bee

He told me a story about a man who fell off a cliff  into the ocean because the dog he was walking chased a bee over the cliff. The dog and man were air lifted from a helicopter to safety. They both survived.

Naturally this isn't quite accurate. The man didn't go over the cliff with the dog. The dog wasn't chasing a bee, it was chasing a rabbit.

The dog didn't die, it was lifted to safety by 4 people pulling a harness. 

I like his version better. 

He says things that make me laugh and I like it when he becomes shy. 

To be truthful, he's the best part of my day. 

When I was little I didn't have imaginary friends, I did however imagine a life that was very different from my own. On a car ride I would pretend we were driving to a funeral or a party. 

In the shower I would pretend I was a mermaid who was stranded on land and couldn't go back to the sea. 

I had several acceptance speeches written, perfected and performed in my room for The Oscars, the Pulitzer, the Grammy's. 

I pretended I was the president. 

A political prisoner. 

The pope. 

Dustin Hoffman. 

Or someone who just won the lottery and was speaking at a press conference. 

I wish I could say this wild imagining was phased out. It hasn't. Sometimes I'll be driving and I'll tell myself I'm driving to the airport, and I'm going to start a new life in a far away land. I'm going to ride a horse on the shore of an ocean I've never seen. I'm going to learn how to cook fancy meals and feed lots of people I don't know yet, but who will love me. 

I think about what I'll wear and who I'll send postcards to. I'll imagine my mom crying and my sister making a stupid face. I imagine how I'll change my voicemail message, "Hi, I'm not here anymore, I've started a new life in a faraway land, leave a message and I'll send you a postcard." 

I imagine what my friends will say and the declarations of love that will be professed and to which I'll reply, "I'm sorry, you're too late, I'm in love with a foreigner with long hair and a cool accent. Love someone else, you'll get over me."

Sometimes I'll imagine the warmth of his hand on mine or how his lips would feel against my lips. I wonder what Sunday evenings would be like or what we would do for my birthday. 

And then a car behind me will honk and I'll remember I've been daydreaming too long at a traffic light again. 

1:41 am

I'm watching an episode of, "Cheers" on television.

I wonder if it's worse to be pretty and then get fat and ugly; or to be fat and ugly and just sorta stay fat and ugly.

Of course, I'm talking about Kirstie Alley. I remember seeing her in, "Look Who's Talking" and thinking, "Gosh, she's so pretty!"

Sharon Stone doesn't even look like Sharon Stone (whatever that means), even Brad Pitt is getting old.

Sometimes I look into the mirror and I rub my grubby fingertips over my face, the dips and puffiness. I scrunch my face together and say, "This is the future."

Thankfully I've never been beautiful. People say I'm "cute," cute is okay with me.

Beauty gets you into trouble, you get too much attention.

Being ugly is just as bad, people are mean to you just for existing! People also ignore you. No one wants to sit by you on a bus. No one asks where you are.

Although there are exceptions, these are just broad generalizations based only on looks - personality and talent factored in changes things.

While I was neither ugly or beautiful growing up, I had the unique privilege of being "cute."

And believe me, I knew I was cute. As a child I knew what facial expressions to make and what voice intonations to use to solicit the maximum amount of good will and affection from peers and adults. In my prime I was probably the equivalent to a brown barrio version of Shirley Temple.

I fondly remember that little girl. It's rare to feel powerful and fearless, I have been lucky to feel this way many times in life.

When I was six my family went on a fishing trip. Three of my cousins followed us in a separate car. One of my cousins was 16 the others were 14 and 12. My sister was 13. I had to wear those flotation device arm things, even though I wasn't in the water. My mom thought if a strong wind picked me up and carried me into the lake, atleast I wouldn't drown.

We sat on the bank of the lake in our lawn chairs. Everyone had a fishing rod. I carefully picked a plump earthworm from the plastic container that we had purchased a few minutes prior at a Bait and Tackle Shop.

The worm was slippery and it made me laugh. I told me dad I didn't think it was nice to hurt a worm. He said that the worms were bad worms that were defective because they had been born without mouths and were blind. He said they couldn't feel anything either. I thought it was sad they had been born like that and pushed the plump body onto the hook. I cast my rod and wedged it in the soft dirt.

