Karavi

Callie turned quickly away from Dyssi.  She stormed down the deck, her heels clapping against the wood, echoing out into the open sea.  Her fury drove her, her clenched fists propelled her and she gritted her teeth down as she headed toward the life preserver.

“Calliopi Demenidis! Stop this instant!” his voice bellowed behind her. 

She had never heard him use such an angry tone with her and although she could tell he was irate with her, she felt a small twinge of fire inside of her ignite.  She kept moving though, ignoring the flame and grabbing onto the life preserver.  She clutched it in her hands and held it tight against her chest as she whirled around to face him.  She was now face to face with him.  He began to slow considerably as he saw her turn around.  His eyes locked onto hers.  His wet hair flailed in the breeze and his blue eyes had turned an angry shade of red.  His nostrils flared and his chest was heaving up and down.  He was still wearing his bathrobe and she had to stifle a chuckle as she saw that one side of the robe had come loose and half of his soapy body was peeking out at her.  She regained her composure though as he rapproached and squared off her shoulders, ready for a battle.  As the distance between them shrunk she shoved the life preserver out to ensure the distance between them remained sufficient.

“What is this?” he asked in a defensive tone his eyes locking on the life preserver.

She did not reply and simply held the life preserver strongly in front of herself.

They stood like that, for at least two minutes.  His breathing slowly began to steady and her tight grip on the life preserver seemed to soften. 

“I don’t want to keep you here.  I’ve told you that from the very beginning” he said in a calm, soft voice.  She tightened her grip.

“You can’t keep me Dyssi” she said through gritted teeth.

“I never said I could” he replied, taking a step closer.

She took a small step backward, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

“You expect me to be some type of quiet housewife?  I am not a piece of furniture, something to shine and show off.”

He nodded his head up and down, “I agree”

“Stop talking!” she screamed out. 

He nodded in agreement by shutting his eyes and tilting his head as if to say

‘as you wish’ .

“I gave up my dreams.  I gave up a life that might have been different from this one.  I might have been poor and tired living on a farm, but I would have been happy choosing my own life and making my own decisions.  I was not put here to make you happy and you alone.  I can’t let that go.”

She was breathing heavily, tears rolling down her cheeks.  He looked at her and his eyes pleaded, ‘can I speak?’ and she nodded yes.

“You are always free to go.  I am not here to hold you captive Calliopi mou.  You can go, but just know this, you are very mistaken to think that you would have been happy and making your own decisions on that farm.  My sole purpose is to not make decisions for you, but to help you so that you can make decisions for your own life.  Herding sheep and growing oregano does not afford you the ability to make choices for one’s self “

He waited for a reply but her eyes were blank.  She didn’t appear to be angry or sad.  For that matter, she didn’t seem to exhibit any type of emotions.

He held his hand out toward the sea, motioning to her that she was free to go.  She turned toward his outstretched hand, the Adriatic sea sparkling under the bright August sun.  He kept a close eye on her face, studying her exquisite features, searching for a hint as to what she was thinking.  Her eyes peered intently toward the sea and in an instant, she hugged the life preserver close to her, as if she was going to put it on and then in a split second, she flung it over the railing, out into the open ocean. 

She looked back at him, her shoulders falling as she exhaled deeply.

“Dinner’s at six” she said quietly and walked away.

Grandpa

He stood in front of the mirror, not necessarily admiring his reflection, but trying to make sure that he looked as presentable as possible.   He pulled at the tucked t-shirt so that it hung slightly over his waistband allowing a small sliver of his brown leather belt to show.  As he did this, he repeated to himself, “It’s so nice to meet you. My what a big girl you are!”  He shook his head in disapproval and continued to tuck at the shirt, this time a little more fervency. He had to make it perfect.  He pulled a few more times and then again looked up at his reflection.  His hair had slightly fallen out of place and he gently pushed his coif back into place.  He was lucky that even at his age and after all that he had been through he still had a good full head of hair.  Granted, it was salt and pepper, but it helped him seem distinguished.  Seem being the operative word here, he thought to himself.  He smiled at his reflection, both at the joke and at the fact that he sort of liked what he saw.  His face had weathered over the years but his skin was a lovely olive color.  His eyes crinkled in the corners but their piercing blue color seemed to overshadow any hints of aging that father time tried to throw his way.  He combed down his mustache one more time and then ran the palms of his hands down the front of his t-shirt.  “World’s Best Grandpa” he read out loud.  “Well, alright.  I’m a grandpa” he mused.   He looked over at the corner of the dresser at Cassie’s picture.  He picked up the frame and looked at her big, blue eyes.  She wore her hair in pig-tails and her gigantic grin showed a number of empty spaces where baby teeth once held residence.  She looked a lot like her father but to Mario he only saw his own daughter in his granddaughter’s face and he found himself easily falling back into a sea of memories of Nadia as a little girl.  He could hear her laughter and feel the warmth of her embrace.  Those first seven years of her life were by far the greatest but after age seven their lives started to unravel at the seams and Mario did little to help.   He lost his job and destroyed his marriage.  Over the course of the next ten years, he shut himself up in a drunken stupor, oblivious to the pain that he was causing and unaware of the distance he was creating between him  & his daughter.  Showing up to Nadia’s graduation with a pee-stained set of trousers and the smell of whiskey on his breath was the last straw for Nadia.  That was the last he saw of her.  But now, here was his chance.  To be a family again, and prove he was the “world’s greatest grandpa” like the shirt he bought said. 

