The word of the week: existentialism. Okay, I know that it's part of the name of a Straylight Run song, and not much more to most people my age, or at least not consciously, but after reading the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead last week, the wheels in my head started cranking. If you haven't read it, it's a play from the Theatre of the Absurd, and follows along with Hamlet. Me? Not a big fan of Shakespeare....I know, I know. Please don't throw vegetables and other rank objects that will go splat and be generally messy. Call me cynical or sour or what have you, but I hate the whole premise of Romeo and Juliet. One cannot fall in love in a day. It's too unreal to think that a love that strong can grow in such a short amount of time. That's the exact reason that I hate Nicholas Sparks' novels....the notion of unattainable love. I am a hopeless romantic. The candles/tell me sweet things/love me forever/chivalrous et cetera type romance. Not the whole 'In the face of unsurmountable obstacles, they found a way to stay together and have hot, steamy sex everyday, and then something happened and they both died from heartache' love. I see a clear difference, but not many others do....whatever. Wow, quite the little invective, yeah?
Back to my original point, the Theatre of the Absurd is all about dropping characters into situations that are unfamiliar with little to no memory of who or what they are. They have to search within themselves to figure out what their purpose is, what they're meant to do in life. I can relate. I am striving to become a radiographer. But, I don't want to be defined by that. I don't really want to be defined by anything, but it's human nature to label and compartmentalize. If it's not able to be classified, then no one knows what to make of it. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern end up dead in Hamlet, as they do in Ros and Guil are Dead (like my abbreviations?), but they spend a lot of time using word games and misinterpretations to figure things out. Poor Ros gets reprimanded by Guil pretty regularly just for being himself, or figuring out how to be himself as the case may be, but both end up being okay with their fates. Which was frustrating to me. Being beheaded for transporting someone that is clever and misleading is not 'okay.' But if Hamlet was just executed when he's sent to London, I suppose there wouldn't be much of a storyline. I find Hamlet to be whiny, by the way. We covered the whole 'Shakespeare and I don't get along' thing, right? Oh, The Tempest....definitely a funny play, though. Not a damn clue about it, but intriguing nonetheless.
I just want to be multifaceted and hard to nail down when labeling. I have this (unrational?) fear of only doing one thing for the rest of my life. I also don't want to throw away my education when I decide to leave radiology in search of something new. If it was possible to get three majors in only four years, then I would definitely be an English/radiology/business major, but I barely have time to major in radiology with an English minor.
So, the question lingers--For what am I here? The age-old question of man. I don't know, maybe we're just supposed to make the best of what we get, but when we are able to dictate for what we are prepared, who really knows what it is they want to or are capable or reaching? Does anyone? I'm just tired of driving towards one goal, which takes up all of my time, while desperately wishing for time to fulfill other objectives to get to others goals. Like owning a record store. Or simply being a good influence on or mentor to kids (little intelligent mischievious nerdy heathens) like I was. I still need a mentor or someone to keep me from spinning off into oblivion, so that last one might take awhile. Like any of the others will not take awhile.
"Each exit is just an entrance to somewhere else."
Have a delicious breakfast in the morning!
--Madame Twitch
P.S. Listen to Against Me! New Wave is spectacular and capable of multiple, intensely explosive eargasms. Trust me. I'm all about musically-induced eargasms. They're awesome and stuff. Also, the song "Stop" goes along nicely with the theme of this post.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Decline of Family: An Observation
Open scene: A family of four enter a well-known fast food chain restaurant at six in the evening. The mother is on her cell phone discussing orthodontia for one of her children. The father is perusing the menu choices, ignoring his son's pleas for a "fish fillet." Pronounced the same way a certain Jimmy Buffet pronounces his last name. The mother is now raising her voice about the fact that her son needs braces very badly. "His teeth are as crooked as that Anna Nicole Smith!" Of course, not everyone is able to put down a dead celebrity. She is significantly wittier than most.
The father orders a number seven with regular fries instead of curly ones, and as he is preoccupied watching a rather young brunette that just entered the restaurant, he repeats his son's order to the letter. One "fish fillet," please. The teenaged cashier rolls her eyes and nods. No wonder no one can read correctly anymore. The mother is still on her phone, now speaking to the same poor person about her younger daughter's need for a pediatrician. The father turns to the mother and says, "What do you want?" in a less than friendly manner. She waves at him dismissively, murmuring something to the effect of, "I don't care. I'm not hungry." The man sighs and orders a regular roast beef and a Pepsi.
