"Why did you have to come here?" she says, her large brown eyes darkening to almost black. "I was perfectly content with loving you from afar, with seeing you once every few years. And then you had to move here and I am trying so hard to hide my feelings..."
"You're married." I say pointedly as I sip my drink. As if that made all the difference, made the situation less complicated. When in fact, it does not.
Her face darkens and as she looks at me, something flashes in her eyes. Hurt? Anger? Maybe a combination of both. She looks away and sighs, her head shaking a little. I am frustrating her, I know. The whole damned situation is frustrating to us both. The timing is terrible. Then again, one cannot blame this on the timing since whatever this is, has been brewing between us for quite some time. Maybe even our entire lives without suspecting a thing.
"I can leave him." she says so softly that I almost don't hear it. I look at her in alarm. She looks around the room as she says it once more, and then turns to face me. Our eyes lock, and her irises bloom in swirls of brown shades, and as she smiles, I swear to god my heart breaks right there. That smile has all the powers in the world, I think. She is ten times more beautiful when she smiles. Its sheer brightness can keep me warm through these lonely nights I will suffer. I grin back at her and though she blushes, she maintains her gaze into my eyes. We have never kissed, or even touched, but we are certainly fucking each other right now. I'm the first to avert my gaze and my heart pounds as I brace myself for the words I have to say.
"No." I say, the firmness in my voice belying the nervousness I feel. I want so much to say yes, god how I want to say yes, but pride goeth before love. "I won't let you."
She leans forward and her long fingers wrap around my wrist. Her voice is clipped as she utters her next words. "I am not asking you. I am telling you. I am doing this for me, for my own happiness."
I take in her long beautiful dark hair, the way it cascades in waves along her shoulders. It's not straight today, the way he prefers it. I prefer her like this, natural. And without any conscious thought, my hand reaches up to caress the waves. I smile when it feels like I always imagined it would; soft and silky. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, and I realize that this is first time I have dared to touch her. Both of us are going along with this intimate moment, and once again I marvel at how the attraction between is so electric...so alive, that we can make love without actually trying.
Her hand moves up my arm and around my neck and she pulls me in close, so that our foreheads touch. I breathe in her scent and watch as her eyelashes flutter and her breathing becomes irregular. "I never loved him. My heart has been yours all along." she says, and I can feel my heart pounding so hard against my chest. She sighs again and pulls away slightly so she can look into my eyes. "Say something." she begs.
My mouth opens to say something, but I can feel an outpouring of emotions rising from my chest that feel remarkably like a sob. I clamp my mouth shut and smile. Instead, I lean forward and capture her lips with mine. This takes her by surprise at first, but she slowly reciprocates and one kiss becomes two then three. I need for her to understand, how much I love her. I will her to see my point of view, that this is not going to be easy. The kisses stop and we pant slightly, our lips swollen from years of repressed kisses.
"I'm trying to make you understand," I say in between breaths. "I love you so much, that I need to let you go. I have known and loved you for years, and I have seen you struggle to find yourself. There needs to be time for this."
She shakes her head as her eyes begin to fill up with tears. "My struggle," she says through gasping breaths that are tinged with sobs. "My struggle hasn't been about finding myself. My struggle has been finding me with you." Tears fall freely down her face as she heaves big sighs to brace herself. The words hit me like a ton of bricks.
I reach over and take her hand into mine. "Hey..." I say softly. "Who says we have to figure this out now? We know what we mean to each other. We can just...figure out the rest later."
She squeezes my hand and smiles. "See. That's it right there."
"What?"
She shrugs and gives a slight laugh. "It's how I know, you're the one."
I am not quite sure I understand, but give her the benefit of the doubt. I nod and pat her hand and toss her a smile. "Want a drink?" She nods and takes out her mirror and wipes her eyes. I shake my head and notice she's looking at me through her mirror, and I grin. She grins back and puts the mirror away. The bartender delivers us our drinks, and I turn over and initiate a new conversation with the woman who has stolen my heart, as she's suddenly grown shy. I don't know where we're going with this. All I know is that right now, the woman I love is sitting next to me and we're having drinks. Que sera sera.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Sunday, October 25, 2009
October Writing Challenge
So, http://steadfastfire.blogspot.com, and I have hard at work this entire month by working on short stories. This is basically an exercise for us to keep the cogs and wheels of our minds working, as we approach much bigger projects. Like, NaNoWriMo, for instance. (National Novel Writing Month) Or simply to finish the various joint projects we have created in the last few years. Some Kind of Chill, Parallel Lives, Jacob's Ladder, Johnny Has a Secret. The list goes on.
