“Men! For as boy crazy
as I’ve been my whole life,
I sure can’t stand them!”
(Down With Love)
One of six sisters, I am a girly girl. Guys friends? Only if they LIKE to shop and watch Lifetime Movie Network. Boyfriend? Check. Long term? Check, it’s been six months. Secrets of the weird and wonderful world of men cracked? Not check and frankly still thinking it’s more weird than anything else…
Guys don’t floss their teeth daily. Furthermore, they think that swishing with mouthwash is sufficient teeth brushing for busy days. They have no reservations about using your body towel to dry their hands after washing…without soap. Guys come over for dinner and don’t think it’s wrong to open a bag of chips…a minute before the timer goes off. And when you pull a beautiful platter out to put the meal on, you’ll find that your guy has already made himself a plate by folding up a paper towel into his hands. “That’s all right,” you’ll say, “I’ll pour you a glass of wine.” But, oh no, he prefers beer, the exact opposite of what would compliment your meal. Guys are great for taking out the trash or mowing your lawn. However, they will never, never notice that these things need to be done on their own. As they throw another pistachio shell that sends the piles of garbage into an avalanche, you may have to remind them “Honey, I think that garbage can is no longer taking new applicants.” Count your blessings though because most of the time his trash won’t find the can at all. If a man is further than a basketball free throw away from the wastebasket, you will find gum wrappers balled up under your couch, or stale coca cola dumped into your potted plant. The old “girl can’t get guy’s attention while ESPN is on” is very cliché. So, other than recommending feigning that your cable is out, I just want to warn that all you are during the game is the hand that delivers chicken wings. Maybe bring them in balanced on your head? That might get a laugh. They’ll cherish you later, once you’ve civilized them. For now, just bask in your role as the clear headed woman, and remember to smile, because that’s why he fell in love with you.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Fun poem for Dad
Dad, Daddy, Pops-this one’s for you
You prayed when you were young to someday find true love
You met her in tenth grade study hall, a gift from up above
You took her to Tom’s Pizza and then to see a play
You dared to boldly ask her, “How many kids will we have someday?”
You knew this girl was for you when she answered without a beat
“I suppose six or seven, now what are you having to eat?”
You prayed when you were young to someday find true love
You met her in tenth grade study hall, a gift from up above
You took her to Tom’s Pizza and then to see a play
You dared to boldly ask her, “How many kids will we have someday?”
You knew this girl was for you when she answered without a beat
“I suppose six or seven, now what are you having to eat?”
Beautiful Day
Sunrise finds us camping on the beach.
Seagull alarm clock awakens
heavy eyelids, burning from last night’s campfire.
For breakfast, two buttered pieces of bread
with blueberry filling seeping between
placed on hot coals
until toasted and steaming.
Today we will go into town.
The sun burnt seven,
plus our parents,
to shop for new shoes.
You see, yesterday my flip flops
were buried in the sand,
and I didn’t notice
for
six
hours.
Seagull alarm clock awakens
heavy eyelids, burning from last night’s campfire.
For breakfast, two buttered pieces of bread
with blueberry filling seeping between
placed on hot coals
until toasted and steaming.
Today we will go into town.
The sun burnt seven,
plus our parents,
to shop for new shoes.
You see, yesterday my flip flops
were buried in the sand,
and I didn’t notice
for
six
hours.
"Then I met"
so, being typical 20 year olds, my friends and i talk about love and marriage...a lot. i just feel a lot of pressure seeing as my parents married at nineteen, my sisters all in their early twenties, and then there's me...not even dating anybody. anyways, to keep my friends and i from drowning ourselves in the bathtub, i have adopted a little philosophy. it's called "and then i met..." it's like this: when someday down the road i'm telling the story (of my life) i'll start with the things i have done in the past i.e. mostly just having good friendships with guys, dating a couple of guys but nothing too serious, dedicating a semester to God and not being involved with guys at all and finally being open to whatever vocation comes along. then the story will change with the words "AND THEN I MET" it doesn't matter at all what came before because after those words is whats important. you can predict all you want what will come after those words, but you will never know until it happens. i can say that i want to marry a man who's older than me, from a certain state, looks a certain way...but how can i know. it's all gonna change. and the best part is that if i'm living in God's will, it'll turn out in the absolute perfect way.
so, don't feel lonely. you never know what tomorrow will bring!
so, don't feel lonely. you never know what tomorrow will bring!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Baby Steps
It feels like I wrote this many moons ago. Please ignore the obvious plot holes and just enjoy one of my earliest attempts to put my mind on paper...
