messages - submission nov 30

Will you always love me? Or will you stop some day and leave me. This fear takes possession of my days and nights. I lean over in the dark and listen to you breathe. A smile crosses your lips and I worry that I might not be it’s inspiration. In the morning I mention that late night smile and you say you don’t know why you were smiling. Are you lying?
I look in your eyes to see if you love me but I can’t quite read them and your kiss seems a bit distracted as you head out the door. When I call you midmorning, you’ve no time to talk and I wonder if maybe you don’t want to talk to me.
I call to see if you’d like to have lunch but you mention a lunch appointment. I imagine your lunch appointment and she is tall and blonde and she makes you laugh. I hate her and am certain I’ve lost you to her.
You call mid-afternoon but I am pouting and you don’t know why, so you get off the line as quickly as possible. No I love you there. You call back a few minutes later and I smile thinking you’ve called me back to tell me so but you are only calling to remind me that you’re going out with the guys from the office and won’t be home until late. Love you too is what you say before you hang up.
By the time you arrive home I’m hysterical, neurotic and insane. You’re confused, no comprehension of why I would think such things. Of course you love me. You smile and kiss my swollen face.
“Baby, I love you. I will always love you. Believe me,” you whisper to my heart pulling me close.

messages - submission nov 29

I sit in the doctor’s office and listen quietly as he explains thoroughly, making sure I understand. When he’s finished he looks at me expectantly, but when I answer, he is visibly startled. This is not the response he’s anticipated. Again, he tries to make me comprehend the gravity of the situation.
“I’m sorry, I’m not having the surgery,” I state calmly.
“You’ll die.” He answers.
“I’ll die anyway, someday. I’ve seen what this surgery does to people. They’re not the same when it is over. Personalities have changed; they are dependent and cannot do the simplest tasks. I won’t live like that.” I answer again.
“Perhaps you would like to discuss this with your husband…”
“No, I will not discuss this with my husband or anyone else. I have made my decision. I need your assistance in living the rest of this out as best as I can. I do not want my family informed. I know I can rely on doctor patient confidentiality, correct?“
That evening while he was watching television and I was cooking dinner he asked what the doctor had said. I mentioned menopause and blood pressure and new medication to help me sleep.
“Let’s go away this weekend, maybe up to the mountains.” I said. He wasn’t really listening but I had already started planning.
I woke up early the morning and went for a walk. Did some writing, and then called a friend for lunch. At lunch I ordered what I really wanted and then dessert besides. When I walked outside I could smell fall in the air and already there was the changing colors starting to appear on tips of the leaves. The sky was azure blue.
I was going to die and I knew it, but first I was going to live.

messages - submission nov 28

Merry Christmas indeed! Who came up with this stupid holiday anyway? All this fa la la and Happy Holidays. Here I sit in front of the stupid television watching pathetic Christmas specials while eating half a tub of cookie dough.
I know I need to move on. He did, with that little blonde headed, tree hugging, nitwit. Excuse me “earthy”. That’s how he describes her. “Earthy.” Earthy!
If she was earthy, she wouldn’t have paved over the garden would she? If she’d any sense for nature she wouldn’t have killed off Jane’s plants.
She probably threw out all the beautiful ornaments they’d had and decorated the tree in purple and orange or something ridiculous like that. I guarantee there will no garland over the fireplace this year. Oh no, she’ll probably put seashells and twinkle lights and use some sort of teal ribbon.
She’s a slut who likes to show off her nakedness in whatever form – painting, sketching, sculpture. Now mind you I can see that she has a bit of talent. I’ve been down to the gallery – of course only when I knew she was away.
Honestly, I don’t know what he sees in her. But she’s been quite a hit with some of our old friends. Friends? Why they would spend time with her I can’t understand. She is nothing at all like Jane or any of us really.
Brian and I had spent so much time together when Jane was sick. We really grew quite fond of each other. I know it’s a bit morbid but I think Jane approved. I was certain he and I would be announcing our engagement this Christmas – it has been almost a year after all. We would have been so happy together - if it hadn’t been for the earthy girl!

messages - submission nov 27

Never, ever satisfied, wanting to be older, wanting to be younger, wanting to be taller, wanting to be shorter. That is why the ideal age is 18 month’s old. The littlest thing satisfies and you don’t know that there is more to be wanting. When watching commercials for pretty things that’s all they are pretty things - not pretty things that I don’t have and would want – just pretty things.
Looking for that magic moment, that handsome prince, that special place, that happily ever after if I could just have what someone else has. The faster car, the sweeter man, the bigger house would all satisfy for a moment until I see a faster car, a more caring lover, a prettier yard.
But wait, there it is right there in that pretty brochure with the beautiful sails or the swimming pool in the back. Why, oh why, oh why can’t I stop looking at what there isn’t and see what there is? In a house full of new furniture I long for antiques. If I had antiques why would I want this old stuff when there are such pretty colors, softer fabrics, glass and trim?
I have found one place that I am satisfied, right in the middle of time amongst friends and family. The joy of a shared meal, a time around the fire, or a quick game (ok who am I kidding there are no quick games) of Scrabble with coffee and Chris Rice in the background. A day in the park with Elli playing on the swings and slides, one more round of peek-a-boo around the tree. If I could live my life right there … that might work. Maybe I should try that and see if I could remain content, at least until the weather changes.

