Eplaya Coffee and Chai

All things outside of Burning Man.
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tonytohono
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Eplaya Coffee and Chai

Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 5:37 am

Image

This hanging out in the bar at 5:30 isn't working for me. Besides I'm afraid the rangers might eventually raid us. So I'm opening up shop. If you want alcohol, you're going to have to sneak in a flask.

Anyway, we like images in here, and we like stories... long stories... fiction is also welcome.

We also like flirting.

We don't like politics, and we don't like news.

And lastly, PMing is encouraged, but you'd better not get too suggestive unless they're suggestive in their replies.

How is that for a rule book?

PS- rules were made to be broken.

Simply Joel
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Postby Simply Joel » Sat Nov 13, 2004 5:40 am

good morning, decaf please...

no politics, no news?

ah, flirting, nope. my bride would have me by the short hairs.

i have been up since 5AM.

sheesh

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tonytohono
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About Last Night.

Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 5:44 am

tonytohono wrote:Names have been changed


About Last Night

After spending several hours hallucinating abduction by extraterrestrials, one has a tendency to reevaluate his priorities. Somewhere between the cavity searches and the mind probes, I realized it was probably time to quit experimenting with the mind altering drugs. When I finally came back down to earth, I swore my days of dropping acid were a part of the past.

The fateful event had taken place during the 20th anniversary of the Summer of Love. It was a big deal here in the city; after all, back in 1967, San Francisco was where it all began. I’d like to say my experiments were a direct result of the celebrations taking place that summer, but they had actually began several years earlier. I was never a fiend, only a casual user, but after the encounter with aliens, my experience with psychedelics was to be limited strictly to past tense. I guess I should have told Cary.

Cary’s apartment was located above a bar called the Eagle’s Nest, a seedy dive with blacked out windows and a recessed doorway. The men who oozed from within often made my skin crawl. A more appropriate name for the bar may have been the Chicken Hawk’s Roost or the Trouser Snake’s Lair. It was a gay bar, located on Market near the corner of Laguna.

At the time, I barely gave it a second thought, but it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable neighborhood for a young heterosexual male who had certain leanings toward an androgynous appearance. Hell, I was a musician with long hair. Even in the straight neighborhoods I was often mistaken for a woman. I did my best to ignore the cat calls no matter where I was at.

Cary, who wore his blonde hair shorter than mine, was not only the singer in my band, he was my best friend. He had found the apartment after he had ground out his welcome at his former residence, my place. Incidentally, it wasn’t my decision that he’d move; I had never objected to his outrageous behavior. On the other hand, my girlfriend, and our two roommates did. I constantly begged him to mellow out, but he had stubborn convictions. I guess it was a little annoying to wake up to him belting Led Zeppelin songs at three in the morning, dropping empty beer bottles on the hardwood floor.

After a few fruitless weeks of apartment hunting he turned up a place. A place that, as it turned out, was surrounded by fruits. It was a studio that was barely big enough for futon, and whose only window was blocked by a wall. I wasn’t impressed, but I was proud of him for having found his own crib, and one day it would make for a good story of our humble beginnings. I saw visions of interviews on MTV, of our stoic expressions. “Hell yeah it was tough, but we were dedicated to our music.”
The room was so small that we usually split immediately after my arrival, or sometimes, we would skip it altogether and meet at one of the local bars, the ones where the rock and rollers hung out, the Drunk Tank, or the Firehouse. Then there was the time I showed up and he was not home.
“Where the hell were you last night?” I asked.

“I was there—should have rang Sandy’s.”

Sandy was the manager of the building. If my friend’s apartment was a shoebox, Sandy’s place was the general store. Sandy was as bright a flame as you ever would meet. At first I was a little put off by his often flamboyant behavior, but his sincerity and affability soon won me over, just as it had Cary. Sandy also had a huge television with cable hook up. We often did our favorite thing there—critiquing our peers on MTV.

One night, in the midst of a major video bashing of some idiotic hair band from Los Angeles, I asked my friend for a sip from his forty ounce beer. “Sure,” he said with an all-too-enthusiastic smile, a smile I should have realized was influenced by something stronger than six percent alcohol. After a few passes I took yet another sip, and then coughed, nearly choking as something foreign went down my throat.
I coughed again, and then handed it back.

