(Single, racecar framed waterbed)
Son: But I’m scared Mom
Mother: It’s okay sweetie, Mommy’s here now. (Wipes tears from son’s eyes)
Mother: (sweetly) Now tell me, what’s the matter, Jacob?
Son: I don’t know, it’s too dark in here.
Mother: Well, what if I turn on the night light?
Son: Thanks Mom! (Mother turns on a small plug in light bulb and begins to leave)
Son: (pleadingly) Wait…
Mother: What’s wrong Jacob?
Son: Can you come tell me a story?
Mother: Of course dear, what story do you want to hear?
Son: Tell me about my Dad again
Mother: Okay (sits down next to his bed)
Son: No, I want you to come lay down with me
Mother: (In a motherly voice) Jacob, I’ve told you, its lie down when you’re sleeping, you lay other things down. And you’re ten years old; don’t you think that you’re getting too big for Mommy to cuddle with you?
Son: But I feel so much safer when you hold me, please Mom?
Mother: Alright (secretly relieved, she struggles to climb into her sons waterbed and wrap her arms around him and gently rocks him as he lays his head on her chest)
Son: (yawns softly) Thanks Mom, you’re so warm
Mother: You know I love holding you, now what do you want to hear about your Dad?
Son: (pauses for a moment) Tell me how you met him
Mother: (Reminisces fondly of that day as she prepares to tell her son an age appropriate version of the story) Well… Your father and I went to school together when we were in college, and some friends of ours introduced us at a (thinks of a word to replace with party) get together right before Christmas. (Smiles to herself) He was so polite and charming, but so cocky…
Son: (interrupting) What did he look like?
Mother: (Dreamily) He was tall and had a lean, muscular build. He had chocolate colored hair that came down just passed the tops of his ears, and his eyes were a deep blue with a small ring of yellow in the middle. He was clean shaven, and smelled like expensive cologne….
(She continues for a few minutes until she notices that her son had fallen soundly asleep, wrapped tightly in her arms. She allows herself to drift to sleep in the waterbed too, because she feels just as comforted as he does)
(Double bed, spring mattress with a foam pad on top)
Woman: (panting slightly) Mmm, I love the way I fit perfectly into your arms
Man: Sorry if I’m a little sweaty
Woman: No you’re fine, I’m sure I’m just as bad
Man: O well, I wouldn’t care anyways (kisses her softly on the forehead). I kinda like that, I feel so comfortable with you.
Woman: (looks up into his eyes with a look of interest and curiosity) What do ya mean?
Man: Like, no offense, but I don’t feel too embarrassed about just lying here with you all sweaty and gross. I feel like if it were another girl I’d just want to throw some shorts on and roll over to sleep, but it’s different with you.
Woman: Well thanks for not just rolling over on me (playfully squeezes him); yea I know what you’re saying, I feel the same way, like I’m secure with you. For some reason, I don’t feel like you’re judging me for having morning breath or my hair being all crazy.
Man: (now propped up on one elbow, the first two fingers of his other hand stroking her jaw line, and looking her in the eyes to listen) Well, your morning breath isn’t that bad (kisses her softly on the lips). What do you think it is that makes you feel like that?
Woman: I don’t know, something about how you hold me, or how we fit together just feels right, (playfully rolls her eyes and smirks) I mean that and I guess you’re an alright guy.
Man: (smiling back) Pshhh, I don’t know if you realize who you’re talking to, but pretty much, I’m kind of a big deal.
Woman: Whatever Mr. Ooo—I play soccer—I’m Premed—I’m super handsome.
Man: (Blushing slightly) Did I really tell you all that last night? I’m sorry, I guess I do start to think I’m pretty awesome and talk about myself after a few of those green and red jello shots.
Woman: (chuckles quietly) Don’t be embarrassed, I asked you to tell me about yourself, we talked for awhile it seemed like.
Man: Did I really say that I was handsome?
