It always seems that people appear when you least expect it, which raises the question of fate and freewill to be weighed against loneliness. And what is to be said about feelings that arise, cosmic or forced? Pamela Isley grew in a space where and when I need someone most, or maybe where and when I needed myself most. Because altruism is the cruelest thing humans can give to each other, an illusion of comfort that is as benevolent as it is parasitic. Altruism is the aid that can grow miracles, but when applied at just the wrong time, it can build something so grand and beautiful that it has no choice but to collapse by its own weight, and it isn’t necessarily one person’s fault as it is both people’s fault. But when I met Pamela, I felt something growing inside me again, rays of sunlight pierced all of my cells and photosynthesized me, words like calcium pellets, touches like tilled nitrogen, looks of streaming hydrogen so light it reaches across rooms in a millisecond with fervor everyone can feel. I let her reach her hands inside me and muddle my heart stalks. She uprooted something inside me, replanted me in a place that was better than where I had started, or she wanted to, that is all the benevolent can hope for another, because ultimately, it isn’t up to them, as much as we would love to leave our roots in others hands we can’t. We can place them there for but a moment, that’s all, it’s up to us to ground ourselves. We need to fill the empty vessel that is us with love, and only when it spills can we give it to another. The most anyone can ever be is a handle, something to support us, but also someone we can live without. Essentially, a non-essential necessity. I thought I had this, and so I blinded Pamela Isley, I led her into the deepest parts of me. We had started down the rabbit hole and so I said, Fuck it, let’s do this, let’s bottom out. I tore away her blindfold to reveal the garden of my blooming regrets, a blending of the most impossibly beautiful colors she never thought she could imagine. I had hoped I could walk through with her but instead she became a bright blue piece of my collection. But I’m not allergic to poison ivy, I can nurture what remains as I stroll through on frequent trips. My only hope is that I helped her too, or I can still reach inside her, and help her see where she hopes to plant herself, so she can consume the world with vines of hope and art and love and care. I’ve peered inside, and while I can no longer live there, I only hope to help the world see what I’ve seen. Because even though altruism is scary, it’s scary beautiful. Because even though benevolence can be toxic, hers is something wonderful that could strangle sadness out of the world. Because even though love is killer, as fleeting as it might be, it can make a young boy or girl turn into something greater and stronger than they never thought they could be. Because even though our red threads touched frayed strands so small you might hardly say they did, her fingerprints will always be inside me.
