Next

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. She also decided not to walk through the door. She decided to sit down. She decided to stand. She decided all these things and a dozen others, all equally contradictory, and all retracted long before her body could turn any thought into action. To meet them boldly, or wait here to be discovered? Should she fiercely demand or coolly assume entitlement?

The book discarded, she looked around for another prop. The speed of the images increased then, even as they became more absurd. She was standing on the sofa; she was waving them off with a standing lamp, bulb still ablaze. Then she was quietly pouring something over ice at the cabinet, hopefully scotch. She emitted a puff of air that might have been a laugh as she looked up at the chandelier.

Finally her eyes fell on the tiniest thing in the room. There, on the shelf, forgotten for years, was a tiny figurine, a goat. It was dusty when she picked it up. A piece of lint had balled itself on the goat’s tiny beard. She wrapped her hand around it and felt real relief.

She heard footsteps on the tile. The goat was thrust into her pocket. She grasped the door knob, turned, and pulled.

“Hello,” she said, and began waiting, again, to see what she might do next.

The Funeral

His father had passed away. George Trotter, the patriarch of the town's church was gone. They mourned for weeks. Henry was cut up about the whole thing. He never saw it coming and in the midst of the madness he had to preside over his own father's funeral. They had an open casket, Roberta's morbid wishes. His dad's body lay in a wooden box beside the church’s podium. It always seems to be raining when there's a funeral in a movie, but the sun was shining on this day. Spring had irrupted and now the older kids could ride around with their tops down and the children could ride their bikes without getting stuck in the mud. All of this freedom released, but he had to preside over the funeral. His heart pulsed, needed some type of freedom, but there was none. This constricting feeling, why was it so severe.

Okay so Roberta was being weird about the whole situation, and some of the older colleagues were really standing on top of him, but a lot of the townsfolk were supportive. Some of them had a decent relationship with George. He had passed one some of the similar lessons to the local children that he had given to Henry. It wasn't always about religion either, George loved his family, loved the town and his congregation and it didn't need to be a symbol every day, it was home. Henry could feel it in his heart. He didn't know what to believe. He felt like he wanted the church to just be his home today. He just wanted to be alone. No congregation, no Elizabeth, no pregnancy, no Mother, and no open casket to reveal some body that was missing the man that animated it. And everyone was wondering what he would say about his father. That's another thing. This job isn't even about helping people anymore. Between himself and the congregation he has developed into being so charismatic that his words lost meaning and he's just supposed to put on a show. He didn't want do it. He wasn't going to make a reputation for himself. He just needed out and there was this terrible timing. When they had all entered the church he was waiting in the back. He hadn't had time to look at his father. He knew he wouldn't like what he saw, but the possibility of closure sounded like such a necessity. They had just dropped his father off though. Immediately the mortician set his father's body up to look presentable. Henry was there for that, but the intimacy couldn't be made and so Henry kept a stone face and made little eye contact with the corpse. Then it was time to get dressed, set himself up, the basic ritual, at which point the town came in. He wanted to tell Elizabeth. He'd broken down in front of her several times, but they hadn't really talked about it. He needed her, he needed to be held, some arms to fall into, but she was pregnant and despite the fact that it was there decision,he assigned her some blame for it. This helped add to that shit-feeling that was going to get far worse once he ran away. He needed to be helpless, like a child, but of course that's always hard to do in the presence of a child. Even though Corry wasn't born that belly told him he was a Father and thus Corry might as well have been already born.

So when they all had walked in and Barry had sat down at the organ and begun to play, they were surprised to not see Henry walk out and great them with his usual sense of pride. Barry kept on playing. Henry got out of there. He got in his car and was out of there. The hills seemed to dive up and down so fast that he could have been on a horse. He accelerated so high that at one point he felt that he had lost control and had been chosen as overseer of this land. Ultimately Henry was a mere viewer. You can drive 10,000 miles and still be where you are.

Third Book

NOTE: I submitted this to a contest about a month ago, but unfortunately it was not selected. No worries, I shall post it here now. It had to be written about internet relationships. It's definitely not perfect, but there are some things I like about it.

“He’s like, such a douche. I mean, who breaks up with his girlfriend because she doesn’t want to keep cheerleading?” I complained to my friend Anna over a lunch of grapes and goldfish, the best snack yet known to this world.

