Transcript
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Dan Kennedy (2:05)
Toyota let's go Places welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy and the Moth features true stories told live without notes. All stories from the podcast are taken from our ongoing storytelling series in New York, Los Angeles, Detroit and Chicago, and from our tour shows across the country. Visit themoth.org the story you're about to hear by Mike Daisy was recorded live at the Moth MainStage back in 2007, and the theme of that night was the Late Late Show Stories of Life After Dark.
Mike Daisy (2:45)
When I was 20 years old, I knew exactly what was going to happen to me in my life. I had a plan and I was very serious about the plan, it wasn't simple. It was going to take work, but I was already on the path and I knew exactly what to do. I was at a small, liberal micro ivy college in Maine, and I was from Maine, and I was on scholarship at the college and I was studying poetry, a lot of poetry. And I had applied for and been admitted into the Iowa Writers Workshop for poetry. And when I left at the end of my senior year from this college, I was determined that I would go to study poetry and that then I would be a poet. And to me that seemed like the most awesome success in the universe, which I'm sure to many people here it doesn't seem very logical, but you have to understand that I was from Maine, and Maine is a hideously poor place. It's hideously, hideously poor. And as a consequence, I mean, the idea of a job where I could craft words and I could teach and they would, I would be able to eat meals and survive just seemed monumental to me. I mean, it seemed like everything in the world. And that's what I wanted more than anything in the world. And I did a lot of theater and I did a lot of writing and I was very, very busy at my college. And I was in a relationship. I was dating a woman who I'd known. We started dating in high school and we were still together and we were in a long distance relationship where she was at another college and I was at my college. And we've been together sort of on and off all the way through college. And it was really getting to that point where the relationship should end. And actually it should have ended a lot earlier because the danger with a long distance relationship, I know now, and I didn't then, is that when you don't see each other very often, you don't get as sick of each other as you should. Because when you're next to each other, then you learn whether or not you can sort of deal and stand each other. And the way it worked with us, of course, we were apart all the time. And so then when we were together, we just had sex. We just had, you know, sex all the time, all weekend in the dorm room. And then we would be apart again and there was no time to get sick of one another and we would just send, you know, longing letters back and forth. And so even though there was all that sex, I was really becoming clear. Like I was really thinking, like, I'm going off to, you know, you know, I'm going to be going off to Iowa and like this really should have ended a long time ago. And I've been really. I've been thinking about that a lot, you know, and trying to decide, you know, I should do something. And I remember this one day, so clearly, I was in a friend's dorm room. And I'm sitting in the dorm room with my friend and a couple other people, and we're watching a movie. We're watching Marathon man, which I'd never seen before and have never seen since, and appears to be, you know, two men torturing one another, although they are both famous actors. And so it's, like, supposed to be a great film, I guess. And we're watching them. We're watching the film. We're watching the film when the phone rings. And my friend, whose room it is, picks up the phone and he listens for a moment and he says something. And then he turns to me and he says, michael, it's for you. It's your girlfriend. Which was weird, of course, because I'm not in my room. And I take the phone from him, and I hold it, you know, up to my head, and I'm looking at the screen, and I see, you know, the drilling and the. Is it safe? And I hold the phone up to my head and I say, yes. And my girlfriend says, michael, our worst fears have been realized. I'm pregnant. And what you have to understand is that I hadn't seen my girlfriend in a long time because I'd been busy. You know, I'd been busy there at school and doing these shows and writing. And I kept. You know, we kept talking, and I kept saying, come visit for the weekend. Come visit. And she'd say, no, no, I can't now. And I'd say, well, I'm too busy to go down there, but come up. Come up next week. And no, no, I can't. I can't. And so, unfortunately, my girlfriend was extremely Baptist. She'd been raised in a very Baptist family. And as a consequence, she had gone into a very deep state of denial and just worn larger and larger sweaters all the way up until her friends staged an intervention and took her to the hospital, which is when she called me to tell me that she was eight months pregnant and that I would be a father in a month. And I remember. I remember that we kept talking, you know, like, the conversation doesn't end there, which is odd. I mean, it really is odd that the world can end, but your conversation doesn't. Because we did keep talking. Like, I said things. I said, it's okay, and we talked Just a little bit. And of course, arranged to call each other later and talk a lot more. And so we had to decide what to do. And we talked at great length back and forth. And what we decided to do is we decided together that we would give the baby up for adoption. And so just a few weeks later, I found myself taking a leave of absence from my school and going to her school, which was in upstate Vermont, and going to her dorm room and staying there and waiting for the baby to be born. And