Freshly shaven legs and Biblical erotica.

There is always love just beneath the surface.  Pry just a bit, push down on the edge of the lid, and beware the heat that is revealed.  

I have never thought much about Valentine's Day.  I think until I was about 14 the holiday was completely represented to me by those disgusting heart candies with messages written on them.  Where the hell did those things get their street cred?  Why did people buy them??  Who tasted the first batch and told Aunt Patty Sue (who was always a little crazy and was waiting for a response with baited breath and sweaty legs) "Wow, those little fuckers are DELICIOUS... hey I know, why don't we write WORDS on them! It'll be CUTE!"

They made me crazy when I was a child - they tasted awful and I was homeschooled: giving a gross heart that says "true love" to your Dad is just stupid, even to a homeschooler.  But when I was 14 I fell in love, and suddenly the disgusting heart candies were an acceptable way to proclaim my love that was constantly straining to be spoken in an articulate enough way to woo my pre-pubescent lover.  I was 14, so "woo" of course meant "look at me."  

"True love" written on a tasteless, chalky candy was absolute poetry compared to other ways I had sought to woo my lover: eating trash, honking like a goose, spitting hunks of snot and jumping into a lake with my clothes on for no reason (to name a few examples).  Of course, the presenting of the candy poetry had to be done in a nonchalant way.  (It really does make me laugh to realize how much I have strived all throughout my life to be subtle).  I would give out candies to all the boys I knew, no big deal.  I'd throw them out with sweeping arms like seeds into a meadow of men and I'd roll my eyes at the stupidity of the words inscribed.  I would let the penis meadow know with every bit of my body language that of COURSE I did not intend the candy messages for THEM.  What did they think I was, a candy WHORE?  These candies I threw at random boys were like the seeds thrown onto rocks and hard paths in the story from the Bible.  Except for one of them.  He was the "fertile ground" role in the story.  For that boy I wanted to BE the candy heart that he swirled around in his mouth.  Hell I wanted to be the candy heart if he crushed it under his foot.  ANYTHING.  Just give me ANYTHING... I was 14, super horny and homeschooled for Christ's sake.  

At this point in my life, newly single after what feels like a lifetime of not, I am definitely thinking about Valentine's Day.  I think there is a good chance I would faint upon receiving a piece of candy with a word on it.  Even if the word was "eggroll" or "Ford" or "stupid" I would probably faint, based solely on the power of the shape of a heart and the presence of an English word [edit: the word could be in any language. Definitely any language].  Yes, I am in fact that swoony and emotional... my swoony isn't subtle at all.  It should be embarrassing but it isn't; okay maybe it is a little bit.       

I am currently laying in bed feeling sorry for myself.  It isn't the kind of self-pity where there is writhing or gnashing of teeth or deep moaning going on, just a dull ache of cranky and a shallow but firm layer of dissatisfaction.  I shaved my legs tonight in my bath, and I am painfully aware that no one will benefit from that endeavor tonight except for me (unless I run out to Kerry Park and say "Hey, feel this... smooth ey?" to some variety of drunk).  Small tragedies like this one (some might say borderline inane tragedies like this one) make me want to say, "FUCK Valentine's Day... keep your damn day to yourself, ya bastard."   Followed by cursing the suddenly stormy sky with a raised fist while strategic angry tears flow down my face.  Maybe then an angel would float down and feel my smooth legs with his powerful holy hands.   Maybe his angel name would be Ferdinand.   That is perhaps the creepiest thing I've ever imagined, but I would still probably faint dead away, overwhelmed and dazzled by the angel's heart-shaped "Ford" pendent that he would be wearing for this scene.  Biblical erotica is awesome.  

Despite my self-pity about my wasted leg shave, I really am glad to be by myself.  I feel solid and safe and sane and sexy.  Not sure why all those words start with "s", but it probably has an extremely sssssignificant meaning (sometimes I marvel at how much cheese I inherited from my Dad, and how much I blame my parents for everything).  Valentine's Day is annoying because it reminds me that the feeling of being loved and of having someone to love really is, let's admit it, exquisitely delicious.  

