“I knew when I saw you,” the boy said to the girl. His confidence of their future erased all her doubt.
“We’ll have seven children,” the man said with a nod. His matter-of-factness painted their picture.
“I’ll fly around the globe and I want you beside me,” the dad simply explained. His broad view of the world would open new doors.
“Up and down coasts, we’ll all be together,” the businessman reasoned. His work ethic provided, so they’d always have.
“Oh what a beautiful morning,” grandpa sang. His voice filled three levels that would ripple memories.
“Now one at a time, it’s how it will last,” said the jolly man. His presents surrounded, for his family was there.
“Sit down beside me and tell me your story,” the friend consoled. His patience stretched miles and time was his gift.
To the man, husband, brother, grandfather and friend. He was right when he sang; it always was with him near.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Friday, November 14, 2008
Away from Me is All
I didn't see a point in having him at all. He didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. If when you are examining the pieces of your life, the characters and bits that surround you, doesn't everyone and everything deserve an active role? And if they are actively participating, as each character in your scene should, shouldn't they add to your plot? If above the fireplace, hangs a rifle, by the end of the play that rifle needs to be shot. Why then, do we hold onto those that do not contribute anything to the storyline? One could say that their mere being suggests some sort of role, or else why would you even mention them? The fact that they are being considered at all must mean something. What it means, I'm afraid, is that they only exist on your surface, so why be there at all?
That was when I decided. What was the point in having him there at all? His meager role was so bit, that to just remove his reference wouldn't be a jolt to the flow of things in the least. In fact, it wasn’t a role at all, at least not anymore. Once removed, any thought of him would dissolve, as if he had never been here to begin with. That thought made me smile, the sheer power of the dissolve tactic. It was that simple. I did not wish harm, or ill will. It was not bitterness or spite that fueled this clean slate. It was his uselessness. His vast mediocrity that lent nothing was what frayed my nerves, and I must admit, the occasional glance at him, the slip of memory, left only blankness; no feeling whatsoever. This nothingness devastated me, for vanity’s sake alone. I must feel, must conjure up some response to outside stimuli or what is the point of being alive?
It is something I had never given much thought to. The process of taking things in, them having some sort of affect on you, you respond. Obvious course of events that I’d taken for granted. But these steps hadn’t been followed with him. If you eat a bland sandwich, and are hungry, the lack of taste is overlooked, as it is serving a far greater purpose. Yes, we’d all like to devour deliciousness in every meal, but sometimes the end result surpasses the minute details of such things as flavor. However, if you are not in search of nourishment, do not look for this substance to put a stomp to your hunger, why does it brush your lips, leaving no savoring whatsoever? Why would you go through the motions of something with no taste? I always have an answer or maybe have just stumbled upon one now. Why would I? I would not. That which finds it’s way to my plate remains there out of an active decision I made. If it does not contribute to my fulfillment, comfort, enjoyment it will not be eaten.
The disposal act sounds harsh when put so bluntly. I do not discard without thought, casting aside all that does not suite me at first glance. Oh, quite the contrary. Overturning until dizziness ensues leads me to such conclusions. The decision is not a hasty one, but lessens in time as each situation presents itself. I am learning, although do not think I will ever have an immunity to being immune. The nerve endings have worn and re-grown; singed once shame on me, singed twice, let it devour. It’s experience that has moved me forward, for that which has been has made me. But it is a nugget center, a Tootsie Pop of a way to live. Where is that owl, who will one, two, three me? Have you ever had someone tell you something about yourself that you already knew, but it just sounded odd when it fell in your ears? As if their perception of your reality had escaped even you? When you hear how people have picked up on what you’ve been so carefully laying down, it’s an odd feeling. It’s as if a secret of yours that you’ve not kept to yourself, has been told to someone new. It’s unnerving, scary and exhilarating all wrapped up into one single revelation about yourself, told by someone else. Although, it’s not really a revelation if you’ve already revealed it. It’s just away from me, is all.
That was when I decided. What was the point in having him there at all? His meager role was so bit, that to just remove his reference wouldn't be a jolt to the flow of things in the least. In fact, it wasn’t a role at all, at least not anymore. Once removed, any thought of him would dissolve, as if he had never been here to begin with. That thought made me smile, the sheer power of the dissolve tactic. It was that simple. I did not wish harm, or ill will. It was not bitterness or spite that fueled this clean slate. It was his uselessness. His vast mediocrity that lent nothing was what frayed my nerves, and I must admit, the occasional glance at him, the slip of memory, left only blankness; no feeling whatsoever. This nothingness devastated me, for vanity’s sake alone. I must feel, must conjure up some response to outside stimuli or what is the point of being alive?