In the midst of their distractions, they forget to order anything for the young girl that is standing in the back and not making a peep. A future therapy case in the works, I'm sure. The woman, in the middle of a rant about "those quacks that touch children," turns around and gasps. "Greg, you didn't order anything for Clara, you idiot!" This is returned by a hasty, "Don't talk to me like that, Sara!" The little girl is still quiet. The father turns back to the stunned cashier and says, "I'll take a happy meal." He ignores the cashier, who informs him that they don't have happy meals, to watch the young brunette that was in line behind them. "Sir! We don't have happy meals here." "Fine, chicken tenders will work. And a diet pepsi." I guess he only allows his family to have pepsi products.
"Your total is $15.47." The girl skips over the ordinary, "Is that all for you today?" I don't blame her. He hands her some cash and receives his change, all the while sneaking glances over at his dark-headed eye candy. The brunette doesn't notice. She's watching the resident bad-boy at the deep-fryer. You know, tattoos, a couple piercings, a permanent scowl. Embodiment of a 'lifer' at this place--works there for his lifetime. Typical.
Back with our award-winning family, they have received their food and are now clamoring their way to a booth. The boy runs to the bathroom, his parents not batting an eye about it. Not that they really noticed anything around them through the whole eight minutes since they arrived. The little girl grabs her box of chicken tenders and begins to munch quietly on the end of one. The mother is still on her phone; "Sheila's boy got braces when he was nine. Brandon is ten." Notice that "Brandon" has not returned from the bathroom yet.
The father's phone rings, "Pour some sugar on me…" and he answers with a boisterous "Hey, man! What have you been up to?" The little girl has now stopped eating and is just sitting and staring at the table. "Yeah! I'd love to come to a poker night later." "He is just a little ball of energy lately. I can't shut him up for anything, not even his Xbox keeps him still anymore." The boy has still not returned. Miraculously, both hang up their cell phones at the same time. A few seconds pass before the mother looks around and notices that their party of four is now a party of three. "Greg, where's Brandon?" "I thought you were watching him." Back to his sandwich. The woman huffs and looks at her food. "I'm not hungry." "You never eat when we go eat, but you huff and moan about us not eating together. I have to eat when you do, but you never do when I want to. Here we are at a nice sit-down restaurant," which I remind you is part of a well-known chain of fast food joints, "and you are not eating again." A fight ensues quickly thereafter. The little girl is still staring at her half-eaten chicken tender.
The boy runs back to the table, but his arrival is not noticed by either of his parents, for they are still bickering over petty eating habits. The boy runs off once again in search of napkins and straws, which he announces quite loudly to the whole restaurant. His parents take no notice, again. The little girl picks up another chicken tender and proceeds to nibble on a new one. No one has opened her ketchup for her yet, either. She doesn't complain. The boy returns, once again, this time bearing a handful of napkins and straws each, and throws them in the middle of the table. "Brandon! Settle down, boy! You know better than that!" Obviously not. The little girl ceases nibbling and puts her chicken tender back down after two bites. "Clara, eat your dinner. I don't want you to be like your mother." Another bicker-fest proceeds.
The little boy continues to eat his and his sister's food. He is quite plump and she is quite tiny. I wonder why. The happy family finishes and throws their trash and the mother's extra food in the trash and noisily makes their way to the door. A faint voice can be heard from behind the first three. "I'm still hungry." No one notices. They file out and into their mini-van. The father puts the girl in a child seat while the mother answers her cell phone yet again. The little boy jumps over his sister and makes her scream by kicking her mid-jump. Again, no one notices. The van is put in reverse and the scene goes black.
The father orders a number seven with regular fries instead of curly ones, and as he is preoccupied watching a rather young brunette that just entered the restaurant, he repeats his son's order to the letter. One "fish fillet," please. The teenaged cashier rolls her eyes and nods. No wonder no one can read correctly anymore. The mother is still on her phone, now speaking to the same poor person about her younger daughter's need for a pediatrician. The father turns to the mother and says, "What do you want?" in a less than friendly manner. She waves at him dismissively, murmuring something to the effect of, "I don't care. I'm not hungry." The man sighs and orders a regular roast beef and a Pepsi.
