You can imagine the heart shock I had when I saw you yesterday in that lesbian bar - where did you disappear to so quickly? Whatever. It had been, what, some three years since I last saw you? Do you remember? It was in New York. Do you recall that crazy bike accident we saw? You showed up out of nowhere, like you usually do and we were walking under some scaffolding, just shy of the 23rd Street Station. The Flatiron Building loomed ahead of us. I remember looking at that building while I held your hand. I told you I wanted the building to tell me stories. You smiled and squeezed my hand tighter. That moment reminds me of the time we were walking together in San Francisco and we saw that sidewalk stencil graffiti on Valencia Street. You squeezed my hand tighter then too. I realize now you hold fast, if only with torturous brevity, to support me through all the times you've vanished.
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| Yep, the actual sidewalk stencil graffiti from Valencia Street. |
Anyway, when that cyclist got side-swiped by a pick-up truck, I was out in the street before she hit the ground - you know me, enough empathy to fill a mountain and confident during emergencies. I could feel you smiling at my back, full of pride, when I leaned over the unconscious gal. My hand went to my back pocket to retrieve a handkerchief and within seconds I had it pressed against the side of the woman's head. There was so much blood. For a split second I thought half her face was torn off when she bounced of that bus. She should have been wearing a helmet, but I think her thick nest of fire-engine red dreadlocks cushioned her fall. You told me later you turned to an old man standing next you to remark how glad you were to know me. With his eyes far away, the man grinned at the street; it was a smile that seemed to say he knew what it meant to love someone as much as you love me.
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| Yep, it's a true story. |
Do you remember my last bike wreck? That woo girl turned left right in front of me without signaling. I was coming down the hill on Pine Street in Seattle. The impact ripped my handlebars in half and I bounced off the windshield, landed in the street, and slid another 10 feet on the pavement. I was fine . . . well, sort of fine. The cops wouldn't let me make a statement because I was "injured." I wanted you to be there to set them straight, but you were still in New York I think. Or were you back in Cologne at that point? They gave me morphine at the hospital. I wanted you there to monitor me while I was high and not thinking straight. I still remember the smell of morphine - that sweet, tart plastic odor.
Ya know, our children think you should show up already, that you and I should officially meet. They miss their mother, even before they have found themselves born from you. Iselabein wants you to hold her hand while walking through the sculpture park and Cade wants you to sing him a lullaby while he begins to slumber under the blanket I had as a child. Naturally, I can do both of these things on my own, but it's better when we're both here - together. And I . . . I want to look into your eyes. I want to watch your heart shield me from all these fucking idiots and liars. I need your protection, but only as much as I know you need mine. This liar's paradise is nearly unbearable without you by my side.
I'm so tired of this. I know you . . . I just don't know where you are. Find me, please. Occasionally, I feel like we are wasting time by not being together presently, but then I realize it's impossible for me to waste time because of how I think everything is a lesson. I cut beautiful sculptures out the most boring stones. I paint away the wicked with worm-ridden mud. I marvel at the color of deep red as it drips in waves from my nose, bleeding from thinking about you too often - as if my brains drum to the sound of your heartbeat . . . somewhere in the world. The violent drumming will stop the moment we touch.
Yeah, I know, I sound really tortured, don't I? Yeah right, an ailing artist, wracked with the terror of not being able to ignore reality like the rest of 'em. Yes, I sound weak . . . but doesn't that make sense in the context of producing good work? Then again, my work isn't really for others as much as it's for me. If this backwards love letter happens to touch someone, in a good or bad way, then so be it.
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| Yep, above all others, it's my favorite flower. |
I love you for many reasons, but the following is one of the top reasons: You visited that cyclist gal in the hospital for me when I suddenly had to return to Seattle the next day. You brought her white trilliums because you knew how they are my favorite flower. Elspeth you're magical. How in the blazes of hell fire did you find trilliums in New York City? Impossible! Plus, you're incredible in that you pay attention. Your level of consideration and savvy puts so many of our human family to shame. You later reported the gal's name was Ima Grey, but people often mistake her name for "Emma." You said her name was shortened from Imathilde. She was adamant you said; Ima wanted to meet me (while conscious) because I had helped her that day. Thanks for explaining to her about my forthcoming demon in Seattle and about how she'd have to be patient to see me. Elspeth, it's been several years since that day in New York City. I've sent the succubus back to her own hell.
I'm ready to meet Ima now. And I'm ready for you to find me - for real. I'm ready for you to stop moving in and out my head. I want the nosebleeds to stop. I'm ready to break open my colossal heart in a way I haven't previously. I'm ready to love like a titan.
Sending you all of my respect and love,
Chance Wolf Koehnen
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