Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Not Everything is Supposed to Come True
Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a day when I look at you and my heart doesn't melt. You were my first crush, the first boy I ever cried myself to sleep over, the first boy I ever tried to change myself for (ok, not the first, but the most important). I've known you since we were three years old and I don't think I have ever believed in someone the way I believe in you. I always knew you didn't care for me the same way I did about you. I struggled with that for years and, in some ways, I still do. In middle school, you always felt as if you had to be the class clown and the others did laugh. But they weren't always laughing with you and this broke my heart. Your humorous antics made teachers presume you were nothing but a straight A student who was wasting his potential. But I knew better. I knew that you were just covering up from some hurt you didn't know how to express. As we grew older you began to show everyone your true colors. You graduated top of your class from Med School and now attend the most prestigious medical universities in the country. You have traveled the world. You have grown in so many ways. You have spread the word of God and put smiles on children's faces. You are something special, not just to those who know you; to the world. You are going to make a difference. I just know it. I have always known it. I'm not really sure why I felt so inspired to write this, especially since you will never see it. Except, I came across a picture of you today and there it was: that familiar pang in my chest as my heart melted all over again. I know we will never be together. It just wasn't in the cards, but you will always have a little piece of my heart. And one day, when I'm old and our lives have taken us different directions, I will sit and rock my grandchildren. I will tell them about the boy with the blue eyes whose smile could make my breath catch in my throat. I will tell them how he went on adventures and changed the world. And how I always knew he would.
Life in the Fat Lane-My Story
That's the name of a book. I read it for the first time during my Sophomore year of high school. It was the first book I had ever read that discussed how it really feels to be fat. People try to call it a lot of different words, both good and bad: big boned, plus-sized, fluffy, full-figured, lard ass, fatso, the list goes on...and I've heard them all. The book dealt with that, it didn't skirt around the issues...or the hurt...or the frustration. I've spent the majority of my life in the Fat Lane. I was an average child until around the age of four when I was molested by my next door neighbor. That marked the beginning of a path of self destruction that, had you asked me then, I wasn't sure I would ever be able to escape. I had always been told I was "such a pretty little girl." I figured maybe if I wasn't so pretty, no one would hurt me like that again. Wrong. While I was never hurt in that same way, I learned the hard way that the damage I was doing to my body came with a whole new level of hurt.
See, when you're fat- people aren't afraid to tell you so. They aren't afraid to voice their displeasure with the size of your body. They do this in a number of ways. When you're eight, they pick you last at every sport. You stand there, eager to play, waiting for someone to call your name. No one ever does until it's apparent that you're the only one left and, even then, they don't actually claim you as one of their own. When you're thirteen, they make noises behind you as you walk from one class to the next: BOOM BOOM BOOM!! And stamping their feet. When you're seventeen, they slap you on the butt in the hallway and say their friend did it, at which time said friend declares, "I ain't no damn chubby chaser!" When you're twenty-one, someone tells you to your face that they would rather die than be you. Die. They would rather be dead than to be you. Because you are Fat. How dare you breathe the same air as them?
Being Fat, you get quite used to the backhanded compliment. You hear comments like, "You have such a pretty face. You just need to lose a few pounds." or "You're so beautiful on the inside, but you're just not my type." or my personal favorite "You're such a smart girl. How did you let yourself go?"
The thing is- I thought they had the right to say those things to me. I'm Fat afterall. What a shame.
Sometimes even the people closest to you can hurt you beyond imagine. I've mentioned my rocky relationship with my grandmother. She was infamous for telling people exactly how she felt. I was no exception. I was feeding her breakfast a couple of years ago when she stopped chewing and asked, "Do you honestly like living the way you do? Do you enjoy being this big?" I just looked back at her. "Why, yes!" I wanted to say, "Yes! I love the fact that I can't go into a regular store and buy cothes. I adore going to a resturant and not being sure if I could sit in a boothe. It makes me exstatic to get in a car with others and not know if the seat belt will fit. It makes me so happy that I missed being in my best friend's wedding because I thought I would ruin her bridal party. I love seeing a guy looking at me and wondering if he's looking because he likes me or because he thinks I'm disgusting. Yeah that's just the kind of life I want to live."
Now I can already hear the neigh-sayers: If you are so miserable-CHANGE it. Well that's a really nice thought isn't it? Just fix it. Well, that was simple. Wrong again. But that's another perk of being Fat. People assume you sit around stuffing your face with fast food and candy bars. How else could you get so big? Let me just say: I do not do this. I never did. I've had friends who were a lot thinner and ate twice as much as I did, but to the outsider looking in, I was the pig. I have tried everything, most courtesy of-you guessed it: my grandmother. I've done Dexitrim, Metabolite, Alli (before it was OTC), the Mayo Clinic diet, some kind of spray stuff that you sprayed in the mouth of the Fatty and it ate their fat cells. I have vivid memories of walking laps at recess in fourth grade instead of playing because the boy I had a crush on said he didn't like Fat girls. The whole time I was walking I thought, "I'm Fat. He doesn't like me cuz I'm Fat. I'm gonna walk so I won't be Fat anymore. He'll like me then." I was teaching myself to change for someone else. Did I mention I was ten?
