I probably shouldn't say (write?) this but your friends don't sound like friends to me. The taxi driver was a better friend than they were. So was your ex who is now your husband (congratulations, you have a good man).
Doctor Hammer, to be fair, it was not raining yet when we left the club, so it's not like they literally left me out in the rain.
Yes, the cabbie was my hero!
Interestingly, my then-ex-boyfriend (now-husband) was at the club and did not offer to take me home, nor did I ask. I'm sure he was trying to avoid me inviting him in to my little house. While I was upset at him about that for a few weeks, I knew it must have been hard for him just to be in the club with me, knowing our long and intense history!
Also, I know that if it HAD been raining, he would have driven me home, despite us being estranged. He is *just* that kind of person.
Aww, that's sweet of you to say. I was a little upset that none of my friends would drive me home (it wasn't even raining yet!), but I'm sure they didn't want to give me the impression that I could just hitch rides from them on a regular basis (which I would not have done). Yes, the taxi driver was not just my friend that night but my savior. It's weird to say, but it's true: I don't think I would have survived in the cold and rain for another few hours until work traffic started and the buses began their sort-of regular schedules.
What an ordeal. I have some wild and weird memories of my ten years of being single, most of which I will take to the grave.
Sometimes the kindness of a stranger is an unexpected and wonderful surprise. Kudos to Ron for being your white knight, helps me to understand him too.
This is gorgeous writing, Sharine. There's a painterly richness to prose like this that transports me into the place and time -- even into that very *room* you describe, with all its harrowing despair.
Just one example of many that gripped me:
"In the dark of night — as if in some kind of film noire — loud thunder crashed and lightning flashed, as if the sky itself had finally cracked open. The sound of the rain hitting my tiny roof was unbelievably loud, like death metal drumming. I was wide awake from my sickened stuporous slumber, wondering if my little house would slip off its foundation and go floating down to the Mighty Pacific Ocean."
Holy moly! That's a feast of language. Of course you defeated El Nino; what chance would Nature's hobgoblins have against a poetry like that. On a side note, I'm glad you kept the bills, even from such a heroic hack. Like the tale of Abraham and Issaac, I think the mere fact we are willing to sacrifice such gifts will often suffice.
Your song was a pitch perfect coda to this story; haunting and tragic, but sung with such sweetness that I couldn't help but smile. Like a Murder Ballad without the murder (which strikes me as the best kind, these days).
I'm going to recommend this piece on my stack sometime this week. In the meantime, I urge you to keep writing. You have a gift.
Wow, Mark, your comment warmed my heart. I am also "gripped" by *your* fabulous command of the English language, and how you use it to inspire others to be their best.
I am dramatic with language, but it is an art, after all. And really good art often stems from extreme emotional states. I know, because we are creative beings, that we fend off the anti-life, Divinity-defiling black magicians by *alchemizing* our trauma into beautiful art, whether it's a vegetable garden, a painting, a poem, a song, a dance, a mosaic, a sculpture, a well-written story, or any other truly heartfelt expression of our essence as spark and sparkle of the Divine.
Wow! The serendipitous complexity of this is just awesome!
You can thank Mark Bisone for a one year subscription even though I can barely afford it being an aging dog groomer trying to be an artist with a yearly salary of about 15,000 a year! You go girl!
I’m willing to use my art to help support others. I don’t believe in making a profit; I believe in making a living. I am a dog groomer so that I can be an artist. Anything beyond my living is extra that needs to be passed on. My website is a portfolio site. As an artist who has the ability to give, I truly wish to support others. This is how we grow the alternative economies.
Love your song .... and your cat!
I probably shouldn't say (write?) this but your friends don't sound like friends to me. The taxi driver was a better friend than they were. So was your ex who is now your husband (congratulations, you have a good man).
That was my thought too... anyone who wouldn't give you a ride home, especially on a night like that, isn't your friend.
Such instances give others a chance to shine, however; the cabbie deserves a salute, and her now husband definitely showed his worth.
Thanks for sharing, Sharine!
Doctor Hammer, to be fair, it was not raining yet when we left the club, so it's not like they literally left me out in the rain.
Yes, the cabbie was my hero!
