When You're Not Looking

If you wake up one morning and realize that you don't like your life, change it then. I know it isn't that simple, but why let it fester? And I know its easier to let the silence envelope your life, it's easier for the questioning to stop. But I particularly don't want my life to fall prey to 'comfortable' and 'content'. They sound so great, don't they? But I don't want to stop learning. I don't want to stop reinventing. I don't want to stop living.

And I wonder if they ever see it that way, if they ever look up in the bathroom mirror after brushing their teeth, and see this unfamiliar person in the mirror. When does being able to give your children a college education overtake the ability to laugh, the ability to love? And don't get me wrong....I'm grateful...more than grateful.

Everyday she wakes at 5 and does her mysterious morning dance. Mysterious, because I've never seen it in action. I wonder what its like, the early morning breakfast taken while standing at the counter, the silence of the old house wrapped around you like a dry corn husk. I wonder if that's the time of day she dreads because there's only silence...or if that's the time of day she lives for.

He wakes around 6:30 or 6:45. "Molly....Molly...Sam....Sam...It's 6:30" For years on end, this human alarm clock...it didn't matter if I was 11 or almost 18...or the fact that I had an alarm clock...shouted up at the second story. I also can't tell you what he does between 6:30 and 7:00. I can tell you that it involves a brewed pot of coffee...or when he's feeling lazy, 2 or 3 of those microwavable instant coffee...some sugar, no cream. From 7 to 8, he's always all business, except for "Good morning, kiddo!" or the occassional blues song that would grate up the morning nerves. But I think the silence comes to him at night. I think that when he lays (or lies, not, lies, is it lies?) on the couch, mindlessly watching the pictures on the television (ever notice that sometimes its not the TV, its the television) change, that's when the silence comes for him. So, many nights I've come in late and heard him talking to himself...maybe with his head in his hands.


I'm not really sure where I was going with this. I went upstairs for a glass of water and came down wondering if I talk too much...if I just have way too much to say. And funny thing is is that those can be two totally different things.

So, I'll just say this...I've watched the clockwork of my parents for the last 19 years. And yes, they are my parents...but most importantly they're people, people held hostage, locked with themselves, with their lives. And its pointless to say, but if I could do it all over again for my parents, I would say "No" for my mother...and I'd pack my dad's bags for New York and its music scene. I think that he would have loved it there...and he knows that, too.

And if I wasn't here, if my brothers weren't here, that'd be okay. No matter how much I love them...or hell, no matter how much I love myself and my life, it'd be okay.

But I don't think I want to end on that, I would just erase this and call it a night. But I think that I know that that last couple of sentences would infuriate my dad. And I can see why...we're what they gave their life to...and I guess that can't be wrong. I wouldn't want to discount everything they've done for us...and everything they've made us to be, for better or for worse. And I think I understand now....and I think I'm going to let it go.

posted by molly @ 1:10 AM