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[4/28/01] So my unemployed carcass has been frantically sending out resumes, working different angles all over the place, making follow-up calls, really you'd be proud if you cared, and I get up to get another cup of coffee and I see, right in the middle of the living room floor, a mouse. Little thing, though not teeny. Certainly not those rat-ponies that are all over this town, this neighborhood, this block. Nope, a normal, average, palm-of-your-hand-sized mouse. Now, unlike many (maybe most) places in Manhattan, we have very little problem with rodents or roaches (he said, wrapping himself in wood), so it was kind of a surprise to see the little critter, whom I assumed came in through one of the open windows (do I ever love the hot days, my mood this week has been completely different from the morose jackass of the last four months - I don't wanna think I have something as, um, as current as Seasonal Affective Disorder, because that implies that I'll be bummed and discombobulated every season-change, and that just feels a bit too much like a copout for the workaholic inside me (it's in there somewhere) to really accept. I want it to be something I can actually fix, you know? That too, though, is part of this story). The little fella looked up at me, not moving, sizing me up just as I was him, and then he went on about his business of sniffing the floor. There was no scurrying, no reaction at all, really. I began to think this mouse was tame, though I really didn't think so. I got a cardboard box and scooped the little feller up with no difficulty, figuring I'd take a break and set him free in the park. And that's when I realized, this mouse was not well. It sputtered real slowly around the bottom of the box, and I realized why it had come in to the apartment in the first place. I hadn't been checking my friends' weblogs the last couple of days, and getting back to them this afternoon I realized this was a bad week for not being in touch. A real bad week. Kaycee's getting worse. As you read this, she's getting ready to go with her mother to Florida, because she wants to be sure she gets to see the ocean. I (and everyone who knew her) was sure that after she got out of the hospital, she was on her way to a full recovery from cancer. This, while miraculous, seemed entirely plausible, like something that might just happen in a universe governed by a benevolent and caring deity. I tried to give the mouse a few drops of water in a teaspoon, but he was having none of it. he just sat in the box, breathing with great difficulty. So I took the box out to the little deck we have in the back of the apartment, and laid it on its side. The day was gorgeous, sunny and warm, and I felt bad forcing the mouse to stay in. The deck has some shade, and it was cool and well-ventilated, unlike the sauna that is the apartment itself. It's now the next day. The mouse got just out of the box, and got as far as where the sun could see him, anyway. Soon, a bird will find him and feed him to her chicks, the box he died beside will wind up recycled into letterhead or lampshades or something, and really, that'll be that. There was a song I wanted to sing at one point for Kaycee. It was just this new song I'd written, I wasn't crazy about it at first, but it's kind of grown on me, and because I've been working on it when she's been on my mind, I can't play it now and not think of her. I know this isn't the first time I've written a song for someone who's status on this Earth is, um, under review (A Toast For Leyna being the first), but it's not often that someone with a life force as strong as Kaycee's shows up on the doorstep of someone's life in the first place. Writing is a reactive science, not an active one. Writers need something to reflect before they can add any light. To paraphrase an old ad campaign, writers don't make great things happen, but they can make great things happen better. But writing was all I ever wanted to do in this world, and given that, it's all I can think of to do for Kaycee right now. Lots of other people who might know her better and love her almost as much have written about her too, and to me that just indicates the magnitude of what she, through her attitude and her ability to transcend her uncooperative body and focus on her spirit, will have to show for her time on this Earth. Not like she's had much of a choice, though: it was either focus all that energy on staying upbeat and reflecting all this energy back upon the world, or sucking it in and shriveling up in a corner someplace. She's fortunate in a way - the option of her living her life half-assed has been completely removed. 'Go Big or Go Home' isn't just some mantra - it's tattooed on her heart. Makes 'going big' easier, eh? Kaycee, I'm glad to have felt the warmth of your light in this cold and often stupid world. The example you set is easy to follow. I'm a better person for having known you. Now, I'm going to go outside for a little while, because it's a beautiful sunshiney day. I won't be far. - Tony Hightower |
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