Sunday Cycling

The first ten minutes of my ride is like traveling to the starting line. I’m dodging traffic in the center of Dallas, hoping to not get driven off the road. On Sunday mornings, though, the streets are bare. Only the birds are up, singing their tunes to the rising sun. The city feels post- apocalyptic, like it will never recover from the reckless weekend. I am grateful just to feel the dawn of a new day. I swerve down the center of Maple Ave, and move quickly past Oak Lawn without stopping. 

Climbing up the Katy is what wakes my body up. The stiffness in my legs shoots up my hips in back to back alarms. I push through my petals like trudging through thick mud. I rotate through various gears, but feel like I’m getting nowhere. The start is always a struggle, I remind myself, and I know it will subside. My  breath quickens as I roll through a tunnel of hovering trees. In my slow pace, I greet runners and dog walkers. “Good morning,” I hear, from bikers passing by and mothers pushing toddlers back into a state of sleep. Some just smile, cherishing the silence. 

This is cycling; moving in a repetitive sequence of ordered motions. My feet start and end at the same point for hours, yet I hold no concept of time. My body works, but my mind is still. I travel around the lake, with my body propelling me forward like a machine, while I am just an observer, watching the world from above my seat. The trees are full now, and bursting in clusters of green. The grass stands tall after weeks of rain, and is running wild with weeds and flowers. I can barely see beyond it in some spots, and it makes me feel small. 

I’ll admit I’ve been so swept away by a falling leaf or a passing butterfly, that I’ve swerved off the trail and nearly into a pile of bushes. 

Most days I dismount my bike and drag it down to the shore. This is my favorite part. I lay down on a patch of grass, and feel the earth beneath me. My legs come back to me, and I feel them pulse with soreness, then slowly relax and rest. I watch the waves crash against the concrete steps that line the lake, but some days the water is perfectly still with no current at all. My breath slows and deepens as I watch the clouds form shapes above me. I am so heavy on the ground, it feels like I’m sinking into the dirt. I am so connected to the world around me that I can feel the trees branches swaying in the wind. It makes me warm and lightheaded, like I’m high. 

I used to stop for the birds, to watch them chase each other in the water, and fly to and from the floating dock. Some would dive face down for fish, while others floated away from their clan. I wondered what they did at night, or when it was cold or rainy. But they always did the only thing they knew how to do: just be. I was truly fascinated by them, until I truly understood. Now I stop for me, to enjoy the stillness, and to ground myself before heading back on my journey home.

A Broken Dream

This dream happened in a flash, like a minute of real time. 

I was sitting at a picnic table, the green ones that are made of metal mesh. He was on the other side, just looking at me. It felt like I’d dropped into the dream mid conversation, and he was waiting for me to respond. His eyes were fixed on mine. My eyes wandered though, scanning his lips and beard, while trying to remember how they felt on my face. His hair was long and lazily pushed back. I wanted to run my hands through it, but I knew how much he hated that. He watched me take him in and started smiling. I’ve never been subtle about my attraction to him, and this sudden scenario was overwhelming. His whole presence was overwhelming. 

Nervously, I blurted out some ridiculous, suggestive comment. Why hide what we both knew I was thinking? He leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head as if wondering what to do with that. I waited. His knees were just inches from mine under the table and I could feel the space between us charged with electricity. 

“How about….” he started. I was antsy with anticipation. “…we go on a date.”

I’m not even sure I was breathing, “A date? A real date?” 

“Yes,” he confirmed.

My mind started going a mile a minute. A date, like starting over? Like a first date, part 2. Oh my God, what will I wear? I love that pink dress from my birthday that year, wait that was Leslie’s, wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure I borrowed it. Is a dress too much? No way, I’ve got to look hot. 

Stop. Breathe. 

We both got up from the table, and finally there was a plan. There was real hope, real potential for something, for anything. I left to get ready, and don't even remember walking away. I was consumed in my joy and relief. I was shocked and elated all at the same time. God, I can’t wait to tell Karina about this, I thought, laughing. I couldn't contain my happiness.

