One of my mamawolves put out a distress call late last night.
I was holed up in a hotel room in West Virginia, 5% battery on my phone, charger locked in the car. 11pm, 9 hours of driving down with 9 more to go.
You okay?
No
Uppit muppet, let’s go. I can sleep in the car tomorrow.
She lives so fucking far away. There is protocol for this.
Pajamas.
Tea in the kitchen.
Beyoncé’s Lemonade album.
Whiskey and pizza with Sex and the City marathon in the background.
But I can’t get there. So I sat up and watched the dancing dots and tried to siphon some of her pain away through the ether.
It could have been 4am and I could have been deep in the throes of having tantric sex with Channing Tatum’s twin in a little villa in Costa Rica with a symphony playing in the background and I would’ve said “hold up, I gotta check on this woman.”
The only collective chuckle we had during our conversation was when we both agreed 2016 was our best sex ever year and everything else really sucked.
Funny because it’s true.
She has rescued me when I have fought the monsters and made sure I did not become them nor succumb to them.
Her voice is so soothing she could make the Nuremberg rally speeches sound like lullabies.
She is logical, sweet and kind.
And she is having a rough year.
She likened herself to a laboratory bunny undergoing some massive, painful testing by some monster upstairs.
I know that punch drunk feeling. Struggling to get up just to get knocked down one more time, in new, viciously creative and terrible ways.
To scream into the abyss “ENOUGH”, just to have to hit back and say ‘not yet’ with a low evil chuckle.
I found myself loosely quoting O Brother Where Art Thou to her.
You seek a great fortune, you [ ] who are now in chains. You will find a fortune, though it will not be the one you seek. But first… first you must travel a long and difficult road, a road fraught with peril. Mm-hmm. You shall see thangs, wonderful to tell…
And, oh, so many startlements. I cannot tell you how long this road shall be, but fear not the obstacles in your path, for fate has vouchsafed your reward. Though the road may wind, yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye follow them, even unto your salvation.
I believe this to be true.
The only way out is through.
I also quoted Winston Churchill if you are going through hell keep going.
I’m not speaking from something I learned in a book or saw on TV. She’s having a parallel to a dark Christmas I once had. I transported myself back there and tried to think of what would have brought me comfort or even gotten through to me at all.
What I surmised was, this fucking sucks but there is an end.
And I told her to have a shower.
The fact that I had to regress and remember is, in itself, the harbinger of hope. It means I got out and so shall she. I know the strength of this woman, compared to the puddle of a girl I was when I was down in it, she is the ocean.
Love.