6

The light flickered as it drew in through my squinted eyes. I didn't want to wake up to do so would be to feel the headache from the night before. I could wish it away and lay here for four more hours or I could get up. I do not choose the latter.

I feel a foot gently tapping my ribs.

"Get up! It's 4 o'clock, get up!," Dave says gently.

I wipe the mascara out of my eyes and onto the satin pillow case. My face is that of a raccoon big black circles around my eyes and trails leading down to creases by my mouth from where I the tears the day prior had landed.

I wasn't home.

I drank so much to forget why I would drive 8 hours back here. There would be no parties this night no, college antics. We graduated five years ago, yet we were still here; or I was here.

Dave had been in and out of college for ten years trying to overcome a conviction that had taken place, the type of unpleasantness you don't speak about in mixed company. We all knew that he was innocent, but not everyone believes truth when lies sound so tempting.

I looked up to see a collage of photos on his wall. The photos of cliques past, friends that now are distant memories and moments that I care not to remember. These weren't my memories... nor were they ones that I cared to remember.

"Give me the screwdriver! I need to do something," I grumbled.

He left the room as I placed my jeans on under my long shirt. He peered into the room and with a blush ran out chanting that he was sorry.

"Modesty has no place here, shut up and get back here, now!" I yelled.

He poked back in the room and held out the screwdriver. It was chipped and rusted with a black and red handle. I grabbed it and held it for a moment examining the flaws, running my fingers over the indented brand name that I could no longer make out. I then just kept starring past the screwdriver and onto the wood paneling of the floor.

"She's not there, Jen." Dave said.

I looked up at him and began wiping more of my mascara away. I attempted to straighten up my appearance but the smell of liquor somehow stained my clothes. I couldn't see straight.




"We can fit more! I know we can," she yelled. Here college sweatshirt was fresh from the dryer and smelled of chemicals and flowers. Her hair was amber colored and placed in a short pony tail.

I walked away from the car. It was beat up and periwinkle in shade with a pink racing stripe down the side. The car was full of about five men in the seats and two hidden in my trunk.

I walked towards the girl and slapped her on her behind playfully.

"Sarah are you sure we won't get in trouble? My car is only supposed to fit four?" I said.

She smiled at me and placed her hand on her hip. Cocked her head to one side and said in an authoritatively mocking voice, "We are only going 10 blocks, we can make it!"

We started to walk towards the car. I opened the door for Sarah from the inside. The boys were clammering on about how we wouldn't make it there before the bars closed.

I turned to look at her and saw her smiling at me. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because we're "tipsy" and there's no other way to get a carload of boys to a bar!"

"They wouldn't be a carload if we weren't in a car, Sarah!" I said snidely.

Sarah looked back at the boys who were smiling and nudging each other for space.

"Just drive."




I run my hands over Dave's flip flops they are twice the size of my feet, but I don't want to bother with the effort of putting my socks on.

"Can I borrow these?" I ask. Dave nods as I'm placing them on my feet.

I start walking towards the door, wobbling slightly with the obnoxiously over-sized flip flops. I look back at Dave as I open the back door. He stands with his arms crossed in a robe.

"You KNOW she's not there!" He sighs. I look back at him and then back to the door.

"I've known that for awhile Dave, but it doesn't change things."

The door is chipped and dented in slightly I push it open to reveal the back of the house and an old parking lot facing a couple of garbage cans and a neighboring apartment building.




"Happy Birthday Brian!" rows of people started to chant through the living room and into the kitchen.

Dave ran over to Brian, a medium sized man with large muscles and a buzz cut. Brian was majoring in law enforcement and was already signed up for the Army it was his life's goal and dream. He never quit belonged in our group of hippies, liberals and and ultra lefties, but we loved him and invited him in as Dave's roommate.

Dave handed him a paper bag which Brian immediately tore threw.

"Jim Bean! How'd you know?" Brian said sarcastically.

"Well gee, Brian maybe I had a small hint?" Dave laughed as he points to the Jim Bean beach towel hanging on the wall.

I walked over to Brian and gave him a big hug!

"Thanks midget!" he said as I gave him a peck on the cheek and darted into the kitchen.

The kitchen was packed with people I'd never met or seen, but as I looked down I could see exactly why. There were three kegs in ice boxes lined up against the window.

"Jen get over here!" Sarah yelled. I made my way through the crowd and I saw her sitting on the counter with a space for me and a red plastic cup with her name written in sharpie.

I lean over and kiss her. Then jump onto the cold counter. I felt her put her arm around me. I looked over and I could tell that she's been drinking for awhile.

"Nobody mess with my girlfriend!" she yelled.

I just laughed and kissed her again but that time I didn't stop.




Standing on the porch I could feel the cold breathe all over my body. It was still winter and I started to have second thoughts about my shoe decision. I could see the place where Sarah's and my red plastic cups remained for two weeks before Dave finally picked them up after the party. I walked over to the neighboring apartment building and into the car port.