messages - submission nov 26

Once upon a time, there lived in an ordinary sort of apartment building a beautiful princess, disguised as a somewhat pretty young woman. Every morning she would wake up, look in the mirror and say to herself. “Perhaps today is the day.” Then she would get dressed, and head off to work.
Every evening she would come home, make something to eat and watch old movies or read. Every night she would dream of the one who would come for her. He would say gentle loving things to her that would caress her heart. .
Unbeknownst to the beautiful princess, living in the very same building was a handsome prince, disguised as a somewhat good looking but rather ordinary sort of fellow. He was smart, but a little bit quiet. The quiet ones should always be watched as they tend to have a bit of mischief in them.
The prince lived in the apartment above the princess and often they would ride the elevator down to the parking garage together. After a little while they got to know each other a bit and soon they were spending an evening here or there in the other’s apartment where they would split a pizza, watch a movie, or play a game. He was a bit of a tease and she liked the comfortable way she felt when she was around him. Oftentimes after being together she would lie in her bed and replay bits of things he had said and it would warm her heart.
One morning, when the elevator stopped on her floor and the doors opened, he said, “I know you.”
“You do?”
“Oh yes,” he replied. “I danced with you once upon a dream.” After that is was just a matter of time and they lived happily ever after

messages - submission nov 25

Secrets we hide even from ourselves haunt us in the early hours of the morning. They chase us down dark halls. Following us, poking and prodding and demanding our attention when we are attempting to be happy in other parts of our lives. They steal our past replacing what was with long shadows of angst and guilt
Around every corner they spread their disease of depression, push us down into deep wells of despair. Until gasping for air and sobbing in pain, the day to day life we attempt to live is superseded by the desire to escape to some place of peace, of stillness from the haunting.
Finally, we live half lives, zombie people longing for what can not be because of truth that came screaming up from the depths one dark despairing day. How to hope when there is this overwhelming, life sucking pall hanging over us?
Nights are long and lonely, as are the days and those who used to know us have no understanding. We seek in places unlikely for some sort of shelter from this storm. Running for cover until we stumble into someone who will not turn us away, or demand that we get over our pain, but willingly holds us until the sobbing subsides. Perhaps not comprehending, but permitting us nonetheless to walk as slowly as needed. Waiting patiently for us to arise to whatever hobbling stance we can manage from the beaten down place that we still fall into.
How to hope beyond even this moment? I can not say. Every season leads us down corridors that point to when the past became our present and continuous pain. Looking for hope in the new day or in the laughter of a child is only even possible because you are there for me.

messages - submission nov 24

Claire let out a high pitched yelp as Kenny grabbed her wrist and yanked her down into the chair.
“Stupid wench you have a tail. What’s wrong with you? You led him right to me!”
Claire looked up the street. There was the detective looking into a bookshop window.
“I …”
“Shut up!” Kenny growled at her. His hand still held her wrist and he had continued to apply pressure. Her eyes began to tear.
“Kenny, please, you’re hurting me.” She whimpered.
“You should have been more careful. Who is he?” Anger flashed in his eyes but he released her.
“I… I … don’t know. He was in the store but I thought he was watching another woman there.”
“Brainless fool! I don’t know why I keep you around.” He glared at her. “Okay, look, I’m going out back. Do not, do not follow me and for God sakes don’t go home tonight. Make sure you lose him. Make sure you lose him good before I see you again, you hear!” He leaned towards her looking affectionate to anyone who might be paying attention, but he had placed his hand on her thigh and was digging his nails into her soft flesh.
She nodded because she could not speak through the pain. He was up and gone before her eyes stopped tearing. She wished she was stronger and could be through with him. She hated him at times but she knew it was her fault. If she hadn’t been so stupid he wouldn’t get so angry. Lost in thought she hadn’t noticed anyone near until the detective sat down. She looked up startled as he signaled the waitress.
“Hello Claire,” he said.
“Do I… do I know you?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But I’ve come to rescue you.”

