Saturday, November 12, 2005

Let go for tonight
Holding on to tomorrow's hope.
Where are you?
Please tell me.
I cannot wait any longer.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

It’s strange how she can feel so icky and somehow finds this deep comfort in being sick, so comfortable that the thought of getting better almost sickens her more. See Lola is pee-shy; she can’t literally pee if she thinks someone might hear her. She would hold it all day long until she got an awful kidney infection. Now she has developed this irrational fear of kidney infections she drinks enough water for a small army and lives wholly on a scheduled, military time, she has planned times and bathrooms so she can take care of business. She is also a germ-a-phobic; she carries Lysol wipes with her so the bathrooms that she uses are germ-free. She’s obsessed with cereal, anything that crunches really, carrots and apples, maybe it’s because the sound of the crunch is the only thing that drowns out her own thoughts. It’s the only moment she has peace of mind, when she’s crunching, she goes into this zone and can’t think of anything besides the crunch. She’s afraid that her body won’t be able to process things that are not natural, so she reads the labels on everything and doesn’t go out to eat. She believes that high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavoring are slowly poisoning her to death, sitting in her body and rotting away in her intestines. She’s afraid of loving someone, the only person she ever loved left because he said that she set him free. She doesn’t understand though, she feels like a prisoner inside of herself and somehow she inspired someone to be free? She is almost like a people-magnet, people meet her and instantaneously cling to her, they open their hearts to her, spill their woes all over her and she wipes them away. They tell her how unique she is, how they’ve never met anyone like her, and to never change. It’s because she cares, it’s because she knows what its like to feel pain and she’d give her world to a stranger so they would not have to feel it. It’s because when you meet Lola, you meet Lola, she doesn’t hide anything from you and if she’s about to piss her pants, she’ll ask you to sing and turn the radio up real loud so she can. It’s because she carries sidewalk chalk with her, just in case she sees a little bit of the world that looks sad, she’ll make it happy with color. If you’re sad or feeling sort of lonely, she’ll give you a monkey, from her barrel of monkeys, because you can keep it in your pocket so you’re never alone, plus it’s red so it’s automatically fabulous. Then they tell her that they just can’t be friends with her anymore, mostly because they’re a new person now and they need to move on with their lives. They tell her thank you a million times, “thank you for helping me see what I needed to change, thank you for helping me find the strength to change,” they need this fresh start, they need to break ties with the past, and she is the tie that links the past to the future and they cut her with the sharpest of scissors. A few leave because they love her so much it hurts them but she understands that. It’s been known to happen that a few will completely steal her identity, she certainly becomes annoyed by this one especially, but she moves on, she’s learned not to harbor anger because it grows and gets worse. She’s tired now though and it’s been making her sick, real sick, she’s become so afraid that she just can’t move and if she’s sick then she doesn’t have to move, she doesn’t have to get hurt, and she doesn’t have to fail. All these people that she cared so much for have left her out to dry, she just wants to be sick, and waste away, hoping someday someone will remember her. She’s already left her mark on the world.

He soaks in a white porcelain tub filled to the brim with tears. Warm salty tears. He’s been crying for a life time but the tub never overflows. Perhaps the tears begin to evaporate at the very moment the tub may overflow. His tears become one with the air that we breathe. We are with him and he is with us. His face is stained with tears. They sail down the soft rivers, the wrinkles in his eyes. His eyes that burn not because of the tears but because of the pain they have witnessed.
He soaks in a white porcelain tub. Naked and vunerable. His tears are warm, hot almost, they’ve been burning inside him for so long. He can still feel the coolness of the white porcelain tub, He cannot ignore it against his bare body, nothing but bones and skin he is, sensitive to everything.
The white porcelain tub, in the white tiled bathroom, in the white brick house with the freshly painted white walls and the new velvety white carpet in the deceivingly quiet town softly disguised with a blanket of white powdery snow, the kind that never melts. The carpet covers his entire house, in the kitchen and the bathroom, all the unusual places to find carpet. Perfectly white, no stains and not even a foot print. Perfectly white walls, no smudges or uneven paint, no finger prints, perfectly white.
Why the only things that are not perfectly white in his house are the pile of what looks like charcoal stained white towels and the blackest of black ring around the tub in which he lies. The only things that are far from white in the town he resides are the hearts and the souls of his neighbors.
Every evening he soaks in his white porcelain tub filling it with new sorrows. Warm, salty sorrows. He’s very careful to move in his white porcelain tub, he dares not get a single sorrow on the white velvety carpet. But he needs to scrub off the sins of the day. He uses a milky white Dove soap and a rough bristly brush. He scrubs himself raw. His skin red, a pinkish red like a new born baby, the blood that slowly seeps from his skin dark red, like merlot. Immediately the merlot clings to the side of the tub with the dirt and the sin and the sorrows forever trying to rid the tub of that awful ring.
Every morning he wakes up, the sun blinding his eyes, piercing almost, reflecting off his crisp white linens, the freshly painted white walls, and the soft velvety white carpet. He enjoys this, waking up to the bright sun, warming his heart. Melting the ice that begins to form overnight from the nightmares he can’t seem to rid himself of. The ice from his heart runs through his veins and out his pores saturating his white linens dark black. He rinses in the white porcelain tub and the remainder of his mourning heart adheres to the dark black ring.
The sun does not melt the snow, it cannot melt the snow. The sun is powerful and good but it cannot seem to penetrate through the snows’ façade. It is not real snow, it’s not the beautiful kind of snow that children create fairytales in. It is a harsh snow, a snow that people create when they can’t tell the difference between real and fake, when they just don’t care anymore. He hates this snow. He kicks it around and tries to sweep it off his bright green grass. It does not work, it’s like pulling two strong magnets away from each other. That split second is what he longs for, it’s what he thrives on. When he can feel the sun on his skin, when it makes him feel as though he can dance among the clouds, when he see that bright green grass. That’s when it happens. That’s when he falls in love with the world.
I wish I could stop right here. I wish I could hold him in this moment forever and preserve the love inside his heart.
I cannot and I will not. See because he is resilient.
He falls in love with the world every day. Everyday it finds a way to break his heart. It shatters right there on his front lawn. It turns red, a beautiful balloon red, fading to white as soon as it touches the snow. Right where the bright green was now white but he picks up the pieces just the same. Everyday he brings them inside his white brick house, through the heavy white door. He lays the pieces of heart on his white wooden kitchen table. He pulls out of his white drawers with white handles, fire red thread....

