blind

As is the case with most, the earliest memories I can conjure are unpleasant. For some reason the pain stays with us, resonating in our memories every time we reach for them. The person who installed me was rushed and rough, taking no great care for my state of comfort. The large, clumsy fingers rammed screws through my brackets, pinning me to the wood above the window. There was a grinding as he screwed the metal into the wood. There were so many screws. When I'd been successfully mounted, they yanked my cord. For the first month it seemed, I was alone but for the occasional visitor who wanted only to pull my cord. I would collapse, all my slats coming together like a stack, rising above the window so they could peer out. I was beginning to feel like nothing more than an nuisance. I wondered why they wanted me around if they only wanted to see around me. My existence was becoming very bleak until one day some visitors arrived and decided to stay. I watched every move they made. I admired the way they moved, the parts and pieces that made them up. I was so in love with them. And after a few days they began showing me they loved me. At first they would come up to me and stick their fingers between my slats. It tickled and made me squirm. Every time they let my slats fall closed I wanted them to peek out again. Next to the tickling, my favorite was when they'd twist my wand, causing my slats to turn, warming the underside in the sun. I loved turning. To my very great delight there was a little one in the house who enjoyed twisting my wand as much as I did turning. On one or two occasions he want overboard, turning so much it made me dizzy. The worst sensation was often provided by a tiny thing I never did get a good look at. Perhaps the dog or the baby. Sometimes the small thing caught my cord as it dangled to the ground. The pull wasn't consistent, causing one half of my slats to rise while the other side remained down. It caused a sense of vertigo to permeate my existence. The sense of spilling would come over me, gripping me with anxiety. My own discomfort was the root of the problem they usually had righting me after such an incident. I shudder with the memory. The visitors were good to me. Gently they pulled my cord to raise and lower my slats. Frequently they ran a soft, smooth duster over me, brushing off the itchy dust particles that accumulated on my surfaces. When they used my door, they were careful not to slam it. Despite all their care, I could feel my screws coming loose over time. The wood was straining to hold them, and they were straining to hold me. We spent months fighting the battle against gravity, until one day the visitors had a visitor. He was huge. His shadow in the doorway when he arrived made my purpose null and void. In tow, he had a great big dog. Its head came up past the door knob. I knew if he stood, he'd maul me with those dangerous and clumsy paws. I'd seen it happen to the couch. Things were fine. They seemed to enjoy having the big man around. One day, he got the children so excited for an outing, they ran one-by-one out the door, each pull and sway putting indescribable pressure on me and those screws. When everyone was out, the big man patted his monstrously large dog and exited through my door. His enormous arm pulled a little too hard, causing my door to hit the jamb with a little too much force. The screws made a terrible grinding sound and gave out. In a flash of light and noise, I clattered to the floor. A commotion of dust swirled around. I hadn't realized it'd been so long since last I felt the caress of the duster. I felt so embarrassed, so disappointed to have fallen from my position above the window. Too much light was coming in. They'd be so upset with me when they returned. Then, as if to add injury to insult, that great big dog sauntered over to see what all the noise had been about. The clumsy creature took no care of where he stepped. He crunched two of my slats beneath his heavy paw. The sound of a snap and a crinkle rang out through the entryway. The dog's ears perked, and I saw the faces of every man, woman, and child that had ever come through this room. I remembered every hand--delicate, pudgy, sweaty, calloused--that had wrapped around my cord. They all pulled differently. But none of it mattered now, because the beast liked the sound of my slats cracking and bending. In a matter of seconds he was all over me. His front paws pushed while his back paws pulled. I felt some slats break in two. Some were torn at the eyelet, rendering my strings useless for raising and lowering them. I was being brutally destroyed, and no one was around to save me. The dog tired after what felt like hours. For some time it would attack, then leave, then return to destroy me some more. By the time it disappeared for good, I was in a dozen pieces. The sun had set, the room was dark. I worried they wouldn't find me until morning when they needed me again. I was so scared and so alone, broken on the floor. And then I was being lifted into the air. Two careful hands had gathered all my parts. I was being moved out of the house, away from the beast. That was good enough for me. I was carried into the garage and placed in a heap on the table. After some time, everyone else returned. Within the house the big dog was scolded. I took no satisfaction in this, because throughout all the shouting and speaking, two words kept standing out to me. Wood blinds. Wood blinds. "I've been thinking of putting in wood blinds for a while." I thought of my window. It would be so bare without me. I remembered the tickling fingers, how amazing they felt. I hated that stupid animal for ruining me. I hoped they'd kick the big man out. As it was, the big man took responsibility of making things right. He spent a great deal of time in the garage, working with super glue and vices and Creedence Clearwater Revival. He had very nimble fingers for his size. I observed patiently as he put me back together. When his work was finished, I felt different. Incomplete. I knew how I looked. I knew I didn't belong on the door anymore. In fact, when the time eventually came for the big man to leave, he tucked me beneath his great big arm and carried me out the door I had always belonged to. I looked up at my window. Sure enough, it was adorned with a beautiful set of white wood blinds. The slats were so thick, so sturdy. So white. The pull string was convenient and short, never to drag on the ground. Its ends were capped with white porcelain teardrops. They were the finest window coverings I had ever witnessed. I envied them with every fiber of my being. The big man placed me in the trunk of his car. He slammed the lid, enclosing me in blackness. There I stayed for days. He never once opened the trunk. He didn't expand my slats or turn them. He didn't tug my string. I felt neglected and unwanted. I considered jamming up forever, tying a knot just beneath my gears so they could never open me again. I realized how irrational I was being, and reminded myself they'd take me out eventually. I thought endlessly of the big man. He hadn't put me back together just so he could keep me in his trunk. I endured the darkness. One magnificent autumn day, the trunk lid swung open. The big man rifled around a bit, moving things, pulling some items into his arms. He didn't even glance at me. He was just about to close the lid again when a bright red leaf swirled past his ear and fell into the open trunk. It landed gracefully on my slats, and I hoped he'd remember why he ever fixed me in the first place. His fingers touched first the leaf, plucking it from me and discarding it outside the vehicle. Then his hand wrapped around me. He lifted me from the trunk and slammed it closed. He carried me--along with the other items--into a building. On every window was a set of blinds that looked just like me! Some were up, some down. People wre all around, some peering between slats. My hopes soared. The big man carried me into a separate room. Everything was white. in the middle of the room was a metal bed, a thin white mattress under a thin white sheet. I didn't have much time to look around. In moments the big man was holding me above the window. He was very careful as he inserted fresh screws into my brackets. He turned them gently, deliberately, as if taking care not to hurt them. When they were all securely in place, the man stepped back. he smiled at me and carefully lowered and raised my slats. It felt so good, like stretching. I was immediately grateful I'd endured the trunk. The big man left. Visitors came and went. I hung around for good news and terrible. I hung around witnessing birth and death. I saw the entire spectrum of human emotion. In a way, I lived. Through it all, I've never stopped getting tickled by peering fingers, turned in the sunlight, and caressed by the delicate surface of the janitor's duster. And for all the years I've hung here, I've never had to deal with another dog.

