#Jim Coit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ruppertmundysrevival · 3 months ago

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Douzième partie | 12 août 2024

C'était le meilleur et le plus beau de tous les temps, fraîcheur, nuages des dieux, herbe coupée, sable à peine assez humide pour rester au sol. Nous sommes arrivés dans l'enthousiasme de se revoir après une semaine où la partie précédente avait été annulée pour cause de pluie. Le moral était haut. C'était l'heure de l'espoir. Je m'attendais à tout, mais pas à ce qui allait se produire.

Bonheur au départ: je me retrouve avec les Nina pour la première fois de l'été, mon équipe. Nous commençons au champ et les Martres ont de gros frappeurs, mais nous les attendons de gant ferme. Thibodeau, le capitaine adverse, est le premier à s'avancer au marbre, devant notre propre capitaine qui est lanceur, Le Retour De Poulin. Les enfants de Thibodeau sont derrière la clôture et l'encouragent, ça fait une belle ambiance de départ. « Pa-pa! Pa-pa! Pa-pa! » Premier lancer, deuxième lancer. Troisième lancer, on entend un craquement mirobolant: le dos de Thibodeau. Il a mal, mais devant ses enfants, essaie de frapper la balle, qu'il finit par projeter en un faible roulant au premier, où il est retiré. Il revient péniblement au banc, il est blessé et ne peut pas continuer la partie, le capitaine des Martres est hors jeu en partant. Je suis triste pour lui et espère qu'il se remettra rapidement, mais aussi, nos chances de victoire s'améliorent grandement sans ce joueur étoile.

Jim se présente au bâton. Il frappe comme un coquin dans le champ opposé, mais, à la surprise générale, Elkahna attrape à bout de bras son boulet de canon en sautant un mètre dans les airs! Stupeur et torréfaction des sentiments! Nous sommes exaltés! Poussin prend place à la suite de Jim, il frappe un roulant en direction du troisième but où Cayer saisit la balle et l'envoie par-dessus le lanceur Poulin, au premier but où Bourgon fait la split en attrapant la balle avec sa casquette! Juste pour le spectacle! MAIS qu'est-ce qui se passe! On n'est plus dans le beau jeu, mais dans le grandiose!

On se dirige pour frapper à notre tour en riant comme des petits fous! Les deux Poulins ouvrent la frappe et se positionnent tous les deux sur les buts. Charland cogne un double qui fait notre score s'apprécier de deux points. C'est à mon tour au bâton, coup sûr. Au tour de Talbi, coup sûr. Les buts sont pleins avec Charland qui a atteint le troisième coussin. Maxime Raymond s'avance au marbre et, lors du premier lancer, frappe une fausse balle qui, marquant de stupeur tout le monde à la ronde, atteint le fond du terrain. Les Martres restent coites. L'excitation est à son comble. Mais nous n'avions encore rien vu et après quelques lancers dans le vide, Maxime frappe un grand chelem! Envoyé bien loin dans les installations d'exercices physiques du parc! Du jamais-vu! Ça crie! Même les Martres reconnaissent que c'était divin!

On a fait nos cinq points en vitesse, on retourne à la défensive. Premier frappeur, Bouchard, envoie un boulet de canon en direction de Maxime qui tombe sur le dos en s'étirant de tout son corps, mais qui parvient à attraper la balle! Nous sommes sans voix! Bouchard le titan, retiré. Claude et Mayo sont ensuite retirés au premier but. Trois retraits rapides! Ça roule pour nous!

On retourne frapper, cinq points rapides, mais surtout, zéro retrait! On n'y croit pas et les Martres encore moins. De retour au champ, les tuiles continuent de s'accumuler sur elles. Jules au bâton lève le bras pour attraper une balle, à la manière célèbre qu'il a de le faire, mais celle-ci frôle sa main et va s'écraser dans son thorax. Décidément, ce n'est pas leur journée! Il finit par frapper, pour la première fois de sa vie, au champ opposé, où Vic Boisclair attrape la balle qui lui arrivait dessus comme un missile. Quel match! Tout le monde chez les Ninas est sur son X, au meilleur de sa forme. Michaud parvient à se positionner au premier but. Fontaine s'amène au marbre. Il frappe un roulant que notre lanceur Poulin, le frère Carl cette fois, parvient à attraper et qu'il renvoie, en faisant un lancer entre ses jambes, au deuxième but! Et du deuxième but, Charland envoie la balle à Bourgon au premier qui retire le frappeur! Double jeu! On retourne frapper, surexcités!