Shards of glass...

I paced back and forth, my eyes glued to the floor as shards of tiny glass glittered in the sunlight.  I walked toward the north gate where I could see a tiny flower shop that undoubtedly remained upon strictly on selling floral arrangements to the cemetery across the street and then I turned south to walk toward a gate that showed an old colonial home with a hand-written sign on the window that read ‘Go Home Now’.  The day was hot and humid, which was quite typical of New York City in July.  The beads of sweat trickled down the inside of my thigh and I could feel them strike the pavement like heavy tear drops.  At any other point in my life, I would have been mortified, but now I did nothing to wipe them off. I was far beyond saving myself from any type of embarrassment as I caught a young woman staring at me from across the roadway as she sat perched on her balcony with a notebook in hand.  She was furiously jotting down notes, as she alternately would raise her head to look in my direction.  I didn’t know who she was and at this point, I didn’t really care to know.  I just knew that she must have been judging me, and that really pissed me off.  I’m sure she assumed, just like everyone else did, that I was some type of low-life or drug addict or socialist looking for a hand out.  This was all the furthest from the truth.  In fact, I was a republican who had voted for Bush, supported foreign wars and married a husband who had made tons of money in the stock market.  Naya screamed out to me, “mommy, watch me!” as she raced across the parking lot, weaving in and out of the yellow lines that were once there to help guide a star crossed lovers car into their parking space before they checked in for a night of love-making and vows breaking.  She ran quickly, her Skecher sneakers kicking up dust from the remnants of the renovation that was occurring behind me and I smiled proudly at her. “Great job my little darling!” I shouted in encouragement.  I had stopped to watch her racing against an invisible friend that she was taunting, “I’m beating you! I’m beating you!” and I found my heart aching at the thought that despite it all, she seemed to be ready to win any battle.  “Are you kidding me??” I heard an irate voice behind me as a couple that I had noticed staying here before began to argue.  They were looking down at a piece of paper that was just handed to them and looked to be in disbelief.  I looked over to the door of the main office where I had assumed they had just left from and could only see the shadow of a head behind the screen door.  I began to pace again, waiting for my turn…

Tempermental

Tempermental

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Tempermental....

 

It's like waiting for the snow, in the middle of June.  You know that it's almost impossible yet somehow you make yourself believe that it will happen.  You sit at that windowsill hoping for a flurry or two as you sip on a tall glass of cold iced tea.  You set it down next to you as you rest your head in the palm of your hands and you watch the glass prespire as the heat gets to it, and to you.  You wipe your wet forehead with the back of your free hand and wipe the sweat off on your terry cloth, Juicy Couture, "high end", "paid too much", mini skirt and you don't even give it a second thought because you are so fixated on the fact that you need it to snow. Now.

I am waiting by that window sill and it's a warm summer morning.  The kind that reeks of sunshine from the very moment that you awake.  There are birds outside happily going about their bird lives, running to and fro their nests, desperately working to feed their little ones as I patiently wait at my window sill.  Today I have taken out my ski suit and laid it out on the couch, in support of the cold weather watch.  Perhaps putting it out into the universe will help speed things along.  I've also got on my uggs and a yellow Old Navy sweat jacket on in this impossible heat and I keep chanting to myself, "it's cold, it's cold, it's cold" so that I can somehow change the order of nature with just a few mere words.  I've told very little souls of my rituals, in fact, I've told no one save for Betty and Ron.  They are the only ones who won't look down or judge me or tell me to be "patient" and to "stop stressing".  The others don't understand and quite frankly, why should they?  They are not accustomed to having the weather patterns not go their way and somehow, they are all quite well equipped for any torrential downpour, snowstorm or blistering heat they might cross.  But me, for some reason or other, I always seem to be caught in the middle of a rainstorm minus an umbrella.  This time though, I want to be prepared, I need to be prepared. I will will this if it takes every ounce of my soul.

Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

So, I wait.  I watch the tigerlillies in Ms. Fitzgerald's garden drink in the sunlight that is radiantly beaming down on them and I watch a sparrow sit on the edge of a pool of liquid that was expelled from some unfortunate child's quarter drink.   I listen to the sounds of heat: the honking of horns; the rush of a garden hose; the clunking of a lawn mower and I try not to focus on losing myself in the midst of it all.  

Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

I push myself to imagine a huge iceberg tearing its way down the street: KERPLUNK!  It shoves along mounds of dirt and little old Ms. Frankel's tea cup yorkie which is helplessly yelping under it's gigantic, icy tow.  I cry out with joy as it turns down my corner and suddenly turns everything a crispy, icy blue.  I imagine myself falling out my window, after it has left a snowy, blizzardy path and instead of bloodily crashing onto the sidewalk below, I tumble into a soft blanket of snow, face up, creating snow angels as an homage to the great white wish that I have been granted.  

I am crying now, tears matching the very drops that can be found on my already warm cup of iced tea.  For you see, it wasn't really snow after all.  Upon closer examination, it was a field full of beautiful dandelions, the white wish kind that you used to pull out of the ground when you were a little kid and "make a wish" and blow on.  They are surrounding me and the huge iceberg that I had previously imagined was nothing but a NYC garbage truck making its rounds, picking up the smelly garbage that has accumulated on our sidewalks.  Slowly, I pull my feet out of my Uggs and I take a long swig of my piss warm iced tea.  Suddenly, I look down at my sill and there, amidst my tears and disappointment lies a dandelion, waiting to be blown away......and so, I make a wish.

Guess wishing for snow will just have to wait for today.......but there is always tomorrow. 

She Said…She Said…Gwen's Side...

Gwen's Side...

She Said....She Said....

 

GWEN....

She was not sure she could pinpoint an exact moment of when it began. She couldn't begin to find a certain minute or hour or day that she could blame. Instead, the past few months had seemed to come at her in a blinding blur, as if someone had taken her memories with the man that she loved and put them on high speed in a stainless steel blender. She could remember as far back as their wedding day and all of the moments that followed soon after: their many trips overseas; their luxurious shopping sprees; the countless romantic nights. Yet, something had happened in the course of their happiness that changed everything forever. She knew it was something huge and something life altering yet oddly enough, she could not vocalize the exact reason that her marriage, and her life was falling apart.

It had happened suddenly during one of their autumnal trips to Lake George. They had visited the cabin and had a lovely weekend sitting by the fireplace, drinking brandy and eating at the country club. They had taken a small boat ride across the lake and had even managed to go for a short horse-back ride after she convinced him that he would be safe and that he would enjoy it (and yes, he did)! Everything seemed to be perfect and it was just that thought that seemed to cause a downward spiral for her. Suddenly a meek yet powerful voice whispered deep inside of her, "Everything that is perfect can't stay that way forever..." and suddenly an icy grip squeezed on her heart and even though she wore mounds of layers of clothing, she began to sweat in the chill, crispy air. She thought that a glass of white wine might calm her nerves but instead, she felt nauseated and the feeling of anxiety seemed to heighten as they packed up the G-class and headed back to the city.

He could sense that something was amiss and unfortunately, he was all too familiar to her mood swings. She hurried to search the surface of her life for the cause of her stress: too many restrictions and not enough creativity at work; meddlesome in-laws; aging. She immediately accepted these as the cause of her distress and began to furiously work at alleviating her worries. She reignited her flame for living a life as a ballerina and entertained the notion of opening a ballet studio. She worked hard to please her in-laws and hosted two dinner parties to show off some new recipes she forced herself to learn. She even dipped into her own personal savings and secretly got a Botox shot to help her feel youthful and beautiful enough for him. Of course, he noticed and he went on and on about how beautiful she had been looking lately and she attributed it to eating right and doing lots of yoga, but it was all bullshit. He didn't know though, and that was all that matters. As long as he was happy, her job was done.

Yet, even though she harbored on these trivial matters and she seemed to be taking the right steps to help alleviate her pain, the anxiety only worsened. She began to lose weight, sleep less, and cry more. He, being the ever dutiful husband, knew the routine all too well and was well versed in the actions that he needed to take in order to help her through this phase. He was supportive, understanding and caring. He took care of the chores in the house and picked up any slack at work that she might have carelessly dropped due to her mood. He stayed up at night with her when her demons invaded her dreams and he waited until she slept soundly, even though his eyes were black with drowsiness. He was amazing, and yet, she felt horribly guilty about what he had to deal with and instead of making it better, she seemed to only feel worse.

She felt as if she were grasping at strings and so at her mother's urging, she packed up her small Gucci tote and decided to head to Buffalo for a long weekend to "clear her head". "The fresh mountain air will do me good" she told him, mimicking her mother's every word. Of course, he nodded in agreement and that Saturday morning at the break of down, they drove down into the city, toward the Port Authority. He was his normal chipper self and she tried, in vain, to follow along in his spritely conversation by offering a meek smile or two during certain points in the conversation. But, even though he was sitting just a mere foot away from her, his voice seemed to be miles away as her mind drifted off into a dark, unknown place.

