A Tale Not Yet Titled Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Though the setting and some businesses are based on actual places, names, characters, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I promise ; )

Being me can only mean
Feeling scared to breathe
If you leave me then I’ll be afraid of everything
That makes me anxious, gives me patience, calms me down
Lets me face this, let me sleep, and when I wake up
Let me be

--Afraid by The Neighbourhood

(Saturday, June 22, 2012 11:30pm    The Present….)

I had protested the idea of going out but Casey and Trent insisted, in that order. All I wanted to do was sit at home in my room, with my music blaring, the door sealed tight, and my laptop buzzing on my lap. I had plenty of work that needed to be completed. With Donna on maternity leave and Marna at a publisher’s convention in New York City, there was more than enough overflow I could take care of in a quiet evening home, with a glass of red wine, and The Neighbourhood serenading my otherwise stress filled mind to ease. Instead I stood partially clothed in front of my full body mirror swinging and tapping against the door of my room as Trent stomped past it in the hallway.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not taking fashion advice from you! You’re not going to help me get laid tonight! And you don’t have to wear my clothes. So your opinion doesn’t matter!” Casey had ever so subtly, in her typical Casey way, suggested that Trent’s outfit was tacky and, in some roundabout way, offensive to women and the feminist movement. “You’re fucking insane!”

“All I’m saying is by wearing that tight ass thermal you’re inadvertently calling every woman you encounter a slutty whore.” Her point was ridiculous. “I mean look at those graphics, swirly, curvy cursive taunting that you’re ‘addictive’ surrounded by roses and skulls? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Her inflection implied personal insult. “Are you going to top off your outfit with a beaning that says ‘Affliction’ and approach every girl saying ‘Yo ma’ what’s good?’”  I rolled my eyes as I turned up my music to drown them out, but not before I heard Trent reply.

“You’re a psychopath. I hope your uterus falls out!” My mirror continued to tap as Trent stormed down the stairs and, I can only assume, into the basement far away from Casey’s judgmental absurdity.

I finally decided on a simple outfit: blue super skinny jeans with black toms, a black oversized graphic tee that hung strategically off of my tattooed shoulder. My hair was a mess of ebony curls and I wasn’t in the mood to tackle them, so I grabbed my large knit beany and pulled it down over my head. I positioned it far enough from my forehead that some of my curls fell naturally in front of my eyes. My eye makeup had survived the morning and afternoon, and we were only going to the P.O.P.E. on East Passyunk so lipstick was not necessary. I rolled some Eos over my full lips, slipped my favorite silver vintage ring on my right middle finger, threw my purse over my head, and pushed open my door.

Casey was on the other side leaning up against the far wall chatting on her phone. She gave me a look that screamed it’s about time and proceeded down the steps. Before I followed her I took a detour into her room and grabbed my favorite of her necklaces off her jewelry stand. I put it on. The shimmering clear stones dangled near my breast and topped off my “I’m fashionably trying to not be fashionable” look. She nodded with approval once we reached the bottom of the stairs, her phone still pressed to her ear. Trent was already in the car waiting for us. He was frighteningly good at predicting when we were ready for things and just dealing with us in general. Well at least dealing with me. Moments later we were speeding off toward Passyunk and a night I was already wishing was over.

***

The P.O.P.E. was packed, shoulder to shoulder with spree twenty-somethings waiting impatiently for their craft beers and vegan burgers. I pushed pass two rather beefy hipsters, clad in plaid and sporting hefty beards. Gone were the days when beards were mutually exclusive to burly mountain men and metal heads.  I let out a disappointed sigh.

Casey gripped my hand as she pulled me toward the back of the bar. I politely excused us to every person she nearly knocked on their heels. Trent and his buddy Doug were not far behind me scanning the room from left to right for the one thing they treasured more than American muscle cars and, well, craft beer – vagina. I let out a relieved breath when Casey finally found a vacant table nestled in the corner of the main eating area, close enough to the bar but far enough away that we didn’t have to overhear failed pick-up lines and polite rejections.

“Yeesh! I thought we were never going to find a table,” Trent voiced as he slipped in the chair next to me. Casey had nonchalantly parked her derriere in the seat next to Doug, skillfully nudging her chair closer to him as she scooted it closer to the table. I gave her a slanted smile and an accusatory glance as she lifted her eyes from the table top to meet mine.

What the hell are you doing?  I said to her with my eyes.

Shut up! She replied. Enough said.

“This is a sweet little spot. Can’t believe I never knew it was here!” Doug was one of Trent’s college buddies. They had numerous classes together at Temple University but didn’t really start hanging out until they were forced into a study group, a feeble attempt to pass Chemistry II their second semester of freshman year. Ever since then, they were inseparable. I’d seen Doug a couple times at the Horse on campus before Trent introduced us, Doug’s meager attempt to ask me out. Didn’t happen. Not long after that all three of us started hanging out together and we all got pretty close.

“That’s because you live in the North-East. Be brave brother, come down South every once in a while and you can experience some real culture. Next time we’ll take you to Lucky13!! Food to die for!!”

“Oh yea? How’s the food in this place Lina?” Doug nodded toward me. He looked me straight in the eyes, his blue crystal gaze adoringly searching my face. His bright white smile spread gingerly across his fuzz covered dimples. I swear the shine from his teeth reflected off his earrings, in both ears. It’s not that he was a bad looking guy, or stupid, or anything like that, but he just wasn’t what I was looking for back in those days. And he certainly is not what I need right now.

