Tuesday, March 29

I loved you anyway...

Tears fall, one at a time
fingers fumble, and try to stop the flow
the silence is cold, and suddenly harsh.
Reality returns, and with it time speeds up.
The air is warm with the electricity of words said
Words not able to be taken back.
A hastened, "I'm sorry, I love her instead."
The slow, "Are you sure? You said you loved me."

Noise returns in incremental pieces.
A car around the corner, a bird outside the window.
The realization that the world was crying with her.
Rain began it's lazy descent
The curtains hung with their collected moisture.

Suddenly, with a breath of consciousness,
and a return to the normal, she grabbed her keys from the hook
and dashed for her car.
Turn the key.
Lights and wipers on.
Car in gear.
Thoughts came in fragments, pieces of greater actions.

Her head was protecting her heart from the pain...
Aimless wandering became a specific pattern.
The pattern she repeated every Tuesday night.
His house. The gas station on Third. Her mom's office.
The park. Then back to his house.

Her house grew large in her windshield.
The car in Park she sat and stared at the structure she knew so well.
This was it. This was ground zero.
Two hours ago she'd waited with bated breath.
A four word text.
"Can I come by?"

Now that it was dark she noticed her family moving silently.
Her mother laughed while standing at the stove.
Her father at the sink.
The dog was looking out the front door with a look of content.
All was well in this household. No broken hearts.
No fights late at night. No sadness.
Or so it appeared.

Hidden from the world was a different view.
The vodka bottles in the trash.
The pills in the cupboard by the bathtub.
The bruises and scrapes, so carefully concealed.
They looked like the poster family.
Father with a job at the bank.
Mother in a real-estate office.
Two older daughters in small colleges.
And a daughter who wore the wrong clothes.
Spoke the wrong way. And dated the wrong guys.

The world never saw the youngest Harper daughter.
No. Marissa was the black sheep. She was hidden away.
People would know about her now though.
Marissa would finally get noticed.

Blood fell. A drip at a time. This time the fingers didn't try to stop it.
The lights from cars flashed across her skin as they drove past.
This time no one stopped to help.
A pool of blood grew beneath her and trickled over the edge of the granite step.

When morning came it was too late.
Blood had congealed, and skin had turned a pale white.
Marissa had been noticed. The newspaper bore her picture.
This is what the Harper family really was like. A dead daughter.
Not just dead, but bloody and sordid.
The letter was short. It simply stated, "I loved you anyway."

Friday, March 11

What exactly?

As I start this, I caution you. I am not aware of a purpose for this entry. I have been working on college essays for the last few days. I am sick of editing, and proofing, and capitalizing, and making sure each i is dotted, and t crossed. I will acknowledge that such obsession is necessary, and hopefully it pays off. But at the same time I seek solace from my blog. My blog is 100% my own. It belongs to me. I can say what I want. The only glitch is I have so many things I want to say. Thoughts, ideas, scraps of poetry and songs roiling in my head, but I can't seem to project them into written word.
I have some strange ambitions in life. I have all the dreams that come standard-issue. I want to graduate college. I want to be successful. I want to witness a miracle. I want to have a family and a white picket fence, minivan and soccer practice included.
But then there are the wishes that I hold dear to my heart. The thoughts that come unbidden during times of quiet inactivity, or startle me during the oddest moments. I entrust you with these hopes, and fantasies. Some are time-worn, if they were on paper it would be soft, and creased, the edges torn and frayed, the writing yellowed with time. Others are still new, recently minted. The paper is crisp, and stiff, the writing is still precise and legible.
As I have explained at length before, I am waiting for Prince Charming. I know he'll find me. If I were a simple person I might leave it at that, and perhaps for your sanity I should. But I'm not simple, I'm complex, I like pickles in my grilled cheese, and potato chips with my ice cream; as if these food-related examples can portray my complexity and depth.
Someday I want to be in love with a man I trust. I don't want to fear for my safety, or the loyalty of our relationship. I want a man I can be myself with; if I want to dance to Madonna while I clean house, I want him to laugh with me, and think I have never looked more attractive to him. I want a man who is laidback and sweet, honest and sincere but not cruel. I want someone who will catch me when I fall in love with him.
I want lazy Sunday mornings. Sleeping til noon, and listening to soft jazz and blues on the radio. I want incredible rainy afternoons. I want 2 AM moments when I wake up and just listen to him breathing, moonlight dancing across his face. I want love, and passion, and joy, and security. I will become jaded with time, and I want to be able to look back at this list and remember the things that my innocent 19 year old heart desired.
I want to be a mother. I want the whole thing. The pain, and the nausea, the exhaustion, the irritation and hormonal insanity. I want to decorate the baby's room. I want to pick up my baby at 3 AM and calm he/she to sleep. I want to sit and hold it, marveling at it's perfect fingers and toes, beautiful eyelashes and my little nose. I want to kiss it's feet and breathe in that "baby smell."
I want to cry as my precious child goes off to school for the first time. I want to teach it how to ride a bike, and throw a frisbee. I want to take posed family Christmas pictures. And decorate for holidays.
I want to be successful, but I am careful when I define success. I want to be happy, and have money. But I don't want to be a slave to my career. I want to take the time to play games with my kids and husband. To spontaneously take trips to the lake, or grandma and grandpa's house.
I want a happy marriage. One defined by the great times, and the everyday happiness we find in ourselves. I don't want to worry about infidelity or betrayal. I want to know that my husband loves me and wants to spend his life with me. I want to be a grandmother, and sit on our porch watching our grandchildren search for Easter eggs, or scuffling in autumn leaves.
I want to always be close to my sister. She and I can spend 2 hours apart, and when we see each other again act like it's been 2 weeks. We talk about literally everything. She is so smart, and supportive, and good to me. I can't fathom what my life would be like without her. I make a lot of claims, but she is my best friend in this whole world. I want to live near her family, I want to spoil her kids rotten, and invade her kitchen and take over.

It's not surprising that my dreams are all related to relationships, and love, and happiness. I don't see how money and fame and success in a stressful field lead to fulfillment. I don't have any guarantees what life will hold for me. But if I get some of these things I will be the happiest person ever.