It is something I had never given much thought to. The process of taking things in, them having some sort of affect on you, you respond. Obvious course of events that I’d taken for granted. But these steps hadn’t been followed with him. If you eat a bland sandwich, and are hungry, the lack of taste is overlooked, as it is serving a far greater purpose. Yes, we’d all like to devour deliciousness in every meal, but sometimes the end result surpasses the minute details of such things as flavor. However, if you are not in search of nourishment, do not look for this substance to put a stomp to your hunger, why does it brush your lips, leaving no savoring whatsoever? Why would you go through the motions of something with no taste? I always have an answer or maybe have just stumbled upon one now. Why would I? I would not. That which finds it’s way to my plate remains there out of an active decision I made. If it does not contribute to my fulfillment, comfort, enjoyment it will not be eaten.
The disposal act sounds harsh when put so bluntly. I do not discard without thought, casting aside all that does not suite me at first glance. Oh, quite the contrary. Overturning until dizziness ensues leads me to such conclusions. The decision is not a hasty one, but lessens in time as each situation presents itself. I am learning, although do not think I will ever have an immunity to being immune. The nerve endings have worn and re-grown; singed once shame on me, singed twice, let it devour. It’s experience that has moved me forward, for that which has been has made me. But it is a nugget center, a Tootsie Pop of a way to live. Where is that owl, who will one, two, three me? Have you ever had someone tell you something about yourself that you already knew, but it just sounded odd when it fell in your ears? As if their perception of your reality had escaped even you? When you hear how people have picked up on what you’ve been so carefully laying down, it’s an odd feeling. It’s as if a secret of yours that you’ve not kept to yourself, has been told to someone new. It’s unnerving, scary and exhilarating all wrapped up into one single revelation about yourself, told by someone else. Although, it’s not really a revelation if you’ve already revealed it. It’s just away from me, is all.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Rest Area ____ miles
One of my best girlfriends recently met an amazing guy. He’s incredibly intelligent, went to a notable college and actually reads (in a day and age where People and Star are considered literature, I’d say she’s hit the mother load) . Gainfully employed as head engineer on an environmental energy project, I’d say the man is fully equipped with shit togetherness. And he’s foreign, so the accent completely works (believe her undergarments dropped the second he opened his mouth). But to all the American lads out there, no need to fret. You don’t need an accent to drop drawers, just need to have all the rest. The accent just puts the sweet, sweet deliciously sexy icing on our fabulous cake. So to speak.
So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.
I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.
You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.
So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.
I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.
You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Take two Asprin and don’t call them in the morning
The power of the written word is said to be extremely potent. When you see that statement, be it an insult, a compliment, an accusation, when it is staring you in black and white, it hits differently then it would be if said, I think. You get to chew it, let it fill your brain slowly, oozing in, get a second to process it. Then it coats you, seeps into your marrow and lies, maybe permanently. It’s powerful stuff. So powerful in fact, it’s absence, the nothingness that stretches oceans between you and that person who withholds the glorious ink, well, the non-responsive black and white devastates. The nothing; more powerful than a dismissive or hurtful note. It’s infuriating. And also extremely effective. Why is it that when we think of hurting someone, or wanting them to be hurt by our actions, or lack there of, do we finalize on spite? Most times only driving ourselves mad. The passive aggressive action of inaction always sends me reeling, not only because I have mastered and been dominated by it, but because it remains to be the silliest, inefficient use of our time, yet somehow always works.
They say out of sight, out of mind, but when something weighs so heavily on your mind, and then disappears, or is absent for some time, simply not there, that’s all you seem to think about. Obsession isn’t that far fetched. Coming from the most nonchalant person ever, this omission may come as a shock. But as a recent experience has led me to believe otherwise, it does seem feasible to me, on some levels. Stalking is never ok. Excessively repeat dialing and/or texting also remains in the things-never-to-do category. Unless there is a response, which due to the fact that obsession in what we’re discussing, usually a response is the one thing lacking, leave it alone if it doesn’t come home. But, how do we cut this poison out? This malignant growth that doesn’t have a choice but to magnify if we do not hack it out? Over-analyzing may be stereotyped as a chick thing, but I’ve come to realize (and observe), it’s a sickness that every person I know has. There are different stages of this illness, some easily controlled by one’s own rational, a quick ‘ok, enough,’ other’s so crippling, once you’ve come down with a case of it, you may find yourself in need of not only a swift kick in the head, but professional help. I find myself, most of the time, on the boarder of stage 1 and a not so healthy stage 2. So, what to do when this disease catches you? Nip it in the bud, at the head, so it does not consume. Here are some helpful tips:
1. If you find yourself coming up with scenarios that any normal person may define as excuses, you have over-rationalized a simple situation. It’s time to either confront or walk.
2. When out, pretending to not think about it, do not keep checking your phone. Not only does this deem you a hypocrite, you are fueling the fire you’ve claimed to put out. Leave your mobile at home. You’d be surprised at how freeing it can be.
3. When you say you’re done, truly be done. There is nothing so annoying as having to listen to anything proceeding the line, “ok, this is the last thing I’m going to say about it…” In keeping true to your word, you should stop there.
4. Make peace with yourself. Whatever has had such a hold on you, whether it be a spat, a relationship, a boss, a stalkee, you have rubbed the topic raw, exposed every possible angle and are left with the shreds. Time has come to hold your hand out the window and release.
