ah, halloween, how i foundly remember thee. halloween, the holiday of the cavity and fake blood, of excessive make-up and hairdye, of college kids squeezing into little kid costumes and "clever" drinks such as bloody marys. ah, halloween, the one day of the year that it's okay to rock bright orange and to look like the dead at work.
halloween is timeless, when you're young you can be a fairy princess, when you're in your twenties you can be a naughty princess and when you're old you can be a princess back from the dead. halloween is a beautiful, beautiful holiday.
i remember my first halloween; i was a ninja. we dyed my karate suit black. i had a plastic sword and everything. i was the best rolly-polly ninja you'd ever see. we went from house to house in Kaumana city and when all the tricking was over i laid out my treats on the living room floor. my father inspected the goods for any kind of tampering such as ripped packages or attached bombs. once all was clear i dived mouth open into the mountain of candy. such sweet innocence.
in college i got dressed up with the woman's rugby team. the costumes were a little less innocent but the amount of clothing was about equal to what you would wear when you were 5. last halloween i was a moose. i make a really good looking moose. instead of hard candy, we had liquid candy. shots of every imaginable color and flavor, oh and beer, lots of beer. the good thing about beer is it already comes in sanitized containers so you don't have to worry about tampering or contamination. i suppose you grow wiser in your years. by the end of the night i was a sauced moose.
this year i'm going to be a starbucks employee/ninja. that's right, sometimes in life you need to re-use costume ideas. since i'm required to wear all black anyway i thought, might as well call myself a starbucks ninja. i won't get to have a plastic sword, because who knows what kind of trouble i could stir up with that. i'm really only allowed to handle the rags.
i'm working the closing shift tonight so i'll be at the store until late. i hope people come in costumes that would really make my halloween. alas, no dressing up for me this halloween, maybe that's why adults have costume parties. hrm...
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A STORY-character backgrounds
A STORY—CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS
AUDREY BARNS: 28 years old. Born in 1979 in Richmond, Virginia. Her father (Joseph Reynolds) and mother (Gail Swift) divorced in 1987 after Gail refused to return from a writers seminar in Eugene, Oregon. Joe and Gail’s marriage was always a difficult one with moments of absolute bliss (fun family outings, board games, and loving words) and indescribable pain (shouting matches, verbal abuse and countless walk outs usually by Gail). Audrey and her brother Greg lived with their father in El Paso where Joe was an electrician. In 1992 Joseph packed up his two kids and moved in with his girlfriend, Bridget in Indiana. Bridget was a recent college graduate who worked in El Paso as part of her teacher’s training. Joe met her while working on the new gymnasium at the nearby high school. Audrey always had a difficult time accepting Bridget who was only 22 when she married the 37 year old Joe. Gail was absent for most of Audrey’s childhood and adolescence.
In high school Audrey became involved with theatre. It was discovered that she was a very talented dancer though she had no formal training. Her high school theatre instructor took a special interest in Audrey both as a student and a partner. He gave her the parts she needed and she in turn gave him the things he wanted. Her freshmen in high school an anonymous note was delivered to the PTA (parent, teacher association) reporting that Mr. Daniels was having sex with his student Audrey Reynolds. Bridget, a prominent member in the PTA interrogated Audrey who continued to deny the affair. Mr. Daniels, however, did confess and was sentenced accordingly. Audrey (15 years old), unable to handle the shame and pain that came with her situation dropped out of school and moved to New York to live with her mother. Gail was at this point a celebrated author and had many inroads with various thespians. Audrey started work with a small, independent dance troupe where she worked diligently. Her raw talent, passion and her mother’s contacts drove her to the top. By the time she was 23 she was one of the most desired classical dancers in northern America.
In the fall of 2006 Audrey had found it ever more difficult to keep up with the other dancers. She was tired and weak. In the spring of 2007 during a sold-out show Audrey collapsed. She was unconscious for a little over a minute but it felt like hours. She was rushed to the hospital where media speculations ran amok with tales of drug overdose. While trace amounts of cocaine were found in her system, it was the large lump in her breast and the slew of cancer infected cells that had doctors worried. Audrey was told to have mastectomy to which she bitterly conceded. Her dance troupe dropped her quicker than you can say shit and Audrey was left trying to find work with any troupe that would have her.
Audrey talks to her mother from time to time and her father even less. He was so greatly shamed by her affair in high school and disappointed in her running away that all the two of them manage are Christmas and birthday calls. She hasn’t spoken to her brother in 11 years.
Audrey takes her mother’s maiden name Barnes.
GAIL SWIFT: 51 years old. Born in 1957 in Illinois. Gail met Joe when she was working on some community service projects in Michigan. Joe was Gail’s first real love and the two were married in 1976 when Gail was 19. That year Gail had Greg and the family was happy. Gail always loved to write and kept a journal since she was a young girl. However, it wasn’t until a neighbor saw Gail’s work and suggested that she submit it to the local newspaper that Gail began to think of writing as a possible career. Being a housewife, Gail spent most of her early twenties taking care of her home, husband and son. But any free moment she had, she was writing. Within a few months Gail had a faithful following of other housewives. She became a celebrity in their small neighborhood as she was saying those things that housewives felt but didn’t have the means to say. She was even given her own column entitled “This little life: tales of a housewife”. By the time she had Audrey in 1979, Gail was hugely popular and began to write entire books about being a housewife. In the early 80’s Gail began to tire of the housewife story and thought that she needed to experience new things so she could write more. This desire put a strain on her and Joe’s marriage as Gail was often so busy with meetings and writing that she was ever more absent in the family’s life. In 1987 she set off for a writing seminar in Eugene, Oregon and never came back. She filed for a divorce 2 weeks later.
Gail had no interest in having sole custody of her children as she was too wrapped up in finding herself and experiencing all she could for the sake of her writing. Writing had become her number one priority. It was a relatively easy ruling for the judge as Joe wanted the kids and Gail did not and so Greg and Audrey spent the rest of their adolescent lives with their father. Gail would write letters to both children but they wouldn’t physically speak until they were much older.
MEGHANN VARDEN:
GREG REYNOLDS: 31 years old. Born in 1976 in Richmond, Virginia to parents Joseph and Gail Reynolds. Greg was born during a very passionate moment in Joe and Gail’s marriage where both Joe and Gail were really trying for a child. Greg’s birth was a scary one with him nearly dying because the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. During his childhood he suffered from many physical maladies including chronic earaches, colds and allergies. He had sensitive skin which made playing out in the Texas sun dangerous. The Reynolds could not have pets because he was allergic to their fur. His eye site was poor and he had no atheletism to speak of. Yet the Reynolds loved their little boy and coddled him so much that it wouldn’t be until the second grade that Greg finally stopped wetting the bed.