Les Martres mangent une dégelée, mais j'assiste au plus beau match que j'ai jamais vu de ma vie. Plante court vers un ballon qu'il semble beaucoup trop loin pour être attrapé, mais à la dernière minute il fait le plus beau plongeon que j'ai jamais vu au champ! Tout son corps était à l'horizontale! Et la balle tombe dans son gant! Nous continuons de retirer leurs joueurs en rafale! Cette joute est incroyable de perfection pour les Ninas! Quand on est sur le terrain, les nuages sont si épais qu'on n'a même pas besoin de casquette ni de lunettes, mais quand les Martres arrivent sur le terrain, un soleil de plomb émerge, juste le temps de bien aveugler leurs joueurs!

Arrivés en sixième manche, c'est 21-0 pour les Ninas! Et les Martres ont fait jusqu'à présent 4 coups sûrs! Je n'arrive pas à y croire! Un coup de circuit de notre capitaine Poulin, un triple de Bourgon, un triple de Max Raymond; les Martres échappent toutes les balles dans le champ! Quelle épopée!

On retourne sur le terrain. Poussin frappe ce qui a toutes les apparences d'un coup de circuit, mais dans un mouvement que je pratique en cachette depuis des mois, je m'élance vers la clôture, saute et pose un pied sur le dessus de celle-ci, pour parvenir à me donner un élan dans les airs où, m'étirant de tout mon long, j'arrive à attraper la balle avant qu'elle ne sorte du terrain! Les cris fusent! Les gradins, d'ailleurs, sont pleins à craquer! Parce que nous jouons la partie de notre vie! Les gens n'en reviennent pas! Les Ninas sont de légende, aujourd'hui!

Elkahna est entrée dans l'appartement à ce moment-là et le bruit de la porte m'a fait bouger. « Oh non, dit-elle. Tu faisais une sieste? Je rentre tout le temps dans la maison quand tu fais une sieste. » Je regardai le cadran, il était quelques minutes passé 17 h. « Oh? Il faut y aller, de toute façon », que je lui dis. « Oui, la pluie est finie et le terrain est beau. Il y a un match. Let's go! »

Je me levai debout, les points sur les hanches, en position de superhéros, et je lui dis: « J'ai hâte! Je viens de faire un rêve incroyable. Je pense que ça va être la game des Ninas, ce soir! »

-Bessette

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creativinn · 2 years ago

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The Devil In The Details: SKiN GRAFT Records at 150 – a multi-artist interview on “Sounds To Make You Shudder!”

SKiN GRAFT Records just turned 150 catalog numbers old and have marked the occasion with “Sounds To Make You Shudder!”, a collection of fifteen songs (by seventeen artists) that the label describes as a “Halloween Long Player that plays fast and loose any time of the year”.

The album brings together longtime associates such as The Flying Luttenbachers, Jim O’Rourke and Strangulated Beatoffs, current acts like Terms, Lovely Little Girls and Tijuana Hercules, new signees Cuntroaches and Pili Coit – and some totally unexpected collaborations.

“Sounds To Make You Shudder!” sees The Jesus Lizard’s David Yow morph into a horror host frontman for the dark, chaotic math rock of , while Thee Oh Sees’ John Dwyer performs sci-fi, micro-surgery on Psychic Graveyard.

On the eve of the album’s release, we caught up with many of the participants for a virtual round table on how “Sounds To Make You Shudder!” came to be.

What can you tell us about your contribution to this project? How did you get involved? Are there any details or insight that you can share?

