sash

Today I went shopping and found The One.  The love of my life, my dream come true; I found the perfect dress.

Pale pink silk, white sash draped loosely around the waist, it was girly and flirty and romantic.  I was just passing by to the jeans section, but my eyes got caught and suddenly I was frozen as my mind whirled with possibilities.  I could dress it up with a blazer and heels.  I could dress it down with black tights and flats.  I could accessorize it with that gold necklace I never found to match anything.  Oh my god, that sash is removable?  The dress seduced me before I could even think.

I had to tread carefully.  You can't just buy a dress like that!  You had to be careful, try it on, touch and feel it before it will commit to you.  I brought it to the dressing room and zipped it up.  The mirror smiled at me as the dress accentuated my legs and hid my hips.  Perfect.  Beautiful.  I adore you.

I twirled around in the room for a while before finally switching back to my clothes.  It was settled, of course.  I brought the pink beauty to the register and took out my wallet.

"One hundred and sixty three dollars, thirty nine cents, please," the lady behind the till smiled.

My face reddened with shame as I could hear a trill of laughter.  What a tease.

Journal

My journal is my best friend because I tell her my secret thoughts and hopes and dreams that I've never told anyone else before.  And of course, I'm her best friend because she reveals herself only to me.  She's a loner that way.  But if she ever interacts with anyone else, I would cry and jump off a cliff.  There's some seriously embarrassing and even incriminating things that my journal knows about me.

So I did what any logical person would do.  I burned my journal.

My mother screamed as I shredded the pages of my best friend into the smoking grill.  It wasn't too painful, tearing apart my only confidant that I've shared laughs and tears with over the last two years.  I've had other best friends before, and I've gone through this same exact ritual.  But this was the first time my mother has caught me in the act.

Her eyes were wild with panic.  "What are you doing?"  

I couldn't let her ruin my best friend's death, so I continued tearing pages as I stepped in front of the watering can. The flame grew as I finished up, and I smiled with satisfaction as my mother stared in wonder and fear.

For her sake, I should keep to inanimate best friends.

bliss

Shackles and weights and heavy stones in your pocket, pulling with your weight so you trudge your feet, slowing you down until you can't and won't move.

Bliss is when you open the window and jump into the blue.  Just jump, eyes closed, wind in hair, hands open.  There's a moment - fear, pain, something gripping the insides and pulling you back, or trying to, at least.  It goes away.  Don't worry.  Scream with joy, cry with the heart, laugh with love, and don't look down.  Nothing follows because nothing else jumps, and now the rope is loose, falling, gone, and you are gone.  Fly in the blue, and always keep the hands open.

pendant

It was our two-year anniversary.  I was wearing a new dress, one that cost more than my last paycheck, and it took over two hours to do my hair and makeup.  I've been waiting all month for this.  He smiled at me from across the table, a twinkle in his eye.  It's happening today.

It was a candlelit dinner under the stars.  The wine was excellent, the entrees delicious, the atmosphere so romantic.  Everything was perfect.  After dessert, he reached out and held my hand, and he told me I looked beautiful.  "I love you," he said.  I told him I loved him too.  He slid the black box across the table and looked nervous.  My heart pounded against my chest as I slowly opened it.

Unsexiest surprise ever.

busy

I'm learning about priorities.  I'm learning that being busy is being productive.  Procrastination is fun and all, but it's all about pushing through and getting things done.










It's really hard when I keep getting interrupted.  Can't they see me working?  So then I have to stop what I'm doing and help them out.  Yeah, I know.  I'm too nice.  Gotta work on that sometime.

amazon

Deep in the amazon where the trees grow to be so thick so that no light passes through, there is a well.  The well is made of stone and isn't too deep because if you shine a flashlight, you can see the bottom of it.


In the bottom of the well lives a big fish.  It swims around in circles, doing nothing except looking up every now and then when someone shines a light down.  No one knows how it got there and no one knows why it's still alive.  But it is.


I only know the well exists because my grandfather's friend's uncle's wife's nephew promised he's seen it.  I don't know who my grandfather's friend's uncle's wife's nephew is, but if he's seen it then I believe him.  He said that only people dying of thirst ever find the well.  When he was in the amazon researching mosquitos, he became suddenly dizzy and dehydrated.  He moved so deeply into the shade that he fell through some trees and found the well.


He said he tried to get water from the well, but once he lowered a bucket, the fish spoke out to him.  Fish don't speak, if you've tried to talk to one.  At least a fish has never spoken to me.  But this fish in the bottom of the well could speak, and when he did his voice was low and echoed on the walls of the well.


The fish said, "If you want to drink, then drink.  But if you want to eat, then pick me up yourself."


My grandfather's friend's uncle's wife's nephew was only thirsty, but he was curious.  He asked the fish, "Have you met people who wanted to eat you?"


He was shining the flashlight down the well to watch the fish swim around in circles.  But when he asked that question, the fish stopped swimming.  "If you want to eat, then pick me up yourself," the fish said again, softer and more persuasively.