His soft mannerisms and nerdy appearance (overweight, pale with blonde hair, braces and thick eye glasses) tormented him from elementary into high school. He was considered a mama’s boy, which by all definitions of the word, he was. Gail loved her son and his visible literary talents made her even more certain to protect and baby him. Greg was her son and in him she saw so much of herself. Joe was a little less affectionate toward Greg. While he was very happy with his son’s scholarly achievements, he was always pushing and hoping that Greg would get involved with sports. Joe thought his son may be gay because he was so traditionally “soft” and one day even asked Greg about his orientation. His father’s suspicions continue to haunt Greg today and he never feels adequate as a man.
When Gail ran out on the family Greg was 11. Because he was so attached to his mother, he took this abandonment personally and has since despised her. Greg was always jealous of his sister Audrey because she was so beautiful and because their father seemed so pleased with her. When she, too, ran away her senior year of high school to meet up with their mother, Greg saw the two as selfish and in cahoots. He hasn’t spoken to either of them since they ran off.
Greg is suffering from clinical depression and often hallucinates so that he has a difficult time discerning reality from fiction.
Greg works as a psychologist alongside Meghann Varden. He dates Meghann for a time and is in love with her. Meghann is questioning her own sexual identity. She is attracted to Audrey, Greg's sister but because Greg doesn't talk to or about his sister, Meghann does not know the connection between Greg and Audrey. He doesn't even mention that he has a sister.
DORA REYNOLDS: wife of Greg.
BARRY KING: interested in Meghann
NICK SHAUGHTS: Audrey’s first real love. Broke her heart and abandoned her.
MICHAEL HARMEN: 53 years old. Born July 31 1955 in Maine. Michael met Gail at a book signing in Connecticut. He was instantly attracted to her and the two hit it off immediately. Harmen is a widower of 12 years and has only recently been able to get back into a relationship. He is a doctor and has worked on both Gail and Audrey although he does not know that Audrey is Gail’s daughter because Gail uses her pseudonym Swift and Audrey uses her mother’s maiden name Barnes. Michael would like to settle down with Gail but she still seems too self-absorbed to realize how truly wonderful he is for her.
THE CONTRACTOR/THE GIRL: hallucination of Greg’s
AUDREY BARNS: 28 years old. Born in 1979 in Richmond, Virginia. Her father (Joseph Reynolds) and mother (Gail Swift) divorced in 1987 after Gail refused to return from a writers seminar in Eugene, Oregon. Joe and Gail’s marriage was always a difficult one with moments of absolute bliss (fun family outings, board games, and loving words) and indescribable pain (shouting matches, verbal abuse and countless walk outs usually by Gail). Audrey and her brother Greg lived with their father in El Paso where Joe was an electrician. In 1992 Joseph packed up his two kids and moved in with his girlfriend, Bridget in Indiana. Bridget was a recent college graduate who worked in El Paso as part of her teacher’s training. Joe met her while working on the new gymnasium at the nearby high school. Audrey always had a difficult time accepting Bridget who was only 22 when she married the 37 year old Joe. Gail was absent for most of Audrey’s childhood and adolescence.
In high school Audrey became involved with theatre. It was discovered that she was a very talented dancer though she had no formal training. Her high school theatre instructor took a special interest in Audrey both as a student and a partner. He gave her the parts she needed and she in turn gave him the things he wanted. Her freshmen in high school an anonymous note was delivered to the PTA (parent, teacher association) reporting that Mr. Daniels was having sex with his student Audrey Reynolds. Bridget, a prominent member in the PTA interrogated Audrey who continued to deny the affair. Mr. Daniels, however, did confess and was sentenced accordingly. Audrey (15 years old), unable to handle the shame and pain that came with her situation dropped out of school and moved to New York to live with her mother. Gail was at this point a celebrated author and had many inroads with various thespians. Audrey started work with a small, independent dance troupe where she worked diligently. Her raw talent, passion and her mother’s contacts drove her to the top. By the time she was 23 she was one of the most desired classical dancers in northern America.
In the fall of 2006 Audrey had found it ever more difficult to keep up with the other dancers. She was tired and weak. In the spring of 2007 during a sold-out show Audrey collapsed. She was unconscious for a little over a minute but it felt like hours. She was rushed to the hospital where media speculations ran amok with tales of drug overdose. While trace amounts of cocaine were found in her system, it was the large lump in her breast and the slew of cancer infected cells that had doctors worried. Audrey was told to have mastectomy to which she bitterly conceded. Her dance troupe dropped her quicker than you can say shit and Audrey was left trying to find work with any troupe that would have her.
Audrey talks to her mother from time to time and her father even less. He was so greatly shamed by her affair in high school and disappointed in her running away that all the two of them manage are Christmas and birthday calls. She hasn’t spoken to her brother in 11 years.
Audrey takes her mother’s maiden name Barnes.
GAIL SWIFT: 51 years old. Born in 1957 in Illinois. Gail met Joe when she was working on some community service projects in Michigan. Joe was Gail’s first real love and the two were married in 1976 when Gail was 19. That year Gail had Greg and the family was happy. Gail always loved to write and kept a journal since she was a young girl. However, it wasn’t until a neighbor saw Gail’s work and suggested that she submit it to the local newspaper that Gail began to think of writing as a possible career. Being a housewife, Gail spent most of her early twenties taking care of her home, husband and son. But any free moment she had, she was writing. Within a few months Gail had a faithful following of other housewives. She became a celebrity in their small neighborhood as she was saying those things that housewives felt but didn’t have the means to say. She was even given her own column entitled “This little life: tales of a housewife”. By the time she had Audrey in 1979, Gail was hugely popular and began to write entire books about being a housewife. In the early 80’s Gail began to tire of the housewife story and thought that she needed to experience new things so she could write more. This desire put a strain on her and Joe’s marriage as Gail was often so busy with meetings and writing that she was ever more absent in the family’s life. In 1987 she set off for a writing seminar in Eugene, Oregon and never came back. She filed for a divorce 2 weeks later.
Gail had no interest in having sole custody of her children as she was too wrapped up in finding herself and experiencing all she could for the sake of her writing. Writing had become her number one priority. It was a relatively easy ruling for the judge as Joe wanted the kids and Gail did not and so Greg and Audrey spent the rest of their adolescent lives with their father. Gail would write letters to both children but they wouldn’t physically speak until they were much older.
