a letter

pages are torn out. loose leaves. they flutter to the ground like wings without bodies. they were stories. what was. what is no more. but they are stories nonetheless.

the book is empty not knowing yet how to be replenished. not knowing yet how to be. forgetting to trust that it all comes as it should.

i’m in a hurry to write, to meet, to document. to make the history that would prove me not lonely. but that’s not how it works now is it? patience is gifted, not earned with white knuckles gripping the wheel in traffic.

hurry up to get there.
hurry up to not be alone.
hurry up to face time and silence.

the pages are blank.
and although it is beautifully lonely
it leaves me not knowing where or how to start again.

i should write every day. these words i found with no date. one month? two months old? i can’t quite remember. fitting though, for me to find them this day. this day i begin a letter.

To the man in the big white truck,
it’s 82 degrees before the sun even rises. everyone knows the heat makes texans a little crazy in the head. and yet there you are, in my rearview mirror at 7:30am. my four cylinder with the AC blasting just can’t go fast enough for your stress. and for that i apologize even though i shouldn’t, but dude… you’re driving dangerously close to me and my son. me, the ten year old car in the slow lane trying to get up this hill. you are flexing your muscle, honking your horn.

i recognize your anger. i hear it even with my windows rolled up. the speed limit is simply not fast enough for you today. you shout and your coffee breath fogs up your window with spit as it flies from your lips.

CUNT!
would you call me a cunt if we were to meet face to face? i doubt you would have the balls. i doubt you would know what to do with a woman like me.

i have most likely never sat around a campfire with someone like you. you, i will not judge beyond this car, this morning, this word of power. are you the product of this stressful life? a product of a father figure, or simply a product of this  society crammed into cubicles devoid of human contact… forgetting what is decent and kind?

there’s one thing i am sure of, in this so called loneliness: i’m glad i’m not going home to you.

dance

if only you could see us then
long hair flowing
swallowing up the sunshine
drinking in the rain.

if only you could see us then
patchwork skirts and barechested beauties
forever young.

spinning, dancing
eyes closed chanting.

today we are doctors, professors, writers, photographers, teachers.  we are everything and so much more. we carry these secrets of our former selves, hidden in our pockets, sewn into the seams of our clothes.

these secrets go with us everywhere and sometimes if you are lucky, you can catch a glimpse of them. of us as we were. sometimes it’s easy to see, and then it’s like welcoming back long lost friends. i know you, you who are me. together we danced holding hands, dreaming of the impossible (doing the impossible) together we traveled and lived for experience. i know you, and i know we are still who we were.

we are not going anywhere, although it feels like it on certain days. on the outside it feels that we are slipping down the drain with the bath water. to the outside world, i know us to be chameleons. playing dress-up, all the while knowing our joy of what was and what will come to be. us walking through the woods coming home to find leaves in our hair.

this is who we were, freedom fighters pulling all nighters. this is who we are still as we negotiate bedtimes and sugar intake and instant gratification of toys and all things gluttonous. this is who we were, standing up for rights and wrongs. this is who we are still, teaching what is right and what is wrong.

we are in there, shining.
looking out with love in our eyes
shaking our heads at the absurdity of it all.
singing the songs of ourselves
dancing just to feel the wind.

tell me now, who are you?

in my dreams

river recently overheard a conversation i had with a friend.  from three rows back in the minivan.  he and his sippy, silently listening.

he’s fascinated with dreams.

“where did river’s middle name come from?” she asks and i begin the story, everything is a story. i like stories. maybe  because everyone has them. it’s what makes us human. every one of us is interesting and different and still the same.

i chat to her about the time just six months after my wedding. deep in the winter of the rocky mountains, the one room cabin, the bed loft, the down comforter.  six years before river’s birth. “his name came to me in a dream.” a series of dreams. each one more real than the next. and so he is malakai.

the next day it bubbles to the surface while he’s thinking. perched on the toilet (my presence required) he tilts his head to the side when asking a question. 

“did you dream of me before i was born?”

throughout this week he lets me into his mind by asking this.  and i feel that i can give him no better gift. to know this simple truth at such a young age. “i wanted you before i had you.” i never thought i’d have him. he, the sweet boy that he is. i had always dreamed. but then there he was six years later, the happy accident. how lucky i am that he found me. it seems that the best things in life are never planned.

timing is everything

i feel my eyes narrowing.  i don’t want to be that person. 

this weather makes me angry ontop of everything else. everything is worse when it’s 102 degrees outside. ten days straight. i am an ant trapped under a glass dome with nothing but pretty clouds to contemplate as i’m being baked alive. 102 makes me fucking insane.