MARK FISCHER (Owner, Founder of SKiN GRAFT Records): SKiN GRAFT evolved out of a hardcore punk comic-zine that I did back in the 80’s, and in the comic book world, anniversary issues were always very important and something to celebrate: issue 100, issue 250 and on and on… I knew that we were coming up on SKiN GRAFT Record number 150 – and I’d had something in mind – but it was becoming more and more clear that it was not going to be possible to have that particular project ready in time.

Meanwhile, a bunch of the bands I work with – Terms, Psychic Graveyard, Child Abuse and USA Nails – had all been invited to play at the No Coast noise rock festival happening in Texas at the end of October. On top of that, Cuntroaches had nearly finished this wild Halloween-themed video for a song they had been working on, but with the maddeningly-long turnaround times we’re seeing at the vinyl pressing plants currently, there was no way to get even a 7” single out in time for the holiday. It’s pretty cruel, bands finally have an opportunity to go out and play live again, but now there’s no guarantee their album will be out by the time they get in the van.

So late in the summer, with all of this swirling around in my head, I hit upon the idea of a Halloween album and started contacting some bands to see if it would be possible to put something together – – – – and it was!

To make it out by Halloween 2022, vinyl was obviously out of the question, so we went with CD / Tape / Digital so it could be turned around fast. Most of the songs were recorded within the last few months. I got lucky. There were a lot of really happy circumstances. Dazzling Killmen were the very first band SKiN GRAFT worked with and while the band is long gone now, all of the members have continued to make music. It just so happened that Nick, the singer and guitarist, had started a new band called Upright Forms and Dazzling Killmen’s drummer Blake had also just started performing with his new band Shatter On Impact. Both bands are making their debut here.

As all of the songs started to come in and I worked on the sequence, it broke down into three “acts” (in this case, five songs apiece) – a lot like “Camp SKiN GRAFT”, the compilation I’d put together as the label’s 50th release twenty years earlier. I hadn’t anticipated it, but I suppose this turned out to be a kind of spiritual successor to that.

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Various Artists (David Yow & Yowie, USA Nails, Psychic Graveyard & John Dwyer, etc)

I’m so humbled, proud and blown away by the work everyone put into this thing. This album came together in record time; it was a thrill hearing these songs come in, and I’m even more excited to see them go out.

YOWIE “The Spider’s Greeting” collaboration with David Yow

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by David Yow and Yowie

Shawn O’Connor aka The Defenestrator: Mark from SKiN GRAFT came to me with this idea and asked if Yowie was interested. For the younglings, some exposition may be required: The notion was that “Sounds That Make You Shudder!” would basically be an homage to those 1970s records made for kids’ Halloween parties, and Mark wanted to include some kind of Dracula-type narrator at the beginning, the kind of thing that is usually accompanied by lots of creaking doors and rattling chains and screaming. David Yow was on board to do an opening track wherein he would play a role not unlike the Cryptkeeeper (or that wonderful narrator from “Tales from the Darkside”) and Yowie was asked to do the incidental music.

My initial response was, “I don’t think we are the right band.” And that was very difficult to say, because I grew up on Scratch Acid and The Jesus Lizard and Pigface, so the idea of doing a track with David felt astoundingly good. And Halloween is the only holiday I actually enjoy, and consensually participate in, and so it seemed fun. But there was one problem – I don’t think Yowie is really much of an incidental music band. We tend to pull the listener’s full attention. And when I heard David’s track alone, I couldn’t help but think that the perfect sounds to accompany it would be something like creaking doors and distant creepy moans, rather than intricately arranged polyrhythmic rock music.

YOWIE

I should also point out that Yowie has consistently had a particular process in composition, wherein we allow parts to sort of independently develop and evolve over time… so the notion that we would be restricted to the parameters of interacting with a recorded vocal track, of all things, seemed pretty un-Yowie. Nonetheless it felt intriguing and very different, and so I talked a bit with people who were in or around Yowie, and it was decided that we would give it a go and see if we could do something that worked without becoming un-Yowie-like. I will leave it to the listeners to decide; I think we did a poor job of being “incidental” but instead made a composition that generally fits with a spooky theme, and is somewhat meticulously composed to David’s vocal lines. Does it work? Does it make sense? Is it a Yowie track? Is it something else entirely? You be the judge.