messages - submission nov 23

“Forever?” She asked.
“Forever.” He answered.
He played with her hair. Twirling it in his fingers, brushing it softly with his hands and then taking hold of great handfuls of it pulling her head back and kissing her throat.
She lay quietly with her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat for her. Her fingers playing up and down his arms and torso.
“We should …” He began.
“Shhhhh, let’s hold on to this moment. Forever.” She replied.
“Forever.” He murmured back to her.
Time slowed and they lived their love, breathing each other in and out. Holding tightly to what they had. Calling out to each other from the passion they held hidden. Afterwards they lay curled around each other, limbs entwined, whispering I love you’s and murmuring their pleasure at being together.
His cell phone vibrated on the table.
“We should …” She said.
“Soon.” He replied. “But for a minute more. Forever.”
“Forever.” She answered, but her eyes began to water despite trying not to show her breaking heart. Knowing that it would soon be over.
“Shhhh, don’t cry.” He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, drank her tears. He became teasing and playful looking for her laughter and smile to return. He held her close and breathed her in as she searched his eyes again and again to reassure herself that it was more than just this moment.
“How do we make this real?” She asked
He kissed her long and hard until her breath was ragged and her heart was pounding and then he whispered in her ear. “This is real.”
They got up and got dressed. He moved his hands over her skin with every piece of clothing she put on.
“I love you.” He said.
“Mmmmm, forever?” She asked
“Forever.” He answered.

messages - submission nov 22

Not really superstitious, more cautious than anything. Always checked for oncoming traffic and then checked again. Careful to read all the instructions. Rarely took unnecessary risks. She was the steady one, the responsible one, the reliable one.
She always wrote thank you notes. She took extra steps to insure that she didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
It was only by the oddest coincidence that she met him. A friend of a friend had been in the hospital and she had stopped by to see her. He arrived at the same time she had. The three of them sat and chatted for almost an hour. She got up to leave and he walked out with her.
“Dinner?” He asked.
“Well, I …”
“Oh come on, we’re practically old friends now. A little dinner won’t hurt. It’s late already and if you’re just going to stop and pick up something to eat on the way home why don’t we eat together?”
She acquiesced. They went to a small but elegant little place south of the boulevard. He ordered hors d’ovoeres and wine. He insisted she try the soup and the amazing house dressing on the salad. He ordered more wine with dinner and she could feel herself beginning to get warm. He ordered Bailey’s with dessert and she could feel her cheeks getting numb.
They walked to her place and she felt blissfully, delightfully happy. She rested her head against his shoulder. She poured them both a brandy and she could taste it on his lips. Things were moving way too fast. She knew better. She didn’t care. This one time she was throwing caution to the wind, didn’t care about the risks. She was going to be irresponsible.
Of course it happened. In the end, he robbed her. He stole her heart.

messages - submission nov 21

It happens every spring. I can count on it, yet it always catches me by surprise. The intensity of it, the hunger, the need, always catches me by surprise. There are other times when the desire is there, but it’s never as strong as that first time in spring.
The winter rains begin to draw to an end. There’s freshness in the air, that different smell and the sense that the spring has finally arrived. I’ll begin to notice the bright green of new grass and the budding of the trees. The color of everything will be just a bit brighter. I’ll find myself humming in the morning. Getting dressed for work, I’ll pick out swishy skirts and bright colored blouses. I’ll put on my “fun shoes,” open toed heeled sandals with flowers or flirty colors. I’ll sing to the songs on the radio through my one hour commute. I’ll laugh a little more, my step will be lighter.
And then, in the midst of all of this, some guy, some random guy will come zooming by on his Harley. He will turn and smile at me and then zoom past. Suddenly, desperately I want to be on the back of that bike. Gone from the sameness of my life and the burden of responsibility of every day with husband, children and home. Free to go who knows where, just to go. Just to fly around curves and over mountains, zip through traffic and go. To live free of all of the things that make up my life. Hair flying in the wind, living just in the moment, I imagine it all then. The longing is with me all the way to work and as I pull in the desire to be gone overwhelms me and I find myself crying.

messages - submission nov 20

What an awful day! All he wanted was to kick back in his chair, throw back a beer or two and watch the game – in peace – for once. But was that going to happen? Not bloody likely. The kids would be running around like a pack of wild Indians. She would be going on and on about her day. She had probably talked to her mother or his mother or her sisters and she would have to share the whole conversation. – “And then she said” – and “can you imagine”. He, of course, would have to pay attention. Just when the game would be getting good she would want him to take out the trash or come to dinner or change the baby. Just some quiet, for once. Is that so much to ask?
He had to stop for gas and thought about calling her but decided to avoid conversation for as long as possible. The fog had gotten worse so it took him longer than usual to get home. The game had already started and he thought about circling the block a few more times just so he could enjoy the game a little longer alone but it was already late.
When he came in the house was dark and silent. Then he saw the red rose petals on the ground. Oh no, did he forget something? Birthday? Anniversary? No. He followed the rose petals to the kitchen and there on the counter was a candle, a red rose and a note.
“Darling, you sounded tired and worn out when I called you this afternoon. I took the kids to my mothers and I’ve gone out with Susan. There is a cold six pack in the fridge. Relax and enjoy the game. I’ll be back before 10:00. I love you.”