And then, came the worst part of this dream…. I woke up.

Dreaming at the Speed of Light (Recent Dream)

“Get on, lets go.” I was directed. I couldn’t identify who was talking to me, but I heard the urgency in the message. “This is our last chance to go.” I moved forward in blind faith. Wherever we were going had to be better than here. I knew this to be true, and there was no room for fear or hesitation. I was here for a reason and the choice had been made.

I stepped onto the ship to take the last available seat. The vessel resembled a plane without wings. It was oval and hollow on the interior except for two rows of seats on either side with small windows above them. Nothing separated us from the cockpit, so I could see everything ahead of us. 

I barely buckled my seat belt before the ship took off. It rumbled as we broke away from the ground and lifted into the sky. We ascended at such a rapid speed that in seconds I could see the clouds surrounding us, then the pitch black sky. 

“Wait, where are we going?” I asked. I’d never flown high enough to see the stars beneath me. I was thinking out loud, and no one was paying attention. Looking out of my window I saw Earth drift steadily away. It was beautiful. The bright blue and green planet was wrapped in a blanket of clouds. I could see pieces of the sea and the land that I had called home.

As we pushed forward, the vast, dark space around us was filled with large white stars. They were everywhere.  I leaned forward and asked the pilot, “How are you not hitting the stars?” I thought of playing Starfox with Albert on the N64, and I’d always lose a life by not dodging some meteor in front of me. How could this be different?

As soon as I posed the question, we accelerated again. This time I could feel my body suctioned back into the cushion behind me. The stars in my periphery transitioned from white masses to streaks of light, until it felt like we were pulsing forward through a tunnel. We were traveling at the speed of light.

I watched in awe as we defied any physics I’d learned in school. The ship moved forward effortlessly, until we reached an unseen barrier. The tunnel turned into a dense, gray, fog and I felt the resistance slowly push against us. It was like swimming through molasses; we’d move forward some, then slow down to reset. The ship shook and creaked as we struggled through the turbulence. I sat with my eyes closed, talking to myself in my head. “Breathe. We’ll be okay. Breath.” For a moment I thought “Well, this is it,” and I started to pray. Eventually, we broke through to the other side, and were back in the stillness of a calm night’s sky.

The ship got ready to land as we approached a new planet. I couldn’t wait to get off. We touched down and were released at what seemed like a bus stop. I was happy to see my mom and brother file out behind me. We hugged and laughed, letting the joy flow between us. We made it.

We took our place in this little town surrounded by green mountains and lakes. It felt like a summer day on Earth, except the sun gave everything a hazy glow. We came with nothing, just the clothes on our bodies. But we didn't need anything here. The sun didn’t beat down in an exhausting heat, and the air was comfortable and still. There were no delegated jobs, there was no money; just people living and playing. This was Peace.

The first person I saw was Alex standing on a wooden dock near the lake. He hadn’t changed at all except for his hair, which was long and pulled back in a bun. “This is where he’s been all these years,” I thought. I’d failed to connect with him since we’d parted ways, and I’d wondered where he was and how he was doing. I approached him, and he smiled like he was happy to see me here. 

“How long have you been here?” I asked him. He couldn’t answer. I don’t think he had any sense of time. 

“I’m not sure, but I know I’m leaving tomorrow,” he responded. 

“You’re leaving??” I asked, “Leaving to where?” Of course he’s not staying now that I’m here. 

“Back to Earth,” he answered.

I was confused. I looked at the world around me, wondering why anyone would want to leave. Everything felt vibrant and warm. I saw people walking together, chatting and laughing like children. Everyone seemed so light and care free. 

Then I said to myself, “Is this all just temporary?”

Barely Breathing

The last item on the itinerary for the day was breath work. We’d spent the day hiking and indulging in locally made Bison burgers. It was a nice break from the day long teachings and sitting still in the barn. Plus nature is meditative for me, and it helped me to relax. I felt at home climbing through the aspens, and the sun in Santa Fe made it warm enough to trek through the snow without the fear of frostbite. 

