TheBanyanTree: Tonight's Story

[Jim Miller]

An exceptional writing talent . . . . . . . the one I stop everything to
read . . . . . . . . as I've always said.


On Fri, Mar 28, 2014 at 3:16 AM, Sally Larwood <larwos at me.com> wrote:

> Me too Kitty. Fascinating and excellently written as always.
>
> Sal
>
> Sent from my iPad
>
> > On 27 Mar 2014, at 23:38, Kitty Park <mzzkitty at gmail.com> wrote:
> >
> > I have a question, Monique, about your writing.
> >
> > There's a flow with this piece that I don't always find in what you post.
> > In my mind's eye, you sat down, thought for a moment or two about what
> you
> > wanted to convey and then the words put themselves down.  Minimal
> editing.
> >
> > Now don't misunderstand.  I appreciate reading what you share -- whether
> > it's goofy or serious.  But there is a quality about this one that sets
> it
> > apart from some of the others.
> >
> > Maybe it's *my* mood this morning that is affecting how I regard your
> > thoughts about Cece.  Bottom line -- this one pulled me in and I was
> sorry
> > when it ended.
> >
> > Kitty
> > <mzzkitty at gmail.com>kcp-parkplace.blogspot.com
> > <http://parkplaceohio.com>
> >
> >
> >
> > On Thu, Mar 27, 2014 at 1:31 AM, Monique Colver <
> monique.colver at gmail.com>wrote:
> >
> >> I have a friend. She's a friend of a friend who became a friend. She
> used
> >> to live in Hollywood, the Hollywood, and was married to a guy who was
> big
> >> in the Scientology thing there. I met her once. She's a down-to-earth
> women
> >> who's happy with living simply, and she didn't care for the Hollywood
> >> religion.
> >>
> >> Years ago when I was broke she insisted I had to go to California to
> see my
> >> grandfather, who was 100 at the time. "But Cece," I told her, "I really
> >> can't afford to."
> >>
> >> "You're going to come see him," she insisted, "You and Andrew both.
> You'll
> >> stay here, and you can borrow my van, and I'll pay for the plane
> tickets."
> >>
> >> And she did. She wanted to do it because she wanted us to see Gramps,
> and
> >> she had the money, and she was insistent, and so we went.
> >>
> >> We stayed at her house, we met her family, her husband just for a
> second,
> >> her disabled daughter for longer. Her disabled daughter, in her teens
> then,
> >> told me I was too old for Andrew, and that he should go out with her
> >> instead. Cece had her hands full with that one. She had other children,
> but
> >> they were mostly grown and elsewhere, probably free spirits like their
> >> mother.
> >>
> >> We saw Gramps, and he and Andrew had a good talk.He was slower, and
> seemed
> >> tired, but was in good spirits. It was indeed the last chance we'd have
> to
> >> see him -- several months later he was gone, shortly before he would
> have
> >> turned 101.
> >>
> >> We were so grateful to Cece, but she would not entertain the idea of
> being
> >> paid back. She was just happy she could do it for us.
> >>
> >> Not too long after that Cece left her husband and moved into the wilds
> of
> >> California. She'd had enough of his Scientology, something she was in
> only
> >> because he was, and she refused to belong anymore. Contact with her
> became
> >> intermittent. She usually was far from Inter Webs, having to trek into
> the
> >> nearest town to get it. She was free and unfettered, and she moved in
> with
> >> a guy named Terry, a veteran with PTSD, into his trailer out in the
> desert.
> >>
> >> Every so often we'd hear from her. Sometimes she'd drunk dial me,
> >> incoherent and rambling, but still full of love.
> >>
> >> Then Terry, the love of her life, blew his brains out while at his desk,
> >> while she was in the next room.
> >>
> >> When I am at my lowest I think of how Cece found him when she heard the
> >> shot, and I know I could not do that to anyone I love.
> >>
> >> Today Cece posted pictures of her trailer, pictures she'd taken when
> she'd
> >> returned from the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.
> >>
> >> And there was blood sprayed on the wall, and pooled on the floor, and
> even
> >> at a distance of several years, and in a picture, you can see the pain,
> all
> >> the pain Terry had bottled up inside, until he let it loose to run over
> the
> >> desk and the floor and the walls. Pain is a deep dark red, mostly, once
> >> it's been released anyway. Before that it can be any color, but when it
> >> comes out, it's red.
> >>
> >> Cece, being Cece, didn't explain the first set of pictures adequately,
> even
> >> though she did say that's what she came home to after Terry was taken to
> >> the hospital, so people were responding with things like, "OMG Cece!
> When
> >> did this happen?" "Are you okay?" "What's going on?"
> >>
> >> Then she posted pictures of what it looks like now. She has a sense of
> >> peace there, despite it all. I know she's fallen in love since again,
> and
> >> maybe out of. It's hard to tell with Cece. She's mercurial, and what's
> here
> >> one day may be something else the next.
> >>
> >> She's a lovely spirit, floating through her good times and bad, giving
> >> whatever she has to give and not giving it a second thought.
> >>
> >> It's been awhile since I've had a drunken call from her, but she claims
> >> that we helped her greatly.
> >>
> >> I know she helped me greatly.
> >>
> >>
> >> M
> >>
>