Waking up at Tiffany's

In the early 90’s I was close to death. Not just a quick glimpse of death, like getting in a car accident and pulling myself back from the brink of “the permanent slumber”, but I was on a long, stately, apparent road to death.  The details are not important, but I was certain that I was going to die and there was no way to avoid it and I could feel my life slipping away.   There is a certain morbid happiness to that time now that I look back on it.  Those days I was hovering on the edge, I remember certain things more vividly and fondly: life takes on a sweetness when it is about to be pulled from you. 

In those dark months, there were days I could hardly muster the energy or strength to go the kitchen to get water.  Food was eaten out of necessity rather than out of hunger.  Though I knew I would eventually need to be hospitalized, I chose not to put myself into that situation until I absolutely had to.   But, what gave me the most strength was reading. I was lost in a world which was a complete illusion and as unhealthy as it might seemed to live in a world that was complete illusion, the reality given to me by an illusion gave me hope, the hope of a better day.

One short story I remember the most from that time was “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Truman Capote.  It is not the “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” we all know from the Hollywood Audrey Hepburn version. This was the real short story, full of all the ugliness that life really is, but told through an artistic filter.  I took a quick liking to the character of Holiday Golightly, as she reminded me of myself a bit, before I became ill. She was brash, full of life and “very brazen”.  Holiday Golightly thought it was very useful to be brazen. I still do think it is useful to be brazen, to a certain extent, but I’ve learned to turn that skill to other areas of my life.

One thing that stuck out of the story which remained with me until a few days ago was that thing Holly calls the “mean reds”. 

“….My complexes aren’t inferior enough: being a movie star and having a big fat ego are supposed to go hand in hand; actually, it’s essential not to have any ego at all.  I don’t mean I’d mind being rich and famous.  That’s very much on my schedule, and someday I’ll try to get around to it; but if it happens, I’d like to have my ego tagging along.  I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning at Tiffany’s.  You need a glass,” she said noticing my empty hands.  “Rusty! Will you bring my friend a drink?”

        She was still hugging the cat. “Poor slob,” she said, tickling his head, “poor slob without a name. It’s a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven’t any right to give him one: he’ll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don’t even belong to each other:  he’s an independent, and so am I.  I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and this thing belong together. I am not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know it’s like.” She smiled, and let he cat drop to the floor. “It’s like Tiffany’s,” she said. “Not that I give a hoot about jewelry.  Diamonds, yes.  But it’s tacky to wear diamonds before you’re forty; and even that’s risky. They only look right on the really old girls. Maria Ouspenskaya.  Wrinkles and bones, white hair and diamonds: I can’t wait.  But that’s not why I am mad about Tiffany’s. Listen. You know those days when you’ve got the mean reds?”

            “Same as the blues?”

            “No,” she said slowly.  “No, the blues are because you’re getting fat or maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re sad, that’s all. But the mean reds are horrible. You’re afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don’t know what you are afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don’t what it is. You’ve had that feeling?”

            “Quite often. Some people call it angst.”

            “Well alright. Angst. But what do you do about it?”

            “Well, a drink helps.”

            “I’ve tired that. I’ve even tried aspirin too. Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle. What I’ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s.  It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany’s, then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.”

I remember reading this passage over and over. There was something about the words that resonated within in me so clearly and deeply.  I knew what Holly meant by being afraid and not knowing what you are afraid of.  I also knew what she meant about wanting to find a real-life place like Tiffany’s.   So in those days of not knowing was coming next, I wanted to find my own Tiffany’s, a place where you feel like you belong and feel safe. A place where you could feel comfortable enough to “buy some furniture and give the cat a name.”

Gradually I did become better and stronger, but it was not without some cost. I had to sell most of what I had, including that copy of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, to make it through those dark times.  I had to move out of my apartment and move into a single room in a friends’ house, which I rented for $100 dollars a month.  But somewhere planted in the back of my mind was that image of a place where I belonged, where the “mean reds” could not get me. 

Time passed, as it does, and several weeks ago, I bought another copy of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” at a bookstore that was going out of business.  Seeing that book again was like seeing a friend who I had not seen in years.  Over the last 15 or so years, I have been gradually buying back things I had sold during my dark days. Some things will never be recovered, but the things, which can be recovered, are. 

Several days ago I started reading B at T again and came across that passage again and the flood of memories came back: the laying in bed for days, the uncertainty of what was coming, what would need to be sold next, getting food delivered from the food bank and that strange sense of hope I got from reading that passage.

I put my book down and looked around at “the quietness and the proud look” of my home.  I got a shiver of delight and a wave of peace came over me like I had never had before.  I have bought furniture and not only have I named one cat, but two. As well as four dogs and one parrot.  I think I know where that real-life place like Tiffany’s is and it has been a long time in the making: It is right where I am now.