Baby Steps
I took my first steps here. I keep remembering this as I sit looking out at the city. I'm on the balcony of Charleston Commons. I've lived here, in the roof top apartment, since I was born. As I puff on my cigarette, the first in my pack of Parliaments, I think about the city below. About a block away, Central Park is quickly transforming from a spot where families have picnics to a place where everybody’s up to no good. I'll read all about the murders in tomorrow's newspaper. “Catch Up”, the diner where I work the late night shift is already scrubbed down and closed. I still smell like a mixture of grease and dish soap. I wonder if my parents had ever imagined that life would have turned out like this. I have a picture in my mind because I've heard the story about that night. My parents, newly wed, were sharing a glass of red wine and watching the twilight sky turn to coal. They sat delighted in their own little star, me. I looked up at them, pulled myself to the railing, and totted towards my father's lap. The first thing I did was reach for his tinted glass and smacked it out of his hands. We all watched as it hit the floor. The crash made me howl, but my parents found it hysterical. They used to love telling the story of my first steps. What a happy family we once were. Morty, Susan and Olivia Dodson. If they only would have known what the rest of life had in store for us.
As I sit, my fingers nervously twist the diamond ring on my finger. So much anxiety. Thank god I don't have to go to work tomorrow. It's been the biggest adjustment, having to work, pay bills, and not just having money whenever I need it. That's probably one good reason to go to the funeral tomorrow, so I don't have to waste my life away fake smiling for customers and serving up endless cups of coffee to dirty, pervy old men.
I rub my temples. I’ve been avoiding this. I can’t believe that it finally happened. I’d been expecting it for the last three years, since the cancer was found in his liver, but it had somehow snuck up on me like a burglar in an alley.
Ding Dong Ding.
The church bells toll that I've been awake for way too long. Regardless, I keep on tracing the outline of my engraved initials on the wood railing. O-C-D. As I lean back against the brick wall, I pull my blanket tighter around me. When I close my eyes, I imagine the priest with his arms spread wide.
“Dearly Beloved…”
I shudder at the thought, and try to focus on other things. Maybe I should call Jay back; he left me about a thousand voicemails today. No wonder, I left last night, in the middle of the night, when I heard the news.
“Olivia!” I jolt up at the sound of my name. My mother appears looking like the last thing on her mind is dealing with me. She dries her hands on a dish towel, and looks disapprovingly at my stack of M&M wrappers and empty cans of Diet Coke. They had all been consumed within the last two hours, but I won't tell her that. My mom is a tall, hardworking woman. She has graying hair, even though she's only in her late forties. Her career as a lawyer has kept her somewhat fashionable, if not a little stuffy. Right now, her main concern is obviously to make me miserable.
“I am not impressed with you right now, Olivia,” she says. “It's almost dawn, why aren't you in bed?”
"You're not sleeping either!"
"I live here!"
Her reply is dripping with resentment. I challenge her in a way that I know will hit her hard.
"Are you saying that this isn't my home anymore?"
She looks at me with her eyes saying it all. This could still my home if I wanted. It was my choice to leave. I settle back into my spot, staring out towards the horizon. I pull my dark bangs down over my eyes and flip the hood of my sweatshirt onto my head. I remember that she once told me about when I was born and how my eyes were larger than life and as blue as sea glass. She had explained that it was love at first sight and that's why she didn't have any more children; I was enough.
“Liv,” she starts with a different approach. “You know this is hard for me too…”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I cut in.
I don't appreciate her attempt at vulnerability, even though it’s a rare occasion and probably what I need the most. I choke back a sob that she doesn't see.
"Just leave me alone" I say to her back as she dejectedly walks away. Silently rebelling, I decide to stay in bed tomorrow and pretend none of it ever happened. Nope, my father is not dead. After all, he's been dead to me since his last whiskey goodnight kiss, the night before he went to jail. He had robbed more than an upper class family from suburbia; he had stolen all the love from my heart.
I've been married for exactly three months. I had thought that Jay would solve all my problems. We had met through a mutual friend and on the first night we had excitedly ended up at his place. The next morning we went out for coffee, which turned into lunch. I think it's bullshit when people say that "the rest is history." But for us, it really was. I've never felt so comfortable and secure with somebody as I do with Jay. I need to call him. As this thought leaves my brain, the door swings open and there he is.
"Liv!"
His concerned face melts me and I instinctively reach for him.
"Hey, baby" I whisper into his neck.
"I ran into your Mom at the door," he says as he settles down beside me against the wall. He eyes my snacks, knowing what it means, but decides to not pick that battle. I laugh at his goodness.
"You suck," I breathe to him as I exhale my cigarette.
"Your mom has gone completely nuts. And by the way, why is she baking at three in the morning?. I can't believe..."
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “She just wishes that I would never come home because she knows I’m just going to leave again. I’m pretty sure she’s the loneliest woman in the world. First, my dad became a complete stranger, then I guess I…” I’m thinking about how I left her too, but I don’t say it because I chosen to leave and marry the love of my life. “Betty Crocker is her best friend, ok?”
Jay completely disregards my comment and starts in on me. "Listen, I understand that you were upset last night, but you can't just leave without saying anything! I'm your husband."
"First of all, don't even act like you know what we're going through. My mom has been the strength of our family while my life ruiner, alcoholic father ran amok through the city. Although she didn't agree with us getting married at frickin' nineteen, she still paid for the entire thing. I really don't think you understand a thing about my life or why I just need to be left alone sometimes."
