Splash
The first time she saw him, she was half naked. He took her by surprise at Sylvie's pool as she was drying herself off in her one-piece aqua blue suit. She and Sylvie had been discussing all the highlights of their past college year apart when he walked in through the gate.
She at first saw only a silhouette, being that his back was to the sun. She had to squint to see him clearly. But even then, she was so busy hiding herself that she couldn't quite focus on him. She simply felt the immensity of his looming presence facing her.
~
The first time he saw her, he was his usual back in black self. Black shades. Black sleeveless shirt. Black jeans. Black shoes. At least he didn't have to try too hard to have his clothes match his hair.
He was intrigued by her, by the way she scrambled to cover up once he cast his shadow upon her. Usually women allowed their cleavage to heave and practically spill over right before his eyes. This one was different. More entertaining. Not so obvious.
He was used to ogling women behind his shades, but for some reason he stepped aside and turned toward the pool while she pulled on her T-shirt and wrapped her towel around her hips.
"Flip, this is Tanya. The two of us ran track together." Sylvie managed the courtesy of an intro. "Tanya, my cousin, Flip."
"Hey." Flip jerked up his head in greeting. "You're a runner?"
"Used to be. Not lately though." Tanya wrung out her sandy blonde hair, the water now dripping into a puddle at his feet. "How about you? You ever involved in sports?"
"I used to try to fit them in." The guy was about as monotone as he was monochromatic. "But I've got health issues." He waited for Tanya's face to take on concern. "Yep. Sports – they interfere with my strict doctor's orders to smoke every hour on the hour and keep myself drunk at least half the night."
His super cool attitude, her nervousness, his serious tone, her moment of concern, the unexpected humor…it all combined to cause Tanya to burst into laughter despite her not wanting to condone such bad habits. She laughed despite her awareness that the other two were laughing at her laughter and not at his joke.
"Sylvie, what've you done to this girl? Did you spike the pool with bottles of Vodka again? You know how I warned you about that last time when that prank of yours ended in an all-night skinny dipping party.
"Whatever, Flip." Sylvie would not even bother defending herself against such a lame accusation.
Tanya laughed again, this time doubling over in giggles until she was breathless.
Flip didn't usually get this strong of a reaction, but continued on just to see how much of a reaction he could get. "Hey, if you were intending an all night love fest, I can call a few friends over. It's a little early for that kind of thing, but I could make this a special occasion."
Tanya's laughter had her in tears at this point. She seemed to be enjoying herself quite a bit, despite her tinge of embarrassment. Eventually she tried to gain composure. Breath in. Breath out. Giggle giggle. Breath in. Sigh. Giggle again. Tanya stumbled along the poolside toward her slip-ons.
Flip stepped over to the patio table, then motioned as if hauling up the table umbrella and placing it at the edge of the pool. "This could be like one of those cocktail decorations on the edge of the glass for the giant martini pool party."
Tanya erupted into laughter all over again.
"Control yourself, woman." Flip nudged her shoulder. "I know I'm King of Comedy but – Whoa!"
Splash!
~
Tanya bobbed in the pool, her eyes and mouth wide open. The surprise of the fall shocked the laughter right out of her. Still, she felt giddy and silly and free. Her towel had come undone during the fall and she now held it across her shoulders like a pair of wings in the water.
Now Flip was the one laughing. He didn't seem the type to laugh often. He was more of a guy who simply smirked at comments rather than one who laughed out loud. Yet now he was smiling wide. He touched one knee to the ground and extended his had to help Tanya out.
"Thanks." She was happy to see some chivalry shine through his tough exterior. She took his hand, grabbed his elbow, and at the last second, planted her feet against the side of the pool, tugging him with her whole body. "Thanks for pushing me in!"
Splash!
~
Now Flip flapped in the water. He did not typically enjoy being surprised. But this time was different. He made sure to adjust his shades, smooth his hair, and calmly glide through the water, as if he had not been affected in the least. Yet he felt some new energy inside him. Something awakened. Something thrilling. He wasn't sure just what it was.
She had dared to play with him, but not in the way women usually played with him. This kind of play was not seductive or manipulative. It seemed more of a statement that she wasn't going to be pushed around by him. He respected her for that. He did not expect to be pulled in by her. Not physically, not emotionally. He considered himself a master of keeping his balance on the edge of control, on the edge of emotion. He jumped in only when he wanted to. But he couldn't deny the fact that he was soaked.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Back when the story was scandalous.
