“This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.” ~ Mark Twain
“April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go.” ~ Christopher Morley
“April is the cruelest month…” ~T.S. Eliot
What better way to kick off April–this A to Z April Challenge, this my foray into the blogging multiverse, writing daily and hoping on keeping a toehold on sanity, than to have a frank discussion regarding the month of April?
Is it a coincidence that April is the month dedicated to fools, lovers, Jazz musicians and poets? Who buys into this April treachery? Dreamers and the addle brained–who else?
April, while not officially the first day of spring, technically–I claim it as such. It’s when I start noticing things, other than the winter drear and bones aching and cold, uncarpeted floors. I see green things peeping out of the ground and think, “I could grow that,” despite the fact that I’ve killed everything I’ve ever grown–aside from the kids and the dogs.
I hear birds chirping and the sun and the longer days, positively shatter the low– that creeps and stays with me during the darker months–retreating to the darker reaches of my psyche and weighing me down. Would that I were a bear, hibernating through it all. Before I start feeling too giddy with pleasure and aliveness and all those sparkling what ifs, spring forth with joyous possibilities, I remind myself, the other shoe always drops. That November is always around the corner–doom and despair are ever present, just around the corner…
April is for lovers and the broken hearted. When I was a kid– a crazy girl/kid, I fell so quickly, madly, insanely in love with this young man. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to be in his presence, no rule I wouldn’t break, no curfew I wouldn’t ignore, no car I wouldn’t steal, no 6th floor penthouse window I wouldn’t climb out of–risking life and limb.
You have to understand, he had long hair–long pullable, braided hair. When he smoked and exhaled through his nose, he reminded me of a dragon and he had the greatest laugh. It would reach out, grab you, invite you in and hold you close–such promise. And when he slouched low in his Camaro, drove slow, without a care in the world and with me in the passenger side–he’d put my hand on the stick and tell me to shift, I’d pull away, thinking we’d crash. He’d laugh and my insides would reverberate with the radio bass. Shalimar–“for the lover in you”.
And I was so, in deep. It was the spring–the newness, the fresh, green beginning–anything can happen, oohey-gooey love goodness that turned me inside out, blinded me, wouldn’t let me see that spring dalliances, must make way for those summer loves. And, I held on, and held on, from one April to the next and the next after that.
We got married, only not to each other, had kids and lives that never intertwined until they did–with accidents, fate, circumstance, desperations and need and we held on, year in, until we didn’t and then we’d find our way back and hold on again–year out. Through marriages, divorces, kids, new loves, more kids, live-ins–just because. And it was never enough, so long ago–those Novembers.
And now, once in a blue moon, he will call or I will. We don’t particularly want to see each other, or really talk anymore–our time has come and passed, like a sweet, beginning fresh moment spring–our Aprils. But, we need. Just the knowledge that the other one is still in the world and doing and being. And it’s good, and it’s our forever April again and it’s enough.