MEGHANN VARDEN:
GREG REYNOLDS: 31 years old. Born in 1976 in Richmond, Virginia to parents Joseph and Gail Reynolds. Greg was born during a very passionate moment in Joe and Gail’s marriage where both Joe and Gail were really trying for a child. Greg’s birth was a scary one with him nearly dying because the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. During his childhood he suffered from many physical maladies including chronic earaches, colds and allergies. He had sensitive skin which made playing out in the Texas sun dangerous. The Reynolds could not have pets because he was allergic to their fur. His eye site was poor and he had no atheletism to speak of. Yet the Reynolds loved their little boy and coddled him so much that it wouldn’t be until the second grade that Greg finally stopped wetting the bed.
His soft mannerisms and nerdy appearance (overweight, pale with blonde hair, braces and thick eye glasses) tormented him from elementary into high school. He was considered a mama’s boy, which by all definitions of the word, he was. Gail loved her son and his visible literary talents made her even more certain to protect and baby him. Greg was her son and in him she saw so much of herself. Joe was a little less affectionate toward Greg. While he was very happy with his son’s scholarly achievements, he was always pushing and hoping that Greg would get involved with sports. Joe thought his son may be gay because he was so traditionally “soft” and one day even asked Greg about his orientation. His father’s suspicions continue to haunt Greg today and he never feels adequate as a man.
When Gail ran out on the family Greg was 11. Because he was so attached to his mother, he took this abandonment personally and has since despised her. Greg was always jealous of his sister Audrey because she was so beautiful and because their father seemed so pleased with her. When she, too, ran away her senior year of high school to meet up with their mother, Greg saw the two as selfish and in cahoots. He hasn’t spoken to either of them since they ran off.
Greg is suffering from clinical depression and often hallucinates so that he has a difficult time discerning reality from fiction.
Greg works as a psychologist alongside Meghann Varden. He dates Meghann for a time and is in love with her. Meghann is questioning her own sexual identity. She is attracted to Audrey, Greg's sister but because Greg doesn't talk to or about his sister, Meghann does not know the connection between Greg and Audrey. He doesn't even mention that he has a sister.
DORA REYNOLDS: wife of Greg.
BARRY KING: interested in Meghann
NICK SHAUGHTS: Audrey’s first real love. Broke her heart and abandoned her.
MICHAEL HARMEN: 53 years old. Born July 31 1955 in Maine. Michael met Gail at a book signing in Connecticut. He was instantly attracted to her and the two hit it off immediately. Harmen is a widower of 12 years and has only recently been able to get back into a relationship. He is a doctor and has worked on both Gail and Audrey although he does not know that Audrey is Gail’s daughter because Gail uses her pseudonym Swift and Audrey uses her mother’s maiden name Barnes. Michael would like to settle down with Gail but she still seems too self-absorbed to realize how truly wonderful he is for her.
THE CONTRACTOR/THE GIRL: hallucination of Greg’s
A STORY- The Begining
this is a story about a family divided and their quest to find happiness and holism within their individual lives as well as in their construction as a family. the characters are fictional but the inspiration for their creation is non-fictional. this story began when i was in highschool. it was originally an attempt to create characters that were versions of me. i realize now that these characters are versions of the things i have known and seen. they are me and they are not.
the story is just that, a story. a small rendering of someone's life. the goal i have set for this story, is that it touches everyone who reads it in some way. perhaps, i have illustrated something you have seen or felt or known and perhaps in that way, we realize that we are not alone, that division is not quite as definate as one may think. my goal is to communicate the complexity of human relationships. my goal is to illustrate the human condition.
i will attempt to work on this story here. i have alot written already, however, much of it needs to be edited. certain things just don't make sense and as of right now the story isn't going anywhere. but i am hoping to start adding entries (hopefully) everyday and build the story in this way.
so today i have given a vague summary of what the story is about and what i hope to accomplish with it. the next entry will include a background of the major characters. lets see how this big ol' project goes :)
the story is just that, a story. a small rendering of someone's life. the goal i have set for this story, is that it touches everyone who reads it in some way. perhaps, i have illustrated something you have seen or felt or known and perhaps in that way, we realize that we are not alone, that division is not quite as definate as one may think. my goal is to communicate the complexity of human relationships. my goal is to illustrate the human condition.
i will attempt to work on this story here. i have alot written already, however, much of it needs to be edited. certain things just don't make sense and as of right now the story isn't going anywhere. but i am hoping to start adding entries (hopefully) everyday and build the story in this way.
so today i have given a vague summary of what the story is about and what i hope to accomplish with it. the next entry will include a background of the major characters. lets see how this big ol' project goes :)
the non-fiction question
i am thinking of writing it down. all of it. all the things i can remember. i am thinking about writing this life. everything going on with everyone i am close too. do i have the right to do that? do i have the ability?
Monday, October 20, 2008
getting back home continued...
the woman waits until i turn to pick up my bags, "is this the line for US Airways"? she asks.
"i believe so". i struggle to move my things.
the woman is heavy set and oriental. she has thick black rimmed glasses, the black roots of her hair contrasting sharply with the light brown color that covers the rest of her short bob and bulky jewelry that can only be described as the last known bridge between old women and young black rappers. her voice is high and mousy, "i don't think i'm going to make my flight". i can empathize with her as i was also questioning my ability to make my flight.
"where are you heading to"? i ask.
"pheonix"
"really? me too". the woman looks at me and smiles. i reach the section where TSA takes your check-in baggage. i am more than happy to relieve myself of all that weight. the line, however, has not shortened. still there are at least 80 people ahead of me waiting for ticket agents.
"there must be electronic kiosks here right"?
"i don't have an electronic ticket" the woman replies. "my husband made the arrangements for me and said i needed to go to the ticket counter to get my ticket"
"oh, i see" i say though none of the information she gave me answered my question. "would you mind just watching my spot while i see if there are any kiosks"?
"sure" she says, her voice still high and wavering.
i push my way through the line and look desperately for the kiosks. what sort of major airport doesn't have electronic ticket kiosks? even the small Ketichan airport has them. they must be around here somewhere. i think perhaps if i started knocking on walls and saying "open sesame" they might appear. i am becoming frantic. they have room for these giant display cases, you would think they could put in a tiny, little, itty-bitty kiosk! the line doesn't seem to be moving as i make my way back.
"any luck"?
would i be back in this line if i had any? i thought. "no, unfortunately"
"i want to see what is taking everyone so long, could you save my spot"?
"sure, of course"
the woman cuts through the line with an earnestness and intensity that i wasn't expecting from someone with such a high, soft voice. she returns quickly.