And yet even as I begin to feel angry and bitter and feel my fist start to raise to the sky because I like delicious things and get cranky when my delicious thing is absent, I am reminded of love all around me.  I really honestly have not felt so consistently and diversely loved as I have for the past six months.  All KINDS of love - love that makes me laugh and love that makes me think and dance and write and ache.  I still want to say "FUCK Valentine's Day, keep your damn day to yourself, ya bastard", but remembering what I have makes me want to say it much more politely.  (maybe, "Valentine's Day is such a stupid idiot"  or something like that.) 

I referred to myself as a cynic the other day, and a coffee-shop acquaintance replied, "But we all know that the Cynics are just Idealists who are hurting."  I almost started bawling into my delicious Mexican mocha.  I also wanted to hug him, slap him, spill his coffee and then cover myself with a thick towel; the moments of realizing I am not as mysterious or cryptic as I assume myself to be never cease to unnerve me.  I have had many reminders over the past few weeks, days and minutes that I am indeed seen and loved by people around me. 

There is always love just beneath the surface.  

I am listening to The Lark Ascending and thinking about my parents when they first met and fell in love... (there is a connection, right Mom and Dad? Was I conceived to this lil ditty? Go ahead, spill the beans...) and as always thinking about where I come from and how there is love woven into a thousand layers of my history brings me comfort.  Love was held and lost and sought and found again long before me.  I am being held up and propelled not only by my own ability to love (thank goodness), but by the love experienced by my parents and their parents and their parents.    

I told my Mom that I would call her back the other day when I was talking to her on the phone and she sounded like she was about to cry (which, if you know my Mom, wouldn't be THAT unusual - I inherited her emotional heart and hydrated eyes for sure - I denied it for years, but again, it just isn't subtle: I cry a lot), and after a long silence, said "but you won't..." and I laughed and said "YES I will!" and she laughed, but after her laughter she was again silent... after we hung up I thought about how lucky I am to have a mother who aches when I have to say good-bye.        

My now 19 year old brother called me the other day and when I answered he said, "Hey beautiful sister.  I love you - I am just calling because I need to make sure that you know that I love you. Do you know that I love you?"   Take my breath away, little brother.  Take it away.  

I have a card from my sweet baby sister propped up where I can read it every day... her handwriting reminds me of my own.  She tells me in the card that she loves me, and starts it with "OH Charis."  I love reading her words in this card because I can feel in them, just beneath the surface, that she just wanted to hug me instead of writing them; and that's how I feel when I read them.  

My 13 year old brother just called me and said "I'm sick.  I had to stay home from school today.  And I'm about to go make a dookie."  To which I replied, "GROSS!"  Somehow I could not ask for a better phone call.  

Quite often when I am up roaming my apartment, my brain alive and my emotions surging, I write.  Sometimes writing for myself is good, and sometimes it is like eating Ramen noodles when you really, really want a beer.  In these moments I have people with whom I exchange wild e-mails - really and truly I say crazy things and withhold virtually nothing from these people - and they respond with some variety of, "bring it."  These exchanges are as life-giving as a blood transfusion.  

I have people who go antiquing with me and dream about my new home - they have me try on trannie shoes at the antique stores and let out loud gasps when a beautiful mid-century modern chair is discovered.

I have people that I might assume had died if I didn't talk to them for 24 hours.   

I have people who think of me fondly during their day.  

I have people who give me unexpected, thoughtful gifts.  

I have people who watch the sunset with me.  

I have people who let me love them like crazy.   

I have people who need only look at me for a moment to know how I am doing. 

I have people who laugh as loud and as long as I do (louder and longer, actually...that's what she said).

I have people who laugh at my "that's what she said" jokes and who find it as funny as I do when a homeless man looks at me with lustful crazy eyes and says a lot of non-words followed by "ALLEGORY." 

I have people who share my outrage at injustice and who stretch me to be creative and mature with my rage rather than brutally stabbing all people who oppress or demean.   

I have people I miss terribly because they live thousands of miles away. 

I have people who remember my stories.  

I have people with whom I have thousands of inside jokes that only get funnier.  

I have people who eat with me and drink with me.  