messages - submission nov 19

“I’m sorry. I can’t understand you. Lisa please, take a breath and try to talk slower.” I checked the volume on my phone but it was turned all the way up. All I could hear was garble, garble, garble, sob. “Lisa, let me meet you somewhere. Where are you?”
It was starting to rain and since early this morning the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees. The roads were icing up and I was certain my folks would have a fit if I went out but this was an emergency. I listened for a couple of minutes.
“Then I’ll come there. What do you mean no don’t? He can’t keep you locked in your room. I’ll just come and get you out of there.”
She seemed to be getting things a bit under control.
“What do you mean you’ll be fine?” I paused. She always had a flair for the dramatic, a tendency to blow things a bit out of proportion. Maybe she had just over exaggerated what had been going on, she seemed to be much calmer than the situation seemed to warrant.
“I still think you should let me ... ” She sighed. “Okay, well if you’re tired. I know. No, its okay, I need to finish studying for the calculus exam anyway. Yea ok, I’ll see you Monday.”
I hung up the phone feeling very uneasy. There had never been any indication of any sort of abuse situation before. What if I went over there or called the police and it made it worse or if nothing had really happened. She was probably just overreacting.
Monday morning Lisa wasn’t in homeroom. Everyone kept giving me sideways glances. Finally in first period someone came up and told me. Lisa’s dad had beaten her to death Saturday night.

messages - submission nov 18

Food, good food, is made with more than just ingredients. It’s made with emotion, care and attention. Like a love song or sonnet it tells a story. Let me give you an example. A really good spicy chili sauce can only be made with just the right touch of anger and passion in the cook. If there isn’t a little bit of anger it just won’t have the right piquant and with not enough passion, well it might be hot but the flavor will be lacking.
Keeping this in mind I began to cook a meal that hopefully will be remembered and shared every time we tell “our story.” The meal that I had waited my whole life to prepare.
For the appetizer, something with a bit of spice and flavor to whet his appetite. Little bites of something delicious that leave him still hungry for more. Of course, I’ll make shrimp kisses – shrimp, bacon and cheese – mmmm – but of course not too many. It would not fit into my plan if he were satisfied so soon.
The salad will be crisp, icy cold butter lettuce with a colorful blend of cut up peppers and sweet grape tomatoes. Something pleasing to the eye and refreshing to his palate. Again the need to leave him longing for more. Looking forward to what’s to come.
For the main course, I think teriyaki skewers. There’s that exotic flavor, hints of island escapes and having him barbecue them for me will make him see that he’s needed. A light rice side dish and fresh string beans.
Dessert …. Home made apple pie with home made vanilla ice cream … a little comfort food, a little something that lingers on the tongue, a little flavor to savor, homey and comfortable that says “I love you.”

messages - submission nov 17

“That’s why everything needs to be perfect.” Of course that was why everything never was even good enough. He was constantly complaining, criticizing, demanding his version of perfect. Even in those moments when he didn’t she was anticipating it.
All these years she found that she had never measured up, she had tried very hard at first. To do it his way, or in some way that would please him. If it wasn’t awful it was ignored and in the end she had just given up.
In the early years she had shared everything with him. Her hopes, her dreams – not grand enough or just silly had been his estimation of them. She’d shared her fears which he then used to torment her.
She had been outgoing, full of life and laughter then but slowly she had been drained of all of that. Until now she was grey, nondescript. There was little of her left. When she looked in the mirror there was no light in her eyes. She had lost almost 40 pounds from her already slender frame.
Every night she felt a little bit more of herself disappearing, until that fateful night. She had not planned for it to happen. All the anger that she had pushed down, blocked or held at bay finally came bubbling up. When she saw the sympathetic smile of the woman across the restaurant she knew it was her time.
She stood up. “Enough!” She said. She threw the wine in his face and suddenly she was free. Everything that she held back was released. She floated out of the restaurant then know that seven years of dying was enough. She would no longer be his miserable, imperfect, unsatisfactory grey woman.
She would be fully alive, satisfactorily imperfect and exceedingly happy without him.

messages - submission nov 16

“Do you know how to drive this thing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous do you think I would have brought us all this way to be trapped? Hurry, they’ll be here any second!”
We climbed into the cockpit and Kevin immediately begins flipping switches, checking gauges and all that sort of thing. In a moment the engine roars to life.
“You better put your seatbelt on,” he shouted. I did as he instructed and we pulled out of the hangar and on to the single runaway. The flashing lights from the police cars could be seen just coming over the furthest hill. They were still about 8 miles away but there wasn’t a lot in between where we were and their location. With luck we would be long gone by the time they got to the little airstrip.
We had reached the end of the runaway. Kevin turned the plane increased the throttle and then took off towards freedom. Except for the runway lights the night was black as pitch. Suddenly we were part of that blackness, except for the little lights on either side of aircraft. Those lights made me feel like we were sailing two stars through the night.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Just relax and enjoy the ride. It will be a couple of hours.” My heart was still racing. I didn’t believe we would get away with it but for now I wasn’t going to worry about it. He seemed to have things well in hand. If it all worked out as planned we were $500,000 richer. Could it really be this simple? Did I suddenly have money, the prince and happily ever after?
Of course there was always the possibility that we just might get caught, but I wasn’t going to worry about that now.