“Something in that beer,” I said.

“Yeah, there is,” he said, with a nasty smirk.

I didn’t need to hear another word to know I had just been dosed. I felt like punching him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You dosed me…” I took a deep breath. “You’re an asshole man.”

“It was only one four way.” He belted out one of his patented screams.

The emphasis, at least in my mind, laid on was. “Only?!”

“Calm down bro, you’ll be fine.”

At that moment I felt the four way surf over a foamy wave in my stomach. I knew it was only a matter of time before I experienced a major melt down. Considering I had my first sip of the tainted beer some ten minutes before; I figured the rush was about to run me down like a diesel truck at any moment. I tried filling my mind with delusions, It’s possible the shit’s bunk, but I knew the chances Cary would cop bunk L was highly unlikely. Good drugs had a way of finding their way to him. He was a magnet.

A few minutes later I knew there was absolutely no chance for me when Sandy’s gayness glowed about five hundred watts brighter, in an enthusiastic sing along with some trendy boy-techno band’s video. I felt like I had been locked in a cage with tinker bell and a karaoke machine. I wrestled between leaving and staying. Finally, I stood up and said, “I’m out of here—see you guys later.”

Without waiting for a response I left. I wanted to catch a bus before I got any higher, before I was so far gone that I forgot which direction my house was. I lived in the Richmond and said bus ride was going to require at least one transfer.


I’m high now, there’s no getting around it. I’d like to believe I’m close to peaking, but I’ve done enough acid to know that there’s little chance of that. Most likely the ride is only going to get rougher. Every step I take makes me feel like I’m falling apart and an eternity passes in the time it takes to walk two blocks.

At Fillmore and Haight I watch the bus roll to a stop on the adjacent corner; light cascades from the opening door. I could run, but the site of that brilliant light and the thought of walking down that aisle facing two dozen pairs of scrutiny, scares the living shit out of me. Besides, my legs have each gained forty pounds and running is out of the question. I turn and lumber up the street—I need to pull myself together some before I can reconsider climbing on another bus. I remind myself that if I walk over to Geary I can reach my neighborhood without transferring.

I stick to the back streets, the ones with fewer streetlights, doing my best to avoid each gauzy halo that infringes upon my path. I constantly check, because although I’m walking on concrete I’m fledging through snow. Flares of pain ignite my joints and coil around my muscles. My body has long since forgotten the meaning of comfort. I feel as awkward as a scarecrow on stilts. Soon I have compressed my existence within the confines of my mind. I sit in a tower and watch through two windows as the world wanders passed.

At first, thoughts fall like sprinkles of soft rain, and then they begin to fall harder. Soon I am drenched with them, blown sideways in their angry wind. They come at me from every direction, faster than I can think, coming at the speed of sound. Some veer past, others slam into me with a sonic collision, and then pass through me, chipping away, piece by piece, leaving a little mystery in their place. Speaking to me, commanding me, making demands of me, enveloping me within reason, making absolutely no sense at all. They’re words, they’re thoughts, they’re filled with meaning, and then I am washed with the revelation. I stop cold. I’m in the street, I’m on the sidewalk, this side and that side at each end of the block, I’m everywhere and I’m no place at all, I’m an image outside your window, I’m the person you didn’t notice, the person you can’t see and when you do realize I’m there, you just wish I would leave.

And at this instant I realize from where the swarms of thoughts are coming. They’re the thoughts, the conversations, the feelings, the arguments, the very essence of the people inside of every room, of every house, on every block around me, I can look at one house or another, hear everything that passes between those walls, I can sort through each room, through each mind, through each passage.

