"When you feel the world is crashing all around your feet, come running headlong into my arms."
Devin couldn't help but scan the room the moment she entered the old gymnasium. She wasn't having feelings of nostalgia from the hundreds of times she had been in this room watching basketball games or having cheer practice. She wasn't taking in the sight of her former classmates as they mingled awkwardly. She was looking for him.
Devin had planned to come to this high school reunion for all the typical reasons. There were people she hadn't seen in years that she was genuinely looking forward to catching up with. And of course there were people that she just nosily wanted to see what happened to. And yes Devin was also happy to show off her new fiance and tell everyone about her important job in Los Angeles.
Then three weeks before the reunion, she found out the news. Ryan was sick. Really sick. Cancer sick. Of course Devin didn't find out from Ryan; they hadn't spoke in nearly eight years. A friend of a friend told her.
So here she was looking around for this boy from high school. Ryan. The one that got away, as she had jokingly told her fiance. And now that Devin was surrounded by this familiar place and former friends, those old feelings stirred up a little more than she expected. But she did her part. She mingled and hugged and drank punch.
Then there Ryan was. She nearly fell over him trying to avoid a girl she used to take Spanish with. The party was almost over, so Ryan asked her for the last dance. It was all so epic, so high school. Devin glanced furtively at her fiance who nodded his head okay. She noticed some reluctance in his eyes, but he knew how important this was for her.
All Devin really remembered about that dance was that the music was slow and a little melancholy, that Ryan was thinner than expected when she put her arms on his shoulders, and that they never said a word. But somehow it was perfect. It was the fulfillment of a crush. It was the reuniting of old friends. It was goodbye.
The song ended. Ryan stepped back, then took her in for a quick but powerful hug. Then he was gone, just as abruptly as he had appeared. Devin turned and walked unsteadily towards her fiance who gratefully met her halfway. And she cried, which is maybe what she had really been waiting to do all along.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
untouchable
"I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why."
It felt like being lost. He was in a chair, in a hallway. That much he knew. He could see sun shining through an open window at the end of the hall. The thought suddenly came to him that he liked sunny days. He looked eagerly at the window for just one second, but the cloud of confusion he was under was overwhelming. So he continued to sit.
Otis. The name came to him and he was almost sure it was his name. Otis. It was a good name. Reliable, masculine, hardworking man's name. So Otis sat in his chair searching for a memory. How did he get here? And where is here? He closed his eyes tried to remember, but there was just fragments of childhood. Climbing trees, eating supper at a large table busy with lots of kids, sitting in a classroom, playing football with a beat-up, practically flat football. He opened his eyes. These were not the hands of a child. These hands were old, worn from time and hard work.
Then there she was. A beautiful woman. Thick, silky gray hair. Dressed well, with an energy that defied her age. And she looked directly at him and called his name. Otis. Yes, that was his name. The woman knew him.
She came and sat in a chair beside him. She talked about things he didn't know. People whose names were unfamiliar. She showed him pictures of young kids. Someone else's grandkids. He held one picture for a long time. That kid looked so much like himself in the fragmented childhood he was trying desperately to hold onto.
But there was her. Everything about her seemed familiar. The urge to caress her hair and hold her hand was strong, but she would think he was crazy. She seemed so familiar. He could imagine her younger. Making dinner in a kitchen surrounded by kids. Kissing him quickly on his way out the door to work. He felt connected to her. Like he had known her all his life. This must be love at first sight.
Then she was leaving, though it seemed she had just gotten here. She kissed him on the cheek, squeezed his hand gently, and was gone.
He was in a chair, in a hallway. That was all he knew. The sun was shining through an open window at the end of the hall. The memory of a young boy standing happily in the sunshine on a summer's day fleeted by. And the image came to him of a young woman kissing her husband on his way to work in the morning. He smiled.
It felt like being lost. He was in a chair, in a hallway. That much he knew. He could see sun shining through an open window at the end of the hall. The thought suddenly came to him that he liked sunny days. He looked eagerly at the window for just one second, but the cloud of confusion he was under was overwhelming. So he continued to sit.
Otis. The name came to him and he was almost sure it was his name. Otis. It was a good name. Reliable, masculine, hardworking man's name. So Otis sat in his chair searching for a memory. How did he get here? And where is here? He closed his eyes tried to remember, but there was just fragments of childhood. Climbing trees, eating supper at a large table busy with lots of kids, sitting in a classroom, playing football with a beat-up, practically flat football. He opened his eyes. These were not the hands of a child. These hands were old, worn from time and hard work.
Then there she was. A beautiful woman. Thick, silky gray hair. Dressed well, with an energy that defied her age. And she looked directly at him and called his name. Otis. Yes, that was his name. The woman knew him.
She came and sat in a chair beside him. She talked about things he didn't know. People whose names were unfamiliar. She showed him pictures of young kids. Someone else's grandkids. He held one picture for a long time. That kid looked so much like himself in the fragmented childhood he was trying desperately to hold onto.
But there was her. Everything about her seemed familiar. The urge to caress her hair and hold her hand was strong, but she would think he was crazy. She seemed so familiar. He could imagine her younger. Making dinner in a kitchen surrounded by kids. Kissing him quickly on his way out the door to work. He felt connected to her. Like he had known her all his life. This must be love at first sight.
