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.