Not all situations work themselves out. Anyone who has lived 5 minutes in the real world should realize this. Often times though, whatever the outcome of such scenarios, the ends justifies the means. Even if at the time, it doesn’t seem as much. You loosing sleep over something will not, however, make the inevitable happen any sooner. Overanalyzing things actually, when put in those terms, is quite narcissistic. Thinking you have a hand in, more often times than not, someone else’s decision? When you truly look at the topic at hand in this light, you…oh man.
They say out of sight, out of mind, but when something weighs so heavily on your mind, and then disappears, or is absent for some time, simply not there, that’s all you seem to think about. Obsession isn’t that far fetched. Coming from the most nonchalant person ever, this omission may come as a shock. But as a recent experience has led me to believe otherwise, it does seem feasible to me, on some levels. Stalking is never ok. Excessively repeat dialing and/or texting also remains in the things-never-to-do category. Unless there is a response, which due to the fact that obsession in what we’re discussing, usually a response is the one thing lacking, leave it alone if it doesn’t come home. But, how do we cut this poison out? This malignant growth that doesn’t have a choice but to magnify if we do not hack it out? Over-analyzing may be stereotyped as a chick thing, but I’ve come to realize (and observe), it’s a sickness that every person I know has. There are different stages of this illness, some easily controlled by one’s own rational, a quick ‘ok, enough,’ other’s so crippling, once you’ve come down with a case of it, you may find yourself in need of not only a swift kick in the head, but professional help. I find myself, most of the time, on the boarder of stage 1 and a not so healthy stage 2. So, what to do when this disease catches you? Nip it in the bud, at the head, so it does not consume. Here are some helpful tips:
1. If you find yourself coming up with scenarios that any normal person may define as excuses, you have over-rationalized a simple situation. It’s time to either confront or walk.
2. When out, pretending to not think about it, do not keep checking your phone. Not only does this deem you a hypocrite, you are fueling the fire you’ve claimed to put out. Leave your mobile at home. You’d be surprised at how freeing it can be.
3. When you say you’re done, truly be done. There is nothing so annoying as having to listen to anything proceeding the line, “ok, this is the last thing I’m going to say about it…” In keeping true to your word, you should stop there.
4. Make peace with yourself. Whatever has had such a hold on you, whether it be a spat, a relationship, a boss, a stalkee, you have rubbed the topic raw, exposed every possible angle and are left with the shreds. Time has come to hold your hand out the window and release.
Not all situations work themselves out. Anyone who has lived 5 minutes in the real world should realize this. Often times though, whatever the outcome of such scenarios, the ends justifies the means. Even if at the time, it doesn’t seem as much. You loosing sleep over something will not, however, make the inevitable happen any sooner. Overanalyzing things actually, when put in those terms, is quite narcissistic. Thinking you have a hand in, more often times than not, someone else’s decision? When you truly look at the topic at hand in this light, you…oh man.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Miami
I’ve recently spent some time in Miami, a place where many a childhood memory was made. A place I recognize by smell, touch, sound. The moment you step off the plane, the air hits you, warmth creeps into your pores and you know you are somewhere the sun has kissed. Sweet envelopes the air, in bursts that hit your whole being, knocking the Eastern senses out cold. Each time it hits, nostalgia follows, a flow of the past washes over me and I feel at home. This place, this here, the sounds and aromas of this tropical spot cover me completely, each time.
What has brought me South all of these years, to vacation, be with the heat, feel at peace with sun-kissed surroundings? Family. Which in my opinion should bring you to the ends of the earth if necessary, so if it happens to land you in a place where sunshine reins, palms wave in the breeze, you are very lucky. This luck has been with me for years, and has brought me here, to my Aunt’s year in and year out. And this year, I feel as though my adulthood has followed, allowing me to put words to what traveling here conjures. What being here means and has meant. When I was young, this feeling is all I remember. Feeling ‘right’ the moment I arrived and the calm I left with. Joy was this destination of my youth, but was never described; it just was in this place. Now I know. The physical location isn’t the only thing that draws me here, keeps Miami close to my heart. The people who habitat here, along with the people that make the journey with me, those are what spark with me. Family.
It may just be the one consistent thing there is. No matter how inconsistent the relationship may be; they are linked to you, bonded by ties greater than anything material. It is where you gather strength, where you turn for comfort, to reconnect, regroup after the world has reared its ugly head. A port in the storm, where you can dry your weary bones. Miami, although I didn’t realize until much later in life, is that haven for me, and having just left, I still feel my insides glowing with warmth.
The above description of my family suites them very well. The people who have raised me are my touchstone and continue to be so. I know how lucky I am to think this and to have had the experience that led me to this conclusion. Miami has been just one of my havens. The heat of this spot has allowed imagination to take hold. Here, fire-breathing dragons roam free, allowing ankles to pass unharmed. Animals and people dine equally under this roof; chairs are pulled out for ladies, runts and cats with six toes. Family gathers under shadows of palms, with sand beneath them, and stories surrounding them. Sun filters down, scorching skin and awakening memories.