Tanya sat, silent. Thinking. Wondering. She felt like she was facing a black monolith, frantically searching for a pinhole of light – some way to get through to him. But the immensity of the blackness overwhelmed her. She was under its shadow. Under his shadow. She searched her mind for that one-word prayer of strength and comfort. Images were all that came to her. Flames. Heart. Thorns. Cross. Jesus. Jesus! O Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, help me.
Flip sat, silent as well. Leaning in toward her. Glancing over her. Wondering just how long it’d all take for this one to fall under his spell. She was mesmerized already, he could tell. Conquest for him was sweet. And he would be a grand prize winner with this one. He knew these pious types – they held out for awhile, then crashed quick and hard.
A girl like her would be more passionate than the bar whores when in the heat of the moment. He knew. All that pent-up emotion from “saving herself for someone special” would be unleashed as soon as he touched her just the right way. And he had much practice in finding just the right way. He had a loaded key-chain of right-way clinkers clipped to his belt, waiting to be jabbed into the next woman’s heart, whether she be coy or brazen. Yes, it would be a savory victory for him. But he’d have to bail out quick before she started weeping about how she regretted ever setting eyes on him and crying over guilt guilt guilt. He wouldn’t comfort her then. He wouldn’t apologize for himself. No sir. He’d simply abandon her in her misery while celebrating his prowess with good ol’ Jack Daniels at the corner bar.
Two hours later. The party was well underway. Tanya was getting that pounding, stifling feeling again. She was still holding on to her daiquiri cooler, warmer than room temperature by now after being between her palms all night.
She had excused herself from Flip’s stare down and found Sylvie again and met up with some vaguely familiar friends and tried to converse and look like she didn’t have a care in the world. But those eyes. His eyes. Looking right through her. They flashed through her memory as often as the heat was flashing through her body during this nerve-wracking party where she was doing all she could to get her mind off that conversation. She felt she should just leave already. She didn’t know what was keeping her? She knew should just go home, say her prayers for Papa Benny before bed as she always did, and shut her eyes and forget it all. Sleep till tomorrow. Start a new day.
But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She hadn’t slept much all week. She’d been going over that night – that song in her head, over and over. And now she’d be going over this night – this conversation, word by word, glance by glance. It was going to haunt her, she knew, whether she stayed or left. Once she was home, she’d think of all the things she should have said and what she wished she had said and how she wanted to get through to him…and how she wished he would look at her sincerely…. Whoa. She didn’t know where that just came from. She escaped for fresh air. Again.
Flip sat, silent as well. Leaning in toward her. Glancing over her. Wondering just how long it’d all take for this one to fall under his spell. She was mesmerized already, he could tell. Conquest for him was sweet. And he would be a grand prize winner with this one. He knew these pious types – they held out for awhile, then crashed quick and hard.
A girl like her would be more passionate than the bar whores when in the heat of the moment. He knew. All that pent-up emotion from “saving herself for someone special” would be unleashed as soon as he touched her just the right way. And he had much practice in finding just the right way. He had a loaded key-chain of right-way clinkers clipped to his belt, waiting to be jabbed into the next woman’s heart, whether she be coy or brazen. Yes, it would be a savory victory for him. But he’d have to bail out quick before she started weeping about how she regretted ever setting eyes on him and crying over guilt guilt guilt. He wouldn’t comfort her then. He wouldn’t apologize for himself. No sir. He’d simply abandon her in her misery while celebrating his prowess with good ol’ Jack Daniels at the corner bar.
Two hours later. The party was well underway. Tanya was getting that pounding, stifling feeling again. She was still holding on to her daiquiri cooler, warmer than room temperature by now after being between her palms all night.
She had excused herself from Flip’s stare down and found Sylvie again and met up with some vaguely familiar friends and tried to converse and look like she didn’t have a care in the world. But those eyes. His eyes. Looking right through her. They flashed through her memory as often as the heat was flashing through her body during this nerve-wracking party where she was doing all she could to get her mind off that conversation. She felt she should just leave already. She didn’t know what was keeping her? She knew should just go home, say her prayers for Papa Benny before bed as she always did, and shut her eyes and forget it all. Sleep till tomorrow. Start a new day.
But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. She hadn’t slept much all week. She’d been going over that night – that song in her head, over and over. And now she’d be going over this night – this conversation, word by word, glance by glance. It was going to haunt her, she knew, whether she stayed or left. Once she was home, she’d think of all the things she should have said and what she wished she had said and how she wanted to get through to him…and how she wished he would look at her sincerely…. Whoa. She didn’t know where that just came from. She escaped for fresh air. Again.
first scene that came to mind for Tanya and Flip
“I really must go now.” Tanya fidgeted with her keys, already warm and wet in her palms.