messages - submission nov 15

“Shhhhhh, someone’s going to hear us.”
“No one’s here. Come on.” The deserted old house is creaky from the wind. Dusty and cobwebby, several boards are rotted in the floor. “Come on.”
We make our way up the stairs. The narrow hall leads past three closed doors to a door at the end of the hall that’s ajar.
“You’re sure no one’s here.”
“Does it look like anyone’s been here? Don’t be such a scare baby.”
I grab onto your coat. We walk down the hall. Inside the door there are stairs leading to what is probably be the attic. It should be dark as pitch up there but light filters down.
“Hmmmm.”
“Do you think someone is up there?” I whisper.
“No, just come on.”
We begin to make our way up the stairs when suddenly there’s a skittering noise and we are running back down the stairwell and through the hall. Suddenly you stop.
“It was probably just a bird or a mouse or something. Let’s go again.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Oh come on, I don’t want to go alone. Come with me.” You take my hand and I look at your face to see if you understand the warmth spreading up my arm and into my heart.
“Ok.”
Again we make our way up the stairs. Cautiously, quietly, you before me ,but still holding my hand. At the top of the stairs you smile.
“Oh wow, look!” I come up behind you and see that the wind, and time have blown off half the roof and we are open to the blooming ornamental pear with its snow white petals falling all around us. We walk to the center of the room and there for the first time in the 13 years of my life, I am kissed.

messages - submission nov 14

“NO!” Loud and defiant. “NO it’s NOT going to happen. Get out. GET OUT!” She sits up in bed, more angry then scared.
“Honey, are you ok?”
“I’m fine. I’m going for a run.” She looks at the clock 5:30 its still black as pitch but she gets out of bed and pulls on her grey sweats. She stops at the refrigerator and gulps some orange juice from the carton. She double knots her shoes and slips out of the front door.
She heads north walking at first to stretch and warm up her legs. Focusing, refocusing on pleasant things. It’s not too long before she hears his footsteps behind her. She begins to pick up the pace. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.” She murmurs to herself over and over.
East on 17th, through the park. His footsteps are louder. “I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.” She says louder through her ragged breath. Then just to prove her point she takes a turn into the cemetery. She runs down the central path. She can feel him gaining ground. “I am NOT afraid!” Louder this time.
The sky has lightened considerably but the grey will remain in the day. She heads out the back gate, two short blocks and a left and she’s home. She comes in to the smell of coffee.
“You ok?”
“Yea I’m good. I’m going to take a shower. My appointment’s at 8:30.”
“Call me.”
“I will.” She takes her shower and gets herself ready. Makes herself a cup of coffee. She feels him waiting for her. “I am not afraid. It is not going to happen.”
40 minutes later she is in the doctor’s office. “Hello Alicia, I’ve got great news. There is no sign of the cancer’s return. That should ease your fears.”

messages - submission nov 13

She gets in the car and heads for the hotel. Its time isn’t it? Well past time, more than 9 years past. She parks the car, dials her husband’s cell number knowing that he’s in a meeting. She leaves a message and hangs up the phone. She opens the glove box and puts her cell phone in it and closes it.
She pulls up to the valet just as the transport for the airport is pulling in. She walks to the concierge. He indicates that she should proceed to the transport. She is joined by several others and they head quickly to the airport. She feels like a school girl and glances over her shoulder periodically as if she may get caught for doing something she shouldn’t.
It’s a short flight and upon landing they are met by the guide who leads them to the bus.
She glances at her watch and furrows her brow. No doubt he’s gotten her message and he’s probably not happy about it. But c’est la vie, she laughs. They speak French in Canada don’t they?
It’s a short ride to Niagara Falls and suddenly she is breathless. The sound and the sight of it all! She is wide eyes as she walks all around and looks about her. The trip down behind the falls makes her feel small like a child and full of wonder, amazed and overwhelmed and the roar of the falls that close is louder than she had ever imagined.
The group is brought to a restaurant that overlooks the falls. They are led to their seats. At the table are 12 yellow roses and as she is escorted she sees a small wrapped package from Tiffany’s. Very perplexed she sits down and reads the card.
“Happy 40th Birthday My Love! “

messages - submission nov 12

Slipped away, passed on, gone – all words we use to describe death. Soft gentle words like the night that slips in on little cat feet – death comes and breath is gone, soul is gone, life is gone and we are left, alone bereft and wishing for one more moment, one more hour, one more day.
Watching you suffer I am glad that you no longer are in pain but I miss you. I long for the sparkle in your eyes and the melody of your laughter. I miss the rhythm of your breathing that brought peace to my heart when I would awaken from my nightmares. Just listening to it would begin to bring a calm that would lull me back to sleep.
Selfishly I will miss you for what you were to me. Companion and friend, keeper of my secrets, lover of my soul, my co-conspirator in the game of practical jokes amongst our friends.
I can’t imagine laughing without you, I can’t imagine living without you, I can’t imagine a moment without you here. For even in the moments you were not with me I was storing them up to tell you about them. As you got sicker and weaker, I became ever more vigilant in the moments we were apart to catch the details so that you would be able to share them with me in the retelling.
Who will I tell all the inconsequential and little things of my life to? You know I’m not much of a cat person and a dog would certainly starve to death waiting for me to feed it. You were the one who was good with those things. Whose birthday’s next? Where are we supposed to be next Tuesday? Oh wait we … we … slipped away, passed on, gone

