Through Rain

The Rules of Christmas [for Aye]

2008-12-20T16:18:32Z

Intro: "Christmastime is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio

Rule #1: Relax.
"Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight" by Amos Lee

Rule #2: Let yourself be surprised.
"The Christmas Song" by Owl City

Rule #3: Wear that holiday sweater. [If only for a cheap laugh! :D]
"I Wanna Take You Out In Your Holiday Sweater" by PAS/CAL

Rule #4: Embrace the magic.
"La Valse d'Amélie (Version Orchestre)" by Yann Tiersen

Rule #5: Laugh.
"Silver Bells" by Benji Cossa

Rule #6: Try not to break any hearts.
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" by Death Cab for Cutie

Rule #7: Sleep in heavenly peace. [IE: Don't you dare set that alarm clock.]
"Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence" by Ryuichi Sakamoto

Rule #8: If all else fails, there's always Christmas in July.
"Christmas In July" by Sufjan Stevens

Flash

2008-09-13T18:08:32Z

"We were married for sixty-two and a half years. Even when she was in the hospital I went and visited her every single day. Every single day. It's so different being alone. It's so different being in our house alone."

Stanley, an old friend of the family whose wife just died this summer, is in our kitchen. My mom made him grilled cheese for lunch because he has trouble cooking for himself. Then he started talking and talking... I had to leave the room and now I can't stop crying. I wish I could describe how empty his voice sounded.

Life is merely a flash.

How to Live Underwater

2008-09-04T22:54:02Z

The pipes leaked
and I learned to live underwater
but I dislike how it makes my
tea weak and my
mascara run.

I suspected the rain
would become eyelet snow
but the culprit would not
reveal itself too soon.

Soaked pages of
a textbook love
were stolen and replaced by
cryptic dreams.

Oh, the espionage
that goes on within my own head
how it makes my
knees weak and my
thoughts undone.

Patience

2008-07-31T00:58:35Z

I love people.

"I'm just a kid with a heavy heart these passing sunrises and sunsets."

Sometimes you meet folks that just restore your faith in humanity.
These kinds come and go, of course.
But once you've seen,
you know they exist.
And, as such,
You know there are more to come.

SHE: "If you died today, what would you want your epitaph to be?"
HIM: "When my father & mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."
[&She still can't believe that he didn't even miss a beat.]

Timeline

2008-07-27T02:53:13Z

I am going to spend most of next week working on my applications. I think I am going to apply to my grandparents' [very selective] alma mater, just to see what happens. The school is perfect for me, but there is absolutely no guarantee that I would get in and that scares me. I keep reminding myself that by November this will all be over. By May I will have chosen and it will all be taken care of.

Twelve months from now I will be moving out. I am clinging to this last year like no other. Though I have complained about everything here for the last seventeen years, I am just starting to realize how much it means to me...even though I am excited to make a new start somewhere else. I am not scared anymore, just sad to leave friends.

Honestly, this summer has me in the best mood, though. Work is slow, but I savor it. The weather is hot and gives me migraines, but feel glad that I am not confined to my house like in the winter months.

I run, I write, I plan, I laugh too much. There is only one thing missing.

Such a perfect day

2008-07-24T02:44:37Z

+I had dinner with my favorite teacher tonight. She retired [again] and is very silly, because she is actually still working. She wrote her own job description and everything. "I only have to put in ten hours a week! But I'll probably work more like forty." MAN. She is definitely kind of immortal. She was telling me how she saw the Von Trapps on tour after WWII. It was quite amusing.

+I have two violin students now. They are quite adorable. Maybe it's just the patience of God in me, but I actually kind of like working with kids. Who knew?

+I tallied up what I've made in the past two weeks from violin-related things [weddings, lessons, etc] and it's about $400. Seoul, here I come!

+I am talking to a Pittsburgh friend that I haven't heard much from all summer. It's nice catching up.

+Nine days till Breaking Dawn.

+I keep having dreams about what it would be like to live in Iran. I am just so curious as to what it would be like to live in an Islamic country. It seems like every cultural nuance familiar to me would just be so upside down there...or something.

+Tomorrow I am working, reading, and decorating my school notebooks. :D

Proper

2008-07-10T16:19:19Z

"Hello mister. Wanna see my new telephone? 'Cause I'm dying for a proper hello."

Fill in the blanks

2008-07-05T13:08:39Z

A survey for you. :]

1.Name:
2.Birthday:
3.Where do you live:
4.IM:
5.What are you studying/What are you working as:
6.What makes you happy:
7.What are you listening to now/have listened to last:
8.What is particularly good/bad about my LJ:
9.An interesting fact about you:
10.Are you in love/have a crush at the moment:
11.Favorite place to be:
12.Favorite lyric:
13. Best time of the year:
14.Weirdest food you like:

RECOMMEND
1.A film:
2.A book:
3.A song:
4.A band:

PLUS
1.One thing you like about me:
2.Two things you like about yourself:
3.Put this in your lj so I can tell you what I think of you?

Mix #1: Stuck

2008-07-03T12:58:41Z

01: Can't Go Back Now by The Weepies
02: Rewind by Paolo Nutini
03: Beautiful Mess [Acoustic] by Jason Mraz
04: Summer in the City by Regina Spektor
05: Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love by Coldplay

Thunderheads and thunderbirds

2008-06-07T21:28:40Z

I.
There are thunderheads
& thunderbirds
over my house today.
& I cannot tell their sounds apart
but I can tell you they are very loud.
My rain dance in the garden worked.

II.
I don't like getting my hair wet
so I watch the weather from inside
& drink my peach tea
thinking about how you taught me not to cry
by making me cry
& how that is really the only thing
that I am grateful to you for
anymore.

Fruit Salad Oddity; a poem

2008-06-03T00:14:50Z

I forgot the color green
in a maze of thirty-degree months
till the exam room closed
till my Korean friend left for home
till humidity aroused my
hip-clinging shorts;
bare toes;
pretty dresses;
naked back;
taste buds [banana-blueberry-strawberry
peach?]
a summer [fruit salad] oddity;

Will Apologize: A Christmas Story

2007-12-08T16:39:05Z

I sit upon a stool at the counter in my grandmother's kitchen and watch the door open and close. My Midwestern relatives spill in, some with dogs, others with children, others with boyfriends. Gifts in hand, they smile and embrace one another.