CUNTROACHES “Borborygmus”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Cuntroaches

Martina / Claire / David hivemind: We wrote Borborygmus – a seven-minute long noise / metal / punk / post-punk mash-up – to score a music video idea we’d been toying with for some time. It’s named after the ominous sounds produced by gas and fluids in the intestines. The music video is about a hungry witch-slash-wizard abomination with an empty fridge who fails to summon food with her toilet brush wand. The only edible option for the witch is to eat her own dog (spoiler alert: it doesn’t go so well).

Cuntroaches

The aesthetic is inspired by the 80’s television series Tales From The Crypt and other B-movie horror classics, so the original plan was to release Borborygmus with two additional tracks on a special edition 7” with the Borborygmus music video on Halloween in 2021.

It was SKiN GRAFT who suggested expanding the 7” material into a full-length Cuntroaches album and we’re happy with this decision! The album is in the final stages of mixing, so the music video will launch independently on Halloween of this year to kick off SKiN GRAFT’s Sounds That Make You Shudder! compilation. We provided a shortened track of Borborygmus for the it, so conceptually this aligns with our initial idea of a combined speciality release.

TERMS “Mouthful of Moss”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Terms

Christopher Trull: Mark from SKiN GRAFT asked us to contribute to a Halloween themed release, and Danny & I both immediately thought of this particular unfinished (at the time) track. Work on ‘Mouthful of Moss’ began about a year and a half ago while we were putting together tracks for our next album, and it ended up not getting completed at that time. It didn’t quite fit the vibe of the rest of the record we were making, but it definitely has an ominous, creepy quality that seemed perfect for a Halloween album!

TIJUANA HERCULES “Dark Slide”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Tijuana Hercules

John Vernon Forbes: Joe Patt (Tijuana Hercules’ drummer) and I started fooling around with the riff. I hadn’t thought about what to do with it until Mark came up with the idea of a Halloween album. I thought the riff had a William Castle horror movie feel to it and I could envision Joan Crawford swinging an axe while the tune played. As the recording progressed, Doug Abram joined in with a baritone sax. For the percussion, Mike Young played a bowling pin and maracas. Since the song was intended to be played around Halloween, we asked our friend, Brian Buckman to join in. Brian is someone with a deep knowledge of the supernatural and occult practices. He gave us a recording of interstellar outer space that he ran through his synthesizers. It added a George Van Tassel feel.

Tijuana Hercules, by Jeff Noise

THE FLYING LUTTENBACHERS

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by The Flying Luttenbachers

Weasel Walter: I composed this piece for the New York lineup of the band some years ago, and we never got around to playing it, so I did it all myself (something I resort to from time to time). It’s an interesting milemarker for my transition out of New York and back to Chicago after 20 years absence. The current Flying Luttenbachers full lineup is currently playing sporadic shows and writing a new album.

LOVELY LITTLE GIRLS “Procreation (Of The Wicked)”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Lovely Little Girls

Gregory Jacobsen: Celtic Frost, specifically the Morbid Tales album, has always been a favorite. Of all the metal I listened to when I young, that album was just so weird. I had no reference point for what it was. There was no pose and the sound was dreary, malevolent, and aggressive in a way that all that other thrash shit I listened to didn’t even touch. And that guitar tone! I always wanted to do a cover of Procreation – there’s a certain idiosyncratic swing to it, and the structure is simple and wide open to do a lot of fun stuff with it, like a blank canvas. The challenge was convincing the rest of the band who are more prog-orientated. Too much repetition!