“It’s pretty good!” I answered with a smile. “Trent and I have this debate all the time: In a bar food standoff, who would prevail victorious, Lucky13 or the P.O.P.E?” I said in my best movie-trailer-voiceover voice. I avoided his eyes by staring at his thick, dirty blonde hair line peeking out from under his black cotton beany hanging dopey from the back of his head. “I lean a little more toward this here gem myself.” I gestured to the walls around us so he got my drift. I loved this bar, almost as much as I loved the Good Dog. It would be a lot better though, if it weren’t for all of the heart wrenching memories it possessed.

Immediately the conversations around me became muted. My mind drifted in and out of images and visions of Wes, Trent, Casey, and I sitting plastered to the bar, downing shots and spewing insults at the television showing cheesing and obnoxious reality TV shows. I closed my eyes as my heart began to pound in my chest and my breathing became shallow. I could feel perspiration forming on my brow and I needed to get away from this table. Like NOW!

“Will you guys excuse me for a moment? I need to use the ladies room.” I opened my eyes to see Doug looking at me worriedly. His eyes asked a very personal question I was not prepared to answer, so I turned my gaze to the amber wood floors and made my way to the basement steps.

“You want me to come with you babe?” Casey called after me. I lifted my hand and waved it from side to side, indicating that I would be okay alone. I could almost see her face in front of mine as I walked away from her. She was concerned too. They all were.

***

The P.O.P.E’s bathroom was exactly what you expected a trendy dive bar bathroom to look like. It was papered with stickers of bands, businesses, and graffitied with sharpie artwork. Another common attribute it possessed was its unrealistic size; it was tiny. Literally the size of a small shoe closet, it had one stall, one sink nudged right next to the outer wall of the stall, and a 1ft by 1ft mirror right above the sink. The hand drying machine was placed inches from the sinks edge and because of this, there was barely any room to turn around and face the door out, let alone lean against the wall and take a few quick breaths in private. Why I thought that would be a suitable escape from the claustrophobia I was developing at our table I have no idea. Once I realized my error I immediately turned around, back up the steps to the first floor. I pressed through the crowd to the bars street exit.

I made it to the moist, mildly warm air of the city without being detected by Trent, Doug, and Casey. The atmosphere still smelled of a summer storm but the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. I turned the corner away from the door way of the bar and leaned against its wall. I bent over with my head slightly above my knees and took deep breaths. Why did I allow memories of Wes to work me up so thoroughly? It had been a few months since the break up and even longer since we had been to this bar together; there was no reason why sitting at a table with friends should upset me so harshly.

I pressed my back against the stone wall and began to inhale air from the sky. My mouth slightly open and my head leaned back I silently chanted to myself, you’re okay! You’re okay!  I imagined being somewhere else, anywhere else. I created a deserted island, palm trees, a clear blue ocean and its subsequent breeze; A grass hut feet from the shore line and an endless supply of tequila and rum. I pictured myself reclining in a beach chair, the sun baking the skin of my abs and legs, an umbrella shading my face. My eyes beneath aviators I dreamt of peace within my dream. No man, no cry! The dream Lina chanted aloud. No man, no cry! My heart, both dream and reality, started to slow and the empty feeling began to pass. I continued to breath deep and imagine this tropical paradise far, far away from everything that plagued me.

“Lina?” The voice violently pulled me from my oasis and back to the damp streets of Philadelphia. The storm had passed but I was soon to find out that I was only in the eye.

I slowly lowered my chin parallel to the side walk and turned my head toward the approaching figure of a man, broad, tall, and dark haired, except for his light colored eyes. His hair had grown out since the last time I saw him. It curled under his earlobes resembling the way it looked in a baby picture I saw of him once at his mother’s.

“I thought that was you. How are you?” His smile was electric. It spread like wildfire across his face. His eyes sparked to attention as they laid gently into mine. There was something different about them though, they looked a little weary. I’m sure I was mistaken. He was never weary not even on his busiest of days. It was probably just the tears forming in mine that obstructed my vision.

My breathing began to shallow again. The edges of his smile slowly started to turn downward as my response grew further and further away. Suddenly I snapped out of whatever trance I was in, put on a smile and answered him.

“Wes! Hey! Wow! I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?” I tried intently to cover the shaking in my voice. I didn’t want him to know that at any moment my legs were going to turn to mush and I was going to collapse to the pavement.

“I’m great!” he said not very convincingly I noticed. “You?”

The shaking in my chest was harder to mask. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to throw my arms around his broad shoulders and press my lips against his thick lips. I wanted his hands tangled in my hair. I wanted his breath against my neck. I needed him inside me sooner rather than later. I needed to feel his chest heaving heavy against mine in exasperation. My mind raced with all these desires when I realized I hadn’t answered him again.

“Fine,” I managed to squeak out. “I’m fine.” He chuckled softly to himself. He always loved when I squeaked. He said it made him feel like a lion dating a mouse, which was the sweetest of contradictions.

The friends who had been following him had made their way inside. He looked after them approvingly. I took that moment to collect myself as I stepped toward him in a brief and unprecedented moment of courage.

“Wes I want you back!” I blurted out. He turned to me with an awe struck look on his face. In his expression I could see his longing. I could see he wanted to comply. I could tell from the way his bottom lip hung open and then moments later snapped against the top that he was conflicted and confused.

“Adelina, don’t do this to me.” His eyes pleaded with mine. I pressed closer to him and he did what I feared most, he stepped back.

“C’mon, it will be better I promise. I’ll be better I swear.” I pleaded with him. I didn’t care who could hear. I wanted him back so badly I craved it. “Please.”

