As the Crow Flies

I can't sleep. I'm sleepy, but I can't sleep. These stars aren't helping. I thought maybe the air would help but I'm not feeling very sleepy. It's not too fair. Do I care? Not really. I'm on vacation, remember. On vacation. Life's a beach and all that. Like I didn't know any better. I do. It's one part rush, one part style, and one part savvy. Oh, life. I wish it came in gelcaps instead of these chalky horse tablets. Or maybe I'm just not swallowing properly? That's what my grandmother told me. The one in America.

She said, "Evette, you make life so difficult for yourself." Then she usually says something like, "Why don't you just get married to that lovely boy you have and start a family."

It doesn't seem so wrong today. Eventually, I know that's what's going to happen. But kids! Man, oh man, kids. That's just too much for me right now. I can hardly figure out exactly how much oregano to put in the pasta sauce let alone know how to take care of another human being.

I sit up on the roof and wait, for what I don't know, but somehow I know that a sign will come. A sign that will tell me beyond everything what is going to happen. If only my answering machine could talk. Could tell me not just what they said but what they meant. Evette, you're pathetic. Ricki Lake invites wimpy women who wait for the world to walk over them. First on the list. And I like it, don't I? Not yet thirty, but already old, I'm going nowhere in no hurry. No. No. No.

I can barely see the stars. That's what happens in the middle of a city. Especially one as large as this one. Cairo. Largest city in Africa. Sitting on a roof in Cairo at five a.m. is a religious experience, to say the least. Think about what's it like to be sipping champagne from a boat in the middle of the ocean, all by yourself. Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink. Cairo is something like that to me: full of wonder, everywhere, and none of it to enjoy. Well, except for Dad, and the food. But nothing else.

Dad's sleeping now. Is anybody listening? He's asleep, I know it. I can see him under his mosquito net right now, softly blowing away his worries. The sandman is the world's greatest bartender, always listening. I have missed him so much. A year; it's been a long year. He's been so far away so I can't blame myself. Or can I? Have I been all wrong? All wrong. All wrong. I am sleepy. But I'm not.

Dad. He's gotten more mellow with time, I suppose. Last time, he still blew up at me once. Can't say I didn't deserve it. How was I supposed to know that the cat had never left the house? But this time, he seems like he's finally found the right piece from his box of chocolates. Savouring it, even. Maybe I am getting mature, if I'm learning how to take pleasure from my parent's contentment.

I think I've made him proud. By doing what, I have no clue. I guess when I talk to him, I don't complain and whine like I do with everyone else. Maybe it's because I can tie my shoes now. Or because I can now distinguish between opinions and facts. Or because I'm happy with three-leaf clovers. Little does he realize how much Mitch has played a part in my happiness. Or maybe he does?

The stars look different, faded even. They just seem to be slightly asleep themselves, or at least they feel about ready to disappear for the day. Like they've got their flannel pyjamas on. There are some flickering lights out there, mesmerizing me. You know what it's like. You can't divert your eyes. Now I know how many holes it takes to fill Royal Albert Hall.

It's the first time since I got here that I haven't felt the heat; it's eerie how cool it can be at this hour. Just like someone wrapped an anti-sweater around me. No, it feels more like a cool refreshing hug. It makes me want to give myself a hug. Hug. Hug. There. I wonder if anyone saw me.

"I'd just like a sip of water please." I'm asking this invisible waiter that you can't see who is serving me at this ungodly hour. Out of nowhere he appeared, dressed in a fitted white shirt, a black vest with his hair slicked back, revealing a clear, fresh, dark complexion and a smile worth ... Evette! Stop. But what a guy! "Thank you." He just gave me the water. Sip. Sip. Gulp. Oh, that tastes good. "Oh, what's that? Do I want some Snapple? Yes, actually. Raspberry Iced Tea flavour please." He'll be back. That's what I love about Cairo. Men who are unabashedly beautiful and masculine at the same time. But they're untouchable. Or rather, they'll never touch me. I pretend like I wish it would happen but at the first hint of a touch, it would lose its fascination.

Boy, I'm hot. Is that the sun? No, no. Might be some sort of illusion. It's just strange to see so many people hiding away in their beds at this time of day. Maybe I'll just get up to look at what's going on on the street below. This cement barrier won't let me see. And no one's been in that window since ten o'clock. Phooey.