Interestingly, my then-ex-boyfriend (now-husband) was at the club and did not offer to take me home, nor did I ask. I'm sure he was trying to avoid me inviting him in to my little house. While I was upset at him about that for a few weeks, I knew it must have been hard for him just to be in the club with me, knowing our long and intense history!
Also, I know that if it HAD been raining, he would have driven me home, despite us being estranged. He is *just* that kind of person.
Aww, that's sweet of you to say. I was a little upset that none of my friends would drive me home (it wasn't even raining yet!), but I'm sure they didn't want to give me the impression that I could just hitch rides from them on a regular basis (which I would not have done). Yes, the taxi driver was not just my friend that night but my savior. It's weird to say, but it's true: I don't think I would have survived in the cold and rain for another few hours until work traffic started and the buses began their sort-of regular schedules.
What an ordeal. I have some wild and weird memories of my ten years of being single, most of which I will take to the grave.
Sometimes the kindness of a stranger is an unexpected and wonderful surprise. Kudos to Ron for being your white knight, helps me to understand him too.
Indeed. Stories that will go to the graveyard without a headstone! I have a few, myself.
Ron saved my life another time a few years prior to the El Niño. Maybe I'll write about that story.
Sounds interesting. Helps me to understand your great bond between you two.
We have a pretty good story. A couple of freaks who found each other in La La Land!
The good kind of freaks not what we have now.
Haha, yeah, we're not zombies, trannies, or NPCs!🤣
Exactly. the meaning of words sure can change over time.
This is gorgeous writing, Sharine. There's a painterly richness to prose like this that transports me into the place and time -- even into that very *room* you describe, with all its harrowing despair.
Just one example of many that gripped me:
"In the dark of night — as if in some kind of film noire — loud thunder crashed and lightning flashed, as if the sky itself had finally cracked open. The sound of the rain hitting my tiny roof was unbelievably loud, like death metal drumming. I was wide awake from my sickened stuporous slumber, wondering if my little house would slip off its foundation and go floating down to the Mighty Pacific Ocean."
Holy moly! That's a feast of language. Of course you defeated El Nino; what chance would Nature's hobgoblins have against a poetry like that. On a side note, I'm glad you kept the bills, even from such a heroic hack. Like the tale of Abraham and Issaac, I think the mere fact we are willing to sacrifice such gifts will often suffice.
Your song was a pitch perfect coda to this story; haunting and tragic, but sung with such sweetness that I couldn't help but smile. Like a Murder Ballad without the murder (which strikes me as the best kind, these days).
I'm going to recommend this piece on my stack sometime this week. In the meantime, I urge you to keep writing. You have a gift.
Wow, Mark, your comment warmed my heart. I am also "gripped" by *your* fabulous command of the English language, and how you use it to inspire others to be their best.
I am dramatic with language, but it is an art, after all. And really good art often stems from extreme emotional states. I know, because we are creative beings, that we fend off the anti-life, Divinity-defiling black magicians by *alchemizing* our trauma into beautiful art, whether it's a vegetable garden, a painting, a poem, a song, a dance, a mosaic, a sculpture, a well-written story, or any other truly heartfelt expression of our essence as spark and sparkle of the Divine.
I am so deeply touched by your appreciation.💝
Wow! The serendipitous complexity of this is just awesome!
You can thank Mark Bisone for a one year subscription even though I can barely afford it being an aging dog groomer trying to be an artist with a yearly salary of about 15,000 a year! You go girl!
Wow! I don't have a "paid subscriber" option, so I'm not sure what you are talking about.
This is an interesting comment. I can't for the life of me figure out how you would've found my post, Astrid.
I get your Substack in my email.
That's cool. I just don't see how that's possible. I don't see you listed as one of my subscribers.
I am. Your Substack shows up in my email.
Weird. Maybe just a glitch in the Matrix :)
Happy reading. And good luck with your art!
I’m willing to use my art to help support others. I don’t believe in making a profit; I believe in making a living. I am a dog groomer so that I can be an artist. Anything beyond my living is extra that needs to be passed on. My website is a portfolio site. As an artist who has the ability to give, I truly wish to support others. This is how we grow the alternative economies.
https://www.nordnessart.com/home
Ok, how do I give you some money? Or would you like a piece of art?
Or is there somewhere I can send a check?