Tag Archives: Beginnings

Untitled post- a free-form poem.

Cat

I told my mother I had a boyfriend over coffee when the sun was rising
She told me to be careful and refilled my coffee cup.
No relationship brought to a sudden end
from the secret I just offered up.

I talked to my mother about my boyfriend in a coffee shop with a teacup in my hands.
I tell her he reminds me of a cat and my father.
She tells me about when she got engaged
and how communication is worth the bother.

I admitted to my brother I have a boyfriend in my truck with the radio on
He said “oh, I remember” and stuck his hand out the window
I found out my mother had told most of my family
and that none were terribly shocked to know.

I tell my boyfriend about my mother in pieces at a time when I think of them
Mentioning the ten children, the cooking
and how she fosters puppies with 3.6 legs
And he doesn’t say much, just listening.

I wait for the world to crumble to pieces because of my boyfriend
Sharing my business and mixing my worlds isn’t comfortable
but these people care about me more than anything
In the end, listening is all I really need.

Tracks and Childhood

Humans are incredibly nostalgic creatures.
The lengths to which we will go are incredible, when childhood memories or memorabilia are involved.
Why do you think vintage action figures are so valuable? Why else is scrapbooking a massively successful industry? People are terrified of losing themselves, as defined by physical and mental imprints on the world.
If you ask anyone what their first car was, they will be able to respond almost instantly. Most people probably still remember the first big purchase they made with their own money. Almost everyone has their first home address memorized, and home videos are full of “baby’s first things”. Sounds and smells and textures are all physical triggers in accessing memory banks.

Last week, I moved out of the apartment I’d been staying in for the past few months. I’d moved in with my best friend at the time, and we had been planning to get a house together when her lease expired at the apartment complex. However, over time, differing schedules and lifestyles created a good number of tensions, and there were several long, tearful conversations, where frustrations and personal affronts were discussed at length.
I don’t know about anyone reading this, but I never enjoy those sorts of conversations.
All in all, stresses were high, and something needed to change.
So change, it did.

In the space of an afternoon, months and years worth of planning, wishing, and dreaming culminated in my moving into a tiny, two-story house.
The roof needs replaced, the doors don’t quite seal all the way, and the floors creak when you walk across them.
The bathroom floor leaks into the kitchen if the bathtub gets a little too excited.
The back yard isn’t fenced.
The floors give you splinters if you drag your feet.
The windows stick, and most of them don’t open, unless they’re the ones that have been replaced.

But there are radiators in every room downstairs, rippling with heat, and providing a toasty seat to chilled bottoms.
The floors are a light, golden-brown hardwood, and when it catches the sunlight, it glows.
There’s a threshold between living room and dining room that to a seven year-old, embodies the glory and power of a thundering river. She will spend many years leaping across it, imagination aglow with the feat.
The stairway has a narrow ledge parallel the top half of it, and a ten year-old girl likes to walk along it and pretend a bottomless chasm drops away below her bare feet. She will stand at the end and curl her toes over the edge while she watches family members trudge up the stairs in a routine they don’t even think about.
The upstairs bathroom is bigger than the master bedroom, there’s a funny, slanted corner to one room, where there wasn’t quite enough room for both the stairs and the bedroom, so they had to share.
The closets are all at least six feet deep, and one of them was big enough to hold the world of a thirteen year-old as she dreamed about boys, wrote about fantasy worlds, and hid from the outside world under her blankets. The evidence is still scribbled on the walls, if you care to decipher the handwriting.

Now, a nineteen year-old lives in the master bedroom, stocking feet folded under her legs to protect them from the drafty cold. Boxes are scattered about the floor, and clothes are on the floor, for want of a better place to go. The rooms are empty and they echo, and the upstairs had to be aired out for two days to get rid of the stenches of cigarettes and pot that were lurking in the corners.
Tatty carpet pieces have been rolled up, explicit DVD’s discovered in closets, and floors scrubbed and refinished.