"i don't know what's going on, but we're really going to miss our plane".
i stretch my neck to see what's up ahead. i catch the eyes of one of the ticket agents. i step out of line and walk up to her. i put on my best helpless face and say, "i have an electronic ticket. i checked my bags. i just need my boarding pass". then from behind me i hear a familiar mousey voice, "i don't have any bags either. i'm on the pheonix flight. i just know i'm going to miss my plane, i just know it. i don't know what to do"
my face scrunches up; this woman is really laying it on thick. the ticket agent smiles and leads us over to a side desk. she takes our information and obtains our boarding passes. i thank her graciously and begin to take off. the woman, however, looks at her boarding pass and begins to frown. then her soft, high voice turns into something stern and rigid. it is like watching the transformation of dr. Jekyll and mr. Hyde.
"i need to change my seat" she says. for someone who is so worried about missing her plane, i am surprised she wants to take the time to make any adjustments. the agent looks at her and smiles, "i'm sorry ma'am but we cannot change your seat this is a full flight"
the woman looks over to me as if to ask if i had a better seat and if i were going to trade with her. even if i did i wasn't about to change, but for simplicity’s sake i also had a middle seat and told her so. she then turns back to the agent and demands, "i need to change my seat. my husband said i would have an aisle seat. i need an aisle seat"
i want to leave and go through security screening but the woman keeps looking at me, like i am obligated to stay, obligated because we spoke a few words to each other and we are on the same flight. i pause a moment and then tell the woman, "it was really nice talking to you but i have to go. i'll see you at the gate"
she looks at me, "but i don't know how to get there"
is she kidding? i can tell by the way she holds herself and her forthright attitude toward the ticket agent that she isn't a flying novice. this ship is sinking and i'm not about to go down with it. this fat lady is singing her tune and it is my exit cue.
the woman turns back to the agent and in that high, soft, whiny voice she exclaims, "but i'm fat. i'm fat. i cannot fit in that middle seat. i simply cannot fit. you can't make me sit there because i am too fat"
she definitely hit the high note on that one and with that i rush to the secruity check point. once there, i realize that the line at the ticket counter was only half the size of the line that is waiting at the security check point. i hear a moan or two behind me and as i turn around, i see the woman pushing her way through the line to stand beside me.
"oh there you are" she says as if she has somehow gotten lost in the hustle and bustle of the airport but has finally found her bestest best buddy.
i smile politely.
"oh my god look at this line! i can't believe it. why is it this long"?
i shrug.
"we are never going to make our flight. i just know it. we are going to miss our flight all because of this stupid line and this stupid security checkpoint"
"i'm sure we'll be fine"
"i don't think so. our flight boards in a half hour. we won't even be screened by then"
"i'm sure we'll be fine"
"i'm glad you think so"
i sigh loudly and smile to the couple behind me who seem a bit off put by the woman who just pushed past them.
"so what brought you to Anchorage anyway"? i ask trying to divert her negative energy.
"my daughter is going to college in Fairbanks so i just took her up to get her settled in. she's my only one. i don't know why she had to go so far away. it doesn't make any sense. i don't think she's going to like it. i don't think she'll stay. it's too cold up there. i don't like it. we're from pheonix so we like the heat. alaska of all places"!
"it sure is beautiful though" i reply.
"yes it is beautiful and i like it but i don't want to stay here which is what i think i'll be doing because i'm never going to make this flight"
"no point worrying about it i guess, nothing we can do right? all the worrying isn't going to make this line move faster, besides i think most of these folks are on the pheonix flight. the plane can't leave without the majority of their passengers".
"but they will leave"
i smile through gritted teeth and shuffle along with the line.
after a moment the woman breaks our silence,
"i hope i don't have to sit next to any children. they always make so much noise and move around so much"
i look past her to the couple behind us with two kids and another couple across from us with three kids.
"what's your seat number"? i ask.
"28 B"
i look down at mine, "33E". thank God, i think. if i have to sit next to this woman i might just jump off the plane.
when we get to the security check stations there are two lines. i pas through one and the woman passes through the other. i wrestle with my computer and extratuffs but i get through with no real complications. once inside the waiting area i stop a moment to put on my boots and get my things back in order. i hear a low but loud sound at the back of my neck, labored breathing with a hint of wincing. i turn my head slowly, like some sort of killer, life-sucking zombie that seems to find you where ever you go, the woman stands next to me. her ten pound jeweled necklace still swinging with the momentum of her brisk walking.
"hey" i say, my tone slightly depressed.
her mouth tightens as if to smile but what she is really doing is showing her disappointment with my abandonment and thereby my betrayal. i begin to walk quickly and she follows although she cannot keep up. i feel bad and slow my pace. we reach the gate and the plane is slightly delayed. about half the passengers are already there. i lean up against a wall and the woman passes by me and marches up to the agent's counter. i can faintly hear the words, "but i'm fat" carrying over the noisy waiting area.
within ten minutes we are boarding. as i struggle to find my way to my seat i pass the woman. she is seated in an aisle seat up front. she smiles at me and returns to her book.
"i believe so". i struggle to move my things.
the woman is heavy set and oriental. she has thick black rimmed glasses, the black roots of her hair contrasting sharply with the light brown color that covers the rest of her short bob and bulky jewelry that can only be described as the last known bridge between old women and young black rappers. her voice is high and mousy, "i don't think i'm going to make my flight". i can empathize with her as i was also questioning my ability to make my flight.
"where are you heading to"? i ask.
"pheonix"
"really? me too". the woman looks at me and smiles. i reach the section where TSA takes your check-in baggage. i am more than happy to relieve myself of all that weight. the line, however, has not shortened. still there are at least 80 people ahead of me waiting for ticket agents.
"there must be electronic kiosks here right"?
"i don't have an electronic ticket" the woman replies. "my husband made the arrangements for me and said i needed to go to the ticket counter to get my ticket"
"oh, i see" i say though none of the information she gave me answered my question. "would you mind just watching my spot while i see if there are any kiosks"?
"sure" she says, her voice still high and wavering.
i push my way through the line and look desperately for the kiosks. what sort of major airport doesn't have electronic ticket kiosks? even the small Ketichan airport has them. they must be around here somewhere. i think perhaps if i started knocking on walls and saying "open sesame" they might appear. i am becoming frantic. they have room for these giant display cases, you would think they could put in a tiny, little, itty-bitty kiosk! the line doesn't seem to be moving as i make my way back.
"any luck"?
would i be back in this line if i had any? i thought. "no, unfortunately"
"i want to see what is taking everyone so long, could you save my spot"?
"sure, of course"
the woman cuts through the line with an earnestness and intensity that i wasn't expecting from someone with such a high, soft voice. she returns quickly.
