10:47 a.m. - 10/26/03
hear your voice make everything alright.
he was male, and I could hear his kindness and his familiarity, but I almost hung up before he got to his name. he said Dave, and I said, what the hell are you doing answering phones? - I said, this is Mary, and then I said, why are you there? and he said, he was just getting up to leave, and it's fate, and I'm thinking, I just told whatever "God" I have such a hard time believing in that I "just need help, right now"; I just dialed the phone even though I knew that I wouldn't get anyone who would really understand me. and he answered the phone, and he said it's fate, and I couldn't rule it out.
he said, I got your letter; your letter was gorgeous - it was beautiful, and I said thanks, and I'm glad, and I'm glad you read it, I'm glad you got it, thanks. and he said, so you need a little boost from me? and I said, yes, I guess I do, I'm having a hard time. and he said, your parents still divorcing?, and I said yes, and I said...Jenna's in ICU. and he said where, and I told him where, and I was sorry because I didn't want to hurt him. he's already with so many of the hurt ones; I wanted to let him believe that some of us are out here surviving. not being sick. but I told him, and I cried, and he said, were you with her? and I said, the first time, yes. I wanted to say, I was the closest to her of everyone, don't you remember? but I didn't; I said, the first time yes. he said, have you been in touch with her? I said no, she's not talking to me. she's not talking to you? she's not taking my calls. see, after I discharged, we kept in touch. and then she fell off the planet. (and I was going crazy with letting myself hope and hearing nothing and hoping and hearing nothing and trying, trying, trying without any response...so I stopped.) and I heard, eventually, that she had been back with you guys, (and that she was doing well), and then Sara was inpatient for a little while, and her last night Jenna came in...and...and...
he said, but that's what you said, in your letter...remember?...about the eating disorder and why you don't want to go back to it? and I said I know, and I'm not doing anything - I'm not cutting or binging or purging or restricting - and he said that's so good, and I said, which means I have to *feel* all of it. all of this. and he said, you're right you have to feel it, which is something those girls tend to avoid. don't get me wrong, he said. they're both great girls, and they both worked really hard while they were here. I said, they are great girls. (they're spectacular, wonderful girls...) I said I just don't know what to do because I was already in so much pain and then on top of it, this...and he said, I really do think she wants to get better, still. and I wanted to say, she says she wants to die, but I knew he meant even hearing that, he still believes. and he said, they're going to get better. that's the truth. we just have to hope that they get better before they die. and I said, "yeah," - it didn't even occur to me to wail at the thought of them dying because that's the same thing I think. that they're going to get better no matter what, and all I can wish is that it'll happen in time for them to be alive. to still be with me, in this form, in this world. he said, like with Tracy? remember that? and I said, yeah, like a weepy little foundling...I didn't even have the strength to say, damnit, Dave, like I'd forget? like I'd forget that, and her? and he said yeah and you know and all of those Dave-words, all of that Dave-syntax, in that Wisconsin accent, bizarrely understanding in his straightforwardness.
I said that it's just hard. that there were already so many hellish things going on, and then to have this...and I said I don't know what to do because I feel like I have to get away. I have to get away from all these things in my life that are eating-disordered, I have to get away, but then if I do I lose Rogers, and that's my good thing, that's what keeps me together. and he said (and damn, this is what has been in my head all week, and I knew it, I knew this is what he would say) that it doesn't have to be that dichotomous. remember that, remember dichotomous? you've got to find the grey. he said, that's what you need to write a play about. you need to write a play about finding the grey. and I said ok, like he was asking me to go buy a squash, like it was entirely that easy to command. and he said, no I'm serious. because people don't get it when I tell them that. and I understood. I understood. I understand to the point that it's been in my head all week.
he said find the grey. maybe you need to take a break from these people who are *so* sick and just be with people away from eating disorders right now. and then when you're stronger, you can go back. and I wanted to say, but it's JENNA, and I promised I'd keep calling, and she JUST came back into my life. I painted my toenails with wite-out the night she went into ICU! I wanted to tell him that, but I was crying and he was talking, and that arrangement was working, too. how many times did that work? just like this, except in the same room. just like this, except everyday. I wanted to fight him, but I knew that he was right. I knew it this morning when I thought of the promise I made, to Sara, to myself, to keep calling until Jenna will take it. and I remembered making that promise to myself before, to keep calling, to keep writing, just this one more time, just this one more time, I have to try her one more time. until I went entirely crazy. until I had to let myself step away. and I knew then I had to take a couple steps back. I can't live my whole life like I've lived it from Friday until now, doing nothing but weeping and sleeping and calling over Jenna. about Jenna. at Jenna. in need of Jenna. to care for Jenna. in love for Jenna. somewhere, somehow, I need to take care of me, too.
I wanted to ask him more; I wanted to ask him everything, but I could hear him running away to his next session, his next smoke break, whatever the hell he'd stood up for, other than to answer my call. and he said, "ok, darlin, that's your boost. you wanna talk to somebody else?" and I said no, I was ok. (no, you're all I needed. you're exactly what I needed. how did you seem so different when I was there?) he said, "ok, darlin, that's your boost." and I was nodding, and realizing he couldn't see me nod, and trying to speak, if only falteringly, and I thanked him, I think, I hope I thanked him. and he said, "I'll talk to you soon." and I wanted to ask him if he meant it but I was too busy hearing, darlin, darlin, darlin...that's your boost.
darlin. that's so good. it's fate. darlin, that's your boost. (come be a rap speaker, he said. how long's it been - two years? that's damn good recovery. we'd love to have you. and you could get something out of it, be all inspirated...inspirational. inspirated. what the hell kind of word is that? ...I said, I like it.) I hope I thanked him, and I hung up, and I fell down, lying on my side on the bed, and I said, thank you, thank you, thank you, and I cried.
I just talked to Dave for the first time since November 9th, 2001. and it's 11:11, and for the first time in four days, I'm making a wish that is frankly, and directly, just for me. just for me.
I have some promises to examine...
chord
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