Momento

Here's one for your habits
and another for your failures.
It's all one in the same
and I'm losing this game.
I have life in my palm,
but comfort between my fingers.
Looking at my own reflection,
I know I'll regret my next action.
So sniff, swallow, or slice
because there's nothing to stop you.
All those same arguments that rage
can't be conveyed on this page.
There's no point in forgetting
those trips along the way.
I am not what you think
and my lies hide behind ink.
And scars,
scattered as momentoes.
They breathe in deep
and make my words cheap.
Just ignore the agonizing days
that left as harshly as they came.
Ignore your head and your heart
because they'll pull you apart.
In the quiet comes clarity
which you cherish more than air.
Silence the ghosts lurking behind you
and awake with a new view.


*********************************************

It's been a while since I wrote anything and finished it. I have a couple of incomplete poems scattered amoung different notebook pages and maybe once winter break begins I'll comb through and find the ones worth finishing. I have one exam left...tomorrow morning...and then I can put this semester's classes behind me and pray that I passed.

I'm stressed and feeling pretty shitty. Maybe it's the time of year and what if reminds me of, but I hope that fades quickly. I don't like that frantic feeling. I hate losing control. I don't trust myself and I need it to stop.


"I saw you at the perfect place. It's gonna happen soon, but not today. So go to sleep, and make the change. I'll meet you here tomorrow. Independence day... independence day... independence day..." Elliott Smith Independence Day

Say Nothing

I tuck this anger
beneath the tongue
that I bite so deeply
I can taste the blood
spill down my throat.

I fold my words up
in tightly sealed lungs
because they can't be spoken
for fear of remembering,
for fear of offending.

I lock my thoughts
between clenched teeth
until my gums hurt
so that I say nothing at all
and nothing I'll regret.

For all of this,
I just want to forget
and let go of all of it
so my tears will drop,
so these voices stop.

***************************************************

No, chances are, I don't want to talk to you about it.



"I try to will myself away while shouting habits plead their case, but when the sun shears through my eyes, my beggar’s brain can’t compromise. I splash cold water. I draw the curtains. I stay inside." - Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them

The Emperor

Bombs like fireworks
stream across my starry sky.
His war leaves me paralyzed
and my home stained crimson.

You wonder where my anger is conceived
while you watch my family die.
On my beautiful desert ground
lay the corpses on my brothers.

Far and distant from this tale,
I ponder our humanity.
We know it's a big world out there,
but can we fathom the horrors we've created?

There are only so many words to write
before my protest becomes complacent.
I am stuck within a stagnant revolt
contrived of fearful, quiet, sheep.

The emperor sits on his throne
and his words change the world.
He spins the globe and points out his finger
and where it lands is now his command.

No confrontations reach his ears
nor would it matter if they did.
He is blind, deaf, and absolute,
but he is dangerously and arrogantly wrong.

So wrong.

***************************************************

^ Written during Legal Philosophy, Rights, and Justice. ^

Tuesday is Election Day. I feel like voting in this election is the least democratic thing I could possibly do, but I will vote nonetheless. This campaign season has disgusted me and I can completely understand why people chose to not vote. The only thing I really know about my choices are why they don't want me to vote for the other guy. I almost wish I could start a protest and convince the entire country to not vote. What would happen then? What would happen if literally no one came out to vote? Would that cry be loud enough to get politicians to stop throwing shit at each other and tell me things about themselves that I actually should know!? I'd like to pull our political system apart bit by bit and piece it back together in a way that would allow qualified people who aren't simply looking out for their own good to serve their country.

Have you heard? There's a new requirement to run for office now. You must be a millionaire.

Inequality effects everything in our society. Going to a poor school not only means that your education is lacking, it also means your choices in the future are lacking. But who is making decisions about education, welfare, healthcare, etc.? Rich politicians are and, while some may have the best intentions in mind - they are grossly out of touch with what it is to be from an urban area. You won't find many politicians grew up in Newark...not even Newark's current mayor grew up in Newark. You may find some, but not many. You can't even run if you don't have money...and winning is another issue all together.

I have studying to do, so I'm off.


"I ask his empire eyes what made him drive us straight to hell." -
Kevin Devine - The Burning City Smoking

Meantime

Lacking inspiration
and flipping through diary pages,
I'm searching for you name
or I'm waiting for your voice.

If I can't calm myself down
or shut those noises up,
it'll make him right
and me a fool.

Now pacing frantically
and squirming in my skin,
can you see what's left of me
through the charred mask that is my face?

Short of breathe
and in pain from head to toe,
it's as if nothing soft makes sense
and nothing right feels good.

But I know there's a lesson in here to learn somewhere,
where I hid it for safe keeping,
and I hear it when you whistle,
but I lose it when you leave.

When I wake, this it plays in my head:
it makes perfect sense
and it's more than a jingle,
but something I can't hold.

This music saved my life
as it reached out and pulled me in,
so I'll know it when I hear it
and I'll miss it in the meantime.

*********************************************

^ Shit's on my mind, but it's only shit. ^

I'm coming up on a milestone in another month or so and I'm not sure how I feel about it or if it's appropriate to consider it a milestone at all. It's just another day. I won't feel much different. If anything, I may feel more trapped. Should I just forget about it, then? Should I just throw the day out of my memory? I wish I didn't still feel so dirty. I wish I weren't still lying to all but a handful of my closest friends.

It really makes little difference, though. It comes and goes, as everything does.


"For a change she got out before he hurt her bad, took her records and clothes and pictures of her boy. It really made her sad, packed it up and didn't look back. I'm okay. Let's just forget about him." - Elliott Smith No Name # 4

You May Call Me A Protest Singer...

For my Political Sociology class, we have to write five one-two page response papers comparing a recent news article with something we've discussed in class. I got permission to write a special paper about protest songs in which I used lyrics to a Bob Dylan song and lyrics to a Kevin Devine song to further my point on political protests. This is what I wrote. Please read it, let me know what you think, and tell me if you find any spelling/grammar errors! Thanks!

********************************************************

“If we do not learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it,” the saying goes. Whether this saying is trite and cliché or meaningful and introspective, it seems to hold some kind of truth. America has found herself, once again, engulfed in a conflict overseas which she had little business entering, which was ill-planned, and which the American people are growing ever more discontented with as the weeks drone on. Sound familiar? A very similar set of consequences arose in the 1960s and 70s as the country’s involvement in Vietnam caused outrage among the American public. However, the 2003 invasion of Iraq by George W. Bush has not been met with nearly as much resistance as this conflict last century and one way of mapping resistance is through art. Protests can take many forms: sit-ins, marches, boycotts, and petitions, but I would like to focus on music as a form of protest. For this purpose, I introduce Bob Dylan’s “With God On Our Side” first released on 1963 just before the US began sending troops to Vietnam and Kevin Devine’s “Lord, I Know We Don’t Talk” released in 2005 during the Iraqi conflict. One song is much more well known than the other and I believe this is as a result of the differing political and social climates in which they were written. However, while these songs were written forty years apart, the parallels that run between them are glaring.

Dylan’s song gives a musical history of wars (from colonial battles with Native Indians to Vietnam and the fear of chemical weapons) as he reflects on the political and military debacle he finds his country in as he writes. Invoking the name of God illustrates the irony Dylan saw in killing, but also notes the ever popular idea that American is a “city on the hill,” that America is protected by God. Over time, Americans have been convinced to hate one group of people or fear another because God is on our side, so our way of life must be correct. Each verse parallels a war with Dylan’s thoughts and he often expresses confusion or admits he –more or less – blindly followed and went along with what the government said was correct. In describing World War One he sings: “…the reason for fighting I never got straight, but I learned to accept it, accept it with pride, for you don't count the dead when God's on your side.” Despite his confusion over why people died, he accepted it because God was on America’s side. The last verse powerfully sums up Dylan’s account of war, “So now as I'm leavin', I'm weary as Hell. The confusion I'm feelin', ain't no tongue can tell. The words fill my head and fall to the floor. If God's on our side, he'll stop the next war.” Clearly, Dylan opposes war. His status as a protest songwriter has been stable since the 1960s. The question is: why were songs of this nature so much more popular in the Vietnam era than they are today? The most obvious answer is that the conflict in Vietnam is distinctively different from the current conflict in Iraq in one huge way: there was a draft instated in 1969. Protest songs of the Vietnam era were more well known than those of today because more people were angered over the draft, more people were speaking out, and more people were writing. However, the draft should not be mistaken as the only reason for political unrest in America. (1) Americans were dying in Vietnam as early as 1961 and protests against the war began before the draft was instated. It was a time of great domestic social unrest (with the Civil Rights Movement as one example). Everyone was angry about something and the social climate was more tolerant of protest. Of course, the downside was that some protests were violent, but even those people who physically fought stood for something and did not fear standing for their beliefs. I will argue that fear, rather than the lack of a draft, is the main cause for the lack of political protest in American society today.