"i don't know what's going on, but we're really going to miss our plane".
i stretch my neck to see what's up ahead. i catch the eyes of one of the ticket agents. i step out of line and walk up to her. i put on my best helpless face and say, "i have an electronic ticket. i checked my bags. i just need my boarding pass". then from behind me i hear a familiar mousey voice, "i don't have any bags either. i'm on the pheonix flight. i just know i'm going to miss my plane, i just know it. i don't know what to do"
my face scrunches up; this woman is really laying it on thick. the ticket agent smiles and leads us over to a side desk. she takes our information and obtains our boarding passes. i thank her graciously and begin to take off. the woman, however, looks at her boarding pass and begins to frown. then her soft, high voice turns into something stern and rigid. it is like watching the transformation of dr. Jekyll and mr. Hyde.
"i need to change my seat" she says. for someone who is so worried about missing her plane, i am surprised she wants to take the time to make any adjustments. the agent looks at her and smiles, "i'm sorry ma'am but we cannot change your seat this is a full flight"
the woman looks over to me as if to ask if i had a better seat and if i were going to trade with her. even if i did i wasn't about to change, but for simplicity’s sake i also had a middle seat and told her so. she then turns back to the agent and demands, "i need to change my seat. my husband said i would have an aisle seat. i need an aisle seat"
i want to leave and go through security screening but the woman keeps looking at me, like i am obligated to stay, obligated because we spoke a few words to each other and we are on the same flight. i pause a moment and then tell the woman, "it was really nice talking to you but i have to go. i'll see you at the gate"
she looks at me, "but i don't know how to get there"
is she kidding? i can tell by the way she holds herself and her forthright attitude toward the ticket agent that she isn't a flying novice. this ship is sinking and i'm not about to go down with it. this fat lady is singing her tune and it is my exit cue.
the woman turns back to the agent and in that high, soft, whiny voice she exclaims, "but i'm fat. i'm fat. i cannot fit in that middle seat. i simply cannot fit. you can't make me sit there because i am too fat"
she definitely hit the high note on that one and with that i rush to the secruity check point. once there, i realize that the line at the ticket counter was only half the size of the line that is waiting at the security check point. i hear a moan or two behind me and as i turn around, i see the woman pushing her way through the line to stand beside me.
"oh there you are" she says as if she has somehow gotten lost in the hustle and bustle of the airport but has finally found her bestest best buddy.
i smile politely.
"oh my god look at this line! i can't believe it. why is it this long"?
i shrug.
"we are never going to make our flight. i just know it. we are going to miss our flight all because of this stupid line and this stupid security checkpoint"
"i'm sure we'll be fine"
"i don't think so. our flight boards in a half hour. we won't even be screened by then"
"i'm sure we'll be fine"
"i'm glad you think so"
i sigh loudly and smile to the couple behind me who seem a bit off put by the woman who just pushed past them.
"so what brought you to Anchorage anyway"? i ask trying to divert her negative energy.
"my daughter is going to college in Fairbanks so i just took her up to get her settled in. she's my only one. i don't know why she had to go so far away. it doesn't make any sense. i don't think she's going to like it. i don't think she'll stay. it's too cold up there. i don't like it. we're from pheonix so we like the heat. alaska of all places"!
"it sure is beautiful though" i reply.
"yes it is beautiful and i like it but i don't want to stay here which is what i think i'll be doing because i'm never going to make this flight"
"no point worrying about it i guess, nothing we can do right? all the worrying isn't going to make this line move faster, besides i think most of these folks are on the pheonix flight. the plane can't leave without the majority of their passengers".
"but they will leave"
i smile through gritted teeth and shuffle along with the line.
after a moment the woman breaks our silence,
"i hope i don't have to sit next to any children. they always make so much noise and move around so much"
i look past her to the couple behind us with two kids and another couple across from us with three kids.
"what's your seat number"? i ask.
"28 B"
i look down at mine, "33E". thank God, i think. if i have to sit next to this woman i might just jump off the plane.
when we get to the security check stations there are two lines. i pas through one and the woman passes through the other. i wrestle with my computer and extratuffs but i get through with no real complications. once inside the waiting area i stop a moment to put on my boots and get my things back in order. i hear a low but loud sound at the back of my neck, labored breathing with a hint of wincing. i turn my head slowly, like some sort of killer, life-sucking zombie that seems to find you where ever you go, the woman stands next to me. her ten pound jeweled necklace still swinging with the momentum of her brisk walking.
"hey" i say, my tone slightly depressed.
her mouth tightens as if to smile but what she is really doing is showing her disappointment with my abandonment and thereby my betrayal. i begin to walk quickly and she follows although she cannot keep up. i feel bad and slow my pace. we reach the gate and the plane is slightly delayed. about half the passengers are already there. i lean up against a wall and the woman passes by me and marches up to the agent's counter. i can faintly hear the words, "but i'm fat" carrying over the noisy waiting area.
within ten minutes we are boarding. as i struggle to find my way to my seat i pass the woman. she is seated in an aisle seat up front. she smiles at me and returns to her book.
Friday, October 17, 2008
getting back home
i have returned. home. bright eyed and optimistic i find myself in this familar place. home. i boarded a small plane alongside twenty other people and had a pilot who looked like a real-life spoof on Doogie Howser. He faced the front of the cabin, his acne spotting his professional facade and his cracking voice casting serious doubt on his ability to manuever a serveral ton machine, through the air, hundreds of feet above the ground and on a stormy, lightening dappled evening no less. i saw my life flash before my eyes. maybe this was "take your kid to work day"? i reached for the safety information card and read with the fervor of someone who, well, might make like buddy holiday and take up permenant residence in the sky.
in kodiak there is one major landing strip and calling it "major" is really an overstatement. the runway is designed so that one must drive the plane to its end which is marked with a large concrete wall (a safety cushion should you overshoot your landing) make a U-turn, back up to the very end and then run like hell to get enough speed to become airborn. i looked a bit like a newby with my fists clenched and glowing white knuckles marking my fear. the regulars, those who regularly fly from kodiak to anchorage, began to settle in for a nice nap. it became clear to me that these folks were simply unafraid of death. as i looked at the seventy year old woman next to me, her two, three, four flaps of skin covering her eyelids, i thought, maybe it was going to be alright. i mean, she lasted this long. i tried to calm myself and put on my ipod. the first song? "The End" by the doors. i cringed and closed my eyes.
after a bumpy but short ride, i arrived in anchorage. i was eager to get off the plane but before i could Doogie Howser decided it was speech time at the Academy Awards and thanked all us poor people in coach for flying. i nodded and pushed past him. anchorage airport is a wee bit bigger than kodiak by several gates and couple miles of pavement. i boarded the shuttle to get to the gates for interstate flights. our driver must have been confused because we ended up taking the most round about way to the other gates. i think we stopped for some hotdogs and alaskan cake as well as some souveniers. i may have seen a polar bear too. by the time we actually got to the gates i realized that my clothes were out of style.
