ever the same

"You were holding me like someone broken. And I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now, just let me hold you while you're falling apart."

Everything was just she had imagined it would be. Blue and white streamers were draped across the room. Matching balloons clung close to the high ceiling. Music poured through the old sound system. A table on one side with punch and snacks. Really this reunion was just like their senior year winter dance except they were all old now.

But there was one thing Leah was looking for that she hadn't found yet. Donnie Ericson. The boy who saved her life. Leah doubted if he knew he had saved her. To him it was probably just some random night after a football game, a night where he consoled a girl crying by the bleachers. But it had meant so much to her.

She had always felt alone. She had been that girl. The popular, pretty cheerleader. Always surrounded by the other popular people and the wannabe popular people. In fact she had not even known Donnie's name that night. It took nearly a week for one of the wannabes to scrounge it up for her. But it was the classic high school tale. The popular crowd is made up of just as many lonely, insecure, sad teenagers as any other group was in high school. Leah was no exception.

But that night, Leah hadn't been able to hold the pretense of happy up. Her parents were fighting, her little sister was in the hospital again, and her big brother was nowhere to be found, probably strung out in some back alley. It was simply too much and she had hidden out on the side of the bleachers during halftime to cry.

Then there was Donnie. Who did nothing more than take her to a quiet spot under the bleacher, hold her hand, and listen as she blabbed on about all her problems at home. He barely said a word and when halftime was over, he stood her up and sent her on her way with one message: "I know you're strong enough for this."

Years had gone by and many things had happened, some amazing and some horrific. But those words echoed in her mind constantly, and Leah was strong. And when had weak moments, moments where she broke down and cried, she always imagined Donnie was there holding her hand.

So Leah searched the crowd for Donnie Ericson. She had been waiting for this day for years. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared that night ten years ago, Leah looked to her side and there he was. Standing beside her as if he had always been there, as if he fit there. Her words failed her, so she reached out and held his hand as the happiest tears she'd ever felt streamed down her face.

human nature

"If this town is just an apple, then let me take a bite."

There were those that came with disillusioned hope. Dreams of starring in Broadway's biggest acts. Visions of walking runways during Fashion Week. These were the ones distracted by the bright lights and lost into the neverending night. But this was not to be the story of Jordan Hill.

Jordan left his home, a small town in North Carolina, to move to New York. He came for more than the glitz though. He found a small loft for rent in Brooklyn. He had a view of Manhattan across the bridge. His neighborhood was filled with interesting people, a diversity that went far beyond something as predictable as race.

He secured a job as a paralegal at a top law firm before he came, due mainly to a glowing recommendation from his previous boss, a partner at a small but respected firm in Raleigh. He worked long hours in Manhattan. Jordan relished the work and even started looking into local law schools.

But Jordan really came for something he could never get in North Carolina. He spent his free time hanging out in Central Park, seeing plays and shows throughout the city, dining at a different restaurant and cafe whenever he could. He came to simply live a life he couldn't back home. The exposure to so many cultures of people. The opportunity to see and hear and do almost anything he could imagine. The fast pace of the city that made him feel more alive than he ever had before.

Jordan didn't come here with dreams of making it big. He didn't come with plans to live up the night life. He didn't even come with hopes of living the posh life on the Upper East Side. Jordan's arrival in New York had been the plan, had brought him hope, and was already more than he could have ever dreamed.

save the best for last

"It's not the way I hoped or how I planned, but somehow its enough."

Her decision had been made. Janet had sat on the bed, staring into the bathroom for hours. She could see the test stick on the counter and knew what it indicated. She was pregnant.

It wasn't the right time. Janet was in her first year of an MBA program. It had been such a struggle to decide what she wanted to do with her life. Once she had realized she wanted to work in business and hopefully start her own, she had worked diligently to get into one of the best MBA programs in the country. And these first three months had been challenging and time consuming.

It wasn't the right guy. Walker was a classmate that she had been paired up with the first day of one of her classes. Their task had been to create a fake business from the ground up. After only two weeks working together, they became intimate. Walker wasn't even her type. It seemed more a hook-up of convenience and duress from all the stress than some irresistible love connection.

Janet had always dreamed of having children. She could imagine herself in a beautiful house. With a husband, two kids and a dog. But she wanted those things first. A husband, a house, a career, some financial security. Still she had made a decision. And once made, there was no room for regret or doubt.

roses

"Cause with my family, we know where home is. So instead of bringing flowers, we the roses."

There they were. Betsy, Darlene, and Little Ann. Betsy was the oldest. And she had always been the busiest. Today she was in her usual pattern of directing then doing. She would literally go tell you to stir the cake batter and then 30 seconds later come take the bowl right out of your hand and stir it herself.

Darlene was the middle child yet somehow had managed to be the star of the family. She was always certain to be the center of attention. Today she was talking endlessly about the tiff she'd had at the grocery store last week with one of the stock boys. And as usual was busy making herself look busy, but not really doing much.

Little Ann was the youngest, hence the "Little". She was a quiet, gentle soul. She never complained and always smiled, an amazing feat with these sisters. Today she was vigorously peeling potatoes and patiently nodding to Darlene's long-winded tale.

My aunts. My dad's sisters. He had been the oldest of all, and he often talked about how he had helped raise them all after their father died. Dad was only 15 years old. Me and Dad were kind of alike in that sense. Except my mom left us when I was 13. Today he sat in the living room with the aunts' husbands, watching some predictable old movie. Probably Shaft or something Pam Grier related.