I hear the woman measure the ingredients for the dinner she’s preparing, for the man who knows nothing other than the hunger he feels deep inside. I hear the bachelor contemplating which date he will take, and how getting laid will be the only influence in his decision. I hear the lovers while they are at it, they’re straight, no they’re gay—no, they’re just plain kinky! In their imagination, what they both want they refuse to admit, all the while it’s what they both want and they don’t know it because they’re too insecure to risk taking a chance. I hear the kids fighting over who gets the toy when in reality neither of them wants it; they just don’t want the other one to have it. I hear the student hard at study, while the conflict tosses through his mind, how much easier it would be to cheat on this goddamn exam—after all, the shit will be long forgotten the day after tomorrow anyway. I hear a woman debating whether or not she should tell her boyfriend, or just go ahead with the abortion. I hear the roommates discuss the neighbor in whispers, while the neighbor explores his intimacy with loneliness. I feel the sadness of a jilted lover and the anguish of someone who has been diagnosed with something even he cannot admit to himself he has contracted.

I hear the simple and the mundane, the hope, the jeers, the warmth, the worries, the fears, the laughter, the tears, the happiness and the enthusiasm, the orgasm, the excitement of the money shot when it comes… I hear it all.

I’m walking again, adrift in a world all my own. My laughter ricochets across Ashbury. Eventually, I pause on Geary. I find comfort as I leave 1st Avenue behind. Less than forty-one blocks to go. The accordion buses come along every few minutes now, and at each stop I debate whether or not I will wait. I’ve checked my change and I have more than enough to ride. The neon lights in the windows of the bars captivate me, and I find a certain irony that this all started with a beer that is commonly advertised among them.

In the distance I can see the traffic flying back and forth on the four lanes of Park Presidio Avenue. The mere thought of crossing unnerves me. I contemplate my options at the bus stop one block before the intersection. Yet another eternity passes before I finally see the number 38 rolling toward me. I avoid looking again until I know it is about to arrive. I glance up just in time to read EXPRESS, as the bus zooms past. Looking up, I realize I am not beneath an express sign; for a moment I swear the sign says afflicted. Just across Park Presidio the bus stops.

It’s not my night. I hug myself a little tighter and try to stave off the cold. Further down Geary the fog tumbles toward me. It’s not real dense tonight, just enough to bath my world in mystery, to make me apprehensive. I turn around to search for another bus. The street is empty back to a red light a few blocks away. No buses. The sidewalk is a different story. A man walks a large dog halfway down the block. From a hydrant the dog looks up and sniffs the breeze between us. Summarily, he has sensed my condition and will now make a concerted effort to convey his objection. If convenient, he may even bite me. I can feel it.

Behind me the traffic crossing Park Presidio looks far less offensive.
I’m on the move. As I approach the intersection the four lanes are now four football fields wide. Behind me the dog has lost all interest in everything, except for me. He is making a beeline for me, dragging his master like a bouquet of balloons. The light is red and the cars zoom from the darkness like monsters. The dog is close enough that I hear him snarling. I turn around and whether or not the light is red I will run… Ollie ollie oxen free—it’s green! I am running. I do not care what I look like, I do not care about the monsters and their bright shiny chrome-plated teeth, crouched down on all fours, or what they might think, I do not care about anything, because now I am free.

From the corner I give a quick glance back. It seems the dog is now acting like he was in a hurry to reach the grassy strip that runs parallel to the expressway, pretending I no longer exist, now that I am safely insulated by a wall of speeding traffic. In my mind I am flipping him off shouting, “Ha! Try chewing on that bone canine.”

My sprint has refreshed me with a violent rush and standing stationary is no longer an option. If I stop now I am sure the world will steadily progress toward that massive meltdown; so I keep moving. There is enough activity ahead that I consider moving over to one of the backstreets, but I am still flirting with a bus ride. I am still twenty-eight blocks away from my home and it is only getting later. My girlfriend must be worried, or more likely upset, assuming I am out carousing with Cary.

