Champion

Coming to a new place exposes the worst in you.

Because when you’re comfortable in your skin, you can’t look at yourself too critically. You can’t really see anything when you’re comfortable, because you are so in your own little world you’re not forced to take a good hard look in the mirror. And when you go somewhere new, somewhere where you don’t know a soul, you are left to reflect about so many things and are so out of place it’s almost as if you place a magnifying glass up to yourself.

Coming here has made me see the worst in myself.

And I want to change that.

Your Heart Was Falling Fast

I often think about where people are going when they drive by.

When cars pass me on the road, either when I’m walking or driving as well, I think bout where they’re going, who they’re going to see when they get there and where they’re coming from. It’s an interesting thing, a sad thing, to wonder what adventure lies ahead for that person.

People travel great distances to see the people they love or to do something they’ve never done before. I always fear I’m too scared to have an adventure of my own. See, what people don’t know about me is I am afraid of the world. I feel like a child sometimes, sitting there and wondering why the world the way it is. Why is there so much hate? Why is there so much pain? Sometimes I wonder if that’s what’s keeping me here.

I like to fantasize about where I’d go, or what I would do. It reminds me of all the things I don’t have. It reminds me of the things I’m too scared to leave behind.

I want to get in a car, on a train or a plane and see you. I want to hear your voice again, to touch your soft hands, to feel you next to me again. My heart aches that we’re not together. And what’s stopping me? If you were to call me up today and tell me you needed me, I don’t think I could go. There are too many things to do here.

I don’t have the courage other’s have. If I came to you (or you came to me) we would have to part again. Down the road, would it mean I would have to leave it all behind and star a whole new life for you? Could I do what so many do?  Eventually we all have to choose what’s right for us and if leaving behind a world we love and understand is worth starting a new adventure.

As I pass the corn fields, as I fly over the hills and plains and mountains and rivers, all I can think about is if I had a choice, if I had a chance, I’d give it all up for you. I’m sure those countless people I pass on the streets, or I meet on planes, are thinking the same thing. If they had the chance, they’d give it all up for someone else too. They would leave behind everything just to see the face of the person they love. They wouldn’t second guess or question. They would get in their car and just drive.

I would give it all up and just drive for you. All you have to do is ask.

And that scares me.

Who Would Have Loved You More

My heart wouldn’t stop beating.

It was like a drum, bursting free from my chest and booming so loudly I knew he must’ve heard it. His face knocked the wind out of my chest, his voice sent my whole world crashing down. He smile, his touch, his eyes.

He said he’d call, see how things were. He never did and I am glad for that. He could the blood rushing to my face, my pupils slowly dialating. He could see it all and he knew I was scared and he knew I was helpless. His eyes were staring straight at me, searching my body for an answer to his question.

Is everything alright?

The sooner he left, the better things would be.

I like to blame him for everything. I hold on to that grudge because it’s all I have left of him. When he walked through the door and saw me there, it was easy to blame him. He looks the same. He smells the same. He sounds the same.

It made it easy to blame him.

Genna said it best, you’re too logical and sensible to let this happen. I am mature in life and young in love.

Time to grow up. Time to let go of my grudge. Time to start blaming myself.

When You’re Talking in Your Sleep

I saw Mark in my dream.

He was standing there, in my room, and we were having this conversation. We were talking like old friends, even though I never met the man, and he kept smiling and me and taking this once piece of hair I had and tucking in behind my ear. He kept smiling down at me and laughing with me. It was completely silent, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he seemed so happy. He motioned toward the door and he walked through it and outside was standing Ryan.

I think I said something like, “Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

He nodded and smiled. He had the most wonderful smile.

Ryan and Mark walked away from me and I felt a shiver run down my spine. The sky turned dark. When I woke up I was drenched in sweat and it was dark still in my room.  I swear I could see him proped up against the boxes stacked in front of my door. A silver outline of him stood there, with Ryan, watching me as I slept.

“Mark?”

No answer.

“Mark?”

No answer.

“Mark? Are you there?”

I snapped out of my half-awake, half-dream phase to realize that it is impossible for Mark to be there, or Ryan. They’re both dead. I went back to sleep with an uneasy feeling in my stomach, hoping I would see Mark again when I closed my eyes, but he was gone.

A while ago, right after Ruthie died, I told my mom that I thought the kids who I wrote obituaries for were following me around. I told her that when I walked to class, or when I was scared at night, or when I was feeling lonely, that I could feel their arms wrapping around me and holding me. She laughed at me and called me crazy.

I know Mark was in my room that night. I know he was smiling and laughing with me. I know he is still here.

He is a lost soul taken from us too soon.

I wonder where Mark is now.

I’m Holding Your Heart in My Hand

The heart wants

wants

wants

wants

wants

what it can never have.

My heart wants you.

And So It Goes

The brown, murkey water splashed underneath the bridge as I walked over it. The sky was grey, the sun couldn’t even peak through small patches of open sky today, leaving the whole Earth cold and dark. Raindrops poured across my face, making a small stream down my cheek. Everyone just kept walking by, not minding the weather, not knowing what was happening.

I can’t shake the feeling.

I drove by his house yesterday, just like my boss had asked me to do. Your house looked strange, knowing what had happened there. It was in a quaint little neighborhood nestled up to a ghetto. Children were playing the streets, people stood outside their homes watering their lawns and unloading their cars from the long day behind them.