In the midst of their distractions, they forget to order anything for the young girl that is standing in the back and not making a peep. A future therapy case in the works, I'm sure. The woman, in the middle of a rant about "those quacks that touch children," turns around and gasps. "Greg, you didn't order anything for Clara, you idiot!" This is returned by a hasty, "Don't talk to me like that, Sara!" The little girl is still quiet. The father turns back to the stunned cashier and says, "I'll take a happy meal." He ignores the cashier, who informs him that they don't have happy meals, to watch the young brunette that was in line behind them. "Sir! We don't have happy meals here." "Fine, chicken tenders will work. And a diet pepsi." I guess he only allows his family to have pepsi products.
"Your total is $15.47." The girl skips over the ordinary, "Is that all for you today?" I don't blame her. He hands her some cash and receives his change, all the while sneaking glances over at his dark-headed eye candy. The brunette doesn't notice. She's watching the resident bad-boy at the deep-fryer. You know, tattoos, a couple piercings, a permanent scowl. Embodiment of a 'lifer' at this place--works there for his lifetime. Typical.
Back with our award-winning family, they have received their food and are now clamoring their way to a booth. The boy runs to the bathroom, his parents not batting an eye about it. Not that they really noticed anything around them through the whole eight minutes since they arrived. The little girl grabs her box of chicken tenders and begins to munch quietly on the end of one. The mother is still on her phone; "Sheila's boy got braces when he was nine. Brandon is ten." Notice that "Brandon" has not returned from the bathroom yet.
The father's phone rings, "Pour some sugar on me…" and he answers with a boisterous "Hey, man! What have you been up to?" The little girl has now stopped eating and is just sitting and staring at the table. "Yeah! I'd love to come to a poker night later." "He is just a little ball of energy lately. I can't shut him up for anything, not even his Xbox keeps him still anymore." The boy has still not returned. Miraculously, both hang up their cell phones at the same time. A few seconds pass before the mother looks around and notices that their party of four is now a party of three. "Greg, where's Brandon?" "I thought you were watching him." Back to his sandwich. The woman huffs and looks at her food. "I'm not hungry." "You never eat when we go eat, but you huff and moan about us not eating together. I have to eat when you do, but you never do when I want to. Here we are at a nice sit-down restaurant," which I remind you is part of a well-known chain of fast food joints, "and you are not eating again." A fight ensues quickly thereafter. The little girl is still staring at her half-eaten chicken tender.
The boy runs back to the table, but his arrival is not noticed by either of his parents, for they are still bickering over petty eating habits. The boy runs off once again in search of napkins and straws, which he announces quite loudly to the whole restaurant. His parents take no notice, again. The little girl picks up another chicken tender and proceeds to nibble on a new one. No one has opened her ketchup for her yet, either. She doesn't complain. The boy returns, once again, this time bearing a handful of napkins and straws each, and throws them in the middle of the table. "Brandon! Settle down, boy! You know better than that!" Obviously not. The little girl ceases nibbling and puts her chicken tender back down after two bites. "Clara, eat your dinner. I don't want you to be like your mother." Another bicker-fest proceeds.
The little boy continues to eat his and his sister's food. He is quite plump and she is quite tiny. I wonder why. The happy family finishes and throws their trash and the mother's extra food in the trash and noisily makes their way to the door. A faint voice can be heard from behind the first three. "I'm still hungry." No one notices. They file out and into their mini-van. The father puts the girl in a child seat while the mother answers her cell phone yet again. The little boy jumps over his sister and makes her scream by kicking her mid-jump. Again, no one notices. The van is put in reverse and the scene goes black.
Cycles: A Short Story
I was watching her peripherally while we sat beside each other on the river bank. The water was rushing quickly, pulling our feet to the left and rubbing our cuffed pant legs on the clay and mud that formed our earthy seats. She was scanning the water for fish and other aquatic creatures that could thrive in freshwater.
I adored her for the innocence that she held. No one understood her like I did. The only ones that did understand her, barring me, were Mother Nature's creations. The trees swayed toward her when she passed. Angry and scared strays of all shapes and sizes would nuzzle their snouts on her legs during our daily jaunts down the street. She could catch skittish woodland creatures with ease. Her best friend was a sugar glider that was originally scheduled to die because it got involved in a fight with another sugar glider and lost. It was missing most of its fingers and toes. I wanted to name it Stumpy. She named it Champ.
The best part is that her little nine-year-old heart wasn't being facetious or ill-mannered in the least. She truly thought that he was a champion. He survived, and that made him extraordinary in her gleeful, young eyes. Champ spent most of his latent days clamped onto her shoulder to see a slightly taller world than he was used to. His handicaps left him with limited gliding abilities, which just showed how amazing he really was when he didn't give up life. It was a firm belief of the little girl's that animals could have the same emotions as humans.
