TheBanyanTree: September 1st

[Monique Colver]

I look in the mirror and I see my hair, and I notice I’ve put it up. I don’t
recall putting it up, but there it is, not like it was before, I can’t even
see it, and then I remember: I’ve had it cut, and it looks as if I put it up
because that’s all there is now. How could I have forgotten? 
	It’s good, the new hair, it’s different and easier and it dries
fast. It washes easy. It doesn’t tangle. I had dinner last night with three
other women, two of whom were complaining about how difficult it is to keep
their hair smooth and untangled, how they have to condition it and comb it
in the shower, because it’s so long and troublesome, and I felt, in my own
humble way, superior. Then I had another drink. 
	I had two drinks during our dinner, some sort of concoction with
tequila and orange juice and limeade and something else. I don’t know even
remember what it was called – it wasn’t one of my usual drinks, which go by
the exotic names of “pineapple juice,” or “Pepsi,” but that didn’t matter –
I always have a couple of drinks when dining with this group. It helps me
assimilate.
	One of the women, M, went into great detail about the furniture
arrangement in her living room, and how she and her fiancé were melding
their two homes into one. I know the color of the carpet, the type of settee
he inherited from a relative, the colors of the chairs. I know far more than
I need to know about a house I will never see, and this is why I never
hesitate to have a few drinks at these dinners.
	Another of the women, K, likes to make sure we’re kept apprised of
her sexual proclivities and habits. This is another reason I drink. 
	M took the opportunity to ask me about the tax implications that she
and her fiancé face after they marry, and should they file as married filing
separately the first year, or jointly? She went into great detail about the
reasons for filing separately, and I listened intently while drinking my
tequila infused drink, and then I advised her to look at both possibilities
to see which would provide the best result, but that filing separately
rarely did. 
	It was our farewell dinner, before I leave town, change my name, go
underground. I welcome the change, I fear the change. I alternate between
desperation and elation, between boredom as I spend my days earning enough
money to make the move and frenzy as I try to figure out what to do when,
and how. Half the time I am incoherent, and half the time I am not, and I
can only hope that my incoherency is mostly at night, when no one will
notice. 
	I want to leave this all behind, and I want to take it all with me.
Or I should say, I want to leave behind the bits I don’t like, and take the
ones I do, but sometimes I can’t tell which is which, and so I don’t know
which ones to put in the box, and which to leave out. And is the box one
which I’m using to put things to take with me, or one which I’m using to put
things that are going to Goodwill? If I leave my friends behind, will I have
new friends to fill those spaces when I want to go out and have a drink, or
an ice cream, with someone? On the other hand, this is the only move I have
ever made, no, make that the second move I have ever made, where I am moving
to where I know people already, so how can that be a concern? And yet it is.

	If I can’t even tell which box is which, how do I know which things
to put in the box? I only want to take the things I want, so I hesitate to
pack anything at all, because what if it’s not something I want when I get
there? I will have carted it all that way for nothing.
	I’m not moving that far away. In the past I’ve moved out of country,
out of state, here and there, not knowing anyone wherever I’ve gone, but
somehow managing to find a life anyway, and this move isn’t even out of
state. Almost, right to the edge of out of state, but not quite, and so it
shouldn’t be any sort of big deal at all, should it? It’s not as if I
haven’t done this before. But each time I have my concerns, each time I
wonder what will happen. Will I find more work, more clients? I can’t take
all of them with me, just a couple, so I’ll need to find more, and despite
having done this for years, I still worry. 
	I worry about everything. I insist on changing and moving forward,
but I still worry. It’s my pathology, my inheritance, my curse. 
	Whatever. It’s time to pack and shred, discard what I don’t want,
pack what I do, and try to figure out the difference. If it were only the
material objects it might not be so bad, but it’s more than that, it’s the
pieces of myself that haven’t been working for me, the ones I wan to
discard, and why not? My cells change all the time, why not the destructive
habits and thoughts that no longer fit, the ones that I should have rid
myself of long ago? And what better time than in a new environment? Now to
figure out which is which, and what to do with the ones I don’t want. Not as
easy as dropping them off at Goodwill, is it?