i will not narrow my eyes on you. not anymore. it’s a waste of energy. an emotional drain. i will weave these cobwebs, spin them, shine them into something beautiful. {i will do my best to try.}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you, my friend, have impeccable timing. {that was once said of me after a clarinet solo. when the silence left that nauseating hush when you worry that something went terribly wrong while you had your eyes closed; that is until the applause ruptured and the heat rose to your cheeks in a red stained blush. perfectly timed…that was one of the many things i used to be.}

impeccable timing. what does that mean? that you are in tune, good at getting your groove on? or rather somehow you are woven into the very fabric of the song, how could you not be at one with it when it is just as much a part of you as your own breath?

it’s amazing how quickly a voice can change over the phone. how light my step. how broad my grin. because of you, my friend with impeccable timing who reaches me long distance as i’m fumbling to find shoes and lunchboxes with one arm under the couch searching for the cat and a singing preschooler in the background ready to start his day.

you and i are woven into the same song.  always have been. always will be.  and i take such comfort in that. i tell you this, and i can hear your smile over the phone lines, over the miles, over the years.

you call when i need you most it seems {and i need no one} like you heard the words i sent out into the world just yesterday. and through my smile i will not speak of my horrible terrible no good very bad day {oh, but i will} i will not waste my breath on such negativities when faced with your positivity and care of the soul {oh, but i will.} i will spill myself like a glass jar of jellybeans, shattering to the ground.  and you, somehow, will gather up all the colors of me and make me feel whole again.

you are the polar opposite of him. he that i found fourteen years ago not based on what is considered father material. i didn’t think of such things when i was twenty. and so i don’t want to speak of lies or mistrusts. hard times, bitterness, anger, vomiting of ugliness. {i have restrained until i gagged on my own bile. to what, to spare you the splatter?}

when i face you i’m reminded of light and dark. good and bad. human kindness. all that is right with the world. 

i will someday write of this in a new light, the twist of words. the bending way of light, the spin of vision. a technique, a veiling, that i learned over the years to simply cope and yet still express. and somehow through the disguise, people will possibly read and understand and relate and find themselves not alone in whatever darkness they are feeling.

i will not breath in his negativity as my own. it is not mine to carry. even though it surrounds me and will continue to do so for atleast fourteen years.

fourteen years in either direction. we are at the crossroad. this intersection perfectly symmetrical in time, a nasty spot in the road where the light blinks red on and off and accidents happen and people get bruised. we, right now are in the middle of a twenty-eight year contract. we should get our shit together.

i will instead choose positivity and lightness of breath and hope for man. {all of this from two minutes on the phone. the static of the line leaving voices clear.}

hey beautiful. hey you.

sea salt

i’m on a deck, on a dock.  and i can pretend that i’m at the coast.  the water is under me and the sun is setting.  this is good.  it’s what i need.  a tall glass of water and five dollar slice of chocolate cake. it better be good.

with each boat that passes the waves move underfoot, a doppler effect of sound and emotion that crashes eventually underfoot.

there i am in the corner. the remote part of the deck, removed from the birthday party happening with bursts of festivities, people dancing on tables across the river.

it’s a river not a lake. it’s a lake not the ocean.

it’s cooler here by the water despite the 100 degree temperatures earlier today.  the boats are beginning to dock for the night. to “anch” as river says.  they come with coolers hoisted on shoulders, they come as the lights begin turning on and the wind blows and all that’s missing are the gulls.

i think to myself i’m not too fond of boats. not these kind anyway. the party boats with bikinis dancing in the sunset. i could do without boats and just sit with the silence, that i’d prefer.

she could smell the beach on me.  the salt air. i’d get reprimanded, scolded for breaking the rules bestowed on me in high school. there was no denying the smell of the ocean.  it was a lure i couldn’t deny.  the beach at night. the power of the wind and total darkness that empowers as it humbles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i’m running, taking the steps two by two straight up 775 feet above sea level.  i can hear them before i round the corner. chanting. praying to christ in the dark with their arms thrown up to the sky.  the sun has not yet broken through the clouds.

i walk into it, and past it, around it.  their words are not joyful but painstricken. shouting, questioning, begging, pleading. i came here for the sky. for the water.  the wind is cool but it doesn’t blow salty. and for that it doesn’t quite feel alive.