“You’ve been saying that for the last fifteen minutes.” Flip stared at her through his intensely black sunglasses. He was Mr. Mystique – wearing shades even in a nightclub.
“Yes, well….” Tanya carefully lifted her water with lemon and brought the straw to her lips. She was doing all she could not to dump the whole thing over her head. A wave of heat rose through her and she clasped her shirt in panic – yes, it was still properly buttoned. Why did she repeatedly feel like she was coming undone?
“You can leave anytime you like, girl. I’m not going to stop you. You want to stay, you can stay. You want to go…” Flip nodded and waved toward the door.
Tanya got a flash of those childhood dreams in which she wanted to run for her life yet could only plod her feet like wet sandbags. She eased out of her chair, fighting her faintness. She intended to spin around, toss her hair over her shoulder and never look back. Instead, she lingered, fidgeting with her keys again, then quickly paced, head down, out the door.
That confirmed for him all that he’d suspected.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Tanya muttered as she stabbed at the key hole. Tanya was still trying to convince herself to leave even as she climbed into her car. She couldn’t drive just yet. Her body trembled. Her heart thudded in her chest. She clasped her shirt again – yes, the button was still there. She squeezed her eyes tight, telling herself she would be okay if she could just leave. She whispered in frustration, “Why does he seem to look straight through me though I can’t even see his eyes?”
Another wave of heat rushed through her as she cranked the keys and revved the engine. She backed the car quickly. The tires chirped as she drove west toward home, still saying, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“You’ve been saying that for the last fifteen minutes.” Flip stared at her through his intensely black sunglasses. He was Mr. Mystique – wearing shades even in a nightclub.
“Yes, well….” Tanya carefully lifted her water with lemon and brought the straw to her lips. She was doing all she could not to dump the whole thing over her head. A wave of heat rose through her and she clasped her shirt in panic – yes, it was still properly buttoned. Why did she repeatedly feel like she was coming undone?
“You can leave anytime you like, girl. I’m not going to stop you. You want to stay, you can stay. You want to go…” Flip nodded and waved toward the door.
Tanya got a flash of those childhood dreams in which she wanted to run for her life yet could only plod her feet like wet sandbags. She eased out of her chair, fighting her faintness. She intended to spin around, toss her hair over her shoulder and never look back. Instead, she lingered, fidgeting with her keys again, then quickly paced, head down, out the door.
That confirmed for him all that he’d suspected.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Tanya muttered as she stabbed at the key hole. Tanya was still trying to convince herself to leave even as she climbed into her car. She couldn’t drive just yet. Her body trembled. Her heart thudded in her chest. She clasped her shirt again – yes, the button was still there. She squeezed her eyes tight, telling herself she would be okay if she could just leave. She whispered in frustration, “Why does he seem to look straight through me though I can’t even see his eyes?”
Another wave of heat rushed through her as she cranked the keys and revved the engine. She backed the car quickly. The tires chirped as she drove west toward home, still saying, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tell me again why you love me.
My husband wrote me a letter the other night. It happens once every few years when the emotions run so deep they can't be spoken. Insecurity had been plaguing us both.
He was feeling inadequate and I was feeling defensive.
We talked afterwards -- a good long talk with much laughter and little interruption. I'm convinced once again that the truth really does set you free. He said he'd always been jealous of all my guy friends. What guy friends? I haven't spoken to a guy since we got married nearly a decade ago. This apparently was an issue unresolved from our college dating days. I pestered him -- Who? Who were you jealous of? I can't even think of anyone.
He went through every possible person there was for him to be jealous of back in college. It turned out he was mostly despising the "cool, rockin', willing to dye their hair green" guys with whom I could share my music. Dh never was honored as a cool guy amongst his peers.
Then I went through every possible person there was for me to be jealous of back in college. It turned out I was mostly despising the "stable, loving, happy, homemaker" girls with whom nobody argued. I never was honored as a stable girl amongst my peers.
So there it was, all out in the open. And in the end, we laughed at how absurd it was to think that I'd marry anyone that wasn't reliable or that he'd marry anyone that wasn't dramatic.
Even though we're fairly certain we are loved by our spouses, it's always reassurring to know just exactly why.
