Heartbreak. I've been studying its complexities for years--but not that many, I'm only 17. There has to be a way avoid its poison influence.
There is the coward's solution of withdrawal and seclusion where chances escape from the ensconced personages. A house, a workplace, a gathering of those of same sex to avoid temptation with contempt. Places are checkpoints veiled with a stare caught on the ground. Visions come of ambitions, goals, accomplishment, always refraining from scenes of conjointed passion pleasure. The mind is cluttered with things of need, not the whim of wandering wants or the fruit of unreasonable thought. Never unreasonable thought. Thoughts of escaping from strict regiment, then comes danger.
Some are not as severe with their restriction, but only disconnect in feelings and commitments, keeping themselves within regular routine. Boyfriends and girlfriends are even part of a year's experience, but never do three vulnerable syllables pass the lips. Vulnerability is totally avoided. Relationships equate to events on a calendar, planned out and predicable. Cut ties when he comes to close.
The poison of heartbreak drives me to elude my past behavior. Every lover transformed to an attacker. But what could he want when there's nothing where my heart used to be?
December 31, 2012
Betrayal
Words tear at my throat in the hope of gaining control of my mouth to utter to her. Jane and I had only one week until I left to join all those that have done the same in the past year. Four of us would be reunited, while she remained under the same roof. Not only did I have mixed feelings of leaving her behind, but these haunting words would only tear her apart.
Ren had returned two months earlier to stroke my hair and kiss my temples. Jane would grasp his hand, but his eyes followed me. Ren loves Jane, we both do, as she loves us.
Ren had returned two months earlier to stroke my hair and kiss my temples. Jane would grasp his hand, but his eyes followed me. Ren loves Jane, we both do, as she loves us.
Want : Need (II)
Kyle was very good at lingering; he lingered in conversation, after parties, at my door. Especially at my door.
Who could ignore such an obvious gesture? I couldn't. Tom wasn't taking me anywhere and Kyle was new, intriguing.
So I took the bait. He joined me when my roommates were gone; I began to cross into his physical bubble: casually touching his hands, sitting and standing slightly closer to his figure, lingering in our hugs before he left.
One early morning, when the sky was grey while the sun hid behind the mountains, he met me outside to walk to campus. During the presentation his hand would caress against my side, against my palm. Reckless teenager felt nice.
In the evening, we all gathered in the dark to watch a movie. My eyes hung heavy from waking early on a weekend, so my head rested against the warmth of Kyle's chest as he held me in his arms. Occasionally I would raise my head to watch a particularly engaging scene or at the prompting of Kyle's to make sure I was awake. At that point he would lift my head level with his. His third prompting led to a kiss. In the quiet darkness we shared a few more, only distracted by the presence of our company.
Monday I would have to buy my roommates ice cream.
Who could ignore such an obvious gesture? I couldn't. Tom wasn't taking me anywhere and Kyle was new, intriguing.
So I took the bait. He joined me when my roommates were gone; I began to cross into his physical bubble: casually touching his hands, sitting and standing slightly closer to his figure, lingering in our hugs before he left.
One early morning, when the sky was grey while the sun hid behind the mountains, he met me outside to walk to campus. During the presentation his hand would caress against my side, against my palm. Reckless teenager felt nice.
In the evening, we all gathered in the dark to watch a movie. My eyes hung heavy from waking early on a weekend, so my head rested against the warmth of Kyle's chest as he held me in his arms. Occasionally I would raise my head to watch a particularly engaging scene or at the prompting of Kyle's to make sure I was awake. At that point he would lift my head level with his. His third prompting led to a kiss. In the quiet darkness we shared a few more, only distracted by the presence of our company.
Monday I would have to buy my roommates ice cream.
December 20, 2012
Want : Need (I)
He invited me over for dinner. Not a date.
"Are your roommates coming too?"
"Nope." Maybe.
Kyle made dinner while I talked to his roommate. Man, was Kyle attractive. During dinner the two of us had awkward conversation. Awkward because of the silent pauses. The food was good; he lived up to his "good cook" claim.
Then he mentioned a movie. I guess it is a date...
He sat close. Closer. I restrained my hands in my lap to avoid the temptation of wandering fingers. But I didn't need to make the first move. His arm soon found itself wrapped around me, shifting me right against his side. Self-control faded from my fingers and were then interwoven with his.
I was never good at loyalty in romantic relationships.
"Are your roommates coming too?"
"Nope." Maybe.
Kyle made dinner while I talked to his roommate. Man, was Kyle attractive. During dinner the two of us had awkward conversation. Awkward because of the silent pauses. The food was good; he lived up to his "good cook" claim.
Then he mentioned a movie. I guess it is a date...
He sat close. Closer. I restrained my hands in my lap to avoid the temptation of wandering fingers. But I didn't need to make the first move. His arm soon found itself wrapped around me, shifting me right against his side. Self-control faded from my fingers and were then interwoven with his.
I was never good at loyalty in romantic relationships.
June 9, 2012
Last Moments (III)
It was dark outside and the rain created trails of sparks in front of the headlights. Not too far away Ren had his phone pressed to his ear.
"Ren, we're right over here. Actually just walk straight, we're the only ones with the lights on."
"Oh there you are!"
"Mhmm, I'll see you in a sec."
There was an empty seat in the front, but he opened the back door instead.
"Hi."
"I'm glad you found us."
"I know, it was so hard to find you guys."
The third seat in the back was taken up by a car seat, but the lack of space didn't matter. Two seats was more than enough.
I like his hand around my waist, it feels normal and protective. I like when he looks at me, because it always means something. I love his hand in my hair, because it's his way of telling me he adores me.
I regret not saying more to him; there were so many more conversations to have. We both had so much to say and those last moments could only say so much.
I don't regret that we only exchanged "I love you" once. Words are temporary pieces of far greater memory.
"Ren, we're right over here. Actually just walk straight, we're the only ones with the lights on."
"Oh there you are!"
"Mhmm, I'll see you in a sec."
There was an empty seat in the front, but he opened the back door instead.
"Hi."
"I'm glad you found us."
"I know, it was so hard to find you guys."
The third seat in the back was taken up by a car seat, but the lack of space didn't matter. Two seats was more than enough.
I like his hand around my waist, it feels normal and protective. I like when he looks at me, because it always means something. I love his hand in my hair, because it's his way of telling me he adores me.
I regret not saying more to him; there were so many more conversations to have. We both had so much to say and those last moments could only say so much.
I don't regret that we only exchanged "I love you" once. Words are temporary pieces of far greater memory.
June 8, 2012
Last Moments (II)
"Ten days?!"
Ren nodded.
"That's not fair." I reach out to hug him.
He could tell he enjoyed my vulnerability. "Why is it not fair?"
"Uhh, because... there's a lot of reasons."
"Like what?"
"Like... like you're my partner and you're leaving me. Among other reasons..."
He was serious now. "That makes sense."
As a distraction from our secret from him, I stumble to my feet and run straight into him, hoping to push him back with some force of my impact.
"Ren!!!" I love his amused smile as I push him back still. "Come here for a second..." I resort to pulling on his hand opposite Jane and our secret.
He plants his feet and resists my attempts to take him with me. "Lena, I came here to practice, so we better practice."
"Yeah well, we can practice over here." I manage to move him a few feet with my arms around his waist and my head against his chest.
His smile. I could never forget his smile. Nor his laugh.
When I see the red marks slashed across his side, no one else exists.
"What did you do?"
Jane answers, but all I can see is his eyes watching my concern.
"I'll be okay."
We sat down facing each other on the smooth, cold floor, legs outstretched and smiling.
"Why were you laughing at me?!"
"Oh nothing."
"Just tell me."
"Just... you look sexy when you walk in like that."
I burst out into laughter. It was always funny when he said "sexy", because in my eyes he was young and innocent. I admired that about him.
Conversation was interrupted when I wiped the sweat off his brow, then he brushed the hair behind my ear. He asked me what I did to my hair to make it the way it was.
"Actually, today I did absolutely nothing. This is actually lake water from this morning."
He continued to run his hand through it. "Don't cut it too short okay?"
Warm breath from his mouth clung to my bare ear, "What are you saying, Lena?"
After our performance we posed for pictures and when we stood in the back, I took his hand in mine and he squeezed. I love how his hands envelop mine.
The industrial counter top was cool against my bare skin, but Ren's hand in my hair was warm and comforting.
"Lena, what are you gonna major in for college?"
"Media arts, but I might change. You never know, like they say, you find out what you want to do while you're in college."
"I don't think that. I think you should know what you're gonna do before you go to college."
"I guess that's true... It's just that when my dad went to college, he changed his mind about what he was gonna do a lot, like it took him seven years to finish. So that's why I think that." I paused as he watched me. "Also, I don't think it's as important what exactly my major is, because I'm going to be a mother and I won't really be focusing on a career. As long as I'm gaining knowledge in order to teach my kids and maybe even provide for my family when needed, I'm good."
He nodded slowly with his fingers on his chin. "That makes sense."
Ren nodded.
"That's not fair." I reach out to hug him.
He could tell he enjoyed my vulnerability. "Why is it not fair?"
"Uhh, because... there's a lot of reasons."
"Like what?"
"Like... like you're my partner and you're leaving me. Among other reasons..."
He was serious now. "That makes sense."
As a distraction from our secret from him, I stumble to my feet and run straight into him, hoping to push him back with some force of my impact.
"Ren!!!" I love his amused smile as I push him back still. "Come here for a second..." I resort to pulling on his hand opposite Jane and our secret.
He plants his feet and resists my attempts to take him with me. "Lena, I came here to practice, so we better practice."
"Yeah well, we can practice over here." I manage to move him a few feet with my arms around his waist and my head against his chest.
His smile. I could never forget his smile. Nor his laugh.
When I see the red marks slashed across his side, no one else exists.
"What did you do?"
Jane answers, but all I can see is his eyes watching my concern.
"I'll be okay."
We sat down facing each other on the smooth, cold floor, legs outstretched and smiling.
"Why were you laughing at me?!"
"Oh nothing."
"Just tell me."
"Just... you look sexy when you walk in like that."
I burst out into laughter. It was always funny when he said "sexy", because in my eyes he was young and innocent. I admired that about him.
Conversation was interrupted when I wiped the sweat off his brow, then he brushed the hair behind my ear. He asked me what I did to my hair to make it the way it was.
"Actually, today I did absolutely nothing. This is actually lake water from this morning."
He continued to run his hand through it. "Don't cut it too short okay?"
Warm breath from his mouth clung to my bare ear, "What are you saying, Lena?"
After our performance we posed for pictures and when we stood in the back, I took his hand in mine and he squeezed. I love how his hands envelop mine.
The industrial counter top was cool against my bare skin, but Ren's hand in my hair was warm and comforting.
"Lena, what are you gonna major in for college?"
"Media arts, but I might change. You never know, like they say, you find out what you want to do while you're in college."
"I don't think that. I think you should know what you're gonna do before you go to college."
"I guess that's true... It's just that when my dad went to college, he changed his mind about what he was gonna do a lot, like it took him seven years to finish. So that's why I think that." I paused as he watched me. "Also, I don't think it's as important what exactly my major is, because I'm going to be a mother and I won't really be focusing on a career. As long as I'm gaining knowledge in order to teach my kids and maybe even provide for my family when needed, I'm good."
He nodded slowly with his fingers on his chin. "That makes sense."
June 6, 2012
Last Moments (I)
Slick hands pull and press arms to shape rhythm between us. Watching people, lighted shops, and tan cobblestone blur with our swinging steps. The air is thick, but we breathe in tandem.
He joins me in the chair, but before settling, our eyes are turned to Jane and she lays across our laps. I bury my face in his neck, he eases my hand into his. Three breathe exhausted breaths. Then Ren chuckles.
"What's up?" Jane asks.
He explains the sensation of my fluttering lashes against his cheek. Butterfly kisses.
When Jane left, he spreads my fingers to interlace with his, then wraps his other arm around me to repeat on the other side. The sound of his slow breathing and slight movement of his body soothes my senses to blur my consciousness.
His hazel green eyes. His forehead against mine. Another tickle fight ignites as we both reach out to grab at the other's waist. We challenge each other with meaningless conversation:
"Lena, why are you attacking me?"
"I'm not attacking you, Ren. It was you who tickled me first!"
"Are you sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure!"
"Lena, you should really calm down."
"I am calm!"
The struggle always ended with his hands gripped around my wrists. We breathe hard from the playful exertion. I always tried to slip my hands out to grab his instead, but that never lasted too long and he would cautiously release me after I promised not to tickle him.
I feel the impact of my elbow against his jaw. After the momentum of the last move dissipates, I instinctively hug him, my left cheek pressed against his.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
He joins me in the chair, but before settling, our eyes are turned to Jane and she lays across our laps. I bury my face in his neck, he eases my hand into his. Three breathe exhausted breaths. Then Ren chuckles.
"What's up?" Jane asks.
He explains the sensation of my fluttering lashes against his cheek. Butterfly kisses.
When Jane left, he spreads my fingers to interlace with his, then wraps his other arm around me to repeat on the other side. The sound of his slow breathing and slight movement of his body soothes my senses to blur my consciousness.
His hazel green eyes. His forehead against mine. Another tickle fight ignites as we both reach out to grab at the other's waist. We challenge each other with meaningless conversation:
"Lena, why are you attacking me?"
"I'm not attacking you, Ren. It was you who tickled me first!"
"Are you sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure!"
"Lena, you should really calm down."
"I am calm!"
The struggle always ended with his hands gripped around my wrists. We breathe hard from the playful exertion. I always tried to slip my hands out to grab his instead, but that never lasted too long and he would cautiously release me after I promised not to tickle him.
I feel the impact of my elbow against his jaw. After the momentum of the last move dissipates, I instinctively hug him, my left cheek pressed against his.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
June 5, 2012
Fireworks.
A first kiss. Without fireworks. What are "fireworks" anyway? It wasn't the perfect landscape of white, limestone cliffs jutting out from a pool of pure blue water made golden in patches by the reflection of the setting sun. It wasn't the rush of adrenaline stemmed from jumping from that forty foot cliff, hands gripped tight as some sense of security. It wasn't the blue of his eyes that captured mine as he held me in a watery embrace. Surprisingly it wasn't the softness of the caress that his lips ensued against mine. In fact I immediately wiped off his warm spit with the back of my hand.
He wasn't "the one". That was it. Several years were spent waiting for that one. Doesn't everyone wish for a perfect first kiss? Or was it even possible? It seems that expectations were always held too high for that single moment in our lives where this simple act of intimacy was meant to magically alter us somehow. That moment is just another portion of the road we take, leading to something greater. This boy is just another individual who will pass through your life, only leaving his name to linger in the answers of "get to know you" games and "Truth or Dare" questions. Of course he isn't the one; he's just a name. Just another brief moment.
I'm looking forward to something greater.
He wasn't "the one". That was it. Several years were spent waiting for that one. Doesn't everyone wish for a perfect first kiss? Or was it even possible? It seems that expectations were always held too high for that single moment in our lives where this simple act of intimacy was meant to magically alter us somehow. That moment is just another portion of the road we take, leading to something greater. This boy is just another individual who will pass through your life, only leaving his name to linger in the answers of "get to know you" games and "Truth or Dare" questions. Of course he isn't the one; he's just a name. Just another brief moment.
