It took him a while to decipher the expression on my face when I stared at his frail and unsteady body.
He was pale, the only shade of color to his face were his eye sockets; sunken in and a brownish-red color. His pupils were fully dilated and the baby blue tone that once encompassed around them had faded to a dingy gray.
I had not known this man. He attributed to my creation but it was not the same man who held me in his arms in the living room recliner when we would watch Modern Marvels together, eating M&Ms and laughing about the awkward tone of the narrator’s voice.
I was disgusted with him now, ashamed, he could barely stand up. He was thirty five years old and had an aging face of a man who was pushing sixty. He gripped the dining room chair, white knuckling the only object that was holding his 120 lbs body up as his knees gave out every so often with a slight jerk.
The silence felt like centuries, I just stood there staring at him, waiting for his reaction to my presence. He diverted looking at me for the as long as he could and I just continued to stare, watching the man that once called me “Zanza-Boo” shake uncontrollably.
He finally raised his head returning my silent stare and asked one simple thing:
-“Why the fuck did you come back bitch?”
“You asked me to.”
My voice was steady and it took him by surprise. He just stared at me, slightly threatened by my calmness. I wasn’t sure if he knew that it was all an act. Inside I was still that timid little pathetic excuse for a human. The one that use to cower in the corner staring at the wall that had daunted a new facial impression embedded in its yellowed exterior. I was dedicated in not showing him that side of me once more.
I tried to never give him the joy of watching me cry. What I hated the most was the ecstatic happiness and sense of accomplishment it gave him from watching my face liquefy. It only took that one tear, that one fucking little tear, to make him feel like his day was complete. It felt like acid, as it burned my skin and I could feel every centimeter as it ventured down my cheek and hung on to the very edge of my chin and I quickly hurried to wipe it away, hoping he didn’t catch my, one of many, moments of weakness. Unfortunately it was always noticed, no matter how much I tried to shadow it by burying my face in my hands.
-“Leave,--
His face was adamant, like he was never so meaningful about anything in his life. My eyes began to glaze over and he slid out of focus. I kept excusing his behavior, constantly. I would always tell myself he didn’t mean it, that he was just saying things out of anger. When he was sober, he was better, everything was better.
--you should have never come back, get the hell out of my house! You were nothing but a fucking…….”
He continued to mutter incoherent words and every now and then I would catch a few of them. “You’re the reason” and “it was better”.
My lip curled in a manner that could only be characterized as a combination of a laugh and a sneer. I was filled with so much pity and hate for this one man that most of the time it was all I could do to restrain from my old antics and throw a blunt object at his skull hard enough to push the desire of the drug and drink out of his mind.
I was wearing eyeliner and it had smudged from me wiping my eyes to suppress the tears that were welling up inside me. He called me a whore with that make up; he said I reminded him of my mother.
“She porously made sure she got pregnant. Talk about a one night stand going wrong, just to keep me around. It ruined my life, fucking whore.”
I walked out of the room not saying anything. What was there to say? I had heard this before; there was no reason in arguing. He was like a broken recorded, for sixteen years I heard this man slander my name, curse my existence and wish for my death so badly that he attempted to drown me three times and push me off two roof tops.
As I walked away he tried chasing me, but collapsed. I turned around abruptly at the sudden change of volume and seen him lying on the floor shaking. So weak, so helpless, no one could have been threatened by this fetus-like embodiment. He reminded me of the time he had stood above me, watching me shrivel up in my own pitiful existence.