They pretend that everything is okay, and, I suppose, it is…for right now. Though, I have been hearing about my aunt's brain cancer all year, and she has lost all her hair since the last time I saw her. I don't like to gawk, so instead I watch my little cousin, who has just lost his first tooth, chase his tiny dog around the living room.

Dinner is set out and I make conversation with my other cousins, who seem somewhat distant to me. One of them will be graduating from high school this spring. The other will be a freshman next year and has still not mastered his table manners quite yet. He picks at his food worriedly because he is allergic to everything.

After we finish eating, one of my aunts brings out Swedish food she has made for my grandpa, who was born there. She is Italian. Then we go into the living room to open presents. My grandparents don't have a tree, so they just pile the gifts by the back door. My cousins and I have to pass them all out to the adults. None of us get anything good, and then we go back into the kitchen to have pie. Pumpkin or pecan.

We sit around talking for hours, and then it is time to leave. I fall asleep listening to Christmas music in the car, because I have been wanting to listen to some all day. Unfortunately, my grandparents do not own any sort of musical device (except for their old piano, which has been in my house since I was eight). All in all, it has been a good day. In time the snow will deepen, and I will forget all of my family's quirks. And I will learn to love. And I will apologize.

Casimir Pulaski Day

2007-12-08T16:35:16Z

Golden rod and the 4-H stone
The things I brought you
When I found out you had cancer of the bone

Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car to the Navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry

In the morning through the window shade
When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading

Oh the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth

Tuesday night at the bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens

I remember at Michael's house
In the living room when you kissed my neck
And I almost touched your blouse

In the morning at the top of the stairs
When your father found out what we did that night
And you told me you were scared

Oh the glory when you ran outside
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
And you told me not to follow you

Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
With the pictures of your mother

On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom

In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window

In the morning in the winter shade
On the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing

Oh the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window

Oh the glory when He took our place
But He took my shoulders and he shook my face
And He takes and He takes and He takes

Back and forth I rocked, clutching the tiny silver picture frame to my chest, pausing every so often to dab my puffy, tear streaked face with wads of toilet paper. I could feel the cold tile through my jeans as I sat on the floor of the hospital bathroom, sobbing. After a few moments, I tipped my head back against the side of the stall, staring up at the milky white ceiling. I cupped my mouth to avoid making any more noise than I had to, inwardly screaming instead. How could He take her away from me? After everything we’ve gone through?

My mind wandered back to that last, evanescent glimpse I’d had of her a few minutes ago, her chest slowly falling for the last time, her eyes closing forever. It had seemed so surreal, like I was watching her die through someone else’s eyes… I had just stepped into the room with a little present for her, like I did every morning, but today everything had gone wrong. I knew this day had been coming for months, but I had never gotten around to thinking about what it would actually be like, feel like…

I braved a glance at the picture I was holding, tears starting to stream out of my eyes again as I looked at it. She was so perfect then. Her skin wasn’t as grey and dried out; she still had that lovely strawberry blonde hair that sprawled across her pale shoulders in perfect spirals. The photograph had been taken the night we’d met for the first time. We both looked so happy. And why wouldn’t we have? She was my first real love, and I was hers. I still couldn’t believe how much everything had changed in only a few years’ time.

I could still remember everything about that night with perfect clarity. We were both at a party that most incoming seniors were invited to, and she had just transferred to my school. She’d had a pink ribbon in her hair and was wearing a plain white skirt and a pretty green shirt. She walked up to me with an enchanting overconfidence in herself, and before she even spoke to me I just knew that I could never love anyone like I loved her. Her smile was so welcoming, even though I’d never seen anybody like her before in my life. There was no comparison between her and the other girls I’d known. Simply a glimpse of her made my heart flutter, made it hard to breathe. In only that first moment I knew I could never forget her.

Early on we’d found out that her father, her only living parent, was quite wary me, which wasn’t too big of a surprise. I was her first boyfriend, and it was only natural that he felt that way. We also may have been a bit overly fixated with each other, but we couldn’t help that. We figured that we just as easily could have never met, and thus concluded that it was fate.

The summer after we graduated from high school, I got a job in the Navy yard, needing awhile to save up enough money for college. We spent most of those warm evenings sitting together on the porch swing at her house, talking for hours…but as the cold air of fall began to blow across the state she began to change. Her complexion grew paler by the day, she got tired easily, and she started to accumulate strange bruises that wouldn’t go away.

I finally persuaded her to visit the doctor after a few weeks, but on the day of her appointment I had to work, so I couldn’t go with. I’d felt badly about that, wanting to be there for her, but I convinced myself that everything would be fine.

At this point, I shook myself from my thoughts, realizing that I’d been sitting in the bathroom for over an hour now. I slowly stood, feeling dizzy and completely drained. I walked out of the stall and went over to the sink and splashed cool water on my face, carefully balancing the frame between my knees as I did so. I took a good look at myself in the dirty mirror after patting my face dry with a rough paper towel. A part of me seemed gone without her.

I headed out into the hallway, back towards the room she’d been confined to for so many purposeless months. I silently sat down next to her father in our usual chairs, now staring at the empty bed. We’d spent uncountable hours here in silence together, just watching her read or sleep.

As we sat there with each other for the last time, I let my thoughts wander back to the day she had been diagnosed. I had been summoned away from the boat I was working on to take an important phone call. Her father told me he would pick me up at the yard, and then simply broke down over the phone. I couldn’t understand a word he said after that, but I knew things had turned out much worse at the doctor’s than I’d expected them to be. In retrospect, I barely had a clue what a horrifying ride we were all in for…all those quiet, lonely nights at her bedside with my Bible, pleading for God to find some way to bring her back to me…reading that long, final letter to me with those black and white pictures of her mother…

“I can’t believe she’s really gone,” he finally murmured, drawing me away from my thoughts, his eyes unmoving. I could tell he had been crying, too. The whites of his eyes were completely red. “I know the doctor said it was inevitable… I just never really thought the day would come…”

“I know,” I replied softly. “I didn’t either.”