Luck has found me and has given me this port. I’ve always had it, just a plane ride away. Leaving here this last time, having almost reached adulthood, childhood memories around each corner, I feel refreshed by the splash of familiar. And I have woken each morning since, and as I think about it, for as long as I can remember, and known how lucky I am to be surrounded by the heat of family.
What has brought me South all of these years, to vacation, be with the heat, feel at peace with sun-kissed surroundings? Family. Which in my opinion should bring you to the ends of the earth if necessary, so if it happens to land you in a place where sunshine reins, palms wave in the breeze, you are very lucky. This luck has been with me for years, and has brought me here, to my Aunt’s year in and year out. And this year, I feel as though my adulthood has followed, allowing me to put words to what traveling here conjures. What being here means and has meant. When I was young, this feeling is all I remember. Feeling ‘right’ the moment I arrived and the calm I left with. Joy was this destination of my youth, but was never described; it just was in this place. Now I know. The physical location isn’t the only thing that draws me here, keeps Miami close to my heart. The people who habitat here, along with the people that make the journey with me, those are what spark with me. Family.
It may just be the one consistent thing there is. No matter how inconsistent the relationship may be; they are linked to you, bonded by ties greater than anything material. It is where you gather strength, where you turn for comfort, to reconnect, regroup after the world has reared its ugly head. A port in the storm, where you can dry your weary bones. Miami, although I didn’t realize until much later in life, is that haven for me, and having just left, I still feel my insides glowing with warmth.
The above description of my family suites them very well. The people who have raised me are my touchstone and continue to be so. I know how lucky I am to think this and to have had the experience that led me to this conclusion. Miami has been just one of my havens. The heat of this spot has allowed imagination to take hold. Here, fire-breathing dragons roam free, allowing ankles to pass unharmed. Animals and people dine equally under this roof; chairs are pulled out for ladies, runts and cats with six toes. Family gathers under shadows of palms, with sand beneath them, and stories surrounding them. Sun filters down, scorching skin and awakening memories.
Luck has found me and has given me this port. I’ve always had it, just a plane ride away. Leaving here this last time, having almost reached adulthood, childhood memories around each corner, I feel refreshed by the splash of familiar. And I have woken each morning since, and as I think about it, for as long as I can remember, and known how lucky I am to be surrounded by the heat of family.
Friday, March 28, 2008
“It doesn’t mean that much to me, to mean that much to you.” –Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
I’ve found that recent relationships have given me reason to loose faith in the male gender. Not completely, and it’s a fleeting loss (oxy-moron?), my freakishly heightened optimism will eventually kick back on, so this is only a temporary glitch, of this I am sure. It doesn’t mean, however, it hasn’t absorbed into my conscious, subconscious, marrow. This saddens me greatly, for extending the benefit of the doubt happens to be my forte, a quality I admire in myself as much as others and I’ve observed in few. I am one of the lucky ones. But, with this extension comes the risk of being walked across, pushed inconsiderately aside, for people begin to think another chance lies beyond, and another, and another…
Any intelligent person would see this as a nasty pattern, one that should be nipped in the bud immediately. The expression Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice shame on me, comes to mind. But, this sounds like the bitter woman’s mantra, and while I am a woman, bitter is an adjective I would never use to describe myself. I’ve found too many times mistakes are often just that, miscalculations or miscommunications that simply get lost in translation. It happens, and it will. I’m not unrealistic, nor unforgiving. Human nature is imperfect; therein lays the beauty of people. How would we know what we are capable of if not pushed? If not forced to choose between an easy dismissal and compassion? As you may have already guessed, the latter happens to be a weakness and I often find I am alone with that as a companion. Which, often provides better company, I must admit, than the alternative; having the wool pulled over your eyes by someone who you thought was incapable of being anything but considerate.
So, what has shaken my beliefs, made me seriously ponder the credit I (time and time again, I must embarrassingly admit) keep sprinkling on unworthy, unappreciative, unresponsive candidates? The answer is in the question. Doling out myself, my kindness to those who continue to take it, without reciprocation.
Chances do in fact grow on my tree…and they have been plucked time and time again by too greedy of hands. I have realized that while bitterness is not becoming, hesitation can be and in my case, should be exercised at times. Go with your gut. This phrase has been thrown at me by my, “no one will ever be good enough for you” mother. While her reasoning may be askew (someone, somewhere will indeed be good enough, as they will have captivated and appreciated me enough to keep me with them), I have found that her advice to instinctually follow that little voice inside your head (and stomach), usually winds up being what follows the, “I should have…”
If you ever feel as though you’re talking yourself into someone, listing on hand the bones they have thrown to your starved pallet of forgiveness, you must remember that, if it seemed too easy for them to dismiss your hurt feelings, they probably weren't ever considered.
