Give Me A Chance To Catch My Breath
So I Can Lay My Ghosts To Rest

I was so busy missing my family yesterday that I fell behind on digesting stupid contact from L. But he was in full swing. The multimedia deluge – emails, text messages AND a phone call – were buried somewhere, filed in a corner of my brain labeled “deal with this tonight, asleep, in fucked up dreams”

So his words mixed with other things in sleep and came out in a wicked nightmare, one I’ve sort of had before but never like this.

The dream starts with me in the kitchen, flicking off the light. Now all the lights are off except the one in my bedroom, which I don’t turn off ever until my bedside lamp is on and I’m ready to get under the covers with a book.

Walking fast through the dining room. The door is open, I can see the welcome mat outside on the floor, the stairs leading to my mailbox. But I know I didn’t leave it open. I thought I just locked it. And then my breath is catching and my heart is racing and I know someone is in the house. in my bedroom, where the lights are on. I know it. I don’t see anyone so I pick up one of my boots and launch it into the closet.

There’s a terrible loud grunting sound and my clothes are moving and flailing and two men come flying out. I stand there and wish for the boot back, something in my hand, something between me and my t-shirt and them. Big.

One of them grabs me and shoves something (a knee?) into my back, hard, and throws me on the bed. I’m lying facedown and he’s talking, pushing into my back and pulling my shirt up. “we thought you were out of town,” he says. “this wouldn’t be happening if you were out of town.”

THE FIRST EMAIL FROM L TODAY: a forwarded article about elite flyers, frequent flyer status. THE SECOND: he heard from our realtor. She knows about us. Do I have to tell everyone our business? Who haven’t I told? The clerk at the grocery store?

Pushing pushing pushing on my back. The other one is in the living room making a lot of noise.

He tells me not to move, not to look at him, not to move, not to budge and to stay there hold still and then he’s in another room, making more noise.

And one of them in the bathroom, washing his hands and saying “who the fuck doesn’t have a towel in the bathroom. What the fuck?”

THE THIRD EMAIL: He thought of me today. Bath & Body Works is having a sale on that soap I always buy. He thought of me. He misses having that soap in the bathroom. Misses me.

And then I woke up but I was still dreaming. I was lying there, awake but not moving and clenching for at least an hour, cataloguing all the things they could take. Thinking as long as they didn’t take my computer or my passport i didn’t care. I need those tomorrow, next week. Take everything else out there. But it’s only a matter of time before they both come back in the bedroom because most of my stuff is in here. I’m in here.

And I’m awake but I hear them talking and my t-shirt is still pushed up but I don’t want to move or pull it down.

I got out of bed at 4:50 this morning and grabbed clothes off the top of my dresser, didn’t even look at my closet, and ran out to my car, drove to the gym to shower.

“you’re back,” said greg, the morning gym guy, when he handed me a towel. “you look fresh. Your eyes are bright. Santa must have been good to you.”

And my back hurts all day. My shoulders are stiff bones, clenched up and sore.

I’m trying to process today’s contact before bed. I’m ready, not scared, not going to see either one of them when I close my eyes.

Today’s email asked if I have plans for New Years: “Are you looking for a NYE partner?”

Says it makes him sad to hear other people talking about their plans, do I remember what we did last year? (Actually, I don’t. vague memories of trying to stay awake for midnight.) And that he has gifts for me. running shoes and some new clothes.

Another email, later: “Oh. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe you already have plans with P” (**that’s the mutual friend I had dinner with. The one he said “should have cleared it with him first”)

And it’s all so very clear. He’s always been threatened by P. On paper, P is perfect. He Dresses Up for work. He wears the man’s equivalent to high heels–dress shoes that click on the floor and announce his approach. He Knows What He Wants. His Fingernails are Clean. He goes to Networking Events. He’s older than me and he Takes Care of Women.

It’s the perfect illustration of how disconnected L's become with who I am, where I am. I DO have plans for New Year’s. I want to toast 2006, the year that I Won’t Settle Down. The year of me, having some fun, figuring this out.