Dating is awkward
But so is being alone (not finished)
The rain found its way inside, drip dropping on the floor, each drop louder than the last. I tossed the dead roses from a vase on the desk, dusted it off, and placed it onto the floor. “Who had even given me those roses?” I thought, as I slid my body all the way down, back into my chair. Waiting for him to show was torture. I never thought I was the type of person who needed help finding a man, but apparently, that was the case. “He’s just so smart Anna and so very polite!” Were the words uttered from my mother’s lips. “You’ll adore him!” To me, smart meant ugly, and polite just meant sneaky. The classic “Eddie Haskell” who flipped the angelic switch once Mrs. Cleaver walked into the room. This guy hadn’t even arrived, and I already hated him. Why did I do that? Why was it so hard for me to think this was a going to go well? “This guy could be the man of my dreams”, I thought.
“Drip”
“Drop”
That incessant rain kept adding minutes to the clock, as my dress seemed to become more and more wrinkled. At least my hair was still intact…for the time being. I did Olympic pool sized laps around my small apartment for hours that night. I was ready for an eight o’clock date by six. I blamed my father, for instilling in me an irrational fear of being late for things. “Curse you dad!” I said, as I practiced walking in heels that should require a license. Adding inches to myself did not make me any more smart or charming, but my legs looked damn good. I felt so vain staring into the mirror as much as I did that night. “Who are you?” I said to my reflection as I tried to recall the last time I had even been on a date. After smacking my gum for two hours I peered at the clock, which read eight.
“Get a grip Anna”
Nobody shows up directly when they say they will no matter how “polite” they are. By 8:05 I was convinced he wasn’t showing as good ol’ dad screamed inside my head.
“Annie you’re going to be late! Where is he?”
I rose from my bed and clonked along the rotting floor to check the level of filthy rainwater pouring into the vase. You would think someone wearing Chanel earrings and carrying a Gucci purse would not have to worry about rain inside the bedroom of their single floor apartment. Priorities. Priorities. Priorities.
Just as I stared at my reflection in the filthy murky water… I heard a loud knock on my door.
I took one last look in the mirror gave myself the pep talk of all pep talks and walked towards the door adjusting my dress to whatever curves I possessed. With my heart pounding like a newborn kittens I somehow brought myself to open the door, and there stood the handsomest man my eyes had ever beheld. “Thanks mom”, I said inside my head and aloud I managed to say, “It’s very nice to meet you my name is Anna.”
He reached out his hand, which had grown weary by the weather and an honest days work.
Man hands, I called them.
"Do you mind if I use the restroom?" He said.
Naturally I was horrified, that this picture perfect potential lover would come into my living space. A lot can be said about the way you keep your home. My home screamed "crazy cat lady with dripping cieling."
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
"Por Favor, no Fumar"
The sound of tracks was adding to my already ferocious headache on a wednesday afternoon at 1:15 p.m. Public transportation was either the most valuable man made invention provided by industrialized America...or the worst. the level four sex offender to my right was burning a hole through my clothes with his horrible stare. As he was lookin I thought, "at least he isn't looking at the precious little girl laughing in her mothers arms directly across from me." Grandpa always told me to look for the silver lining...and that's exactly what I did. Downtown Crossing. The home of "busy" citizens with useless jobs, lonely people with bad habits, and street performers without an ounce of talent. It's hard to tell the scum from the average Joe today. Dogding the puddles of spit and mountains of garbage skattered across the ground I just made it in time to hop onto the orange line train. "Attention all passengers, the next Orange line train to Oak Grove is now approaching.....por favor, no fumar." It's sad how today everyone is afraid of each other. The woman to my left looked...and I looked back, wondering wether or not I should smile. I became awkwardly uncomfortable. If I didn't smile I was rude...and if I did smile well then I was just weird...... I decided to be weird.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
"Failed attempts at fiction"
Failed attempts at fiction.