The walls were still dingy and cold with the stucko coming off. I walked through the wooden door leading into the apartments and up the carpeted stairs that smelled of old mildew. My hands traced over the cold railings and up the two flights.

I stood before a door with the number 6 in front of it. My eyes started to well up as I took the screwdriver and placed it over the head of the screw and started to twist it. I wanted to be gentle as to not awaken the tenant.

I couldn't stop thinking about how many nights I had slept in room number 6 or how many nights I had drank in room number 6 or how many times I wish I had made love in room number 6.

The metal number hit the floor with a loud clang. Startled and scared I snatched up the number and ran down the stairs and over to Dave's house with the flip flops smashing against my feet.

"I did it," I yelled. "I have the number!"

Dave just sat there against the bed as I walked over and sat in front of him with my back facing me. His hands crept out of his robe and onto my shoulders as he massaged them.

"But, you know it won't bring her back Jen... there's really no point to it. It's just a number."

I looked down at the floor and onto the flip flops. My eyes again started to tear up.

"But, Dave its her number," I cried as my fingers traced over the cool brass plates of the number 6. "Its my number."

Diligence.

My head begins to pound from the over powering aroma, the smell reminds me of the women you see coming out of a cheap motel, the kind you can still smell after they passed by you five minutes prior

It feels like someone bite my foot I look down and there's a shard sticking out of my flesh and swolen deep into the meaty part of my heel. The blood makes puddles around the tile and small blots onto the nearby white shag carpet.

I don't panic.

I swing open the medicine cabinet and take out the tweezer, you always have to make sure to get it all. I roll up a wade of toilet paper and begin to operate. Biting my lower lip the seemingly smooth glass starts cutting its way outside of my body; as I blot the blood away. It leaves quit a hole which I pour anticeptic in causing an eruption similar to a science experiment.

There's a knock on the door.

I ignore it. I know he's out there but, he can wait. I start to put the supplies away.

Still the knock increases.

I close the medicine cabinet and wash my hands diligently from the blood and cotton. I look up and Brady is standing behind me. I see him for a moment then all I can see is my reflection in the mirror, its one of worry and alarm... I know I want him to go, but I know I can't make him.

I turn around and walk towards him with arms open.

Lacey Run.

There is something about pillows that make me feel comforted like an old lover holding you in your vacancy. I stack them up high around me like a mound.

In the comfort I can feel the drip and I know there is no way to sleep, not in this paranoia. I pound back two tall boys and a bowl and watch my hands slowly caress the pillows...I know I can sleep...now.

The table keeps echoing the same vibrations from Brady's relentless power struggle.

Lacey get your ass over here.

I know that there are most likely three other woman receiving the same message from him a pure way of putting all your eggs in three separate baskets. I pick up my phone and start texting an ex boyfriend who I haven't seen in five years. The description of my blouse and the local of my hands entices him to create an explicit conversation.

Do I dare to keep it up?

I tell him that I want him and that I need him and that I wish he was laying besides me. Then I press send, but its not his name on the screen it's Brady. As soon as it vanishes my phone starts to vibrate.

I'm on my way! =)

"Fuck!" I scream, while running to the bathroom. I reach for the towel accidentally toppling over my perfume and smashing the glass vile. The room is now overpowering with the smell of mildly cheap cologne. I scrap my face with the wash clothe and tear off my clothes it must look like I've been sleeping for an hour or more. He'd buy that right? I'd buy that. I'd buy anything.

Lacey.

(first off I apologize for the last piece of shit entry)

I look down at my phone again. It just won't stop the vibrating every night with the drunk texting. It was cute at first and now its becoming unbearable, the constant struggle over whether or not he means well or he is blacked out again.

"I hate you!" I roll my eyes slamming the phone.

Lacey come out, please...

It hasn't always been like this. There wasn't always this constant power struggle, even though I've been winning this whole time; or at least I like to think that I've been winning.

I walk over to the table and reach for my wallet, pulling out a money tree plastic card. Its a source of embarrassment and relief. I throw my body against the bed, something about the flop is always comforting like being caught in your father's arms in the deep end of the pool.

The table is relatively clean just a few pieces of paper lying about, the usual bills. Under the table I pull a small jar that my mother gave to me the last time she went with "Uncle" Charlie to Tahiti. The smooth round jar is cold clay with an emerald color lining. Pulling out my safety pack I take a pinch of powder and fill the table using the money tree card to divide and conquer.

I snort the line.

I go to the bathroom to run some water around my nose, the numbness always throws me off. The aspirin tasting drip is like an annoying poke in the side by my baby brother. I whip the crust and blot. I can hear my phone vibrating on the table top.

Lacey, where are you.

I text back, I'm coming Brady, just had a few errands to run.

I flop back on the bed and curl up in the blankets, its so warm and so comforting. The vibration sound is becoming more obnoxious.

Where are you?

"I'm coming, ahhh! God! You're obnoxious!" I scream. I throw the jar under the table. I trace over the line with a dampened finger and then lick the remains. The drip won't stop.