I'm looking forward to something greater.
May 6, 2012
A Dream (VI)
(Part 5: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-v.html)
Clouds formed over their rough words which reached out to grasp at the other's neck. Their eyes flashed with fury at a conversation unheard by my ears. I ducked around the curtains, but continued to watch the contention outside the window. Questions began to illustrate themselves across my thoughts, but I knew not to ask them out loud. A final phrase looked as if it echoed against the sky from Troy's mouth as my mother's car drove down the road.
To seal the secret I rushed through the hallways and leapt on the white couch faking the heavy lids of sleep. Seconds later I heard the door open and close quietly followed by his footsteps crossing the wood floor. His fingers played with the hem of my silk robe. I opened my eyes slowly to mirror the weariness of sleep and see his figure leaning over me. "Hello." I smiled up at him.
"Run away with me."
My mouth opened and closed without a clear phrase to utter in response.
He rested his head on my side and no longer kept contact with my eyes. "Never mind."
"When?"
His eyes met with mine again.
"Where?"
He smiled. "Away from here into the sunrise, wherever I go, wherever we want."
He grabbed me into his arms and walked me up the stairs as he babbled about a utopia we would live in. "I'm going to build our house with my own hands along the ridges on the coast and we'll have parties with the neighbors and listen to loud music and dive from the cliffs into the foamy waves of the sea."
He set me down on the bed and went through my closet holding up pieces for me to shake yes or no to. The sound of colliding hangers fell in harmony with Troy's continuing voice. "And we'll have a huge backyard with trees and every morning we'll wake up to the sound of birds singing and the windows will always be open so we can smell the salk of the ocean and the night sky will reveal hidden stars to our vision."
He pulled me onto my feet, then handed me a worn pair of jeans to put on. Then he untied my robe and started to slide the fabric off my shoulders, kissing each bone on my spine and speaking between each kiss. "I'll wake up every morning with you right beside me and I will always be with you wherever we go and I'll keep you in my arms when you feel like being yourself isn't enough."
When the robe fell to the floor, Troy was on his knees, cheek pressed to the skin of my back. I felt my blood pumping hard under his touch, but my naked skin began to raise little bumps when the AC began to blow against soaked hair. "Troy," I whispered.
"Oh yeah." He grabbed the floral blouse off the bed and slipped it over hands and head.
Upstairs Troy was folding my clothes to put into a suitcase. From behind the hidden flap, I retieved the bottle and sat contemplating how to bring it along with me. The house's creaks and hums orchestraed the silence until inspiration led me to my mother's bathroom. They fit perfectly into four circular tins.
Clouds formed over their rough words which reached out to grasp at the other's neck. Their eyes flashed with fury at a conversation unheard by my ears. I ducked around the curtains, but continued to watch the contention outside the window. Questions began to illustrate themselves across my thoughts, but I knew not to ask them out loud. A final phrase looked as if it echoed against the sky from Troy's mouth as my mother's car drove down the road.
To seal the secret I rushed through the hallways and leapt on the white couch faking the heavy lids of sleep. Seconds later I heard the door open and close quietly followed by his footsteps crossing the wood floor. His fingers played with the hem of my silk robe. I opened my eyes slowly to mirror the weariness of sleep and see his figure leaning over me. "Hello." I smiled up at him.
"Run away with me."
My mouth opened and closed without a clear phrase to utter in response.
He rested his head on my side and no longer kept contact with my eyes. "Never mind."
"When?"
His eyes met with mine again.
"Where?"
He smiled. "Away from here into the sunrise, wherever I go, wherever we want."
He grabbed me into his arms and walked me up the stairs as he babbled about a utopia we would live in. "I'm going to build our house with my own hands along the ridges on the coast and we'll have parties with the neighbors and listen to loud music and dive from the cliffs into the foamy waves of the sea."
He set me down on the bed and went through my closet holding up pieces for me to shake yes or no to. The sound of colliding hangers fell in harmony with Troy's continuing voice. "And we'll have a huge backyard with trees and every morning we'll wake up to the sound of birds singing and the windows will always be open so we can smell the salk of the ocean and the night sky will reveal hidden stars to our vision."
He pulled me onto my feet, then handed me a worn pair of jeans to put on. Then he untied my robe and started to slide the fabric off my shoulders, kissing each bone on my spine and speaking between each kiss. "I'll wake up every morning with you right beside me and I will always be with you wherever we go and I'll keep you in my arms when you feel like being yourself isn't enough."
When the robe fell to the floor, Troy was on his knees, cheek pressed to the skin of my back. I felt my blood pumping hard under his touch, but my naked skin began to raise little bumps when the AC began to blow against soaked hair. "Troy," I whispered.
"Oh yeah." He grabbed the floral blouse off the bed and slipped it over hands and head.
Upstairs Troy was folding my clothes to put into a suitcase. From behind the hidden flap, I retieved the bottle and sat contemplating how to bring it along with me. The house's creaks and hums orchestraed the silence until inspiration led me to my mother's bathroom. They fit perfectly into four circular tins.
May 5, 2012
A Dream (V)
(Part 4: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iv.html)
He hesitated, "At first you were only a figure running away from me into a dark fog. You were the happiest person alive. You were getting farther and farther away, so I ran after you. I felt like without that person I could never be happy again. But after I would get close, in the moment I blinked, you would disappear and appear off in the distance. Then after what seemed like hours, I saw you fall and crumble to the ground, but you didn't utter a single groan or scream. At your side was the first time I saw your face; the rest of your body was distorted with limbs at odd angles."
He took a deep breath before starting again. "When I took you in my arms, I noticed that the emotion on your face was peaceful without a single ounce of pain. I began to yell for help in small hope that there was someone with us in that strange darkness. Nobody answered. Then I felt you getting cold in my arms. The flush in your cheeks slowly faded. And I woke up.
Now here you are, in my arms again, but this time alive and well."
"Wow." An ironic laugh escaped my mouth. "My death."
"But I'll never let that happen."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I guess I can't. But I can be sure that without you, my chances at happiness would be slim to none.
Like it was before."
"I'm glad you found me."
As we watched, the television screen looked like blurs and flashes of color sailing across my eyes. After a while I could feel the blood pumping through his leg and hear his peaceful breathing.
My mom was awake in the kitchen eating our leftovers from the stove and when I walked in, she routinely reached up into the cupboard in the corner to open a small compartment behind the peanut butter and bread. Behind the flap was an unmarked medicine bottle with little green pills, which I swallowed with a glass of water. Then bottle and glass were returned, not a trace was left.
"137 left," my mother commented briefly as I started to leave.
"Please don't tell me." I paused before stepping through the archway, "Tell me when I have a week." After another pause I asked about my sister.
"She's on a road trip with her friends to Florida."
I nodded silently and left her to her breakfast; she would be gonein less than twenty minutes to visit her new boyfriend. Her excuse was work but I know that more than half the time was spent with various boyfriends that changed with the seasons. They were never brought home, as she thought I didn't know about her escapades; though I've never been curious; I don't need a father and mom was enough for me.
Part VI: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-vi.html
He hesitated, "At first you were only a figure running away from me into a dark fog. You were the happiest person alive. You were getting farther and farther away, so I ran after you. I felt like without that person I could never be happy again. But after I would get close, in the moment I blinked, you would disappear and appear off in the distance. Then after what seemed like hours, I saw you fall and crumble to the ground, but you didn't utter a single groan or scream. At your side was the first time I saw your face; the rest of your body was distorted with limbs at odd angles."
He took a deep breath before starting again. "When I took you in my arms, I noticed that the emotion on your face was peaceful without a single ounce of pain. I began to yell for help in small hope that there was someone with us in that strange darkness. Nobody answered. Then I felt you getting cold in my arms. The flush in your cheeks slowly faded. And I woke up.
Now here you are, in my arms again, but this time alive and well."
"Wow." An ironic laugh escaped my mouth. "My death."
"But I'll never let that happen."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I guess I can't. But I can be sure that without you, my chances at happiness would be slim to none.
Like it was before."
"I'm glad you found me."
As we watched, the television screen looked like blurs and flashes of color sailing across my eyes. After a while I could feel the blood pumping through his leg and hear his peaceful breathing.
My mom was awake in the kitchen eating our leftovers from the stove and when I walked in, she routinely reached up into the cupboard in the corner to open a small compartment behind the peanut butter and bread. Behind the flap was an unmarked medicine bottle with little green pills, which I swallowed with a glass of water. Then bottle and glass were returned, not a trace was left.
"137 left," my mother commented briefly as I started to leave.
"Please don't tell me." I paused before stepping through the archway, "Tell me when I have a week." After another pause I asked about my sister.
"She's on a road trip with her friends to Florida."
I nodded silently and left her to her breakfast; she would be gonein less than twenty minutes to visit her new boyfriend. Her excuse was work but I know that more than half the time was spent with various boyfriends that changed with the seasons. They were never brought home, as she thought I didn't know about her escapades; though I've never been curious; I don't need a father and mom was enough for me.
Part VI: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-vi.html
May 4, 2012
A Dream (IV)
(Part 3: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iii.html)
A whispered conversation floats through the air, two voices plotting right in front of me.
"Do you have her?"
"Yes."
"Good, now everything is in place."
"I'll be with you tomorrow."
"No. I don't need you here; you're doing perfect where you are."
There was a soft sigh.
"You should be proud, this is bringing us closer to her."
"Of course."
"You sound reluctant. Don't you want to find her?"
The other voice replied with an uncharacteristic outburst of anger, "And how is killing going to do that? I'm always doing these things for you, but how much closer are we to her? I can't even remember anymore! Every memory has been masked with crimson pools of blood." The last sentance was a decrescendo to a quieter tone. "Are you happy now? With what I've become?"
"This all had to be done, you know that. Everything has a purpose, trust me on this."
A blurry figure came into focus. He had deep blue eyes and a breathtaking face with a mouth whose shape I've felt before. Troy.
"Really?" I replied after recalling the troubling dream I had imagined in Rachel's classroom the day before. Only now did I remember the details. "What was it about?"
Part V: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-v.html
A whispered conversation floats through the air, two voices plotting right in front of me.
"Do you have her?"
"Yes."
"Good, now everything is in place."
"I'll be with you tomorrow."
"No. I don't need you here; you're doing perfect where you are."
There was a soft sigh.
"You should be proud, this is bringing us closer to her."
"Of course."
"You sound reluctant. Don't you want to find her?"
The other voice replied with an uncharacteristic outburst of anger, "And how is killing going to do that? I'm always doing these things for you, but how much closer are we to her? I can't even remember anymore! Every memory has been masked with crimson pools of blood." The last sentance was a decrescendo to a quieter tone. "Are you happy now? With what I've become?"
"This all had to be done, you know that. Everything has a purpose, trust me on this."
A blurry figure came into focus. He had deep blue eyes and a breathtaking face with a mouth whose shape I've felt before. Troy.
"Really?" I replied after recalling the troubling dream I had imagined in Rachel's classroom the day before. Only now did I remember the details. "What was it about?"
Part V: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-v.html
May 3, 2012
Dancing With Another
Muslin draped from the center of the dark ceiling to wrought iron pillars similarly wrapped in ivory fabric and lit with twinkling lights from the inside. A tent-like shape covered the middle of the dance floor and stray tendrils extended across the rest of the gym. At the center was a sparkling silver chandelier glinting in the low lighting. Off to the side was a slightly raised table with sleek equipment sitting in plain sight; there the DJ's heartily encouraged the crowd and played songs for us to dance to. I'm standing next to my date with hair tousled from perfection by free-spirited dancing and quick movements. On the ground next to me are bobby pins shed from my hair and bent from use. Caroline bent down to pick one up, but gave up when pins continued to fall out--I could only smile at her amiable thoughts of me.
"C'mon boys and girls, it's time to salsa!" invited the DJ as Latin rhythms began to weave themselves among the occupants of the floor. Caroline's skilled date leads her away to dance, while I stay standing by my date, but Jacob can't dance more than swing. "Can I steal your date awa from you for a dance?" continued the boy across from me, leaning towards Jacob.
"Sure."
James offers a hand and we step away from him and Mekinzee to the middle of the floor. He begins to move and I stuggle to follow along, pathetically glancing down at my feet ot catch the rhythm of his steps. After many measures of fighting to match steps, "Let's freestyle," he says and twirls me around his body and I start to settle into a niche of seamless phrases. An extensive pirouette grabs me into the music and landing back into Ethan's arms brought our faces close. My heart beats along with the melody. Hot breaths whisper against my cheek and I wonder if he can feel mine. Three steps to the right and we circle tightly, allowing me to sight our curious crowd of Mekinzee and Jacob. There's sweat pressed against my long dress and warmth pumps through my hands and fingertips. He guides me with whispered instructions and skillful hands taking me along with his body.
I ride on his hip into my imagination where dreams unfold and live to come true. Slowly everyone around us fades away, even the love standing by the pillar watching me with awe. Ethan's face is indecipherable and I wish I knew what he was thinking and if having me in his arms me him as happy as having him in mine. "You're really good," he tells me as the notes come to an end.
Excitedly anxious comes my date out of the corner to congratulate Ethan when we separate. "That was awesome! You gotta teach me how to do that!" He wishes he could that for me.
"C'mon boys and girls, it's time to salsa!" invited the DJ as Latin rhythms began to weave themselves among the occupants of the floor. Caroline's skilled date leads her away to dance, while I stay standing by my date, but Jacob can't dance more than swing. "Can I steal your date awa from you for a dance?" continued the boy across from me, leaning towards Jacob.
"Sure."
James offers a hand and we step away from him and Mekinzee to the middle of the floor. He begins to move and I stuggle to follow along, pathetically glancing down at my feet ot catch the rhythm of his steps. After many measures of fighting to match steps, "Let's freestyle," he says and twirls me around his body and I start to settle into a niche of seamless phrases. An extensive pirouette grabs me into the music and landing back into Ethan's arms brought our faces close. My heart beats along with the melody. Hot breaths whisper against my cheek and I wonder if he can feel mine. Three steps to the right and we circle tightly, allowing me to sight our curious crowd of Mekinzee and Jacob. There's sweat pressed against my long dress and warmth pumps through my hands and fingertips. He guides me with whispered instructions and skillful hands taking me along with his body.
I ride on his hip into my imagination where dreams unfold and live to come true. Slowly everyone around us fades away, even the love standing by the pillar watching me with awe. Ethan's face is indecipherable and I wish I knew what he was thinking and if having me in his arms me him as happy as having him in mine. "You're really good," he tells me as the notes come to an end.
Excitedly anxious comes my date out of the corner to congratulate Ethan when we separate. "That was awesome! You gotta teach me how to do that!" He wishes he could that for me.
A Dream (III)
(Part 2: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-ii.html)
Troy awoke me again with a hand on my side, guiding me into the seat of my chair. A plate of scrambled eggs and sliced fruit sitting in front of me and I could feel the steam drifting to my skin and lifting my tired eyes. Across the table he sat watching me as I ate. In between bites I smiled up at him, and asked, "Why aren't you eating with me?"
"I ate while you drifting in and out of consciousness." He smiled to himself at the remembered memory of my draped body over this table.
"You like watching me eat, don't you?"
"Yes," he said without any contemplation, like it was a part of common sense. "I love you."
