never seen one before. I didn't know such a tiny house could hold so many. I was having a pretty good time. I was talking to Anne, Eric's woderful girlfriend. She's so great. I had a beer, and I felt pretty good. Billions of people were there (including Kimber). I was just standing there with Anne when I heard someone call my name. I looked around and saw Brett. He was halfway up the stairs. When I saw him, he sort of made this subtle little gesture like, "Could you come here a minute?" It was really strange cause a lot of people saw it - I had to say, "Excuse me" to Anne and go meet him on the stairs after his mysterious beckoning. He said, "I have to talk to you - Come on." and he hurried up the stairs with Sheila following, a Sheila who felt really weird inside. He took me into his room, closed the door and immediately started pacing, head in his hands. He murmured, "Oh my God - I am wicked bumming." I stood there, not knowing what to do. I just said, "Brett - what is it?" Turns out that Kimber had called Brett over and said, "Come here. I'm gonna ruin your evening." And he proceeded to analyze Brett's performance and tell him everything that could be better and he totally rearranged Brett's performance at the ending - put it in a whole new perspective. Poor Brett. He got so upset and frustrated about his character and about the play. Brett threw himself in a chair. I sat on the bed. Brett said, "I mean, the things he said about my character were right, and I will work on it - but why now? Why did he tell me now?" So we talked about it and I did the best I could. I think he just needed an ear. After a while, people slowly started drifting in, milling around between Brett's and Joe's rooms. I started talking to Michelle - even though she quit as Stage Manager, she remembered my birthday and sent me a card care of the theatre. Can you believe it? She's wicked cool. Dina came over - I like her a lot. She's very friendly, very kind, very crazy. [hahahahaha]

Later in the night, Joanna and I danced to Hungry Like the Wolf - I was buzzed by then, enough to feel abandoned and happy and the two of us just went nuts. We were the only ones dancing and everyone else sort of just watched us. I heard all these comments, "Oh, look at the 2 sisters dancing!" We had a blast together. We went berserk. Then everyone got into it. Joanne had brought her brother to the party who is 16. Boy, did it feel strange to see a high school kid there. Joanne introduced us and he said, "I can't believe you're a senior in high school." I said, "Why?" and he said, "Because you're so good." We talked for a while. YES! I had a conversation with a boy in high school. I even asked him to dance. These things don't really feel monumental to me anymore.

What is scary though is looking someone in the eye. So we bopped around for a while - it was so COOL. I feel free now. I've changed. I don't want to regress.

J. said something totally wonderful: "You know how people say that life goes in a circle? Well, it doesn't. Because that means that once you go around you're at the same point, and you're not. Every experience you have makes you a little bit different and it's not possible to go back. Life is more like a spiral. Each time you go through something, you grow. You could go through the same things 1000 times, and never look at it the same because you change. LIfe isn't a circle. It's a spiral." [I still remember the diagram she drew to show me her theory.]

I danced the whole night at that party. Hungry Like the Wolf came on again and Joanna and I found each other and went crazy - screaming - and moaning like the lady does in the song - We were making each other laugh. It was SO MUCH FUN. And Joanne and I jitterbugged.

Then Time Warp came on. We got in a line, everyone at the party, and did the Time Warp - screaming out the words. I love to dance - especially when I don't care what I look like.

Somehow, as it got later, I stopped dancing. I was just sitting on the couch. The party had thinned out slightly. People got a bit more mellow. Brett and I ended up up in his room - we lay down on the bed, and we talked. Or actually, I mostly talked. I felt at ease. I found myself telling him how great I felt with this group of people and with him.

DW is my definition of infatuation. But Brett? DW, I wasn't friends with him. He wasn't a person, a friend - he was the guy I liked. I don't think I could have been friends with him. But Brett will always be my friend.

There's this song from Boys From Syuracuse that I hadn't even thought of until last night - and the words just hit home:

This can't be love because I feel so well
No sobs, no sorrows, no sighs
This can't be love, I get no dizzy spells
My head is not in the sky
My heart does not stand still
Just hear it beat
This is too sweet to be love
This can't be love because I feel so well
But still I love to look in your eyes.

I was saying, "I mean, I don't know what it was about you - but more than anyone else, I feel ..." I clammed up. "I mean, it's just cool ..." More than anything else, I just wanted to say, "Brett, thank you very much. I will never forget you." But I didn't. I fell back on my little teenager words.

I said, "Member that night at Giro's before we went home for Thanksgiving?" He nodded, grinning. I said, "Brett, I had so much fun that night. I don't think I've ever had that much fun." He started to laugh, obviously remembering what a blast it was, and he reached out to touch my arm. We smiled at each other. I said, "And then the next day, I took this guy to a dance and I felt so awkward with him. I hated it. It was back to the old way. But I don't feel awkward with you at all." [Uhm - those are "little teenager words"? Seems pretty bold and blunt to me!]

He didn't really respond - he just listened. Now comes a part that either I blocked out - or it was so bizarre that I remember exactly what happened, I just can't believe it. Somewhere along in here, we stopped talking. We lay there, quiet, on his bed, not talking, feeling close to each other. And suddenly - the next thing I remember - I jumped up and ran out of the room.

I wish I could somehow remember what happened and replay it in my mind. I have no idea what it looked like to him. I just jumped up and ran out of the room. What was going on? Was I a woman possessed?

Joe was in his room with a couple of people and I said, "Joe, is it true that what you say when you drink is true?" And this whole chorus of voices shouted, "Yes!" [I am guffawing] I said, "Oh. Okay." Jennifer and I ended up having a long talk. She is an honest-to-goodness Southern belle. When she becomes a mother? She's a natural at it.

Eventually, I went back into Brett's room, and I sort of meandered around looking at his posters. He was in The Fantasticks! He was Matt! We talked about that show - and we sang The Rape Song. How appropriate. No, just kidding. It was hysterical - we danced, and sang, and lightened up, and had fun. I don't know why - I guess I just suddenly freaked out when it got quiet and we were lying there. I had to get out of there. Oh well.

Then we threw darts and sang the score of The Music Man. [God. We were meant to be friends. This is hysterical.] He said, "Hey! I have a tape of The Fantasticks!" And he went rummaging around for it but instead he found another tape - with a coo of delight. "Oh! I know! Want to hear War of the Worlds?" I'd heard of it, knew what it was about, knew it was Orson Welles, but had never heard it - so I said yes. Brett put the tape in (he loves it) - then he went around turning off all the lights in his room except for a tiny one on his bedside table. I felt my insides go warm and cold and up and down. All at the same time. I knew he was just turning the lights off for atmosphere, though, so I didn't jump up and run out again.

Then he said, "Okay - get on the bed." It wasn't a harsh order - it was a suggestion - like: let's get into this and sit on the bed. So feeling what you would call terror and fear and paralysis [I am honestly not sure what is going on with me here. I guess I felt in the presence of a grown-up sexual guy - you know, an adult - and I felt freaked out, even though I ADORED HIM] - and I got onto the bed. I felt like a stick of wood. I didn't realize my position until Brett looked at me. I was sitting in the corner of the bed, huddled against the wall. When he saw me, and I really did it unconsciously, he said to me, flat out, "Sheila. I'm not going to attack you."

Then he climbed on the bed beside me and we listened to it. We pretended it was real. We pretended that we were a married couple in the 1920s and just normally listening to the radio - and then that comes on. It was SO MUCH MORE FREAKY that way. I convinced myself that I totally believed it. It was really fun.

Then when they announced that it was a recording, we both started screaming and laughing and rolling around, going, "I can't believe that!!!" There was more to the tape after that, so we sat and listened. I was perched on the edge of the bed, bare feet dangling. He was sprawled out next to me. After a while, I happened to glance at him. There he was - lying there asleep beside me. [Man, this is all so KILLER!!] I love watching people sleep. It's beautiful. I could sit and watch people sleep forever. [Okay, that's kinda creepy] Brett looked different when he slept - kind of innocent, and peaceful. I sat there in the dim room looking at Brett sleeping for I don't know how long. It was so magical. I had the urge to reach out and touch his cheeks, or touch his lips. I should have. I so wanted to. My heart was full.

Finally I got up and pulled the blanket up from the bottom of the bed and put it over him. Then I tiptoed out of the room.

Joe gave me a blanket and a pillow. I gave him a big hug and tiptoed downstairs. It was dark. There was a fire in the fireplace. The couch was pulled out into a bed and Jennifer was on it, asleep, in a flowered flannel nightgown. Her golden blonde hair was dangling over the edge and glowing by the fire. I went to the other couch, curled up in my clothes, and went to sleep. The sun coming up over the ocean woke me up the next day. I went through that day in a dream. When Brett woke up - he looked like a little boy - his hair on end, his eyes squinting, his cheeks flushed. He came downstairs looking dead to the world. Jennifer and I had been under the covers on the pullout talking, so we both looked up when he came down. He was rubbing his eyes with his fists, looking confused. He said to me, "I had about fifty dreams about you last night." I laughed - a little nervously - Brett flopped down in a chair. "In the dream, everyone at the party was being so awful to you - like saying 'what a bitch that Sheila is' and I was running around and yelling STOP IT. STOP IT. I LIKE HER. STOP IT. Then Joanna came into the room and said 'Sheila is such a jerk' and I punched her in the face."

The living room was bursting with laughter at this. We all were just dying.

Jennifer went out to the kitchen for some milk and Brett did this somersault bound onto the couch bed. He sat up and looked questioningly at me. "Where did you sleep last night?" I pointed at the couch and he groaned. [I realize that this is all incredibly intricate - but this is how I write in my diary!! Crazy!] Brett said, "No - you didn't sleep on that hard thing, did you? Why? You should have slept in my bed. I totally wouldn't have been a moron."

I remember how it felt that one night I slept in Joe's bed - and the feeling of safety it gave me - so reassuring - knowing just that someone is there.

Wow. That was a long tangent. Sorry.

I just know that if Brett moved to Siberia tomorrow, a part of me would go with him.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
Part 20Closing Night party - part 1
Part 21 Closing Night party - part 2
Part 22 Brett and I go see 2010 - part 1

Diary Friday

I continued to write about Picnic, filling in the blanks, even after the whole experience ended. I had a hard adjustment period to "life after Picnic". Here's a great night, though. The memory of it today still makes me smile. My embarrassment about my family singing Christmas carols is SO teenager-ish. This'll probably be a two-parter too because it's a marathon.

JANUARY 1

While Picnic was playing, I had to be so careful because I had to be in a good mood to do the show. If I mistreated my family during it, I honest to God had not a smidgeon of an idea. If I had I wouldhave stopped! During Picnic, I was self-centered, but there was no other way I could be. I had to be self-centered because my life wasn't just my life. I was doing so much. I had to take care of myself first. I had so much to do. My world, my life - my millions of things to get done. I apologized to Jean and Siobhan, if I ignored them. I can't stop crying.

I ache madly to talk to a Picnic person.

That Monday - December 19, I think - I came home from school and I somehow gathered courage, and called Brett and asked for him. Patty answered. She told me that Brett was still at school. I talked to her for a while. Then she called Lenny to the phone. He did not help. My yearning for Brett was painful. My loneliness for him was so huge. And that he wasn't there. It really hurt.

Tuesday during school I was a mess. I felt such an emptiness inside of me and I could not get rid of it. It just hurt. Having Picnic be so over. It was still so with me. I came straight home from school. I was so depressed that it isn't even worth re-creating. I missed it. That's all. I didn't know what to do without Picnic in my life.

I went down in the cellar, into the den, lay on the couch and watched Giant. I had never seen it before so I was psyched. What a downer. First of all, it was SO boring. Even Jimmy was boring. [Yup. First-name basis] He was so spectacular and exciting and wonderful [and marvelous and fabulous and awesome and wicked cool and terrific ...] in the other two movies - but first and foremost, Giant was deathly boring. I fell asleep watching it.

Then.

THE TURNING POINT.

I felt Mum shaking me (thank God she decided to wake me up) - and she was saying, "Sheila - Sheila - wake up ..." It always takes me a while to get going - and then she said, "Brett's on the phone."

YA HOO!

How can I explain? Instantly I was off the couch and up the stairs. I was flying! I felt better already! He called! YAY! I grabbed the phone and yelled, "Hi!"

He yelled back, "Hi!!!"

Then both of us were just yelling. "Hi!" "Hi!"

[hahahahaha]

He's my friend. I'm his friend. Hearing his voice I was so happy that I had tears in my eyes. He said, "Patty said you called yesterday?"

I said, "Yeah, I was Picnic-starved. And lonely for you."

[It is indicative of the level of our friendship that I felt comfortable enough to just say that.]

We talked for a while. I talked to Joe, too. And jennifer was there - so she came on the phone as well. OH, the world was merciful and beautiful once more.

I LOVE JENNIFER.

It is so hard for me to accept that she really loves me. That any of them do.

Then she handed me back to Brett. We talked a little bit, but not much. He's told me before how much he hates talking on the phone. So then suddenly, out of the blue, he said, "You want to do anything tonight?"

All I can say is that it took me by total surprise. I was not expecting that at all. Without even thinking about it, no presence of mind, I said, "Yeah!"

Then in the background at Brett's I heard all this laughter and Brett said, "They're laughing at my tactics for asking a girl for a date."

We couldn't really decide what we wanted to do. I wasn't saying much. I was just stanidng there, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, shaking all over. [oh man!!! Thank God Brett was kind and nice!]

Brett said, "Why don't I just come over to your house and we'll decide then."

So I said, "Great!"

Then we said bye and hung up.

Totally calmly, I peeked my head in the kitchen, said, "Brett's coming over" and then I tore up to my room.

I COULD NOT WAIT TO SEE HIM.

I put in my lenses.

I had on this new shirt I had bought at Bloomingdales - just my style - grey, baggy [WTF??? Grey and BAGGY is your style??] with French and Italian newspaper print all over it. [Holy crap, I remember that shirt. So 80s!!] I wore my jeans, and one of my prized possessions - my big black blazer that I bought at a thrift shop for five bucks. I have duly adorned it with a rhinestone pin, an oversized silver safety pin and a band-aid. J., Mere and I have started a trend. We wear bandaids on all our clothing. [Uhm ... why did we do that, Mere? Can you remember? Was it a nod to Bob Geldof?] I felt good.

I was all shivery with anticipation to see him. I was totally psyched with every fiber of my being.

Jean was downstairs playing Christmas carols and everyone was standing around singing like a stereotype. [Okay, that so cracks me up. They were "singing like a stereotype."] I begged them to stop before he came. It was all too corny.

What I really wanted was to shoo them all out of the living room so I could greet him in peace.

Mum said, "Don't be embarrassed about sharing emotion in front of us, Sheila." She so doesn't get it. [Wow, I am 17. She so DOES get it!!]

I pleaded with them. They could stay in the living room, fine, but pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease stop singing Christmas carols! [I am howling with laughter. Please stop acting like a family! Please!]

Well, of course he arrived while I was in the bathroom so I couldn't monitor everyone's behavior. [hahahaha I am howling ...]

I was so fluttery nervous. Not like I get before TS' dates - but a tremulous HAPPY nervous. [Thanks for clearing up that minute difference in emotion.]

I was in the bathroom and I heard the doorbell ring. AH! Slap dash! I got out as quick as I could. Finally, I came out. There he stood in mym hallway. Mum is so adorable. She was just standing there beaming. I guess I'm really lucky to have a mum like her. [You guess, you ingrate???] I can still see his face - him - when he first saw me. We both just smiled and said "Hi".

Then for a few hysterical minutes we all just stood around staring at each other. [I can't stop laughing] Mum, Jean, Siobhan and Brendan were in this tableau around the piano, and Brett and I were at the door, and it was all awkward and quiet.

Brendan - that hysterical jerk - started rocking back and forth on his heels, hands behind his back, saying over and over, "Yup ... yup ... yup ... yup ...." I, of course, started to laugh. Brett was probably totally baffled. He said, "Well, we'd better go." So I put on my coat and out we went. Such a relief to get away from that piano tableau! [Uhm, Sheila? That's your family.]

The car doors closed - and then we were back to normal. He cried, "Hey!" as though this were the first time he'd seen me and leaned over to hug me. I was squished so I could only get one arm around. It was so great to see him! I like to be hugged. Especially when he hugs me, because I can feel how much he means it.

We had no idea what the evening would hold. Part of the fun of it was the spontanaeity of it. He is precious to me. I had been missing him so much that I felt this yawning hole inside of me. But I'm not missin ghim now. I'm just happy thinking about him and looking forward to seeing him again. I was sort of expecting that we'd go to Campus Cinema or Pier - somewhere close - but he said, "So how about it - want to see what's at the Showcase?" That's so far away! Psyched! [Wow. This is such a Rhode Island statement. Only Rhode Islanders will understand how insane this statement is.]

We were embarking on an adventure. [This is why dating is hard for me to this day. Every single moment I am "embarking on an adventure" - if I like the guy, I mean. NOTHING is casual. EVERYTHING is exciting. And dating seems to require a bit more "coolness" which I categorically CANNOT DO. I am not cool. And pretending seems just wrong. I need to feel like dates are "adventures" or why go?? ]

So we started up to the Showcase. [Which, man, is so so far away. Hope you guys packed a lunch!] He said, "Oh, you know what we should do if we're not in time for a movie? We should go to Chuck E. Cheese." I had no idea what he was talking about so I asked. He gaped at me. "You don't know? You've never been there? Oh, you deprived girl!! You haven't lived!" He was so psyched. He explained the place to me - it's a restaurant for kids - with video games, rides, a big huge dog dressed up as Elvis, and a band of mechanical dolls. [I can barely type. I am shaking with laughter.] During the summer, Brett took his retarded kids there. [Oh man. So not PC. Brett loved those kids.] Brett said that he had more fun on the trip than the kids did.