A rainbow trout glided between river grasses and weeds, coming to a halt at her toes. Her toes were waving in the current gracefully, like a willow tree undulating and tickling the wind with its long, leaf-lined fingertips. The trout watched her toes in a trance, its mouth opening and closing, a trait I have never understood.
"When it opens its mouth, water goes in, and when its closes its mouth, water passes through the gills and oxygen is picked up and sent into the blood." She reads my mind sometimes. Intuition is what our mother calls it. I think it’s a sensitive sense of perception. There might not be a difference there, but I think there is. Either way, it's likely that she could pass a high-school freshman biology class as a fourth-grader. The kid gets giddy at the thought of nature books and manuals.
She smiled and wiggled her toes a bit, actually bringing the fish closer. If she could ever bring herself to hurt another living organism, she would be one hell of a fisherman. The fish would flock to her and all she would have to do is sit in a boat and be a buoy. She giggled airily as the fish's fins tickled the bottoms of her feet, in turn bringing a smile to my face. There are no laugh lines etched into my face from an overabundance of happiness, but when she's around, I find it easier to feel simple joy. She's a reminder of the things that are decent in the world. Innocence isn't completely lost, and that gives me hope.
The breeze found its way across the freckles on her nose brought out by the summer sun, her auburn waves swaying as if her head was underwater instead of her feet. The elegance and grace for which models would kill was instilled the tiny body sitting to my left. The one that would rather build a fence around a dandelion to protect it from stomping shoes rather than pick it and let it die. The girl was already a vegetarian.
She made me seem like an ogre in comparison, with my meat-eating and weed-crushing ways. Most people paled in contrast to her, though, when standing beside such a tender spirit. It was sad to think that she could become a self-conscious, boy-crazy teen in the coming years. She had such an old soul with naïve eyes as windows of which to peek. A rarely-seen combination. One that resulted in wisdom and maturity. Age didn't matter at all.
The fish swam away, turning its body back once, as if to say a bittersweet goodbye. I picked a daisy that was growing in the grass beside me and placed it in her hair behind her ear. She frowned and pulled it out, twirling it by the stem between her fingers.
"Its life span was already short." She let it plop in the river, even managing to give poise to throwing flowers. "Now, something will eat it and it will turn into fuel."
"It's a cycle, babe. Everything has a cycle."
"Even love."
I looked ahead at the rippling water, eventually closing my eyes and feeling a brush of rough fingertips on my arms. A touch that lingered, lousy with memories. Or maybe it was just the wafting breeze.
I could smell something sweet and familiar. Or maybe it was the honeysuckle reaching around a tree nearby.
I could hear a whisper right against my ear. Or maybe it was the rustling of the leaves in the trees bending to be closer to my pint-sized companion. She was, after all, like the sun. She was warm and possessed a gravity that pulled creatures, both human and animal, towards her. A dragonfly marked in turquoise and bright blue skidded across the surface of the water and flew a ring around her head. The perfect halo for such a girl.
"You're right. Love has a cycle, just like life."
"It pulls you in."
"Just like you do."
"I don't pull. I let things come."
"That doesn't always work."
"It only does when it needs to." She reached out and caught a maple leaf that was flying through the air, handing it to me by the stem. I spun it between my fingers, imitating her with the daisy. I dropped it in the water as well and watched it as is floated away. "Only when it needs to."
I adored her for the innocence that she held. No one understood her like I did. The only ones that did understand her, barring me, were Mother Nature's creations. The trees swayed toward her when she passed. Angry and scared strays of all shapes and sizes would nuzzle their snouts on her legs during our daily jaunts down the street. She could catch skittish woodland creatures with ease. Her best friend was a sugar glider that was originally scheduled to die because it got involved in a fight with another sugar glider and lost. It was missing most of its fingers and toes. I wanted to name it Stumpy. She named it Champ.
The best part is that her little nine-year-old heart wasn't being facetious or ill-mannered in the least. She truly thought that he was a champion. He survived, and that made him extraordinary in her gleeful, young eyes. Champ spent most of his latent days clamped onto her shoulder to see a slightly taller world than he was used to. His handicaps left him with limited gliding abilities, which just showed how amazing he really was when he didn't give up life. It was a firm belief of the little girl's that animals could have the same emotions as humans.