Breath work, okay, sure. I’d been meditating for months and had a pretty decent yoga practice. This will be relaxing, I thought. I’m just breathing, aren’t I? I imagined Jana guiding me through a tranquil scenario with soothing breathing techniques. I was so naive.

The instructions were simple: breath as deeply as you can and exhale until your core is tight and empty. I did it a few times easily. Then she demoed the pace.  It was rapid and mimicked hyperventiation. Quick and deep at the same time? “Okay, I could do it,” I thought with hesitation. I didn’t have a choice.

I laid long ways on the couch, with a blind fold on and a fleece blanket covering me from my chest to my toes. Jana and Jen turned the music on so that it surrounded me like a cushion. The music felt tribal, and upbeat, then soft and soothing. I heard their voices coaching me through the music. They were yelling over banging drums, but it reached me like a whisper. “Breathe deep, keep going.”

I breathed deep and quick, feeling the air pulse in and out of my body. My skin started to tingle, like ants rummaging over me. I felt it on my face, my arms, and hands, and only a little reached my toes. In, out, in out, so quickly my mind couldn't keep up. The tingle subsided and I felt my body vibrating. My hands and arms tightened. “Move your hands,” I heard. But I couldn’t. They were fixed, concrete, and I was paralyzed in pain. My neck was stiff and pulled my head back as if a hand had gripped it from behind. It was like a charlie horse on my whole body that I couldn’t escape from.

I sucked in desperately, as if drowning in oxygen. “You’re barely breathing, and you call that a life?” I heard Jana say in the distance. Okay, breathe through it, breathe through it, I thought. I was on the verge of giving up. I listened to the air channel through my throat, and release as if through a loosened pressure cooker. It was loud when I listened to it. I let it fill my mind, and suddenly I disconnected from the pain, from the trap that was my body, and from everything I knew.

Kasi flashed in my mind, kneeling over from a stomach ache and trying not to cry. I was watching this scene like a movie. We were about 5 years old and having our first sleep over. It was late, and we had just settled into our spots in my room. My mom made her chicken and spaghetti that night, which was to die for, and we had snuck in a second late night serving. Maybe it was too much for her. ’I want to go home,” she said. Her face was so little when it was scrunched in pain. I got my mom and she called her parents. We only lived about 5 houses away, but it felt like a road trip when we loaded up the car to deliver her back home.

An image came to me of Kasi lurking around our house. “Go home, Kasi.” My mom had said it so many times, it felt like a reflex to spit out. She tilted her head down, and stared away. But she asked again. “Can I join you? Can I play?” She’d ask again and again and again. And the more she asked to be close, the harder I pushed away. I saw her turn around and walk away, dragging her bare feet slowly on the grass. My chest was tight now. I loved her, but I had been so cruel.

In a flash, I saw myself, about 6 years old, standing in the studio where I’d taken violin lessons. It was an upstairs studio, lined with cherry wood book cases. Every week my dad, Albert, and I were guided through the basics of the violin. Notes, finger placement, bow movement, etc. I was so small, I barely took up space in the vast room around me. My instructor, frustrated in his own helplessness, waved his arms and blurted out, “I can’t teach you.” His eyes moved from me to my dad, “I can’t teach her.” He looked relieved after expressing this, as if it had been building slowly inside him. I looked at this small child, a smaller me, and she stood perfectly motionless. Her face didn’t move or change. It was flat, only her eyes shifted to the floor, dark and tired.

“I’ll teach you,” I thought, looking down at her. “I can teach you!” There was a sense of urgency in my voice, as if the words could shake her from her hopelessness. Then it grew soft as this new revelation sunk into my mind. “ I can teach you.” 