(Written by me; Not complete)
The town dripped with the sweet fragrance of freshly printed green papers, and the streets paved with gold made it hard for folks to see. Some, who did not walk, would drive about in automobiles of every color and size. Windows were always tinted as to obscure the vision of the boy sitting on the curb with his hand out hoping for a chance of seeing tomorrow’s sun. The young girls of this place some say, were pictures of perfection. Beauties intricately painted against a concrete canvas. And these beauties were kept locked indoors by those who loved them, in fear that if they were let go the harsh winds of the nearby sea would sweep by them capturing their innocence and their light. To them, the sirens blearing and cutting through the air were just sounds, and the trash that covered their paths was just another thing to sweep aside, as to not ruin the sight of their reflection in their ever shining shoes. They were girls who spent their days peering into the mirror, but never once truly saw themselves, because they were terrified that what they would see would be nothing but ugliness to match their small surrounding world. They did not know how to look for beauty within their world, but it was there, always, in the most unexpected places. It was in the face of a mother watching her son go down a slide fore the first time, in the arms of the elderly man, sitting on the park bench, wrapped around the girl he fell in love with the minute she walked into his 10th grade class. It was in the smell of the air right before the snow, and the touch of the first raindrop of a storm trickling down your cheek. It was his smile and her laugh as they nervously held hands for the first time and the feel of the sun beating on your back as you run into the ocean and crash into a giant wave. It’s the boy blowing bubbles skipping down the sidewalk and the sound of the wind blowing the storm door open and shut. These are merely words, which fail in comparison to experiencing the things that were all around, but often overlooked. This was due to the town’s lack of the realization that it was their world…and they were there…but not forever…
These were the words quickly jotted down by Annemarie on the way home from class, recalling the best advice her mother ever gave her. “There are three essential items a woman must always carry, a pen, a journal, and the right shade of lipstick.” “With her nose always buried in a book she knows more about the world than anyone,” she thought.
Annmarie did not enjoy people from her story. She was a girl who took pleasure in the smallest of things and did her best to never forget it. Walking the streets to her home Annmarie caught a glimpse of the world she had grown to love despite of the blinding spectacle. Approaching the small home in the center of what could be called “downtown hell” she entered to find her mother sitting in a chair reading the words of dead poets.
“Mother, what is your favorite thing in the whole world?”
She asked setting her bag down on the worn end table.
“Besides you? (She laughed) Hope.”
“Hope is not a thing mother it’s an idea.”
“Yes, well it’s a good one.”
Lilly had been her daughter’s only guardian from the time she was five and was the soul reason that Annmarie was not like the others.
“Today I have come across the only man worthy of my love.”
“Oh yes? Where did you meet him?”
“At his home of course, a lovely little cardboard box on second street right beside the man who preaches the apocalypse.”
“He was homeless?” said Lilly with disbelief in her eyes; quickly replaced by the realization that it was her daughter she was talking to.
“He was sleeping with a torn photograph in one hand, a half bottle of jack daniels right beside his head, and wore a smile like he knew a profound secret. All I know is he looked more at home mother, than any person I had ever come across in my entire life.”
“Well before you make wedding plans, a package came for you in the mail.”
Annmarie excitedly ran to the table, cleared away her mothers crumbled up attempts at a novel, and underneath them all she revealed a brown box addressed to her.
“What is it?” called Lilly from the next room.
“I don’t know.” She answered softly
Lilly joined her daughter in the kitchen her eyes weighed heavy on her face from an obvious lack of sleep. Her hair was a faded brown and her eyes were as green as the trees that once blew where the brick buildings now touched the sky in their place.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Not Yet”
“Well who is it from?”
“It doesn’t say”
Annmarie set the box on the table quickly and made her way up the creaking steps her fingers brushing across the splintering banister. It was a modest home. Making her way down the hall, which was covered by the hanging images of the pleasurable past she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a plain girl thin and modest in stature. Her hair was the color her mothers once was long ago, deep chocolate brown, and her eyes held the blue of what she looked to most during the day for answers, the sky. In honesty no one had written of her face like the princesses in the fairytales she was read as a child, but deep down she could say she felt beautiful and meant it with all her heart. She continued down the hallway and entered the bathroom still filled with steam from her mother’s afternoon shower. She lifted away a loose tile from the wall reached inside and pulled out a photograph and immediately brought it to her chest. The edges were faded, so was the color, but that face was clearer than any she had seen in person that day. She poured herself onto the cold slate and felt her own heart. Each beat was a loud reminder that she was alive. As her nails tapped rapidly against the tiles she wondered how it was that she remained so patient in a world of broken promises. He said he wouldn’t leave she thought, remembering the way his beard would tickle as it brushed against her cheek. She gasped for air praying that the scent of smoke from downstairs would take her back to the time when no one ached. Where the sun would split the trees and light his eyes, welling with tears. “I’ll just stay here,” she thought and she waited for the spot on which she lay to feel warm. He was truly the only man Annemarie ever loved, aside from the homeless man she had met earlier that day. He was a man with dignity and respect.
