Scheherazade

The first time he hits you, you’re both shocked.

It gets easier the second time, for him anyways.

After the third and fourth hit, there is a rhythm to how he’s hitting you.  After the eighth and ninth hit you know it’s not going to stop.

You’re on the ground. You wonder how you got there. He’s dragging you with your right arm, you feel your shoes slip off and the gravel rip your stockings.

“I don’t want to die.” This isn’t something you say, this is something you think.

You feel something wet on your face, it isn’t raining. It’s your own blood.

You can’t see anymore. You’re focusing on breathing.

Why can’t you just get up. You don’t hear anything, he isn’t yelling anymore.

You try to get up and he pushes you back down. It’s harder to breath and you can’t see anything. “Get up”, these are words in your mind.

My wrist is sweaty and his hand is sweaty, he loses his grip. And I jump up. I don’t make eye contact. I turn around, He grabs my dress and hair, I move anyways. He hits the back of my head, I’m on the ground again.

There is a bright light, maybe lights of a car. He pauses, I get up, I run.

I run and then I hide, belly down between bushes in a yard of a house I’ve never been to. The dirt feels cool against my skin.

Just breathe. 

I wonder what time it is. Someone comes out of the house. I don’t think they see me in the bushes they go back inside. A few minutes later a police car comes. He asks if I’ve been drinking. I try to say no, my jaw doesn’t move. I can’t make out his face. One of the cops helps me out of the bushes. They ask me more questions, when they see I can’t answer they put me in the back of the cop car. We arrive at the hospital. He asks me if I’ve been drinking I shake my head no. He asks if I am on any drugs, street or prescription, I shake my head no.

He asks if I was raped. I vomit.

Three broken fingers,

A broken jaw.

Fractured ribs.

Broken clavical.

Concussion.

Various bruises and scratches.

This is what they tell me, this is what I already know. 

When I was ten I was in a school play. I was Scheherazade. I was in a lot of scenes and I even had a monologue. After the play was over they let us keep our costumes. A lime green tank top with a multi-colored skirt, pieces of soft organza, tied together along my waist. I had gold shoes with hot pink trim. I felt special and confident. I didn't forget any of my lines. I practiced my lines with Ernie, he was small and stuttered. He wanted to be in the play, but because he stuttered when he was nervous he didn't try out. On opening night he gave me a pink carnation. When my mother asked who gave me the flower I told her everyone got one for doing a great job. 

When I got home, I pressed the flower in a book and wondered if I could wear my costume when Ernie and I got married. 

Coffee and Silver

Our first date was at a coffee shop. He had suggested the place and I was planning on drinking water or getting tea. I don't like coffee. He was already there when I arrived, we stood in line together, he offered to buy me coffee, I said yes. We dated for six months. During this time he we went to a lot of coffee shops. He would make me coffee in the morning. I had my own coffee mug in his apartment. We broke up on a Tuesday. I never picked up my coffee mug and he never knew I hated coffee.

Another boyfriend bought me silver jewelery. Silver necklaces, silver earrings, silver bracelets, silver rings with embedded precious stones, silver everything.

I don't like jewelery, I don't wear jewelery, I especially don't like silver.
When we broke up I asked if he wanted the jewelery back, he said no.

I've also pretended to be a virgin, twice.

If I were to say I didn't mean to lie, that would be a lie. I didn't lie maliciously. In the past I have lied in relationships because I wasn't sure what I wanted. I wasn't really sure what I liked. I didn't say I liked coffee to trick him, I lied because he was nice enough to buy me coffee. I didn't tell the other guy I didn't like silver because he was thoughtful enough to buy me jewelery and I wore the jewelery whenever we were together. And the first time I lied about being a virgin, was because I was ashamed I wasn't. And the second time I lied because he assumed I was a virgin, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

Relationships are difficult, I know that and you know that. Do I regret lying? Kinda. Will I lie again? Maybe.

My secret is this: if you ask if I'm lying, I'll tell you. I don't lie about lying. And some people say, that's the best thing about me.

Thanks for the inspiration Michael.

Ashes

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, I went to mass.

I was seated next to a lady with a little boy. He was probably 6 or so. He had no respect for personal space. He had no healthy sense of boundaries. 

Being the reasonable person I am, I didn't make a fuss, I just sat quietly, trying to shrink. 

About 15 minutes into the mass, this child fell asleep on my shoulder. Now, in a Catholic Mass there is a lot of sitting down, standing up, kneeling and then repeating. I heard they do that so you won't fall asleep. Seems plausible to me. When it's time to stand, I look to the mother, she looks at me, neither of us do anything.

