Synchronicity

She can hardly believe it. One month next week. Wow. As she kisses her lover she thinks how lucky she is. Blessed. She had been looking all her life for a man like this. And now here he was in her arms. She could hardly believe it. If this was a dream she wanted to never wake.  A fantasy come true. How did she get so lucky? She couldn’t even begin to express to her lover how much he meant to her. She would just have to show him, everyday. In every way she knew how. And he felt the same way. To him the sun didn’t start his day, she did. Just the very thought of her in the beginning of the day made his morning brighter than a million suns. She was his best friend. The person he had read about in his cousins romance novels. The person he had written about in every poem he had ever dared to write. And before he ever realized her existence she was there, the most beautiful reality, faced with everything he wanted, needed, and dreamt of in life. He no longer had to wait for a movie to make him feel the warmth of a love so intense. He got that in just the thought of her, and he feels home. He feels whole. New. Reborn. Invincible. She makes him feel like the man he always wanted to be. And all he had to do was… well nothing… all he had to do was… simply breathe… simply keep on living…so keep on living they will. In each others arms, in each others gaze…there is a special meaning, in-transcribable to text, to mere words. They feel it when they hold each other in an ongoing embrace, in the shared pause when they sustain each others gaze as if to say ‘Yes, I feel it too. I feel it, do you?’ The answer is always yes. The most amazing aspect of it all is the mutuality. She only wants to love him, to hold him and to build him up with the courage and strength she saw him give everyone else. He only wants to love her and protect her, to keep her safe with his love. Protect her from all the things in the world that had hurt her before. She loves the way he smells, the way he feels, the way he tastes. Every aspect of him is nourishing to her, feeding her love and expanding the warm glowing energy inside of her. Others could see the difference in her, commenting on the change in her demeanor. “You seem so happy today.” people say. And she is. They are both very, very happy. Little synchronicities act as reminders from the universe that yes, this is real, and yes, this is true, and yes, this is right. To keep moving forward, and to keep loving each other. They recognize that there is something bigger at work then simply just the two of them, and so they pay attention, they listen, they learn, and in each others arms, they grow.

Piagow in Reno

She is quiet. I can hear them complaining of her demeanor. The conversation going back and forth.

“She is not a very good dealer.”

“Not everyone has the personality of a dealer”

They simply do not understand. Where she is from, she is conducting herself with the utmost of honor and respect. It is not proper for a women to be working late at night in a place with bright flashing lights…red, green, hot pink, pulse pulse, pulsing in order to capture your eyes……blind you into confusion so you just give up autonomy and stay…. in a place with loud thumping base and alcohol in tiny glasses….money, money, money, changing hands faster than you can count, then you can see. No, this is no proper place for a woman of decency. I can tell by her demeanor that that is what she is….or has strived to be. Maybe her life has not allowed her to follow the path she wishes to take, maybe the need for rent and food and clothing and medicine has led her to places improper for a decent woman at night-taken her to places that would make her mother cringe, shake her head and click her tounge. But maybe that is what the world has done to her, not what she has done to herself. She may have to be here tonight to count the cards and exchange the crisp twenty-dollar bills for heavy round chips painted in ink induced replications of the festive interior its revenues will support. But she does not have to degrade herself any further by participating in the events surround her. She will do her job with dignity ad respect amidst the flashing of the lights, the pounding of the base, the drinking of the liquid from the tiny glasses….passing money for chips and then chips for cards, taking, receiving, taking, receiving. She will keep her back straight like her mother told her, head high to the heavens, chin down. She will not look anyone directly in the eyes, but only for a second, briefly to acknowledge their presences and then roll her eyes to the side. She will gesture with her delicate hands, thin wrists encircled by rings of smooth, cool jade stone. You can tell by the way she moves her arms and hands that she is a dignified lady. She gestures instead of using her voice, most of the people here wouldn’t understand her anyway. Maybe, maybe, maybe this is her story. A romantic people watcher and storyteller,  I can only speculate. But I believe her quiet demeanor reveals more about her then they will ever perceive.

Him, him, him, him

“How are you?” he made sure to ask her this time. “How is everything?”

It was too little, too late. It couldn’t make up for months of not asking. No way.‘Amazing.’ she thought. ‘How can he think, now, that is going to make a difference? It won’t. It can’t.’ One of her complaints had been that he never asked her how she was. She would not be duped again.

 “Fine, fine, fine. Everything is ok” she smiled. “Thanks for asking.”

‘Jerk’ she thought. ‘Let’s get this over with. I have more important things to do’.

“How are you?” she looked him in the eyes.