I'm angry now. He can divorce me for all I care. I reach into my purse and pull out a bag of marshmallows that I had been snacking on for the last week. He hates when I eat like this because he knows that it's the only time I do eat. It's the one thing that I can control. Nobody can tell me what to do. Jay decides once again to look the other way as I pointedly stuff my face.
"I can't stand you sometimes," I continue. "Why do you even try to put up with me? You can't possibly love somebody who leaves you in the middle of the night."
"Liv, your father died. This is a tragedy. I can't understand your pain because it's never happened to me, but I can love you anyways. Just yesterday we were dreaming about our future kid's names"
"And you told me that we would never have one named Morton," I interrupt.
"I was kidding! Sometimes people use their parent's names. I'm sorry that your father had such an awful one. It was just a joke, there's no way I could have known that he was going to pass away last night!" Jay looks frustrated but he stops his hand in mid air above my pack of cigarettes. "You only have two left, can I have one?"
I nod a halfhearted yes and try to figure out a way to stay mad. Why would he be smoking? He’s a straight arrow; always do the right thing kind of guy. I rest my head in my knees and drift in and out of awakeness and dreams. Drunken nights. Slamming doors. His empty spot at Christmas dinner. His feeble body crumpled on the floor. On the couch. In the bathtub, one time. Basically anywhere his drunk ass landed at the end of the night. I would laugh with him later as he told me weird things that had happened at the bar. The man that got a dart stuck in his back. The lady who slid out of a booth and split her dress. Why had I allowed it to be so normal? Why hadn't I told him how stupid he was being every time he called a cab and left the house with a wad of my mother's cash. His smile tried to say that he still loved me. His hangovers showed that he did not. Jay had never really known him. Our relationship came on too strong and too fast. I had used him to escape life here. Old Morty had understood that Jay was his replacement. Now I'm with Jay forever and will never have my father. Ever, ever again.
My body is starting to ache. I nudge Jay awake. We both watch the sun come up, then silently walk into the house. I go to my bedroom and he goes out the door and back to our place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“OLIVIA CATHERINE!”
There’s a huge bat in my room! Oh wait, it’s just my mom. She’s completely decked out in black and is waving her arms at me. I look around. The sun had come out in full force. My eyes are stinging. What a headache. I bury my head into my comforter and say, “What part of ‘I’m not going’ don’t you understand?”
“That hurts me, Liv” she says as she flutters away.
Several hours later, I wake up again. I feel like I had slept for days. There are shadows drawn across my floor and there’s no trace of the autumn sun. I assume that it’s eight or nine in the evening and that I had slept through it all. I pull my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket and I can’t believe my eyes. It’s only three thirty! The sky is completely overcast. Strange weather. My phone has six missed calls and a text message. The message is from Jay. It says:
Missed u at the funeral. See u @ 4?
Something in me forces me to jump up and start getting ready. I splash cold water on my face and touch up my eye makeup. I throw on a polo shirt and ripped jeans. No need to look too nice. I grab my keys and pull my hair into a messy ponytail as I run out the door.
As I pull up to the cemetery thirty minutes later, I can see a small crowd gathered by the fresh grave. Hot boxing the whole way here had made me a little dizzy, so as I have another smoke, I put the windows down. Nobody’s noticed me yet. The radio is on quietly. I can only pick up one podunk country station out here.
Come on baby, baby let's go. Where we get the money, honey, I don't know. One more baby's alright by me. We'll just add another limb to the family tree.
My breath quickens. I decide right then and there to forget the alcoholic. Today I’ll say goodbye to my dad. I have missed him for quite sometime now, but finally it’s definite that he’s never coming back. I’m going to bury my anger along with his body and start a family that he would be proud of. As he looks on from the afterlife, I’ll prove to him that I’m somebody worth loving. I switch off the radio and get out of the car. I stand behind some of my mom’s business associates and nonchalantly look around. I see my mother and Jay. I look back to all the tombstones on the hill. I watch a rolling cloud change from dark to darker. My eyes fixate on everything else for as long as possible, but finally rest on the casket I can’t look away. My lower lip quivers and it starts to rain.
There is a rush to get into cars as the downpour starts, and I allow myself to get lost in the shuffle. Everybody intends on waiting out the rain, but I take the opportunity to leave. As I’m pulling into my parking spot, I notice that I had never checked my voicemail. Missed call from Dr. Evans. I hurriedly type in my password. A muffled nurse says, “Olivia...ack as soon…good news…ank you.” I call back and confirm what she had told me. Goosebumps run up and down my arm. I gingerly get out of the car, and trying not jostle my stomach too much, I climb the stairs and head to bed.