The challenge this month was to focus primarily on the horror genre, and four stories that fall into the various subcategories of this genre. (i.e. gothic, surrealist-gothic, slasher, occult, noir, etc.) Three of them being at least 7, 000 words and the last being more of a novella with 15, 000 to 25, 000 words. We were able to modify that with last week's challenge, which was comprised of "flashes". Shorter stories of at least 500-1,000 words that were based on two drawings that we each submitted. I must say, this challenge turned out quite well.
So by October 31st, I will need to complete my 2nd week's challenge and the 4th week's challenge. It's something that I am pushing myself to get done. The stories are basically written in my head, but it's the translation to paper that is the problem. (or in this case, to computer document.)
One of the good things that came of this is that I am becoming more and more comfortable with the horror genre. I've always been a fan of this genre in both literature and cinema, but to contribute to it myself, is a challenge in itself. As with any writer, there is a fear of being stereotyped as a writer that only writes within one genre. I'm not determined to be the next Stephen King, Anne Rice, or god forbid...Stephenie Mayer. I just want to write. One day, I would like to be recognized for my toils over pen & paper and computer document. This of course will only happen once I finally finish these things...and put myself out there.
So, wish me the best of luck as I attempt to finish these challenges. Also, wish me luck for NaNoWriMo. Perhaps, a finished novel will boost my ego very very much.
The challenge this month was to focus primarily on the horror genre, and four stories that fall into the various subcategories of this genre. (i.e. gothic, surrealist-gothic, slasher, occult, noir, etc.) Three of them being at least 7, 000 words and the last being more of a novella with 15, 000 to 25, 000 words. We were able to modify that with last week's challenge, which was comprised of "flashes". Shorter stories of at least 500-1,000 words that were based on two drawings that we each submitted. I must say, this challenge turned out quite well.
So by October 31st, I will need to complete my 2nd week's challenge and the 4th week's challenge. It's something that I am pushing myself to get done. The stories are basically written in my head, but it's the translation to paper that is the problem. (or in this case, to computer document.)
One of the good things that came of this is that I am becoming more and more comfortable with the horror genre. I've always been a fan of this genre in both literature and cinema, but to contribute to it myself, is a challenge in itself. As with any writer, there is a fear of being stereotyped as a writer that only writes within one genre. I'm not determined to be the next Stephen King, Anne Rice, or god forbid...Stephenie Mayer. I just want to write. One day, I would like to be recognized for my toils over pen & paper and computer document. This of course will only happen once I finally finish these things...and put myself out there.
So, wish me the best of luck as I attempt to finish these challenges. Also, wish me luck for NaNoWriMo. Perhaps, a finished novel will boost my ego very very much.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The Tin Can
It all started with a tin can. In that tin can, there was approximately $1200; mostly made up of ones, fives, and tens and an assortment of change. Nannette Himmelfarb was out in her backyard, which was really more like a sandbox, when she discovered that tin can.
She had been digging a hole for reasons she cannot recall, when the tip of her trowel had hit the can. At first she thought the clunk clunk was in her head or her hearing aid was malfunctioning, but soon realized that there was something in the ground. She stopped and started to dig it out with her bare hands and pulled it out.
Golly. She thought as she shook the can and heard something rattle in there. Wonder what it could be? She figured it be sand or some petrified beans in there, but never expected to find money. It was quite a surprise, really.
For someone that lived in a tiny bullet trailer in the middle of a desert on an old (alleged) atomic testing site, and rarely went anywhere or did anything; $1200 seemed like a lot. She had no idea what she'd use it for but took the tin can inside with her anyway. Just in case a rainy day would ever occur in the desert.
Soon after she took that tin can inside, that was when odd things started to happen. Not scary. Not bad. But odd.
Since Nannette's husband had died ten years before, she lived alone. Her children were long gone to (literally) greener pastures, and any pet she had would disappear into the night. So when she would be sitting in the living room slash kitchen slash bedroom and watch reruns of The Lucy Show, and it would sound like someone was walking around the trailer. In all honesty, it felt a little odd. Other times, she'd hear voices. That was a bit silly too, since she had no neighbors. However, anytime she'd experience these odd occurrences, she always had an explanation. She didn't believe in the paranormal. That was just plain silly.
These odd occurrences lasted for about a month when Nannette finally started to change her thinking. She'd had about enough of the kitchen cupboards squeaking, the trailer tipping as if someone was pacing back and forth, and the vultures and coyotes holding court around her trailer. Not only was it just plain annoying, she was getting sick of cleaning up all the droppings they so kindly left behind. She was beginning to think that perhaps there was some validity to the paranormal thing.
