Not Since the Early Days

I was driving home from my favorite Armenian supermarket in Van Nuys. I slid Hole's "Celebrity Skin" CD into the dashboard (nevermind playlists, I prefer the richer aural experience of compact discs) because I expected early evening traffic and wanted to rock out while driving bumper to bumper. 

As I got on the 10 East from the 405 South omg so very slowly, "Boys on the Radio" queued up. When it got to
"He said he'd never, ever, ever go
And heavens, heavens, heavens know
And never, ever, ever go away
Baby, I've gone away"
tears came to my eyes. I just imagined Alice saying that last time to me, that she's gone away, and it wrecked me. 

Then Courtney Love sang the couplet:
"When the glitter fades in morning
Turn away and you will find my empty eyes"
and a tidal wave hit me right at National Blvd.

The imagery was so poetic, glitter fading in morning, and the visual of empty eyes so stark, I couldn't help but evoke Alice in death. May she rest in peace. May she rest in peace. I keep writing this blog but please may Alice rest in peace I'm just trying to chronicle my experience of losing her, nothing more, just trying to make sense of this pain that doesn't go away. I don't mean to disturb anything, I just want to remember everything. Even though nobody wants to read about a grown man crying.

And tearing I was, but a second later I was screaming. 

At the top of my lungs, gripping the steering wheel tight, windows closed, making my way eastbound during rush hour, I howled. I ran out of breath, tears running down my cheeks, then I wailed more, my neck tensing. Passing Robertson, I wheezed in a breath, screamed again until until my lungs held no more air. Past La Cienega, I wondered if I was having a nervous breakdown. Crawling past the Fairfax offramp, I wondered if recent pain in my foot was bringing this on. I couldn't stop howling until the next exit when maneuvering the car safely diverted my attention from the gaping hole in my chest. 

I turned onto La Brea, but the quiet didn't last long. I pictured Alice, so beautiful, so beaming light, and I felt again all the things I wanted for her as an adult, all the things I wanted from her as a sister, and I blubbered, which turned into stomach-clenching bawling. I said out loud "ALICE." Just to hear her name, to say it like she was sitting next to me, "ALICE." I got to a stoplight, "ALICE." "Heaven Tonight" started playing, and Courtney roared so melodically, it hit me in the heart and I sobbed, my shoulders shaking.

I wanted to show a dry face by the time I got home, keep this episode of abject grief to myself. But the CD played on, "Playing Your Song" which I love too, and I couldn't stop myself. I kept yelping all the way to the driveway. 

Putting the car in park, I covered my face with my hands and, surprise, kept weeping. Peter came out to help unload groceries but saw me helpless to my outburst in the drivers seat. He swung around the car. He rubbed my back. "What's upsetting you?" he asked. 

"Same f`cking thing!" I said. I rolled up the window, gathered my water bottle and keys. I went to the trunk to take a shopping bagful inside. 

Once there, I opened a bag of fresh lavash bread--contraband on my sugar-free diet--and tore into a piece. Omg it was like right out of the oven. The shelf in Super King where I found it was normally bare, and I'd always wondered what flew off it. Here it was, in my hands, no, in my mouth. 

I stuffed my face with the stuff of life until I was stuffed enough to go on.

Hugging

 I was going to call this one"Dreams" but I think I've given that title to about half of these posts. 

In the last three weeks, I've had at least two dreams where Alice appeared. They're the usual reveries where like someone from my elementary school is interacting with someone I met more recently, I don't have any clothes on, I'm about to miss a big deadline, and I need to persuade that 5th grade classmate to help me out and the question will be hanging in the air of whether or not I was a good person to this individual from so long ago enough to merit their bailing me out in that "present" moment. 

And then, Alice will appear. Most recently, like 2 nights ago, she had long hair. It was Alice circa 1985. Right in the middle of my chaos, she shows up and I drop everything. Nobody around me matters anymore. I walk up to Alice, my arms open. And I hug her. I get a feeling of "I knew you weren't dead, you've just been spending time away," also of "thank you for coming to see me, I've missed you so much too," also "let this moment never ever end," and "I'm so grateful to see you and have this chance to hug you."

Then the dream ends. What stays with me is that non-negotiable moment in which I first see Alice and stop everything to connect with her. I wish

15 Years, 7 Layers

September 19 fell on a Sunday this year. To mark 15 years since Alice died, my mom came over for lunch. She took the train, (so NYC in LA), and we picked her up at the station (Westchester County NY meets Westchester CA) and brought her to our place.

The plan was to eat 7 layer burritos, something Alice enjoyed ordering from Taco Bell back when. They don't carry it on their menu these days, and I didn't want to go through the trouble of ordering (and botching up) something off the menu, so I decided I'd make healthier versions for us. 

My mom brought almond flour tortillas--delicious!--and I made organic refried pinto beans, chopped tomatoes and lettuce, bought shredded Mexican cheese blend, sour cream--hmm, 5 layers so far, and counting--oh cut up avocado, opened a can of black olives, and I think that was it. 

They tasted pretty good.

We ate outside, next to the pot of lantana with the planted pinwheel that always makes me think of Alice.