messages - submission nov 11

Just a connection that’s all he’s looking for. The loneliness has overtaken every part of his being. For brief moments here and there we escape it but for so many those moments become further and further between. After awhile the search ceases and there is a settling on a life without it, the connection.
He will not settle, he knows it is out there. One time he was walking through a store and felt it, somewhere there. But he could not find it.
He dials another number and waits. Hello? Hello? He hears laughter in the background and then click. Sigh. How to find it? The answer to the waking dream of belonging. The answer to the nightmare that is aloneness and separation.
He goes to work. He comes home. He dials the phone. Hello…. He goes to bed. The pattern continues. The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. The result remained the same and unable to break out of the routine it continues week after week after week.
“Come with us tonight.” One of the men he works with invites him out with some friends. This one time he goes. Together the men laugh and talk and although he doesn’t truly feel as though he is a part of them something changes. Something shifts ever so slightly.
He goes home that night. It’s late and he showers and goes straight to bed. In the morning things are somehow slightly different. He makes his way to the office and there’s a new girl at the reception desk. Just as he’s walking past the men from the night before come up and greet him. She smiles at him as he walks by and he feels a bit of a connection.

messages - submission nov 10

It would have never happened if you hadn’t come along! Unexpected in your arrival, yet everything is rose colored with you. We go, we run, we play and I am no longer self conscious. I see the love reflected in your eyes. The sound of your laughter encourages me on to greater silliness. Boundaries are unknown. I can do anything. You tell me and I believe you and I believe that you believe it and wish to not disappoint.
Together we run for no reason, sit when we’re tired and lay about if we chose. There is no tomorrow only today. I watch you learning new things and think I can learn new things too.
Your laughter fills my heart and I can tell stories for hours of your many accomplishments and escapades. I’m afraid everyone around me is a little bored with all the chattering on of how “my love does this or that or the other” and I know I should stop, when I suddenly remember something truly fabulous that you did or said and I go on and on and on.
Who would have thought that you could have released this in me? This joy, this creativity, this desire to go and do and be or this contentment in this place. I am happy as a clam – if in fact, clams are happy.
Don’t get me wrong there were and are times when I’m at my wits end with you. You have made me so tired I thought I would drop, so frustrated I could scream and so completely at a loss and fearful when I didn’t know what was wrong with you that I didn’t know what to do.
But you – my darling child – you have given me the greatest gift. You have given me life.

messages - submission nov 9

“Come on,” he says laughing. “I want to take you to this place.”
“What place?”
“A little restaurant, I went to with a guy from work. I know you’ll love it.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I know you. Trust me. You will.”
We drive across town in a pouring down rainstorm, through 6 inch deep puddles with the radio blaring and he holds my hand. We pull up in to what is clearly not one of the better eating establishments in the area and I look at him.
“Trust me,” he says.
We dash out of the car, headed for the door when suddenly he blocks my way and in the warm summer rain, wraps his arms around me and begins to kiss me , softly, deeply, drinking the rain from my lips. It’s only a few moments but we are soaked to the skin. He takes my hand and we go under the awning and into the hole in the wall masquerading as a restaurant. I start to slip on the tile floor but he catches me before I fall and kisses me again.
He orders hot tea and then our dinner without allowing me to even look at the menu. When I start to protest, he puts his finger to my lips.
“Trust me, I know you, you’ll love this.”
When the food comes its incredible! Different than anything I’ve ever tasted! It’s delightful and I’m laughing at how much I’m enjoying it. The look in his eyes is startling.
“What?” I ask him.
“Nothing. I just love to please you.” His words touch my heart. I touch his face and kiss him.
“How did you know I would like it?”
He laughs. “I know you.”
“How did you know?”
“I know you, I pay attention.”

messages - submission nov 8

You walk away from the table, keys strewn every which way and put the kettle on to boil. A nice cup of tea will help. Turn the TV on and start to flip through the 126 stations. Go into the office, and turn on the computer. Sign in to AIM just to see if he’s on then sign off so he won’t know you were on if he signs in. You begin to surf the net and 40 minutes later you go into the kitchen to put more water in the kettle as there is none left. You raze on every edible thing you can find - two carrots, a hard boiled egg, some chips, three snack size bags of M & M’s, a hand full of cereal.
Not looking at the table you walk back into the study and surf the net again. For the next 50 minutes you read bloglink from bloglink until you wonder to yourself how you ended up reading about some 14 year old girl in Pakistan who’s mad at her sister for taking her colored pencils. You walk in the kitchen. Turn off the stove. You find yourself listening to the television and realize you’re listening to the post game report of some college basketball team.
Maybe some shopping or a Starbucks. Your cell phone rings but you decide not to answer it. On the fourth ring you think what if it’s him and go running to find where you left the damn phone and when you finally find it its too late but it wasn’t him anyway.
Shoes, looking for shoes. Sigh, ok got the purse and out to the car. Keys …. Where the hell are the damn keys? You walk back inside, and sit down holding his key in your hand.