I never seemed to get it right. Despite many attempts and many failures, diets continued to come and go. I heard it all, "Diets don't work. It's a lifestyle change." Suffice to say many a "lifestyle change" followed, each bringing with it a lower level of sefl-esteem. Somewhere along the line, I lost who I was. I just stopped caring. I carried that emotional baggage around with me and I saw the light at the end of the tunnel getting smaller and smaller. I felt like a prisoner, trapped in a body that had raged against me. I just knew that my future was over. No man would ever love me. No employer was going to hire me. I would never have children. I would die alone.
Right after 2009 began, I began ripping the exercise portions out of Seventeen Magazine. I was motivated. I was going to change this. I taped it to the back of the bathroom door along with images of women I considered to be healthy AND beautiful and inspirational quotes. My mom and I got a bicycles. When we picked them up, my uncle put them together. Mom's was finished first. Everyone (except for myself) took turns riding it around my grandmother's property. When he was done with mine, I couldn't push away the uneasiness in the pit of my stomache. I sent everyone else away except my younger cousin. Riding a bike was not quite the same at my current size as it had been when I was a child. I fell, but it wasnt just my body that hit the ground. Every bit of sadness that I had tried to talk myself out of, every negative thought, every mean comment; all hit the ground as well with my already tattered self-worth breaking the fall. My cousin stood there and held me as I cried. That was it. At that moment I cried, mostly because my saving grace, my hope was gone. The little sliver of light that I had been clinging to was gone. I shuddered at the thought of the coming coldness.
My life changed on June 29, 2010. I like to refer to this as my re-birthday. I went to a doctor specializing in weight loss and found out that I have a condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PcOS). In a nutshell, this syndrome is fueled by high levels of insulin spiked by carbohydrates and sugar, meaning the smallest amount causes my body to gain weight faster than the average person. I began a diet (not in the traditional sense) stripped of sugar and limited to 30-45 grams of carbs a day obtained from other sources (no main carbs). My hope was given back to me that day. Suddenly light was streaming in from every possible direction. I was not a lost cause! I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I knew that they were telling me I had a chance. I can't put into words how much this means to me. I had come to identify myself by my weight. Who was I? I was a Fat person. I was used to making compromises. I was okay with remaining in the shadows. The people at my doctors office helped me realize that it's not okay to compromise who I am. They gave me the strength to step out from the shadows and allow myself to shine, but not because I was losing weight; but just because I was me.
I'm not where I want to be...yet. But I'm getting there. I will never be one of those people who destroys all of the pictures of them when they were Fat. This is who I was. This is where I came from. This is my journey and I am not ashamed. Please don't misunderstand: I am not condoning obesity. However, every obese person is so for their own laundry list of reasons, most of which aren't the ones people assume. It does not help to make them feel like criminals for contributing to the "Obesity Epidemic". They do not deserve to be treated the way they are. I didn't deserve to be treated the way I was. We are HUMAN. Every one of us. I won't be made to feel like anything less than that.I don't allow myself to carry around the negative thoughts of others. I refuse to let other people shape how I feel about myself. I found so much strength within myself that I never knew I had. I will not starve myself. I will not stand in front of a mirror and tell myself how ugly I am. I will never think that the world would be a better place if I wasn't in it. I will never allow my parents to blame themselves for something that, ultimately, was not their fault. I won't remove myself from special occasions with friends because I think I embarrass them. I will not throw my arms in the air and surrender. No, I will not do any of that. I will eat healthy foods. I will exercise. I will lower my arms, raise my head, and move on. Because that's all I can do. That's all I know how to do. That's the only way life moves: Forward.
See, when you're fat- people aren't afraid to tell you so. They aren't afraid to voice their displeasure with the size of your body. They do this in a number of ways. When you're eight, they pick you last at every sport. You stand there, eager to play, waiting for someone to call your name. No one ever does until it's apparent that you're the only one left and, even then, they don't actually claim you as one of their own. When you're thirteen, they make noises behind you as you walk from one class to the next: BOOM BOOM BOOM!! And stamping their feet. When you're seventeen, they slap you on the butt in the hallway and say their friend did it, at which time said friend declares, "I ain't no damn chubby chaser!" When you're twenty-one, someone tells you to your face that they would rather die than be you. Die. They would rather be dead than to be you. Because you are Fat. How dare you breathe the same air as them?
Being Fat, you get quite used to the backhanded compliment. You hear comments like, "You have such a pretty face. You just need to lose a few pounds." or "You're so beautiful on the inside, but you're just not my type." or my personal favorite "You're such a smart girl. How did you let yourself go?"
The thing is- I thought they had the right to say those things to me. I'm Fat afterall. What a shame.