It was a long ride [SO LONG! What a LONG RIDE it is to the Showcase Cinema!] He said, "Okay. So tell me every detail about your New York trip." He went to NYU for a year before transferring - he loves New York. So I told him everything. We went to Bloomingdale's, Macy's, Fioruccis - it was crazy - BILLIONS of Christmas shoppers. "Oh God," Brett said, "It must have been awful. You should come to New York with me. I'd take you to all the little obscure places in the Village. I know the Village like the back of my hand." [To this day, Brett is one of the best tour guides I know of the city. He USES this city even though he lives here. He knows every nook and cranny of Central Park - he's just wonderful.] He told me all these funny stories of his first year alone in New York -a naive 17 year old from Connecticut. He was approached by a prostitute [man, those were the days ... when there were actually hookers in New York] and he didn't even catch on until a block later. Then he was like, "Ohhhhhh! I get what that was!" He's a real relaxed driver. He holds the wheel with one hand, gestures with the other. [What one thing has to do with the other I will leave to the imagination.]

I was quite happy. It was such a comfort to my soul to be riding along at night to go see a movie with him. We were laughing so hard. He said, "I knew I'd get a laugh being with you. It's so grim back home. I'm done with my exams but everyone else is still going crazy. I had to get out of there. Last night I helped Liz do some drawings for her costume class. We were up all night working in total silence - and then - at around 4 a.m., I heard this little mutter next to me: 'I hate the whole fuckin' world.' Then I came home and found Joe lying on his bed moaning, 'I don't know what to write ... I don't know what to write!' I was like, 'Oh God. Get me out of here.'" [I am guffawing.]

When we got to the theatre - which has 8 cinemas - we were too late for the 7:30 show. [Of WHAT, Sheila??] So we decided to go to a 9:45 and in the meantime drive around and get lost. Just as we got in the car, it came to him. "CHUCK E. CHEESE." So off we headed to find Chuck E. Cheese. We eventually got lost. It was my fault. Brett would not stop and ask for directions. Mainly because he is a 20 year old guy and he did not want to say to a stranger, "Hi - can you tell me the way to Chuck E. Cheese?" [hahahahahahahahahahaha] He knew that it was near the airport so somehow we got there and we drove around, peering closely for Chuck E. Cheese. Soone enough, Brett yelled, "There it is!"

The minute I saw the place I started laughing. It is the ultimate kiddie place and there we were, going for dinner. Brett thought it was so amusing too. "I can't believe we're doing this." We walked into the place, and we both were in total hysterics. Brett was surging in front of me, saying, "We;re looking for our little sister. That's all. Just looking for our little sister."

The place is really fancy. [Uhm. Excuse me?] There are places to buy pizza, ice cream - part of it looks like a 50s malt shop - then there was a dim side room with pink lights - and there was this enormous mechanical dog dressed up like Elvis. Then there was a theatre sort of room with stands and tables surrounding a small circular stage. There was a room filled totally with video games. There were ring tosses and prizes. There was a little merry-go-round. The place is a riot. Especially when you are 17 and you are there with a 20 year old and you both have the same sense of humor.

I thought everything we did in Chuck E. Cheese was hysterical. I could not stop laughing. We ordered pizza and sodas and wandered around. We bought some tokens and played video games. That's about the first time I've ever played one. I got so nervous and also so into it. Then we both played skeet shooting. We both had guns. I did not get ONE POINT and we played twice. That is when I lost control. I was shooting so off target that it was bizarre. I was laughing so hard. So was he. We had these guns, and we were just clutching at each other, howling.

We sat and ate together. And we decided that the movie we wanted to see was 2010. I hadn't seen 2001 so he explained the plot to me in great detail. [I love you, Brett. What a fun night.]

I miss him. I wonder what he is doing right this instant.

We somehow found our way back to the Showcase. He paid for the tickets. I paid for popcorn and soda. We shared a large popcorn and we shared a large Coke. With only one straw. Oh my God. I thought that was really romantic. We walked into the theatre. We were the only ones there. We sat down. On the way up in the car he had noticed my shirt. "Hey, is that new?" I told him yeah, I got it at Bloomingdale's. He seemed so enthusiastic about it. With TS I feel like I always have to be the one to intitate honesty and openness. With Brett, he is so naturally happen. I don't have to work on him. Brett is like me. And I've found him and it's unbelieavable!

With DW I spent all my time wondering, "What does he think about? What do boys think about?" With Brett, I KNOW - because ten to one it's the same thing I feel - and also he can just come out and say it. Do you know what a comfort it is to find a true kindred soul? And it's true. It's like I found him. Or we found each other. When we smile at each other - sometimes I see a little bit of myself looking back at me. I don't have to explain myself ot him, or justify myself to him. He already knows. He isn't afraid of closeness.

Like - he started out to go to the bathroom (we were still the only ones there) and I just settled back in my chair - and then I heard him say, "Hey." I turned around. He was standing in the aisle aways up, arms out - and all he said was, "This is so fun" and he turned and left.

It's sincere.

We watched the movie. When I watch a movie with TS it's like we are two people on an awkward date watching a movie. We are two separate people there for the sake of seeing the damn movie because we are on a stupid date. It was SO DIFFERENT seeing a movie with Brett. We were there because we wanted to be together, because we are friends. Seeing a movie with him is just that: seeing a movie. We could have been in either one of our living rooms. I was so relaxed that I could actually pay attention to the movie.

I became so into the movie. It was fascinating. The effects alone were with it. Wow. I have always been enthralled by astronomy and physics - even though it scared me to death because everything is so big - but 2010 was INTENSE. I had to close my eyes a few times especially when they were going into orbit. It was scary - I was drained just watching it.

Trying to explain how happy I was being out with Brett is like trying to describe eternity.

That movie was the right movie to go see with him.

If we hadn't seen that movie, it wouldn't have triggered what happened after. It's all meant to happen. Both of us were so moved and awestruck by the end of the movie that we didn't say anything. We couldn't speak. When the lights came up, Brett and I just slowly stared at each other - and then - mutually - these slow smiles spread across our faces. Real smiles.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
Part 20Closing Night party - part 1
Part 21 Closing Night party - part 2

Diary Friday ... part deux

Continuing on from where we left off yesterday.

Oh and David: if you are reading this:

Our famous first real meeting ends this entry!

PART 2

Everything was lit up by the moon. Boy, was it cold. All I had on was my jeans jacket, a thin grey shirt, rolled up jeans and loafers - with no socks. [Sheila, it's December. What is your problem.] I was chilly. But I was also just so excited about strolling along with Brett. I was shivering for 2 reasons, basically. We didn't really talk. It's sort of a long walk to get to the beach. The moon - bright white and silver. But the sky was cloudy - so the clouds were all stringy, and silver-tipped - scudding across the moon. And the stars were peeking through. It was a spectacular sky. Bimulous. [HA!! A reference to one of my favorite childhood books which I recently rediscovered]

We quietly walked along the road. The silence sounded so loud and wonderful after the party. And far away was the pound of the surf on the beach. All I could do was let the beauty shiver through me. [So ... er ... this means you were shivering for THREE reasons then?] I wanted to pray or say Thank you - to someone! So I kept just thinking, "Thank you! Thank you!"

My teeth were chattering so loudly that Brett heard them and he looked at me.

"You're cold."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Look at you. Wait a minute - " and he took off his scarf and wrapped it around my neck.

I tried to give it back to him so that he wouldn't be cold but he ordered me to keep it. I was thrilled. Yes. I was thrilled.

It was all like a very romantic but very real movie.

The night was so beautiful.

Brett started talking to me. He said, "There's something about nature, isn't there? Whenever I get down, or anxious - I come out here to the beach and I feel in touch again. I'm at peace here. There have been times when I've had - almost religious experiences down on the beach. If I'm lost or confused - I don't know - I get in touch with myself here."

His voice died away. I was shaking so much I could feel it. He could have been me talking. I wanted to say to him, "I understand" but I didn't - I sensed that he was not talking to get my opinion, but just talking to share himself with me. He was revealing something to me. So I shut up and just listened.

I was walking beside him, listening - [then my handwriting freaks out and gets huge and goes jaggeding around the page] LOVING HIM - LOVING THE WORLD AND UNIVERSE!!

The sky - being under that sky - the earth felt so painfully beautiful on that night.

We came to the entrance to the beach. Just a few days ago I found my loafers and they still have sand on them. It gave me a weird feeling to see it. I felt the specialness all over again. The entrance to the beach was lit up by a streetlamp but the moon was glowing even brighter. As we walked through the dunes towards the beach, he said, "This is nice." I smiled at him. I had my hands shoved in my pockets because I was trembling. [Of course you were. You were wearing a jeans jacket IN DECEMBER you moron!!] We came out onto the beach. He kept talking, "I guess - in some ways - I feel like a big brother to you. Like I should protect you."

Do you know that that is what I yearn for? I am independent, but I want to be protected. I want to feel safe. I'm a feminist, but I want to feel safe. It made me almost start crying when he said that he feels like he has to protect me. [This is resonating so hard with me right now - in my life.] He looked over at me and I think he might have thought that I was offended because I didn't say anything. He said, "Well, not just that ..." Then he said with this honest open voice. "I don't know. I feel close to you."

I felt like I was dying. I managed to say, "I feel close to you too."

The beach itself was like a dream. It was so vast - a long long stretch of flat sand that was shining silver in the bright moonlight - and the ocean. I couldn't see the horizon. I saw a flashing lighthouse. I could see the dim white foam, and I could hear the continuous surf.

Life and the world and just being alive and being human is so painfully sweet.

We didn't talk much but we were so close. The whole beach felt like a dream. We were almost one. The beauty of the world, the beauty of us together - we just floated through all of that.

Part of the beach was totally flooded - there was a raging river rushing down from the dunes to the ocean. If we wanted to keep walking, we'd have to somehow cross it. He smiled at me, all mischievous. "What do we do?" I smiled back and said, "Want to make a run for it?" "We'll get wet." "So what?" He started to giggle - and he said, "We're really gonna do this?" I started to laugh too - "Yeah! Come on! On the count of 3." So we both counted and then we dashed across - it turned out that it was deeper than ankle deep and freezing - we both were screaming as we zoomed across, laughing madly and trying to jump in shallow spots that we couldn't see - It was exhilarating. I got quite wet but I didn't care. Oh Diary, I didn't care about a thing but the moment!

Finally, we bounded up on the other side. We were in hysterics. I was really cold - we were both laughing - and suddenly we started hugging, and laughing madly. It felt like the ultimate beautiful friendship. ["Louie?"]

After that, we calmed down, became silent and just stood there, looking out at the water.

It was sort of like looking at eternity, or experiencing foreverness. The moon was behind us - and the endless water and that damn sky and stars. Brett was behind me - I could feel him there. He was all intertwined with the beauty of it all. He was a part of it. I felt so much. Not just for Brett. But I felt so much - wonder, pain, awe, ecstasy, happiness - not able to bear it all. And knowing that Brett knew. Brett knew how I felt. We stood there for a few minutes - then I felt Brett quickly kiss me on the back of my head, and started off walking again. I trotted to keep up with him. We didn't talk. The breeze was lifting my hair off my face, and I had my head thrown back to the stars and moon. I felt beautiful. I can't really explain it, but I think that if a person is beautiful inside then they are automatically beautiful outside. I could love someone that is considered ugly because if I loved him he wouldn't be ugly. I understand it anyway. I usually don't think about what I look like, and when I do - I am not satisfied - but then - I felt sure that how I was feeling inside must show on my face. I felt radiant. Beautiful. I felt loved.

I kept saying fervently, inside, "Thank you, my dear Lord - thank you SO MUCH."

We were heading for the rocks that are on the edge of the beach. Brett told me on the way down, "There are all these rocks on the edge of the beach and there's one rock I always stand on. I feel like King of the Walk because it's up so high and the water comes in and totally surrounds it." He wanted to show me his rock. ["These are my igneous tamula rocks." "Yes! Of course they are!" "Don't touch his rocks." "But really, Professor, do you honestly believe you can make music out of minerals?"]

I pointed out Orion to him. The moon was full, almost blinding - and everything was dimly glowing. (I want to know if I looked as beautiful as I felt.) [Let it go, Sheila. You'll never know.] Occasionally one of us would break the silence. Like, "God, this moonlight!" or "There are so many stars!"

There's this whole part in the play with Alan and Madge:

"Madge, after supper tonight, maybe you and I could take a boat out on the river."

"All right, Alan."

"I want to see if you look real in the moonlight."

That sort of my entered mind just as Brett said, "I wanted to see if you looked real in the moonlight." I started laughing and said, "I was just thinking that!"

Brett said, "Joanna wrote me the nicest thing in her card to me. She said 'To a very real person.'"

"That's the most important thing," I said. "Being real."

We got to the rocks and started to climb. Brett led the way. I was hopping from rock to rock, trying not to slip. The rocks looked so smooth and marble in the moonlight - some had mossy stuff all over them but it was too dark to see. I jumped on one mossy rock unknowingly, and my feet flew out from beneath me and down I went. It shocked me more than it hurt me. We both started giggling. He tried to say, "You have to be careful" but he couldn't get it out he was laughing too hard. I stood up and we kept climbing. There were puddles in between the rocks and I remember stopping to look down in one. It was perfectly smooth - no ripples - and in it was perfectly reflected the moon. I called Brett over to see. He started to lead the way again, but he reached out and took my hand. That's how we went from then on. It was so comfortable. Hand in hand, jumping from rock to rock, not even really talking.

There was one point when I slipped again, and fell into icy cold water up to the middle of my shin. I screeched - and again - we both just started guffawing about it. Brett was moaning, "If you get pneumonia, your mom'll kill me. Sheila - dry your leg off with my scarf."

"But it's a white scarf!"

He was so firm - "Forget the scarf. Wipe your leg off. I mean it. You'll really get sick."

So I dried my leg off. (The whole night was like the ultimate experience.)

I love the feeling of security I get with him. Of him taking care of me, looking out for me - but never bossing me around. I just feel protected, like he's there for me.

We came to Brett's rock. He jumped up onto it - it was so high up that my eyes were on a level with his Nikes. I leaned my elbows on the rock and stared out to sea. I occasionally arched my neck to look up at him. I can still see him in my mind. He almost looked superhuman. He had his hands in his pockets and he was staring at the ocean. When I looked up, all I could see was him, and behind him the sky, and stars. He's so human. [Uhm ... thought you just said he was superhuman. I don't understand.]

I could have looked out to sea forever. The waves curled in around the rocks. I love the noise of the surf. The beauty hurt me. I rested my chin in my hands and just let myself be vulnerable to all of it. And that Brett would want to share this with me - Brett was opening himself up to me, too. No guy has ever opened himself up to me. He had said to me earlier, "I guess I see a lot of myself in you." And that's strange, because that's exactly what I have been thinking. That's why I am drawn to him. Because instinctively, I sensed something in him, from the beginning. I knew that I was drawn to him - so at first I chalked it up as a crush. When really - it's that he is someone I relate to. He is one of those very rare people who feels the same way I do about things. And there's so much more to learn about him and discover in him.

As he was standing up there, he said, "I love to come down here. I just look ... and listen ... and feel." I was feeling it too. Being human and alive and real - it was all so painfully clear to me that night. I was aware that I was alive - at every second. For a long time I haven't been to church, I haven't had time, and I was so wrapped up with my happiness here on earth. I was so engrossed with being HAPPY. But that night on the beach, I felt God again. There He was. No apology was needed for Him to accept me in again. I was just tingling with everything. The whole night was like this continuous "thank you". Thank you Thank you. I wondered if Brett felt the same thing. So I asked him if he did. It took me about five minutes to get up the guts. I mean, I'm used to TS where asking "how was your weekend" is a big fucking deal.

When I asked Brett - I could see his smile - a slow, spreading smile. He didn't look at me. His eyes were still out on the water, but he smiled. I knew that it had been all right to ask. He said, "It's funny that you asked me because I was just about to tell you." He squatted down so our faces were on the same level. Looking at him in that moment, I knew that I loved him more than I could ever express. But for some reason, it didn't ache like it did with DW or with TS sometimes. It was just love - powerful and pure - It felt a little bit painful but that's only because there was so much of it.

He spoke quietly and I don't think I want to record the conversaion we had. It's sacred to me, and I do not want to touch its loveliness. It was cosmic in every way. We had this talk - about life and being alive - on a rock at the edge of this ocean and underneath this sky. Life felt so crystal clear.

Afterwards, Brett said, "Let's climb some more, shall we?" He jumped down from his rock and we started hopping rock to rock again. On one big flat rock, he suddenly turned to me. I couldn't see his face in the dark but I could feel his smile. He put his arms around me and hugged me so tight that I almost couldn't catch my breath. And I remember thinking, "This is how I will remember the last night of Picnic now. This time on the beach with him." [And it's true. All the other stuff I have almost no memory of - but this entire walk on the beach remains perfectly crystallized in my mind]

As we were hugging - suddenly we heard these far-off shrieks and shouts: "BRETT! SHEILA!"

It was Joe and Liz come to find us. What was so perfect is when they came - they didn't interrupt that conversation. I don't even like to relive that conversation. I don't even want to go near it. It is too special. But Joe and Liz arrived on the beach about 5 minutes after the conversation - so it was perfect. We started back to meet them. I slipped and fell once again. More hysteria.

We met them at the edge of the rocks. Liz had shaved off Joe's mustache. He looked so different! What is so cool about me and Brett is that there is such a happy medium with us. I mean - we were really deep and serious and sweet when we were alone - and then when Joe and Liz showed up - we were absolutely crazy. We all went absolutely crazy on that beach. We stood on the rocks by the shore for a while, shivering, and then we started back. Liz and I were walking along calmly, and Joe and Brett were going BONKERS behind us. Brett stopped us and said, "Okay - what is this from?" And he started running around and throwing sand like a madman and then he stood at the water's edge, flung his arms out, and yelled, "WHAT IS IT? WHAT IS IT?" We all shouted, "CLOSE ENCOUNTERS" at the top of our lungs.

