Dearest Mary Angel

I quit my weekend job this morning. I simply blew up and began shouting at my boss. She does little but harangue and belittle me the whole four or five hours I'm there each Saturday, but this morning something snapped. I said some pretty ugly things, only once attacking her personally. One moment I'm just trying to do what she's told me to do, mumbling under my breath (those were personal) and the next moment I'm shouting...

Interlude: When it gets to the point where you begin to mumble under your breath about your job or employer it's time to quit. There's simply no point in working for a person you have no respect for.

...I could feel my heart racing, and it worried me. I never shout. At anyone. She just pushed too many buttons over the last four years.

I did say one thing that wasn't particularly nice, despite it being absolutely true; I shouted "You treat your mother and father like shit! They may let you get away with it, but you're not going to talk to me like that!" And she never will again. The one thing I do regret saying was how I had to put up with the same crap "day in and day out at home" and I wasn't going to put up with it there. I hate that I aired my personal troubles in front of her. I hate the circumstances of my own home life, but I'm powerless to change it at present. Financially powerless.

I'll admit to you what I don't talk very openly about to anyone else. I am living with a woman, but not how you might think. She has her room, I have mine, and there's no hanky-panky between us. I've asked this woman to marry me more times than I could count on a dozen sets of hands and feet. I've known her for 21 years, and have wanted to marry her for almost as long-- I'd marry her tomorrow morning if she'd say yes. But she won't.

She was emotionally brutalized by her father from eight years old (when her mother died of cancer) to the moment she ended up on my doorstep asking to sleep on the couch. I could have said no, and that might have been the end of it. But I couldn't stand the thought of her sleeping in her car or in a cardboard box somewhere. So she slept the night on the couch and she's been there ever since, metaphorically speaking. It's not simply that she won't marry me, she won't marry anyone.

I stayed with her the first ten years because I wanted to prove to her that not all men were like her father, that some men had honor and could treat her with respect. However, no matter the amount of respect or honor I gave her, she continually pushed me away.

The next decade was spent with her simply because we got used to living together-- our finances were married if we ourselves were not. With the economy what it now is, saving money to get moved out is proving difficult if not impossible. I know I said I'd married her tomorrow if... but actually... I know she'll never love me the way I need to be loved. She will never respect me enough to not trample all over my feelings 'day in and day out....'


So I clocked out and left the little flower shop I had worked at for over four years.

I was on the verge of tears. I got to the house, stripped, laid down on the bed and began to cry... and I prayed. When I felt better (a little better at least) I got up and sketched. I deliberately shut off all music (I didn't want any songs imprinted in my mind or upon that moment) and refrained from every impulse directing me to write. I swiped twenty dollars from our mutual piggy bank and fled. Two hours later and fourteen dollars lighter I'm back. A little lighter in spirit, but not by too much.

Forty extra dollars a week is not much to lose. I can live without a forty dollar paycheck every Monday morning.

I hate that she pushed me to that point. I hate that I wasn't strong enough to withstand the abuse, yet again, for another week. I truly regret accusing her for the way she treats her parents. I know part of me wanted to hurt her.

Why, you ask? Because she prides herself on the education she got at a bible college. She doesn't honor her father and mother. She drinks, drugs, parties, gets piercings and tattoos. I know I shouldn't judge her for that; look what I've done. But for all she spent four years at a bible college, I have more of an education in God's word than her having never even graduated from college, bible or otherwise. On top of this, she voted for Obama (no, that had nothing to do with my blowing up this morning. Promise).

If truth be told, I am a little worried for her. You know, there is such a thing as false conversion. She may think she's saved, but our Lord said many will say on that day, "Lord, Lord..." and He will tell them "Depart from me... I never knew you." I don't understand how so many people are deceived. I am by no means perfect. I have many things I need to deal with-- and I'm trying very hard --but why is it I can see the truth while so few others seem capable of the same?

I know you are Catholic (though, unless memory fails me, you were not always so), but I find much to fault in Roman Catholicism. I also find much to admire-- I spent two years in a Catholic school. I'm just thankful you haven't joined the Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm not as dogmatic as you might think, having gotten to this portion of my letter, but God has given His son every person who will ever believe. They hear His voice and they follow Him. Even out of religions with which I, in my own faults and judgmentalism, find fault. There won't be any Baptists in heaven. No Pentecostals, or Lutherans, or Catholics or Episcopalians.... only blood bought believers in Christ, and they will have been drawn out of every religion and faith in the world. Who am I do judge or question God? Better to praise and thank Him, and ask that He change my heart.

God loves all His children (even my ex-boss). And what He has in store for you and I and all those who believe and trust in Him is beyond human imagination or comprehension. I love you Mary Angel... as a memory, as a person, as my sister in Christ. I love your husband and children, though I will likely never meet them this side of eternity.