Sometimes even the people closest to you can hurt you beyond imagine. I've mentioned my rocky relationship with my grandmother. She was infamous for telling people exactly how she felt. I was no exception. I was feeding her breakfast a couple of years ago when she stopped chewing and asked, "Do you honestly like living the way you do? Do you enjoy being this big?" I just looked back at her. "Why, yes!" I wanted to say, "Yes! I love the fact that I can't go into a regular store and buy cothes. I adore going to a resturant and not being sure if I could sit in a boothe. It makes me exstatic to get in a car with others and not know if the seat belt will fit. It makes me so happy that I missed being in my best friend's wedding because I thought I would ruin her bridal party. I love seeing a guy looking at me and wondering if he's looking because he likes me or because he thinks I'm disgusting. Yeah that's just the kind of life I want to live."
Now I can already hear the neigh-sayers: If you are so miserable-CHANGE it. Well that's a really nice thought isn't it? Just fix it. Well, that was simple. Wrong again. But that's another perk of being Fat. People assume you sit around stuffing your face with fast food and candy bars. How else could you get so big? Let me just say: I do not do this. I never did. I've had friends who were a lot thinner and ate twice as much as I did, but to the outsider looking in, I was the pig. I have tried everything, most courtesy of-you guessed it: my grandmother. I've done Dexitrim, Metabolite, Alli (before it was OTC), the Mayo Clinic diet, some kind of spray stuff that you sprayed in the mouth of the Fatty and it ate their fat cells. I have vivid memories of walking laps at recess in fourth grade instead of playing because the boy I had a crush on said he didn't like Fat girls. The whole time I was walking I thought, "I'm Fat. He doesn't like me cuz I'm Fat. I'm gonna walk so I won't be Fat anymore. He'll like me then." I was teaching myself to change for someone else. Did I mention I was ten?
I never seemed to get it right. Despite many attempts and many failures, diets continued to come and go. I heard it all, "Diets don't work. It's a lifestyle change." Suffice to say many a "lifestyle change" followed, each bringing with it a lower level of sefl-esteem. Somewhere along the line, I lost who I was. I just stopped caring. I carried that emotional baggage around with me and I saw the light at the end of the tunnel getting smaller and smaller. I felt like a prisoner, trapped in a body that had raged against me. I just knew that my future was over. No man would ever love me. No employer was going to hire me. I would never have children. I would die alone.
Right after 2009 began, I began ripping the exercise portions out of Seventeen Magazine. I was motivated. I was going to change this. I taped it to the back of the bathroom door along with images of women I considered to be healthy AND beautiful and inspirational quotes. My mom and I got a bicycles. When we picked them up, my uncle put them together. Mom's was finished first. Everyone (except for myself) took turns riding it around my grandmother's property. When he was done with mine, I couldn't push away the uneasiness in the pit of my stomache. I sent everyone else away except my younger cousin. Riding a bike was not quite the same at my current size as it had been when I was a child. I fell, but it wasnt just my body that hit the ground. Every bit of sadness that I had tried to talk myself out of, every negative thought, every mean comment; all hit the ground as well with my already tattered self-worth breaking the fall. My cousin stood there and held me as I cried. That was it. At that moment I cried, mostly because my saving grace, my hope was gone. The little sliver of light that I had been clinging to was gone. I shuddered at the thought of the coming coldness.
My life changed on June 29, 2010. I like to refer to this as my re-birthday. I went to a doctor specializing in weight loss and found out that I have a condition called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PcOS). In a nutshell, this syndrome is fueled by high levels of insulin spiked by carbohydrates and sugar, meaning the smallest amount causes my body to gain weight faster than the average person. I began a diet (not in the traditional sense) stripped of sugar and limited to 30-45 grams of carbs a day obtained from other sources (no main carbs). My hope was given back to me that day. Suddenly light was streaming in from every possible direction. I was not a lost cause! I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I knew that they were telling me I had a chance. I can't put into words how much this means to me. I had come to identify myself by my weight. Who was I? I was a Fat person. I was used to making compromises. I was okay with remaining in the shadows. The people at my doctors office helped me realize that it's not okay to compromise who I am. They gave me the strength to step out from the shadows and allow myself to shine, but not because I was losing weight; but just because I was me.
I'm not where I want to be...yet. But I'm getting there. I will never be one of those people who destroys all of the pictures of them when they were Fat. This is who I was. This is where I came from. This is my journey and I am not ashamed. Please don't misunderstand: I am not condoning obesity. However, every obese person is so for their own laundry list of reasons, most of which aren't the ones people assume. It does not help to make them feel like criminals for contributing to the "Obesity Epidemic". They do not deserve to be treated the way they are. I didn't deserve to be treated the way I was. We are HUMAN. Every one of us. I won't be made to feel like anything less than that.I don't allow myself to carry around the negative thoughts of others. I refuse to let other people shape how I feel about myself. I found so much strength within myself that I never knew I had. I will not starve myself. I will not stand in front of a mirror and tell myself how ugly I am. I will never think that the world would be a better place if I wasn't in it. I will never allow my parents to blame themselves for something that, ultimately, was not their fault. I won't remove myself from special occasions with friends because I think I embarrass them. I will not throw my arms in the air and surrender. No, I will not do any of that. I will eat healthy foods. I will exercise. I will lower my arms, raise my head, and move on. Because that's all I can do. That's all I know how to do. That's the only way life moves: Forward.