Any intelligent person would see this as a nasty pattern, one that should be nipped in the bud immediately. The expression Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice shame on me, comes to mind. But, this sounds like the bitter woman’s mantra, and while I am a woman, bitter is an adjective I would never use to describe myself. I’ve found too many times mistakes are often just that, miscalculations or miscommunications that simply get lost in translation. It happens, and it will. I’m not unrealistic, nor unforgiving. Human nature is imperfect; therein lays the beauty of people. How would we know what we are capable of if not pushed? If not forced to choose between an easy dismissal and compassion? As you may have already guessed, the latter happens to be a weakness and I often find I am alone with that as a companion. Which, often provides better company, I must admit, than the alternative; having the wool pulled over your eyes by someone who you thought was incapable of being anything but considerate.
So, what has shaken my beliefs, made me seriously ponder the credit I (time and time again, I must embarrassingly admit) keep sprinkling on unworthy, unappreciative, unresponsive candidates? The answer is in the question. Doling out myself, my kindness to those who continue to take it, without reciprocation.
Chances do in fact grow on my tree…and they have been plucked time and time again by too greedy of hands. I have realized that while bitterness is not becoming, hesitation can be and in my case, should be exercised at times. Go with your gut. This phrase has been thrown at me by my, “no one will ever be good enough for you” mother. While her reasoning may be askew (someone, somewhere will indeed be good enough, as they will have captivated and appreciated me enough to keep me with them), I have found that her advice to instinctually follow that little voice inside your head (and stomach), usually winds up being what follows the, “I should have…”
If you ever feel as though you’re talking yourself into someone, listing on hand the bones they have thrown to your starved pallet of forgiveness, you must remember that, if it seemed too easy for them to dismiss your hurt feelings, they probably weren't ever considered.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
"I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride." Band of Horses
Trista
She hadn’t even brushed her teeth that morning, and now, as she boarded the plane home, she regretted it more than the poor soul who leaned in too close. The alarm had sounded at 6:30am and Carrie, her brother’s wife, had cheerfully entered her room after the first buzz. What the fuck, she thought. Had she been camping out all night, sleeping by the door, only to spring into action at the first sound of someone’s hard start?
“Morning, T,it’s a beautiful day, and I thought we could all sit down for popovers before you left, how did you sleep by the way, we need a new mattress, and Mathew ordered one two weeks ago, I keep meaning to call and check up, but anyway, oh, I had to tell you, that I turned the computer the den on if you’d liketocheckyourflight,although it’sabeautifulday…”
As she droned on and on, Trist slowly sat up, still bewildered anyone could, A. talk that F-in fast; B. had that much friggin energy in the morning, cause come on and; C. she couldn’t think of a third reason cause it was too flippin early! Anytime her sister-in-law spoke, the words seemed to run together in her head, so by the end of her run-on sentence, all she could do was say, Huh? Trist knew Carrie thought she was on drugs, and that made her smile. Last time she ingested anything other than booze had happened almost a year ago and she had almost passed out. The drink did her just fine.
“So?” Carrie stood in front of the bed, completely dressed, looking ridiculously hip for 6:30 am on a Sunday and all Trist wanted to do was go to sleep (well, she first wanted to punch Carrie in the head, but then snuggle under the covers).
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m kinda a slow mover in the morning. That early bird catches the worm, yeah, never got it.” As she attempted a somewhat lame joke, Carrie fluttered around the room, opening the curtains, picking up Trist’s dirty clothes that would just get wadded into a ball when she packed them, which she would if the sunshine spreading, energizer bunny on crack sister-in-law would get out. Trist cursed herself for staying out all night, although thanked whoever was up in that big sky, for having slipped in this morning, unannounced.
When Carrie started making her bed while she was still in it, she finally decided to get up, sarcastically mumbled something about needing to use the lav (apparently Carrie was British while discussing urination), and ducked into the hall where she nearly rammed into her 6’2 brother. How the hell did they end up with each other, she wondered.
In college, Matt had been the “It” guy on campus. Trist had gone to visit once and couldn’t believe the fan following. He had been popular in high school, an athletic guy, dabbling in many of the team sports, but nothing would compare to his collegiate status. Guys wanted to either be him or beat the shit out of him, although rarely the latter, he was just so friggin cool. And girls, oh the girls dropped their panties at his hello. Trist hadn’t believed it, but sure as shit got proof that her brother had some power over the ladies. Upon arrival at a frat party her brother’s brothers had thrown, Trist overheard a tiny brunette tell her big brother how she hadn’t wore anything under her skirt, so if he wanted to follow her, she’d be in the coat closet.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” she had asked, after the little dormitory slut had pranced off.
Ever so coolly sipping his beer, he acted as though he hadn’t even heard the chick, grabbed his sister in a headlock, and simply stated, “Let’s get you shlitzed.”
Recalling this, as her now married older brother looked at her to make sure she hadn’t killed herself on his chest, Trist shook her head.
“What?” Matt asked, grabbing his ankle and stretching his quads.