So, I spend the next 45 minutes or so sitting perfectly still while this child slumbers on my shoulder. His mother woke him up when it was time to approach the altar to receive ashes. He was groggy and disorientated. He looked at me and smiled, while we were in line for ashes I could hear him singing along to the hymn that was being sung. Some parts were in Latin, and he did his best to sing each word after it had been sung. 

Afterwards, while I sat in my car I cried. I cried for about 20 minutes. Then I drove home.

Gum

He asked if I wanted a piece of gum. I said no. He asked again, I said no again. When he asked a third time I gently took the gum, unwrapped it and put it in my mouth. It was double mint gum. I told him I had to go. I drove home quickly, went into my bedroom and cried harder than I've cried in ten years.

My grandmother didn't like me.

She always carried double mint gum. Maybe 3 or 5 packs at a time, neatly held in the zipper compartment of her purse. I would always ask for a piece. She would split the stick of gum in half. She would put the other half back into her purse. She would give my sister a whole stick of gum. When I didn't ask why, she would say, "Don't you want to know why you aren't getting a whole stick of gum?"

I would shrug,

she would answer, "Because ladies don't ask."

I didn't know what this meant, I was just happy to have a piece of gum, even if it wasn't a whole piece.

When my sister and I would spend the night down my grandparents house, her main complaints about me were the following:

1. I didn't eat a whole meal in one sitting. I would eat half and then play and then go back to the meal. It would take maybe two hrs for me to eat a whole meal.

2. I was afraid of the dark, I had to sleep with the lights on.

3. I liked to be tucked in and read to, I couldn't fall asleep alone.

4. I was messy.

5. I refused to have my hair put in braids or a ponytail.

My grandma concluded that I was spoiled. I would spend the evening sitting quietly in front of a cold unfinished plate while my sister ate dessert.

My grandpa loved me. He would try and neutralize the situation. I would help him in the garden. While he pruned the trees I would gather earthworms. He would tell me stories about when he was young. I remember thinking it was funny that he had ever been a little boy. I would stay up and watch black and white movies with my grandpa. I would fall asleep on the couch. And even though I wasn't allowed dessert, he would sneak me candy when my grandmother wasn't looking.

Years later when he was dying in the hospital I stayed by his side. I slept in waiting rooms, I ate in the hospital cafeteria. My grandma told my mom that it wasn't appropriate for a young lady to be unsupervised over night at a hospital.

When my grandpa died I held onto his foot.

My mom and grandma were on either side, holding his hands. My sister was sobbing and holding onto my mother. I felt the pulse in his foot quicken and then slow, and then finally stop.

Before he was in the hospital I asked him if he was ever scared when he was in WWII, he said yes. I said, "Well...what did you do when you were scared?"

he said, "I was scared, I didn't know if I could move, but I did, I was scared as hell, but I moved, because even if you're scared you have to keep going forward."

When he told me this years ago I didn't understand what he meant. Now I understand.

I can't talk about you without talking about myself. 

You are who I would have been if no one had loved me. 

I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Thank you for letting me go.

You were a storm and I was something you would have destroyed, but what a view. 

Sometimes a secret makes you feel special, even if you aren't. Even if you know you can never be. In spite of, in memory of something you gave up a long time about. 

A secret. That small smile that creeps across your mouth during the monotonous moments that occur during the day.

A secret. The little warmth between your legs when you think of a life that is very different from the one you lead. 

A secret.That hot mouth against your mouth. Another world, complete, self-sustaining. 

Whenever I see something beautiful, I stop and stare. I sort of revel in it's existence. I feel privileged to be witnessing something so beautiful, and to have been paying  enough attention to realize it's presence. I've always been like this. My instinct is to see something unique, to love it and then to be happy until it goes away.

My mother thinks this is what's wrong with me.

For my mother and sister, when they see something beautiful or unique, when they experience something enjoyable, they want to grab it, contain it and control it.

My mother says, if I knew any better I'd be married by now.

I like loving men. They are a counterpart to myself, that very unknowable, so desirable "other." I like what they write, how they talk and the noises they make. I like the way they eat and their facial expressions. I like the gait of their walk and how their posture changes in different situations. I like comparing his natural everyday voice with his whisper voice when he's on top of me. I like noticing if his snoring is completely random or if there is some underlying pattern that will reveal itself if I listen long enough. I like the way he can be surprisingly tender and vulnerable, I like that sometimes, I can make him happy.

I don't know much about relationships or being a girlfriend or being a wife or a mother. But I do know something about loving someone because they inspire you to be more than you thought possible. I know about loving someone because it's the most natural and wonderful thing you've ever done in your life. I may not have your ring on my finger or have given birth to the child you love. I am just someone who loves you and will continue to love you because you are beautiful, talented, and endlessly amazing.