He starts off with nothing.
But as time goes on, he gets more.
His head becomes filled
With the good, with the bad,
With the funny, with the scary
His sub-conscious stores it all.
It’s all in there, even when he thinks it left him.
All the birthdays, and the Christmases.
All the goodnights, and all the good mornings.
Leaving the old, and becoming the new.
With each new step, he receives more.
And more
And more
And more
And the more he has, the more he surprises himself.
And the more shocked he is that he remembers
A stormy night, entering his apartment after a long day at the office
and thinking, “Oh damn,
what the hell am I getting her for her birthday.”
As the Age creeps up on him and scares him in the dark,
He realizes that there is too much to remember what.
To much to store so he will lose some of he doesn’t need anymore,
And store what he will need
Even if he doesn’t know it at the time
But until everything falls out of his ears,
His mind is a clutter mess, waiting to be remembered.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Poetry Out Loud
She Walks in Beauty by Lord Bryon (George Gordon)
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Response: I like this poem a lot. It does a really good job of putting a picture of the girl in your head. I also like the way it sounds when I read it in my head. It flows really nice, and you can also tell how much the poet likes this girl and thinks that she is beautiful.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Response: I like this poem a lot. It does a really good job of putting a picture of the girl in your head. I also like the way it sounds when I read it in my head. It flows really nice, and you can also tell how much the poet likes this girl and thinks that she is beautiful.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Ist Poem (outside adventure)
We are coming out a mess.
We went in squeaky clean but now we are a mess.
It was supposed to be harmless but now we’re a mess.
Our faces are covered in mess.
Our shoes were dipped in mess.
Our spirits were dropped in mess.
We are coming out a mess.
In the movies people come in a mess,
and out not a mess.
But we went in not a mess,
and out a mess.
We are the mess.
People are a mess.
Movies are not mess.
We are the mess.
But maybe being normal is being a mess…
We went in squeaky clean but now we are a mess.
It was supposed to be harmless but now we’re a mess.
Our faces are covered in mess.
Our shoes were dipped in mess.
Our spirits were dropped in mess.
We are coming out a mess.
In the movies people come in a mess,
and out not a mess.
But we went in not a mess,
and out a mess.
We are the mess.
People are a mess.
Movies are not mess.
We are the mess.
But maybe being normal is being a mess…
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Final 3 posts
I sat in my mother’s house on her hard wood kitchen chairs. I hated Thursdays because Thursdays always meant tea with my mother. She called it “mother daughter bonding.” I guess that it might be a good idea since I only see her once a week because I don’t live with her any more. I live with my dad, and have for the past year. I hate my mom, and I blame her for everything. She ruined everything. She ruined my live. She ruined all of our lives. Our family has to suffer for her mistake. Why couldn’t she just love my dad?
She walked over to the table where I was forced to sit. If you didn’t know her you would think that she was a mom, but not a crazy mom. You would think she was the soccer mom who attended all of our band chorus concerts, and make you chicken noodle soup when you were sick. If you didn’t know you wouldn’t know that she was a home wrecker. “Would you like some tea?” she asked as she sat down. She had a tea pot in her hand the was green.
“I would thank you.” I said. I hoped she could hear the mocking tone in my voice. I hope she could see the roll of my eyes. My dad told me to be nice to her, and I would do anything for my dad because he is all that I have. He’s been my dad, and my mom. He took up where the devil lady left off.
“Careful, it’s hot,” said my mother as she poured some tea into my Snoopy mug.
“I usually prefer iced tea.” I also prefer spending lazy summer days with anybody but my mother, and if it wasn’t for my dad, I would walk out on her right now and throw the scalding hot tea into her face, hoping that it would burn her all the way to hell.
“Mmm. I don’t have any,” she said with a mouth full of tea. She drank it with out milk, without cream, without sugar, and apparently without ice.
“Maybe, I could put ice in this tea,” I said, like she was the stupidest person on the planet, which she was. What else could possibly be the reason that she slept with my biology teacher, when she was supposed to be sleeping with my dad. Stupid? Yes, but I think the real reason she did it was because she’s just a whore.
“But that’s what I’m saying- I don’t have any.” She was reacting to my tone. She was mirroring my attitude. She was starting to get agitated, but I don’t care if I raise her blood pressure. I want her to have a heart attack. I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER!
