February 26, 2003 - 10:42 p.m.
For the past five days, my body has been fighting off a viral infection. My head is dizzy and both ears are clogged. Damn telemarketers averaging three phone calls per day. And wait a minute before answering or playing a pre-recorded sales pitch. It's so damn irritating. To hear nothing but dead silence. Or a telemarketer after waiting a minute or longer. It's to the point I refuse to answer any calls with "unknown caller" or "blocked" displaying inside the CallerId window. My time is valuable and limited. I want a real, sincere, known voice on the other end of the phone line.
Today Athena called me out of the blue from Florida. I haven't seen her in three long years. She gave up smoking and is painting again. It was like no time passed between us. She told me about her recent breakup with an Egyptian entrepreneur and her latest art work. Several years ago, I commissioned her to paint a three foot canvas before she left town. She specializes in Trompel'oeil; trickery of the eye. She painted a woman morphed into a classical guitar sitting beneath a windowsill. A piece that i affectionately call "Big Butt" because i thought the butt too big for me. With age, I became more like the painting. She must have known age does that to us sometimes. As an Army brat, she traveled throughout Europe and was impressed with Fresco paintings. She loves Renaissance style best. And uses older century techniques and themes in her artwork. When Athena lived nearby, we would have lunch together at some quaint cafe' and take long walks for alone time. Athena smoking brown Shermans and chatting a mile a minute. She later confessed to be a typical artist with mood swings and chronic fatique syndrome. I adored her nonetheless. But did not want to come between her marriage problems and passionate artwork. She felt I had mislead her at one point, because I wouldn't sleep with her. It would have taken the friendship in a different, forever changing direction. And I wasn't in love with all aspects of her personality. I was in awe with her paintings and artwork. In the beginning months, she felt judged by me. Felt I was comparing my painful childhood memories with her artistic condition. It startled me to see her in the same clothes, unkept at times. She was on a low that week. Three unemptied ashtrays on the coffee table, stacks of magazines, and empty cigarette boxes. She laughed and said "Fuck it all, I don't care anymore." And she didn't that week. Or the next. Her behavior frightened me a little. Stirred the little girl inside still waiting on the front step for her other mommy to return home again, healed of all the demons inside her troubled mind. That day never came in one setting. But trickled back again in small dosages with the medicines she takes. Mom turns 64 next week. I miscalculated Athena's true inner strength and stamina. She is a real survivor. And lives alone with her cats in Tallahassee. She mentioned moving back here and reconcilling with her husband she never divorced. He changes jobs as often as his underwear. But wants her to come back home again. I promised her a big lunch in the city. And a walk to her favorite landmarks and tourist spots. I've missed her very much these past three years. It was good hearing Athena's voice today. What little I could decipher on my cell phone. She has this deep, rasping voice from years of cigarette smoking.
She is like my older sister I never had. In our earlier years, we could have passed for real sisters when our hair was the same color and length.
Athena said she missed me. Tears streamed down my face as I remembered her heart felt words. She was a true friend to me. And I a good friend to her. I always tried to reciprocate her gifts with kindness and understanding. We went to the Lilith Fairs together. I always treated her to lunch and concert tickets. And drove 20 miles each way to see her. Once she talked her husband in driving his old '58 Chevy pickup to my house. I was going to give them my old hottub. But it wouldn't fit inside their small truck bed. During his Chef days, he held a 40th birthday party for Athena. And I showed up alone before meeting their city block of neighbors. People marveled over her murals, and artwork on every wall of their leased three bedroom house. She made me feel alive in music and art. I understood she wasn't a philospher, politician, historian, psychologist, or scholar. She is/was a caring mother, friend, painter, and journalist. She loves people and served as a group moderator when the Internet was comprised of newsgroups and usergroups in text format. A decade ago. I met her online and we've stayed friends for seven years. It was good to hear her voice again today.
~ Soldier Girl