“You’re a good man, sticking by her through all this. She needed that,” he told me, swallowing hard.

I nodded. “I should go get some fresh air,” I told him timidly, standing all of a sudden.

He gave me an understanding half-smile, then pulled a tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose as I left.

I shoved the frame into my pocket before I headed outside, buttoning my coat up as the frigid March breeze began to blow. I walked for awhile before sitting down on a bench at the edge of a park, taking a deep breath. The cold wind stung my cheeks, which were still raw from all the crying I had done earlier. I absently slid my fingers up and down the smooth sides of the frame in my pocket as I slowly turned around to glance at the statue behind me that I’d barely noticed before. The inscription said it was of Casimir Pulaski, a Polish general who apparently did something worthy of getting us Illinois kids out of school for a day each year, I remembered. I felt a strangely comforting heat on the back of my neck as the sun started to peak out from behind the clouds.

That’s when I realized that it was March first, the date on the statue. “That’s odd,” I murmured to myself, turning back around, suddenly noticing the young woman who had just sat down on the opposite end of the bench. She smiled warmly and found, in spite of myself, that I had managed to return the gesture. Maybe there really would be a close second after all…

Therapy

2007-12-08T16:32:14Z

“No, I’m here talking to you, remember?”

“When did you first meet?”

“It was when I was ten. I remember that it was a Wednesday in April. It was cloudy out… She was sitting all alone on the edge of the playground, chewing at the edges of an Oreo cookie. My older brother had the only correct way to eat one was to twist it so that it broke into halves. Then you were supposed to lick the frosting off, eat the sides, and then wash it down with a glass of white milk. So, being the gentleman that I was, I walked over to her and sat down. I opened her little carton of chocolate milk for her and showed her the right way to eat one. I told her that the chocolate milk wasn’t exactly right, but I didn’t think that it mattered too much.”

“What did she say?”

“She gave me two cookies and took out another one for herself…and we just sat and ate them.”

“Was that when you became friends?”

“No… It was on the bus during freshman year. Mark wasn’t there that day, so I sat by her… She was listening to her headphones, so I asked if I could look through her CD’s, and she said that I could. They were all the same as mine.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, she started to hang out with Mark and me. Y’know, at school and at lunch and stuff. We went to movies almost every weekend. She and I wrote reviews of them together for the school paper. Everybody loved them. We were always funny when we were with each other.”

“When did all the problems start?”

“Her dad…he left her alone a lot. She never really knew for sure where he was. The first time I asked about her parents she just started sobbing right in front of me. Her mother died when she was young…and she hated talking about her dad. I don’t think she even knew much about him. She told me she drank…or even took pills when he was gone because it helped with the pain. I held her while she cried, but deep down she was scaring me…”

“Did you tell anybody about this? Or try to help her at all?”

“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Mark…but I told her that whenever he was gone that she could come over to my house. I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“What was she like when she came over during those times?”

“She…she cried. A lot…and so did I, sometimes. One time she had a bruise on her face, but she wouldn’t talk to me about it. Usually she came over around seven. She’d just come up to my room, sometimes without even ringing the doorbell,” I said, laughing slightly at the memory. “It scared the hell out of me when she’d just burst in, a huge mess, but I’d let her cry on me every single time. Her hair smelled good.” I felt tears welling up behind my eyes.

“Did she ever exhibit a change in behavior?”

“When we were juniors she started to learn how to keep it inside more…but you could tell she was in pain from just looking at her. The way her eyes drooped slightly and her mouth was always in a tight, thin line. She stopped coming over as often then, but I knew she was just finally getting used to being left alone.”

“Tell me about that night.”

I drew in a deep breath. I’d been waiting for that question. “She’d come over to have a cry, I presumed. When she came into my room she smelled like I don’t even know what. I asked her what she’d had and how much… She couldn’t answer me. Her eyes just kept on rolling around my room like she didn’t know where she was. Her eyes were bruised-looking and bloodshoot… and her face was pale… I held her, like I usually did when she came over, but I could tell she couldn’t recognize me. She didn’t struggle at all though, like she knew it was her time…but I didn't know. My heart… was beating so fast… I didn’t know what I should do,” I said, finally letting my tears fall. “She sort of went limp in my arms after a few minutes and her eyes locked with mine. I could hear her breathing get kind of wheezy, but I still didn’t do anything. I was too afraid to move. She touched my cheek after a moment and her hands were freezing… I-I put my hand over hers…and she just…died, right there,” I finished. By now I was covering my face up with my hands, letting out choked sobs. After a few long moments I managed to pull myself together a bit. I wiped my face on my sleeves.

“And what happened with you?”

“After the funeral I tried to get over it. I reasoned that things were just finally going back to normal now. It was just me and Mark…how it used to be. I wouldn’t let myself cry over her anymore. I just tried to deal with it.”

“Did it work?”

throughrain @ 2007-12-08T10:06:00

2007-12-08T16:11:26Z

In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh, it has begun...
Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must've crossed, you said…

You don't know me, you don't even care,
You don't know me, you don't wear my chains...

Essential and appealed, carry all your thoughts across
an open field,
When flowers gaze at you...they're not the only ones who cry
when they see you
You said...

You don't know me, you don't even care,
You don't know me, you don't wear my chains...

She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly ‘em out to Spain...

Yeah, I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice
Boston...where no one knows my name...

In the Light of the Sun:

The young man’s messy, dark brown-almost-black hair blew in the breeze as he walked across the long bridge high above the ocean. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the pungent odor of exhaust from the cars zipping by. He sighed happily a moment later, his lips curling into an ecstatic, crooked smile as he surveyed the towering masses of metal, concrete, and cable above him. For all he cared, the fumes from the cars could’ve been an unending field of wildflowers. This job already seemed like heaven to him.

“Are you Parker Covington?” An older black man sitting in the back of a pickup truck next to a giant can of orange vermillion paint asked him.