A rainbow trout glided between river grasses and weeds, coming to a halt at her toes. Her toes were waving in the current gracefully, like a willow tree undulating and tickling the wind with its long, leaf-lined fingertips. The trout watched her toes in a trance, its mouth opening and closing, a trait I have never understood.
"When it opens its mouth, water goes in, and when its closes its mouth, water passes through the gills and oxygen is picked up and sent into the blood." She reads my mind sometimes. Intuition is what our mother calls it. I think it’s a sensitive sense of perception. There might not be a difference there, but I think there is. Either way, it's likely that she could pass a high-school freshman biology class as a fourth-grader. The kid gets giddy at the thought of nature books and manuals.
She smiled and wiggled her toes a bit, actually bringing the fish closer. If she could ever bring herself to hurt another living organism, she would be one hell of a fisherman. The fish would flock to her and all she would have to do is sit in a boat and be a buoy. She giggled airily as the fish's fins tickled the bottoms of her feet, in turn bringing a smile to my face. There are no laugh lines etched into my face from an overabundance of happiness, but when she's around, I find it easier to feel simple joy. She's a reminder of the things that are decent in the world. Innocence isn't completely lost, and that gives me hope.
The breeze found its way across the freckles on her nose brought out by the summer sun, her auburn waves swaying as if her head was underwater instead of her feet. The elegance and grace for which models would kill was instilled the tiny body sitting to my left. The one that would rather build a fence around a dandelion to protect it from stomping shoes rather than pick it and let it die. The girl was already a vegetarian.
She made me seem like an ogre in comparison, with my meat-eating and weed-crushing ways. Most people paled in contrast to her, though, when standing beside such a tender spirit. It was sad to think that she could become a self-conscious, boy-crazy teen in the coming years. She had such an old soul with naïve eyes as windows of which to peek. A rarely-seen combination. One that resulted in wisdom and maturity. Age didn't matter at all.
The fish swam away, turning its body back once, as if to say a bittersweet goodbye. I picked a daisy that was growing in the grass beside me and placed it in her hair behind her ear. She frowned and pulled it out, twirling it by the stem between her fingers.
"Its life span was already short." She let it plop in the river, even managing to give poise to throwing flowers. "Now, something will eat it and it will turn into fuel."
"It's a cycle, babe. Everything has a cycle."
"Even love."
I looked ahead at the rippling water, eventually closing my eyes and feeling a brush of rough fingertips on my arms. A touch that lingered, lousy with memories. Or maybe it was just the wafting breeze.
I could smell something sweet and familiar. Or maybe it was the honeysuckle reaching around a tree nearby.
I could hear a whisper right against my ear. Or maybe it was the rustling of the leaves in the trees bending to be closer to my pint-sized companion. She was, after all, like the sun. She was warm and possessed a gravity that pulled creatures, both human and animal, towards her. A dragonfly marked in turquoise and bright blue skidded across the surface of the water and flew a ring around her head. The perfect halo for such a girl.
"You're right. Love has a cycle, just like life."
"It pulls you in."
"Just like you do."
"I don't pull. I let things come."
"That doesn't always work."
"It only does when it needs to." She reached out and caught a maple leaf that was flying through the air, handing it to me by the stem. I spun it between my fingers, imitating her with the daisy. I dropped it in the water as well and watched it as is floated away. "Only when it needs to."
In Flames: A Short Story
The fire danced around, both in front of her and in her eyes, igniting memories and evoking sensations throughout her body. The cool breeze could be felt by everyone except the girl that was practically sitting in the fire. She had scooted her log considerably closer, the smoke from the flames licking her tanned legs and the flickers of orange light giving her skin a deep, russet glow.
He watched from behind her, contributing a bit to the conversation surrounding him every few minutes. She was oblivious, but she always was when in the presence of fire.
Scenes flashed through her mind as if it were her last few minutes on the earth. The heat reminded her of her mother's honey green tea. She would always drink hot tea even when the temperature was 95 degrees outside. The girl reminisced on all the things her mother told her.
"Tea is very good for you. It can lengthen your life."
"Meditating can enhance your mind. It will make you age more gracefully."
Her theories weren't based on any merited medical opinions; only her own opinions were used to rationalize the things she did. The things she said would help didn't, though. She was dead by the time she was forty. Heart attack. The woman that lived and preached health food and meditation. The girl was sure it was God's way of saying, "I can take you whenever I want, no matter what." Her mother didn't believe in God, but the girl was sure that people didn't descend from apes.
