monday 12am

I kissed him for the first time in the entryway to the apartment, and when he left he turned around and leaned against the doorframe and grinned. Then he turned around again and ran down the four stairs to the landing and then leapt down the last six, and for a moment time froze: him, in the air, arms spread and jacket billowing back like wings, suspended over the red brick steps.

It's March. I'm alive against the odds, my cat holds my hand when I sleep, and I can get any flavor  milkshake for $3. The idea that I could make anyone feel like flying is amazing.

green water, black water

There was a lake, I was in it. The water was bottle-green and so calm, smooth as bedsheets. I swam out until I was alone. The sunlight glinted off the surface in white spangles as far as I could see, and I stopped to tread water and drink in the glory. My feet kicked the ice-coldness five feet down. I shifted to my back and stared up at the sky. It was bottomless. My eyes couldn't focus on it.
 I  thought about a boy, and I thought about the overwhelming beauty all around me. I wondered if this is the broken heart that all the songs talk about.

Later, after the sun set that night, I set out into the darkness and swam again. The moon was huge and close and almost full. I swam in its reflection, fragmented in the black water. I swam out far enough to see the fireworks going off over another cove. The water held me up. It was silk; I was alone. I watched the glittery lights of docks shatter on the other shore. I was at peace, for the moment.

But before that, back in the sunlight, I was staying afloat as best I could. When my thoughts got too heavy, I rolled over. The water was a kiss. I turned around and swam for home.

in the afternoon

My six year-old sister and her best friend are in our backyard, sledding together down the thin scrim of muddy snow. She has a hat with a cat on it. Her friend's has an owl. I can watch them through the kitchen window, and hear the giggling and high-spirited shouts. They start at the top of our hill, one in front and one behind, and they blaze off into the wood line together. I wonder if they'll remember this later, years from now. If they'll remember their happiness. I wonder if I will.

ice song

I'm in the library at school, in an armchair by the rear window, waiting out a cancelled class. The ice storm yesterday left the world glazed, and I forgot my camera so I'm trying to focus it in words. Out the window, the tree-covered hills are frosted and dusted, blossoming with powdered-sugar blooms in a frozen wave of still music. The pine trees at the base are white on green, peppermint starbursts in stiff overcoats. The mist sits like a winter scarf on the hunched shoulders of the mountains, covering everything and blurring the divide between the sky and the hills. In the far corner, the stately brick school building is nearly hidden, iced the same color as the trees and nestled within them. Creation hums with beauty. 

It's raining now. But inside, the library is quieter than it has been all semester. I guess people stayed home, like I should have. But I'm glad to see this. I'm glad for the window and the poetry and the quiet. I've been given a gift.

Monday Night Late Lab

In last night's Geology class, we watched a video about volcanos. It was full of destruction, ruined homes, fires, floods. We witnessed people trapped in a mudslide, families running away from the ash, and photographs of scientists killed in their research. Toward the end, there was a brief shot of two cats floating down a flooded street on some wreckage. And the whole class said, "Awwww."

I'm wondering why it was the cats that hit our emotions, and not the people. It's something I don't understand.

recovery

At 4:54 AM, I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine, atop a lopsided mound of pillows and beneath a throw blanket. The light was on and so was the television, playing an infomercial about miracle cactus juice (first bottle free! with a small charge for shipping and handling). Between the blanket and the pillow, my left leg burned with a sharp, piercing ache. At some point I had fallen asleep, somewhere near the end of Sixteen Candles, when my parents were still in the room with me. When I woke up, it had ended, and I was alone. I turned the channel to House Hunters International and fell asleep again. That was hours prior. Now, I heaved myself up to get some water and take more painkillers. I was struck by a sudden, intense stab of loneliness. The house was dark and quiet. I wanted to talk to someone, but 5 AM is a ghost's hour: too late even for the night owls, too early for the early risers. My phone, in bed beside me, was dark and silent. There was nothing to do but change the channel again, try to find a narrative to drive out the isolation.

And there's the thing about pain: you have to deal with it alone. That's how you get stronger. That's how you heal.

(It was a jellyfish, the last day at the beach. It hurt a lot. I was a wimp. But overall, the week was good! How was yours?)

a thought

"You're nice," he said. "You're like the smell of coffee, but not the taste."

I thought about that as I stood on the rainy beach, holding a cup of hotel-brewed hot-chocolified half-strength coffee. The weather was grey and cold, but the cup was warm through its little cardboard sleeve. It made me happy.

And I thought that that's one of the nicest things anyone has said to me in a while.

blue silk

Last night, I was on the phone too late.
I talked outside, under a deep, starry sky. The Milky Way was a dusty stripe in the blue silk. I lay on the hood of my car.
On the other end, I heard him laugh, dry and quiet, and I reached up and trapped a star between my thumb and forefinger. For a second, I thought that maybe I could catch it, pull it down and stow it in my pocket. It seemed so close. He seemed close, too.
I got up and walked barefoot down the center of the street. As I neared the corner, I saw the moon coming up. It was huge and orange and half-full. It sailed slowly upward over the black tree line on the horizon, and I was the only one awake to watch it.

Last night, I was on the phone too late. I should have hung up an hour earlier. But my soft velvet weariness beautifully matched the blue silk sky, and my solitude matched perfectly the sound of his laughter.

first day of spring.

It's the first day of Spring, and I'm feeling it and believing it. The trees are blooming all down my street, white and purple and pink. The forsythia are flaming yellow like the daffodils. I've lived a lot of places, but sometimes I think that this Virginian valley is the most beautiful (although it's taken me a while to see it as such). 


Last winter, I was riding in the passenger seat of a woman older and wiser than myself. The mountains hemmed us in on both sides as we sailed North. "I've always thought they look like God sort of kneaded them together," she said. "You know how the Rockies are all craggy, like they were chiseled or something? I think He molded these with his bare hands." I think she's right.

egg sandwiches

That little blonde sister of mine, beautifully Four, ate dinner with me tonight. Egg sandwiches, sitting on stools in the kitchen, elbows on the countertop. In between bites, she looked at me seriously and told me about her life.
'" Mr. Fox, What Time is It?" is Darth Maul's favorite game,' she said. 'Me and Darth Vader don't like it so well, but sometimes when Darth Maul doesn't have anyone to play with, we'll play it with him.'  She took another bite. 'We like it at Ice Skating, though, even though Darth Vader doesn't take ice skating lessons with me. He does his homework.'

I nodded, and hoped she doesn't grow up too fast.

carpool

Driving home at the very welcome end of the day. We were stalled in traffic between the driver making out with his girlfriend and the driver texting into her lap, with a trail of brake lights crawling over the hill and out of sight. I had one wrist resting on the steering wheel, and thoughts running thick through my head. I smiled a little despite myself. I glanced out the window for composure, then glanced at you in the passenger seat. You were wearing a secret smile, too, and looking out the window. And even though we were both miles away, it was as though we'd touched for a second.

photo by CJ Sewers