Yawn. Okay, Evette, think about why you came out here. What are you going to do with your life? What did Nana say, get married and start a family. Now, let's rule that one out. Dad told me to be happy. Good advice but bad advice, you can't just hope that it'll happen. What am I going to do? I feel like bloody Charlie Brown trying to kick a field goal. Every bloody time I think I've got it lined up, Lucy pulls it out from under me! Sometimes Lucy is just Lady Luck, sometimes it's Mitch, sometimes it's just bloody me. I just can't understand why I screw up so much. It frustrates me...to no...end. And yet it doesn't. I wish I knew what it was that I really wanted. "Aaah!" I shouldn't scream. It did make me feel better but...To hell with it, "Uuuuhhhhhh!" Silence, still. No one heard. Figures.

Someone told me I should know what I want to do next. I don't really know why I need to know. You and I are going to live forever. That's what I think. That's what I say. Why should I grope when I can't get excited about anything? Any job? Any step. Any move. I don't really know what I'll be doing three years from now. Don't wanna live. Don't wanna die. I just want to...to...to. To sit out in the rain and get soaked and to come in and sniffle and dry my hair and curl up in my sweater and read. To waste an hour of no one's time doing nothing except signing my name over and over again until I find an autograph I really like. There's a lot you want and yet, Evette. Yet, Evette. Yet, Evette. Listen, Evette. You're okay. You're okay, you've got Mitch. Maybe. Maybe. Happy, when was the last time? Standing on top of that pyramid in Guatemala. That was happiness. Alone. Or that time, I almost got hit by a car - but didn't - up in Seattle. That was happiness. Or relief. Or cutting Jim's tie. Happy. Unhappy. I am a happy camper, aren't I? Aren't I? Aren't I?

"I don't know, you tell me." A voice responded.

"What?" jumping around, scared to death, I don't see a thing. The tone and calm in the voice was reassuring. It wasn't Dad but then who...was it. "Who's there?" Anybody at all? There's a chair, my chair, and a crow sitting on the cement barrier. Behind me, there's still no one. The hatch is closed. All there is is this crow.

"Did you hear me?" the voice goes on. "I'm here."

I am looking straight at this crow and I tell you, it's talking! It's talking to me!

"Yes, here I am." It's moving its beak and making sounds. Intelligible sounds.

"I...I...I know it sounds strange, but even though things are going well for me in America, everyone wants to know what I'm going to do. What's my plan. And when I plan, it doesn't work. Every time I set my mind to something, I come up short. So I stopped planning and just let it all happen." I am talking to a bird, and you know what, it isn't bothering me.

"You come up short?" he's asking.

"I do." Walking around the roof, I turn around, expecting to see my waiter or any man, but instead it's still the crow.

It's replying, "I'm listening."

Great, I'm talking to Frasier Crow, radio personality. "When I set my mind to something, somehow I fail."

"Listen, you're cool. Be it. Don't be the sticky side of a mess. Be the disorder." He's making sense. Tons of sense. "Be love. Enjoy it. You've got loads."

"I do. I do. Lots of love. Too much mild' and too little extra-spicy'. Mild mustard, that's what I've got." I don't usually talk in such vagaries but when you're caught in one of Aesop's fables, everything has a deeper meaning. "My life is like a spinning wheel out of control in a very safe place. It's like having an accident with walls of cushions all around the car. I'm tired of writing with erasable ink! Why can't I just undo my belt a few buckles, put on a lot of weight and just drink Mello-Yello until I break out and have to crawl back to my dermatologist begging him for extra-strength Oxy in tan? Or at least have the courage to walk out of a Safeway with nothing but two boxes of Kleenex, some Tide, and the checkout boy. Isn't a simpler existence, a happier life?"

"Agreed," Professor Crow said, "but you have it within you. Both the simplicity and happiness you seek." I do? "You do."

Wait, he just read my mind! "I do." Looking straight at him I say, "Mitch."

"I'm not Mitch, but he is part of it. Or so it sounds like he is a piece of the puzzle. Tell me Evette," He knows my name. "...what happens when you put too much milk into your cereal?"

"It just floats and gets soggy." He's flying away. Where's he going? Why's he ditching me? I guess a cheap therapist doesn't always have the pat answer. "Wait! Wait Crow!" I can see him dip into the red morning light and disappear. The faraway glow is getting brighter and brighter. It's light. It's day. Like someone instantly put on the stove and the alarm clock is ringing in everyone's ears. Oh, that's the azan. Beckoning us all to our prayers. Haunting. Its ringing effect is pervasive. When you really listen, you actually think it's speaking out to you, in words.

I understand. It's stuck in my mind, stuck in my ears. What I have to do. I have to do as the crow does.