The woman's daughter hated health food and would rather watch a raging bonfire than meditate. Or a burning match. Or a fireplace filled with apple kindling. It created the sweetest aroma and the fire burned so brightly that sometimes it seemed to come alive and speak to her.
A spark hitting her kneecap brought her back down to earth just in time to hear a discussion behind her that she found oddly compelling. She wasn't always oblivious.
"So, Cole… You've been stealing away with that fiery red head the last several times we've been up here, man."
The girl rolled her eyes. When would men learn that pasting an over-used, bourgeois adjective in front of the color of a girl's hair is not the proper way to address her? Fiery red head. Leggy blonde. Busty brunette. Where did it end?
She supposed that girls wearing shirts with "Brunettes do it better" and "Blondes always have more fun" splayed across their chests didn't help matters at all.
Strangely, however, she wanted to hear where this conversation was going. She abandoned her thoughts and memories long enough to find out what the answer to the ill-stated inquiry would be.
"Yeah, Leanna's cool. I like her enough."
Hah. Enough? She was the only one to catch what he meant when he went on his rants that seemingly lasted forever and ended in intoxicated stupors.
"C'mon. You know that's not what I wanted to hear about."
"A gentleman never kisses and tells."
"That's not how it goes, dude."
"Either way, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to fuel more rumors and leave you hanging." His eyes were burning into her back and she could feel his gaze.
She smiled at the fire, but for the first time that night, it wasn’t because of the fire. She stood and brushed the ashes off of herself before elegantly stalking into the edge of the forest. A large sycamore tree, one that had seen much more and lived much longer than Leanna's great-great-great aunt, who was alive and kicking, a bit low, but still kicking (who never once ate tofu or meditated about eating tofu), became a wonderful place for Leanna to shield her body from the man on a mission to find her.
He reached the set of trees that housed the extremely elderly sycamore and looked around, confusion in his deep brown eyes.
"Leanna? Where'd you go?" He called out to her in a soft voice, knowing she wasn't very far from him. It was their little game. Their ritual. He searched the branches of the large trees for any trace of a feminine figure. She climbed a tree once to hide from him.
This was her game. As much as he wanted her to feel the same sentiment for him as he did for her, he knew she used him for her insatiable lust. He didn't complain.
He spun around with his back to her location and with exceptional grace and stealth she leaped onto his back, not saying a peep. He just laughed and spun around after she had let go and was planted back on the ground.
"So, word on the street is I'm a fiery red head, huh?" She pulled a thinly rolled joint from her jean pocket and handed it to him. He smiled and lit it with his cheap, gas station lighter. It was a tiger that spat a green flame from his gnashing mouth. Laughable. The first inhalation of smoke caused him to close his eyes ever so briefly and sigh in content, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose at the same time.
"Yeah. I'm not sure if that's your attitude or your fascination, though." The joint was plucked from his fingers and placed between her lips before he could hand it to her. The earlier memories proved to be a bit much and a release was needed.
"It's both on a good day." They ended up deeper into the woods in what seemed like no time. Whether it was the company or the marijuana, neither knew nor cared. A large rock seemed like the perfect place to rest and converse about the sky turning amber like the sap in the trees surrounding them or ponder why their meetings had become so frequent and procedural.
The silence that night seemed to give off the latter and they shared a shotgun, first Cole then Leanna, which left their THC-induced minds swimming. Or drowning. The rock was all of a sudden very warm beneath them, the heat even reaching the skin in the small arches of their backs. It seemed that the fire followed them that night, and the lack of moon or stars gave the perfect cover to explore each other's minds and bodies with more than the usual colloquial speech. There was no naiveté to be found that night. Only passion and inebriated debauchery was abounded.
An hour later found them lying on the ground in their bare-minimals. The dirt that clung to their backs was chilly and cooled their warm skin exceptionally. Nothing could be heard except soft breathing and excited yelps from the distant bonfire.
"Do you ever think about God?" Her voice was soft and her eyes were staring into her memory rather than up at the sky like one would assume.
"Sometimes. What about him?"
"What his plans are. If he does care or if we're just his little pets in a cage to play with." Cole turned his head and looked over at her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. A screech owl cried out above them and landed in the tree under which they were lying.
"I'd like to think he does care. People get tired of pets after awhile. He hasn't yet. Even if we are his little pets, he takes pretty good care of us." He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. Her eyes finally met his and a single tear fell from each eye, one running across the bridge of her nose and mixing with the trail of the other.
