January 28, 1998
I can’t sleep. It’s as if I am trying to spend every second I can with her, even if she isn’t conscious. She is lying next to me, her breathing labored. Her chest rises and falls as if she has just ran a marathon, only she is asleep. It’s funny how we treat dying people as we do babies. Don’t wake them up unless they are already waking up.
I really think that people that go quietly in the night are luckiest. There has to be a point to all this suffering. She is one of my gods, someone I can touch, feel, love physically and mentally. Someone that is tangible, accessible.
Gayle told me what she misses the most about Mike is that she thinks of something she wants to tell him and she will be thinking, “I need to remember to...” and then she remembers he’s dead, and that is what hurts the most.
What I am losing is not only one of my gods, but unconditional love and acceptance. I am by no means perfect, but mom accepts me for most of my quirks. Granny has been more of a mother to me, doing the traditional things, but mom was so unusual. I could always talk to her and I can think of only one time I ever threatened her with violence, back when I was 16.
When Anne was on chemo and mad at the world, she got angry at mom for something and went to smack her and was there and I hit her hand down and when I came down, I was close enough in blocking her that my hand got tangled in her Hickman (a port inserted into the heart) and it yanked out a little. To hear Anne tell the story is totally different. She claims she hit me in my head, and I think after that, she did, because I was protecting mom.
I have been in only one chick fight. Some bitch in high school and I were once friends. She was a bitch and we quit talking. So someone wrote, “I hate ugly bitch” on the bathroom wall. She erroneously assumed I was the one that wrote it and the shit she wrote about me was just horrible. Something along the line of, “putting a bullet through my bleached blonde head.”
I stewed. I didn’t confront her because we all know confrontation is the biggest fear of all. Jezebel and I went to this record store and guess who was in there? Bitch and her boyfriend. Jezebel told me before I noticed and so I waited outside for her. Jezebel came out and was like “They are paying and coming out.”
Adrenaline is surging through my brain, she exits the store and I call after her, “Try and kill me now, BITCH.”
“Oh, Cathy Clay, FUCK YOU!”
Then she committed a grievous mistake and turned her back on me. She stepped down off the sidewalk, away from the car, not towards it, panicking I assume, and I jumped down off the sidewalk and grabbed the back of her head and just started pounding at her face. There are several advantages to growing up in a big family, and being farted on by your brother isn’t one of them, learning how to fight is.
She was hitting me with her purse and pulling hair and I am just pounding away. She falls back on to the pavement and I go with her since she has my hair. I fell on top of her and heard “Oh GOD!” I was on top of her, and I clocked her right in the nose, and for some reason, I got scared she was going to hit ME, or the cops were around the corner, so I jumped up off of her and Jezebel and I took off. She laughed the whole way to my house, and I was just stoned from the rush.
Her boyfriend told me the next day at the lunch table what a bitch I was for making him have to listen to “I’m gonna kill her” all the way back to her place. He pointed out that she was the one with the bloody nose, hence she was the one that got her ass kicked. I am sure she wasn’t happy about this revelation. I don’t think they stayed together and she ended up getting pregnant by a 14 year old.