un-expectations

“Janine, please stop. People are going to think I’m a monster.” I placed my hand gently on the back of her elbow. She was shaking. “We can figure this one out. There’s nothing to worry about.”
She brought her shining eyes up to meet mine. They were rimmed red and still infinitely beautiful. I felt my emotions catch in my own throat and I wondered if I really believed the words I was whispering to my girlfriend of 14 months. I wanted to believe it was the truth—that we could find a simple solution.
We were standing in front of a convenience store somewhere in Nebraska, en route to Janine’s parents’ house in Cleveland, Ohio. We were almost exactly 1,000 miles east of my family, and 1,000 miles west of hers. And wouldn’t you know it? Janine was going to be a mom. The news—only just acquired from a pregnancy test both purchased and used in the gas station—hadn’t quite sunk in for me. All I wanted to do was get back behind the wheel of my Jeep Compass and get on the road again. I was done with Nebraska only moments after we’d entered it. I hated the god-forsaken state, as nothing good ever happened in Nebraska.
“I can’t stop,” Janine managed. She then buried her mouth and nose in the soggy tissue she was clutching, and continued to weep. I sighed and cast my eyes to the horizon.
The sky was pale and expansive. I had known when I awoke that morning in our Salt Lake City hotel that it was going to be beautiful weather. I had known as soon as Janine exited the hotel bathroom with no color in her face and a sour scent on her breath that the weather would be the last pleasant thing in my life for a while. We had only put 30 miles between us and the hotel when Janine demanded we stop and buy a pregnancy test. And those are the events that brought us here: me gazing at the line where light meets land, Janine falling to pieces beside me. I wrapped one arm around her and kissed the crown of her head. “It’s all okay,” I assured us both. “Let’s get in the car and we’ll be to your mom’s house before you know it.”
With some effort, I coaxed Janine into the passenger seat and helped her fasten her seatbelt. I kissed her twice, asking if she was alright and getting nothing more than a sad shrug of her shoulders. Reluctantly, I closed her door and walked around to my side of the car. Before I even reached for the handle, I heard someone call me from the direction of the fuel pumps.
“Hey. Is she going to be alright? I couldn’t help noticing . . .” the man trailed off, making it sound like he was unsure what it was he had noticed. He was in the process of cleaning his windows, and he held the squeegee lifelessly in his left hand while he addressed me. I glanced at Janine through the window. She wasn’t looking at me, but I held one finger up anyway, to let her know I’d be a minute.
I crossed the parking lot to where the stranger stood beside his town car. The grill was smattered with bugs, but the windshield gleamed in the mid-morning light. “She’s pregnant,” I blurted without ado. “She’s freaking out.” I shot the stranger a helpless expression, hoping that somehow I could convince him I would be receptive to any advice he could offer me.
The man had close-set eyes and poufy grey hair. He was reminiscent of Will Farrell, add fifteen or twenty years. I hoped he was as good-natured as the comedian seemed in all his films, of which I’d always been a fan. The man smiled, his lips closed in an attempt to hide a snaggle-tooth in the top row. “We’ve all been there, my friend,” he said warmly. “My advice to you is to make an honest woman of her.” Before I could protest, or even offer a response to his suggestion, he added, “That’s what I did, and I have been a happy man all my life.”
He nodded towards the front of the convenience store, and I saw a beautiful middle-aged woman. She was holding hands with a boy who looked about seven years old. They were each licking at a freshly-made soft-serve ice cream cone and they were smiling and talking quietly. They looked both ways before crossing the parking area and arriving at the car where I stood with the missing piece of their perfect little family. I nodded at the woman, who smiled in return and proceeded to help fasten the child in the back seat, which was littered with toys and coloring books.
“Well, thank you for the advice, sir,” I offered the man my hand and he shook it. “You have a safe drive.”
The man smiled and gestured to my car across the way. “I trust you’ll do right by her,” the man offered with an encouraging nod before returning the squeegee to the bucket full of bug-ridden window washing fluid.
I strolled back to my Jeep, feeling just a little less burdened than I had before. I pulled open the driver’s door to find Janine had lowered the back of her seat and was dozing peacefully. Her head tilted to the right so I couldn’t see her features, only the pane of her cheek and the delicately exposed flesh behind her ear and the side of her neck. There was a pale, wiry vein curving behind her ear, punctured as it was with a vacant earring hole. I was so tempted to reach across the space between us and caress her sleeping form. I resisted, and slid silently behind the wheel. I turned the engine and Janine tipped her head the other way. The disturbance caused her to open her eyes. She looked at me with such depth and sincerity, my breath caught.
“I love you,” she breathed before letting her eyes fall closed again. As I pushed the car into Drive, I couldn’t hide the smile that spread like wildfire across my tinted face. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I touched the horn to draw the attention of the grey-haired man. He looked up at me through his windshield and offered me a warm smile. I decided that whatever happened on the other end of our 1,000-mile journey, I would do right by Janine.