"Why doesn't he save us then?"
"We're fragile. Maybe he takes the ones that are too fragile and gives them a better life."
"And the rest of us?"
"I don’t know. Maybe we're strong enough to figure it out for ourselves." She turned back and gazed upward once again, leaving him to scan his eyes over her body. His eyes returned to her face quickly, though. The moon had been unmasked and was now shedding a pastel light on her face. She was glowing in a different way than ever before. She always shone with a deep scarlet or bright orange in the fires she started and was drawn to, but at that one moment, before the moon was again hidden behind another cloud, she looked ghastly beautiful. Like a ghost waiting to move on.
By then, the loud clamors and voices had died down and more people were venturing into the woods to find refuge for their teenage lust. Leanna rose first and pulled her pants on followed by her shirt and rested on the rock they had inhabited initially. Cole sat up and stared at her questioningly. She would always get up and walk away leaving him to put his clothes on alone with his thoughts. He rose and put his clothes back on hastily, not wanting her to leave him again.
She smiled and reached out for him to take hold of her hand. A simple gesture like that made him break out into a large grin.
The emotions swirling around them were almost tangible. One's heart had reopened to life and the other's longing was seemingly not in vain as first predicted.
As they emerged from the edge of the woods hand in hand, they both were on the same page. Same paragraph. Same word. Something had changed in the hour of midnight. Neither could explain verbally, but that was the turning point for two lives.
Before they parted for the last time, he looked at her eyes. They were facing the fire, but her eyes were no longer burning embers, but were smoldering. They were ready to face reality. She had abjured from her old beliefs, but not in a solemn manner. It was letting go in peace.
The two shared one more smile and released their hands when both had their arm straight out. He headed to his jeep and she began her walk home.
He watched from behind her, contributing a bit to the conversation surrounding him every few minutes. She was oblivious, but she always was when in the presence of fire.
Scenes flashed through her mind as if it were her last few minutes on the earth. The heat reminded her of her mother's honey green tea. She would always drink hot tea even when the temperature was 95 degrees outside. The girl reminisced on all the things her mother told her.
"Tea is very good for you. It can lengthen your life."
"Meditating can enhance your mind. It will make you age more gracefully."
Her theories weren't based on any merited medical opinions; only her own opinions were used to rationalize the things she did. The things she said would help didn't, though. She was dead by the time she was forty. Heart attack. The woman that lived and preached health food and meditation. The girl was sure it was God's way of saying, "I can take you whenever I want, no matter what." Her mother didn't believe in God, but the girl was sure that people didn't descend from apes.
The woman's daughter hated health food and would rather watch a raging bonfire than meditate. Or a burning match. Or a fireplace filled with apple kindling. It created the sweetest aroma and the fire burned so brightly that sometimes it seemed to come alive and speak to her.
A spark hitting her kneecap brought her back down to earth just in time to hear a discussion behind her that she found oddly compelling. She wasn't always oblivious.
"So, Cole… You've been stealing away with that fiery red head the last several times we've been up here, man."
The girl rolled her eyes. When would men learn that pasting an over-used, bourgeois adjective in front of the color of a girl's hair is not the proper way to address her? Fiery red head. Leggy blonde. Busty brunette. Where did it end?
She supposed that girls wearing shirts with "Brunettes do it better" and "Blondes always have more fun" splayed across their chests didn't help matters at all.
Strangely, however, she wanted to hear where this conversation was going. She abandoned her thoughts and memories long enough to find out what the answer to the ill-stated inquiry would be.
"Yeah, Leanna's cool. I like her enough."
Hah. Enough? She was the only one to catch what he meant when he went on his rants that seemingly lasted forever and ended in intoxicated stupors.
"C'mon. You know that's not what I wanted to hear about."
"A gentleman never kisses and tells."
"That's not how it goes, dude."
"Either way, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to fuel more rumors and leave you hanging." His eyes were burning into her back and she could feel his gaze.
She smiled at the fire, but for the first time that night, it wasn’t because of the fire. She stood and brushed the ashes off of herself before elegantly stalking into the edge of the forest. A large sycamore tree, one that had seen much more and lived much longer than Leanna's great-great-great aunt, who was alive and kicking, a bit low, but still kicking (who never once ate tofu or meditated about eating tofu), became a wonderful place for Leanna to shield her body from the man on a mission to find her.
