It's Wonderful, So They Say

This morning, before he left for work, he crawled back into bed and hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. The other day, he put the covers back over my feet before he left. For awhile, he started the coffee pot for me(until he became convinced that I was drinking too much coffee).

It's these little things that I can remember from the early mornings when I'm not asleep, but not yet awake, that make me smile and give me hope.

"You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you, Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting." -Tinkerbell, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

Blood is Thicker Than Water, But Then So Is Toothpaste

I've never been graced with a close-knit family. For the most part, I pretend my mother's side doesn't exist, and the remaining people on my father's side I want nothing to do with. They all seem equally happy to ignore me. It works for us.

But all of a sudden, now that my father is in the hospital, my phone is ringing off the hook and my Facebook is blowing up. Who are these people that are all of a sudden family? My aunt, my cousin? Great-aunt, great-uncle?

I do not know these people. They are strangers, briefly met at a fourth of July party years and years ago. They were people that saw me once a year, commented on how tall I was getting, and then went to fix their plate and swim. My grandmother, my two uncles-Those were the people who loved me between gatherings. They were the ones who called, sent birthday cards, and kept up with my life. But they're gone now.

The people left over are nothing to me. Furthermore, I want them to stay out of our lives. My great-uncle damaged my father and his brother in unimaginable ways, but now they call me at all times of day wanting to know if he's alright?

I have my own family now. A mother that's gone to Heaven(because if anyone should, it would be her). Another mother that's been there for 8 years of my life, and my older sister. His aunt, his entire family really, that treats me like one of their own. I'll be spending my July 4th with them next week, in fact. And let me tell you- It'll be a hell of alot more fun than sitting around with strangers.

The Cry Of The Desperate Is A Prayer In The Night

I wonder what you would think
If you had seen me
Last night
Alone
And kneeling
Right on the sidewalk
Begging God to give you back

I didn't know if he was listening at all
But if I had to judge
By this morning
I'd say
He answered me
In the way you held me
Tightly, and let me kiss your forehead

Domesticity is a Process

If I had been born in the early seventies, by my high school years I would have been enrolled in a class called "home economics". It would have taught me all the ins and outs of running the home- cooking, cleaning, sewing, etc. Theatre taught me sewing, my mother taught me cleaning, but cooking is a foreign art to me.

So when I decide to make dinner, it's a lot of thinking on my part. I'm learning how to pair veggie with rice and chicken, but in different ways. The other day, I soaked my chicken in beer for a few hours(delicious). Today, I popped over to our local organic store(but, I must admit, only because it's 50 feet away from my front door.) and bought couscous and dressing. The dressing is some lemony thing that is amazing. Baked the chicken in it, baked the broccoli and carrots in Old Bay, and let the couscous do it's thing. Smells like it's going well.

I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of this nigh-housewife existence. I'm making sure the bills are getting paid, which I do well. I'm making sure the laundry gets done, which I could probably be doing better. I think I'm ready to take on the extra task of making sure we get at least one nutritional meal a day.

Besides, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Words To Remember

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast. It is not proud, it is not rude. It is not self-seeking. Love is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth."

People have a way of forgetting that I spent over 8 years attending church(and part of that teaching Sunday school), so when they find that one of my most important sayings is a Bible verse, they act shocked. They ask me if I'm religious.

Obviously, I'm not, but there is wisdom to be gathered from everything. When I was little, I used to collect quotes from all over the place, and when I'm facing a troubling situation, they occasionally come to back to me.

This one occurred to me last night. The beautiful boy and I had the most subtle of disagreements. He thought a certain kind of joke was funny(what kind, I do not feel like explaining, but it was a kind that is extremely bothersome to me on a personal level).

"No, it's not."

"Sure it is."

I let it go. I adhered to another of my principles; You cannot blame someone for what they do not know. Even so, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. How could he? Didn't he recognize that I never take that tone with him? Couldn't he see that I hardly ever disagreed with a word he said? Dammit, why didn't he shut his stupid face?

I resolved to keep my distance the rest of the night. Surely, he would notice the difference in my demeanor and apologize.

Love is patient. It keeps no record of wrongs.

I ended up leaning against him on the way home to try and sleep, and this morning I woke up snuggled next to him as always.

I can't blame him for the things I never told him. I can't be surprised when he can't magically interpret my actions. I can only remember that he loves me(even when he's a jerk).

Everyday Music

I have never found silence to be peaceful. When the air is empty, I am uneasy. My old house in Denton was recently built and well-insulated, so nothing creaked and noises rarely made it through the walls. It drove me to madness a time or two, pacing around, praying that someone would come home and let me hear the sounds of living once again.

But now I find myself surrounded by everyday noise. I wake up next to a beautiful boy, and I listen to him get ready for work; the rustling of clothes, the water in the sink, the blessed sounds of him turning on the coffeepot for me. When he leaves, I can hear his truck start and pull away.