The image dissolved and was replaced with flashes of different colored light. They came in small orbs and expanded around my field of view. Yellows, orange, and purple covered my sight in a sheet of warmth. Then, as if hit by a direct beam to the chest, I felt flooded with a wave of euphoria. It was real, pure love, piercing through me. Streams of water slid down from my eyes, pooling in my ears, and slowly curling my hair. My body couldn’t contain the joy; I hadn’t felt anything like it in my life. 

My breathe slowed to normal, I don’t even think Jana and Jen were even there anymore. I came back to the pain until my arms relaxed, and my body shifted back from vibrations, tingling, then returned to stillness. I was alone in the barn now, humming in this unexpected elation. I sat up and felt dizzy and unbalanced. I was intoxicated on air, and love, and the soothing music that danced around me. I was still crying. I cried while laughing through the ecstasy, and I cried knowing I’d never truly felt this love before. I had shut the door on it myself before I could even remember, but now it was swinging wide open.

Black Out

The door closed shut, separating us on either side. I’d pushed him out with my whole body, sending him home in a wave of rage. 

My body buzzed with a sense of relief, or exhaustion from yelling. I felt still as the room came back around me. I was standing in my kitchen in a daze. My eyes came back to the wooden table in front of me, and I could feel the chair shift underneath my hands.

“What just happened?” I wondered.

Ryan had stopped by, I’d invited him to hang out. It was Friday and I just wanted a quiet, mellow night in. My mind flashed through images of us on the couch, like flipping through an unfinished  photo album. He wore navy blue sweats and grey t-shirt, probably fresh from the gym. We’d been talking, I think. Or were we watching something?

I’d just poured a glass of Merlot, and was maybe halfway through. The girls and I always had a jug of Carlos Rossi on hand. It was the first and sometimes only item on our grocery list. We went through the 3 liters weekly. Mostly, I went through it.

I couldn’t fill the gaps, and searched frantically for my phone. It was only 9pm. He couldn’t have been over long. Time was taunting me. I’d arrived in this moment, never knowing when I’d left or where I’d gone. Am I dreaming right now? I thought, questioning my reality. My mind was clear, and my body was stiff and sober. “What had I been fighting about?”

 I thought back to my drive home earlier that week.

“I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,” I’d thought to myself. But I couldn’t remember getting there. My hands grasped the leather wheel in front of me, and I realized in that moment that I had even been driving. I’d found myself in the wrong town, on a road I didn’t recognize. It was as if I’d woken up in my car after a long nap, and had no clue who had put me there. 

The blackouts were growing longer, and happening sober now too. I could have dissolved right there in my panic. 

I tossed the rest of my wine, and sat to watch my life spin around me. All I felt was fear. I am losing it, I thought. 

I wanted to break out of my body. My skin felt tight, and I could barely breathe. I couldn’t trust my mind, I couldn’t even account for the last hour. I’ll go to my parents house, I thought. No, It’s too late. Krystal will be home soon, she’ll be here, i told myself. I felt like a kid trying to hide from a monster in my closet, knowing that there was no one to yell to for help. Except I was the kid and the monster, and the only person that could help me was hiding in the closet.

Free Fall

“”What’re you, scared? he taunted.”

I looked at the marble tiles in front of me, all lined up in a perfect path to the jump.

I can do this, I thought. I had to do it. 

Raffi was menacing me, it was my turn today. Last week he dared Albert to jump off a retaining wall, and he almost lost a limb. Okay, it was a sprained ankle, but when he landed his leg twisted and locked in a way that made me sure he’d never walk again. Luckily, Albert was made of rubber. Raffi, the oldest and strongest  of us four, naturally inherited the role as the leader that we were both terrified of and felt the need to please.

I looked around La Plaza de la Banderas, filled with passing families and hungry pigeons. We’d come almost every evening  that summer, mostly because our grandparents didn’t know what else to do with us. Plus we’d just started rollerblading and were obsessed with it.  We waited all day until the heat died down and Mama was free from her duties in El Colmado. Honestly, she’d been done earlier if we hadn’t stolen so much inventory (mostly candy), or broken the jars while trying to escape the wrath of her chancleta. Sometimes she broke them herself after throwing them at us. It made me quicker, I think, and more agile. It made me a better skater.