In today’s political climate, protest is nearly treason. One who speaks out against the government today is often accused of being unpatriotic. It is a terrifying and tiring political life to endure. There is – currently – no draft for the American public to suffer, but the post-September 11th, 2001 society is fearful. As a society, we have become complacent to all sorts of civil rights violations simply because we desire the feeling of security which we believe our government can ensure for us, but which we have still not been promised! The 9/11 Commission reports have mostly been ignored. (2) Americans have every reason to be fearful and the Bush administration seems to remind us – usually around election time – how vulnerable we still are. There is no wonder why Americans are complacent. We are constantly being told that our opposition undermines the war effort and makes us more susceptible to terrorist attacks. Americans did not have this strong a fear of the Vietnamese or the Communists. This fear is what keeps us, as a country, quiet. However, this does not mean that protests do not occur, and my favorite “protest songwriter” of today – though he would not describe himself as such – is Kevin Devine from Brooklyn, New York. His music is not overwhelmingly political, though each album he produces seems to include one or two anti-war songs. His strongest, though this is debatable, is a song entitled “Lord, I Know We Don’t Talk.” Devine writes a letter in the form of a song to God in which he asks for the killing to end. He knows this request is presumptuous of him, but explains that he cannot believe in a God who would allow humanity to go on killing. He sings, “I’ll know a change has come, I’ll know that you exist, when all our bombs stop exploding and all of our landmines are stripped, when we stop blowing up strangers’ houses and making orphans of innocent kids, and people stop thinking the world’s theirs for the taking ‘cause your will once told them it is.” The song is a desperate attempt to reach God because the American public seems disassociated with politics and Devine knows no other way to find resolution. (3) Fear has caused people to remain quiet, overall. The political and social climates in America right now are not tolerant to dissenters. People get fired over speaking their minds. Bill Maher is a great example of this, though he is unapologetically liberal. ABC fired him for expressing his politically incorrect opinion on a show that was called, “Politically Incorrect.” Americans notice these kinds of reactions and they know they do not want to risk being singled out or deprived of things they want because they have spoken out in protest of something.

Both Bob Dylan and Kevin Devine chose to invoke the name of God in their political songs. God seems to be an idea almost everyone can understand or relate to in some sense. Though I am far from religious, I can understand the desire to feel as if some one or thing is protecting me. Both songs discuss the death that comes along with war and both ask God to make the wars stop. The difference is that one was written in an era of great unrest within the state and the other was written at a time when Americans are too busy and too scared to notice. As a country, we have become frustrated with politics and we believe there is nothing we can do to change the way our country operates, but protest can take many forms. One does not have to be a member of a party or group. Protest can occur on a small scale in the form of friends debating political policy. Art, music, writings (i.e.articles, blogs, books, etc.) can all be forms of protest. The only time in which protest cannot occur is when people are disinclined (whether out of frustration or fear) to open any sort of dialog. I do not think America’s plight has reached that low yet, but I do believe we are at risk of reaching it in the future.

If fear has caused America to remain quiet since 2001 then our prognosis seems relatively grim. The PATRIOT Act allows the government to see what websites you look at and what library books you take out, and I cannot blame people for wanting to remain under the government’s radar. I am just as guilty as anyone else of not speaking out. It was once a joke among my friends and me that the FBI or the CIA was reading our blogs or our Instant Messages as we discussed politics. That joke is not quite as funny anymore. There are countless other examples of how protests have been quieted or squelched. Forty years seems to have changed very little in the way government behaves in the face of a perceived enemy. However, the government has learned how to silence the American people. Music is close to me and for that reason I believe it is one of the best forms of protest, but it is by no means the only form. Americans needs to stand up in disagreement because if we do not, then America will begin a legacy of entering into ill-designed wars that unnecessarily kill our soldiers. Perhaps we are losing God’s favor.


Footnotes
(1) “With God On Our Side” was released six years before the draft lottery began in 1969 and there were political protests against the war in 40 American cities between October 15th and 16th, 1965 and a massive demonstration outside Washington, DC between October 21st and 23rd, 1967. Martin Luther King, Jr. even spoke out against the war 1967. There were probably many more and none of them dealt with a draft. (Data from: http://servercc.oakton.edu/~wittman/chronol.htm and http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/vietnam/timeline.htm.)
(2) On December 5, 2005, the 9/11 Commission issued its “report card” on the government’s improvements since the terror attacks. The government was graded on 41criteria and on 19 of those criteria, earned lower than a C- or earned an “I” for Incomplete. At the time, only one area earned an A, an A- for “Terrorist financing” and one F was pending legislation to earn an A, “Risk based home-land security.” (Data found at: http://www.9-11pdp.org/.)
(3) In another songs from “Split The Country, Split the Street,” Devine sings, “…Reform don't work; I think it's time we tried revolt, but I don't got the guts to jump up and go first, so I just shout until my throat hurts, and I curse and I curse at what we fucked up in Iraq. You say, “Support the troops.” I do. I want them all brought back and every… building that you bombed raised from the ground and pull your contractors the fuck out. If you really go and reinstate the draft, you'll straight away just split the country straight in half, so try arresting everyone who sends their draft cards back. I'll be returning mine in no time flat.” His latest album, “Put Your Ghosts To Rest,” released in October 2006 also includes a song entitled “The Burning City Smoking.” Devine has several more and this paper could have been written on any of them.


Full Lyrics
Bob Dylan - "With God On Our Side"
The Times They Are A-Changin' (1963)

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.


Kevin Devine - "Lord, I Know We Don't Talk"
Split The Country, Split The Street (2005)

In a motel room,
With the Bible out,
Combing scripture for answers about
What’s happening now.

I can’t believe my eyes
And I just don’t trust my ears,
But I’ve heard a man can always come find
Some solace here.

Lord, I know that we don’t talk
Often at all anymore,
But desperate folks do desperate things,
So I’m stapling this note to your door.

Please: turn the ship around,
And lock the course in place,
And keep the train tracks nailed to the ground,
But pull the emergency brake.

I’ve lost my faith in man just like I once lost faith in you,
And I’ve been covering all kinds of ground thinking hard ‘bout what else I could lose.

And I know how I look, to come crawling back,
Acting like you owe me proof,
But this is bigger than me…
And I think it’s bigger than you too.

So, if this gets to you,
If you ever come home,
Just know I won’t be awaiting the postman,
I will not be glued to my phone.

I’ll know a change has come,
I’ll know that you exist,
When all our bombs stop exploding and all of our landmines are stripped,
When we stop blowing up strangers’ houses and making orphans of innocent kids,
And people stop thinking the world’s theirs for the taking ‘cause your will once told them it is.

‘Til then, I’m gonna shake my head,
I’m gonna bite my tongue,
When people tell me, “Have faith and be patient. We’re waiting for God to show up.”

‘Til then, it’s one more skeptical song,
but I’ll be glad as hell if you come prove me wrong.

Pinup

I’ve got these random verses in my mind,
floating stanzas, rhythms, and rhymes.
I can see you in the corner of my eye,
but I’m tired and these visions lie.

Pent up and locked inside myself,
you worry - as you should - for my health.
But I am only searching for the meaning of “self”
and losing it in illusions of want and wealth.

I’m secretly scurrying like the sucker I’ve become
and listening closely to every song you hum.
My clichés leave even myself numb,
thinking of talent and wishing I had some.

I am your pathetic poster board pinup,
propped, pressed, and crumpled inside a paper cup.
I’m striving for a world that’s cleaned up,
as they blindly rely on their faith and their worship.

I’m sorry, but that’s just not enough
and you’re right: life’s damn rough.
But don’t call His bluff
and run away when things get tough.

All the words I write form nonsensical rants
and my brain begs my pen for patience.
Everything is broken into figments,
but I’m still just looking for people of substance.

*******************************************************

^Written from random lines. I dunno.^

This is really just a mesh of shit and it all blends together and probably makes no sense to anyone who doesn't read my mind / know my thought process.



"I know I will not call. It's this decision I have made, so I'm up all night chanting: 'vow I can't break.' I might bite my nails, so I can't scratch my face, but I'd still cut my hair if you asked the right way..." - Kevin Devine Not Over You Yet

Brink

So, you say, "I know what you need"
and I say, "I think you're wrong,"
but you parade yourself in front of me
and the temptation grows faster than I remembered.
I say, "Maybe you're not as wrong as I'd like to think"
and you smile and wink and waltz closer to me
while singing, "It's time to let this go, let it out, let me in,"
and I have no more strength to fight you off.
You're a dazzling caricature of my sanity
with your sparking edge and your smooth skin
and I wonder if it's worth it to stay away at all
because I just need something to help me think.
"Well, I guess you're not wrong at all," says I
and you sneak up a little closer to me
because my eyes are tired and i am anxious
so I humor myself with your attention.
Afterall, I'm on the brink of distaster anyway
and what could make it better from here,
but a cozy floor with a cold metallic friend
and a bottle filled with different colored tablets?
But then that song plays and I fall back to what's real
because that always brings me back
and I look around to see nothing familiar,
but an old has-been habit who's overstayed his welcome.
So, pulling away with my last ounce of will
you're now powerless and weak in the shadow of my resolve
because this is not where I began and it's not how I'll end up
and I see myself now as I should have been all along.