I remember one night, my sister was at her friends house down the street. I had called him father…..just……father, with no attitude, no hint of sarcasm. He charged for me and grabbed me by the back of the skull and smashed my head into the edge of the bar counter. I sat up from the stool and tried to walk to the kitchen sink but I collapsed, I was dizzy and everything began to spin and became surreal. It was like I wasn’t in my body. I grabbed my face, it hurt too much to open my eyes but I could feel a cool wetness drip down my arm when I released my grasp upon the bridge of my nose. I rolled over and fought the pain in my eyes and squinted towards the tan-colored tile, now dyed with a deep red coating. My hair was sticking to my face and as I pulled it away I seen my dad standing above me, panicked; only for the reason that my mom was to come back home any moment and my face was unidentifiable. He picked me up and sat me on the counter and submerged my head into the dirty dish water. I could hear through every recovery of air that if I had washed the dishes it wouldn’t have been dirty.
He told me to go take a shower and to cover my face when I get out. So I did, and when I came out my mom was in her bedroom sleeping. I went out into the living room and my dad was watching the television and told me to go wash the dishes. So I did, I went to bed that night and prayed. Prayed for him to change, to get better, and to find what he was looking for.
He never changed, he never got better, but I guess he found what he was looking for, but it damn sure wasn’t us.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Sunday, September 12, 2010
I am 12
Crouched in a infantile position with head between my knees, breathing ever so steady as to slow the pounding sickness with in my head I search for my absolution.
The walls shake and the room becomes non existent. I am in darkness, consumed in my own state of retreat. The screaming is replaced by silence and everything is calm.
Behind my eyes I imagine a creation of peace and solitude, kneeling besides a tranquil black sea. The only source of light is illuminating from my skin as I peer closely into the transparent speculum, I see happiness that I could not imagine being alive when I remove myself from this confine.
I utter to myself “just a few moments more, that’s all I need” as if I was bargaining with myself to keep my sanity.
I erect my self, still peering down upon my reflection as I sum up the fortitude to sever this bond. I breathe deeply, close my eyes, and infuse my hands to my ears as I rip myself away and emerge back to this so called reality.
The sounds return.
His voice echos with each strike against the door as I begin to feel infinitesimal once again. Each pound allowing gusts of alcoholic clouds to diffuse through the room and I desire so much to revert back to my sanctuary. It isn’t an option anymore.
He threatens my well being as always during his rampages, throwing in creative words or rather lack there of. I shakily arise and grasp the door handle, relinquishing the two inch thick plywood barrier between us as we stare each other down. He sways ever so slightly to his right and with his bottle free hand he wraps his fingers around my hair and drops me to the floor. He drags me across the stained carpet as I thrash at his arm begging him to release me. He swings me across the floor and lets go as I tumble towards the wall.
My head collides and my body goes numb. I hear the bottle shatter against one of the many crater-like walls as he strides with difficulty towards me. My face is suffocated in the carpet as to not make eye contact with him he turns me on my back and my tears blur my vision. He picks me up with both hands wrapped around my neck and shoves me into the wall.
My perception drains and the remnants run down my face. I am staring into my very eyes. Gasping for air and feeling the color drain from my face he lets go and I drop to the floor clutching my throat. He walks away and the house reverberates as the door slams.
The walls shake and the room becomes non existent. I am in darkness, consumed in my own state of retreat. The screaming is replaced by silence and everything is calm.
Behind my eyes I imagine a creation of peace and solitude, kneeling besides a tranquil black sea. The only source of light is illuminating from my skin as I peer closely into the transparent speculum, I see happiness that I could not imagine being alive when I remove myself from this confine.
I utter to myself “just a few moments more, that’s all I need” as if I was bargaining with myself to keep my sanity.
I erect my self, still peering down upon my reflection as I sum up the fortitude to sever this bond. I breathe deeply, close my eyes, and infuse my hands to my ears as I rip myself away and emerge back to this so called reality.
The sounds return.
His voice echos with each strike against the door as I begin to feel infinitesimal once again. Each pound allowing gusts of alcoholic clouds to diffuse through the room and I desire so much to revert back to my sanctuary. It isn’t an option anymore.