But what really did it, was when the tin can startled to rattle in the cupboard. It began with a scraping noise, then started to shake, rattle, and roll around the cupboard.
Oy vey! She thought. And started to get scared. Finally she quickly sprinted to the cupboard, snatched the tin can, and went outside. She was going to bury it as deep as she could. She didn't need $1200 that badly.
As the tin can was safely hidden several feet under the sand, Nannette began to feel much better. Satisfied, she headed back into her house and plopped herself in her armchair and turned on the tv. At that precise moment, the trailer started to creak and the cupboard doors were opening and closing like mad. This was clearly not normal. Pictures and other tchotkes were tossed about, and it the final straw when her treasured Hummel figurines were chucked at her head. Nannette ran out the trailer, screaming like a banshee. She ran as fast as she could away from her trailer, faster than any 60 year old woman with arthritis and wearing croc slippers on sand could.
Out of breath, Nannette stopped and turned around just in time to witness her home of 30 odd years blown to smithereens. But that wasn't odd. It also wasn't odd when the government quickly paid her full recovery of her losses in effort to keep her mouth shut about the "accidental" missile launch that went awry. No, what was odd was when she was driving toward her new home (in greener pastures) to be close to her children, she happened to look over to the passenger seat and noticed a particular tin can containing $1200.
Now, that, was odd.
She had been digging a hole for reasons she cannot recall, when the tip of her trowel had hit the can. At first she thought the clunk clunk was in her head or her hearing aid was malfunctioning, but soon realized that there was something in the ground. She stopped and started to dig it out with her bare hands and pulled it out.
Golly. She thought as she shook the can and heard something rattle in there. Wonder what it could be? She figured it be sand or some petrified beans in there, but never expected to find money. It was quite a surprise, really.
For someone that lived in a tiny bullet trailer in the middle of a desert on an old (alleged) atomic testing site, and rarely went anywhere or did anything; $1200 seemed like a lot. She had no idea what she'd use it for but took the tin can inside with her anyway. Just in case a rainy day would ever occur in the desert.
Soon after she took that tin can inside, that was when odd things started to happen. Not scary. Not bad. But odd.
Since Nannette's husband had died ten years before, she lived alone. Her children were long gone to (literally) greener pastures, and any pet she had would disappear into the night. So when she would be sitting in the living room slash kitchen slash bedroom and watch reruns of The Lucy Show, and it would sound like someone was walking around the trailer. In all honesty, it felt a little odd. Other times, she'd hear voices. That was a bit silly too, since she had no neighbors. However, anytime she'd experience these odd occurrences, she always had an explanation. She didn't believe in the paranormal. That was just plain silly.
These odd occurrences lasted for about a month when Nannette finally started to change her thinking. She'd had about enough of the kitchen cupboards squeaking, the trailer tipping as if someone was pacing back and forth, and the vultures and coyotes holding court around her trailer. Not only was it just plain annoying, she was getting sick of cleaning up all the droppings they so kindly left behind. She was beginning to think that perhaps there was some validity to the paranormal thing.
But what really did it, was when the tin can startled to rattle in the cupboard. It began with a scraping noise, then started to shake, rattle, and roll around the cupboard.
Oy vey! She thought. And started to get scared. Finally she quickly sprinted to the cupboard, snatched the tin can, and went outside. She was going to bury it as deep as she could. She didn't need $1200 that badly.
As the tin can was safely hidden several feet under the sand, Nannette began to feel much better. Satisfied, she headed back into her house and plopped herself in her armchair and turned on the tv. At that precise moment, the trailer started to creak and the cupboard doors were opening and closing like mad. This was clearly not normal. Pictures and other tchotkes were tossed about, and it the final straw when her treasured Hummel figurines were chucked at her head. Nannette ran out the trailer, screaming like a banshee. She ran as fast as she could away from her trailer, faster than any 60 year old woman with arthritis and wearing croc slippers on sand could.
Out of breath, Nannette stopped and turned around just in time to witness her home of 30 odd years blown to smithereens. But that wasn't odd. It also wasn't odd when the government quickly paid her full recovery of her losses in effort to keep her mouth shut about the "accidental" missile launch that went awry. No, what was odd was when she was driving toward her new home (in greener pastures) to be close to her children, she happened to look over to the passenger seat and noticed a particular tin can containing $1200.
