Harmony in chaos.

Things have been entertaining as of late, to say the least. I've been offline for a while, but not because there's nothing to write about - the video card on my computer crapped out, and I've only just replaced it.

November 7th was a pretty typical day at work. It had been pretty quiet. It was around 5:00, Vince was on his way out to his Wednesday night meeting, and I was setting up appointments for a couple of tattoos. Nothing special.

And then the phone rang. I answered, as I always do, with my very professional sounding, "Silver On the Mount Tattoo?"

The man on the line asked to speak with the manager. I replied, "I'm sorry, he's not available at the moment. May I take a message? May I ask what this is regarding?" The line went silent for a moment. I was expecting it to be a telemarketing call, for the guy to say he'd call again another time. Instead, the man handed the phone off to someone else.

"Leslie?"

I knew that voice. It was my brother. It had been three months since we had spoken. He was the last person I expected.

"Hi...um, what's going on?"

And then he said it.

"Leslie...Dad's dead."

His dad. My mother's husband. Dead. I couldn't quite figure out what to say.

I motioned for Mike to come and cover the front, and excused myself. Vince was just getting into his truck to go to his meeting, and I flagged him down just before he pulled out. I told him what was going on. He made sure I was okay, gave me a hug, and went on his way. I went back to the phone call. Apparently, he had been diagnosed with leukemia the day before, and was scheduled to start chemotherapy later in the week. His prognosis had been good - the form of leukemia he had had a 90% survival rate. Something didn't make sense. All I knew was that I would be heading back to New Jersey in the next day or so, to see the family I wondered about for so long, and to say goodbye to the man who spent so much of his time trying to tear us apart.

It is in times like this that the word "family" goes so much deeper than blood, deeper than genetics, deeper than any strand of DNA can. In times like this, "family" comes down to the people who care about you, the people who are there when you need them to be.

I was going to have to fly to Jersey. I haven't been on a plane since I was 12, and had no clue as to how to go about booking a flight, especially on such short notice. Vince and Laura were both off the next day, but they came in to the shop that night to help me book the flight. I was going to ask them if there was any way I could borrow the money and pay them back a little each week, but they did something incredible. Vince told me to consider it to be my Christmas bonus. I never expected that. They have been so good to me. It's not just this, either - they have treated me like a daughter. I just can't begin to express how grateful I am to have the both of them in my life. I don't know where I would be without them.

And then there's Ryan. He came along at just the right time in my life. The night I got the call, he came over to my place after he got off of work at midnight, and stayed with me until four in the morning. I didn't really need anything, just company, and he was there. Just someone to hang out and watch TV(televangelists are hysterical at 3 AM)...just someone to be there. Anyway, my flight was booked for 6:45 AM on Friday, so the next night, he came over to take me to the airport. Now, it's one thing if someone offers to drive you to the airport. Ryan drove me to the airport at 4:30 in the morning, explained to me what I was supposed to do(remember, I haven't flown since long before 9/11), stayed there with me until six, and continued to send me text messages until I had to turn off my phone. He was so sweet. I really like this guy.

Right now, however, I'm not sure what's going on with Ryan. He hasn't been returning my calls, and I don't know why. I haven't talked to him since Thanksgiving, and then he told me he'd call the next day. It's now Monday, and no word from him.

But I digress.

Shannon picked me up from the airport and drove me to Mama's house. I thought it would be weird - it had been so long since we'd spoken, and the last time we did...things didn't go very well. I just kept thinking about the last words her husband ever said to me - "Fuck you, we're never speaking to you again". But when I walked into that house...the tension wasn't there. We talked and laughed...it felt good. For the first time in a very, very long time, it felt like we were a family again.

Shannon spent as much time as she was able with us. Mama refers to her as her "other daughter". Shannon is probably the only person who has been there for me, no matter what. Through all the years of family problems, she has always stood by me. It was good to finally get to see her again.

It's funny...with all that's happened, with how quickly things are changing...it was like everything was exactly the same.

One thing was different, though. One very important thing.

Through this whole ordeal, I realized something, maybe for the first time in my life. I realized just how many people I have in my life that love me. I needed that more than anything else right about now.

Less than human.

It's been a long weekend, with nothing of any great note to report. I spent most of the day blowing off all of the stuff I needed to do. I got as far as buying cat food, and said, "Screw it". So, I did what I usually do when I'm shirking responsibility - I went and edited photos.

Photography is a hobby of mine. I take pictures of everyday things - trains and water towers seem to be a recurring theme. These are all from my last trip up to Jersey. I spent an obscene amount of time riding Amtrak from Fort Lauderdale to Penn Station, taking photos out the window. This was almost a year ago, and I only recently got around to editing the photos.

It was kind of a rough trip.

I had to go to Jersey to see my lawyer. About four and a half years ago, I was a passenger in a car accident. Long story short, after three surgeries, seven months of physical therapy, and discovering that I am allergic to nearly every narcotic painkiller known to man, I now have two four-inch long plates and 16 screws holding my left arm together.

Anyway, I had to go deal with more legal nonsense - namely, a visit to a doctor for the insurance company. I am absolutely terrified of doctors. I have good reason. The first doctor I dealt with for my arm completely screwed up. First, he gave me a synthetic bone graft, which didn't take. Then, he put in plates that were too small. Basically, the screws he installed were coming unscrewed(they had nothing to hold on to since the bone graft didn't take), and my arm was gradually falling apart again. I told him it still hurt and that I couldn't lift anything. His solution - more painkillers. Lots of fun. Finally, I told him I was getting a second opinion. His response - "I wouldn't do that if I were you". It sounded like a threat. This guy is supposed to be a doctor. He's supposed to be a healer. Instead, he more or less threatens me.

Anyway, I went and got my second opinion, and sure enough, my arm was about to fall apart. The new doctor went and took marrow from my hip, and installed all new hardware. He did a beautiful job sewing me back up, too - I have a six inch long scar on my arm, which is barely noticeable(it's also since been covered with a tattoo). My arm is never going to be quite the same - I lost much of the range of motion in my arm. I can only turn it about 30 degrees at the wrist, where it used to be a full 180. You can feel the plates through the skin, which can be lots of fun for creeping people out, but I can't say it does much for my self-esteem.

Besides that, going to Jersey meant staying with Mama and - I don't know what to call him at this point. He would be considered my stepfather, but the term "father" is one I have never found a use for. He's my mother's husband, in the legal sense of the word, but he's never been much of a husband, either. He's just the asshole my mom has been married to for the past 21 years. They married when I was five. My biological father left when I was too young to remember. All my life, they refused to give me any sort of information about him. I don't care to know the man, but there are things that I would like to know - medical history, my ethnic background...and if he had any other children. The one thing I ever heard about him was that he had been married five or six times after Mama, so in all likelihood, I have half-siblings I will never know about.

The guy my mom is married to...I never understood why. For as long as I can remember, he has looked down upon women as lesser beings...less than human, I suppose. This was especially the case for me - not only was I female, but I was not his biological child. I was never seen as more than his personal servant, at best, "Daddy's little tax deduction". Mama worked all the time, and I was left to clean the house, prepare his meals, take care of my half brother(his son), and summarily got my ass kicked if I showed any thought of my own, if I ever wanted or needed anything...I was nothing in his eyes, and I still am.

We aren't speaking at the moment, and haven't for quite some time. Once I grew up and moved out, the only time I ever heard from him was when he wanted money. Leeching off of Mama just isn't enough for him. I miss Mama dearly. Every single day since I last talked to her, I've wanted to call her to tell her how much I love her, and to beg and plead for her to get a divorce. I've wanted to tell her that for as long as I can remember. I just don't know how.