FacebookTwitterGoogle+RedditEmail

True Path(ology)

by

Tuesday evening and I’m sitting at the dining table, typing. There’s a glass of wine to the left of my laptop. Separating me from dim daylight, the blinds are lowered to the floor, a shield against the approaching thunderstorms, possible tornadoes and hail. Those blinds are about as protective as confetti.

Earlier today, I flipped April’s page away and opened May’s trapdoor. May Day. Mother’s Day. Memorial Day. And then May 25th, the anniversary of my husband’s death. Last year, I was moving into this apartment, arranging furniture, busy, but I was aware, even thinking, “How strange. Charles has never been here.” I wanted, was trying, to close a door, to escape, hoping I could force grief to be linear and left behind.

I don’t know yet if I’m really going forward, but I say it, repeat, “I’m fine” and “time heals” even if I’m kidding myself. Hell, I’m trying everything except religion and even if what I’m doing is just performance, I’ll work it, fake it, and laugh a little too loudly at parties held in the lobby of my building for residents and their guests. This isn’t assisted living, but it is.

Really, I could dream about Charles tonight, wake with a thud, and feel like beating myself bloody against the headboard.

Anyway, I have a seriously impressive flashlight Laura and Erma gave me for Christmas and it’s ready to grab, along with my keys, one of which accesses the stairs to the parking garage beneath the building. All of these are with my purse that’s filled with necessities—you know, lipstick, hairbrush, breath mints, and the wine. Okay, I’m joking a little, playing with you. Hmm, that wine goblet’s empty. Empty twice. I AM ready though, if and when this twisting force rumbles its erratic path past the confetti.

You know more than 35 people have died this week in storms that hit the South and Midwest and millions are at risk during the next couple of days. Not as many who die almost daily in the countries the USA bombs in the name of humanitarian intervention. Do Americans understand this—the choice that was/is made to demolish lives and cultures? To kill children?

Meanwhile, Laura’s called throughout the day with updates. I know this is love. She’s someone to watch over me, little loner that I can be, even as she has her wine with Erma and Erma’s sister.

Whoa, I just watched a video—towns that look like warzones. This could be Iraq, Afghanistan, any area after missile attacks.

Meanwhile President Obama, on that Asian trip, has promoted business deals, signing agreements, finalizing the fast tracking of the Trans-Pacific Partnership, and, of course, chastising the Malaysian government about human rights issues, because: “…nations are stronger and more successful when they work to uphold the civil rights and political rights and human rights of all their citizens.” Jeez.

Oh, my, he mentioned a regret, his biggest—not spending enough time with his mother. It’s just that I can think of so many responses, decisions someone with a conscience would lament. And what if, in a flash-dash of honesty, he’d said, “Receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, because I do so enjoy my Kill List?”

Then there’s Sec. of State John Kerry, accusing Russia of “escalating the crisis” in Ukraine, blah, blah, blah-ing about “spirit of law” and the creation of “a structure by which we would behave, all of us, differently, representing the best hopes and aspirations of all people on the face of this planet.” Huh? I think he’s exhausted, dizzy, after slipping the truth about Israel, saying “apartheid state” in a meeting (januis clausis) on April 25th, then U-turning and spinning when word leaked.

Charles wouldn’t like this, my writing mean stuff about someone’s physical appearance, but I look at the ghoulish Kerry and think, “The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out.” I may wish I’d deleted that. I still can, will consider it later.

Okay, check this article about computer software that’s being written to decipher human pain—can accurately read facial expressions. Imagine if this technology were used when Obama and any of the death dealers misrepresent or exploit a tragedy to buttress nationalism.

Time to drag the foam mattress topper into the bathroom that’s windowless and try to sleep. If this building blows and my body becomes a projectile, I can think of destruction I’d like to inflict. I learned something from that experience with the man who negated his existence every time he exercised his vocal chords: that I’m not really very peaceful. Maybe I should follow my true path, anger turned outward.