For a moment, there is a slight silence, but it is soon replaced by the sounds of the world waking up. The birds begin their chirping, and cars start to drive by. When 7am rolls around, the shops are open. People greet each other. The restaurant next door bustles.

I walk to work at the college, and I'm further surrounded by the din of life. The telephones ring, and the office chatter is fueled by an undercurrent of printers and slamming doors.

My favorite commotion by far is working at the music store. Whether it be lessons or people trying out instruments, my hours are filled with music, and all of it is beautiful. Little boys and girls are just learning to pluck their first notes, while in the main room a seasoned musician strums his favorite chords. Sometimes, there's even an impromptu jam session or sing-along. Those are my favorite days.

Evenings are filled with familiar rehearsal noises, the sounds of techies working, sets being built, the actors tromping across the stage.

The too-short time I spend at home after rehearsal but before bed contains the beautiful sounds of our lives, so varied but familiar that it makes me sigh with happiness. There's the noise of at least one of us cooking dinner, if not both; the pop hiss of a beer bottle being opened, followed by a refreshed "ahh"; the whole house creaks and reacts as we walk and shift; the sounds of a video game being played, almost always accompanied by a beautiful voice saying "Oh shit, I fucked up the mission again"; the deep, contented sigh of another day done as we crawl into bed; the steady sound of his breathing when his mind finally shuts down for the night.

I'm no longer plagued by the sad silence that lets my mind wander into dark and unforgiving thoughts. My life is beautiful, and filled with the music that most people take for granted.

Heart Healthy

Have you ever been to a farmer's market? The square is alive with people, and music floats through the air. Everywhere you look are fresh, home-grown foods. A man sells his fresh-cut soap next to a woman who makes extremely useful-looking clay sponge holders.

There's a certain exhilaration that comes from buying food that has been grown in the same soil you walk over every day. The health benefits have been outlined in all the great medical journals, but I'm speaking only of aesthetics. To know that your food is fresh, pesticide free, and(in the case of the delicious honey wheat rolls I purchased) hand-made. It really does taste better, and the atmospehere makes a shopping trip turn into a beautiful saturday morning outing.

What an incredible place I've chosen to live, that fosters this kind of event every warm weekend. The carrots, broccoli, and rolls have been feeding me well. Growing up in a farming region, I have always had access to fresh greens, but I wish everyone was so lucky. There are studies that show the more green and natural an area is, the lower the crime rating. Perhaps it's time for nature to become part of our lives again, hm?

The Ghosts That Haunt

My relationship with my parents is complicated and nonexistent at best. My mom is an addict, hooked on anything that works; coke, pills, alcohol, and Jesus. She got pregnant with me because she wanted someone who would love her unconditionally. Dad's just a 69-year-old Vietnam vet that never wanted a kid at all.

I've lived with my father for the past 7 or so years. Once upon a time, things were alright. But somewhere recently, he just stopped being my dad, and turned into an asshole.

I remember a few months ago, he had me to the point where I would cry at the drop of a hat(me, who is known for never shedding a tear). My beautiful boy was angry.

And last night, when my father wouldn't stop calling, he took the phone outside. He said I didn't need this strain anymore. I don't know what conversations transpired. I curled up on his bed and waited. When he came back in, he told me that dad wanted me to run a few errands, but everything was fine.

While we were curled up, falling asleep(we're not together, but we haven't slept apart since getting this place), I told him that I envied the relationship he had with his mother. They even have the same laugh. I won't share the rest of our conversation, because there are some things that need to be treasured in secret, but it served as a reminder that there's always more to learn about a person. Even the people that pretend they don't have a story do. I've learned so many things about him(some of which explain why he's been acting the way he has).

I'm looking forward to what's coming next. I don't know what it is, but I'm hoping that we'll stick it out. We're a team, now. I won't abandon him. I'll be a safe haven, no matter the storm. It'll be ok.

A Matter of Manners

It's coming to pass that my beautiful boy's mother will be in the area, and she'd like to come over and see our new place. He suggested that we all go out for dinner as well.

I'm excited as a person can be. His mother is someone whom I love dearly(his whole family has taken me in, really), and her opinion is very important to me. I'm not worried about what she'll think about the apartment, though-I'm curious to know what she'll think of the relationship between her son and I.

There is a part of me that fervently hopes that she'll act as though everything is normal. Molehills become mountains, so why can't it work the other way?

But then, there's a part of me that hopes that when he walks away, she'll lean in for a conspiratorial whisper, asking me what happened. I want to tell her. I want her(or just someone, anyone, that isn't me) to grab him and shake him and tell him to think about what he's doing.

Either way, I'm happy to see her. I don't have a mother in any real sense of the word, and I think she's as close as I may ever come.