I have people who aren't scared of me and tell me when I'm full of horse shit (or any other variety of shit).  

No matter the waves of loneliness that wash over me, sometimes when I least expect them, the undeniable fact remains: I have people who love me.  I not only have people who love me, but I have so much love around me that I know if my legs and arms stopped working there would be someone there to catch me.   There would also be someone there to laugh with me about how hilarious I looked as I fell, and to suggest that I get my legs and arms looked at by a doctor.        

As I've been saying for months - my life has witnesses.  So even as I stand with my fist raised to the sky and my freshly shaven leg strategically revealed, I know that I cannot say "FUCK Valentine's Day, keep your damn day to yourself, ya bastard" without being heard and seen and loved as I say it.  And somehow this makes it hilarious.  And I am glad.  

Take my breath away, lovely people in my life.  I am so damn lucky.  

Comments

[Meghan]

holy shit... I am bawling my eyes out! And yes, I am at work, which will inevitably lead to an awkward red-eyed encounter with a co-worker, but I DON'T CARE.

I CANNOT BELIEVE that you would use the word "whiney" to describe this AND I love that you knew I would NOT think it was that at all.

I will be thinking about this all day and probably all week ... right through that horrible V day.

I love that our friendship started with swings from ridiculous laughter to bawling crying. You will always be tender sweets to me :)

I love it when you yell "fuck".
I love that you cry at most every movie.
I love that when you love something you really love it.
I love that little children give you dirty looks.
I love that homeless men are inspired to poetry in your presence.
I love that you ask me if I'm editing myself, and if so, I should stop.
I love your vegetable soup...uhhhhhhhhhh
I love that being your friend means I never have to feel like I'm "too much" of anything... too sad, too loud, too happy, too wild, too too too (if you put those together it would be toot ootoo... say it OUTLOUD, it's funny).
I love that even if I saw you yesterday, today there will be 9 million things to talk about.
Love you friend.

And yes... I would be one of the people that would call 911 if you went MIA (good music, yes) for 24 hours. Big Daddy and I would drive around until we found you. Hope you weren't planning on disappearing anytime soon... it would be futile.

LOVE!

[Sol]

I have always wanted to respond to your writing and your photography but have never had the courage to do so until now. We are strangers but the little glimpses I see of your life and your thoughts and your heart make me feel akin to you. I look forward to a new post with as much enthusiasm as reading a new book, snuggled in a favorite blanket on a favorite chair on a rainy whispy day...

What propelled me out of my cowardice after following your blog for so long was the urge for me to shout out "yes you are loved!" I think though that coming from someone you have no idea exists would be a tad creepy, weird, terrifying so I will hold on to that comment, and I'll pretend you read my mind instead.

It's a beautiful thing the way you unfold a story, a secret, a lie. You are exceptionally talented. Truly! For the most part when I see someone who is this talented I shy away and momentarily curse my meager results at expression. With you though, I am inspired. -Thank you. You give me courage.

[Kensey, sister of the world famous writer and photographer, Charis]

OH Charis, what do you have to be hateful towards V Day about? You have 10,000 Valentines! You're luckier than the people who only have their spouse to be with.. because you are loved times a million. Pick your valentine! You have so many choices. Or better yet, get your ass down to Texas and spend it with me!! Or just get down here soon.. because I love you.

[Jamie]

I know a Valentine for you. Look up Brenton Salo on MySpace. He's a cutie I went to school with and I think you could be great friends. He is a photographer from Portland. He's really nice and grew up in a good home and is very polite and good. :) Just in case you want to look......

[Charis Brice]

Hahahahaha!! Jamie I love that you are playing matchmaker! hHAahahhaa.... I DIED laughing at the "he's really nice and grew up in a good home and is very polite and good."
That is pretty much the best synopsis of a man I've ever heard.

Brenton is definitely getting hit up on myspace soon. I'll get him lined up for next Valentine's day. ;)

[Autumn]

Please, please just write a book. I need to be able to stash it away in my purse and take it/you with me. I love reading your posts but this one is one of my all time favorites. I miss seeing you around Charis.
Thank you again for this.