Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Yeah Write prompt


I'm trying my hand at getting back to creative writing. It's been far too long since I explored and utilized this creative part of me. Hope you enjoy this writing prompt from Yeah Write, a blog/tumblr I recently discovered.



Just Friends...



"We're more than that, you know." He scratched behind his ear - a nervous tic I'd always found adorable - as he said the words. I'd heard them before. So many times before. Frankly, I couldn't fathom why this wonderful man still bothered - with the words and with me.

"More than what?" Playing dumb when it came to relationships (or lack thereof) had always been my forte. As I buttoned my blouse, I smiled at what I knew would follow my retort: he'd call me on my bullshit, tell me how much he loved me - how much he'd always loved me -and how one of these days I was going to pull my head out of my ass and realize I needed him, too.

He said nothing, though, when I stood from the bed and reached for the rest of my discarded clothes. A quick check of my watch told me I had less than an hour to get home. When we were together like this, I always lost track of the time. I locked gazes with him - his bright blue to my own duller brown - making sure my mask of indifference displayed without faltering.

Damn his blue eyes, always trying to cut through my defenses.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, eyes wide and pleading. For a moment, I thought he'd challenge me, try to break down my walls, like he always did. I lived for those moments, loved them. They were oxygen to my love-starved brain, a balm for the fire of constant disappointment and hopelessness that raged. But I watched as the light in his eyes faded, and he set his full lips in a thin line, the muscles of his jaw working hard to keep his mouth shut.

This time, he said nothing.

And I knew.

I'd lost him.

Part of me should've rejoiced in the idiocy that had succinctly made my life that less complicated. Instead, tears stung my eyes as I smiled at him, trying to pretend my world hadn't just fallen apart, my cynicism the instrument of destruction. This was a dangerous game, the most perilous I could orchestrate in my sham of a life, and I'd thrown away a perfectly good heart. Mine had been ruined years ago - I imagined if I ripped it out, it would be shriveled, rotted at the core with black veins of disease spidering from the center.

"I'm sorry."

From my peripheral vision, I saw him start at my words, as if he never expected such sentiment. I tried to pretend that didn't hurt, either, as I sat to put on my shoes.

"You're sorry? For what, love?" How I'd miss the gentle roll of vowels and consonants over his tongue in that beautiful Irish lilt. No other man had ever called me that, and none ever would again. The very least I owed him was my honesty.

"I ruined your heart." There it was. My admission of my role as a relationship cancer - killer of all things good, and all things that could have been good.

He laughed, and I whipped my head to face him. My obvious confusion only made him chuckle harder.

"You did no such thing." He smiled at me and skimmed my jaw with his thumb, before leaning forward and kissing me. "It's perfectly safe." Something felt off. The kiss wasn't any less satisfying than before; on the contrary - I could now feel exactly how much he loved me, as if all of it had been poured into me at the contact.

My brain could not process his statement, or the feelings. "I-I don't understand."

"Let me enlighten you, then, love." He took my hands in his own, smoothing my knuckles with the rough pads of his thumbs. "You see, I've given you my heart."

"Okay, sure," I retorted, rolling my eyes at his expression. "I mean, I know how you feel about me, but-"

"It's not a metaphor, love, You quite literally now keep my heart with you - always."

A nervous chortle broke free from my lips, and I stood from the bed, needing some distance to assess him. As always, his blue eyes were clear, completely open and honest, and gauging my reaction to this bit of news.

"I told you before, love. You and I - we're more than just friends." I took a few deep breaths and put a palm over the center of my chest. Sure enough, my heart beat strong and steady beneath my fingers and skin, mocking my actions and validating his words.

"I am a part of you now," he said, a wicked, sexy grin spreading across his face. Fear was the only thing that kept me from tackling him and kissing the smile until we were both naked once more. Now, residing where only emptiness had been, was a warmth I'd never felt, enveloping my soul like an embrace. It filled me completely until I was sure he could see it spilling from my fingertips.

Perhaps he could - damn his eyes, always seeing through the veil. He stood and took my hand, brought it to his lips and kissed my fingers. My eyes burned again with tears, and this time they spilled onto my cheeks.

"Always."


Thursday, January 30, 2014

My Cup Runneth Over...

My daughter is obsessed with "The Cup Song" from Pitch Perfect.

And so, my husband and I have jumped aboard the bandwagon. We know the words, we sing the song, play it on the guitar, you name it. A regular ol' Swiss Family Robinson going on.

Watching my daughter sing along and strum the guitar with my husband the other night was one of those moments I wanted to freeze forever in time. It was a truly perfect moment - no screaming or tantrums, no attitude, no tears, no drama (my two-and-a-half-year-old is full of all of those things).

Even when it all went to hell (complete with my daughter scratching my husband's face in anger) the moment I told her it was time to go to bed, it was a magical thing. A beautiful thing.

video


Sure, she might have her toddler moments (see list above), but don't we all? I mean, I can't tell you how many times I've kept a calm facade, while inside I'm throwing stuff, crying, and stomping my feet. I'm willing to let those episodes slide. She's learning boundaries and rules and I get that.

And she says the most insanely hilarious, oddly adult things.

Aside from being able to clearly sing the Cup Song lyrics (mostly in-tune, too), she has often regurgitated much of what I say to her, and has delivered it with amazing accuracy. For instance:

This morning I was bringing her to Grammie's for the day. This CD of her "kid songs" plays in a loop, and there's this one I cannot stand, so I skipped ahead. The one about the Kookaburra - you KNOW it. Immediately, she asked me why I skipped the song. First I told her I wanted to hear "Skip to My Loo" instead, but you know she called my bluff on that.

"Why?"

"Well, I don't like the other one," I said.

"Why, Mommy?"

"I don't like the way it sounds."

"Why?" (I'm having Louis CK flashbacks about now.)

"Because that's my opinion - I don't like the music and that's what I think of it."

She repeated the word to herself, memorizing it, I'm sure. Then she promptly said, "Mommy's onion." She said it slowly, deliberately. Sarcastically. Then she laughed.

My daughter made a funny, and it cracked her up. How could I not laugh, too?

Another time we were in the car again, listening to the radio. As I flipped through stations, she told me she didn't like whatever song was playing, until I got to one I liked and told her we were keeping it on.
She replied with, "Nice try, but no."

Woah. When my mother asked where that phrase had come from, I raised my hand, guilty as charged. To have your words parroted back is one thing; to have them delivered to you and used correctly is another.

She loves arts and crafts, and recently I purchased a number of little goodies for her to create with, so now she asks me, "Shall we make some art, Mommy?"

My two-year-old says, "Shall we..."

My goodness.

My husband has taught her to respond to the question, "Who's your favorite Bruin?" with: "Bergeron!" But she's upping the ante. Now when he asks her, she'll answer, "Goalpin," the name, apparently, of her favorite imaginary player. Because she knows it makes him laugh.

Each day, I feel time whizzing past me, and I struggle to hold onto these little glimpses of the person she's becoming. I want to preserve them, but each day she says something new, hilarious and amazing, and older nuances and events slip away. So I'm going to write as many of them down as I can. Someday, we'll look back and tell her about these things she said and did, and how it made us laugh and love her even more.

Yes, my kiddo pronounces scissors like she's spent some time south of the border (say it with me - sEEsors). She loves to ice skate like Dora (or she tries, at least). She notices the little things, like the fact that fallen leaves might be now covered by the snow. I love the way her little mind works.

And I can't wait to see what she'll come up with next.