I stopped chewing. Then swallowed. Across the length of the table blue and brown eyes met. "I love you," I said slowly making sure each word came out of my mouth with conviction. I couldn't eat anymore, or else I might just explode, because at that moment my heart filled my chest and stomach and fingers and every part of my body. I stretched my hand across the length of that table.
My plates clanged noisily as I climbed across the table to get to him. Inches away from him, Troy grabbed the back of my neck to pull me towards him faster. This kiss was unlike the first one, hungry and passionate. I could taste the ocean on his lips and fruit on his tongue. We crashed to the floor when he inched me off the table with each kiss. The chair flipped backward and I ended up sprawled across his chest.
There were broken plates across the room and I woke up to the reality of the situation; my mother was still sleeping only a few walls away. Troy's face reflected my realization and I shifted off his chest to let him up. Together we picked up the pieces and swept the wood floor. Then Troy turned on the TV to disguise the noise of crashing just previously.
We sat on the white couch in the sitting room and he took my head in his lap, so I could lie down while gazing. I could feel his every shift and breath against my cheek. His jeans also smelled like sea salt and the fabric felt soft from the friction of sand. He laughed and his body shook under my face. "I can feel it when you smile."
"I can feel you breath," I spoke back sentimentally.
Troy brushed back my hair and told me, "I saw you before in a dream."
Part IV: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iv.html
Troy awoke me again with a hand on my side, guiding me into the seat of my chair. A plate of scrambled eggs and sliced fruit sitting in front of me and I could feel the steam drifting to my skin and lifting my tired eyes. Across the table he sat watching me as I ate. In between bites I smiled up at him, and asked, "Why aren't you eating with me?"
"I ate while you drifting in and out of consciousness." He smiled to himself at the remembered memory of my draped body over this table.
"You like watching me eat, don't you?"
"Yes," he said without any contemplation, like it was a part of common sense. "I love you."
I stopped chewing. Then swallowed. Across the length of the table blue and brown eyes met. "I love you," I said slowly making sure each word came out of my mouth with conviction. I couldn't eat anymore, or else I might just explode, because at that moment my heart filled my chest and stomach and fingers and every part of my body. I stretched my hand across the length of that table.
My plates clanged noisily as I climbed across the table to get to him. Inches away from him, Troy grabbed the back of my neck to pull me towards him faster. This kiss was unlike the first one, hungry and passionate. I could taste the ocean on his lips and fruit on his tongue. We crashed to the floor when he inched me off the table with each kiss. The chair flipped backward and I ended up sprawled across his chest.
There were broken plates across the room and I woke up to the reality of the situation; my mother was still sleeping only a few walls away. Troy's face reflected my realization and I shifted off his chest to let him up. Together we picked up the pieces and swept the wood floor. Then Troy turned on the TV to disguise the noise of crashing just previously.
We sat on the white couch in the sitting room and he took my head in his lap, so I could lie down while gazing. I could feel his every shift and breath against my cheek. His jeans also smelled like sea salt and the fabric felt soft from the friction of sand. He laughed and his body shook under my face. "I can feel it when you smile."
"I can feel you breath," I spoke back sentimentally.
Troy brushed back my hair and told me, "I saw you before in a dream."
Part IV: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iv.html
May 2, 2012
Jacob and Ben
"It doesn't matter since you don't like him, right?" I was silent. "Right?"
"I never said I didn't like him."
"Wow, I don't understand girls at all!"
Jacob had just taken Ben's spot while he was getting me a fork and he didn't budge when he came back. Intimidated by my terrible best friend, Ben left to go to choir practice, instead of being late to spend time with me.
Now Jacob was worried. And Caroline was worried too. Jacob told me awful truths about him. I didn't dare listen, because I didn't see those things when he looked at me and he deserved my ignorance of past mistakes--until the right time to be told. Still, his stories haunted the back of my mind, no matter how I tried to forget them.
Thursday was then Friday. Goodbyes were imminent. Ben was charming, but the pain of losing my best friend to Utah was too strong to think too deeply about him. My last dance with Ben was pleasant, his last words, "I wish that song never ended."
I answered with a distracted, "Me too," because Jacob was walking towards me with a somber look on his face. This would be the last time we'd ever dance together.
I could feel the goodbye in his arms. After a short conversation, silence hung between us. That silence pinpointed my thoughts to his move and I could feel my throat thicken with sadness. I'm pretty sure that you probably couldn't fit a Book of Mormon between us, but I didn't dare let him any further from me, nor him let me from he. As we danced, I looked at the couples dancing around us and thought how happy they must be, dancing with a guy/girl they really like. However, here I was in the middle of them all, my heart breaking. Then I had to break the heavy silence, or I was going to spill tears. "What are you thinking?"
He still didn't say a word, but crushed me into a hug and spun me around. When he put me down, he kept me in his arms until he whispered, "Counselors..."
Soon the music stopped and he spun me out. Quickly I slipped out of his grip and walked over to our group of friends. My sister was the first one I saw, but she hates when I cry, so I turned to Annabella. I just hugged her tight and began to cry. Jacob paused before coming over, composing his emotions, as to not mirror my sorrow.
"Are you sad because Jacob's moving?" Annabella asked.
I nodded and turned to see Jacob with his arms open. I shifted to his side while tears continued to fall. Wylie started to sing a silly song and I loosened as she continued and laughed in short bursts of sound. I never wanted to let him go.
"I never said I didn't like him."
"Wow, I don't understand girls at all!"
Jacob had just taken Ben's spot while he was getting me a fork and he didn't budge when he came back. Intimidated by my terrible best friend, Ben left to go to choir practice, instead of being late to spend time with me.
Now Jacob was worried. And Caroline was worried too. Jacob told me awful truths about him. I didn't dare listen, because I didn't see those things when he looked at me and he deserved my ignorance of past mistakes--until the right time to be told. Still, his stories haunted the back of my mind, no matter how I tried to forget them.
Thursday was then Friday. Goodbyes were imminent. Ben was charming, but the pain of losing my best friend to Utah was too strong to think too deeply about him. My last dance with Ben was pleasant, his last words, "I wish that song never ended."
I answered with a distracted, "Me too," because Jacob was walking towards me with a somber look on his face. This would be the last time we'd ever dance together.
I could feel the goodbye in his arms. After a short conversation, silence hung between us. That silence pinpointed my thoughts to his move and I could feel my throat thicken with sadness. I'm pretty sure that you probably couldn't fit a Book of Mormon between us, but I didn't dare let him any further from me, nor him let me from he. As we danced, I looked at the couples dancing around us and thought how happy they must be, dancing with a guy/girl they really like. However, here I was in the middle of them all, my heart breaking. Then I had to break the heavy silence, or I was going to spill tears. "What are you thinking?"
He still didn't say a word, but crushed me into a hug and spun me around. When he put me down, he kept me in his arms until he whispered, "Counselors..."
Soon the music stopped and he spun me out. Quickly I slipped out of his grip and walked over to our group of friends. My sister was the first one I saw, but she hates when I cry, so I turned to Annabella. I just hugged her tight and began to cry. Jacob paused before coming over, composing his emotions, as to not mirror my sorrow.
"Are you sad because Jacob's moving?" Annabella asked.
I nodded and turned to see Jacob with his arms open. I shifted to his side while tears continued to fall. Wylie started to sing a silly song and I loosened as she continued and laughed in short bursts of sound. I never wanted to let him go.
A Dream (II)
(Part 1: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-i.html)
Troy took me home and I asked if he would stay, but he declined and told me he'd be back later. That night I couldn't sleep at all and fought against the thick tangle of blankets while the moon peeked through the blinds. I would grasp at the area beside me in hope of soothing company, but I only found slick sheets.
At the first hint of golden rays, I throw off the covers and surrender the night's battle. Avoiding the mirror, I washed my face without looking up from the sink and neatened the stray hairs alluding to my restless night. Brushing my teeth, I wondered if there were toothpaste flavors other than mint and bubblegum.
The doorbell rang and I ran down the winding stairs before my mother could bother to get up. "I got it!" I yelled in a loud whisper down the hall to her room. Through the glass I saw his blurred figure; he was wearing a puce shirt and grey jeans. He stood on the threshold, contently looking at me, then around the white opening hallway. I stood in the door, breathing in the cool morning air and glancing at my glistening yard, only the moments his eyes didn't captivate mine. He shifted his expression to one with a resolution, and then scooped me up in his arms, without one stray toe set on the tile past the door frame. His thoughtful gesture made me laugh and he kissed my nose while I asked, "Does that mean you're moving in? Or does it mean something else since we're not married?"
He grinned silently at my questions and started to wander around the house. When I buried my face into his chest, I could smell sea salt in the cotton of his shirt and his skin was slightly rough. When I kissed his arm, I could taste the salt and sand on my mouth. Then I noticed little shadows under his eyes. "Have you had breakfast?" he asked when he found his way to the kitchen.
I shook my head and he set me down horizontally on the cool glass of the kitchen table. There my hair gradually slid off the edge of the glass and hung in soft tendrils while he went to the stove and started breakfast. My eyes drooped while he cooked and black blurred the edges of my vision, carrying me off to sleep for a minute to then carefully bring me back nodding into reality.
Part III: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iii.html
Troy took me home and I asked if he would stay, but he declined and told me he'd be back later. That night I couldn't sleep at all and fought against the thick tangle of blankets while the moon peeked through the blinds. I would grasp at the area beside me in hope of soothing company, but I only found slick sheets.
At the first hint of golden rays, I throw off the covers and surrender the night's battle. Avoiding the mirror, I washed my face without looking up from the sink and neatened the stray hairs alluding to my restless night. Brushing my teeth, I wondered if there were toothpaste flavors other than mint and bubblegum.
The doorbell rang and I ran down the winding stairs before my mother could bother to get up. "I got it!" I yelled in a loud whisper down the hall to her room. Through the glass I saw his blurred figure; he was wearing a puce shirt and grey jeans. He stood on the threshold, contently looking at me, then around the white opening hallway. I stood in the door, breathing in the cool morning air and glancing at my glistening yard, only the moments his eyes didn't captivate mine. He shifted his expression to one with a resolution, and then scooped me up in his arms, without one stray toe set on the tile past the door frame. His thoughtful gesture made me laugh and he kissed my nose while I asked, "Does that mean you're moving in? Or does it mean something else since we're not married?"
He grinned silently at my questions and started to wander around the house. When I buried my face into his chest, I could smell sea salt in the cotton of his shirt and his skin was slightly rough. When I kissed his arm, I could taste the salt and sand on my mouth. Then I noticed little shadows under his eyes. "Have you had breakfast?" he asked when he found his way to the kitchen.
I shook my head and he set me down horizontally on the cool glass of the kitchen table. There my hair gradually slid off the edge of the glass and hung in soft tendrils while he went to the stove and started breakfast. My eyes drooped while he cooked and black blurred the edges of my vision, carrying me off to sleep for a minute to then carefully bring me back nodding into reality.
Part III: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-iii.html
May 1, 2012
A Dream (I)
I came back to the classroom with a jolt. On the desk in front of me laid notebooks and piles of sketches. Looking around, I was surrounded by young students, all my sister, Rachel's, age. Chatter clattered around in the air, weaving around the laughter and the grunting of scooting chairs and desks. There was flirting and gossip and tales of the weekend. I smiled when I thought of my memories of fourteen, I cared back then.
Then the teacher strolled in, commanding attention from the students and they quickly sat down in the disorganized desks. Class began and I watched the teacher teach the children, while enjoying the breeze that came from the open window and the chirping birds that rested on the sill. I could smell the sunshine through the cracked door and restrained the passion to run right through it.
An old bell clanged after an hour, calling lunch. The students clambered out the door and into the central courtyard that was bordered by the individual classrooms. Trees dotted the area, with countless shaded areas where the grass was soft and green. Sunlight poured into the enclosed space through the carious tree limbs, softening the light that dusted our brows.
Leisurely, I walked over to a nearby picnic table and sat down, carefully setting my things down in order. I ate my lunch contently, watching as the people passed by in the shaded light. As they would pass, I pictured a runway with perfect lighting and a slight breeze running through their hair, with expensive fabric clinging to their figures; I usually got my inspiration during lunch.
Then he sat down in front of me. We smiled shyly at each other, but I quickly looked back down, too embarrassed to glance any longer. His face was imperfect, yet charming with sparkling blue eyes. I'm a sucker for blue eyes. He had light brown hair that cleverly framed his face and that day he tastefully wore a gray hat. At that moment, I was very engrossed in my plum and how the juice dripped down my mouth, hopefully not making a fool of myself. I only looked up a few times to quickly soak in his loveliness. He smiled while he ate, if that's even possible.
"Charis, your mom's here," announced Nandini, a friendly girl I used to know.
My mom looked prettier than usual. She waved to me as she passed, with a sly smiled spread on her face. I waved back and continued to watch with a small wonder as she walked over to the main office, clear on the other side of the courtyard.
Absentmindedly, I began to pick up my things and managed to knock everything off the table except for my lunch. The boy rushed to his knees beside me to help with my clutter.
"Thank you," I said briefly holding his eyes with mine. Silently he smiled and continued to pick up a few pencils.
Handing me my things, he said, "It's a wonder your lunch was the only thing that didn't fall."
"Yeah." The conversation felt meaningless, but I was glad we were talking.
He grabbed me into a sloppy hug, with arms flailing, but it felt nice. Then settling into the embrace, I leaned further into his chest, but he pulled me in and I felt his heart beating strongly in his chest. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said.
"You're not so bad yourself."
"What would you say if I told you I loved you?" His eyes were shining like there were little silver flecks caught in his eyes, glittering in the rays of sun.
"Well, I would ask you how you knew that."
"Hmmm. That's a pretty valid question." He paused. "Do you love me?"
Those last whispered words cued my heart to pound hard against my ribs.
"Just think, if he hadn't sat in front of you to eat his lunch, you guys wouldn't be having this moment," interposed my mother. We looked at her and she grinned when she walked back to her car.
We looked after her for a few moments, because she was beautifully outlined in the gleam of the sunset. I sighed at the magnificence and he thoughtfully ran his fingers through my hair.
I then gathered all my things together and he took my lunch in one of his hands. Naturally I leaned into his shoulder, as he gently grasped my waist while we walked. Leading me to his car, I could feel the gleam on my shoulders and my fingertips. And I could feel it in my eyes too.
Part II: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-ii.html
Then the teacher strolled in, commanding attention from the students and they quickly sat down in the disorganized desks. Class began and I watched the teacher teach the children, while enjoying the breeze that came from the open window and the chirping birds that rested on the sill. I could smell the sunshine through the cracked door and restrained the passion to run right through it.
An old bell clanged after an hour, calling lunch. The students clambered out the door and into the central courtyard that was bordered by the individual classrooms. Trees dotted the area, with countless shaded areas where the grass was soft and green. Sunlight poured into the enclosed space through the carious tree limbs, softening the light that dusted our brows.
Leisurely, I walked over to a nearby picnic table and sat down, carefully setting my things down in order. I ate my lunch contently, watching as the people passed by in the shaded light. As they would pass, I pictured a runway with perfect lighting and a slight breeze running through their hair, with expensive fabric clinging to their figures; I usually got my inspiration during lunch.
