Thursday, January 31, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Seven

At a quarter to six, I am getting ready to meet up with Clark. I find I am doing little things to make myself look pretty. Things I haven't really done since David. I actually care what I wear to this dinner. I laugh at myself while I put on my white Manolo Blahnik Pepe open toed heels. I stop as I remember how David saved for months to buy them for me last Christmas. And, now that I'm thinking about it, Alice also received a pair, except in black.

Is it a curse? I keep remembering all these warning signs I should've recognized then. I'm pretty sure it is a curse that some angry God has put on me for not presenting the proper sacrifices. Or maybe it is my evil twin. Or I have multiple personalities that noticed all the signs and laughed maniacally while I kept running ahead like a blind dullard.

This has been going on for a long time. I have been fighting for David's affection whilst he was busy falling in love with my best friend. Ex best friend.

I miss that friendship. I miss her. I hate her. I hate her so much. I hate this. I hate her. I hate him. I hate, hate, hate. I think that's all I know how to feel, besides pain.

What did I ever do to her to deserve this? Did I fail her in some major way? Did I do something wrong to provoke this? For that matter, did I fail David? Was I not good enough in bed? Or a decent enough cook? What could I have possibly done wrong?

I find that I can't wear my shoes. In fact, I never want to see them again. I rip them off of my feet and shove them to the very back of the closet. Maybe I'll sell them on Ebay or something. For now I'm going to pretend they don't exist. I'm going to pretend that this whole situation is in my imagination. I'm not going to allow this terrible depression make me go flat like a flan in a cupboard.

I have a date. A date with a man who finds me attractive (and has proven so twice). A date that I should finish getting ready for.

Clark and I meet up at the restaurant at seven, like we agreed. He is dressed down, a bit of a shock to my system since I've only seen him naked or in a suit and tie. Thinking of him naked sends a wave of red across my face. I feel a little over dressed in comparison.

He is wearing dark blue jeans, a nice tee shirt and sandals. I ended up opting for a dressy pair of flip-flops, a black pencil skirt and a flowy blouse. He doesn't seem to mind, however. He smiles and I melt a little.

No. I am not allowed to do any melting. This is a fling. A scheme to have copious amounts of sex and relate to a break up song. Nothing more. I have to remember that.

He kisses my cheek and holds out his arm. I smile in response and slip my arm through his.

"I'm glad you were able to make it." He says, as we are escorted to our booth.

"Me too." I say. I smile, but I'm not sure what else to say. What does one say on a second date?

"Do you maybe want to go to a movie or something after this?" He asks.

"I don't think I want to see anything that is out right now. But a movie does sound nice. Have anything in particular in mind that we could possibly rent?"

"We don't have to rent, I have a rather large movie collection. Unless you want something particularly rare." He smiles and takes a sip of his Raki. He offers me a sip, but when it comes close to my nose my eyes start to well up. I'm thinking Raki isn't going to be my thing.

While I ponder what movie I might want to watch, we order. For myself, I order oven-baked trout with onions and tomatoes. As well as some dolma and tarator. My eyes may be a little too big for my stomach. Maybe.

Clark orders lamb. A cute little baby animal cooked and served with yogurt in some dish called Tavë kosi. Is that a good reason to use later to break up with him? Probably not. That seems a little shallow. Of course, maybe he thinks that trout are adorable little creatures and I'm a bad person for eating them. Another side to the coin, one might say.

I glance around after we order. I've never been to this particular restaurant before. I think it is pretty.

"What made you choose this restaurant?" I ask.

"Don't you like it?" He asks. He looks worried for a moment. I smile and brush the question off.

"I was just curious. I've never been to this particular restaurant before. I was wondering if you came here often."

He smiles and, visibly, relaxes. Its as if he was waiting for me to confirm something. Or maybe that is just me.

"I like this place quite a bit." He says. "When I was in college I used to come here to study. It has that cozy feel about it, I guess."

He shrugs then and takes another sip of his Raki. I wonder, briefly, if this second date is as awkward as it feels or if it is just me. Is he having trouble making conversation too? Or is it just me? Is it warm in here?

"Are you okay?" He asks. He looks rather concerned. Have I suddenly gone bright red?

"Yes," I say. "I'm a little warm. And awkward."

"Awkward?"

"I have a small confession," I say. I open my mouth to explain why I feel so awkward. I close it again as I suddenly feel a little paralyzed. I see David and Alice come into the restaurant. I can't breathe. Really, out of all the restaurants in this town, they had to pick this one?

"What is it, Abra?"

"I have to go to the bathroom." I quickly stand up and attempt to look like I'm not fleeing. Which, I actually am.

"Wait, Abra," I turn just in time to see him stand up, his napkin clutched in one hand and his other reaching out as if he was trying to catch me. It is movie perfect, really. The girl running away and the boy reaching out to rescue her, but he doesn't catch her.

I reach the bathroom, only to discover that it is currently occupied. Stupid one room bathrooms! I did a dance that vaguely looks like an "I need to pee" dance. Its not that though. I'm afraid that Alice is going to have to "powder" her nose. When we were younger we always said that upon entering a restaurant. We'd giggle and grab each other's hands, run to the bathroom and sit on the counter for a few minutes doing our make-up and laughing.

We kissed once. Alice and I. We had gone to "powder" our noses, like so many other times before. It was a beautiful little bathroom in a tiny, out of the way, kind of Italian restaurant on Main street. The Beautiful Life, it said in fancy script above the tiny divan. We pretended we were fancy ladies attending a party, sitting on the divan and play acting. Moving through our rituals of make-up and laughter.

I'm not sure how we ended up kissing, it was such a strange moment. We were talking and then we weren't. We suddenly went very quiet, as if we were going to be overheard. And then, just as suddenly, we kissed. Our lips softly pressed together, a crimson blush staining both of our cheeks, our eyes closed. We stayed in that pose for a moment and then we never did it again. We never spoke of it, never mentioned it. It was as if we were ashamed of it.

Finally, after what just felt like an eternity of nostalgic reminiscing, the door to the bathroom opens and I practically knock the woman exiting out of the way. I don't slam the door. On purpose, anyway. I'm sure Clark is dying of embarrassment, I've made such a scene. I can't help it. I may lose all my self-respect if I break down out there now.

Who am I kidding? Since when do I have any self-respect?

I hear a knock at the door. I stay quiet a moment. The handle jiggles, I locked it. There is a knock again and a voice.

"Is someone in there?"

That's Alice now. I knew it wouldn't be long. Oh, but I've just trapped myself in here. There isn't a window out and I am going to have to go past her to get back to my seat. Shit.

"Just a minute." I try to disguise my voice a little. Not that it matters, because she is going to see me in a moment. Why bother?

Maybe I can use this to my advantage? I am with Clark, after all. I can act like I'm fine. Maybe make David a little jealous in the process. Doubtful, but worth a try anyway.

Shoulders back, Abra. You are brave, you are strong. You can do this. Right?

I take a deep breath as I open the door. Alice is looking down at her phone. She looks up at me, the smile fading so fast it might as well not have been there.

"Oh, hello, Alice! How are you?" I say, grinning like an idiot, I'm sure.

"A-a-abra?" I've never known her to stutter. She is blushing too, probably remembering my boobs right now. Or our long forgotten kiss.

"Coming to powder your nose, I see. The mirror is perfect for that." I hold the door open and gesture for her to enter. When we were friends I would've joined her, even though it is only a one room bathroom. She stares at me. You'd think I'd grown another head or something the way she is staring.

"Aren't you going in?" I say. She nods, her mouth a little agape. Once she has her back turned, I release the door and nonchalantly go back to my sit.

"What the hell is going on?" Clark whispers vehemently.

"Nothing." I say, sitting quietly and smiling at the waiter as he delivers our food.

"That sure didn't look like nothing, darling. What is going on?" He is upset and its my fault. I shouldn't act like this. I should know better.

"I'll explain later, I promise. Just not here and not now. Trust me?" I keep my smile pasted on my face. I look ridiculous. All of this is fucking ridiculous, but I'm not the one who decided to betray my fiance or my best friend.

Dinner is very quiet. Every now and then I glance over at David and Alice. They don't even notice me. They are canoodling, like they were that day on the beach. When they broke my heart. Clark watches me watching them. He begins to look like he understands. I don't think he likes what he is understanding.

I don't have the bravery to pretend, like I thought I would back when I was in the bathroom. I can't use Clark like that. It doesn't matter anyway, its not like they are even paying attention. They are too wrapped up in each other. It must be so nice, not having to hide their love anymore. Being able to meet in the open and not worry about me finding out.

Clark pays for dinner and we are silent as we walk to his car. The smells of downtown linger in my nose and the lights in the trees twinkle. I think about how perfect this setting is for making out. Just standing on the sidewalk, our bodies pressed close and our lips the only things moving.

"Explain." He says, interrupting my thoughts.

"I don't want to."

He grabs my shoulders and I find my back pressed against the side of his car. I am both aroused and unnerved.

"I like you, Abra. I really do. I would like to see you often. I'd even enjoy being your boyfriend, but this is not the way to start a relationship. I can't even be your friend if you won't tell me what is going on."

"I don't even know where to start." I say, trying to shake him off.

"Start somewhere and we'll piece it together. Please. I'm not just feeding you a line when I say that I want to be your boyfriend. I'm not just saying shit to get with you again. I enjoyed our time together and I'd like it to continue. I just can't do it if I don't understand what's going on. What happened in the restaurant?"

"I saw my ex." I say, simply.

"Okay. I've had bad break-ups. Why didn't you just ask if we could leave? I wouldn't have cared. We could've gone to any other restaurant."