And I've strayed into territory I had no intention of straying. I didn't want to write today, but I needed to. The Lord knows I needed to. And I thank God for you, especially since besides HIM I have no one else but you. I spent time with Him, but I still needed a good cry, so I hope you don't mind that I turned to you.

I pray that God sends me a woman like the you I remember, and the you you've become... a Godly woman, whose heart and mind are on the things of God. Who is generous, kind, and both understanding and forgiving. Your husband is truly a blessed man. Though I do not know the you you've become, in my heart and mind you epitomize Proverbs 31:10-31. If the Lord would only bless me with such a woman I could address all my letters to her, and rejoice in Him for the treasure He would have given me, just as I know you are a treasure to your husband.

Apologies to you dearest Mary Angel. I've meant to offense to you.

God be with you, and God be praised.


With love,

Eric

Something Old

August 0498 12:58am


Dear Mary Angel,

I've been listening to a CD the last couple of days that has really intrigued me. I first bought the CD last year but I never really listened to it until the other day. The CD is from a group called "Dead Can Dance," and their name is pretty indicative of the tone and fiber of their style-- very modern and Old World all rolled into one, with dark and exotic themes. The lyrics they write are more poetry than actual lyrics. The following is a quick example... only five lines, and fits the search I began years ago. Its title is "Song of Sophia"

With one wish we wake the will
within wisdom.
With one will we wish the wisdom
within waking.
Woken, wishing, willing.

There is truth in those five lines, someone else's truth for sure, but truth nonetheless-- Awaken from your sleep and build your dreams. There lies wisdom! Tragically, there are very few people in the world who are truly awake. I often doubt the veracity of my waking life; am I truly awake, or do I sleep with untold thousands? But enough of this.

There was a girl I worked with at the station who is now gone. She has left for Auburn to advance her education. I miss having Brandi around on the weekends to talk and laugh with. I find it hard to believe that I am 18 years her senior as we get along well together and think a lot alike. She is going to be a teacher one day soon and I will not likely see her again, but I will remember her to you and to others that they may know the impact she had on my life.

She has softened a few rough edges in me. The sad part is that those rough edges were not always there. They were soft edges grown sharp through the bitterness of years spent in this self-imposed exile of mine. And I thank her for that. It seems I owe thanks to a good many people.

I think what I'd like to do now is thank all the people who had a hand in making me who I am. I'm sure I'll forget a few, indeed many, but this is simply an exercise in thankfulness and the ones I do forget will surely understand and know that I thank them as well. So, I would like to say thank-you to the following people, be they real or fictitious...