***********************************************


This probably only makes sense to me, but if it makes sense to you...sorry.

I'm Stuck In This Rut

So, I decided I wanted to write a cute love story. Sorry. It's meant to be silly and sweet.

...Yay, it's finally done!

(Let me know if you find any spelling / grammar errors, please!)


------------------------------


We laid on the living room floor in the dark. The only sounds were the ceiling fan whirling above our heads and air softly filling our lungs. I was in his arms focusing hard on breathing. To focus on anything else would hurt too much.

"Why can't anything ever be easy?"

"Life's no fun if everything's easy."

“...I'd take boredom over this,” I stated cynically.

He sighed. He turned his head. His eyes met mine.

“I'm sorry I'm no help, Lizzy."

"You are helping. More than you know," I assured him.

He smiled. He kissed my forehead. He felt like home.

I found myself unable to leave this spot. It was warm. Why would I want to leave? Right here, I can force time to stand still. I can watch all the pain shed like dead skin. I wished there were some prayer I could recite or some spell I could cast that could let this last forever.

“I don’t know what to say that will make it any better. If I told you I thought he was scum, would that make you happy?” he asked.

I laughed, “Do you?”

“Anyone who can make you cry this much is scum by my definition,” he answered. I didn’t laugh this time. I could tell he meant that sincerely and it was nice to hear.

The room fell silent once again, but it was a comforting silence. I felt his heartbeat under my hand, which lay lightly on his chest. The floor always seemed so much cozier when his arm acted as my pillow.

“What are you thinking,” he said finally, waking me from my daze.

Of course, I was thinking about a lot of things, not the least of which was the fact that I was currently laying in the arms of my ex-boyfriend who so generously came over to comfort me when I got my heart crushed. Why do I always end up calling him when I’m teary eyed and pathetic?

“I feel safe,” I said through tears.

Tears had been flowing from my eyes on and off for hours. At one point I’d attempted to prevent them from falling, but I failed and I decided it wasn’t worth another shot. Not now. I felt his left arm tighten around me slightly, pushing my head closer to his shoulder. Despite my tears, I forced out a smile.

“You know I’ll be in a lot of trouble if your parents catch us like this. They’ve hated me ever since – ”

“I know. I know. Just give me a few more minutes.”

“Trust me. I’d stay forever if I thought I’d get away with it,” he assured me.

…Since our parents found us in bed together. Yup. That was awkward. In our defense, they weren’t supposed to be home until the next day.

I sat up and pulled my hair back and out of my face. I dried my eyes and squeezed out another smile. I wanted to make it okay for him to leave without him knowing how much I needed him to stay. He sat up with love in the eyes which he stared at me with so intently.

“Call me, okay? If you need me.”

“Yeah. Thank you. For everything. For coming here and for not asking questions. I
just needed – ”

“Don’t mention it,” he said grinning.

With his right hand he felt my cheek and rubbed away the tear that had been making it way down to my chin. Then, he stood and walked towards to door.

“I’ll call you later, Liz,” he said.

“Okay.”

He opened the door and snuck out before my parents made it home from their respective places of work. I guess it’s a good thing he left. The stress of another “Caleb Meets Mom and Dad” experience is more than I can take today.

Without him, however, my mind is free to wander back to last night and the devastated state Andrew left me in. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he’d cheated on me. I do know how to pick ‘em after all. He was always heartless, but I never saw it until last night – after the humiliating experience of finding Cathy Milliard in his arms with his tongue shoved down her throat. Somehow he can justify those actions. Maybe it was payment for not going to that party with him last week when I had cramps. Or maybe he wanted to teach me a lesson about trusting people, the lesson being: don’t trust people. Whatever his reasons, they seem pretty pointless now. A year and a half of my life can now be decisively flushed down the toilet and life goes on.

I pulled myself up off the floor and I landed gently on my couch. The lights were still off and the fan still whirled, but the silence that existed now felt stagnant, awkward, and eternal. When I wished for time to stand still, I meant for that to begin several minutes earlier when Caleb’s arms still protected me from the demons of real life. Now, the world refused to spin and the seconds had refused to tick or tock. I grew restless and anxious.


* * * * *


I no longer recall how much time passed before I heard a jingling outside as my mother turned her key into the key whole on our front door. I was relieved to no longer be forced to sit alone with my thoughts, but also somewhat nervous about how to act around my family. Of course, they knew I’d been seeing Andrew, but I always tried hard not to let on how much I really admired him. Therefore, I did not want them to know how truly hurt I felt. Women in my family do not get their hearts broken. We are a strong bunch.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yeah, mom, I’m right here.”

“Oh, there you are! It’s so dark in here!” she said turning on the lamp. “How was class today? Uhhh – Gender and Rights today, right?”

“Yeah. Umm, but class was cancelled,” I lied instead of admitting I’d skipped it.

“Oh really? Why is that?”

“Umm, I don’t know, Mom. The professor just wasn’t there,” I explained as she sat down next to me on the couch.

We sat quietly for a moment and then Mom asked, “Why were you sitting here with the lights off?”

“Oh. I…I just had a headache. I’m okay now, though. Advil!” I stated with a smile drawn crookedly on my face.

“If you don’t feel well, I can make you some tea,” she offered. “Maybe it would help on the whole – not just that ‘headache’ of yours?”

“I’m fine, Mom, really. I don’t want to talk about Andy right now.”

“Okay,” she said reaching for the remote. “News okay?”

“Yes,” I responded in relief.

I’d spent the entire day not talking about Andy and I decided that was what I wanted to do for a while. What I wanted to do more than anything was be in Caleb’s arms again. I knew it’d be a while before I got that chance, though.

The newscasters rambled on and on about the fires, the murders, and the robberies, though spent only thirty-five seconds (yes, I counted) on the breast cancer walk and another twenty on the man who saved a stray dog from drowning. I watched and wondered if bad days were simply manufactured: created and spat back out to us in neatly wrapped news-gifts. Maybe this day, my own little bad day, is just a figment of my imagination made worse by the belief that I thought Andy was a good guy and that I was supposed to be with him.

I mean, had the whole thing really been so bad? So, I was embarrassed in front of a house full of my peers, but…it could have been worse. At least now I know what kind of guy he is. Maybe this can help me to avoid similar situations in the future. And really, anything that brings Caleb near can’t be totally horrible.

Caleb is a book of his own. He’s both my parents’ worst enemy and my first love. Mom and Dad can’t stand the sight of him and I suppose they deserve to feel that way. They never got the chance to know him and now they don’t want to. Regardless of all the fights I’ve had with them on the subject, they just don’t want to hear that he’s a good guy. They’ll always just see him as the boy who took their daughter’s virginity, the boy who convinced me to lie to them. The truth is, though, I didn’t need convincing. My mind had already been made up. It was my idea in the first place and I don’t regret anything that happened before my door swung open and my parents’ jaws dropped. What a mess I made of everything, but to feel that close to someone was worth is to me at the time. I guess I never thought they’d banish him from my life.

That was years ago, though. I’ve stopped mentioning Caleb’s name around them and I just let them think I’ve cut off contact with him. Maybe they’re over it by now, but I don’t think I can handle talking to them about it right now no matter how much I wish Caleb were here.

“Hun, where’s the bread?” my dad asked my mom.

I hadn’t even noticed he’d come home.

“Oh, I moved it to the other cupboard,” she responded, officially waking me from my thoughts.

“I think I’m going to take a bath and go to bed,” I said. “I think my headache is coming back.”


* * * * *


“Fuck that kid! That’s what I say,” my friend Sharon stated proudly as we sat across from each other in the student center café.

“You say that about everyone,” I replied with a smirk.

“Hey! It’s ‘cause it’s true. That asshole isn’t worth the ground he walks on.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I will never show up at another one of Vanessa Hundley’s parties ever again!”

“So what! It’s not like they’re fun! I throw better parties with my eyes closed!” She exclaimed and I suppose she had a point. We sat quietly for a moment and then, “What did Caleb have to say about it?” she asked quietly.

I looked up from my half eaten bagel as if I’d been caught by the police dealing drugs.

“How’d you –“

“I can tell when you’ve seen him. You always where a touch of perfume when you’re thinking about him.”

I rolled my eyes, but had nothing with which to counter her remark. She was right, after all. My eyes focused back down to my bagel and I responded, “He didn’t say anything about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. He thinks Andy’s scum. That’s all.”

“Yup, that’s Caleb!” she said with a chuckle. “He’s a smart kid. So, what’s going on with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon! You already admitted you saw him!”

“I did see him, but we didn’t really talk.”

Sharon slammed her hands on the table and stood with a victorious, “AHAAA! You two are getting back together!”

“What!? No! We weren’t making out, you freak! We were just…sitting.”

