Jul
18
John and Carolyn and Lauren. Poof.
I woke up this morning and opened the blinds to the spectre of an elderly black woman throwing white roses into the sea. I watched for a few moments with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach before I turned on the television.
I often see women in crisply starched uniforms, women in the service of the grand estates that line the beach, praying by the ocean at sunrise. At first I found it a bit curious, and then I realised, where better to praise God than in the presence of such beauty?
All day today, images from his life spilling across the screen– Martha’s Vineyard, New York City, Washington DC. The day his mother died, mourners gathered outside of her Fifth Avenue apartment, six blocks away from mine, their arms full of roses, weeping.
I’m glad she didn’t live to see this.
We used to trade our Jackie sightings like currency. Even my most sophisticated New York City girlfriends would become undone at the sight of her. When you recognised her on the street, she’d meet your eyes and smile her little Jackie-smile. She didn’t look away. And we loved her for that. She belonged to us all.
As I write this, the night search for his Piper is underway off the Gay Head Cliffs in the waters surrounding Martha’s Vineyard.
I wish for so much.
tell me all your thoughts on god
’cause I’m on my way to see her…
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[…] July 18, 1999: Missing […]