Lovely Little Girls in Austin – photo by Paul Millerlo

USA NAILS “Horror Show”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by USA Nails

Gareth Thomas: After SKiN GRAFT released our split with Psychic Graveyard, Mark mentioned he wanted to put together a halloween comp and asked if would we be interested in contributing a track, so obviously we bit his hand off. We are all long time fans of SKiN GRAFT so are dead excited to be working with them again. As for writing a halloween related tune, I had no idea how to approach that so was glad that Steven took the vocals on for this number…

Steven Hodson: Being asked to be on a horror themed compilation initially made me quite anxious as I had no idea what to write about. I mean, I haven’t really watched any horror films for years. We’re more of a Paul Rudd household these days, though I guess some would class his work pretty horrific (wink wink, nudge nudge, snare, kick and crash) Am I right? I thought I’d talk about real life horror stuff instead.

SHATTER ON IMPACT “Amar’s Volta”

SKiN GRAFT Records Presents… Sounds To Make You Shudder! by Shatter On Impact

Blake Fleming: Mark Fischer from SKiN GRAFT kindly asked if my new band, Shatter On Impact, would like to contribute a song to a Halloween themed album. We weren’t quite in recording mode yet. We were doing lots of rehearsing and writing and starting to play shows, and so we had to get something down quick. The result is a completely live in the studio version of a song we jokingly called “Amar’s Volta”. I co-founded the Mars Volta and SOI’s guitarist is named Amar. To clarify, it has no relation to The Mars Volta, it’s just practice space humor. We thought it was funny, so we kept it.

BOBBY CONN “Don’t Be Afraid”

Please give us a quick word or two about yourself or your band. Feel free to share information about other current releases you have and your plans for the coming months.

Please share your picks for the best records of 2022 so far or any under the radar releases that you feel warrants extra attention.

This content was originally published here.

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sudsybear · 7 years ago

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A walk along the seashore

Do you remember friends from your adolescence? That group of pals with whom you shared life’s lessons? You stayed up past curfew because you were having so much fun. Maybe one of your group was ill or injured and you all learned a valuable early lesson. Maybe two of you married a little sooner than the others because of a date that neither wanted to end. Maybe you didn’t marry because the “consequence” was taken care of privately in a doctor’s office. There are millions of those stories from twentieth century suburbia. This is mine.

For a time, Ross was my best friend. But, we grew up and away from each other. Ross and I never reunited, and his departure left an emptiness I tried to fill with words. But words don’t replace a hug or a warm, “Hello.” I still miss him, as do many.

A year after Ross’ funeral, I needed to talk to Moj - the friend to whom Ross turned all those years ago. In my absence, the two developed a deep and mutual connection that best friends have for each other. I knew Moj wouldn’t talk on his own. He is a private thoughtful sort – distrusting and cynical by nature. Once comfortable in a situation, he is a gentle giant with a dry, wry sense of humor. Slow to trust, but once garnered, it is for life. I know him well enough to know he doesn’t trust me. I needed an intermediary - David.

But how was I going to do this? I’m a married woman with three children. What husband sends his wife across the country to visit with a man she hasn’t seen in seventeen years? Along with another man she once knew intimately? Truly insane. And yet, I would have been crazier to not go. I needed to ask the questions, or I would not be able to move forward. This project was a compulsion, not a fun hobby, not an interesting exercise to pass the time, but a project that consumed me day and night. I needed to write as much as I needed to breathe. My husband recognized that, even as he didn’t understand it, and we made the arrangements.

With my husband’s blessing, I turned to David. I needed him in a way I’ve ever needed anyone. I begged, I wheedled, I pleaded, and wore him down. He agreed, I bought his plane ticket and prayed he would get on board. We would meet at the San Francisco airport on a Friday evening in August.

Moj met me in the sterile hallways of the airport. It took a few moments for my ears to adjust pressure. I was tired and nervous; butterflies tickled. I planned the trip, but not the conversations. It never occurred to me to think about what to say to him upon our meeting. We’d last seen each other a year and a half previous – but circumstances didn’t provide us the opportunity to visit. I asked inane questions and he acted ever the calm gentleman.