His athleticism had followed him into adulthood, a feat she was truly in awe of. Most of the married people she knew had let their guts grow over their belts, settling for defeat as if to say, what’s the point, it’s over. That, she vowed, no matter how tired in the morning she was, would never happen to her. Although, a 6am run would never friggin happen.
Marriage would not be her trip to fat farm, in fat, why walk down the isle at all? She had never got it. Always seemed like such an ending.
“Um, can you tell your wife I have an eye boogie that needs wiping, think she may have a monogrammed tissue lyin around.” She always tried to joke around with him, but ever since he had settled down with Clean B, his humor had died a slow death. Another minus to marriage.
“Wow, someone woke up on the bitch side of the bed.” Matt, more chipper than herself, yet not as ADD as his wife, finished stretching his other leg, mimed a boxing fight with Trist, while she stood rolling her eyes, and bounded upstairs. Go getters, Trist thought with a bitter, yet envious sigh. She looked back at Carrie, who was humming a tune and fluffing the sleep encrusted pillows, then turned the corner. Finally in the bathroom, alone, she de-pajamed, turned on the shower, and let the hot water rinse away her visit and his skin. She couldn’t wait to board that plane.
Benny
They had promised to wake him up by 7:30am as he had a 9:15 flight that he HAD to catch or he’d be fired, and the airport was almost an hour away. His friends were dicks, but damn they knew how to throw him a going away party. The visit had been short, swung by grandmas’, his Uncle Al and Aunt Pats’, and a few of his cousins who were still around the area (most were either in the military, in jail, or MIA, which was probably a good thing).
Mom had also gotten a visit from him, although that had been the most uncomfortable situation ever. That was on his mind as he woke up on the floor, beer bottles stuffed with cigarettes all around him. Not even wanting to look at the clock, he tried to sit up, only to realize something pinned his arm o the floor. Oh shit, he thought, rolling his head over to one side. Oh my God, it wasn’t her. As pieces of the night started pushing themselves together, he realized he had lost another chance. Fuck.
“Dude, you need to visit more often, you dick,” Jay had always been poetic with words, using dick in every other sentence. It could express his anger, his love, his confusion, hell, his boredom with just about anything. Words weren’t his thing and Benny knew this, so didn’t bust his balls. But the kid would rob Mother Theresa if you asked him to.
“I know man, just trying to get my shit together, ya know? Work is a bitch, but I have bills to pay, and dude, you can always visit me. It’s a plane ride away, just like it is for me, dumb ass.”
He had had this conversation numerous times with all his boys, who always asked him if and when he was moving back, why the hell he had left in the first place, then always ending with the ‘are you too good for us?’ question. The last one usually got asked after several beers, shots, hits. He could see it coming, however, never liked to answer it.
“Get the fuck outta here, dick. We’re all back here, you wanna see us, here we are. Ya don’t, well, you’re a dick. “ Jay laughed and punched him in the shoulder, then headed toward the kitchen, no doubt to grab another beer.
Benny did miss this place; having tried to forget it just hadn’t worked. Every time he rode down Lucas avenue he got that familiar feeling, where memories, good and bad, bubble up and ya can’t seem to calm your stomach. He loved and hated it and had tried to come to terms with it when he left. Alone, in his new city, away from these streets, everything was good. He could reinvent himself and he had, although each and every trip home usually threw old habits into his new routine. The anticipation and anxiety of these streets always shook him, so when a homecoming crept closer, the clumsier and more careless he got. A week before this trip, his mid had been so clogged he missed two meetings with clients, causing him to lose a potentially huge sale and have his boss’ boss made aware of his mishap. Yeah, sitting on thoughts of home never sat well with him.
“Hey man, is everything ok?” His buddy Jim had popped his head into his cubicle after his scolding from the Uppers about his missed meetings. Jim had been his first real friend in this new city and they hung out a bunch, happy hours, ball games, company outings. Jim was his wingman here. Although he had kept him at a distance only noticeable to Benny (as certain information about his past wasn’t discussed), Jim and him were tight. Even tag teamed the ladies now and again, double dating when they happened to meet someone.
What a good guy, Ben thought as he shifted his gaze away from Jim’s concerned face. His generic screen saver popped on, floating fish in a sea of coral. He had never been scuba diving. He looked back at Jim. What was it about him that always attracted the good people? He tried to stay to himself, not seem interested in participation, but that always seemed to land him next to the nicest friggin soul in the joint, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer or if he ever needed to talk…It’s not as if he was anti-social, not at all, just involvement led to questions and questions led to scraping the scab off his protective layer. Not usually his scene, although with Jim it had been a bit different. Jim hadn’t pushed, hadn’t made too many personal innuendos or pried too deep into anything. And the same lack of detail had been paid on Benny’s end. They were two guys, just hangin out and just the act of being in close proximity to each other was enough. Ben figured Jim had had the same philosophy of past lives, possibly cause he had left one to start anew as well; leave em’ in the past and keep on movin.
