Exhales in the Darkness

As his fingertips slide across my skin, I close my eyes. I should enjoy this, right? I mean this is a part of marriage. It’s what married people do, and they enjoy it. Then why do I find myself praying for it to be over with as quickly as possible every time his lips reach for mine? I try closing my eyes but that just makes it worse. Faces that I long to forget flash in front of me. 

My father.

My mother’s boyfriend.

Exes. 

Regrets and mistakes that I have deseparately tried to erase from my memory, and just when I think they are gone forever, he reaches for me and the dam breaks. It all comes flooding back in. The pain of touch. The hurt of closeness. I wonder if he knows. If he feels me trying not to pull away from him. If he feels the inner tormoil that rages inside of me every time his smile lands upon my soul. I pray he doesn't. I never want him to feel unloved. Unwanted.

Because I do love him. I love him much more than I ever imagined possible, but no matter how hard I try I cannot erase the images that flash before my eyes whenever his love washes over me. I am their unwillling slave. They are my captor. 

I have tried to replace them, but like a broken in pair of shoes, they refuse to be replaced. 

Sometimes when he sleeps, I close my eyes and just listen to his breath. The sound of his deep inhale and then the sudden release as he exhales. It is the most peaceful sound I have ever heard, and in those moments, when I am alone in the darkness. Just me and his breath. I long for his touch. I trace the contours of his body with my fingertips ever so slightly. I don’t want to wake him. I don’t want this closeness to end.  During these moments of darkness and exhales, there are no flashes. No forgotten ghosts that suddenly pop up out of nowhere. There is only me and his exhale. 

As I lay there I wonder if the ghosts will ever disappear. If there will ever come a time when there are no monsters hiding in my closet. A time when I can allow myself to fall into him without seeing images that should never be etched into anyone’s mind. Will I ever be able to just be in his arms? Will I ever be free? 

Suddenly a saltiness invades my tastebuds and brings me back to the present.  I don’t know when the tears began to fall but the wetness of my pillow tells me they had been falling for awhile. I allow them to take their freedom. One by one they escape into the darkness as I search for his exhale. If only I can catch it, then maybe sleep will come. Even if only for a moment.

This was for TRDC's weekly memoir prompt. The prompt was to write about how the show of affection has played a part in your memory. Choose a time when either the abundance or lack of affection (either by you or someone else) stands out, and show us.  Bring us to that time.  Help us feel what you felt. Your feedback is welcomed.

Graduation Almost

This is for a writing prompt from TRDC. The prompt was graduation. 

Everyone expected I would graduate with honors. Then I would go to university, get my degree, and become something important. Except things didn't quite happen like that. At 16, you think you know far more than you actually do. The war that raged between my mother and I grew more heated and vile with each passing day, and I was constantly looking for ways of escape. That's when I met "him". He became the answer to all of my problems. I was in love, young, and desperate to get out of the hell hole that my mother called "home".

He was dark, tall, and exotic. All of the things that young girls dream about. All of the things you imagine in a fling over spring break, but none of the things you expect from a husband and provider. We married my junior year. I was determined to graduate though. I was determined to go to university. Marriage was not going to stop me from getting out of that rinky dink sink hole of a town. It was a stepping stone. The first step towards a better future. At least, that is what I convinced myself of. That is what I told myself every day. At some point I even began to believe it, but then the universe had other plans.

Six months later I would be sitting on the bathroom floor of our one bedroom apartment. Waiting the longest five minutes of my life for the results of a test I had not studied for. When the two blue lines appeared, I stared at them praying I was hallucinating. Praying that the tears rolling down my face were making me see double. Praying that this was some cruel joke and at any moment it would end.No amount of praying however could change the results of that test.

Five minutes earlier  I was thinking about a cap and gown, but now I had to think of onesies and booties. Five minutes earlier I was only worried about my sash not matching my shoes. Now I would trade that sash for maternity and the bump would keep me from seeing my feet let alone my shoes for the next several months. 

I saw my entire life flash before my eyes in that cramped bathroom. The life that would now never be. The life I had hoped for. Longed for. Now it was dead. Gone in a flash. Nothing anyone did would bring it back to life.

Image Source: accountingdegreesonline.com

It's funny how two little blue lines altered the course of my future. I didn't graduate. There was no university. No degree. Years later I would get my GED, but that did little to fill the void of the life I had let slip through my fingers. The life that almost was. I know most would say I became a mother and that is a great accomplishment. However, I failed that test too.

For 17 years I had been an honors student. For 17 years I held 3.8 GPA. For 17 years I was at the top of my class, but on the most important test of my life (motherhood), I failed.  There are no ceremonies for that. 