Between 17th and 18th is a well illuminated anthill. People are swarming in and out of Walgreens and a video rental store. It’s busy enough that I manage to sneak past without drawing attention. I cross 18th and pass a young man who is rummaging through a garbage can. He glances up at me and for an instant we lock eyes. I wonder why, when most teenagers are at home getting ready for bed, he is up to his elbows in garbage. I am overwhelmed by sadness. Now I am up to my waist in snow; forced to a stop. I cannot shake his image. When I turn around he is still there, still digging. I want to ask him why, but what difference will any answer make? I want to do something for him—anything. I walk back and as I approach he stands up straight and for a long moment we both stare. In this instant I know this young man, I know that he is battered and torn, know that he has never known a family who loved him, or known a place to call his home. In this instant I see that even though his life has been fraught with disappointment I know that he is still innocent, and amazingly, still full of hope. In this instant I see him striving to, and achieving a better life, no matter how far in the future this may lie. In this instant what is mine becomes his. I reach in my pocket and dig out all of my change, all my crumpled bills, and lay them into his empty hands. It does not matter how much it is, because if I only had more it too would be his. In our simple exchange not a single word passes, but I find more than enough thanks in the tears welling in his eyes.

In a flood I again hear all of those voices from earlier on my walk, all of the thinking, the feeling, and the selfishness, and I realize that not a single one of those minds was as grateful for everything they had, as this young man is for what little he now holds. I will never feel as complete, or as high in all of my years of living, as I do at this moment. And for the remainder of my walk home I will wave at every bus that passes, and I will smile because I found purpose tonight, a purpose I didn’t know I possessed. And tomorrow I will see things from a new perspective, and when someone asks me what I am thinking, I will tell them, “About last night.”

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 5:48 am

Good morning Joel. Decaf it is.

It's okay not too flirt, but no complaining if someone flirts with you.

*But it won't be me, so the bride is safe, at least for the time being!*

Congrats in that as well. I'm assuming this was a recent event?

Anyway, that was my story for the day, that last post. Feel free to add your own. I'll be in and out of here this AM. I am working on something a little more substantial.

Peace.

gigglesnort
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Postby gigglesnort » Sat Nov 13, 2004 8:30 am

gigglesnort wrote:
gigglesnort wrote:
gigglesnort wrote:
....

good night ya'll.


Yeah, right.


fuckin dichotomy issue. Geez.


[Gigasnort appears before your very eyes]

(seems more of a trichotomy issue, shit). TonyOhNo, thanks ever so much for your story; how much for a chi tea?

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 8:53 am

gigglesnort wrote: TonyOhNo, thanks ever so much for your story; how much for a chi tea?


Are you kidding? We don't accept anything to do with commerse here. But you are welcome to volunteer some conversation, or perhaps a story...

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boomshanker
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Postby boomshanker » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:04 am

soy chai double if you please,
yes, it was a good night. we began with a ride to Tijuana for dinner at La Diference drinks were Tamarind margaritas many and for dinner crocodile pie... invited to dance at La Monumento near the playa. they were serving gran centenario reposado. intense latino musica filled the night air, soft lighting, fire pits with red glowing cinders half dressed olive skinned dark haired women and men danced til dawn... another soy chai, gracias
The protector of day Mazatl (the Deer) is Tlaloc, He who makes seeds sprout, god of rain and thunderstorms...

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:32 am

boomshanker wrote:soy chai double if you please,
yes, it was a good night. we began with a ride to Tijuana for dinner at La Diference drinks were Tamarind margaritas many and for dinner crocodile pie... invited to dance at La Monumento near the playa. they were serving gran centenario reposado. intense latino musica filled the night air, soft lighting, fire pits with red glowing cinders half dressed olive skinned dark haired women and men danced til dawn... another soy chai, gracias


You got it boomshanker. So this all occurred last night? Man, I need to move to SD. I better have a better espresso.

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Postby gigglesnort » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:45 am

TonyOhNo, what's shakin? Might I have a double mocha nonfat no whip while yer firin up the machine?

BoomShanker, such a nice visual, thanks.

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 10:56 am

I can do that. I think I'll whip myself up one as well.

Image

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Postby gigglesnort » Sat Nov 13, 2004 11:00 am

So, it's hunt'n sees'n here in Arkansaw, all the good rednecks are out cullin the herds as we speak; my man brought me a big chunk of meat from a sizable buck, for which he spent a sizable amount of time sitt'n still in the woods, lett'n spiders build webs about him.

Sure is tasty here baked with these potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions; something about an animal that ran free in the woods, all organic, gratefully taken by a loving man, YUM! anyone hungry?