Woman: (Grins and shrugs her shoulders) Nah, I added that one (pecks him on the lips)
Man: By the way, what is your major?
Woman: English, I told you that
Man: (shifts his eyes upwards to ponder) Yea, I remember us talking, but not all of what we talked about. I guess got a bit drunker than I thought.
Woman: Yea I got pretty tipsy last night too.
Man: (suddenly looks her back in the eyes and adopts a more serious tone of voice) You don’t feel like I pressured you into anything, do you?
Woman: Not at all, it’s what we both wanted
Man: Are you sure, I don’t want you to go back to your dorm later and regret anything
Woman: No, I don’t regret what we did, last night or this morning (pulls him down on top of her to hug him). It was fun, but I also felt a good vibe from you about it, like I felt like you sincerely cared about me.
Man: It feels weird to say, and it kinda scares me, but that is how I felt. Like I didn’t think about it before, but even just how we cuddle feels good, it makes me warm inside.
Woman: (Pushes him up slightly so that their noses almost touch, she looks over his face and smiles) It’s hard to believe we just met last night, it feels like I’ve known you my whole life.
(King size, Tempur-Pedic bed)
Wife: (tears in her eyes) I just can’t believe you could leave me like this.
Husband: (trying to use a soothing voice) Baby, we knew this was coming. I can’t help it; they won’t let me put it off any more.
Wife: (un-soothed) There has to be something you can do! Tell them it’s a family emergency, they have to understand
Husband: I’ve tried, and they told me it doesn’t matter, the best they can do is offer you a spot in a support group.
Wife: Great, So I’m stuck here with a bunch of strangers, while you’re off getting shot at halfway across the world.
Husband: Don’t say that. First of all, the others in the group are all gonna be in the same spot as you, so you’ll be able to talk to them about it. And second, there won’t be anyone shooting me, I’m an officer, and won’t be put in any situations where I’ll be under any direct fire.
Wife: (tears stopped, but still desperate) I still don’t understand why you have to go, and for four years?
Husband: Baby you know it’s the only way I could pay for med school, and I’ll be able to come back every six months to see you.
Wife: I’m still gonna miss you. Baby, I’m scared.
Husband: I am too (pulls her in tight to hug her and rub her back firmly to comfort her), but don’t think about the negative things, it’s our last night together before I leave, let’s talk about something pleasant.
Wife: (slightly relaxed) Like what?
Husband: How about the time we first hooked up? Do you remember it?
Wife: (bursts out with one small laugh and wipes her cheeks on his shoulder) Yea, I remember the walk back to my dorm was soooo cold.
Husband: (laughs along) I remember, I offered you my jacket because you left yours in Ash’s car, but you were too stubborn to take it.
Wife: (sighs pleasantly) You were sweet, but you know how I am, I hate people doing things for me.
Husband: (chuckles) Well I’m glad you’ve warmed up to me a little, you used to not let me pay when we went out and I would have to wrestle your card out of your hand and insist to the poor waiter that it was going to be on one bill.
Wife: (Smiling) Yea I hated that, you were just as stubborn.
Husband: Whatever, I’m glad I was. It seems to have worked out for the best.
Wife: Thanks for holding me, I needed that.
Husband: Me too, something about it makes me feel so reassured.
Wife: I just feel safe in your arms (pushes his shoulder down so that he is on his back, she lays her head on his chest with one arm across his waist) but this is my favorite.
Husband: (hums softly in agreement) I like this because when I feel like I’m protecting you, it makes me feel strong and confident.
Wife: (tilts her head up to kiss his neck) You are strong, and even though I’m scared, I know you’re gonna be fine. You’re too stubborn to die on me.
Husband: (kisses the top of her head) If my stubbornness doesn’t do the trick, then God will. He wouldn’t let a father die without seeing his child.
Wife: That’s right. I’m gonna pray for you every night, and you’ll be just fine.