“That’s me,” he nodded uneasily. Parker always felt strange meeting new people, and rightfully so, as he was often first perceived as a very awkward fellow. He was a little over six feet and extremely lanky. Although he was well out of his teenage years by now, it still seemed as if he hadn’t grown into his large, clumsy hands and feet yet. His ears were a bit oversized, but luckily hidden by his shaggy hair, and there was a small bump on the bridge of his narrow nose before the rest of it angled downward, and then flared up just the tiniest bit at the tip.

“We’re glad to have you,” the man told Parker after studying him closely for a minute. “Why don’t you set your lunch in here,” he paused to slap the top of a cooler, “and then have a seat while we wait for the other guys to show up. I’m Al, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Parker replied, a grateful sort of admiration visible in his deep, chocolate brown eyes. He set the small paper bag he’d been carrying inside the bright blue insulated box before flopping down onto the ground next to the truck.

“How old are you, son?”

“I just turned twenty-three last month,” he answered.

“And you’re married already!? My grandson, he’s-“

“Oh, no, it’s just a promise ring,” Parker quickly clarified, glancing embarrassedly down at the small gold band on his left ring finger. “My girlfriend makes me wear it. She’s kind of paranoid…”

“D’you wear that thing all the time?” Al seemed amused by the idea.

He blushed, nodding slightly.

“Ah well, girls are funny that way,” he chuckled, rubbing his calloused hands together as he hopped down off the bed of the truck. “Parker, I’d like you to meet Jim and Anil,” he said, motioning to two men who’d just arrived, both holding large drinks from the gas station down the road.

“Just call me Neil,” the Indian-looking fellow told him through a thick accent, smiling a little.

“Okay… It’s nice to meet you both,” he said, extending his hand to each of them. Neil gave him an awkward high five, not quite realizing what his new coworker was doing. Jim laughed madly and shook Parker’s hand.

“Alright, let’s get to work,” Al said, handing Neil one of the cans of paint.

- - -

“I’m home, sweetheart,” Parker called hours later, slowly shuffling inside towards the couch and then flopping down on his back. He sighed a softly, letting his entire body relax as he stared up at the ceiling of the cramped little apartment they shared.

“How was your first day?” Leila asked with a grin as she came into the room a moment later.

“Fine… Just long,” he replied smiling faintly at her. He pulled up his feet, which had been hanging off the end of the couch, so she could sit down, then rested them across her lap as soon as she had done so.

“Did you wear sunscreen?”

“No,” Parker answered sheepishly. On the bus ride home he’d noticed how pink his cheeks were in the reflection of a woman’s oversized, silver sunglasses.

Leila sighed exasperatedly. “Well, do you notice anything different?”

“Um…” He squinted, looking closely at her. “You got your hair done.”

“No, it’s not about me this time,” she laughed, her red curls making her seem even more perky than usual.

Parker glanced around the room for a few moments before his gaze finally settled on her again. “Okay, I give up…”

“I got us new curtains!” She beamed, motioning towards the windows.

“Oh… They look really, really nice,” he told her half-heartedly, not really in the mood for her to go on a new fix-it-up rampage so soon. They just didn’t have the money for another one yet.

“You hate them,” Leila said quietly, her smile disappearing instantly.

“No, they’re great… I’m just too tired to be enthusiastic about anything right now…”

She nodded a little. He could tell she still didn’t believe him. “What do you want for dinner? Are banana and cheese sandwiches alright?” She asked him with a soft sigh, getting up and heading into their tiny kitchen.

Parker couldn’t help but laugh, realizing how ridiculous they both were. “That sounds really good,” he smiled. “I mean it.”

- - -

The next day Parker returned to work, only to find out that he’d be working on painting one of the highest points of the bridge with Neil. Standing in a little booth more than five hundred feet above the ocean all day was a rather interesting way to force two people to get to know each other.

“So, where in India are you from?” Parker asked after a few minutes of silence, unable to take it any longer. He was already starting to regret that he’d forgotten to wear sun block yet again. His cheeks still stung from the sunburn he had acquired the day before.

“Bombay, originally,” Neil answered. “I went to school in a bigger city to become an engineer. Then I came here.”

“…And now you’re painting bridges?”

He shrugged slightly. “This and my other job pay for night school. I need to take more classes and learn English better to become an engineer here. But then I’ll be able to build bridges of my own,” he smiled.

Parker smiled back. “That’s really great,” he told him.

“What about you?” Neil asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know, what will you do?”

“Oh, well… I don’t really know yet… I’ve kind of been in this band since high school, and we had a lot of fans and everything, but we broke up last fall,” Parker started. Before long, he found that he’d told Neil everything. Everything, from how he met Clark and Daniel, to their first show, to Leila, to their popular indie records and nationwide tours, to the breakup… This man, who was practically a stranger, now knew everything that made up the person he was and had become. And Parker wasn’t even sure that he spoke enough English to understand it all.

“You don’t play guitar anymore?” He asked when Parker had finally finished rambling.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I mean, I can, physically…but mentally I can’t do it anymore. It just makes me dwell on how it’ll never work out.”

“Maybe you should just listen, not think?” Neil suggested.

“It won’t work…” Parker replied with a sad smile. “I’ve already tried everything.”

- - -

That night Parker lay in bed, struggling to concentrate on the passage in the Bible he was reading. His mind kept wandering back to his indie rocker days, where, as a Christian, he’d been quite a novelty to the scene. Most musicians he played shows with and befriended were either atheists, or were engaged in some sort of strange eastern religion that they most obviously weren’t brought up participating in.

When interviewed by all the small, under the radar magazines he would never deny his faith. However, he would give his opinion on the perception of the Church in America, which was that the majority of the country had reduced the philosophy and religious consciousness to a set of principles, instead of what the heart of it was: service, love, generosity, and, in general, a yielding of your own will for other people. He was as straight edge as the rest of the bands he played with, wanting to keep a clear mind and healthy body, but the fact that people found it a bit odd that he also wanted to be healthy spiritually as well really got to him sometimes.