He threatens my well being as always during his rampages, throwing in creative words or rather lack there of. I shakily arise and grasp the door handle, relinquishing the two inch thick plywood barrier between us as we stare each other down. He sways ever so slightly to his right and with his bottle free hand he wraps his fingers around my hair and drops me to the floor. He drags me across the stained carpet as I thrash at his arm begging him to release me. He swings me across the floor and lets go as I tumble towards the wall.
My head collides and my body goes numb. I hear the bottle shatter against one of the many crater-like walls as he strides with difficulty towards me. My face is suffocated in the carpet as to not make eye contact with him he turns me on my back and my tears blur my vision. He picks me up with both hands wrapped around my neck and shoves me into the wall.
My perception drains and the remnants run down my face. I am staring into my very eyes. Gasping for air and feeling the color drain from my face he lets go and I drop to the floor clutching my throat. He walks away and the house reverberates as the door slams.
Invitation into my Cerebrum
Sinking into a black and cushioned chair looking around trying to enlighten myself into the greatest feeling Ive ever possessed.
It isnt recognized.
So I continue with my normal state, “The Act” as its been deemed. Im starting to grow tired of it, growing tired of the constant happy smile. I can see myself slip, Im falling back into the black, wet, cavernous hole that I slipped into long ago. I like it though, I like not being exposed, its comforting, the darkness makes it better, makes it bearable. I cant see hurt coming that way, just feel it.
Its like an adrenaline rush almost, the pain coursing through your body, making you shake, making you cold, growing short of breathe and you want so much for it to end but you think is it really worth enduring the moments of potential happiness, that just act as taunting torments of possibilities. When in the end just to be drawn in by that well thats homed you so sweetly, you curl into the sludge and the little insects.
You never sleep.
You cover yourself in the disgust with purpose of protection, the outside appearance affects people’s perception of you. Youre safe, youre secure, no questions, no revealing, you grow fond of your loneliness, grow fond of the silence. You mutter in your head constantly “Im done” but you know that all youre going to do is keeping going, living in the parasitic infected hole, where you feel home, where you feel equal. You finally suffocate, you finally drown, youre finally gone and you wonder if it was all even worth it, living, and you decide, it wasn’t.
It isnt recognized.
So I continue with my normal state, “The Act” as its been deemed. Im starting to grow tired of it, growing tired of the constant happy smile. I can see myself slip, Im falling back into the black, wet, cavernous hole that I slipped into long ago. I like it though, I like not being exposed, its comforting, the darkness makes it better, makes it bearable. I cant see hurt coming that way, just feel it.
Its like an adrenaline rush almost, the pain coursing through your body, making you shake, making you cold, growing short of breathe and you want so much for it to end but you think is it really worth enduring the moments of potential happiness, that just act as taunting torments of possibilities. When in the end just to be drawn in by that well thats homed you so sweetly, you curl into the sludge and the little insects.
You never sleep.
You cover yourself in the disgust with purpose of protection, the outside appearance affects people’s perception of you. Youre safe, youre secure, no questions, no revealing, you grow fond of your loneliness, grow fond of the silence. You mutter in your head constantly “Im done” but you know that all youre going to do is keeping going, living in the parasitic infected hole, where you feel home, where you feel equal. You finally suffocate, you finally drown, youre finally gone and you wonder if it was all even worth it, living, and you decide, it wasn’t.
A Memorable Story
It was autumn.
It was memory.
The pale moon was high overhead, casting an opalescent glow upon the stretch of land before us. It was all too inviting. So inviting, that we trusted our clumsy feet to take us to a destination unknown as they trampled the leaves beneath them.
The cool stillness of the night was breathtaking; quite literally, for the air would steal the warmth of our breath in a puff of fog as we panted through the trees, who towered above us, menacingly. I was in love with them, with the fog of my breath. I was in love with the fall.
Nevertheless, I was detached from it.
It was as if I was looking upon the scene from another point of view. I can still see him, the way I did then, just as clearly as I could see the night. I can still see the gravity of his countenance.
That part of me, that memory, will never grow old.