“Sitting?” Sharon repeated skeptically.

“Laying, really.”

“Uh huh. Laying.”

“We were just laying on the floor. Nothing happened.”

“Okay, so you want me to believe that you and your first love laid on the floor together, but didn’t talk or make out?”

“That’s what happened!”

“You are so full of shit,” she said laughing. “But if that’s your story, I’ll bite. Why did you lay on the floor with Caleb in silence?”

I signed, but it was a valid question for my best friend to ask, so I replied, “I was upset and I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Uh huh,” Sharon said skeptically, once again. “So, there was no talking because you didn’t want to talk. Why did you ask him over, then?”

“I just…wanted to see him. I guess,” I paused and continued, “I mean, I thought I wanted to talk, but I really just wanted to…”

“Lay on the floor in your former lover’s arms in silence?” Sharon asked with a goofy smile.

“This conversation is over!” I said trying to hide the fact that I was blushing. I stood and began to walk to my class.

“Mhmm! Well, when you’re pregnant from ‘laying on the floor,’ I don’t want to hear any complaints!”

I know Sharon was trying to help and take my mind off Andy, but all she really did was make me wonder more and more about whether or not I’ve just been lying to myself. I’m nineteen now. How much longer can my parents keep me away from Caleb? When will MY little fuck up be forgiven and forgotten? I wish I didn’t start having these thoughts every time I have a bad date or an embarrassing break-up. Why is he that one person my mind always wanders back to? I’m not a big believer in love at first sight, nor am I one of those girls who thought she’d marry her first boyfriend. It just seems like Caleb is the only one who never actually hurt me, but maybe that’s only because he never had the chance to. On the other hand, what if he really is “the one” and I’m stuck being apart from him? What if destiny exists and there really is one person for everyone out there and Caleb’s my one!? What if I’m wasting my time on other guys when my soul mate has been staring me in the face since middle school!?

“Good afternoon, my starry-eyed pupils!” Professor Baron interjected, ending my train of thought.


* * * * *


Snuggled up against his strong, warm body, I felt peaceful and safe. I knew that from this place, no one could harm me. All of my insecurities were shielded from public view. I listened to his heartbeat as he slept and I tried not to be distracted by his simple beauty, but my mind couldn’t wander too far from my surroundings – not when I happened to be exactly where I wanted to be. My eyes wouldn’t stay closed long enough to sleep. I feared that if I slept, the night would end too soon and I would have nothing to remember of it or of how happy Caleb looked at this very moment.

…was the dream I woke suddenly out of.

It’d been several days, but I hadn’t had to face Andy yet. We haven’t had a class together since we broke up. Did we even break up? All I really remembered was gasping and running out of the house. So long as I survive Victorian Literature, I’ll be fine. Why did I ever suggest we take classes together? That’s almost as bad as going into business with family.

As I walked to the lecture hall, my stomach turned into a knot. I saw Andy sitting in his usual place in the last row in the second to last seat on the right. Mine was the last seat. I liked aisle seats. I had no intention of sitting there, though. How could I? So, I took a seat on the left in the second row from the front.

Class was a joke. Don’t ask what me what Dr. Gerran said because I have no idea. My focus was on how I could make a quick escape once the class let out.

Class ended and I soon learned that all that planning was to no avail.

“Hey! Wait up!” I heard a voice shouting from behind me.

How’d he find me? I didn’t even go out the same door we usually go out from!?

“Slow down! Please! Just wait a minute.”

For reasons I can’t quite figure out, my legs began to move more slowly until they stopped moving all together and they somehow twisted me around until I faced him. All of this was done without my consent. Every logical muscle in my body stopped working causing this catastrophe to occur. I did not want to talk to him. I did not want or need to hear his excuses.

“Thank you,” he said.

I remained silent.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Great,” I said ironically.

“C’mon. Lizzy, I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t really want to hear it,” I stated and I found the strength to walk away. He grabbed my arm as I tried to turn away. “Don’t touch me!” I shouted.

“Okay! Okay! Just, let me explain.”

“Explain? There’s nothing to explain, Andrew!”

“It was a mistake! I swear! I don’t love her! It just all got fucked up!”

“Yeah, I’d say it got fucked up!”

“Please. Let me make it up to you. Let me prove it to you.” I couldn’t think of anything to say and then he added, “I’m so sorry, Lizzy. That look you had on your face? I’d do anything to erase that.”

Part of me felt that he was being sincere. Maybe it was just some big misunderstanding or maybe he just has a lapse in judgment. It happens to us all, right?

“Fine,” I said.

“Really!? Great!” he said gleaming. With a kiss on the cheek he asked, “Can we do coffee tonight? Talk?”

“Umm, yeah,” I agreed.

“Great!” he said once again. “I’ll meet you at the diner…8ish?”

“Yeah, that should be fine.”

Why I agreed to such a ridiculous arrangement is beyond me. What was it about Andy that forced me to listen even when I was fed up? Whatever it was, most guys didn’t have this effect on me and I suppose that’s partially why I felt talking to him was worth the effort.


* * * * *


Before I was even to get back home, I regretted the agreement I’d made. Why couldn’t I have just stuck with my decision to ignore him? Why did I turn around and legitimize him? And what on earth possessed me to agree to have coffee with him?

Well, my love for coffee had something to do with that – low blow, Andy, low blow.

Panicked, I tried to think of reasons, excuses, to bail on this meeting. I combed through my day planner, hoping to see a note about a meeting or an assignment that needed immediate attention. I was practically praying to find out I had an exam the next day so I could stay in and study.

“Why am I being like this?” I wondered. “Why can’t I just call him up and say I can’t make it? Better yet, why can’t I just not show up!? What is wrong with me!?” I thought. Aloud I said, “Oh, right, I’m not Andy.”

I picked up my phone and did the only thing my instincts told me to do: call Caleb. He’s reliable. He’d know what to do. He’d know what to say.

“Hey,” he said when he finally picked up.

“Hi!” I said stupidly.

"So, what’s going on? Everything okay?”

“I did something really dumb.”

“Uh oh,” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice. “What’d you do this time?”

“I agreed to meet him…and talk…I’m supposed to meet with Andy tonight and I decided a little too late that I didn’t want to,” I confessed.

The phone fell silent. I couldn’t tell him he was thinking or if my phone had died and I thought about hanging up – , “What do you want me to do about that?” he said as my thoughts evaporated.

“How can I get out of this?” I asked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, neither do I,” he stated, now with a tinge of frustration. “I thought you broke up. I thought you hated him. I thought you were so distraught you had to call me over because he’d hurt you so damn badly.”

“He did, but – ”

“But that’s it? Forgive and forget because he wants to talk!? So, because he wants to talk, he must really care and you must be wrong?”

“I don’t kn –”

“Stop doing this!” he shouted. “I’m sorry, but you can’t call me up expecting me to pull you out of all your messes! I have a hard enough time pulling myself out of my own! Look, either meeting with him or don’t, but don’t fool yourself into thinking he’s everything you need and don’t come crying back to me when he breaks your fucking heart again…which he will. I have to go,” he blurted out angrily and hung up leaving me teary eyed and pissed off.

“He talks to me like I can’t make my own decisions,” I thought to myself. “I can figure this out on my own. I don’t need him. I just wanted a little advice, but I don’t need his input,” I convinced myself.


* * * * *


The cool breeze of thin air brushed my cheek as I drove to the diner. I wished it were raining or snowing. I wished there’s been a tornado – anything to give me a valid excuse to cancel or, at least, postpone this adventure that I could already tell was a mistake. My ill-advised decision to “talk” to Andy had my palms sweaty and my lungs constantly rushing for oxygen. My face was warm and nothing felt quite right.

Upon arriving at my destination, I sat with the car running in the parking lot for several minutes, looking at my cell phone, and begging my mind to come up with some reason to bail out. I wished I were a guy – guys don’t need excuses to bail. Decisively, I opened my cell phone and began to dial Andrew’s number when he appeared outside my car.

“Coming out?” he asked.

I opened the door and replied, “Yeah, I was just waiting for a call, but I guess if she needs me she’ll call,” I lied. He didn’t ask.

We made our way to the entrance where he stopped and held the door for me. I said nothing in response. Did I really owe him a “thank you” for that after everything? I decided the answer was “no.”

“Can I getcha something to start?” asked the waitress.

“Just coffee, please.” I responded.

“And you?” she asked Andy.

“Yes. Coffee also, please.”

Now that we had this table to ourselves, it seemed very cold. I silently prayed for the waitress to come back and say something, anything, anything at all.

“Alright, I’ll start,” Andy blurted. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry you saw it happen. It wasn’t supposed to. It just…happened. Shitty excuse. I know. But, I didn’t mean to hurt you and I didn’t mean for it to happen. I don’t know what I was thinking or what…I just don’t know.”

“Well, that’s a problem, then. You just never think, Andy…"

“You weren’t supposed to be there!” he said cutting me off.