It’s been half a decade at least, but this blog post is proof that some dreams do come true, if you’re willing to wait.
I now live in my childhood home, and I don’t plan to be going anywhere soon.

Beginnings Installment 6

She’d become skilled at lying.
This is what Kvistyn found herself thinking this morning as she sat engulfed in white and lace and chattering women.
Skilled she had indeed become, and far too skilled for her own comfort, though she saw no way around it. If she were to give voice to her true thoughts, she would be signing her own death warrant.
So Kvistyn played the Blushing Bride to be for Caldfyt, played a giggling girl for the women folk of the place, letting those commissioned to be her bridesmaids fuss and gush over her perfect white gown as they made the final touches to it. Continue reading

Beginnings Installment 5

Stone.
Chill glass.
Carved faces and features, looking over her head in regal poses.
She walked strange halls when dreaming, and there was so much peace, so much that she could now do.
Child, completely lucid and noticing the strange orderliness of her dream, floated up into the hazy ceiling, perching on a ledge above a massive round room she didn’t recognize, her feet dangling over the edge as she swung them slowly back and forth, bare feet crossed at the ankles. Her blonde hair floated about her as if she were under water, settling slowly about her shoulders in a perfect, pale sheet.
She looked down to see people filing into the room below, most of them clad in white, a minority of them in grey, with one or two in black. Those in the black robes had skin of darkest brown, with strong, beautiful features contrasting beautifully with the white clad, finer featured people, though the genders mixed freely, discrimination a non issue. Continue reading

Beginnings, Installment 4

She walked through the halls of her father’s house, a place that had hardly been a home to her since her childhood.
Why, she lamented pettishly, couldn’t she return to the way things had been?
But she knew the answer.
The moment in time Caldfyt had confessed his love had forever ruined and diverted the track of their friendship, and she could easily name the one other time she remembered that had permanently changed things between them.
Memories haunted her, returning with astonishing clarity as she trailed her fingers along the wall leading to her room.

She remembered the first few weeks of their engagement, when she’d still been fighting to keep things how they had been.
She’d stormed to her room, slamming the door behind her and collapsing onto her bed. The movement brought a crinkle of paper, and when she sat up, a note, now wrinkled, was revealed.
All it held was a picture, of the view she now had from her bed. Continue reading

Beginnings, Installment 3

Far back in the mountains, deep in the massive forests of twisting, ancient trees draped with tendrils of spiraling moss, and far from any humans, this was where the elves lived, in the Piedmonts of the great peaks. Their houses were graceful, arching structures, crafted almost as though water had run over the material while it was still soft, creating strange whorls and dips in the things, only these protuberances and indents were used as part of the structure, hammocks hung between and flowers coaxed around.Elves' Forest
The elves themselves somewhat resembled their houses, with smooth, soft-looking bodies and features, though their bodies were strong and had great endurance, when trained to. Their eyes were all different shades of blue and grey, with only a few the deepest black-blue of the depths. They were swift and lithe, much like the element that seemed joined to them, able to take nearly any place as their home. If Dryads were of the Earth, then the Elves were of the Water. Druids were said to be of the Air, though so little was known of them that there was no way to tell. Humans were obviously Fire, what with their destructive tendencies and they way they cleared paths for themselves wherever they went, with nothing ever stopping them. Continue reading

Beginnings, Installment 2

It was a small town, dirty, rundown, slightly seedy, and far from civilized, but he liked it. The he in question was about seventeen, with tangled dark hair that fell into his strong, dark-brown eyes in a quiet sort of carelessness. He was tanned from his days spent in the outdoors, with a healthy kind of strength to him that spoke of no lack of physical exercise, with a grace like a panther. He wore plain, nondescript dark clothes, and his boots were light, though incredibly strong. Dryad made, and elf materials. These were a rare combination, for the cousin races rarely tolerated each other. It had taken him, a strange, half human, half everything else, for all he knew, to bring the two together for long enough to get him his boots. Continue reading