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.
April 24, 2012
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.
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