Then he sat down in front of me. We smiled shyly at each other, but I quickly looked back down, too embarrassed to glance any longer. His face was imperfect, yet charming with sparkling blue eyes. I'm a sucker for blue eyes. He had light brown hair that cleverly framed his face and that day he tastefully wore a gray hat. At that moment, I was very engrossed in my plum and how the juice dripped down my mouth, hopefully not making a fool of myself. I only looked up a few times to quickly soak in his loveliness. He smiled while he ate, if that's even possible.
"Charis, your mom's here," announced Nandini, a friendly girl I used to know.
My mom looked prettier than usual. She waved to me as she passed, with a sly smiled spread on her face. I waved back and continued to watch with a small wonder as she walked over to the main office, clear on the other side of the courtyard.
Absentmindedly, I began to pick up my things and managed to knock everything off the table except for my lunch. The boy rushed to his knees beside me to help with my clutter.
"Thank you," I said briefly holding his eyes with mine. Silently he smiled and continued to pick up a few pencils.
Handing me my things, he said, "It's a wonder your lunch was the only thing that didn't fall."
"Yeah." The conversation felt meaningless, but I was glad we were talking.
He grabbed me into a sloppy hug, with arms flailing, but it felt nice. Then settling into the embrace, I leaned further into his chest, but he pulled me in and I felt his heart beating strongly in his chest. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said.
"You're not so bad yourself."
"What would you say if I told you I loved you?" His eyes were shining like there were little silver flecks caught in his eyes, glittering in the rays of sun.
"Well, I would ask you how you knew that."
"Hmmm. That's a pretty valid question." He paused. "Do you love me?"
Those last whispered words cued my heart to pound hard against my ribs.
"Just think, if he hadn't sat in front of you to eat his lunch, you guys wouldn't be having this moment," interposed my mother. We looked at her and she grinned when she walked back to her car.
We looked after her for a few moments, because she was beautifully outlined in the gleam of the sunset. I sighed at the magnificence and he thoughtfully ran his fingers through my hair.
I then gathered all my things together and he took my lunch in one of his hands. Naturally I leaned into his shoulder, as he gently grasped my waist while we walked. Leading me to his car, I could feel the gleam on my shoulders and my fingertips. And I could feel it in my eyes too.
Part II: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/05/dream-ii.html
Partners In Crime (II)
(Part 1: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/04/partners-in-crime-i.html)
After that day, Jane nicknamed Ren and I Watson and Sherlock Holms, roles we have stuck to ever since. We've been through reruns of that day, always searching to wipe away tears. Not only Jane has been on our radar, but at the end of a particularly long hunt, we've found Cara.
Cara was beyond light's reach, in the bushes, crying in Jane's arms.
Ren turned to me and asked, "Do you think that we should go over there?"
"I dunno," I replied after pausing to consider. "Why, what do you think?"
"I don't know either... You're better at these things." He paused. "Would you want a guy to be there when you were crying?"
"Not sure." We stood silently for prolonging moments and I decided that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't go over to her. "Let's go."
The mud she stood in was as thick as her tears. Not a word was said as we all wrapped our arms around her. "I love you guys," she said.
"Love you too, Cara."
The next episode was during the New Year's Eve when Ren came up to me with the familiar question, "Do you know where Jane is?"
I guiltily adored how he came to me first whenever this dilemma was brought to his attention. "Well, I was with her on the stage a few songs ago, but I left her with Lucas... She seemed okay."
"Do you know where she is now?"
"Uhhh..." I scanned through the shadows and crowds. "Nope." I could see in his eyes that he was worried, so I decided to go with his gut.
We took hands and preceded to go through the routine comb of the building. Jane was sitting in the hallway talking to a girl, whose name escapes me, as I came to share the chair she was sitting in and Ren was on the ground beside me. After parting words, it was just the three of us.
We took her into an empty classroom and she told us snippets of the altercation between her and Lucas, how she felt that she wasn't giving him enough attention. She was feeling discouraged, and was questioning all her other friendships and if she was a terrible friend to them also.
I took both her hands in mine and knelt in front of her, looking her straight in the eyes, denying every discouraging conception that came out of her mouth.
"You know, the days that I came into your class when you weren't there, I'd still say 'hi' to Evelyn, after looking for you. But she thinks that I don't care about her, that I only come in to ask her where you are. I'm such a terrible friend."
"You are not terrible." I took a deep breath and a thought came to me. "Jane, does anybody even come to your class to see you? You are way better than you think you are."
Ren backed me up, praising her care and devotion to others.
I wiped her tears from her eyes and rubbed off the smudged mascara. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ren looking at me as much as he was looking at her. I faintly wondered if he admired me for the love I gave Jane, but then dismissed it quickly, not daring to let him take hold of my thoughts.
A leader came in to turn on the lights, causing Ren to hurriedly scramble from his lounging position, to avert any negative suspicions. The suddenness and then the supposed picture to another's eyes made Jane laugh softly, relieving the sadness in the room. My thoughts allowed my gaze to consider Ren's shoulder situated conveniently for me to lean on. Passion won over prudence for the moment and I felt the warm fabric of his shirt against my cheek, until the second Jane alluded to the want of a back massage. Conspicuously, I shifted him away from my figure and towards Jane. After feeling rejected, we smiled and explained that my purpose was for guidance.
She wanted him to be in love with her that night, but his attentions were directed elsewhere and she could only cheerfully support his endeavors at her own expense.
After that day, Jane nicknamed Ren and I Watson and Sherlock Holms, roles we have stuck to ever since. We've been through reruns of that day, always searching to wipe away tears. Not only Jane has been on our radar, but at the end of a particularly long hunt, we've found Cara.
Cara was beyond light's reach, in the bushes, crying in Jane's arms.
Ren turned to me and asked, "Do you think that we should go over there?"
"I dunno," I replied after pausing to consider. "Why, what do you think?"
"I don't know either... You're better at these things." He paused. "Would you want a guy to be there when you were crying?"
"Not sure." We stood silently for prolonging moments and I decided that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't go over to her. "Let's go."
The mud she stood in was as thick as her tears. Not a word was said as we all wrapped our arms around her. "I love you guys," she said.
"Love you too, Cara."
The next episode was during the New Year's Eve when Ren came up to me with the familiar question, "Do you know where Jane is?"
I guiltily adored how he came to me first whenever this dilemma was brought to his attention. "Well, I was with her on the stage a few songs ago, but I left her with Lucas... She seemed okay."
"Do you know where she is now?"
"Uhhh..." I scanned through the shadows and crowds. "Nope." I could see in his eyes that he was worried, so I decided to go with his gut.
We took hands and preceded to go through the routine comb of the building. Jane was sitting in the hallway talking to a girl, whose name escapes me, as I came to share the chair she was sitting in and Ren was on the ground beside me. After parting words, it was just the three of us.
We took her into an empty classroom and she told us snippets of the altercation between her and Lucas, how she felt that she wasn't giving him enough attention. She was feeling discouraged, and was questioning all her other friendships and if she was a terrible friend to them also.
I took both her hands in mine and knelt in front of her, looking her straight in the eyes, denying every discouraging conception that came out of her mouth.
"You know, the days that I came into your class when you weren't there, I'd still say 'hi' to Evelyn, after looking for you. But she thinks that I don't care about her, that I only come in to ask her where you are. I'm such a terrible friend."
"You are not terrible." I took a deep breath and a thought came to me. "Jane, does anybody even come to your class to see you? You are way better than you think you are."
Ren backed me up, praising her care and devotion to others.
I wiped her tears from her eyes and rubbed off the smudged mascara. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ren looking at me as much as he was looking at her. I faintly wondered if he admired me for the love I gave Jane, but then dismissed it quickly, not daring to let him take hold of my thoughts.
A leader came in to turn on the lights, causing Ren to hurriedly scramble from his lounging position, to avert any negative suspicions. The suddenness and then the supposed picture to another's eyes made Jane laugh softly, relieving the sadness in the room. My thoughts allowed my gaze to consider Ren's shoulder situated conveniently for me to lean on. Passion won over prudence for the moment and I felt the warm fabric of his shirt against my cheek, until the second Jane alluded to the want of a back massage. Conspicuously, I shifted him away from my figure and towards Jane. After feeling rejected, we smiled and explained that my purpose was for guidance.
She wanted him to be in love with her that night, but his attentions were directed elsewhere and she could only cheerfully support his endeavors at her own expense.
April 24, 2012
Partners In Crime (I)
Shiny gym floors became the backdrop of scattered teenagers distracted from the goal of learning choreographed steps that one Saturday afternoon. Teachers had separated from the students, the teaching-learning process now scarce. Ren and I had been dancing, drilling our routine, perfecting the rough patches. During a pause of focused work, Ren turns to me and between uneven breaths he comments, "I haven't seen Jane in a while. Do you know where she is?"
His face bore the features of endearing worry. Worst case scenarios flashed through my mind like a nightmare. The first idea of her hiding place took me straight to the mother's room on the east side.
Ren was waiting when I came out empty handed. "Not in there?"
I shook my head.
From east to west, we searched every room, peering into dark rooms and checking behind furniture. Ren's face was quiet and serious, a calm facade during the storm. On our way off the pitch black stage, he tripped down the few carpeted stairs to break my concentration with a smile. I helped him up, laughing without restraint. Then again in silence, we shared a grin against dark surroundings.
We found her on the west side, huddled on the floor next to Kerrie. Once we had gotten close, we heard her quiet sobbing through the door. Harsh afternoon light came through the multiple windows in the room, casting rectangles of golden warmth across the floor. Thank goodness she wasn't alone. Ren and I went to her, shifting her head into my lap, Ren draped his arm over her side to hold her hand, and Kerri sat cross legged on my right. As she cried, my heart ached and my eyes stung. I loved her so much. To my left, I saw a mirrored look of pained anguish, because of this girl laid across our laps. Silence was gratefully interrupted by Kerrie's cheerful topic of rings and gay uncles. Conversation continued mainly between her and Jane, occasionally I would attribute a phrase more than the smile that cut across my sorrow. Ren's face stayed stoically solemn, almost removed, but I knew his thoughts stayed within that room.
In hopes of lifting her spirits, we took her to the neighboring duck pond. Chasing the ducks was good for her smile and the fresh air dried her tears.
Back in the gym, a family tree was crafted, from me to grandchild. Each branch bore scandal, dramatics, and almost always multiple marriages and illegitimate children. Jane was my daughter, divorced once, now married to Ren--"the loving husband" he claimed proudly, taking her hip--after an affair with his brother, Peter, which beget Kerrie. From that stemmed many other composed relations with playful stories to back them. In her face the unfortunate affair was temporarily forgotten and I was glad that our fake family take away that pain, if only for a moment.
His face bore the features of endearing worry. Worst case scenarios flashed through my mind like a nightmare. The first idea of her hiding place took me straight to the mother's room on the east side.
Ren was waiting when I came out empty handed. "Not in there?"
I shook my head.
From east to west, we searched every room, peering into dark rooms and checking behind furniture. Ren's face was quiet and serious, a calm facade during the storm. On our way off the pitch black stage, he tripped down the few carpeted stairs to break my concentration with a smile. I helped him up, laughing without restraint. Then again in silence, we shared a grin against dark surroundings.
We found her on the west side, huddled on the floor next to Kerrie. Once we had gotten close, we heard her quiet sobbing through the door. Harsh afternoon light came through the multiple windows in the room, casting rectangles of golden warmth across the floor. Thank goodness she wasn't alone. Ren and I went to her, shifting her head into my lap, Ren draped his arm over her side to hold her hand, and Kerri sat cross legged on my right. As she cried, my heart ached and my eyes stung. I loved her so much. To my left, I saw a mirrored look of pained anguish, because of this girl laid across our laps. Silence was gratefully interrupted by Kerrie's cheerful topic of rings and gay uncles. Conversation continued mainly between her and Jane, occasionally I would attribute a phrase more than the smile that cut across my sorrow. Ren's face stayed stoically solemn, almost removed, but I knew his thoughts stayed within that room.
In hopes of lifting her spirits, we took her to the neighboring duck pond. Chasing the ducks was good for her smile and the fresh air dried her tears.
Back in the gym, a family tree was crafted, from me to grandchild. Each branch bore scandal, dramatics, and almost always multiple marriages and illegitimate children. Jane was my daughter, divorced once, now married to Ren--"the loving husband" he claimed proudly, taking her hip--after an affair with his brother, Peter, which beget Kerrie. From that stemmed many other composed relations with playful stories to back them. In her face the unfortunate affair was temporarily forgotten and I was glad that our fake family take away that pain, if only for a moment.
The Game of Deceit (II)
(Part 1: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/03/game-of-deceit-i.html)
"Mafias, awaken."
I saw two other lovely faces rise with cunning grins and Peter's face laughed at the bunch. Three clever determined girls one with purpose, one mindset.
"Now, who do you want to kill?"
Almost all at once, sharp fingers focused on Jeremy, the curly blonde with a mouth weak against smiles.
Peter's eyebrows rose at the quickness of our unified decision.
"Mafia, go back to sleep."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's keep dancing."
"At least let me look at it, hold still." I stepped closer to inspect the damage. Ren's nose looked almost fine. No reddness, no swelling, no bruises, but then a very small trickle of red began to flow towards his lips. My hands fled to cover my mouth.
"What?"
"I'm so sorry!" I repeated. "You're bleeding. Just a little bit."
"Really?"
My only concern at that point was getting something cold for his nose. "Yeah, come 'ere." I took him by the hand to where my water bottle lay. Nothing was still cold after sitting in the grass for a few hours. "Do you know anywhere where there'd be ice?" I asked to nobody in particular.
"Nope."
"Lena, I'm fine. I don't need any ice."
"Well, at least go to the bathroom, so you can run water over it or something."
"Okay, whatever you say," he said, putting his arm around me. "Let's go."
I paced back and forth inside that cramped rec center for probably only two or three minutes, but everytime I glaced at the clock, it seemed as if the second hand was going against the tide. The drinking fountain was a good distraction for a handful of seconds. Then I debated sitting down, but silly nerves kept me from staying in one spot.
"Ren, I'm so sorry," I again repeated as he came out.
"It's okay, Lena, really."
"It's just that I don't usually hurt people."
He laughed. "Well, that's comforting to know."
"Mafias, awaken."
I saw two other lovely faces rise with cunning grins and Peter's face laughed at the bunch. Three clever determined girls one with purpose, one mindset.
"Now, who do you want to kill?"
Almost all at once, sharp fingers focused on Jeremy, the curly blonde with a mouth weak against smiles.
Peter's eyebrows rose at the quickness of our unified decision.
"Mafia, go back to sleep."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's keep dancing."
"At least let me look at it, hold still." I stepped closer to inspect the damage. Ren's nose looked almost fine. No reddness, no swelling, no bruises, but then a very small trickle of red began to flow towards his lips. My hands fled to cover my mouth.
"What?"
"I'm so sorry!" I repeated. "You're bleeding. Just a little bit."
"Really?"
My only concern at that point was getting something cold for his nose. "Yeah, come 'ere." I took him by the hand to where my water bottle lay. Nothing was still cold after sitting in the grass for a few hours. "Do you know anywhere where there'd be ice?" I asked to nobody in particular.
"Nope."
"Lena, I'm fine. I don't need any ice."
"Well, at least go to the bathroom, so you can run water over it or something."