That day we drove for thirteen hours and stopped for the night in a tiny town just shy of the Indiana border. Once when I was a child, I had camped with my family somewhere in Montana at a Kampgrounds of America. It had been one of the best overnight activities of my youth, and ever since Janine and I embarked on our trip, I had been hoping to take her to a KOA. She was not in on the surprise, however. As we pulled off the highway her spidey senses began tingling. She sat taller in her chair and muttered something about not having seen a hotel sign.
“I have a surprise for you,” I said with the same unabashed excitement with which men had been using to present the line for hundreds of years. I braced myself for Janine’s less-than-enthusiastic response.
“Jake,” she breathed, the syllable dripping with disapproving discomfort. “I am not sleeping at a KOA. I am with child.”
I tried not to grind my teeth too hard. She noticed when my jaw was tense. “Pretend it is fourteen hours ago and you have no idea what’s going on inside your body.”
“I know what goes on in my body, Jake,” she said with weak defensiveness. “I knew what was going on,” she whispered while one hand slipped subconsciously across her stomach.
As much as I needed the scents of fresh air, campfire smoke, Off! Mosquito Repellant—I let the KOA issue drop. I told her it was only 20 miles to a Hilton and she relaxed against the leather back of the front seat. I watched her for a moment, studying the way she melted against the material. I wanted to be that plush car seat more in that moment than I ever thought possible. I wanted to be her reason to exhale. I wanted to be there when she landed.
It took all my effort, but we managed to drive through to the Hilton I had promised. Janine was so exhausted, she climbed in the bed fully clothed and was asleep before I’d finished bringing our bags up from the car. The trip was turning out nothing like I’d expected a few days before. I had envisioned us getting frisky and falling asleep in a sensuous, naked embrace every night between the fresh, white sheets. I sighed and turned out the lamp light, removing my clothes and carefully crawling into bed beside her. I took notice that she had two pillows under her head, and one pinned between her knees as she slept on her side. My spot was left bare. I considered lying down on my own arm, as I was pretty exhausted as well. But I managed to find the energy to call down to the front desk for an extra pillow. When it arrived, I propped it beneath my own head and slipped in behind my girlfriend. I wrapped my legs beneath hers and draped one arm over her small stomach. I fell asleep lost in visions of a grey-haired version of myself, my gorgeous wife Janine licking at a soft-serve ice cream cone.
Janine was already up and out of the bed when the light spilled through the hotel curtains, dragging me reluctantly out of my sleep. I rolled over and saw her elbow around the edge of the wall that separated the main room from the bathroom area. She was doing her hair, which was a good sign.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I heard her sweet voice lilt. She sounded infinitely more positive than she had at any point the day before.
“Morning,” I managed, pulling my aching body from beneath the tangled sheets. As always, we had kicked the comforter to the ground during the night. I bent to pick it up, and let out a groan. Driving for long periods of time sometimes got my back to hurting, an ailment I had yet kept from Janine. There were plenty of other things she wasn’t aware of, but as I considered the tiny byproduct of our lust that was growing rapidly inside her, I decided there would be enough time to fill her in.
“You okay?” she asked, tilting at the hips so she could see around the wall. Her eyes were concerned, adorned in makeup as they were.
I waved one hand in a gesture that suggested she not worry about it, and walked the space of the room so I was standing beside her. Her features looked so strange and crooked in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. It caused my heart to jump, the sensation that the woman I had awoken to was someone different than the one I had laid down with the night before. I turned her to look at me, and the emotions I usually felt upon looking at her returned to normal. I kissed her on the mouth, savoring the taste of her toothpaste. Without a word, I ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
The water cascaded through my hair, washing it over the back of my neck till it almost brushed my spine. I spat the droplets that had found their way into my mouth as I turned beneath the stream. I could see steam curling above the shower curtain, painting the mirror the color of clouds. The soap was harsh, hard as the water. It left my skin feeling dry and zapped. I missed my own shower, my Old Spice body wash. I turned the handle to the off position and stood within the confines of the porcelain until I was ready to brave the chill of the bathroom beyond the curtain. I pulled it back and was surprised to see Janine sitting on the toilet fully clothed; the lid down.
“Missed me?” I asked as I reached one dripping arm over her shoulder to the stack of towels the hotel staff had left us. I removed a towel, whipped it out, and wrapped it snugly about my slender waist.
“I don’t know how I got any sleep last night, but I did. So I’m well-rested. Is it okay if we start out with me driving today?”
I pretended to mull over the question, weighing the pros and cons of saying “yes” to her sweet, child-like inquiry. “Do you have a clean record?” I jested.