i rushed into the terminal only to find myself in what felt like the Alaskan equivalent of New York city. there were people everywhere! i hadn't seen lines this long since Liberty House (before it became Macy's) started selling Tomoguchi toys, or since starbucks in seattle airport. it was ridiculous. the only thing that was more ridiculous, however, was me. dressed in a thick black sweatshirt, black sweatpants and my extratuffs, i was carrying my large backpacking bag on my back, my military laudry bag over my chest and stomach, my day pack on one arm, my wallet in my other hand and my boading passes in my mouth. people, surprisingly or not surprisingly took no pity on me whatsoever. as a matter of fact, everytime the line moved an inch, if i took just a few seconds to gather up my LIFE's worth of luggage, there would be moaning and groaning. i was sweaty and i was tired. all i wanted to do was lay on the floor and have the person behind me kick me and my luggage along everytime the line moved.
the woman behind me, i would later discover, would make me more uncomfortable that sweaty sensation you get between your butt cheeks or the nagging pressure of 100 pounds on your back.
in kodiak there is one major landing strip and calling it "major" is really an overstatement. the runway is designed so that one must drive the plane to its end which is marked with a large concrete wall (a safety cushion should you overshoot your landing) make a U-turn, back up to the very end and then run like hell to get enough speed to become airborn. i looked a bit like a newby with my fists clenched and glowing white knuckles marking my fear. the regulars, those who regularly fly from kodiak to anchorage, began to settle in for a nice nap. it became clear to me that these folks were simply unafraid of death. as i looked at the seventy year old woman next to me, her two, three, four flaps of skin covering her eyelids, i thought, maybe it was going to be alright. i mean, she lasted this long. i tried to calm myself and put on my ipod. the first song? "The End" by the doors. i cringed and closed my eyes.
after a bumpy but short ride, i arrived in anchorage. i was eager to get off the plane but before i could Doogie Howser decided it was speech time at the Academy Awards and thanked all us poor people in coach for flying. i nodded and pushed past him. anchorage airport is a wee bit bigger than kodiak by several gates and couple miles of pavement. i boarded the shuttle to get to the gates for interstate flights. our driver must have been confused because we ended up taking the most round about way to the other gates. i think we stopped for some hotdogs and alaskan cake as well as some souveniers. i may have seen a polar bear too. by the time we actually got to the gates i realized that my clothes were out of style.
i rushed into the terminal only to find myself in what felt like the Alaskan equivalent of New York city. there were people everywhere! i hadn't seen lines this long since Liberty House (before it became Macy's) started selling Tomoguchi toys, or since starbucks in seattle airport. it was ridiculous. the only thing that was more ridiculous, however, was me. dressed in a thick black sweatshirt, black sweatpants and my extratuffs, i was carrying my large backpacking bag on my back, my military laudry bag over my chest and stomach, my day pack on one arm, my wallet in my other hand and my boading passes in my mouth. people, surprisingly or not surprisingly took no pity on me whatsoever. as a matter of fact, everytime the line moved an inch, if i took just a few seconds to gather up my LIFE's worth of luggage, there would be moaning and groaning. i was sweaty and i was tired. all i wanted to do was lay on the floor and have the person behind me kick me and my luggage along everytime the line moved.
the woman behind me, i would later discover, would make me more uncomfortable that sweaty sensation you get between your butt cheeks or the nagging pressure of 100 pounds on your back.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Star-shucks: my quick brush with employment
Star-shucks: my quick brush with employment
Background (voice over): here we meet our beautiful heroine, helpless soul. helpless soul is a stunningly bright and attractive young woman who has recently graduated from college this past may. it is now october and she has been living at her parents' house for the last month and a half. the country is in shambles. the planet is a miserable mess. there is blood on the streets and the town of new haven and blood stains the roots and the palm trees of venice. the stock market has plummeted, people are being laid off and the country has the biggest debt ever. this is the new depression. meanwhile immigrants to Canada have sky rocketed as has the sale of anti-depressants and pain pills. trick or treat America, trick or treat. but for our young heroine giving in is not an option, Canada is not an option, had helpless soul more money, it might be, but that is not the point. the point is that this beautiful, bold and courageous creature decided to stick it out, to wade the flood waters of a sinking American economy. a decorated war hero in her own way (she served gallantly in both the youth conservation corp and in the america corp) helpless soul marches onward in search of employment. this is her story, the story of the day she almost had a job at Starbucks.
helpless soul's room, interior. helpless soul is sitting on her bed straining to listen to the voice on the other end of her phone. her wavy brown hair cascading down about her face, framing its angelic beauty and youthfulness. she punches in the passcode to her voice mail and listens to a message from communication, the store's manager. miss. communication's voice can be heard saying:
"Hi, this message is for helpless soul. helpless soul, i am very sorry to change up our meeting time but i forgot that i had promised to go to..."
miss. communication launches into a lengthy explanation of her life and all things that has happened in it since 1973. helpless soul meanwhile is daydreaming, wondering what her life could be like as one of the employed. suddenly miss. communication returns from her tangent and begins relating details about thier meeting:
"so i know its pretty lame to switch up the times on you, but if you could come by tomorrow between 5 and 9 for orientation, that would be great. give me a call to let me know if you can make it. thanks"
helpless soul closes her phone and lets out a squeal of delight.
helpless soul internal monologue, voice over: orientation? this must mean i got the job! wow! i got the job! i don't remember her telling me to meet her today for orientation, but perhaps something happened with my phone and she left a message and i just didn't get it. no matter, what's really important is that i have a job! wow! i can't wait to tell mom and dad. i'll be getting money and meeting new people and i'll be getting out of the house. yes, yes, yes! finally, after all those applications and all those interviews, finally someone sees how wonderful i can be. yes! i think i'll have a beer to celebrate. and we could do a bbq too! after all this may be my last day of unemployment!
helpless soul smiles broadly and exits her room.
later that day, helpless soul's room, interior: "hello?"
"hello. is helpless soul there?"
"this is her"
"hi helpless soul this is miss. communication"
"hey! how are you doing?"
"i'm doing good. how are you?"
"great!"
"good. did you get my message?"
"yes, i just got it. i was just about to call you back"
"oh no problem, i just wanted to make sure you knew about the time change"
"yup tomorrow between 5 and 9 right?"
"that's correct. i'm sorry about the mix up with the dates"
"that's alright, i didn't get any other message from you telling me of today's meeting anyway"
"i don't think i left a message"
"oh" helpless soul starts to stumble and become worried.