Then again, I’d always been a bit misunderstood, he thought, setting his Bible on the nightstand and switching off the light. He pulled Leila’s pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise she was making as she showered in the bathroom nearby, shrieking when she noticed a spider on the wall, dropping the shampoo bottle, singing some of Parker’s old songs slightly off-key… For as much as he loved Leila, he also found himself equally infuriated by her sometimes.

After about five minutes of his lame attempt to fall asleep, Parker got up and threw a thin tee shirt on, then rushed into the living room. He sat down in the tiny space between an overstuffed chair and the bookshelf, forcing the chair to skid backwards a bit to accommodate him. He carefully pulled out a crate full of records, willfully flipping through them, completely bent on finding a certain one…

He smiled a little as he found it near the back of the stack, pulling it out and dusting it off a bit. I want this, he told himself as he got up and went back into the bedroom. No, I need this.

Parker pulled the vinyl out of the album flat and placed it on the record player. He sat down on the edge of the bed, propping his arms up on his knees as he held his head, staring at the player. “I made this when I was eighteen,” he murmured, smiling to himself, in awe of the words and sounds he was listening to. They were so familiar, but at the same time so forgotten and alien… How had he ever found it within himself to write such a beautiful piece of music?

He laughed slightly a moment later, as Leila started to sing the song he was currently listening to, her words matching up almost perfectly with the record as it played, except they were all sung about two notes higher.

As Parker continued to listen to his record, he eventually ended up lying back down again. Leila, who took ridiculously long showers, was still in the bathroom when the song came on…the one that instantly brought tears to his eyes, no matter what mood or situation he was in.

It was one of the first songs he had ever written. In fact, he distinctly remembered the cold, rainy night he’d recorded it on a tape machine in the basement of his parents’ house, taking extra care to be quiet enough not to wake anyone. He had written it for his older sister, Michelle, who had run away from home one day, never to be found again. He had been twelve when it happened, and she nineteen. From then on the family had become the center of all the gossip in the tiny Connecticut town they lived in.

He and Michelle had their fair share of fights growing up, but what he hated most about her now was all the uncertainty she caused him to have, every single day since she left. He liked to imagine that she had run away to Boston and had ended up with some kind, simple man, but he had no real way of knowing. Every once in awhile he’d convince himself that she’d been brutally killed in some bad part of New York, only to realize soon after how horrid he was to think that. In essence, she had condemned him to a constant state of bipolarity for the remainder of his life.

Leila returned to the bedroom a half hour later, only to find her boyfriend sprawled on his stomach with a pillow covering his head. At first she suppressed a scream, but then giggled quietly to herself as she noticed him breathe. She sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully lifting the pillow to reveal his pale, tearstained face. “Not Michelle again…” She murmured, leaning down to softly kiss his temple as he slept. “You’ve got to let go sometime,” she whispered with a sigh, flicking off the light before lying down next to him.

You Don’t Wear My Chains:

Parker sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror the next morning, frustratedly attempting to put sunscreen on his raw skin. He gave up after a few minutes, grabbing his lunch on the way out the door. He caught the bus on the corner and before he knew it was painting the bridge again, this time with Jim.

“So, I hear you’re a musician,” he said, the light brown stubble on his face suddenly illuminated in the glowing sunlight.

“Yeah,” Parker replied, smiling faintly, glancing over at him out of corner of his eye.

Their eyes met, and Jim could immediately tell that he’d hit upon a sore subject. Something inside him, however, made him want to know a bit more, though. “I was, too… When I was younger,” he told Parker, looking back to the column on the bridge he was painting, quickly finishing the spot he was working on covering up. He pulled back a bit, and then took a long hard look at the young man beside him. “Guitar?” He asked.

“Hmm?!” Parker asked, startled from his work.

“You played guitar, didn’t you?”

“Oh! Uhm, yes… I did,” he said, smiling embarrassedly. For some reason, talking with his coworker about this felt like discussing puberty with his father: horrifically awkward.

Jim laughed softly. “I figured as much. I can’t pinpoint what it is about you, but I could tell... You’ve just got the air, I guess,” he said, patting him on the back. “I played, too.”

Parker did a double take, but then he could almost see it. “You’re not…Jim O’Rourke… Are you?” He asked hesitantly, an expression of mixed fear and adoration on his face.

“So you have heard of me,” Jim grinned.

“The first thought I had when I met you was that you looked like him!” Parker laughed. “Er, you,” he added sheepishly.

“I’m not as recognizable without the glasses, am I?” He chuckled.

“No,” he admitted. “But what happened? After you left The Sonic Youth, I mean… I practically worshipped you guys when I was in high school!”

“Well, you know how it goes. Things went wrong.”

“But weren’t you going to pursue film or something?” Parker asked. “It sounded like you had it all planned and everything.”

He shrugged. “I made it to Hollywood and things fell through, so I came here.”

“I’m sorry,” he told Jim, his eyes honest.

“Oh, don’t be. I’d already tried everything,” he laughed, turning back to his work.

Parker looked over at him, unable to help but grin.

I’m Tired of the Sunset:

“I couldn’t believe it, Leila!” Parker laughed madly. “I mean, me, painting the bridge…with Jim O’Rourke!”

“That is pretty weird,” she giggled, shaking her head, finding it cute that he’d told her the story at least three times now. “Well, hurry up and eat! You don’t want to be late for your jam session!”

“Ewww… Sweetheart, please, don’t call it that,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “We’re just playing…”

“Jamming, whatever…” She said, waving a hand dismissively, as she cleared her place.

Parker rolled his eyes, following her. Leila turned around and glanced down at his full plate. “Eat!” She told him forcefully.

“C’mon, I’m going to play with like, my hero,” he whined. “I can’t eat anything… I’m too excited!”

“All right, but just this once,” Leila sighed. “We can’t afford to be wasting all this food anymore.”

He couldn’t help but snort as he heard that. As if she should be the one to talk about being able to afford things… “I promise I’ll eat six meals tomorrow!” He called teasingly, grabbing his guitar case then heading for the door. “See you later!”