He got scared and just drank some water, leaving the bucket for the next person.  But if you ever go to the amazon and find the well yourself, remember this: a fish should not be talking.

hanker

I'm feeling really lazy right now.  Just wanna bum on the couch and watch a movie.


Could have it with popcorn.  But I'm hankering for some chips.  I mean I could really go for some Doritos, nacho-cheese flavored.  Extra cheese.


Maybe some dip to go with that.  Maybe make a spread, have cheese and chips and dip and grapes.  Then might as well get soda.  Or wine.  Or both.  Maybe get something healthier.  Like frozen pizza with some olives on it or something.  That's a fruit, right?


Pizza and breadsticks.  Marinara sauce.  Ooh, ranch sauce.  That goes with everything.  Could buy buffalo wings for ranch sauce.  This'll all be just a light snack, enough until dinner.


I guess I'll have to go out.

btw - go read hyperbole and a half

hurdle (by ophelia)

He stares at his fingers at the line.  His feet were already in the blocks, filled with nervous energy as he waits for the crack of the starting pistol.  Go!


He begins slowly, his legs pumping steadily to gain momentum with his arms swinging, higher and higher to face-level as he brings his head up.  There were three beside him right now, one in front.  He pumps harder and times his jumps over the hurdles perfectly, eventually losing two of his opponents and closing the distance with the lead.


He passes him, but one is still running beside him at the same pace, jumping at the same time he jumps.  They're nearing the finish line and he can hear the crowd screaming, but all he can think about is how tired he is, how heavy his legs are, how strong he can be, how he is stronger than this other guy.


Fifty meters.  Forty.  The other guy's getting tired, he can tell.  His mind screams at him as he pushes harder and runs faster.  He can win.  He's going to win!


He does.  And then he trips over his shoes.

crust

If there was one person in the world that I would never want to meet, it would be my next-door neighbor.  It's not so much that I didn't like him.  I've never really talked to him because he would come and go at odd times while I had the regularized schedule of any high school student.  No, I would never want to meet him because I was terrified of him.  I say that with ardor because even as a child I remember peering at him in his house through the blinds of my window, watching him cook his dinner.  He handled a butcher's knife more adeptly than a butcher, and I didn't want to know how he learned that.


But it's too late anyway, meeting him I mean.  I have met him.  Several times, in fact, because my parents seem to want to meet him a lot more than most normal people should.  Mom's always worried about older people and Dad knew him when he was younger.  All those times when I was in the same room as our neighbor though, he glared at me with such disdain that I wondered why no one else has ever noticed.


Today Mom wanted me to bring him some year cake for the Chinese New Year.  Alone.  "Can't you come with me?" I complained, trying to hide the fear I felt reserved for him slowly numb my insides.  "I don't even know him and I won't know what to say."


"Just say happy new year.  I have to get going, you know that."  Mom had to run to the supermarket before all the whole chickens and fresh fish and whatever else you eat for Chinese New Year were out.  "Be nice, okay?  He's always been so nice to you.  Smile."


I snorted, rolling my eyes even though my fingers were trembling.  He was not nice.  He told me when I was younger that I was short enough to be his cane.  Then he told me in middle school that makeup was for tramps.  When I took my dog on a walk and he decided to visit the lawn next door, he bursted out of his front door and just glared at me.  Didn't say anything.  Just glared.


But Mom was already kissing me goodbye and ran out the door.  I did some breathing exercises to calm myself down (didn't work) before going over to my neighbor's house.  Best to get it over with.


I stood in front of his big brown door, the oak and chipping paint wearing down on my nerves.  I rang the doorbell, but I didn't hear anything inside.  Maybe it didn't work.  It would be so easy to just slip away and tell Mom he wasn't home, but we both knew he was.  So softly, I knocked on the door.  I waited for a minute again and then knocked louder.  Waited for another minute and then knocked again, louder.


The door opened and there was my neighbor, glaring at me again.  He was a crusty old man, his face drawn in fine lines and his lips permanently curled downwards.  He used to tower over me when I was younger, but now I stood above his bent figure.  It didn't matter.  I still felt small.


"Why'd you bang on my door?  The doorbell's right here," he pointed with his stubby finger.  "Can't you use it?  It's rude to bang on someone's door."


"S-sorry," I mumbled.  I held out the year cake and looked down at his brown sweater.  "Mom wants to give this to you.  Happy new year."


He grunted and took the cake.  Immediately, I turned around and walked back to my house.  "Wait," he called out, his voice authoritative and demanding.  My heart beat rapidly as I slowly turned around to face him.


He reached around his pockets and pulled something out.  "Here," he said, holding out a red envelope.  He was glaring at me still, but his eyes were calm.  "Happy new year."


I took the envelope and didn't breathe out until I ran back into the house.

spirit

I have a spirit in the closet.  His name is Maximilian Junior the Sixth.


I met him when I was trying to find the red raincoat my mother gave me for my eighth birthday.  "Where are you, Red Raincoat?" I asked loudly, pulling open the closet doors.  To my surprise, a little white shadow was in there trying on my gloves.