Now, that, was odd.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Sally
At eight years old, Sally was a very precocious child. She noticed everything. Like the time that Mummy dropped the plate of food that she was fixing Gramma on the floor, and scooped it back onto the plate and served it anyway. Sally knew that Mummy and Gramma didn't get along, but they pretended they did. Just like she knew that Mummy had thought no one saw her do that to Gramma's plate.
She noticed lots of things. But one thing she noticed, that bothered her, was that she was the only one in the family with the most boring name in the world. Everyone else had names that would roll of the tongue. Like her brothers: Sebastian and Sky. They had cool surfer-like names. Her sisters, Sabine and Scarlett had nice romantic sounding names. Even her parents, had nice names. But there she was, with a pathetic sounding name like Sally. It was a name for an old lady. Or a cat. Or an old lady cat. Not an little eight year old girl.
Sally went into the kitchen, and found her mother at the counter rolling out a crust for pie. She sidled up to the counter and watched her mother do this, head in her hands. For awhile she said nothing, until her mother sighed deeply and stopped working on the crust.
"Mummy?"
"What is it, Sally?" Her mother asked, blowing the hair from her eyes.
"Where does my name come from?"
"How's that, dear?"
"My name. You named me after an old aunt or something?"
"Huh? Oh. No, honey."
Sally traced the flour on the counter with her finger. "Well, where did you come up with my name? Am I adopted?"
Her mother looked at her for a second and then laughed. "I don't know where you come up with these things. What's gotten into you."
"If I'm not named for someone or adopted. Then why I did get stuck the with boring name? I betcha you didn't even want me anyway." She said, with a pout.
Her mother continued to prepare the pie plate. "Oh honey. Of course we wanted you. You may have been an oops, but..."
Sally shot up. "What?!" She shrieked. "You didn't want me? That's what an oops is! It's Oops. I guess we're too far along to do anything else about it, so we may as well keep it."
Her mother looked up in surprise, then a stern look appeared on her face. "Sally! How dare you speak to me that way. Go to your room."
"One step ahead of you , Mum." Sally hopped off the stool and stomped out of the kitchen.
She spent the rest of the evening sulking on her bed and crying into her ratted puffalump elephant, which she dubbed Sir Percival Aloysius. After she had cried all her tears and was on the verge of sleep, someone knocked on her door.
"Sweetheart? It's Daddy."
"Hi, Daddy." Sally said dejectedly.
The door opened and her dad walked into the room and sat down beside her on the bed. "Whatever is the matter, bobbsey?"
"I hate my name."
Her dad chuckled. "Oh?"
"Yeah. It's the stupidest dupidest name in the whole wide world."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's an old lady's name. It's a cat's name. But not my name. It doesn't fit. And you didn't want me."
"Hush now, darling. Such talk." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. "I like your name."
"It was you that gave it to me! Thanks, Dad."
Her father patted her arm. "You know what your name means?"
"Old. Stupid."
"No. It means lady. You are my little lady." He said and tapped her nose. She giggled. "There have been lots of famous Sally's you know. There was Sally Rand the famous dancer. Your grandfather loved her, you know. There's that actress your mother loves, Sally Field. Oh! And Sally Ride. Now she was pretty awesome. She was the first woman to go to outer space."
"Wow..." Sally said thoughtfully.
"And besides, honey. It's not the name that makes you. It's what you make of the name. And you little lady, are destined to do great things."
And with that, her father kissed her on the top of her head and bid her good night. She crawled beneath her covers and clutched Sir Percival Aloysius with a grin. Maybe one day she'll go to outer space. Or become a famous actress or dancer. Or a famous author. She could do anything. And besides, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, she was pretty sure she was her dad's favorite.
She noticed lots of things. But one thing she noticed, that bothered her, was that she was the only one in the family with the most boring name in the world. Everyone else had names that would roll of the tongue. Like her brothers: Sebastian and Sky. They had cool surfer-like names. Her sisters, Sabine and Scarlett had nice romantic sounding names. Even her parents, had nice names. But there she was, with a pathetic sounding name like Sally. It was a name for an old lady. Or a cat. Or an old lady cat. Not an little eight year old girl.
Sally went into the kitchen, and found her mother at the counter rolling out a crust for pie. She sidled up to the counter and watched her mother do this, head in her hands. For awhile she said nothing, until her mother sighed deeply and stopped working on the crust.
"Mummy?"
"What is it, Sally?" Her mother asked, blowing the hair from her eyes.
"Where does my name come from?"
"How's that, dear?"
"My name. You named me after an old aunt or something?"