I lay awake in the silence of my room, the one that I painted myself when I was fourteen. All around me are remnants from my life here. I slide my hand into the drawer next to my bed and pull out a photo album my mom had given me for my fifth birthday. I study the blue and white cover, and almost have the urge to kiss it. When I open it, I see a gross little version of me with tubes up my nose, not even four minutes old. I flip a couple of pages. There it is. The picture taken on the day of first baby steps. We are all on the balcony. My mom’s hair is blowing in the wind and my dad is smiling impatiently, waiting for the self timer camera to take the picture. I am standing, looking oblivious to it all, not even knowing that a monumental occasion had just taken place.
The door to my room crashes open and Jay rudely says, “Wake up, Olivia!” I turn over and stick my middle finger straight up in the air.
“What’s that for? You’re the one who’s been sleeping all day while I deal with your mom and crazy aunts. Why didn’t you ever warn me about Martha? At our wedding she was so demure, but today she went psycho Nazi on me. Jay, bring me this…Can you help with that…”
“Ohh, I feel so sorry for you. You must be so sad to have a normal family. It must be hard to know that your father is alive,” I retort.
Jay looks at me and knowing that I’m only being mad to be just that, he softens his tone, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” My aggravated response makes him cower a little bit.
“Come on, I know you are sad about your Dad. But do you need to be such a spoiled brat all the time?”
“Yes actually I do,” I practically yell back.
“And why is that, little miss?”
“Because I’m pregnant, asshole!” The words stumble over a smile as they leave my mouth. Jay’s face lights up and he grabs me for a bear hug.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he says in his desperate people pleasing way. “You can stay here for as long as you want. Of course, I want you to come back home but whatever you want to do. I’ll get another job on the weekends and we can start saving up for a townhouse. Listen, if we have a boy, the name Morty is actually starting to grow on me.”
I can’t help but laugh and lead him down the stairs. My aunts tentatively give me hugs and ask what I want to eat. I tell them that I’m not hungry. After awhile, my mom comes out of the kitchen with a plate full of chicken, pasta salad, and green beans. My little cousin follows her with a piece of apple pie. Real food. They set down the food before me. I take a deep breath and start to eat. I silently nod to my mom. I will never be like him. My relationship with her will always be a top priority. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but she’s my favorite mama and I’m her favorite daughter. She pats my head almost as if she understands what I’m thinking, just by the fact that I am eating something other than a huge bag of starbursts in the middle of the night. She pulls my little cousin towards me and asks if I remember her. I held her when she was a baby, but have only seen pictures of her since. MJ is now four years old, and just looking at her I’m reminded of how fast life goes by. She looks at me in the face, thrusts her baby doll into my arms, and says “This is Bethie; she just learned how to walk!” I pull my baby cousin onto my lap and start to tell her the story of my first baby steps.
Baby Steps
I took my first steps here. I keep remembering this as I sit looking out at the city. I'm on the balcony of Charleston Commons. I've lived here, in the roof top apartment, since I was born. As I puff on my cigarette, the first in my pack of Parliaments, I think about the city below. About a block away, Central Park is quickly transforming from a spot where families have picnics to a place where everybody’s up to no good. I'll read all about the murders in tomorrow's newspaper. “Catch Up”, the diner where I work the late night shift is already scrubbed down and closed. I still smell like a mixture of grease and dish soap. I wonder if my parents had ever imagined that life would have turned out like this. I have a picture in my mind because I've heard the story about that night. My parents, newly wed, were sharing a glass of red wine and watching the twilight sky turn to coal. They sat delighted in their own little star, me. I looked up at them, pulled myself to the railing, and totted towards my father's lap. The first thing I did was reach for his tinted glass and smacked it out of his hands. We all watched as it hit the floor. The crash made me howl, but my parents found it hysterical. They used to love telling the story of my first steps. What a happy family we once were. Morty, Susan and Olivia Dodson. If they only would have known what the rest of life had in store for us.
As I sit, my fingers nervously twist the diamond ring on my finger. So much anxiety. Thank god I don't have to go to work tomorrow. It's been the biggest adjustment, having to work, pay bills, and not just having money whenever I need it. That's probably one good reason to go to the funeral tomorrow, so I don't have to waste my life away fake smiling for customers and serving up endless cups of coffee to dirty, pervy old men.
I rub my temples. I’ve been avoiding this. I can’t believe that it finally happened. I’d been expecting it for the last three years, since the cancer was found in his liver, but it had somehow snuck up on me like a burglar in an alley.
Ding Dong Ding.
The church bells toll that I've been awake for way too long. Regardless, I keep on tracing the outline of my engraved initials on the wood railing. O-C-D. As I lean back against the brick wall, I pull my blanket tighter around me. When I close my eyes, I imagine the priest with his arms spread wide.
“Dearly Beloved…”
I shudder at the thought, and try to focus on other things. Maybe I should call Jay back; he left me about a thousand voicemails today. No wonder, I left last night, in the middle of the night, when I heard the news.
“Olivia!” I jolt up at the sound of my name. My mother appears looking like the last thing on her mind is dealing with me. She dries her hands on a dish towel, and looks disapprovingly at my stack of M&M wrappers and empty cans of Diet Coke. They had all been consumed within the last two hours, but I won't tell her that. My mom is a tall, hardworking woman. She has graying hair, even though she's only in her late forties. Her career as a lawyer has kept her somewhat fashionable, if not a little stuffy. Right now, her main concern is obviously to make me miserable.