I saw my 16 year old cousin sitting quietly holding the plastic carton of worms, I said, "Hey, it's okay to put the worm on the hook, they are blind and have no mouths and they can't feel anything."

He didn't say anything.

"Umm hey...I said it's okay. Don't you want to get a fish? My dad says if you get a fish you get to make a wish, like when it's your birthday, but it counts like 5 birthday wishes."

He said he didn't like worms. So I picked a worm and put it on his hook and walked away. I did that all day, sometimes the worms would slip off, so I'd put on a new one. He just smiled and didn't say anything.

I caught one fish, but it was a baby fish and my dad threw it back into the lake.

On the drive home my cousin asked if I wanted to drive back with them, I said sure and then he said, "You can sit shotgun."

It was the first time I got to sit in the front seat, I felt very grownup. I rolled the windows down and I changed the radio station. My sister asked why I got to sit in the front and my other cousins moaned and said it wasn't fair. My 16 year old cousin didn't even answer them. I tried to pick a radio station that he might like but I got caught up in a song by The Ronettes that made me laugh, he didn't seem to mind.

I remember the air smelled like it was going to rain, but it didn't.

Ella and Me

"While I'm crying for you, you're laughing at me."

Ella Fitzgerald is singing to me again.

I take another drink. I'm teaching myself to drink whiskey.

Two days ago I was laughing and talking with friends. Today I'm brooding and half naked in my room. Singing along with songs that are sung by people who have been dead for years.

My favorite people are dead. My favorite socks are dirty.

I'm sad because I could be happy and when there is a possibility of happiness a strong fear seems to settle in my stomach and won't let go.

He is gentle and sweet. He asks how my day was. He cares if I'm sad. He has soft brown hair that flips up at the tips. His lips are thin and smooth.

Many times I have been with men who were too quick to assign me a role or put me in a particular space where I was regulated and watched.

I'm sure he's not perfect. Maybe he has terrible breath or what if he likes nascar or something.

What if he likes to wake up early on Saturday mornings?
What if he doesn't like that same movies as I do?

I bet he'd hold me and maybe, maybe I wouldn't mind being held by him.

And that's all I want. I want a place to rest my head. I want a life that is happy.

Sometimes I feel lonely. And then I remember that things will be ok. Because he isn't like anyone I've ever met and I'm better than I used to be.

Road

I was driving in West Virginia a year ago. I was driving at night, in a truck that only had a tape player. It was dark and I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was smoking a cigarette. I had left right after I had taken a shower, my hair was still wet. 

I kept driving as it got darker. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I know all I had to do was make a U-turn and I'd be able to make it back home. "Home," being where I was staying while I was working for the summer. About 30 minutes into the drive I decided I wanted to buy vodka. 

It was Sunday and I didn't know even if I found vodka I wouldn't be able to buy it. 

The road was narrow and there weren't any street lights. I looked for a place to make a U-Turn. I went off the road on the right side to make sure I could make it in one go. Unfortunately the shoulder was softer than I had anticipated and the truck became stuck. 

I was literally stuck in a ditch, somewhere in West Virginia, I had no cell phone reception and it was dark. 

I waited for God. 

A police officer came by instead, he said, "You on Oxy? You drunk?"

I shook my head no. He called a tow truck that got me out of the ditch. 

He checked my license and said, "You're a long way from home, you came all this way to get stuck in a ditch?"

"I've never been stuck in a ditch before."

"Don't pull over, stay on the road ok?"

I said yes, got back in the truck and went back home. 

In those minutes before the police officer had arrived I was scared, unsure, confused. And then after the initial worry I became very calm, I knew everything would be okay. I knew I would be okay. 

I smoked a cigarette on the drive back home, I stayed on the road and I didn't get stuck again. 

Warmth

It's raining. The rain is cold, the way I like it.

I was in Arizona for a summer a  few years ago. The rain was warm. It smelled strange. One rainy evening I stood outside and I walked to the end of the street and back. My jeans were wet and my shirt clung to me. My feet slipped a little, I was wearing plastic sandals.

I spent the summer in the library and I slept with a boy for the first time.

We were studying on his bed and I fell asleep next to him.

At 5am I woke up and saw him sleeping next to me. I got up, gathered my books and left.

I have never liked spending the night.