Okay. Where to start. I want to avoid the cliche, as much as I want to let the music journalist in me out, by eulogizing Michael Jackson. Bry had a fleeting reference to him in his entry. Here in Maine, like probably everywhere, it was on everyone's lips that night and over the weekend so far. As much as I respected the man and his music, and as much as we were all privately fascinated/freaked out by his personal life... that's not what this blog is about.
A couple days ago, we actually had some sunshine in the morning, and Bry and I lay on the beach in swimsuits, something we thought we'd be doing a lot more of. That's where we had the bulk of the conversation Bry was talking about. For the most part, I agree with her... it was a huge, horrible thing that we're probably better for having survived (if we do indeed survive and return.) I don't know how easy it will be to get back into my life, but considering my life was chaos before I became a housewife, I think I should be able to adjust.
One major part of the conversation though, was that I felt like I'd matured a whole lot. That it was a shame when we'd go back to Toronto, I'd have to restart all the progress I'd made winning Alia back, even possibly settling down with her, if she'd have me, because I feel like I'm ready... but that there was really no way to explain it all to her, what the last year has been like for me. I want to go back to being Todd Casey, but I also want to change, I guess, what it means to be Todd Casey... as much as Deb's probably already done that.
Bry scoffed at that, finding it hard to believe that after all I'd seen and done I would want to come back and settle down, that the entire experience hadn't scared any desire for marriage out of me forever. But it's the truth. It kind of... acclimated me. Being Anne-Marie wasn't just about being a woman for me, it was about being with someone (even someone I didn't really care about) and not... doing some of the dubious shit I used to do with Alia and other women. I'll leave it up to your imagination.
The idea of reforming myself a bit, of coming back to Alia and making the most of my life, was sort of my "happy thought" whenever I'd get bummed out about my state of affairs as Anne-Marie (which was often enough. Lord knows her name came up often enough in this blog.)
Well not long into the afternoon it started to get cloudy again, bloody hell, so we headed back inside, got properly dressed, and went out to lunch. When we got back, in the middle of yet another summer shower, I saw one of the most horrifying things I've seen since becoming Anne-Marie. Maybe one of the most bone-chilling sights I've seen in my entire life.
Alia's car. In the driveway of the fucking Trading Post Inn.
George himself was helping her with her bags. What the fuck.
Bryan didn't see her, but I walked by her. I don't know what my expression looking like, but her face... she looked seriously weirded out by however I looked at her. I haven't seen her in well over a year. She's still gorgeous. And she's here. Oh God. I'm fucked. This whole thing is fucked.
I can't let this happen to her. I can't let her go through this. I've got to tell her to leave this place, to get away. But if I do that, the transformation won't happen (as is my understanding) and this whole thing is for nothing. FUCK!!
A week from now, maybe even tomorrow, she'll be transformed into someone else. Could be an old man, could be a mother or a little boy or some shit. And she'll see me, and I'll have to explain everything to her and try to convince her I wasn't the guy she's known this past year, and tell her it'll be okay as long as she comes back... but what if she's one of those people who can't get their body back?! What if the girl I love ends up as one of those people who has to grow up all over again?!
This whole thing is fucked up. Oh God. What am I gonna say? What am I gonna do?
And I thought it was hard getting to sleep before.... fuck my life.