“I am not impressed with you right now, Olivia,” she says. “It's almost dawn, why aren't you in bed?”
"You're not sleeping either!"
"I live here!"
Her reply is dripping with resentment. I challenge her in a way that I know will hit her hard.
"Are you saying that this isn't my home anymore?"
She looks at me with her eyes saying it all. This could still my home if I wanted. It was my choice to leave. I settle back into my spot, staring out towards the horizon. I pull my dark bangs down over my eyes and flip the hood of my sweatshirt onto my head. I remember that she once told me about when I was born and how my eyes were larger than life and as blue as sea glass. She had explained that it was love at first sight and that's why she didn't have any more children; I was enough.
“Liv,” she starts with a different approach. “You know this is hard for me too…”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I cut in.
I don't appreciate her attempt at vulnerability, even though it’s a rare occasion and probably what I need the most. I choke back a sob that she doesn't see.
"Just leave me alone" I say to her back as she dejectedly walks away. Silently rebelling, I decide to stay in bed tomorrow and pretend none of it ever happened. Nope, my father is not dead. After all, he's been dead to me since his last whiskey goodnight kiss, the night before he went to jail. He had robbed more than an upper class family from suburbia; he had stolen all the love from my heart.
I've been married for exactly three months. I had thought that Jay would solve all my problems. We had met through a mutual friend and on the first night we had excitedly ended up at his place. The next morning we went out for coffee, which turned into lunch. I think it's bullshit when people say that "the rest is history." But for us, it really was. I've never felt so comfortable and secure with somebody as I do with Jay. I need to call him. As this thought leaves my brain, the door swings open and there he is.
"Liv!"
His concerned face melts me and I instinctively reach for him.
"Hey, baby" I whisper into his neck.
"I ran into your Mom at the door," he says as he settles down beside me against the wall. He eyes my snacks, knowing what it means, but decides to not pick that battle. I laugh at his goodness.
"You suck," I breathe to him as I exhale my cigarette.
"Your mom has gone completely nuts. And by the way, why is she baking at three in the morning?. I can't believe..."
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “She just wishes that I would never come home because she knows I’m just going to leave again. I’m pretty sure she’s the loneliest woman in the world. First, my dad became a complete stranger, then I guess I…” I’m thinking about how I left her too, but I don’t say it because I chosen to leave and marry the love of my life. “Betty Crocker is her best friend, ok?”
Jay completely disregards my comment and starts in on me. "Listen, I understand that you were upset last night, but you can't just leave without saying anything! I'm your husband."
"First of all, don't even act like you know what we're going through. My mom has been the strength of our family while my life ruiner, alcoholic father ran amok through the city. Although she didn't agree with us getting married at frickin' nineteen, she still paid for the entire thing. I really don't think you understand a thing about my life or why I just need to be left alone sometimes."
I'm angry now. He can divorce me for all I care. I reach into my purse and pull out a bag of marshmallows that I had been snacking on for the last week. He hates when I eat like this because he knows that it's the only time I do eat. It's the one thing that I can control. Nobody can tell me what to do. Jay decides once again to look the other way as I pointedly stuff my face.
"I can't stand you sometimes," I continue. "Why do you even try to put up with me? You can't possibly love somebody who leaves you in the middle of the night."
"Liv, your father died. This is a tragedy. I can't understand your pain because it's never happened to me, but I can love you anyways. Just yesterday we were dreaming about our future kid's names"
"And you told me that we would never have one named Morton," I interrupt.
"I was kidding! Sometimes people use their parent's names. I'm sorry that your father had such an awful one. It was just a joke, there's no way I could have known that he was going to pass away last night!" Jay looks frustrated but he stops his hand in mid air above my pack of cigarettes. "You only have two left, can I have one?"
I nod a halfhearted yes and try to figure out a way to stay mad. Why would he be smoking? He’s a straight arrow; always do the right thing kind of guy. I rest my head in my knees and drift in and out of awakeness and dreams. Drunken nights. Slamming doors. His empty spot at Christmas dinner. His feeble body crumpled on the floor. On the couch. In the bathtub, one time. Basically anywhere his drunk ass landed at the end of the night. I would laugh with him later as he told me weird things that had happened at the bar. The man that got a dart stuck in his back. The lady who slid out of a booth and split her dress. Why had I allowed it to be so normal? Why hadn't I told him how stupid he was being every time he called a cab and left the house with a wad of my mother's cash. His smile tried to say that he still loved me. His hangovers showed that he did not. Jay had never really known him. Our relationship came on too strong and too fast. I had used him to escape life here. Old Morty had understood that Jay was his replacement. Now I'm with Jay forever and will never have my father. Ever, ever again.
My body is starting to ache. I nudge Jay awake. We both watch the sun come up, then silently walk into the house. I go to my bedroom and he goes out the door and back to our place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“OLIVIA CATHERINE!”