Day Dreamer
She looked so peaceful lying amongst the leaves,
Yellow and golden,
Perfectly matching the sparkle in her eyes.
The breeze blew through, setting her auburn hair off in a million directions,
But it never rustled her dreams.
And at that moment the whole world dreamt with her.
With every breath bringing something new.
Beginnings.
Endings.
Love.
Friendship.
Pain.
Compassion.
Soundly she slept.
Soaking it all in,
For, soon...
She knew she would have to wake
Yellow and golden,
Perfectly matching the sparkle in her eyes.
The breeze blew through, setting her auburn hair off in a million directions,
But it never rustled her dreams.
And at that moment the whole world dreamt with her.
With every breath bringing something new.
Beginnings.
Endings.
Love.
Friendship.
Pain.
Compassion.
Soundly she slept.
Soaking it all in,
For, soon...
She knew she would have to wake
Searching
Little girl lost-
Why have your dreams stopped flying?
They used to soar beyond all the others-
So high, even God Himself had to squint to see them.
Little girl lost-
Why did you stop pretending?
Lands of make believe now inhabited,
Not by pixies and fairies,
But by cynics and doubters.
You stopped dancing and singing
Infront of their eyes;
Conceding to pirouette or hum a tune only
when you're all alone-
With no one to judge Except you...
You know you can be the harshest one of all.
Little girl lost-
So trapped in the past
It eats you alive.
Tiny and vulnerable
In a body you have made to protect yourself.
Microscopic and fragile
In the mind of this
Body that only allows one thought:
I hate myself.
Shrinking smaller
Dreams are falling
Hate!Hate!Hate!
Even smaller still
While fairylands Collapse in on themselves
Like chocolate silk soufflés.
And limbs go weak
As voices mute
In this mind that
SCREAMS
"Give up!"
Little girl lost-
Lie down on your shredded blanket of
Hope and faith.
Rest now.
Leave that sparkle in your eyes.
Though it's dim,
I will see it in the darkness.
Stay there-
I'm on my way.
Why have your dreams stopped flying?
They used to soar beyond all the others-
So high, even God Himself had to squint to see them.
Little girl lost-
Why did you stop pretending?
Lands of make believe now inhabited,
Not by pixies and fairies,
But by cynics and doubters.
You stopped dancing and singing
Infront of their eyes;
Conceding to pirouette or hum a tune only
when you're all alone-
With no one to judge Except you...
You know you can be the harshest one of all.
Little girl lost-
So trapped in the past
It eats you alive.
Tiny and vulnerable
In a body you have made to protect yourself.
Microscopic and fragile
In the mind of this
Body that only allows one thought:
I hate myself.
Shrinking smaller
Dreams are falling
Hate!Hate!Hate!
Even smaller still
While fairylands Collapse in on themselves
Like chocolate silk soufflés.
And limbs go weak
As voices mute
In this mind that
SCREAMS
"Give up!"
Little girl lost-
Lie down on your shredded blanket of
Hope and faith.
Rest now.
Leave that sparkle in your eyes.
Though it's dim,
I will see it in the darkness.
Stay there-
I'm on my way.
Dirty Little Pretty Thing
Dirty Little Pretty Thing,
With scuff marks on your shoes,
You stand aside at recess
To let the other children play.
You sit outside at lunch
To let them enjoy the circulated air.
Always busy doing
2x5 is 10 or
Spelling a-n-i-m-a-l.
They never notice you don't eat,
Never ask about it either.
They think that you can't hear them call you
"Dirty Little Pretty Thing".
As if being dirty
Also makes you deaf.
Teachers smile politely-
Children tolerate-
Strangers' prying eyes-
Mama's falling tears-
Dirty Little Pretty Thing
Digging through the dumpsters in the back.
You'd be surprised what others throw away:
Fruit and bread, half eaten-
Ant ridden pieces of fried chicken-
Shake 'em off, pack it all away.
Start to walk the distance between the school-yard and home.
You see him waiting in his place.
You'd go another way,
But he would find you still,
Take advantage of your name and situation;
Make it real.
He gets his jollies,
You get your groceries-
In your seven year old mind...
It's a fair trade.
Get to the path
Beneath the bridge,
Kneel down and unload your supply.
Mama is pleased- lying on her hard, cardboard bed,
Covered by a blanket
Found behind the "Good Will."
Today is a good day.
Mama says, "You might not be that smart, but thank God for your beauty!"
Dirty Little Pretty Thing-
If she only knew...
With scuff marks on your shoes,
You stand aside at recess
To let the other children play.
You sit outside at lunch
To let them enjoy the circulated air.
Always busy doing
2x5 is 10 or
Spelling a-n-i-m-a-l.
They never notice you don't eat,
Never ask about it either.
They think that you can't hear them call you
"Dirty Little Pretty Thing".
As if being dirty
Also makes you deaf.
Teachers smile politely-
Children tolerate-
Strangers' prying eyes-
Mama's falling tears-
Dirty Little Pretty Thing
Digging through the dumpsters in the back.