"I don't know. I freeze when I see him. When I see who he is with. We were together ten years, Clark. We were getting married. He left me at the altar. He left me for my best friend and I just don't know how to deal with it. He was it. My all, my only lover, the only person I could ever see myself with. You're the only other person I've been with.

"I was going to tell you that I felt awkward because I'd never dated anyone else. And what David and I had can't be called 'dates' in the technical sense. We've just always been together. But I looked up and he and my ex-best friend walked in and all I could think was escape. It doesn't matter though, I missed my opportunity for a clean get away. I'm sorry for that. I kind of fucked everything up."

He stares at me for a moment, his grip on my shoulders loosens. I feel something cold running down my cheek. I don't have to touch it to know that its a tear and that I've started crying. Again. Then, I am encompassed in his arms, my face buried in his chest and his hand entangled in my hair. He holds me like that for several minutes. I don't mind. I like being close to him.

"Let's go back to my place and have a few drinks. We can watch a movie, like we were talking about earlier." He says. I nod and wipe a few stray tears from my face as I pull away.

He kisses me. It is amazing how gorgeous the world becomes when you are being kissed by someone who knows what they are doing. When he stops, I almost beg him not to. I'd much rather stand here and kiss him. I would much rather have this feeling stay, rather than being reminded of all the terrible feelings I've had of late.

He holds me close again.

"Be my girlfriend, Abra. Let me make you happy." He whispers. I pull back and look at him. He is so serious right now. I smile and nod. I don't know if he can make me happy, but I want to be with him. At least for now.

When we go back to his place, we snuggle up on the couch and watch a Cary Grant movie. I think I could fall in love with Clark, if only I wasn't so determined not to. Maybe I can change my mind. Maybe I can pretend that my heart has never been torn out of my chest. I can pretend it is still there. I could. But I don't know if I want to.

For now, I am content to just be his girlfriend.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Dreams of My Father

I dreamt about my biological father last night. It was odd, because I haven't dreamt about him in a while. I felt so many different things in that dream. Feelings I've been suppressing in the waking world.

We had moved into our new apartment, in my dream. And somehow I happened to see my father in a window across the way from my apartment. It was kind of "Rear Window"-esque. I felt like I was staring at him through binoculars. Realizing it was him I practically flew out of my apartment to his. Only to suddenly be in a hotel room.

There he was. As I remember him, a seven year old's image of her father. He is so romanticized in my mind. To me he will always be the handsome man who picked me up off the ground when I fell from the monkey bars and got sand in my eyes. The guy with glasses, and a great mustache, who was constantly filming me and my brother, photographing my mother, even though they were no longer together. The man I adored and thought was amazing, a god with flaws. I wish I could've saved him. I wish we had been enough.

There he was. My father. In that moment I felt a surge of love for him. With a small aftertaste of hate and realization. He hugged me. I told him I was getting married. He cried. I cried. I told him how much I had missed him. How much I wish I had never sent that letter. Never said the things I said. He forgave me. I forgave him. He was going to do the one thing I've always wanted. He was going to give me away at the ceremony for my wedding. He was going to dance with me, that father daughter dance that I'll never actually have.

I think part of my subconscious realized this was a dream, because I felt a surge of pain. A trembling in my chin, that trembling that always preludes a gut-wrenching cry fest.

He told me that he had been released. Released from the drugs, prison, etc. He was a free man and he was going to be there for me. He offered to help pay for the wedding. He offered to help in any way he could.

Then he disappeared. In a split-second I was talking to my mother. Telling her the good news. Telling her how excited I was. About the crying that we did. About the hug and the forgiveness. Then she tells me that he had lied. That he had escaped from prison, not been released. That he was on the run. Now he would never be able to do what he had said he would. Now he could never fulfill his promises. He would spend his life running. From the addictions, from the law, from his empty promises and his guilt. I truly believe he feels guilty.

And I felt that moment of realization again. The moment when I realized that he would never be able to keep his promises. Just like when I was seven and I made him promise he wouldn't do drugs anymore. And he promised. I think he meant to keep it. I'd like to think he really tried. I'd like to believe that he loved me enough to give it a valiant effort. But what am I compared to methamphetamine? What am I compared to cocaine and heroin?

I've never been so heartbroken upon waking from a dream. I have a damaged relationship with a father I've always worshiped and no real way to fix it. I think, as little girls, all daughters have this kind of romance with their fathers. Not the sexual kind of romance you find in smut novels or internet porn. Not a romance in the traditional sense. We have a love for our fathers that is so deep that it colors our entire outlook on men.

Our father is our first introduction to the world of men. He is our first husband, our first boyfriend. He is our first guy friend, our first impression. We romanticize him, even if we never knew him. Even if we have a bad relationship. Because in many ways we want him to be wonderful. It gives us hope for other men if our father is a good man.

I see the similarities between my father and my ex-boyfriend. I see the parallels between my relationship and my father's relationship with my mother. I see the parallels with my current relationship. I see the parallels with all my male interactions. I have always been so desperate for a man to love me. I have always been so afraid of the men around me. Not because my father abused me, but because I always felt like he abandoned me. Like he never truly loved me. How could any man love me if my own father could not? I wanted that love from my father that I never fully received. It is a terrible loss to me. An awful waste.

I hated him. I hated him for so long. I only called him by his first name. Or didn't speak of him at all. I tore him off of a pedestal and threw him to the ground. A displaced god in my personal garden of hell. The more I hated him, the more I loved him without even trying. I tried to justify his actions to myself, I still do sometimes. I tried to place him back on the pedestal the prodigal god returned to his rightful place of honor. Waged a whole war with myself. All for what?

When I woke up I felt raw. Tender to the touch, like a still healing scrape. Even now I feel hurt. As my wedding draws closer all I keep trying to not think about is that moment when the judge (or the pastor or whomever) says "Who gives this woman to be wed?" The moment when it will be only my mother standing there beside me. When my father will not be there to say "Her mother and I." When the music begins playing at the reception and there is no father for me to dance with.

I've never been so sad to wake up.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Six

I hesitate. I don't want to answer the door, but I don't want Noah to do it either. It isn't fair that I force him to answer my problems when they come knocking. I wish I could I just run to my bedroom. What used to be our room. Used to be our sanctuary from reality.

I can't believe I'm still dying over all this. Of course, I should be a little easier on myself. After all it was a ten year mistake. I could've been doing something else useful during that time. Like not being in love with a jerk that dumped me at the altar. Like being my own independent and beautiful person. I could've been doing all that. Maybe married now with a baby on the way, with a man who appreciated me and loved me more than anyone else. Maybe in a different scenario I would end up with someone like Clark Samson, instead of just playing around.

I'm rambling and David is still waiting on the other side of the door.

Before I can say anything, my hesitation gets the better of me and Noah answers the door, allowing me to escape to my room. I'm such an idiot. I bang my head against the door and immediately regret it. Why did I do that? Because that is just as intelligent as forcing my best friend to have to deal with my ex. I'm a coward. Good Job, Abra. You're doing well, aren't you?

I hear the door close and I sneak back out toward the living room, peering around the corner. Noah is holding something in his hands. He seems irked, but no more than he was before. Of course, that was at me, maybe his displeasure has been aimed elsewhere by David's, oh so, inconvenient interruption. Well, inconvenient for Noah.

"What did he want?" I ask. Though, I'm pretty sure I know. Rent is due tomorrow.

"He was dropping off his portion of the rent. He was in a very sour mood." Which explains why Noah looks annoyed. He hands me the check.

I can't help but smile at it. Like an idiot, I might add. I can't help that it still makes me giggle that he is stuck with me until the end of the lease. Or I find a roommate. Either way he gets to be uncomfortable for a little longer and I get to feel like I'm taking some small portion of vengeance.

"What is going on with you, Abra? What is going on inside your head? You are acting strange." He pauses and then adds, "Okay, stranger than normal. Seriously, though. What is going on?"

"I've decided I no longer care, that's all." I say, moving toward the kitchen. I realize I can't continue living here, too many bad and wonderful memories. The lease is up in two months or so. I should start packing now.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Noah grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him. "Tell me, Abe. We've been friends for a long time; don't try to diminish that by pretending that I don't know that something is wrong."

"I slept with Clark Samson last night. That is what you want to hear, isn't it? I slept with him and I enjoyed it. For the first time since David, I really and truly enjoyed myself. I enjoyed it more than I ever did with David. And I'm not going to hold back from experiencing it with other people."

"Oh babe, you aren't going to find what you are looking for that way." He looks disappointed. I hate that look.

"What am I looking for, Noah? What am I looking for that I can't find in the arms of another man? Or woman, as the case may or may not be."

"You do know that sex doesn't equal love, right? That it doesn't equal fulfillment or anything like that?" He looks at me very seriously. Of course I know these things. But for a few moments it's easy enough to believe that sex does equal those things. For a few moments the whole world melts away and you can make-believe that you are in love and fulfilled. Well, filled anyway.

"I'm not doing it to get fulfillment, Noah. Nor am I seeking love. Love is a poison and I've had enough of it. I've just decided to live out some of those break-up songs that I hear on the radio. I've just decided to date who I want and then decide when I'm done. I've decided to do what I want, because I've lost all desire to care."

"You are going to date people in the hopes that it will end up matching a situation in a break-up song? Doesn't that seem a little stupid to you?"

"Well, yes. But the idea of not caring any more because of one relationship seems a little stupid too." I shake myself out of his grip and start marching toward my bedroom.

"No, that is the only part that makes sense!" He says. He follows me to my bedroom. "David is the only man you've ever been with. Well, was the only man you had ever been with. It is not that strange that you would be devastated by the break-up. I mean, you almost married him! Of course you are going to be numb and not care. I felt the same way after my break-up with Matthias. Surely you remember how devastated I was. I couldn't eat or sleep. I was a nervous wreck, I was depressed as hell."