There’s a huge bat in my room! Oh wait, it’s just my mom. She’s completely decked out in black and is waving her arms at me. I look around. The sun had come out in full force. My eyes are stinging. What a headache. I bury my head into my comforter and say, “What part of ‘I’m not going’ don’t you understand?”
“That hurts me, Liv” she says as she flutters away.
Several hours later, I wake up again. I feel like I had slept for days. There are shadows drawn across my floor and there’s no trace of the autumn sun. I assume that it’s eight or nine in the evening and that I had slept through it all. I pull my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket and I can’t believe my eyes. It’s only three thirty! The sky is completely overcast. Strange weather. My phone has six missed calls and a text message. The message is from Jay. It says:
Missed u at the funeral. See u @ 4?
Something in me forces me to jump up and start getting ready. I splash cold water on my face and touch up my eye makeup. I throw on a polo shirt and ripped jeans. No need to look too nice. I grab my keys and pull my hair into a messy ponytail as I run out the door.
As I pull up to the cemetery thirty minutes later, I can see a small crowd gathered by the fresh grave. Hot boxing the whole way here had made me a little dizzy, so as I have another smoke, I put the windows down. Nobody’s noticed me yet. The radio is on quietly. I can only pick up one podunk country station out here.
Come on baby, baby let's go. Where we get the money, honey, I don't know. One more baby's alright by me. We'll just add another limb to the family tree.
My breath quickens. I decide right then and there to forget the alcoholic. Today I’ll say goodbye to my dad. I have missed him for quite sometime now, but finally it’s definite that he’s never coming back. I’m going to bury my anger along with his body and start a family that he would be proud of. As he looks on from the afterlife, I’ll prove to him that I’m somebody worth loving. I switch off the radio and get out of the car. I stand behind some of my mom’s business associates and nonchalantly look around. I see my mother and Jay. I look back to all the tombstones on the hill. I watch a rolling cloud change from dark to darker. My eyes fixate on everything else for as long as possible, but finally rest on the casket I can’t look away. My lower lip quivers and it starts to rain.
There is a rush to get into cars as the downpour starts, and I allow myself to get lost in the shuffle. Everybody intends on waiting out the rain, but I take the opportunity to leave. As I’m pulling into my parking spot, I notice that I had never checked my voicemail. Missed call from Dr. Evans. I hurriedly type in my password. A muffled nurse says, “Olivia...ack as soon…good news…ank you.” I call back and confirm what she had told me. Goosebumps run up and down my arm. I gingerly get out of the car, and trying not jostle my stomach too much, I climb the stairs and head to bed.
I lay awake in the silence of my room, the one that I painted myself when I was fourteen. All around me are remnants from my life here. I slide my hand into the drawer next to my bed and pull out a photo album my mom had given me for my fifth birthday. I study the blue and white cover, and almost have the urge to kiss it. When I open it, I see a gross little version of me with tubes up my nose, not even four minutes old. I flip a couple of pages. There it is. The picture taken on the day of first baby steps. We are all on the balcony. My mom’s hair is blowing in the wind and my dad is smiling impatiently, waiting for the self timer camera to take the picture. I am standing, looking oblivious to it all, not even knowing that a monumental occasion had just taken place.
The door to my room crashes open and Jay rudely says, “Wake up, Olivia!” I turn over and stick my middle finger straight up in the air.
“What’s that for? You’re the one who’s been sleeping all day while I deal with your mom and crazy aunts. Why didn’t you ever warn me about Martha? At our wedding she was so demure, but today she went psycho Nazi on me. Jay, bring me this…Can you help with that…”
“Ohh, I feel so sorry for you. You must be so sad to have a normal family. It must be hard to know that your father is alive,” I retort.
Jay looks at me and knowing that I’m only being mad to be just that, he softens his tone, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” My aggravated response makes him cower a little bit.
“Come on, I know you are sad about your Dad. But do you need to be such a spoiled brat all the time?”
“Yes actually I do,” I practically yell back.
“And why is that, little miss?”
“Because I’m pregnant, asshole!” The words stumble over a smile as they leave my mouth. Jay’s face lights up and he grabs me for a bear hug.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he says in his desperate people pleasing way. “You can stay here for as long as you want. Of course, I want you to come back home but whatever you want to do. I’ll get another job on the weekends and we can start saving up for a townhouse. Listen, if we have a boy, the name Morty is actually starting to grow on me.”
I can’t help but laugh and lead him down the stairs. My aunts tentatively give me hugs and ask what I want to eat. I tell them that I’m not hungry. After awhile, my mom comes out of the kitchen with a plate full of chicken, pasta salad, and green beans. My little cousin follows her with a piece of apple pie. Real food. They set down the food before me. I take a deep breath and start to eat. I silently nod to my mom. I will never be like him. My relationship with her will always be a top priority. We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but she’s my favorite mama and I’m her favorite daughter. She pats my head almost as if she understands what I’m thinking, just by the fact that I am eating something other than a huge bag of starbursts in the middle of the night. She pulls my little cousin towards me and asks if I remember her. I held her when she was a baby, but have only seen pictures of her since. MJ is now four years old, and just looking at her I’m reminded of how fast life goes by. She looks at me in the face, thrusts her baby doll into my arms, and says “This is Bethie; she just learned how to walk!” I pull my baby cousin onto my lap and start to tell her the story of my first baby steps.
