Running with Augusten
October 14, 2008
It's been awhile since I've seen Augusten Burroughs. The last time I saw him was during his book tour for POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS -- which is an extremely funny inside-joke title for anyone who has been sexually abused and tormented. Maybe there are side effects? You spend your life undoing them...or writing about them...or both.
MAGICAL THINKING -- Augusten's previous book -- is my favorite. His New York stories, his trail of empty booze bottles completely covering the floor of his apartment which he doesn't notice until he returns from rehab, his hilarious advertising agency stories. Step on a crack and you'll break your mother's back. Magical thinking -- he tried not to step on cracks. Me, too. But every June while I was in the middle of elementary school, my mother would fall down the nine wooden front stairs into the foyer, and end up in the hospital. I didn't step on any cracks.
Augusten reminds me of my younger brother -- maybe it's their seriousness -- or their devotion to what they love best -- but it's there. I never noticed the resemblance, until this past weekend, when my brother just dropped in. First time we've been around each other for longer than a few minutes in fifteen years -- and even then, it's been five years since we've seen each other at all. Yeah, he just decided to drop into Portland...from Florida. Kinda forgot to mention in that morning's email when he asked if I'd read any of Barack Obama's books that he'd be getting on a plane in a few hours. For Portland.
Augusten is brilliant. And he has a razor-sharp memory for every detail. My brother does, too. It's a photographic memory. Snap. There's a shot of our stepfather beating up our dad and telling him to never come back again. I remember that one, too. Snap. I am six and he is four and there are two rings on a table in our rec room, created when I decided to wet a 45-record and set it down, and he copied, following my design. He caught hell. I stayed quiet, and escaped. Snap. A babysitter yanks on his child pud until it hurts -- a story I don't know until now. Snap. I don't tell him about an earlier babysitter, Mrs Teddy, who never came back again after she caught me sucking on a frozen hot dog and I told her I was practicing. I was five. Snap. Pieces are beginning to fit. Snap. He is healing through Yoga. I am healing through dance and EMDR. He always looked up to me -- and that frightened me because I couldn't save him from his hell -- so I shut myself away, reading books, talking to angels, going out of my body. He had his vinyl and his drumset. Snap. Wipeout. Snap.
My brother and I talk solid for nearly six hours Saturday, and he returns for more on Monday, just before his flight. My older son asks if he looks like his uncle. There is a resemblance. There is a possible side effect of this newly-uncovered, unconditional love. There is the beginning of a family.
It's been awhile since I've seen Augusten Burroughs. The last time I saw him was during his book tour for POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS -- which is an extremely funny inside-joke title for anyone who has been sexually abused and tormented. Maybe there are side effects? You spend your life undoing them...or writing about them...or both.
MAGICAL THINKING -- Augusten's previous book -- is my favorite. His New York stories, his trail of empty booze bottles completely covering the floor of his apartment which he doesn't notice until he returns from rehab, his hilarious advertising agency stories. Step on a crack and you'll break your mother's back. Magical thinking -- he tried not to step on cracks. Me, too. But every June while I was in the middle of elementary school, my mother would fall down the nine wooden front stairs into the foyer, and end up in the hospital. I didn't step on any cracks.
Augusten reminds me of my younger brother -- maybe it's their seriousness -- or their devotion to what they love best -- but it's there. I never noticed the resemblance, until this past weekend, when my brother just dropped in. First time we've been around each other for longer than a few minutes in fifteen years -- and even then, it's been five years since we've seen each other at all. Yeah, he just decided to drop into Portland...from Florida. Kinda forgot to mention in that morning's email when he asked if I'd read any of Barack Obama's books that he'd be getting on a plane in a few hours. For Portland.
Augusten is brilliant. And he has a razor-sharp memory for every detail. My brother does, too. It's a photographic memory. Snap. There's a shot of our stepfather beating up our dad and telling him to never come back again. I remember that one, too. Snap. I am six and he is four and there are two rings on a table in our rec room, created when I decided to wet a 45-record and set it down, and he copied, following my design. He caught hell. I stayed quiet, and escaped. Snap. A babysitter yanks on his child pud until it hurts -- a story I don't know until now. Snap. I don't tell him about an earlier babysitter, Mrs Teddy, who never came back again after she caught me sucking on a frozen hot dog and I told her I was practicing. I was five. Snap. Pieces are beginning to fit. Snap. He is healing through Yoga. I am healing through dance and EMDR. He always looked up to me -- and that frightened me because I couldn't save him from his hell -- so I shut myself away, reading books, talking to angels, going out of my body. He had his vinyl and his drumset. Snap. Wipeout. Snap.
My brother and I talk solid for nearly six hours Saturday, and he returns for more on Monday, just before his flight. My older son asks if he looks like his uncle. There is a resemblance. There is a possible side effect of this newly-uncovered, unconditional love. There is the beginning of a family.
Labels: Augusten Burroughs, book review, dance, EMDR, MAGICAL THINKING, POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS, step on a crack, transcending the trauma
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 11:13 PM
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