Two Lines A Day Keep My Sanity At Bay

Fireworks.

Sitting on that stone wall of someone’s front lawn every year, watching colors explode in the dark sky, cut in places by telephone cables weaving through the sky, hospital in the background to the left, schoolyard and playground in the foreground across the now-deserted street.

Learning complicated Japanese patty-cake games with long-time friends while parents chit chat behind us and brothers yell and run, then stop to watch our fast moving hands in awe.

—

Fireworks.

Party and laughter and games and lots of food, fighting for a spot on the windowsill while balancing a champagne glass full of fizzy grape juice from the supermarket to watch the New Year’s celebrations.

Charging upstairs to my bedroom for a better view of the finale with my best friend, while the boys downstairs fight over the living room porthole, glasses abandoned on the dinner table on the way up, little miracles launched off from the mall downtown.

The hyper little blonde boy who somehow manages to get hurt every year, even when he really didn’t mean too, and we’re all expecting it while dreading the inevitable at the same time.

Sleeping bags pathetically separated in their own dark corner, giggling and the sound of scratchy magic markers on printer paper in the basement, swapping stories and gossip from different schools.

—

Fireworks.

Feeling wrong in a place that has nothing to do with age old traditions that have gone on since I-can’t-even-remember-when, but feeling perfectly right wrapped in the loving embrace of a broken-hearted girl.

Balancing act of friends, running back and forth with locations passed through cell phone, trying but failing not to disappoint either party, because I’m biased and wanting to spend more time with a certain someone.

Wanting to close my eyes and kiss her, but not able to bring myself to, because I’ve never missed a firework, and I don’t want to start now.

—

Fireworks.

Another year rolls on.

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That’s right, I just went all the way back to 2007. Weird. Edited the end very slightly, which is why this is also tagged #2012 just in case.

Opinions?

     When you left, you took the life out of this house. You took all the plates your mother gave us at our wedding, the flashlight with a hand-crank that was so useful during power outages, and the books on psychology that weighted down our shelves. After you left, I started eating off napkins at diner, and paper plates I found in the back of the cabinet; left overs from some party, I guess. The power went out, and the batteries in my flashlight were empty. You took all the candles, too. The holes between books now look like the picture of you that once hung above the piano: the one of you as a kid, before you got your braces. The little black spots between your teeth looked just as lonely.

     I stepped in the shower this morning, and there by my curled, water-wrinkled toes was a long black hair. It was already halfway down the drain, rippling back and forth with the water current. It was stuck underneath the bathmat. I left it there, and watched it squirm. I scrunched my toes, working the life back into them.

     When you left, you took the passion out of this life. You took all the smiles you brought to my lips, the laughter that once bubbled forth effortlessly, and the tenderness in my touch.
After you left, my lips petrified in a downwards curl, hard and immovable as stone. My chest fell and rose listlessly with my breathing; I broke a glass when I tried to pick it up. I guess I didn’t know how hard I was grabbing it.

     Next to my blue disposable razor on the bathroom sink is a pink one, equally disposable in theory, but I found myself unable to throw it away. It just sat there, mocking me. The spot on my chin where I nicked myself shaving that morning smarted something awful.

     When you left you took all the purpose out of these motions. No more reason to wake up in the morning, to cook eggs and eat healthy, to work hard and bring home the bacon.
After you left, I stopped setting the alarm clock; I got fired in a week. I gained fifteen pounds eating junkfood because it’s so much easier to prepare, and almost got evicted from my apartment. Your sister sent me a loan. I looked in a mirror one day, and didn’t recognize myself.

     I passed a woman on the street today, she looked almost like you. Her hair was longer and messier than your immaculate ponytail, and her clothes looked like she had slept in them .She walked along with her head bowed and her eyes turned towards her feet. She reminded me of myself: she was lonely and broken. She reminded me of that picture of you as a kid, the one before you got your braces. We were the spots between your teeth, just as lonely, just as easily replaced.

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I’ve lost the actual date I wrote this, but it’s somewhere from back in 2009. I’ve been really uninspired lately (and busy busy busy!!) so I’ve been hoping to try and pull some older things so that I’m actually posting to this blog.

Anyway, this is something of a work in progress. The concept is done, but there’s a lot I’d still like to change about it. Suggestions?