A Portland Moment

Moments of synchronicity seem to happen more frequently these days. I'm not sure why. Is it that I'm finally driving this bus in the direction it was always meant to go? Or am I just noticing it more often than I used to?

My partner, Ben, had a piece of art in the Cascade Aids Project auction Saturday night. We got ourselves all cleaned up and fancy, me in a shorty black dress and pink brocade jacket Prince may have worn back in the day. Ben in his sharkskin suit and red-checked tie. We drove over to the Bison Building at NE 9th and Flanders, a great industrial space which had been turned into a cocktail party art gallery. After getting set up with drinks and snackage (the best Dirty martini I think I've had in my life). We looked at the art and then I stole away to listen to legendary diva, Linda Hornbuckle and her band play some old school soul and R&B.

During the first set, as is the custom in P-town, not a body on the floor was shaking it and I have to admit I was shy to be the tipsy fifty-year old woman dancing alone. I stood off to the side and just watched. My god, that woman can sing! Deep soulful tunes that had me swaying despite myself. The second set really got the party started and the dance floor soon became hot, crowded and jumping. Just like it ought to be.

A woman nearby put her evening bag on top of the packet with our drink tickets so at some point we started talking. Turns out this glamorous woman also had been married to a man who was married to his addiction. Turns out she, too, had to leave in a rush and suffered for years from what we'd now call post traumatic stress disorder. She said to me that when women do finally leave, "We just get stronger." I agreed. I told her about my book, Little Green and a little about my own history, how hard it is to walk away and not go back, how frightening it is to start over but once you're out you would never go back to that other kind of fear. The fear that's all about if he's drunk, if he's high, if he's mad--all the shit you can't control. She told me her sisters are both still in abusive relationships. I asked her if she'd seen her ex since she left him. She said that he still lives in the town where her family resides. When she goes home to visit, she can count on him showing up unannounced. "It's like he can smell me." I know that feeling. I wonder sometimes if I'll ever be free of it. Yes, I'm stronger in some ways, but at what cost?

If the statistics are right, one out of four women will experience violence a the hands of someone she knows. Maybe it isn't really surprising I would meet a stranger at a crowded and unlikely event and find that we share experiences that had us nodding in recognition during our brief conversation. There are too many of us out there, ladies. Far too many of us.