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
February 27, 2012
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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