Bekah Zask Memorial Pages


it happened again, second time in two days. don't ask me why.

i have this dumpster diver's dream of a desk in my living room, and i don't want it anymore. it's one of those big old L-shaped things, solid wood, too big for me to move it by myself.

but tonight i did finally get a small start by emptying out one of six drawers. this had scraps of old diaries, pieces of paper really, as old as thirty-one years...toward the end i found this bitter little blurb addressed to a nameless strange arrangement back in the days of living in a shoe and having given up hope that i would ever find love in my life again:

You were there. one little kiss, two little kiss. Let's not talk, shall we. Now I see what men are about - I find out they are righter than me. Ignore the unpleasant. You have no idea - the whole thing is not to be bummed. I find that's a possibility. And when I'm falling out alone it's the same man I think of all the time. Not you.

on this paper, obviously written at the desk of the glass shop where i worked for eighteen years while raising my children, i noted the date after the scribbling. and guess what? I wrote that on 07-19-88, precisely thirteen years before my daughter was killed. if i gasped when i found the poem from 07-19-99 yesterday, when i saw that date on this piece of paper i nearly screamed.

now i don't know what if anything this means. i have a theory though, about life, great nature, the way things sometimes just seem to happen. not reason, but rhyme. gawd i haven't ever been able to imagine a reason that sounded reasonable to me for so fucking much of what goes on on this planet...but i've been struck by the rhymes oh at least a million times.
maybe more...and lest you think that on 07-19-88 i was not concerned with the wellbeing of the little girl who would be murdered thirteen years later to the day,on the flip side i had written, "She's at Tiffany's," and the phone number for that friend of my daughter's.
- posted by barbara @ 1/13/2003 01:34:00 AM