His face was apologetic. He knew he could end my torture by simply taking me in his arms and whispering in my ear the three words I wanted, yes of course. But he wouldn’t do it. When he left he told me this had to be. That he was doing this for us and I would be better off when it was all said and done. I didn’t believe him then and I don’t believe this memory of it now. I needed him like air. This was a cruel punishment.

“Adelina, you know we can’t be together. We’re just not right. I’m not right. I need this time to figure out what to do with myself. I’m all over the place and confused. You deserve so much more than that. You’re a beautiful and intelligent woman and you’re going to find someone who treats you like a goddess. Trust me. You don’t want me back.” He didn’t wait for my reply. Even if I could say anything it would have caught in my throat and choked me to death.

He pressed a sweet, soft kiss to my forehead and disappeared into the bar. I stood, frozen on the sidewalk outside the P.O.P.E. lost and confused as to what to do next. I was in physical pain fighting off the tears threatening to run down my face. My chest was at my feet and my vision was blurry. I inadvertently put my arm in the air as a taxi splashed down the street.

“320 Fawn St. please. Washington square.”

I didn’t think the whole way to the house. All I could manage was to pull my phone from my purse and text Trent, letting him know that I had caught a cab back to the house and not to bother me when they came home. I tried to go back to my tropic getaway in my head, but every time I closed my eyes all I saw were Wes and his apologetic eyes. I couldn’t hear the ocean. All I could manage was the faint sound of his voice telling me it was better this way. I tried to breath deep but my chest wouldn’t allow it.

Finally in the house, and finally in my room, I dropped my purse to the ground, where it landed was anybody’s guess. I pulled my shirt over my head and let my jeans drop to my feet. I was in total darkness aside from the moon beaming through my window. I slipped my shoes off and left them underneath my jeans and shirt on the floor. I unlatched my bra and let that fall as well.

I caught my reflection in the mirror over my dresser as I walked robotically to my bed. I meant to hide there until Wes changed his mind or the Apocalypse ensued. I held my breath for neither. My heart did skip a beat though, when I saw how unnaturally pale I looked. My golden skin was faded and my green eyes looked sickly. The only things that indicated I was alive were my breast, perky and round, nipples erect, and pointed toward my reflection, their typical response to Wes being in close proximity. My eyes traveled down my lean abs and toward my panties, they weren’t soaked but if that conversation was any longer, regardless of the topic, that would have been next; A tell-tale response to his voice. I pulled them off as well revealing the short trimmed fuzz covering my mound of sexual desire throbbing painfully for his touch.

I made my way to my bed. I could no longer stand the look of me and I just wanted to be done with this evening. I covered myself up with my blanket and tried again to go back to that tropical escape I created earlier. I finally fell asleep an hour or so later, still ignoring the buzzing of my cell phone coming persistently from my purse strewn carelessly on the floor. It had been ringing out to me since I walked over the threshold of our home. Don’t bother me!  I said in a low and exhausted voice over and over until I was no longer conscious.

The Day the Music Stopped

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Events are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental...sort of ; ) Though you can rest assured this is not a premonition. 

            I’m sure you are terrified to hear of this news. I was devastated as well. It was a travesty to many really. But trust me there was a warning sign, though no one took notice. Not many even realized how harshly they would be affected until it actually happened. You know how people are? Uninterested, unaware, unconcerned until they are face to face with the tragedy, head on, full speed ahead, and no way to save themselves or their loved ones.

            It all started with a pop and a bang.

The silence was deafening. I’m sure you’ve heard it described that way.

No one really noticed it at first. Everyone just lived their lives, chatting away.

It was at least 5 minutes before the first person acknowledged the silence. His brain literally stopped processing the words of the beautiful woman sitting across from him. The smile on her face no longer distracted him from the metropolis blooming around their conversation. As intriguing as it was, he couldn’t help but realize the soundtrack had stopped.

“What just happened?” he remarked to the woman.

“What do you mean?” she replied, baffled by his question.

“Do you hear that?” he said turning in his chair, searching the surroundings of the outdoor eating area where they were seated. No one else seemed to be reacting though the silence was profound.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re referring to?” Concern began to appear on her face as she watched her lunch buddy begin to develop a mild case of panic. He swiveled in his chair numerous times before twisting his body completely and staring wide eyed at the small tavern across the street. Her anxiety started to swell the more he began to panic and about something she did not understand entirely. This was hardly the behavior you wanted to see on a first date. And he was so handsome too.

“You seriously don’t notice that there is absolute silence?” He nearly yelled it at her.

“But there isn’t! People are talking, cars are driving and honking. Kids are screaming. I don’t understand what you mean.”

His frustration grew immensely. How could she not hear that silence? How could she not hear that intense boom and then nothing?

“That’s just aimless noise!” He argued. He looked to his right at a man in a car, viciously pressing buttons on his cars dashboard stereo. Then to his left he noticed a young lady, who for most of her meal had been sitting alone, listening to her iPod. She was now frantically tapping the screen, checking the chord of her ear buds, clearly annoyed.

By this point his breathing had quickened and the panic was setting in. He barely realized he had been gripping the end of the table until he abruptly stood up. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and tossed a couple twenties on the table. The beautiful woman, who, until this point in their afternoon, had been enthralled with the man, looked at the money with pure bewilderment.

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” He said to her as he swiped the unlock code into his phone. He tapped at the number screen and growled when the voicemail picked up. The sleeve of his blazer jacked nearly hit her in the face as he raced toward the low gate bordering the eating area that separated them from the sidewalk traffic. He bound over the gate and ran across the street.