Several snarky and uncharacteristic comments pop into mind. I ignore them and flop down on my bed. It is a failing attempt to cover up the tears that are welling up. I don't want to cry. Not again. Not anymore. I want to be happy and do whatever the hell I want, with who I want. I want to be with Clark until I decide that I need to move on.

"You are just failing to realize that I've lost my mind." I mumble.

"No, I've noticed. I am just trying to reason with the small part of your mind that must still be in there somewhere."

He sighs and sits on the bed next to me. I peek up at him. He is staring off into space. Unexpectedly, he lies down next to me and pulls me into his arms. I don't know why, but this makes the tears I've been fighting come. He holds me, in my bed, until I'm all cried out. We lay like this for awhile. I don't even know how long. I've lost track of time in this insanity. He kisses me on the cheek and wipes away a stray tear or two. A sweet best friend, that I don't deserve.

Sometimes, like right now, I wish he wasn't gay. I could be in love with Noah. I wonder if we would've been happy if things had worked out differently. I suppose, however, there is no use in daydreaming on it. I wouldn't change him for the world. Just being here with him is good enough.

Nothing has changed, however. I am still going to go through with my plan. I consider this to be the sexual equivalent of cutting myself. I know it is harmful, but I don't know any other way to express the emotions and non-emotions I feel. I don't know how else to communicate with that part of me.

Though a part of me doesn't want him to leave, I urge Noah to go home. That I'll be fine. I'm going to take a hot bath and then relax for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe watch a sappy movie. He asks if he should come back after my bath and watch it with me. I tell him not to worry about it. He has work tomorrow like I do.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"I'm sure. I'll be fine." I force a smile. Right this moment I just want to be alone. Maybe listen to those break-up songs. Take a nice long bubble bath in my big claw foot bath tub. Plan my next move maybe? I kiss Noah's cheek and close the door behind him.

As the water warms, I get the CD I was listening to when I left my mother's house on homecoming night. Clark will need a song. Which song shall I re-create? To be honest, I hadn't actually thought about re-creating the scenarios in break-up songs so much as just having something to kind of relate to. I won't tell Noah that he actually gave me an idea. A little bit worse of an idea too. I think he already feels guilty enough without me adding to it.

I sink into the hot, soapy, water and turn the music on. The first song is Alanis. Her scathing lyrics fill my bathroom with rage. That song belongs squarely on David's shoulders. No other song fits so perfectly. If only I could stay angry. When I see him all of the old feelings flood up to the surface.

I want as sweet a break-up with Clark as possible. No broken hearts, no tears. Just a soft parting of ways. Just a softly spoken goodbye. Are those kinds of break-ups possible? Is it possible to be friends with former lovers? I've been so naive and sheltered when it comes to relationships. I should've left David years ago.

Thinking of Clark makes me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. I feel a little drunk, except I haven't been drinking. Maybe I should actually try with him. Maybe we could be happy? Or maybe we wouldn't be.

Its moments like this that I wish I was a poet or a writer in general. I'd have so much material to work with. I'd be up to my eyeballs in sappy, heart-ache crap. Enough to write a novel, a book of short stories and a book of poetry. Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I could write a lot.

I've been so deep in thought my water has gone cold and my CD is skipping. I shiver as I drain the tub and stop the CD. I wrap a big, fluffy, towel around myself and pad my way into the bedroom. Snuggles is sprawled on my bed, napping. I rub his head as I walk to my vanity.

I notice some dark circles under my eyes. I wish I could sleep like I did in Clark's arms every time. I've never felt so secure. Not even with David. Whom I've decided to refer to as jerk-who-shall-go-un-named.

I suppose its time to tally the toll all this has taken. I've lost fifteen pounds from not eating. I've lost the will to look beautiful. I don't sleep. And when I do it is the worst sleep ever. My honey-gold hair looks lackluster and my cocoa colored eyes have lost their shine. I've become a slut. All because of one measly ten year relationship. One stupid jerk-who-shall-go-un-named. What an asshole.

Its only four o'clock and I want to give up for the day. I am just about to go take a nap when my phone rings. The caller ID lists a number I don't recognize. I don't think I'll answer it. I don't know if I want to answer. I debate, internally of course, for a moment.

"Hello?" I say.

"I know the rule is three days," says a sexy voice similar to that of Sam Eliot. "but I couldn't stand to wait. Do you want to go get dinner tonight?"

"Clark? Didn't we just have breakfast?" I giggle.

"I know, I know. But won't you be hungry again in two hours or so?" He sounds so sweet. I really do want to go out with him tonight. If only to feel like I'm not completely alone. Maybe we  could have a repeat of last night (without the crying) and I can get some well-deserved rest.

"Sure," I say. "why not? Where do you want to meet?"

We decide on an Albanian restaurant downtown. I say I'll meet him at seven. He lingers on the line for a moment before hanging up. Sounds like he likes me too.

I know what song I want to remember Clark by. After all we've been through, I know we're cool.

It hasn't been very long, but already I'm thinking of breaking up with him. We aren't even officially dating yet and I'm thinking of ending this fledgling relationship. Common sense says to give it a couple months and then bail, but my heart is terrified I'll fall in love with him.

I'll give it a couple months. I can't bail now, that defeats the point of break up songs and random relationships with random people. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I want. I'm too deep to get out now, though.

Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Here's to the plunge.

Monday, January 28, 2013

A Grandparent

Its about to happen. I know it is. I can feel it coming.

She is gone. She has faded into that silent night. She has left this mortal coil behind.

And what does she leave behind? What is left when her soul has shoved off from the shores of earth?

A daughter who believes she might be doing the wrong thing. A son who doesn't know what to do either. A granddaughter who can't help but beat herself up about a past that she doesn't have any control over. Numerous others. Sisters, brothers, grandchildren. A whole family deserted.

Is it selfish that I wish that we could've somehow had a relationship? Is it wrong that part of me wishes you were already gone so that I wouldn't have to feel this heavy guilt? I would feel it anyway, I know. Is it wrong that I don't know how to mourn or how to feel?

Is it selfish that I want you to stay alive just so your daughter doesn't cry anymore? Is it selfish that I hate you, though I don't believe in hating the dead?

I don't hate you. I don't love you. I don't know what I feel for you, except empty numbness.

Sleep well, Grandmother. When you leave this mortal plane, I hope that you sleep well.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Five

I order an appletini. The girliest drink to ever grace a menu, as Noah would say. I suddenly wish he was here to tell me I'm an idiot for even thinking of going on with this venture. My pride won't let me text him.

"What do you do for a living?" asks Mr. Samson, who insists that I call him Clark.

"I work as an intern for an accounting firm. To pay the bills, however, I work at a local rare and used book shop."

"What made you choose accounting?" He takes a sip of his whiskey and soda.

"I love math and I'm good with numbers. But enough about me. Do you do anything besides teaching?"

"Flirt with women too young for me and drink whiskey and soda." He gives a saucy wink and raises his glass in a mock toast. "In truth, I don't do anything too exciting. I have a motorcycle that I take cross country once a year. I teach some boxing at the local gym."

He shrugs, as if that should be enough. I have nothing to really say. I have no idea what I'm doing here. This isn't exactly how I pictured this going. I've never dated anyone other than David. I've never even thought about it. David was all I needed. My be all, end all. And now all has ended.

I decide that I will just have to drink a little more. Drink enough that he gives me a ride home, or we grab a taxi. Drink enough that I loosen up a little. I am clearly not thinking this one through. I am so nervous. I have no idea what to do. The silence is stretching out in taffy long pulls of discomfort before me. This was a bad idea.

Just as I am about to excuse myself for the evening, just as I am about to give up on this foolishness for good, just as I am about to apologize for wasting his time, he kisses me. I close my eyes, in Hollywood fashion, and kiss him back. Very quickly, I lose track of time. My world narrows to his lips on mine, the slight scruff on his face scratching my chin. I don't know how long we are there making out. All I hear is the last call for the bar and we come up for air. We aren't up for long before we drop back under.

I don't even finish my second drink. The next few moments are a blur. He pulls me up and out of the booth we are in. He takes me to his car, a snow white Maserati. It is the classiest car I've ever been in. He doesn't ask where I want to go. He just drives to his apartment, which is on the south side of town. I am not even paying attention, I'm buzzing from the drinks and the sexual tension. I'm a pent up bottle about to explode. I have no idea what will happen once we reach our destination, but if the making out in the bar was any indicator I know what I should expect.

When we arrive he opens the car door for me. He takes my hand and leads me to his apartment. I'm nervous. I'm shaking. He smiles at me as he opens the apartment door.

His apartment is sparsely furnished and neat. He has a small book case stuffed to the brim with books on various topics, including anatomy and popular French names. There is a tiny kitchen, decorated with a rack of blood red wines and a basket of white glass apples. That's all I have time to see as he pulls me into his bedroom.

The bed is low to the ground and the plushest thing I've ever felt. He pushes me down and kisses me. Every exposed piece of skin I have, he kisses. He kisses the hollow of my throat, while his hands brush my hair away from my face. He kisses the skin below my ears. He nuzzles me and teasingly tugs my earlobe with his teeth. He kisses me and I think this is what heaven must feel like. I've never had someone pay this much attention to me. David didn't even care about these little details. As soon as he comes into my mind I push him out. He has no place in this scenario.

He tries to take off my dress, unsuccessfully. We stand up to remedy this situation. He unzips the back and grazes the exposed skin with his lips. I shiver. While I finish removing my dress he turns the lights down and puts on a CD of classical music. I unbutton his shirt and his pants. His desire to be rid of these items is very apparent at this point. I try to hide a blush. He unhooks my bra with ease, sliding the straps over my shoulders and down. I don't even notice when it touches the burgundy carpeting.