Bananas are great. There is a special place inside my heart for the grocery store. My dad and I walked to the grocery store the other night; we do this from time to time. I need something and drag him along for the exercise. There's no point in driving. It's probably about a mile, but why pollutes the air and waste gas on unnecessary errands, plus a healthy heart never goes out of style. It was 7 or so by the time we left, stopped at the library first; it's all on the way in Elmhurst. The sun just about to set and I noticed the crispness in the air. Fall excites me like no other season- cliché perhaps- it's the new things I suppose, the color of the leaves, the school year, love interests, well in this case it's not new, but seen in a new light. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so complicated.
It was one of those nights, one of those talks, one of those moments you want to hold onto forever, just keep it in your pocket; you know and pull it out on a gloomy sort of day. The kind of feeling you get when you know how much someone loves you. They think the world of you not only because they have to but for some reason that is so completely unknown to you, they just think you are incredible.
I was so excited about this book that I had just picked up, for no reason other than the fact that it was something new to read. I started reading it out loud and my dad laughed and said why don't you just tell me about it when your done. We talked about everything on that walk. They've been looking at real estate, my mom and him, they might move, if they find whatever it is their looking for. I'm sad about that though. That house is my home; I told my dad that it's okay if they move out as long as they understand that no one else is moving in. He laughed and said it means a lot to him to and he's more or less entertaining the idea. See my papa and my grandma are great and you'll have to remind me to tell you about my papa and squirrels because I was in stitches. Anyway, they have lived in their home for 53 years, my dad grew up there. He sat around the same table that we sit around every few weeks or so for dinner. His name is still carved in the bathroom door; he did that when he was seven. I can't even explain to you the warmth I feel inside the moment I step in the door. I love it and I want to raise my children in my home where I grew up, so they can feel the same way. I know he really likes that idea.
He's not very nervous about his tests or his results. He is in a good place with God right now and he has faith in his doctors. If he makes it into the "5-year club" he's pretty sure they'll have more answers then. I like God too, I told him, God and I are trying to smooth out some bumps in the road, I know He's there and I'm pretty sure he knows I'm here, he knows everything, right? My mom says that 999 out of 1000 people would call, isn’t that why she married him though, because he’s different from everyone else. He said that maybe he hasn’t felt normal in a long time and this feeling he’s had for the last few weeks is the closest to normal he’s been, he said maybe he just wants to hold on to that for awhile. My dad’s real even keel, when we found out, when the doctors told him he had cancer and it was pretty advanced, he looked at my mom and said “it’s going to be fine honey, I’m not going anywhere today, and we need to get you through this.” My mom is a strong woman, so very strong; it just takes her a little while to find her strength. My dad knows this and he holds her hand until she finds it and then he holds her hand because he loves her. He held her when she cried, she cried like the rain, slowly though it went from the crazy kinds of thunderstorms that the weatherman can’t even predict to a soft gentle kind of rain when the Lord knows your hurting and he sends it down to seep into your heart and grow something beautiful out of your pain. That’s when she found her peace and put herself together.


I had to go. You know what I’m talking about. When you have no choice but to run and you’re not running from anything, least you won’t admit it, and you’re certainly not running to something, you’re just running, till your legs feel like mush and your mouth is as dry as Texas in the summer. Then you collapse and nothin’ feels so natural. I didn’t want to leave you behind, but you know how it is. Sometimes you just gotta face demons on your own. You know what kind of demons I’m talking about. I was getting’ to caught up in it, in all of it. I was going down but I caught myself before I hit bottom.
I thought about you the other day and that bridge you took me too, it saved me. I wanted to feel like that again. That’s why I left. Remember sitting there, watching the cars speed beneath us, all those people, governed by the watch on their wrist, the greed in their hearts, and the growl of their stomach. I bet no one knew we were up there, they probably couldn’t even imagine being in a place like that. Coloring with chalk, taking about poems and literature, planning our futures, making the world beautiful, dreaming, believing the impossible. See that’s what I love about us. We take things as they are and make them better, we hope, we pray for the best. We make a difference when we can, changing the world as we move through it. I say “we” but that’s not me anymore. I lost myself somewhere along the way and I’m searching for my soul now. Everyone you meet remembers you, I’m not sure if any hearts were made quite like yours. I’m sure I hurt you real bad, and I’m turned all inside out because of it. I had to, you know I wouldn’t have left you all alone like that. It was like I was drowned in bash paint and I didn’t want to get a single drop on you, not on you, never. Lo, please don’t change, ever, I will find you again; I know our paths will cross.

Fate is on our side.