They sat outside the bus gate waiting for the official call to board and he held her hand tightly. Every few moments he would squeeze her hand and she would squeeze back as if to tell him, "Yes, I'm still alive". They sipped warm cups of coffee (hers decaf) out of styrofoam cups. They sat in silence yet she felt like so much was being said. When the gate keeper took her ticket, he grabbed her and embraced her fiercely and then pulled back and planted a warm kiss on her lips. She robotically pursed her lips in response and then made her way through the gate and onto the bus. She found an empty two-seater and plopped herself next to the window. She stared at him, with her fingertips pressed against the window pane as if she were trying to reach through and touch him one last time. She knew she was only going to be gone for three days, yet something deep inside told her that this would be the last goodbye from him....forever. 

She Said…She Said…Shane's Side...

Shane's Side...

She Said...She Said...

 

SHANE...

She must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed that Saturday morning but for some reason, she felt extremely hopeful for the day. She had been in a slump lately: unable to find steady work; fighting with her mother about future romantic prospects and 'when was she getting married'; and ah yes, two months behind on her rent. She went to bed last night hoping that something would change. She wasn't a spiritual or a holy woman by any means. In fact she would often check off the "atheist" box on any type of forms that she had to fill out but last night she prayed to someone out there and asked for a second chance (or third or fourth, whatever) at helping to make things right.

Carlisle had found a comfortable spot on the pillow next to her and purred softly hoping to wake her up. She would normally be quite annoyed by this but for some reason, she woke up smiling and feeling grateful for her loyal kitty. She reached over and pet the top of his cranium letting her fingers linger on the soft fur. 

For some reason, today felt like a different day.

Normally her routine for a Saturday would include scouring the help wanted ads, speaking to her agent in between running back and forth to the laundromat. As she swung her legs over the side of her bed she opted instead to take a quick walk to the local Starbucks and treat herself to a latte. She quickly grabbed a pair of faded jeans off the floor and threw on a v-neck t-shirt. She wound a colorful, striped scarf around her neck and pulled on a faded leather jacket that she inherited from ex-boyfriend #4 (she didn't call them by name after they left her life--she had to make room in her head to store new and important information). She walked over to the mirror in the hallway just as she headed out the door and tugged a teal knit hat over her head. It was only October, but the temperature outside was quickly moving from "nice fall day" to "brutally cold". Her long, dark curls fell softly to the side and her blue eyes quickly scanned her face. She took a fingertip and picked the crust out of her eye and pinched her cheeks to give her a bit of natural color. She stood back for a moment, surveyed herself and instead of the usual, "who gives a fuck" she actually liked what she saw.

"I'm telling you Rona, I am NOT going out tonight. No way. No how." 

But there she was, shimmying her slender upper body into a fabulous little sequin tank that she bought for $12.99 at Pretty Girl and matching it with a pair of faded denim jeans that she borrowed (coughstolecough) from her roommate Sharonda.  She slathered on some lipgloss that appeared to be clear with a hint of sparkle and piled on mascara so that her feeble eyelashes had a lift of some sort.    She would have loved to be doing anything but this: going out into the dark night; teetering on 4-inch heels; promising herself to NOT get drunk (only to come home later completely incoherent) and above all, not waste another minute of her time searching for Mr. Right in a place that was entirely filled with Mr. Wrong's.

This Saturday, however, would prove to be different.  And again, perhaps it was because she actually woke up on the wrong side of the bed (or perhaps it was finally the RIGHT side of the bed) but luck, it seemed, was finally going to go her way.

He stared across the dance-floor at her (as cliche as that sounds) and their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity. Rona had been busy chewing her ear off about her latest dish du jour but  Shane was barely listening.  Slowly Rona's chatter was drifting off and somehow becoming part of the background music that the DJ was playing.   He didn't seem to fit the part of the normal dude that hung out in this club.  He seemed somewhat older (well, at least older than Shane's mere 26) and his hair was not fashioned into a spikey do or quasi-mullet, as appeared to be the trend lately.  It was more of a modern, close-cropped Ken (Barbie's boyfriend) do.   It was primarily black but there were salt & pepper strands here and there that she could make out even at this distance.  He had an olive complexion, warm brown eyes and a dimple in his right cheek when he smiled, which is what he was doing at her for the last five minutes.  She shook her head quickly from left to right as if waking herself out of her daze and heard Rona's voice coming in a bit more clearly now.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"  

Rona was stretching her neck into Shane's view to try and decipher what had caught her attention.  

"Nothing, nothing.  I just thought I saw..."

Her words were cut mid-sentence as her breath caught in her throat and she noticed him walking toward her.  She tried to convince herself that he was only making his way toward her to get a drink at the bar (since she was leaning up against it) or that perhaps he had mistaken her for someone else (that happened to her all the time) but there was no way in hell, she thought, this gorgeous man was coming to talk to her.