I am almost nude when he gently pushes me back onto the bed. He is almost naked too, but he doesn't seem to care. He kisses me some more. I feel like I'm going to explode in a moment. I've never felt so alive. I've never felt so aroused by someone. Or that someone was so aroused by me.

Before I can think about David and Alice, I am completely and thoroughly distracted. I am wrapped up in new sensations. It hurts a little. Not just physically, though there is a little physical pain as well. I let everything else go for the moment. The world could be going to hell and I don't care. I am lost in this new world and these new things. I feel as though I am a present that has just been opened. I don't remember how to breathe. Am I breathing?

I crest great heights, spiraling into a fresh world of delights. Each earthquake takes me higher; each note on a cello reverberates until I can barely see. I have never felt this way. I have never tasted something this sweet. With a final gasp for air, I am finished. He follows me quickly and I am drowned in pulsating sensation.

After, as we lie stretched out on his silky sheets, I promise I won't cry. I promise I won't allow David and Alice to ruin this for me. I promise I won't. I can't help myself. I curl into the curve of his arm and I bawl like a lost child. He kisses my forehead and just holds me. I thank him for that. I kiss him. I apologize for crying. I promise it was wonderful and the tears have nothing to do with the sex. Actually, it has everything to do with it, but not because it was bad. Those terrifyingly real and beautiful sensations are things I never had with David. Things I will never have with David. I also cry because I realize that, whilst this was a wonderful experience that I would never wish to trade for anything else, Clark Samson and I are not going to last. We may be perfect for a few months or even a year. But this relationship has no lasting powers. I sincerely wish it did.

Or maybe I don't. Maybe I am the problem. I don't want it to have lasting powers. We haven't even begun dating and I'm already posed to sabotage everything.

For now I fall asleep in his arms and sleep like I haven't slept in years. I want to be happy with this for now. If he asks to see me again, I'll say yes. For the time being.

The next morning, I wake up alone. I wonder if I dreamed last night. When everything comes into focus I realize I didn't. I am surrounded by fluffy pillows and white silk sheets. The smell of waffles drifts into the room and I am very hungry. Pulling the sheet up around myself, I walk out of the bedroom and into the little living room.

Clark is cooking. He is in a pair of plaid pajama pants that tie at his waist. Not a bad view at all. Another view comes to mind and I blush furiously. I clear my throat, quietly, and he turns. He smiles brightly in response.

"Do you like waffles? I am not the most skilled in the kitchen, but I do make a mean Belgian waffle."

I nod. I'm in shock. David never made me breakfast. Well, not a breakfast like this. A bowl of Oreo O's doesn't count.

"Do you like anything with your waffles? I have butter and syrup. I also have some apple or cherry pie filling that you could use as a topping. Being a bachelor, I don't have much in the way of breakfast stuff, but you can feel free to take whatever you want. Do you want milk or coffee?"

"I'll gladly take a glass of milk." I say. "Just butter for my waffles will be fine. Waffles are delicious enough without anything extra."

He smiles, again. He piles three thick waffles on a plate, placing a pat of butter on top, and motions for me to sit at a little coffee table. He piles another plate with waffles before he joins me at the little table. He looks at my sheet outfit and gets up again. He disappears into his room for a moment and returns with a large white shirt and a small pair of shorts.

"This might be a little more comfortable than the sheets, love." He says, as he hands the clothing to me. Even though we had sex last night, I am embarrassed for him to see me naked. Blushing, I get up and change in his room. When I come back, he is patiently waiting for me. There is steam rising from the waffles. I could fall for this man, if only for this moment.

We eat in relative silence. Though we sneak glances at one another through out. It is like we are children. After breakfast, we shower. A repeat of last night's pleasure occurs immediately after our shower. It's even better than the previous performance. This time, however, there are no tears. We talk and enjoy a few laughs. It is well past noon when he drives me back to my car at "The Wilford and Brimley."

"When can I see you again?" he asks. I dig in my little black clutch for my keys. Not quite looking at him, but not completely ignoring him either.

"Well, I don't know, Clark." I look up at him, with a hand above my eyebrows. It is bright outside and I can barely see him with the light behind him. "What works best for you? You have classes to teach. I have numbers to account and books to dust."

"Any evening is fine." He says. "You could come over for dinner sometime and we can talk while I grade papers. If you have time between accounting numbers and dusting books."

"I'd like that." I say. I am actually quite sincere. I really like him. Not just for the obvious reasons, of course. Though that does help in this situation. However, I'm already counting the minutes until it is over. I give this 'relationship' three months. It will be intense, passionate even. We will think we are in love and will be together forever. Eventually, we will grow tired of each other and everything will become a fight. We'll have hot, angry, sex a couple of times and then call it quits. At least, that is what I see happening.

I re-write my number down for him. I tell him to call me when he can. No rush. He kisses me goodbye and I watch as he drives off. I want him, but I don't. I will never love another man like I love David. No matter how much I may want to, it will never happen. In the meantime, however, I can have a little fun.

I have six messages on my phone. All of them, but one is from Noah. The one is from my mother. She called to check up on me. To let me know that Sophie is feeling much better today. With a pang of guilt, I remember my poor sister and her being abandoned at the dance last night. I should've stayed the night at Mom's house so that I could help continue to comfort her this morning. Instead I was in the throes of a burgeoning romance. A secret affair, if you will.

Noah's messages all consist of the same material: "Where the hell are you? And why aren't you answering either phone? If you don't call me soon I'm going to think you have killed yourself and I will be forced to resurrect you so that I can kill you again."

I smile at his messages and wonder what he would think if he found out what I did last night. I blush, remembering it. I will call him back after I change into some yoga pants and a tank top. Today is my last day off. I took a month off for the final wedding preparations and the honeymoon that didn't happen. What a waste of time and resources. I want to attempt to enjoy myself.

Before I can even dial his number, my phone rings. Noah, again.

"Yes, oh fairest of fair folk?" I say, laughing.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick! I tried to text you, I tried to call you. I thought you had gone a rampage and murdered a town of kindly Buddhists or something!" He is actually mad. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. Why is he so angry?

"I chaperoned Sophie's dance last night. I told you that I was going to."

"Yes, but that should've ended at what? Ten? Eleven? Where were you after that?"

"Sophie got stood up. I ended up staying at Mom's with her until two. After that I went for a drink at 'The Wilford and Brimley'. What does it matter? You are acting like the sky is falling." I tuck the phone in-between my shoulder and my ear to pour myself a soda.

"I was worried. I hadn't heard from you in like a week. You haven't been online, even. I don't want you to become one of those creepy old lady recluses who never get over the asshole that left them. You know, like that one character in that one Charles Dickens story. Havisham? That sounds right."

"I seriously doubt I'm going to end up like Miss Havisham. After all, I am not sitting here in my wedding dress with rotting wedding cake, though the cake did rot before I could finish it all. Besides, I've been busy." That last bit sounds a little suspicious. Especially the way I say it.

"What do you mean by busy? You haven't gone back to work yet have you?"

"No…"

"Then how have you been so busy you couldn't even text me a line to say you weren't an old cat lady recluse wasting away in her wedding dress?"

"Well, I met someone."

There is a significant pause on the other end of the phone. This isn't good. Noah being quiet is surely one of the seven signs of the apocalypse.

"Who?"

"A teacher at Sophie's school."

"Did you meet last night at the dance?"

"Yes." I say, knowing that is a mistake.

"Did you go for a drink with him after the dance?" He is definitely catching on. He isn't an idiot, I know this. I really wish I hadn't brought it up. I'm such an idiot.

"Please tell me you did not go home with someone you just met last night."

"Okay, I won't tell you." I reply. I know this is stupid and I'm going to get lectured.

"You did! You could've been murdered or raped or something equally awful! Why would you do that? You know what, don't even answer. I'll be at your place in ten minutes." With that he hangs up on me.

Well, shit. This is not what I wanted. Over the phone lectures I can handle, because I can tune most of it out. Now he is going to be here and all in my face. Probably yelling at me for being a stupid idiot. Which I was, but that is beside the point. Instead of trying to escape my fate like a sensible person, I set about making some coffee and setting out some snack like food I have in the cupboards. I need to go grocery shopping soon. I'm running out of snack foods.

Noah doesn't even knock. He bursts in while I am making my mental list of foods I would like to get the next time I go shopping.

"Stop what you are doing and tell me everything that happened last night." He grabs my hand and drags me over to the couch. He sets me down, firmly, and then sits next to me in an angry/impatient funk.

"I met a guy, he asked me to go out for drinks at 'The Wilford and Brimley', I said yes and I did." I purposefully leave out the awesome sex, the delicious waffles and the second round of awesome sex.

"You aren't telling the whole truth, Abra Faye." Well, he just pulled out the big guns. Middle name and everything. I'm really shaking in my boots now. Not.

"You do know that using my middle name isn't going to bother me right?"

"I know, but it makes me feel better. Now tell me the rest of what happened. What did you drink? Who is this guy? Did you go home with him? Did you two have an 'intimate' encounter?"

I just look at him for a moment. I've never known Noah to be shy about anything. The fact that he just phrased it as 'an intimate encounter' kind of frightens me.

"I had an appletini." I say, stalling.

"The girliest drink to ever grace a menu." He says, just like I knew he would.

"His name is Clark Samson. He teaches Latin and Roman history."

"How old is he, Abe?"

"I don't know. Late thirties?" I know immediately that was another mistake.

"Late thirties? What are you thinking? He's more than ten years your senior! You were just learning to ride a bike when he was graduating high school!"

"Look whose talking!" I say in a huffy tone. "You were dating Matthias for three years and he was fifteen years older than you. Why can you do it and I can't?"

To avoid an argument, he ignores my last comment and goes straight into his next question.