We got back to the house. Liz and I went inside and Joe and Brett didn't. We found out later that they had gotten into Joe's car and were yelling and laughing and being crazy and pretending to drive it. The party had thinned down. A lot of people had left. Jennifer was still there. I look at her sort of as a mother figure. She fusses over me, worries about me. I adore her. Joe and Brett finally came inside and the four of us went up to Joe's room because Brett had stashed away a bottle of champagne there. The four of us sat on Joe's bed with wine glasses and made about 8,000,000 toasts. We went around in a circle - toasting the stupidest things we could think of. We toasted scrambled eggs. We toasted Roy Scheider. [hahahahahahaha] We toasted Kimber. We also toasted the cast, the run of our play, the frienships created. Brett toasted me, shouting, "TO SHEILA O'MALLEY!" I made a toast to peer pressure.

After that, after the champagne, things started getting even crazier. Joe read poems out of this book of his and Brett did modern Interpretive Dance to the poems. I swear, I have never laughed that hard in my life. We were all out of control. Tears were streaking down my cheeks. It is one of the funniest things I have ever seen ever. It's making me laugh right now just writing about it. I thought I would die of shortage of breath. It was 4 o'clock in the morning and Brett was writhing around doing Interpretive Dance as Joe read some Emily Dickinson poem. It was a RIOT.

And somehow - after that - we all ended up lying on Joe's bed in a row and going to sleep. The four of us. For a while we talked, but then gradually - I realized that we had all gone silent. I could hardly move. I fell asleep with my lenses in. We all woke up simultaneously at about 5:30 when the sun rose up out of the ocean. I felt groggy, drugged - it was so funny that we all woke up at the same moment. I stumbled into Brett's room where my lens case and saline was - I took the lenses out - they were sticking to my eyes - so dry - it was hard to get them out. Brett climbed back into his own bed. I climbed back into Joe's bed. Liz climbed into Brett's bed. This whole thing sounds so weird but it was totally natural at the time. I actually really liked the comfort of knowing that someone was lying beside me.

Outside Joe's window is a beautiful view of the ocean horizon - it was all blue and pink and peach mists - really gentle and dawn-ish - I could hear the surf from Joe's room. He had cracked a window.

Oh, and that night I had to go and be in Antigone! I had a good sleep though - about 2 hours of total slumber. [Ah, youth!] I woke up at about 7:00 and I felt like I had been sleeping forever. [The fact that my parents let me sleep over is amazing to me. Second of all - it is obvious that their trust in these college kids was not misplaced. I mean, yes, I was drinking ... but look at that night. There is nothing about it that is not innocent. Amazing.]

Joe and I were both awake, so we went outside to sit on the lawn. It was so breezy, early morning freshness, the view of the beach, the coolness of the morning, the salty air. My hair was sticking straight up. I had my glasses on. I stretched out on the grass beside Joe, and we just breathed it all in. I wished I never had to leave.

I spent the day there - Jennifer and me had stayed over - so we all just lounged about the whole day. Liz had to leave because she was directing a play - Brett and Joe drove me home. I knew that I had to say goodbye to Jen. I didn't know when would be the next time I'd see her because she was going home for Christmas. I was so psyched for her because she hadn't seen her family since June. When we both slept over the first time, we sat downstairs and talked on the pullout bed in the living room and she told me about her family - eight kids - she missed everybody so much. Jennifer cries easily - she thinks of her home and she starts to cry. She's just so beautiful.

So we hugged and I said, "Have a beautiful Christmas with your family. I want to hear all abuot it!" I heard her say, "I love you, baby." She's so sincere.

Then we got into Joe's car - all three of us crmped in the front. It was about 5:00 - so the sun had just started setting. I was pretty much quiet on the way home. We all made plans to go see Liz's play which was being put on the next day and everyone was going to go roller-skating on Tuesday. [Cue David!!]

I totally discouraged them from coming to see Antigone. As a matter of fact, I begged them not to.

When we got to my house - there wasn't the big BOOM goodbye that I had been dreading - because we didn't have to. We would be seeing each other again, and soon. Strange - but I had never thought of that. I had thought it woudl be really goodbye. But we just said goodbye to the show - not to each other.

It was so neat - at the party, before Brett and I left, I was talking to Joe - he sat down beside me and he said, "Oh, I meant to thank you for the card ..." and somehow, leading up to it, he said, "Not a day goes by when your name doesn't come up in our conversations."

Brett got out of the car to let me out. Joe and I hugged and kissed - when I got out, Brett smiled at me. When he looks at me, I feel so comfortable with who I am. No, not just comfortable. I like who I am. We had a nice hug - then I backed away, both us still smiling - I said, "That was nice on the beach" - and, as though he hadn't been thinking of it and was just reminded - he smiled at me. So much talking with no words. Sometimes with guys - or, all the time with guys - I feel like I am so much more moved by stuff than they are. Like that one time I danced with DW. I felt kind of delirious with happiness and I just never felt like DW was that thrilled about it. [This struggle continues on to this day. I am "too much". I guess I always have been, always will be. Interesting to see me pick up on that already, though.]

It was a blessing from God that I got in this play. I have changed. I mean, look at me. When I step back and really evaluate the changes. I called TS just to say, "Why are you giving me mixed signals?" I can't even believe that. Last year it took me half an hour to get up the guts to call Keith M. for a math assignment. [hahahahaha - Keith M! My schoolboy hero! And I'm so insane that I recounted that whole phone exchange in yet another Diary Friday.]

By the way, it's December 31 now. This is the day before MY year begins. I will graduate high school and go to college this year. What's gonna happen this year? [Oh man. Don't ask.] I sent off my college application on Friday. But I'm still not done with Picnic stories. Not by a long shot!

Brett is home at his parents now. But when he comes back I can't wait to see him! I can't wait for college, too. Here's one reason why:

When we all went roller-skating - it was so much fun. I love to roller skate anyway, but it was such a blast. None of the guys could skate. Watching Joe on roller skates was so hysterical. Brett picked it up pretty fast though. And David. David W. He is a freshman right now - he was in the O'Neills - he was GREAT.

I've never really talked to him. He'd been at some of the parties. We'd been introduced but - we really hit it off roller skating. He is hysterical. It was his first time on skates, maybe - so I was leaning up against the wall and he came to a crash landing beside me, and immediately assumed this nonchalant macho pose, with dead macho eyes, and said, "Hey, baby, come here often?" and right then his feet flew out from under him and down he went. He kept doing this. I was having fits about him the whole night. College boys are so fun! Whenever he skated near me, I'd start yelling, "Stay away from me! You scare me! You're gonna take me down!" Liz and Brett skated off on a couples skate and Dave and I stood there - [Dave? Who the hell is that?] and - you will not believe how EASY [again: I do not have a font big enough to show how large those letters are] it was to ask him to skate. [David: HA! See? I asked you!!] It was as easy as saying, "Hello!" We had been laughing all night so it all felt natural. So we did - we skated the rest of the night, hand in hand. Liz was doing all these arabesques with Brett - so we tried them and ended up in a painful crash on the floor.

But we had a blast. David is unbelievably sweet.

[I have a weird lump in my throat right now. David is still one of my best friends. This is our first meeting. It is rather controversial - as we both have different versions of it - but that's okay! I just feel a bit choked up - because all of these people are still in my life. Dear dear friends. Liz, Brett, David ... all of them. I miss Joe - I wonder where he is now.]

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
Part 20 Description of closing night - part 1.

Diary Friday

As I continue to deal with "life after Picnic" - I keep going back and filling in the blanks from the whole experience. It was as though I was writing myself back into the past (of, er - 2 weeks ago).

So none of this is linear - I'm in the present, I go back into the past - events are speeding up, so sometimes I don't even know what to write about.

Lots of actor talk here. If you find an actor's process interesting - there's a ton of stuff here.

This one'll be a 2-parter. The orignal entry is probably 40 pages long.

DEC. 24

Oh Diary.

Tomorrow's Christmas.

I'm a crazy woman.

[That is quite a triumvirate]

A real-life freindship with Brett has been growing. I feel so comfortable with him. My whole outlook on myself with guys is different.

My life is FULL TO BURSTING. [I don't have a font big enough to imitate what it looks like in my journal]

On Closing Night, I got to the theatre in a frazzle with my bag of cards. I had made a sign to tack up on the bulletin board. It said: " 'Rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof.' That's how I feel about all of you. Love, Millie."

I was on the verge of joyous tears the whole night.

I came into the girls dressing room and went around to each mirror and put my card there. Joanna came in and did the same thing. I opened mine from her and started crying. Then I heard her on the other side going, "Oh, where is Sheila?" and I went running around to her. I had given her 2 cards - one had a poem on it about being sisters [she played Madge - my sister in the play] - the other was a letter. Hers was a hard one to write, too, because she came to mean so much to me - as a friend and as my sister. When we saw each other, we just started hugging - I wanted to hug her until there was nothing left of her.

Kate gave me this book for Christmas with all these quotes in it, and one quote screamed off the page at me [Jesus. That sounds terrifying] - and I think of it now when I have difficulty describing my tremendous love for someone:

"Love sees through a telescope - not a microscope."

Those feelings are not meant to be put into words.

Joanna ended her letter with a little poem for me:

"And when you stop and think about it
You won't believe it's true
But all the love you've been giving
has all been meant for you."

After our hug, we just beamed at each other and she said, "The best is yet to come."

Then we ran off to play dodge ball in J Studio. [Okay. That is HYSTERICAL. I had forgotten that. The entire cast would get to the theatre maybe an hour before curtain ... and before going to put on our costumes or makeup or whatever ... we would all congregate in J Studio - a massive echoing black-box space - and play dodge ball. SO FUN.]

Back in the dressing room, Jennifer (about my favorite person in the world) had just read my letter - and when I walked in, she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face and said to me, her beautiful Southern accent, "You are such a doll." I started crying and we both just hugged. She is so free with her emotions. I love it.

I miss her. She went home for Christmas - I talked to her on the phone last Tuesday to say goodbye. I am thinking of her. [Uhm, you sound a little bit like a stalker now.]

I was down in the lobby and Brett was there reading all the little cards people tacked up - and also my sign - and then he saw me just standing there and he came over to me and said, "Thank you for what you wrote." Then he kissed me and hugged me so gently I thought my heart would crack. [My heart was ALWAYS cracking, apparently.] That whole night I was so tremulously happy that I was about to cry the whole time. I hadn't gone into the guys dressing room yet to give them their cards. So later on I went and knocked on the door. Joe yelled, "Come in!" so in I went and gave each one their envelope.

I love Eric. He's left - he moved to NYC - He's such a wonderful guy. It's just inexpressible.

I don't have to describe all of it. I will remember it.

What a blessing it was that I got in Picnic. I have formed lasting meaningful frienships and I am so psyched. What is so great is that they love me - not some face I've put on.

I remember a while ago when I read my Seventeen horoscope [ohmigod, no] and it said, "You won't be certain who are. Perhaps you'll know when you see yourself reflected in his eyes." [Are you KIDDING me, Seventeen???? I feel like suing them right now.] I never really understood what that meant - but suddenly - on Closing Night - after I handed the card to Brett - and he looked at me - I felt like what he was seeing. I could see myself the way he saw me. The fondness and caring in his eyes was so much that it went right through me - and I just felt so good about myself. He makes me feel special and unique. In the same way that my friends do. Sometimes I really need that.

In high school there is such a definite line between friendship and romance. If you talk seriously to a guy, or sit with him, people ask, "You going out with him?" It's really impossible to have a friendship with a guy in high school - because at least in my school - boys and girls do not mix outside of romance. [What is this - a high school in Riyadh? Lighten up, people!] If you're going out with someone, you're inseparable - but other than that ...

But here I am finding that a friendship with a guy is so satisfying - so normal. I am on TOP of the world. Because I can't put a label on what we have. It's not just friendship. It's not romance. What is so WONDERFUL about me and Brett is: Usually when I think about guys, I think: "Okay, there's friendship - and then there's more. Something more." It's like everything needs to be defined. Friendship or romance, choose. I can't find a name for me and Brett except beautiful. Fulfilling. I love him, and it's a gift. I think I sense a kindred soul in him.

A while later, I went back into the guys dressing room with Liz to give Joe a Christmas ornament that I stole from a Woolworths tree. [What?? Also: wow. Woolworths] Joe is notorious for swiping ornaments so amidst total hysteria, I presented it to him. Liz was in convulsions. Joe was slapping on face powder and praising my actions. [hahaha I remember that. It was so old-school dressing-room behavior.] I was laughing. I looked at Brett. I knew he had read my card, and I was scared to look at him. I was embarrassed. The minute I came in I was aware of Brett standing up, and he just stood there quietly during the crazy loudness -

Junior year is lightyears behind me. It's now almost a dream. Did all of that happen? It's sad how I was. I was such a basketcase. For Pete's sake, the best day of my life was when DW bought two of my damn Rice Krispie treats at the Drama Club bake sale. [I am literally shaking with laughter rightnow] I don't think I loved DW as much as I believed I did. I mean, all the stupid times he looked at me - and I would interpret it to mean something - and you know what? It doesn't even hurt anymore. I used to fall in love all over again whenever I would see him - but now - I just remember it. I can remember loving him with every fiber that I had - but I can't conjure up the feeling anymore. I don't feel stabs of pain. I haven't for a long long time. I guess it was just an infatuation.

So anyway, I finally got the courage to glance at Brett - I had the feeling that he had read my card. I felt awfully open.

He didn't smile, when I looked at him. He just jerked his head at me, to tell me to come over to him. Joe and Liz were still loudly talking. So I walked over to Brett. He looked so serious. No, not serious. He looked moved. In one moment we were hugging - just one of those indescribably hugs - I could feel I LOVE YOU - I am me - I am still Sheila Kathleen, I am the same girl I have always been - but now you are in my life, Brett, and nothing will ever be the same again. [And this is actually true. Meeting Brett changed my life.]

During rehearsals, as I slowly got more comfortable with people - they all seemed to get more at ease with me, too. Brett is such an affectionate person. He blew me away, and I didn't know what to make of him. How he would hug me, or grab me, or ruffle my hair. It's all very real, though. He says "I love you" a lot too. In later rehearsals, he would always tack on, "But not that much" and everyone would yell at him. The fact that he didn't say it with deep serious tones didn't lessen his sincerity at all. But when we were hugging in the dressing room - he said "I love you" - and he didn't tack on "but not that much" - the hug was so long - so tight - I knew then that my letter had been the right thing to do. I really just wanted to give him a gift in return for all he has given me.

Happines scares me sometimes.

No other feeling really scares me like happiness does. It makes me feel helpless sometimes, for no reason.

I knew there was some greater meaning to my getting in Picnic. It was my chance to assert myself. It was my chance to become a real actress. It presented me with all sorts of chances - but not just theatrical. I just feel so much more alive right now. Because of all of those people.

Brett broke the hug, and gave me a little shove. "Get the hell out of here. I'm starting to cry."

Then Eric came over and swung me up off the ground to thank me for the card.

I was happy. Forget trying to be eloquent. [hahaha As though my journal is rolling its eyes, thinking, "God. She's so inarticulate."]

When I left that dressing room, I was shaking. My nerves were electrocuted anyway [good lord] because it was Closing Night - way more so than Opening. The world was coming once more. Kate, J, Mere, Carolyn, my parents, Bren, Brian, Geddy and Don came down. Oh, and TS came too - although he didn't tell me he was coming.

Before each show we would always meet in the Green Room and psyche up. We'd always do our Circle. Hold hands, and zoom in and zoom out, yelling - or - send a squeeze around the circle through each other's hands - faster and faster - like an electric current - The big thing was to squeeze hands as tightly as possible and go "SSSSSSSSSS". You can't imagine how much energy it would give me.

On Saturday, though, we all held hands and just stared at each other. My knees were knocking. Brett said, "Okay, let's just be quiet for a minute and think about what Picnic has meant to us." So for a while, we all just squeezed hands and didn't say anything. All I could think of to say to God was, "Thank you". But I meant it from the very pit of my soul. This wasn't just a play for me. I don't think it was for anyone else either.

The show was beautiful. I tried not to think, "This is the last time I'll be doing this" but I couldn't help it.

We all started screaming and hugging in the Green Room - I was in the perfect mood to do a show - I couldn't WAIT to get out onstage. I was right behind Joanne and Joanna - right before we entered the backstage area, I said to them, without even thinking, "God, I love you guys." Joanne froze and turned around to look at me. Then she put her arms around me and said, "Some people you love because they don't let you do anything else." We walked backstage together. Before every show, the two of us would grab each other's arms and go "SSSSSSS". Then she and Joanna would do it, then me and Joanna - then the three of us together - and right then, it hit me. It's gonna be over so soon. That day to dayness of seeing these wonderful close friends I've made is almost over.

Before the show, backstage - it wasn't like we were saying goodbye to each other. But almost a goodbye to the show. Because right after the show, we had to immediately strike the houses. So we were all just hugging really tight.

Liz beckoned to me and Joanna and we sort of huddled with our arms around each other. Liz said, "If I ever become a mother, I would hope that my kids would be just like you two."

Oh God. She became my mother during rehearsals. She always called me and Joanna Millie and Madge - and she would tell us what to do. [hahahahaha LIZ!!!] Or she'd tell us to be careful, and drive safe, or whatever.