Brady, No.

Her phone begins to vibrate violently, echoing a loud thunder on the wooden table. She looks at the phone it reads, "Message from Brady." (CHANGING TENSES HERE)

He's a lush, yet I hate the fact that I'm still intrigued by him, there's some thing almost novelty about him in so many ways that I keep him at arms lengths. She lays back on the bed thinking, Brady is the biggest dick in a bottle except the bottle has a million cracks in it. To many break in case of emergency cases, but not a big enough emergency... yet.

She kneels over the table, flips her phone and reads the message:

Please come out and play, please? I miss you.

My eyes roll up and then back at the floor. Its always the same thing every time that bottle touches his lips. The phone starts to vibrate again. I don't have time for this.

Prove to me that you like me come to me!

Again the classic eye roll now followed by a few signs and a hand on the waist. I wish I knew a way to slap the bottle from his hand. Apparently there are new and emerging problems every day at the disadvantages of texting.

She Came.

There was a moment when she said, "I'd rather be alone than fill my life with pointless relationships that will never go anywhere." Looking around the room she then turned back to the floor. "I don't want to give myself up to fill my legs, I would rather fill my mind." Sighing she laid on the bed, the room was still spinning, but she knew that her decision would keep her pillows dry.

"Why string someone along? Why waste the moment?" Her eyes raised higher and upwards. "What type of dichotomy is it really when you have no say in anything?" She looked through the closet door, her eyes burned and blurred by the overhead light. "I just want more for myself and to feel more for myself."

"Tonight isn't a night to make an abundance of excuses for you, tonight is the night when I'm alone and I am." She held her hand out, but there would be no embrace on the other side, nor did she long for one. "Why does society say you must find someone to make you whole? What kind of person were you for those 26 odd years prior to meeting this polyman, were you just in waiting then not really living life...are you codependent before you even meet?"

Each question she muttered slowly to herself her fingers tracing through her hair not waiting for someone, not waiting for something...not waiting.

Diary Begins...

And know that this will be a new chapter... =)

I've decided to start a date diary (fuck you Bridget Jones!) something funny for just me really and since no one else knows that I have this its my way of having a laugh at some of the things that are going on in my life.

A joke that I am starting to write right now is based on expressions given to me by ex boyfriend and perhaps current relations... he doesn't read this nor does he know I have this so I can write whatever I want.

The three most absurd and stupid phrases ever uttered by men I've been in a relationship with.

1. I know it's been only three months, but I really think you should move in.

2. I would have asked anyone to help me move, don't consider yourself special!

3. Are you still on your period? (Yes) Good! Because that means your body is working properly.

As noted previously in other blogs I am keeping the majority of the guys I've been dating at arms length to avoid getting caught up in anything and to avoid... well, getting attached entirely. Its become more of a...

A Conversation with Rachel in the break room today:
"I have about 5 guys right now that I am interested in and going on dates with. I like to put out a really big net and go out with about ten guys or more and then dwindle them down until I have maybe 3 or so and then have fun with that group for awhile and then widdle it down to the guy I want to date," I said.
"Sounds like a good idea, but hard to keep track of all of them," Rachel said.
"I've done it before, its not hard and its not like I'm hooking up with each of them..." I said.

Which brings us to... A Conversation with Paul:
"Just go out there and experience everything you can!" Paul said.
"Oh, I intend to but not in a skanky way," I said.
"No, not in a whore way..." Paul said.
"No, not in a whore way, Paul... you can't call me that now... but if it were college you could and I'd agree with you," I said.

(Insert: typical Paul laugh here...)

I think I have a date with Johnny tomorrow to watch a horror movie and Christian on Friday to watch a classic film at my place. =)

-Jen.

Sometimes...

Sometimes you want so much for something, but then you realize sometimes you never really had anything to begin with... and you can't make something out of nothing.

I think Walt Disney might have said that JK.

Below the Sand...

Laying on her stomach always gave her a sense of safety a comfort that just didn't quit make itself known as to its origin. Sprawled out she placed both hands under her chin as her elbows bent out. The couch was soft and felt like suede she kicked off her shoes as she loved to her the plunking sounds as they fell to the floor.

"Now I don't know where to begin...exactly... I just know that things aren't right," the girl said.

"Well first off my name is Mary, like "Merry Christmas," you can call me Mary. Why do you think your mommy and daddy brought you here today, hmmm?" a tall thin woman said as she rocked in her chair, her hair flowed into her chest and brushed over her light tan rimmed glasses.

"I know, its dad, its always dad... its always going to be daddy," she muttered as her eyes welled up.

"What is it about him that makes you feel you need to cry or act out?" Mary asked.

"Oh, lots of stuff... I dunno... my dad doesn't love me. He doesn't know me," she stammered.

"Well, who is the man outside this room waiting with your mom?"

"He's not my dad, not my REAL dad. He's mean to me when she's not around. They're always mean to me...always mean..." she sighed.

"What do you mean sweetie by mean?"