…yo creo… en cristo… senor..

i stand on the concrete slab of the picnic table.  the blaspheme.  their words fall at my feet.  i step around them looking up.  looking towards exactly what i came for.

i was jarred awake at 4am. the early morning hours of father’s day.

you. you are him.  father to a boy.  possibly two. i didn’t yet know your house in daylight, or the field that stretched behind it leading onward to the sea. but i knew the salt air and this room where comfort lay next to me. smiling, laughing. “let me kiss your lips” you say as if i willed you to existence. pulling your head towards me, a hand in your hair.  you will do things to me, and i want to lick the salt from your skin.  to open my mouth and consume you.

i see all of it there, even in darkness. the sailboat, the trust, the field we would lay down in. you are him, dark haired sailor.

it jarred me awake at 4am. the realness of it. the comfort.  when i had gone to sleep asking “who are you?”

you are love.
you, this dream, are real.
existing somewhere near the sea.

good guys bad guys

“what is war?” he asks from the backseat.
whoa.

he comes home from school with spanish words for sweet and rude. he comes home with snippets of hair gone from a scissor incident. he comes home. he comes home. he comes home.

i am his home.

i am the enforcer. the bummer of a mom who trims nails and combs out tangles despite the protests. the one who says no more than i would like. i am the provider who forces clothing and shoes and schooling and bedtimes. what a drag. i am that mom who knows we all have to do things we don’t always want to. i am the mom who has to say goodbye and face your tears. face my fears. i am all that there is, and so i am the bad guy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

he’s holding my hand underwater. his grip is tight and my legs are sore from swimming us out to the center of the pond. he floats and spits and smiles in goggles that are all fogged up. he holds my hand underwater and i turn onto my back under the leafy shade of tree that overhangs the blue green water. he dips his face down under and holds his breath. he watches for fish or turtles or magic or mermaids. i float on my back with my eyes in the tree and my ears echoing the rhythm of the water and breath. we are tethered underwater, unseen, sharing a secret. he in his world, me in mine. one and the same. we float and i smile.

“are you wonderwoman?” he asks as i hoist him to my hip.
i smile and nod. yes, yes i am. 

i am the tugboat, the mermaid, the water taxi. i am the shoulder to collect the tears. i am the safety net, the confidant, the one who says yes as much as possible. i am the receiver of whispered secrets shared just before sleep comes. i am the promise keeper. i am the 600lb tapir who eats nightmares to protect her baby. i am the laughtrack, the rickshaw, the piggyback ride. i am all these things. i am all there is. and so i am that mom, the good guy.

sunday

8:30 am 85 degrees

he begs for his bike rides. every day. we live at the bottom of a bowl, the trailhead, any way out is uphill both ways. i’m a grump with chicken legs, riding a bike with no gears in the heat of the day. i give in to the simple pleasures because i’m guaranteed a laugh. because he’ll remember this. and so will i.

we head out early. it’s hard work, but he’s laughing all the way and to be quite honest, so am i. the wind feels good and our water is cool. ice cold.

this is us on any given weekend. mom and kid. pedaling uphill both ways. we stop to catch our breath. my breath. i cannot believe how hard this is. this hill. this bike. this life. this kid. it’s kicking my ass but in the good way, burning the back of my throat with each intake of air. life is quenched only with water and genuine laughter. 

it’s all okay. even when it hurts. i guess it means we’re getting somewhere.

our destination is the park. the snowcone topped with ice cream. the best creek for rock throwing. the playground, the pigeons, the train whistle.

timing has it today that we see familiar faces. river is instantly embarrassed, “take my helmet off!” he can’t face her until he’s himself again. i feel the same but i am the grownup and have no legs to hide behind. we get off our bikes and find ourselves grounded in the world of people. they hug and kiss. we smile.

this town is so small. especially for like-minded folks. it’s refreshing to talk and watch the kids play. to fumble with words for a bit as we find our footing. i’ve never been alone with you, although our kids have grown up together. their lives have intersected long before their first memories were made. there’s comfort in that. in that place where we are similiar. in how the year has passed in it’s strangely parallel way.

we walk a line hand in hand. connect the dots, four across. boy, girl, boy, girl. we are the paranthesis to these children, our children.  they hop and skip and so do we. boy, girl.

and then we get back on our bikes and ride home.
uphill both ways.

darkness has a hunger thats insatiable
and lightness has a call thats hard to hear
i wrap my fear around me like a blanket
i sailed my ship of safety til i sank it
i’m crawling on your shores

there’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
the less i seek my source for some definitive
the closer i am to fine 

~indigo girls

spin around with me

“keep looking at the bandaged place.  that’s where the light enters you.” ~ rumi

river’s upside down on the kitchen floor. “can you feel the whole world spinning?” yes, i think i can. somedays moreso than others. today it’s so beautiful it makes me cry. because i’m happy, because i don’t know why. i used to be amazed that any of us are upright at all, walking around talking and breathing. that was when i was floored mostly, when gravity was too much and pinned me flat on my back in that bullish way gravity has about itself. now i’m more amazed that we aren’t just floating off with the breeze, catching onto lamp posts to keep us grounded… smiles wide and our feet in the clouds.

