“Jayzee, are you ready?” Kim asks.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Quiet on the set!” he says, and the shoot begins.
~
I had intended to record only a few of my songs -- these miracle songs that had sprung out of my broken soul when I had least expected it.
“Just a few songs,” I had thought to myself, but now, in front of the camera, my stifled creativity -- in hiding for so long -- was bursting out in unimagined ways: crawling on the rough floor in a ninja outfit, dancing barefoot to my own music on a beautiful carpet, speaking my own script, wearing my lavender gown on an enchanting purple set … and singing … I was actually singing my own songs, my silent babies … my broken heart exposed, my wounded soul soaring in spirals of healing … my silent babies were silent no longer.
How did I ever make it to the set? I had steered clear of it many times, panic-stricken. “You could have your own TV show!” Walter had said. Me? Little Me in front of the camera? Sorry, buddy, not me.
Truthfully, why should I be surprised that I made it to the set? It certainly was not the first time the impossible had happened.
~
United States, 1979.
Alone in this country, away from friends and family, not knowing the language … How did I get here? How could this have happened?
Confusion … utter confusion …
I had left Argentina during the worst part of the military regime, when thousands of people were being kidnapped, tortured and killed by the government. I didn’t know then that my mind had been tortured, I didn’t know the chemistry of my brain had been altered due to childhood trauma and prolonged exposure to violence and psychosis in my family, I didn’t know then that I was a trauma survivor. I just didn’t know…
~
“If I break down in tears while I’m singing, just keep it rolling,” I tell the guys at the studio. And we tape the songs over and over again, for I’ve never played and sung from memory before and I keep making mistake after mistake after mistake.
Come to think of it, I’ve never designed a set before either, and do I need makeup? (For gosh sakes, Jay! of course you need makeup!) And what about my hair? And I need different outfits! And different sets! Colors! Colors! We need more colors! Oh my God!
God: yes?
Jay: I’m producing my own show!
God: yes, baby, you are producing your own show
~
Newly arrived from Argentina, there were so many things I didn’t know then. I was twenty-seven, yet I had remained a child inside due to neglect, and abandonment, and so much more … and I didn’t know … I didn’t know I was just a child … I just didn’t know …
Newly arrived from Argentina, living in an empty studio near the conservatory, I didn’t know it would be okay to buy a bed, or even just a mattress, so I slept on newspapers on the floor and became sick, for I didn’t know that the round gadget on the wall could have turned the heat on during the wintertime … I just didn’t know …
And when my luggage got lost and I was left with only one pair of high heels, I didn’t know I could get myself a pair of walking shoes … I just didn’t know … I didn’t know trauma had rendered me mentally deficient, I didn’t know my life would become a passionate quest to reclaim my mental faculties … I just didn’t know …
~
Brighton, Massachusetts, 1992.
My friend Carol drives me to work.
“Jay, you should get a car,” she says.
“Nope.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“I can’t drive, that’s why.”
“Jay, there are idiots driving on these streets, you can drive.”
“Nope, I can’t drive, you drive.”
~
-God! God!
-Jay! Jay! what’s the matter?
Jay: I’m getting my driver’s license!
God: Jay, baby, you get panic attacks just from walking around the block; are you sure you want to do this?
Jay: I said, I’m getting my license
And in 1995, at age forty-three, I got my driver’s license.
~
Wearing my red outfit, on the red set, my eyes swollen from crying while practicing at home, I sing “Tears,” evoking my healing journey from devastating losses.
“Jayzee! You didn’t cry!” the guys tell me in between takes. How I made it through the taping of my seven songs without shedding a tear, only God knows.
God: who? me?
~
I hated God. There was no God in my life. The very word made me sick.
“Talk to God, Jay,” my therapist suggested in 2002.
“I’m not talking to that guy,” I replied, “I’m giving him the silent treatment.”
I was so angry, so angry.
“It seems strange to me that you won’t talk to someone that is so important in your life,” my therapist said.
God was important in my life? I didn’t think so.
God: smart guy, your therapist, huh?
Jay: be quiet, I’m writing
God: all right, all right
Who would have known then that the voice popping up in my head in italics …
God: Mister Italics?
Jay: Mister Italics
… would pull me out of my suicidal impulses, leading me, years later, to Cambridge Reprographics, printer of my first and third books?
God: remind me, little one, what was our first title?
Jay: “GOD, YOU’RE DRIVING ME BANANAS!”
God: WHAT DID I DO NOW?
Jay: nothing, you knucklehead, that was our first title
God: good title, if you ask me
Jay: I’m always asking, in case you haven’t noticed
God: and I’m always responding, in case you haven’t noticed
Jay: touché
~
My life in the United States … After graduating from The New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, I wandered hopelessly from job to job, barely making a living, feeling lost, oh so lost …
~
- God! God!
-Jay! Jay! what’s the matter??
Jay: we are buying a house!
God: who’s buying a house?
Jay: you and I, you knucklehead
God: WE ARE?
Jay: yup
God: and how did that happen?
Jay: I have so many singing students, we’ve saved enough for the down payment
God: what about the mortgage?
Jay: what mortgage?
God: (God help us)
Jay: oh, yeah, the mortgage, what about it?
God: well, who’s going to pay for it?
Jay: you are
God: I AM?
Jay: yup
God: sorry Jay, can’t find my wallet
Jay: don’t give me that one now, I’m counting on you
God: you can count on me, baby
Jay: well, that’s good to know
~
And at age forty-six I bought a house in Malden, Massachusetts. Then a friend came to visit and I told him that, when I was in the shower, the bathtub was so slanted I had to hold on to the faucet for dear life, and the bathroom door refused with all its might to be shut …
God: quite a sight from the hallway
Jay: oh shush
... and my friend said: “The house is settling, Jorgelina, but the bathroom door is staying put.” Fair enough. Except that English being my second language, and knowing nothing (and I mean nothing) about houses, I misheard the word “settling.”
-God! God!
-Jay! Jay! what’s the matter?
Jay: the house is sinking! the house is sinking!
God: when the house is sinking, you hold on to me, baby
Jay: the bathroom door is staying put, though
God: it is?
Jay: yeah
God: glad to know I have backup
~
“Jayzee, are you ready?” Kim asks.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Quiet on the set!” he says. And the music begins, three cameras following my feet while I dance and dance and dance, leaving it all behind … the panic, the fear, the tears, the heart-breaking memories … all there is now, is the dance …
God: Jay, baby, we are leaving the horror behind, aren’t we?
Jay: we are leaving the horror behind
God: who would have known, huh?
Jay: who would have known?
God: should we celebrate?
Jay: yeah, let’s celebrate
God: may I have this dance?
Jay: I’m all yours
God: same here, baby, same here
(And they danced the night away until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.)
The End
~
The Dance takes place on the background of the production of Jorgelina Zeoli's musical video Reach for the Stars! (Jayzee's Story) which gives glimpses of Jorgelina's victories as a trauma survivor.
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Vocal.Media Challenges: Fiction Awards
If you could ask for a miracle
I couldn't let her go, Journey through Alzheimer's
The Heartbreak, Journey through Alzheimer's
The Ordeal, Clergy sexual abuse
About the Creator
Jorgelina Zeoli
Jorgelina Zeoli is a former recital organist and teaches singing and Tai Chi. Her memoirs, films and songs focus on personal growth and the healing of her inner child. She incorporates humor, poetry and art. She resides in the USA.
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Bound by Heart, Longing for Home
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By Beck_Moulton5 days ago in Confessions
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