The waitress came with our coffee and we once again receding into silence. As she left, I gave thought to throwing my cup at him, but I composed myself.

“So, because I wasn’t there, that makes it okay to make out with someone else?”

“What? No, that’s not…”

“What? Not what you said? How is my attendance at some stupid party relevant to this conversation then? Unless you thought you could do it and get away with it!?”

“Well, had I known you were going to be there I would have been in a better, less vulnerable mood.”

“Ohhh, okay, so it’s my fault? So, if I go with you everywhere, I’ll be the only one you make out with?”

“Exactly,” he said, apparently not catching my sarcasm.

“Then we’re done here. Make out with whomever you want just so long as she’s not me,” I stated firmly, slammed two dollars on the table, and walked out.

As I approached my car, I felt the courage evaporate. I could hardly breathe and as I opened my car door, I wanted nothing more than to call Caleb and hear him tell me how everything would be okay and he’d be with me soon. This is not like me. This isn’t me at all. I’m not the kind of girl to care about the bad behavior of stupid little boys, but somehow I let this one get to me. How? And why? What did Andy have that made him so irresistible to me? Well, nothing anymore. That charm and wit was only a mask he wore. I see though it now and I’ll be better off for it.

With tears in my eyes, I pulled out of the diner parking lot, not quite sure where I was heading, but happy to be getting away and leaving Andy behind. I couldn’t go home looking and feeling like this. I wouldn’t have the strength to dog the questions my parents would ask. So, driving seemed like the best option. You can only drive so long before you realize you need a destination at some point, but I had a few CDs and I knew my way around back roads, so I figured I was well prepared for at least an hours’ worth of good driving before I started re-driving old paths.

I let myself cry and I thought about all my mistakes. How could I have been so naïve? How could I have gotten myself into this mess? I thought about every little thing Andy did that annoyed me and I wondered why these hadn’t acted as warning signs. I though about Caleb and how right he’d been about everything. Why didn’t I listen?

Of course, I ended up sitting outside Caleb’s house. I sat in my car for a while wondering whether or not I should go to his door. I weighed the pros and cons. Knowing he was mad at me, I began to reason my way into leaving and letting him cool off. There’s nothing he can do anyway, and my presence at his doorstep would only prove he was completely right and possibly anger him more. He deserves some space.

On the other hand, I was already there, sitting outside like a stalker or an FBI agent or something. He probably already knew I was there. He could probably hear my car or sense my presence with his burden radar.

“That’s it,” I said and I got out of my car.

Walking up his driveway to the front door, each noise I made seemed loud enough to deafen. Still, I thought about turning back, but my hand was already in mid-air ready to ring the doorbell when the door swung open.

“What are you doing here?” Caleb asked standing in the doorway with his jacket in his hands.

“I’m sorry. I thought we should talk, but I guess I wasn’t thinking,” I said regretfully.

“Where are you headed?”

“I was coming to find you! I figured you’d be a mess by now and since you hadn’t called, I…I guess I needed to know you were okay.”

“Could have called.”

“Didn’t think you’d pick up. I’m sorry for, well, about how I talked to you before. I just –”

“It’s okay. I deserved it,” I admitted. “You were right and I’m sorry for always putting things on your back.”

“No, but, see…that’s the thing!” he exclaimed happily, making me feel as if I’d missed a step.

“What is?” I asked slightly amused by his enthusiasm.

“I want you to. I mean, I want to know what’s going on and I want to know it you need help or advice. It’s just that some things are sore subjects. I guess Andrew was one of them, but you didn’t know that,” he explained calmly.

“Why? I mean, why was it a sore spot?” I asked confusedly, only to receive his “don’t act dumb” face.

“You know the answer to that. I’m not over you. His isn’t news.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there awkwardly hoping something ingenious would pop into my mind.

“You wannna come in?” he asked, stepping back from the doorway to let me in.

“Yeah.”


* * * * *


So, we walked through the hallway we’d walked through a hundred times before to reach the living room and the couch where we’d spent countless hours watching movies or stupid TV shows. Why did this feel like the first time I’d been to his house? Why did every sound the wooden floor made under my feet sound new? Why did the smells enter my nostrils with such a gentle rub?

I sat down on the couch.

“Water or anything?” he asked.

“Uh uh.” I said shaking my head.

He sat next to me, unable to look me in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I yelled. Really. That was unfair of me.”

“It’s okay,” I assured him.

More silence followed.

“I just hate him. I’m sorry. I do. I don’t just hate him because he gets to be with you and I don’t. I hate him because he gets to be with you and he doesn’t even realize how important that is…how lucky he is. He’s willing to screw it up and hurt you and I hate that he had the audacity to hurt you,” he explained quickly, losing his breath and still focusing on the couch cushion. “It’s an impossible situation and I know your parents…and even mine…I mean, I know it’s not good, but…” his words trailed off briefly as he collected his thoughts. “I love you,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. And I know how complicated this makes everything, but…I love you.”

Without receiving permission first from my brain, my mouth blurted, “I love you too” and that goofy grin washed over my face.

What were we doing? Did we even know? Why was he moving closer? Did we even know how to do this anymore?

As my thoughts preoccupied my mind, Caleb’s fingers brushed my cheek and he smiled wide. I could feel his hair on my forehead as our lips met. It felt perfectly familiar. Despite our separation, there were some things he and I always got right.

Deep Blue

I wrote you in my notebook
and you were deep blue.
I embellished you with marker
until you looked new.

Then I closed my notebook
to try to keep you in.
But you wouldn't lay flat
and you were far too thin.

Now creased and blemished
and too damaged to repair,
I tore you out in anguish
though I know it seemed unfair.

Guilt ridden and all alone,
I laid you peacefully at rest.
Knowing the innocence was long gone
and somehow this was for the best.


********************************************


This was partially inspired by Kevin Devine's "Haircut" and partially by a stanza from one of Nicole's latest blogs: "I took these reminders, / and ripped it up tiny. / I turned off, tuned out / and kept in."

I liked the idea from "Haircut" that memories are associated with things, materials, events, songs, writings...haircuts, etc. He also has a narrative where he takes you through this weird dreamlike story. It's very innocent, but also very sad. I enjoy it. I enjoy Kevin...in case you couldn't tell.

I liked that Nicole "ripped" up her "reminders," so I chose my reminder to be a notebook with easy to damage pages - because my reminder really is my journal.

I don't know. It's silly and has a dumb little rhyme going, but since I haven't felt very creative recently, I am relatively pleased with it. It takes Kevin's story telling technique and combines it with Nicole's paper-ripping imagery. At least, that's what I was sorta going for. :/

I'm really tired and not making much sense. All apologies.

As for what it's about, I guess it's about trying to move on. It's about trying to accept those memories, but see them for what they really are. Don't give the characters more of the benefit of the doubt than they deserve and when it's over, let it be over, and discard it. Take from those memories everything you can learn, but once there's nothing left, don't go looking for something that's not there.

"If there's nothing left to lose than there's nothing left to prove" - The Miracle of '86.

Haha...it's about 4am. I have a radio show in twelve hours I have yet to prepare. I think sleep is in order right now, though.




I saw your haircut in a storefront with choppy sides and perfect bangs. I loved the way it framed the model's cheekbones and the blank expression on her face. So, I went inside and tried to buy it, but I got told it's not for sale. I got embarrassed and I decked the sales clerk, I stole the wig, and ran like hell. And I figured I would come and show you, so I kept running towards your house. Then I remembered I don't have your address, he's not the one you sleep with now. So, I hurried home to get collected, to let the red flush from my face. I took out my notebook and I sketched you smiling. I like to think of you that way. Then I put your haircut in my closet next to your tee shirts and your cards. I turned the lights out and I sunk in, slowly,counting sheep and breathing hard. But when it comes it's way too quickly and it busts apart the faith I've grown: see, I can't stop myself from hurting you, so I guess I won't. - Kevin Devine "Haircut"

We Used To Talk About God

What has your arrogance proven?
Where has your stubbornness lead us?
To dead sons greeted by empty rooms
and split families who bleed red or blue.

What have we learned?
Where is the silver lining?
In the notion that peace rides the backs of missiles
and terror can be squelched with a signature?

What good have you done?
Where has your ignorance stranded us?
Into a nation built on top of bodies and bombs
where walking down the street is criminal.

What have your promises brought?
And where can I find solace?
In the words of a God whose name you throw around
while killing His children in their sleep?

What cause have we to be enraged?
Where has our humanity hidden?
Behind the glassy infant eyes of a blind nation
whose vengeful nature caught us red handed.

What comfort can I find without resolution?
Where can I reconcile these disillusions?
In the voices of my leaders
or in those sympathetic cries that haunt my daydreams?

**********************************************

Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe I'm not harsh enough. Maybe I talk too much and act too little. Maybe we really should revolt. All I know is the semester is one week old and I'm already angry. I don't stay glued to the news, but I'm informed enough to know how fucked up everything is and I know I'm not powerless, but on the other hand, I also don't know how to empower myself or what good the atempt would do. Or maybe I do know and I'm just too cowardly. I don't know. This country has split. Friends can't talk about world events without literally becoming enraged (even if they agree with each other). Guns and bombs aren't going to fix a Goddamn thing! They hate us because of our wealth and our arrogance. We're just feeding the fucking fire!