Airport restaurants were closed, and we were forced to hike the corridors to find a place to eat. We stopped at an information booth run by volunteers. She tried to solicit a donation, but Moj refused, objecting to the God-talk included in the advertising material. The exchange reminded me of my former vehemence against organized religion. I snorted privately with the memory. Moj would be disappointed to know I attend services these days, and am but a senior year away from a bachelor’s degree in religious studies. No, I’m not born again, but I learned the appeal of organized religious practice, and developed a tolerance and acceptance for such faith. I challenge it daily in my own way, and find one religion to be too confining. Oh, I only need one to participate, but I know it’s not the only answer. Why else would so many choices be available? There is wisdom in all faiths. Ross might have been intrigued I think. Certainly we’d have talked about it.

We found a restaurant and dined; I enjoyed a salad and babbled inanely about my children and life since we last saw each other. He pulled out his cell phone and called his girlfriend to let her know our status. Dinner finished, we wandered back to the terminal and waited for David’s plane to arrive.

It was good to see David. I always get a flutter in my stomach when I see him. He’s so comfortable, so accepting, so warm and fuzzy. I loved him once in a teenage romantic way. Now I just love him. After we hugged our hello, he reached up to clasp Moj around the shoulders in the masculine half-hug that happens in public. We retrieved luggage and set out to find the car.

Moj drove a non-descript late-model sedan; practical, comfortable, probably an import. It had all the jim-cracks and whizz-bangs; electric windows and locks, electric adjustable seats, a reasonable factory installed stereo system with CD player. Ever the gentleman, David deferred and let me sit in the passenger seat, my seat, almost always when we were together. He and Moj exchanged more masculine banter while I relaxed and watched the cars around us on the freeway. David was hungry, so Moj pulled up in front of a Thai restaurant for David to order something. I wasn’t hungry, and don’t care for Thai food anyway, so passed on the offer of more comestibles.

David’s dinner in hand, Moj drove the remaining blocks to his house. He and his girlfriend just bought it in the months previous. Moj seemed pleased to show off his new living quarters. David and I got out of the car while Moj parked it in the garage. I asked him to open the trunk to retrieve my offerings for my hosts. We climbed the narrow stairs and met David’s significant other, Nancy, and the dog, Cerberus; a vicious name for a mild-tempered dog well-matched to his gentle owner.

Nancy started the party without us. Slightly tipsy, she was in a jovial mood. I offered my gifts, hoping David hadn’t steered me wrong in some misguided attempt to be cute. The wine was my own choice – a unique dessert wine from the New York Fingerlakes. Sure, this was California wine country, but they can’t do ice wines. The collector’s spoon was indeed a dud. I was duped. David, what have you done to me? I owe them another gift. They laughed at my gullibility. Even after all these years, still they laugh at how easy it is to play a joke. I swallowed pride and laughed with them.

Moj offered drinks, I took him up on his offer of whiskey – a fine smooth sort from a trip to Scotland. We made small talk, and discussed our timing and activities for the next day. Moj was kind enough to drop me at my hotel downtown, amazed at my price for a downtown hotel. (I married a man who is frugal, a deal-getter. He likes to save money. What can I say? It means we get to do more things.) I checked in, got to my room, unpacked and lay in the bed, restless with excitement. Eventually, finally, sleep came. It had been a long day.

The next day we toured San Francisco Moj-style. I saw a much different San Francisco than what I knew as a student some fifteen years previous. Billboards with Vargas Girls advertising different liquors were long since replaced with billboards advertising the latest computer platforms. Different than even just six months previous when I visited as a tourist with my brother and sister-in-law – riding the ferry across the bay and taking the streetcars to Chinatown. Instead, Moj picked me up in his sedan and we drove to the farmer’s market where we bought food for our next day’s planned sailboat excursion. He then drove us to Coit tower, we paid for the tour, enjoying the views of the bay and having our picture taken at the top. We stopped at City Lights bookstore where I bought souvenir books for my family, and David fell asleep in a quiet corner of the poetry section. Once Nancy found him and woke him up, we enjoyed lunch in an Italian restaurant. Throughout the day I enjoyed Nancy’s company, despite, or perhaps because of, her apologetic hangover from her private party the night before.