He was feeling inadequate and I was feeling defensive.
We talked afterwards -- a good long talk with much laughter and little interruption. I'm convinced once again that the truth really does set you free. He said he'd always been jealous of all my guy friends. What guy friends? I haven't spoken to a guy since we got married nearly a decade ago. This apparently was an issue unresolved from our college dating days. I pestered him -- Who? Who were you jealous of? I can't even think of anyone.
He went through every possible person there was for him to be jealous of back in college. It turned out he was mostly despising the "cool, rockin', willing to dye their hair green" guys with whom I could share my music. Dh never was honored as a cool guy amongst his peers.
Then I went through every possible person there was for me to be jealous of back in college. It turned out I was mostly despising the "stable, loving, happy, homemaker" girls with whom nobody argued. I never was honored as a stable girl amongst my peers.
So there it was, all out in the open. And in the end, we laughed at how absurd it was to think that I'd marry anyone that wasn't reliable or that he'd marry anyone that wasn't dramatic.
Even though we're fairly certain we are loved by our spouses, it's always reassurring to know just exactly why.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Reason is my friend.
Letters I've written,
Never meaning to send.
Beauty I'd always missed
With these eyes before,
Just what the truth is
I cant say anymore.
-- Moody Blues, Nights in White Satin
It's pretty bad when you pride yourself on being an honest person and you start singing songs like this one. I'm typically a very honest person, except when I'm lying to myself. I don't even recall ever telling a straight-out lie, ever. You could say I have a bad memory, but my memory is very good, actually. Hey, I remember President Carter, waist-lenght hair, knee-high socks, and pea-green appliances from the 70s, don't I?
I never was good at keeping a poker face. People can see right through me most of the time. Even when I try to hide, I just can't. That's why I was never the best at customer service. If I was having a bad day, it was written all over my face and if I was doing just fine, well, people still thought I was having a bad day, but that's another story. Equanimity is not something I readily strive for, although I'm sure it would do me much good.
Not being enslaved to your passions is true freedom, for sure. I look at the many rock gods who've thrown it all away with drug ODs, cigarette-caused cancer, drinking-caused cancer, heart-brokenness syndrome, bullets to the brain and I have to ask -- Is it worth it to be so emotionally raw all the time? Still, I get conned by this "follow your passion" culture of mine.
I must learn to work with reason. Reason is my friend. Reason IS my friend. Embrace it. Love it. Carry it around where-ever I go. I'll have to play this tape regularly for many years to get the full hang of it, I'm sure.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Struggling
Why does sacrifice have to be the currency heaven?
It's so hard. It's such a...sacrifice. If I do it half-heartedly, does it half count? If I say I'm going to do it and I don't -- no, I know, no credit. If I say forget it and I do it anyway -- yes, I know, full credit despite the original defiance.
I'm a mom. I don't have to ponder these things too long. I have learned to relate to God the Father quite well by now. If I tell my son, pick up all your clothes off the floor, he says "okay," and 10 minutes later, they're all still there -- I'm not happy. In fact, I'm more disappointed at his lack of obedience because now I feel like he lied to me. If I tell him to pick up the clothes, he says I'm busy, and 10 minutes later, they're all picked up -- I'm thoroughly impressed because I know he sacrificed to obey me.
Obedience: immediate, complete, and willing conformity to authority.
So if I dilly dally, pack up before the job's done, or hold a grudge it's not obedience. What is it then? It is going through the motions? Is it attempting to stay out of trouble?
Back to mothering. If I agree with my daughter that she may have ice cream after changing into pajamas and she drags herself up the steps, puts on only her pajama shirt, and whines the whole time -- do I scoop out her reward? No. No, I don't.
Submission: the act of yielding your will to the will of another.
Basically, the act of sacrificing everything I want for what someone else wants. This seems like a lose/win situation. Is it really?
Yielding is something regularly done poorly in the driving world. There are those who completely stop on the onramp -- "Oh, fine. You all just go ahead of me. See if I care. I'm not going to budge now. I don't care if twenty five cars are piling up behind me. You all go on your merry way while I wait for a gap big enough to accelerate up to speed and move on with my life." And there are those who zoom right in without even a swift glance sideways -- "Heck if I'm gonna slow down so you can get ahead of me. I'm on a roll here. There's no stoppin' me now. So what if I push you into the next lane and cause a 10-car pile-up. I need to keep movin', people!"
Obedience and submission -- when done correctly, the world spins a little more smoothly; the ride is not so wobbly. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" is closer to being fulfilled.