I remember how we trudged. Words were not exchanged, not yet. Silence was never a threat to us. It was a virtue. We relished in it, as we walked, our troubled, weary minds grateful of reprieve.
Our skin was meant for moonlight. It was soft, and pale. We were like mirror images of one another - similar, but quite backwards. He was tall, I was small. He had dark eyes, mine were light. We were boring.
I could feel our destination approaching. So did he. We walked more wistfully, more eagerly, with every stride. Soon we were running – running after each other, like a single dog, chasing after its tale.
I started laughing. I felt like I was swimming through the trees, the air, the thicket. Shadows and trunks flew past me, the whole earth bobbed up and down in my clumsy view. He was smiling, ahead of me. He glanced over his shoulder and slowed down a bit to allow me to catch up with him. I slowed to a walk. We panted. The fog from our lips vanished into the night. And the stillness of our feet signaled our destination.
We had but one intention in coming here. To get away from ourselves. To get away from the earth. This spot in the woods was the best we could do. We were boring.
We were in a clearing. A warm, murky pond glistened through the trees at the right, and the scent of the air was musty, for it harbored the rot of fall. The night was void of the din of insects, for all were either dead or sleeping, along with most other creatures that resided here throughout the seasons.
I turned my back to him and ran my fingers along a large, cold, familiar stone that was embedded in the earth. I climbed upon it, feeling as I once did in my youth when I had climbed it, before. It was just as much of an adventure to me then, as it was now. I was on top of the world. I sighed.
He was looking up at me. Wordlessly, he joined me upon my tower. We surveyed our land. Beer cans. Cigarette butts. Broken bottles. Snack food rappers. Lighters. A broken lawn chair. Utopia.
"I hate our jobs," he said, suddenly. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the earth, angrily. We had come all the way out there, and still, all that we had run from, came with us.
"Me, too," I said, softly, shuffling my feet. I decided to sit down. He followed, and I turned to look at him, admiring his profile. The moon was good to us. The days, these days, were not.
"We should quit," I said, after a moment. I had said these words more times than I could count. It was as if they were rehearsed. "We should work somewhere... I don’t know, somewhere we actually enjoy."
He sighed. "And I wish we had somewhere to go." He paused for a moment, glancing around. "Somewhere better than this."
Sad, I thought. This really was the best we could do. I suddenly became aware of my discomfort on the cold stone. I eyed the litter, again, none of which had ever belonged to either of us. Apparently this was the best that a lot of people could do. I tried not to think about it.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance. There was a long pause between the two of us. I knew what he was thinking about. We would be going away, soon. This was our last year in high school. Our last fall together. We were terrified.
"Remember how we used to hate talking about the future?" he said, softly, with a tinge of nostalgia. "Now we loathe it. Detest it." He breathed heavily through his nose, reaching down to pick up a long, dried stick. He began to jab it into the crumbling earth, crossly.
I watched him, his distress evident. It tore a hole in my heart. It echoed his pain. I knew all that he was thinking, for, I had been thinking it myself. Independence, I thought, bitterly, does not come with age, as I had once childishly assumed. I’ve never felt so trapped as I do, now!
"We’ve spoken of it so many times," I whispered, "But I still can’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around it. You’re really leaving. I’m really leaving. We’re going in opposite directions on the map..."
My voice trailed off. He was my best friend. I couldn’t look at him. I imagined the map, and I saw Boston, saw Colorado. I saw the thousands of miles-between. My heart sank. "We’ve made the best of our time together, so far, haven’t we?" He was trying to get me to look at the bright side. And so, I tried, and the memories came flooding in. The memories of us over the past couple years...
Like a set of slides, images of our most memorable days and moments flickered before my mind’s eye.
The swings. The pizza places. The long walks to nowhere. The late-night phone calls. The early-morning phone calls. The jokes. The laughs. The tears. The pain. The nights like these...