“spin around with me!” he chants it with feet propped up on the fridge, head down in some strategic yoga pose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it’s evening and i’m walking behind him as he does his hurky-lurky bike pedaling. i’m all grins and laughter because it’s just that funny, and life is just that good with glints of sunset in the distance and the fireflies just starting to reveal themselves. i’m laughing because this is what it is, life in slow motion jerking along at an awkward pace.

he sees us and rolls down his window, some stranger witnessing our scene. he waits for us to come closer. we get within earshot… the man points at me and calls out his window, ‘you are happy’ he says. a simple statement. ‘yes, i am’ i say in return. and he rolls up his window and drives off.

it must have been just that important to say it outloud.

it is something to be seen. just as much as the sadness was something to be felt. it’s a beautiful balance. a place i’ve just recently come to.  where people are new in my life and genuinely interested in my story. silence sits with smiles on the couch, waiting for my words to fill the space. ‘who did you used to be?’ i’m finding that i’m finally at the place where i can share what used to be, it’s just like telling a story without judgment, one i know by heart. it’s part my story, part his story, for he will always be a part of me. our stories will always intersect. i am not bitter. i am not angry. i am not sad. i just am. it is what it is. and it’s giving me new eyes on the past and sorting out the beautiful, the amazing. 

it’s june gloom in southern california. it’s the breeze and the scent of jasmine wafting over the rooftops down on Mulholland. it’s sleeping on a concrete slab, living on the jobsite. it’s good times. it’s swimming in skivvies in the fanciest pool ever after a full day of wiring a rooftop of solar panels.

it is what is light and what is dark. there cannot be one without the other.

my heart feels tender for this person i knew so well, although he’s someone i don’t always understand. a person in my life for a decade and a half yet always somewhat invisible, cloaked in feigned busyness. i wonder what the fear is. i wonder. but it doesn’t consume me as it used to.

and for that i feel lighter.

gravity has no hold on me.

mermaid, baby dolphin.

“i want you to be the mermaid, and i’ll be the baby dolphin,” he speaks through his snorkel and points to where we should go. i am the willing mermaid, the water taxi with goggles that can’t contain her laughter. i feel as if i’m eight years old and feeling love for the first time.

he said he wanted a snorkel. i wasn’t sure he would know what to do, but i know he’s a fish in water. and we’ve spent every afternoon for the past month in the pool. he came through his first day of school. the first time ever not knowing anyone. the first time momma is not teacher and not even on campus. he came through it with tear stained eyes, salt streaks on his eyelids from crying himself to sleep at quiet time.

so, a snorkel it was. a gift to him from me on his first day of school. yellow because it’s his favorite. we walked to the pool with towels slung over our shoulders.

the water was cold and he was eager. we adjusted the mask and i showed him the mouthpiece. he kept breaking his waterseal by laughing and smiling. he was so giddy he was making waves.  after a few minutes he got the hang of it and he peered in the water.

the world cracked open. i saw it in the reflection of his blue eyes. and it was beautiful. he came up laughing, addicted, wanting more. “again! again!”

his breathing was slow and steady, the rhythm of it took me back to la jolla, 1996, when the seagrass made me carsick. “go under with me,” he says. and i do. we smile through bubbles that rise and pop around us. if laughter could be contained, it would fill this pool.

he speaks through his snorkel and while i watch him i see a future version of himself. one that has sunbleached hair, a college kid working summers to save money so he can snorkel around a coral reef in the bahamas. bubbles rise from my mouth. i’m happiest in water. and this day i will not forget.

the sun is warm. i hoist him onto my hip for the walk home. “i love you” he whispers into my wet hair. i squeeze him and water drips off of him onto me. “i love you too,” i whisper back. all the while thinking, “i’m so damn lucky. i’m so damn lucky in this life.” because really, it couldn’t get much better than this.

bang bang

it’s all coming back to me now.

summertime in the neighborhood. the best backyard that stretched forever and sloped towards the creek… where i’d send GI Joe downstream in search of mermaids.

my brothers ran around with waterguns and sound effects. my friends, all boys, did too. and then there was me, the only girl in the neighborhood. included in makebelieve; invited by relation only. certainly not based on qualifications.

they had sound effects of great magnitude. i had nothing but laughter and sunshine and spinning myself dizzy under the clothesline. every now and then i’d dodge the boys stray water bullets as i swung higher and higher on the swingset, feet in the clouds.

7am this morning found us both with bed head. him with a mission of legos in mind as with every morning (”i built it with my mind” he says about his vehicular creations) he came up for air and a bite of oatmeal saying “hey momma, i built you a heart.” the perfect combination of all things boy, near and dear to momma’s heart.

he came home today all boy. full of sound effects. it feels like sunshine in my eyes, this growing up. it’s blinding and so painfully beautiful that i love how it feels on my face, how it makes my eyes water, how it makes my heart swoon.

he’s full of sound effects today. sound effects that i don’t even know how to spell. they are full of spit and emotion and 100% enjoyed imagination. and he wants me to play and i’ve got nothing but laughter.

and so that’s what i give to him.