Husband: Speaking of… What do you want to name it? (Gently rubbing the sides of her stomach)
Wife: I actually haven’t thought about it, I do have 8 more months
Husband: I know, but I’d like to have an idea in my head so when I think about my little boy or girl, I can put a name to it.
Wife: Well, if we have a daughter, I think we should name her Ashley, since she introduced us.
Husband: I like that. And if it’s a boy?
Wife: I don’t know, what do you think sounds good, he’ll be your son too, ya know.
Husband: (shifts his eyes up to ponder for a moment) How about Jacob, after my grandfather?
Wife: I love it
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
In an Instant
The warmth of the bright August sun washes over me like a bath, filling me with joy and optimism. The cool breeze gently runs through my hair and brings scents of the changing season to my nostrils. As I sit with my older brother and mom, wool blanket between us and the grass, we watch our German shepherd-husky mix explore Jeffrey Park. At five years old, I cannot imagine being more content with life.
These childhood years of mine were my finest. I would laugh myself to tears, run myself to exhaustion, and play until the sun set. However, this time of frivolity was short lived.
From the first day my parents walked me to my classroom with tears in their eyes, to my high school graduation, school was my life. My father, despite being absent for ninety percent of it, played a prominent role in my upbringing. A law professor at his alma mater Yale, my father corresponded with me only to wish me happy birthday and to remind me that if I didn’t go to Yale that I would fall among the ranks of ditch diggers and garbage men. He explained to me that the boys my age who wasted their time playing video games and hitting balls with bats were degenerates who would be lucky to work for me someday. By the time I was nine, it was engrained into my head that academic success was the only thing that mattered in life.
Soon after marrying my father, my mother relinquished her dreams of becoming a politician in order to become a homemaker and live her life in accordance to my father’s wishes. She was a very intelligent and outspoken woman who was full of life and ambition. However, she loved my father, and her respect for traditional family roles allowed her to subside to his will. She was the kind of person who worked hard and excelled at everything she did. She was always the head of something, whether it was the PTA, bible study, book club, or tennis team, she lead it and made all who came before and after her seem inadequate. On top of all this, she made raising two kids and a dog look like it was nothing. Neighbors envied the cleanliness and beauty of our home, and parents told their children that they should behave more like my brother and me. Loving, supportive, and strict when necessary, mine was the mother of all maternal figures.
My brother was my best friend. Although he was three year older than me, he treated me as an equal and looked after me. Tall, handsome, and athletic, Adam was terrific in the eyes of all, except my father. He suffered from mild dyslexia, which made school a struggle for him. Years of tutoring and all the meds in the world couldn’t help him; he would always be a C student. The only reason he merited any respect of my father’s was that he inherited all of the athletic ability that my mother provided to our gene pool. Being the captain of the football and hockey teams earned him student council president and a full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. Unfortunately for me, his academic shortcomings increased the expectations placed upon me.
The pleasures of freedom and leisure became distant memories of my childhood as I strived to be the best I could be. Even at the prestigious New England prep college prep school that I attended, I was the top of my class. I was brown nose who sat in the front row of my classes, ate lunch in the library, and ruined the curve for my classmates. I was the only student who could boast that I had perfect attendance in school, yet made no appearance at any football games or school dances. I spent my weekends tutoring and involving myself in extra curricular studies. I had no friends (due to lack of time, not social skill), and my only close peers were those who rivaled my studious nature and often consulted me on schoolwork. I didn’t mind my lack of social life because I knew nothing different. When I witnessed others enjoying life, I just recalled the words of my father and knew that someday I would be a greater success than they would, and that would be my time to enjoy life. This mentality kept me going all through school up to graduation.
High school graduation was both the most anticipated day of my life, and the day that would shape my future. I don’t remember many of the details of the ceremony, just what my relatives have told me about how grown up I looked and how proud they were. I graduated with honors as Valedictorian, scored a 2390 on my SAT, 36 on my ACT, and had succeeded in meeting my father’s goal of going to Yale. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. However, the only thing I remember is a flashing light. A flashing light and tires screeching as a Lincoln Navigator ran a red light and crashed into the driver’s side door of my brother’s BMW 3-series. He was supposed to be driving me to my first party since my twelfth birthday; instead he, the drunk driver, and myself were taken to the hospital.