Brett came over to our side to hug each of us before the show. You know what's weird - I used to think TS and I were alike. But we aren't at all. We are because we both act, and we like NYC, but - we used to be alike. But since Picnic I've opened myself up. I am not afraid to be vulnerable, and I like to be around people who also aren't afraid to be vulnerable.

I can kid around with Brett, goof on him, laugh with him - he made me laugh so hard once that I almost wet my pants - but also - I can talk to him. We also can just be silent together. So I know now that I need somone that I can talk to. Someone I don't have to watch myself with, or watch what I say. I don't want to be uptight anymore. I don't want to be anyone else but myself.

The show went great. We all just had SO MUCH FUN. I had a blast - being Millie for the last time - knowing all my buddies were out there watching. I love to run the show through in my mind even now.

One of the most vivid moments for me from the last show was during Act III during Brett's and my scene. The scene was always so real, and awkward and uncomfortable. I always felt like crying during it. Because here's what I decided: I had done a lot of thinking. I knew that Alan would be leaving. I knew that I probably would never see him again - at least not this way. And it hurts me - but I knew that I had to say what I had to say, while I had the chance.

During the intermission between Act II and Act III, and during Scene 1 of Act III that I wasn't in - I sat backstage preparing, sitting between two heavy black curtains. I plugged my ears, closed my eyes so that I was in my own world. And I went through my preparation. I went through the whole picnic in my mind, let myself feel it - coming home after the picnic and finding that Madge isn't in her bed. I knew what that meant. I went through me lying in my bed all night, thinking. Millie has a dark night of the soul. She separates herself from her family. I went through all of that in my mind.

Then I opened my eyes, unplugged my ears - it was so weird, everything was so loud suddenly, so harsh. It slapped me in the face.

I remembered Madge's face as she danced towards Hal. And right then it hit me, "Holy shit. Madge is with Hal."

So when Howard's card drives up, I run around the curtain - like I'm seeing if it's Madge. But then it hits me - Alan. Oh God - it's Alan. And what about Alan. It hit me so hard it hurt. I look back over the summer - how nice Alan has been to me, all the times he let me go places with him, and the times he took me swimming.

I don't exactly know how preparing to go onstage works [sounds like you're doing a pretty damn fine job, young Sheila] - but that's what I would do. And sometimes, backstage, I would almost start to cry - I would start off feeling totally rejected. Because Hal rejected me. Thoughts of DW would float through my mind. I would sit there thinking "Why not me?" - and I couldn't tell if it was me thinking it, or Millie.

I felt despearte. I realized that everything was crumbling.

Then I would watch the love scene between Madge and Hal. And Brett would always watch it too. What a pinch that must have been.

All of this preparation helped me so much to do Act III - and helped me during our scene. I love Alan, in a way. And it hurts to have him leave because I know that the only reason he hangs around our house is because of Madge. He won't be coming back. So. I have made up my mind to tell him how I feel about him, before it's too late. And I do. [I don't know, girl, you're kinda blowing me away here. That's a powerful choice to make. Good choice.]

Act III on Closing Night was more me than Millie - I knew it. There are so many goodbyes in that act. But that one scene with Brett, I felt so choked up inside - but also so determined. And my last line is: "I don't expect you to do anything about it. I just wanted to tell you."

I have never felt it the way I felt it then. The firmness. The determination. "I just wanted to tell you."

Alan doesn't know yet about Madge and Hal, but I guessed. So I know before he does that he will be going. "I just wanted to tell you" (subtext: before you leave, before I never see you again, Goodbye Alan, goodbye to my friend Alan, thank you, thank you, thank you for being my friend.) [Holy shit. Is this a 17 year old girl writing this? Seriously. I am very impressed with myself right now]

Act III. I came offstage for the last time. Usually I don't listen to the rest of the play because it makes me cry and I can't cry for curtain call. Also, to be real about it - I wouldn't hear any of it. I am Millie, and I am on my way to my first day of school - and I am a different grown-up person now.

But the last night I did listen.

Usually when Joanna comes off, she is really crying. Joanne and I give her a minute to herself and then go to her to calm her down. I don't know where Joanne was the last night - but I heard Joanna behind one of the curtains weeping. Total hysterics. By then all the lights had come down - I went to her - and took her in my arms. She was shaking and sobbing. It was like holding J at Kate's grandmother's funeral. I didn't know what to do. She was so out of control.

It was over. We both knew it.

We hurriedly wiped off our faces to go running out to bow. After our curtain call, we all tore (as planned) to the Green Room to pop the champagne. The screaming! The mayhem! I ran into the Green Room shrieking for no real reason - everyone was screaming - Brett caught me up and whirled me around - then Eric came in and Joe - we all were yelling - and Liz! I got soaked with champagne. It sprayed everywhere. Joe hugged me and I started crying. Liz saw me and came running over to me. I love that girl. She is a gem.

In the hysteria, Kimber came in, saw me, handed me this thing,- saying, "Letter for you."

I was like, "What?"

I had no idea what it was. It was a piece of folded black construction paper. On the cover was stapled a white piece of paper with a pencilled drawing on it that I immediately recognized. It was a drawing of Paul McCartney on the cover of the Abbey Road album walking across the street with bare feet. I was quite confused. I opened it and inside was stapled a piece of blue construction paper and on it was written in crayon -

"Happy birthday/Congrats on the debut.
I'm quite sure I'm probably very proud of you.
Love, TS
(Remember, the key to success is there is not a not.)"

[This card is taped into my journal - right at this spot, by the way. My journals are filled with stapled relics of my life - cards, notes, etc. They're all plastered through the pages.]

I totally lost it. I had had NO idea that he was in the audience. I hadn't talked to him since I don't even know when - but I couldn't believe that he had actually come, and written me a letter. Right then I forgot my anger. [Oh shit. No, hang onto it!! You're gonna need it!] I started to sob as I looked at that letter.

It was just everything. I have so much love in me. I didn't know that I could love that much.

I saw Joanne, standing there with tears in her eyes. She's transferring so she won't be here next year. [She ended up staying!] I went over to her, and we both just lost it, hugging. I somehow managed to say, "I'll miss you." I learned so much about acting from her. I watched her, and I learned. She sort of took me under her wing theatrically.

Opening Night, before the show, I was not a human being. I was a shivering bundle of nervousness. We were backstage before the show, and I said, "Why do I do this if it makes me feel this way>" And she said to me, "Then leave. Walk out. You have two choices here. Either you say: Fuck it, and leave. Or you go out there and blow them away. To go out there and fail is not a choice you have."

I will always remember that. [And I always have.]

I was SO glad that TS came! I was kind of hurt that he hadn't come already.

Back in the dressing room, I had to have Linda unhook my skirt because I was not functioning. I was so eager to go upstairs that I would have run up there naked if someone hadn't stopped me. I waited for Liz to dress, then we hollered for Brett (whose parents and brother had come) Brett has a brother my age - isn't that so weird?

I've never had that much pent-up energy before. The three of us ran up the stairs and burst into the lobby.

Mere was so great - she was hugging me and beaming at me, saying, "My friend."

And there stood TS. He looked so cute. He had a suit on. I wanted to hug him and say "I love you" - but - there we go - I had to say to myself, "Wait. This is TS." I hugged him anyway. Maybe he felt awkward but I didn't.

The weirdest thing was introducing my Picnic friends to my other friends. I live in 2 worlds now, and in both worlds the different groups of people know the same Sheila - which is so great for me. I am not different with one group than another. But they are 2 worlds. It was a blending of the 2 worlds that night and it felt SO strange. Liz came running over looking freshly washed and young, after all her wrinkles and eye-shadows were scrubbed off and put her arms around me. "Introduce me! I know your faces from the Homecoming Dance picture but I don't know names."

So I said, "Liz, this is Mere, TS, J, Kate, and Carolyn." Then Joe came over and I went through it again Then Brett bounded over - and I got very confused at that point. I mean, all before the show and during - I was amazed at my own love for him. It was so much,and so happy - then I got TS's letter and immediately my soul was screaming, "TS!" So having to say, "Brett, this is TS, TS this is Brett" - I mean, it was almost funny. My whole life is hysterical. Anne started laughing as I introduced the two guys.

But I liked finally introducing my friends to this legendary person amed Brett.

After a few minutes of awkwardness, where we all stood and stared at each other - I said, "Well, I have to go knock down my house now."

Another round of tight wonderful hugs. Mere was so cute -just glowing at me. It is weird sometimes - to have people proud of me - and to be proud of myself. It makes me feel set apart and it's strange.

Then we struck the set.

It was a total downer. First of all, it totally drained me. By the end of it, my eyes were practically closed, and they were swollen cause of all the dust and sawdust. I ached. And watching our beautiful houses just coming down - like that - it was a smack in the face. A dash of ice cold reality. It's over, you fuckers. Ha ha

It was rough for everyone in the cast, but we got through it. I said to Brett, "Okay, I'm gonna turn my mind off to what we were doing." And it wasn't as hard as it seemed. I just kept myself busy, taking out nails, rolling away furniture, carrying lights and flats. There were a few times when I just stood back - watching the roof come down, or the porch come off. I'd look across the stage and see Joanna standing there, staring too. She's a kindred soul, too. I didn't really talk to people during strike. I got so tired. And sort of quietly depressed and resigned. I really thought that because Picnic was over I would never see them again. I forgot what Brett had written to me in his card: "Always remember the bond it created."

One thing happened during strike which totally lifted me. It's the only time I can remember associating with anyone during strike. Brett and I were carrying this platform to this scaffold to put it down and as we put it down, he leaned across it to me and said, "Thank you so much for what you wrote. I mean it. I almost cried." I said, "I meant it." I was being honest. I'm just not eloquent enough [again with the eloquence anxiety??] to think of anything to say. And he looked at me again in that way that sends shivers through me. It's like I know that he sees me. That's the only thing I really remember from the strike,e xcept for getting totally exhausted. I was practically sleeping while standing.

I was looking forward to the huge party afterwards at Brett and Joe's - hoping it would pep me up. Also, I was gonna sleep over so I had all my lens stuff. I had slept over once before - the Saturday before after another big party. That was a wonderful time. It was strange how comfortable I felt doing things that I could never have imagined myself doing.

I still felt kind of numb, though. It was over.

I was thinking that because we were no longer a cast, we would all drift our separate ways. I was resigned to it. I asked Joe, "Does the party usually cheer you up?" and he said, "Oh yeah!"

I got all my stuff together after the stage was totally clear. It looked so weird and desolate. I couldn't really look at it. And the dressing room - oh, the whole thing was just a weird feeling. I feel so at home in that theatre now. It was my home for 2 months. My name taped up on my mirror.

But I couldn't wait for the party.

Then Patty (one of the girls who lives with Brett and Joe) offered me a ride. There had been this fiasco a few nights before when she drove me over to Giro's - but that's another story. Patty is a nice girl but she sort of latched onto me for some reason - Carolyn does sort of the same thing. She clings. She hovers. It bugs me.

Jennifer came to the rescue. God, I love that girl - Anyways, Patty was just waiting around for me - even though I was stalling to see if I could get a ride with Joe or Joanna or Brett. I wanted to go to the party with someone who was in the show - who would understand - I didn't want to be with her. She is not someone to be with when you are feeling quiet and depressed. I just really wanted to be with cast members. She's kind of dense that way. So Jennifer, the doll, said, "Patty, could you give me a ride home before we go to the party? I have to get something." Then she winked at me. What a sweetheart.

Just then I heard Liz calling my name out in the hall - I went out there - she was peeking out of the guys dressing room and said, "Brett's gonna give you a ride."

Relief flooded over me.

I grabbed my stuff and went into the guys dressing room. Brett was putting on his sneakers. It was so comforting to be near him. I felt so lost. Our set was gone. Our houses were gone. Our little Kansas world was no more. I would have been totally floundering in space with Patty.

We headed out to his car. The night was cool and breezy with a full bright white moon.

We got in the car. We both were really quiet. My whole being felt so calm and unemotional and dead. Like: "It's over." I think Brett was more listening to my silence than being quiet on his own. Because - we sat there in his car for a minute, not talking, before he turned the key.

I couldn't believe what 2 months of my life could do.

Sitting in that car with him was such a comfort to me. Brett sighed and turned the key and away we went from the theatre. We could have driven the whole way to his house in silence and it would have made me feel better - just being with him makes me feel better. I mean, with TS - there's one second of silence and it's agonizing. I suppose I shouldn't compare but I can't help it.

We did talk in the car though. At first not about much, but then there was another lull in the conversation and I was just looking out the window and --

Brett took a deep breath and said, "Now ------ you have our phone number." He reached over and sort of patted my knee. "Use it."

I felt so full of emotion I couldn't talk. We looked at each other. Brett said, "I'm glad you feel comfortable with me." Once again, no words. I felt so good inside suddenly. I mean, the play was over, but I was going to a party, and it didn't have to be OVER over yet.

I feel so wondrous that lal this is happening to me.

We talked on the way there - I asked him if he could tell how nervous and awkward I had felt during the first rehearsals and he said, "Oh yeah. I knew just how you were feeling too. But what made me feel really good is when you started goofing on me. That was so cool because - I don't goof on everybody - especially not girls - but it was neat when you felt comfortable enough with me to bust on me."

I have always thought of friendship as "cool" but it was romance that was the "something more". I never thought this was possible - but friendship with Brett already is "something more". There is no dividing line. It's not one or the other. It's more just in being itself.

I'm shouting Brett's name to the mountains! [Uhm, Rhode Island has no mountains]

We got to the house. It was such a beautiful night. I don't know how he can stand living where he does. The view they have. And on that clear moonlit night. I love it in that little crowded beachhouse.

Millions of people were there. I was feeling so mellow and peaceful, not at all crazy. At the strike I was thinking, "Oh, it'll be fun to dance and go wild." But once I was there, I just wasn't into it. All I could think of was that this was the last Picnic party, and there were so many loud people there who I didn't know. I didn't drink. I had a sip of champagne but that was it. I sat on the couch with Joanna and Brett and we stared into the fire. We all felt the same way. I didn't feel tired anymore. I just felt like sitting around with Picnic people and talking. But it was so loud in that tiny house.

Brett glanced at me. "I am so not into crowds tonight. Are you?" I shook my head. "Not at all."

Then he said to me, "Want to go for a walk on the beach?"

That was just what I wanted. It sounded so beautiful, so peaceful - just what I needed.

We weaved our way through the throngs and went up to his room to get our coats. I said, "Do you think that this'll look a little suspicious?" We looked at each other and stopped. "Yeah, it does." he said. But still, I was aching to go - and get out of the house. The moon was so bright and so full. And the beach. The ocean. We decided to go anyway. Fuck what people thought.

We went to find Joe and Liz - but Liz wanted to shave off Joe's mustache [I am laughing out loud!!!!] so they said that they would come down later.

So Brett and I got our coats and slipped out of the house into the quiet still night.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.

Diary Friday

After the show closes - things get kind of nuts in my life. I had a really hard time adjusting to life "after Picnic". And so I spent a lot of time playing catch up in the journal and writing about the run of the show. So I could re-live the glory days of, uhm, last week.

DECEMBER 13

Up till yesterday this week has been good, other than being completely exhausted. I've kept in touch with Picnic. Monday night, Brett, Joe and I went to see Liz's play that she directed. Tuesday night a whole bunch of us went roller skating at Ocean Skate (oldies but goodies night - I had a BLAST!) - and yesterday Kimber came to talk to my Drama class - and Joe, Brett, and Liz came along. That was wonderful. [I have no memory of any of that.]

I am so tired. I fell asleep twice in school yesterday - once in Physiology, once in French. I'm home from school today because if I don't rest I am going to become deathly ill. And this weekend, our Drama class is going to NYC! I'm psyched but I won't be able to catch up on any sleep this weekend.

So I have 2 1/2 hours alone here now - and last night - It was about 10:30 and I couldn't even keep my eyes open but I had to study my Physiology. [Hahaha That sounds unintentionally sexual] I know that I am overtired - so that's part of why I feel overwhelmed - but there was more. A few tears rolled down my cheeks and then suddenly I was burying my head in my pillow and sobbing so hard I thought my heart would crack. And you know why - it's because Picnic is over. It really hadn't hit me yet because I've still been able to see my buddies - but - we found out on Monday that we aren't going to New Hampshire - a slap in the face. I mean, for so long every single day was a new adventure because of the rehearsal that night. Nobody but me will ever know how dreadfully I'm going to miss them. I don't think I've ever really missed anyone before. I'm feeling it now. It aches. I feel desolate and bleak. I love them. I feel so alone and lonely and it's only been a day since I saw them. I have this love for Brett - but it's a kind of love I cannot explain. It's almost more than I can bear. It almost feels sacred - too special to touch, too special to write about.

Oh, and let's come back to the present. On Monday Anne told me, by slip of the tongue, that after the Homecoming Dance, TS said to her, "I don't want to give Sheila the wrong impression. I don't want her to think I like her that way." I could NOT believe it. I was so angry that I couldn't even express it. I ran out of French to ponder things over in the lav. [Taken just as is - that is a very funny sentence.] What the fuck? If he didn't want me to get the wrong impression - then why did he give it to me? I mean, he was the one who started the whole thing. Does he think he's doing me some massive favor by going on dates with me? Fuck him if that's what he thinks. I used to need him. I am so much more confident with guys now. I am unafraid. I don't need this shit. I need someone I can talk to. Brett and I have had conversations that make me ache with happiness when I look back on them. But there's such a happy medium with us. We can be crazy and out of control with laughter - and also serious. It's all natural. TS doesn't ever want to be serious, and it wears me out. I get tired of having to be jokey and on all the time. Of never getting serious.