"i told you after our other meeting"
"i don't remember that. really?" helpless soul begins to perspire. droplets of sweat adorning her brow like pearls.
"i'm so sorry i don't remember that. geez. wow. i'm sorry. i'm glad i got this call from you. i'll be there tomorrow. for sure"
"okay" miss communication's voice is skeptical. "i'll see you then"
"thank you, goodbye"
"goodbye"
even later that day, inside the car: helpless soul has had a couple beers and is feeling really great about herself. she can't wait to tell her mother about her new job. she is daydreaming about what she will look like in the green starbucks apron. what will she wear on her first day of work? she will be the best barista they have ever seen. watch out coffee drinkers, here comes the best latte maker in the US!
helpless soul's cell phone rings:
"hello"?
"hello, is this helpless soul"?
"yes"
"hi, it's me again, miss. communication"
"hey there"!
"hi" miss communication begins to laugh uncomfortably. "i wanted to apologize to you about the whole meeting mix up today"
"oh no, really it's okay"
"well" the words started to hit helpless soul like nails in her unemployed coffin, "you, see" pound, "the thing is," pound "i made a mistake" KABOOM.
"a mistake"?
"i had your application right next to someone elses and i didn't tell you about the meeting today because i was thinking of someone else"
"oh, i see" suddenly the happy buzz was arnold schwatchnager terminated.
"so i'm sorry about the mix up"
helpless soul internal monologue: so the orientation wasn't meant for me? it was for someone else. wow. that stings.
"oh i see. no problem"
"but" miss communication's voice perks up. "but i would like you to have a second interview with one of my assistant managers"
helpless soul internal monologue: a second interview, that really takes away the sting. that's like giving someone a piece of double chocolate dutch cake and just before they were going to take a bite saying, 'wait, sorry that's not for you, but how about having this saltine cracker instead?' i guess i'll wave goodbye to my dream as it dances in that clockwise circle down the toilet. well at least i didn't say anything about the bbq.
"so would it be okay if one of my assistant managers called you for a second interview?"
"oh of course. i would love that"
"again i'm sorry about the misunderstanding"
"not a problem miss communication"
helpless soul closes her phone. changes the cd playing in the car and puts on REM's "Everybody Hurts".
tune in next time for more adventures of helpless soul and her quest for employment.
Background (voice over): here we meet our beautiful heroine, helpless soul. helpless soul is a stunningly bright and attractive young woman who has recently graduated from college this past may. it is now october and she has been living at her parents' house for the last month and a half. the country is in shambles. the planet is a miserable mess. there is blood on the streets and the town of new haven and blood stains the roots and the palm trees of venice. the stock market has plummeted, people are being laid off and the country has the biggest debt ever. this is the new depression. meanwhile immigrants to Canada have sky rocketed as has the sale of anti-depressants and pain pills. trick or treat America, trick or treat. but for our young heroine giving in is not an option, Canada is not an option, had helpless soul more money, it might be, but that is not the point. the point is that this beautiful, bold and courageous creature decided to stick it out, to wade the flood waters of a sinking American economy. a decorated war hero in her own way (she served gallantly in both the youth conservation corp and in the america corp) helpless soul marches onward in search of employment. this is her story, the story of the day she almost had a job at Starbucks.
helpless soul's room, interior. helpless soul is sitting on her bed straining to listen to the voice on the other end of her phone. her wavy brown hair cascading down about her face, framing its angelic beauty and youthfulness. she punches in the passcode to her voice mail and listens to a message from communication, the store's manager. miss. communication's voice can be heard saying:
"Hi, this message is for helpless soul. helpless soul, i am very sorry to change up our meeting time but i forgot that i had promised to go to..."
miss. communication launches into a lengthy explanation of her life and all things that has happened in it since 1973. helpless soul meanwhile is daydreaming, wondering what her life could be like as one of the employed. suddenly miss. communication returns from her tangent and begins relating details about thier meeting:
"so i know its pretty lame to switch up the times on you, but if you could come by tomorrow between 5 and 9 for orientation, that would be great. give me a call to let me know if you can make it. thanks"
helpless soul closes her phone and lets out a squeal of delight.
helpless soul internal monologue, voice over: orientation? this must mean i got the job! wow! i got the job! i don't remember her telling me to meet her today for orientation, but perhaps something happened with my phone and she left a message and i just didn't get it. no matter, what's really important is that i have a job! wow! i can't wait to tell mom and dad. i'll be getting money and meeting new people and i'll be getting out of the house. yes, yes, yes! finally, after all those applications and all those interviews, finally someone sees how wonderful i can be. yes! i think i'll have a beer to celebrate. and we could do a bbq too! after all this may be my last day of unemployment!
helpless soul smiles broadly and exits her room.
later that day, helpless soul's room, interior: "hello?"
"hello. is helpless soul there?"
"this is her"
"hi helpless soul this is miss. communication"
"hey! how are you doing?"
"i'm doing good. how are you?"
"great!"
"good. did you get my message?"
"yes, i just got it. i was just about to call you back"
"oh no problem, i just wanted to make sure you knew about the time change"
"yup tomorrow between 5 and 9 right?"
"that's correct. i'm sorry about the mix up with the dates"
"that's alright, i didn't get any other message from you telling me of today's meeting anyway"
"i don't think i left a message"
"oh" helpless soul starts to stumble and become worried.
"i told you after our other meeting"
"i don't remember that. really?" helpless soul begins to perspire. droplets of sweat adorning her brow like pearls.
"i'm so sorry i don't remember that. geez. wow. i'm sorry. i'm glad i got this call from you. i'll be there tomorrow. for sure"
"okay" miss communication's voice is skeptical. "i'll see you then"
"thank you, goodbye"
"goodbye"
even later that day, inside the car: helpless soul has had a couple beers and is feeling really great about herself. she can't wait to tell her mother about her new job. she is daydreaming about what she will look like in the green starbucks apron. what will she wear on her first day of work? she will be the best barista they have ever seen. watch out coffee drinkers, here comes the best latte maker in the US!
helpless soul's cell phone rings:
"hello"?
"hello, is this helpless soul"?
"yes"
"hi, it's me again, miss. communication"
"hey there"!
"hi" miss communication begins to laugh uncomfortably. "i wanted to apologize to you about the whole meeting mix up today"
"oh no, really it's okay"
"well" the words started to hit helpless soul like nails in her unemployed coffin, "you, see" pound, "the thing is," pound "i made a mistake" KABOOM.
"a mistake"?
"i had your application right next to someone elses and i didn't tell you about the meeting today because i was thinking of someone else"
"oh, i see" suddenly the happy buzz was arnold schwatchnager terminated.