"What did he drink?" Noah is a firm believer in drink analysis. Supposedly whatever he (or she, depending) is drinking tells everything about him (or her).

"Whiskey and soda." I stand up from the couch and go to grab a handful of something. Anything. I'm not actually hungry, but I'm about to spill the beans on my plans and I'm already getting lectured enough.

"Whiskey and soda? That's a hard drink. Which means he's a hard man, who probably beats women in his spare time. Honey, what were you thinking? Never go for a man drinking whiskey!"

I turn to face Noah. I'm a little pissed right now, actually. I would say something except I just shoved a handful of cereal into my mouth. Instead I just give him a malevolent stare and go to get my drink.

"You went home with him right? After those drinks. Or drink. How many did you have? It must have been a lot, since the Abra I know isn't a fool who sleeps with just anyone with genitalia."

"I didn't even finish my second drink." I say. "I really like him. And I am tired of being alone. He was a pleasant distraction from my woes."

"Let's hope he is a pleasant distraction that you can forget about." He looks pointedly at my stomach, as if just thinking about sex can cause pregnancy.

I roll my eyes and grab another handful of cereal. This is a losing battle. I just have to tell him my plans. He'll never rest until he finds out anyway. Just as I open my mouth to speak, there is a knock at the door. And if anyone was guessing it was David, you just won the grand prize.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Four

The night of Sophie's homecoming dance arrives. Before her art class, Mom drops her off at my apartment.

I have been flip-flopping on the plan I have made. I try to believe in true love finding me, but I discover I no longer believe in it. He took my belief in beautiful things like that. I am no longer naive. But does that mean I want to go through with my plan?

Its shortly after Sophie arrives that I make a decision. I won't go through with my plan. I won't just date and break up with random people. I am an adult. I will behave like one.

I have resolve. My mother survived, so can I. She didn't resort to sleeping around. Of course, wasn't betrayed by my father, but that is beside the point.

I am okay. Until a knock at the door.

Through the peephole I see that its David. I knew it would be. Sophie asks if she should answer the door. I shush her and have her go to the bedroom to do her make-up.

I open the door, cautiously. He smiles at me. He has such a beautiful smile.

"What do you need David?" I ask.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Against my better judgment I open the door and step aside. I catch a whiff of his cologne and I begin to melt.

He comes in and sits on the couch. He motions for me to sit with him. I go to sit and he pulls me into his lap. He begins kissing me. An insistent kiss, full of desire. He pulls at my tank top and I don't resist.

I have missed him so much. I want him. My body is reacting, against all sense. God, I am in love with him. I can feel him begin to react. It sends a thrill through me like nothing else. I want him. I want this.

My sister is in my bedroom.

That thought somehow bubbles up through the lust and loneliness I've been feeling ever since he left me. I am such a slut.

I pull away. Some reason coming back to me. Some bitterness as well.

"What's wrong?" He asks. As if he doesn't know.

"You love Alice now, remember? Why are you here? What do you want?"

"I want you." he says.

"Liar. What do you really want?" I demand. I stand up and look down at him, his slowly wilting erection at the bottom edge of my vision. He is starting to look angry. He is acting as if I am slow or something. Like I should know exactly what is going on right now.

"I want to sleep with you. I want you. Isn't that obvious?" He makes a slight gesture down. I don't look.

"I don't want you."

"Now who is the liar?" he says sarcastically. "You miss me. I know you do."

"Of course I do. But you made your choice. You've already hurt me enough. Get out." I go to the door.

"I want the engagement ring back."

I stop. A knife just slit my throat. It just stabbed into my back, through my heart and then slit my throat. A pain I didn't know was possible punches the air out of my chest. I can't breathe. I turn toward him. He has stood up from the couch, no sign of love or lust anymore. He has the audacity to look a little guilty.

"That was your master plan? Seduce me to get the ring back? Am I a whore? You think I'd even want to sleep with you, after everything you've done to me? You think I'll be so grateful for the attention I'll give you back the ring? Are you wanting it so you don't have to buy another for her?" I tug at the simple silver band with one white sapphire surrounded by tiny pink diamonds.

"I just want it back. What does it matter what I do with it?" he shouts.

"Then take it!" I cry, throwing it at him. "Take it and get the fuck out of my house!"

"This isn't what I wanted, Abra." he says, softly. "Let's just talk a moment."

"No," I say, the tears streaming down my cheeks. "you made your choice and we are done talking. Please, leave."

I open the door. Tears still streaming down my face. He shakes his head, picks up the ring and walks out. I slam the door behind him and scream.

Sophie runs out as I collapse in front of the door. Being a perfect little sister, she holds me while I cry. Again. And, just like that, the little piece of my heart that my mother had put back in place splinters.

"We don't have to go, Abe." says Sophie. She holds me and croons, like a mother to her baby.

"That's sweet, So." I say. "But I want to go. I have to get out of this apartment for a little while. Let's finish getting ready."

Though she looks unsure, my sister trusts me. We stand up and head toward the bathroom.

While Sophie finishes her make-up in the bathroom, I slip into a blood red strapless gown. I curl my hair and put on mascara. I have a bit of a natural flush from crying so the only other make-up I use is a dab of lipstick. Sitting at my vanity, I wipe away another tear.

He thought, nay believed, I would sleep with him. Believed I would then turn around and give him my engagement ring. The one we scrimped and saved for. The one he slipped on my finger under the white Christmas lights draped over a gazebo in the park.

And I almost fell for it. I almost believed he still loved me. Foolishly, I mistook lust and greed for love. How could I have loved someone for so long and still know nothing about him? Worst of all, I almost went through with this while my younger sister hid in my room. Waiting for me to take her to her homecoming dance.

I feel so guilty right now. I truly am a brazen hussy. My self-worth just hit an all time low. No one could bring it any lower. I am beating myself like I stole something.

Sophie comes in behind me. She is wearing a glittery blue satin gown. She looks beautiful and perfect. I don't want anyone to hurt her, ever. Not like I've been hurt. Not like I'm hurting now. It hurts to realize I can't protect her from heartbreak anymore than I can give her the moon. I wish I could.

"Are you ready, Abe?" Sophie sweeps a stray curl back into place.

Wiping away one more stray tear, I smile and nod.

Upon our arrival at the high school, Sophie looks around expectantly. I realize she has a date meeting her here. Even though I don't know what he looks like, I glance around as well. I don't find her date, but I see someone I'd like to have as mine.

Noticing that I'm staring, Sophie leans in to whisper.

"That's Mr. Reed. He's my History teacher. All of the girls in my class think he is dreamy. What do you think, Abe?"

I think he is gorgeous, if a little nerdy looking. He has longer red hair, tied back in a ponytail. He has magnificent green eyes, at least what I can see of them from here. His glasses don't help me see them either. He is tall. Taller than David. He is thinner than I generally like, but I can deal with that. Its not like this is going to be a long relationship.

"He is okay," I say. I brush off any further comments by taking Sophie's hand and leading her into the school gymnasium.

The gym is decorated with ribbons in the school colors, orange and blue. A few strobe lights dance around creating a make-shift disco effect. There is punch and cookies donated by the Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) organization as well as tea sandwiches donated by the Historical Society.

The music isn't exactly amazing, but they do play some current pop and hip-hop. The kids seem to be enjoying themselves at least. The teachers are scattered around the room, including Mr. Reid who has come in from supervising the entrance.

At first I pretend to sip my punch and watch my sister dancing with her girl-friends. Secretly, I'm watching Mr. Reid. He looks to be about thirty, maybe a little younger than that. That's when I notice another handsome gentleman, this one probably almost forty. He looks a little like a mixture of Clark Gable and Sam Eliot. Not bad looking at all and not entirely out of my age range. I decide to go and talk to him. I don't know why.

When I come near, I realize he is talking to another teacher. His voice is gravelly, like Sam Elliot's. I hear the other teacher call him Mr. Samson. That intrigues me. Samson, huh? Handsome, sexy voice and a strong name. I like this Mr. Samson already.

I politely wait until he and the female teacher, Ms. Emery as he called her, are finished talking and she has walked away. He looks at me and smiles. He has a great smile too.

"I'm Abra," I say, extending my hand.

"Clark Samson." He replies. He has a firm handshake and some beautifully rugged hands. I feel heat filling up my cheeks. I feel like I'm on fire. I try to remember that I am a brazen hussy and this is the norm for me. I act cool, removed. At least I try to.

"What subject do you teach, Mr. Samson?" I frantically think of every movie where a girl seduces a man. They always use their eyes. Or their breasts, but that is currently out of the question.

"Latin, as well as the history of the Roman Empire." What a sexy topic.

"Really? That's very interesting. I took Latin when I was in school. Admittedly the only thing I can clearly remember is 'Veni Vidi Vici'." I laugh inwardly when I see the sparkle in his eyes at my brash attitude. I have come and I have seen, though I have yet to conquer. That may change in a moment, however.

Clearly won over by my insanity, or my low cut strapless dress, Mr. Samson asks if I'd like to go for a drink after the dance. I acquiesce, saying that I would be willing to meet him somewhere if he'd like. We agree to meet at "The Wilford and Brimley" at one o' clock. I give him my name and number on a paper napkin, give a saucy wink and go back toward my sister.

Sophie seems to have the time of her life. Though, every now and then, I'll catch her looking around for someone that she never seems to find. She doesn't dance with any of the boys there. I begin to feel angry for her. What jerk wouldn't show up to a homecoming dance that he promised to attend with his girlfriend?

Except, this seems oddly familiar. David never showed up to our homecoming dance either. I waited all night for him. And Alice.

Sick to my stomach, I lurch into the bathroom. I spit in the toilet and hold my breath for a moment. This pushes some of the nausea down, but not enough. I try to be quiet as I get sick. Not that anyone can hear me with the music blaring in the gym.

