“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”

Stephen king

So, about last night. I hadn’t visited It Doesn’t Matter in quite some time, so I decided I’d start out there. I’m not sure why, but the vibe just felt different somehow, and not in a good way. Maybe it was just me. I decided to change things up with a visit to Cheap Charlies.

My longtime favorite, Alma, was back after taking time off to be with her visiting American boyfriend. She gave me a warm greeting and took my drink order. I was a little surprised when Nerissa pulled up a chair beside me. Well, she may not like me, but I guess earning a drink commission is still a priority. At first, I gave her a bit of a cold shoulder treatment, but after a couple of drinks, I lightened up some. I showed her a message I’d sent her after our last meeting that she hadn’t responded to, and she told me that’s not an active account. I reminded her I was blocked on the other one, and she just shrugged. For whatever reason, I felt compelled to recite some poetry from memory. This was the first one:

I ask but one thing of you, only one,
That always you will be my dream of you;
That never shall I wake to find untrue
All this I have believed and rested on,
Forever vanished, like a vision gone
Out into the night. Alas, how few
There are who strike in us a chord we knew
Existed, but so seldom heard its tone
We tremble at the half-forgotten sound.
The world is full of rude awakenings
And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground,
Yet still our human longing vainly clings
To a belief in beauty through all wrongs.
O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs!

–Amy Lowell

The other girls seemed impressed. Nerissa just sat there with a blank expression. I don’t know why I can remember all the lines in a poem, but I am lucky to remember my name sometimes. Since I was on a roll, this poem came to mind:

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten snow.
–Sara Teasdale

Reciting poems in a bar with loud music in the background is a pretty foolish thing to do, and I was not quite drunk enough to continue the effort. But when Nerissa came back from the CR and sat down on the other side of me, I leaned over towards her so I could speak privately. Then I began reciting the Stephen King quote from above. Nerissa stopped me about halfway through and said, “why do you quote poems instead of just saying what’s on your mind?” I guess I realized then that I was wasting my breath on her, so I ceased the effort to determine if there was any friendship left to salvage.

I had ordered some food from the restaurant downstairs, and when it arrived, I shared it with my bargirl crew.

I departed Cheap Charlies, crossed the highway, and pulled up a chair in Wet Spot. I spent some time with owner Dave and met a couple of new folks. I must have overdosed on gin and sodas because I’d forgotten all about seeing Mary’s school friend, a dancer at Wet Spot until I uploaded the photos from my phone camera this morning.

Whatever. Even though I’m embracing the mantle of “player,” I wouldn’t mess around with the friend of someone I’m seeing. I don’t recall doing anything to piss her off, and I assume I bought her a lady drink, but who knows? The look on her face doesn’t convey a “nice to see you” vibe.

I made it home safe and sound, and we’ll see what happens next. Mary has a little sideline business selling snack foods, and I ordered some cookies to hand out on my hikes. She is supposed to be delivering them to me this afternoon. Then, later on, I’ll do the Sunday feeding at Hideaway.

And the wheel in the sky keeps on turning.