Testing, testing... 1,2,3...

This is an attempt to write.

I haven’t written for years. I feel the muscles in my brain flail, the synapses firing without much response. A long, dull echo – nobody’s home.

Where have I been all this time? Moving to London, meeting my husband, getting married, changing jobs, getting pregnant, breastfeeding for eleven months, imagining our children growing up in London and getting depressed, moving to France, learning French, getting settled, making friends, moving again, getting pregnant again, breastfeeding again, and not wanting to work but finding a job. Now where? Making adjustments. I can be called responsible, I suppose, for a full-time, energetic family of four where I am supposed to be the wife/mother/lover/cook/cleaner.

Life has changed. I blinked, and here I am.

I still dream of New York, but from ten years ago. We danced swing until midnight at Windows of the World. Exhausted, taking off my shoes and wandering around the 107th floor. Finding a full-length window opening straight into the bright night sky and watching my toes only an inch away from the edge of that Tower. Then one day, we watched it fall. We cried together, over sushi, on Sept 14th. We heard people chanting to unnamed gods in Union Square Park. We tried to pray. I walked through the empty streets until my legs ached. The smoke cleared. Wall Street moved uptown. I made a deal with the bank, packed up my rabbit and left in December.

My dreams always take me to a suburb of Los Angeles, where there is a house on a street I once knew. Then I’m driving on a freeway that dumps me at the beach. It is blackest night, so I hear the waves but cannot see them. The sound is so close, I think I’ve driven into the water.

The tide pushes me, pulls me, and pushes me back. It is my little boy’s warm body climbing into bed with me, pushing and shoving so he can have some of the covers. He kisses my cheek and says “Maman.” His little hands find mine. My husband snores softly. It’s Saturday morning. We have nothing planned. Then the alarm goes off – our baby, with her lusty cry. I gather her up and make her milk, along with my morning tea. Yawning Hubbie kisses everyone and prepares breakfast. Mom calls and says she’s coming for Christmas. My son opens the shutters, and the sun comes streaming in.