Oh, how it killed me to see it all go! I looked at him, beseechingly, as if I was asking him to tell me it all wasn’t true. But it was. We both knew that. "I’ll call you. Every day," he said, suddenly. He was looking me in the eyes now, his face shrouded in a look of near-panic, fear, and utter desperation. I knew he wouldn’t call me every day. But, nevertheless, it was nice to hear.
"Everything will change," I whispered. "We will change. After a while, it’ll be like we won’t know each other anymore."
His face, seemingly on the verge of tears, contorted into a grimace. Slowly, it began to ease away, as if gradually giving way to acceptance.
"I know," he said, finally.
He jabbed the ground with the stick, once more.
We stared into the stillness, in silence. My eyes again rested upon the litter.
"We’re rare," I said dreamily, as I surveyed the drug and alcohol paraphernalia that was strewn around my feet. "It’s rare to find a pair who so willingly submit to the full force of their emotions..." I thought of allthe troubles, the thoughts,the tears that had died there with these substances. We, oddly, were letting it all run its course.
"It’s like a disease," he said, flatly. I nodded my head slightly, in agreement. "It’s really a lot worse than that," I muttered. There was a brief pause. Then he spoke. "So, what do you think he’ll be like?"
I froze. We spoke, lamentably, of his inevitable "replacement." We had come to terms with the fact that we would eventually be replaced by other, more… Local partners once we left for our designated cities.
I hated this question. There was no way to answer it without hurting him. Too often had he wondered it. Too often was I jealous of my replacement, already. She was out there, somewhere, right at that moment. Unsuspecting. I contemplated this. If only she knew how lucky she was going to get. I looked at him, affectionately... Sadly.
"I... Oh, I don’t know..."
My voice trailed off. I began wondering against my will. What would he be like? Perhaps he’d hate movies... Hopefully...
There was a tension between us that was growing. It was beautiful, in a way, how we both shared the same dread, the same sadness. But we knew that the remainder of this year would be nothing but a long, painful goodbye.
There was something odd about knowing that our days together were numbered. With us, there was no "forever and ever..."
There couldn’t be.
We were both, reluctantly, quite "in check" with reality.
But we knew – we were young, so young! We needed to experience life, experience different people...
I studied his face, so soft and so sweet in the moonlight, so sad, and all for me! I saw the fog leave his lips in a short, tearful breath.
Oh, god, what I wouldn’t give to stay here for just a little longer...
We found ourselves in a tight embrace. I buried my head into his shoulder, suddenly consumed by wretched sobs that shivered through my body like ripples in a lake.
I didn’t want to give him up. I didn’t want to give up High School... I didn’t want to give up childhood.
The tears kept flowing. From each of our eyes, dark and light, for the same pain. It was all coming too fast, and I knew that these pains would only grow worse, only more prominent as the time came nearer for us to part.
I kissed his neck, softly. My hands ran through his hair. Still, the tears flowed. I hugged him harder, and he did the same.
Remember this moment, I thought, remember it forever. You’re seventeen... Remember this moment. The true end of childhood innocence!
I brought my hands to his pale, tear-stricken face, and looked him in the eyes.
"We’re not just saying goodbye to each other," I whispered, my voice cracking, "we’re saying goodbye to this rock, this clearing. To nights like these... To big yellow busses, to our crappy jobs – to everything we’ve come to know in the past seventeen years. Everything’s going to change... We’re saying goodbye to it all... Even when we return here in the years to come, we won’t be the same."
"So we’ll start anew," he said, soberly. He looked to the side, and grimaced again. He continued, "It won’t be easy…"
He studied my face.
"God, it won’t be easy..."
He kissed my forehead, gently. My lips curled into something like a smile. "When the time, comes, just know..." I bit my lip, slightly, trying to form the words. "Just know... Just try...Try not to forget me."
The words came with great difficulty. He pulled me in closer, almost in terror.
