You start sliding when you’re heart turns on the juice
Comes a headache, you can lose it in a day
Comes a toothache, see your dentist right away
Comes love, nothing can be done
Keaau Beach
Comes Love Nothing Can Be Done
May ‘73
After Tim Terrific moved to Keaau beach he and C.S. got along so well
that when they were together, I would pick up and leave. I would walk
down the beach, or go see Eddy who now lived at the other end of the
park. Tim was in the Navy, so he didn't stay on the beach all the
time. When he wasn't around, we, C.S. and I, would look after his
things. Everybody liked Tim. In fact, his self-explanatory beach name
says it all. Confronted with the blossoming friendship between
C.S. and Tim, however, I lost sight of what I expected out of our
relationship. Was I still committed to C.S.? I didn't know. Did I even
want the relationship to continue? I didn't know that either. I just
knew that I was hurting, painfully hurting.
The one thing that I did know, however, was that if we were going to
stay together, I expected C.S. to want to be with me. If she didn't want
that then she was free to leave—go home, do her own thing—whatever
it was that she wanted to do it would be okay with me. But, then I was
confronted with another dilemma. Which "me" did I expect her to love:
the solemn me; the playful me; the adventurous me; or the me that suffered
the anguish of associative uncontrollable empathy? My defense against the
conflicting nature of these questions had always been to shut down,-- or hit
the road. As long as I kept myself aloof from social relationships these
vulnerabilities never arose. If I could perfect "being an island onto myself,"
being hurt or causing somebody else pain would never arise.
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