The plaza’s best feature was that it was completely flat. We couldn’t skate in the streets without hitting a pothole or speedbump, or being hit by a moped carrying 3 adults, two chickens, and a baby. At least we wore helmets.The plaza was our sanctuary, and Raffi had found the only ramp in it.

“Watch, I’ll show you,” he said.

His legs slid forward in long, diagonal strides. He glided down the tiles and over the ramp with ease, as if he’d been practicing to show us. He was proof that it could be done.

I got up from the steps I’d taken refuge on.

This is not a good idea, this is not a good idea. I could feel it. But I did it anyway. 

I followed in Raffi’s shadow, mimicking his exact trajectory. I pushed forward, picking up speed. I really was getting better at this. I hit the ramp and sailed into the air, floating above the earth for just a moment before I felt the pavement catch me face first. 

My whole face went numb. I touched it to make sure it was still there. I felt thick, hot, blood dripping from my mouth. I felt my teeth shift slightly, one was completely out. The pain hadn’t set in, but I started to cry from the shock, and from the failure. And instantly, the yelling came. 

Is this a cultural thing, or does everyone’s parents (and grandparents) yell at them when they get hurt?It was the same feedback I’d gotten when I fell off my bike and cut both elbows and knees open; an accusation. Like I was trying to look abused to trigger a call to DCF and get my parents locked up. “Your beautiful legs! They’ll be scarred forever,” my mom emphasized. Well, there goes my modeling career.. what other future possibilities are ruined mom? Lets make a list.

The four of us were herded to the car immediately. No more rollerblading. Ever. If we were going to mangle ourselves, it’d have to be on our parent’s time. My grandmother refused to be responsible. We’d have to find another way to spend the summer. 

Back at the house, we showered and made our way into our PJ’s for an early night. My grandmother did her nightly check on us, covering wounds and making sure we’d brushed our teeth. Looking back, I don’t know how she handled it all. I understand why my grandfather once locked Raffi and Albert in separate rooms instead of trying to use civilized conflict resolution. It must have been exhausting. 

“Let me take a look,” she said, instructing me to open my mouth.

“No, I’m fine,” I responded. I really was. My front tooth had been hit but was barely moving. I was sore and a little swollen but that was it.

Mama said, “I’m just going to look, I won’t touch it, I promise.”

I agreed and opened for her to look. She twisted her head below my chin and then from one side to another for different perspectives. She spoke softly, and grazed my face with her fingers. It was gentle and almost soothing to feel her softness with me. She was not a soft woman, and I was as rugged as kids come. We were reflections of each other in some ways, which led for few smooth interactions between us. I relaxed in front of her as she put her hands on my mouth. Then, in a split second, she put her finger to my front tooth  and tore it straight out of its socket. It flung freely into the room, landing miles from where I sat in shock. I’m pretty sure it even hit a wall. As Raffi and Albert scoured for it, my mouth pooled with blood for a second time that day. 

Maybe, I should have been a little more scared.

A Recent Dream

I stood on an outdoor patio, watching a party move around me. The dogs (Knight, Pumba, etc.) were chasing each other playfully. I hadn’t seen these dogs or some of their owners in years. I went to feel them, to make sure they were real. I couldn’t reach or touch them while they sprinted after each other, but I could feel them and this joy I felt from knowing them, as if the time I ’d spent with them was happening now, and that love was here now too. 

I got nervous as they ran around the babies. Kaia and Braum were playing, and Malachi squatted around his toys. He was a clone of his father (Brandon), but with thick blond hair dropping heavily into a mushroom cut. "People still do mushroom cuts?" I thought. Christina handed Bodhi to me. His big, round, blue eyes stared up, fixed into mine. I could feel his weight in my arms— he definitely had my brother’s build. They were all so beautiful, but I was seeing them at different times. Kaia and Braum as the toddler’s they are now, Malachi as a 2 year old and Bodhi as in infant. Malachi and Bodhi have not been born yet, but here I was, seeing them, and feeling them see me. 

