June 17th
Dear Mom,
Washington is like a greener Colorado. It has the mountains and the trees. It has Seattle and the Space Needle, which I found out was created to be the centerpiece of the World's Fair. The view from the top is amazing, though I almost ended up on the floor of the glass elevator because of a panic attack. A very pretty blond girl and her boyfriend were riding with me, and she gave me a kind encouraging smile and squeezed my arm before they left the elevator.
I've never been afraid of heights before, and I wasn't prepared for the tightening in my throat that precluded my lack of plentiful oxygen.
I don't understand why this is happening now. I wanted to see the view from the top, and forced my trembling legs to take me to the edge of the observation platform, where I sat abruptly, and eventually a very kind security guard had to drag me back toward the middle. Before I could convince him I just wanted his help I could barely move. It felt like any motion on my part would crack the glass, and I would be falling through space. Free for a few bare moments before smashing into the roof of one of the surrounding buildings.
When I was safely away from the edge I clung to the poor guard for several minutes and sobbed all over him before he escorted me back to ground level.
I suppose I can be glad I forced myself to the edge. I will not let a stupid new fear rule my life, though I couldn't fight it when it came down to it.
I'm shaking now just thinking about it.
I have to stop thinking about it. I wonder if you were every scared of heights? Or anything? I'll have to ask Dad.
Okay, change of subject.
I met this person at the beach in Oregon. Jasper was working in an arts center right above Nye Beach in Newport, and started teasing me the moment I walked in. I think he took my attempts to shut him down as encouragement somehow, and finally offered me his number.
He wasn't too in my face about it all, but I wasn't ready to be accosted by a stranger, regardless of how broad his shoulders are, or how his hair glinted amber in the sun filtering through the blown glass in the windows.
So I stuck the scrap of paper with his number on it in my purse and moved on to the next shop.
That evening I sat on one of the rocks on the bluff overlooking the beach and watched the sun set across the ocean. Several minutes before it completed its descent, I felt someone take a seat next to me. I glanced over, and there Jasper was. He kept a polite distance, and allowed me the sunset before asking if I was okay.
In the semi-darkness, with enough people around to not mind a stranger sitting next to me, I wrapped my arms around my knees, and told him I was fine.
I don't think he believed me, but he just sat there, several inches between us, and allowed me to feel what I felt. It was a kindness I wasn't expecting. When I put my feet back on the ground in preparation for leaving, he just leaned over quickly and pressed a piece of paper into my hands. Then before I could move, he grinned at me, and getting to his feet, strode off.
It was an intricately folded piece of paper with words scrawled so they could only be seen when it was folded a certain way. I tucked it away. I'm not ready to read words people think I might need, however kind he was.
I wonder if you'd have given me that “Go on” look you used to give me, urging me to invest my time and maybe a bit of my heart into the people I meet. I've never been good at that. I've always been far more interested in protecting the parts of me I don't feel are recoverable.
I can see how that's helped me so far in life.
Do you think maybe we were created to connect on deep and damaging levels with other people? Do you think that maybe the gut wrenching pain and grief of break ups and deaths it just the balance for the effervescent joy and wonder of love and friendship?
I think it's too early in my life to be dealing with the balance instead of the joy and wonder, but what do I know? It's not like I'm the first person to lose a parent. Some people have had their parents treat them horribly. At least you always loved me.
After my recovery from the Space Needle I drove north through Everett to Mukilteo. When you look out across the Puget Sound you can see Whidbey island. There's a ferry that leaves Mukilteo every thirty minutes, so I took a ride over and explored the island a little before rushing back for a returning boat. The line of cars for the ferry is intimidating.
Mukilteo has an old historic lighthouse with a beautiful prism. The view from it is incredible, and it's not high enough to trigger the acrophobia.
The sound stretches away in a blue expanse, bordered by Whidbey, and it's almost like you're looking through a filter that turns the whole world a little more intense.
The colors were brighter, like the first summer day when you realize you can run barefoot through the grass, splashing through the sprinkler.
An older heavier beauty than that.
Or maybe that's just me.
I miss you
I love you
Bo
The letters aren't quite as contained as I thought they'd be. I think one has slipped behind my bed, and I don't want to go digging. This last one is on the tiny shelf above my bed so I can put it away in the morning.
Even as I write this my left hand is fingering what I've discovered is called a hexaflexagon. I wonder what it says inside, but something stalls my fingers from exploring the words Jasper gave me.
I want to know, but I don't want to be disappointed. And I know I'll be disappointed.
It's one of the curses of the realistic idealist.
Even if Jasper knew me really well, and put in the hexaflexagon exactly what I needed to hear, read, whatever, It wouldn't be what I thought. There would be an element missing to my scrutinizing mind.
So I don't read it. Because what if he just gave me his number again? What if he's really unimaginative and the best he could do was wish me well?
What if that's what I need but not what I want?
I'm lying here in my bed wishing for the courage to flip the corner of a piece of paper and see what a cute guy wrote for me. With no proof he actually wrote anything for me.
And so to sleep. If my music's too loud I'm happy to turn it down for you. There's too much pain out there being caused by people in pain. So please, whatever else you might do this week, be kind to yourself.