They have been doing this for years. I have been with David since we were twelve. Alice has been my best friend (well, ex-best friend now) since we were ten. Have they been together behind my back for that long? I can't even begin to comprehend this. Why continue to lead me on, if they were in love with each other? Why even propose? Why go through with the planning when he knew all along that he wasn't actually in love with me?

I can't make sense of this. I get sick again trying to. In the mean time, I'm sure my sister is looking for me, as well as this mysterious date. I'm supposed to be chaperoning, making sure nothing goes horrifically wrong. Except everything is going horrifically wrong in my stomach and my heart.

When I gain some composure I go back to the gym. Everyone is starting to wrap things up. Sophie's friends are asking her to go with them to the bowling alley for a homecoming party. She declines politely. She looks like she might cry.

In the car she tells me that Nathan, a boy she has a crush on, promised to come to homecoming with her. They said they'd meet in front of the school, but he never showed up. She cries, softly, as I take her home. There is nothing I can do to ease the pain. I felt the same way as my mother drove me home from homecoming.

We are quiet on the way to Mom's house. I have nothing to say to make it better. Kate Bush sings on my radio. We never really stop running up that hill, do we? I look over at my beautiful sister. She is still crying. Her mascara is running down her cheeks in inky trails. I hate myself right now. I hate this Nathan person for causing her to cry like I have for so many days now. I hate the whole world.

When we get to Mom's house, Sophie gets out of the car and runs straight to her room. I go and sit in the living room. Mom will be home any moment from her art class at the community college. I don't want to leave Sophie to Mom, but at the same time I remember Mr. Samson and "The Wilford and Brimley". I look at the clock. It is ten-thirty. It isn't even close to time.

Feeling extremely guilty for even considering leaving my sister in her time of need, I resign myself to staying here. I go upstairs and knock on Sophie's door.

"Sophie, honey? Can I come in?"

"Go home, Abe. I don't want to talk right now." She sounds like she is sobbing out the words rather than saying them.

"Sweetie, let me in. At least to give you a hug." What can I do, if she won't open the door? Downstairs I can hear my mother coming in. Just as I almost give up and go back downstairs, Sophie opens the door. She flies into my arms and cries like the world will end. I stroke her hair and tell her everything will be all right. Everything will be okay. She asks me when and I have no answer to give.

My mother comes upstairs at the sound of crying. She sees me holding my sobbing sister and she doesn't have to ask. She remembers this scene. As do I. Except it was Anna and I, five years ago. Without a word she goes back downstairs and makes some cups of cocoa and a plate of cookies. I coax Sophie downstairs. Once we are downstairs Mom gives her a hug and they go sit on the couch. I follow, unsure of what to do.

We sit with her for a couple of hours. She cries herself out and eventually just falls asleep in my mother's lap. Its two AM when my mother sends me home.

"There is nothing else to do for a broken heart," she says.

I don't want to go home, though I am sure that Mr. Samson is no longer at "The Wilford and Brimley." Even though I'm sure he isn't there any longer I decide to go for a drink anyway. I could use one after everything that has been happening recently.

On the drive I listen to a mixed CD that a friend made me. It is a list of break-up songs. Angry songs, sad songs, wish I could die songs. Her heart was in the right place, but I wish she hadn't made it. I do enjoy some of them. Some of them fit David and I. And when I hear it I think about everything and I get teary. Like the one playing now. It is by a Korean artist.

"I'm drowning myself in the memories of love…" That sounds about right.

When I arrive at the bar Rihanna is singing about the theatrics of an ex. I don't hesitate to turn it off. I can't handle any more sad songs. Right now I couldn't handle a love song either. I need angry music. Maybe when I get home I'll listen to Apocalyptica, they are usually what I need for angry cello music.

Without paying attention, still musing on break-up songs and other such topics, I almost walk right by Mr. Samson. I look up and am met with his lavender eyes, sparkling like they were in the gymnasium.

"I am surprised you are still here," I say, looking down at my watch. It's a quarter to three. Almost two hours after we were supposed to meet.

"A beautiful lady is worth waiting for." He says.

Friday, January 25, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Three

It has been two weeks since David fully moved out. I can't stand being alone after having lived with at least one person all of my life. The quiet scares me sometimes. So I bought a Siamese cat and named him Snuggles.

I notified the landlord of David's moving out. He's still bound to the lease until I find a roommate, though. This makes me secretly happy. Even though he is gone, he is still stuck with me through the lease.

Today I am packing up my dirty laundry and loading up my 1989 Geo Spectrum. I am going to my mother's to do laundry because I can't stand the silence at the apartment.

I haven't called it home since he left. I suppose the saying is true, "Home is where the heart is." I no longer have a heart, therefore I am homeless.

Snuggles meows at me and his silky snake of a tail swishes back and forth. His bright blue-green eyes look curious and he tilts his head to one side as if to ask a question.

I sink down to pet him and suddenly find myself crying with him snuggled against me. At least someone still loves me.

After my little cry I right myself and head out.

The drive to my mother's is not very long, but the route is curvy. Not the best drive to take when you are distracted.

I realize that it is getting warmer now. We will be fully into summer in about a week. I've been so blinded by my own despair I didn't even notice the advent of green. I actually smile. It is a bitter-sweet smile of course, but it is progress as Noah would say.

My mom's house is a beautiful two story Victorian in the middle of a luxurious suburb downtown. It is cream with pink trim, a perfectly manicured lawn and a long driveway with twin weeping willows on either side.

After my father passed away, Mom moved here with myself, my two younger sisters and my older sister, Anna. My older brother, Kevin, moved into the old house. She has since re-married and Bradley (Brad as we call him) keeps everything very neat.

When I pull up I am greeted by sweet chaos.

Anna and her husband, Greg are over with their two children. Their children, Elizabeth and Kristopher, are chasing Mom's dog, Biscuit, around the side yard. Anna and Greg are unpacking a small of box, though I am not sure of the contents. Probably pictures for Mom to hang.

Emma, my fifteen year old sister, is whining to Mom about her cell phone while Sophie, who is seventeen, is begging to go to a homecoming dance. Brad is on a ladder working on the gutters and is the only one to acknowledge my arrival with a smile and a wave.

Lastly my older brother, Kevin, pulls up in his mustang convertible.

"Looks like the gang is all here." I say, waving at Kev.

"Timing is everything." He says. He smiles at the very full yard and shuts his door.

"Have I forgotten someone's birthday? Or a major holiday?" I query. Normally everyone wouldn't just be randomly gathered at Mom's house. I begin to tick off a mental calendar. No, no holidays or birthdays. None that I can think of anyway.

"I don't think you have." says Kevin. He is going over a mental check list too.

We hug and then link arms as we walk toward Anna's minivan. Anna and Greg have stopped for a moment to kiss each other. I wince at their happiness. Just then Kris and Beth come running, shouting,

"Auntie Abra, Uncle Kev!" Chubby cherub arms twine themselves around our waists in bear hugs. I can't help but smile and laugh. I pick up Kris, who is four, and kiss his cheek. He smiles then wiggles out of my grasp.

"'Ello, Greg." says Kev. The two shake hands and Kev gives Anna's cheek a peck.

My mother finally manages to tear herself away from Sophie and Emma to come and hug us. Brad comes up and shakes Kev's hand.

"'Ello, Brad." says Kev. "Taking good care of my mother?"

"Always, Kevin, always." replies Brad. This is how they have greeted each other since Mom and Brad got married eight years ago. Brad smiles and puts a loving hand on Mom's shoulder.

"Let's all go into the house and have some tea and cookies." says Mom, beaming. She always looks so happy when we are all there.

In a cluster we go into the house and congregate, like a murder of crows, in the living room. Sophie comes and sits on the arm of chair and rests her cheek on my shoulder.

"Hello, Sophie." I say, wrapping an arm around my sister's shoulder. "How is school going?"

"Its okay. Mom doesn't want me going to the homecoming though." she sighs. I know my sister. She wants me to talk to Mom for her.

"Why not?" I ask.

"I don't have a chaperon. She has an art class to teach that night and Brad will be out of town on business." Sophie looks at me imploringly. I can't resist those pretty green puppy dog eyes.

"I'll see what I can do." I say. Sophie squeals and kisses my cheek before going to hug Kevin.

I realize that this is a perfect opportunity for me. I can start my plans at the homecoming dance. Surely Sophie has a few cute teachers. Right?

As I'm planning, Anna comes up and sits next to me.

"You okay Abe?" she asks, using a nickname she hasn't used since we were little girls. She is worrying about me, I can see it in her eyes. Though she tries to mask it.

"I'm fine." I say, quickly. I smile my best smile to re-assure her, but she doesn't seem convinced. She knows me better than that.

"Mom says you bought a new cat. Are you happy? I know you'd been wanting to get another since Cleocatra passed on."

I love my sister so much right now. She knows I'm lying, but she goes with it anyway. Could I ask for a better one?

Before I can answer, Emma comes up and sits in my lap.

"A-baa," she says, using the baby name she called me when she was little. She lays her head on my shoulder wraps her arms around my neck. "can I spend the night with you this weekend? I miss you."

I wrap my arms around her and sigh into her hair.

"Have you already asked Mom about it?" I ask.

"No. But I know she'll say yes. Please? I'll bring my Florence and the Machine CD and we can watch Marilyn Monroe movies. We can make a sleepover of it! Please, A-baa?"

I can't resist when she calls me that. Being the youngest of the family, Emma gets away with a little more than the rest of us. Partially because we older siblings are the ones letting her get away with it.

"Okay, Em. If Mom gives the okay you can come over."

With a joyous little giggle she hops out of my lap and runs off to ask Mom's permission. A wistful smile creeps onto my face. At her age I was spending all of my time with David. I was so infatuated with him. What a waste of my time and youth.

