1999-12-23

nostalgia

Last night I went out to Cornwall's with Kim and Ethan. I hadn't seen Kim in close to 10 years, so we had much in the way of catching up to do. The conversation turned to a mutual friend/role model we'd known while we were in high school.

Bear in mind that Kim, Ethan, Raziel and I all grew up in Hingham, MA., which I've dubbed "The Land of Madras Plaid and Boat Shoes" for obvious reasons, not the least of which being that I generally need not say anything more by way of description. People just say, "Ahhh. I see." Certainly it's not the worst place to spend one's formative years, but if you're a little bit off-kilter, if after-school lacrosse practice and drinking Bud Lights in the rec. room while the folks were in St. Croix wasn't your bag, you tended to need an outlet. For me and Kim, that outlet was this aforementioned role model (I'll call her "Connie").

To me, Connie was magic. Connie was this crazy frizzy-haired artist painting insane swirly day-glo murals in a town where "local art" generally meant navy blue and white duck doorstoppers and fisherman lamps. If you were really out there, maybe you had a garden gnome. Connie would pile us all into her station wagon full of paper mache fish, and take us with her on her errands to the photo shop, and the hardware store. "You are too much, kiddo!" she'd shriek at me when I said something saucy. Connie counseled me on my crushes ("Oh, he's got kissy lips, sweetie. Nice big kissy lips.") and she'd let me draw flamingos all over her studio walls. I never saw Connie as an "eccentric housewife." I held Connie up as a sterling example that you could be weird wherever you were, and thrive.

Was Connie happy, though? I honestly never gave it much thought. I have pictures of us at her house, gaggles of punker kids draped over her drafting tables, wearing her scarves. I have pictures of Connie, resplendent in paint-spattered jeans, striking queenly poses, again surrounded by us, her devoted minions. Connie was always there to give us rides, take us to "Rocky Horror," paint little designs on our jackets. But was she happy?

Kim told me that these days, Connie has her hair short. She wears suits and works for Amway. Connie has told Kim that she'll "never go back," meaning that she has no interest in art anymore.

I want very much to believe that Connie is happy in her new life. I would not be so selfish as to demand that she "go back" simply so I can have my old Connie back, even if I haven't seen her in a few years, just so I could know that some things are a constant: that even as I approach 30, even as I pay my bills and balance my checkbook, I would have the security of knowing that Connie was still in her studio, calling everyone "kiddo" and getting glitter everywhere. If this is what makes Connie happy, then I'm happy for her.

I just really, really hope she's happy.

lisamcc at 10:32:44

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