"so i'm sorry about the mix up"
helpless soul internal monologue: so the orientation wasn't meant for me? it was for someone else. wow. that stings.
"oh i see. no problem"
"but" miss communication's voice perks up. "but i would like you to have a second interview with one of my assistant managers"
helpless soul internal monologue: a second interview, that really takes away the sting. that's like giving someone a piece of double chocolate dutch cake and just before they were going to take a bite saying, 'wait, sorry that's not for you, but how about having this saltine cracker instead?' i guess i'll wave goodbye to my dream as it dances in that clockwise circle down the toilet. well at least i didn't say anything about the bbq.
"so would it be okay if one of my assistant managers called you for a second interview?"
"oh of course. i would love that"
"again i'm sorry about the misunderstanding"
"not a problem miss communication"
helpless soul closes her phone. changes the cd playing in the car and puts on REM's "Everybody Hurts".
tune in next time for more adventures of helpless soul and her quest for employment.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
things i think about...
i think that driving on a curving road is like riding the inside of the universal retina.
i think trees without leaves under a greying winter sky look like eyelashes
i think punching snow makes you look mean,
i think dripping faucets are tangible seconds,
i think Y2K was a portend and wallstreet is now demolitionstreet,
i think more people should study rhetoric and less should be worried about the sexiness of our possible VP
i think that the bombs and missiles and rockets are boiling our planet,
i think our priorities are skewed and i think change is good too,
i think we may be able to fix some things and i think we can stay off the inevitable for a bit,
i think this time is the result we all knew was coming,
i think this is the time we all tried not to think about
i think trees without leaves under a greying winter sky look like eyelashes
i think punching snow makes you look mean,
i think dripping faucets are tangible seconds,
i think Y2K was a portend and wallstreet is now demolitionstreet,
i think more people should study rhetoric and less should be worried about the sexiness of our possible VP
i think that the bombs and missiles and rockets are boiling our planet,
i think our priorities are skewed and i think change is good too,
i think we may be able to fix some things and i think we can stay off the inevitable for a bit,
i think this time is the result we all knew was coming,
i think this is the time we all tried not to think about
Monday, October 6, 2008
wake up call
i flick on a light. i was almost asleep. "hello?" there is a voice on the other end saying "hello" but i do not recognize it. i know who it should be, but something, no everything has changed. i float over to my bed and collapse. i am shaking under the covers. when did it get so cold?
there is much to do in this conversation, much that needs to be said. i have been rehearsing for days, but suddenly, i have forgotten my lines. i want to cut the bullshit, the social niceties and get down to what went wrong and where and why. but i must not be rough, the connection is loose, a thin band of radio waves coursing through the air.
i start with the first question, "how are you?" "good, how are you doing?" "alright". none of that is true, but this is a culture of vague beginnings, a language that eschews candor. there is silence. there is everything to say. my teeth are chattering so vigorously that i can't seem to open my mouth long enough to speak before they clamp back down on themselves. i am shaking in my bed; i am so cold.
i look to floor, maybe that's where my blood has gone, my courage swirling about in it, like flecks of tin foil. i am asked a question, but i was not paying attention. i'm trying to find my nerve. "home" i say through timid teeth, "i am home". who am i talking to? surely this is not you, someone has stolen your voice. ursela is that you? i'm turning blue.
i am blue. and black. my heart shrinks back away from my chest and attempts to hide behind my spine. somewhere you think i am attacking you with the tone of my voice, i am just skeptical of who is on the other end. your words are coarse and you sound rough, cacophonous melody beating against my ear. "what is with the third degree?" i say. "i have my hands up, right now, i have my hands up. i have no weapons, i repeat, i. have. no. weapons. i just want to talk. trust me". there is silence but it is loud and i know, in that moment, i've reached you.
but the silence does not last. you are talking at me again and i can't understand a word you are saying. i know that message though, it comes in loud and clear. "i have little tolerance for you, leave me alone". i tell you, "wow, this doesn't feel real. i feel cold. i am not awake, i am not awake". you reply, "wake up! wake up!"
i have built a palace for us in my dreams. i have destroyed any dissonance that could mar my perfect world. i have polished and shined my favorite memories and kept them on a beautiful, crystal shelf. "wake up! wake up!" i shiver. everything shatters into white, flecks of crystal and diamond fill the air, cover my floor.
i am letting go, little by little. it is hard and i know i will never fully let you go. there will always be a perfect violet, deep purple under a light blue sky. a perfect violet on my heart, where you've been. i am letting go, little by little.
there is much to do in this conversation, much that needs to be said. i have been rehearsing for days, but suddenly, i have forgotten my lines. i want to cut the bullshit, the social niceties and get down to what went wrong and where and why. but i must not be rough, the connection is loose, a thin band of radio waves coursing through the air.
i start with the first question, "how are you?" "good, how are you doing?" "alright". none of that is true, but this is a culture of vague beginnings, a language that eschews candor. there is silence. there is everything to say. my teeth are chattering so vigorously that i can't seem to open my mouth long enough to speak before they clamp back down on themselves. i am shaking in my bed; i am so cold.
i look to floor, maybe that's where my blood has gone, my courage swirling about in it, like flecks of tin foil. i am asked a question, but i was not paying attention. i'm trying to find my nerve. "home" i say through timid teeth, "i am home". who am i talking to? surely this is not you, someone has stolen your voice. ursela is that you? i'm turning blue.
i am blue. and black. my heart shrinks back away from my chest and attempts to hide behind my spine. somewhere you think i am attacking you with the tone of my voice, i am just skeptical of who is on the other end. your words are coarse and you sound rough, cacophonous melody beating against my ear. "what is with the third degree?" i say. "i have my hands up, right now, i have my hands up. i have no weapons, i repeat, i. have. no. weapons. i just want to talk. trust me". there is silence but it is loud and i know, in that moment, i've reached you.
but the silence does not last. you are talking at me again and i can't understand a word you are saying. i know that message though, it comes in loud and clear. "i have little tolerance for you, leave me alone". i tell you, "wow, this doesn't feel real. i feel cold. i am not awake, i am not awake". you reply, "wake up! wake up!"
i have built a palace for us in my dreams. i have destroyed any dissonance that could mar my perfect world. i have polished and shined my favorite memories and kept them on a beautiful, crystal shelf. "wake up! wake up!" i shiver. everything shatters into white, flecks of crystal and diamond fill the air, cover my floor.
i am letting go, little by little. it is hard and i know i will never fully let you go. there will always be a perfect violet, deep purple under a light blue sky. a perfect violet on my heart, where you've been. i am letting go, little by little.
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