Premature Smoke

Finally, after weeks away I am able to get back into my weekly writing prompts. I decided not to participate during April simply because the Challenge was overwhelming enough. Now that it has ended I am looking forward to participating in these prompts again. This week's prompt was a bit different. Here it is:

 When I was little, my grandmother smoked 3-4 packs a day. After she got sick, she cut down to half a pack a day. By the time I was 12, I would walk to the local convenience store and buy her cigarettes for her. Laws in small towns are different from those in the big cities. Of course, it probably helped the owner of the store had known me since I was a “youngin”. Things were different back then.

I often asked her why she didn't quit. Her reply was always the same, "I just can't". Except there was a time when she did quit. Right after my daughter was born. 

I was barely 7 months pregnant when my daughter decided she had been inside long enough and was ready to see the world. Of course her father's fists helped her to make that decision. I guess she was curious as to who was knocking on the door and decided to take a peek as to who was there. She and I spent two months in the hospital and when we finally came home there were lots of rules. Top of the list was my daughter couldn't be around anyone who smoked. Ma was determined to see her great grand baby. No cigarette was going to stand between her and that little 2 pound bundle of joy. 

Once the doctor gave the OK that my daughter could be around her as long as she smoked outside, she started right back up again. I am certain it was more of a nervous habit than an addiction. It kept her hands and mind busy. Ma had lots of reasons to worry. 

Even though she smoked, she would always chastise me and tell me to never pick up the "nasty habit". However, Ma wouldn't have been Ma without that long Saratoga in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Remember(RED)- Taming the Beast

This was for a writing prompt for Remembe(RED) at TRDC. The prompt was forgiveness. I know this seems like it has nothing to do with forgiveness, but it is how I felt once I had reached the place of forgiving myself for my past.

“Where do I go from here?”

I had been asking myself that question for days. After 20 years of imploding and exploding, I had finally managed to tame the raging beast that lived within me, but now that it was tamed I had no idea what to do. I had no idea who I was. I had spent the last 20 years attempting to tame this wildly savage animal. That was my identity. It was what I did. It gave me purpose. It was my reason for existing, but now what was my purpose?

I was ecstatic to have finally conquered my demons, but a part of me missed them.  While at times they nearly destroyed me, they also gave me courage and inner strength. They made me push through the fear. Now without them, I would have to push myself. That thought alone terrified me.

There I stood. Suspended in time. Afraid to move forward, but even more afraid of going back. I missed the beast, but I feared him even more. Feared what I would do if he remembered he was a wild animal and not the docile creature laying at my feet. Every now and then I would see him stirring in his sleep. During those moments, I would hold my breath. Afraid the sound of my breathing would awaken him from his deep slumber.

I had to make a decision and soon. I couldn’t stand there forever. It was only a matter of time before the beast would remember his wildness. I had to be prepared when that time came.

Suddenly, I had a new purpose.  A new identity. I knew which way to go. I started packing my things. I had made a decision. I had to move quickly before I changed my mind. I feared waking the doubt as much as I feared waking the beast. If doubt came, then all would be lost. I would be forever trapped in this limbo.

Taking one last look around, making sure I had packed all I would need for the journey ahead, I turned off the light and closed the door. As soon as I stepped out of limbo, I could feel the warmth of the sun upon my face. A new day had just begun. I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. I closed my eyes and turned my face upwards. I was standing there exposed, naked, for the entire world to see, but I didn’t care. I loved the warmth of the sun, the way the breeze tossed my hair in my face. I loved the coolness of its touch on my body. I could feel its hand running all over me.

Breathing the morning air deep into my lungs, I forced my legs forward. As much as I wanted to stay there, I had to put some distance between me and the beast. If I was going to be the keeper of the beast, then I needed to learn how, and there was only one person that could teach me. That person was me.

Wanted: Used Car

This is for the writing prompt from TRDC "RemembeRed". The prompt this week was to Imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself.Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you're from, please give us a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self. "

“Where is he?,” I wonder aloud.  Teeth chattering between syllables. “He was suppose to be here five minutes ago. “

Headlights appear out of the darkness. I jump up from the park bench and strain my eyes to see if it’s him. “Finally,” I mutter.

Leb parks the car a few spaces down, jumps out. He has a friend with him. “Sorry for being late,” he says. “This is my friend, Joe. He drove me here,”

Joe extends his hand and says, “Hi.”

I quickly look from Leb to Joe, and stammer, “Sorry I don’t shake hands with men. It’s a religious thing.”

“Oh”, Joe says looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s right. Leb told me but I just forgot.”

“No problem,” I say. “I am use to it. Happens all the time.”

For a few seconds we all stand there in silence. Each waiting for the other to break the ice. Finally unable to bear the winter’s chill any longer I hand the keys to Leb. He was buying my mom’s old clunker . She had been trying to sell it for years.  I had managed to get her to come down a couple hundred on the price because it needed quite  bit of work done to it. However, it was well worth the $300.00 he was paying for it.  

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Leb says. “Forget it,” I say. “It’s what we do for each other, right?”

“Does your mom know you’re the one who paid for the car?” he asks.