“Man, I’ve just got a lot on my mind buddy, but thanks. Just feel like a real shit about missing those meetings, but, guess nothing but time will tell now.”
Benny hated these clichés…nothing but time will tell? No shit, that’s what time did. Revealed, uncovered, sometimes even decided for you. It was these kinds of comments, clip phrases so to speak, that allowed a lone soul like Benny to move away from a potentially awkward personal revelation. This day had been cursed from the start, and looking at the 4:15 time, he figured it was better to call it a day than drag on for another 45 minutes. What could they do, fire him for leaving after that ass ripping? He got up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, patted Jim on the shoulder and told him he’d see him after his trip. He had declined Jim’s extremely generous offer at a ride to the airport the next morning. The train ride in was needed to gather his thoughts, and as Benny got in his car at the end of the day before his homecoming, thoughts of her came into his head. The car started, he shook her out, and pulled out of his parking space. It was going to be a long trip.
She hadn’t even brushed her teeth that morning, and now, as she boarded the plane home, she regretted it more than the poor soul who leaned in too close. The alarm had sounded at 6:30am and Carrie, her brother’s wife, had cheerfully entered her room after the first buzz. What the fuck, she thought. Had she been camping out all night, sleeping by the door, only to spring into action at the first sound of someone’s hard start?
“Morning, T,it’s a beautiful day, and I thought we could all sit down for popovers before you left, how did you sleep by the way, we need a new mattress, and Mathew ordered one two weeks ago, I keep meaning to call and check up, but anyway, oh, I had to tell you, that I turned the computer the den on if you’d liketocheckyourflight,although it’sabeautifulday…”
As she droned on and on, Trist slowly sat up, still bewildered anyone could, A. talk that F-in fast; B. had that much friggin energy in the morning, cause come on and; C. she couldn’t think of a third reason cause it was too flippin early! Anytime her sister-in-law spoke, the words seemed to run together in her head, so by the end of her run-on sentence, all she could do was say, Huh? Trist knew Carrie thought she was on drugs, and that made her smile. Last time she ingested anything other than booze had happened almost a year ago and she had almost passed out. The drink did her just fine.
“So?” Carrie stood in front of the bed, completely dressed, looking ridiculously hip for 6:30 am on a Sunday and all Trist wanted to do was go to sleep (well, she first wanted to punch Carrie in the head, but then snuggle under the covers).
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m kinda a slow mover in the morning. That early bird catches the worm, yeah, never got it.” As she attempted a somewhat lame joke, Carrie fluttered around the room, opening the curtains, picking up Trist’s dirty clothes that would just get wadded into a ball when she packed them, which she would if the sunshine spreading, energizer bunny on crack sister-in-law would get out. Trist cursed herself for staying out all night, although thanked whoever was up in that big sky, for having slipped in this morning, unannounced.
When Carrie started making her bed while she was still in it, she finally decided to get up, sarcastically mumbled something about needing to use the lav (apparently Carrie was British while discussing urination), and ducked into the hall where she nearly rammed into her 6’2 brother. How the hell did they end up with each other, she wondered.
In college, Matt had been the “It” guy on campus. Trist had gone to visit once and couldn’t believe the fan following. He had been popular in high school, an athletic guy, dabbling in many of the team sports, but nothing would compare to his collegiate status. Guys wanted to either be him or beat the shit out of him, although rarely the latter, he was just so friggin cool. And girls, oh the girls dropped their panties at his hello. Trist hadn’t believed it, but sure as shit got proof that her brother had some power over the ladies. Upon arrival at a frat party her brother’s brothers had thrown, Trist overheard a tiny brunette tell her big brother how she hadn’t wore anything under her skirt, so if he wanted to follow her, she’d be in the coat closet.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” she had asked, after the little dormitory slut had pranced off.
Ever so coolly sipping his beer, he acted as though he hadn’t even heard the chick, grabbed his sister in a headlock, and simply stated, “Let’s get you shlitzed.”
Recalling this, as her now married older brother looked at her to make sure she hadn’t killed herself on his chest, Trist shook her head.
“What?” Matt asked, grabbing his ankle and stretching his quads.
His athleticism had followed him into adulthood, a feat she was truly in awe of. Most of the married people she knew had let their guts grow over their belts, settling for defeat as if to say, what’s the point, it’s over. That, she vowed, no matter how tired in the morning she was, would never happen to her. Although, a 6am run would never friggin happen.
Marriage would not be her trip to fat farm, in fat, why walk down the isle at all? She had never got it. Always seemed like such an ending.
“Um, can you tell your wife I have an eye boogie that needs wiping, think she may have a monogrammed tissue lyin around.” She always tried to joke around with him, but ever since he had settled down with Clean B, his humor had died a slow death. Another minus to marriage.