So anyway. I am so pissed. I have been pissed since the Homecoming Game, actually. So on Monday I went home and called him. He wasn't there. So I left a message. Then he called me back and I think he knew somehow. I think he knew that I had called him about something serious because - I could just tell. Like he was saying hi and everything but he was also just waiting for me to start. So I said, "Hi - I have got to talk to you." I blundered around for a second and finally I just spit it out. I said, "I heard from someone that you said you don't want me to get the wrong impression - and - well - what the fuck?" We then had a very confusing conversaion. Nothing was straightened out in my mind. He was so nice about it that I found myself not telling him all the things about him that make me angry. He said, "I like being buddies with you - I don't want that spoiled." Okay, fine, whatever. Let's be buddies then. But why did he start the whole thing? It's too far along now to just fizzle it out? I mean - during the summer - it could have - but now? Come on.

[Obviously I still had a ways to go in expressing what was going on with me. Because now? I would have annhiliated this dude. I would have left him a smoking pile of shame-faced rubble. I actually probably - if someone treated me like this now - wouldn't even confront it. I would just totally disappear from his life, with not a word of explanation. Never return phone calls or emails, etc. A brutal disappearance. I'm not saying that this is progress, by the way, but I must speak the truth here, and this is what I would do. I would never be derailed now by someone's "nice"ness after a rejection like that. Nice shmice. You've been playing games with me and you will PAY.]

DECEMBER 17

I have had a breakdown. A long overdue breakdown.

When I was in Picnic and had 5 million things to do at the same time, they always got done. My grades have never been that good. I've never been that happy. But now suddenly I have free time and everything is overwhelming me so much. Homework, work, applications, essays, money. [God, this is still the same way with me. I do better with handling stuff when I'm really busy]

When I was in Picnic, rehearsals and shows and those people - those were what made me high - no matter what, I would come out floating. Now I haven't seen them for 4 days and I feel totally lost. It's like I need them. I need them to get in touch again - make me feel real again. [Oh boy]

I miss them. No one will know how much. God. I miss them.

Last Friday Kate's grandmother died - I felt so so awful - I've seen it coming but still, it's so painful. This weekend we all went to NYC (it was a blast - the hotel didn't know we were minors and sent 2 complementary bottles of champagne to our rooms - we had so much fun!) [There are SO many inappropriate stories aobut our drama class trips to New York ... I need to write a huge post on those trips, with pictures.] And today, I am drained. Exhausted. Shuffling. We got home at 11:30. My eyes are swollen.

Today was the funeral at 10:00. Betsy brought the car so after 2nd period we all left for it - Me, Betsy, J and Mere - I was glad to be going there for Kate. She doesn't cry and she always says, "I'm fine." The funeral was at Christ the King. I don't know what I was expecting - I've never been to a funeral outside my own family before.

Kate did a reading - her favorite one. That was when I started crying. She is so brave. She went up there - "If God be for us, who can be against us?" - and she started crying - up at the podium - the four of us sitting there all broke down - I remember seeing J. put her hands up over her face. Kate lost control and Father Creedon walked over to her, and hugged her - and I heard her whisper, "I want to do it!" And by God, she did - in the strongest voice - it was absolutely amazing. The love in that church.

"For I am persuaded, that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" - and after it - she said in the strongest most firm voice: "This is the word of the Lord." Words can't express it. We were all wrecks.

Father Chew gave a beautiful sermon and Mr. D read the eulogy. He started to cry - Betsy reached over to me and we just squeezed hands through the whole thing. So many people came for support. Beth's parents - Humanity is wonderful. I've been really lucky with my group of friends.

The last song was "Be not afraid" - Hearing Betsy's pure crystal voice in my ears - Meredith was a mess. None of us even knew Kate's grandmother that well - but we all were just wrecks. All of her friends were there - and looking at them made me cry. This old old man with real pain in his eyes and tears on his face. It was horrible. Grief.

After the mass, we were all shook up - we went up to Kate's dad and hugged him - He said, "She went out in style. She had a long fulfilled life."

At the very end of the mass, the sun came out and flooded in all the windows. I just nudged Betsy, we looked at each other. It was beautiful.

I felt shy with Kate. Betsy went right over to her and gave her a big hug - but I felt shy. J. was shaking with sobs - I held onto her - and Mere and I then hugged, and we both were just crying. [Wow - the intensity of this - I don't really remember this either!]

We finally went back to school after having a makeshift lunch at Betsy's.

[Look out - there's no segue here at all]

Closing Night was so special. What a beautiful memory. Purely wonderful. A beautiful way to end Picnic. It was such a LONG night too - I fell asleep at 5:00 am Sunday morning. I had bought cards for everybody and I wrote them all at home - It was hard. It took me so long. It was like caritas. When I came to Brett's card, I sat there staring at the card for half an hour, blankly. Finally I just wrote - Honesty. I can't even remember what I said really, but I meant it. I thanked him for making me feel so totally welcome from Day One. I told him how comfortable I felt with him and how I felt like he was becoming one of my best friends. And he is.

Oh, and Brett constantly says to people, "I love you ---" then adds - "But not that much." It's a joke. After the Tuesday show when we all went to Del Mor's, we were getting ready to leave and he hugged me from behind really tight and said, "God, I missed you yesterday! I really did!" I snuggled my head against his arm around my neck and he said, "I love you ...... but not that much." I sort of hit his arm and said, "Don't do that to me!" and we both burst into hysterics. Then he put his arm around me and we walked out of Del Mor's together and he said, "You know I don't goof on anyone I don't care about."

I actually just called his house today because - God. I just want to talk with him! But he wasn't home. Only Lenny was. He said to me, "You know, Sheila - you won't be seeing us for about 5 weeks now." Thanks, Len.

I just don't want to have to deal with things now. I have to go Christmas shopping. I have no money.

I need to catch up on all of Picnic. It's just that it's such a lovely memory [Uhm - it just ended last week] that I still haven't gotten over feeling good about it.

Diary Saturday

More fragments ... now that the show has opened!

DECEMBER 3

I don't know where to begin. I seem to be weeks behind but - my God. I've changed. Since opening night.

Nobody would believe this weekend.

We've done 4 shows so far - each one individual and different - I have never gotten as nervous as I was opening night.

Opening night was such a damn high. WOW! And the nights before - the last few rehearsals - so exciting and after each one, we went out to Giro's and had fun - or went to Del Mor's and had some coffee. [Have fun or have coffee. These are your choices.]

Wednesday night we had a Preview Audience - just people from the Drama Department - even with only a few people in the audience, my heart was pounding. I was almost crying I was so nervous. Whenever anyone in the cast would look at me, they'd start to laugh and go, "Look at Sheila!" When we finished the show successfully - to say the least - we were all quite wired.

I called home to ask (or tell) them if I could go out. Monday night had been a dead downer night. It was one of those nights when I wanted to cry after the rehearsal was over. I really did. And when I heard that a small group was going out to Del Mor's, I almost begged to go. I couldn't go home with those feelings. So I went to call my dad - he said yes, but to be home by 12:00. Diary, I don't know why, but that depressed me so much - it wasn't like he yelled at me or anythjing - but it made me so so so down. [I was sick of being a kid, I'm thinkin'! I was still only 16 though! Or I had just turned 17. Whatever - I still had to call home for permission and I still had to do what they say. This was devastating. hahahahaha] I hung up the phone and tears started streaming down my cheeks. After each show my emotions are so haywire anyway. A lot of times I just cry myself to sleep. It's hard. Everything's painful and open.

I came back into the theatre. I had wiped off my tears, but I think everyone sensed my depression. Everyone else was feeling it too. That happens. Every night the show affects us differently - but as a whole the same. I mean, it's practically impossible to have a great show on your own. It's such a together thing that - it's intrinsic - Usually everyone is affected the same way. My energy level had totally dropped. I just wanted to go out and be with those wonderful people. I was standing alone getting my coat on - Brett came over to me. I needed what he did right then. He didn't really do anything, but his gentleness and his kindness was just exactly what I needed. Of course it made me start to cry again, but I felt so loved. He came over and took hold of my sholuders. "You comin' to Del Mor's?" I looked up at him. I felt those damn unexplained tears in my eyes. And he saw them. I said, "Could I come?" And he said, "You can always come with me, kid." Then we smiled and he sort of started to walk away and- on an impulse - I reached out and squeezed his hand. And he squeezed back.

I could never do that with TS. [Oh boy. The guy I was kinda dating at the time.] I could never be open like that. By the way, he hasn't called me. I'm glad cause I'm really trying to sort out my feelings. Wait til you hear about this past week! It's been so amazing and exciting and I totally haven't wanted to write about it.

Wednesday was totally opposite. After that rehearsal, I had to go out to have a blast and to do something with all my incredible high energy - I felt like getting drunk. Wasted. Me! I was practically screaming with my happiness and fizzy excitement. Everyone was yelling and racing around - I went with Brett. Sometimes I look forward to things so much that just thinking about what is to come makes me feel good - like it's already happened. That's what happened to me when Brett and I were going out to his car. First of all, he was driving me - and one of my favorite things to do now is talk and laugh with Brett. He is one special person, Diary. [hahahaha "Diary"] He is such a REAL person.

That night at Giro's was such a blast. Brett and I were the first ones there so we slid in a booth and ordered a pitcher. That felt pretty weird. Then everybody else came and it got really fun. Joanne and Donna - the dynaimc due - were dancing crazily - we were in the main part of the bar too. The whole night Brett was loving busting on me, rolling his eyes at me, laughing at me. Back at the theatre, I finally said, laughing, "Why are you making me feel inferior?" The whole time we were both sort of cutting on each other, having fun - so when I said that he started laughing uncontrollably and came running over to me to HUG me. Both of us laughing. Laughing with him has got to be the most fun thing in the world. [Yup. Still is.] So at Gior's we were talking and he said, "You know that I bust on you only cause I love you so much." This was not said in a sappy lovey way which was great. Playing games drives me nuts. Brett makes it sound so straightforward. I trust him.

Me. Brett, and Joanna were all talking, deep in conversation, and suddenly Dancing in the Dark came on the jukebox and right in the middle of our talk Joanna screeched and leaped out on the floor to dance with Joanne and Donna, leaving Brett and I in midstream. I started yelling, "JOANNA! COME BACK!" Brett and I both started to laugh - and suddenly he said, "You are the coolest kid I have ever known." and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

On Sunday - after our Thanksgiving break - it was like a camp reunion, it was great. It's amazing how close this has made us all. I have a feeling that this is rare. There are NO personality conflicts. NONE. I've never experienced anything like this.

Sunday was a 13-hour Tech Rehearsal (brother, was it BORING) but I came into the theatre, so psyched to see everyone again. It had only been 4 days but I was aching to see them. The first person I saw was Joe. We both went, "Hey!" and he picked me up off the ground and squeezed me. I was so happy to be there again. My Thanksgiving had pretty much sucked because of TS and the Homecoming. The theatre was all dark and shadowy. Our houses were up - they looked beautiful - but also very ominous. The houses loomed in the dark.

I heard this "Sheila!" from somewhere. I looked around and it was Brett, sitting up on the Owens' dark porch. He called, "Come up here!" It was so wonderful to see him again! I went running up onto the porch. He was sitting on the couch and we hugged - and Liz was there - and we hugged and kissed. I love her. I think she is such a great great person. The first thing they both wanted to kow was if I had gotten in trouble on that night when I couldn't get in the house. [hahahahahaha I love Brett and Liz!! ] Liz said, "We were petrified that you were gonna get grounded and we'd lose Millie!" I assured them that I wasn't in trouble and then Brett did an absolutely hysterical imitation of me trying to get into my house. We were all ROLLING.

Eric came in and Brett hailed him - "Hey!" They hugged. And guess what Brett told me! On Saturday, we spent the day at Terry and Diane's (our second Thanksgiving) and we got home at 6:30. On Sunday Brett said to me, "Hey I tried to call you Saturday night to go to Amadeus but there was no answer." Turns out he called at 6:00. There is literally no justice in the world. Can you imagine how fun that would have been? I was quite full of anguish that I missed his call. [hahahaha "no justice" "anguish", etc. etc. Yup - you're still 17, Sheila]

That rehearsal was tres boring because while techies were working with light and sound, we'd all be sitting backstage, waiting - but it was still fun.

I will never forget these days. They are already PRECIOUS. How could I forget them?

Opening Night was intense because the world came. Beth, Betsy, J., Mere, Anne, Dad, Mum, Bren, Jean, Siobhan - you know, it was one of those no pressure situations.

The show went woderful. There is NOTHING like that kind of high. You cannot get that feeling anywhere else. Who'd want to? And that my friends were out there - it was such a great night. Once I got out on stage I was fine and boy did I have a blast. I won't even try to put it into words because it'll ruin the memory. The memory is enough.

Usually at rehearsals after the show we all drift off to calm down - then come back. We did our curtain call, we come out to bow one by one -all my friends screamed like crazy when I came out to bow. It felt terrific. So after we came off - Good Lord - we were all leaping and laughing and screaming and hugging. Everyone! We tore out into the hallway to find each other. Mass pandemonium. Five minute hugs - that took the breath out of me - It was so great - me and Joanna just hugging and hugging. Then everyone went leaping into the dressing rooms. We were all screeaming - we burst open the champagne - it tasted so GOOD - then Kimber came in to hug each one of us - so cool. Then he broke the news to us: "The judges ere here tonight. We've been keeping it a secret." [The judges for the ACTF. A big deal in college theatre.]

Liz started to yell, "NO WAY!"

Then we all started yelling - and hugging - AGAIN - for another 10 minutes - at that point we became convinced that we were going to UNH. [The next stage in the ACTF competition which eventually leads to the Kennedy Center in DC]

Then I got dressed, took my batches of flowers and made a hysterical entrance into the lobby - I felt like saying, "Just give me a tiara." I felt totally ludicrous. And there was my huge group of wonderful friends - my family - I admit it. I felt like a celebrity and I loved it. They assaulted me. I was crushed by hugs and kisses. I was so high I hardly knew their names. I only knew my feelings, my LOVE. I am so so glad they all came on opening night. I really felt very special and I liked it. I gave all my stuff to my mother (I think my parents liked it too) and said, "Well, goodbye for the next 2 weeks!" I rarely will be at home. And I had to go out on Opening night.

What a blast we had!

At first, we all went to the Pump House because that's where the judges were eating. We only stayed for a while. The cast pulled all these tables together. The judges sat alone with Kimber. I was served. It was exciting. I was sitting on an end with Brett and Liz. The waitress came over. People were ordering real drinks so I was sitting there like, "What the fuck do I do ..." Liz ordered wine, Brett ordered a sea breeze, and she came to me - I looked at the two of them like, "Help!" (Embarrassment was intense) So Brett immediately took over. [Brett. Sweetheart. Taking care of me.] "Want to have a sea breeze with me? Come on - have a sea breeze with me." So I did. After the waitress left, Brett smiled at me. "Don't worry about it. I remember what that feels like - not knowing what the fuck to do." I just love him. He makes me feel at ease. Same with Liz and Joe. They notice if I'm uncomfortable and they'll say something to me. It touched me. The sea breeze was delicious. [I don't even know what a sea breeze is but I'm glad I liked it in my own underage way!]

We were all so aware of the judges. Brett whispered to me, "I feel like I have a stick up my ass." So the two of us sat there pretending to be deep in conversation while we eavesdropped on the judges. Brett's back was to the judges so he could sit and look like he was listening but I - who was facing their table - had to sit and smile pleasantlyl at Brett and nod my head in agreement. I heard the judges say "Millie" once and I could almost see Brett's ears prick up. But the whole judges table then turned to look right at me so I immediately started to talk nonsense to the air, pretending to be talking to Brett. "Oh yeah - exactly - mm-hmm, exactly."

Everyone was passing around the message that soon we'd split the Pump House and go to Giro's because we wanted to relax. It was so funny. We all disappeared within like five minutes of each other.

It was a great time. I had the most incredible talk with Eric. It was almost too deep to be deciphered. I was so into it. We were both sitting against the wall in different booths, talking. It was so great.

DECEMBER 10

Well. Much has happened since I last wrote.

I decided during Picnic's run that I would just enjoy it, live it, experience it, and think about it. Let it happen without worrying about recording it. I will record it eventually because -

Diary -

I have grown up. I mean it. Today's sort of like the Day After for me. The play is over. I am back in high school for real, but I am so different. I still must talk about Opening Night - and also Closing Night (Saturday).

Okay.

Where do I fucking begin? So so much. This one last week.

I am so different now.

I find it so much easier to open up. So much easier. Especially with guys. I feel very open and exposed, but it's not scaring me. It used to. I really don't feel petrified of openness anymore. For example - I just called TS to ask him what the hell was going on.

God, I don't know where to begin!

No one can believe what is going on in my life. I can't believe it but the thing is is - it is real and beautiful and vital and LOVE - and it is happening. That is how I will remember Picnic. Especially Saturday night.

OH LORD.

[hahahaha I love that last explosion there.]

Closing night - I'll get frustrated if I try to write it down just yet. Not ready.

But Opening night - after Giro's - Brett was driving me and Liz - In the car, they told me that they were going to go back to the theatre. They do that a lot, I guess. It's dark, no one's there, it's magical. They invited me to come back there with them. It was so magically weird in the theatre. At first it was just me, Brett and Liz. NOBODY ELSE in the entire theatre. It was shadowy. Silent. We went up and sat on the Owens' porch and it was freaky. It felt like we were in church. Brett whispered, "Just listen ..." So we did. The feeling was so weird. Our set, our world, empty - totally quiet - dark. The only word for it is magical. An empty quiet theatre is always magical anyway. We all feel so attached there. I could hear the quiet set. I could still see us all up there. I could hear our lines, our voices - when I looked at the cistern it wasn't just a cistern. It was where Madge cries, where I sit - I could see us there. The swinging kitchen door. I could hear it slam. Everyone was still there. Our ghosts.