"Okay, whatever you say," he said, putting his arm around me. "Let's go."
I paced back and forth inside that cramped rec center for probably only two or three minutes, but everytime I glaced at the clock, it seemed as if the second hand was going against the tide. The drinking fountain was a good distraction for a handful of seconds. Then I debated sitting down, but silly nerves kept me from staying in one spot.
"Ren, I'm so sorry," I again repeated as he came out.
"It's okay, Lena, really."
"It's just that I don't usually hurt people."
He laughed. "Well, that's comforting to know."
April 5, 2012
Grasping Fate
I enjoy entertaining myself my noticing features of those who walk by me in the hallways, for their line of attention never seems to catch in tandem with mine. Some days I would indulge in the variation of dimples, or the form of a nose against the shape of faces. Then there were days when daring eyes would tempt others to look back at me. I was curious to their reaction, to measure their audacity to acknowledge a stranger. Glances quickly darted back away when found caught with mine. Connection between pairs of eyes read deeper than seconds of inconspicuous relation; his blue eyes against mine proved that clear to me. As we came closer to passing, unashamed curiosity persisted when I wavered in shyness. One moment had deemed him admirable.
Weeks and months passed with similar quiet exchanges staged in the same scene as orgin predicted. Among familiar figures, he was the only one recognizable. A school year ended without a peak of curiosity to inspire action, so his identity remained unknown to me. A fleeting thought of regret was the last temptation of his pretense I expected him to draw from me.
Another year of school herded acquaintance under one roof for my final year. In coincidence blue and brown collided within variation of their first meeting, still with quietness and subtle curiosity wrought by routine.
Spread across a plain, blue couch, buried in a book was the first time I heard his voice. He stood over me, but no where near me. He conversed with the boys around me as I saw him through the corners of my eyes between paragraphs. Without the expectation of walking, his prolonged distant closeness quickened my pulse. I smiled at the predicability of my body's raised adrenaline. Only when he left, were direct acknowledgement ensued between us. From conversation, I found that we were equal in age and curiosity peaked.
To know a name was my desire, to label one among many insignificant others without. This apitite was satisfied after the multiple passings of a month, I watched and waited for the ideal moment to align with my guts.
However, a new hunger grew from the knowledge of his name. I wanted to know him, to see beyond what others saw, what I had seen for the past year. The idea of giving him my number was then ignited. Excuses formed themselves through trite obstacles like "how would I even slip it to him?" Several scraps of paper carried a note containing my number, all created in efforts to coax myself into the reality of giving it to him.
There was no significance to the day my courage was significant. The ground between he and I was clear, he smiled when I came toward him, taking out his headphones for my words. Instead my actions were silent, holding out the folded paper, then walking away after he took it. Fate no longer weighed me down, for I had given it to another.
Weeks and months passed with similar quiet exchanges staged in the same scene as orgin predicted. Among familiar figures, he was the only one recognizable. A school year ended without a peak of curiosity to inspire action, so his identity remained unknown to me. A fleeting thought of regret was the last temptation of his pretense I expected him to draw from me.
Another year of school herded acquaintance under one roof for my final year. In coincidence blue and brown collided within variation of their first meeting, still with quietness and subtle curiosity wrought by routine.
Spread across a plain, blue couch, buried in a book was the first time I heard his voice. He stood over me, but no where near me. He conversed with the boys around me as I saw him through the corners of my eyes between paragraphs. Without the expectation of walking, his prolonged distant closeness quickened my pulse. I smiled at the predicability of my body's raised adrenaline. Only when he left, were direct acknowledgement ensued between us. From conversation, I found that we were equal in age and curiosity peaked.
To know a name was my desire, to label one among many insignificant others without. This apitite was satisfied after the multiple passings of a month, I watched and waited for the ideal moment to align with my guts.
However, a new hunger grew from the knowledge of his name. I wanted to know him, to see beyond what others saw, what I had seen for the past year. The idea of giving him my number was then ignited. Excuses formed themselves through trite obstacles like "how would I even slip it to him?" Several scraps of paper carried a note containing my number, all created in efforts to coax myself into the reality of giving it to him.
There was no significance to the day my courage was significant. The ground between he and I was clear, he smiled when I came toward him, taking out his headphones for my words. Instead my actions were silent, holding out the folded paper, then walking away after he took it. Fate no longer weighed me down, for I had given it to another.
March 29, 2012
A Game Called Love
I don't like this game called love. There is leading, following, clash of differences, union of similarities, all played with the advantage to oneself, to gain a feeling, some kind of achievement. A chance encounter is a whirling beginning, plunging into pros and cons, curiosity and wanting that unknown to become solid, palpable. The prize of the chase is to gain that solidity, untrue solidity. Loose mouths and words attest to fictitious promise unworthy of prolonged dedication.
Dive in and test the waters, because they will carry you away with the current, intentions that are not your own, those of a man, a boy. A femme may try to direct the flow, so subtly, never to cause alarm and never to be traced. Drastic actions against strong courses cause rejection, tossed from its enveloping embrace. I don't like this helplessness.
Listen to his words, take his hand, they fill. I promise, they will. The taste is sweet and on the feigned grounds crafted by mutual affection is not as lasting as pavement. His is a game of gain, you are his as a temporary attachment, because his hand in yours is or will be a roadblock. The future is to be thought about and strings to pull him back are too heavy to manage.
It is not the game which is love. I long for the independent will of a man to choose. Decisive are his words and sure his vision. Love is a declaration, not an utterance, so thrust towards me the feelings of your heart. I am a choice, not a subject of indecision.
Dive in and test the waters, because they will carry you away with the current, intentions that are not your own, those of a man, a boy. A femme may try to direct the flow, so subtly, never to cause alarm and never to be traced. Drastic actions against strong courses cause rejection, tossed from its enveloping embrace. I don't like this helplessness.
Listen to his words, take his hand, they fill. I promise, they will. The taste is sweet and on the feigned grounds crafted by mutual affection is not as lasting as pavement. His is a game of gain, you are his as a temporary attachment, because his hand in yours is or will be a roadblock. The future is to be thought about and strings to pull him back are too heavy to manage.
It is not the game which is love. I long for the independent will of a man to choose. Decisive are his words and sure his vision. Love is a declaration, not an utterance, so thrust towards me the feelings of your heart. I am a choice, not a subject of indecision.
March 12, 2012
The Ring (I)
Glittering rays of sunlight hit the chandelier above the table just perfectly so that a geometric patter of triangles and diamonds arranged themselves over the polished dark cherry wood of the dinning room table just before breakfast. Grace always stumbled down the stairs at seven in her robe to brew her coffee and stare out the window to come up with another agenda for the day. Without her husband she could choose each activity without the consultation of another opinion, the possibilities were as the limits of her imagination.
She would then hear a whistle from the kitchen and produce a breakfast of eggs, or bagels, or pancakes, or waffles, or whatever classic American breakfast she had the ingredients for. Then after plating her food, she would take pen and paper, and bring it all to the table so she could write our a list for the day. Grace stared into her cup of coffee as she brainstormed. She had already worked in various coffee chains to breathe in the earthy aroma for 7 hours a day. She had already handmade mugs, starting with clay and molding figures on the potter's wheel for hours to perfect the shape of an elegant mug. She had already gone to cooking school for four months to learn all she could about American cuisine as well as French. The painting on the wall was from when she experimented with different paint types and covered canvas after canvas with figures and scenes. All the rooms in her house had been painted; she spent a week and half on that, browsing Home Depot for colors and finishes to perfectly correlated with the "mood" of each room.
Out the window was a disgraceful piece of lawn, sprinkled with dandelion weeds, and bordered with untamed bushes. The only redeeming element was a vibrant lime tree that always provided fruit in the early months of summer and bloomed beautifully in the spring. That would be her next project: to clean up the lawn, plant a garden for fresh vegetables and fruits, then put in a few flowers. She could even purchase some plants to dry and crush for new scents in her perfume line she sold to a friend in Kansas.
She would then hear a whistle from the kitchen and produce a breakfast of eggs, or bagels, or pancakes, or waffles, or whatever classic American breakfast she had the ingredients for. Then after plating her food, she would take pen and paper, and bring it all to the table so she could write our a list for the day. Grace stared into her cup of coffee as she brainstormed. She had already worked in various coffee chains to breathe in the earthy aroma for 7 hours a day. She had already handmade mugs, starting with clay and molding figures on the potter's wheel for hours to perfect the shape of an elegant mug. She had already gone to cooking school for four months to learn all she could about American cuisine as well as French. The painting on the wall was from when she experimented with different paint types and covered canvas after canvas with figures and scenes. All the rooms in her house had been painted; she spent a week and half on that, browsing Home Depot for colors and finishes to perfectly correlated with the "mood" of each room.
Out the window was a disgraceful piece of lawn, sprinkled with dandelion weeds, and bordered with untamed bushes. The only redeeming element was a vibrant lime tree that always provided fruit in the early months of summer and bloomed beautifully in the spring. That would be her next project: to clean up the lawn, plant a garden for fresh vegetables and fruits, then put in a few flowers. She could even purchase some plants to dry and crush for new scents in her perfume line she sold to a friend in Kansas.
March 9, 2012
Overestimated Perfection (III)
(Part 2: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/03/overestimated-perfection-ii.html)
Careful contemplation bore these words: "I was married when I was 19." Why this information flowed from my commonly cautious lips, I couldn't tell you in detail. His presence affected me, not an infection that took over the body, but the mind and the deepest conception of the heart. Confusion of feelings and thoughts blended throughout my being. Only the words of a secret born in the mind caused my conversion, a conversion I had wished to avoid to pair with the transformation of figure and features. To pair this order of impetuous actions and events could cause a destructive poison to lace itself among the blood running through my veins, but I kept talking, "His name was Troy."
After indulgent inflection, I looked up at his face curious of his reaction. The shape of forehead, mouth, eyes, brows, all held the price of my utterances. His reaction wasn't extreme and I half expected him to something unfeeling to renounce the enormity of my reveal.
"Married, hmmm." His lips pressed together as if to hide something maybe, or keep himself from saying something he'd regret. What he would regret, I don't know and would not let myself guess. "So I'm guessing it's safe to say you're not together anymore?"
The shape of my mouth formed something like a grimace and an entertained smile. "No, we're not."
"You were in love with him and he left you, didn't he?"
"Why would you think that?"
"I can see it all over your face."
"Good thing or bad thing?"
"Well, you're beautiful no matter what emotion you express."
I looked away in disgust. "I meant that you could read me so easily."
"In that case, I persist in my answer. I have a talent for understanding the thoughts of others and I think yours are wonderful."
"And so this is where your curiosity is born, I'm guessing?"
"Yes. But enough of me, I owe you for sharing that..." he paused to find appropriate words to form his thought, "piece of your memory."
"Oh yes, the price." I had not thought through the consequence clearly.
Careful contemplation bore these words: "I was married when I was 19." Why this information flowed from my commonly cautious lips, I couldn't tell you in detail. His presence affected me, not an infection that took over the body, but the mind and the deepest conception of the heart. Confusion of feelings and thoughts blended throughout my being. Only the words of a secret born in the mind caused my conversion, a conversion I had wished to avoid to pair with the transformation of figure and features. To pair this order of impetuous actions and events could cause a destructive poison to lace itself among the blood running through my veins, but I kept talking, "His name was Troy."
After indulgent inflection, I looked up at his face curious of his reaction. The shape of forehead, mouth, eyes, brows, all held the price of my utterances. His reaction wasn't extreme and I half expected him to something unfeeling to renounce the enormity of my reveal.
"Married, hmmm." His lips pressed together as if to hide something maybe, or keep himself from saying something he'd regret. What he would regret, I don't know and would not let myself guess. "So I'm guessing it's safe to say you're not together anymore?"
The shape of my mouth formed something like a grimace and an entertained smile. "No, we're not."
"You were in love with him and he left you, didn't he?"
"Why would you think that?"
"I can see it all over your face."
"Good thing or bad thing?"
"Well, you're beautiful no matter what emotion you express."
I looked away in disgust. "I meant that you could read me so easily."
"In that case, I persist in my answer. I have a talent for understanding the thoughts of others and I think yours are wonderful."
"And so this is where your curiosity is born, I'm guessing?"
"Yes. But enough of me, I owe you for sharing that..." he paused to find appropriate words to form his thought, "piece of your memory."
"Oh yes, the price." I had not thought through the consequence clearly.
March 6, 2012
The Game of Deceit (I)
We sat in a circle, facing each other, though we were not all clearly visible to one another. We were all acquainted and all had chosen roles we were to assume in the next few minutes. Peter stood at our attention to direct our actions, to organize the game. "There are three mafias, two detectives, and one angel," he announced.
On my slip of paper, I had glanced: Mafia.
"What did you get?" Ren turned to ask me.
"What?"
"What did you get?" he increased his volume in his request.
"What?"
"What did you get?!"
"What?"
This time he said it slower. "What. Did. You. Get?"
Then in slowness I repeated, "What?"
He scoffed, finally understanding my ploy.
I laughed. "Ren, why would I tell you?"
"Because I asked."
"Well, that's not a good enough reason. I'm not going to tell you," I stated. "Who are you?"
"Not telling."
"Exactly."
Banter and the blended voice of conversation was interrupted by Peter's plea to start.
"Wait, wait wait! Before we start: If there are three mafias, can they kill each other? I mean, so then they can lead people off their tracks."
"Yeah, especially if there's three of them," Billie echoed.
"No."
"Oh, okay. I'm good now."
"Good." He then reached behind him to relinquish half the lights of the room, setting an enigmatic mood. "One night, in the little town of Princeton, there was a group of people and among them was a mafia..."
Perspective stretched out the figures of those looking over at me, like I was at the bottom of a grave to be mourned over. "Are you okay?"
I tried to emit an affirmative groan from my mouth. Moving hurt.
"Guys give her some room, she needs to be able to breathe."
Shadows slowly retreated from over me.
All I wanted was for someone to hold my hand. Pain would be relieved when the warmth of skin enclosed my fingers. Someone hold my hand! There, the boy with purple laces pulled over his shoes, just like mine, he was my partner. He held my hand before. When we danced he didn't let go for very long, but now I was on the floor, needing that hand more than any of those preceding moments. Hold my hand!
Jane's sister closed in on my right to catch unmoving reaching limbs in protective comfort.
On my left, I raised the other desiring it to be enclosed. He came, and all my thoughts were directed toward that hand. His face was quiet with solemness, brows perched with hurting guilt, eyes watching me without restraint. He was the one who hurt me. Yet, he was the only face that I wanted to see.
On my slip of paper, I had glanced: Mafia.
"What did you get?" Ren turned to ask me.
"What?"
"What did you get?" he increased his volume in his request.
"What?"
"What did you get?!"
"What?"
This time he said it slower. "What. Did. You. Get?"
Then in slowness I repeated, "What?"
He scoffed, finally understanding my ploy.
I laughed. "Ren, why would I tell you?"
"Because I asked."
"Well, that's not a good enough reason. I'm not going to tell you," I stated. "Who are you?"
"Not telling."
"Exactly."
Banter and the blended voice of conversation was interrupted by Peter's plea to start.
"Wait, wait wait! Before we start: If there are three mafias, can they kill each other? I mean, so then they can lead people off their tracks."
