Thursday, July 18, 2013

Love and Skepticism

     And then there is morning. Excited morning. Abigail awakens wanting to send out invitations. To invite everyone; someone—into this place. To invite people to guess what’s on her mind; what language she is thinking in. She would love to invite everyone to share all of this. The coffee will be brewing shortly. Suddenly, almost simultaneously, Abigail decides to hoard this peculiar experience – the magic of the introverted—of the scientifically inclined home—the orchids, the glass, the skeletons—this. And yet.

     Abigail bunches her hands in her sweatshirt and feels the bird in one of the pockets. The creature has been in there for days. Abigail lifts the body out, takes it in her palm, and places it at the root of the lily next to the aviary. She had every intention of burying it there and holding a funeral until it started raining. She looked up and felt one drop splash below her eye, then another on her nose. Seconds later, the downpour consumed the little town. The grey clouded the sun; thunder clapped rather close. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Lightning bolt. Rather than running inside, Abigail walked to the stream behind the house. She had seen a heron rest there a few days ago, most likely on his way to the river to fish. Abigail kissed the little songbird in her hand and threw the body over to the rock where she had last seen the heron, thinking that the best place for such a small bird was under the care of a larger feathered accomplice. Perhaps he would reincarnate as something stronger, something which would be impenetrable to holes drilled right through a small abdomen.

     Walking back into the house she sees her uncle and waves, running up to warm up in a hot shower.

     Goodness, Rafe ponders, how this girl resembles his sister, Vivienne. Abigail has a habit of sweeping her bangs to the same side as her mother did. Look at that face. Slender yet without angles. Abigail is all love and skepticism. She even holds it in her gaze, her chin, up and confident. He can’t stand it. Such a rich soul. Vivienne was responsible for that.     “Cecilia, how will this work?” he asks his wife, married so long now he knows she is awake by her breathing patterns. Both lying on their backs, both staring up at the ceiling, both having the same worrisome thoughts.”She’s lost everyone. Never knew her father now Vivienne. How does one handle that?”

     “She’ll be fine. I think she needs to be alone for a bit. Besides, we aren’t leaving until August. And there’s Jack”

     “Jack?” Rafe asks, raising his confused little eyebrows.

     Cecelia laughs at her husband’s complete lack of observation over the past 12 years. “Haven’t you noticed those two? They have been attached for quite some time. Neither one may realize it yet, but it’s love. True and pure. She’s here to get him. But she doesn’t know that yet. And I’m not sure if he does or not. No matter. Love finds its place and settles right down in. In the meantime, we will go orchid hunting and look forward to the stories upon our return.”

     Such brilliance. His wife’s calmness made him fall in love just a little bit in that tiny moment. She could make a plan and relinquish control all in the same movement. No wonder, he thought, and then he said it aloud.

     “No wonder.”

     Cecilia looks over and stares at her husband, her eyes fully accustomed now to the dark.

“No wonder, yourself,” she says and rubs the back of her hand along his cheek.

 

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Chapter 3


The Eiffel Tower

      Abigail is the Eiffel Tower.

     She is beams of rod and steal stacked exactly just so and engineered just right, just in time for the world’s celebration.

     She calls to rent house. She schedules Aunt to pick her up and drive her to Dunsmuir. She packs field guides and a copy of “Orchids for Dummies,” and refills a 90-day supply of Xanax, intending to stretch it out over the next year.

     She makes plans and arrangements in order to house-sit for her aunt and uncle and visit the hotel and drink coffee and mist orchids and pray to Mary in a dry skirt.

She makes toast. Eats. Prays.

     She stares at the ceiling.

          It could be a Tuesday or a Wednesday afternoon as Abigail lays on her bed for the last time, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about secrets. In her mind, there are all these untold stories that floated up and embedded themselves into the crevices at top of a room. She lay there, deciphering codes and clues out of grooves and lines, dips and peaks, of the plaster. And as night fell, her deepest and most dreaded time of day, certain sparkles came into view in the valleys of contusions – lighthouses or cities seen from afar. They all meant something. And each night for the past six months, she toiled in her silent way, attempting to crack the stories she never heard.

     It could be minutes or hours or days that she is here, on this bed she would soon leave, and most likely it was all three. When the heart breaks there are all these little things that spill out from the shards—memories and words and white ceiling flakes. And stars. And secrets. She will leave this room – this house – never knowing what the stories were. Science dictates emotion to a certain extent and because this is so, Abigail is of the opinion that her heart as an organ should be mended by now. But it isn’t and she had deduced the reason down to one simple cause: the ceilings.

     Eventually by morning, which will be a Friday or Saturday, her back is as sore as her heart and all the pretend topographical maps she traces are made and it is time to leave.

    Abigail stands, blows a kiss into the room, shuts the door, and walks downstairs where she stands, staring at the mirrors stacked backwards against the wall.

     Abigail is not the Eiffel Tower. She is a Jenga game played too long, stacked too high, with a player about to take the one piece out holding the tower upright.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday, March 29, 2013

victims and demons

A most important lesson to always remember:

Stay calm, and do not victimize yourself nor demonize others. Do the best you can, be kind, and shut up.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

money money money

"Why are you working so hard, and at so many jobs?" he asked.

She thought for a minute, then replied, "Because my dreams are expensive."

Friday, March 22, 2013

half-smile

He breathed a small sigh of relief when the experiment was over, and smiled, a humble little half one. In his head, it was clear, the project had succeeded. What's interesting, is the audience knew it had failed. They had seen the collapse with their eyes, heard the disaster with their ears. But not to him. To the scientist, his controlled environment was a huge accomplishment.