“Ok, busy….” He began.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, here we go.’ She thought. ‘I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care anymore.’

She had already listened to months of conversations like this. Him, him, him, him. That was all over now, though. Just needed to get this last damn transaction over with and it was all over.

“I’m sorry for the way I  was before.” he said “I was mad.”

Him, him, him, him. One last time. One last conversation, about him. Then she had the power of choice. She could walk away, and choose to never see him again if she wanted.‘How refreshing’ she thought. ‘This is closure.’

 “Thank you for saying you are sorry. I was surprised that you would treat me that way” as she said it she realized the irony. Considering the brief history of their story, why would she expect him to treat her any other way?

“Maybe it’s just timing or something.” He looked are her, waiting to see if she would agree. 

She looked to the left. It was a delicate situation. What she said here, it would make an impact on both of their futures. She had to be clear. “I definitely think it was the right decision. I don’t know if it is timing or something else, but I definitely think that it is the right decision for me. The romantic thing doesn’t work for us.” She affirmed herself in those sentences, her beliefs, her feelings, her needs. She only spoke about her, her, her, her. And it felt so good. She felt liberated. Squinting in the sun, he looked down. Then he looked up. Into her eyes. And he could see the difference. He had lost his hold on her for good now. He shook his head as if to tell her he understood. She was done. And she was. Those sentences had purged from her all she needed to let go of. The anger, the confusion, the disappointment. It was all over now. Gone. Let it go she had needed, wanted. And let it go she had. Now she felt nothing but thankful for the lessons he had brought her, lessons about personal strength and autonomy. She no longer needed to resent him, him, him, him. One last embrace, and they parted ways. It was over. And she was free. 

Bam!

Bam! This time it landed on her face and she saw black. There was a twinkling of bright lights behind her closed eyelids, and she fell to the floor. ‘Maybe if I just lay here it will stop. I’ll just pretend I blacked out.’ She laid, motionless, trying to sense where the next hit would be coming from. Where he was at. Instead of the expected, she heard him cry out. 

“Baby!” he cried, kneeling down to check on her.

Red, burning rage flooded her senses and she thought ‘Fuck you! You can’t do this to me!’. With a cry she sprang up and slammed him in the face, bam! ‘You can’t do this to me fucker!” she screamed. She didn’t care if the neighbors heard. She wanted them to hear. She wanted them to know. She wanted everyone to know what he was doing to her. But that was a mistake. He was furious. The care he had shown nanoseconds before…enveloped in his own rage. She was in for it now. The battle would continue long into the night. Her trying to escape, him trying to beat her down in any way possible. A game of cat and mouse, predator and prey.   

But the next day, bruises hidden, she would go to school. She would go to work. She would smile when asked how she was and say “fine”. She would blame herself. Guilt for the hand she raised on him would follow her around. Guilt for the things she said. And underneath it all would be the feeling she deserved it. ‘I shouldn’t have made him so mad…I should have tried to calm him down. I should have tried to leave the house. Came back later.’

She knew. Deep down, she knew. He wouldn’t allow anything to calm him. He hid the keys so she couldn’t leave him. Outside the house, inside the house, it was all the same thing to him. He could and would beat her in the front yard, chase her down the street, follow her in the truck if she tried to run on foot. He knew he had her trapped. He got off on it. It was his thing to do after a days work. Go home and beat your wife. He didn’t need to be drunk or on drugs, though he frequently was. This was a power thing, and he always won.

She Liked That

His hands were rough, and she liked that. To her, it indicated a lifetime of work, hard work, using his back, using his hands. He knew so much in the short time he had been on the planet….had experienced so much. She liked that too. He was wise…an old soul in a young body, living a life that had made him a man too young, at such a young age. Yet he was so full of love and hope…..cynicism had no place in his heart. She liked that too. She could see the counter play, the pivot in his personality when he would shift between young boy, and grown man. A man when he needed to be, which was most of the time, and a boy when he could be, in those rare but precious moments when he would let the weight of the world slide off his back. She liked that too. Contemplating her options, she thought about what it all meant. What was she looking for? A lover? A friend? A companion? Or something more?  He made her feel amazing about herself, displaying admiration and passion for the smallest things. Things no one else considered…it felt so good.  He had an openness and honesty that was unmatched, an ability to display unabashed love and affection to others. He had such a good soul. She liked that most of all.

Self-regulating

The pendulum was swinging back to the other side again……….the system was self-regulating. Or was it?

The Future Lay Before You…..

They were smoking behind the parents garage. It was a great night outside. Brisk, but not cold. The cold would come later. This year was a long summer, just finally giving way to fall in early November. 