“As clean as your butt,” came her retort. She then stood and wrapped her arms around my exposed shoulders. She smiled up at me, and I took in every aspect of her beautiful face. Her light hair was beginning to frizz in the steam of the bathroom. I knew she hated it, but I thought the halo of fly-aways around her face was endearing. I brushed one out of the way before I kissed her.
“Okay, you can drive.”
Forty minutes later, with our bellies full of continental breakfast and an endless river of road stretching before us, we recommenced our journey. The car rules stated that whoever was driving got control of the stereo, so I sat patiently through several hours of Kate Nash, Regina Spektor, Alanis Morissette, and other female power singers. It was good to see Janine so animated, singing and belting the lyrics she knew so well. She was actually a good singer, and I was mildly surprised to find myself enjoying her vocal accompaniment to the music. For the first time, I found myself wondering about whether our child would be a good singer. The sensation that filled my stomach and limbs was so total and so foreign, I had to hold on to something. My sudden reach for the roll bar did not escape Janine’s notice.
“What is it?” she asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter with her left hand and turning the knob on the radio with her right. The music played quietly in the background while Janine glanced at me over and over, unwilling to take her eyes off the road for too long at a time.
I let my jaw open and close a couple times, unable to find words to capture what I was feeling. It was like the most powerful sensation of love I had ever felt, and I realized that no matter what happened between Janine and me, there would always be a part of our love for one another captured in the existence of the tiny child growing inside her. My mind darted back to the man at the gas station the day before, and I said the first thing that came to my cluttered mind.
“Pull into that rest stop.”
Without any further inquiry, Janine hit the right turn signal and maneuvered into the rest stop that had conveniently come up on our route. She parked the vehicle and turned her attention to me. “What’s wrong, Jake?”
I couldn’t bring my eyes to meet hers. I knew I’d get overwhelmed. “Can we get out of the car?”
At this point we’d made it to the western end of Ohio. The rest stop was situated beside a pleasant man-made lake. I exited the Jeep and walked to the nearest edge of the lake. I hardly noticed the family enjoying a picnic on the far side of the lake. I turned my full attention to Janine, who was standing uncomfortably on the edge of the water beside me. Without a word, I dropped to my knee and took Janine’s nimble hand in my own thick, clumsy ones. I looked up at her, grateful the sun was behind me, causing the light to hit Janine’s beautiful, bright eyes. She knew exactly what I was doing, but she said nothing.
“Janine,” I began, barely able to get through those first syllables. “I want to do right by you. But more importantly, I know that I want to spend my life with you; not only as the father of your child, but as the man who will stand beside you through everything.” I cleared my throat, a weak attempt at brushing away the emotions that were curling up through my stomach like smoke. “Will you be my wife?”
Janine was crying openly. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and cast her eyes to the small family on the other side of the water. I peeled my eyes away from her lovely face, and took in the same sights. The dad was holding a small girl on his lap. The little girl was shrieking with every bounce of her father’s knee. The mother was showing a little boy something very small. Their heads were leaning together conspiratorially. I knew Janine was trying to visualize us in the same roles. I hoped she liked what she saw.
“Thank you,” she said after a pause, “For not doing this in front of my family.” I looked up at her again, just in time to witness the beauty of her face as it split into a radiant smile. I knew her answer. “Of course I’ll marry you, Jake.”
She let me off the hook for not having a ring, and allowed me to purchase her a soda from the vending machine. She even gave me the keys and said her mind was too occupied to keep driving. I took this as a good sign and was grateful to have full control over the stereo. Truth be told, I was so appreciative of my new fiancé, I even left Regina Spektor playing.
We arrived at Janine’s parents’ house around eleven that night. We were both strung out from the road, and irritable to boot. To my great delight, Janine had the kind of parents who could read a person’s emotions. They let me go straight to the basement bedroom they had set up for me. Her dad assured me we’d have a nice, long, getting-to-know-you chat over breakfast. I was so tired, I didn’t even let this daunting bit of news bother me as I prepared for bed.
The house was small, and the bedroom took up half the basement. It was colder than I had prepared for, and I asked Janine if she could bring down an extra blanket. She said she’d have to sneak down past her father’s study door. When I reminded Janine she was twenty-four years old, she reminded me her father was the pastor of his congregation. It would be extremely unfitting for his daughter to spend the night with her boyfriend. Janine hadn’t agreed with her dad’s religious practices since middle school, however, and shortly after midnight I heard her on the stairs.