"Oh, hello there.  Sorry to just be in here trying on your things, but you know, you have very nice clothes," the spirit said in a British accent.  He put away my gloves and straightened his back.  "My name is Maximilian Junior the Sixth.  You may call me exactly that."


I was scared that there was a spirit in the closet, but I remembered my manners and introduced myself.  "Pleasure to meet you, Maximilian Junior the Fifth.  I'm Kelly, and this is my closet."


"The Sixth, actually.  Oh, is it?  I thought I was in a very dark store," Maximilian Junior the Sixth said, looking around my closet with a thoughtful look on his face.  "You know if you add some lights in here, this place would really be very wonderful to live in."


I wasn't so sure if that were true though because my pants and socks were thrown all over the floor of the closet and many of the hangers were broken with wires poking out.  But I was happy to have made a friend, so I just nodded.


Maximilian Junior the Sixth nodded along with me before his eyes widened in recalling something.  "Ah, you were looking for Red Raincoat, weren't you?  Here it is!"  He held out my shiny jacket and handed it to me reluctantly.  "It really is beautiful.  Do be careful, would you?"


"Okay."  I heard my mother yelling for me from the door and quickly put on my jacket.  "I promise to be clean today.  Will you be here when I come back?"


Maximilian Junior the Sixth winked at me with a knowing grin.  "Only if this closet becomes as clean as a store!"


From that day on, I made sure to clean my closet and my room.  Mother and Father were very proud of me and happy that they didn't trip when they came in to visit me.


But Maximilian Junior the Sixth never came back.

grandstand

The best exercise of the day for me comes at the beginning of the day.  I dread the moment my alarm goes off, the little sigh I try (and fail) to suppress as I weakly urge myself to open my eyes.  It's the worst feeling in the world to know that it's morning, that I'm really cute and have these adorable eyes, but I still have to get up and walk down the hall to get food like anyone else.  What kind of world are we coming to when the privileged live as the underprivileged?  I keep hearing people protesting about this 1% business.  Why can't I be the one percent?  Not to buy into the media or anything, but I just know that if I could lose some weight I'd be having breakfast in bed.


It's time to make my grand stand. 

gurgle

The woman with red hair looks down and smiles.  The baby gurgles and holds his arms up, but the woman shakes her head.  "No, you go to sleep now," she says, tucking the blanket in tightly around the baby.  She kisses his forehead and turns out the lights, leaving him alone with a small night light plugged in the other side of the wall.


The baby quickly gets up and undoes the latch, pushing one wall of his crib down.  He carefully jumps down and stumbles over to the table.  There it was, brown and square, teetering on the edge so closely to the baby.  He tries to shake the table, but it doesn't budge.  So the baby takes several minutes to climb up the chair and reaches up, its small hand finally wrapping around his treasure.  He shrieks happily and sits down on the chair to look at it more carefully.

 

Even babies have priorities.

squirrel

Sandy Jane had always wanted a pet.  She wanted a dog named Spot, a cat named Ginger, and a goldfish named Bernie.  But her parents always said, "No pets!"


One day while Sandy Jane was in the park, a little squirrel fell out of the tree and onto her shoulder.  "Poor little guy," she said.  "Are you okay?"


The squirrel just stared at her, its eyes wide and frightened.  "Don't be scared, little squirrel," Sandy Jane said.  "Do you want to be friends?"


So without her parents knowing, Sandy Jane had a squirrel named Quentin.  She didn't keep him in her room or feed him dinner, but she did meet him at the park sometimes.  She liked to follow Quentin around and learned how to climb trees from him.  She even learned how to break nuts open from him.


The other children at the park began to notice Sandy Jane playing with her squirrel.  They would laugh and have their cats and dogs chase poor Quentin around while Sandy Jane angrily ran after them.  "Meanies!" she yelled to them, but the other children just laughed.


Sandy Jane decided to teach Quentin how to punch.  She helped him close his fingers and practiced on a leaf on the ground so he could learn to do it himself.  "Good!" she said when he weakly moved a big green leaf.


"What are you doing there, Sandy Jane?"  A mean boy and his big dog were standing there looking at her.  "You look silly."


"I do not look silly!" Sandy Jane said.  She looked like she was about to cry, so Quentin the squirrel quickly climbed up a tree nearby and dropped down on the boy's shoulder.


"What -"  Before the boy knew what was happening, Quentin curled his little hand in a fist and lightly tapped the boy on the cheek.


The boy's mouth dropped open just as Quentin scrambled back up the tree.  Sandy Jane began to laugh, but that just made the boy angrier.  "Get her!" he said to his big dog, and immediately the dog barked and ran towards her.


But Sandy Jane just turned around and quickly climbed up the tree like Quentin taught her.  Both the boy and his dog were angrily standing below while Sandy Jane and Quentin smiled up in the tree.


"You're a good teacher," she said, patting her squirrel.  She broke open a nut and chewed half of it, handing the other half to Quentin.