This World You Must’ve Crossed:

Parker arrived at Jim’s apartment about a half hour later, due to traffic. He was surprised to find that the building was quite similar to the bland one he lived in. Rock stars apparently never get much luxury treatment, he gathered. As usual, he hardly noticed that he was belittling his own career in his mind.

“It’s open!” Jim called in a pleasantly surprised voice from behind the door. “I didn’t think you’d come…” He told the young man with a knowing smirk. “I’m glad you did, though. I was just listening to one of your records. I had forgotten how good it was!”

Parker shook his head slightly to clear his churning thoughts. “You…have one of my albums!?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly out of pure shock as he asked the question.

“Who doesn’t?” He laughed, walking across the rather uniquely decorated living room to the kitchen.

Parker just smiled a little, setting his guitar case down, and then standing up straight again, his hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets.

“Want something to drink?” Jim asked him, opening a cabinet to get a glass out.

“Oh, um, no thanks,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

“More for me, then!” He laughed.

For a moment, Parker was horrified by the notion that his hero was some raving alcoholic…but was comforted when he noticed that Jim was only pouring himself a large glass of green tea, as odd as it seemed.

“So, how long has it been since you wrote a song?” He asked Parker. “It seemed like you were on a roll a few years back…” He said, stirring his tea.

“Not since then,” he admitted with an uneasy laugh as they headed back into the other room. There was a long, awkward pause, and he knew that Jim was waiting for him to finish. “Everything I try sounds wrong and I’m terrified of ever getting up onstage again,” he shrugged.

Jim didn’t seem fazed by this. “I’m sure we can fix that,” he said simply, taking a sip, and then setting his cup down on a nearby end table. “Let’s get to work,” he smiled.

An Open Field:

“Gosh, Leila, it was just… I mean, he had one of my albums! He was listening to it when I came! He said it was really good! And he remembered that they used to call me ‘rock’s boy genius,’” Parker gushed later that night, beaming at his girlfriend as they lay in bed.

“That’s great,” she replied sleepily, rolling onto her side to face him. “Can I sleep now?”

“Yes, of course, but-“ He was just about to continue obsessing when he was cut off by a strange noise. “What was that?”

“What?” She asked, yawning.

The noise came again. And again. “That!” He exclaimed, his face suddenly becoming stern as he realized what she had done. “Leila… Please tell me you didn’t…” He trailed off, sitting up.

“Didn’t what?” She asked in a strangely firm voice, sitting up as well. “Parker, you’re never home anymore! Or, if you are, you’re just talking my ear off the whole time. I can’t help it, okay? I need some company! You haven’t so much as kissed me in the past three days, do you realize that!?”

“I just kissed you goodnight not even fifteen minutes ago,” he reminded her, confused as to what this was all about.

“But not a real kiss…I mean, it was on the cheek, for crying out loud! That was more like how you would’ve kissed Jim O’Rourke, had you gotten the chance,” she shouted.

“What on earth are you talking about? I don’t want to kiss Jim,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

Parker nodded slowly. “Now, will you please explain to me why you did this?” He pleaded.

“Because I miss you,” she told him innocently, pulling her knees up to her chest, her eyes filling with tears.

He was about to start giving her the ‘if-you-would-actually-look-for-a-job-then-maybe-you-wouldn’t-be-so-lonely-during-the-day-and-we-wouldn’t-be-so-dirt-poor-all-the-time’ lecture yet again, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He simply sighed and wrapped his arms around her, whispering, “If I promise to work hard at being better to you, will you bring the puppy back tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “I already named her,” she said stubbornly.

“Well, what do you want me to do, then?” He asked, used to Leila’s routine by now. If she really had her mind set on something, then he would have to do even better in order for them to get her compromise.

“Write songs again,” she murmured, staring down at the bed.

“What?” He asked, a bit surprised by the request.

“Write me something!” She begged, finally looking him in the eyes. “Anything! I don’t care if they’re songs about how much you hate me. I can’t stand seeing you this sad all the time,” she cried.

“What? Sweetheart, I don’t hate you…and I’m not sad…” He said, getting onto his knees, brushing away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Don’t lie to me!” She screamed, smacking his hand away, shaking because she was so upset. “You’ve looked content at best since we moved here…and last night I find you asleep with your eyes all red from crying. I can’t take this anymore! You’ve got to forget her. She’s never going to come back,” she sobbed.

Parker’s insides felt like they’d exploded. He wanted to yell. He almost even wanted to hit Leila for telling him that. But he didn’t. “I know,” he whispered after a long, tension-filled moment.

“What?” She said softly, slowly looking up at him.

“You’re right,” he shrugged, surprisingly emotionless. “I’ll go write you those songs,” he said, getting out of bed and throwing on a sweatshirt, then leaving the bedroom.

“What?” She repeated in a whisper, shaking her head, now even more confused. She groaned and flopped onto her back, not even entirely sure of what had just happened.

I Need a Sunrise:

Parker turned on the coffeemaker, and then went into the living room. He rummaged through the little desk in the corner, and finally found his black notebook and favorite pen. He tossed them onto the table when he returned into the kitchen, then stood anxiously by the counter, waiting for his coffee to be finished.

As soon as he’d gotten a cup or two through his system he began writing fervently. Around four in the morning he got out his guitar and wrote out all the chords that had been bouncing around in his head, just double checking to make sure they sounded right. For some reason, just being asked, being truly needed had struck him as inspiring.

He returned to bed at six-thirty and slept until eight-thirty, which was when he usually had to get up. He didn’t bother to shower, shave, or even get dressed that morning, however. He simply grabbed notebook, put on some flip-flops, and headed for the bus stop.

“Jim, I DID IT!” He exclaimed, breaking into a run as he saw his friend arrive to work, awhile later. “I have a whole album, even more, right here!” He panted once he’d reached him.

“Oh, come on, Parker, you don’t need to make me feel good about myself,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s obvious I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher or anything, either. I-“ He stopped as he opened the notebook. He leafed through it, his eyes widening. “My God, you weren’t kidding!” He said, visibly stunned.

