Dear Journal, I hesitate to pen this because it paints me in a bad light, but if we can’t accept things and move on, what can we do? I’m not that person now, so I guess it’s okay. I used to be one of those guys. You know the ones, who are always bragging about … Continue reading Dear Journal: Snob Much?
It was ’93 and me and Siobhan were doing nothing. We never did nothing on lazy summer days on the avenue, waiting for the rain to drive us back inside. And it rained a lot that summer. It seemed like we were always tiptoeing through the raindrops on our way to nowhere. We would skip in the puddles like we were six years old, but we knew better. It was our last summer together, although we didn’t know it at the time. The summer of us.
The new movie theater had just opened up halfway down the longest block on the avenue, and there was a Taco Bell in the plaza downstairs. It cost three bucks for a matinee and we had money from our allowance burning holes in our pockets. Plus it had air, and air was in short supply on the avenue, even in summer. Ma said it was on account of black folk being our own air conditioners,what with being dark and all. I never got what she was saying, and I sweat like a hog, but none of it ever got us air. So I learned to use a piece of paper like a fan and not complain.
Siobhan lived three houses down from us, in a building that was s’posed to be abandoned. Lord knows how long that sign was in the yard out front. But her ma said it was wrong, and one day she painted over it with white paint left over from the rehab center’s new rec room. Said it made the yard look special, but all I thought was that she should have just pulled it out of the ground. No matter. We never spent time over there anyway, on account of her ma being a drunk. I never asked about it, and Siobhan never said nothing about it, but it was as clear as day. Continue reading “Me & Siobhan”
“No one is absolutely fearless. Many of us have simply learned to be good at facing our fears.” ~Theodicus
I fear that moment before someone says something I don’t want to hear. I can usually see it coming a mile away, by the expression on their faces, by the furrowed eyebrows, the subtle downturn of the lips, and then by their lead-in. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this…” You know, that moment when you haven’t yet heard the negative but your disposition is no longer sunny because you know it’s coming. In that moment, every single time, I wish I could pause time and fast forward to the process of dealing with the news instead of having to hear it escape their lips.
I fear the dark, the pitch black dark that completely swallows me whole so I can’t even see a fraction of a millimeter in front of my own face. When there’s no light for miles around, or at least it seems that way. I remain sane through it only because I close my eyes and imagine there is a muted glow on the other side. I pretend the pitch black darkness is by choice and not because it was forced upon me instead. It makes it a little more tolerable, but we can’t truly trick our bodies to accept what we know isn’t true, not for long stretches of time anyway. Or can we? I wish we could.
I fear rejection — rejection of me, rejection of my work, or rejection of others who are close to me. When people honestly have a problem with me for whatever reason, or they dislike something I’ve spent a lot of time working on, or they dislike my family, it makes me want to scream, to holler, to lash out. But I don’t because somewhere deep down inside that fear controls me more than I’d like to admit. I would rather someone feel negatively about me but never say anything about it, to put on that fake face, but one that I believe, and go through life oblivious of their feelings than to have to face that rejection head on. And I know it makes me a weak person, and I’m trying to change it, but that’s how it stands right now. Continue reading “Fear Of The Thing Itself”
I finally got it! Yes, the new Stephanie Plum mystery arrived lock, stock and smoking barrels into the Utica Public Library for me. I honestly thought that with such a long waiting list I would still be waiting when school started up again in the fall, so for me this is like Christmas in July! … Continue reading Checked Out: Week 26
She loves him. I can see it in her eyes when he pulls her into his arms and holds her close. It’s like a fairy tale as they talk and laugh, as he plans a future for the two of them, and as she says nothing to dissuade him from those plans. They’re dressed in dinner wear, the handsome couple that turns everyone’s heads when they go out on the town. He even brought her home to meet his entire family, and they too could see the love between them. A week later he is in tears because she said she doesn’t feel the same way about him as he does about her. Now. At this late hour. And the cameras are rolling when he gets the news.
No, this isn’t real life, but it is at the same time. This is a television show, but it’s unscripted, and the “actors” are real human beings who want a legitimate shot at discovering love, at finding their own “happily ever after.” Is it right to throw these desperately longing creatures together in a house with their rivals and hope for the best? Is it okay to think that having one woman determine their fates is the best way to treat their fragile emotions anyway? And why am I so fascinated by the show?
After watching the latest episode last night, I thought back to bachelorette Andi’s hometown trips, where she did a very good job of making it seem like each of the four guys was the only one for her. Four mothers told her how much they could see the attraction and emotional connection between her and their son, but one of those mothers either lied or was seriously mistaken — Marcus’s mother. She wanted the best for her son, having already lost two other children in tragic circumstances, and she had us viewers thinking that Andi was that proverbial best. A week later Andi was breaking her son’s heart on national television.
And we all watched. Well, I watched anyway. Continue reading “The Unorthodox Nature of Dating on TV”
We scaled the castle walls In shining armor Glistening in the sun Heavy as a sigh Resplendent even With aching bones And a cunning guile That belied our position As arrows flew Wild and rampant Clattering to the ground Like an avalanche In fits and starts While we stood above Banners waving In the oncoming … Continue reading Forged Mettle
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