Story Time With Cass

I call my beautiful boy "sweetheart", and he does likewise. Most people don't realize that there is, in fact, a story behind it.

Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I once had a friend in Kingsland, Georgia. He was an amazing boy- at the time, I would've married him if he'd let me. For quite some time, we had something that was pure and nice(it seems I have a history of unofficial relationships with boys I love). He refused to ever actually be mine. You see, he had muscular dystrophy(a disease that eats away the muscle), and he was dying.

I always thought that it must be an odd sensation for him, knowing that he didn't have long. It gave our relationship a different quality. Neither of us ever held back something we wanted to say to each other, because we both knew that every conversation could be our last.

The first time I went to visit him, he was graduating from high school. It had taken him an extra two years. They had only built a ramp on one side of the stage, so a group of men lifted him and his entire wheelchair onto the other side, so that he could go across like everyone else. When he did, everyone in that stadium cheered. Hundreds of people there, cheering him on, congratulating him. Hundreds of people, but I was the one he'd chosen. It was one of the most overwhelming moments in my life.

The second and last time I went to visit, I brought my beautiful boy along. My Georgia boy and I had grown distant, but I still wanted to see him one more time. The drive was thirteen hours long and I had no driver's license, so my Georgia boy was amicable to my bringing someone along. And, more importantly, we had talked about him. My Georgia boy must have seen where my heart was going, and expressed a great amount of interest in meeting this new person in my life. In retrospect, I think it gave him some comfort to know that there was someone who would take care of me when he no longer could.

The visit was interesting, and I was happy. It was scary, though, to see someone so small. I always wondered just how someone could survive for so long being so small. On our way out, my beautiful boy was packing a pipe(yes, we do partake in somewhat illegal extracurricular activities). I happened to glance over and notice two Georgia State Troopers, that would very soon be about three feet from our car and look down into our windows.

Without thinking, I started subtly hitting his arm. "Uh... sweetheart...." I said, trying to draw his attention without drawing theirs. He looked up with both confusion and amusement. Of course, then he looked over, and rapidly hid his activities.

Why I called him "sweetheart" at that moment, I don't know, but we had a good laugh about it on the way home. Ever since then, that's been our special name for each other. Even now, it's something that we reserve for each other.

I remember that trip with all kinds of fondness- the little Georgia diner where we had breakfast, stopping by my Uncle Dave's on the way down, our agreement to take turns driving a hundred miles each(and then how I couldn't bear to wake him up for his turn and ended up driving three hundred instead). I remember that we stopped on the Bay Bridge-Tunnel, on the Seagull Pier(one of my all-time favorite places) and had lunch, and how when we slept in the back of my car at the rest stop in Georgia and he put his arm around me. In Maryland it was still winter, but as we went south we drove into spring.

Though my Georgia boy and Uncle Dave are gone, and it's not likely that I'll be able to take such a huge trip again soon, my beautiful boy is still here. He still calls me sweetheart. It's funny how some things live on.

Truth and Beauty

Introductions have become difficult around you, sweetheart. You say I'm your friend; people always look confused to hear it. Everyone else introduces me as your girlfriend.

Your lifelong friend has won my admiration that way. He was having none of your shit.

"How are you related?"
"I'm-"
"She's his girlfriend."
"She's my friend."
"Yeah? Well they're awfully boyfriendy-girlfriendy."

I already like your friends-they're great guys. I can even tell the twins apart. And it's one thing to think to myself that you're going through something weird, but to hear someone who has known you for twenty years call you out in the middle of a crowd gave me a little more confidence.

While I was waiting for you, I was trying to find a blank page in your notebook. Instead, I found something you had written. "It's like we're back at the beginning of The Hairy Ape, when nothing was certain but our confidence". I don't know when you wrote that-you've had that notebook for at least a year- but sweetheart, you're wrong. I was more certain than you knew. I was already certain I loved you. That play was for you, every bit of it. I wanted to tell you I loved you, by creating beauty around you.

Now, I've let go of beauty, but I still want to create with you. A home, a life, a love that people tell stories about.

And we've already got a start on that, sweetheart.

Perpetual Motion

"It seems that perfection is reached not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away."
I first found this notable quote of Antoine de Saint Exupéry in Wind, Sand, and Stars(a wonderful book, that everyone should read at least once). When he said it, it was referring to aircraft, but I've since seen his words taken far out of context(the farthest being the favorite saying of a girl troubled with anorexia). I wonder if he ever imagined that people would take something so simple and repeat it with so many different meanings.

It has developed a meaning for me, as well. My beautiful boy and I have nothing left to take away-there's no trappings of a relationship, no one in our home to judge us. We're left with only the bare bones; we only have love left.

There are those who say that if someone loves you, they want to claim you. I used to feel that way, but he's taught me that love is a stronger glue. We love each other, we aren't going to seek anyone else.

There is nothing to take away; we are perfect.