“No,” he beamed, laughing madly.

Jim smiled a little, finding Parker a bit scary in his current state. “Well, I think you owe Daniel and Clark a phone call,” he chuckled, handing the notebook back to him.

“You mean, like, get the band back together?” Parker asked, bewildered. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“It’s worth a try. I’m sure they’d at least come see you if you told them you’ve got new material. I doubt either of them is doing too well on their own,” Jim offered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” he nodded. “That sounds like- yeah, I’ll do that,” he babbled distractedly.

“I take it you’re not going to be working today?” Jim asked, laughing awkwardly. He couldn’t tell if Parker was just on a caffeine high, or some other type, but was glad that, whichever it was, it seemed to be working for him.

“No, probably not working. I’ve got to call them! I’m going to call!” He rambled, grinning and starting to head back towards the bus stop. “Thanks for everything!”

Start a New Life:

Clark leaned in close to his band mate. “You good?” He asked quietly.

Parker nervously looked down at the guitar slung over his shoulder, then at the microphone out at the front of his stage, then back at his friend, nodding. “Let’s do this,” he whispered with a smile.

Daniel quickly joined them in the wings of the stage and they confirmed their set list as a man from a local Boston radio station introduced them. Jim O’Rourke, their new sound engineer, wished them all good luck just before they walked out.

As the lights brightened on the three for the first time in years, the screams grew to be deafening. Time seemed to elapse as they played, and were swept up into the pace of the show. Parker began to feel completely limitless as he slowly began to realize how much of an impact their music had on all these people. Eventually, they reached the point in the show he’d always dreaded…

“Well, this last song we’re going to play for you tonight is called…” He trailed off as the lights on the stage dimmed somewhat and his eyes fell on a girl in the front row. She was holding hands with some plain looking man, who, despite his appearance, seemed like he’d be very nice. “It’s called Boston,” he finally said, laughing slightly, a smile on his face. The crowd cheered, obviously pleased to have one of the band’s new songs written about their hometown. “Um, I wrote this for my sister Michelle… I- I think she might be in the audience tonight,” he stammered, unsure of himself, his eyes still locked on the girl in the front row. She smiled, looking somewhere between embarrassed and ashamed, then waved at him. It was really her.

Parker grinned, trying not to let the tears well up in his eyes. “Yeah, so bouncers, you’d better let these two backstage after the show, all right?” He said playfully to the security guards down in front, motioning to Michelle and the man she was with. He wished he didn’t have to make her presence seem so trivial.

Parker played the opening chord, and then Clark took over from there on piano. He set his guitar down, adjusted the microphone, then searched the faces of the audience again as he began to sing in his shy, quiet tenor.

As soon as he’d finished, he was about to thank the audience, when he heard a familiar giggle. He smiled, noticing the sudden blur of curly, red hair headed right for him. “I almost forgot to introduce you didn’t I?” He cooed, scooping up his three year old after she’d hugged his legs.

“This is my daughter, Autumn… She should probably look familiar to most of you, since she somehow ended up on the cover of our album,” he laughed, then whispered something into her ear. She looked up at him, blushing a little, and then leaned towards the microphone. “Goodnight, Boston!”

"Michigan," a tableau

2007-12-08T15:58:15Z

MICHIGAN

Everything that follows took place before Lorne came in the middle of the night last fall, before I shaved my head, and before our first dance, but after the last of the yellow warblers had gone. It was just before we began to spend our days in the front seat of his old, red pickup truck, driving aimlessly through town to pass time between Friday dismissal and the Monday morning bell. The engine would heave and sputter every now so often, and we'd laugh and I'd watch your eyes carefully in the rearview mirror, glad they were shaded by sunglasses. That way, I wouldn't know if you were looking back at me and I definitely wouldn't blush if you were.

I climbed out my window one summer night and walked down Enders Boulevard to the gas station. I took a bottle of caffeine-free Coke from the refrigerator, then trudged up to the cashier's counter in my pajamas and slippers and paid him a dollar. The little bell jangled over my head as I pushed the heavy door open and a stifling gust of humid air hit my face and blew stray locks of short red hair out of my eyes.

I twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip as I crossed Main Street, where many of the town's medical buildings were situated. They were all dark, except for the tall brick one in the middle. There was light coming from the first floor, and there, silhouetted against the glass front doors, stood a person. He was standing with his legs unnaturally far apart, and his arms hung limply at his sides. As I drew closer, I realized his head was tipped back.

"Um…excuse me...you okay?" I asked quietly, screwing the lid back onto my drink as I stepped up under the front awning. I was overwhelmed by my own nosiness, but was still cautious.

He jumped in surprise, and then slowly turned towards me. "Think so," he said. "I was just looking at a moth."

I glanced up, and smiled. There, on the light above us, was an unusually large, green insect. We watched her together for a brief moment, then her pale wings trembled and she fluttered off into the sky.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked me over in the dim light. "I'm Lorne." He said, and I noticed he was also in his pajamas.

"I'm Mae," I replied, and he laughed. And I laughed. And we were perfect.

Seventeen Years (For You)

2007-12-08T15:53:40Z

The hum of the cicadas makes me feel alive. The last time they were here, seventeen years ago, I was unborn. Maybe that's why I feel so connected to the sound. It was one of the first I ever heard. My window is constantly cracked open to hear them. It's kind of funny to think about all the things that happened in the time since they were here last. I like to imagine what their next seventeen years of hibernation will bring, too.

Cicadas are one of those off-color things that I will miss if I ever move away from this part of the country, I think. Even if they are kind of disgusting up close, they look like little golden bats when they fly, and I kind of like that. Did you know that only the males make the humming sound? Or that only one in a hundred thousand cicadas has blue eyes?

I don't know if they will still be here when you get back, but I hope so, because when I thought about my next seventeen years, all I thought about was you.

throughrain @ 2007-12-08T08:59:00

2007-12-08T15:49:17Z

Fall 2007 Poem Collection

A Moment's Notice

As much as you may disapprove

Life's string is never solitary-

Tangling and knotting and spiraling into everyone else

Until it finds another strand to tie to and steady.