Joe came in. We ended up having so much fun. Liz fell asleep on the couch and me, Brett and Joe had THE BEST TIME. We practically ran the whole show - but we rotated roles - and did imitations of each other - and switched parts. I played Alan mostly. Joe played Hal - so we had the best time doing the motor-boat scene. I was riding piggy-back on him and he was tearing around. Brett was sitting on the edge of the stage watching. I do a great imitation of Brett as Alan. Brett was literally falling over laughing whenever I said anything. Finally it ended up that I was playing Alan and Brett was playing Madge [hahaha this is hilarious] and we came to "their scene". We were laughingn SO hard - and suddenly Joe went running offstage (he was Hal) and Brett and I were standing there staring at each other. Brett got so psched to do this next scene - said, "Oh GOOD!" and sat on the cistern like Madge does. I plunged in, saying his lines, trying to mimic him. He did the FUNNIEST imitation of Madge. I squatted beside him saying, "I honestly never believed a girl like you could care for me." Brett fluttered his eyelashes and looked away. "Oh, Alan." [I am laughing out loud] I made my voice even deeper - like he always does there. "I hope you do care for me, Madge." And then he turned to smile at me - as Madge does - with this real goopy grin. The thing is is that the kiss coming up was up to me. Alan makes the move - Madge doesn't. So I leaned forward and our lips touched for like a split second before I - being the stupid awkward blundering idiot that I am - chickened out and made it into a joke kiss. I threw my arms around him in a passionate fire (Alan would never do that) and then the two of us tipped off the cistern laughing hysterically. Joe came running back in (as Hal) to interrupt it.

Brett and I did the Howard and Rosemary scene with Joe critiquing from the house - pretending he was Kimber. The best was watching Brett be me - doing an imitation of me sketching during the fight with Madge. He sounded so exactly like me. I couldn't even stand it. It was a blast.

Liz was curled up on the couch but the three of us were bouncing off the walls and laughing uproariously. It was so fun! I felt very WILD but still like me. But I felt like me doing wild fun new things. In the space of one week I HAVE CHANGED SO MUCH. So much so that I can feel it.

It was special. Just happiness full to bursting. BURSTING at the seams with h appiness. I mean, all the wonderful letters from people that made me cry, the excitement, our fantastic show itself, performing is such a huge high - and then after the show - all the hugging - everyone screaming - Brett hugging me tight - and Eric picking me up and twirling me around and around - the screaming and the champagne and the love - And the letters.

At about 2:00 am - Joe said, "Well, I'd better take you home, Millie." So we all got our stuff. Brett gently woke up Liz. Joe drove me home so I had to say goodbye to them then. I was up on the porch and Brett and I hugged so so tight - oh, it was so wonderful!

I said, "Thank you for the letter." And he said, "I meant every wrod." Then we hugged again.

He's right. There is a bond between us. It is special. It exists. There is so much more to tell - but I don't think I will. Some of it is practically sacred to me. I don't want to spoil it by writing it down. I love them all so massively that it aches. I almost can't believe they all are real. But they are. They are real human beings and I LOVE THEM.

Diary Friday

Now the journal starts to get fragmented. You'll see what I mean. You'll also see why.

NOVEMBER 28

Day before we open. Haven't had a chance to update you on my wonderful life.

It's now Thursday, actually. It's about 12:00 as I write this.

Yesterday was my birthday and I think it is the best birthday I have ever had. First of all, I was in a good mood anyway.

_______________________________________________________ [There are a couple of these lines throughout. They mean nothing - at least not narratively. They're just 16 year old me saying to myself: "Time has passed ..."]

Yesterday was such a great great A plus day! WOW!

I got up before school to open my presents. What a family and parents I've been blessed with.

Thursday

Well, today is really the day. It is now 5:00. Oh my God.

At 6:30 I have to be there.

I feel sick, Diary.

I honestly feel nauseous. I think about it and I feel this sickening lurch.

I had a wonderful time last night. We all went to Giro's

I don't know what time it is - but here I am in the lit-up dressing room. [Okay - so obviously I am already "there". Like I said: fragments]

I've had the most wonderful week. Oh my God!

I came in just now and there was a single red rose at my place from the guys. Then I had cards and Tootsie Rolls. I got the most incredible cards from Brett and Joe. And I just came from the library where I got a whizdinger of a card from J. [J and I both worked at the local library.] We both hugged and cried. Then I came here and - there was a single red rose at my place and the card said: "To all the lovely ladies of Independence, Kansas. Love the guys: Brett, Joe, Eric, Lenny." Everyone got one.

___________________________________________________

Okay. It's over.

I'm high. I really am.

Okay. It is 3:00 am and I just got home. What is happening to me? I don't care. I don't care about a thing! Me, Liz and Joanna's picture was in the ProJo today. A big article too.

More later about my birthday and tonight. This wonderful wonderful night.

But now I must sleep.

NOVEMBER 30

The excitement last night was unbelievable. I've never felt anything like it. The air sizzled. I was shaking.

First I came in - well, first of all - J's letter. She gave it to me, I read it, then we hugged, and we both started crying. 11 damn years. I met her when we were 7 and we still share a locker! Listen to the letter:

"God, Sheila, we've come such a long way. Tonight when I'm in the audience watching you, I'll probably start to cry because I love you so much and I'm so happy for you. I still can't get over it. You are so wonderfully talented!!! You know, sometimes I feel guilty because our friendship is still going strong after 11 YEARS. I mean, a lot of friends, people we know - used to be friends but have grown apart. But look at us! You'll always be first! (Well, second, if you count him) to KNOW. Well, what can I say except good luck. But you've got it made, Sheila. Just relax - I know it's impossible for you to be anything but hyper right now but try anyway. Oh yes - HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Love, J"

I walked to the theatre from the library.

Outside it was cold and windy and dark. I was crying from my happiness. My happiness was so large - and my nervous energy and excitement and anticipation and love - not one bad emotion. And - right over the intersection before Independence Hall I noticed for the first time - this mammoth banner whipping in the wind that said in huge black letters:

PICNIC
Nov. 29, 30, Dec. 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

I stood and stared up at it - exploding inside - It was freezing and windy and I started yelling, "I'M IN THAT! I'M IN THAT!" and I started running. I had so much energy, and the very night itself was energetic.

And - never having been in a real Opening Night - I didn't know what to expect.

The guys had bought the girls a big bottle of champagne and on the outside bulletin board were all these cards and stuff, and everyone had presents and letters at their spaces. The minute I saw the surprises I felt like I did when it was Caritas - when I saw all those brown lunch bags.

Liz gave me a flourescent pink book of matches that says on it, "I know what boys like!" Inside she wrote, "Good luck, Millie. Love, Flo." Joe's letter - I LOVE JOE! What a sweet sweet wonderful person!!

His card was this dancing jester and on it said 'Life's too mysterious ... Don't take it serious!"

And inside he wrote - "Sheila - you are a wonderful actress and a real fun person to be with. You know that? Thanks for all the fun we've had during the show - but there is still more to come! Break a leg, Millie. Lots of love, Howard. PS 'You're a good-lookin' kid - I never noticed that before.'"

I wanted to hug someone.

The tension was building anyway and I sat and read that -

And the one from Brett - I had to go for a walk after I read it so I could cry.

I LOVE THEM. More than anything. GOD, I LOVE THEM

I saw the second envelope with my name on it and opened it. It was a drawing of a porch overlooking a bay. I opened the card and saw it was from Brett. My heart started pounding.

'Sheila - I envy your chance at working in this type of atmosphere with a group so united and caring. Never for a moment should you feel outside of this group. Our bonds go beyond age. They are locked deep in the heart and mind. Never look back and miss this when it is gone. Always remember the bond it created ....
Act IV Picnic, by Brett
(Alan Seymour returns to Independence to find Millie Owens. He has since matured and remembers a brief conversation to the effect: "I always liked you, Alan!" He invites her to his front porch (see cover) and they discuss Frost and Hemingway and Shakespeare. They marry and become quite wealthy and one day Millie grows restless and leaves. She drives off in Alan's Mercedes as we hear Alan cry ...)
Alan: (with great loss) Good bye, Millie! Goodbye Millie!!!

Break your ass, kid.

Brett'

[Brett - that little skit is so feckin' funny. hahahahahahahaha And thank you for the card. You spoke very very true words, my friend. Still true today.]

Do you believe him? I look at him and I swear - all of this is better than romance. I couldn't love him any more if I were in love with him. Romance never felt this great! [Ain't it the truth, honey ...]

Then there were Tootsie Rolls and a flower and the thought that my friends were probably all up in the lobby buying tickets and holding programs.

During all of this Jennifer came in and passed out the programs for us to look at. They were beautiful. So goddamned professional. I felt my throat clog. This is it.

They had biographies of us. My credits are astounding:

'Sheila is a senior in high school. Although she has not committed herself yet, we look forward to working with her in the future."

The excitement was unbelievable.

And to top it all off - people kept coming in with armfuls of bouquets saying, "Flowers for Sheila! Flowers for Sheila!"

All of my friends sent me flowers. I must have gotten 6 bunches! It got to be this huge joke. I couldn't believe it.

I was toppling over with my happiness and love and nervousness.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!

Diary Friday

Ehm ... okay, so when we left off, I was shouting ALL IN CAPS and I was VERY VERY ANGRY. Also I kept dropping hints about this mythical "Tuesday" that was so awesome. In this next entry the mystery will be resolved.

NOVEMBER 24

What started me off on this huge high I was on was Marvin remembering me, recognizing me - He saw me coming down the aisle - his face brightened, he smiled and said, "Hey! Sheila!" I mean, that really perked my life up. [But is it enough to make you have a major manic episode??] We talked. Again, I was struck by how friendly h e was. He blew me away at the party. It's not that he is overwhelmingly affectionate - just a nice nice person. I really sensed it. And he recognized me! I had really agonized about saying hi - like "What if he doesn't know who the hell I am?" But it was hip [stop it with the "hip" - To quote Inigo Montaya: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."] and fun and he remembered my name and it really put me in a great screaming mood. [Jeebus. That sounds terrifying.]

I just felt so incredibly good.

Then after school before rehearsal, Anne called me and asked if I wanted to go shopping for her Homecoming dress with her. And it was about 5:30 so I said "Great!" I like being with Anne. Whenever I see her I feel this warmth. We have the best talks. So she came to get me. The wisdom that spurts from that girl's mouth! [Uhm ... might want to re-word that thought, Sheila.] Things are just moving so fast right now for me and I can't just let things roll - I'd be in trouble if I let it roll. [What the hell are you talking about?] Tuesday and Wednesday were the most confusing days in my life. I don't know if you can imagine it. I felt like this two times which left me quite breathless. I mean, the Homecoming was such a change in pace, a shift - It left me dazed. I'm so confused. I always feel like I have to be doing something about it. [I am imagining that I am babbling on like this about either Brett or TS]

We shopped for a while and met up with Betsy. Anne didn't buy anything but we all tried dresses on.

Then Anne took me to rehearsal. Anne is always totally honest with me, but I love it. Honesty, to me, is like a breath of fresh air, a glass of icy water - so refreshing. When I am with Anne, I feel real. I feel worthy. I feel like me.

You might as well know since I don't write every day - I LIVE for rehearsals. Not just because of Brett - because all of them are indescribable. But from Day One there's been something neat between Brett and me. Maybe I've imagined it but I don't think so. We are such great friends. And I've only known him since October!

It's unreal that I'm in this play. I'm taking it all for granted but there are odd little moments when I just look around me.

The scenery all went up - two huge houses with porches, roof - real swingig doors - It's just incredible. I look at the set and think - wow, I'm really here! And all of a sudden 10 new wonderful people are in my life and part of my life now. Wow!

So Anne and I had a good talk - and I took her into the theatre just for a minute so she could see the set. She was like, "I don't care about the scenery. I just want to meet Brett." I admit that I felt really thrilled and excited to finally have someone meet him. But I was nervous - my hands were almost shaking. So in we went - they had just put Mrs. Potts' house up so I stopped on the first step, staring. Brett was sitting on the edge of the stage and looking up at me, smiling. I waved and said, "Is that Mrs. Potts' house?" He nodded. I started laughing. "It looks like an outhouse." I gestured to Anne to follow and we went down the stairs. He was grinning at me the whole way. When I got close enough, he said, "Hey, you got your hair cut!" I had. I got it cut very very short. Like Peter Pan short. And they chopped off my tail. [Then there is a huge sad face. Uhm ... member tails??] My hair is so short now!

Joanna called out to me, "Oh Sheila! Let me see!"

So I fluffed out my hair for everyone (as much as you can fluff out hair 3/4 of an inch long). And I glanced back at Brett and he was smiling at me in that heartbreaking way he was [Uhm - do you mean a "nice" way??]. People should NOT be nice to me because it makes my heart ache. A good ache but still an ache. [You know what? This is still true. Actually, it's even more true now.]

And then I said, "Anne - this is Brett - Brett, this is Anne." He held his hand out to her and smiled - they shook. I BEAMED.

He is so special. So is Joe. And Liz! We're sort of the Four Muskateers, cause Joe drives us home - so it's always the four of us in the car - Joe is just so so cool. Where are the adjectives that I need? The ones that describe these people? There are no adjectives. The word "wonderful" will just have to do.

Anne had to leave, so everyone called goodbye to her. Then Brett turned back to me, smiling, looking at my hair. "You look so much younger. Wait - go up on stage and let me see you."

So I went up onstage and did a little pose. Then I started to tango. The worst part of this show is for me is: I open Act II. I hear music - I come onstage alone - and I dance alone. It is the hardest part for me. It's tango music, so I have to do an "impromptu" tango. The first time I did it, the whole cast came out in the house to watch. I was more nervous at that moment than I was at the auditions! Because now I know them all - and it's a rough enough part of the show for me - the feelings I experience - and having them all WATCH [Nothing harder than creating a true "private moment" on stage - That's what the beginning of Act II is. A private moment of fantasy for Millie. So hard to do when there's an audience.] When I finished - it was like SK Pades [explanation] They all clapped and cheered for me. I shook for about 10 minutes.

What will it be like to do that before a real audience? Oh my God. The world is coming on Thursday night. Oh LORD. I feel sick.

It was a good energetic rehearsal. We were just on the edge of a vacation - they were looking forward to going home - and everyone was up - especially because we were working with the real houses. It felt a little more real. Everyone was in such a terrific mood. I guess I did get a little giggly, but everyone did. Kimber was in a great mood, everyone was.

We did the dancing scene - me and Eric - it's so funny - and then the getting drunk part - that's my favorite scene. I love getting into it. I love yelling like that, and crying. I love it.

After our run-through, which was pretty good, everyone felt so together - not just as a cast. It really did feel like we were a group of happy people, friends, looking forward to the vacation. Since everyone was so up, including Kimber - there was talk of going out after rehearsal. It was only 10:00. And everyone was laughing and calling, "I'll see you there!"

I felt very lonely. I mean, I felt like - nobody loved me. God, it was weird. It could have been a scene in a movie, everyone all clustered together and me alone to the side, feeling left out. I was queer. Oh well.

Then Joanna came over to me, "Do you think you can come?" [I still, so many years later, LOVE how they included me ... and LOVE, too, how they accepted my high school status. They didn't try to corrupt me. They always knew I had to check with my parents about stuff, and they respected that and yet STILL included me. LOVE YOU ALL, you guys!]

It seems like after every rehearsal I get so down. [That's nothing compared with what's gonna happen to you after the show closes.] During notes, and trying to find a ride - no matter what, I feel like I'm about to cry. Loneliness really sucks.

So I could feel this lift of hope - "Oh God! I don't have to go home! I can go out and have fun with these people! I don't have to take this feeling home with me where it festers." (That was exactly what I thought). And then Joanna just made me feel so wonderful: "Well, just call home and ask. We'd love you to come."

Diary, all I can say is thank God my parents are such good eggs and thank God they let me go because I SWEAR that I have NEVER had so much fun. Joanna drove me over and we got into such hysterics on the way she almost drove into a river. We were laughing SO hard about flubs during rehearsal - we were totally gone.

Let it be said here - Thank you (whoever) for letting me be in this show. My life is so full. Thank you. It's gonna be hard to leave it behind but I'll never forget it. I'm not the same person. I'll never be the same again. (Thank you.)

So we got to Giro's [Giro's!! Awesome local] - I'd never been there so when we walked in I was like, "Oh my God. It's a bar. A pub." Whatever - I felt like everyone was looking at me like, "That girl is 16. She's never been in a bar before." Our party pracitcally took up a whole room - 3 booths. Kimber, Lenny and Joanna at a table. Eric, Jennifer and me at a table. Joe, Liz, Brett and Jennifer (our new stage manager) at a table. But we were all rotating chairs and running around.

Jennifer. I am so close to that girl. She is so incredible.

Everyone's so laidback. Each table ordered a pitcher. The waiter didn't even blink. He gave our table 3 mugs. [Which is kind of incredible because I am still carded NOW on occasion. Imagine how young I looked back then!] I decided: "What the hell. Only one more day of school." Jennifer glanced at me hesitantly, "Do you want any?" Nobody cares! I can't even get used to it. Everyone cares so much about the drinking thing in high school. But I said sure, I'd have a beer.

In vino veritas.

A part of me came out that is hard for me to bring out - and it was magnified. It was SO fun. We were all just laughing and lively - in total hysterics. I love Eric. He is so so cool. And he's gorgeous. We were all just yelling to each other's tables.

The truth: I would love to be like that all the time. I wasn't shy or awkward. I thought at the Dance, "If I was drunk I'd be handling this better." [hahahahaha] I know everyone's now stroking their chins and saying, "Well, we are now witnessing the beginning of Sheila's downfall." But I don't think so. I have social problems. I really do. But God, on Tuesday - I'm smiling right now! We all were just celebrating the vacation - Eric did his imitation of Arthur - and Jennifer told us that a good game to play is Arthur - watch the movie and take a drink every time Dudley Moore takes one and you are totally trashed by the end.