"Huh? Oh. No, honey."
Sally traced the flour on the counter with her finger. "Well, where did you come up with my name? Am I adopted?"
Her mother looked at her for a second and then laughed. "I don't know where you come up with these things. What's gotten into you."
"If I'm not named for someone or adopted. Then why I did get stuck the with boring name? I betcha you didn't even want me anyway." She said, with a pout.
Her mother continued to prepare the pie plate. "Oh honey. Of course we wanted you. You may have been an oops, but..."
Sally shot up. "What?!" She shrieked. "You didn't want me? That's what an oops is! It's Oops. I guess we're too far along to do anything else about it, so we may as well keep it."
Her mother looked up in surprise, then a stern look appeared on her face. "Sally! How dare you speak to me that way. Go to your room."
"One step ahead of you , Mum." Sally hopped off the stool and stomped out of the kitchen.
She spent the rest of the evening sulking on her bed and crying into her ratted puffalump elephant, which she dubbed Sir Percival Aloysius. After she had cried all her tears and was on the verge of sleep, someone knocked on her door.
"Sweetheart? It's Daddy."
"Hi, Daddy." Sally said dejectedly.
The door opened and her dad walked into the room and sat down beside her on the bed. "Whatever is the matter, bobbsey?"
"I hate my name."
Her dad chuckled. "Oh?"
"Yeah. It's the stupidest dupidest name in the whole wide world."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's an old lady's name. It's a cat's name. But not my name. It doesn't fit. And you didn't want me."
"Hush now, darling. Such talk." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. "I like your name."
"It was you that gave it to me! Thanks, Dad."
Her father patted her arm. "You know what your name means?"
"Old. Stupid."
"No. It means lady. You are my little lady." He said and tapped her nose. She giggled. "There have been lots of famous Sally's you know. There was Sally Rand the famous dancer. Your grandfather loved her, you know. There's that actress your mother loves, Sally Field. Oh! And Sally Ride. Now she was pretty awesome. She was the first woman to go to outer space."
"Wow..." Sally said thoughtfully.
"And besides, honey. It's not the name that makes you. It's what you make of the name. And you little lady, are destined to do great things."
And with that, her father kissed her on the top of her head and bid her good night. She crawled beneath her covers and clutched Sir Percival Aloysius with a grin. Maybe one day she'll go to outer space. Or become a famous actress or dancer. Or a famous author. She could do anything. And besides, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, she was pretty sure she was her dad's favorite.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A Doogie Howser moment.
Have you ever experienced de ja vu? It's like, one day, you'll be trudging along and then you wake up. It's a moment of clarity and your heart pounds as you look around and think: Am I really here? Am I seeing this? Then suddenly it hits you, it all feels so familiar. Maybe I've been here before. Did I dream this?
My question is, why? Why does it seem so familiar. Is it that dreams are prophetic, allowing you to take a glimpse into your future? And when that familiarity grasps you, that's when you remember? Or is it something far more complex that is virtually impossible to understand? I wonder...
When I was younger, I used to think that perhaps I was already dead. I imagined that I was in a place awaiting judgment and redemption, someplace like Limbo. In this place, I reviewed my entire life. It's funny how even in death, it is something other than myself that determines the next step. Which begs another question, am I taking enough responsibility for my own life? Am I taking care to nurture and love it, as well as seeing it through the difficult times?
The real crime is not the tally of all the errors I made in my lifetime. The real crime is not taking care of my life. It is comparing my life to someone else's, knowing full well that the lives we are living are unique and not interchangeable (non-refundable too).
There is no blueprint on how to live. You just gotta act naturally and do what feels right.
Peace (or instant karma will getcha)
My question is, why? Why does it seem so familiar. Is it that dreams are prophetic, allowing you to take a glimpse into your future? And when that familiarity grasps you, that's when you remember? Or is it something far more complex that is virtually impossible to understand? I wonder...
When I was younger, I used to think that perhaps I was already dead. I imagined that I was in a place awaiting judgment and redemption, someplace like Limbo. In this place, I reviewed my entire life. It's funny how even in death, it is something other than myself that determines the next step. Which begs another question, am I taking enough responsibility for my own life? Am I taking care to nurture and love it, as well as seeing it through the difficult times?
The real crime is not the tally of all the errors I made in my lifetime. The real crime is not taking care of my life. It is comparing my life to someone else's, knowing full well that the lives we are living are unique and not interchangeable (non-refundable too).
There is no blueprint on how to live. You just gotta act naturally and do what feels right.
Peace (or instant karma will getcha)
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