I wake up 5 minutes before the alarm.
Always.
Why? Why?
I lay quietly, staring blankly at the phone - willing it to be wrong.
4:25...4:26...
ugh...
4 more minutes of you.
I roll over and bury my head into the little cave of escape between your shoulder and the pillow.
No...no...
Why does it always go this way?
I breathe you in.
Deep.
1 minute.
Your alarm sounds.
It's the Balinese chimes one that I secretly kind of like.
You groan and silence it.
Peace.
I snuggle back down into you.
Smile and sigh.
Then comes the honking, shrieking, shrill scream of your back-up alarm.
It grates every nerve and a tiny rush of rage protests against my closed lips.
I hate that one.
So much.
You silence it.
Peace...
Wait.
Where's my alarm?
I glance at my phone.
4:32.
You have two alarms and mine isn't even set right.
Typical.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Turning Point Promise
Sitting on your bathroom floor
watching you get ready.
The conversation lulls
I feel the sad familiar silence creep around us.
It settles on the yellow glow
of cheap lighting and outdated wallpaper.
My white bikini I love so much glows garishly;
its sunny assumption mocks our misery.
You feel the silence - the same in every language -
and sit down slowly on the tub.
You look down at me with that tortured sadness -
I have come to recognize it well.
It was a blankness if you didn't know him,
but a pained expression if you did.
The pain that comes with choosing
when there is a loss on both sides of the choice.
The blue that usually sparkles like pool water when the sun hides behind a cloud for a moment -
it sinks a little.
It turns a little gray and you can feel the chill
just as when the sun is covered and the shade hits your warm skin.
But unlike the sun,
this was a sadness we both knew would last.
You pull me up on your lap.
"lori"
"What?"
"Lori - look at me"
"What."
"Promise me something. Please?"
"Why? What?"
"Lori, I know you upset with me, but please look in my eyes."
"Ok! What?!" Fighting back tears has become a daily routine. "What?"
"You must promise me that you go away somewhere from here. Far away"
"Why?"
"Because, Lori, when you fly away, you find yourself. You find so much you didn't know before. Promise me, Lori."
"...but..."
"Promise."
"Ok, I promise."
It's been exactly 3 years since the moment that changed my life. And I think that I'll go home tonight and offer you a toast. For out of an emotional destruction that filled the walls of the little college bathroom rose the best experience of my life. I promised you I would run, and you did just that. Ran. I questioned a promise made to a ghost, and wondered why I should listen to someone who didn't care enough to take a risk for me. And then I decided that the promise wasn't for you. The risk wasn't for you. It was for me.
watching you get ready.
The conversation lulls
I feel the sad familiar silence creep around us.
It settles on the yellow glow
of cheap lighting and outdated wallpaper.
My white bikini I love so much glows garishly;
its sunny assumption mocks our misery.
You feel the silence - the same in every language -
and sit down slowly on the tub.
You look down at me with that tortured sadness -
I have come to recognize it well.
It was a blankness if you didn't know him,
but a pained expression if you did.
The pain that comes with choosing
when there is a loss on both sides of the choice.
The blue that usually sparkles like pool water when the sun hides behind a cloud for a moment -
it sinks a little.
It turns a little gray and you can feel the chill
just as when the sun is covered and the shade hits your warm skin.
But unlike the sun,
this was a sadness we both knew would last.
You pull me up on your lap.
"lori"
"What?"
"Lori - look at me"
"What."
"Promise me something. Please?"
"Why? What?"
"Lori, I know you upset with me, but please look in my eyes."
"Ok! What?!" Fighting back tears has become a daily routine. "What?"
"You must promise me that you go away somewhere from here. Far away"
"Why?"
"Because, Lori, when you fly away, you find yourself. You find so much you didn't know before. Promise me, Lori."
"...but..."
"Promise."
"Ok, I promise."
It's been exactly 3 years since the moment that changed my life. And I think that I'll go home tonight and offer you a toast. For out of an emotional destruction that filled the walls of the little college bathroom rose the best experience of my life. I promised you I would run, and you did just that. Ran. I questioned a promise made to a ghost, and wondered why I should listen to someone who didn't care enough to take a risk for me. And then I decided that the promise wasn't for you. The risk wasn't for you. It was for me.
Phone Call
The day starts in a cloudy gray gloom
Wandering around the apartment, I know it’ll be sunny soon.
In an effort to waste time, I write you a letter,
Knowing all along that I should know better.
The sun burns through, and I start to gather my things.
Sunblock, book, towel – I hear the phone ring.
“Do you know who this is?” asks a voice far away.
Instantly I do, but I don’t know what to say.
Yes says my heart, but no says my voice,
And I know that quickly I must make a choice.
Why are you calling me? What do I do?
Is it a good idea for me to talk to you?
It’s taken me three years to not think about you every day.
I hear you falter. “I didn’t know to call…is this ok?”
“Sure,” I hesitate, “It’s been a long enough time…”
Silently I convince myself that this is fine.
We talk like old friends about our families, work, and life,
But never once do you mention your wife.
You know, the one that for me you wouldn’t lose,
Only explaining, “I has to do what is right; not what my heart choose.”
You talk about wanting to come and see everybody,
Both of us knowing that by “everybody” you mean me.
Your sister phones and you change your speech quickly
Hearing your Polish, I’m smacked with reality.
What am I doing? This isn’t fair.
Not to me. Not to her. Love isn’t something to share.
“I just hope to always stay friends,” you explain.
But why don’t you understand that things will never be the same?
You chose a life arranged and far away from me,
And it’s not my fault that you ended up unhappy.
You say you’ll call again, but I already know
That next time it rings, straight to voicemail you’ll go.
The conversation ends with your typical “ciao”.
My eyes fill with tears. It’s cloudy again now.
Wandering around the apartment, I know it’ll be sunny soon.
In an effort to waste time, I write you a letter,
Knowing all along that I should know better.
The sun burns through, and I start to gather my things.
Sunblock, book, towel – I hear the phone ring.
“Do you know who this is?” asks a voice far away.
Instantly I do, but I don’t know what to say.
Yes says my heart, but no says my voice,
And I know that quickly I must make a choice.
Why are you calling me? What do I do?
Is it a good idea for me to talk to you?
It’s taken me three years to not think about you every day.
I hear you falter. “I didn’t know to call…is this ok?”
“Sure,” I hesitate, “It’s been a long enough time…”
Silently I convince myself that this is fine.
We talk like old friends about our families, work, and life,
But never once do you mention your wife.
You know, the one that for me you wouldn’t lose,
Only explaining, “I has to do what is right; not what my heart choose.”
You talk about wanting to come and see everybody,
Both of us knowing that by “everybody” you mean me.
Your sister phones and you change your speech quickly
Hearing your Polish, I’m smacked with reality.
What am I doing? This isn’t fair.
Not to me. Not to her. Love isn’t something to share.
“I just hope to always stay friends,” you explain.
But why don’t you understand that things will never be the same?
You chose a life arranged and far away from me,
And it’s not my fault that you ended up unhappy.
You say you’ll call again, but I already know
That next time it rings, straight to voicemail you’ll go.
The conversation ends with your typical “ciao”.
My eyes fill with tears. It’s cloudy again now.
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