Weekly Substack - Cartie Whitelaw
This week's theme is ghosts and megachurches by me Jimmy Kimmel
Contents
Introduction
Weekly Random Life Story
Weekly Art Piece
WSTYSLT (Weekly Song That You Should Listen To)
Introduction (scroll down for creative stuff if you already know me)
If you follow me on Cartiereece on Instagram, you probably have seen a bit of my work in shorthand. It’s art, poetry, memoir, prose, and the occasional video of me trying to become a guru of sorts, which in all actuality sums me up perfectly minus my neuroses and sexy humor. I promise I am mostly normal, I just cannot keep my brain quiet, so I end up doing an ungodly amount of introspection (spiraling) and developing obsessions with creative expression. Anyway, these neuroses and obsessions have led me to my next endeavor, a blog (oh, Jesus). Here I am going to share my recent art pieces, longer form prose works, and random stories from my past. I am hoping to create things that encourage others to confront trauma, introspect, laugh a lot, and feel dreamy.
Weekly Random Life Story: The Fawn Crossing the Cove
The first death was that of an engineer, Kevin, a rock-loving party animal who traveled the world. He took his family, the widow with a tramp stamp (wife), the priest (his son), and a high school kid following in his footsteps (his daughter), across the world with him. They lived in places from Nairobi to Dublin. He loved Def Leppard, Motley Crue, the Rolling Stones, and the occasional Kiss EP. Known for his dance moves, he was always the first person to do the double finger boogie at the sight of live music, of course, embarrassing his kids. He was the kind of guy who could bring anyone out of their shell, someone hard to lose. A few years back, Kevin had gotten his diagnosis for leukemia, and for the past three years, his family had to watch him slowly fade away. That was until the past March, when Kevin’s monitor finally went flat, his heart stopped, and all the rooms fell silent. That was when his wife became a widow, his son a priest, and his daughter a clone. Something about his death seemed to cause a ripple effect in all of their lives, sending waves across their future that would change their path forever.
The family, plus the priest’s girlfriend, got to the dock right on time that day. Usually, the parties that I would captain for would show up thirty minutes late. On top of that, the parties almost always were hungover, pissed off, and never signed the waiver (signing their life and firstborn away). I guess, however, spreading your father’s ashes is the occasion you don’t arrive fashionably to. Thank god my boss had given me a heads up, because the crew came down with THE URN in their hands. Jesus, this was going to be a long day.
“Did your boss let you know why we came today?” The widow asked.
“Yeah, I have a great route planned out for y’all today, feel free to hop on and get comfortable,” I replied, trying my best not to give them the ‘sorry your husband/father is dead’ pity stare. While I haven’t experienced a death past a family pet dying, I know it sucks to be looked at like a wet puppy with three legs.
She was mid-forties, with choppy highlights tied up in a frazzled ponytail and tanned, freckled skin. Above her bikini line, she had a thorny vine, butterfly-encrusted tattoo from a life BC (before children). She had on aviator sunglasses, I’m sure to cover up the darkness around her eyes. Her son, the priest, came down with a perfect head of hair, smooth complexion, broad stature, and a lack of direct eye contact. His girlfriend, the Christian influencer, came in a cloud of gingerness, from hair to cheery expression. Finally, the daughter came; she was the one holding the urn. She held a stoic sort of face, an obvious front to not burst into tears, her dad hated to see her cry. She was a pretty athletic girl with long brunette hair, someone who you knew wouldn’t have trouble fitting in during her first semester of college in the fall. This was the kind of family you would see in the picture frames in the photo aisle at the supermarket. Polished, perfect, and charismatic, a group of people you’d never expect to be stricken with grief.
As I started pulling away from the dock with everyone on board, I felt this sort of pressure in my chest. A type of anxiety, maybe, like I was walking on a tight rope of saying the wrong thing. What do you say to someone, some people, going through something like this?
“ So what kind of music are you guys into? The boat has Bluetooth, so we can play something if you’d like. Did he have any favorite songs?” I blurt out awkwardly.
“Oh, thank god, our speaker died and we were worried about having to do this in complete silence,” The daughter replied.
“Here is my phone, queue up what you guys want. By the way, did y’all want to cruise for a while, or *awkward pause* did you want to find somewhere to park?” I asked.
Everyone got pretty serious after that, and a sullen silence fell over the whole boat. Everyone made eye contact for a minute that lasted a lifetime, like time had slowed. They had to decide if they were finally ready to let go of one of the most important people in their lives.
“Let’s cruise for a bit, I think we might want a bit longer.” The mom replied, handing me back my phone.
“Perfect, I’ll show you that route I mentioned,” I replied, relieved that the tension had dissolved.
We had reached the end of the marina boundary, so I pressed play, turned up the volume, and pushed the throttle down. The warm wind flew through the pontoon, and the sounds of Beast of Burden started blaring. We cruised through the rolling hills and scaling cliffs of Lake Travis. We passed by the giant Spanish tile-roof mansions and infinity pools. I pointed out landmarks like the deepest point of the lake and a random McMansion I always claimed to be owned by Matthew McConaughey.
