There is a god, and he's been laying in waiting for me in Independence.
It would have been too easy to kill me on the flight to Kansas City, but that didn't stop him from at least letting the plane unexpectedly drop for three seconds, some of the longest three seconds of my life, time enough for me to have full view from my aisle seat of one of the flight attendants drop down into a crouch reminiscent of a "duck and cover" video. My copy of The Economist slide off of my tray table and on to the floor, but I was too busy clutching the edge of my seat, bracing myself in a maneuver that could be the basis for an existentialist joke: you can cling all you want to your seat and your life, but it's not going to stop that metal coffin from dropping. Even after the plane balanced out, I kept my hands in the same place, not picking up my magazine, not moving a single tensed muscle for 20 minutes, only listening to the too-loud, tinny laughter of the passengers who cope through sublimating their fears. When I removed them - once we were safely braced against the ground - the leather was shiny black from sweat.
No, it's always the slow route with me, the Catherine wheel and not the guillotine. Which is why I here, going through the motions of a religion that has mostly done me irreperable harm, clamping my mouth shut when my grandmother repeatedly asks about the effeminate guy on Glee if "we're sure he's a boy" or when she calls Obama a "dumb man from Illinois who has half the country looking for work," and diverting my eyes around a callendar that praises women for being the great self-sacrificers behind all good men. Tonight I get to answer the same prying questions about my love life, which finally exists again but which I get to mask with my usual dry spell responses: "i'm just so busy with school," "I've got a lot of great friends but no one special," and, new for 2009, "well, I didn't want to get into something before I left for Europe." And everyone will look at me disdainfully when I feign almost bashful repentence for my lack of interest in KU sports. I'll hold my breath all Christmas, but no one will rush me a stay of execution, and no one, not even I, will be brave enough, or know enough, to bestow a coup de grâce.
4 comments:
Oh, Cara. That was exactly what I hoped for, and nearly miraculous given that it was iphoned in.
Someday you'll get to make your own Christmas. It'll be secular/Pagan and involve gourmet cooking (octopus?)and wine. The Baby Jesus will be nowhere to be found, and everyone will gather on the porch for a smoke break after opening presents.
Till then, know that 2/3 (please, there's more) of your audience is sending happy thoughts your way and misses you very much.
Oh, and I'm glad you didn't die on the plane. Merry Christmas.
Speaking as someone who has both endured these Christmases and been banned from them, I can tell you that it's a break-even either way.
One day, when you are ready, you'll be able to say what you need to say to these people with grace, poise, and dignity. Then, as Elise has said, you'll most likely be free to create your own Christmas. I like the idea of a smoke break at Christmas as much as I currently enjoy midnight mass (at my church in NY one of our acolytes is a transwoman, and seeing her at the mass with the two married gay priests at the front for Christmas eve service was *fabulous*).
I'm glad you didn't die on the plane either. And maybe one day you'll date someone who is desperately interested in KU sports, and your parents can talk sports with her at Christmas. I promise you, stranger things have happened. :)
Merry Happy, friend.
Cara,
I finally bothered to read your blog; it's excellent. keep writing. please ignore my earlier syrup-addled nincompoopery.
Most of us have had similar experiences with our families; at some point I think that parents can forget that their children are grown, and may have drastically different opinions.
Try to stay true to yourself, and don't let yourself feel guilty about the times you can't. Lord knows there are too many trying to make you feel guilty already.
It gets better. I promise.
Daniel
we are watching batman all of the time. it's actually pretty funny. the old stuff.
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