2007-11-30
John's Head is Gone Again
Poor John the Baptist, so called because his head is cut off at almost every turn despite his inimitable faith in mankind.
He also lives in a cave.
Trailer.
Whatever.
I have to go visit him this weekend.
I used to go check up on him here and there, in his fifth wheel parked in a really, really nasty part of town.
I just wanted to make sure he wasn't hallowed out too badly from drugs or TV or the complete inactivity to which he is inclined.
I went by one afternoon a couple of months ago and there was no trailer.
His vehicle was still there, if you want to call it a vehicle. It is pretty gutted at this point, the only thing that looks like it might be in working order was a Domino's Pizza Delivery light dangling down into the car from the roof.
I went by the next week and even the truck was gone.
I thought it had probably been looted and eventually completely jacked by the neighborhood tweakers.
Naturally, I called his mom.
She told me that John the Baptist was in love and that the guillotine was being prepared.
Ahh, maybe not!
She's got children and is supporting him and her children.
Well, some women are....
She's older than he is.
I think that's common these days...
His father likes her.
Game, set, match Mrs. Baptist.
I remember when he was in less a state of failure years ago and we were together, ummmm.... biblically.
I remember family dinners being served to the soundtrack of John and Mrs. B. SCREAMING AT EACH OTHER.
It was so uncomfortable.
She would get so angry with John that it would turn to the cuckolded Mr. B. who was quietly trying to eat and avoid my attempts to catch his eye and exchange a look of understand, knowing sarcasm.
He never liked me.
A port in the storm, I was.
A brilliant, motivated, educated, well-kept, young woman who would go to the gym for a couple of hours and then go job-hunting for most of the day and John the Baptist's parents didn't like me all that much.
And there ya go.
You can say, and I know it's true, that not liking me was because of knowing I was never, ever going to stick around.
I believe the words 'spoiled' and 'condescending' were tossed in my direction, at a comfortable distance from my face.
Well, yeah.
To some, it might seem that way.
I was going places that their kid was never gonna even think to go and instead of encouraging him to come along on my ride, they preferred to put me down as being snotty.
But I think if someone really thinks I am snobby or something than that person needs to rise up.
Seriously.
And if those persons don't like me because I don't intend to live in trailers or to have children that need to be minded by the boyfriend I found ripe for the using then it's probably crystal-clear that there's a bit of a class issue at the very least of the issues afoot.
Anyway.
He's had his head cut off again.
I'll task myself with a visit to the cave.
I loved him.
I loved the way he smelled and the way he called me his pet name for me.
I loved the cowboy that used to be in him.
I loved when we broke up that he knew more than I did.
He did something huge for me, something intangible and full of magic and for that I will always stop by to make sure his head is placed back on the bloody stump of neck from which it was severed.
I will always take an hour to snuggle into the trailer next to him, pull his favorite blanket around us and let him cry until the salt from his tears has adequately washed the wound of severance.
Poor, sweet John the Baptist.
How he got into my heart is a mystery to me; a mystery to no one is that he never got out from the tenderest, purest part of my soul and that I will always give him the moment of stillness we all should be so lucky to need.
arizonasarah at 12:34 p.m.