“Wow, someone woke up on the bitch side of the bed.” Matt, more chipper than herself, yet not as ADD as his wife, finished stretching his other leg, mimed a boxing fight with Trist, while she stood rolling her eyes, and bounded upstairs. Go getters, Trist thought with a bitter, yet envious sigh. She looked back at Carrie, who was humming a tune and fluffing the sleep encrusted pillows, then turned the corner. Finally in the bathroom, alone, she de-pajamed, turned on the shower, and let the hot water rinse away her visit and his skin. She couldn’t wait to board that plane.
Benny
They had promised to wake him up by 7:30am as he had a 9:15 flight that he HAD to catch or he’d be fired, and the airport was almost an hour away. His friends were dicks, but damn they knew how to throw him a going away party. The visit had been short, swung by grandmas’, his Uncle Al and Aunt Pats’, and a few of his cousins who were still around the area (most were either in the military, in jail, or MIA, which was probably a good thing).
Mom had also gotten a visit from him, although that had been the most uncomfortable situation ever. That was on his mind as he woke up on the floor, beer bottles stuffed with cigarettes all around him. Not even wanting to look at the clock, he tried to sit up, only to realize something pinned his arm o the floor. Oh shit, he thought, rolling his head over to one side. Oh my God, it wasn’t her. As pieces of the night started pushing themselves together, he realized he had lost another chance. Fuck.
“Dude, you need to visit more often, you dick,” Jay had always been poetic with words, using dick in every other sentence. It could express his anger, his love, his confusion, hell, his boredom with just about anything. Words weren’t his thing and Benny knew this, so didn’t bust his balls. But the kid would rob Mother Theresa if you asked him to.
“I know man, just trying to get my shit together, ya know? Work is a bitch, but I have bills to pay, and dude, you can always visit me. It’s a plane ride away, just like it is for me, dumb ass.”
He had had this conversation numerous times with all his boys, who always asked him if and when he was moving back, why the hell he had left in the first place, then always ending with the ‘are you too good for us?’ question. The last one usually got asked after several beers, shots, hits. He could see it coming, however, never liked to answer it.
“Get the fuck outta here, dick. We’re all back here, you wanna see us, here we are. Ya don’t, well, you’re a dick. “ Jay laughed and punched him in the shoulder, then headed toward the kitchen, no doubt to grab another beer.
Benny did miss this place; having tried to forget it just hadn’t worked. Every time he rode down Lucas avenue he got that familiar feeling, where memories, good and bad, bubble up and ya can’t seem to calm your stomach. He loved and hated it and had tried to come to terms with it when he left. Alone, in his new city, away from these streets, everything was good. He could reinvent himself and he had, although each and every trip home usually threw old habits into his new routine. The anticipation and anxiety of these streets always shook him, so when a homecoming crept closer, the clumsier and more careless he got. A week before this trip, his mid had been so clogged he missed two meetings with clients, causing him to lose a potentially huge sale and have his boss’ boss made aware of his mishap. Yeah, sitting on thoughts of home never sat well with him.
“Hey man, is everything ok?” His buddy Jim had popped his head into his cubicle after his scolding from the Uppers about his missed meetings. Jim had been his first real friend in this new city and they hung out a bunch, happy hours, ball games, company outings. Jim was his wingman here. Although he had kept him at a distance only noticeable to Benny (as certain information about his past wasn’t discussed), Jim and him were tight. Even tag teamed the ladies now and again, double dating when they happened to meet someone.
What a good guy, Ben thought as he shifted his gaze away from Jim’s concerned face. His generic screen saver popped on, floating fish in a sea of coral. He had never been scuba diving. He looked back at Jim. What was it about him that always attracted the good people? He tried to stay to himself, not seem interested in participation, but that always seemed to land him next to the nicest friggin soul in the joint, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer or if he ever needed to talk…It’s not as if he was anti-social, not at all, just involvement led to questions and questions led to scraping the scab off his protective layer. Not usually his scene, although with Jim it had been a bit different. Jim hadn’t pushed, hadn’t made too many personal innuendos or pried too deep into anything. And the same lack of detail had been paid on Benny’s end. They were two guys, just hangin out and just the act of being in close proximity to each other was enough. Ben figured Jim had had the same philosophy of past lives, possibly cause he had left one to start anew as well; leave em’ in the past and keep on movin.
“Man, I’ve just got a lot on my mind buddy, but thanks. Just feel like a real shit about missing those meetings, but, guess nothing but time will tell now.”
Benny hated these clichés…nothing but time will tell? No shit, that’s what time did. Revealed, uncovered, sometimes even decided for you. It was these kinds of comments, clip phrases so to speak, that allowed a lone soul like Benny to move away from a potentially awkward personal revelation. This day had been cursed from the start, and looking at the 4:15 time, he figured it was better to call it a day than drag on for another 45 minutes. What could they do, fire him for leaving after that ass ripping? He got up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, patted Jim on the shoulder and told him he’d see him after his trip. He had declined Jim’s extremely generous offer at a ride to the airport the next morning. The train ride in was needed to gather his thoughts, and as Benny got in his car at the end of the day before his homecoming, thoughts of her came into his head. The car started, he shook her out, and pulled out of his parking space. It was going to be a long trip.
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