Personally, I do not know if the thing failed or not. The clearest memory I have of the evening is the half-smile. Success is obviously relative.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

cliche

The cliché, "kids can be cruel," makes little sense to me. Aren't adults prone to spouts of meanness? And just as often, if not more? Yet, I've yet to hear after I've regaled a friend with a tale of how someone was unjust, "Whaddya gonna do? Adults can be cruel sometimes."

Saturday, March 9, 2013

lesson

Received an email today that was so curt and so full of assumption that my heart did that physical sinking thing it does when we are expecting one communication and recipients of another. Good reminder to self: be gentle and not-so-quick to assume. And go have a drink.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

a little glimpse into a conversation between two 5,000 miles apart

"Happy Birthday, love. Are you going to do anything to celebrate?"

"I bought a new calling card and am calling you, Shannon."

"A conversation with me is your birthday present to yourself?"

"Why not?" he replies.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The long-distance relationship

"But how can you stand it--the sadness of being separated all the time?" the girl asked her friend.

"It's true, the goodbyes are terribly hard and make for my least favorite days. But the hellos ... ahhh ... the hellos ... nothing to describe them. The best flavor of ice cream, the warmest blanket, they are."

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Venetian palazzo on lollipops

I wondered on the commute to work this morning if Architects, and those in the building-creation business, keep notebooks. You know, journals, binders, blank pages filled with random thoughts, inappropriate drawings, quotes from those who inspire.

Then I read this article.

“The new museum resembles a die-cut Venetian palazzo on lollipops,” Huxtable wrote at one juncture. Somehow, this silly yet articulate description answers my question.

Monday, December 31, 2012

Motivation

"I am constantly listening to Beethoven. Even now, I hear Beethoven. He is always playing. The symphonies are always on," said the triathlete in an interview regarding the music in their ear buds.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

in bed. new book in hand. good opening quote. g'night.

And Allah said: I am with the ones whose hearts are torn. --Hadith Qudsi

This is the opening quote before the prologue of novel "American Dervish." I think this book may be fabulous. And I have yet to get past the quote.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Missed the boat

It's ok that I did not make it on the ship. I would have been back state-side by now, and in a mild depression missing him terribly. This way, life goes about with the same rhythm and routine, and loneliness creeps in the usual, predictable ways, where I do nothing but close my eyes and repeat, "Soon. Soon. Soon."

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Scent

She smelled exactly like Paris, even though she had never been. Still, the perfume was as sweet and as foreign as an alleyway in an ancient metropolis.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Another question to ask

"God isn't dead and he isn't sleeping."

Huh. I rather like to think of God sleeping. That's when the best creations and most brilliant ideas come in our dreams, and if sleep isn't involved, then what is the process exactly?

Saturday, October 13, 2012

just hope and underwear

Never, ever pack a suitcase filled with doubt, no matter how you want to fold tightly and zip and keep safe. Doubt has no place in your travels.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

I'm changed by this book. Best read in years. Can't stop reading it, and don't want to finish.

Go read it. Quick.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Holes: a love story




I am the girl with holes in her stockings.
We have money. My family isn’t poor. I don’t think we are rich either, but I know we pay the bills and eat good food and have presents at Christmas.
“Put your tights on this way,” my mom instructs.
I watch her scrunch down one leg with both hands, thumbs wild with grace. She shimmies fast down the tube and arrives at the toe in seconds. Maybe nanoseconds. She places her pointed foot in one, smoothing and pulling until it’s around her ankle. There is more delicacy in this action than I can describe and it frustrates me just thinking about it.
“Then take the other leg and do the same thing before pulling any more of the stocking up.”
I watch and listen and think it’s funny how she goes from calling them stockings to tights, but because she has always done this, and because I just learned about synonyms and how it’s fun to call something by more than one name, I do the same thing.
I try to copy. Always I try. But the tights are tight and my legs seem to fight them and my hands are not at all graceful when pulling them up. By the time the tights are on and around my stomach, there is a hole in the thigh. Or at the toe. And I haven’t even walked out the door yet. I’ve yet to skip and fall and scratch my knees.
Usually the holes are in places easy to cover. Still they are uncomfortable and sort of itch. Like the skin poking out is breathing and teasing the rest of the leg.
“Ha-ha-ha. We are out and you are not.”
Which makes me even more agitated. I have spots of leg that are mean. Soon I will cry feeling the holes and the scratch and knowing I am not talented enough to scrunch up legs of stockings when I get dressed.
But it is cold and I like skirts and so I wear them. Once. Until my mom buys me more which I will wear again, once. Until I am older and live in a fourth-story apartment on my own and when I wear tights and create a hole, I simply use fingernail polish to stop the run and head to the department store the next day. Or I live in a place that is warm and because I didn’t fall very much my knees are beautiful and I never wear tights again.
Until then, I am that girl with holes in her stockings.

Monday, October 1, 2012

MBA

"Everything I know about business, I think I learned from taking copious notes while watching marathons of "Brothers and Sisters" on Netflix, all the while knitting repetitive patterns to let the information sink in," she said while showing off her new winter scarf which hung to her knees.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Shhh, just be still

We all handle critical situations, frightening news and tragedies differently. The trick, I'm learning, is to not judge the way we process, and don't react defensively. Pain is pain. Judgement doesn't help anyone's coping.