Loolaville: Real Life Stories: Cabin Fever
Cabin Fever
Tonight I had a major case of cabin fever so I went for a drive and ended up at the coffehouse on the square again. It's becoming quite the familiar place, and I suppose it isn't perfect due to the general crowd that still gets up every morning and goes to high school, but next to perfect. There were a lot of those teenagers there tonight, sitting in little groups talking, and I sort of started to feel worse....It was one of those "lost in the crowd" or "lonely but not alone" things.
Then I saw Poppy singing on the little platform stage with her blue guitar on her lap. She was wearing a long patchwork skirt and had a cotton long-sleeved tee hanging from her tiny frame. It slipped a little off of her shoulder and she looked so small and delicate she could have been an angel. She sang a couple Jewel songs, with a few wisps of her brown hair falling around her eyes, which were half squeezed shut. I listened until she ended with a song she wrote herself-- I think about her boyfriend John and a bowl full of cherries or something. Everyone seemed to love to hear her sing, and I found myself no exception. Her voice is very soft and sweet, but throaty and powerful when necessary. She's also really one of the most beautiful people I know, with her quiet round eyes and pouty lips, framed by full and soft cheeks that you just want to reach out and touch.
After her set, we went into the bathroom and talked, mostly about how bad my day was, and whether or not I should really get some help about all these bad days that I have. Somedays I think I need to go somewhere and have someone or something help me get a little less fucked up....Other days I'm determined to do it myself, and the whole treatment thing with groupy addicts is terrifying. Poppy wanted to help, but she felt inadequate so I asked for a simple hug. So she hugged me and sort of held onto me, and from nowhere, I had this feeling of complete and utter safety in that little bathroom with a single toilet and no mirror. The mural on the wall was bright and beautiful, with rich reds and hot pinks framing these delicate and somewhat abstract women, or angels maybe, playing stringed instruments. They were oil on plaster, but God, they practically came to life around me and I could hear their melody in blues and greens.
Time sort of slowed for ten seconds and then someone started knocking on the door, so we left and joined the rest of the crowd again. I burnt the top of my mouth on a steamy mocha and ended up listening to Poppy's friend Debbie talk about her life. She was a loner in the crowd as well, and once we started talking she just rambled and rambled -mostly out of relief to have someone to ramble to. I didn't mind though, so I listened and we discussed our tattoos and the love of her life--the man who's married but nonetheless is her soulmate. We shared cigarettes and I listened for at least an hour about him, and other things she had on her mind.
Before I knew it, it was 12:30 and I caught myself yawning. We wrapped up our conversation and I put out my cigarette and pulled on my heavy, black coat. Poppy gave me a hug goodbye and asked if I felt better. Yes, I said, Interaction always helps.
I walked out through the back and headed outside to my car and the cold wind bit at my ears. The sky was dark and huge, with little twinkles here and there, and I stared at it briefly before getting into my car. I thought about what I said to her as I left, and I had to admit....I little bit more of me came alive tonight. And I had that brief reassurance pass through me that I knew I'd be okay.