You'd be surprised what others throw away:
Fruit and bread, half eaten-
Ant ridden pieces of fried chicken-
Shake 'em off, pack it all away.
Start to walk the distance between the school-yard and home.
You see him waiting in his place.
You'd go another way,
But he would find you still,
Take advantage of your name and situation;
Make it real.
He gets his jollies,
You get your groceries-
In your seven year old mind...
It's a fair trade.
Get to the path
Beneath the bridge,
Kneel down and unload your supply.
Mama is pleased- lying on her hard, cardboard bed,
Covered by a blanket
Found behind the "Good Will."
Today is a good day.
Mama says, "You might not be that smart, but thank God for your beauty!"
Dirty Little Pretty Thing-
If she only knew...
Joined
You'll be the moon and I'll be the stars.
Together we will heal our emotional scars.
We'll go out into the world, and take it as our own,
But we never will forget the place that we call home.
I'll extend my hand,
Until it's in your grasp.
We'll walk towards the Sun,
And forget about the past.
I'll be the X and you can be the Y.
You will always make me laugh,
And hold me when I cry.
Your smile will light my dreams
Like a beacon in the night.
We will live and love forever
In this place that we call Life.
Together we will heal our emotional scars.
We'll go out into the world, and take it as our own,
But we never will forget the place that we call home.
I'll extend my hand,
Until it's in your grasp.
We'll walk towards the Sun,
And forget about the past.
I'll be the X and you can be the Y.
You will always make me laugh,
And hold me when I cry.
Your smile will light my dreams
Like a beacon in the night.
We will live and love forever
In this place that we call Life.
A Step Towards the Sun
They always seemed to end up on the hill. Every Saturday, in the early morning just as the sun was spreading its golden tendrils across the slowly lightening sky, they would sit perched side by side on the plush grass overlooking the meadow. To look at them: their skin aglow as if glistening with the morning dew, a slight smile upturning the corners of their mouths; you would never know the pain that lingered behind their eyes.
***************************************************************
She knew her life was very different than those of the kids at school. She never had a lot of friends and was never especially popular, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was used to being a loner and spent most of her time that way. Her life was like a record that had been put on loop, monotonously playing out the same actions until, one day, a walk home from school pinpointed her life in a totally different direction.
She was aware that new people had moved into the house parallel to her own. The moving trucks had come early one Saturday morning as she sat alone on top of the hill. The men spent the day unloading their stuff, box by box. She recalled that a new 1972 Chevrolet Impala sat in the driveway alongside an older model Cutlass. She had waited to catch a glimpse of the owners, but if they were there, they didn’t come out to lend a hand. She gave up and went about her business. Weeks passed and she never really gave it a second thought.
It was during that time of year when the air had a crispness about it and the setting sun gleamed behind freshly turned leaves of auburn and topaz, making it seem as if the trees were a blaze of Autumn. She saw him sitting Indian-style beneath the gigantic Oak tree in the front yard of the house next door to hers. There was something about the way he was just sitting there completely unoccupied, as if in his own world. That might have deterred some people, but not her. She knew that look, knew it personally. It was her look. She hadn’t yet come into his line of view, so she took advantage of the opportunity to fully glance him over. His curly locks of hair, dark as a raven, were blowing faintly in the late afternoon breeze. He stared straight ahead with eyes the color of Summer honey, which perfectly complimented his olive skin. His clothes we worn and tattered, in complete contrast to the two-story house behind him, but she got the feeling that he liked the statement he was making. She liked it too…and she liked him. She knew instinctively that somehow, he understood her- that he, too, had seen things in his life that no one should ever have to see.
As she walked past, he never even blinked an eye. She felt a pang in her heart at his lack of attention towards her. Deep down, she wasn’t surprised though. She knew she was no picture of beauty. Her plain brown hair hung limp and stringy down her back. She hated her eyes. They were the most boring, dull shade of green and she often thought they bore a striking resemblance to split pea soup. Her skin was neither fair, nor golden; just average. She was acutely aware that she lacked the womanly curves of other girls her age, but rarely let it bother her. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind that she failed to stick out in any obvious ways. She never strived to be noticed, but it was different with him. He didn’t strike her as the shallow, superficial type to care about stuff like that. She pressed on and turned to walk up her driveway, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was looking in her direction. So he had noticed. She turned towards him and offered a quick smile and was surprised to see him return the gesture. She faced back in the direction of which she had just come and walked into her house.
She was, what you would call, a latch-key kid. Her mother had died when she was fourteen and her father was always too busy attending charity events or going on business trips to bother actually being there for her. She suspected why that’s why she was so good at being alone. She was used to it. She came home to an empty house, went to sleep in an empty house, and awoke to a house still as empty as the night before. Even when her father was there, he might as well have not been. Their conversations consisted of three questions: “Are you keeping up your grades?” “Do you have plenty of food?” “Do you need any money?” That was it. It usually lasted about five minutes and that was if he was long winded. He would often go off, leaving nothing but a note behind explaining where he was.