Missy Beattie has written for National Public Radio and Nashville Life Magazine. She was an instructor of memoirs writing at Johns Hopkins’ Osher Lifelong Learning Institute in BaltimoreEmail: missybeat@gmail.com.

Missy Beattie has written for National Public Radio and Nashville Life Magazine. She was an instructor of memoirs writing at Johns Hopkins’ Osher Lifelong Learning Institute in BaltimoreEmail: missybeat@gmail.com

More articles by:

CounterPunch Magazine

minimag-edit

bernie-the-sandernistas-cover-344x550

zen economics

Weekend Edition
January 20, 2017
Friday - Sunday
Paul Street
Divide and Rule: Class, Hate, and the 2016 Election
Andrew Levine
When Was America Great?
Jeffrey St. Clair
Roaming Charges: This Ain’t a Dream No More, It’s the Real Thing
Yoav Litvin
Making Israel Greater Again: Justice for Palestinians in the Age of Trump
Linda Pentz Gunter
Nuclear Fiddling While the Planet Burns
Ruth Fowler
Standing With Standing Rock: Of Pipelines and Protests
David Green
Why Trump Won: the 50 Percenters Have Spoken
Dave Lindorff
Imagining a Sanders Presidency Beginning on Jan. 20
Pete Dolack
Eight People Own as Much as Half the World
Roger Harris
Too Many People in the World: Names Named
Steve Horn
Under Tillerson, Exxon Maintained Ties with Saudi Arabia, Despite Dismal Human Rights Record
John Berger
The Nature of Mass Demonstrations
Stephen Zielinski
It’s the End of the World as We Know It
David Swanson
Six Things We Should Do Better As Everything Gets Worse
Alci Rengifo
Trump Rex: Ancient Rome’s Shadow Over the Oval Office
Brian Cloughley
What Money Can Buy: the Quiet British-Israeli Scandal
Mel Gurtov
Donald Trump’s Lies And Team Trump’s Headaches
Kent Paterson
Mexico’s Great Winter of Discontent
Norman Solomon
Trump, the Democrats and the Logan Act
David Macaray
Attention, Feminists
Yves Engler
Demanding More From Our Media
James A Haught
Religious Madness in Ulster
Dean Baker
The Economics of the Affordable Care Act
Patrick Bond
Tripping Up Trumpism Through Global Boycott Divestment Sanctions
Robert Fisk
How a Trump Presidency Could Have Been Avoided
Robert Fantina
Trump: What Changes and What Remains the Same
David Rosen
Globalization vs. Empire: Can Trump Contain the Growing Split?
Elliot Sperber
Dystopia
Dan Bacher
New CA Carbon Trading Legislation Answers Big Oil’s Call to Continue Business As Usual
Wayne Clark
A Reset Button for Political America
Chris Welzenbach
“The Death Ship:” An Allegory for Today’s World
Uri Avnery
Being There
Peter Lee
The Deep State and the Sex Tape: Martin Luther King, J. Edgar Hoover, and Thurgood Marshall
Patrick Hiller
Guns Against Grizzlies at Schools or Peace Education as Resistance?
Randy Shields
The Devil’s Real Estate Dictionary
Ron Jacobs
Singing the Body Electric Across Time
Ann Garrison
Fifty-five Years After Lumumba’s Assassination, Congolese See No Relief
Christopher Brauchli
Swing Low Alabama
Dr. Juan Gómez-Quiñones
La Realidad: the Realities of Anti-Mexicanism
Jon Hochschartner
The Five Least Animal-Friendly Senate Democrats
Pauline Murphy
Fighting Fascism: the Irish at the Battle of Cordoba
Susan Block
#GoBonobos in 2017: Happy Year of the Cock!
Louis Proyect
Is Our Future That of “Sense8” or “Mr. Robot”?
Charles R. Larson
Review: Robert Coover’s “Huck out West”
David Yearsley
Manchester-by-the-Sea and the Present Catastrophe
FacebookTwitterGoogle+RedditEmail