The whole house was full of people I’d come in contact with throughout my life. They filled this mansion or maybe it was a country club? Wherever it was, it was massive, with an open indoor space, outdoor patio, deck, and open fields. It was a clear, warm day in the middle of spring, and I realized that this was a party for me. As I went inside, I saw my dad, surrounded by his aunts and cousins. “Lets change this awful music and dance,” he said. He switched the station from Pop to Salsa, and started moving with the beat. My father is not a dancer, and not one to start a party, but here he was, moving around the room, glowing. I’d never seen him so happy in my life. And the room followed; the whole party was in bliss. 

I left through the front door, and climbed up to a bench in front of the house. I sat there, enjoying the silence and the scenery. Everyone was having a blast. I didn’t need to entertain, or cook, or mingle, I just let them be. I felt stillness, and was content just being outside, staring at the hills. Will came around from behind me and sat on the other end of the bench. He did not look at me or speak, we both remained in silence observing what was in front of us. He was in gym shorts and a white T shirt, and his left leg was wrapped in a white cast. 

“Oh my God, what happened?” I asked, “Are you okay?” I was frantic, but he just sat there, not acknowledging me or my concerns. A moment passed and he got up, propped onto his crutches, and made his way towards the house. He took his shirt off and dove into the olympic size pool on the side of the house. I followed and watched, but he dove so deep that I couldn't see him anymore. “Should I be worried?” I thought. Then I reasoned, “no, he knows how to swim.”

I walked away, moving to the other side of the house, when this little girl came to me. She was about 7 years old with short strawberry blonde hair that barely reached her shoulders. She had a bunch of small freckles on her cheeks that made her look tan, and bangs that just passed her eyebrows. 

She grabbed my arm, “We have to go, we have to leave.” She said to me. She was whiny and panicking, like she was about to cry. “We need to run away.” 

I looked at her, confused, “Why, what’s going on?” I knew this girl, it was hard to see her so distressed. She was Will’s daughter from a previous relationship; but she didn’t have a mother (that I could recollect). 

As she pulled me, Christina arose, kind of out of nowhere. ‘You didn’t hear?” she said. 

“Hear what?” I asked. She told me Will had to get surgery on his leg, and that something went wrong. 

“He’s on life support,” she said, “they don’t think he’s going to make it.”

My head started to spin. How was that possible, I just saw him, he was fine. She pulled on me again, “They’re going to take me away, we need to run.”

I grabbed her hand and followed her lead. We didn’t go far, just to a house deeper in the countryside. 

“Look, we can’t just run away,” I explained to her. “Then they will take you for sure. We need to go to the hospital. We need to figure this out the right way.” But she didn’t understand. Instead of clinging to me, she hid. 

“I’m not going to leave you,” I told her. “I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I’m always going to be here.” I said this out loud in the empty space, hoping she’d come out of hiding, and I meant it. I had never held as much love as I had for her.

She crawled out of the bathroom and agreed to come with me. We walked hand in hand down this narrow dirt road, headed toward her dad. With one step forward I felt my body empty out and my head get dizzy. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” I’d think, letting it sink in. “I’m never going to seem him again.” I felt my heart rising to my throat and my eyes burning hot. Then I’d look at her and feel her little hand in mine. “But he gave me this child,” I said to myself. “He brought her to me.” Then every empty corner of me was filled with warmth and light. It expanded around my body and poured out of me. 

I cried continuously in cycles of joy and pain. “You wanted a child,” I said to myself in the dream.”Yea, but not like this.”

As we walked, the sky grew hazy from the sun setting. I hadn’t considered where we were going or if it would get dark. We were just on this narrow, winding path, through this beautiful field, and I knew we were headed in the right direction. 