Her parents loved with, what Poe would say, a love that was deeper than love. Much how Romeo loved Juliet, how Lancelot loved Guinevere, and how Narcissus loved himself. But much like these stories love was all but had never been enough. Annmarie was awaken from her daze by the loud sound of knocks on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright sweetheart?”
“I’m Fine.” She hated lying to her mother, more than she loathed an empty mind, or a closed heart.
“I made you your favorite since today is a special day.”
“People are born everyday mom I would hardly call it special,” she said picking herself up off the floor and making sure the tile in the wall matched up just a perfectly as it did before.
She opened the door to find Lilly standing with a half baked birthday cake in one hand, a poorly wrapped present in the other and a look of “I tried” on her drooping face.
“Thanks mom,” she said and threw her arms around her in an attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying. They moved the impromptu birthday party back to the kitchen where a short of breath Annemarie blew out the candles and made the wish she knew would never come true.
“Do you ever miss him?” she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer she would receive but more in fear of the look it would bring to her mothers face. It was the same look every time. The look you get when you have truly lost something.
“You were too young to understand Annie..”
“That’s not what I asked! I asked if you missed him.” Annemarie heard her voice becoming somewhat more stern than the many other times she’d asked this same question.
Lilly became pale. Her faded eyes showed a battle like no other going on inside her head, and with every bit of hesitation she possessed she said.
“Everyday.” Standing in the awkward silence for what seemed an eternity Lilly leaned in to kiss her daughter on the four head.
“I think I will read for awhile, maybe take a nap.”
“Ok mom.” Lilly made her way back up the stairs for the final time that night forgetting that her secret stash held nothing but empty bottles.
“Happy birthday my girl.”
(Written by me; Not complete)
The town dripped with the sweet fragrance of freshly printed green papers, and the streets paved with gold made it hard for folks to see. Some, who did not walk, would drive about in automobiles of every color and size. Windows were always tinted as to obscure the vision of the boy sitting on the curb with his hand out hoping for a chance of seeing tomorrow’s sun. The young girls of this place some say, were pictures of perfection. Beauties intricately painted against a concrete canvas. And these beauties were kept locked indoors by those who loved them, in fear that if they were let go the harsh winds of the nearby sea would sweep by them capturing their innocence and their light. To them, the sirens blearing and cutting through the air were just sounds, and the trash that covered their paths was just another thing to sweep aside, as to not ruin the sight of their reflection in their ever shining shoes. They were girls who spent their days peering into the mirror, but never once truly saw themselves, because they were terrified that what they would see would be nothing but ugliness to match their small surrounding world. They did not know how to look for beauty within their world, but it was there, always, in the most unexpected places. It was in the face of a mother watching her son go down a slide fore the first time, in the arms of the elderly man, sitting on the park bench, wrapped around the girl he fell in love with the minute she walked into his 10th grade class. It was in the smell of the air right before the snow, and the touch of the first raindrop of a storm trickling down your cheek. It was his smile and her laugh as they nervously held hands for the first time and the feel of the sun beating on your back as you run into the ocean and crash into a giant wave. It’s the boy blowing bubbles skipping down the sidewalk and the sound of the wind blowing the storm door open and shut. These are merely words, which fail in comparison to experiencing the things that were all around, but often overlooked. This was due to the town’s lack of the realization that it was their world…and they were there…but not forever…
These were the words quickly jotted down by Annemarie on the way home from class, recalling the best advice her mother ever gave her. “There are three essential items a woman must always carry, a pen, a journal, and the right shade of lipstick.” “With her nose always buried in a book she knows more about the world than anyone,” she thought.
Annmarie did not enjoy people from her story. She was a girl who took pleasure in the smallest of things and did her best to never forget it. Walking the streets to her home Annmarie caught a glimpse of the world she had grown to love despite of the blinding spectacle. Approaching the small home in the center of what could be called “downtown hell” she entered to find her mother sitting in a chair reading the words of dead poets.
“Mother, what is your favorite thing in the whole world?”
She asked setting her bag down on the worn end table.
“Besides you? (She laughed) Hope.”