We returned to Moj’s home in the afternoon and while Nancy slept I dragged out these letters, and with them, hit a raw nerve. Instead of laughing and reminiscing and sharing joyful memories these evoked for me, Moj was incensed. Unwittingly, I hurt him deeply. I lanced a boil, rubbed salt in an open wound, twisted the knife in his back. Eighteen months since Ross’ death, Moj’s grief was still fresh, his anger and self-doubt still on the forefront. The conversation became heated. Sitting across from me in his living room, he asked, “This was years ago. Why are you re-hashing a high school crush?”

Clearly Moj was agitated. He spoke of his and Ross’ friendship. The camaraderie they shared; the intimacies of male companionship. The challenges they offered each other, the support and advice they traded. All of that was gone from Moj’s life, and Moj was bereft. While Moj spoke, tears rolled down David’s face, he began to cry audibly. That confused me. What was going on? All I wanted to do was ask a couple of things about some old letters Ross wrote. Moj is angry and David is crying? Clearly, I was out of my element.

Moj suggested going to the beach where the memorial service was held for Ross. While Moj retrieved an old sweater for me to wear, I hugged David and asked the source of his tears. David confided that the love Moj described between he and Ross, was what David felt with Moj. For David, Moj was a peer to whom he looked for solace when sad, inspiration when low, and advice when necessary. To lose that would be unthinkable. David dried his tears, Moj returned from the privacy of his bedroom, we left his companion to sleep off the rest of her hangover, got in the car and left.

We enjoyed a beautiful drive down the coast; we drove against traffic returning from a day at the beach. The three of us spoke of other differences between us; my role as a spouse and more significantly, as a parent, and how different that experience is from their childless bachelorhood, the relative merits of small sedans versus mini-vans or SUVs, Moj’s daily backward commute from San Francisco to San Jose. Finally, arriving at the beach just toward sunset, Moj parked in the paved parking lot and got out of the car. The three of us walked over to the water, and I asked a series of questions. “How many people were at the service?”

“About 40, I guess.”

“What music was played?”

“We didn’t have any.”

That surprised me. “Why not? How could you have a memorial service for Ross without music?”

“I don’t know, we weren’t in a partying mood I guess. There wasn’t any music at the service in Cincinnati.”

“Oh yes there was Moj, Scott put together a mix CD. Worked his tail off picking out what would be most appropriate.”

“He did?”

“Yes, Moj. He did.”

“Oh.”

I took my sandals off, and carried them as we walked along the shore. Moj took us into one of the caves, and we wrinkled our noses at the smell of old piss and years of cigarettes. We laughed at the party potential of that particular locale, remembering our own youth, and surmising that the local teens had similar escapades in the wee hours of the morning.

We left the cave and returned to the beach, continuing to talk as we walked. The conversation took a more challenging tone and the chemistry between the three of us got too complicated for me. This chain needed to lose a link, and I asked David to give Moj and I time to chat privately. There were private things that Moj and I both knew, but Moj would be furious if I mentioned them in front of David. David graciously excused himself to play in the waves.

Moj grilled me – how much did I know, how did I come by certain information, did I share it with anyone else? Why did I care so much? What was it to me? Why hadn’t I gotten over this years ago? I needed to burn those letters, he told me. “They were written by a child.”

“Of course they were.” I had no illusions that Ross stagnated. I grew up, why shouldn’t he? On the defensive, I answered as much as I could and tried to justify my behavior.

I got the information from Scott. I asked, he told me. He swore me to secrecy, so I’m not allowed to mention it within 100 miles of Cincinnati. I knew you would know, and I needed to ask about it. So, I’m asking. Have I shared it with anyone else? No.

“Moj, did you know I had gotten back in touch with Ross?” I explained the nature of the exchanges, provided a few pertinent private details to demonstrate that the trust Ross and I had for each other so many years ago was still there. We weren’t involved in each other’s daily lives, but certainly we were on our way to renewing friendship. I wanted to know that Ross was happy and wanted to share in his life again in some way. Not as a lover, but as a friend. Is that so wrong?