I'd never lived with anyone before, you know, and in many ways, even though it was just a few weeks, this was my first experience of living with another woman. My first grown up experience happening right before this even larger experience. And we were there in the room together and it was her school was on a winter break, but mine was still running. And it was snowing all the time all around us. I just remember so much snow and so much pain because we would just look at each other and we couldn't believe what we were going to do. And we couldn't believe what we might, you know, what we could do. And this thing that was between us, literally, you know, inside of her. And at night I would lay in bed with her and I would feel her belly and I would just have no thoughts. I just couldn't believe that any of this was happening. And we'd spend so much time going through the dossiers from the adoption agency, because when you give a child up for adoption like that, they don't just vanish into a system. They bring you dossiers so that you can decide who the adoptive parents should be. And there must have been 60 or 70 of them. And every one of these dossiers was so full of information, you know, because parents who want a child so badly, they put new information in their file over time. And it's just filled with everything about them. So desperately wanting the thing that we. That we want to throw away. And it's a terrible thing because there's a certain natural order to a child being born to that delivery. And this was very much like waiting for that delivery to happen. And knowing that when it did happen, you'd refuse delivery on that day, you know, you wouldn't sign for it, and then they would take it back. And my girlfriend did give birth, and we named her Olivia. And just a few days after she gave birth, I had to go back to my school, just briefly to do some exams. I'd taken all these leaves of absence and extensions and they'd given me as Much as they could, and then even more. But I had to go back and take some of these tests. And so I drove back after spending all day with her, and then I drove back. And when I got to school, you know, a day or two passed and I'm taking my exams. And she called me. And again she was there on the telephone, this time in my room, this time late in the dark. And she was telling me that she's keeping the baby and that there's nothing I can do. And I was very angry. I was very, very angry because I felt betrayed. Because we had an agreement that we'd suffered for, that we had argued about and talked about and reached consensus on through long, long hours. I felt betrayed. But I know now, and I even knew then, I even knew then that this was something she had to do. She had to do it. Because if she hadn't done this thing, made this decision without. I can be a very persuasive person. I think she knew that if she made this decision with me there, I would persuade her to give that child away. She had to wait till I was gone, and then she could do it. But that didn't change the fact that I was angry. That I was so angry. And that anger just curdled into. In me, you know? And I was going to be a father, and then I wasn't going to be a father, and now I was going to be a father. And I tried. I wanted to try to change directions now and be a father. That was my job. Now we're still together, and now there's this child, and she has a name and a place in the world. And I. And I tried, but I was so angry. I was so angry at her, at my girlfriend. I was angry at the baby, that she existed at all. That by being there, she would keep me in this state that I would never leave, that I would never leave. And so we broke up over that spring. We couldn't keep things together at all. Everything just. I became completely absent. I ended up just traveling again and again, Driving in the dead of night back to her hometown, you know, parking the car in the parking lot of the shop and saved. And walking up this little ravine to this boulder and standing there and staring at her house, the house where she was with our baby, and look at that house and not go any closer. I couldn't do it, you know, I couldn't take that step. I wouldn't let myself. I wouldn't let myself take that step. And then after I'd watched for a while, I'd walk back down and get in my car and drive back. And I dropped out of school. I couldn't keep things together. I lost my scholarship. And it took me another year to scramble back to the point where I could graduate. And in that year, my girlfriend, now ex girlfriend, found someone else. A firefighter. A dependable, solid man who was there, always there, in many ways my opposite number. You know, like everything I wasn't doing. And he walked right in and I vanished entirely. And then when I finally had my degree, I drove west. I drove to Seattle because it was far, far away from Maine, far away. And too much time had passed and I couldn't go to the Iowa Writers Workshop anymore. And I didn't honestly try to reapply. I never wrote poetry. But I became an artist. I'm an artist today, and I'm talking to you so you can see that I don't live in Maine. I fulfilled some of the things that I set out to do. But inside of me, there's a scale, a balance where I weigh what I've done and what I've given up against everything I have to do. And I use that. It's a tool. I use it to keep going, to do things, hoping that it will balance out. But at night, late at night, I have trouble sleeping sometimes, like we all do. And some nights it's one thing and some nights another. But. But often I'll sit in front of the computer and think and think. And it's then. It's then that all the guilt and the shame and the anger and the regret drop away. And in the end, when I'm really honest with myself, all that's left is this loss, this absence, this terrible feeling that I just wish. I just miss her. And I don't even know her. Thank you.
