Then Again - Diane Keaton [43]
If I told you how much I loved the sound of your laughter, would you have taken more pride in who you were? If, way back, I made you understand how proud I was to be the daughter of a “really, really special” former Mrs. Los Angeles, would that have made a difference? If you knew how fast I rushed home from Willard Junior High School the day Dave Garland poked his finger in my padded bra and made fun of me, would you have finally acknowledged you were irreplaceable? If I reminded you of the pleasure it gave me to hang out at the kitchen counter and watch you make your mid-afternoon snack of longhorn cheddar cheese and Wheat Thins, with sweet gherkins on the side, would that have changed anything?
Remember how we used to drive around downtown Santa Ana on Wednesday evenings after Bullock’s department store closed? Remember how I sat shotgun checking out possible “finds”? Remember how I snuck out of the car and rummaged through the trash bins to see if there were any treasures to be found? Was it as much fun for you as it was for me? Did you get a kick out of making sure the coast was clear before I shoved that really cool bathroom shelf into the trunk? We thought it was perfect, remember? But then, so were you. You were the perfect find. Could it have been more fun, Mom, driving home in our Buick station wagon back in the early days of suburbia, just us, turning an ordinary afternoon into something extraordinary? Remember how you told me about the new store in La Mirada called Ohrbach’s and how we could buy brand names for a fourth of what they cost at Bullock’s? Remember the time I was sick over not being invited to join Zeta Tee, the second-best sorority at Santa Ana High School, even though they’d asked Leslie? You told me to have patience. Zeta Tee could wait for later; besides, the girls were a little trashy, weren’t they, and didn’t the so-called “grooviest” member get pregnant? Then suddenly I’d hear, “Oh, my God, Diane, look. Diane, you’ve got to see this,” or “Di-annie, check this out.” I’d look and see an ordinary boy riding a bike past Me-N-Ed’s Pizza on McFadden and Bristol. It was nothing, but it was something. It was just an ordinary boy passing by, but somehow it was unforgettable and somehow it tore me away from pressing tragedies like not making the cut with Zeta Tee.
Did you ever pat yourself on the back for your greatest gift, just being you? I’m sorry the small rewards weren’t enough. I understand great expectations. Oh, Mom, Mom, you were such a game gal in so many ways. I wish I could have made the disappointment of your unfulfilled longings magically disappear with the memory of our Wednesday evening adventures, now lost in time.
Did all that writing in all those journals make it worse? Did it exacerbate your isolation? If only we could re-edit our lives and make a couple of different choices, right, Mom? Where would it have taken us? Now I’m alone, juggling with a memoir that’s also your memoir. Would you have approved of my choices? Am I misrepresenting you? I’ll never know. I can only hope you would have forgiven me for revealing your demons, but, in my defense, you wrote it so beautifully. You would have wanted me to share it, right? I hope so. I wish it weren’t too late to go back to see what you might have felt.
Mind Priorities—April 1975
Day 1. My energy is up. Day 2. My motivation is up. Day 3. My personal drive is up. Day 4. My spiritual growth is high. Day 5. I am on a higher plane. I work at this. Day 6. I am throwing out the undesirable from my system. Day 7. I have reached a HIGH beautiful spiritual level. Day 8. I like ME. Day 9. I do meaningful things—think logically—move with grace and ease. Day 10. I love myself—am beautiful inside and out. Day 11. I am not smothered when Jack is around. Day 12. I can