Hey Arnold (Journal entry 2020)

The cigarette perched in my mouth was my only fuel on an empty night. My heels cut into the sidewalk and I pushed forward as fast as I could without running. The smoke wrapped around me, sticking to my hair and seeping through my coat. With every drag I could taste him, stale cigarettes, only missing a hint of wine or coffee. 

I’d never been consumed by cigarettes, not when I’d first tried them back in middle school, and not when Erica and Carly waved them in my face. I’d join for smoke breaks for the purpose of not being alone, but I had no need for the rush, I hadn’t even felt it. Now I needed relief. I clinged to this piece of him and ripped through half the pack, aware of only my hands, which were busy protecting a flame from the October wind.

His smoking habits annoyed me at first. We stopped in the middle of Downtown crossing on our way to the harbor so he could roll a cigarette. He looked like a drug dealer, rolling a joint carelessly on a trash can amidst a mob of after work commuters. He liked to pick his own tobacco, it was cheaper and tasted better, he’d said. I’d just bought Marlboro Lights— the gold pack— because I didn’t know what else to do. 

My footsteps echoed. For miles I sucked down smoke, oblivious of my direction, or the fact that I had not passed a single person, or that everything was growing black, and that West Roxbury was not the place to be lost, or alone, or walking at night. Images of him dressed in his three piece suit flashed in my mind. His hands folded elegantly over his chest, and his hair professionally groomed. He’d looked happier in scrubs, or his patched up jean jacket, with the longer parts of his hair sticking up in the front. 

Smoking breaks were our escape during the week. I’d get away from patients, and the irrational anxieties spreading from my classmates. Sitting on the stoop, he’d walk over, cigarette hanging from his lips and an ABP coffee in each hand. “How many teeth ya pull today?” he’d ask, then I’d vent a little about everything and nothing all at once. And he’d listen. 

I bought them at 7/11— the cigarettes. I was stalling. I’d looked every day for the time and date of the wake, knowing I had to go. Not for him, but for me—for closure, or for punishment, I wasn’t sure . Most of me wished I’d miss it through no fault of my own. Avoidance without guilt, but I would never be so fortunate. When I saw the announcement online, my stomach climbed up to my throat, a sign of the last turn on this rollercoaster ride.

Taking the orange line to Forest Hills, and the bus to West Roxbury brought me through a Boston I’d never seen before. I played his video singing “Closer” on repeat, wondering how things would be if I’d been around more earlier that summer. It felt toxic— us— and out of fear, or wisdom, or cowardice, I ran. His voice filled my headphones as I watched families hop on and off the bus. Eventually, I’d become numb to the sound of his voice, and the thought of never hearing it again.

When the bus pulled up in front of the funeral home I panicked. There was an hour left of the wake, and I sat on the curb staring at men come in and out in black suits and pea coats. I used the bathroom at 7/11 and called Krystal to tell her that I couldn’t go in. I couldn’t go in, I didn’t belong here. I was underdressed. His girlfriend was there, what if she knew about us dating? His mom knew— knew what? That I was the girl he’d been seeing— the one that wouldn’t give it a chance? That none of this surprised me? I paced outside, not cold, but shaking.

A month had passed since we’d sat on the harbor, watching the full moon light up the sail boats. We split a bottle of cheap wine, and he spoke of studying art in Germany. I shared hiking stories from Labor Day weekend. He told me about his recent suicide attempt, prompting our discussion on the meaning of life. “At the end of the day, when things are too hard, you always have a way out,” is what he explained. I countered with, “when you’re still here there is always a chance for happiness.” The conversation ended abruptly as he leaned in to kiss me. I couldn't and pushed him away. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked. He pulled his face back slightly, “it doesn't matter,” he responded. “I’ll leave her if you’ll be with me.” I said I couldn’t and got up, leaving without explanation.

