Wonder Woman Again

On Tuesday night, I went on a second date

dressed as

Wonder Woman.

I know...right?!

The back story: We tried to get together and then he was making cracks via email about how busy I am and then he asked if I was out saving the world, or something like that.

He made a joke about my invisible airplane. His last comment to me before we met was "Don't forget your cape!"

And like someone shoving me in the chest, I reacted. I thought "I'm gonna wear my Wonder Woman costume."

Wonder Woman

I bought the outfit in 2006 one month after Art was diagnosed with cancer during his first battle.

I wanted to be a queen that year until Langston, then age 9, pointed out the Wonder Woman costume and said "Mom, you should be this!" I laughed as I paid for it at the register.

Art almost fell over when I met him at the door after he was being escorted home from a chemo treatment.

My friends thought it was the best costume .... EVER.

And then I put it way.

And then, three years later Art died.

So on Tuesday, I'm sitting outside a wine bar, in my car, dressed as a blonde Wonder Woman. And I'm on the phone talking to a widow friend of mine.

"This is stupid." I say.

"No it's not Kim. It's who you are. You are Wonder Woman!"

I take it in.

I feel my superpower rising.

She is right.

I am Wonder Woman.

Wonder Woman is back, I think.

Wonder Woman with the faults that do not make her weak but actually make her strong.

Wonder Woman is real.

Wonder Woman has been who I have been all this time, since the moment he was diagnosed to this moment, one year and 8 months after his death.

I realize Wonder Woman is back.

I wear it to meet this guy who is laughing so hard he can't talk for a moment.

I stand there laughing too because he enjoys the joke so much, because I had the balls to say "Fuck it" again and show up in a costume for a second date.

The next day I am laughing because he has written out the lyrics to the Wonder Woman theme song and sent them to me and... he asked me to accompany him to a Christmas party.

He likes Wonder Woman.

The costume will not go back in the Halloween box.

It will stay with me, in my closet so that

I can remember

that Art's death

has brought back

Wonder Woman.

It's nice to see her again.

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Exhaustion

Exhaustion runs through me

so thoroughly

that I am sure my body now uses it

in place of 30% of my blood.

I can't think.

Eating feels too strenuous

unless I can rip open a bag.

And then if I do,

what I eat is so tasteless

that I end up spitting it out

into the garbage.

Why bother making the effort to chew that crap.

I look haggard,

drawn,

tight.

My skin does not reflect exuberance

but looks more like a pond that has not been drained

properly, murky, unclear and blachy.

I know that I am killing myself.

Not by over dosing on pills,

or alcohol

but by just running at this pace,

the pace of a young,hustling widow

with kids.

I know it needs to stop,

or my body will stop me.

And then I will be made to rest

in a hospital

and it will be a fitful, uneasy rest

because even there

I will be making the ever changing priority list

of things that NEED to get done.

So as I crawl into bed, faced with

the prospect of getting

8 hours of sleep, instead of the 5 I can't exist on

I promise myself that I will

let

the

list

lie.

I promise that I will stretch in the morning.

I promise that I will use the damn massage

gift certificate that was

sent to me

(anonymously)

over a year ago.

(This person took the time to send me several of them! So I better damn use them. THANK YOU whoever you are.)

I promise to refill the well with water by

sleeping

and eating

and doing nothing

nothing

nothing

for at least 30 minutes a day.

He would be proud of me for all of my promises.

He used to say

"What? Do you think you'll finally

get everything done on your list?

You will die with a to-do list so

stop worrying about it so much."

He died with his to-do list

and the biggest thing that is going

undone

is me.

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Value Added

I said good bye to this guy a few days ago. Actually what I said was, “Let's just call this what it seems to have turned into, a friendship.…”

I did it in an an email cause I tried to break it off once before over the phone and I moronically then asked him if he wanted a second chance (I KNOW!!! I KNOW…not my finest moment in the newly learning-to-date world.)

I hit send, then slammed my fist into the table.

Then my head.

And then the stupid fucking tears started

I was so mad at thim.

Why did he not see my value?

Why did he keep stringing me along?

And then I went “Huh.”

as I lifted my head and swiped

at my tears with my hand.

I see my value.

That’s why I sent the email.

I see that as much as a cliché as it is, life is to short to be treated poorly or to try to GET anyone to like me.

And I see that in letting him go

Another will come. I can feel him coming now, like a tug in my gut.

In letting this one go, I opened the door for another one to enter.

I got into my car whistling.

There is beauty in Art’s death.

The beauty is that I am here

Alone, without him

And I see

I

have

value

And the value feels added, like something I didn’t have before.

In this new life, I realize now, it wasn’t having Art that gave me value (like I had thought).

It was who he loved that gave me value.

And he loved me.

All my opinionated, brilliant, sometime off the wall ideas.

He loved my hearty laugh and hated the way I would interrupt him.

He loved how quick I was and how much I appreciated his amazing brilliance.

He loved how when we argued and we would switch sides.

He hated my ability to chill him with just one look

And he loved the way I kissed.

But it was not his love that made me valuable.

It was his acceptance of me that made me see my value.

And now it wasn’t until he was gone,

that I really saw how much he loved me.

Anyway, I’m in my car singing after the head banging and the crying.

And I’m singing loudly and quite well, thank you very much,

Because in his death I discovered my value.

And it feels like value added.

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