Kommander

  Growing up as I did on a cattle ranch I have become terribly sensitive to out of place sounds that might signal some sort of alarm and as a result am a very light sleeper.  Living within spitting distance to a railroad track, as I do now, in town to boot, I often sleep with headphones on listening to music to drown out all but the most serious of sounds.  That can make for some interesting dreams as you might well imagine.  Sinatra conjures up images from his movies or the smell of perfume and cigarettes.  Spaghetti sometimes... sleeping to Miles Davis turns the universe into a 3-D Dali hall of mirrors on acid.

  Lately I have been addicted to the exquisite jazzy sounds of Basia Trzetrzelewska that used to haunt the Arsenio Hall show.  Now she haunts my dreams.  OK, she always HAS haunted my dreams.  For me her voice is like chocolate.  White chocolate.  Anyhoo, I woke up this morning right smack dab in the middle of one of her songs flooding my ears and suddenly thought about someone I used to know.  A woman that I had not thought about in years.

  We all have labels here that we either limit ourselves to or try to live up to, but this woman can only be described as a slave.  Unspeakably bright, degree in literature or something, uncommonly beautiful she detoured into absolute slavery to a wealthy California businessman and anyone he decided that she should submit to.  Helped seal a few deals I imagine, having her for the weekend.  It fed whatever deep need that she had although it troubled her enough to seek some sort of affirmation, no permission I think to keep doing it.  She was in her late 20s then, likely that biological clock thing played a role as well as knowing her contemporaries where enjoying careers, marriages and the like.  I was fortunate enough to be counted among those that soothed her worries and she stayed into, "the scene."  Either her owner became bored with her or just did not want the added burden of her upkeep, so he literally sold her to a business associate. 

  Naturally she went along with it, and allowed herself to be moved into a new home just like a piece of furniture.  But everything was new, the surroundings, the demands placed on her, how to please him, etc.  She tried but it seemed that her heart just was not in it anymore.  About this time she ran into somone from her vanilla past, from her university days and it shook her up considerably.  It was one thing for her to run away from it all and submerse herself into sexual slavery, but for people she knew to find out about it was something else entirely.  After that we lost touch.  Ihave often wondered what happened to her, if she was happy somewhere no matter what she was doing, but this morning I awoke thinking about her as if she was my little Sister.  And just as worried about her.

  Funny what the mind can do when stimulated.