Moj was skeptical. While he ruminated on the facts I revealed, I needed a trump card, so I played it. “Moj, after Ross and I broke up, I got wrapped up with this son-of-a-bitch who raped me.”

Silence.

I took a deep breath. “Does that make you happy, Moj? I’ve suffered. Is that what you wanted, to know that I hurt all these years? Well, I have. And here’s why: Ross left me and I was raped.”

We paused. This time, the silence was welcome. He considered his memories and emotions, while I considered mine. Where did all that come from? Ross left me? Because Ross left me, I got raped? It was Ross’ fault I was raped? That’s not right. Is that what I believed? Is that what I’ve been doing all these years, blaming Ross for what happened with Jim? No wonder I can’t get over this.

And then Moj apologized. Softly, with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the ocean breeze, he looked me square in the eyes and said, “I’m sorry for that.”

I crumpled inside. Moj was sorry? For me? Why? No one else ever expressed such sympathies, at least not that I heard. I’ve been challenged, quizzed, analyzed, disbelieved (“Does she even really know what rape is?”), supported, mollified, ignored, “there-there”d and told, “Get on with it.” Moj’s was the first apology I ever really heard. Not even my husband, who supported me through my healing process, suffering indignities no human should endure; physical, verbal and emotional abuse, all inflicted by me as reactions against what happened after Ross and I parted. But for him to ever say, “I’m sorry”? Or my parents? Or peers? Not that I ever remember.

Our conversation paused and Moj and I continued our walk along the beach. Both tense, we contemplated our next words, each lost in our own memories. Walking and talking was good for us both. I trembled as the waves lapped at my ankles. Finally Moj indicated we needed to turn around and walk back. We talked quietly. The details are lost, swept away with the wind and tide. In the end, we agreed to disagree. Moj is not comfortable with my writing. He disagrees with my investigations. Let sleeping dogs lie. But I can’t do that. Old wounds need to be reopened so they can heal properly. I can change techniques. I can focus on other aspects of my retrospection. But I cannot and will not put it away and forget about it again. I did that once, and lost myself. I will not do that again.

Over the years a pervasive sense of unease permeated my daily life, I accept it as a part of my being. It’s an acceptance, not a peace. I live with anxiety. I don’t like perpetual nervousness, but I live with it. What choice do I have? I take medication when it gets too challenging. I seek counseling when necessary. I fight the impulses to end my life prematurely. I doubt those feelings will ever go away completely.

Since I’ve been agitated and uncomfortable all these years, I suspect Ross was too. I’ll wager he lived with an underlying sense of “what if” and “what happened.” I wonder, too, if Ross’ subsequent lovers ever understood and embraced his internal vulnerabilities and self-doubt. Did they make light of Ross’ insecurities, believing them trivial when so much else seemed to be going well for him? I’m sure they enjoyed his attractive physical presence and sense of humor, his projected self-confidence and outward bravado. But did they discover how challenging it could be to live with someone who is not completely comfortable in his own skin? I wonder whether Ross ever accepted those feelings in himself. Did he ever find his own peace? Is it wrong of me to doubt that he ever did? I am forbidden to ask big questions. I’m told it’s not my place to ever know.

Instead of ever knowing the man he became, I’m left with old letters, music and corroborative stories. These patch together a tale of adolescence and first true love. But as that ended, I fell into a deep depression that took years to recognize and even more years to finally treat. Truthfully, my battle against depression never ends. Every day is a challenge to maintain a positive outlook, a challenge to stay away from the proverbial pit of despair, a challenge to maintain a perspective that allows me to be grateful for the life I have with the man I married, and the children we created together. I have hope for the future, but I need to look back to go forward. Ross is gone, and I miss the possibility of adult companionship; friends reunited, able to enjoy each other’s company, to share familial joys and sadnesses. It will not happen.

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