“I read a quote today.” Brian said, making conversation. “Really got me thinking.”

“Oh yeah? What was it?” Debra asked. 

“Something like ‘The future lay before you like freshly fallen snow. Be careful where you tread, for every step will show” or something profound like that.” he answered. 

“Whoa. That’s deep. I like that” Debra replied. She wanted to think on that for a minute. How true it was. She was feeling light and glowing and happy from the smoke, and the words resounded in her mind.

“The future lay before you like freshly fallen snow.” she repeated.

‘How fitting,’ she thought, ‘considering winter is coming.’ Of course, they didn’t get snow in Southern California. But they had their own cold, winter weather. ”I read this article today about Palin going home to Alaska, and about this thrift store she shops at that charges hundreds of dollars for used designers clothes that all the female politicians seem to shop at up there, and that the residents of Alaska had never seen that meaner side to her she had shown during the campaign, and were now not as trusting of her. Guess her footprints are showing now, huh?”

Brian laughed “Guess so.” 

They looked up at the stars. The whole world seemed to be changing.  The recent changes had made them feel that they could make a difference. That they did count, that they did live in a democracy with other like minded people, who did care and cared enough to make a difference. A common link threaded through them, through all of them, and connected them in that moment in time, to something bigger, broader and more significant. There was the air of glorious accomplishment and quiet pride among them. An unspoken satisfaction with perseverance and a job well done.

“I hope that our footprints will be ones that we could look back on with pride.” Brian said. 

“They will.”  Debra said, nodding. “I know they will.”

Mary

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

A flick of the eye identified the source. It was Mary. She was drawing. Again. 

Ms. Morrison walked across the room, slowly, continuing her lecture. She didnt miss a beat. Stopping in front of Mary’s desk, she lightly tapped the surface. Mary looked up, guilty. Caught. “Sorry Miss Morrison.” she said, meekly. Ms. Morrison smiled kindly and continued with her lecture, walking towards the windows this time, pausing to peer out. She was worried. 

“Bye Miss Morrison.” Mary said as she walked towards the door. “Wait.” Ms. Morrison called out. “Do you have a minute?” 

Miss Morrison recognized the signs. She had seen change in Mary’s behavior, and did not like it. As an educator it was her responsibility to address these issues. She took a deep breath. 

“Mary, you are not in trouble, ok? I just want to say that first.” She looked at Mary to read her reaction. Mary nodded, eyes wide, hands clasped. “Ok.” How was she going to approach this? Ms. Morrison had only been teaching for a  year. She was 22. Fresh out of college. Teaching in a poor neighborhood to pay off her student loans. But she cared about her kids. So she decided to proceed. 

“Mary, I just wanted to ask you if everything was ok. Are you ok?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Mary gave a weak smile. But her eyes gave her away.

“Mary, you don’t have to tell me….anything, But if you want too…if you ever want to….” she trailed off. She didn’t want to push her….

“Ok Miss Morrison. I have to go now. Thank you.” And the little girl ran out of the room.

The Truth

“And what were you doing during that time?” The woman asked with a smile. 

Gabby eyed her. She has gemstones around her neck, rough purple amethyst. Puffy curly hair. Glasses. She was wide, spread in the chair. She looked so kind and comfortable. The mother she had always wanted. The kind who would let you lay your head in her lap while she sang softly to you, stroking your hair. She looked like she might understand. Should Gaby tell her the truth? She cleared her throat.

“I was trying not to die” she said. 

The woman blinked. This was not the answer she had expected. Nor was it an answer that usually came up during a job interview. But there it was. There it was. Out there in the middle of the room. Awaiting recognition. 

Gabby had figured, what could she lose? She might not get the job. But the healing, the personal satisfaction that was produced from speaking her truth, that was worth more than anything any job could offer. There would always be more interviews from the temp agency. There would always be more opportunities to smile and say “I was teaching English.”

Today

Today

I just want a shoulder to cry on

Someone to hold me

While I cry

To wrap their arms around me with no intention

Other then to hold me

Because today, I need to be held.

They don’t need to understand

Why I cry

They only need to care

That I do

Because today,

I can not contain all the pain I am feeling

All the suffering I am witnessing

All the tragedy I am knowing

And I need to let it out

In a good long cry

So please hold me

With no intentions

Other than to love me

Through the support of your arms

And a place to lay my head

Your t-shirt soaked from catching my tears

Snot running down my face

Because today is the day I need you

And your strength

While I buckle under the pressure

And give in to the pain I am feeling

In a good long cry.