GON #13: Day 2 Together 2
Getting Old Now
Chicago, Illinois
Saturday, October 20, 1998
8:42 Am
The convention hall of the Allerton Hotel moderately crowded.
“Welcome, ladies and gentleman...” standing upon the stage, the contest moderator said “...this competition; our second annual ‘International, Internet Poetry Competition’ is, ‘first,’to meet our fellow poets and ‘second’ to hear the thoughts and writings of our wonderful, previously commercially unpublished poets. Then to offer the prize of publishing, in a hard back edition, the writings of the winner of this year’s competition, along with the guaranteed placement in at least one major book marketing chain.”
After searching the large room for a few minutes, we found the ‘TheWritersPlace.com’ representative, who’s name I cannot remember, along with the other two semi-contestants: one male and one female, who’s names I also cannot remember.
Feeling proud as hell, but receiving fishy eyed stares when Barbara announced, “I’d like you to meet my husband, Mitchell.”
Screw ‘em if they think I’m her father!
After shaking hands around, wishing the other contestants, as they did Barbara, a half-heartened, ‘Good luck’.
As the Allerton Hotel’s conference room was set for ‘stadium seating’, Barbara and I ‘non-apologetically’ drifted away to find chairs among total strangers – which actually we all were because, other than what we write and present, probably in ‘very few’ cases, no one personally really knew anyone… At least in terms of a sharing dinner, or popping a beer or two together. Or, Barbara and myself being the ‘total’ exception, falling in love and having wonderful sex together.
“The rules are simple...” the moderator went on “...names will be called in no particular order, but rather at random. When called, you are to come forward,...” motioning with the microphone “...and recite up to three of your writings. Total time, though, is not to exceed seven minutes, and…” in a warning tone “… we ‘will’ be timing you!
“Also, once you recite, we’d like all of you to stay put...” motioning toward the audience “...because we do not want the last of those reciting to have to recite to empty hall, because it just isn’t fair.
“We’ll have a number of breaks throughout the day and an hour for lunch. Because there’s so many of you, we’ll begin tomorrow morning at eight-thirty to hear whomever hadn’t recited today.
“There will be a panel of three judges, including myself that are not affiliated with any of the participating Web sites, and you will be judged not only for the words written, but also the presentation of those words.
More than likely – once again because there’s so many of you, the winner may not be announced until tomorrow and we should have all of you heading back to your homes by no later than noon.
One other thing: if the winner is announced tomorrow, and you will be informed in advance, the winner ‘must’ be present or the award will be given the runner-up.”
Time going on… Time dragging on
Sitting for hours, clapping weakly for the endless jumble of words, the meaning in many... in most cases of which I could not even imagine. Clapping a bit harder for what I considered was comical, or what I considered as risqué or what was presented with a bit of theatrical technique.
Then there was all that transcendental crap that I don’t think even the author knew what the hell he or she was talking about, and every now and then I would receive a gentle nudge by Barbara when I dozed off and my head dropped onto my chest.
But my thoughts, actually, during these seemingly unending, boring hours were constantly of Barbara and of me and, why was she even here with me?
Why would two seemingly intelligent people allow themselves to be placed in a situation that – we both knew will only end in total heartbreak?
If Barbara and her husband shared even a thread of commonality: she an interest, even a passing interest in cars. He an interest, even a passing interest in her writing. If Barbara and her husband occasionally talked to each other, really talked to each other, and if he were a bit less controlling, would she even be here with me today?
Was the love I had for my wife real? I thought. Or was the love I had for Lita real? Did I ever really love Marsha? Do I really love Barbara?
At my age I need someone in my life and at my age what are the odds of finding someone that I love that really loves me as I know Barbara loves me?
Not aware if I am awake or if I’m not awake, or simply dozing, my wandering mind..
How do I know if I could or would ever find a woman that loves me as I love her, except...
Awake! Knowing I am awake.
I do know my feelings for Barbara are real!
I do know that I love Barbara and I do know she loves me and yet, due to her marriage – and no matter what, she says ‘Charles is really a good man’, and…
Coming back to me, months before we knew that we would actually meet.
In a message dated July 6, 1998 10:30:21:33 A.M. Atlantic Daylight Time.
beachbaby.global.com
Then, last year, my mother became very ill and was hospitalized for one month. At the time, my father was still living at home, so I took him to my house while my mother was in the hospital. He is in the late stages of Alzheimers and it is a very difficult thing to live with for both the patient and more so for the caregiver. Anyway, it was extremely hard and trying to run to the hospital and be there all day and then again at night and care for him too was just too much. My sister and I decided he had to go into a nursing home, knowing my mother could no longer care for him as she needed caring for herself.
It was a terrible decision to have to make and even harder to actually do. So that’s what we did. When mom came home after a month of hell in the hospital, we moved her in with us and put her house up for sale. You can imagine how all these major life changes affected her and him, and us.
So I am a caregiver for my mom and we visit my stepfather all the time at the nursing home. We bake things and bring them to the residents at the nursing home and some of the staff members, as well. We’ve become very popular, lol. The people are very nice there.
So my days are a bit difficult trying to take care of mom and myself and keep house and run here and there, all while in pain myself, and generally tired, and all while my writing takes a back seat. That is the one part I dislike the most. I really just want quiet time to myself to just enjoy writing, but I get very little private time or uninterrupted time at all.
Remembering:
Due to Barbara’s, in my opinion, overwhelming family responsibilities along with the physical distance, to say nothing of our, in my opinion, overwhelming age difference, I know our love and time together can never be more than here, more than now.
I’m an odd duck for a man.
I miss being married.
I miss the warmth of a sleeping woman alongside me.
I do not like coming home to an empty house.
I love the emotion of ‘chick flicks’ and romantic comedies even if, and maybe especially because, occasionally, they cause me to cry.
If I were to say, ‘Barbara come with me’!
I ‘do’ know...
As we all must do what our conscience dictates, she would not, nor would I expect or want Barbara to leave her mother nor her other moral and physical responsibilities.
Let me say that due to Barbara’s reluctance to let me see a recent picture of herself, I did had the feeling that it was due to the fact that she was...
Yes, I actually pictured Barbara as obese and when I saw her at the airport yesterday – Having my reoccurring thought: was it ‘only’ yesterday– Looking at my watch: ‘1:53’. Not even a day. Further thinking, When I saw her at the airport I though she was ‘minimally’ attractive.
Looking to my right, looking at Barbara in profile...
Sensing my eyes on her, turning her head, “What?” she whispered.
Crooking my forefinger, gesturing her to, she brought her ear to my mouth...
When I saw her at the airport yesterday, I thought she was ‘minimally’ attractive, now...
Whispering in Barbara’s ear, “I think you’re beautiful!”
3:25 PM
Late afternoon, about thirty-five minutes from calling it for this day...
“ ‘Barbara Longford’!”
“Oh, God!” she gasped.
Standing to allow her to pass. “Barbara, you’re beautiful,” I whispered, kissing her cheek. “Go on, baby. You’ll do great!”
Indeed looking beautiful dressed in a youthfully designed, knee length, light tan linen suite, brown blouse and brown and white, two inch heeled shoes.
Taking my seat again, I watched as Barbara crossed the large room to walk the three steps onto the stage.
Nervously attempting to smile, “Good afternoon,” nodding to the audience of her peers.
Now looking at the three judges, “I want to thank you for this opportunity.”
Closing her eyes, collecting herself a moment:
“Can You Hear Me, God?”
Next GON #14: Day 2; Together 3