I'm so tired of feeling guilt over this. Plus, I have no proof that another president would have acted any better. I mean, I have reason to believe there was a better guy for the job, but that doesn't mean things would have gotten any better. The truth is, it's a mess. It has been for centuries. We're there and we can't fix that now.

So...where to from here?



"We used to talk about God and I know this is not about blame. This time it's my fault." The Miracle Of '86 A Less Important Place

Senseless

why do i miss you so much?
why is it that warmth i've never known curls up next to me in dreams?
why can't you detect the strain in my voice?
why are those miles dressed up like lightyears?

how do i reconcile between what i want and what i can actually have?
how is it that every soft song reminds me of you?
how can't you wonder what the atlantic looks like?
how are you doing?

these shapes that haunt my daydreams become clearer by the hour
and i feel my sanity slowly slipping somewhere senseless.
see what i look like with those teary eyes
and i'll show you how you look when you're at your best.


****************************************

^ i'm not sure how i feel about this. ^

i don't remember how this one began. i had some questions, but i didn't know to whom they were supposed to be directed. so, i guess that's why they ended up here. maybe i do know who they're directed to, but i think some of them are to more than one person. i don't know. it was just something itching. i had the pleasure of seeing kevin devine on friday with jess and kinja, so i was inspired. :)

school has begun, but whatever. i still plan of living a laid back-ish life for now. yeah, i'll have some work to do, but i'm not going to let myself get all stressed out and crazy. that seemed to work pretty well last semester. why change my routine?

oh...and i also got my last.fm back up and working. very happy. :D



"so, we laid glowing in the grass to watch the sun swap with the moon." ~ kevin devine a billion bees

Tally

tell me i'm pretty
and that love should not be feared.
tell me you're gentle
and different from the rest.

make me up with paint and lace,
but ignore the old blemishes you cover.
make me strong and sturdy,
but when i collapse just leave me.

stop strangling my words
and cutting off my breath.
stop pointing that judgmental finger
and let me do my best.

let's tally up our scars,
but forget the reasons for their creation.
let's batten down our happiness,
but leave the doors unlocked.

let's play.
let's play.


************************************************

^ i finally finished this shitty poem. ^


home from the shore. classes start in a few days. i really adore kevin devine and brand new. i'm sick so i'm going to go to bed now.

let's go mets!


"i'm racing towards the one mistake that locks me in my place, a judgment call that justifies the smirk stuck on my face, a crooked life scared straight and stiff by the last wrong turn i'll take. but i'm not there yet, so come purr my pet. let's play, let's play..." kevin devine just stay

Defame

forgive the drama.
i guess i'm your cliche,
but i'm done hiding my face.
time to break some promises.

today, i tore the curtains from the walls
and punched every pillow in the room.
i once swore to quiet the racket.
someday i finally will.

forgive my indiscretion.
i guess i'm just naive,
but i hope i make you wince.
time defame your precious name.

tomorrow, i'll break out of my skin
and i won't be constricted by limitations.
i think i'd like to float away.
someday i finally will.


******************************************


^ just an excuse to post a blog. ^

i don't really know about this poem. i don't really like it and it was written over a couple of nights, so thoughts are really incoherent and meshed together. i mean, i understand it, but i know what i was thinking when i wrote it! it's my "classic" format: four lines per stanza, four stanzas. i have a really dumb reason for having ever started using that format: four is my favorite/lucky number. haha.

anyway, i've been feeling okay up until the last few hours. maybe i'm actually getting sick, but my body aches a little and i have a really bad sore throat right now. it's really shitty. for some reason, i'm really sad and i can't pin point why, exactly. i had a nice night, but i really feel lonely right now.

i love the gracer boys and more people need to jump on the wagon. everyone should come to bath, pennsylania tomorrow with jess and i to see them! we're going to bring ryan cherry coke (hopefully in a glass bottle). on the 21st and 23rd, we will (finally) be seeing mr. devine again. i have been going through a nasty bout of withdrawal...and i'm really not kidding. i know it's ridiculous, but i legitimately miss him. i just sat here for a while and read through kevin lyrics...yes, i am crying at the moment.

i think today (august 13th) is johnathan's birthday, but since he fell off the face of the earth when we were in fourth grade, i could be wrong. it's bad that i still think about my first crush on a daily basis...isn't it? :/



"she is a victim of her own responses, shackled to a heart that wants to settle and then runs away." ~ counting crows mercury

Surrender

have you ever seen the atlantic in winter?
if you wanted to, would that be enough?
because i've seen you in dreams a lot
and i've wondered if i'm the only one
with her head in the clouds
and her hands searching for yours.

have you reached out, but missed your chance?
if i said i loved you, would it make you smile?
because i don't know what i want anymore,
but i'm pretty sure it's far away
and i'll never be able to catch it,
so i might as well surrender.

have you ever wanted to be someplace else?
if i promised to hold you hand, could i convince you?
because i'm looking for someone to cling to,
a warm room with a nice view,
a pleasent smile,
and you.

*************************************************************

^ i'd like to walk the boardwalk with a boy in the winter. ^



"would you catch me if i was falling? would you kiss me if i was leaving? would you hold me 'cause i'm lonely without you?" ~ counting crows 'round here (*storytellers version)

Concealment

I rarely write short stories, so this was more challening than I'd expected. It will, if all goes well, be made into a short film. Excuse typos and spelling errors, etc. I'm still proofing it!

"Concealment"

The crimson droplets gracefully fell to the base of the sink, yet no tears accompanied them. She’d lost her ability to cry. She’d forgotten how to cry. Staring at a face in the mirror that she no longer recognized, she wondered how many years she’d already taken off her own life. The smile she’d painted onto her face to get through the day had washed off as soon as the bathroom door closed behind her. Now, silence. Her breathing became rhythmic as her body calmed down. She fell to her knees being careful to keep her arms draped over the sink so as to not make a mess. She laid her head down against the vanity as if she was deep in thought or prayer, but her mind was empty.

Minutes passed before she was able to stand and collect herself. The sink was littered with dozens of drops of blood and she stopped to wrap her wrist in a towel before turning the faucet on to rinse the drops away. Water hit the beads of red liquid and made the sink appear to be tie-dyed. The beauty mesmerized her. Sitting on the toilet seat next to the sink, she held the towel tightly around her wrist and waited for the bleeding to cease. She couldn’t help but watch it ooze and part of her hoped the bleeding would never end. She sat quietly, inspecting her injury. She never realized how white her skin was under the surface. Once the bleeding slowed, she rinsed the towel, pulled out a band-aid from her pocket, and covered the wound. Again, she stood and faced her reflection. She rinsed her face with cold water, mushed her face around with her hands, and practiced her smile.

“Okay,” she thought. “You’re fine. You had a wonderful day. Everything’s great. Go!”

She flushed the toilet so she would not appear suspicious exiting the bathroom. She straightened out her long sleeved blouse, wrapped her tiny metal razor back into its cocoon of tissues, and shoved it back into the right hand pocket of her jeans. With her hand still shaking slightly, she turned the doorknob and slipped slowly from the safety of the bathroom. Entering her living room, she found her older brother on the couch reading with papers and highlighters scattered around him: the life of a grad student.

“Are you ever going to graduate!?” Margaret asked jokingly as she cleared off a place to sit next to her brother.

“Are you ever going to get a job!?” brother Tim replied smiling as his eyes peered over the top of his book. His sarcastic reply received a fake smile and an evil eye from his sister. His eyes were a translucent brown and she felt that he could read into her soul when he looked at her like that. He placed his book, still opened, down on his lap. “How are you?” he asked.
She thought for a moment before answering.

“I’m fine. I had a wonderful day. Everything’s great. You?”

“I’m pretty good minus the piles of papers I have to grade and my thirty page paper due in two weeks,” he answered smiling.

“He can’t even complain believably. It’s obvious he loves every second of it,” she thought envying her brother.

Margaret loved her brother and was proud of him, but she couldn’t help but want to be him. He was smart, funny, and even she had to admit that he was pretty good looking – as brothers go. His dark brown hair covered his forehead and tickled his eyelids when he blinked. He was always calm; he was always comforting. She could tell him anything – almost.

Tim was five years older than Margaret. He was a scholar. Even as a child, his nose was in one book or another. As a sophomore in high school, his writings could be found in at least three different publications and the number only increased as he aged. He was a poet, a novelist, a journalist. He won awards all throughout high school and college. As a graduate student studying English, he both continued to write and began to teach…and he loved every single moment of every single day.

“That’s some shit you must have just taken. You were in the bathroom for like – half an hour!” he said teasingly breaking the silence. She felt her face grow red. She offered another fake laugh and tried to let the moment fade.