I don't know how...
I Don’t Know How To Write Poetry
I. How Do I Start?
I think of boys that sing, an engagement ring,
Wooden crosses, wins and loses,
The way a stranger talks, presents themselves, and walks,
Warm blankets, tea, the wind, how to have and be a friend
All these inspirations are completely in vain
Because my paper still sits here, hauntingly white and plain
I just sigh and keep trying because I just know it-
You have to think a lot to become a proficient poet
II. My Story
It was Paris at night, the whole city full of light
I looked as good on the outside as I felt on the inside
A French man, let’s call him Pierre, noticed my long, curly hair
He begged to sing me a song, which, since he added verses, would be pretty long
He saw that I was somebody who would be a wonderful wife
It wasn’t him I wanted because there was somebody else in my life
That special boy ended up being all wrong
He broke it off then gave a ring and a promise to a girl he’d been seeing all along
It was all very sad, the way he made me feel, I cried a lot on the seat by my window seal
Thinking about balances- the give and take, His sorrowful passion all for our sake
That cross is a symbol of love, a map- how to get from here to above
Ups and downs are part of the plan, the race the saints at one point ran
We try to help each other, even a stranger on the street
You may not know them now, but they might be someone good to meet
My best friends walk up and say hello
And I remember that the prize is worth the woe
I. How Do I Start?
I think of boys that sing, an engagement ring,
Wooden crosses, wins and loses,
The way a stranger talks, presents themselves, and walks,
Warm blankets, tea, the wind, how to have and be a friend
All these inspirations are completely in vain
Because my paper still sits here, hauntingly white and plain
I just sigh and keep trying because I just know it-
You have to think a lot to become a proficient poet
II. My Story
It was Paris at night, the whole city full of light
I looked as good on the outside as I felt on the inside
A French man, let’s call him Pierre, noticed my long, curly hair
He begged to sing me a song, which, since he added verses, would be pretty long
He saw that I was somebody who would be a wonderful wife
It wasn’t him I wanted because there was somebody else in my life
That special boy ended up being all wrong
He broke it off then gave a ring and a promise to a girl he’d been seeing all along
It was all very sad, the way he made me feel, I cried a lot on the seat by my window seal
Thinking about balances- the give and take, His sorrowful passion all for our sake
That cross is a symbol of love, a map- how to get from here to above
Ups and downs are part of the plan, the race the saints at one point ran
We try to help each other, even a stranger on the street
You may not know them now, but they might be someone good to meet
My best friends walk up and say hello
And I remember that the prize is worth the woe
Pastiche
A Pastiche (imitation) of “American Fat” by Russell Baker
Catholic boys don’t ask girls on casual dates anymore. Nowadays they like to meet, discern, and then marry. Show them a pretty, available girl and watch them analyze whether or not she would be a good wife until she gets fed up and moves on like a rock that has just been launched from a slingshot.
“The port” is a typical example. Years ago, only nuns and priests would have spent all their extra time in the Port. Now, it’s a hotspot for couples.
“The port” is a place to pray. Why has “just praying” become foreign to this campus? It’s a lovely time just between a person and God, without lots of complicated words and profound statements to impress another person.
This is supposedly romance at its very best. Praying is a great thing; it doesn’t call for another person; it is not something to be addicted to, to take over your life, or to create a spiritual connection so strong with somebody who you are not married to.
A girl met a guy the other day. He was on his way to Mass, apparently- a girl never pays too much attention when distracted by good looks. She asked him why he was going to Mass when it wasn’t Sunday.
The guy said it was “to pray for his future wife and to hopefully meet her!” – the mind’s Automatic Franciscan Boy Radar went off at this point. Seeds of gloom had been planted.
The guy’s obsession with getting married was given away. One shudders for this poor girl- “submissive wife” as he probably sees her- for it has to be an awful thing to be interested in a guy who goes to Mass to pray for a girl to get her M.R.S degree with him. He would probably also suggest asking the Lord for a huge billboard along the side of the highway that says “Ask her on a Date” before he invites her to the grotto for a midnight rosary.
Getting to the holding hands part of the process would require three novenas and the advice of a spiritual advisor. Having finally held her hand, he’s practically engaged.
Peace, students! Of course that’s a slight exaggeration, although “slight” is very emphasized.
We are to date around, all the while staying in the state of grace; until we find someone that we could spend the rest of our lives with.
The Franciscan way of dating- it might tell us something. Have people forgotten that we need to live our faith in everything we do? We take it too seriously when it comes to picking who we are going to date. It’s the boy who asks the girl, “Can I take you out to dinner?” It’s the girl who is going out with that boy and says yes when another boy asks, “Can I have your phone number?”