"Yeah, especially if there's three of them," Billie echoed.
"No."
"Oh, okay. I'm good now."
"Good." He then reached behind him to relinquish half the lights of the room, setting an enigmatic mood. "One night, in the little town of Princeton, there was a group of people and among them was a mafia..."
Perspective stretched out the figures of those looking over at me, like I was at the bottom of a grave to be mourned over. "Are you okay?"
I tried to emit an affirmative groan from my mouth. Moving hurt.
"Guys give her some room, she needs to be able to breathe."
Shadows slowly retreated from over me.
All I wanted was for someone to hold my hand. Pain would be relieved when the warmth of skin enclosed my fingers. Someone hold my hand! There, the boy with purple laces pulled over his shoes, just like mine, he was my partner. He held my hand before. When we danced he didn't let go for very long, but now I was on the floor, needing that hand more than any of those preceding moments. Hold my hand!
Jane's sister closed in on my right to catch unmoving reaching limbs in protective comfort.
On my left, I raised the other desiring it to be enclosed. He came, and all my thoughts were directed toward that hand. His face was quiet with solemness, brows perched with hurting guilt, eyes watching me without restraint. He was the one who hurt me. Yet, he was the only face that I wanted to see.
March 1, 2012
Overestimated Perfection (II)
(Part 1: http://life-passion-love.blogspot.com/2012/03/overestimated-perfectionn-i.html)
From his expression on his face to the hand on my waist, I hated him, his attraction to this changed figure. I knew he wasn't to blame, he was a man, a man of carnal desires, for a vision of beauty to accompany his night. But I was to cloud my personal feelings, they were irrelevant to the moment.
"Aceline."
"Beautiful," he muttered moving his face ever so slightly closer to mine. With careful progression, I laced my fingers into the curls of his hair, wondering if pulling at clumps could be discounted as a wild act of passion. He looked at me with a tilted head, however did not move in any closer. He looked experienced, countenance said it all, but hell was he moving slow. Peripherals reported hands on thighs and lips on necks with fluttering lashes. Beauty was not the answer; could I have thought of a more irrational decision. Those with mouths over glass bottles made better decisions than I had. One breath in told me that he hadn't been wallowing in alcohol. He also did not yet have his body pressed against mine, just hands cradling the small of my back to ease me forward according to his pace.
We were inches apart, hovering in some sort of preparation stage. Some couples of convenience had left the room. Then he took my jaw and dared me to turn my head again. Cheek to cheek and whisper to ear, "Tell me a secret."
"What about?"
"Whatever you want."
"What would you give me for it?"
"That's fair." He led me back to his sitting position on the couch--none were left to occupy the room with us. He sat in quiet consideration, his brow creased in a few places and his eyes cast ever so slightly to the right of my face. Our bodies were so separate, despite the gentle caress of his pant leg against the bare skin of my legs. "I would give you..." The drawn out sound of the last syllable of the word, held during the final decision of words, emulated a reflective epiphany, a soft personal exclamation. "Anything you ask."
"Trusting. Or unreasonable?"
"Or the fact that you know the value of your secrets more than any other."
Profound. "What are you doing here anyways? I don't think you would come here to hear the secrets of girls with little circumstance. If you wanted valuable secrets, you would go somewhere else."
"Let's just say I'm a man of curiosity."
"That curiosity could get you in trouble one day."
"So people tell me," he said less directly. "But that doesn't seem to deter me."
"Explaining your presence here."
"Yes." He smiled with charm and finally shifted closer. I wonder how many women melt at that smile.
"Well, let's see, you want me to think of a secret. Something worth at least your time. Hmmm."
He danced his fingers into my hair as I sat in silence.
I thought of childhood memories, but those were easily dismissed, though carelessly, as they are at the root of one's very being. What did I want from him? That would be important to consider. If I wanted something from him I would have to see him again. Did I want to see him again? Also important to consider. Would it be unprofessional to see him again? Oh hell with work, I hate my job. Secret secret secret.
He was memorizing her features at that moment. The fingers in her hair escaped to the outline of her face. Lustful thoughts had crossed his mind every minute he was with her, but he did not want to lust for her. She seemed to have substance. He wanted her, for longer than one night.
From his expression on his face to the hand on my waist, I hated him, his attraction to this changed figure. I knew he wasn't to blame, he was a man, a man of carnal desires, for a vision of beauty to accompany his night. But I was to cloud my personal feelings, they were irrelevant to the moment.
"Aceline."
"Beautiful," he muttered moving his face ever so slightly closer to mine. With careful progression, I laced my fingers into the curls of his hair, wondering if pulling at clumps could be discounted as a wild act of passion. He looked at me with a tilted head, however did not move in any closer. He looked experienced, countenance said it all, but hell was he moving slow. Peripherals reported hands on thighs and lips on necks with fluttering lashes. Beauty was not the answer; could I have thought of a more irrational decision. Those with mouths over glass bottles made better decisions than I had. One breath in told me that he hadn't been wallowing in alcohol. He also did not yet have his body pressed against mine, just hands cradling the small of my back to ease me forward according to his pace.
We were inches apart, hovering in some sort of preparation stage. Some couples of convenience had left the room. Then he took my jaw and dared me to turn my head again. Cheek to cheek and whisper to ear, "Tell me a secret."
"What about?"
"Whatever you want."
"What would you give me for it?"
"That's fair." He led me back to his sitting position on the couch--none were left to occupy the room with us. He sat in quiet consideration, his brow creased in a few places and his eyes cast ever so slightly to the right of my face. Our bodies were so separate, despite the gentle caress of his pant leg against the bare skin of my legs. "I would give you..." The drawn out sound of the last syllable of the word, held during the final decision of words, emulated a reflective epiphany, a soft personal exclamation. "Anything you ask."
"Trusting. Or unreasonable?"
"Or the fact that you know the value of your secrets more than any other."
Profound. "What are you doing here anyways? I don't think you would come here to hear the secrets of girls with little circumstance. If you wanted valuable secrets, you would go somewhere else."
"Let's just say I'm a man of curiosity."
"That curiosity could get you in trouble one day."
"So people tell me," he said less directly. "But that doesn't seem to deter me."
"Explaining your presence here."
"Yes." He smiled with charm and finally shifted closer. I wonder how many women melt at that smile.
"Well, let's see, you want me to think of a secret. Something worth at least your time. Hmmm."
He danced his fingers into my hair as I sat in silence.
I thought of childhood memories, but those were easily dismissed, though carelessly, as they are at the root of one's very being. What did I want from him? That would be important to consider. If I wanted something from him I would have to see him again. Did I want to see him again? Also important to consider. Would it be unprofessional to see him again? Oh hell with work, I hate my job. Secret secret secret.
He was memorizing her features at that moment. The fingers in her hair escaped to the outline of her face. Lustful thoughts had crossed his mind every minute he was with her, but he did not want to lust for her. She seemed to have substance. He wanted her, for longer than one night.
Overestimated Perfection (I)
I couldn't stand what I saw, the perfect curls of red on the pale delicate face. Silk that so precisely shaped its owner. Her graceful movements disgusted me. She was exquisite, perfectly made by the doings of another. I couldn't stand it; the mirror was like a curse I wished to avoid looking at. I hated more than anything how I would fit the part so exactly. One more glance in the mirror, filled me with hate and despise for its reflection. The wonderful twist is that I'd asked for all this. I thought it would make me happy. Foolish was the inciting thought to have born this change of figure and features. Still, I would continue as schedule dictated.
I opened the thin dressing room door to join the other girls clustered together in their slight last-minute primping, stray strands hairsprayed, lashes pressed with firm fingers and curled once again, lipstick layered on, necklines adjusted to perfect symmetry, perfume hanging over them in a cloud of alluring and thick scents. We all were clad in silk, cut in different shapes to adulate varied curves of skin, flesh. No girl had locks like mine, crimson stood out against black, brunette and blonde. No other had eyes like mine, legendary violet that stood out against porcelain skin. I was so heartbreakingly breathtaking. Thankfully the girls took in my beauty as business and I fit in by fastening a row of pearl buttons on a neighboring gown. My neck was misted by a solution meant to persuade a body to approach and eliminate space.
The thick red velvet curtain was thrown aside to reveal patrons of our purpose. They were draped across sleek ebony furniture, all clad in suits of different shades of profession and authority. One by one girls stalked across the room with steady eyes, abandoning my position close to the back, nearing to the inspection of expectant, deciding gazes. The last girl veiling my presence left to a man with jet black hair and a navy suit, a creme kerchief folded in his pocket. I raised my neck to face the remaining gazes untrapped by preoccupation--all captivated as I slightly lowered my eyelids and curved my lip in artful secrecy.
He was beautiful. Light plain blue eyes against tanned skin from outside work, framed by sandy brown curls that fell to his temple on one side, side burns were shades darker, trim just below his ear. The lines of his jaw defined perfection of masculinity, carved as if in reflection to Hercules. Soft pink lips were set above a pointed chin, shaped to fit over mine for this night. He was young, but he was not cocky with his stare, inviting me over with curiosity and assertive meekness.
Ethereal feet carried me over with slight quickness. He stood as I came, in acknowledgement of my submission to his request. I wondered at my reflection in light plain blue. We were taught to stay detached, but I always wondered. I always wondered.
He took my waist in one of his hands, not breaking the look into my eyes. "I'm Robert."
(beginning by: Sarah Jack)
I opened the thin dressing room door to join the other girls clustered together in their slight last-minute primping, stray strands hairsprayed, lashes pressed with firm fingers and curled once again, lipstick layered on, necklines adjusted to perfect symmetry, perfume hanging over them in a cloud of alluring and thick scents. We all were clad in silk, cut in different shapes to adulate varied curves of skin, flesh. No girl had locks like mine, crimson stood out against black, brunette and blonde. No other had eyes like mine, legendary violet that stood out against porcelain skin. I was so heartbreakingly breathtaking. Thankfully the girls took in my beauty as business and I fit in by fastening a row of pearl buttons on a neighboring gown. My neck was misted by a solution meant to persuade a body to approach and eliminate space.
The thick red velvet curtain was thrown aside to reveal patrons of our purpose. They were draped across sleek ebony furniture, all clad in suits of different shades of profession and authority. One by one girls stalked across the room with steady eyes, abandoning my position close to the back, nearing to the inspection of expectant, deciding gazes. The last girl veiling my presence left to a man with jet black hair and a navy suit, a creme kerchief folded in his pocket. I raised my neck to face the remaining gazes untrapped by preoccupation--all captivated as I slightly lowered my eyelids and curved my lip in artful secrecy.
He was beautiful. Light plain blue eyes against tanned skin from outside work, framed by sandy brown curls that fell to his temple on one side, side burns were shades darker, trim just below his ear. The lines of his jaw defined perfection of masculinity, carved as if in reflection to Hercules. Soft pink lips were set above a pointed chin, shaped to fit over mine for this night. He was young, but he was not cocky with his stare, inviting me over with curiosity and assertive meekness.
Ethereal feet carried me over with slight quickness. He stood as I came, in acknowledgement of my submission to his request. I wondered at my reflection in light plain blue. We were taught to stay detached, but I always wondered. I always wondered.
He took my waist in one of his hands, not breaking the look into my eyes. "I'm Robert."
(beginning by: Sarah Jack)
February 27, 2012
This Is Just To Say
Your three thousand dollar,
one of a kind, intricately
strung with crystal, and
made in England,
chandelier fell to the floor.
It shattered beautifully,
sparkling like how I
picture it would
rain in Heaven.
Forgive me
I jumped over your banister
to grab its chain and
ride it down
one of a kind, intricately
strung with crystal, and
made in England,
chandelier fell to the floor.
It shattered beautifully,
sparkling like how I
picture it would
rain in Heaven.
Forgive me
I jumped over your banister
to grab its chain and
ride it down
Hands
so much depends
upon
two outstretched, searching
hands
constructively intertwined with
others
surrounded by endless
possibility.
upon
two outstretched, searching
hands
constructively intertwined with
others
surrounded by endless
possibility.
Life Has A Thousand Possibilites
Life has a thousand possibilities,
And the choice is one;
Yet at the threshold of oppertunity
we feel like we've won.
The world has a thousand hearts,
And I only one;
Yet at the threshold of oppertunity
Where has my caring gone?
And the choice is one;
Yet at the threshold of oppertunity
we feel like we've won.
The world has a thousand hearts,
And I only one;
Yet at the threshold of oppertunity
Where has my caring gone?
February 24, 2012
Memory
Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. Knows remembers believes watery charcoal smudges mixed with chlorine water hang under dark brown eyes like unflattering shadows of late night worry that cause a girl to cringe with shame at unperfect make-up, in front of peers, especially through the eyes of considering males, one for certain who stood before those brown eyes in comfortable conversation.
Jane took her by the shoulder, "Babe, you have something on your face." Then with firm, careful strokes, water gray turned again to flesh.
Wet feet shifted against slippery, beige tile to face the boy, in confrontation, "I've been talking to you this whole time and you didn't say anything? These are the things you're supposed to tell me. I can't believe--"
"Lena, Lena, I didn't even notice." His hands clung to her waist against lacy, damp fabric. "I think you're beautiful, no matter what."
In reflection she took his waist into her hands. Warm smooth damp skin curved along with her palms, comfortable and encouraging. "Ren, I was just being dramatic."
"Of course," he said with a smile.
Jane took her by the shoulder, "Babe, you have something on your face." Then with firm, careful strokes, water gray turned again to flesh.
Wet feet shifted against slippery, beige tile to face the boy, in confrontation, "I've been talking to you this whole time and you didn't say anything? These are the things you're supposed to tell me. I can't believe--"
"Lena, Lena, I didn't even notice." His hands clung to her waist against lacy, damp fabric. "I think you're beautiful, no matter what."
In reflection she took his waist into her hands. Warm smooth damp skin curved along with her palms, comfortable and encouraging. "Ren, I was just being dramatic."
"Of course," he said with a smile.
February 23, 2012
Introductions
"I'm Bridget, but my friends call me Bri."
"Wow, friends already?"
"Oh. Would you rather start as acquaintances, only waving in passing and having conversations limited to class discussions and weather reports?"
"No, no. I like this." His smile uncurled from his mouth after he said this, in deciding thought: to speak freely or wonder over words unsaid.
She saw this change in his face, reflecting the expression over her own features. As is customary during brief silence between strangers--or were they acquaintances? or friends? or...what?--Bri flicked her eyes around the room as if not anticipating his answer and quite content with observing the details of the area in feigned deep thought. She was wondering what words he was playing around with in his head. I bet he's thinking about asking me out, she thought as she glanced past a stain on the floral scarf wrapped around a woman's neck. While casting eyes over a certain insignificant patch of cerulean wall paper, she countered, oh never mind, he probably still likes Claire, I mean he's had his eyes on her for years. What was I thinking? At a gold frame of an abstract piece, but then again, boys change their minds all the time. He's just so cute.
He spoke in boldness, "Come have lunch with me."
"I can't, I have--"
"Half an hour, that's all I'm asking for. I'll take care of all the details."
"Fine. Half an hour."
Pleased, he nods and waves over a taxi, opening the door for her and sliding in after.
"Wow, friends already?"
"Oh. Would you rather start as acquaintances, only waving in passing and having conversations limited to class discussions and weather reports?"