I watched her toes step delicately from one stair to the next, the shimmering silver toenail polish catching what little light was spilling from the main floor. Her slender ankles came next, and the curve and swell of her calves as they morphed into her flawless knees. She was wearing a tiny pair of shorts, and a form-fitting tank-top beneath a loose sweater. She looked like the epitome of comfort carrying a large quilt.
“Well, hello,” I whispered into the darkness, anticipating her eyes lighting on mine.
Janine looked at me seductively, and my body responded. At that moment her father’s office chair squeaked upstairs and I silently pleaded with my body to cooperate. I managed to relax just as Janine reached the side of the bed. She unfolded the quilt and spread it over the queen-sized mattress on which I laid. Just as she turned to go back upstairs, I stopped her.
“He won’t know if you stay for a couple minutes,” I reasoned.
Janine looked worried, but said nothing. She slipped into the bed beside me, wrapping her legs around mine. She was so warm I thought there might be something wrong. I asked her about it. “My mom keeps it, like, 80 degrees upstairs,” was her casual response. I knew she was tired as I was, but it felt like something was off. I wondered if her parents had given her a talking-to already. Though this didn’t seem likely, I couldn’t get the notion to leave me long enough to sleep comfortably. I tossed and turned and lie awake staring at the ceiling for much of the night. I was so distracted by my thoughts, I didn’t even remember to wake Janine and send her back upstairs before sunrise.
I heard the first sounds of life around eight the following morning. It amazed me how thunderous the footsteps of a hungry teenage brother could sound from below, as he ran down the stairs to join his parents for breakfast. I heard his voice first. “Janine’s not in her room,” he said casually—not accusing, merely stating the fact. At the words, my heart stopped and I looked beside me, where Janine was sleeping as peacefully and gracefully as any of the angels her father preached about. Before I woke her, I heard the tell-tale scooting sound of her father pushing his chair away from the table. There were footsteps, and then, “Janine? Are you down there?”
I shook her shoulder hard, more intent on waking her quickly than doing it delicately. “Janine, get up,” I hissed, praying to a god I didn’t believe in to keep the pastor at the top of the stairs. “Your family is awake,” I tried.
Janine muttered something about time, ignoring my pleading. I knew she didn’t remember where she was, or she’d be as eager to join the living as I was. I shook her shoulder again, aggressively. “Your dad is talking to you.”
These seemed to be the magic words. Janine sat up, her eyes wild and confused. “Where is he?” she asked, at top volume.
“I’m up here, young lady,” came his dark, disturbing response. “You’ve got one minute.”
Janine shot me a horrible look that reminded me it had been my job to wake her, to send her back to her room. She threw off the blankets that had uncharacteristically lasted through the night, and was just about to storm up the stairs when I saw the scene that made my heart stand still. Janine’s shorts were stained, as were the sheets beneath them. The color was vicious and offensive, it reeked of metal. My stomach churned at the realization that it was blood. I leaned over my side of the bed and let out a sticky, putrid stream of vomit.
“What’s going on down there?” was her father’s response to my upheaval. My eyes were watering, my ears ringing, my stomach writhing in upset. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should turn and face my future father-in-law, or if I should recover, be a man, and see to the needs of my fiancé, who would, in a matter of seconds, notice what had happened inside her body during the night. God only knew what kind of response the discovery would merit from Janine.
The steps on the stairs told me the older man was slowly descending. I was through vomiting, having expelled what little matter had remained in my stomach through the night. I turned to Janine, my eyes wild and pleading, despite my best efforts to remain collected. She wasn’t looking at me anymore. Her eyes were glued to the mess all around her. Her mouth was open just a little, the complete horror of the situation not yet registering on her sleepy face. I could feel the tears breaking past the barrier of my eyelids. I felt weak and defenseless.
“What in the hell?” was her father’s enraged response to the scene when he reached the foot of the stairs. Neither one of us heard him as he began to rant. Janine scooted closer to me, and I had no choice but to wrap my arms around her and hold her as we both fell to pieces at the end of the whirlwind ride that made up the past couple of days.
Oblivious to the anger, the sadness, and above all the confusion that was trickling down the stairs and accumulating in the puddle of Janine’s family, I held her while she sobbed. Our shoulders shook with the pain and confusion of what had occurred in the course of three days. At some point we had created a child, learned of its existence, and devastatingly lost it all before we really knew what a miracle we had possessed. I took a deep, stabilizing breath and pulled back from Janine. I placed my clumsy hands on either side of her face, and steadied it. I bore into her eyes with mine, and I whispered with enough passion and intensity to move mountains, “I will always want you. This doesn’t change a thing.” Without a word, I tore the hem of her ruined shorts and fashioned from it a tiny ring. I said nothing as I slid the piece of fabric over her knuckle and let it rest between her middle and pinky fingers. We looked at the ring, and then at each other, and the look we shared solidified the knowledge that no matter what happened down the road, Janine and I would be ready.