Still, it's tough. No matter how logical it all is to sacrifice, it's still an act akin to grabbing metal skewers and stabbing myself repeatedly in the bosom while wearing a huge smile on my face, saying, "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Really. It's okay." And then I find myself singing, "Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion...." It's hard.
I'm not saying that after a decade of marriage and motherhood I haven't learned the value of sacrifice. I've done it plenty plenty times -- no, not always with a smile on my face, but I did it anyway and it was appreciated. I sacrificed my pursuit of a master's degree. I sacrificed dating my husband (we brought along a three-month-old to our one-year anniversary getaway). I sacrificed sleep and sanity, hygene and hunger relief, freedom to escape for more than two hours and feeling like an attractive woman. I've sacrificed a clean house for teaching my kids at home. I've sacrificed having my body be all mine so that my going-on-31-months-now toddler can continue nursing.
I have sacrificed, people. I'm not saying I'm a self-centered person who isn't bothered by anything anyone else says or does or doesn't do. I love the results of my sacrifices. They've paid off well. I love when others sacrifice for me. It's a language of love.
The problem is, I'm getting a little sick of it! Could this be why Christ chose to have a ministry lasting only 3 years? I'm not saying He was living it up the other 30 years prior to going public. I'm saying it's hard to be in the spotlight all the time, esp. when people know you're trying hard to live your best life. As soon as you start hesitating to follow your own principles, others start in with, "Ah, ah, ah! You said you wanted to be a saint. Saints don't dilly dally. Saints don't pack up before the job's done. Saints don't hold a grudge." Then I want to curse and swear, hit and bite. But I usually sacrifice this urge by grinning weakly and stating, "I'm trying, okay? I'm doing the best I can do right now. Now please would you get the fffffffffflies off the window?" Yes, I just sacrificed there again. Then I comfort myself with people like Padre Pio, the 1960s stigmatist, who said to one of his religious brothers, "Hold up a minute before I hear confessions. I've got to finish this candy. People are gonna say, 'A saint doesn't eat candy' if I go in there before it's done." Intercede for me, Padre P.
I know I've got to finish the race. I know I can fall and head the wrong direction at any point in the journey. I know the evil one is bloodthirsty for my soul. I know I've got to continuously ask for grace. I know. I KNOW. I know. My problem is I know too much about what I'm supposed to do and I don't just do it. My problem is I base too much on emotion and I hate going through the motions. My problem is I'm not quite perfect just yet. But the saints are not people who were always perfect. Saints are people who struggled every single BLESSED day to do what's right: to obey, to submit, to yield. I am struggling. God knows I'm struggling. Heaven help me.
It's so hard. It's such a...sacrifice. If I do it half-heartedly, does it half count? If I say I'm going to do it and I don't -- no, I know, no credit. If I say forget it and I do it anyway -- yes, I know, full credit despite the original defiance.
I'm a mom. I don't have to ponder these things too long. I have learned to relate to God the Father quite well by now. If I tell my son, pick up all your clothes off the floor, he says "okay," and 10 minutes later, they're all still there -- I'm not happy. In fact, I'm more disappointed at his lack of obedience because now I feel like he lied to me. If I tell him to pick up the clothes, he says I'm busy, and 10 minutes later, they're all picked up -- I'm thoroughly impressed because I know he sacrificed to obey me.
Obedience: immediate, complete, and willing conformity to authority.
So if I dilly dally, pack up before the job's done, or hold a grudge it's not obedience. What is it then? It is going through the motions? Is it attempting to stay out of trouble?
Back to mothering. If I agree with my daughter that she may have ice cream after changing into pajamas and she drags herself up the steps, puts on only her pajama shirt, and whines the whole time -- do I scoop out her reward? No. No, I don't.
Submission: the act of yielding your will to the will of another.
Basically, the act of sacrificing everything I want for what someone else wants. This seems like a lose/win situation. Is it really?
Yielding is something regularly done poorly in the driving world. There are those who completely stop on the onramp -- "Oh, fine. You all just go ahead of me. See if I care. I'm not going to budge now. I don't care if twenty five cars are piling up behind me. You all go on your merry way while I wait for a gap big enough to accelerate up to speed and move on with my life." And there are those who zoom right in without even a swift glance sideways -- "Heck if I'm gonna slow down so you can get ahead of me. I'm on a roll here. There's no stoppin' me now. So what if I push you into the next lane and cause a 10-car pile-up. I need to keep movin', people!"