But, today was like no other day Shane had experienced and before she knew it, this gorgeous man and her were making polite initial conversation, followed by doing shots of tequila, followed by some delicate kissing by the side of her car as he walked her there at the end of the night.   It was then that she realized she would never see him again. She only knew him for a brief few hours but already she felt like he was too good to be true: a Harvard graduate; a successful lawyer; devastatingly handsome and just a nice guy.  She braced herself for the final goodbye as he pulled away from their last kiss.   

She waited.  And waited.  But, it never came.  Instead he leaned into her ear and whispered:

"When can I see you again?"

And pulled back with the dimple on his face and she melted right into his arms.

"Let's get together later this week."   She safely replied.

"How about tomorrow?" he insisted.

She looked into his eyes for a hint of mischief or for deceit but she saw none.  She only saw a pure and open heart waiting to become hers.  She was not normally a fool for romance and her friends often encouraged her to be a bit more trusting and open to the opposite sex but Shane never found a man who gave her that good feeling.  That is, until now.

"Tomorrow" she confirmed.

He grabbed her tightly and lifted her up in the air and Shane felt like she was standing atop a geyser and it had exploded and lifted her up.  As he set her down, and she climbed into her car, he started to walk back a few paces to watch her go off.  She put the car in drive and right before she drove off, she looked at him and for the first time in her life, she saw her future flash before her eyes.

Waiting

Waiting....

waiting...

 

What is there left to do now? 

I sit at the edge of the windowsill perched on a small leather stool. I perch as if I am some small and fragile bird trapped inside of a cage. I stare from behind tiny boxes; trapped behind a window screen. I look beyond the front yard, which is littered with bits and pieces of torn paper circulars, empty coffee cups and strewn wrappers of various foods. I look beyond the neighbor’s yard where a young retarded man is taking out the trash. His ear, severely deformed, gives little support to his oversized hat and causes it to sit lopsided on his head. I look beyond the probably stolen car that has been abandoned on the street corner and is decorated with nearly a dozen orange tickets. I look beyond it all. 

What am I looking for?

I still don’t know the answer, but I find myself perched here, day after day, for sometimes countless hours at a time wondering what there is left to do now.

Sometimes I cry when I ask myself this question. Other times, I scream. Still other times, I become quite angry but I am unsure of where to unleash or direct my anger at, so instead it festers inside of me like a spoiled can of milk, rotting and infiltrating anything good that might be inside of me. I am not sure of what there is left to do now and although there is a great desire inside of me to do something, I just remain still instead, hoping that someone else will give me the answer, hoping that someone else will do the work for me, hoping for hope.

Day after day, the routine has become the same. I woke reluctantly, hoping that this day will be different. There is a tiny hope of inspiration in those first few moments when my eyes flutter open. Normally I am laying on my side and the first glimpse of the world that I see is a beautiful painting that my father had made for me when I was younger. It’s a breathtaking scene of lush trees , a bubbling brook and a small log cabin. I imagine that the air is crisp but still inviting. I imagine someone waking up in this painted paradise and going for a morning hike or possibly brewing a pot of coffee as they served home-made blueberry pie to a friend. For those brief few moments of morning I am transported to this wonderland. I can smell and taste the pie. I can hear the brook running softly in the background. I can feel the air; the cool, crisp air. I try to stay there forever.

Those moments are fleeting though and soon enough, I am drowning again; drowning in a sea of black tar, hopelessly falling deeper into the ravine of darkness. I struggle to maintain my balance. I fight to swim in the sea of rubber and by the time I have finished brushing my teeth, washing my face and peeing, I am already exhausted. The bubbling brook has dried up and the lush trees have all but disappeared. The smell of blueberry pie has diminished and the feel of the cool, crisp air has turned into an ice-chilling breath slowly making its way up and down my spine. 

What is there left to do now?

I don’t know, so I perch on my stool and stare out of the window, looking beyond everything, searching for an answer, searching for a sign. 

Searching. For. Something. 

Summer Arms

Summer Arms...

I would have never known what kind of life he lead if it weren't for those summer arms.  Had it been winter, he would have been appropriately bundled up, probably in a puffy black jacket, his hands nestled warmly into his pockets and his long hair tucked away under a knit skully.  I had imagined running into his arms as a chilling breeze nibbled at my ear.  His hot breath would come out in puffy smoke and there would be a twinge of mint masking the Marlboro red he just had on the walk over....

He was impossibly perfect to me and I couldn't imagine anything being anywhere near wrong with this man that I had suddenly and quickly fallen in love with.  He seemed to know exactly what to say and how to say it and before long, there would be an unveiling of our love and our own flesh as we pledged our adornment for one another in a more initimate way.