bedtime

i let my head roll to the left, then to the right. i breathed in deeply; exhaled slowly. i considered shifting positions, but decided against it. it wasn't worth the noise or the risk of waking my roommate. i closed my eyes tightly, but when your face was all that filled my view, i flicked them open again. i tried making out faces in the ceiling, but it was too dark. i had made sure no modicum of light could disrupt my insatiable desire to just sleep. every night i went through the trouble of shutting down my entire computer and entertainment system, so no blinking monitors or power strips could annoy. on a slow day in shop class i had covered two pieces of cardboard with aluminum foil, and every night i would place them snugly within the borders of my bedroom window. i would run a strip of duct tape around the edges, top, and bottom of my bedroom door, should my roommate come home in the night and flick on the hall light. i was prepared for sleep in every way, but it would never come. i don't know how to explain it any other way than to say you took the night away from me.
in days gone by, i used to be excellent at sleeping. i could fall asleep in under two minutes, and i could remain in the same position for nearly eight hours. my dreams were vivid and colorful. my sleep was always entertaining while restful. my bed and i shared a phenomenal relationship. i had never before let another person in, and i refused to sleep anywhere else. but then you came along.
we'd been dating four months already; i felt it was high time to let you spend the night. i remember i was already under the covers when you exited the bathroom in nothing but a tight cotton camisole and an adorably sexy pair of boyish x-men panties. i pulled back the soft, down comforter. i remembered the way the matress sunk beneath your delicate weight. your smooth legs slid down the length of the two sheets, brushing against the hairs on my legs, causing everything from my toes to my navel to begin tingling. you lulled me to sleep that night with the whispers of your thoughts. they flowed from your sweet, pink lips like spring water; washing my mind with their purity. i slept in the arms of angels that night.
the following night, i didn't even have to ask you to stay. you slid in beneath the sheets behind me and wrapped your slender arms around my chest. i played with your knuckles in the dark of the room, wishing it were light so i could count the fine hairs on each one. i breathed in the scent of your palm and smelled the same soap my mother had always bought when i was a kid. instead of my falice growing, my heart swelled and i wondered if that might be a taste of what it felt like to love.
as time went on, i grew even more in love with you in dreams than i did in the waking hours. that is not to say i didn't love you indelibly in the daylight; it only means the night was an ecstatic and euphoric time for me. i went so far as to invite you to nap beside me. you laughed, but never gave in. your life was too busy for that. i should have known better.
it was two entire years before you grew bored of sleeping with me. or maybe you were bored by some other facet of our relationship. whatever it was that drew you out the door, you followed it and never looked back. ever since that first night when all i could feel was your absence, i haven't been able to sleep. every night since that dreadful one, i have found myself lying flat on my back, begging some unseen gods to help me find relief. all my attempts have been unsuccessful.
i tried to imagine you there with me again, but it was such a vain mockery of my memories of us, i stopped. some nights, when sleep almost caught up to me, i felt the phantom sensation amputees sometimes speak of. my bed would sink on your side, and my leg hairs stood on end. my whole countenance went rigid and i couldn't get the feeling to leave. such sweet torment i felt those nights as i tossed and turned beneath the now-foreign sheets that adorned my sacrificial bed.