Brett was sitting right behind us and he poked Jennifer and said, "Move over. I want to talk to Sheila." So Jennifer moved over beside Eric - we were all having so much fun. I always thought of being drunk as being gross and going nowhere in your life - but Brett was very drunk, and he was hysterical.

The big thing I remember about Tuesday night is laughing. That made up the majority of it. I love laughing with Brett - because I am really laughing with him - we are together - we are on the same plane.

Like one of the funniest things - it still makes me smile - the thing is it really isn't a bit funny. But God - I thought it was then - and also - it was a reaction to Brett. What makes me smile is remembering Brett and I laughing so hard that tears streamed down our faces. I started to act very giggly - but it felt so GOOD - and Brett was cracking jokes with Liz - and he made this really dumb joke and I started laughing without thinking about it, and then I said, as I was laughing, "I'm laughing .... and it isn't even funny."

I have no idea why this struck us both as so funny but Brett laughed so hard he fell off the booth.

Later, he put his arms tight around me and announced to Eric and Jennifer, "I think she is so cool!"

Liz was telling us about her project for acting class, how she has to direct a One Act and how she wants Brett to be in it. She has to find a good script for him.

I can't even believe that the whole Homecoming thing happened after Tuesday.

Okay, world, here's an announcement. I love everyone in this cast. I love them so much it makes me cry. I love them like I love my own family.

Then we all talked about neat moments in Picnic - and Brett said, "When you get sick in Act II - I really love what we do backstage. It helps me so much - it gives me enough pinch for the next scene - It's really cool."

I love talking with Liz. She has become one of my best friends. I told her all about my Homecoming plans. [I love Liz. She was all into the girlie details of my high school life.]

Then Brett, Eric and I talked about Stripes for a while. This is another very vivid moment for me because we were practically clutching each other laughing so hard, remembering funny scenes.

All I can think of is: friendly, fondness, buddy-buddy - that's what the whole night was. That's why I was so screwed up about Homecoming. I mean, the night at Giro's was not romance but my heart was just so FULL - that going to the Homecoming dance seemed so boring. I didn't even want to see TS. It just feels so weird now.

Brett and I talked about our scene. Brett called it "the highlight of the show".

Joe, the sober one, was driving me, Liz and Brett home. It was like camp. We all weren't gonna see each other for 4 days. It was a big deal! They're part of my day to day existence now. I somehow managed to get my coat on - and then everyone just hugged everyone.

Jennifer, one of my favorite people, came over to me to hug me so tight. Eric squeezed me - And Joanna and I - huge tight hug - there are times when I honest to God feel like she's my sister. That hug was special to me.

Then out into the cold the four of us went. Joe and Liz weren't really drunk. It was about one in the morning, in deserted Peace Dale - we came outside and Brett grabbed me in the middle of the street and started to twirl me around and around, waltzing with me. Our breath was frosty and we were breathlessly laughing. The stars were so bright and there were so many of them. I couldn't believe how shiny they were.

Joe and Liz got in the front, Brett and I in the back. It was a freezing cold night. Brett put his arm around me and we sat that way the whole way home. (In vino veritas) Oh shut up. [hahahahaha It's like I have some kind of Latin-speaking Tourettes]

We drove past cops, and everyone yelled at Joe to slow down. Brett shouted, with his arm around me, "There are 2 drunk minors being intimate in the back seat!" [Okay, that is feckin' FUNNY. Also - wow. He was a minor too. I so thought of him as a major ADULT type person!!]

I was so carefree. For so long I have had so many worries - and they were all gone on Tuesday. I didn't even think of TS. I was so happy I didn't know what to DO with it all!

Oh yeah, back at Giro's - we were all talking about the auditions and Brett was remembering when I first walked in on that audition Sunday - the very first time I ever saw him. It was really me, Brett and Liz talking about it and it was neat hearing what their first impressions of me were because I didn't even know them then and I was almost sure I would never see them again.

Brett said to me, "I remember when you first walked in - you were so nervous. When you left, Michelle said, 'She's in high school, you know.' And I thought - 'Wow. Has she got balls to do this.' Later, Kimber said, 'I would love to cast her as Millie, but she's too pretty.'"

I stared at him. He stared at me. I said, "He didn't say that." He nodded, grinning at me, in this way - like: How do you like that? Stop being so insecure!

I still couldn't believe that Kimber would say that.

Joe drove to my house - and then we all had to say good-bye for 4 days! I leaned over the front seat and hugged Joe and then Liz. I love that girl like I've known her forever. We were all saying, "Have a great Thanksgiving!" Brett got out to let me out - it must have been 1:30 - all the lights were off.

I waved goodbye once more and we were calling, "Have a wonderful vacation!" I made it to the door through the dark - and I turned the knob - to find that the damn door was locked. Can you imagine my agony? Oh God, I felt so trapped and EMBARESSED! [Yes, that's how I spelled it. And I would STILL spell it like that if I could.] Because when they saw that I couldn't get in, they stayed in the driveway. So - horror of horrors - I started to knock and cautiously ring the bell. Maybe it was for a minute but it felt like forever. I mean - eternity. The car in the driveway and the agonizing fact that NO ONE was coming to the door.

Finally my mom came and I went inside and flickered the lights to tell them it was okay.

My parents had totally forgotten about me. Mum went back to bed and I just paced in the dining room, tingling with how wonderful I felt. How purely perfectly h appy I was.

And the thing is - is that feeling is recreated for me whenever I even think about that night.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.

Diary Friday

The continuing stoooooory of Sheila's fall semester in senior year of high school. heh heh I know ... what is more important than THIS?? Whatever, I'm happy with my blog, and what I blog about. So. To re-cap: I asked TS to the Homecoming Dance. He said yes. Thanksgiving happened - I had a 3 day break from Picnic rehearsals, and all HELL BROKE LOOSE.

NOVEMBER 23

It seems like every time I write, my mood or my attitudes have changed. If I had written right after the dance, I would have been writing in an ecstatic happy mood. But then on Thanksgiving came the Homecoming Football Game and everything changed. [hahahaha Ain't that always the way] Now I'm just really pissed off.

Okay. I had a pretty good time at the dance. It was very strange. I wore my dad's huge maroon sweater (that I love like I love my dark glasses), my pearls, my green and maroon 40s style skirt, and my grey flats. I love the outfit cause the sweater is long, the skirt is too - I look very thin, and languid - almost like the pictures you see of women in the 20s. It's comfortable too.

I wasn't even nervous for the dance. Diary - everything changed after Tuesday, which I still have to tell. I almost didn't want to go to the dance. I actually looked at it as though it were an ordeal to plow through. I wasn't psyched. It was just a void in my mind.

My life! I mean, Saturday and Sunday were so TS oriented - and then Tuesday - Tuesday was so Brett oriented it was unbelievable. Tuesday still feels so great. I have been putting off writing about it cause it was so flawless and wonderful that I know the words won't come to me. [I have no memory of why "Tuesday" was so great. But I'm sure 16 year old Sheila will eventually find the words]

I started to get psyched for the dance on the way to pick up J. There was a nervousness in me, a tension. Tuesday grew a little blurry. [Tuesday. The axis on which the entire world spins.] Do you know how confused I am? [Not half as confused as I am] Block out one thing to have a good time at another - that's what I was doing.

We got to the dance. Streamers were up, music was playing, there was a buffet and tables set up. I sort of settled down to have a good time. TS wasn't there yet. In fact, no alumnae were there yet. People started coming. Betsy and Kate came. Both looked beautiful. It was a comfort to see them because I started getting so nervous that I wanted to go home. I hadn't thought the dance out at all - how I'd greet him, if we'd get our picture taken, what would happen. I've never gone to a dance with a guy, so I had no idea what to do.

It started to get crowded. I kept my eye on teh door. I saw DW come in! [He was the guy I loved from afar 5 million years ago, in my JUNIOR year.] All that shit about looking forward to seeing him and being on firm ground was just that - BULL SHIT. The minute I saw that oh-so-familiar face - will I never be over the jerk? - I felt a lurch, a stab. I flailed my arms out to clutch J.'s hand. I sometimes stand and stare at him. I loved him more than anything I have ever loved before. WOW. That's really strange. I feel light years away from the crazy turbulent totally wild time when I liked him. So I just stared at him in wonder. What was it about him? Good LORD. What was it about him that made me love him that much and for that long? J. shook me, yelling, "Sheila! You are regressing into your junior year! Stop! Come back before it's too late!" [hahahaha]

Then we both really started to laugh hard. I don't know why - but I felt really uptight, really stiff - I was just waiting for TS, I was dreading seeing him. I knew it would be awkward cause I know myself that well. All I wanted to do was GO HOME and avoid the awkwardness and avoid him.

Around 8:30, I caught a glimpse of him coming in. He had on his dark glasses. Good Lord, is he gorgeous. J. was saying, "Sheila, I hate you."

I couldn't stand it he looked so good. He was wearing a black blazer, black pants, white shirt, a black bow tie, shiny black shoes, and black suspenders (I discovered them later) - And then the glasses. He is so cool. [Uhm - the "I discovered them later" is rather racy, is it not? I swear, I did not mean it that way at the time. By the way: Go, TS, for dressing up like that. He was kind of classic like that.]

He came over to our crowd and said hello. I just said, "Hello, TS", with my chin buried in my turtleneck. That's what I do when I feel awkward. Either that or I put my string of pearls in my mouth, or I finger my earlobe. [Very Bogart of you!] You know I'm feeling insecure when I touch my earlobe over and over. It's a dead giveaway. [Just a small heads up, Diary, so "you" know when I'm feeling awkward!] I am sure I was doing all three things simultaneously at that point. [That's quite an image. Almost like the Jennifer Jason Leigh school of acting.] It was awful having everyone just looking at us. I felt so dumb. I was the personification of the word INSECURE. I hate feeling that way more than anything else. I didn't know WHAT I was supposed to be doing. Well, no problem. We said hello to each other and then for the next excruciating 45 minutes didn't even speak to each other.

Oh Diary.

Oh GOD.

[hahaha I love that. I cry out to my journal. Then I realize I totally need to go higher up in the chain and cry out to God.]

He went off to say hello to all his old buddies, milling around, but half the time we were standing about 10 feet apart. He was standing with Matt M and Matt C - I was with J, Kate, and Betsy.

It was awful.

Betsy kept ordering me not to slump, keep my head held high. She kept reminding me that I was in control here. I have nver felt more out of control. It was like I was dying a very slow very painful death. We were standing so close to each other and ignoring each other. At least, we were physically ignoring each other. I was so mentally aware of him I thought I was dying. I would have left if my friends hadn't chained me down. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just go up to him and ask him to dance. He was with his buddies, I was with mine.

All I wanted to do was go home. Then I started getting pissed.

I went over my conversation with him on the phone - and I certainly did ask him to the dance. Cause J. said, "Maybe he thought you only meant - well, I'll see you there" - but no - I said, "Would you like to go with me?" So why weren't we talking?

Betsy said, "Sheila, that's the way it always happens." [I love you, Betsy. You are 17 years old, but you have the wisdom of the ages!!] "Just give it time, Sheila. Everyone's uptight now."

It didn't help to see DW strolling by every 5 seconds.

I said, "If he doesn't ask me to dance, then we are not dancing tonight."

And I really did mean it.

But 10 minutes later, I broke that promise. [hahahahaha] Finally, TS came over to our little crowd and we stood around making jokes, etc. And right then, I broke my promise to myself. But I'm sorry - the time had come. I was sick of bullshitting and pretending we weren't on a date. So I just said to him, right in front of everyone, "Want to dance?"

He reeled backwards as though I had shoved him and said, "Hey, I'm really disappointed, Sheila. I was gonna ask you!"

(Well, why didn't you, you BUM)

But off we went and bopped around. He dances so funny. I LOVE it. He looks so cute. He has a sense of humor as he dances too - the music at the dance was bad, so we went up to ask for our favorites - Frankie Goes to Hollywood, B-52s, Animal House [omigod, the memories] - we're into the same stuff. We talked as we danced - about how weird it felt for him to come back to high school [he was 19 - out of high school for a couple years] - and how we didn't like the music - I can't fake dance. Dancing, for me, is generated out of a real joy with the music. I think the same thing goes for him because he would suddenly realize that he was dancing with his hands in his pockets. We just laughed about that. I still felt self-conscious and - I wasn't having a good time at all. My chin was in my turtleneck, basically. [hahahahaha]

As we danced, TS gently tugged the sweater down - so he could see my mouth - then he nudged me and said, "It's all right."

I couldn't really hear it because of the music but I could see his mouth. Right then, things felt a little better, and for the first time I looked at him like my friend. I don't have to be scared of him. He's my FRIEND.

After a while, all the lights went out except for the big glittering silver ball, and it was the first slow song. I was talking with J. and Kate, and all of a sudden I felt someone pinch me from behind on the waist. Of course it was him. Then he sort of gestured his head towards the darkened dance floor - like a little "C'mon." So I followed him out onto the floor, we found a little clear spot - he turned to face me, and there we were slow dancing. But our arms weren't around each other. That would have been too much. My right hand was in his left hand, his hand on my back - my arm around his neck. We dance like that in Picnic! It was cool - because even though we danced with that space between us - I felt so close to him. I mean, we've never really touched except for that one time we hugged - so I didn't mind the awkwardness suddenly, because the awkwardness felt natural. (You know?) And sweet.

We were so together that a nuclear war could not have separated us. [bwahahahahahahahahaha]

Then the damn fast music started again. Bruce Springsteen's song came on [uhm - which one, Sheila? Does he only have one??] - and TS was doing an imitation of Bruce that had me ROLLING - and Kathy S (who I think is wonderful) was nearby dancing with Kevin O. - and for some reason the four of us just became hysterical - we were like this hysterically laughing foursome.

And so the dance went on. We would dance some, then mingle some.

Cris F. was there. I just love that boy. He came up to me: "Dates. I want specific dates!" [So sweet. He meant 'dates' of Picnic.]

We all got our pictures taken. [I still have it somewhere. And no - my chin is not in my turtleneck in the picture] The picture was me, Kate, J., Lisa, Betsy, TS, Cris, and Mr. Crothers. [ha! First of all: Mere- where were you?? Also Beth: where were you?]

I didn't speak to DW. He totally ignored me. But I hardly noticed until later. [Triumph!] The last half-hour of the dance, I just stood and talked to J. Then Kate and Betsy came over. Betsy left because her knees swelled up and she couldn't walk. The poor kid! She just got over mono. Anne came over,a nd we just blabbed. I have no idea what about. I was the only one of my friends who brought anyone to the dance - and it was just so alien to me to be at a dance with a guy, because - dances have always been for me a miserable time that reaffirms that I have no boyfriend and that no one will ever approach me and that I will always be alone.

Then came the last song. Always a slow one. This time it was Purple Rain. [OF COURSE IT WAS!!!] That song is so slow that it almost sounds unnatural and it is very very long. I didn't know where TS was. Then suddenly he was standing next to me and everyone was looking at him. I suppose he was compelled to make a joke but he was funny. He came over, everyone looked at him expectantly, everyone knew what he wanted - and so he was, "Well, see you around!" and pretended to walk away. Everyone burst out laughing and then he gestured to me - and we went off to dance.

There were times during Purple Rain when I'd feel his hand suddenly squeeze mine, or his hand on my back hold me tighter - and I'd feel everything inside me cave in, like I was falling hundreds of feet - or like when you lie down on hot sand in the summer and your stomach crumbles in - It was this jolting crumbling inside.

When the lights came on, and the music faded - I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to go off and find my dad [Gotta love the parents, comin' to pick up their teenage degenerate children at random dances left and right.] It was as though - I felt like this fragile wine goblet. I felt like one shove would jolt me, shatter. We all sort of milled around - and then TS said, "Well, I see my buddies drifting around so ---" Then I said, "Bye." and he flipped his fingers at me in a wave, and walked off.

I somehow managed to find my coat, find J., and say goodbye to all my friends. I was just in space - I felt shaken, dazed, didn't know what to do with myself. As we left, we passed TS standing with the two Matts. We glanced at each other and smiled. He threw a streamer at me. And for this one instant - we were smiling at each other, and it felt very private, like we were the only two in the gym.

Then I went home.

________________________________________________________

[Yes, that line is there. To note "end of story" or "shift in tone coming up", or something like that]

Okay so now that I've recreated for you hjow I felt at the dance - How I feel now doesn't change how the dance felt - but now - Yesterday was the Homecoming Game. We lost - but not by much. Most of it was fun cause Jayne was home - she looks wonderful. Mere was there - what a help she has been to me - and Anne, and Betsy and J. But J. was playing her cymbals so I didn't get to see much of her. [That sentence makes me laugh out loud. J. played the flute in the band ... but for sporting events, she had to play the cymbals and it SO PISSED HER OFF ... I have vivid memories of J's pissed face, underneath her big band hat, clanging her cymbals together - just in a RAGE about it. hahahahaha]

I got really into the game when we started winning. [Fairweather fan] Betsy was clutching the fence and screaming. She turned to me after the touchdown that gave us the lead [Oh, and guess who was quarterback! The famous Keith M.!] - and her eyes were round Os and her mouth was a round O - and we both were jumping and screeching and hugging and going perfectly berserk. We all were. I was glued to the fence.

Millions of alumnae were there. Sherri, JENNY B., Sam G - I went over to say hi after the game. Diary, I just passionately love him. [He was an awesome person.] When I caught a glimpse of him, I almost screamed, "SAM IS HERE!" He is about my favorite person on earth - I see him like once a year. Seeing Jenny was terrific. She looks just beautiful - I went running over to her - big tight bear hug - I love that girl!