"I will never be able to forget you," he said, insistently, almost as if it killed him to hear me say such things. "No matter how hard I may try, I will never. I will never..."
And so we sat there, rocking back and forth, tears pouring down our faces, silently, like streams. Our chests aching, our body heat fleeing; we nearly froze.
But I have no regrets.
He was my first love. And life, it’s gone on for the both of us. But I know that we’ll be forever seventeen, somewhere in our hearts. We’ve reserved a place for one another, a far off place, nested in the past – a place where we can always return, and uncover nights like these.
Uncover the love we shared – the love that has died now, but still burns just as strong as ever, in our pasts.
And our past, it never leave us, no matter how hard we may try to shake them.
I know that wherever I am, and wherever I may be going, I can always go back and return to that night, in my mind.
And I do.
I know that somewhere out there, he does, too.
It was memory.
The pale moon was high overhead, casting an opalescent glow upon the stretch of land before us. It was all too inviting. So inviting, that we trusted our clumsy feet to take us to a destination unknown as they trampled the leaves beneath them.
The cool stillness of the night was breathtaking; quite literally, for the air would steal the warmth of our breath in a puff of fog as we panted through the trees, who towered above us, menacingly. I was in love with them, with the fog of my breath. I was in love with the fall.
Nevertheless, I was detached from it.
It was as if I was looking upon the scene from another point of view. I can still see him, the way I did then, just as clearly as I could see the night. I can still see the gravity of his countenance.
That part of me, that memory, will never grow old.
I remember how we trudged. Words were not exchanged, not yet. Silence was never a threat to us. It was a virtue. We relished in it, as we walked, our troubled, weary minds grateful of reprieve.
Our skin was meant for moonlight. It was soft, and pale. We were like mirror images of one another - similar, but quite backwards. He was tall, I was small. He had dark eyes, mine were light. We were boring.
I could feel our destination approaching. So did he. We walked more wistfully, more eagerly, with every stride. Soon we were running – running after each other, like a single dog, chasing after its tale.
I started laughing. I felt like I was swimming through the trees, the air, the thicket. Shadows and trunks flew past me, the whole earth bobbed up and down in my clumsy view. He was smiling, ahead of me. He glanced over his shoulder and slowed down a bit to allow me to catch up with him. I slowed to a walk. We panted. The fog from our lips vanished into the night. And the stillness of our feet signaled our destination.
We had but one intention in coming here. To get away from ourselves. To get away from the earth. This spot in the woods was the best we could do. We were boring.
We were in a clearing. A warm, murky pond glistened through the trees at the right, and the scent of the air was musty, for it harbored the rot of fall. The night was void of the din of insects, for all were either dead or sleeping, along with most other creatures that resided here throughout the seasons.
I turned my back to him and ran my fingers along a large, cold, familiar stone that was embedded in the earth. I climbed upon it, feeling as I once did in my youth when I had climbed it, before. It was just as much of an adventure to me then, as it was now. I was on top of the world. I sighed.
He was looking up at me. Wordlessly, he joined me upon my tower. We surveyed our land. Beer cans. Cigarette butts. Broken bottles. Snack food rappers. Lighters. A broken lawn chair. Utopia.
"I hate our jobs," he said, suddenly. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the earth, angrily. We had come all the way out there, and still, all that we had run from, came with us.
"Me, too," I said, softly, shuffling my feet. I decided to sit down. He followed, and I turned to look at him, admiring his profile. The moon was good to us. The days, these days, were not.
"We should quit," I said, after a moment. I had said these words more times than I could count. It was as if they were rehearsed. "We should work somewhere... I don’t know, somewhere we actually enjoy."
He sighed. "And I wish we had somewhere to go." He paused for a moment, glancing around. "Somewhere better than this."
Sad, I thought. This really was the best we could do. I suddenly became aware of my discomfort on the cold stone. I eyed the litter, again, none of which had ever belonged to either of us. Apparently this was the best that a lot of people could do. I tried not to think about it.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance. There was a long pause between the two of us. I knew what he was thinking about. We would be going away, soon. This was our last year in high school. Our last fall together. We were terrified.
