Once Upon a Time, There Was a Girl...

Hello, dear reader... if one remains.

Why would you? After all this time...

Do you know what I had to go through to find my way back here? A forgotten identity; forgotten platform; forgotten passwords. I only remembered that once I wrote, and it made me feel like a writer.

I was a writer.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Kwirki.

Only, I had even forgotten her name. The girl was long gone. A middle-aged woman took her place-- One with gray hair and some extra pounds; One who has been without her father/hero for over three years and is caring for her aging mother; One whose sedate life is unrecognizable to the girl of her old stories, thankfully. 

She never married-- never found that great love. She suffered other betrayals, but the worst was how she betrayed herself. Betraying herself was how the other betrayals happened in the first place.

The funny thing about having your prayers answered, is that it's usually painful in some way. A sacrifice is needed to make room for the gain. A job is lost. Friends disappear. Environments shift, yet God is there, saying, "See. I told you I would get you here."

Here is a place where you no longer lean on a self-destructive vice to feel sociable and alive.

Here is a place where the company you keep doesn't encourage your ruin alongside their own.

Here is a place where you finally belong and trust those alongside you.

And I didn't make any of it happen by choice. It happened through prayer.

 But then, prayer is a choice, too, isn't it?

A choice to give up control, or admit you never had it in the first place.

A choice to say, "I'm beyond my capabilities. I know what I should do, but I can't do it. I give it to You to make happen; whatever it takes."

And He says, "Are you sure? Because I have something in mind..."

So, you give Him permission to do what He will, and He takes it. You're broken by it. No, it's more like the crusty shell from an untended wound. Peeling it stings. Some flesh tears, but what is underneath is clean. It can breathe now and heal. It will become fresh and new again.

Suddenly then, in the midst of this new life... in the midst of writing a first novel -- about a protagonist trying to escape her shame in all the wrong ways-- the girl named Kwirki came back to the author's memory through a fog. More importantly, the memory of now-nameless readers who allowed her room to craft her style and encouraged her voice. A community of unique voices. She missed that, so she went on a mission to track down the old blog, hoping to find remnants of you, but found her old self waiting as well.

What a poor, measly self she was, too. There's no condemnation in seeing it, but there is an avalanche of regret. Regret that she didn't value herself. 

... Something that some of you saw, and expressed, at the time.

Twenty years, friends. Over twenty years have gone by. Comments from my last post over ten years ago asked where I had gone. It turns out, I suppose, that I didn't know who I was if I wasn't writing about some tragic disappointment or heartbreak. That's when the words poured out of me. Now, words also come with joys. I am learning how share more than sad stories.

But now I wonder....

....where did you all go? 

The old friends I made... the voices I treasured.

The community we shared. 

Have you lost your way from who you were, too, and the stories you shared?

I hope you are well. I hope you find your way to this blog to look in on ol' Kwirk. She would love to see you and swap stories, again. 

A Martini by any other name...

There was an awkwardness about him when I walked into the bar, which I didn't expect. It couldn't be because of anything I'd said or done. All my thoughts about his disingenuous behavior had been kept to myself. I hadn't even turned snarky toward him. I've simply laid low over the last month, kept to myself, and noticed in the time being that there was never a query into my whereabouts or how I was doing. Not even an attempt at idle online conversation. Nothing had really changed for him, I was sure. Not out in the open, at least., but I was rejected ... or, at least, I felt rejected by him, although nothing was ever said.

In truth, I didn't want to acknowledge him with any more familiarity than a customer does a bartender. Upon walking in and looking around for the friends I was meeting, I was dismayed to find the only people in the room I knew were him and the door guy/bouncer, Ethan*. Only one table was occupied with ladies drinking colorful cocktails, so he sat with Ethan at the corner of the bar playing rummy. I came to stand between them, greeted them both, but hugged only Ethan. He asked me to join them in a game. I dismissively remarked that I hadn't played rummy in years, and continued looking throughout the room, wondering if I'd missed someone in the dark recesses. Surely I wasn't to endure this alone. He wanted to know what was the matter with me, because I looked so somber. I replied that I was supposed to be meeting people when I looked over my shoulder and felt great relief at seeing them all come through the door. Ahhh., saved. Now I could go back to my plan of treating him as simply a bartender.

It took him long enough to wait on me, getting everyone else's order first, although he should have been able to guess mine automatically. I was simultaneously doing my best NOT to look at him or call his attention, which probably didn't help the matter. But I was clearly in there to drink! Why didn't he ask?!!! Not only that, but after the friends came in and asked why I was just standing there, I had made the joking remark that I was waiting for Bartender to get off his butt and make me a drink, which promptly spurred him to get behind the bar. I anxiously waited for him to get to me, knowing we had a deadline to get to a movie that night, and that I was ordering a very strong drink that I typically like to nurse, but I waited patiently as he served all of the friends in my group, knowing that we were all on the same deadline to see the same movie. However, when there was no one left in the group to serve save me, he went to a lady down the bar who hadn't approached until after all of us were seated.

"Hey, do I get a drink?" I exclaimed when I saw him moving toward her with an ear inclined for her order.
This time I didn't feel so successful at keeping the sharpness out of my voice and making it a joke, but he took it in stride and did eventually make me an excellent martini.

The vodka loosened me up so I was shortly able to include him in my general conversation. He had seen the movie and gave his impressions, which weren't very favorable. I wanted to know more. What was wrong with it? His answers were ambiguous and unconvincing. Finally I asked, "Were you still thinking about it after you left the theater?" to which he replied that he was. "That means it was a good movie," I declared. No more discussion needed.