messages - submission nov 7

That’s what the books and movies will try to make you believe but of course I know better. As I pick up the trash around the house, do the dishes and fold the laundry. The sameness of it all makes it impossible to focus. My mind is numb as I wander through the house putting the remote back on the television stand, putting the semi damp towels on the rack in the bathroom and then before I leave the room putting the cap back on the toothpaste.
“What exciting things do we have planned for the day,” I say to no one in particular – because of course there’s no one in particular to say them too. Oh yes, there’s the upstairs bathroom that needs cleaning, the front flower bed that needs weeding and we need to run to town to drop of the dry cleaning and pick up some milk and a loaf of bread. It’s an exciting life but someone has to live it, I think to myself.
I pour myself a cup of coffee. I sit down at my computer and pay the light and water bills, transfer some money and check my email, nothing but spam.
After cleaning the bathroom and running the sweeper I slip on my shoes and take my keys off the hook. The drycleaners, the bank, the grocery store, I check the chores off my list. Nothing really changes I think to myself. Now that all my tasks have been accomplished I stop at Starbucks to indulge myself.
From behind me I hear, “Hello beautiful,” and I find myself looking up into the deepest blue eyes I have ever seen. Then suddenly he is kissing me. This is how quickly it can happen, you think. This is how quickly your life can change.

messages submission nov 6

Two years old and pretty as a picture. She walks around the house in her little purple crown saying, “princess, princess.” She’s happy with Cinderella, Ariel, Diego and Dora. Blueberries make her happy, although she seems to be a bit allergic but I give them to her anyway.
Happiness, you see it in her whole body, from the way her hair flies around her to the twinkle in her eyes and the little skip in her run - happiness in blue jeans and a Dora T-shirt.
She doesn’t have to think about all these hard questions … if Dora is on and she has a bottle of milk, her little lamb and her bear blanket she is happy. There isn’t the struggle with ends justifying the means. There are no goals. She doesn’t worry about tomorrow. She doesn’t dwell on yesterday. Happiness is bubbles in the bath or not and just splashing.
How do I get back to that? Where I don’t spend my days miserable for what I don’t have or what I do have. Where I ‘m not stressing about what didn’t happen yesterday or what’s going to happen tomorrow. Where can happiness be found.
I want to be carefree, burden less – like a child happy in the moment. Happy to be going outside and I’m not worried about the heat or the bugs or the neighbors stray dogs.
I want to sleep, deep dreamless sleep content not even aware that there is a future to fret about. And awaken happy as a small child who doesn’t worry where breakfast comes from but finds as she rises in the morning – piles of steaming hotcakes and syrup, just the right kind of orange juice and adventure in the everyday or a morning of cartoons.
That would be happiness.

messages - submission nov 5

Michael reached behind him while chatting on his cell to grab a chocolate bar when his hand encountered the softest skin he had ever touched. He started to turn dropping his cell, the loaf of bread and bumping into the woman in front of him.
“I beg your pardon, “he mumbled as he bent to pick up his phone and the bread. He heard a little tinkling of a giggle from behind him. Trying to regain some composure he turned to see a bit of a pixie face with beautiful green eyes staring up at him. “Ummm, hello.”
“Hi,” she said, her eyes still laughing.
“Michael Malone,” he said extending the hand that still held the cell phone which was clearly still on and someone on the other end was trying to be heard. He looked down at the phone. “Sorry.” He put the phone to his ear and turned his back to her.
After he’d arrived at home and went to put the bread away he saw the chocolate bar. She must have placed it on the conveyor belt while he was talking. He sighed recalling her eyes, pert nose and pointed chin . Idiot! He hadn’t even bothered to get her name – too busy with the business at hand. He unwrapped the chocolate – took a bite and imagined her laughter again.
Four times that week he stopped at the grocery store hoping to run into her but all he had was four loaves of bread to show for it.
Saturday he got ready early. He took the stairs two by two as he headed out to meet his nephews at the park. His cell rang as he went through the doors he dropped it. He heard that tinkling laugh behind him and turned. There she stood.
The chocolate pixie!