Not being blind, Anna gives me a look of understanding. She hugs me before getting pulled away by her children.

I sit still, fighting off the overwhelming sadness that creeps up. I am so focused, I don't realize Mom has come up to sit beside me. I don't notice until she speaks.

"When your father died, we had been married for nineteen years. But we had been together for twenty-two. He was my best friend, my lover and confidante. We had five beautiful children and I believed we'd have five more. As well as many more years together.

"I was devastated. If not for you children and your grandmother, God rest her, I would never have survived. I didn't believe I was strong at all. I was a thirty-eight year old woman with five children, one of which was four, all on her own. But I lived. And I eventually fell in love with another man. Did he replace your father? No.

"But he did help support me while the gash in my heart healed into a still pink scar. Brad and I have been married for only eight years. Not even half of what I was married to your father. But he has been just as much my friend, lover and confidante. When it starts to feel overwhelming, because it will, remember it isn't the end. You are still young. You are stronger than you think. And, no matter what, I love you."

She smiles at me and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. I try to smile back. It is wobbly, but I manage and she hugs me. I snuggle into her embrace and take a deep breathe to stifle a sob. I realize how comforting the smell of her is. She smells like fresh bread and honeysuckle. She smells like home to me. I am home in my mother's arms. Even though my heart is still missing, a little piece floats back into place.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

All of Her: Chapter Two

The next day Noah comes to check up on me. He shows up at the same time David and Alice do. It is awfully awkward and awkwardly awful. David seems completely unphased, but Alice stands in the doorway, frozen like an icy sculpture. I bitterly wish she was ice so I could melt her away.

Noah is the most distressed by this situation. He looks like he wants to beat the shit out of David. That or make him leave. Though the beating looks like it is going to win out.

"I should go," says Alice. And I'm surprised to see her move, she's been so still. Its like watching a statue come to life in a dream.

"No," I say, shocking everyone. "Stay. He'll need help carrying everything out, after all. Let me start by giving you back your shirt, Davey."

With a move that looks practiced, I pull off the shirt I have been wearing all night. I am not wearing anything underneath. I really don't care at this point.

Noah covers his eyes, as does Alice. David just stares. He is shocked, I can tell. I am so brazen, I don't even try to cover myself.

Proud, and a little nipply, I give David his shirt and glide out of the room. Okay, I don't glide. I run. I run and slam my door.

Then, right on cue, I burst into tears.

A thought occurs to me, amidst the tears and snot. A perfectly awful and wicked thought. Of course, I am beyond caring so it strikes me as not so evil. Stupid, obviously, but not so evil.

I've lost my mind. I know I have. But I am Alanis Morrisette in "You Oughta Know" right now. I want vengeance. Hell hath no fury and all that jazz. Except I am not thinking how this will punish me more than them. I should know better. I should think. But I don't care. I am a fool.

The old saying "A fool and his money are easily parted" is also true for virtue.

There is no point anymore. I am being super whiny and I don't care. I have no heart to speak of. I am heartless.

Was he sleeping with her this whole time? How long have I been blind to this romance blossoming? It couldn't have destroyed this much of my life that quickly could it?

No, things like this take time. A rose doesn't flower over night. Rome wasn't built in a day. And other such cliches.

Just like that I have a plan. I am going to sleep around. I've always secretly wondered about sex with other people. Now is the perfect time to find out. I am a brazen hussy after all.

Now I'm thinking about that raucous display and I'm blushing. However, I maintain that I don't care. Except now I feel how Eve must've felt when she realized her nudity. Ashamed.

I shouldn't have done that, but I've lost any will to control myself. I now have to face three people who saw me half naked. One of whom I hope remembers all of me naked. How embarrassing. Note to self, don't do that again.

Meekly, I peer out of the door. I don't see anyone. I do hear some muttered curses. The voice sounds like Noah's. Quietly, I creep down the hallway and peek into the kitchen.

Noah is in a tizzy trying to fix some coffee. My old fashioned pot confuses him. He's used to those one button brewers. Mine takes a little more time.

I don't see David or Alice. I look around, but still don't see them. Pretending I'm brave I walk into the kitchen. This time, fully dressed.

"Having trouble?" I say.

"Jesus," he says. He jumps and fumbles to catch his cup. "You scared the piss out of me! Don't do that."

I take his cup and set it on the counter. I remember when David and I decided on the dark granite when we remodeled this apartment. I also remember a few sexual episodes with me balancing on said counter. I hold back the tears and assist in the brewing of coffee.

After staring at me for a few moments, like I have suddenly transformed into Medusa, Noah shakes his head and sighs theatrically.

"I can't believe that you exposed yourself to all of us!" He finally exclaims.

"I've lost my mind, what can I say?" I go to the refrigerator and search for something, though I'm not entirely sure what.

"You mean you had one before?"

"No. Thanks for noticing." I retort sarcastically.

After the coffee is finished, I grab a cup and plop down on my purple plaid couch. I pull my legs up to my chest as Noah plops down beside me and sighs, again.

"So, where did the lovebirds go?" I ask.

"Well, after your little booby dance they promptly excused themselves saying they'd come back later. Which I'm sure they will come back. When you aren't here. In which case make sure you have everything marked."

"Ah. A ten year relationship reduced to a few boxes of crap. It really strengthens one's faith in love." I am restless. Part of me wants to tell Noah about my decision. But my mother didn't raise a fool. I become a fool all on my own. However, I have the feeling he would weaken my resolve. And that's the last thing I want.

Or maybe I want him to tell me I'm wrong and I need a hug and cookies to soften the blow of massive rejection.

I don't know what I want.

Actually, I want David. But that isn't going to happen now.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

All of Her: Chapter One

No one should find it surprising that the first person I go to, after this catastrophe of the heart, is Noah. Noah being the bestest best gay guy friend a confused and heartbroken girl could ask for.

When we were twelve he was my first kiss. I was his last, as far as women are concerned. Or girls, since I didn't yet qualify as a woman. When we were sixteen he came out to me in my parent's basement a week before Christmas. The next year, a week before Thanksgiving, I told him I was bisexual. Once again, in my parent's basement.

"He is in love with her." I cry, flopping into his arms before he even has a chance to register what I said.

"What? Who is in love with who?" He is stunned, obviously. Also I just flopped into his arms, so he is struggling to keep me up.

"My life is over!" I say, dramatically.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"Of course it can! This is me we are speaking of here. My life is one giant fuck you from the universe. I might as well give up now." Now, I'm just being dramatic for the effect and he knows it. He is getting annoyed and if I don't stand on my own he is going to drop me.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning."

When I was twelve, shortly after my first kiss from Noah, I met a boy. This boy was the most gorgeous, most intelligent, most wonderful boy I had ever met. And I quickly fell in love with him.

Fast forward ten years and I am sitting in the rectory of a pretty Catholic church. I am about to be married to the man of my dreams. A boy I have loved since I was twelve. A boy I have longed for with everything I have for so long I have nothing left to give. This beautiful, intelligent, wonderful boy leaves me waiting in the rectory. He leaves me waiting before the priest and God. He leaves me in my beautiful white dress and tiny white veil, my cream roses and baby's breath sprigs wilting.

He leaves me because I admitted to him that I was also in love with my best girl friend, Alice. I admit that I want her just as much, that I can't live without either of them. That I am falling into a beautiful insanity where she loves me too and we are happy forever.

He leaves because he has fallen just as in love with Alice as I have. And behind my back, as I planned my wedding and planned my beautiful life with him, he planned a beautiful life with her. The terriblest of terrible things is I should've seen it coming. I should've noticed how they often whispered to each other. Or gazed longingly at one another. But I was in love with two beautiful stars in orbit around my sun. I didn't know that I was a star orbiting their sunlight.

I hadn't confessed my love to Alice yet. I hadn't asked her to be a part of this beautiful life that I was hoping to have. I was waiting. I was a fool.

We fought. He and I. I was humiliated. The church took pity on me and gave me back the money I spent to have the ceremony there. The caterer was not so generous. Though I did get to keep all twenty-four pounds of chicken and six pounds of cake. Isn't that sad though? I demanded that he go through with his promise. That he marry me as he promised he would when we were young and I first gave myself to him. How foolish could I be?

Fast forward to just about fifteen minutes ago. We are standing on the beach. He tried to follow through. He tried to love me. I think so anyway. Maybe I'm wrong. I have been before. We tried again. It still didn't work. Its funny how if something doesn't work the first time it usually doesn't the second time. While we stand on the beach, both of us fighting our inner feelings, here comes Alice. My second love, my worst enemy and best friend. What a beautiful bitch. I hate her right now, truly I do.

And that's when he looks at me and confesses his true feelings. Now I feel like my heart just went through a trash compactor. I don't like that feeling.

"You do realize you didn't have to actually start from the beginning right? Because I mean, I knew all of that up to the last fifteen minutes."

"You know, you could be a little more supportive right now!" I begin to cry and I am all through with the theatrics. These are real, gut-wrenching tears. The only man I've ever been with, the only man I've ever loved just told me that he no longer loves me, but is in love with my best friend. Well, second best friend. And to be honest, I'm thinking that, at this point, I should probably stop calling her a friend at all. What kind of best friend steals your man on your wedding day?

"Oh honey, you knew he was a douche-bag after he left you at the altar. Why in heaven's name did you think you could make it work after that?" He is right. I hate that. I don't want him to be right, I want him to hug me and tell me that David is going to come to his fucking senses and marry me.

"That isn't really what I was hoping you would say, Noah."

"I know. But at this moment you need sour honesty, not sugar coated lies." Once again, he is right. I hate him right now. I don't like anyone. Everyone can just go screw themselves.