from left field

It seemed no matter where she looked, nothing looked the way it was supposed to. Nothing looked how she was used to seeing it. Even the sky was different. It glittered green, it was even paler than the usual sky blue. The clouds were pink. On really stormy days the sky looked like a watermelon, cut open. She thought it was beautiful. Some days she spent hours lying on her back in the bluegrass watching the sky morph and change. When she did go on walks, there was always something new and more intriguing lurking around the corner. One bright Tuesday morning she rounded a turn in the path to discover a walking, talking palm tree. Its leaves were a brilliant blood red and they shimmered in the early sun. The palm tree smiled at the girl. The girl waved, still half in awe of the brilliance of those leaves, spanned out so far above her head. She put her car in third gear and gunned past the palm tree, leaving it and its smile in her dust. At the bottom of a steep downhill slope, the girl—we shall now name her Elle—came upon a most glorious sight. There was a pool with the shadow of a rainbow coloring its surface. Frolicking in the water and running on the grass around it, were a dozen or so fluffy white puppies. Lurking back, in the shadows, were a few tiny kittens, barely able to lift their own heads; not quite ready to survey the scene. Elle approached the enclosure where the puppies and kitties reluctantly roamed. Standing near the entrance was a large bird. Elle would later identify it as an ostrich: an ostrich that bore a striking resemblance to Big Bird from her youth. She spoke with the ostrich, keeping her mouth in a big, round O as she spOke each wOrd. The ostrich informed her what the enclosure was. It was a farm. A breeding ground where only the most loving, friendly, compassionate puppies and kitties were produced. It was a euphoric place for breeders of ideal puppies and kitties. They were frequently paying the ostrich their two pence to spend an hour in the enclosure, admiring the young new animals. The ostrich offered Elle a discount of only one pence. She searched her pockets but could not find even half a pence. She explained this to the ostrich but he showed her no mercy. He rudely directed her up the hill to a second-rate kennel where crazy and vicious animals were accidently bred, only because the man in charge was a sparrow. He had no authority over the dogs, whatsoever. Elle decided not to go that way. She did not want to go somewhere she could accidentally be wounded. She sadly walked past the utopian dog kennel and hopped into her buggy that she had been cruising about in all this time. She put the car in gear and rolled down the hill and away from the many dogs. She dipped low until she was heading quickly down a beach towards some deep, purple water. Rather than step on the breaks, she pressed the gas and plunged into the sea. She kept going down until the pressure on the little car became a concern. But lower she went and the buggy held strong. She saw little cities from the future, in bright colors. She saw the statue of a woman holding a torch. She saw a tower, like a needle pointing straight towards the sky. There was a Golden bridge and a wall that stretched across the whole space. It was so beautiful down there on the bottom of the sea. There were tiny little fish that glowed in the water. They would look like stars to the tiny organisms living down among the sandy sidewalks. She was swimming among the stars, Elle thought. She tried looking around for more new discoveries, but the light was becoming dim. She turned on the headlights to her little vehicle, and they lit up only a small radius. She was not satisfied with the outcome, and she was going deeper still. As the pressure increased, Elle began to fear. Her stomach tied into a knot. Just then, the buggy crashed through the ceiling of a great big cave. The buggy fell like a pebble from top to bottom, and when it clattered down, the girl popped out. She looked up at the interior of the cave, and could scarcely believe her eyes. She looked up into a glorious atmosphere. It was like staring into the pictures from the Hubble Space Shuttle. It was bright and colorful and infinite. She stared at the ceiling until her head felt like a cloud that might float away and dissipate. She didn’t want that to happen, though. She closed her eyes tightly and looked down at the ground. Her head became a solid again, and she began following the path on foot. She saw giant one-dimensional Salvador Dali paintings, done in neon paints, glowing from black lights. She was having a psychedelic trip, feeling free and easy and afeared of nothing. She strolled along the neon-lit path. She reached a comfortable wooden door, knob on the right. She turned the knob and the door allowed her through. She walked down a great corridor, then down the steps to an endless ballroom. All the beautiful people she had ever seen in life or read about in magazines were twirling around the dance floor. The most handsome men were dancing with the B-list beauties. The Cougars were discussing facelifts and the DJ was a giant Swordfish, wearing a Tuxedo t-shirt. He was spinning 80s music and the bass was thumping. Elle had never seen or heard such a sound. She couldn’t help tapping her feet to the beat, just itching to join the beautiful people on the dance floor. She had just descended the stairs when the mood of the music turned sensual. Fields of Gold washed through Elle’s ears. She was very familiar with this song, she thought. She had lived her life to the tune of this song. Always mellow and unique. Always far eastern, never becoming the West Valley type. She was true to herself and all those she loved. She became a woman to that song that was now filling the ballroom. She searched the crowd of glamorous celebrities for the perfect partner with whom to dance. She glanced through the eyes of all her favorites: Russell Crowe, Robert Downey Jr, Colin Ferrell, Bruce Willis. Her eyes danced across Zac Efron’s and Bradley Cooper’s. Then they lighted on a pair of deep brown eyes, held in a tight manner, unsure of this beautiful woman he now had in his sights. She panned out from those perfect eyes and discovered the perfect nose and lips and jaw and hair that was Hugh Jackman. He was heroic even in person. When he saw the way her lip trembled, he eased his expression and his stance. He bid a quiet hello to the girl who was standing in the center of the ballroom. Elle could barely walk as she moved towards the prince before her. She extended her hands and the man took them both. He pressed his lips to the delicate skin between her knuckles, and the sky exploded with color. Elle could scarcely breathe, she was so entranced with the man. He was in every way flawless. From head to broad toe, he was the epitome of everything attractive and right and just in the world. He was the utopian man. Elle’s mind flashed to the perfect kennel where all the brilliant puppies and kitties were kept. But as her hands touched his forearms, any thought of overgrown pests went from her mind. She now had in her hands the girth and heat and passion of a real, human man. Her heart was hammering to beat the band. Her cheeks were flushed a red apple hue. She looked beautiful in all her embarrassment. The man leaned in to place a curious kiss on her lips. They kissed, passionately as can be expected. Then the camera panned out and away from the girl and her new mate. It showed the pond. The one with the rainbow surface. There were singing, dancing dolphins, twirling on the surface of the water like fountains. They were beautiful and shimmery as they sung and spun, looking like glory herself. Out came a lobster playing the electric guitar, making it scream and cry. It was a magnificent jam session with the crab playing the baby grand. Those dolphins kept singing and swaying until they began spinning and everyone got a bit of a headache as they twirled out of sight. The sun set. The stars and the moon rose bright in that deep green sky. It was like a green felt pool table with the contrast turned up. It was so green, nearly black. The stars looked pink, like little dots of watermelon in a vast shell.
As Elle looks up at that vast of sky, she notices the trees swaying at the outskirts of her vision. She is in a field, so it’s her field of vision. It’s a forest of those beautiful red palm trees. They’re like Midnight in Moscow red-black in this hollow night, when the stars look so distant. Elle walks to them and places her ear against the slow-moving trunk of the nearest giant palm tree. She hears beautiful music, the swells and dips of her favorite ballads and dirges. She hears Nick Cave and Mika and Norah Jones all serenading her, slowly and sweetly, with pain in their collective heart. Just as a tear wells up in her eye, Elle hears something rustle through the trees. She squints her eyes and discovers it’s a life-size My Little Pony. It’s a very pale yellow with a shooting star painted on its hindquarters. Elle can’t resist letting a smile spread over her face as she admires the pony’s shimmering white mane. She reaches out her hand, as if asking the pony if she may touch. The pony nods, and then giggles. “You know, I can speak,” the smooth, plastacine animal coos. Elle laughs as well and begins to carry on a conversation with the Little Pony