And Heather C - I grew really really close to her last year in Math. At the dance, when I was slow-dancing with TS, I heard this, "Sheila! Sheila!" And she was there, dancing with Peter Garvey next to us. We both let go of our guys to hug each other - It almost surprised me because she was so popular in high school, and beautiful, and we had become good friends.

Matt B was at the game. And Bobby R. They improve with age. How do they live with themselves, being so gorgeous? And Crissy J was crowned Homecoming Queen - that sweet lovable totally WONDERFUL girl. We have great kids in our class.

So now what keeps making me madder:

I kept my eyes open for TS but I didn't see him until he was sort of strolling by us. I called out, "Hello, TS!" and waved my pom pom at him to show him where we were. He waved and came over. [Again: Beth, where are you??] He said hello to everybody, all of us as though we all were the same, and then off he went to join his buddies. Not a damn word to me.

The whole game was just like the first 45 minutes of the dance. Both of us standing in our own groups, 10 feet away, not communicating. But I forgot about it after a while because I was thrown into such a delirium by the game. But I was constantly peripherally aware of him. We both had on hightops. I mean, he didn't even really say hi to me - and then he totally ignored me. So I thought: "Fine" and had a great catch-up talk with Jayne. I haven't been able to write to her because I've been so busy but we just talked. I filled her in on Brett - she told me about college - and for the rest - we just watched the game and screamed our lungs out. I mean, we're seniors. This is our last football game. It sort of hit me in the middle of it and then I really started getting involved and becoming a maniac. [Good for you, girl, for realizing that this would be the end ... and throwing yourself even MORE into the moment.] It was awful to lose when we came so close. And Narragansett won in the last damn 45 seconds. It was awful.

[Okay, so now comes some rage. My entire handwriting changes. It gets larger, and I am pressing the pen down onto the page.]

Then after the game, I was standing there with Betsy, Beth [Oh! There you are!] and Mere - [which I just love - since the 3 of us are all still close close close ... We're getting together on Saturday night!] - and suddenly TS was with us - I wasn't really in the group - I was standing on the edge, looking onto the field - so I didn't hear him come over. I just heard his voice. He didn't even look at me. He didn't say good-bye to me. He didn't even say goodbye - he just turned and walked away. He didn't even look at me.

I am still so angry about this.

I started to feel even more confused and dumb, like, "Did I come on too strong at the dance?" Oh please. If I came on too strong, then ... [Then I had written something - a long something - which I vigorously crossed out. I cannot read what's underneath the scribbles]

Come on.

I look over all our dates and one of the most important things to me is trust - trusting a person to recognize vulnerability, be gentle -

Chirst. I understand having to be protected. God, I wrote the book about needing to be protected - but God, when I'm vulnerable - which I totally was - I can't atke it when he makes a flip remark - because then I have to check myself, like: "Uh oh - I was feeling too much - I let him in too much."

I've thought about this a lot.

I have to watch myself when I am with him. Then I think of Picnic and Brett, and how I don't have to watch myself there - and I am totally fed up. I do not have to put up with it. I mean, I did for a while because i was so flattered and excited to actually be going on dates - and with TS! But I'd come home from those dates cringing over how dumb I felt, or how inadequate -

He didn't say goodbye to me.

Fine.

FINE

I DON'T NEED ANYONE WHO MAKES ME FEEL TINY. AND IT'S NOT FUNNY. I HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITH MY SELF-IMAGE AS IT IS. I DON'T NEED TO BE WITH SOMEONE WHO MAKES ME FEEL TINY. And I will NOT anymore. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO MAKE ME FEEL DUMB JUST BECAUSE HE FEELS INSECURE.

So this is an overview of everything between us.

I am SO SO ANGRY RIGHT NOW.

I WANT TO SLUG HIM.

I WANT TO RIP SOMETHING APART.

I AM FURIOUS.

NOVEMBER 24

I'm still mad. [hahahahahaha]

I just got off the phone with Kate - we went up to Mama's for Thanksgiving and I was talking to Lisa about all of it - and that's when I really started getting mad. When he didn't say goodbye to me - right in front of me - I thought I would start to cry - but now I'm just furious.

Kate said to me on the phone, "Maybe I should just shut up and let you work it out - but just so you know: whenever you mention TS, you practically start yelling, Sheila."

Then when I think about last Tuesday [again with the Tuesday??] and I realize that one night of close best-friendship with Brett made me feel 1,000,000 times better than 4 months of dates with TS. It's just not worth it. Fuck romance. Seriously. I would choose friendship over FRIENDSHIP. This bullshit is NOT worth it.

Fuck him. Fuck HIM.

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.

Diary Friday

More Picnic ... although this one has more to do with what was going on outside of Picnic. I can hear in my own writing that I was getting kind of manic. I also have boyfriend problems.

November 18

The Homecoming Dance is this Wednesday. If I wasn't so busy - if I wasn't even in Picnic - I know that I would have called TS [That's okay, Sheila. If you don't go to the Homecoming Dance in the 1980s, then you will go see "Poseidon" with him in 2006! Never fear!] - but just being in Picnic is making my life so complicated. I mean, I'm enjoying it so much, but it's kind of like culture shock. No one can know how terrific everyone is, how much they make me feel like I belong - that is culture shock, and I spend a lot of time wondering: "How can they like me?" But they DO!

After last Tuesday's rehearsal, I had just watched Liz really weep during that last scene - and it made me - instead of, getting high it made me really down. It was a lot of things. Tuesday sucked as a day. I had read in school that sometimes pregnat Jewish women in concentration camps had their legs tied together during labor - I couldn't believe the shock of hatred that I felt. Pure hatred. That started it.

When Kimber gave us notes after rehearsal, I sat quietly on the stage. I felt so down. It hit me that time is running out, and soon Picnic won't be a part of my everyday life anymore. Diary - what will I do - I'm gonna wither away and die - I am. I was sitting opposite from Brett. He kept nudging my knee with his foot and smiling at me. But even that made me feel like crying. People being nice to me makes me cry - especially him. They love me. Oh, I can't help it but think Why? He just kept giving me these fond friendly smiles that were cracking my heart. After Kimber's notes, Lenny offered me a ride. I said, "Sure" very unenthusiastically. Lenny's kind of a leech. He's always just touching my shoulder, and I feel like saying, "Lenny, just go away." He offers me a ride a lot but usually someone else offers before he does. I mean, I can't say no to him and then say yes to Joanna or Brett 2 minutes later. Besides, I'm not scared of him. He's about a foot shorter than I am. [hahahahahaha]

I was quite a drip - I got my stuff, but I felt depressed. I just felt very lost and very alienated and lone. I felt like I was gonna start crying any damn minute and that confused me because I didn't know why. Lenny had to go get his stuff together in the guys dressing room so I just stood in the lounge. Brett came out from backstage and saw me. He is SO NICE. He came to me and hugged me - God, did I need that - and he said as he hugged me, "God, we are really gonna miss you when all this is over!" [How did he know?? How did he know that that was what I was dreading?] He said, "You better come around and visit us." I will too. That's the only way I'll make it. Somehow, he instinctively pinpointed what was bugging me - and he knew - he was right. I said into his shoulder, "You've been such a good friend to me," and he squeezed me tighter. Then Lenny came along saying, "Ready to go?"

I backed away from Brett. Here's the thing. I don't have a crush on Brett. I just have this fondness for him - and he seems to have this friendly loving air and I really sense it, pick up on it, respond to it, love it.

Lenny sort of whirlwinded by ["whirlwinded"? Oh my God, I so love that and need to use it all the time now], yelling goodbye to people - I called goodbye to other Picnic people too - and said, "Goodnight Brett" - really casually - as I walked by him, and he grinned at me, really warmly, very REAL, and reached out and squeezed my hand and said, "Good night."

The thing is - it doesn't feel sappy and goopy. It's just friendly.

Last night I suddenly had the urge to call TS, talk to him, I miss him, I couldn't get him out of my mind. Picnic has boosted my confidence. Brett was right. I really don't feel afraid of TS anymore - afraid of being open or vulnerable. I think a lot that if TS had gotten into Picnic too, it'd be really hard for me to have him there. Because I ask him, "How's your life?" and he can't even give me a straight answer - so he makes me feel like an idiot for asking it - as though it were this big infringement on his privacy - I suppose I have been brooding about him lately. So last night I went into my parents room to call him. The line was busy about 5 times. I tried Kate, Beth, J. - No one was home. God, I had this need to talk to someone.

Finally I heard it ring. (Oh Diary, it felt so identical to the time I called DW - when I heard the ring, I almost felt this desperation - hesitation - I hadn't planned at all what to say or how to say it.)

H. answered - asked who was calling. I said, "Sheila." God, Diary - just telling her my name made me feel so scared and unshielded. Then I heard her voice way in the distance, "TS! It's Sheila on the phone!" What was he thinking about? I heard these clattering footsteps and then his voice. The minute I heard his voice, I warmed to it. I could feel my nervousness crack away. I still felt awkward (Good Lord, I'll always feel awkward). But his voice when he said, "Hi" - it was really drawn out. I could almost see his smile. The TS grin when things get deep. Even when I'm not with him, or looking at him, I sit there and flinch - I cover my eyes, wring my sweater, tug at my hair. I had NO idea how to start. It's been so so so long since we talked. So there was this pause after the "Hi"s and I jumped in. Sink or swim. All or nothing.

So I -- I became myself. I said, "TS, I called to say that I'm sorry about how long we haven't talked. It's been so long and I'm sorry." [Jesus, 16 year old Sheila, you are my hero right now.]

All this time I have been thinking, "Well, shit, it can't be life or death to TS either. Otherwise he would have called. How important can it be to him?" But when I said that, he immediately said, simultaneously with me, "I know - yeah - I know" - Like it's been something he has noticed, and does think about it.

[Excuse me if I have a more cynical response now. That's what experience will do to you.

Oh - and this entry appears to just end there - to be picked up later, I suppose.]

NOVEMBER 21

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I have a 3-day break in which to catch you up with EVERYTHING. Because tonight is the Homecoming Dance, which I asked TS to during that conversation I left off with. But I don't know what I'm feeling. DW will be at the dance too - all alumnae are invited back - and strangely enough, I'm looking forward to seeing DW. I'm so unshaky about him now. I am on firm ground.

But the whole TS thing. Oh Diary, you are honestly the only one I can tell this to in full detail because my friends are bored to death hearing graphic descriptions of every rehearsal - but in here (when I have the time) I can tell it all. I haven't nearly told it all. There's so much. It'ls piling up.

I think it's rare for a person to have a truly honest to God unblemished A plus day but yesterday - looking over my entire life - that was the most fun I think I have ever had, the happiest I've ever been. I think about it and I still feel warm and GOOD inside. Yesterday was the best day of my life. (And don't read that as a cliche.) [Hahahaha I am preemptively chastising my own journal.]

First of all, I missed periods 2, 3, and 4 (Physiology, English, and Drama) because our Drama class went to see the Looking Glass Theatre's production of Antigone. I was so so psyched to see it cause Marvin was gonna be in it. You don't know how much I was looking forward to it or how much I really liked him at the party. He was so nice. I won't forget it. He offered me a beer. I said, "No thanks". and totally casually, he said, "Well, we have alternate drinks if you want, soda ..." I don't know why but just that one moment made me feel so great, it put me straightaway at ease, cause I had gone to that party trembling - thining that I would be forced to drink [hahahahaha] or made to feel dumb if I didn't. And he DIDN'T CARE that I was in high school. We talked as though there was no age difference. He really made an impression on me, I guess, and he's in Antigone - and I was afraid that he wouldn't remember me.

He was wonderful as Creon. He was better than everyone else, I think. When he first came on, I almost squealed, "Oh! There he is!" All I could think of, though, was him with his spiked hair, his "I'm scared" sign, and bugged eyes. It felt so special - I don't know - I just really felt "in" - like - I know him - from my whole other life outside of high school, that is so important to me, and so with me every second - It's weird to have this whole other life without my friends. I am not used to it. I have to rely on myself. Especially with Brett. The interpretation is left up to me cause no one else is there to tell me what they see.

Oh yesterday. [love was such an easy game to play ...] I still can't believe how purely wonderful it was.

After the play, they were gonna set up Creon's trial and have people in the audience participate, call up witnesses from the cast, etc. There was about a 10 minute break, and Marvin was just sitting on the edge of the stage, looking out.

Then something happened to me. I got so shy. It felt like I wanted to go ask him to dance, for Pete's sake. I only wanted to go say hi! I mean, it's not even like I have a crush on him. I don't know why I'm so shy. Or afraid. I get so sick of it, but I can't help it. It was like this Start/Stop thing. But I knew that I really just wanted to go say hi and I'd be really mad if I didn't. Kate knew, Kate understood. She prodded me. "Just go do it, Sheil. Go on. He's alone. Go. I love you."

The strength her words gave me! [hahaha I am so dramatic. But it is all sincere.] So I took a deep breath and stood up. I remember thinking - "Here I go." I know it doesn't seem like a biggie, but it honestly was to me. So I went down the aisle towards him.

________________________________________________
[Yes - that line is really there, drawn by me. I completely stop in the middle of this CLIFFHANGER ... and change topics.]

Just came home from the Homecoming Dance. All I'm gonna do this vacation is write in here. Maybe I'll come up with some answers.

Tuesday, November 20 - (remember that date as THE best day of my life so far) - and today were so wonderful. I mean this morning I was still bouncing off the walls.

November 22 Thanksgiving

Here I am in the car. We're on our way up to Mama's. I really hope today cheers me up because I'm not doing too well. I don't know what to do. Everything is so bizarre right now because it's all happening at once. I'm at a loss. On Saturday night - on the phone with TS - once I got out my first "I'm sorry we don't talk anymore" - it wasn't me doing all the work. For once in my life. [Enjoy it while it lasts, Sheil-babe!] He was saying how awful he felt - "I called you a few times, but you were never home." I was thinking inside - Thank God. He has been thinking of me. Then, even better, he said, "I wrote you a letter but I haven't gotten a chance to send it." I felt like everything inside me caved in. A boy cares about me? It moves me. It makes me feel sad for some reason. I don't know. It's so hard to get down to the point with TS, because he always has to tell jokes. I feel so unworthy all the time. But then I try to convince myself to cut the crap and then I feel all warm and choked up inside. That happened to me on the phone, just thinking about him sitting down to write to me, noticing our lack of contact and wanting to do something about it. I want to read that letter. I almost wish I hadn't called so that I could have gotten it. But he told me some of what the letter said. It said, "Sheila, please call me. Please call me." Am I worthy? I'm so touched and emotional and very deeply in love. [hahahahahaha] My heart is bursting. I am bursting.

But then when I'm at rehearsal, I totally forget about TS. [hahahahahaha] Things are moving at break-neck speed. My emotions are flying. I am a crazy woman.

Boy has Picnic helped me. I really do think it's Picnic's fault. I can say my feelings so much more honestly now. I mean, I can express what I'm feeling, come right out and say it.

And we admitted things to each other that we never talk about. It's always underlying thoughts when I'm with him, like, "Why do I act like such a flake, only with him?" "Why am I so scared?" "Why am I awkward?" But I never say these things to him. I am afraid he will laugh at me. And he would. Probably without knowing it hurt me. Whenever either of us tries to say something serious, TS gets real uneasy and makes a joke or a flip remark. It bugs me. Maybe I'm a serious person. I mean, laughing is my favorite thing in the world - but I like talking seriously about important things better. I get scared with TS. I really have this feeling that he would laugh at me. But oh my God - on the phone - I am so crazy about him! I am CRAZY about him. I am FLIPPING over him.

He said, "We're awkward with each other, Sheila."

Oh really, TS? I hadn't noticed.

Then - oh dear - he said, "I'm not awkward with anyone but you."

When I told Anne that, she said, "Shit." [hahahahahahahaha]

I sat there and I could feel myself oozing in eternal directions. ["oozing in eternal directions"???? That's kind of fabulous.] I felt tension in my arms and necks. We talked about how bad we felt, it was this big outpouring.

He said to me, "When I saw you at Anne's, I thought you were gonna shoot me."

Oh my God, it bothered him like it bothered me. We had a really long talk - very subtle hints towards talking about "us" but not quite confronting it. It'll take a lot to get TS to confront anything. He said to me, "I wrote you a letter because it's hard for me to say it out loud, or to your face, or over the phone ..." [or in a smoke signal, or in Morse code, or from a space ship, or from deep inside the well, or from the airplane, or from the trapeze ...]

Finally he told me he had to go because he had to call Matt to see if they were gonna go see a play, so I said, "Fine. Sure." And after a pause he said, "Thanks for calling." Sincerely.

When we hung up I felt so good about myself. I wished that I could slap myself on the back. I wanted to scream: SHEILA, I LOVE BEING YOU! I was trembling.

About a 1/2 hour later, he called back, saying that Matt had already left so he obviously called to just talk more with me. We just blabbed, about movies, cable TV [that brand-new technology!!], Picnic -

I get nauseated thinking how close Picnic is.

And just before we hung up, I remembered that the Homecoming Dance was this Wednesday. So I said, "Wait a minute" - and he waited and I sat there quietly, trying to compose myself. I have never asked a guy anwhere spur of the moment. It takes me a day to get up my courage. He waited, and I just - I thought I could feel myself get scared and shaky but I finally blurted, "Are you free Wednesday night?" He said, "Yeah. Why." I said, "Well - there's the Homecoming Dance at school ... " So he said yes, and we planned to just meet at the gym.

Then we hung up.

I had to go sit down to think this over. I didn't have time to think about it before, so it was almost a breather for me. Like: "Dear Lord, I'm going to a semiformal dance with him."

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.