And there were more. There were cousins and baby cousins out in the backyard and all through the house. My little brother had just called to tell me when his bus arrived. I came in with my arms full for my aunts. Needed items from the grocery store that I had to stop at before driving my rental car to the house.

Today everything seemed normal. We were all in our usual patterns. But everything was about to change because Little Ann's husband had been diagnosed with a terminal cancer. His first treatment was tomorrow and we knew they both needed us.

gotta figure this out

"Don't wake me cause I'm dreaming in color."

These are beautiful places and magical lands

Grass grows a brilliant violet
And they imagine themselves running through fields barefoot
Until the soles of their feet match the grass

Trees walk with them, hand in branch
Telling stories of times long forgotten
The sagas of the heroic and the lyrics of epic love
And the leaves turn gold and orange but never fall

The sun always shines
Red hot during the day so they can eat ice cream
Bright blue at night so the monsters stay in the closet
While stars blaze blue like the sun and almost close enough to reach

Yet their dream always ends
Sudden gray clouds warn them that their little bodies have betrayed them with waking
And they wake to a world that their pain keeps black and white
Where each has their own, very real monster

come in with the rain

"And I, I've got you down. I know you by heart. And you don't even know where I start."

It was clear even to a stranger. A person walking down a crowded street could have looked at Bianca and Joe and could have known what somehow eluded Bianca. That while she adored him, he barely even acknowledged she was there.

In restaurants, Bianca would lean in to him, eager to talk, and he would lean back. Joe would take her to sports bars, where he could avoid her under the guise of a football game. Every chance he had, he was checking out other girls.

When they hung out with friends, the two would come together but Joe would always separate from her. He would spend his time chatting with his friends. When Bianca would approach him, he barely looked up and would only grumble a meaningless response.
Even when they were alone, Joe would chatter on about his day or his problems but never ask about hers. When Bianca tried to talk, he would find a way to bring the conversation back around to him or end it all together.

Yet Bianca appeared oblivious. Completely unaware of how little Joe cared. But there was a truth a stranger could never know. Joe cared but didn't know how to show it. He had never been in a relationship and didn't realize there was more to it than just showing up. And Bianca was aware of how Joe treated her. She was trying to be patient but was close to giving up on him.

Maybe a stranger should have pulled Joe aside...

iris

"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming."

Marty held his mother's hand tightly as the reverend began to speak. He had known Rev. Johns his whole life and had been going to this church nearly every Sunday since he was a little boy. Marty had heard countless sermons, about faith and hope and forgiveness and perseverance. It seemed so strange now for Rev. Johns to speak about his father.

There was talk of how he loved his family, his wife Martha and their two sons Matthew and Martin. Even that seemed strange. He couldn't ever remember Rev. Johns calling him Martin, not Marty. But this was a serious moment, so nicknames must be inappropriate.

Marty sat quietly as the reverend bellowed into the microphone about his father. He had always hated the fact that he grew up in a small town, but now their was a small comfort in knowing that everyone in the church had known his father, that the church was filled with support.
Yet he was eager for the service to end. For the casket to be in the ground. For the baskets of muffins and casserole dishes to stop coming. Marty felt like he couldn't breath. Everyday since his father had been hospitalised three weeks ago, he felt like he had been struggling for air. A drowning feeling. He was desperate to be rid of this feeling, to breakdown like his mother and grandmother had. Instead he felt empty. He was embarrassed by his stoic demeanor and paranoid that people would think he didn't love his father.

Marty glanced across his mother and saw his brother gripping her hand tightly and sobbing. His strong, brave brother that he had never seen cry was weeping. And he was more jealous than he was surprised.

"Or the moment the truth in you lies."

Matthew found himself quietly sobbing and hoped no one noticed. Of course what were the chances of that. He was on the front pew of his family church. Rev. Johns was at the podium talking about his father. All eyes were on this pew. The nosy neighbors watching every move and moment of anguish coming from his family.

Matthew sat between his mother and grandmother. He was holding their hands and had determined to be strong through the service. After all, he had had his breakdown. He cried for an hour in his bedroom two days after his father died. He had been so melodramatic. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his father's favorite baseball cap. And weeping like a seven year old.

And then there was the hospital. He had cried right before his father died. He been summoned to his father's bedside. Matthew had presumed it would be a "getting affairs in order" type discussion. Where the will was, what kind of service was wanted, life insurance policy information, etc. But it wasn't. His father had called him for a whole other, unexpected, and terrible reason. His father wanted to die. His father wanted Matthew, his eldest son, to kill him. To walk to the machines that kept him alive and stop them.

They had argued. Matthew was surprised to see how much fight the man had in him, which made killing him even harder. Matthew had tried every argument he could think of: moral, legal, practical, and the desperate. But his father's tears, anguish, and own desperation won out. He hugged his father, kissed his pale forehead gingerly, and turned off the machine helping his father pump his heart. His father was gone in less than five minutes, but Matthew gave it an extra 2 minutes before turning the machine back on and summonning the nurses. When they came in the room, they gave him knowing looks.

Matthew had been strong. Finding his family in the waiting area and delivering the news. Planning the funeral. Picking up relatives from the airport. He and Marty had stood strong for a week. In fact, he was proud of this unexpected strength in his little brother.

But the guilt had settled in on Matthew at the service. His unknown role he had played in bringing everyone here was suddenly an overwhelming burden. He felt angry at his father for making the request, horrified at himself for complying, paranoid that somehow everyone knew, and just generally nauseous. It didn't really matter that he knew it was the right thing to do, it was painful.