Through the looking glass

So much is changing
This hectic mash of good and bad, success and failure
I just wanted you to be the one thing I could count on
The constant in my life
The one I could rely on no matter how terrifying things got
Some day we’ll be good
Some day we’ll forgive each other for everything
Til then I’m ok walking alone
We both know I’m not good at waiting
But for you I’ll manage

She wanted to lay in his arms. She wanted to sneak in through his moms kitchen window, tip toe down those creaky stairs and lay next to him. She wanted to rub his belly and say that she loved him. She wanted to mean it again, be able to say “I love you” and deep down know it was true.
But she couldn’t. That was two years ago, when things were different.
It’s not that she wanted to be with him now. she knew they were in the past. She wanted to live in that past though. She wanted to be 20 years old forever, she wanted that feeling back, that light.
But she was 24 now.
Sitting in an apartment 800 miles away from home. Not knowing if or when she would go back.
Things felt like a dream for her nowadays. The lines were blurred, it was becoming harder to breathe. As long as she has a slight grip on reality she’ll be fine. As long as she doesn’t let go.

I’ve been reclusive lately.

Introverted and unsettled.

Weary of the world and all of it’s evils.

Tired. Just so damn tired.

I struggle but we all do from time to time.

Things worth having aren’t meant to be easy.

So I find a way.

I open my eyes.

I breathe.

I stay busy, it drowns out the echo’s of loneliness.

There is work to be done.

There are moves to be made.

And for that reason my heart still beats

I remember snap bracelets

I remember leaving my glasses in my kindergarten class and being disappointed the first day of 1^st grade when Ms.Shelton brought them to me.

I remember going through my grandmothers jewelry and stealing things because just because I wanted to keep a piece of her.

I remember my first crush. His name was Nick. We were 7.

I remember the day I met my dad for the first time.

I remember our longs drives to the west side, blasting Foo Fighters, his car reeking of cigarettes.

I remember Tamagotchi pets.

I remember my anime phase.

I remember my first kiss. It was in the hallway of my parents’ house. His name was Milton.

I remember working at Kiddieland.

I remember when Aunt Sue committed suicide.

I remember the birthday when I got my easy bake oven.

I remember my first concert. It was Britney Spears. I was 12.

I remember Uncle James practicing Satanism in the back room of grandma’s house.  

I remember the day Uncle James announced to the family that he found God.

I remember making my 1^st grade teacher cry.

I remember the first time my best friend Ashley Petty tried to shave and she cut her leg and was bleeding everywhere.

I remember my first slow dance. It was to a K-Ci & JoJo song.

I remember the day I decided I was going to attend Columbia College. I was 8.

I remember being stuck in the hospital the entire first semester of my senior year of high school.

I remember band camp.

I remember Danny. He was a cokehead I fell for when I was 19.

I remember the phone call from my Fiction one teacher that convinced me to change my major.

I remember the days when I was a Domestic Play groupie.

I remember when I was 16 and had a lip ring.

I remember the gym class when Bryan Otte threw a football at my face and knocked out said lip ring.

I remember Clueless and Sabrina the Teenage Witch

I remember starting a journal when I was 9 because I knew someday I’d be a famous writer.

I remember summers at Kari’s house.

I remember summers at Val’s house.

I remember Spice Girls bubblegum with the stickers inside.

I remember.  

I walked to his office, my black patent leather heels clicking down Jackson Blvd. Sun rays danced across the sidewalk. It was a little past five and so the streets were filled with people and cars and buses and bikes and every kind of person just trying to get home. 

And then their was me. 

Sky high heels, tan trench coat and that tight red dress he loved so much. I dared people to look at me twice, to question where I was going or what I was doing. I saw my interactions with this man as just another role I would play and welcomed its dangers with an undeserved confidence. 

It’s times like now that I think about you. Only for a second though and then I go back to repressing every memory we’ve ever made.

But it’s moments like this though. These beautifully tragic moments where the future seems to scary so I cling unto the past. These moments where I blast that same music that got me through high school and cry until I can’t breathe. These moments where I feel as if the world is spinning off it’s axis and we’re going to fly and collide and burst into nothingness.

It’s these moments that I hate and love all for the same reason.

The rising sun made the sky a cosmic mix of pink and green. Even the birds sounded different up north; they cooed a soft song, almost like the animated birds in Disney movies. The air had a sweet smell of fresh baked cookies and it seemed to move like an iridescent wave, swirling around Malik. Every step he took felt foreign. It was as if his foot wasn’t completely touching the ground but hovering. Since the sun was still rising there was a coolness that relaxed Malik’s sore body. Getting down the train platform was a challenge, each step made his ribs burn more.

He replayed the night before in his head as he floated out of the train station. Bits and pieces of the fight were clear to him but other instances escaped him. He had forgotten his mothers’ presence and wondered exactly where she was through the entire fiasco. For a moment his mind meshed together the elephant on the apartments ceiling made out of water stains and the face of his mother. She was grey with a long trunk, screaming at him to stop before he killed Clark. She spoke in an odd elephant language and he wondered how exactly he could understand her. She wrapped her leathery trunk around his neck and tried to pull him away. The trunk was surprisingly strong as it gripped his skin. So strong that he could still feel it’s sting on the side of his neck.

 The buildings towered over Malik, threatening to engulf him at a moment’s notice. He walked passed high rises with 40 floors, shopping centers with huge billboards; even the church he passed was lofty. Malik was used to the short stout buildings that lined his streets back home. He didn’t want to stand too close to these buildings for fear one of them would fall, so he walked in the street. Motorist honked their horns loudly as they swerved around him. One whizzed by and brushed the side of his duffle bag, jolting him out of his daydream.