“Oh I know,” Anna replied. “Honestly I’m surprised Lexi quit, being your basic Barbie doll, but like it’s her prerogative. Hasn’t she been injured all year anyway? It’s not like it’ll be any different.”

“Exactly! But of course it’s this big deal, like just being able to say ‘I’m dating a cheerleader’ is all he wants out of a relationship. Idiot.”

“Where did you hear all this anyway?” Anna asked.

“Um, well I overheard Ellie in first period talking about it…” I mumbled, looking forcefully out the window at the cold concrete courtyard.

“Ellie told you? Linds, it’s probably not true then…” Anna chastised me, just like I knew she would. Ellie isn’t really the most reliable source, but, this sounded just like something Aaron would do—total jock, soccer player, heartbreaker.

“I don’t know, it could be! He sounds like the kinda guy who would do that!”

“Linds you are just being unfair. Didn’t you spend most of freshman year obsessed with him?” She asked me. It bugged me that she was becoming so judgmental, hadn’t she been agreeing with me moments before?

“Yeah, I guess, but he was different! Less controlled by his muscles, more or less a person with a brain,” I retorted. I had been obsessed. Maybe I was being a little petty. But I didn’t like him anymore, not really. He had dated a string of cheerleader popular girls with fake skin and fake hair and identical personalities. I couldn’t fit the bill.

“Well, like in middle school—“ I started.

 “I’ve heard he is really nice. He even visited Mr. Carr in the hospital when he was sick.”

“Well all points lead to douche from what I’ve heard lately,” I said, popping a grape into my mouth with finality.

I was even more convinced that my assumptions were true later that day.  I was checking Facebook for the hundredth time that day when I noticed that Aaron had posted a status. “Holding on is being brave, but sometimes you have to let go and be strong because its the only choice you've been given.” Whatever. He was as plastic as his bottles of Gatorade.  Why post this on Facebook anyway? People were only going to talk and talk about it even more and  Lexi would be upset and her friends would write nasty things on Aaron’s wall and it would just snowball into this big nasty thing. Of course I shouldn’t care, because it has nothing to do to me, but there was something unsettling about all that hate being out there for everyone to read. Like some sick art exhibit where we all just have to stare and stare at this horrendous painting depicting the truth about teenage behavior.  I was the kind of person who liked to think people were better than they actually were; I wanted to give people some benefit of the doubt in the hope that they would return the favor. Instead I was usually ignored and people like Aaron ended up on top, posting “meaningful” statuses to incite controversy.

                My thoughts were interrupted by a text from Anna.

Hey girl you up for a round for Failure?

Failure was a game that we had made up one snowday a year ago when we were breathing boredom.  I grabbed my laptop and sat with it downstairs in some hope that something entertaining would pop on the screen and our problem would be solved. No such luck. So we sat there refreshing Tumblr when I noticed a screencap from some site called Omegle.  Now I’m usually not the kind of person who jumps at the chance to converse with strangers online, and I’m just as aware of the potential creepers that lurk around the web—but it didn’t seem to give much more information about your potential weirdo besides the moniker “Stranger.” And we were bored.

The first few times on Omegle we had just screwed around, speaking in ALL CAPS ALL OF THE TIME. Somehow everything sounded funnier to us when in large, hard-to-discern letters. I liked how it evened the playing field, and I could happen to talk to anyone, including people that I wouldn’t talk to in real life. It was fun. I could be anyone, the stranger could be anyone, and we could make up an entire life. Anyway, Failure developed when Anna just randomly typed “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” as the start of a conversation. The stranger wrote back “wuts that” and Anna just replied with “You have failed.” It was a joke really, and we began to make a contest of it from then on. We would play for say fifteen minutes, and whoever had the most disappointing response won. I texted back :

I’m game. Harry Potter at seven?

You’re on.

I went to Omegle and waited for 6:59 to change. At seven, I clicked the button for text conversations (I didn’t have a webcam and felt generally weird about that anyway) and typed Harry Potter.

You: Harry Potter.

Stranger is typing…

Stranger: gay.

I ended the conversation and took a screenshot. Disappointing for sure.

You: Harry Potter.

Stranger is typing…

Stranger: Ur mom.

Not very creative.

You: Harry Potter.

Stranger is typing…

Your conversational partner has disconnected.