He does hug me. Though, at this point, I'd like to take a bat to his knee-caps for being right. And, in fact, I'm imagining all the horrific things I would like to do to David and Alice. Some of it may or may not involve casks studded with nails, a rocky hill and gratuitous amounts of nudity. Yes, that sounds like a Grimm vengeance.

"So what are you going to do now?" He asks. And to be honest, I have no freakin' clue. Blow something up? Assassinate margaritas until I burst with alcohol poisoning? I have to think a minute before I do something rash. In the meantime I guess I'll just listen to a bunch of sad break up songs and commiserate with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

"I guess I'll just go home and drown myself in ice cream and music. I really don't know what else to do. I feel like I just lost a major limb or something."

He hugs me again, squeezing my hand in his. He wants to fix it, because we've been through everything together, but we both know he can't fix this one. Not even with dry wit and all the ice cream in the world.

"You want me to come with you?" He is holding me at arm's length. Searching my face for any signs that I'll fly off the handle and kill someone. Or myself. He doesn't need to worry. Yet.

"No. I just really want to be alone right now. I'll call you tomorrow." I hug him again, he kisses my cheek and I find myself driving toward my empty apartment.

When I get there, David has already been there getting some of his things. He has left a note taped to the refrigerator saying he'll be back to finish packing up. It says he's sorry. It says he can't love me with half of his heart. A John Mayer reference, how nice. I suppose I'll listen to that first.

I kick off my shoes and walk into the bedroom. Most of the drawers are still open as if a tornado came through and tore out all of his clothing. He left a few of his t-shirts though. I don't care if it is wrong, but I need to feel him in some way. I put on his Red Sox tee and slippy into some fuzzy pajama bottoms. I pad around the room picking up miscellaneous items he has tossed to the floor. I see another shirt of his. The one he was wearing earlier. I can't help myself. I pick it up, press it against my face and begin to cry.

How can I live without him? How can I even begin to start over? I have devoted the past ten years of my life to this man. I've given him everything. My heart, my life, my virginity. I think that last stings the most too. How could I have been so wrong in my choice? I sink to the floor, still clutching his shirt to my tear soaked face. I don't care that my mascara is running and I have snot dripping from my bright red nose. I don't care that he may come in and see me falling completely apart. I don't care that I don't even have the strength to lie to him about it.

Somehow, and I'm not even sure how I found it, I find the strength to stand and put his dirty clothes in the washing machine. I find the courage to go into the living room and turn on some music. I wish I didn't, as soon as I start up the cd player. The very first song is "Not Over You" by Gavin DeGraw. What a jerk he is, to be singing my heart right now. Except, I don't even have the strength to lie to David. If he came in right now, I'd be forced to tell him that I'll never be over him. I could never possibly get over him, no matter how hard I would try. I can't be happy for him either. Not for him and most certainly not for Alice.

I spend my night with that particular song on repeat, trying to find some semblance of sanity to cling to. Trying to pull myself together. And failing miserably at it. I don't even know if I sleep. If I do, I don't dream of anything except of myself sitting with my knees pulled to my chest on the floor in front of my purple plaid couch. I dream of myself not moving, only tears streaming down my face and Gavin DeGraw ripping my heart out because he is feeling what I am right now.

Things have to get better eventually right?

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Lost in the Shuffle

Do YOU know who I am? I seem to have lost me in the shuffle of things. If you find out, if you care to find out, could you let me know where to restart? Alice has been lost in Wonderland a long time and its starting to get hard to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. I'll hold my breath for the plunge, but someone give me a hand out of this rabbit hole.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Histories to be Repeated

O gorgeous tongues of fire, give birth to the phoenix of knowledge and desire. Bring forth a torch of historic virtue that my heart may burn anew. A rich tapestry of beliefs and views, burnt to ash with rosy hues. Is it true that your colors fade with each lesson forgotten? Each trickle of sand wasted by scholars and youths, alike? O that humanity has forgotten its greatest lessons, that time is short and histories are doomed to be repeated if ignored.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Il mio cuore

My heart is where you are, no matter the distance or the time and space between us. My heart is yours, though you may not desire it, though you may forget it. My heart is tired love, it aches and I don't know how to make it stop. Can you cure heartbreak? My heart shall remain by your side, though death may part us for a short time. Though distance and space may stretch on for years. Nothing may come between your heart and mine. Not even a breath.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

At the Gates of Auschwitz

What is to become of us if no one reads our names or counts the shoes we left behind?
What is to become of us if no one dares remember the torture or the anguish?
What is to become of those who died before us? Those that died with us?
What is to become of us when young women and young men forget the meaning of bravery?
What is to become of us when little girls and little boys grow up not knowing the truth?

I saw her face in the tower of pictures. Her face was almost mine. Few subtle differences and we could've been sisters. A gypsy's face in a sea of faces, all lost to ignorance and blind hatred. All lost in a sea of broken humanity. My fate could've been her's if we were to switch places. And that knowledge is like a punch in the throat. I can't breathe when I look at her. I can't think anything except that she could've been me.

Standing at the gates of Auschwitz, I hesitate. I don't want to feel what I am feeling. This place is full of ghosts. Not the ghosts of stories or movies, the intangible that frighten us with their intangibility. These are real people pressing against me, real faces staring blankly at me. These are real people whose genitals have been sewn shut and whose brains are exposed to high pressure winds. These are real people who are tortured and gassed and tattooed like cattle. These are real children that are starved and mutilated in the name of science, in the name of Aryan science.

These are the faces of the Holocaust. The Jews, the Gypsys, the Homosexuals, the Catholic priests and nuns, the disabled and mentally handicapped. Those who believed differently, those who believed in equality and fought for the lives of others. These are the faces of those who stood up while the whole world held its breath and twiddled its thumbs. These faces could have been mine or yours.

If no one smells the death and the fear, if no one reads the names, if no one stands up when everyone else is sitting down, what becomes of them? What becomes of us? Could we be as brave? Could we face those who were murdered for our silence?

If there is no one left to remember, what becomes of us?

Friday, January 18, 2013

All of Her: Prologue

"I'm still in love with all of her."

He says that and my heart breaks, because I know it's true. I can imagine them entangled, wrapped up in pink sheets and pink flesh. It isn't fair, of course, but I can see that it doesn't matter what is fair and what is not.

Am I an idiot for wishing it was me instead?

I smile, a wobbly smile that speaks of tears and regret. He doesn't notice, he is staring off into her distance. The beach feels like it is trying to swallow me whole. The ocean is rocking and he is rocking away and into her arms. I'm still just standing there. Watching the two loves of my life fall in love with each other.

Its like a punch to my chest, really. Like he just took a rusty nail and pounded it into my heart.

I feel like getting drunk. I watch them swimming off into the sunset, like a couple of mer-people to Atlantis. Or maybe that is my broken heart's imagination. Its a little ridiculous, looking at it from where I am now.

"What did you say?" he asks.

I am snapped out of my depressing daydreams. Did I say something out loud? Was I just voicing my inner monologues? Oh shit.

"Hmm? I didn't say anything." I start walking away. He doesn't follow, so I take this as a good sign. Everything has reduced to slow motion action movie, that moment where the good guy moves just in time kind of moment. Except, instead of action it is me being a bit of a child and trying to run away from something I don't understand.

The time has come, the walrus says, to talk of many things. He is right, of course, even talking walruses can be right sometimes. Unfortunately for myself, I don't feel like talking about anything. Is it strange that I have a walrus in my head rather than shoulder angels/devils? Thank Alice for that, of course.

I have decided to run away. Or cry. Either seems viable at this moment. Alice and David are off in their wonderland, in love and laughing. I turn, still in slow motion, and see them kissing and smiling that sweet and innocent smile of a first and only love. Damn it, why did I look back?

I feel like Lot's wife, like I've just been turned into salt because I glanced back. I'm frozen and slightly raw, like the wound just got scrubbed. Ridiculous really, to liken my feelings to some woman who may or may not have existed and may or may not have been turned into a pillar of salt. And now that I think about it, how did they know she got turned into a pillar of salt if they weren't allowed to look back? Or were they behind her when she looked back?

Now I'm just rambling.

Nothing changes the fact that Alice and David are still canoodling and I'm still being a child and walking away. Again with my stupid and irrational inner monologues.

It is time for a change. A distance of sorts. I'm not running away.

Okay, I am.

Who can blame me really? It isn't fair. Not fair at all. I want to scream or bleat like a billy goat. Neither one of those things will do a damn bit of good. I know that. Plus, I'll just look like an idiot. So, time for a change of scenery, Abra. Time to rethink everything in a different location.

The only real question now is: Where?

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Tangled Thoughts

I saw you today. And it was like a fist in my stomach.
How does time go by and you remain unchanged?
I barely recognized your face, a face I used to have memorized.
You knew me first. Where was your wedding ring?
Aren't you still ensconced in her arms at night?
Why are we running across each other this late in the evening?
Why are you shopping at Wal-Mart at 10:20 post meridium?
I have so many questions, but I can't ask them.
We stand awkwardly. I want to rub in your face my happiness.
I can't bring myself to say anything and I'm still staring.
Staring at your ringless finger. Did you leave it at home?
What can the meaning be? Why do I even care?
This has to be the worst night to see you.
I'm wearing my brother's t-shirt, baggy jeans and my hair up.
Why did you recognize me first? What was that look I saw?
Is it just my imagination or was there some happiness there?
I am an idiot. I thought I had forgotten you, but I didn't.
I should've known that I never could.
We never get over this kind of thing.
But you led me on, so I shouldn't care what is going on with you.
I shouldn't ask any questions. I shouldn't have stopped to say hi.
I wish I hadn't. I wish I had just smiled and kept walking.
I hate you.
I miss you.
I wish I could just erase you from my memory. Just a ghost.
A spectre of my imagination, gone with the dawn, like a dream.