“Sorry,” I said with emphasis on the ‘orry,’ I jam packed all my anger that I feel towards the woman sitting across from me into that one word. I used all the attitude that I could. After I said it, it had looked like I punched her in the face. She looked taken back, but she would never say anything back to me. She didn’t have it in her.
I stood up and stomped over to the bathroom. I need to calm down because even if it would feel great to punch her in the face, I know that I can’t. I would hurt my dad, too. As I splashed water on my face, I heard a big crash. I peeked out the door, and I saw the green shards spread all over the floor.
New story.......
As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did. The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color. By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited. “I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird. “Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on? I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT! I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open. All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get. I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors. She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.
new story....
I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop. I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her. I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time. As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look. Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure. It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out. The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?” “Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that. “Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head? “You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds. “But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me. “Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.” “I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead. I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing. She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang. “Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission. “No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?” This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal. “The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.” She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.” I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less. “Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said. “I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.
She walked over to the table where I was forced to sit. If you didn’t know her you would think that she was a mom, but not a crazy mom. You would think she was the soccer mom who attended all of our band chorus concerts, and make you chicken noodle soup when you were sick. If you didn’t know you wouldn’t know that she was a home wrecker. “Would you like some tea?” she asked as she sat down. She had a tea pot in her hand the was green.
“I would thank you.” I said. I hoped she could hear the mocking tone in my voice. I hope she could see the roll of my eyes. My dad told me to be nice to her, and I would do anything for my dad because he is all that I have. He’s been my dad, and my mom. He took up where the devil lady left off.
“Careful, it’s hot,” said my mother as she poured some tea into my Snoopy mug.
“I usually prefer iced tea.” I also prefer spending lazy summer days with anybody but my mother, and if it wasn’t for my dad, I would walk out on her right now and throw the scalding hot tea into her face, hoping that it would burn her all the way to hell.
“Mmm. I don’t have any,” she said with a mouth full of tea. She drank it with out milk, without cream, without sugar, and apparently without ice.
“Maybe, I could put ice in this tea,” I said, like she was the stupidest person on the planet, which she was. What else could possibly be the reason that she slept with my biology teacher, when she was supposed to be sleeping with my dad. Stupid? Yes, but I think the real reason she did it was because she’s just a whore.
“But that’s what I’m saying- I don’t have any.” She was reacting to my tone. She was mirroring my attitude. She was starting to get agitated, but I don’t care if I raise her blood pressure. I want her to have a heart attack. I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER!
“Sorry,” I said with emphasis on the ‘orry,’ I jam packed all my anger that I feel towards the woman sitting across from me into that one word. I used all the attitude that I could. After I said it, it had looked like I punched her in the face. She looked taken back, but she would never say anything back to me. She didn’t have it in her.
I stood up and stomped over to the bathroom. I need to calm down because even if it would feel great to punch her in the face, I know that I can’t. I would hurt my dad, too. As I splashed water on my face, I heard a big crash. I peeked out the door, and I saw the green shards spread all over the floor.
New story.......
As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did. The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color. By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited. “I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird. “Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on? I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT! I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open. All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get. I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors. She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.
new story....
I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop. I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her. I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time. As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look. Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure. It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out. The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?” “Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that. “Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head? “You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds. “But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me. “Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.” “I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead. I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing. She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang. “Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission. “No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?” This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal. “The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.” She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.” I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less. “Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said. “I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.
Final
As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did.
The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color.
By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited.
“I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird.
“Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on?
I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT!
I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open.
All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get.
I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors.
She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.
The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color.
By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited.
“I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird.
“Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on?
I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT!
I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open.
All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get.
I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors.
She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.
Final
Hey Soul Sister…
I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop.
I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her.
I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time.
As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look.
Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure.
It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out.
The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?”
“Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that.
“Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head?
“You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds.
“But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me.
“Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.”
“I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead.
I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing.
She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang.
“Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission.
“No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?”
This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.”
She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.”
I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less.
“Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said.
“I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.
I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop.
I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her.
I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time.
As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look.
Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure.
It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out.
The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?”
“Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that.
“Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head?
“You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds.
“But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me.
“Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.”
“I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead.
I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing.
She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang.
“Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission.
“No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?”
This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.”
She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.”
I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less.
“Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said.
“I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.
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