***

“Gary!” He screamed at the thick wooden door of the bar. “Gary open up dude, it’s an emergency.” Pain throbbed through his hand as he pounded on the wooden pane of the door’s porthole window. He paced back and forth, peering into the large wall-sized retractable window next to the door.

            Finally the door flew open. A tall, lean man stood in the doorway. His face was distraught and identical panic radiated in his eyes.

            “Ethan! Get your ass in here man. This shit is fucking strange!!” Finally!! He knew he wasn’t crazy. Gary heard it too.

            “Erik and I were in the middle of setting up for your gig tonight, literally testing the equipment, when right in the middle, BOOM, and then nothing worked.” Gary’s face was defeated. He had no idea what to do or what to think. The whole situation was baffling.

            “I heard it too!! NOTHING is working?”

            “I’m not totally sure man. Everything is on! Everything is plugged in. You can hear the hum of the speakers working but nothing is coming out.”

            “Where’s Erik?”

            “He’s on the second floor trying to see if it’s just this stage or the other one.” As if summoned by a sixth sense, Erik appeared through the “staff only” door connecting the main bar area to back stage, both of his hands were tangled in his shoulder length hair and gripping tight. His lips pressed shut he looked at his comrades with a face of pure disbelief.

            “In all my years in this scene, I have never experienced anything like this. Watch this shit.” He climbed up on the stage in front of them, he took the vocal mic in his hand, illustrating it was plugged in and on.

            “Testing, Testing. Can you hear me?” The two men watching in front of the stage moved their heads up and down in a quick nod. Erik held up a finger, instructing them to wait, and then opened his mouth as if to sing, but nothing came out.

            “What the hell?” Gary reacted. Ethan ran up on stage and grabbed the mic from Erik. Cupping it in his hands he proceeded to growl into it but no sound resulted.

            “And watch this.” Erik walked over to the drum kit sitting at the back of the stage.  He clinched both sticks in his hands and began to play. Nothing. Though it was clear he was playing there was no sound.

Gary and Ethan instantly walked over to the bass and guitar hanging on the walls. They vigorously plugged them into the amps humming on the stage. Just as with the mic and the drum set nothing came through the amps.

            Ethan could barely handle the reality of what this meant. As his fingers flew up and down the neck of the guitar in hand, the room began to spin. He could barely focus. Nothing! Not a note! Not a wail! Not a thing came through the amp. Further you couldn’t even hear the weak plinks and plunks of the guitar strings, that slight unplugged tone that whispered from an electric guitar not yet amplified, was nowhere to be found as well. He had heard rumors on Facebook of something happening to this effect but it was Facebook those conspiracies never really happened.

            “I wonder!” Gary yelled as he jumped from the stage and ran toward the sound board. He accessed the iTunes library saved on his iPad, nothing. He turned on Pandora radio, nothing. YouTube, nothing. Spotify, nothing. There was no music what so ever, at all, coming from anywhere. It was totally silent.

            As Gary searched for air in the space between his knees, Erik walked behind the bar.  He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and three plastic cups. His breathing was staggered as he handed each man their cup filled half way to the brim. They stared at each other defeated and weary for what felt like eternity before they brought the cups to their lips to drown their disbelief in the hot sting of whiskey. At that moment every television in the bar flicked on.

 “My fellow citizens of Earth,” The man on the television screen was not the President of the United States. In fact none of our three musicians had ever seen this man before.

“My name is Chancellor Harold Barker. I am one thirteenth of a committee now charged with governing our great planet-nation.” His voice was not that of a typical politician though his image was indeed. His shoulders took up majority of the television screen and his jaw line was square and strong. His eyes tore straight through to the center of your being and even though his voice was small, it was steady. You recognized his authority immediately.

“By now you may have realized that all music, both live and recorded, is missing from your everyday existence. This is not a freak occurrence nor is it an accident. After years of observing the activities and actions of the people of this great planet, we have decided that, in the interest of your safety and the safety and well-being of everyone residing here, it was necessary for us to remove all existence of music from you. Now please don’t be alarmed. Life will proceed as usual. No other laws or freedoms will be taken from you but the playing of, and listening to, music will no longer be tolerated.

We are undoubtedly certain, even now that I address you, that hackers and music enthusiast are joining forces to try and find a way to reverse  our efforts to keep you safe from harm. Please cease all attempts. Legislation is being drafted right now to help govern the illegal creation, distribution, and involvement in music of any kind.  I assure you the consequences for violating these laws will be severe.

We know that in a short period of time you all will begin to see things our way. You will recognize the peace that will flow from our communities once you adapt to life without music. We assure you this decision was not come to lightly. We have been debating this action for many years and have finally agreed upon its administration.

We wish you all the best. Good night and God bless.”

The screens in the bar went dark and so did the air in the room. The men stood motionless staring at the television, whiskey in hand, completely dumbfounded by what they had just heard. Who was this committee? What harm did music bring to mankind? How could they do this? And without consulting the public? How did this happen? 

I could barely breathe moments after I saw the broadcast. Not only did it come across every television and radio station in the world, but it also streamed live through the Internet. I had been working on my latest short story, when the music blaring from my laptop suddenly stopped and that broad figure of a man popped up on my computer screen.

Ethan called me as soon as the broadcast was over. What do we do?  He had said. I had no response for him. I just sat there staring at the static that followed the broadcast. My heart nearly dropped from my chest and I had no clue how to react. But I do now…

So if you are reading this blog you have undoubtedly been invited to the resistance. They start with our privileges. They start with our leisure. Rumor has it all fine art is next to go. We will not allow it. Join us in orchestrating retaliation on this Council of Humanity. Join us in bringing the music back.

~~CLICK HERE TO JOIN~~~

Choose the purest...proceed with caution

“Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.

Be a connoisseur,
and taste with caution.

Any wine will get you high.
Judge like a king, and choose the purest,

the ones unadulterated with fear,
or some urgency about ‘what’s needed.’

Drink the wine that moves you
as a camel moves when it’s been untied,
and is just ambling about.”

“The Many Wines” –Rumi

This poem may be addressing a number of different things but for me, first and foremost, it is addressing how important it is to be selective of the people with which you surround yourself.

In my past, even in my recent past, I have been guilty of allowing people in my life who have hurt me in rather elaborate ways, whether intentionally or not. They’ve torn me down mentally and emotionally. They’ve lead me on and left me to wallow never taking a glance back to see the consequences of their actions. I have even had people “discreetly” try to set me up so I would hurt someone I cared for dearly, in order to make them appear to be the more worthy friend between the two of us.

I have discovered since the inception of these situations that I allowed such things to happen. I was not 100% sure of the person I was, confident of what I deserved, or knowledgeable of the manipulation happening around me, manipulation that was used mainly because my self-esteem was down. Since these things have happened I have been made aware that I am worth more than their abuses. I am a person of substance and good company and I deserve better.

To these people I say no more. Be gone from my life so that I may be stress free and focused on people and things that matter most. I don’t have time for your drama, or your judgments; your harsh criticism and your indecision. From now on I will “choose the purest” of people (purest does not mean perfect) and drink the wine that moves me, surround myself with positive, like-minded individuals whose life is moving in a productive and positive direction.

Thank you wholeheartedly to the man who helped me realize what was happening. Who continues to give me the reassurance that I have the power to correct the damage done and keep people like those mentioned from damaging me further. You are truly a loved friend.

Oh Hey ....It's New Years Eve 2013 :)

Excerpt from Not a Day on Any Calendar by Rumi

My Life is not Mine.

If someone were to play music, it would have to be very sweet.

We’re drinking wine, but not through lips.

We’re sleeping it off, but not in bed.

Rub the cup across your forehead.

This day is outside and dying.

Give up wanting what other people have.

That way you’re safe.

“Where, where can I be safe?” you ask.

This is not a day for asking questions,

not a day on any calendar.

This day is conscious of itself.

This day is a lover, bread, and gentleness,

more manifest than saying can say.

Thoughts take form with words,

but this daylight is beyond and before

thinking and imagining. Those two,

they are so thirsty, but this gives smoothness

to water. Their mouths are dry, and they are tired.

The rest of this poem is too blurry

for them to read.

A lot of people are following the typical NYE formula this year: “New Year! New Me!” “This time I’m going to stick to my New Year’s Resolution,” or “I’m going to live for me this year.” As with all the other holidays so far, with the exception of Halloween because I live for that holiday, I am not celebrating New Years this way. I’m not going to partake in resolutions or declarations of change and evolution. I’m actually going to take this year day by day.

To make promises of mass personal overhaul, for me, is absurd. If I’ve learned nothing else this year, I’ve definitely learned that it takes longer than 365 days to “reprogram” over 26 years of, for lack of a better phrase, “fucked up thinking”. I was so hoping after my break up last Christmas, that I was going to emerge a new and improved Devo by June of 2013. That did not happen.

The truth of the matter is I reached that point in the year and realized I still have a lot of shit to work out. I still have a lot of thought processes to reprogram. Rome wasn't built in a day, cliche but true (here’s a little secret I told my teens, a lot of cliches are true. So you should probably stop worrying whether or not they are cliche.). I’m not going to be a better me in the next 365 days but I can assure you I will be better today than I was the day before. All I can hope for is to be happy, healthy, and working toward realistic goals.

So, for the sake of being completely honest with you and myself, here is a list of realistic goals I hope to achieve this coming year:

1. Play more guitar

2. Play more bass

3. Finally take these vocal lessons I paid $100 for

4. Write more often

5. Exceed my total of  17 books read in 2013 by reading 19 books in 2014

6. Take my profession more seriously and obtain a job at a University or Charter/Private school

7. Smile more.

8. Think/Act more positively

9. Love more things, more often.

10. Be nicer to my mom.

11. Hang out with my siblings more.

12. finish my left arm tattoos

13. Take a hip-hop dance class (probably closer to the end of the year)

14. Fall in love (Whatever that means)

What do you think, pretty realistic?

So why the poem at the beginning of the post. I chose that poem, mostly because I wanted you all to think something profound and enlightening was going to follow it. haha You tell me if I was successful? The other reason I chose that poem is because of the second stanza “Give up wanting..” and the last stanza “The rest of this poem is too blurry to read.” I want to challenge all of my friends and family to give up wanting what others have and truly be happy with the blessings bestowed upon you. There is more to life than material things and desire. Cherish what you have already and then watch the things you want manifest before your eyes. Also I want you all to get so drunk with me tonight that the rest of any poem just looks like a giant blur. Love you all, Happy New Year!!!

A Tale Not Yet Titled: Chapter Two

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Though the setting and some businesses are based actual places, names, characters, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I promise ; )

Friday, June 21, 2012 10:55pm

The blaring sound of my alarm stabbed at my brain like daggers of spit fire and hate. Like toddlers squealing, “Hangover! Hangover” repeatedly while circling me in some sick and torturous game of ring-around-the-rosy. 

“YO LINA!!! You’ve been ignoring that thing for 10 minutes. If you don’t get up now we’re all going to be late for work. Let’s go!” Trent’s voice is muffled and groggy from the other side of my bedroom door, a sure indicator that he’s just as hung over as I am, but for some reason he was able to get up promptly at the sound-off of his iPhone.

I shuffle out of my bedroom heavy and weak. The tops of my feet, dragging against the rough carpet as I press my shoulder into the wood wall paneling. The hallway is spinning as I hold on to the wall’s slippery surface for guidance. The journey to the bathroom feels epic. I moan at the distance from the spot where I stood in the hallway to the entry way of the bathroom. As I gather my strength, I decide the only way I’m getting into that bathroom is if I catapult my body from the wall through the door way. So I straighten myself up, and press the palms of my hands against the wall, and quietly count to three.

“One……Two….Three….”

With that I push against the wall, praying that at the end of this leap, I would land successfully through the entrance of the bathroom without banging my shoulder into the jam of the door. I am not so lucky.

 Showing mercy for my eyes, I opt to leave the lights off. The natural light creeping through the window blinds is enough. I know what I look like hung over. There’s no need to relive that nightmare today.

I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess of reckless abandon and curls. What I can see of my eyes is smeared with the mascara and eyeliner I rebelliously left for the morning; the same mascara and eyeliner that became smeared as a result of my somber slumber. My modest and perky breasts emphasize the phrase on my blow out tank top, the words “Fancy as Fuck” contradicting the image staring back at me.

My eyes travel down the curves of my body and land on the bulge beneath my tank top. This mound was no doubt the result of the many beers that comforted my waning confidence and cradled my advancing intoxication. I grimace as I lift my tank to reveal its offending roundness, shaking my head in slow and steady left to right cadence. My thighs add more misery to my failing body image: thick and definite. Wes loved my thighs. He would no doubt fuss at me for criticizing myself so harshly if he knew I was doing it. He never admitted it, but I could see his constant disapproval in my opinion of myself. His growing frustration in having to remind me how, quote, truly beautiful I was became ever apparent.

“Fuck me!” I moan to myself as I open the cabinet door and reach for my toothbrush. My thoughts are loaded and my chest aches with self doubt and tequila. I haven’t checked my phone yet. The idea of that buzz indicating there was a message from no one in particular is just too much to take when I’m drowning in memories of loss and heartache.

Why did you leave me? Tears role down the swollen skin puffy and bunched against the underside of my eye; purple with the indication of a sleepless night, as the truth mushrooms in my chest.  My toothbrush hangs from the corner of my mouth. Toothpaste dripping down its handle as my hand covers my eyes, the sound of sobs escaping from my throat, spilling from my pores.

 Why did I let you go? Why did I try to call your bluff? I’m so stupid! Images of the last time I saw Wes spring up into my mind: his chin parallel to my nose as he holds me close to him, leaning down to whisper good-bye in my ear. I know he won’t really leave, I say to myself. We’ve been through this shit before. He always forgives me. He always looks me in the eyes, strokes my hair behind my ears and kisses my wide lips and forgives me with his loins. He’ll be back. He’d never really leave me.

My shoulders shake as I press my weight against the sink. The sound of my nose reminds me of the way I cried as a child: when I fell off my bike or fell skating down the street. This isn’t how adults handle things. Crying like children. This is not how they handle loss.

I blink the remaining tears from my eyes and wipe their tell-tale trails from my cheeks. I viciously finish brushing my teeth and begin to wash my face. I make a pact with myself, right there in that mirror; I will shed no more tears for him!

“I will shed no more tears for him!” I say out loud. I can barely recognize my voice as it cracks and disappears before the sentence is done. A few more tears escape. They meet the same fate as the tears that came before them. I practice smiling as I tame the hair from my scalp, dancing in every direction. There is no fate worse for a woman, than that of the day she is unable to conquer her own mane.

***

“I don’t understand why this concept is so hard for you! When you’re done trimming your beard, just fucking sweep up the stray hairs, take a damp cloth and wipe your nasty face whiskers form the countertop. When you’re done brushing your teeth, wipe off the tube and clean your toothpaste chunks from the sink. I don’t even understand how there are toothpaste chunks in the sink after you’re done, clearly that means you’re using too much toothpaste than that which is required to clean your fucking mouth.” Casey was already well into her morning lashing of Trent’s peculiar bathroom habits.

She stood next to him at the kitchen sink, facing the window to the backyard, looking at nothing specific, ranting along about how inconsiderate and dirty Trent is as a roommate. Trent was leaning nonchalantly against the counter, finishing off a Golden Delicious apple, his gaze floating aimlessly at the kitchen floor.  This was nothing he hadn’t already heard. He confessed to me once, that he remained a notorious bathroom slob intentionally just to spite her.

“No one else uses that bathroom but me. You and Casey use the bathroom upstairs. What the hell does it matter?” This was his argument to me the first time Casey got on his case about the way he left the first floor bathroom. I tried to explain to him that, technically, that bathroom was the guest bathroom and he really shouldn’t be using it at all.

“Fuck that!” He responded. “If it was the ‘guest bathroom,’” He stressed the phrase with bloated air quotes, “then it wouldn’t have a stand up shower in it. The stand-up shower automatically enlists said bathroom as a bathroom for personal hygiene maintenance of the person who resides in the third floor bedroom, aka the basement.”  There really was no debating with him after that graduate level argument. My response was that he simply keep the peace and try to clean up after himself. Clearly he didn’t take my advice.

They had gotten to the point of yelling over top of each other when I walked into the kitchen doorway.

“Hey babe, do you want me to make you something to eat?” Casey’s smile was concerned, her blonde hair, wrapping her face in soft waves as she swiped it gently away from her tanned cheeks.

“Um, no thanks, I’m not hungry at all.” I said remembering the reflection of my thighs in the bathroom mirror.

“At least have an apple Lina.” Trent offered as he retrieved the round fruit from the Frigidaire and tossed it in my direction. I caught it in both hands and smiled at him. He returned mine with one of his own and a wink. As soon as we began to leave the kitchen Casey started on him again.

“You’re not off the hook yet you jerk! I’m going to buy you some all purpose Mr. Clean and a scrub brush and force you to clean that bathroom at gun point when we get home later.”

Trent’s head fell heavy to the back of his neck as he followed me out of the house and toward his car. The morning sunlight was piercing and the neighborhood noise of south Philadelphia did nothing to drown out the incessant banter of Casey’s morning drawl. It was a beautiful summer day but I could barely enjoy it. My eyes were nearly swollen shut, sensitive to the bright sun. My ears were deaf to the sounds of teenagers and toddles running back and forth on the sidewalks and narrow streets, though I was fully aware of their presence. The walk from the house to the car took eons though it ended in moments. I just wanted this day to end already. All I wanted was to be alone.

The interior of his Dodge Charger reeked of Axe deodorant spray and Kenneth Cole Black cologne. I volunteered to sit in the back seat. Today was not a day for fighting for shotgun. Trent started the car immediately upon shutting his door. He rested his head on the steering wheel in exasperation. Casey’s voice droned on as he began to bang his head back and forth on the steering wheel. When he finally stopped he pushed the radio-on button. Maynard Keenan’s voice rung out from its speakers as he pulled out of the parking space and tore down  12^th street toward Lombard Street in a passive-aggressive desperation to get Casey out of his head.

***

I never wasted much time thinking about myself. This was something new, dwelling on my troubles. I was always everyone else’s shoulder to cry on. Me, needing a shoulder was something I was not at all use to. I always had my shit in check. Whether it was work, or school, or my men, and trust me I had plenty, I had everything under control. It wasn’t until recently, the last four years that I began to feel in an entirely different way. Thus the fluctuating self confidence, the nocturne water works, the overwhelming and chronic anxiety episodes, became a normal occurrence in my life; even before he left.

I barely noticed the distant hum of my computer screen. I stared at it involuntarily waiting for it to do something for me rather than I doing something to it. This office felt way too open rather than quaintly private, as my supervising editor had described it the day of my promotion party. My door was open, as always, as was custom in an office work space, but that wasn’t the reason for its bare naked quality. The ceiling-to-floor windows were glass but I’ve had no issues with that in the past. Simply turn my chair in the other direction and instant privacy from prying eyes.

My hand reached for my phone on its own. Lord knows I didn’t want to look at its empty notification bar for the hundredth time. It was like a tick. I had to make sure the buzzing I heard last night was still just a game invitation for Diamond Dash from my cousin in New York and not a text, or Facebook message, from Steve. Or even Wes.

I flicked the phone back on my desk and scrolled down Steve’s profile page. I spoke out loud to myself mostly just to remind myself I was alive.

“Steve Tower. Age 34; Works for THE leading health insurance company in America. Graduated from Rowan University; Born September 30, 1977; Lives in Somerdale, New Jersey; From Sewell, New Jersey.”  I should just walk away based on that last fact alone. “Single. Likes women; Religious views: God is dead.” Ugh! “Political views: Anti-Obama” What the fuck?

His Cheshire cat grin gleamed at me from behind the glass of my computer screen as I realized that I may have just been fooled by the most cunning of anti-hipster disguises.

“Likes skiing, polo, disc golf, and camping in exclusively remote places. My favorite authors include Chuck Palahniuk and Jack Kerouac.” I didn’t even have to will my eyes to roll. “My favorite music artists are U2, Creed, Third Eye Blind, The Semisonic, Weird Al Yankovic, and Black Sabbath.”  What?

“Adelina?”

“Yes!” I said abruptly as I put my computer to sleep.

“Marna wants to see you. Something about one of the new submissions that just came inbound. She said she emailed you but heard no response so she sent me over.” Littie’s voice tore gashes in my brain when she spoke. It was like having railroad nails scrapped across your front teeth while dwarfs sat on your arms and legs so you couldn’t stop your torturer.

“Did she say whether it was absolutely necessary for me to come down to her office? Like can I just call her?”

“She didn’t say.” She squeaked as she shimmied out of my office doorway and through the maze of cubicles.

I pressed the phone receiver to my ear. Before I dialed Marna’s office extension, I took one last look at Steve’s Facebook profile, his most recent post. It was a picture of him and the work buddy that came in the bar after Casey and Trent arrived. Their dress shirts were slightly unbuttoned and work ties undone. The darkened tint of the windows behind them indicated that it was close to or moments after closing. Tia and Kelly, the other bartender at Good Dog, were straddling them as they sat on bar stools with empty shot glasses between their fingers. Above the picture his friend posted “Bangin’ shots and hoes at Good Dog with my #1 Homie Sir. Steve the Pussy Fiend!” To which Steve replied in the comments, “CTFU! What an awesome happy hour. Can’t wait for Roxy this Saturday night. #steadybarhopping #yolo”

And on that note!

***

The nights get stiller as the hours progress forward. You could skip a stone on the alley street and hear its light thud, thud, thud as it traveled. It was that quiet. My dad and my brother use to skip stones when we went on day trips in the Pinelands in the New Jersey Pine Barrens. Steadies the mind, Dad would say. Sure Pop, I would respond.

I hate nights like this. The air is so empty all I can hear is my brain making assumptions. Assumptions about work; assumptions about life; assumptions about all the assumptions I’ve ever made and if I could ever fix the mistakes that have gotten me to this place. They were going to be the end of me and I knew it. I just didn’t know how to overcome them on my own. That’s what Wes was for.

I always saw myself as a strong woman. An implicit feminist that took what she wanted with authority. You knew where I had been by the trail of men in my wake. I worked hard and partied harder. A cliché I was glad to embrace. I guess that was what attracted him to me. He could see right through my hardened shell and pull out the fleshy pink, girly, mush that made up the core of me. I hated him for it and I loved him for it.

“So did you ever hear anything from that Steve dude?” Clara was brushing my hair and braiding it for me, preparation for a curly updo-ish style she was going to finish in the morning. She insisted the reason I was in such a funk was because I had become too familiar in one image; too familiar in one head space. Something she was determined to correct.

“No. I was browsing his Facebook profile and…well…let’s just say that excavation ended in an unfriending.”

“Ouch, that bad!!”

“Umm, a 34 year old man used the hash-tag yolo seriously and was referred to as the “pussy fiend”! I’d say that roast needs to stay in the oven a little while longer.” We chuckled.

“Sorry to hear Lina. He was so cute and not to mention he has a real job. I guess you can never tell.”

“Seriously, it’s getting so bad I’m considering getting ‘if you listen to Creed, you need not apply’ on my forearm.”

“Oh man!”

“I could have told you that guy was a tool bag!” Trent often appeared out of nowhere when Casey and I found ourselves held up in one of our rooms. “He was drinking BudLight and completely ignoring the Phillies game. You can’t trust a guy who doesn’t like sports.”

“Look at you the dating expert.” Casey taunts Trent with a flat and judgmental tone. Just as she promised, a bottle of multi-purpose Mr. Clean and a scrub brush was waiting for him when he came through the doors after work. She even made him wear a cap on his hair and a matching one for his beard, so his efforts weren’t in vain. They continued their tirade of pointless arguments about cleaning the entire time he polished the bathroom and only concluded when I came in and agreed to let Casey braid my hair. Upon entering my room, Trent just ignored her, which was probably the smartest thing he’s done since he’s moved in.

He kneeled down in front of me at the edge of my bed, bringing his eyes level with my as my head jerked back and forth from Casey’s braiding.

“Lina you don’t need to pick up some dilhole in a bar. That’s not your style anymore anyway.” His hands found their way to my knees. He gave them a gentle squeeze as the tone of his voice grew more brotherly with every syllable.  “Honestly, if you want my opinion, you don’t need to date anyone at all right now. It’s still too soon. Just hang out with us and your other friends and enjoy being single.” He ended that sentence with a toothless smile and squeezed my hands.

“What would you know? If anything she needs to get out and play the field. Let Wes know she’s not hung up on him.”  Moment ruined!

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Trent grunted as he flew to his feet and stormed out the door slamming it behind him.

“Ass.” Casey huffed.

I didn’t talk after that; there really wasn’t much else to say. I mean I guess I could have told Casey about the tall, dark and hazel eyed man I met on my lunch break. He was enjoying a club sandwich and reading on his tablet, when I noticed he was wearing a ring with a Lamb of God emblem on it. He noticed me smiling at him and we sparked up a conversation about music and books. He was pretty nice. I guess I’ll Facebook stalk him in the morning. 

Shipwrecked

(Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. ....who am I kidding! If you think this poem is about you, maybe we should have dinner and talk about it! ::shrugs::)

He comes to me in bursts. Like mircro-explosions of the chemical kind.
It starts with a "like" and graduates to a "share".
Then a smile, then a message;
Then a text will appear.

He comes to me in waves, an unrivaled force of nature.
A smile trumped by no other, eyes kinder than before.
His words are so enticing, welcoming and calming:
"if you happen to change your mind"
"you're a friend! That will never change."
"You're beautiful to me." He says
His words hard to believe.

He comes to me like fire beckoning moths to dance around his light.
He haunts me in my memories;
We dance forever in my dreams.
He smiles at me through computer screens.
Makes me laugh by video streams.

And all the while he doesn't get it!
Or seem to understand.
That every time he comes and goes,
I become a ship wrecked on the sand.

Written Wednesday, December 18, 2013

A Series of Unfortunate Events...

I sincerely apologize to the small number of followers I have already, for the late posting. Let me start with that.

My reason for not posting yesterday, Wednesday, was due to personal situations that happen in my home. For anyone who doesn't know, when you’re a writer, you absolutely have to be in the right frame of mind to write anything creative. My original plan was to write the next installment of “A Tale Not Yet Titled” but due to this disturbance in my home, I was not able to fulfill that goal. However I didn’t want to leave you without a post this week.

What I decided to do instead was post a video from the collection of one of my favorite vloggers, Jenna Marbles. This is not a typical video for her, but it is most closely related to the frame of mind I was in yesterday after said incident. I identify with Jenna on this topic whole heatedly and, admittedly, nearly cried after the video concluded (so keep that in mind. You may want to get some tissues).

I hope you all get the message she is trying to convey. Again, I sincerely apologize for the late post. I promise the next chapter of Adelina’s life will be posted next week. Much love!!