"Well, when she's not home he yells at me and threatens me... he's not the same and he goes into the garage and drinks. He asks me to cuddle with him and then he makes fun of me if I don't."

She motions to the door and we slowly walk out and into another room that is full of shelves of toys and two large kiddie pools full of sand.

"Now hun what I'd like you to do is take these figures and make me a story. Can you do that for me?"

"Any story I want?"

"Let's make it something about mommys and daddys, okay?"

"okay."

The shelves are full of 80s memorabilia that was once owned by Mary's children. She picks tries to pick up some of the top shelf items, but they are to high up for her.

Okay, Mary... this here is my mommy (pointing at a small female action figurine) and this is my daddy (points to a Ken doll) and this is my other daddy (points to a Donald Duck figurine) and this is me (a small teddy bear).

She puts the Donald Duck figurine outside of the sand box and then throws it across the room.

He's not ever there for mommy and daddy time so he doesn't count does he? Of course he doesn't...

The little girl buries the bear in the sand to hide it from the others.

I don't like my daddy and my mom never believes me either...

Mary slowly walked the girl to the door and back into the conference room. She picked up the girls shoes and instructed her to put them on.

Our time is up sweetheart, but you can come see me again real soon. Until then think of some things you'd like to talk with me about...

Tidbits...

When I was in sixth grade I had a pen pal from Switzerland who was assigned to me by my teacher. When I was heart broken because I had to move from San Diego to Oak Harbor she sent me chocolates and it made things seem less bad. Then my teacher took a class photo of everyone and sent it to me and that made things feel a little easier too.

Since then I've grown a part from everyone over time and that made things seem easier as well.

It's been so long that when people ask me if I've lived anywhere but here sometimes I tell them that I've been here my whole life.

It's only recently though that I have started to look for those friends and I have found each of the ones that I set out to find.









Once when I was babysitting in high school I had to stay the night at the house across the street. My folks would look out the window from time to time to make sure that everything was decent. George, my high school sweetheart knowing that I couldn't let him inside went down to the ice cream shop and picked up treats for the two girls I was watching and myself and sat on the stoop of the door just so he could spend time with me.

I still feel bad for leaving him, but I needed to in order to go to college. He was always worried about me with other men and had been bringing up the idea of moving to Pullman with me and helping me pay for my education. I just couldn't let him do that. It was just far to much.

It was bad enough that when we broke up he started to drive by my house and keep tabs on me. One time when Andrew was picking me up for a date he drove by and parked in the driveway and started to yell at me saying, that he would never do something like this to me. I was going on a date I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, but he didn't see it like that. While I was out with Andrew, George came to my house and my mother welcomed him in. There he told her how worried he was that he would loose me.

It was odd because after that a year later I tried to mend things and start a new, but he tried to do it later within the year I was gone and then my sophomore year after I had found Matt. He even had a heart-to-heart with me after I brought Matt to meet him (we were still close friends) where he asked me to be his girl again. I told him it was an odd thing to ask when Matt was just feet away.

I've never had a boy love me as much as George did and I've never had a family want me to be a part of theirs as much either. His mother told me that they were trying to get him to move up to Bellingham to be closer to me when I was on breaks. She even tried to get him to take me to his prom even though he already had three dates... go figure?

We are still close friends and sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if I had invited him to live in Pullman. I think I'd be married and settled if that were the case, which is something I'm not in any mood to be.






Mom's weekend 2004 at Washington State University. I kept the fact that I was bi from my mom until 2005. I had hinted to her that I was but each time I had tried to discuss it with her she told me that the girl had just taken advantage of me while I was drunk or accused me of being on drugs myself.

That night while she was asleep I left to hang out with Brando and his friends. We drove into Moscow and picked up Noel from the food coop that she was working at and went to some U of I party that she knew of.

Noel and I ended up sitting in a small chair for the majority of the night kissing and cuddling and it felt really good. I wanted her to come home with me but the reality check to my mother felt a bit to great. I ended up dropping her off and kissing her good night.

I was always a little bitter that she ended up dating this other girl instead of me, but she was known in the circles as a bit of a player and she had had her heart broken pretty badly by a friend of mine. She was trying to mend it by going from gal to gal.

I'm Sorry...my love.

I never understood how you could get so jealous of other men when we weren't officially together. It always made me smile. You held your tumbler out and the boys would hit on you and poor you another.

We'd sit on the counter with our legs together and I thought that no one else mattered. It wasn't even our party but fuck it, it felt like it! Our red plastic glasses covered the lawn for a week before Jesus Dave picked them up.

I'm plagued and honored to have these memories of you and these regrets and these desires. You are always a vision for me that passes with every day, a hope and a longing that will never be fulfilled.

I'm sorry for telling you that you couldn't go to my shows anymore because you got to drunk and made a scene.

I'm sorry for kissing you at John's Alley to get Adam's attention as he played trumpet on stage.

I'm sorry that later that night I snuck off into Adam's room to smoke pot and make out while all the guys tried to get you drunk at the after party.