She actually preferred when he was away, so she was pleased to come home to find the familiar yellow slip of paper on the kitchen counter. She glanced out the window to see that the boy had disappeared from beneath the tree. She dug some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge and ate it in front of the television, before going upstairs to her room. She crossed the room and raised the window to let in some of the cool night air. As she did, she couldn’t help but notice that she had a clear view into the boy’s window. This made her feel better somehow; less alone.
As the months passed, they slowly got to know each other; with her making the first move to introduce herself on one of the many days she saw him beneath the tree. She learned that he was originally from Texas and had a soft spot for Tex-Mex food. He told her of his love for the guitar, how he longed to write songs like Simon and Garfunkel, and that he favored the latter work of The Beatles rather than their early stuff. She told him about liking to write poetry and that she dreamed of having a novel published before she died. He listened as she talked about her admiration of Emily Dickenson. He asked what her favorite food was to which she responded, “Chinese.”
Little by little, they ventured into deeper territory. She took him to her favorite spot and they would spend countless hours lounging on the hillside, talking. He shared that he had an older brother who had died in a terrible car accident. She had wondered if he was an only child, but it seemed like the kind of personal question they had both been reserving for another time. She told him about her father and how she spent a lot of time alone. She told him about not ever really fitting in at school, but never bothering to care. He seemed both saddened and happy about her statement. Saddened because no one ever took the time to get to know her and happy because she was smart enough not to place her self-worth in the hands of other people. She had wondered why she hadn’t seen him at school and found out that he was a year older than she. He graduated the summer before and was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. There was a connection between them that was undeniable and they both felt it. They spent most of their free time together either riding around in his old Cutlass or going for walks, but most often they would make the trek through the woods and up the hill, especially on Saturday mornings. That was their favorite.
As the weather warmed, they would often go up in the late afternoon to watch as the sun dipped down beneath the trees. She had an affinity for the sunrise and sunset, and he loved to watch her experience it. One afternoon in the early summer, as they sat letting the sun warm their faces, he asked her a question that was more personal than any other he had dared to ask. What was the worst thing she had ever been through? She removed her cherry lollypop from her mouth and stared straight ahead, just as he had been doing the first day they met. She knew what the right answer was, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually say it out loud. He never pressed her, he just let her gather her thoughts until she was ready to speak.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her hands on top. Maintaining her straightforward stare, she told him everything. She explained that her father was not only cold, but also mean. She told him of the numerous times she would hear her parents fighting in their bedroom. Mostly her father would yell and her mother would whimper responses when he deemed it necessary. If she gave the wrong response, the evidence was always visible the next day in a swollen cheek, busted lip, or bruised eye. There were times when she would hear her father forcing himself on his wife, the whole while her mother would be crying and pleading with him to stop. He never did. He was that kind of man. His needs came before anyone else’s…all of them. She was too young, at the time, to realize what was happening. As she got older, nothing changed and, though he never laid a hand on her, she was disgusted by his treatment of her mother. She told him as much one morning after her mother came downstairs still shaken from the night before. His response was that it was none of her business and that being married is about serving your husband in all aspects of life. That afternoon when she got home from school, she found her mother’s lifeless body in a pool of blood on her side of the bed. He had killed her in every way that a person could be killed, she had just finished the deed. It was recommended that she speak with a counselor, but her father would have none of that. He told her that it was all her fault, that her mother would still be here if she wasn’t such a selfish bratt.
Warm tears began to freely flow down her cheeks. She had never told anyone those things. He held her close as she rocked back and forth. He began to tell her of his own secrets. He told her that he felt that his parents still blamed him for his brother’s accident. He had been on the way to pick up his little brother after baseball practice when he was struck by a drunk driver. She could see that his parents didn’t need to blame him. He blamed himself enough. Ironically, he said his mother became an alcoholic who spent most days drinking herself numb. He spent a lot of his time alone, too, before he met her. He leaned in and brushed the tears away from her sage green eyes. Their faces were so close. He cupped his hand beneath her chin and brought their lips together, hers still tasting of cherry and salty tears. They knew they loved each other and at that very moment they wanted to express it in every way. They laid together in the golden shroud of the sunset and explored the new sensations of the experience they were about to share. He couldn’t help noticing how her whole body seemed to glow with a beauty that radiated from the inside out. He knew he had never loved anyone more.
******************************************************************
It had been months since they had been together. He hated leaving her the way he did and he knew she was wondering if he still cared. Eventually, it seemed she had moved on. He was invisible to her. He would have given anything to be able to stay with her on top of that hill forever, growing in love and laughter. He still followed her up to there, but she would never even look at him. He might as well not have been there, but still he stayed. He would sit next to her, not saying a word, just letting her exist. Sometimes she would cry and he could tell she was trying to hide her pain from him. She didn’t want him to see her this way. He would try to talk to her when he saw her out and about, but she just couldn’t talk to him. Not now.
