28 September 2014

Tag, You're It.

"So what was the diagnosis?"
We are driving now. To eat salads and drink iced tea and have a few moments before everything gets back to busy again.
"Oh. Over ambitious but lacking motivation."
"They can tell all of that from blood work?"
"Medical science, I tell ya. It's amazing."
"But really, what is going on do they know?"


I have collages for each month of this year with the evidence to build a case against you. January saw false promises and blood shed. February was acknowledgment that I was less than important. March was forgetful, one more trip on our books which should have been labeled as the 'finale trip', April was the month I was forced to come to terms with the fact that everything was about to end before it even ever happened. We should never be ok with being thousands of miles from the person we say we love for 10 days... we just shouldn't. May was a just black. June was a blur. July brought more than I could handle, overwhelmed. And August-September have seen breaths finally taken and power moves, big. power. moves.
I pasted things into a book and wrote some words and now I have people breathing down my neck about it.
"So we are having a hard time reaching him. Did you give us the right contact info?"
I have removed all of the ink sticks from the pens on their table and lined them up to spell "FU". I sip coffee from a paper cup and look out the window to my right.
"No. I didn't. It's a puzzle. This is like that movie 'Saw'. Solve the puzzle and you get to keep your arm. Or in this case, the rights to my failed relationship."
They look at each other, then at me. Then pass a note across the table.
"Stephanie. Listen. You are so close. Just help us out. What do you need?"
I run my fingers through my hair and tap out the rhythm to that one song that always made me think of him...and sing it softly, "Lately I've been losin sleep, thinkin about the things that we could be. Lately I've been prayin more countin dollars we'll be countin...stars..."
Tears are rolling down my cheeks now.
I pass the phone with the email about "moving" across the table.
"I need to know how this was so easy for him, but so hard for me. I need to know why. I need to know how. I need to know when it actually happened in his heart vs. when he finally said it. I need to know how I stop looking at old pictures. I need to know how this book is going to make me feel better. I need help. I need a hug. I need a bottle of Belvedere and some time to myself. I need..."
Now I'm just blubbering. My whole body is trembling and I am looking at them, and it looks like they are under water. I pick up my too big bag filled with half of my life, tie my hair in a knot on top of my head and walk out singing, "I feel the love and I feel it burn down this river, every turn hope is a four-letter word...lesson learned."
They don't stop me.
When I get my car I already have a new meeting scheduled for next week. It says: Please finish the final chapter. Find out what's going on. And know that we believe in you. This is vengeance for us as well. Pay back to the people who let us crumble before their eyes like he let happen to you. It's like you say, chin up, cups up. No worries, honey.


"Fresno isn't really ready for me."
"It was never ready for you in the first place. Tiny tornado. Mini hurricane."
I laugh. Roll my eyes. And jab my thumb into one of the many bruises on my legs.
"Things are going to get better, baby. They are. The last 10 months have been a test for you. And look at you now... the worst is not over, but the best is within sight now! You got this."


22 September 2014

Get After It

So I crawled underneath it.
Listened to it breath.
Felt its heart beating against my head.
Pinched my arms till they turned red and numb.
Swore I'd never, ever...

Crossed paths with the worst of the worst.
Held my own head in the best of the best.
Kissed arms. Kissed faces. Kissed necks.
Put my hand on the center of the backs of everyone.

So I came face to face with it.
Called it out.
Told it it got me, but that's all over now.
Looked it in the eyes and watched us both fall apart.
Swore this was the last time I'd ever...

Held hands in dark hallways.
Blasted music in bright cells.
Kissed cheeks. Kissed noses. Kisses lying lips.
Put my hand over the heart of a few of them.

Told myself that it was done. Promised I was over it. Built the bridge. Burned it from the other side. Threw caution to the wind. Threw money out the window. Put my face toward the sun until everything turned white. Called my mother. Rolled down the windows. Laid in the street. Told everyone I was done with it. Swore I was over it. Commissioned destruction of the road that led to the bridge that I burnt down. Gave my heart over to someone new. Or said I did. Crossed my fingers. Crossed my heart. Hoped to die 100 times. Woke up. Listened for it. Put my hand on my chest to check for it. Convinced it of another day.
And then got on with it.
Hands moving forward to propel the situation.


21 September 2014


It's hard being labeled without much to warrant it. I go about my life doing what feels good for me and 8 out of 10 times I get busted for it. "Something you did that you didn't know you were doing was bad and has now caused my whole life to go to shit so shut up and go away and goodbye and so long." I turn what I read into what I think I should actually be hearing. It makes it easier that way. This messages a conversations that I have all too often. They are scripted now in my head.
It seems as though I cannot escape loss. And I still cannot figure out what I do that causes it. But here's the best part: I got me. And fuck the rest. 


 "It's kinda like the whole world has this mission and I am always missing the meetings."
This time we are sitting in bar stools. Whiskey in hand. Sports scenes flashing by our eyes. 
"What makes you think that?"
Throwing my head back and closing my eyes. Cracking my knuckles. 
"It's like... I am always the wrong one. And everyone else always gets it. I don't know. Maybe I get it and everyone else wrong and when the rapture happens I'll be wearing the fucking gold tipped wings."
He laughs. That laugh that makes you think you might be the funniest person to have ever existed. I take another long sip and grab his wrist.
"But you know what! The more I talk about stuff like this, the more I realize I don't care enough. Or maybe it's the whiskey. Thank God for whiskey."


and in the desert I deserve some sleep,
and I need recourse for the course I am taking.
I wish somebody'd up and save me.