PERSONAL HISTORY BYTE
Apr. 27th, 2004 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plumtreeblossomCousin Lori was 10 when I was born, and she made it no secret that she would not let this new baby girl steal her thunder.
Even at an early age, Lori was the One Star in an otherwise lackluster and creatively void family. She had captivating physical beauty and an uncontainable sexual energy that was the life force of everything she did. My father referred to Cousin Lori as the Schoolyard Sexpot, and he wasn’t far off the mark. By her pre-teens she was already a spectacular raven-haired vixen with penetrating green eyes that stopped grown men in their tracks. In high school she went on to become a state champion cheerleader, an honor roll student, and the lover of a middle-aged teacher whose career was sacrificed to her charms.
I was easy for Lori to ignore when I was very small. But as it became clear that there was someone else in the family with some attention-getting capabilities, her animosity began its slow ascent to the surface. While I didn’t have her physical beauty, I was extroverted and interested in the performing arts, and prone to grabbing the spotlight more often than she cared to share it.
In her 20’s, Lori bulldozed through 3 childless marriages, then moved to Dallas to be the kept woman of a filthy rich executive. She took up belly dancing and became a professional. She left the sugar daddy and supplemented her income with a bit of escort service work. There was a string of men that I didn’t keep track of, but they were all older, wealthy, and easily manipulated.
As adults, Lori and I couldn’t stand each other. When I was forced to present myself for her infrequent visits to Rochester, I would show up in black lipstick and whiteface just to rock her neo-Texan sensibilities. Lori never missed her chances to get digs in at me to my mother:
"Well, she certainly didn’t turn out as pretty as we’d hoped, did she, Aunt Jinny? But I’m sure you love her anyway."
Lori’s dervish was spun by amphetamines and ever-increasing quantities of alcohol. It wasn’t long after 30 that her looks started to fade. The belly dancing work dried up, as presumably did the escort work. Her spectacular jade eyes became poppy and yellowed. By her late 30s her face had grown wrinkled and leathery like someone decades older. Without the sex appeal that had driven her entire life, Lori became lost in a permanently directionless circle.
Late one morning, Lori’s 4th husband, whom she was in the process of leaving for a new lover, saw her curled up asleep on the couch as he left for some Sunday errands. When he returned at 3:00, he noticed she hadn’t moved. He tried to wake her, but she was stone dead. Curled up in a ball. She was 41.
It wasn’t suicide. The autopsy revealed a cranial aneurysm. Something just popped in her head. Her star went out. Her number was up. Just like that.
I’m thinking about it because my mom reminded me that this week is the 10-year anniversary of Lori’s death. I’m now almost the age she was when fate and sadness took her out of the game. Death is random, yet it’s not random at all. Our numbers will all come up -- we just don’t know when. Don’t know how soon.
It’s got me thinking that I have to stop saying "I’ve got the rest of my life" to do this or that. True, I do have the rest of my life, but the rest of my life could be this one single day. This one hour. Something could just pop in my head, like anyone’s. Just like that. The time is now to burn bright, because no one knows when Too Late is Now.
Don’t let your star go out.
Even at an early age, Lori was the One Star in an otherwise lackluster and creatively void family. She had captivating physical beauty and an uncontainable sexual energy that was the life force of everything she did. My father referred to Cousin Lori as the Schoolyard Sexpot, and he wasn’t far off the mark. By her pre-teens she was already a spectacular raven-haired vixen with penetrating green eyes that stopped grown men in their tracks. In high school she went on to become a state champion cheerleader, an honor roll student, and the lover of a middle-aged teacher whose career was sacrificed to her charms.
I was easy for Lori to ignore when I was very small. But as it became clear that there was someone else in the family with some attention-getting capabilities, her animosity began its slow ascent to the surface. While I didn’t have her physical beauty, I was extroverted and interested in the performing arts, and prone to grabbing the spotlight more often than she cared to share it.
In her 20’s, Lori bulldozed through 3 childless marriages, then moved to Dallas to be the kept woman of a filthy rich executive. She took up belly dancing and became a professional. She left the sugar daddy and supplemented her income with a bit of escort service work. There was a string of men that I didn’t keep track of, but they were all older, wealthy, and easily manipulated.
As adults, Lori and I couldn’t stand each other. When I was forced to present myself for her infrequent visits to Rochester, I would show up in black lipstick and whiteface just to rock her neo-Texan sensibilities. Lori never missed her chances to get digs in at me to my mother:
"Well, she certainly didn’t turn out as pretty as we’d hoped, did she, Aunt Jinny? But I’m sure you love her anyway."
Lori’s dervish was spun by amphetamines and ever-increasing quantities of alcohol. It wasn’t long after 30 that her looks started to fade. The belly dancing work dried up, as presumably did the escort work. Her spectacular jade eyes became poppy and yellowed. By her late 30s her face had grown wrinkled and leathery like someone decades older. Without the sex appeal that had driven her entire life, Lori became lost in a permanently directionless circle.
Late one morning, Lori’s 4th husband, whom she was in the process of leaving for a new lover, saw her curled up asleep on the couch as he left for some Sunday errands. When he returned at 3:00, he noticed she hadn’t moved. He tried to wake her, but she was stone dead. Curled up in a ball. She was 41.
It wasn’t suicide. The autopsy revealed a cranial aneurysm. Something just popped in her head. Her star went out. Her number was up. Just like that.
I’m thinking about it because my mom reminded me that this week is the 10-year anniversary of Lori’s death. I’m now almost the age she was when fate and sadness took her out of the game. Death is random, yet it’s not random at all. Our numbers will all come up -- we just don’t know when. Don’t know how soon.
It’s got me thinking that I have to stop saying "I’ve got the rest of my life" to do this or that. True, I do have the rest of my life, but the rest of my life could be this one single day. This one hour. Something could just pop in my head, like anyone’s. Just like that. The time is now to burn bright, because no one knows when Too Late is Now.
Don’t let your star go out.