Monday, September 29, 2014

The story that MUST be told

Okay, OKAY ALREADY!  I've been instructed that I can not do another thing today until this blog has been posted.  This means several items have not been crossed off my "to-do" list.

I have not been afforded the luxury of my "Good Morning" deep breathing meditation ritual.  I depend upon these fifteen minutes of quiet reflection to ground myself.  This keeps REDRUM from occurring at the slightest provocation by my autistic sixteen year old who feels entitled to all conversations, the television and just about everything else.  I must BREEEEEAAATHE.  Despite the fact that the anonymous voice says, "powerfullyer" during the guided meditation is of no consequence.  I'm past this slight annoyance and merely wince while deeply inhaling my "Moonlight Sonata" incense then slowly exhaling the toxicity from my body which no longer serves me. Apparently, tomorrow I'll have twice as much toxic waste to exhale and the word "powerfullyer" will become more like a dull toothache which can no longer be ignored.

My painting project has been placed on hold.  It wasn't a major venture, just the entrance to the study and the back wall; however, all I needed was an excuse not to open a can of paint and alas here it is.

Today is laundry day in my home.  Bedding is stripped, clean sheets are applied and clothes folded and put away.  I'm wondering how far into the week shirts and jeans will sit wrinkling away in my dryer now that this blog demand has been placed upon me.  Oh well, my husband has made this request and I always do as I'm told..cough, sputter.


The Story That MUST Be Told

After high school, I was working two waitressing jobs while supporting myself through junior college and attending broadcasting school.  My life was exhausting but I was young and doing what I wanted to do.

While working the late shift, I met and befriended one of the dearest people I've ever had the honor to know.  We've since lost track of one another but this is our story.  His name has been changed for privacy purposes and my dear, if you happen to ever read this blog, find me please. I miss and love you dearly.

Carlos** was a tall, handsome Hispanic waiter with fair skin, green eyes, jet black hair and a mustache. When he spoke in his thick, educated accent he always had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile which could melt the coldest of hearts.  The moment we met there was magic between us.  He gravitated towards me because I was honest, made him laugh and worked hard.  He could make me blush with a simple glance and his laughter inspired me to make him laugh more.  Oh, he also LOVED my boobs.  (There's no denying this, did.)

The waitresses uniforms (they've since changed thank goodness, ladies!) were French peasant blouses; low cut, white and emphasized the curves of our breasts.  Carlos, being a good foot taller than myself, would come up from behind, place his hands on my shoulders, give a firm yet gentle shake while looking down purring, "Brrrrii, they'rre sooo beauutifuulll!" How is it possible he can still make me blush after all these years?  Will someone please open a damn window in here?

Needless to say, this wonderful man and I became inseparable.  After our shifts, we would go dancing or sit in my car talking late into the night.  I was becoming twitterpated.  Oh my goodness!  I was a willing and waiting participant in whatever Carlos had in mind for me.

One night, as we were sitting in front of his house, he suddenly became very serious as if our lives were about to change forever.

"Bri," he said, looking as if he were ready to weep, "I 'ave somtink to tell you dat I'm afraid will destroy our frenship."

Now, over the years I had become somewhat "full" of myself.  In other words, I'd become rather "overconfident" so I had this overblown, disproportionate idea that he was going to tell me he was enamored with me, head-over-heels in love with me, he couldn't resist my body another moment, that yes - he was ready to tear my clothes off and make mad, passionate love to me.  I mean seriously, what else could he possibly have to say?

"Carlos, it's okay honey.  Whatever it is, you can tell me.  It won't ruin our friendship.  If anything, it will only make it stronger."

"No, Bri.  I'm serious.  I'm afraid dat you will hate me after dis."

"Oh, baby no!  Not at all.  I'll always love you, you know that."

"Bri, (very long pause) I am GAY."

I sat there in stunned silence for a moment.  My eyes must have looked as if they were going to explode from their sockets.  And then IT happened.  Without warning I burst into the most hysterical laughter I can remember to date.  I do believe I wet myself.

Poor Carlos sat in his own stunned silence too hurt to mutter a syllable and then, "Why?  Why do you laugh at dis?  I tell you somtink so personal and you LAUGH?"

I wiped my eyes, tried to compose myself while stifling my giggles and then told him what I had expected to hear.  Then IT happened again but in reverse.  He burst into unrestrained laughter which echoed off my car windows and filled the night sky.  At that point I wasn't sure whether to be offended or not but since I adored his laughter, it hardly mattered - at that moment our friendship was sealed forever in love and admiration.

For the years I continued living in Southern California he was my go-to date for important events. The man who harmlessly buried his sexy mustache in my cleavage to make my ex-boyfriends jealous and with whom I offered to be his third when I met his equally gorgeous partner for dinner.

"Is she always like dis?" he asked Carlos shocked over his menu.

"Yes."  was his curt reply. "Bri, you are so disgusting!"

Damn, I miss my handsome Mexican man.  Darling, find me!

**Name has been changed for privacy purposes