Today I woke up in Scotland. Now, we’re in a tavern/pub. It’s upstairs. It’s around noon. We parked on the dead-end ally, on the right side of the street, the front of the small car facing the two story building. We walked inside, turned right, and walked up to the second floor. It’s pretty inside. It’s all wood. Shiny, caramel wood walls. And bar. The left side of the pub are windows. There is random stained glass; flowers, a cross, a pretty mosaic. Outside is grey. Wet. It seems like we are, often, walking through clouds.
It’s fun to try and order vegetarian food. We sit at a high table, climb onto a shiny chair, and see what’s written on a chalkboard behind the bar. We are meandering in the highlands, with Cawdor Castle being today (or tomorrow’s) destination. You order soup and a beer. I have a cider and a salad. Later I’ll ask you to stop at a market so I can get some cookies.
Now, a local asks us where we’re from. We are told that this man’s son is currently in New York, but the father doesn’t seem to know why, exactly. He drops his shoulders and laughs. We laugh too. We’ve observed that Scottish people have big smiles and big laughs, so it never feels super gloomy here. Not really.
We haven’t yet been invited to the Scottish boy’s birthday party, that happens later. We’ll see a young man lifted up, while sitting in a chair, and he’ll be carried around the large room to pick up the pound notes his friends and family are waving at him.
I’ve been coping better in unfamiliar places. Jay has, without purpose, made this happen. I never feel unsafe with him. He’s confident, he’s the smartest person I’ve ever known-that never changes. It took me some time to realize I was safe, with him. I’d never known what it felt like to be safe. It gave me a sense of safety that would grow, allow me to take a lot of risks. Taking risks, with Jay, is what forced me to start living.
I fell back asleep. I wanted to travel more. I wanted to go back to that super scary Scottish road that wound and wound and wound…But. I woke up in Hawaii. That was okay. I loved waking up there. Especially Kauai. It wasn’t our honeymoon. It was when we stayed closer to the North Shore. We drove our red rental car to a spot on the road where there was a sign that pointed to the right side of the road. We parked there and hiked, in the mud, down to a beach. We walked through all the trees and mud, and then to the sand. We set up on the beach. We saw fish. We swam in the ocean. Every time I got into the water in Kauai I was in awe of the warmth of the ocean. Every time. I’d no idea that the ocean could be so warm. It wasn’t in Half Moon Bay. Or near Eureka. Those were the only oceans I’d been in, until I met Jay.
Someone said, “Be careful. Watch out for jellyfish.” That freaked me out. But it was okay. When I was with Jay, I was okay. I knew I always would be okay.
I woke up again, today. I’m in my art gallery. I love my gallery. Jay came by to set something up on my computer. I’d been looking at the DWR catalog. I wanted to get Jay something nice. I wanted to get him something to sit in, something that was beautiful, and wouldn’t be uncomfortable. I wanted him to be able to be comfortable and not be hurtful to his back. I was researching the Eames Lounge Chair. And Ottoman. It was beautiful. I knew he’d love it, but wouldn’t ever buy it for himself.
I was sipping a cranberry martini that Jay had made me when I started waking up. In this room. In Dallas. I hadn’t opened my eyes but my face was wet from tears. This was normal. Flynn hates me. I gave him many reasons to do so. He’s not my son anymore. He’s a man who hates me. I’m sure there are many others. I am on the bed, in the hospital, Jay is holding my hand. I am pushing Flynn out of my body. And I’m doing it with no pain relief. And preeclampsia. Jay keeps telling me I can do it. You can do it. So. I do. That was January 7, 2005.
I never wanted to believe all of the things I knew were true, about me, for other people. I’m a piece of shit. And I’m insane. It says so right on my medical records. So far today, many times, I’ve wished I could rewrite my own story. Now, I see a life, my life, that hasn’t stopped living just because I’m no longer in it. I want to a return character.
Every day I wake up all over the world. I think about how to stop the incessant waking up. So far, none of my attempts have worked. The other day, I woke up in Ireland. We’d just hit a cow. And I went to sleep in Dallas. By myself. Knowing that the biggest memory loss I’m living with is the fact that I’m hardly a memory, for anyone, anymore. I hope that, soon, I wake up in that little white villa, in Andalusia. We drive to the convent, with that 5′ wide, windy road, and we ate those delicious chocolate treats the nuns cooked. Jay purchased a flower from a nun. He gave me the flower. I hope that I wake up again here, soon. And that I never go back to sleep.
Michelle O’Kane 