The whole group seemed to lighten up a bit. While the daughter still held tightly to her father, now in his cold metal oblong shape, her stoic expression cracked with a smile from the jokes of her brother’s girlfriend. The mom let the warm sun bake her skin, a small lizard-like grin came across her as she bopped her head to the music around her. The brother, while never really looking at anyone or anything, even chimed into the group with random compliments to the scenery or follow-ups to his sister’s conversation.
After about forty-five minutes of this, a song came on that, now of course I can’t remember the name, but was of great importance. One that signified a wedding, two births, and a lifetime of adventure. One that told everyone on the boat that it was time to let Dad flow with the current of the Colorado River, like he asked. They all looked at me with that bittersweet sort of look, and I knew what was next.
“Where do you want to say goodbye?” I ask.
“Just head east, and I think we will know the spot when we see it.”
And so we did, head east. Kevin and his family apparently came to Lake Travis a few times over the years. It was always a place for them to make family memories, get sunburns, and of course listen to rock music. Whether it was on their old boat or the lake house they used to have, this was the place that he felt most himself. The place he asked to be tossed when he kicked rocks. Not that he was ever expecting it to happen so soon when he said it.
As we cruised up the body of the snake that is Lake Travis, I felt everyone else get that feeling in their stomach that I first had at the beginning of the cruise. Kevin began to feel the white knuckled embrace from his terrified daughter, who held him tighter than ever before. Tighter than any hug she had given him in real life. This part of the trip was like playing metaphorical chicken with the length of the lake. Eventually, we would hit the Mansfield dam if someone didn’t speak up soon. How could they?
Out of the left corner of my eye, I spotted a cove without any powerlines above. A cove untouched by the real estate developers tearing down the forests of my childhood. It was a cove of trees, limestone, and blue-green water. It felt perfect. I turned down the music, let off the throttle, and got everyone’s attention.
“How about this one?” I asked a bit timidly.
The group looked at each other, and then of course, to the cove as inspectors. Raising their eyebrows and craning their necks, they tried to analyze every part. They looked back at each other, then the cove again, then once again at each other.
“Let’s check it out.” The mom said, not necessarily agreeing that this would be the spot. Partially because of her uncertainty, partially because she wasn’t sure if her kids approved just yet. I guess this is the sort of thing you ease yourself into.
I went at an idle speed. Idle speed is boat talk for the lowest possible gear to move forward. Primarily, you only do this in marinas, so you don’t shake the docks or the boats parked inside them. It’s a sort of law/custom on bodies of water to not damage other people's stuff as well as safely navigate blind corners. The latter could apply to this case.
The cove was absolutely beautiful, and I would love to be dumped here one day. Yet as I searched for an approving look, everyone remained silent, searching for something. I think they knew a sign would come.
Just as I got close to the end of the cove, a rustling in the bushes on the right side just ahead sounded. Slender legs with black hooves came out, and eventually matched a body with a speckled white coat and wet black nose. A baby fawn had emerged from the shadows. As it stumbled across the rocky limestone shore, its body wobbled awkwardly. We all watched as this creature came to the shore's edge and jumped into the water. At first we weren't sure if we were witnessing a drowning or not, but its little head popped out of the water with its shiny pink tongue hanging out side. Slowly but surely, like the idling boat, the fawn made its way across the cove to greet its mother. As he got to the other side, he shook off the water and nestled himself into the bosom of the doe that had crossed before him.
The family looked at each other with a sappy smile, and the mother craned her head and spoke unanimously, “This is the place. Let’s dump him here and then park for a bit and swim. I think all of us are ready to jump in.”
Everyone fumbled a bit and discussed what song to play, how they were gonna hold Dad, etc. As they did that, I tried to figure out which way the current flowed in the cove. While he seemed like a funny guy, I would hate for anyone to get a mouthful of Kevin for his last laugh. Luckily, the water was flowing fast that day, so with a stretch of my arm off the side of the boat to dip my hand in, I figured out that the water was headed towards the exit of the cove. I set on the idea of pulling up a bit towards the exit and then idling backwards so they could send him off while sitting on the front edge of the boat, allowing his remains to flow to the larger body, poetic and practical.
The girlfriend held back while the three got together on the front, each hanging their legs into the water. They each gave a speech amongst themselves about Kevin, how much they missed him, and how they loved him. They all got rid of their masks temporarily and cried together as a family. When they were ready, they took the top off the urn and began to pour. The white ashes dissipated into the water with a plume of swirls. His remains gave the water an opaque glow for a moment, shining the bright light of the afternoon sun into the mourning eyes of the people who loved him the most. The light soon dimmed, and his remains began to flow out of the mouth of the cove into the lake. His remains forever a part of the Colorado River, forever a part of that cove.
The three of them sat there for a while, not saying a word, with the hums of Kevin’s greatest hits in the back.
Boop. The recording sound of a smartphone sounded, and to my left saw the girlfriend taking a video of this moment.
“The congregation is going to love this one.” I saw her say to herself. Jesus fucking christ.
Weekly Art Piece
I made this one with felt markers and paper.
WSTYSLT: Just Like Honey by The Jesus and Mary Chain
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