Casual dating has become unusual and frowned upon, as though we don’t need an outlet for our ever growing minds and spirits; a chance to find our potential spouses by literally eliminating all other choices. The boys are not to blame here; they are merely following other’s example.
There are guys that can’t bring themselves to ask a girl out, swallow their nerves, show some courage, wear the pants, get the phone number, but instead seek out girls at holy hour, or worse, infatuate themselves with theology and philosophy.
Franciscan University seems to be the only place in the universe with this problem. The couples are always praying, but the single people face long, dreary days of loneliness and solitude. Girls never have dates on the weekends, the act of sitting together at Mass shows that a couple is “pretty serious”, and all the fun of meeting new people is nowhere to be found.
Why do guys want to get married but are afraid to date?
Catholic boys don’t ask girls on casual dates anymore. Nowadays they like to meet, discern, and then marry. Show them a pretty, available girl and watch them analyze whether or not she would be a good wife until she gets fed up and moves on like a rock that has just been launched from a slingshot.
“The port” is a typical example. Years ago, only nuns and priests would have spent all their extra time in the Port. Now, it’s a hotspot for couples.
“The port” is a place to pray. Why has “just praying” become foreign to this campus? It’s a lovely time just between a person and God, without lots of complicated words and profound statements to impress another person.
This is supposedly romance at its very best. Praying is a great thing; it doesn’t call for another person; it is not something to be addicted to, to take over your life, or to create a spiritual connection so strong with somebody who you are not married to.
A girl met a guy the other day. He was on his way to Mass, apparently- a girl never pays too much attention when distracted by good looks. She asked him why he was going to Mass when it wasn’t Sunday.
The guy said it was “to pray for his future wife and to hopefully meet her!” – the mind’s Automatic Franciscan Boy Radar went off at this point. Seeds of gloom had been planted.
The guy’s obsession with getting married was given away. One shudders for this poor girl- “submissive wife” as he probably sees her- for it has to be an awful thing to be interested in a guy who goes to Mass to pray for a girl to get her M.R.S degree with him. He would probably also suggest asking the Lord for a huge billboard along the side of the highway that says “Ask her on a Date” before he invites her to the grotto for a midnight rosary.
Getting to the holding hands part of the process would require three novenas and the advice of a spiritual advisor. Having finally held her hand, he’s practically engaged.
Peace, students! Of course that’s a slight exaggeration, although “slight” is very emphasized.
We are to date around, all the while staying in the state of grace; until we find someone that we could spend the rest of our lives with.
The Franciscan way of dating- it might tell us something. Have people forgotten that we need to live our faith in everything we do? We take it too seriously when it comes to picking who we are going to date. It’s the boy who asks the girl, “Can I take you out to dinner?” It’s the girl who is going out with that boy and says yes when another boy asks, “Can I have your phone number?”
Casual dating has become unusual and frowned upon, as though we don’t need an outlet for our ever growing minds and spirits; a chance to find our potential spouses by literally eliminating all other choices. The boys are not to blame here; they are merely following other’s example.
There are guys that can’t bring themselves to ask a girl out, swallow their nerves, show some courage, wear the pants, get the phone number, but instead seek out girls at holy hour, or worse, infatuate themselves with theology and philosophy.
Franciscan University seems to be the only place in the universe with this problem. The couples are always praying, but the single people face long, dreary days of loneliness and solitude. Girls never have dates on the weekends, the act of sitting together at Mass shows that a couple is “pretty serious”, and all the fun of meeting new people is nowhere to be found.
Why do guys want to get married but are afraid to date?
The Hammock Swing
Wooden shoulders
attached to the ceiling with a hook
and a net hanging down,
a sailboat- with nothing underneath
but the breeze.
This is where my sister sits in the summer,
tanned legs swinging.
The corner of the porch
seems like the corner of the world.
A place to observe
or read
or talk
on the phone
for hours.
The crisscrossed ropes are a dream catcher,
all bad things blocked
and only the good let through.
For me to look at her
I tilt my head upwards.
We sit,
laugh,
and dream.
"Everything's going to be all right" she teaches me.
She leans back with night sky behind.
"It's us against the world."
She's a quiet piece of furniture-
my guru.
attached to the ceiling with a hook
and a net hanging down,
a sailboat- with nothing underneath
but the breeze.
This is where my sister sits in the summer,
tanned legs swinging.
The corner of the porch
seems like the corner of the world.
A place to observe
or read
or talk
on the phone
for hours.
The crisscrossed ropes are a dream catcher,
all bad things blocked
and only the good let through.
For me to look at her
I tilt my head upwards.
We sit,
laugh,
and dream.
"Everything's going to be all right" she teaches me.
She leans back with night sky behind.
"It's us against the world."
She's a quiet piece of furniture-
my guru.
Hello!
Hi, my name's Laura and as this blog's title suggests, these are some of my stories, poems and free writes. Enjoy :)
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