“Hope is not a thing mother it’s an idea.”
“Yes, well it’s a good one.”
Lilly had been her daughter’s only guardian from the time she was five and was the soul reason that Annmarie was not like the others.
“Today I have come across the only man worthy of my love.”
“Oh yes? Where did you meet him?”
“At his home of course, a lovely little cardboard box on second street right beside the man who preaches the apocalypse.”
“He was homeless?” said Lilly with disbelief in her eyes; quickly replaced by the realization that it was her daughter she was talking to.
“He was sleeping with a torn photograph in one hand, a half bottle of jack daniels right beside his head, and wore a smile like he knew a profound secret. All I know is he looked more at home mother, than any person I had ever come across in my entire life.”
“Well before you make wedding plans, a package came for you in the mail.”
Annmarie excitedly ran to the table, cleared away her mothers crumbled up attempts at a novel, and underneath them all she revealed a brown box addressed to her.
“What is it?” called Lilly from the next room.
“I don’t know.” She answered softly
Lilly joined her daughter in the kitchen her eyes weighed heavy on her face from an obvious lack of sleep. Her hair was a faded brown and her eyes were as green as the trees that once blew where the brick buildings now touched the sky in their place.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Not Yet”
“Well who is it from?”
“It doesn’t say”
Annmarie set the box on the table quickly and made her way up the creaking steps her fingers brushing across the splintering banister. It was a modest home. Making her way down the hall, which was covered by the hanging images of the pleasurable past she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a plain girl thin and modest in stature. Her hair was the color her mothers once was long ago, deep chocolate brown, and her eyes held the blue of what she looked to most during the day for answers, the sky. In honesty no one had written of her face like the princesses in the fairytales she was read as a child, but deep down she could say she felt beautiful and meant it with all her heart. She continued down the hallway and entered the bathroom still filled with steam from her mother’s afternoon shower. She lifted away a loose tile from the wall reached inside and pulled out a photograph and immediately brought it to her chest. The edges were faded, so was the color, but that face was clearer than any she had seen in person that day. She poured herself onto the cold slate and felt her own heart. Each beat was a loud reminder that she was alive. As her nails tapped rapidly against the tiles she wondered how it was that she remained so patient in a world of broken promises. He said he wouldn’t leave she thought, remembering the way his beard would tickle as it brushed against her cheek. She gasped for air praying that the scent of smoke from downstairs would take her back to the time when no one ached. Where the sun would split the trees and light his eyes, welling with tears. “I’ll just stay here,” she thought and she waited for the spot on which she lay to feel warm. He was truly the only man Annemarie ever loved, aside from the homeless man she had met earlier that day. He was a man with dignity and respect.
Her parents loved with, what Poe would say, a love that was deeper than love. Much how Romeo loved Juliet, how Lancelot loved Guinevere, and how Narcissus loved himself. But much like these stories love was all but had never been enough. Annmarie was awaken from her daze by the loud sound of knocks on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright sweetheart?”
“I’m Fine.” She hated lying to her mother, more than she loathed an empty mind, or a closed heart.
“I made you your favorite since today is a special day.”
“People are born everyday mom I would hardly call it special,” she said picking herself up off the floor and making sure the tile in the wall matched up just a perfectly as it did before.
She opened the door to find Lilly standing with a half baked birthday cake in one hand, a poorly wrapped present in the other and a look of “I tried” on her drooping face.
“Thanks mom,” she said and threw her arms around her in an attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying. They moved the impromptu birthday party back to the kitchen where a short of breath Annemarie blew out the candles and made the wish she knew would never come true.
“Do you ever miss him?” she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer she would receive but more in fear of the look it would bring to her mothers face. It was the same look every time. The look you get when you have truly lost something.
“You were too young to understand Annie..”
“That’s not what I asked! I asked if you missed him.” Annemarie heard her voice becoming somewhat more stern than the many other times she’d asked this same question.
Lilly became pale. Her faded eyes showed a battle like no other going on inside her head, and with every bit of hesitation she possessed she said.
“Everyday.” Standing in the awkward silence for what seemed an eternity Lilly leaned in to kiss her daughter on the four head.
“I think I will read for awhile, maybe take a nap.”
“Ok mom.” Lilly made her way back up the stairs for the final time that night forgetting that her secret stash held nothing but empty bottles.
“Happy birthday my girl.”
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