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 11:17 am

TONYTOHONO CONTEMPLATES EATING HUNTED GAME...

Image Image Image

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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 11:20 am

hEhE jUST kIDDING yOU gIGASnoRT.

Sounds great to me, although it's not dinner time on the WC just yet. I just had breakfast a few minutes ago~!

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Postby gigglesnort » Sat Nov 13, 2004 11:43 am

tonytohono wrote:hEhE jUST kIDDING yOU gIGASnoRT.

Sounds great to me, although it's not dinner time on the WC just yet. I just had breakfast a few minutes ago~!


hEhE gOoD oNe ToHoToNoNo~Or ShOuLd I sAy uBeRtOnY~ :wink:

Just had breakfast? Fuck where I am? Oh, this virtual life.

Which reminds me~

See ya'll later~

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 2:37 pm

I think I will start calling you Gigasock. Hehe...

Ps- Bela Lugosi's Dead

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phoenix13
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Postby phoenix13 » Sat Nov 13, 2004 3:06 pm

Bela Lugosi is dead?

I never got that memo.
And in time we will all burn and become a new.

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sat Nov 13, 2004 3:58 pm

I was quoting hte song. The first Bauhaus I ever heard of course, and ironically it was in a coffee and tea place called Eye Dream. A very cool place indeed. =)

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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 5:49 am

[rubbing sleepy out eyes, mumbling to self] think I'll fix up a mocha before I head off to the twelve-step meeting.....

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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 9:21 am

So I was living in Boulder, in the midst of my second marriage to the same man (a certified paranoid schizophrenic heroin addict among other things) in a two-room apartment with our two very young children. All the old bullshit from the first go around was already resurfaced and ratcheting up, though not to peak level yet.

He was never intimately interested in me unless I was in costume, which a facet of me enjoyed tremendously, but another part of me was starved for naked tenderness. My hair was very, very long, past mid back but not quite to low back, straight and dark, dark brown.

One evening, when I was feeling very much alone and hungry for sweetness, he pestered and harrassed about wanting me to "get ready" for hte evenings agenda (i.e. get out the curling iron and hairspray and makeup, let's fuck!)

Feeling already battered by bitterness and loneliness, all hte long years of missing daddy love adn tenderness, long way from home, sequestered by craziness, a huge wave of despair loomed in hte distance, and I had no life jacket.

I walked into hte bathroom and looked deep into the eyes in the mirror, gathered my long beautiful hair into a pony, took the scissors and cut it off. Next, I took the clipper and proceeded to shave every last hair down next to nothing, a soft fine buzz, sinead-style.

I looked again in hte mirror, this time at my naked head, and an enormous wave of emotion started way down low, worked its way up through my body, I thought my heart would burst, and when it reached my eyes, I almost cried, but it moved on and up, and when it burst forth from my crown, I laughed and laughed, and laughed.

Thanks for coffee, T.

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Postby cowboyangel » Sun Nov 14, 2004 9:50 am

Jesus Christ giglesnort. Jesus Christ. The eplaya is getting incredible, simply and utterly incredible! Thank you from the bottom of my soul!
"We'll know our disinformation program is complete when everything the American public believe is false."- William Casey, CIA Director 1981

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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:00 am

cowboyangel wrote:Jesus Christ giglesnort. Jesus Christ. The eplaya is getting incredible, simply and utterly incredible! Thank you from the bottom of my soul!


Jesus was a capricorn, he ate organic food. He believed in love and peace and never wore no shoes. Long hair, beard, and sandals adn a funky bunch of friends; reckon we'd just nail him up if he came down again.

Cause everybody's gotta have somebody to look down on who they can feel better than at any time they please. Someone doin somethin dirty decent folks can frown on; if you can't find nobody else, then help yourself to me.

Eggheads cussing rednecks cussing hippies for their hair~
Others laugh at straights who laugh at freaks who laught at squares~
Some folks hate the whites who hate the blacks who hate hte Klan~

Most of us hate anything that we don't understand.