“It was only awkward in your mind,” she told herself.

“Shut up, you jerk!” she said with a laugh as she stood and walked to the stairs. She retreated to her room where she would spend an hour on homework and another four on various Internet activities.

She shut the door behind her and sat at her desk. Her face was blank. The voices that had whirled around inside her head all day had been silenced and she wanted to take it all in. Her mind was clear. Raising the sleeve of her blouse, which had kept her wound safe and hidden, she noticed a deep red and brown stain permeating through the pad of the band-aid. Inside one of her desk drawers she kept a small ceramic box. It was hidden by strategically placed papers in the back of the bottom drawer. She took her tissue wrapped blade from her pocket and placed it into the box. From the box, she took another band-aid and replaced the first one. She tucked the ceramic box back under the proper sheets of paper and began her French homework.

Everyday was the same as the last. Margaret drowned in the monotony. She constantly felt unprepared for what was thrown at her. She never knew enough. She never did enough. She was never good enough. The pressure was all in her head. She couldn’t live up to her own expectations. It wore her down and by the end of the day she became delusional with self-doubt. Unable to cry out or quiet her insanity, she resorted to any means necessary to be able to think straight. She stopped caring about the costs.

There was one silver lining to Margaret’s day and his name was James. He was in her Renaissance and the Middle Ages class and was the stereotypical quiet guy who always sat in the back and rarely spoke or addressed the professor, but he knew he was smarter than most of the class and would chime in when necessary. Margaret noticed that whenever her professor began to look desperate, James would raise his hand. He had been in her Intro to Western Civ class the previous semester and she admired his charm. James had been the only boy the entire year to recognize her existence and for that she was grateful. He would hold the door for her and smile if they met in passing. He had even helped her study before their Western Civ final and she credited him heavily for the B she received for the class. James was mysterious and she craved to know more about him. Always appearing deep in thought, she feared speaking to him and interrupting some earth-shattering discovery he was in the process of addressing inside his mind. His presence in her life comforted her and that was all she really cared about. The semester was nearly over, though, and she feared her time was running out. School had become just an excuse to get out of the house and to see him. She knew her motivation had died somewhere years ago and was too tired to find it. She couldn’t even remember why she bothered attending college anymore.

* * * * *

Bursts of outrage were perforated by short bouts of silence and calm. Margaret lived for the silence and calm. Inside her mind, she struggled to hear her own voice among the collection of others that all sounded slightly like hers, but all of them were devious. She felt her brain was turning against her. She felt disabled, but found no one outside herself to blame. The arguing within her own mind made her wonder if this was how it felt to lose your mind and go insane.

“You’ll never be good enough!”

“You’re worthless!”

“You’re nothing!”

“Stupid!”

“Loser!”

“Hack”

“STOP,” Margaret screamed.

She woke from her sleep angry and sweating. The alarm clock sitting on her bedside table read: “2:12am.”

“Fuck.”

She lay on her back and caught her breath. Staring at the ceiling, she noticed the light sneaking through her blinds. It made patterns that danced as the breeze flowing through her opened windows pushed her blinds back and forth and back and forth.

“You know it’ll help,” she heard a devious voice say. “Just do it so you can get some sleep. What’s the big de-”

“Don’t!” shouted a more familiar voice. “Turn on the TV. Play the radio! You can find other ways to distract yourself,” the calmer voice tried.

“Bullshit!” Voice One ejected. “You know nothing else works!”
“You can try!”

“Why bother!”

These arguments occurred within her skull constantly.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she screamed and jumped up.

She rushed over to the light switch and flicked the light on. Frustrated, she paced around her room, thinking hard, and listening to both side of the argument going on within her mind. She clinched her fists. She ground her teeth. She began to pull her hair. She began to panic. It just wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t hear over the fighting anymore.

Margaret fell to her knees. She reached for the handle of her bottom drawer and shuffled through the papers concealing her ceramic box. From the drawer, she pulled out the box she had placed in there earlier. She lifted the lid and placed a few items on the floor, beginning with a washcloth that she unfolded and flattened onto the fuzzy carpet. Next, she selected a bandage and lastly, her tissue wrapped razor blade.

Lifting the sleeve of her nightshirt, she revealed her flesh, which was littered with scars and scabs and opened wounds. She felt the bumps roll under her finger tips as she grazed the surface of her skin. Eyeing the blade sitting on top of the towel, she picked up the blade and played with it carefully watching as the light reflected off of it. Margaret gripped the base of the blade between her thumb and index fingers and pressed the sharp end down against her skin. She held the blade steadily against her arm and thought for one more moment.

“Do it,” she heard one of the devious voices cry.

Gracefully, she slid the razor down her arm. Her skin sliced opened slowly and the pale white skin that was revealed quickly filled with deep red blood. It didn’t sting. I hardly pinched. She felt her body gradually relax as beads of blood began to form. The screaming in her mind ceased.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Maggie?” she heard Tim say, but he’d already turned the knob before she could tell him to stop.

“Wait!” she tried, but the door swung open.

“Oh my God!” What are you doing!?” he blurted out.

“Nothing!” she tried to downplay the situation knowing full well that her brother was much too smart to fall for that. “I slipped.”

“On what!? And what were you doing with a razor blade anyway!?”

Realizing too late that her excuse would never be believable, she sat silently thinking hard about what she could possibly say to make this go away. Tim closed the door and fell to his knees. Out of breath, he tried to form words. The razor fell from Margaret’s fingers onto the carpet. She lifted the washcloth off of her floor and wrapped her wrist as her brother’s face turned dull and pale. His jaw lay open against his chest and he stared off into space as if his brain was too overwhelmed to comprehend the scene laid out before his eyes. He couldn’t decide whether to blow up in anger or weep in sadness.

In a weak voice, Tim asked again, “What are you doing?”

Silence. Margaret tried to come up with some kind of viable excuse; however, knowing it was too late to turn back time, she confessed.

“I’m sorry. Tim, I’m really sorry. No one was ever supposed --. I’m sorry,” were the only words she could muster.

“But what are you doing?” Tim asked with a low growl of frustration.

“I’m not suicidal --.”

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Tim finally yelled. “What is this? What is so fucking horrible with your life? Tell me…what are you thinking? Are you pissed at mom and dad for not getting you that laptop for you birthday? Are you pissed at me for still living at home and impeding on your space!? What is happening here? What the fuck are you doing Maggie!?” he blew up and with tears in his eyes, he collapse against her. Holding her, he added calmly, “I’m sorry, okay? I love you. I just don’t know what’s going on.”

She still couldn’t force tears from her eyes despite the pain written on her brother’s face.

“I’m not mad at anyone,” she started quietly. “This isn’t about anyone. This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s just me.”

“What does that mean?” he asked desperately.

“There are things that I think about and feel – and sometimes they’re horrible things about people and I hate myself for it. I’m not smart enough or pretty enough. I let people down. I’m tired of feeling like nothing and it’s my own fault! I don’t study enough or I just don’t try hard enough. I could be better if I wanted to, but I’m just too weak.”

“Who told you this?”

“No one. I just feel it. I don’t really know where it came from, but it weighs me down,” she tried to explain. She made eye contact with her brother and added, “I don’t do this because I want to die. I promise. I just need the rush to help me breathe again. I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.”

“You’re not suicidal?” he asked skeptically.

“No, not really,” she said. “I mean, I think about it, but I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I think that if lightning stuck me or something and I died, I’d be okay with that, but I couldn’t – ” her words trailed off into silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Tim said, “but you have to stop this…God…how long has this been going on?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“About two years,” Margaret answer meekly.

Tim lowered his head and shook it in dismay.

“I had no idea, Maggie. I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to worry – ”

“But I’m your brother! You’re my best friend! How did I not know about this!? How didn’t I see it?” he raised his voice slightly, but only out of regret. “Am I a horrible brother for this?”

“No! Tim, it’s really not as bad as it looks.”

“I want to help you. You have to stop this…”

“I don’t want to.”

Tim appeared dumb-founded. Frustration began to show on his face. He stood up and took a few steps back. She stood up to face him.

“I’m not going to let you continue to self destruct, Maggie. It’s not an option,” he said angrily.

“Look, it’s just not that big a deal. Really…and it’s the only thing I have that helps. You can’t take that away!”

“What am I taking away? How does this help anything!? This isn’t healthy and you don’t deserve it! You need to get that through your head! Maggie! Please! Let me help you.”

Tim’s desperation was evident in every syllable he spouted and Maggie hated herself for causing him so much pain.

“This is what I mean, Tim. Look at what I’ve done to you. I just…hurt everyone.”

“No. Maggie, come one. That isn’t true,” he said, rubbing her left arm with his right hand to comfort her. She still clutched her wrist with the washcloth. “Yes, I’m hurt, but it’s because I feel like I’ve let you down. I don’t know how I could have let this happen to you.”

“You haven’t let me down. No one did this. It’s my fault, but I just don’t think it’s worth trying to fix. I have tried and I’ve failed. It’s more harmful than helpful. It’s just no use.”