A dim light shone over me, but it had no warmth. Instead it gave me the odd feeling of being watched by strangers that I couldn’t see. The air was still, and all I could smell was the choking scent of potent sanitation products. All I could feel was stiffness throughout my body as I tried to survey the scene that lay above me with my blurry eyes. As my eyes slowly batted in my attempt to clear them, I sensed a movement rushing towards me and voices began to fill the stale air. I soon lost consciousness once again, but when I regained it, a familiar voice filled my ears. My mother quickly noticed me and with tears in her eyes, immediately covered my body with hers. I felt a weight, but none of the softness or heat that I remembered being characteristic of a hug. I was tired and confused. I tried to speak, but my mother pressed her finger over my lips as my mouth lazily fumbled over the words.
I will always remember waking up that day, exactly three years, one month, and seven days after my graduation. That day I learned that life doesn’t go according to plans, whether they belong to a father, mother, brother, or son. On that day I realized that life is meant to be taken and enjoyed as it comes, because the future is not guaranteed. But the memory that left the strongest impression of my mind, the memory that I will never forget, is the memory of my mother pushing my wheelchair out of the hospital as she told me we needed to stop by the cemetery before we went home.
These childhood years of mine were my finest. I would laugh myself to tears, run myself to exhaustion, and play until the sun set. However, this time of frivolity was short lived.
From the first day my parents walked me to my classroom with tears in their eyes, to my high school graduation, school was my life. My father, despite being absent for ninety percent of it, played a prominent role in my upbringing. A law professor at his alma mater Yale, my father corresponded with me only to wish me happy birthday and to remind me that if I didn’t go to Yale that I would fall among the ranks of ditch diggers and garbage men. He explained to me that the boys my age who wasted their time playing video games and hitting balls with bats were degenerates who would be lucky to work for me someday. By the time I was nine, it was engrained into my head that academic success was the only thing that mattered in life.
Soon after marrying my father, my mother relinquished her dreams of becoming a politician in order to become a homemaker and live her life in accordance to my father’s wishes. She was a very intelligent and outspoken woman who was full of life and ambition. However, she loved my father, and her respect for traditional family roles allowed her to subside to his will. She was the kind of person who worked hard and excelled at everything she did. She was always the head of something, whether it was the PTA, bible study, book club, or tennis team, she lead it and made all who came before and after her seem inadequate. On top of all this, she made raising two kids and a dog look like it was nothing. Neighbors envied the cleanliness and beauty of our home, and parents told their children that they should behave more like my brother and me. Loving, supportive, and strict when necessary, mine was the mother of all maternal figures.
My brother was my best friend. Although he was three year older than me, he treated me as an equal and looked after me. Tall, handsome, and athletic, Adam was terrific in the eyes of all, except my father. He suffered from mild dyslexia, which made school a struggle for him. Years of tutoring and all the meds in the world couldn’t help him; he would always be a C student. The only reason he merited any respect of my father’s was that he inherited all of the athletic ability that my mother provided to our gene pool. Being the captain of the football and hockey teams earned him student council president and a full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. Unfortunately for me, his academic shortcomings increased the expectations placed upon me.
The pleasures of freedom and leisure became distant memories of my childhood as I strived to be the best I could be. Even at the prestigious New England prep college prep school that I attended, I was the top of my class. I was brown nose who sat in the front row of my classes, ate lunch in the library, and ruined the curve for my classmates. I was the only student who could boast that I had perfect attendance in school, yet made no appearance at any football games or school dances. I spent my weekends tutoring and involving myself in extra curricular studies. I had no friends (due to lack of time, not social skill), and my only close peers were those who rivaled my studious nature and often consulted me on schoolwork. I didn’t mind my lack of social life because I knew nothing different. When I witnessed others enjoying life, I just recalled the words of my father and knew that someday I would be a greater success than they would, and that would be my time to enjoy life. This mentality kept me going all through school up to graduation.