(Disclaimer, although I am a capricorn and on old boyfriend used to call me Christofferson, this was in fact written by hte original Mr. Kris Kristofferson).

~Smooch! Yer welcome, cowboy.

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Postby tonytohono » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:21 am

Wow Gigglesnort.... That is an intense revelation. I would like to ask what the response was when you walked out, but perhaps I should not.

What I like about this place, and for that matter, all things BM, is that it goes deep deep deep, and does so without shame. I will post something shortly...

PS-Elvis was a capricorn too~!

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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:24 am

tonytohono wrote:Wow Gigglesnort.... That is an intense revelation. I would like to ask what the response was when you walked out, but perhaps I should not.

What I like about this place, and for that matter, all things BM, is that it goes deep deep deep, and does so without shame. I will post something shortly...

PS-Elvis was a capricorn too~!


Suffice to say, he wasn't as excited about my new look as I, nor did he appreciate the deeper implications~I eagerly await your words, Anthony.

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Postby tonytohono » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:26 am


I was 21 when I first met Terentia. She was tall, and magnetic, and just the way she carried herself said, “I’m special.” Ten minutes later we had our first argument. I decided then that she wasn’t so special after all; she was impossible. What I meant to be my last words with her were, “Next time I see you, can we just pretend we never met?”

I turned, but not quickly enough to escape, as she locked her fingers around my arm with a vice-like grip, then she asked me my name. “Tony,” I said.

Our relationship was often confrontational, punctuated with learning experiences, and for the most part, one long rollercoaster ride. After three years of living the dangerous life, we decided we were better off as friends. We remained close and I enjoyed seeing her whenever possible. But over the years, inevitably, we lost touch.

My life went through twists and turns, undulating through good times and bad, but rarely did I look back. A decade passed, and I reached a point where I decided it was in my best interests to leave San Francisco. Starting over is never easy, especially when you are doing it alone, in a place so far from your friends. Over those first few months I did a lot of looking back, constantly analyzing, wondering if my recent move was a decision I would come to regret.

One afternoon I received a call from Terentia. She told me she had been thinking of me and, with the advent of the Internet, decided to track me down. It could not have come at better time; our renewed friendship and the resulting string of emails and phone calls, gave me a sense of reassurance I needed.

A week before Christmas I was checking my email and was pleasantly surprised to see her name in my inbox. It had been an inordinately long time since she had written and as the window opened I smiled as I read, I’m sorry it has been so long. My smile vanished with the line that followed; Tony, I have cancer. The remainder of the email only emphasized the gravity of the situation: colon cancer, metastasized, stage four.

The only good news was that she had relocated from the city to her mother’s home in Sacramento. I stopped reading and picked up the phone. A moment later we were speaking and two days later I visited her. I learned she had already had one surgery and was scheduled for a second shortly after the New Year. I asked her if there was anything she would like to do before hand and she told me she really wanted to go out and have a Cosmopolitan in a nice bar. I was apprehensive, considering there was a tumor in her liver the size of a baseball, but she convinced me it would be all right, and a few days later we went out for drinks.

Over cocktails we began a candid conversation, which eventually led to my telling her how much it had meant to me that she had tracked me down. She dismissed it as if it were insignificant. I reiterated how much it had meant and the difference it had made in my life, particularly so, because it had came at a time in my life when I was going through a period plagued with self-doubt. She seemed touched by my sincerity, so I asked, “Why did you track me down Terentia?”

The question caught her off guard and she hesitated. “I can’t exactly say, I guess because you made a difference in my life.” She shrugged, and then added, “And I missed you.”

Three days later I visited her at UC Davis Medical Center the night before her second surgery. She was noticeably frightened and for the longest time held my hands with that familiar grip. “Tony,” her lip quivered and she closed her eyes, “I’m so afraid of waking up alone again, like I did after the first surgery.”

“You won’t be alone this time.” I wiped a tear from her cheek. “I promise.”