He reached the set of trees that housed the extremely elderly sycamore and looked around, confusion in his deep brown eyes.
"Leanna? Where'd you go?" He called out to her in a soft voice, knowing she wasn't very far from him. It was their little game. Their ritual. He searched the branches of the large trees for any trace of a feminine figure. She climbed a tree once to hide from him.
This was her game. As much as he wanted her to feel the same sentiment for him as he did for her, he knew she used him for her insatiable lust. He didn't complain.
He spun around with his back to her location and with exceptional grace and stealth she leaped onto his back, not saying a peep. He just laughed and spun around after she had let go and was planted back on the ground.
"So, word on the street is I'm a fiery red head, huh?" She pulled a thinly rolled joint from her jean pocket and handed it to him. He smiled and lit it with his cheap, gas station lighter. It was a tiger that spat a green flame from his gnashing mouth. Laughable. The first inhalation of smoke caused him to close his eyes ever so briefly and sigh in content, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose at the same time.
"Yeah. I'm not sure if that's your attitude or your fascination, though." The joint was plucked from his fingers and placed between her lips before he could hand it to her. The earlier memories proved to be a bit much and a release was needed.
"It's both on a good day." They ended up deeper into the woods in what seemed like no time. Whether it was the company or the marijuana, neither knew nor cared. A large rock seemed like the perfect place to rest and converse about the sky turning amber like the sap in the trees surrounding them or ponder why their meetings had become so frequent and procedural.
The silence that night seemed to give off the latter and they shared a shotgun, first Cole then Leanna, which left their THC-induced minds swimming. Or drowning. The rock was all of a sudden very warm beneath them, the heat even reaching the skin in the small arches of their backs. It seemed that the fire followed them that night, and the lack of moon or stars gave the perfect cover to explore each other's minds and bodies with more than the usual colloquial speech. There was no naiveté to be found that night. Only passion and inebriated debauchery was abounded.
An hour later found them lying on the ground in their bare-minimals. The dirt that clung to their backs was chilly and cooled their warm skin exceptionally. Nothing could be heard except soft breathing and excited yelps from the distant bonfire.
"Do you ever think about God?" Her voice was soft and her eyes were staring into her memory rather than up at the sky like one would assume.
"Sometimes. What about him?"
"What his plans are. If he does care or if we're just his little pets in a cage to play with." Cole turned his head and looked over at her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. A screech owl cried out above them and landed in the tree under which they were lying.
"I'd like to think he does care. People get tired of pets after awhile. He hasn't yet. Even if we are his little pets, he takes pretty good care of us." He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. Her eyes finally met his and a single tear fell from each eye, one running across the bridge of her nose and mixing with the trail of the other.
"Why doesn't he save us then?"
"We're fragile. Maybe he takes the ones that are too fragile and gives them a better life."
"And the rest of us?"
"I don’t know. Maybe we're strong enough to figure it out for ourselves." She turned back and gazed upward once again, leaving him to scan his eyes over her body. His eyes returned to her face quickly, though. The moon had been unmasked and was now shedding a pastel light on her face. She was glowing in a different way than ever before. She always shone with a deep scarlet or bright orange in the fires she started and was drawn to, but at that one moment, before the moon was again hidden behind another cloud, she looked ghastly beautiful. Like a ghost waiting to move on.
By then, the loud clamors and voices had died down and more people were venturing into the woods to find refuge for their teenage lust. Leanna rose first and pulled her pants on followed by her shirt and rested on the rock they had inhabited initially. Cole sat up and stared at her questioningly. She would always get up and walk away leaving him to put his clothes on alone with his thoughts. He rose and put his clothes back on hastily, not wanting her to leave him again.
She smiled and reached out for him to take hold of her hand. A simple gesture like that made him break out into a large grin.
The emotions swirling around them were almost tangible. One's heart had reopened to life and the other's longing was seemingly not in vain as first predicted.
As they emerged from the edge of the woods hand in hand, they both were on the same page. Same paragraph. Same word. Something had changed in the hour of midnight. Neither could explain verbally, but that was the turning point for two lives.
Before they parted for the last time, he looked at her eyes. They were facing the fire, but her eyes were no longer burning embers, but were smoldering. They were ready to face reality. She had abjured from her old beliefs, but not in a solemn manner. It was letting go in peace.
The two shared one more smile and released their hands when both had their arm straight out. He headed to his jeep and she began her walk home.
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