You: Harry Potter.

Stranger is typing…

Stranger: Yes.

You: Indeed.

Stranger: Which one is your favorite?

You: Azkaban, I guess. You?

Stranger: Me too!

You: Well, I’m glad there is someone out there like me. I was beginning to fear.

Stranger: Nah, we’re not so uncommon. You just have to seek us out J

I figured the conversation would end there. It seemed like a good place. The name of the game was Failure, and I was running out of time, now that it was 7:09. And this stranger wasn’t failing. I was starting to type my goodbye when the stranger began typing again.

Stranger: So, what is a Harry Potter fan like you doing on a website like this?

You: Playing Failure.

I explained the game, and he (I found out this was a guy) thought it sounded kind of funny.

Stranger: I wish you could do that in real life. Just walk up to someone and say “Inception!” and then see what they say.

You: “WTF?” is most common.

Stranger: But it’s really good to weed people out. You can easily figure out the kind of people you want to talk to.

You: I never thought of it like that. I was just looking for the trolls hahaha.

Stranger: Hmm, maybe you need to look at Omegle with the glass half full or something haha. Anyway I need to do homework, have to read this book by Camus for English and answer some questions about DNA operons.

You: AP Bio? Sucks. I feel you haha. I need to go…read Harry Potter, I think.

Stranger: Third book?

You: Third book. J

I disconnected the conversation and saved the log, but not to send to Anna. I just liked it. In all my time spent playing Failure and ALL CAPS, I had never contemplated having a real conversation. I liked it because you could lie and write fiction and be someone you would never be. It never occurred to me I could enjoy being myself more. For me, the internet had been this opportunity to avoid the truth. The truth was hard. It was all my insecurities, boys not liking me back, not getting into college, my makeup less face, zits and all. I hid the truth in real life, and up until a few minutes ago, I never understood how the internet could be a chance to escape my hiding place. I could be Lindsey, and I am never just Lindsey.

My phone buzzed, bringing me out of my Omegle fog. Anna.

Hey it’s 7:25 and you haven’t emailed me pics yet! It’s cool though, because I know I won J

Yeah right. Mine were pretty much devastating single word replies!

I didn’t really feel like telling her about my conversation. Partly because Anna was much more sensible than I was and would not approve of actually talking to these people, but mostly because I just wanted it to be mine. I sent her the pictures, and after a long debate she decided that she had won when someone replied “Edward is better.” I read Harry Potter and went to bed, holding that little part of my night nearby. It wasn’t this big deal anyway—it had lasted fifteen minutes. I just liked connecting with someone, who could be anywhere in this world, over something like Harry Potter. Two people somehow affecting each other by sending words across the web. Two people who told the truth without a second thought. Two people with nothing to hide.  

When I picked up Anna for school the next morning, she practically leaped into my car, yelling “I HAVE NEWS!” Her coffee thermos spit little droplets out the top and onto the console.

“Okay! You have to speak in a normal volume though, or I may have to do something very unkind with the hot coffee you are holding,” I informed her, flicking the console droplets away.

“Fiiiine,” Anna huffed. “But the volume just makes it so much more dramatic!” I rolled my eyes, pulling out of her driveway and onto the street. “Anyways, I have the real story about Aaron Lewis. From his cousin, Courtney, who you very well know is my neighbor and occasional confidante. Even though I don’t really like her, but sometimes her mother watches our dog and it’s that kind of relationship.”

“Get on with it I want to know!” I did want to know, but it was kind of aggravating that Anna decided to drag it out like this.

“Alright I am getting there! It turns out that he didn’t break up with Lexi!” I waited for her to say more.

“So they are still together…?” I don’t even know why it mattered, except that we liked the gossip as much as anyone.

“No, she broke up with him because his grandma died and she was tired of having to cheer him up! She’s the horrible one!” Anna was beaming. “And like his status was about his grandma last night, not Lexi, like everyone thought, which just makes her sound that much more evil! I don’t know why but I find it much easier to dislike cheerleaders. And I knew he wasn’t the kind of guy to break up with a girl over something that superficial!” She proclaimed this in an annoyingly true “I told you so!” kind of tone.

“I guess, but Ellie sounded pretty convincing…”I smiled. Ellie did sound convincing, but this sounded like something Lexi would do in between spray tans or something.