God. Mom and Dad. Grandma, Grandpa and the long line of lives that preceded them.
Anna, Danielle, Uncles Bob, Steve, Jim, and Clare. Aunts Simone, Martha, Gloria, Thao, and Heidi's Mother. Heidi, Little Jimmy, Charlie. Teresa Troutman, Leo O'Brian, Frank Alter, Dennis Banka, Stephanies Dean and Breeden, Gloria and both Pauls Dean. Mike "Where's-my-moon," The blonde girl Schoensiegle who wrote on paper,"YKPGFYA," whose mother had me detained by M.P.'s for daring to like her daughter. To Troop 88 and Mr. Peoples. Scott and Eric Mersnick, and survival campouts. Laura Bearnard, Stacy, and Bruce Rhodes. Nancy Rigdon and her brother John. Marc Marley and Lori Sutherland. Rodney Shueman. Eddie, Kenneth, Kevin and Sharon Trainor. Vince Kasprowicz and his whirling dervish. Sweet little Emily. To the woman who held me as I cried at my fathers funeral-- she who was once my step-sister. Mr. Lovrikovic for teaching me that hard lesson called 'complacency.' David and Peaches Skinner and Northside Baptist Church. Delilah Dean. Les and Rebecca Grice. Mike Salow, Clint Menacof, and Jim Stoller who shared a jail cell with me on my twenty-ninth birthday and owns the first painting I sold in exile. Bradford Woods who is somewhere in Texas enlightening the masses. Peter Paulie, editor of Colorado Springs' only daily newspaper who was nothing but an encouragement to me. R.D. Golden for teaching me how not to treat a woman. James Bell for teaching me how not to treat a friend. Iota Gamma for showing me what brotherhood is not. Carol Pizza, Mary Angel, and Cristal Conley. James Pigneri, Sylvia Harrison. Spinnaker's Restaurant for teaching me how not to treat employees. Edward Eugene "Hoss" Lewis for showing me that no man is worthy of worship, and David Rabe who has shown me that all men are at times to be pitied. To Spain for my first lesson in prejudice, and to George Washington Carver High School for my second. To Kimberly Steele who liked me perhaps as much as I liked her. Mr. Jackson's Homeroom class who did not paint the mural (I did!). 1st and 10th grade art contests. Mr. Early and any girl named Kelli. To band class and the trumpet my mother bought for me and my love for music. Belinda Kelly for teaching me the true meaning of fidelity and the phrase 'sex-as-a-weapon.' Everet Youngberg the ever-smiling. Taco, Hercules, Rufus and Dudley. To Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard, and J.R.R. Tolkien. Merry and Pippin and good ole' Sam Gamgee. Charlotte Norris. To Paula Kirker, because she liked Klaatu. Stephen Hawking, Albert Einstein, and Marilyn Monroe. Diana Spencer and Norma Jean. Kansas. Both the calm and stormy seas of winter that I piloted a steady course upon. When Worlds Collide. The Beatles. Enya and Loreena McKennitt. Sinead's burning of Troy. Homer's burning of Troy. Ulysses and Penelope. The sinking of Atlantis and the land that is now the Mediterranean sea. Pangea and Hyperboria. Ming the Mercilous, Flash and Dale Arden. Ornella Muti's 'Aura.' The Alan Parsons Project and the Turn of a Friendly Card. Ron Ely's 'Tarzan.' Author Gene Wolfe, Ursula K. LeGuin's "Lathe of Heaven." Ray Bradbury and his "Martian Chronicles," especially 'The Million Year Picnic.' Hermann Hesse and Siddhartha. Immanuel Velikovsky. William Golding's 'Lord of the Flies.' 'I Am The Cheese.' 'Farenheit 451.' Phillip K. Dick's, 'Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?' (Blade Runner). 'Logan's Run' (The Book). 'The Stand.' 'The Dark Tower.' Robert Jordan's, 'The Wheel Of Time.' Robert Roy McGregor and William Wallace. The highlands of Scotland and anything with bagpipes. To 'The Sun in the Stream,' that tune that echoed across the mountain top at my father's funeral. 'Cursum Perficio.' Cecil B. Demille's Ten Commandments and to Ben Hur. Sensei Richard Lording's Shorin-Ryu. To Goju-Ryu and Sanchin. Hiroaki Samura and the Blade of the Immortal. Michael J. Linsner. Darrian Ashoka and Dawn. Gary Numan and the B-52's. The Moody Blues. Yes. A Farewell to Kings and Moving Pictures. Clannad, Mary Black, Connie Dover and especially Luka Bloom. Dan Fogelberg. Stevie Nicks and Linsey Buckingham. Tears for Fears, Queen and Dixie Chicks. For finding Shawn Colvin before everyone else did. Charleton Heston in Planet of the Apes. Jaws. Jean-Luc Picard, Worf, and Data. Bram Stoker and the scariest vampire story ever. Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo and Jules Verne. Back to the Future one, two and three. Robert Adams 'Return of the Horseclans' and Milo Morai. Richard Adams 'Watership Down,' especially Hazel, Fiver, Strawberry, Hyzenthlay, my very own 'Hrududu' parked out front, and the concept of Tharn and all it implies. Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and Steven Segal, all of whom are the real deal. U2 and Sting's Fields of Gold as well as his Dream of the Blue Turtle. Mrs. Bell who treated me as though I were one of her own. Dan Robbins. Joby Roberts. Cliff Myers. Lee Pizza. Suzie Durko for sharing long walks with me. Mike Gailfoil. Debra Lively. Robby Heisner. Steve Hagan. The Entire Kasprowicz Clan and that Hallowed place known to one and all as the 'Oaks.' David Everett. Bill Norris and his lovely bride. Catherine "Cat" Vaughan, Kim Dosier, Wendy Morris, Krishelle, Desa Dance,Dot Brown, Lisa Treadwell, and Sherif Dawson. Dawn Floyd, for whom the bells did toll. Brandi Holton. To Hannah and her Needle, Corriandor, and Arwen. The Stoning Of Charity and the return of inspiration after three years. Sun and Flower. The Poetry of War and Howard's Ball. Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern for a look at both sides of the fence. To Solitude, for teaching me how to think for myself and showing me the importance of doing so. To the idea that the glass is neither half full nor half empty, but 'Fully Half Empty.' To Mary Angel, who was my first and most cherished memory...

And the list could go on and on. But I think you get the idea. There are so many people and things that have contributed to who I have become, some good, some bad. Sure, I'd like to be able to go back to when I was 17, with all I know now and do it differently. who wouldn't? But I would no longer be who I am... Or would I? That is a question best studied at another time as it is currently 3:34am and I am in need of sleep.

Hope I didn't bore you, Mary Angel.

With love,


Eric.


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Note: Present Day... some of the items in my list are recent additions. I've find myself, time and again, adding to the list.