Now the ice was broken, and I was able to treat him in the manner I always had, only with reservation. I would not flirt with him as I once had. I found that slope far too slippery. That's what made it odd to discover him looking at me. I refused to hold his gaze, but when I looked again, it was still there. Then, a little later in the conversation, he seemed to be giving me a sly, knowing look, which I dismissed. I'd obviously read into his looks before. Then Sheila*, sitting next to me, asked him why he was looking at her like that, to which he replied that he wasn't looking at her, and his expression broadened as his gaze remained on me, as if sharing an inside joke. Yes, he was looking at me, not her. I got that part of it, but I still didn't know why. The topic of conversation escapes me now, but I was unable to make any connection between it and myself. Whatever joke he was trying to share with me went right over my head, and, to be honest, I was a little offended that he even tried.

Time came to leave for the movie. A couple of our party had already gone. Sheila and I said our goodbyes. I again hugged Ethan when he reached out an arm, but I ignored Bartender. He wanted to know if I was coming back after the movie. I tried blowing it off by saying it depended on Sheila, but she was quick to deny the option for her poor dog was awaiting release at home. He asked me at least twice more. Truth was, at that moment, I wanted to return. My keen enjoyment of chilled out conversation was being cut short. I wanted more, but I shook my head and kept saying, "I don't think so." He looked disappointed, leaving me to feel very confused ... and curious. What did he care?

I was proud that I did not feel the need to return after the movie. Part of me wanted to only for the sake of telling him how wrong he was about the movie. Many people walked away saying it wasn't for them, but I found it compelling and just plain good, old-fashioned story-telling. I didn't, though. My car was parked directly across from the theater, so I drove directly home. I'm still left wondering, however, about those quizzical looks, and what strange impression he'll leave me with the next time I venture forth for a cocktail and good conversation.

* = Names have been changed

A Change in Weather

It doesn’t take much when the world is falling apart all around us to make us believe that it is by our fault. I suppose that’s because the world falling apart is the one of our own making and the only one we know.

But then you rebuild. And in the rebuilding, realize that it isn’t the only world possible. In fact, although it was a world of your own creation, the destruction of which you resisted and have deeply grieved, you realize it wasn’t a world you even wanted.

A storm came and my world changed.

It had been changing for over a year, but this time a wind swept in so mighty, I was forced to take account of all that I once had versus all I now possessed and to weigh the difference. I found it not to be as great as I had once believed, and my rebuilding began.

Beerfest, that long honored tradition among my friends … one which began for us as the SoHB’s birthday celebration 4 years earlier … had come around again. As with any event which had become a tradition with the SoHB, I anticipated seeing him there, with or without the girlfriend, and endeavored to brace myself for anything that might come. I was intrigued and a bit relieved to learn he would be staying home that evening. I didn’t know the reason for his absence, but I was free to enjoy the event without hindrance. He wouldn’t interfere, and neither would the hurricane churning in the gulf. Beerfest would go on as planned for all of us.

And it was a fun time, even if it lacked the luster of the glory days before my Great Sadness. I was amazed to find myself carrying on intense conversation with the normally taciturn Big Red on several occasions, even started suspecting he might fancy me in some way.

Beerfest is always over before anyone is ready to call it a night. While sitting in Hayley’s, glibly chatting away with our dwindled group, The Flirt started trying to coax Rachel* into flashing him a breast. She teasingly denied him, but he continued pressing for her to do it just as she had done before. I was lightly amused, and not a bit surprised. I could easily recall one drunken excursion in the same bar long ago when Rachel, indeed, flashed him. But when The Flirt commented that she could do it again just like she had the other night while out on the boat, my breath caught in my throat as my suspicions rose. I’d only heard reference to going “out on the boat” once before, and it was on a boat belonging to the SoHB’s brother. Could it be…? Could my good friend and confidante, Rachel, have been partying with the SoHB behind my back?

Big Red asked the question I was afraid to speak. He was apparently as much in the dark as I about their shared experience.

“What boat?” he asked casually.

The Flirt explained that they had been celebrating the SoHB’s birthday out on his brother’s boat where Rachel apparently became so intoxicated, she started flashing her breasts.

I stared at Rachel, but she would not look me in the eye. A cat had been let out of the bag … one that could change my opinion of her.

Later in the night as I sat alone, and she approached me.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Are you mad?”

I nodded.

“What are you mad about?”

“I think you know.”

“Is it because I went to the SoHB’s birthday party?”

I nodded again. “Not really because you went so much, but that you didn’t tell me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said right away, but I knew better than to believe she really understood.

The drive home was an animated exchange between us about how betrayed I felt over her keeping this from me while she claimed that she and Alley* (who had also gone to the party) had only wanted to spare my feelings, knowing I would get upset over it. She apologized again and again, explaining that, although Michele was giving the party, Alley* had been invited by Jeri*, a good friend of both her and the SoHB, and had in turn invited Rachel along for company. By the time we reached my home and I stood on my front stoop looking down into her plaintive face, I felt better for having spoken my peace, even if I didn’t have complete confidence in her apology. I walked into my home and greeted my dog feeling lighthearted and fairly certain our friendship would continue unfazed by this setback. I guess she felt the same way.

Then came the storm.


to be continued...

* = Names have been changed