He sent me flowers that day, and the flurry of butterflies colliding into one another sent my head reeling.  Suddenly I found it difficult to breathe and so I brought the flowers closer to me, a bouquet of peonies, and took a long, deep inhale of the delicate fragrance.  I used their scent to send me into a meditation of sorts and almost instantaneously, I was pulled under their seemingly narcotic spell--feeling hopelessly romantic and smitten.

There was much preparation for the big night ahead and as I retraced our steps that led us to this upcoming moment I couldn't help but giggle at the whirlwind I had found myself in.  Here, I, Ms. All-Too-Practical, had fallen in love with a complete stranger and now, I found myself ready and willing to give into my carnal desires and to let him claim stake to the one thing that I prized the most...I staggered through the rest of my work day trying to focus on sending out press releases but instead found myself making mini-declarations of my true love by signing my name with his last name and envisioning a white dress and thousands of little screaming babies calling my name...

Mo-mma!  Mo-mma!

The minutes seemed to drag yet ironically fly by as well.  I hurried out the door at half past five, leaving my supervisor in a dust of what I imagined to be, little sparkly hearts that flew out from behind me as I hightailed it to the subway, hoping to catch the express train to my destiny...

The apartment was immaculate and the champage was chilled.  I prepared an almost too-perfect-to-eat filet mignon with a crisp salad on the side and decided to indulge in some chocolate covered strawberries as a form of dessert....or foreplay.....

The moment was upon me and soon we were nestled close into one another's arms as I answered the door.  He leaned down to lightly touch my lips and I imagined my envious neighboor peering in from her own window, struggling to make out our shapes amidst the frozen windown panes that were frosted with snow.

"I'll get the champagne" I managed to breathe out in a hot and lustful whisper and he smiled down at me, a half-smile of sorts, that knocked out any air that I had managed to draw into my lungs.  He. Was. Heaven.

I ran into the kitchen and I could hear him taking off his jacket. The puffy, black jacket made a soft swooshing noise as it effortlessly came off, what I imagined to be, his perfectly chiseled arms and fell onto the couch with one cool toss.  I turned, not knowing what to expect, and as my eyes fell upon his short sleeved t-shirt, I dropped the glass flutes onto the flatter, the glass shattering all over my new Prada patent pumps, but gratefully covering up the sound of my heart breaking in two....

I shook my head, breaking myself away from the daydream as I watched the Adonis turn his wheel.  It was summertime now and from what I could see, he was every bit as perfect as I had imagined he would be, save for the tattoos that were splayed all over his arm.  I sucked my teeth in disappointment, knowing full well, I would never date a man like that.....but just for a moment, for a brief cold moment in time, when his arms weren't displayed, when he didn't have summer arms.... I fell in love with that boy..

King of the Jungle

King of the Jungle

Brian never knew exactly what it was about him that made people react the way they did.  Perhaps it was the fact that he had red hair or the fact that he played the cello in his free time, but he couldn't quite figure it out.  For some strange reason people had less of an inkling to believe in the things that he did and today was no different from the rest.

He was studious in grammar school and high school always getting perfect grades.  He was awarded a full scholarship to a semi-prestigious university where he dormed with the captain of the math club and faithfully attended his 'Right to Abstinence' club meeting bi-weekly.  He wrote frequent letters to his parents at home, Martha and Jake, and often volunteered on the weekends at the emergency animal hospital in town.  He would often walk by stumbling co-eds drunk and wreckless as he finished his shift in the wee hours of the morning.  Some would say that Brian might be a little bit on the 'weird' side but he merely thought of himself as a peaceful soul who treasured moments of solitude and helping those who might be less fortunate than himself.

Then, he met Jessa.

It was a little past seven o'clock as he pulled the door to his dorm closed--firmly enough to ensure a reassuring sound of "pfft" as it securely shut yet gentle enough as to not wake his neighbors.  He gingerly stepped into his loafers, which he had carefully placed next to his Jesus Welcomes You mat and carefully turned to shuffle softly down the stairs.  He was wearing a pair of smart beige slacks and a kelly green polo that he had neatly tucked into the waistband.  His loafers, a complimentary brown, matched his belt exactly and his hair was neatly combed into what could only be identified as a Beaver-cleaver type of hairdo.  The sun beamed down as he exited from underneath the awning of the townhouse that he dormed in and rays of sunshine played amidst the waves of bright red hair that he was known best for.  A dark cloud loomed overhead and Brian looked up, squinty-eyed, to catch a large hawk flying over him peering down on the land below, probably looking for his breakfast.  Brian stopped in his tracks and shaded his eyes as he continued to watch the hawk circling over him.  He admired the flawless way it flew from side to side, cutting the air smoothly as it searched for a helpless mouse or small bird to feed on.   He watched it for a few more seconds as it started to fly further south, away from his vision and casting its cloud elsewhere, closer to the center of campus, and then began making his own trek, to his first destination.