my name is mud

I looked down at the boots I had stolen. When I'd picked them up they'd been shiny black rubber. Now they were caked with a rich brown mud. The soles were disappearing in the muck with each step I took. I reveled in the squishing, squelching sound as I removed my foot and tromped again. I had always had such heightened auditory senses. I appreciated the seasons for their unique sounds: birds chirping in the summer, the infinitesimal sizzling of the sun on asphalt; the crunch and crackle of leaves and fire in the fall. I adored the audible silence of snow on snow, small animals breathing, the chomping noise of walking through a field of white in winter. In spring it was the mud. The mud and the movement of the trees as they pushed forth new and beautiful blossoms. I was very fond of the newness.

My arms were swinging in my sleeves, brushing against the top of my pants. The coat didn't belong to me, either. It was a dark wool exterior with a crimson satin liner. I loved the smooth swish of my arms against the fabric as I moved. For a change, I twirled my arms like windmill blades and listened to the zipping noise it produced. I wished I were as powerful as a windmill. I looked down at my small hands: punctuation marks on a short, slight frame. There was mud on the hem of the jacket, and lining the fingernails on my left hand. I didn't remember falling, but anything could have happened in the night. It had been such an incomprehensible blur. I swallowed the clouded memory and kept squishing along.

I didn't know where I was going. I had inadvertently run into the marsh in my desperation to escape the bad men. My brother had told me horses didn't do so good in the mud. He was always making things up, but this morsel of advice I chose to believe. If he was right, I figured I'd be home free. If he was wrong, well, I'd just end up in the orphanage right alongside him. That couldn't be the worst fate, could it? I shook this thought away and soldiered on.

Somewhere to my right I heard the rhythmic croak of a bullfrog. I squinted through the swamp trees and growth for the noisy amphibian, but had no luck. I wished I could camouflage myself with such ease. There was no telling who would spot me struggling through the mud, sticking out in my stolen wool coat like a black sheep in a flock of white. I hunched my narrow shoulders and kept my head down. Maybe my cap of dark brown curls would deceive any onlookers. Maybe they'd think I was just another weed.

After some distance, I heard the crackling and popping of a fire. I wondered first how anyone would start a fire burning in these wet conditions. I lifted my head and sniffed the air. It was a cooking fire. I detected the scent of melted butter curling around an air fowl as it floated on the breeze to meet me. I took a deep breath and redirected my footsteps so I would eventually come up on the food. I walked with my head back and my eyes closed, following the sounds of the spit and the scent of the vittles. I was so distracted by the enticing odor, I failed to notice the scent of dust and wood that suggested I was about to walk face-first into a cabin.

I did just that. There was a tremendous thud, and an uncomfortable throbbing in my nose that caused me to stumble backwards. The heel of the over-sized boot caught on a nearby root or rock, and I fell through the air like an axed tree. Timber! I thought as I landed heavily on my bottom in a sodding pool of mud. The goop splashed noisily before rocking back into place, hugging my body like porridge to the spoon. The very thought of food made my stomach tighten and ache once more. I felt my eyes smart with the pain and the humiliation of my situation. I wrapped my small fingers in a fist and was just about to punch the mud in defeat, when a voice distracted me.

"Eh, there's no use doing that. Gimme your hand before you muck it up," she said. I looked up into her soil-black eyes and gaped. She was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen, and she had one arm stretched out to me. The other was holding up the hem of a long, blue skirt, so as to not let it drag in the marsh mud. I looked quickly down at my own clothes, and again felt miserably embarrassed. Without a word, I reached up and watched as she wrapped her capable hand around mine and lifted me effortlessly out of the mud.