Tinged with guilt, tracing over this thin line that separates love and hate.
He makes me sick, I make me sick.
Trying to figure out exactly what is it that actually makes me breathe. Haven’t opened my mouth to gasp for air in weeks.
This low humming song that shakes my thoughts, it tells me to stop everything, to make the world stop spinning.
So just for one moment I can get my bearings, steady myself a moment on this earth.
I’ve always been bad at breaking bad news.
I’d rather keep the lie and hurt myself then to inconvenience you with my truths.
The truth is I don’t want this.
The truth is I’m not strong enough to carry your secrets and mine.
The truth is I know you need me right now but I’m better off without you.

I stood in the kitchen covered in sweat and tears. My hands shook as I tried to dial 911. A part of me said this wasn’t real, this isn’t happening but then I looked into the other room and saw my husband still laying their unconscious. I tried to stop them, I tried to break it up but Malik and Clark are stronger than me. We all knew the fight wasn’t going to stop until one of them killed the other. I tried to hold back my sobs as the dispatcher spoke.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello? Yes I need an ambulance, my husband is dying. There’s been a fight and now he’s all bloody and isn’t breathing.”

The dispatcher interrupted me “calm down ma’am, where are you?” I rattled off our address and became annoyed when I had to repeat myself two more times. I heard a noise from the other room, Clark was coughing up blood again. The dispatcher asked me a question which I completely missed.

“Repeat that again” I said

“Was there an intruder? Who did this to your husband? Are you ok ma’am?”

The questions flustered me. I didn’t have answers. There were too many thoughts going through my head, I just didn’t have an answer for anything.

“Hello? Ma’am are you still there? What happened to your husband ma’am?”

I hung up the phone and went back into the living room. My hands weren’t shaking anymore. I sat on the floor next to my husband and waited. From the ground I could see the remote poking out from underneath the couch. I leaned forward to pick it up and turned on the television. There was a rerun of the Cosby show on. The episode where Theo tries to play pranks on everyone in the house with a “Bag-o-gags” he ordered out of a magazine. The laugh track muffled the sounds of Clark’s struggled breaths.

 As I sat there waiting for the ambulance to show up I watched the Cosby show and couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. I used to watch the Cosby’s as a child and hope that one day I would have a family like that. Even after Malik was born and I left his father I still held on to this dream of having that perfect Cosby home.  It was starting to dawn on me that as much as I tried to make us a happy home it was never going to happen. There was no laugh track in our house, fights weren’t resolved before commercial break, there was no moral to be learned with hugs and kisses at the end of the episode. This was real life. My husband was lying unconscious next to me and my son had packed a bag and left to who knows where. The life I had built was crashing down around me.

As the credits rolled across the tv the doorbell rang. I stayed sitting on the floor. The door was unlocked so the paramedics came right in. They rushed over to us and started checking Clark’s vitals. Everything started moving so fast around me, people in white hooking things up to him, police officers flooding in, attempting to pick me up off the floor.

“Ma’am why did you hang up on the dispatcher? Who did this to him? Ma’am?”

I put my hand in front of my eyes to try and make the room stop spinning.

“I don’t know” I lied “I mean, he was like this when I got home from work, I don’t know what happened.”

My hands started to shake again as the police officers starred at me waiting for more information. All I could think about was Malik and how I hopped that I had given him enough time to get out of the neighborhood. I hopped that he was ok.

Figured I would give a little update on the things I am working on. I’m trying to update my blog more frequently which means more of my photography and writing for everyone to enjoy.

My book “Sparkling, twisted, lovely lie” is now available at Quimby’s bookstore in Wicker Park. (1854 W. North Ave) its a creative nonfictional piece that explores the past two years of my life through instances. It’s pretty much me dealing with men and bipolar disorder at the same time, a topic that is still a little sensitive to me but I mustered up the courage to publish it. I’ll also have copies for sale at every edition of Prose and Flows.

Prose and Flows is an event that I created that features fiction writers, poets and comedians in Chicago. Its every second Tuesday of the month at The Shrine. Within the three months we’ve been doing Prose and Flows it’s definatley grown and I’m working hard to reach out to people in the writing community to come out and support. Promoting events is still something new to me but it’s a learning process that I welcome. The next one is actually today from 7-11pm. The next one will be Feburary 12th.

I’m nervous to go back to school full time this semester. The clock is winding down, I officially have one year until I graduate. It’s time to really buckle down and get these classes down. Concentrating is a struggle for me but I need to do it. Hopefully if I keep a positive attitude everything will work out.

I’m working on a full length book that I’m trying to complete by June of this year. It’s still untitled but I will be posting little tid bits from it on here now and again so feedback is welcome.

Other than that I’m just reading a lot and trying to stay inspired. These meds zap all of my energy a lot of the time so I try hard to keep writing and keep taking pictures. I appreciate everyone who follows me on here and everyone who reads my work. 2013 is going to be a great year for me and I’m happy y’all are here for the ride.

This is the moment that will define us.
The smiles and trials that we go through.
The skipped heartbeats and slow stares.
This second in time will tell me everything I need to know.
About you and what you’re made of.

My skin tingles, my veins feel cold

The world spins and twist and moves too fast for me to comprehend

This all feels like a dream

The past year

Everything we’ve said and done and felt

I’m calm for the first time in forever

My heart sputters and I lay there, waiting for it to explode

My lungs vibrate, my lips feel numb

I laugh as my hands shake

I need to keep moving, even if it’s in no particular direction

It’s the greatest feeling ever when you’re up in the air

Light and glowing, untouchable

It’s a beautiful high

Different from the ones before

Dangerous but comforting

Familiar but strange