"Remember how we used to hate talking about the future?" he said, softly, with a tinge of nostalgia. "Now we loathe it. Detest it." He breathed heavily through his nose, reaching down to pick up a long, dried stick. He began to jab it into the crumbling earth, crossly.
I watched him, his distress evident. It tore a hole in my heart. It echoed his pain. I knew all that he was thinking, for, I had been thinking it myself. Independence, I thought, bitterly, does not come with age, as I had once childishly assumed. I’ve never felt so trapped as I do, now!
"We’ve spoken of it so many times," I whispered, "But I still can’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around it. You’re really leaving. I’m really leaving. We’re going in opposite directions on the map..."
My voice trailed off. He was my best friend. I couldn’t look at him. I imagined the map, and I saw Boston, saw Colorado. I saw the thousands of miles-between. My heart sank. "We’ve made the best of our time together, so far, haven’t we?" He was trying to get me to look at the bright side. And so, I tried, and the memories came flooding in. The memories of us over the past couple years...
Like a set of slides, images of our most memorable days and moments flickered before my mind’s eye.
The swings. The pizza places. The long walks to nowhere. The late-night phone calls. The early-morning phone calls. The jokes. The laughs. The tears. The pain. The nights like these...
Oh, how it killed me to see it all go! I looked at him, beseechingly, as if I was asking him to tell me it all wasn’t true. But it was. We both knew that. "I’ll call you. Every day," he said, suddenly. He was looking me in the eyes now, his face shrouded in a look of near-panic, fear, and utter desperation. I knew he wouldn’t call me every day. But, nevertheless, it was nice to hear.
"Everything will change," I whispered. "We will change. After a while, it’ll be like we won’t know each other anymore."
His face, seemingly on the verge of tears, contorted into a grimace. Slowly, it began to ease away, as if gradually giving way to acceptance.
"I know," he said, finally.
He jabbed the ground with the stick, once more.
We stared into the stillness, in silence. My eyes again rested upon the litter.
"We’re rare," I said dreamily, as I surveyed the drug and alcohol paraphernalia that was strewn around my feet. "It’s rare to find a pair who so willingly submit to the full force of their emotions..." I thought of allthe troubles, the thoughts,the tears that had died there with these substances. We, oddly, were letting it all run its course.
"It’s like a disease," he said, flatly. I nodded my head slightly, in agreement. "It’s really a lot worse than that," I muttered. There was a brief pause. Then he spoke. "So, what do you think he’ll be like?"
I froze. We spoke, lamentably, of his inevitable "replacement." We had come to terms with the fact that we would eventually be replaced by other, more… Local partners once we left for our designated cities.
I hated this question. There was no way to answer it without hurting him. Too often had he wondered it. Too often was I jealous of my replacement, already. She was out there, somewhere, right at that moment. Unsuspecting. I contemplated this. If only she knew how lucky she was going to get. I looked at him, affectionately... Sadly.
"I... Oh, I don’t know..."
My voice trailed off. I began wondering against my will. What would he be like? Perhaps he’d hate movies... Hopefully...
There was a tension between us that was growing. It was beautiful, in a way, how we both shared the same dread, the same sadness. But we knew that the remainder of this year would be nothing but a long, painful goodbye.
There was something odd about knowing that our days together were numbered. With us, there was no "forever and ever..."
There couldn’t be.
We were both, reluctantly, quite "in check" with reality.
But we knew – we were young, so young! We needed to experience life, experience different people...
I studied his face, so soft and so sweet in the moonlight, so sad, and all for me! I saw the fog leave his lips in a short, tearful breath.
Oh, god, what I wouldn’t give to stay here for just a little longer...