"No, no. I like this." His smile uncurled from his mouth after he said this, in deciding thought: to speak freely or wonder over words unsaid.
She saw this change in his face, reflecting the expression over her own features. As is customary during brief silence between strangers--or were they acquaintances? or friends? or...what?--Bri flicked her eyes around the room as if not anticipating his answer and quite content with observing the details of the area in feigned deep thought. She was wondering what words he was playing around with in his head. I bet he's thinking about asking me out, she thought as she glanced past a stain on the floral scarf wrapped around a woman's neck. While casting eyes over a certain insignificant patch of cerulean wall paper, she countered, oh never mind, he probably still likes Claire, I mean he's had his eyes on her for years. What was I thinking? At a gold frame of an abstract piece, but then again, boys change their minds all the time. He's just so cute.
He spoke in boldness, "Come have lunch with me."
"I can't, I have--"
"Half an hour, that's all I'm asking for. I'll take care of all the details."
"Fine. Half an hour."
Pleased, he nods and waves over a taxi, opening the door for her and sliding in after.
February 18, 2012
Thoughts Clandestine
Flashes of luminescent reds and yellows cross my vision when I walk under the gate opening to a modest layout of rides and booths. Laughing and screaming overwhelm my ears as I weave through the budding crowds; their faces are strangers' part of a clique I've been uninvited to, but I don't care and keep walking. I reach a short gravel path leading away from the throngs of people and I look for a familiar face. Nonchalantly I turn in a circle and I feel as if he's watching, but I don't glimpse his face. A few yards away, I come to a palm reading booth, where a man cradles my hand and traces along creases patterned across my palm. While he tells the tales of my future I stare blankly past him and wait. Lines blur as I walk away from the man who told of my destiny, and then I'm caught on my waist by a boy; "There you are."
He takes me to a jeep and carries me up to his leather passenger seat. The starting engine reminds me of blustering winds in the mountains, but the ride is like the perfect silence at the top. Out the window black sky blurs into the landscape of the trees and brush on the side of the road. In the shaded car, I look to my left to see his recondite blue eyes admiring me as he sat silent and still. Then he grabbed my waist and I end up facing him on his lap, yet the car still continues down the road. Jack presses me against his skin and I feel his thighs and hips and heaving chest; softly he leaves a tender kiss on my untaught lips. For an instant I look into his eyes and all the mystery is gone and we just sit there forehead to forehead, all words left unspoken. I'm shifted off his legs and back onto my seat where I remain silent still. Out of the corner of my eye I see the glimmer of his dark blues reading my face and figure, but I turn farther away as he continues to gaze; he shouldn't have kissed me. A small exhale escapes into the hushed air.
The town home looms over the hood of the car as we drive up. It's beautiful. I live here with him and Jessica, a three bedroom with two bathrooms. Without waiting for him get to my side and let me out, I stalk to the house with a straight gaze despite the resonant slamming door behind me. Up the stairs I enter my room, right across from Jessica's.
In the morning my alarm goes off twice and I wait twenty minutes after the last in hopes of extra sleep. Jessica pounds on my door and I grumble her name as I throw off comforters and reach for the light. In the mirror I gasp at untamed strands sticking in every direction; I didn't sleep well and nightmares hid in the shadows under my eyes. "Jessica! Do you have any extra eye cream? I didn't get in until late last night."
"Sure." She walks in with a small jar of what I call miracle whip and make a note to myself to buy some more on the way back home. "Wow, you don't look too hot. When did you get back last night?"
"Three? Maybe. Something like that."
"Well, I hope you don't fall asleep during classes. You know what? I'll make you some tea; that will make you feel better."
"Thanks Jess." I felt terrible inside. While she was trying to take care of me, I was sitting there in front of her with a stolen kiss stained on my lips. Hurriedly, I layered on soft, pink lipstick after she left.
45 mintues later Jessica yells, "C'mon Catherine!" as I hear her heels click in the hallway and down the stairs. Thank goodness I was able to conquer her hair in time, so I only had to grab my things and throw on accessories on the way down. Breakfast of white jasmine tea and croissants was silent. i wondered if Jessica could sense the secret hanging in the air. I rode shotgun again.
Outside, in the school parking lot Jack retrieves three glasses from underneath the back seat along with a bottle of Merlot. He pours my glass first, but I pass it quickly on to Jessica. Together we toast to the first day of school and we all drink deeply; hopefully this will get me through the day.
Arm in arm, Jessica and I escape through the front glass doors and behind us I hear the pretexts Jack feeds the men in black suits for the Merlot. Jessica glances back, but I don't let curiosity turn my head. During all my classes, his stealthy kiss floats around my mind like a mist over the blue waters of the sea that doesn't life no matter how far the tide withdraws into deeper waters. My lips savor his softness and I wonder at his quickness and strange timing. I reminisce about the heat under his skin and his lingering hands. Muses of another kiss creep into the memories and my heart quickens with curiosity. Jessica passes me in the hallway and I'm reminded of reality; "Jack is in jail until tomorrow night." Green eyes of sadness are cast down as she walks down the hallway to her next class. I couldn't let her mope along, so I crap my arm around her shoulders and guide her along.
Jessica and I grace the start of another day with Gewurztraminer sipped from the same glasses from the day before; our romantic tradition for the first two days of school. Tousled blonde hair frames Jessica's face this morning where perfect spirals regularly sweep across her cheekbones; she had tossed and turned all night, I could her through the wall. Men in black confront our drinking, but we evade their accusation with a switch of white grape juice for their chemical test. After stashing our glasses back under the seat, we head to class late with an apology note from the police. We giggle when we enter the hallway staggering against each other, out of earshot of our accusers, proud of or little feat. Still, I can tell that Jessica's laugh is a tough insincere; we both knew that Jack would be pleased.
Arriving at the deserted carnival grounds feel like deja vu, waiting for Jack to be returned to us. Two uniformed men were posted around a solitary room at the far end from the entrance. A drop of blood seeped from Jessica's lip from biting so long and hard, she didn't dare cry in front of these creatures. We stood side by side, waiting for the jailer to turn the key. Jack staggered out the door and as we walk away he wears a mischievous grin on his disheveled face. Jack tosses the keys to Jessica ahead of us and when she turns left at the carousel, I see his blue eyes. It only took two steps to crash against his skin and to press my mouth around his bottom lip. Rough lips return my passion and his sturdy hands trace my exposed spine. After a single kiss, a hand still embraces my back, but he keeps his face apart from mine; I want another, but he just searches my eyes. He then stoops his ear to my chest and my heart beats harder if it wants to escape to him. His cheek shifts and I feel his smile on my skin. "Do you love me?"
I open my mouth to form words but none come out and he leads my ear to his chest. He strokes my hair as I listen to the beats in sync with mine. Warmth exuded from his body despite his night in the cold and I felt it seep into my skin and fill me up.
He takes me to a jeep and carries me up to his leather passenger seat. The starting engine reminds me of blustering winds in the mountains, but the ride is like the perfect silence at the top. Out the window black sky blurs into the landscape of the trees and brush on the side of the road. In the shaded car, I look to my left to see his recondite blue eyes admiring me as he sat silent and still. Then he grabbed my waist and I end up facing him on his lap, yet the car still continues down the road. Jack presses me against his skin and I feel his thighs and hips and heaving chest; softly he leaves a tender kiss on my untaught lips. For an instant I look into his eyes and all the mystery is gone and we just sit there forehead to forehead, all words left unspoken. I'm shifted off his legs and back onto my seat where I remain silent still. Out of the corner of my eye I see the glimmer of his dark blues reading my face and figure, but I turn farther away as he continues to gaze; he shouldn't have kissed me. A small exhale escapes into the hushed air.
The town home looms over the hood of the car as we drive up. It's beautiful. I live here with him and Jessica, a three bedroom with two bathrooms. Without waiting for him get to my side and let me out, I stalk to the house with a straight gaze despite the resonant slamming door behind me. Up the stairs I enter my room, right across from Jessica's.
In the morning my alarm goes off twice and I wait twenty minutes after the last in hopes of extra sleep. Jessica pounds on my door and I grumble her name as I throw off comforters and reach for the light. In the mirror I gasp at untamed strands sticking in every direction; I didn't sleep well and nightmares hid in the shadows under my eyes. "Jessica! Do you have any extra eye cream? I didn't get in until late last night."
"Sure." She walks in with a small jar of what I call miracle whip and make a note to myself to buy some more on the way back home. "Wow, you don't look too hot. When did you get back last night?"
"Three? Maybe. Something like that."
"Well, I hope you don't fall asleep during classes. You know what? I'll make you some tea; that will make you feel better."
"Thanks Jess." I felt terrible inside. While she was trying to take care of me, I was sitting there in front of her with a stolen kiss stained on my lips. Hurriedly, I layered on soft, pink lipstick after she left.
45 mintues later Jessica yells, "C'mon Catherine!" as I hear her heels click in the hallway and down the stairs. Thank goodness I was able to conquer her hair in time, so I only had to grab my things and throw on accessories on the way down. Breakfast of white jasmine tea and croissants was silent. i wondered if Jessica could sense the secret hanging in the air. I rode shotgun again.
Outside, in the school parking lot Jack retrieves three glasses from underneath the back seat along with a bottle of Merlot. He pours my glass first, but I pass it quickly on to Jessica. Together we toast to the first day of school and we all drink deeply; hopefully this will get me through the day.
Arm in arm, Jessica and I escape through the front glass doors and behind us I hear the pretexts Jack feeds the men in black suits for the Merlot. Jessica glances back, but I don't let curiosity turn my head. During all my classes, his stealthy kiss floats around my mind like a mist over the blue waters of the sea that doesn't life no matter how far the tide withdraws into deeper waters. My lips savor his softness and I wonder at his quickness and strange timing. I reminisce about the heat under his skin and his lingering hands. Muses of another kiss creep into the memories and my heart quickens with curiosity. Jessica passes me in the hallway and I'm reminded of reality; "Jack is in jail until tomorrow night." Green eyes of sadness are cast down as she walks down the hallway to her next class. I couldn't let her mope along, so I crap my arm around her shoulders and guide her along.
Jessica and I grace the start of another day with Gewurztraminer sipped from the same glasses from the day before; our romantic tradition for the first two days of school. Tousled blonde hair frames Jessica's face this morning where perfect spirals regularly sweep across her cheekbones; she had tossed and turned all night, I could her through the wall. Men in black confront our drinking, but we evade their accusation with a switch of white grape juice for their chemical test. After stashing our glasses back under the seat, we head to class late with an apology note from the police. We giggle when we enter the hallway staggering against each other, out of earshot of our accusers, proud of or little feat. Still, I can tell that Jessica's laugh is a tough insincere; we both knew that Jack would be pleased.
Arriving at the deserted carnival grounds feel like deja vu, waiting for Jack to be returned to us. Two uniformed men were posted around a solitary room at the far end from the entrance. A drop of blood seeped from Jessica's lip from biting so long and hard, she didn't dare cry in front of these creatures. We stood side by side, waiting for the jailer to turn the key. Jack staggered out the door and as we walk away he wears a mischievous grin on his disheveled face. Jack tosses the keys to Jessica ahead of us and when she turns left at the carousel, I see his blue eyes. It only took two steps to crash against his skin and to press my mouth around his bottom lip. Rough lips return my passion and his sturdy hands trace my exposed spine. After a single kiss, a hand still embraces my back, but he keeps his face apart from mine; I want another, but he just searches my eyes. He then stoops his ear to my chest and my heart beats harder if it wants to escape to him. His cheek shifts and I feel his smile on my skin. "Do you love me?"
I open my mouth to form words but none come out and he leads my ear to his chest. He strokes my hair as I listen to the beats in sync with mine. Warmth exuded from his body despite his night in the cold and I felt it seep into my skin and fill me up.
A Family Memory (I)
And memory knows this: five years later memory is still to believe On this day I became a mother.
Walls ornate with white colored poster board, strung drawn figures, blue whimsical lockers filling one wall to the top reflecting clutter on other walls, where children would climb and scurry underfoot, the door never opens for long, only open cracks not to dismiss or accept into detaining, secret walls. A sister came in with an arm unoccupied to busy herself with unclean dishes then Kay’s tangled hair.
The tug and pull of Chelsea’s hands against clumps of dark brunette strands to form a crown of braids. Walls shook like thunder and lightning erupted in sudden shouts. Hands against my neck were wet, cold like the shivers that want for a warm bed. When she tucked in the last end of hair among the woven chaplet, her sobbing ceased in wetness, unable to put out tears. Carefully testing the shift of weight with my neck, I turned my head slowly to a broken, knowing face with morose eyes looking at me without substance, without discernment. An empty stranger sat, in reflection to a young face, with devout want to reach out with fingers to touch and caress, consoling. Though limbs didn’t move to or from their bodies and they went to sleep like that, separate persons in the midst of a raging storm.
Kay, Max, Lena, and Chris were in bed after wrestling, pleading, and tucking. Now that children were separated from her blind, searching, wanting hands Chelsea was now putting away the dishes, one after another, methodically, detached from surrounding happenings, including my entrance. A crash of china initiated a rigidness of figure as she stared at the shards in all their stillness. This time I know. This time I know. The noise was an awakening of the past, of the eradicated armistice, the yelling, the broken contract. Fragments were captured into a dustpan and swept away from the scene. She stood with the same frozen posture watching, looking for something among the tiles. In my hand I took hers, lead her to the couch in an empty family room. There she burst into relapse of lamentation, while I watched her clutched hands, shuddering torso, wringing feet, and understood. In my arms I took her, her and all she lived for, all we lived for in this house of secrets. Tears ran down knowing cheeks dropping onto a sister’s bare shoulders where strands of adumbral hair used to brush and sway.
During a shopping trip two weeks before, with the doting, ever present Joe, she cut her hair. “It feels so much lighter!” she said in explanation to the transformation. “Plus it doesn’t take as long to do in the morning.”
At her side, Joe wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “Either way, I think she’s beautiful, no matter how she cuts her hair,” he said then kissed her on the cheek soft and comfortably.
“Ewww!” wailed the children covering their eyes in play, jumping among the cushions and smashing limbs against one another in the effort escape the act of affection.
“Oh you silly kids!” came Joe’s reply, grasping for the tender skin of youth to cause spasms of laughter and the vigor of high spirits. Chelsea watched him in adoration, arms crossed. Joe’s youth and carefree nature was liberating, a force that was literal and metaphoric as well. At hours just after dawn, he would take her across the threshold of the house. They would make a day of it, running various errands to please her parents, visit a restaurant here and there--like that really good Vietnamese place off of Stacy and Angel--always making sure to bring come the complimentary mints and small chocolate candies to please her siblings, slight souvenirs. There were also trips to dance practices and friends’ houses with hands thrust out the window, a gas pedal pressed down with quick roughness as if it were a battle between pedal and the joints of the little green car. His charm was another amiable attribute that made him fit into the complex jig-saw puzzle that was her life; her parents tolerated him.
Five years since my crown of braids, a sister takes her first opportunity at true freedom. I watch her leave through the window, pushing aside the newly straying wisps of hair that frame, instead of skim, dimples of a careful smile as I wave supportively, crushed.February 16, 2012
Choice
Hand in hand
He took me to the edge of the earth and
He asked me to jump off with him.