Asian Cultural Studies taught by Professor Beantwick was one of Brian's favorite classes.  He scurried into Remsen Hall just at quarter past seven to ensure that he would get a front row seat in the lecture hall because he knew that sitting in the back would almost ensure being completely ignored by the Professor and losing out on the chance to participate in a highly stimulating conversation.  Brian was well aware that he was not a typical college student and he thrived on that.  He knew that many of his classmates were merely there to take the course as part of their electives and most showed up to class hungover or high.   Those who did not fall into that category were either daydreamers or drifters, who were merely going through the motions of college in order to please their parents.    Brian was pleased to have these types of students as his peers because it offered him the opportunity to stand out.  He wasn't particularly good looking nor was he ever a jock, but being a good and proper student allotted him the chance to have a group to belong to, albeit a small and lonely one, but nevertheless, he belonged to one.

Room 202 was visibly lit as Brian turned the hall on his heels.  He whistled a light, joyful tune as he turned the corner, eager to find his seat before the 7:45am start time when he stopped in his tracks.  There, in the very front row of the lecture hall was a slight, girl with a pixie haircut and a long feather-like earring dangling from one ear.  Her back was to him and he couldn't quite make out what her face looked like, but from the back of her head, he couldn't quite place who she was and he was always very good about distinguishing who was in his class by certain little trademarks, surely he would have remembered the pixie haircut or at the very least, the feather earring.  He stood there quietly, trying not to make too much noise so that he could continue observing her when she cleared her throat.

"I know you are back there" she said without turning.

He looked quickly from left to right searching for something to do as some sort of alibi.  He awkwardly bent over as if to pick up an imaginary piece of paper.  

"Oh, I just dropped something" he stuttered.

She lifted her head in a half nod as if to say 'yeah right' and then sighed, "Well did you pick it up?"

He looked down at his empty hand which was clamped shut as if it were indeed clutching an invisible piece of paper and he nodded his head up and down.  

"Good. Then come down here. I'm lonely."

Suddenly he felt beads of sweat frolicking along his hairline and his hands felt clammy.  He forced himself to unclutch the one and take a deep breath as he made his way down the stairs to the very first row.  As he approached it, she turned sideways to look and he could finally make out her face.  She was definitely not a regular student nor was she someone that he recognized.  He quickly registered that she must be a new admit, desperate to fill her requirements and be done with it.  For, by the looks of her, she didn't seem someone who was quite serious at all.  Her hair, cut short like a pixie, had one long strand that hung over her right eye and that was tainted a crimson color.  Her features were angular, but pretty.  Her eyes an almond shaped and her skin the color of coffee, made light and sweet.  Her nose jutted out in a bird like manner and she had a tiny stud on the left nostril.  Her lips were full and adorned with a little diamond stud that sat perfectly underneath the curve of her bottom lip.  Her neck, was bare, save for a little bird tattoo that was almost hidden by the large feather earring that she wore in her ear.   He came around, to get a closer look and he could see she was looking at him, but not quite observing him the way he was her.   She wore an off the shoulder light pink, faded sweatshirt that had obviously been custom made by her and a pair of scissors during a stormy, rainy night when she was probably bored and feeling creative.  She wore a pair of loose fitting jeans that were rolled up to the shin and a pair of black boots whose laces were undone and haphazardly hanging to the floor.  

"I'm Jessa" she said.

He quickly looked up from the boots to her face, and saw her smirking at him.  Her voice was soft and sweet, which he thought was ironic compared to how she looked.  He went to answer her and then realized his face had been contorted into a look that could only be described as if he were smelling something bad.

"I'm..."

"Brian. I know."  

He shifted his weight to one side, carefully looking at her again.  Did he know her?

"You don't know me" she answered, as if reading his mind.

"How did you know my name?"

She paused.  "I just...did."

She patted the empty seat next to her motioning for him to sit.  He obliged, setting his school sack on the left side of him on the next available chair.

"Are you new?" he asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"You could say that.  I've been around, just never in this class."

"I see" he paused and then continued, "do you have an interest in Asian history?"

She stopped then, as if contemplating and turned to look at him in the eye.  Her eyes were a delicate mixture of browns and greens, swimming together as if they were a pool of oil and street water left behind by an old Pontiac that had been parked in the same spot for days.   He looked deep into them, searching for a sign of mischief, but found that he could only focus on the color...and the warmth in them.

"I have an interest...but not in Asian history Brian."

A chill registered down his spine.  An internal urging that something was amiss yet he found himself transfixed and glued to his seat.  He gulped.  She continued.

"I took this class because I was hoping to find you Brian.  I have heard that you are....let's say...different."

He looked at her, unclear of what her intentions were.

"From who?" he asked.

"Those minor details aren't really important Brian.  I know that I look different from you, but the reality is, I am more similar to you than you think.  We have a lot of the same values and morals, and to be perfectly honest, it's refreshing to know that there are others out there whom aren't doomed to a life of sinning and imperfection."