One afternoon, as the wind began to have that chilly bite to it again, he saw her walking through the woods up the path to the hill. He followed her, as he always did, hoping this would be the day she would finally break her silence and they could be together again. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, just as she had that day so many months ago. He sat next to her, but she acted as if she didn’t notice. He moved closer. He told her that he was sorry for leaving without letting her know or saying goodbye and he promised he would never do it again. He told her that he loved her more than he had ever loved another person in his entire life. She still wouldn’t look at him and it all became too much for him to bear. He placed his hand on her cheek and a look of overwhelming emotion crossed her face. He kissed her forehead as she turned her head and looked in his direction.
She had never been the same after he died. She couldn’t even comprehend life without him. She had known everything about him, except that he had heart problems and was waiting on a donor. He was so beautiful. He looked so healthy. And now he was gone. There just wasn’t enough time. She loved him more than she had ever loved another person in her entire life. She loved him for seeing the beauty in her when she couldn’t see it herself, but mostly for loving her in return, and he felt it. He could move on, now, knowing she would be okay. He would protect her always. He put his arm around her shoulder and she curled into the warmth she felt there, as they sat together watching the golden orb dip lower and lower behind the horizon.
***************************************************************
She knew her life was very different than those of the kids at school. She never had a lot of friends and was never especially popular, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was used to being a loner and spent most of her time that way. Her life was like a record that had been put on loop, monotonously playing out the same actions until, one day, a walk home from school pinpointed her life in a totally different direction.
She was aware that new people had moved into the house parallel to her own. The moving trucks had come early one Saturday morning as she sat alone on top of the hill. The men spent the day unloading their stuff, box by box. She recalled that a new 1972 Chevrolet Impala sat in the driveway alongside an older model Cutlass. She had waited to catch a glimpse of the owners, but if they were there, they didn’t come out to lend a hand. She gave up and went about her business. Weeks passed and she never really gave it a second thought.
It was during that time of year when the air had a crispness about it and the setting sun gleamed behind freshly turned leaves of auburn and topaz, making it seem as if the trees were a blaze of Autumn. She saw him sitting Indian-style beneath the gigantic Oak tree in the front yard of the house next door to hers. There was something about the way he was just sitting there completely unoccupied, as if in his own world. That might have deterred some people, but not her. She knew that look, knew it personally. It was her look. She hadn’t yet come into his line of view, so she took advantage of the opportunity to fully glance him over. His curly locks of hair, dark as a raven, were blowing faintly in the late afternoon breeze. He stared straight ahead with eyes the color of Summer honey, which perfectly complimented his olive skin. His clothes we worn and tattered, in complete contrast to the two-story house behind him, but she got the feeling that he liked the statement he was making. She liked it too…and she liked him. She knew instinctively that somehow, he understood her- that he, too, had seen things in his life that no one should ever have to see.
As she walked past, he never even blinked an eye. She felt a pang in her heart at his lack of attention towards her. Deep down, she wasn’t surprised though. She knew she was no picture of beauty. Her plain brown hair hung limp and stringy down her back. She hated her eyes. They were the most boring, dull shade of green and she often thought they bore a striking resemblance to split pea soup. Her skin was neither fair, nor golden; just average. She was acutely aware that she lacked the womanly curves of other girls her age, but rarely let it bother her. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind that she failed to stick out in any obvious ways. She never strived to be noticed, but it was different with him. He didn’t strike her as the shallow, superficial type to care about stuff like that. She pressed on and turned to walk up her driveway, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was looking in her direction. So he had noticed. She turned towards him and offered a quick smile and was surprised to see him return the gesture. She faced back in the direction of which she had just come and walked into her house.
She was, what you would call, a latch-key kid. Her mother had died when she was fourteen and her father was always too busy attending charity events or going on business trips to bother actually being there for her. She suspected why that’s why she was so good at being alone. She was used to it. She came home to an empty house, went to sleep in an empty house, and awoke to a house still as empty as the night before. Even when her father was there, he might as well have not been. Their conversations consisted of three questions: “Are you keeping up your grades?” “Do you have plenty of food?” “Do you need any money?” That was it. It usually lasted about five minutes and that was if he was long winded. He would often go off, leaving nothing but a note behind explaining where he was.
She actually preferred when he was away, so she was pleased to come home to find the familiar yellow slip of paper on the kitchen counter. She glanced out the window to see that the boy had disappeared from beneath the tree. She dug some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge and ate it in front of the television, before going upstairs to her room. She crossed the room and raised the window to let in some of the cool night air. As she did, she couldn’t help but notice that she had a clear view into the boy’s window. This made her feel better somehow; less alone.
As the months passed, they slowly got to know each other; with her making the first move to introduce herself on one of the many days she saw him beneath the tree. She learned that he was originally from Texas and had a soft spot for Tex-Mex food. He told her of his love for the guitar, how he longed to write songs like Simon and Garfunkel, and that he favored the latter work of The Beatles rather than their early stuff. She told him about liking to write poetry and that she dreamed of having a novel published before she died. He listened as she talked about her admiration of Emily Dickenson. He asked what her favorite food was to which she responded, “Chinese.”