“No, she thinks the money came from you. It’s better this way. You can just pay me a $5 or $10 a month until you get it paid off. The title is already signed over to you though. This way you can get everything sorted out without any problems.”

“Thanks again,” Leb says. “I guess you will need a ride back to your place. You drove the car here right?”

“Yeah, but I will just get a cab or walk back or something,” I reply. I didn’t want to trouble him with having to drive me the 3 blocks back to my apartment, but a part of me secretly hoped he would insist, and he did.

Joe no longer being needed had already jumped back in his car and left. Leb got behind the driver’s wheel and I got in the back seat. This way there could be no confusion as to what would happen once we reached my place. An unspoken language that we both were fluent in.  Leb instantly understanding and not crossing the boundaries I had set.

When we reached my apartment, I got out. The night was dark. The security light had been broken by a couple of the neighbors kids. Unspoken understanding, Leb got out and walked me to the door. While I wasn’t his sister by blood, I was by faith. He waited till I was safely inside and the door locked. Then slowly he made his way back to his newly purchased clunker.

As I closed the door, I wondered if he would really repay all of the money. Little did I know I wouldn’t have to wonder for long. A few weeks later I would end up moving to another state. I would release him from our agreement.

“Consider it a gift,” I would explain by email. “Take care and be safe”, was his only reply. Nothing more was needed.  Even though we were basically strangers, we both understood the unspoken language that passed between us.

 “If not brothers by blood, then by faith. If not by faith, then by humanity”. This was the foundation of my faith.  I had based all of my life's decisions upon this one simple rule. It was etched across me like a tattoo. While I had kept much of who I was hidden from others, this one truth was written upon my soul and body for all to see.

Room



This week's memoir writing prompt was to tell about a room from your past in great detail. At first I had trouble with this because the rooms of my past are not happy ones and I didn't want to write about them so I added my own little twist on it. I took a room from my present and I wrote a short fiction piece. I imagined myself 50 years from now thinking back on the room and how I would remember it.

“No, not that one. Leave it like it is,” I told the painters.

Finally I was getting the house painted. It had been several years and was in desperate need of a fix up.

“Ok ma’am. You sure you don’t want that one done. It’s in worse shape than the others,” the painter said,

“No, I am sure. I want it left just the way it is,” I replied.

The painter shook his head and walked away. He didn’t care. He was getting paid the same regardless if he painted that room or not.

It had been awhile since I had sat in that room. I knew what others saw when they looked at it. Its white paint faded to light beige along the top.  Most of the paint had chipped and fallen to the floor. I was constantly sweeping up the paint chips and dust. Oh how the dust loved that room. It always had. When it was our room, I use to complain that five minutes after I had cleaned you couldn’t even tell it.

His work desk still sat in the corner. Just the way he had left. The last book he was working on still lay there. I couldn’t move it. Couldn’t get rid of it. I  could still smell him in that room. I smiled. How many laughs had we shared in that room.

The bright red curtains that covered the winows were now faded from the sun. The edges frayed from where the cat use to climb them daily. As if  summoned by my thoughts, he rubbed up against my legs. I  held out my hands and he jumped into my waiting arms. “Helicopter,” I  could hear him say. That was what we called the cat whenever he made his purring sound. If cats have orgasms, that is the sound they would make.

Finally I allow myself to look at it. It was hard to miss, but I  had not been letting myself look in its direction. It was a 10x8 painting. Of him.

When he was younger, long before we had met, his art teacher had painted this painting of him. It was so realistic. Every detail had been captured. He even had his 5’clock shadow. The little mole on the right side of his chin. The mischievous grin that often spread across his lips. There was only one thing missing. The sparkle. They didn’t capture the sparkle in his eyes. The way his eyes shined when they looked at me. Only I ever saw that sparkle.

The cat jumped down. Probably after some mouse or lizard hiding somewhere. I wiped the sweat that had begun to drip from my brow. Stifling heat. Our room had been the hottest room in the house during the summer. Even with the fan on full blast, you could barely catch your breath it was so hot. Many summer nights were spent sleeping on the roof just to escape the overpowering heat of that room. In winter it would be so cold. Even with the heat on full I  was still able to feel the chill in the air.

“Ma’am”, a voice behind her called.

Startled I  remembered the painters that were there to paint the house. I  slowly closed the doors to the room. That was the room I  had been married in. The children were born in. That was the room we would argue in, and then make up in. That room was the first place I  had felt safe in. The first room I  had felt at home in. I  didn’t want to change it.

Every few years I  would have  the house painted, and each time I  would spend five minutes explaining to the new painters that “No, I want that room left as it is. Just paint the rest of the house.” Each time a young man would raise an eyebrow quizzically, but say nothing. I  paid them for painting the whole house even though they never touched that room.

It was our room. I  wanted it to remain just the way it was. Untouched by the world. Filled with our love.