He felt a sense of warmth build up inside of him and he turned to look away, afraid that the blush in his face would give it away that he was feeling rather complimented by her words.  He always prided himself on being different and unique, but he had to admit that it felt good to have someone who might feel the same way.  Especially someone......so beautiful.

She sensed his embarassment and set her delicate hand on his arm.  He turned to look at her beautifully tanned skin against his alabaster white arm and took notice of her fingernails which were long and painted a deep red, like the color of blood.  He looked up at her and saw that she was smiling again, this time more deeply and the twinkle in her eyes suggested that her eyes were smiling as well.  He felt himself flush.  She took a fingernail and traced his cheek starting from the side by his right eye down to his chin.  There, she grabbed his chin delicately between his hands and brought his face close to her own, so close that he could feel her warm breath coming out from between her carefully parted lips.  She smelt of mint and flowers, all rolled into one, and he closed his eyes to inhale her deeply as she took that as a sign to kiss him deeply.

For a first kiss, it was everything that he could imagine it would be.  Soft and sensual with a hint of urgency.  He always imagined that he would feel dirty during and immediately after his first kiss, but instead he felt a lightness inside of him and a feeling of hope.  After what seemed like an eternity, but only a few seconds in reality, she pulled away from him, her eyes searching for a response.   He looked at her intensely.

"I'm sorry" she replied, when he remained quiet.

He paused. Regretful.  "Don't be. It was perfect."

She smiled.  

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for his moment Brian" she sighed and continued, "it feels like forever that I've been wanting to connect with you Brian."

She squeezed his hand and he looked down at how perfectly their hands fit together.  He smiled, enjoyng the moment.  

"I've been waiting too" was all he could reply in his haze of happiness.

"I'm so glad you feel that way” and suddenly he could feel something coming. She looked up at the clock and he followed her gaze. It was half past seven.

“I don’t know how much longer we have together Brian” 

Tears began welling up in her eyes. He looked at her, confused by what she meant and she continued.

“You know, deep down, that people like us are outcasts, right?”

He thought about it for a moment and then nodded in agreement. She was right. 

“We do our work. We praise the Lord. We do the right things but no one recognizes that in this hateful, disgusting world. Instead, they focus on irrelevant things, material things, sinful things.”

His heart soared, thinking of all the times that he prayed for a woman who would understand him and would understand, what others thought of as old-fashioned ways in this crazy, modern world.

"You are right Jessa, you are so right." 

She looked hopeful again, her mouth smiling and gushing all at once, "God Brian, I love you so much"  She reached over again and this time, kissed him with an intensity that cause him to feel something that he normally deemed immoral and unGodly.  Yet now, he embraced the sensation and gave way to his yearning, clutching her by her  upper arms and drawing her close to him, sucking in her sweet mint breath and eating up her words.

She forced herself to push back, breathing in broken breaths.

"We don't have time."

He wasn't sure why she was so hell bent on the time, but he looked again at the clockand this time it read 7:35.  He looked back into her face and suddenly she seemed worried and anxious.  He touched her teach gently and she cuddled her face into the nook of his palm.

"I will take care of you, no matter what" he reassured her, "now tell me what it is you need me to do."

She smiled then, and reached over to him, whispering into his ear as time ticked on.

Daphne looked at her cellphone again: 7:52am.

 "Shit" she muttered under her breath as she dashed through the empty halls of Remsen.  She hurried to make it to room 202, bracing herself for the lashing that the Professor was sure to give her as she walked in late.  The Professor did not tolerate lateness well and considering this was Daphne's 3rd time late this semester, she was sure he was going to humiliate her in order to "teach her a lesson".  She nearly knocked into the closed door as she stumbled to catch her composure when she burst through the door and someone set off a round of fireworks, as if celebrating her entrance.  She stopped in her tracks, trying to gauge where the noise was coming from and when she noticed students looking directly at her, she tried to turn around and see if the culprit had been in back of her all along.

Brian watched as the smoke cleared and the young cheerleader at the top of the stairs stumbled, first forward and then backward.  He couldn't quite hear any of the noise, or screaming or chaos that ensued because there was a ringing sound pulsating in his ear and he wasn't sure about how to react as he held the gun straight in front of him, in the direct line of fire of Daphne Bristol.  It wasn't his intention but the way she cae into the hall startled him. So instead, he turned to his left, searching for those eyes...those pools of oil...their sense of pride and accomplishment.  Surely, Jessa would know how to comfort him in a time of uncertainity...in a time of fear.  Afterall, he had done this for her.  To show them all that being different didn't mean being invisible and that those who led a righteous life, had to be heard.  She had encouraged him to shout out those words right before he pulled the trigger.  And now, as he searched for her, searched for her feather earring in a sea full of blood and screams, he looked at her seat, only to find........that it was empty.