Obedience and submission -- when done correctly, the world spins a little more smoothly; the ride is not so wobbly. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven" is closer to being fulfilled.
Still, it's tough. No matter how logical it all is to sacrifice, it's still an act akin to grabbing metal skewers and stabbing myself repeatedly in the bosom while wearing a huge smile on my face, saying, "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Really. It's okay." And then I find myself singing, "Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion...." It's hard.
I'm not saying that after a decade of marriage and motherhood I haven't learned the value of sacrifice. I've done it plenty plenty times -- no, not always with a smile on my face, but I did it anyway and it was appreciated. I sacrificed my pursuit of a master's degree. I sacrificed dating my husband (we brought along a three-month-old to our one-year anniversary getaway). I sacrificed sleep and sanity, hygene and hunger relief, freedom to escape for more than two hours and feeling like an attractive woman. I've sacrificed a clean house for teaching my kids at home. I've sacrificed having my body be all mine so that my going-on-31-months-now toddler can continue nursing.
I have sacrificed, people. I'm not saying I'm a self-centered person who isn't bothered by anything anyone else says or does or doesn't do. I love the results of my sacrifices. They've paid off well. I love when others sacrifice for me. It's a language of love.
The problem is, I'm getting a little sick of it! Could this be why Christ chose to have a ministry lasting only 3 years? I'm not saying He was living it up the other 30 years prior to going public. I'm saying it's hard to be in the spotlight all the time, esp. when people know you're trying hard to live your best life. As soon as you start hesitating to follow your own principles, others start in with, "Ah, ah, ah! You said you wanted to be a saint. Saints don't dilly dally. Saints don't pack up before the job's done. Saints don't hold a grudge." Then I want to curse and swear, hit and bite. But I usually sacrifice this urge by grinning weakly and stating, "I'm trying, okay? I'm doing the best I can do right now. Now please would you get the fffffffffflies off the window?" Yes, I just sacrificed there again. Then I comfort myself with people like Padre Pio, the 1960s stigmatist, who said to one of his religious brothers, "Hold up a minute before I hear confessions. I've got to finish this candy. People are gonna say, 'A saint doesn't eat candy' if I go in there before it's done." Intercede for me, Padre P.
I know I've got to finish the race. I know I can fall and head the wrong direction at any point in the journey. I know the evil one is bloodthirsty for my soul. I know I've got to continuously ask for grace. I know. I KNOW. I know. My problem is I know too much about what I'm supposed to do and I don't just do it. My problem is I base too much on emotion and I hate going through the motions. My problem is I'm not quite perfect just yet. But the saints are not people who were always perfect. Saints are people who struggled every single BLESSED day to do what's right: to obey, to submit, to yield. I am struggling. God knows I'm struggling. Heaven help me.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Up and Down
One step forward, two steps back. Two steps forward, one step back. Three steps forward, one step back. Alright, alright -- three steps back.
Whenever everything in life starts coming together, it all seems to fall apart again. Life cycles like that.
I've been on a roller-coaster this past month -- a big high and a steep low. Up, up, up -- feeling butterflies in my stomach, grabbing my partner's hand, grinning but clenching my jaw. Down, down, down -- peeling out screams, flinging back my hair, shutting but popping open my eyes.
I got back to family today. Family reminds me where ME all started. Mom was not Mom today. She was Older Sister to my aunt. Auntie was not Auntie today. She was bantering antagonist to Older Sister. I sat in the center, shoulder to shoulder with both of them in the pickup truck. The teasing remarks were flying back and forth between them and I couldn't even join in because my sides were hurting so much from the laughter.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, but family is joyful and always good to come back to after the big ups and downs.
Whenever everything in life starts coming together, it all seems to fall apart again. Life cycles like that.
I've been on a roller-coaster this past month -- a big high and a steep low. Up, up, up -- feeling butterflies in my stomach, grabbing my partner's hand, grinning but clenching my jaw. Down, down, down -- peeling out screams, flinging back my hair, shutting but popping open my eyes.
I got back to family today. Family reminds me where ME all started. Mom was not Mom today. She was Older Sister to my aunt. Auntie was not Auntie today. She was bantering antagonist to Older Sister. I sat in the center, shoulder to shoulder with both of them in the pickup truck. The teasing remarks were flying back and forth between them and I couldn't even join in because my sides were hurting so much from the laughter.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, but family is joyful and always good to come back to after the big ups and downs.
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