The funeral home was small, just two rooms, one with wooden chairs and pews lined up in the style of a church, the other just an open space. It had all the usual things- a guest book, warm colored furniture, tacky pale wallpaper, and people, everywhere. I peeked into each room then ran to the bathroom, where I sat staring at the wall, trying to sort it all out. The open room was covered with poster sized pictures of him, as a child, with his family, from Instagram posts of just last week. Videos played of him singing cover songs on his guitar. It hit me that I fell nowhere on this timeline. He was a son, a brother, cousin, an uncle. The people around me were mourning a lifetime of grief, and who was I? I didn’t know what I was doing there at all. 

The pew I sat on was mine alone. A handful of people sat before me, and a line of women sat along the wall approaching the casket. I didn’t inch closer or sit taller to see more clearly. He looked younger than I remembered, yet a grey tint set over him. His hair was unnaturally tamed and the bags under his eyes disappeared with all his life stresses. His mother stood and kneeled before him, softly singing what sounded like a lullaby. Her voice rose slowly until she was yelling at him, like I’m sure she’d done so many times. Yelling at him to wake up, wake up, wake up. I fled as abruptly as i had at the harbor, giving less than five minutes of my time.

My uber took me home the long way, tracing the river from start to finish. The banks of the Charles river in early June was the best place to be in Boston. We had laid there months earlier, feeling the sun's rebirth after a heavy winter. Music rose from his phone as we watched the water waver back and forth, free and clashing with everything in its way. He played “Broadripple is Burning,” shocked that I knew every word. Though a first date, it appeared like a reunion of a lifelong friendship. His playlist of “depressing songs” were the same ones my friends so readily discouraged. “Here’s one I think you’d like,” he said, as Aerosmith’s “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” came on. I was breathless, taken back by this feeling of invasion. He’d picked my favorite song from an infinite list of artists and genres. It was a part of me I didn't share, to keep as mine alone. A laugh came across my face, and I found bliss in the absurdity of it all. 

“Hey, do you mind?” he asked, pulling out a cigarette and light. The grass tickled the back of my neck, and I wondered if it was ants seeking shelter on my bare skin. I looked up at him, trying to distinguish his face from the glare of the sun. I answered, “No, not at all.”

Little League and Lemonade (English assignment 2013)

 My red and beige bungalow-style house was a place I retreated to rest my head at night, and stop in for an occasional meal. The Burkhart's, who lived next door, lived in the same little house, only in a grayish blue edition. We called it the Burkharts' although there were only two Burkhart's that lived there, the two girls, who had been conveniently placed there in a custody arrangement. The houses were reflections of each other, so that our garages and bedroom windows were only separated by the space that righteously belonged to both families.

It was mid- August, and all the tourists that occupied our neighborhood parking spaces and local hotels were filing out in the masses. It got tiresome, but we enjoyed these foreigners on our turf. People from all over the world came to Howard J. Lamade Stadium to watch the Little League World Series. They made our homes feel special, like our neighborhood was an exotic vacation spot. I used to go down to the stadium with my brother to watch the games, but Japan had won so many years in a row that it got boring to watch. Instead, he, Lindsay, Amber (the Burkharts), and I set up a cheap fold-up table in between our front yards, with a cardboard box that read "Lemonade" in black marker.

The stale August heat had made our lemonade stand unnaturally appealing. Or maybe it was the the traffic that conveniently let hundreds of cars sit  in front of us for hours. Either way, our sales were outrageous. We mixed and served the thick, sweet juice into pitchers, and then transferred it to little paper cups that we'd stolen from our pantries. We'd weave around the motionless cars, advertising, "50 cents a cup!" Out of severe dehydration, or pity, or because they all had children of their own who put up stands at home, people drank our lemonade.

At dusk, when the streets of South Williamsport were bare again, and quiet, our business was over. We made about forty dollars that day, and each went home with ten. I stuck my head out of my second story bedroom window at night to talk to Lindsay about how we'd spend our new found wealth. New bikes, roller blades, dolls? The possibilities were endless.