messages - submission nov 4

As she began to emerge from her cocoon, lighter than air she began to laugh and sing – in the shower or as she strolled down the street. Even her eyes began to dance.
Her freer self began to appear. At first she thought she was mistaken when she saw it reflected in someone, some man’s eyes. One day while rushing in out of the rain she saw a reflection in the window and had to stop and turn back to see – not recognizing herself.
But how had it happened? She was suddenly taller, more graceful. She pushed herself to run further now no longer for the freedom it had begun to bestow upon her but also to catch the beauty that was apparently there to be caught.
She had become convinced that the lesser self that had enveloped her was who she was. This other that happened as women grew older. This kind of stodgy, solid self. You know the sort that young men don’t see and women aren’t threatened by. The kind of woman welcome at parties because they bring good chips and dips and have a pleasant demeanor.
After all she had been that other for so long. But now. Now! Here she was like a beautiful swallowtail stretching itself out after emerging from her cocoon. Exercising her wings … until she was lifted high.
She knew that she had become when suddenly reflected in the eyes of the dearest of her brother’s companions she saw a flame she had never encountered before. Long after she had decided singleness and a cat would be her life. She had not expected to find it but there it was … burning in her direction. She felt it as she shook his hand and heard it there hidden in his laughter.

messages - submission nov 3

Suddenly there’s a rush of noise and great shards of light came burning into your eyes.
“Drank some kind of poison”
“What kind?”
“Don’t know they found her like this.”
Blissfully the noise subsides. There’s Maggie. The two of you had spent so much time together at University. Beautiful, brilliant and hysterically funny. The two of you spent hour upon hour running around town laughing, drinking beer, wasting days, weeks, and yet Maggie had still managed a 3.8 for the semester.
Again the noise and now horrible pain as they shoved the tube up your nose and down your throat and you could feel yourself gagging. How could this have happened? You had been so happy together earlier on but as days and weeks blurred into years the silences between you and the criticism had brought you to the place that any extended period of time together made you think about drinking poison. The conversations would go from pleasantness to pain and then silence as you pondered which might kill you quickest.
Ah silence! There you are laughing as you disembark from the plane. Barcelona! 8 days in Barcelona with… what was his name? You remember riding through the countryside during the day and spending long nights drinking gallons of wine and incredible passion.
They say your life will flash before you as you’re dying but it turns out to be more like a train ride -zipping past some parts and then slowing again for others.
Beaches of coral and little waves, Key West, Cuban sandwiches pressed flat at the laundrymat and handed over the counter with bitter tasting Dixie cups of Cuban coffee.
“Her blood pressure is dropping!”
“We’re losing her!”
And then that horrible light again cutting into every part of you and then that dreadful, terrible silence.

messages - submission nov 2

The men sat around the fire. They laughed and drank as they had every year. It was their escape from drudgery of the life of the city. The life of the fashionistas. Dressed in the uniform of their recreation, blue jeans, long sleeved tshirts and flannel shirts, they were comfortable and warm.
There was a rustling just beyond the light of the fire. She emerged for a moment but there was no mistaking that she had been there. Tall and naked the men were drawn to this creature of legend. Wild and free she had not become a slave to the ideal of the time. There was a shout from one of the men and she ran off through the woods. They grabbed their guns and ran after her. They were coming quickly and a shot rang out but they did not know the forest as she did.
She lead them deeper towards the ravine. Through the darkness and the mist she ran and then suddenly disappeared. They hollered back and forth trying to stay close to each other as they sensed the impending danger. Suddenly as if in response to their fears there was a shout and they heard the sound of one of their own go crashing down the ravine.
They made their way back to camp, quieter now and waited. This had happened before and they knew that he would return to camp eventually although he would be stripped of his clothing.
The women surrounded him and divided his clothing among themselves. The target picked first and took the flannel shirt. The others had brought her other clothes and she slipped them on. Once he was stripped down to his boxers they left him alone.
The women headed back to home and planned their next shopping trip.

messages

so there's this contest sort of thing that i'm going to try and participate in...

As previously mentioned, Lynne Rees and Sarah Salway, are challenging you to join in with their Your Messages project, and all you have to do to take part is write a 300 word (and it has to be exactly 300 word) response to this, their first Message of the month.

Not got the time today? Well, that's OK, they will be putting a new Message up every day throughout November, and picking the best of them for inclusion in a special "Your messages" book to be published in the New Year.

and perhaps become published who knows ... its thirty days of 300 words (exactly) ... below is my post for today.

It was grey and overcast. There was a report of a plane crash just north of the city and then a chance of snow. She heard both reports with her eyes closed debating whether to hit the snooze button. It was so grey that she just wanted to sleep but she forced herself out of bed and into the shower.
Thoughts of the day ahead kept her moving and she pulled on a pair of jeans and the blue sweater he had given her the weekend in the mountains. She looked at herself in the mirror and could almost feel him standing behind her. She brushed the thought away as she brushed her hair. She poured her coffee in her travel mug and as she slipped on her jacket she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine but glanced at her watch and knew she was out of time so headed out the door.
If possible it was even darker now and the temperature was frigid. She reached in her pockets but of course - no gloves. She started for the bus and as she rounded the corner she saw it pulling away. She was not going to wait for another so she hailed a taxi and headed to her office.
She reached into her bag, no cellphone it was on the dresser. She settled back in the seat for the 10 minute ride to her office and unbidden thoughts of the week at the beach with him came to mind. She caressed the memory for a few minutes but they were almost to her office and she had no more time for him.
That of course had been the problem all along. Except for a weekend here and a week there they never had time for each other.