I'm sorry for not calling you more after we graduated, but you never returned anyone's phone calls.

I'm sorry for not calling in sick so I could hold you through the morning.

I'm sorry for not believing you and for dismissing you every time you told me that I was beautiful.

I'm sorry for not saying it back more.

I'm sorry for every time we were alone that I didn't try to kiss you.

I'm sorry for not taking advantage of the moments I had to just look at you and really take you all in.

I'm sorry for playing truth or dare with you, Jesus Dave, Jim & Karen and Karen finding out that you had slept with Jim and the fact that you both cried for so long having found out.

I'm sorry I wasn't there to go with you all to the cowboy party.

I'm sorry I wasn't there to go with you camping so that Jesus Dave wouldn't have slept with you when you were drunk.

I'm sorry for not giving you more reasons to be here, right now.

I'm sorry for trying to make you feel bad about the cycles you were in.

I'm sorry for trying to prevent you from doing things, because I thought they would hurt you.

I'm sorry for not giving you more hugs.

I'm sorry that I broke down when you showed me your cuts and I wasn't stronger to give you more support.

I'm sorry for always trying to look out for you instead of being there with you more.

I'm sorry for never making you dinner and for ordering items with meat when I knew you were a vegetarian.

I'm sorry for not wearing your pants out more, because I don't want anyone to see me in your pants.

I'm sorry for not telling you how I felt.

I'm sorry for the fact that I'm still crazy about you.

I'm sorry most of all that you aren't here and that I can't tell you all these things and that all I want to do is tell you these things and that I want to hold you and tell you how perfectly wonderful you are and how greatly missed you are and how everyday I think about you.

I'm sorry that I'll never be able to let go of you.

Three Ways...

I'd stay, I will stay... for as long as it takes, because somethings are worth waiting for.
When you know that you have something good, you don't throw it away, but you do whatever it takes to hold on to those pieces and those memories, people, and places that make you smile.

We don't smile very much anymore.

I don't smile very much.

When I see something that I feel is incredibly beautiful or if I want to hold onto a memory that I feel is worth holding on to up front before anything else there were two images that would pop into my mind.

1. Walking back to my home on Reaney Way in Reaney Park, Pullman there was a recreation of the old archway that stood before you entered the campus. The archway was big enough for a carriage and was full of cobblestone with a flat top. They remade this archway. I loved to walk under it because for some reason it always made me feel like this was where I belonged. It felt like I had entered the archway of learning and that I had finally made it to my first goal, college. Even as a senior I adored carrying a stack of books against my chest with my bag on one shoulder, speed walking down the hill under the archway and into my little cottage. It felt absolutely brilliant and for some reason better than any college party, lecture or experience that I had had throughout the five years of college. Something about it felt so iconic, like this is why I am here to step where others have come before and to learn what I need to become something, someone and to do this not only for myself, but for my family as a whole. It was a sense of pride that I haven't really ever felt before.

Much like other areas in the Pacific Northwest the climate in Pullman varies dramatically. One day it began to pour huge droplets of rain as I rushed down the hill. As I looked above the archway it felt as if time stopped. The droplets were collecting along the side but to look directly up at the archway to see the rain start and stop, something about it was so beautiful. I kept it with me so vividly that it's the first of three images that I recall when I see something beautiful. These images shoot to me in rapid succession.

2. Later on in that week, I don't know why my mind started to store things in such a manner, but the second image came shortly after. An old friend of mine from the pizza parlor I worked at for a short while behind my house... or in front depending on how you looked at it, Pizza Perfection. We had gone to John's Alley for beers and music and he invited us over to his place to smoke a little. I don't remember much of the evening outside of the fact that the house was very close to my ex girlfriend's which made me a bit uncomfortable. As we walked into the basement there was this strange light coming from this door that was a quarter of the way open. All you could see was a vibrant light and a retro chair sitting in the way. The colors sometimes play tricks on me when I recall them. I don't know which is green and which is orange, but they are there. Something about being absolutely calm and completely safe and welcome helped to make the image stick with me.

3. Was a moment of sheer joy when I was at outside of Whidbey Island in a park at Rosario Beach again in the rain. I was looking up at a man with a black hoodie on, climbing through the rocks and trails. I saw his face looking at mine and I knew in that moment how much I loved him and that I would do anything to make him smile like that at me again.

These are my three images of beauty that come to mind. They give me strength and comfort. Today I'm not sure if they give me comfort as much as they give me hope...

Cheese & Crackers.

Is it wrong that my first memories of you are ones of embarrassment? Even at four I was uncomfortable to share a bed with my father when he was wearing tighty whities. Unfortunately where else could I sleep?

He had me on weekends, scarce and in between.

One of my first memories of my father involved my favorite childhood food, kraft handisnacks cheese and crackers. I don't remember who took me if it was grandma or my mother, but I remember waiting in line in the cafeteria. I remember knowing that daddy was sick, he wasn't feeling well so we had to go to the hospital to visit him. I didn't like going to the hospital it smelled funny and I had already spent months in the hospital.