I didn’t even think about that car conversation until Aaron literally ran into me. I was rounding the corner heading to fourth period when a tree trunk of a human plowed into me. Our books flew. We stopped traffic. In the confusion of trying to grab our notebooks we got ours mixed up. I had his binder and his novel, while he had my bio notebook and Harry Potter…I was kind of embarrassed that he was holding that, despite the self-affirming Omegle conversation from the night before.

“Oh, um, sorry I think I grabbed your some of your books…”I stopped talking as I realized I was holding his copy of The Stranger, by Camus. Well that’s the coincidence of the year. Weird.

“Thanks, and uh, sorry for running into you…”He handed me my books, and his eyes glanced at the cover of Harry Potter and then up at me, confused.

“Third book?” He asked me.

What? No way…

“Third book,” I replied, suddenly seeing a very different Aaron Lewis.

He smiled, “It’s my favorite.”

Books Books Books

I will probably revise this later...there's more I want to do with it. This is rough...but I like it and I liked writing it and Valentine's is tomorrow so there you go.

Books books books are the key to my heart.

So keep Catcher in the Rye in your coat pocket and Bananafish near by.

Call me Tess and I’ll call you Angel Clare; it will be our thing.

And like Emily said our words live only when they are spoken aloud,

So sound your barbaric yawp yawp yawp like Walt and I will know you are there.

Reside in the West Egg for five years and I promise I will stop by.

We’ll take your yellow coupe and drive all day on the summer solstice.

I’ll never miss it when I am with you.

If you will be Arthur, I will be your Trillian.

With you as my guide, I won’t require the Hitchhiker’s expertise.

And whether your prefer J.D. or Sylvia, hate Austen but love Thackeray,

Mostly I love that you care at all.

Tour De Castle

A window in a castle,

that overlooks the sea,

a loud obnoxious tour guide,

tells of what there used to be.

“a million soldiers here and there!”

He says they battled to the death,

“They escaped out of this window here”

He fogs it with his breath.

“the treasure here was mostly robbed,”

the guide begins with glee,

“by peasants, poor, without a job.”

And then he points at me?

“Ah, now see this fellow here,”

He begins to walk my way,

“back then he would have played a lyre!”

I yawn and look away,

“His build is thick, broad, and strong,”

Is he still ranting on about me?

“watch out girls, Spartans don’t live long!”

Someone just whistled, kill me now please.

I mumble something about restrooms,

and wrench myself away,

I really want to learn something,

but that’s not happening today.

I walk back to the window,

and look out to the sea,

History seems to be flourishing,

all around me.

I close my eyes in content,

wishing I could explore,

the guide comes up behind me,

“Will you continue our tour?”

“No thanks.” I say politely,

but my response is too canned,

He looks both ways,

Then slips a key in my hand,

“Good luck.” He says solemnly,

He leaves with a wink,

I stare at the key,

my mind’s on the brink!

So many locks,

on so many doors.

The whole castle before me,

is mine to explore,

I am off in just seconds,

the halls are my ride,

I’m off and exploring,

Thank you tour guide. 

Home

Desperation. That feeling you get when Plan A, and Plan B fall through. When there is no way out. A mesh of emotions that entangle your every breath. That leave you waiting for the end. 

There was so much ice. Everywhere I looked, there was ice. Not water, not sky, not any   form of life. Just ice.  I needed out. I could feel my blood cooling inside my body, and my heart slowing to a stop. My self-awareness had long since gone, and all I knew was that I needed home.

Seconds went by, and light filtered the room. I was home.

You think you know what you're in for. What you will say in every situation that may come up in this crazy dynamic that you’ve had a part in creating. How you will act. You may even rehearse your words. You might check your facial expressions in the mirror to make sure you're able to convey the message you want to send.

And when you're there in that moment, you probably end up speaking from your heart, fumbling the lines you rehearsed, forgetting your expressions you practiced, not caring that you're talking in a run-on sentence because it's coming from a place that's real and true and damn it, it's much too exhausting to know or care where the boundaries are or should be sometimes.

They say when you look back on it all, you'll see things much differently than you did at the time. You may dismiss the rough parts. You may exaggerate them. You will forget things that happen. You WILL create memories to fill in the gaps.

But you already know that.

Even in the moment.

And you speak with your heart anyway, knowing it still may not be enough.