13
There was some indication that Ursula, my Ursula, was behind the Ursula I currently projected—but I can’t be sure. I just say that because when I thought of Ursula, I saw some lines that represented a different woman, my woman? in yellow—and yellow was the color I had last observed when thinking of Ursula. But I won’t confuse that matter—because I could just be getting to know the current Ursula better. So, I decided, the current Ursula, the presidential candidate, would remain the current Ursula, she would be associated with the color yellow, and the lines I saw would represent the parts of Ursula that I did not recognize—that, perhaps, pointed to someone else, but, for now, would be understood as the backdrop of this woman (and her voice) that I would continue to use (especially if she became president) because that voice, with its distinct pitch, was the voice that carried a great deal of influence. She was very useful.
Why are you in such a hurry? “I don’t know—why do you say that I’m in a hurry?” I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both content, time apart is time well spent, making time together all the more enriching and uplifting. She must have forgotten, or was trying to pose the possibility, that she wasn’t sure she wanted children. Now, I had little or no chance of meeting anyone—and, even if I did, if I found myself in love with Ursula then my condition might get in the way: so, no, I had invested all this telepathic energy into Ursula, and, well, if we missed the chance to produce a child of our own, then, well, it probably wouldn’t be a dealbreaker—as long as I was in love with Ursula, that is, and, because setbacks are annoying, and Ursula’s image and voice, at least, aren’t going anywhere, then she’d get a lot of credit for keeping me company when I had no company but my parents and my brothers—if, that is, I ever have any other company at all—and, well, if I don’t, I’ll still have this person, a little mysterious, and, perhaps, undefined, that I’d meet in heaven.
I just believed that—which, doesn’t necessarily mean that’s going to happen, but, in a sense, it says a lot about me, what I stand for, what I want, and how I might be remembered. You don’t need to be in a hurry; I’m only thirty-five. That was a nice thing to say—it showed that she wasn’t opposed to raising a child—and it suggested that she had some belief in me—that we might actually meet and form a physical bond. But, honestly, I didn’t see my life changing all that much, possibly from here on out, since, as it happens, it is entirely common for men like me to be overlooked while they are alive. My work might prove worthwhile for a lot of people to observe and appreciate, but that attention, I felt, was more likely to come a little further down the line than sometime in the next decade—the timeline that allowed for a child.
I appreciated her comment, nonetheless. It meant a lot to me—and no, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if one or all of the children in my extended family turned out to be the ones that would look over my work when I was no longer around to do it for myself. thanks, I appreciate that so you give a little; and, somehow, when you’re in love, when you give a little like that, such that either direction would prove okay, then the love you feel in the present becomes all the more powerful—it’s as if anxiety slowly leaves your body, and you even feel a little excited, too, about what’s to come—it seems as if the future, no matter what direction you find yourself in, will be a pleasant surprise—something to look forward to, created out of love.
then my lung cancer uncle—the one that died from it, and, up to that point, drank a lot of wine, said something I couldn’t understand. then my other lung cancer uncle, the one that survived it (although he didn’t have much longer to live after that, anyhow)—the scotch drinker, said, i’m in the house now. Good, I thought, I’ve recovered him, this math person, the person that was left out in the cold, and, as such, left me in a state such that I couldn’t be at peace in my own skin—indeed, when he was outside the house, he was outside of me, and I couldn’t protect him. He needed attention almost every day, and, depending on how much you were learning from him, or how you were processing all the information, you didn’t need to be with him for hours on end. It was probably better to do a little at a time constantly such that you learn and remember things, rather than drinking a bunch of soda pop and not really learning something, not really integrating it through a quantifiable process. Some things needed to play in the background for a day or so, until they were acceptable.
Now we needed to recover this composer, represented by my father—the person that, unbeknownst to me, could write respectable music—music both with and without words. He was coming, although I still had him on the back burner, because, well, I had a lot on my plate. A lot was happening—I’d learned to record my songs and put them on my website and make them known to other people—which required some time and energy. But I’d get around to writing music—i was thinking a trumpet, a tenor saxophone, a piano, and a guitar—that I’d bend a little, such that I reproduced a jazzy or improvisational tone. That was what was on the backburner—and, i figured, I’d completed one song process and now, instead of doing another song right away, I could try to reproduce pure music—free of the constraints that anything with words had to offer.
You’re on to something now, and I believe in you but that sounded like my mother, which was a little odd, but, I’m sure it meant something. I believe in you, too Ursula followed, and, I had to ask myself, “Am I fooling myself?” But, so what? I didn’t care—the only harm that could come of it was if I lost touch with reality and started to hold people accountable for things they said in my mind. I had no reason to affirm or deny what I’d heard—I knew telepathic communications was something that happened, for most people, subconsciously—if it happens at all. I’m serious, I believe in you ok—so that was great; it gave me hope that, at some point in the next decade, I’d make some progress—I’d get a little more recognition for my work. But I still knew, as a part-time realist, that the amount of attention I’d need to be in Ursula’s orbit was beyond what anybody could reasonably expect, no matter how understood they were—and no matter how talented they might’ve been.