When I was three or four my mother's boyfriend, Steve was shaving in the small bathroom on the first floor of our two story apartment in Bellingham. He had a large coffee thermas on the counter of the bathroom right next to the sponges. Even then I was smaller than most children. I was wearing a purple sweatpants and a sweatshirt outfit. I slowly tried to reach up for the sponge... when the coffee container knocked over spilling furiously hot liquid all over my body immediately melting my clothes and skin.

My screams were blood renched you'd think I'd strained my vocal cords. My mother darted downstairs to see what the screams of her child were about, but the look on Steve's face indicated that this wasn't any normal cry for attention. She wrapped me in a towel and raced down to my grandmother's house merely 7 blocks away.

My mother told me that they took me into a small room and locked her out and all she could hear were my screams. She wanted to be there to hold my hand as they tore the flesh from my body, but the doctors felt that it would be even more traumatizing to have my mother, my protector in a role in which she was helpless to alleviate any of the pain.

She told me this was one of the worst moments of her life. She felt so horrid, so helpless, so small.

I was in the burn ward for months and lived off hospital food and the occasional meal from McDonald's. Mother said I was addicted to "chicken" McNuggets. It was then that I also received my first real teddy bear a pink care bear. It was also then that I began my nervous habit of self-soothing. I would run my fingers across the tag of the bear where the washing instructions were printed. This would later apply itself to my class rings and the fidgety nature of moving it from finger to finger, hand to hand.

I laid in the bed with bars for so long that it became absolutely impossible to get me back once play time was over. Mother told me that one time a nurse scolded me and hit me on my hand. My mother had never been so angry and told the women off. I was a small child confined to my bed for hours on end, I looked forward to my walks and small bouts of play. It shouldn't come off as odd or strange that I would want to stay away from the bars as long as I could.

I learned about the smells of the ointments and bandages. My mother would keep them in a small old Snoopy shoes box. We would need to apply ointments from time to time to help with the healing of the scares. Growing up I never called them scares, I always referred to them as my burns.

It was then that I started to think that I was a monster. The large red daggers lining across diagonally through my torso and up across my arm.

"I'll never be pretty," I thought. "No one will ever want me, if I have children they will be ashamed of me."

This manner of thinking went on for almost decades.




Walking through the hospital reminded me of all this. It's funny that I don't remember any thoughts of my father before the accident. There I was for his accident however, poised and ready.

I remember that he was hard to spot and very different than what I was used to. I hugged his leg and proceeded to sit next to him.

He talked in detail about how he and the rest of the guys were feeling about being in rehab. I didn't know what that meant, all I knew was that my daddy was there and I had a great feast of cheese & crackers to consume.

Dad went through rehab for awhile to get cleaned up. My mother had divorced him on the basis of many things, that being a prime factor, the mental abuse, physical abuse, cheating and lying were all factors to the demise of a marriage built on shotgun values.

He would struggle all my life to keep the bottle away from his lips. He was a horrible drunk! There was a time where he had me for visitations. He took me to my Grandma & Grandpa Seaman's house for a visit. By the time we were ready to leave he was smashed and was not in any place to drive. However I and Tracy his future wife (at that point) road around town while my dad yelled at the both of us we needed to go party, I was eight and I was scared.

It wasn't until I was close to 20 that my dad started to clean up. He started to watch his worlds collide and the respect of me lowering with it.

To Someone Special.

When I met you I wasn't looking for anyone in particular, I was already actively engaged in other possibilities as you knew. However the second I saw you I wasn't interested in any of those. I realized I didn't care about the shows, the bands the music that I had been waiting for months to hear.

I was more interested in getting to know you and seeing if you were interested in getting to know me. I had never felt so drawn to someone and so familiar at the same time. I didn't mean to feel so familiar its just one of those things as cliche as it may sound... "that just happens."

Every other man that I had met was an uphill struggle to get to know and to even eventually care about. You were so forthcoming with anything that I wanted to know. It was as if you wanted to be an open book.

I've never known anyone so receptive to any change in emotions. Even the simplest of sighs is questioned, analyzed and further questioned. What am I thinking? How do I feel? Why did I do that or this or that? Always wondering where my emotions, desires, motivations are derived from. Leaving seldom anything to chance or miscommunication.

With two over analytical people, there is still room for miscommunication.

I fell for you quit quickly. I don't think it's ever been that quick in my life. It all feels so surreal. I think your head would topple over if you thought of yourself even a fraction of the way that I see you. Which maybe why my compliments are seldom taken seriously and are typically fanned off.

Wachumba Pass...

My dad and I used to have a way of getting to my step-mom, Tracey. I never really liked her while I was growing up because when I was in the back seat pretending to be asleep I over heard her talking trash about my mom. She primarily said a bunch of disgusting things about how my mom was overweight. It was sad that she didn't pull the visor down to see that she wasn't one to talk.