The following day I waited with her mother throughout the day. At 7:00 pm the doctor finally appeared and led us through a maze of corridors to see her in post-op recovery. She was blanketed like a cocoon, still anesthetized, but from her severe expression I knew it was doing little to ease the pain she felt inside. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her it would get easier, but there was only room for one to move beside her. I watched from the foot of the bed as her mother whispered to her, but there was no response. The doctor moved beside me and told me she would probably wake up in the next two hours. Intuitively, I knew it would be much longer, possibly several. I frowned, knowing that visiting hours ended at 9:00. I looked at the doctor and said, “I need to be there when she wakes up.” He told me it could be arranged.

Her mother was exhausted and thanked me when I announced I was going to wait. At a quarter after eleven, they finally rolled her past the waiting room on the 8th floor. She was writhing in pain just from the movement of the gurney. A few minutes later I asked the nurse if I could go to see her. “Not yet,” she said. A moment later the nurse was called away from the desk. A second nurse appeared at the door, flashed me a furtive glance, and gestured down the hall.

I walked down the hall, slipped into Terentia’s room, and paused outside the curtain, wondering what to do. Terentia cried out and physically fought as they made the transfer to the hospital bed. I took my head in my hands, listening as the nurses tried to calm her. “You need to calm down miss, you’re only making it worse,” a nurse said, obviously from her wit’s ends. Another nurse pushed out the gurney, saw me and said, “Your husband is here,” as if relieved to see me.

“Who is it?” Terentia called.

“It’s Tony,” I said.

“Tony, help me,” she yelled. “Please help me.”

I pulled back the curtain and rushed in. Terentia was a wild animal caught in a steel trap, fighting to escape, each kick answered as she winced in pain; two nurses trying to calm her, while their efforts only made things worse. They gladly stood aside as I moved around the bed. I felt her pain shudder through me, as I gaped at Terentia’s clutching hands, where the missed attempts to insert the IVs had left dark bruises up and down both of her arms. I grasped the rail as she convulsed and moaned, wondering where I might touch her without causing more pain. I leaned over her and as gently as I could, took her head in my hands and whispered, “I’m here sweetheart, try to relax.”

“I can’t, it hurts too much.”

“Yes, you can. You can do this.”

“I’m going to die Tony,” she yelled, grasping my wrist.

“No you’re not; you’re going to make it.” I began to lightly stroke her head.

“But it hurts,” she cried. “It hurts so bad.”

“I know it hurts,” I whispered, “but you can do this, you can make it.”
“But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can and you will.”

Slowly but surely, my best head and neck massage, and every calming thing I could think to say began to play their effect; the sounds of anguish were soon replaced with pleased sighs and relaxed breathing. I smiled when she said, “My back, rub my back,” and then, “Lower,” or “Higher.”
Finally, she was quiet. Her facial expression was no longer pained and she looked so peaceful, so relaxed; I suspected she had fallen asleep. It was so incredibly special to have been able to have done that for her, to have taken her from that most terrible state to one so peaceful. I have been through some things in my life, but nothing that compares to the feeling I experienced at that moment. I was so wrong when I thought it could not be anymore special than that.

Just when I was certain she was in fact asleep, she whispered, “Hey?”

I leaned to her ear and softly whispered back, “Hey what?”

And she said, “This is why I tracked you down.”


gigglesnort
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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:37 am

Oh god, cowboy?

gigglesnort
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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:39 am

Anyone? I need a tissue, please pass the box....

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:51 am

Tissue for Gigglesnort...

And a double espresso to wash it down!

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tonytohono
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Postby tonytohono » Sun Nov 14, 2004 10:52 am

I guess I should try digging up something happy after that....

I'll see what I can do.

gigglesnort
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Postby gigglesnort » Sun Nov 14, 2004 11:22 am

tonytohono wrote:I guess I should try digging up something happy after that....

I'll see what I can do.


Beg to differ, this story of humanity reaching out for help and receiving kindness and tenderness in response makes my heart very happy, if a little weepy.... SNORT....thanks for the tissue and the coffee; gonna go now and clean up around here. See ya sooner than later, I'm sure....

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Kristy Kreme
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Postby Kristy Kreme » Sun Nov 14, 2004 6:16 pm

Hi, anyone here?

I'll take a spiced chai and a kiss on the cheek, PLEASE!

Kisses, Kristy Kreme


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