We found ourselves in a tight embrace. I buried my head into his shoulder, suddenly consumed by wretched sobs that shivered through my body like ripples in a lake.
I didn’t want to give him up. I didn’t want to give up High School... I didn’t want to give up childhood.
The tears kept flowing. From each of our eyes, dark and light, for the same pain. It was all coming too fast, and I knew that these pains would only grow worse, only more prominent as the time came nearer for us to part.
I kissed his neck, softly. My hands ran through his hair. Still, the tears flowed. I hugged him harder, and he did the same.
Remember this moment, I thought, remember it forever. You’re seventeen... Remember this moment. The true end of childhood innocence!
I brought my hands to his pale, tear-stricken face, and looked him in the eyes.
"We’re not just saying goodbye to each other," I whispered, my voice cracking, "we’re saying goodbye to this rock, this clearing. To nights like these... To big yellow busses, to our crappy jobs – to everything we’ve come to know in the past seventeen years. Everything’s going to change... We’re saying goodbye to it all... Even when we return here in the years to come, we won’t be the same."
"So we’ll start anew," he said, soberly. He looked to the side, and grimaced again. He continued, "It won’t be easy…"
He studied my face.
"God, it won’t be easy..."
He kissed my forehead, gently. My lips curled into something like a smile. "When the time, comes, just know..." I bit my lip, slightly, trying to form the words. "Just know... Just try...Try not to forget me."
The words came with great difficulty. He pulled me in closer, almost in terror.
"I will never be able to forget you," he said, insistently, almost as if it killed him to hear me say such things. "No matter how hard I may try, I will never. I will never..."
And so we sat there, rocking back and forth, tears pouring down our faces, silently, like streams. Our chests aching, our body heat fleeing; we nearly froze.
But I have no regrets.
He was my first love. And life, it’s gone on for the both of us. But I know that we’ll be forever seventeen, somewhere in our hearts. We’ve reserved a place for one another, a far off place, nested in the past – a place where we can always return, and uncover nights like these.
Uncover the love we shared – the love that has died now, but still burns just as strong as ever, in our pasts.
And our past, it never leave us, no matter how hard we may try to shake them.
I know that wherever I am, and wherever I may be going, I can always go back and return to that night, in my mind.
And I do.
I know that somewhere out there, he does, too.
Basic Human Instinct
Palms sweating, mind erased of all logical sense from the haze you have contorted into.
Desire so strong to slide your hand down the inside of thigh to make once blank thoughts turn into body numbing distractions. Only to make it easier to picture your lips against theirs. Tongues flopping like high-out-of-water fish. Twisting and shakily within the convents of your mouth. Hand shakes as it curls around the neck, grasping tight enough to ensure no retreat, yet soft enough to imply meaning. You separate, wiping your lips of all that the lustful episode procured.
Thats all it was.
Lust.
Attraction.
Desire.
That is all we were capable of, the pleasure and satisfaction we could bring one another. With no attachment and no fortitude to continue beyond sexual means. We were slaves to passion.
Our tracing fingers were are instruments. Our positions were the art, sculptures that we embodied. Our moans, free expression.
We do not love each other, only our work, our bodies, the only place we find reason.
Desire so strong to slide your hand down the inside of thigh to make once blank thoughts turn into body numbing distractions. Only to make it easier to picture your lips against theirs. Tongues flopping like high-out-of-water fish. Twisting and shakily within the convents of your mouth. Hand shakes as it curls around the neck, grasping tight enough to ensure no retreat, yet soft enough to imply meaning. You separate, wiping your lips of all that the lustful episode procured.
Thats all it was.
Lust.
Attraction.
Desire.
That is all we were capable of, the pleasure and satisfaction we could bring one another. With no attachment and no fortitude to continue beyond sexual means. We were slaves to passion.
Our tracing fingers were are instruments. Our positions were the art, sculptures that we embodied. Our moans, free expression.
We do not love each other, only our work, our bodies, the only place we find reason.
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