Your house didn’t stand out. It blended in perfectly, looked nothing out of the ordinary and I guess thats how you would’ve prefered it. I bet you never imagined seeing it all over the news. I don’t think you could picture your face flashing from screen to screen, your unique smile with the small underbite showing up on every news station here to Timbuktu.

When I talked to her on the phone, she sounded composed, and I’m sure that made you happy. But I couldn’t get the image of your house out of my mind. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Nothing looked different. Nothing changed. If I had not known better, I would have thought nothing was wrong. Actually, driving by it the first time I didn’t even recognize it.

Even ask she poured her heart out my only thought was about your small house, eerilysitting on a grassy knowl overlooking the neighborhood children. It is patiently waiting for you to come home, but I highly doubt you will. It’s not your fault. I understand. Though, I can feel you walking with me at night. I can see your smile as you read over the words written about you, flattered that people had such nice things to say about you. I can see you calling up your grandfather and giving him a hard time for being so embarrassing. I hope you’re doing well.

I wonder where you are now.

In All It’s Misery, You Will Always Be What I Loved

A wise friend once told me sometimes battles are not mine to fight.

I am one of those people who feels like its my responsibility whenever something goes wrong, whether it be my fault or not, and I have the innate sense that if I don’t attempt to fix things, then I am being a bad friend. So, for what seems the entirety of my life, I’ve been the friend picking up the pieces of the messes my friends have made. 

But this mess is much more than I expected.

It’s weird when you first know someone with an addiction. You see the shows on TV, you see movies and you might hear about some distant person who is addicted, and you think, I’m so fortunate to have never had this happen to me. When I saw my friend, though, my friend whose addictions have surpassed her ability to fight for herself, I realized it was happening to me.

And that’s when my wise friend Genna told me to stop fighting for our addicted friend. Genna told me it wasn’t worth it, and we couldn’t save her.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized Genna was right. We couldn’t save her. The fury in her eyes, the fervor in her voice, the excitedness and the fake, fake smiles made her unrecognizable. She was no longer our friend but a shell of who she once was. Her addictions had taken over her body and just left a replica of herself, someone that might have resembled her slightly, but was a stranger nonetheless.

Genna tried to make me understand it wasn’t my fault. I know it’s not my fault, how can it be? Still, looking at her in the state that she was and begging her to just please tell me the truth was hard, and it made me want to sweep her up and fix her problems. I’ll write a check for rehab if that’s what it takes, I’ll sit with you in your darkest hours if that’s what it takes. Tell me what to do and I will do it, but I want to see your face again and recognize the person looking back at me.

So Genna and I sent our friend back to where she came from, because we both knew we couldn’t help her, and she might never return to us because she feels betrayed by us. Rejecting her was one of the hardest things I had to do, but I know it was the only choice I had.

Who Could Ask For Anything More

 I used to drive into town all the time to rent movies from Cam.

I remember how I would watch a movie three, four times just so I could see his face. He worked at the blockbuster on the corner of Holiday Hills, and I used to stop in after work sometimes the summer before my junior year. I had just broken up with Nick for the millionth time and my friends had alienated me because of it. I was bitter about it and instead of just facing them, I ignored the issue completely.

But Cam was a ray of sunshine. He smiled everytime I’d stop in, he was only two years older than me, and he always asked what my plans were. Everytime I would smile and laugh, “nothing tonight, Cam.” He asked me about Nick, I would shove the issue off.  He would recommend movies, I would watch them. Then I became dependent on the activity of seeing him every few days. I didn’t want to watch a movie, but I wanted to see Cam, for the companionship.

We went on one date. It was the last date I’ve been on, more than two years ago. He pulled out my chair, said I looked pretty. He pretended to care about my favorite bands and movies. He probed my mind for my dreams, my hopes, my fears. He played footsie with me under the table. He dropped me off and walked me to my door. He didn’t even try to kiss me, not once.

His last words to me were, “you have really pretty eyes, you know that?”

Nick had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. I don’t think he had any clue about Cam, infact I know he didn’t. But Nick called me the next day. He wanted to see me. I obediently went.

Nick never knew my favorite color, or my favorite flower. He never noticed my eyes flickered green when I was sad, or that when I am thinking really hard about something, I look angry. He never saw the red flickers in my hair and never knew I rented Pride and Prejudice more than 100 times because it was my favorite movie.

I saw Cam at school a few days ago. I was upset about something when I saw him, not outwardly upset, just flustered. He smiled at me, the same big smile I loved, and looked into my eyes. He asked if something was wrong.

He never said so, but I could tell how he knew. My eyes must’ve been green. He must’ve known.

The last thing he said to me as we parted ways was, “you have the prettiest eyes, did you know that?” I smiled and said someone might’ve told me that once before.

Hands Clean

I don’t think I like who I’ve become.

But I’m having too much fun to really care.

I just want to be loved.

Tick Tock

As I held the receiver, I could feel the pain coming through the phone.

I didn’t know him, never met him or seen his face, but I could hear him. And his voice sounded defeated. He tried to gather words, he tried to make me understand. But I couldn’t. No one could, only he could, because only he truly understood. He said he felt sorry for me that I never met his friend. I felt sorry for myself.

It’s funny how I must sound to this guy. I must seem nosy, bothersome. I must seem like a heartless, souless, familyless, friendless bitch on the other end of a phonecall. Little does he know my heart has been breaking for him. And that I’d do anything for him, even though we’ve never met.

I’m so, so sorry.