Some Good Things

In my continued attempt to consider what kind of brother I was, I've been remembering some good things I did with Alice, and want to write them down. I'm sad to be left only with memories of my relationship with her, yet grateful for the limited time we had. Note that Peter had a hand in many of these actions, too.

*In 1998 when I got my first big tax refund check, I thought almost immediately to buy a ticket for Alice to come visit New York for my birthday. She did, and we had 8 fun days together. I'm OK to qualify them categorically as "fun" right now. It feels better than to recount some of the tension at the time, because I have enough pain to contend with.

*When I went to Armenia in 2003, I brought Alice back quite a few items I knew she'd like, like these two handmade purses, incense from Echmiadzin--the holiest city in Armenia. Is it OK to say I think I gave more to Alice than I did to Sophie?

*At the end of August 2006, before I left for work one day, our babysitter demonstrated something profound to me. She asked L, who was 11 months old, to show her where the books are. L pointed to the books. Then she asked her where the fan is, and L pointed to the fan. Then she asked "Where's Madonna?" And after a couple of beats, L pointed to the poster of Madonna. I was thrilled, indeed this was my daughter! During my coffee break at work, it was late enough in L.A. so I called Alice to share the news with her. She understood the significance, and later related the story to my mom, knowing that I had chosen to share the milestone with her first.

*Of course along with the poem I wrote for her 30th birthday, among the 30 presents we gave Alice was a silver link bracelet from Tiffany & Co. She wore it every single day, including the last day of her life. And I knew for certain she was dead when the coroner brought to us the belongings on her body at the time of her car wreck. Inside the plastic bag was the silver link bracelet. My heart hasn't mended since.

*In early August 2006, Peter, L and I made a swing trip to California. First to L.A. to see my family, then to Morro Bay to spend time with Peter's family on vacation. We were flying out of LAX, so we booked a hotel room near the airport the night before our flight back to make travel easier. Originally we planned to have a family "decompress" night, yet I couldn't bear the idea that L and Alice would be in the same town, apart. So I called her and asked if she wanted to come have pizza in our room and spend our last night in Cali together. She said yes, which included battling rush-hour traffic to get to Marina del Rey. We had a pretty great time, along with our friends Sue, John and their daughter Ali. Alice loved spending time with Ali, too, of course.

That night was the last time I saw Alice. I remember feeling unsettled again as she drove off in that damn Jeep; it felt so fast, tough, unstable.

There are more good things, I hope at least, that I want to record. This is it for now. There's a song that's been accompanying me as I think of Alice lately. It's by the Distillers, and despite its cacauphonous style it's quite melodic. A few times when I can't tolerate my existence, I blast this song and eat heavy, sweet things. It's a rare experience that I feel filled, temporarily. Here's the song: