Moving Forward.

2010-02-12T09:06:00.001-08:00

It is morning. I am sitting in my new house, trying to enjoy the peace of it all. I still have so much to do, but am feeling a bit proud all the same. I feel like I have had this list of goals, and I am actually making progress and checking them one by one. It feels good. Everything just seems to be coming together, but with that, questions are arising and I am feeling a bit fragmented. I wish I knew all of the right things, and had answers to the open questions, but some things just must remain unresolved and uncertain for the time being. I dont know what I need, and I feel like everything should feel so complete, but I just have some blanks that leave me feeling a bit detached. Hopefully, clarity will come with the calming of my surroundings, but for now I think it is time to just sit back and let things be.

The Beginning

2010-01-25T15:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes... she comes undone. Starting around age five, her mother noticed her; she really noticed. She counted dead flies—one, two, three—never quite averting her eyes from the blur of cars that reflected through the glass. Overtime, as the flies accumulated on the sill, she swept them into little piles of ten so that she wouldn’t have to begin her counting over again. Although cautious, she would sometimes get distracted by a flicker of light that created a chasm of color across the uppermost pane. And sometimes, her breath would be just enough to send the flies hurling on top of one another, ruining her perfect ten. The fresh one’s were far less fragile than those that had been there awhile. As minutes turned to hours, her excitement would mount, watching, as each wing separated from its mass; She could now start making another pile, a pile of parts. You would never know this love from looking at her; her expressionless gaze alluded to something nothingful. As she waited, she often watched one that hadn’t quite met it’s fate—four, five, six—and wondered how long she would have to sit there before—seven, eight, nine---she could make ten. Always waiting. Not even the flies seemed to notice her, or at least not like she noticed them. She wondered if they would do the same to her, if she were dead. She wondered if she would care.

There was no need to listen for the pop and whirr of the rocks as they skidded on the pavement screaming; they never made their way into the cracked tread of his Maroon and Grey Safari Astrovan*, or at least, not in her driveway. This is not to say that it never came, that he never came, but they both came with excuses: “It's for your college education…for you…, for you…, for you…,” but she never saw it that way. The flies, rotting and dismembered, were always there. They always came, whether they wanted to or not, like she was someone worth coming for.

*See also: Mini-van, Grocery-getter, Family-mobile.

Screaming Pawn

Moving Forward.

The Beginning