My dad had pulled me out of class for a couple of weeks and we were heading down to California. Through the car ride my dad and I would make up bizarre songs and slogans to remember the trip. One of which was hated above all else by Tracey.

"We're going to the Waaaahhhhhh-Cummm-Baaaah Pass.
We're going to have fun at the Waaaaahhh-Cummm-Baaah Pass!"

This was chanted over and over again by my dad. For some reason it made me laugh more than the name Lake Titicaca or Bucharest (for some reason I thought it was boob caress). I'm not sure if it was the laughs of a 7-year-old little girl getting louder and louder or if it was the insistent repetitive nature of my dad saying the phrase that drove Tracey up the wall.

Mercer Island is a bit Premature...

My relationships typically in the past have had me with one foot on the ground waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When you have a dad with four previous marriages and a mother on her third it tends to make you cautious about giving your heart to anyone. There were times I thought I was in love, but at 18 to 23 lust masquerades as love to frequently. I want to think that I meant it every time I said it, but I think that with certain people there were better phrases that could have been used.

George, "I love you."

Matt, "I want to chase you."

Andy, "I want to connect with you to forget about what's happening around me."

Aron, "I want to love you for loving me."

With Aron a great deal of the time I was just comfortable. I wanted to love him for loving me and for being there for me, similar to a best friend. It feels horrible to say that, but when you don't connect with someone and you want your own space 98% of the time, you know that love isn't really where you are at.
My dad adored him, my mom wasn't sure from the moment she met him. He blew up at her poker party and spent the rest of the night on the porch swing in the back and then curled up in the guest bed. He was upset about a private moment we had prior to us dating.
He chased me actively and frequently. I would hold my cat in front of my face when he tried to kiss me to create barriers. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't interested, but I started to wear thin and through this I started to develop feelings for him.
I wasn't happy for a long time towards the end of the relationship and was looking for ways to get out. I would have meetings with my best friend Kyle to look for an apartment.
My mind had shut off to the idea of being in a relationship somewhere around the holidays after I had received a phone call from Jesus-Dave about a friend of mine, Sarah committing suicide. After that I turned off. I was overcome with grief and gave in to depression.
Aron was understanding for the first couple of months, but when I shut down sexually his understanding wore thin. He went off on me on the phone calling me horrible names and taking each of my weaknesses against me. In the morning I looked for an apartment and started making plans of telling him that I was leaving him. He had been mentally abusive before this when he sensed that I was going to leave.
One night I pushed him away from me and his side hit the door knob. He lashed out at me by putting his hands around my neck tightly and tossing me to the floor. I was scared of him from that moment, but it would be three months before I could leave. All the while I was wanting out. I told him that I was breaking up with him and that I had a place lined up. We were close to our one year anniversary, but we weren't going to hit the marker together. He told me that we could go through couples counseling, but I had made my mind up. It was my counselor that was helping me with Sarah's death who had made commented on my relationship being unhealthy that furthered my decision.
He spent the night kicking me out of my home and saying hurtful things to me to try to break me. I packed some of my clothes and drove to my other friend Sarah's house and waited for the day that I could move in.
It wasn't until the night before Aron moved to Washington D.C. that he apologized to me for the way he treated me. He told me that the first 9 months of our relationship were the happiest of his life. I thanked him for that and some how it helped me to think of the good memories of him, which there were many. I really did care about him, but I knew we weren't meant for each other.

Down By The Bay...

After George I had a good year lull of reflection where I had minor flings and fleeting moments.