His suggestion was quite tempting, but
The earth behind me and the path ahead
Tempted me as well.
The green grass
Underneath my feet was soft, yet
The hand in mine
Testified of a promise;
We'd never be apart.
Lively wind from the South
Facilitated my decision
As he fell off that cliff.
Not a single groan
Echoed in that gorge when he jumped.
I stood and stared for a while,
Frozen in place.
We were caught in a stare
As he fell off that cliff
And we continued until
His eyes blurred into the rest of his face.
For another while,
I sat on that edge just imagining his fall.
Never did a tear escape to fall down my own face.
When the weeds did grow
Around me, I noticed
The earth behind me and the path ahead.
I plucked up each pesky root and leaf,
To throw aside.
I can hear
His voice at my side
As I walk across the grassy patches
Ahead of me.
The ghost of his hand
Is always in mine.
He took me to the edge of the earth and
He asked me to jump off with him.
His suggestion was quite tempting, but
The earth behind me and the path ahead
Tempted me as well.
The green grass
Underneath my feet was soft, yet
The hand in mine
Testified of a promise;
We'd never be apart.
Lively wind from the South
Facilitated my decision
As he fell off that cliff.
Not a single groan
Echoed in that gorge when he jumped.
I stood and stared for a while,
Frozen in place.
We were caught in a stare
As he fell off that cliff
And we continued until
His eyes blurred into the rest of his face.
For another while,
I sat on that edge just imagining his fall.
Never did a tear escape to fall down my own face.
When the weeds did grow
Around me, I noticed
The earth behind me and the path ahead.
I plucked up each pesky root and leaf,
To throw aside.
I can hear
His voice at my side
As I walk across the grassy patches
Ahead of me.
The ghost of his hand
Is always in mine.
Refulgent Waiting
Over the last hill I finally caught sight of the hangar entrance; here I was supposed to wait for more of my precious time after I had already trekked across the huge field in light of the setting sun in the west. Its rustling leaves were a rich amber color and their strokes against each other sounded like a melody calling me to come over and sit under stretching shadows. Just as I'm about to follow the tree's gesture, a warm embrace of hands cover my eyes. Grins and hugs fill the moment and every trace of my sour mood has been diluted with his contagious happiness.
His bright blue eyes glint in the evening light, past a dark lashes set only on my face, completely captivated. Carefully, thoughtfully I cast down my eyes, unable to grasp that one could be entranced only by the sight of me standing in front of him, just out of reach of his fingertips twiddling at his side. I see him watch my head drop just shy of his chest and I can tell that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Fingertips carrying my chin towards his face confirm my thoughts. "Sweetie, I love you. Please believe me," he says almost begging and his knees slightly bent with his words. Passion shone through those blue eyes holding my gaze and my heart felt the sorrow emanated from those words; witnessing his sadness was an experience I couldn't bear. Looking deeply into his eyes, trying not to flit my gaze a single inch, I whisper, "I try, I do try every day. And I love you more than you can tell." Each word grew with conviction as I continued on; it was as if I was trying to convince myself of something that I didn't already know.
Then the wind blew past us, my hair grasping out with wild fervor. The fresh air filled our lungs for a minute of silence as inquiring boy took in my reaction to his words. All this wile he had not taken a moment away from my face and it felt like he was drinking in his Last Supper there with me in this serene landscape. Was he getting close to the bottom of the cup? Soft lips caressed my cheek and nose and made their way around the edge of my mouth. I could feel the smile in his kisses; he was teasing me. Tired of his tricks, I pulled away from this teases for an instant, and then crashed into him. Before closing my own, I saw his eyes flutter in pleasure like butterfly kisses when we were young. Warm breath clung to my face while I left the gentle boy take control. Hands on my waist carried me into his chest, so that the little pumps of blood from his heart could be felt through his linen shirt. Polo cologne clung to his shirt and I nestled in closer. He carried my hips farther up his body, and then around his waist I draped my legs, entangling our bodies together. Over and over he kissed me, the thumps of his heart speeding to an allegro echoing in my chest.
Opening my eyes, I carefully pulled my lips from his, inches away I watched him come down from his high on ecstasy we created in these small minutes. Still I held onto his waist and neck as we simultaneously caught our breath. Caught in our gaping stares, I couldn't look away. Relaxing my engaged muscles, I slowly eased down to the solid ground and Troy kissed my forehead.
After all my senses returned, he took my hand and led me to the aureate maple that beckoned to me earlier. Shadows under its limbs reached out more than twice its size; there we sat in the cool and talked of love. I started to believe. Royal blue blanketed the sky with holes to the heavens scattered over our heads telling stories of our past and future. Crickets began to creep out to sing their songs peacefully to the breeze running over the hills and to a resting place. In the distance there were howls of wolves echoing in the air, but as they drifted past I knew they wouldn't hurt me. Thoughtfully, I laid my head down on Troy's chest to dream quixotic wishes. Before the night had completely stolen me away, I could feel an angel tenderly kiss my sleeping eyes.
The next morning's pinks and magnificent golds couldn't stop my tears. He was gone.
His bright blue eyes glint in the evening light, past a dark lashes set only on my face, completely captivated. Carefully, thoughtfully I cast down my eyes, unable to grasp that one could be entranced only by the sight of me standing in front of him, just out of reach of his fingertips twiddling at his side. I see him watch my head drop just shy of his chest and I can tell that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Fingertips carrying my chin towards his face confirm my thoughts. "Sweetie, I love you. Please believe me," he says almost begging and his knees slightly bent with his words. Passion shone through those blue eyes holding my gaze and my heart felt the sorrow emanated from those words; witnessing his sadness was an experience I couldn't bear. Looking deeply into his eyes, trying not to flit my gaze a single inch, I whisper, "I try, I do try every day. And I love you more than you can tell." Each word grew with conviction as I continued on; it was as if I was trying to convince myself of something that I didn't already know.
Then the wind blew past us, my hair grasping out with wild fervor. The fresh air filled our lungs for a minute of silence as inquiring boy took in my reaction to his words. All this wile he had not taken a moment away from my face and it felt like he was drinking in his Last Supper there with me in this serene landscape. Was he getting close to the bottom of the cup? Soft lips caressed my cheek and nose and made their way around the edge of my mouth. I could feel the smile in his kisses; he was teasing me. Tired of his tricks, I pulled away from this teases for an instant, and then crashed into him. Before closing my own, I saw his eyes flutter in pleasure like butterfly kisses when we were young. Warm breath clung to my face while I left the gentle boy take control. Hands on my waist carried me into his chest, so that the little pumps of blood from his heart could be felt through his linen shirt. Polo cologne clung to his shirt and I nestled in closer. He carried my hips farther up his body, and then around his waist I draped my legs, entangling our bodies together. Over and over he kissed me, the thumps of his heart speeding to an allegro echoing in my chest.
Opening my eyes, I carefully pulled my lips from his, inches away I watched him come down from his high on ecstasy we created in these small minutes. Still I held onto his waist and neck as we simultaneously caught our breath. Caught in our gaping stares, I couldn't look away. Relaxing my engaged muscles, I slowly eased down to the solid ground and Troy kissed my forehead.
After all my senses returned, he took my hand and led me to the aureate maple that beckoned to me earlier. Shadows under its limbs reached out more than twice its size; there we sat in the cool and talked of love. I started to believe. Royal blue blanketed the sky with holes to the heavens scattered over our heads telling stories of our past and future. Crickets began to creep out to sing their songs peacefully to the breeze running over the hills and to a resting place. In the distance there were howls of wolves echoing in the air, but as they drifted past I knew they wouldn't hurt me. Thoughtfully, I laid my head down on Troy's chest to dream quixotic wishes. Before the night had completely stolen me away, I could feel an angel tenderly kiss my sleeping eyes.
The next morning's pinks and magnificent golds couldn't stop my tears. He was gone.
Protests in the Morning
Her pounding heart mirrored the throbs of her feet pounding against the hard, grey pavement. Aching lungs burned from the strain of her run, but Bridget embraced the pain, allowing her head to clear of painful images she hoped to leave behind her. Sun reflects off one of the buildings to shock her eyes with light of the new day. Drips of sweat slide swiftly down her cheek in shifts that went on rhythm with her running. With the continuing rise of the sun, came the fall of her jacket and without without disrupting this constant rhythm, she slides the sleeves off and ties them to her waist. Palpable heat in the air reminds her of warm embraces that used to make her safe, but now ghosts of his touch only haunt her.
People start to fill the parks with their morning strolls and a few come with their cameras to capture the beauty of the morning. Still, most of the air carries a silence that echoed with thoughts Bridget threw out of her head. Minute upon minute builds the sounds and shouts of the city. Crowds emerge around her, forcing her pace to a jog. She tops at the corner for a slight break, heart and feet catching up with her like punches, sending the pounds of blood up through her toes all the way up to her and grasp at her mind to tear away those thoughts of Robert. She clings to deep breaths until walking across the street to a vendor with bottled water among his trinkets. After gulping down most of the liquid, she cuts through trees to a park slightly removed from the chaos of the streets.
However, the shouts grew louder in her ears. Past the green lawn, rose white signs brandished like weapons, hoping to intimidate those coming close. They suffocated the street and police began to blockade them off in some sort of attempt to contain the beginnings of a riot. Against better judgement, she ran through the throng. She wanted to see their faces, see their expressions and question their riotous passion. The more she passed the more she sympathized with them and clenched her fists in similar ardor. An exact cause wasn't apparent to her, nor needed for her, but nevertheless she felt like she was part of something; something that made a little difference in the world.
People start to fill the parks with their morning strolls and a few come with their cameras to capture the beauty of the morning. Still, most of the air carries a silence that echoed with thoughts Bridget threw out of her head. Minute upon minute builds the sounds and shouts of the city. Crowds emerge around her, forcing her pace to a jog. She tops at the corner for a slight break, heart and feet catching up with her like punches, sending the pounds of blood up through her toes all the way up to her and grasp at her mind to tear away those thoughts of Robert. She clings to deep breaths until walking across the street to a vendor with bottled water among his trinkets. After gulping down most of the liquid, she cuts through trees to a park slightly removed from the chaos of the streets.
However, the shouts grew louder in her ears. Past the green lawn, rose white signs brandished like weapons, hoping to intimidate those coming close. They suffocated the street and police began to blockade them off in some sort of attempt to contain the beginnings of a riot. Against better judgement, she ran through the throng. She wanted to see their faces, see their expressions and question their riotous passion. The more she passed the more she sympathized with them and clenched her fists in similar ardor. An exact cause wasn't apparent to her, nor needed for her, but nevertheless she felt like she was part of something; something that made a little difference in the world.
The Message
Folded in thirds, one single sheet of lined paper lay in her hands. Crisp crinkles called out when she clutched her hand tighter. Then absentmindedly tracing the straight edges and folds, her grasp eased. On the table in front of her sat the plain white envelope where it stared at her and screamed with wide, dry lips. There it called her to submit her paper, but she did not yeild, sitting paralyzed by the thought.
His name was spelled out on the front of the envelope, taunting her while its parched mouth still screamed to her face. Setting down the paper, she lowered her head and rubbed at her temples. Tangled thoughts were whipping around her head like restless snakes. Send it, or not?
Two months since she saw him. Two months since she talked to him. Days filled with endless waiting, stretching patience like a worn rubber band waiting to snap, yet shaking it held on, like only she could. Some days, taking up her phone, she'd press in his number and dare herself to push down the talk button beneath a a shaking thumb. Only then, after prolonged mintues of sitting, the phone would close again, to eat up the number on the tiny screen. Promptly leaving the room, the cursed phone lay on the floor, a temporary plague to her hand.
Then here were words concealed in folded paper, sitting on the table and telling her a promise. Fresh out of the mailbox, he would stretch out his hand to clutch onto her breath-kissed paper. Soft and callused fingers tear open the seal to pull out the written note. Then a message back in his own hand writing, palpable record to hold dear. Then he would know and she would know.
A single tear fell from her cheek and onto the paper. Raising her head, she looked at the paper once again. Quickly taking up her hands, paper slipped into envelope and tongue passed over seal to close in finality. Then a stamp was placed in the top right corner, opposite to her neatly written name.
To the mailbox she trekked, barefoot down the driveway and into the grass. Into the black container the letter disappeared to its clutches. Folding her arms, she ran back inside, too afraid to look or think of the letter any longer.
His name was spelled out on the front of the envelope, taunting her while its parched mouth still screamed to her face. Setting down the paper, she lowered her head and rubbed at her temples. Tangled thoughts were whipping around her head like restless snakes. Send it, or not?
Two months since she saw him. Two months since she talked to him. Days filled with endless waiting, stretching patience like a worn rubber band waiting to snap, yet shaking it held on, like only she could. Some days, taking up her phone, she'd press in his number and dare herself to push down the talk button beneath a a shaking thumb. Only then, after prolonged mintues of sitting, the phone would close again, to eat up the number on the tiny screen. Promptly leaving the room, the cursed phone lay on the floor, a temporary plague to her hand.
Then here were words concealed in folded paper, sitting on the table and telling her a promise. Fresh out of the mailbox, he would stretch out his hand to clutch onto her breath-kissed paper. Soft and callused fingers tear open the seal to pull out the written note. Then a message back in his own hand writing, palpable record to hold dear. Then he would know and she would know.
A single tear fell from her cheek and onto the paper. Raising her head, she looked at the paper once again. Quickly taking up her hands, paper slipped into envelope and tongue passed over seal to close in finality. Then a stamp was placed in the top right corner, opposite to her neatly written name.
To the mailbox she trekked, barefoot down the driveway and into the grass. Into the black container the letter disappeared to its clutches. Folding her arms, she ran back inside, too afraid to look or think of the letter any longer.
February 15, 2012
Beginning a Story
Everything has a beginning: life, friendships, love, traditions, dreams. It is at the beginning where things are the hardest, because that's when we scramble to keep grip on something unknown to us. Raw skin is exposed when you exert those muscles in hope of gaining ground. Ahead is dark, with thick waters overwhelming limbs up to the waist, cold and warm, shifting enough to keep you on your toes as you work your way forward. Strange settings unravel before searching eyes and groping hands, causing your insides to clench in certain places like your gut or your heart. There's extra warm blood circulating through your veins and you wonder if this is how greatness is born.
Excitement is in your blood at the beginning, in your entire being. Time races forward, the tingle in your fingers fade and your heightened senses have calmed, you recognize the landscape you live in, many of its complicated layers, in all of its beautiful complexity. The view is your home, the comfortable haven of your thoughts and your knowledge. It is only until that person beside you captures that same view of yours in a snapshot that casts shadows in different places, or shifts the horizon over the mountains a little to the left, to the right. You're uncertain of your own reality, if only for a moment. That moment changes lives.
Through the eyes of a stranger, life becomes something unknown again.
Excitement is in your blood at the beginning, in your entire being. Time races forward, the tingle in your fingers fade and your heightened senses have calmed, you recognize the landscape you live in, many of its complicated layers, in all of its beautiful complexity. The view is your home, the comfortable haven of your thoughts and your knowledge. It is only until that person beside you captures that same view of yours in a snapshot that casts shadows in different places, or shifts the horizon over the mountains a little to the left, to the right. You're uncertain of your own reality, if only for a moment. That moment changes lives.
Through the eyes of a stranger, life becomes something unknown again.
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