TheBanyanTree: Tonight's Story

[Barb Edlen]

Ditto. What he said, Neekia.


On 3/28/2014 10:56 AM, Jim Miller wrote:
> 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
>>>>