I began a couple of jobs in 2001 which is when I met Tara Hansen a quirky goth-metal enthusiast with a desire for tattoos and Davie Havoc. Her manners screamed Hot Topic corporate office, but I thought she was fun and awkwardly full of drama. We spent a great deal of our summer nights driving around Bellingham, being those kids you hate with the blaring music and no real destination, but out of the house.
With our cruising ammo blaring and my small 1996 periwinkle Ford Aspire we were set to paint the town if not red, a similar color, fuschia. We had odd run-ins with brief characters at the Ranch Room and the movie theater. We went to the midnight showing of "A Clockwork Orange," at the Pickford. It was that night that I met the boy that would haunt me for four years.
Matt wasn't your typical boy he had baggy pants, blue spiked hair, multiple piercings, and was instantly smitten with me. At the time I thought I was rebellious and punk! I had a deep obsession with blue hair and thought that it was the most aesthetically pleasing feature a boy could have. It was just about the only thing that could really turn my head and he was rocking it with confidence and just enough piercings to come off not as trendy.
When I kissed his earlobes my mouth would be full of four to five different metallic objects. He was infatuated with the type of music I couldn't stand, nu metal. We would stand in line at the grocery story and he'd start belting out lines from Slipknot and I'd bury my head deep into my shirt out of embarrassment. This would sometimes enforce his singing to greater volumes.
He was in high school while I was in college and with the two of living at home when I was on school vacations we couldn't always crash at each other's houses. My small vehicle acted as a portable room. We would sleep by the railroad tracks close to the bay in my car, cuddled up with sometimes just a jacket or two to cover us. The windows would fog up as we laid in the cold. The trains would act as a morning alarm clock (this was during the years before I had a cell phone).
It's true that with absence the heart grows founder and with months between us and hours of distance I found myself becoming more and more intimate with him. He'd visit when he could via bus to my dorm room. These were the times that I craved. No cold car rides, just him and me and an empty room.
There was no way that it would have lasted though because we were three years a part and he was still in high school. I thought that it was wrong for me to even be with him because of this and I told him that I didn't want to take away from his experiences. He told me that none of that mattered to him, but I insisted and with that I broke up my relationship with Matt. It was gut wrenching to find out that after we broke up to further prove his point he enrolled in running start to show how uninterested he was in the follies of high school.
We lost touch for a couple of years, but I still thought about him frequently. I would later come to realize that he had been doing the same thing. We reconnected in 2005 in Seattle. I had just graduated from college and moved to the Greenwood area. He was up for the first time in years from San Diego where he moved to be with a long term girlfriend, the same girl that he started dating after we broke up. He met her in Hawaii while on vacation and they instantly connected a the time and delighted in the fact that they were both bisexual, something I didn't realize about myself until years after.
I picked him up in Ballard outside of Archie McPhee's and from there we went to the EMP and hung out in my apartment reminiscing. The next night I picked him up from Pike Place and we again spent a great deal of time talking. I looked at him and told him how I felt and that I was sorry to inform him. He looked right through me and said, "I'm still in love with you and have been this whole time." He then went on about how he wasn't in love with his girlfriend and that he had been interested in me for years. He said that his current relationship was like a strong friendship, but that was it.
With that unveiling we did the worst thing two people could do when one is in a relationship. He cheated on his girlfriend that night and told me that he was going to move to Seattle to start over and that we would be able to see each other again. I felt horrible and excited at the same time, this was what I was dreaming about for years. I had been playing the "what if" game for so long and finally I had an answer.
Suddenly he began ignoring my calls, things started to get weird and distant. I received a message from his girlfriend telling me to stop all contact with Matt. I never wanted to hurt her so I begrudgingly respected her wishes. I had never engaged in anything like that before and since haven't, but through it all I felt horrible for what he and I did to her.
He would late write me a letter that read, "I've been playing the what if game for so long as well, but I can't have it both ways. If closure is what you need, consider this it." I needed it, I needed to let go of the idea of what he was to me. He wasn't that boy anymore and he wouldn't ever be. What he did to her and how he treated me made that clear.
For awhile though he was a wonderful mistake.

Cajun Christmas.

I remember the last Christmas that my grandma had. I wasn't able to stay the whole day because I had to work at the cinema, but I remember the look on my grandma's face as she read my Christmas card.

Each year I tried to make her cry. There was always one card that would make her do so and that card had to be the most thoughtful and sweet card she had ever received, at least up until that point. I had done it that year and I was so delighted. It wasn't that I wanted to make her cry, but that I wanted to be able to touch her in a way that was special. I knew that she kept the cards throughout the year and I wanted to make sure that mine was closer to the top of the stack.

That was also the year that my uncles thought they could create Christmas dinner. My grandma had converted from making a ham dinner to making a taco dinner. She said that Thanksgiving was to close to Christmas and that she had already cooked a huge meal, why not cook something simple that we'd all enjoy. That year my uncles put the shells in the oven and forgot about them. They were placed in the oven to warm them up, but instead they came out black.

First Comes...

There are only a small handful of guys that I've ever said I loved and thought I meant it at the time outside of my current relationship: George; Matt; Andy & Aron.

George Pardington was my first real boyfriend. He was in all honesty my high school sweetheart. Our relationship was the type that offended people when we broke up. More people were made at me after I broke up with George than were when I announced I was moving off the island. I had people inquire about him a years after we had been broken up.

He messed up really bad when he met my dad though. George had a temper and with it he had an anger problem. Many people speculated that he would use that anger against me, but he never once raised a hand at me. He was so in love with me that there was never a thought in my mind that he was capable of hurting me. However my father asked him, "How are things going with you and my daughter?" Mind you this is the first time I've ever brought a boy to meet my dad.

George said, "Things are going well now... I used to have an anger problem, but it's getting better."

My dad looked at my uncle and then back at George and while gritting his teeth together he mustered out, "That's good to hear, I have a bit of anger problem too, George."

George and I were inseparable with him spending a great deal of time at my house and I at his. His family had adopted me by giving me my fake nickname, Margo as to not get confused with George's sister Jennifer. Margo was my fake nickname for our high school advice column.

The liked me so much that after we had broken up and I had been in college for a year, George's mom was still trying to find ways of hooking us back together. It was sweet, but a bit odd at the same time.

He was a year younger than me and I knew it couldn't last after graduation, because I would be across the state in Pullman.

However this didn't stop my next boyfriend Matt from pursuing me while living outside of Bellingham.

The Rambling "Love" Life...

enough