Little by little, they ventured into deeper territory. She took him to her favorite spot and they would spend countless hours lounging on the hillside, talking. He shared that he had an older brother who had died in a terrible car accident. She had wondered if he was an only child, but it seemed like the kind of personal question they had both been reserving for another time. She told him about her father and how she spent a lot of time alone. She told him about not ever really fitting in at school, but never bothering to care. He seemed both saddened and happy about her statement. Saddened because no one ever took the time to get to know her and happy because she was smart enough not to place her self-worth in the hands of other people. She had wondered why she hadn’t seen him at school and found out that he was a year older than she. He graduated the summer before and was trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. There was a connection between them that was undeniable and they both felt it. They spent most of their free time together either riding around in his old Cutlass or going for walks, but most often they would make the trek through the woods and up the hill, especially on Saturday mornings. That was their favorite.
As the weather warmed, they would often go up in the late afternoon to watch as the sun dipped down beneath the trees. She had an affinity for the sunrise and sunset, and he loved to watch her experience it. One afternoon in the early summer, as they sat letting the sun warm their faces, he asked her a question that was more personal than any other he had dared to ask. What was the worst thing she had ever been through? She removed her cherry lollypop from her mouth and stared straight ahead, just as he had been doing the first day they met. She knew what the right answer was, but she wasn’t sure if she could actually say it out loud. He never pressed her, he just let her gather her thoughts until she was ready to speak.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her hands on top. Maintaining her straightforward stare, she told him everything. She explained that her father was not only cold, but also mean. She told him of the numerous times she would hear her parents fighting in their bedroom. Mostly her father would yell and her mother would whimper responses when he deemed it necessary. If she gave the wrong response, the evidence was always visible the next day in a swollen cheek, busted lip, or bruised eye. There were times when she would hear her father forcing himself on his wife, the whole while her mother would be crying and pleading with him to stop. He never did. He was that kind of man. His needs came before anyone else’s…all of them. She was too young, at the time, to realize what was happening. As she got older, nothing changed and, though he never laid a hand on her, she was disgusted by his treatment of her mother. She told him as much one morning after her mother came downstairs still shaken from the night before. His response was that it was none of her business and that being married is about serving your husband in all aspects of life. That afternoon when she got home from school, she found her mother’s lifeless body in a pool of blood on her side of the bed. He had killed her in every way that a person could be killed, she had just finished the deed. It was recommended that she speak with a counselor, but her father would have none of that. He told her that it was all her fault, that her mother would still be here if she wasn’t such a selfish bratt.
Warm tears began to freely flow down her cheeks. She had never told anyone those things. He held her close as she rocked back and forth. He began to tell her of his own secrets. He told her that he felt that his parents still blamed him for his brother’s accident. He had been on the way to pick up his little brother after baseball practice when he was struck by a drunk driver. She could see that his parents didn’t need to blame him. He blamed himself enough. Ironically, he said his mother became an alcoholic who spent most days drinking herself numb. He spent a lot of his time alone, too, before he met her. He leaned in and brushed the tears away from her sage green eyes. Their faces were so close. He cupped his hand beneath her chin and brought their lips together, hers still tasting of cherry and salty tears. They knew they loved each other and at that very moment they wanted to express it in every way. They laid together in the golden shroud of the sunset and explored the new sensations of the experience they were about to share. He couldn’t help noticing how her whole body seemed to glow with a beauty that radiated from the inside out. He knew he had never loved anyone more.
******************************************************************
It had been months since they had been together. He hated leaving her the way he did and he knew she was wondering if he still cared. Eventually, it seemed she had moved on. He was invisible to her. He would have given anything to be able to stay with her on top of that hill forever, growing in love and laughter. He still followed her up to there, but she would never even look at him. He might as well not have been there, but still he stayed. He would sit next to her, not saying a word, just letting her exist. Sometimes she would cry and he could tell she was trying to hide her pain from him. She didn’t want him to see her this way. He would try to talk to her when he saw her out and about, but she just couldn’t talk to him. Not now.
One afternoon, as the wind began to have that chilly bite to it again, he saw her walking through the woods up the path to the hill. He followed her, as he always did, hoping this would be the day she would finally break her silence and they could be together again. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, just as she had that day so many months ago. He sat next to her, but she acted as if she didn’t notice. He moved closer. He told her that he was sorry for leaving without letting her know or saying goodbye and he promised he would never do it again. He told her that he loved her more than he had ever loved another person in his entire life. She still wouldn’t look at him and it all became too much for him to bear. He placed his hand on her cheek and a look of overwhelming emotion crossed her face. He kissed her forehead as she turned her head and looked in his direction.
She had never been the same after he died. She couldn’t even comprehend life without him. She had known everything about him, except that he had heart problems and was waiting on a donor. He was so beautiful. He looked so healthy. And now he was gone. There just wasn’t enough time. She loved him more than she had ever loved another person in her entire life. She loved him for seeing the beauty in her when she couldn’t see it herself, but mostly for loving her in return, and he felt it. He could move on, now, knowing she would be okay. He would protect her always. He put his arm around her shoulder and she curled into the warmth she felt there, as they sat together watching the golden orb dip lower and lower behind the horizon.
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