High school graduation was both the most anticipated day of my life, and the day that would shape my future. I don’t remember many of the details of the ceremony, just what my relatives have told me about how grown up I looked and how proud they were. I graduated with honors as Valedictorian, scored a 2390 on my SAT, 36 on my ACT, and had succeeded in meeting my father’s goal of going to Yale. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. However, the only thing I remember is a flashing light. A flashing light and tires screeching as a Lincoln Navigator ran a red light and crashed into the driver’s side door of my brother’s BMW 3-series. He was supposed to be driving me to my first party since my twelfth birthday; instead he, the drunk driver, and myself were taken to the hospital.
A dim light shone over me, but it had no warmth. Instead it gave me the odd feeling of being watched by strangers that I couldn’t see. The air was still, and all I could smell was the choking scent of potent sanitation products. All I could feel was stiffness throughout my body as I tried to survey the scene that lay above me with my blurry eyes. As my eyes slowly batted in my attempt to clear them, I sensed a movement rushing towards me and voices began to fill the stale air. I soon lost consciousness once again, but when I regained it, a familiar voice filled my ears. My mother quickly noticed me and with tears in her eyes, immediately covered my body with hers. I felt a weight, but none of the softness or heat that I remembered being characteristic of a hug. I was tired and confused. I tried to speak, but my mother pressed her finger over my lips as my mouth lazily fumbled over the words.
I will always remember waking up that day, exactly three years, one month, and seven days after my graduation. That day I learned that life doesn’t go according to plans, whether they belong to a father, mother, brother, or son. On that day I realized that life is meant to be taken and enjoyed as it comes, because the future is not guaranteed. But the memory that left the strongest impression of my mind, the memory that I will never forget, is the memory of my mother pushing my wheelchair out of the hospital as she told me we needed to stop by the cemetery before we went home.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Drink, Drank, Drunk
We first meet eyes, I take a sip
Into a smile you bend my lip
I look at you and like the taste
I take another gulp with haste
We begin to talk, I swallow you in
You fill me with warmth from stomach to limb
Your smooth words make me dizzy with bliss
And grant me a false sense of confidence
My cup of your love is never empty
I continue to drink, I've had more than plenty
You give me a feeling that clouds my mind
Irrational decision will be made in good time
But who needs to be rational, lets just embrace
As I bring the cup back to my face
Into a smile you bend my lip
I look at you and like the taste
I take another gulp with haste
We begin to talk, I swallow you in
You fill me with warmth from stomach to limb
Your smooth words make me dizzy with bliss
And grant me a false sense of confidence
My cup of your love is never empty
I continue to drink, I've had more than plenty
You give me a feeling that clouds my mind
Irrational decision will be made in good time
But who needs to be rational, lets just embrace
As I bring the cup back to my face
Canada
There's a place I like to go
in the north woods, fresh with melted snow,
Where sun and rivers replace roads and lights,
and silence prevails over days and nights.
Where freedom grabs me like a current.
I choose to be here, all alone
in this forest far from home.
Isolated from friends and family
without comforts nor amenities
But am I truly by my lonesome?
I sense a presence in the air;
I look, I feel, I touch, I hear.
I begin to notice the commotion
of life flowing around me like an ocean.
In these small signs of life, I find company.
in the north woods, fresh with melted snow,
Where sun and rivers replace roads and lights,
and silence prevails over days and nights.
Where freedom grabs me like a current.
I choose to be here, all alone
in this forest far from home.
Isolated from friends and family
without comforts nor amenities
But am I truly by my lonesome?
I sense a presence in the air;
I look, I feel, I touch, I hear.
I begin to notice the commotion
of life flowing around me like an ocean.
In these small signs of life, I find company.
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