Then she was leaving, though it seemed she had just gotten here. She kissed him on the cheek, squeezed his hand gently, and was gone.
He was in a chair, in a hallway. That was all he knew. The sun was shining through an open window at the end of the hall. The memory of a young boy standing happily in the sunshine on a summer's day fleeted by. And the image came to him of a young woman kissing her husband on his way to work in the morning. He smiled.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
i wanna know
“I wish that I could take a journey through your mind and find emotions that you always try to hide.”
Archer saw her hiding before she even knew she was. They had been fighting. A vehement argument. The kind that, upon climax, ends in either passionate intimacy or days of silence. As the fight had escalated, Archer was sure this was one that would end passionately. Although he hid it from Lana, his anger had already subsided and he was more than ready to move on to the make-up part of the game.
Then he saw her hide. He was so caught up in the motions of the fight that he truly wasn’t even sure what he had said. Archer thought but he couldn’t find his words, whatever painful chord of truth he had struck in Lana. But he saw her face. The brief moment where the surprise and pain and shame and disappointment shook her, the moment her façade immediately faltered and she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen.
Archer stepped towards her. He wanted nothing more to comfort her, fight or sex be damned. But the moment had passed and now she was hiding. Her face was no longer angry from the fight. And what was most carefully hidden was that flash of vulnerability. It had vanished, and had taken Lana with it. True, she was standing there in front of him. Her face was poised, her stance confident, her voice steady. Too poised, too confident, too steady. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She had retreated to some safe, inner place. A place Archer desperately wanted to touch, to see, to hold and comfort, but a place which he was strictly forbade.
So this fight ended in silence. A silence that Archer knew would end in a few days. But this silence would be different than the ones before. This one came with the unsettling realization for Archer that there was a broken part of Lana. A part that she wasn’t ready to fix, or to even take the first step towards fixing by sharing. A broken part that planted a seed of doubt in Archer about he and Lana’s relationship. And Archer wasn’t sure if he could or should ignore it.
Archer saw her hiding before she even knew she was. They had been fighting. A vehement argument. The kind that, upon climax, ends in either passionate intimacy or days of silence. As the fight had escalated, Archer was sure this was one that would end passionately. Although he hid it from Lana, his anger had already subsided and he was more than ready to move on to the make-up part of the game.
Then he saw her hide. He was so caught up in the motions of the fight that he truly wasn’t even sure what he had said. Archer thought but he couldn’t find his words, whatever painful chord of truth he had struck in Lana. But he saw her face. The brief moment where the surprise and pain and shame and disappointment shook her, the moment her façade immediately faltered and she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen.
Archer stepped towards her. He wanted nothing more to comfort her, fight or sex be damned. But the moment had passed and now she was hiding. Her face was no longer angry from the fight. And what was most carefully hidden was that flash of vulnerability. It had vanished, and had taken Lana with it. True, she was standing there in front of him. Her face was poised, her stance confident, her voice steady. Too poised, too confident, too steady. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She had retreated to some safe, inner place. A place Archer desperately wanted to touch, to see, to hold and comfort, but a place which he was strictly forbade.
So this fight ended in silence. A silence that Archer knew would end in a few days. But this silence would be different than the ones before. This one came with the unsettling realization for Archer that there was a broken part of Lana. A part that she wasn’t ready to fix, or to even take the first step towards fixing by sharing. A broken part that planted a seed of doubt in Archer about he and Lana’s relationship. And Archer wasn’t sure if he could or should ignore it.
Monday, July 13, 2009
dreaming with a broken heart
"Was she really here?"
She left this smell. Something floral, probably from her lotion. It clung to the pillows. That smell that used to be annoying. That he used to hassle her about. Now he hung tightly to the pillows. He found himself searching the couch, the closet, the bathroom, hoping that a trace of the smell still existed.
But he always found solace in the pillows. He would lay down in the bed. On his side. He would curl up next to one of the pillows, close his eyes, and see her. Curled up on the bed with a magazine. Putting on make-up in the mirror. Changing her clothes seven times before picking an outfit. And then changing again.
And he would open his eyes sometimes fully expecting to see her right where he had imagined. Her, in her long-legged, flashy smile glory. But she would be gone. And all that was left was the lingering smell on her pillow.
"Is she standing in my room?"
She left this smell. Something floral, probably from her lotion. It clung to the pillows. That smell that used to be annoying. That he used to hassle her about. Now he hung tightly to the pillows. He found himself searching the couch, the closet, the bathroom, hoping that a trace of the smell still existed.
But he always found solace in the pillows. He would lay down in the bed. On his side. He would curl up next to one of the pillows, close his eyes, and see her. Curled up on the bed with a magazine. Putting on make-up in the mirror. Changing her clothes seven times before picking an outfit. And then changing again.
And he would open his eyes sometimes fully expecting to see her right where he had imagined. Her, in her long-legged, flashy smile glory. But she would be gone. And all that was left was the lingering smell on her pillow.
"Is she standing in my room?"
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