Tim fell silent. He didn’t understand, though he wanted to horribly. Out of breath, he focused on his sister with the sad realization that he hardly knew her. His eyes examined her arm. It’d been so long since he’d seen either of them exposed, but he’d never given it much thought. Next to each scar was a scab and every scab, another scar. They nearly covered her arm and he wondered what other areas of her skin mirrored this.

As the silence went on, Maggie thought hard about her brother’s proposition. There was no going back and she couldn’t undo the harm she’d already done to Tim. She couldn’t forgive herself for forcing those tears down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Maggie said firmly.

“Okay?”

“Help me,” she said looking up to meet her brother’s glance.

Tim forced a smile across his lips and took a huge breath out of relief.

Hugging his sister, he whispered, “I love you. We’ll fix this.”

She smiled and replied, “Go to bed.”

* * * * *

As with all her ups, Maggie was well aware that another down surely lurked behind a nearby corner. She woke the following morning questioning the events that she vaguely recalled occurring earlier that morning. Pulling off her pajamas, she surveyed her scars in the mirror on the wall in her room. For the first time she saw, full scale, the affects of her frustration. Scars and scabs were prominent features along her arms and legs. Even her stomach hadn’t escaped her blade. Though, faded, she could still detect their presence. She traced the dulled lines across her body with the tips of her fingers. It tickled. She dressed herself in her usual uniform of long sleeve shirts and long pants, brushed her teeth, and headed for class.

James sat behind her, quietly reading and waiting for the professor who was habitually late. She could hear him breathing and fiddling with his pen and she wondered what he was thinking about – if his mind was as engulfed in silly daydreams as hers always was.

“Hey,” she felt a tap of her shoulder and turned around.

“Yeah?” she asked him trying to hide her glee.

“Umm, I was wondering if you wanted to get together to study for this final. It might be kinda rough. Studying with you last time seemed to help me…I don’t know if – ”

“Oh, it helped me too,” she replied eagerly. She mentally scolded herself for cutting him off. “I mean, you can bounce ideas off a study partner. That helps.”

“Yeah,” he said smiling.

“So, umm, when is good for you?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, anytime. Whatever’s good for you. My schedule is flexible,” he answered.

“How about Tuesday? Maybe 6-ish? …My house again?” she said meekly, fearing he would dislike part or all of her plan.

“Tuesday evening? Sure. That sounds perfect!” he said with an enthusiasm that both surprised and excited her.

“Perfect!” she said with a gleaming smile that she no longer cared to hide.

Twisting back around in her seat, her body tensed up as she realized the implications. There was so much to think about.

“What if I screw up? What if I say something insanely stupid? What if I have something in my teeth when he shows up!?” she worried, but for a change her worries felt healthy.

The rest of the week didn’t feel so bad. Maggie wasn’t sure if her good mood was due to her brother’s companionship or her excitement regarding James, but she decided not to question it. For the first time in years, she felt strong enough breathe on her own. The little tedious chores she had to do no longer felt like huge burdens. She walked with a hop in her step. Tim had agreed not to divulge the details on Maggie’s actions with their parents in exchange for her promise to start seeing the school’s health counselor. She had already made her first appointment for the first week of the next semester and, in the meantime, Tim made it known that he was always available for her. She felt close to him again and that made her feel alive. Feeling something other than just worthlessness, she was able to smile on her own and when she saw her reflection, she knew who the girl staring back at her was.

* * * * *

5:55pm on Tuesday. Maggie sat alone in her house waiting anxiously for her doorbell to ring. She could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking and tocking. She tried to breath, but her nerves had gotten the best of her.

“If you hurry up, you can do it quickly before he gets here! Do it! Do it!” she heard a devious voice chant quietly.

Another voice chanted, “No. No. No. No. No. No. No…”

The doorbell rang and woke her from her trance. She stood up and took a breath. She knew she’d made this evening up to be much more than it would probably ever turn out to be, but the fantasies were fun and she felt that they were harmless. Walking to the door, she could hear him balancing his keys, notebooks, and text books in his hands. The door opened and James looked up and smiled. She left herself melt inside as her stomach turned into one huge knot.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Oh…yeah!” she said as her face turned red from embarrassment and she snapped out her dream world.

He followed her into the living room where a large table was set up for books and pens and highlighters. Her books had already been placed carefully on the surface in size order waiting to be opened and run through. Margaret took her seat at the end of the couch and James took a seat next to her. She was pleased that he’d chosen to sit next to her instead of on the chair that sat to the left of the table. He dropped his books on top of the table and finally got organized, placing his keys in his pocket and taking off his jacket.

“Sorry, I’ve been out of it all day. Stress, I guess,” he explained.

“No problem. Ummm, do you want anything to drink or are you good to get started?”

“I think I’m okay right now. Thanks!” he replied.

The two classmates opened their respective notebooks and reviewed the passages their professor had suggested rereading. After a couple of hours, they wore out and decided they’d covered enough.

“I’m really tired and I feel like my head’s going to explode!” Maggie said laughing.

“Yeah. This stuff is a lot to take in. It’s not too hard, though, right?”

“Not the way you explain it,” she said seriously.

“Hey, come on, you know this stuff. It’s not like you’re always lost in class. You know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, but you like…you know this stuff. You talk about it like you lived there.”

“Haha. I wouldn’t want to live in the Renaissance!”

“Why not!?”

James was quite for a moment before answering, “Because I like it here. You’re here.”

He raised his head to look into her eyes and he slipped a little closer to her. She grinned and felt her face turn red, once again. He slid his right hand up her left arm and she could feel his warmth under her sleeve, it permeated through her and lit her on fire. He inched closer again and this time she could feel his breath on her lips. His hand slipped up her neck and then her cheek where his fingers traced her smile. Finally, his lips gently touched hers. From her mouth, his lips wandered to her cheek and to her neck while his hands touched her shoulders and chest. She laid back and he fell atop her.

Biting her lip, “James,” she whispered, worried that her parents might walk in. “James,” she said again.

* * * * *

“Who is James?” the nurse cried out in frustration. “You don’t know a James!” Amy, Maggie’s nurse, tended to her inside her hospital room while her parents waited outside for news on her worsening condition.

The room was all white. There was no hint of color aside from the blue floral print of the tissue box that lay of Maggie’s bedside table. Floor to ceiling, bed sheets to window drapes, the room’s sterile appearance seemed to summon the Miserable behind its doors to rot. The walls stood cold, no textured wallpaper or framed copies of famous works of art to entertain the mind. Her body, saturated in sweat, squirmed uncontrollably. Maggie screeched in confusion, unable to differentiate between fantasy and reality.

Amy stood next to a rolling table on which lay syringes, bottles of chemicals, and gauze. The wheels squeaked and even in her sedated state, Maggie could hear when that table was being wheeled to her door. Amy fiddled with a number of objects, but her patient could not tell or understand what medications were being injected underneath her skin. She couldn’t feel the needles poking her skin, nor could she recognize any sort of relief that was supposed to come as a result of them. She only lay there in hopes that her brain would find some way of reconciling between her pain and her desire to live.

“I don’t understand. She spends most of her time just lying awake. She looks almost peaceful. Why does she keep having these sudden outbursts…and who is James!?” Emily, Maggie’s mother, asked Dr. Skinner desperately.

“Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, your daughter is seriously deranged. Her mind floats in and out of fantasies and daydreams. She thinks they’re real. She thinks her brother is still alive and whoever James is, he seems to be her confidant.”

“Why would she choose a confidant who doesn’t exist in real life, though?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“Perhaps she feels she doesn’t really have one in real life. So, to compensate, her mind developed a crush on a boy who didn’t exist simply because he listens to her.”

“But she could always come to us!” Emily said, very distraughtly.

“Sometimes young people don’t realize that,” Dr. Skinner tried to calm her. “It’s not your fault. She experienced a great trauma.”

“But what about the cutting?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“That only began after her brother’s suicide. Maybe she subconsciously feels responsible or she feels like he deserved to live while she was the one who deserved to die. It’s hard to know. Losing a close family member can be devastating. Maggie found Tim after his death. That kind of trauma, well, it could destroy anyone.”

“Will this ever get any better?” Mr. Taylor asked, fighting back tears.

“We’re doing all we can, Mr. Taylor. I’m sorry I can’t be more optimistic, but the brain has so many functions that when it malfunctions, it’s not always easy to correct it. Some part of Maggie is aware that you two love her. Don’t give up yet. There are still lots of treatments, but right now, all you can do is comfort her…even if she doesn’t recognize you. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything more. If you have any further questions, feel free to call me.”

Dr. Skinner shook Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’s hands. He handed Emily a box of tissues and rubbed her shoulder before heading back down the long hallway. Any had finally gotten Maggie to quiet down and she followed Dr. Skinner soon after, leaving the Taylors alone. Emily embraced her husband and his arms clenched her body while his hands rubbed her back. They listened to they daughter’s faint murmurs and prayed.