Did I forget to explain myself?

Maybe I just assumed you knew it,

Like another of your many facts that you

Tuck up your sleeve to the elbow,

Ready to spill into conversation without

A moment's notice.

I never used to mind,

But now I know a word you don't

And your lack of it hurts those that love you

And will forgive you countless times over.

This knot of ours has grown to be stretched and coarse

And, though I still forgive, it hurts me more to watch the others now.

You should know better. I know you know better.

So why not untangle this mess?

Each Issue

I will bathe in words

Till my fingers become newsprinted prunes

That, by morning, will dry to stiff-starched paper and ink

My heart headlining on my sleeve for all to read

And ponder and maybe mock or dissect

But I don't want

To have to spell it out for you.

Loves in Two Parts

Loves,

I hope you know

You are beautiful

You are not average

And you are never going to be

The season is changing

Disaster has found a place in such cold air

Restlessly attempting to seep through our hinges

But I won't let it

And I won't let you think that

You are anything but stunning

You are anything but extraordinary

And that, my friends, is the way you are always going to be.

- - - - - - - - - -

I feel like I am swimming.

Through my own veins

My own head

My own emotions

I am tasting death.

I am feasting on the bitter, black substance

Clouding my bloodstream;

I am purging myself of the guilt

Cluttering my head;

I am extracting all of the disappointment, regret, and sadness

I have ever felt

In all my sixteen years

Until I am whole and perfect again, ready to wish joy upon the world.

Crossing Cations

An interminable wait

For a voice that may never come

A tug of war made up of

Should I's and shouldn't I's

A balanced equation

Of violation and greed

Yielding love and sentiment

A fair trade

Of a jacket for a night, of soda for a blanket

Crossing charges of cations with anions

By timidly fumbling with positive

hands and negative eyes

A balanced life

Of shyness and secrecy

Yielding admiration and silence.

Freshmen

The creed developed

Routine and orderly with

Slamming of doors

At the hour, on the hour

The crinkling of skin and turning of heads

(Emphasis on turn) up

Staircases and dusty pages

To meet the charismatic and spirited who

Split with us in the shadows

Zebra Print, Pt. I

2007-11-23T17:31:55Z

Part One:

We sat in a lopsided circle on the zebra print furniture scattered about Sarah's living room, taking turns with the phone. It had been the five of us, until you moved away to marry. Now you were "sick" just weeks after the honeymoon, already playing the games we knew you'd pull. He had never been good enough for you, not in my mind, not in any of our minds. Not even in your own mind.

It was the four of us now. I wrung my hands as I barely listened to the others converse with you. I was the last to go because I was sitting farthest away, on the black and white striped ottoman near the door to the balcony of the third floor apartment. I wondered if you remembered the night we met, the night you took me in, or that night we bought toe socks together. And all of a sudden, I was ashamed.

I was wearing the ring, the one that had belonged to my grandfather that was given to me shortly after his death. I had worn the silver band on my left middle right finger since the day I received it, for my ring finger had always been far too skinny to accommodate it. The metal was cold against my skin now, and I grew pale, thinking how much of you it had touched. I knew it was much more than any of the others would ever guess.

I tried to distract myself by concentrating on the pebble stuck somewhere in the toe of my shoe. I wanted to scream and cry and yell, but, more importantly, laugh with you again. I wondered if you remembered the night I gave you tiny purple flowers on the river bank, the night we jumped off the pier together with the kids from that other town, the same night I first saw all of you at once.

Sarah passed the phone to someone else and left the room, but we hardly took any notice. She never was much of a host, yet her apartment was the tidiest out of all of ours, which was why we frequented it. I scratched my left knee which always itched and stared out the window, still hardly listening. Rain lazily dropped from the sky as fat balloons, landing awkwardly on the balcony railings. The droplets condensed, steamed, and returned to the clouds before my eyes. It was so hot out.

I could not remember what I was doing at the apartment. Even now I still felt that I had taken advantage of you, even though you were willing, even though we did nothing your uncaring husband would disapprove of. We had never gone steady, we had never broken up, and I had never made you cry. Truthfully, I could not remember if I had ever even loved you, though perhaps love was that nervous, angry tangle in the pit of my stomach that I was feeling now. I didn't know.

"It was a summer, thing," I recalled you telling me once, whatever that was supposed to mean, as you uncaringly twisted a lock of your red-brown hair around your finger. I even could recall the exact date you had said that to me. It had been June twenty-eighth, less than a month after we had graduated from high school, almost a year after that night at the pier. We had been sitting in my dad's truck, alone, at the edge of your front yard.

Then, you looked back at your house and told me you didn't want to go home and I said, "Me neither." You laughed. I joked that we could go stay up all night and talk at some hotel, but you wrinkled up your nose and asked about the blanket in back instead.

"Does the park close?" You wondered aloud, and I shrugged. "Let's sleep on top of the hill." I exhaustedly agreed with you, and drove the pickup out to the very edge of town. We grabbed the blanket and walked up to the very top of the grassy mound together. It was a perfectly clear night, and would soon become the longest of my life.

"When I was a baby, I used to think that this must be the tallest mountain in the world," you said with a yawn, dropping onto the blanket as soon as I had spread it out. "Did you ever think that?" You asked rolling over to make room for me.

Hesitating, I smiled and sat down, staring at my shoes. "Yeah, I…I really did," I laughed softly after a minute, looking back at you, expecting to meet your eyes. You were already asleep.

I lay back and looked at my watch; the minute ticked from eleven ten to eleven eleven. You made a little noise and moved closer to me. I smiled again. "My baby," I announced in a murmur, resting my head on my arm.

Sleep was impossible. With every little noise you made, I was jarred awake. With each inch that elapsed between us, I died. By dawn, it felt like my eyes were swollen open. I couldn't stop watching you for a second. Maybe I was worried something would happen to you, maybe I liked the way the torch of your red hair looked in the early morning light, or maybe I just wanted you to wake up to something nice, but at five twenty-six that morning I decided I wanted to kiss you.

I inched my face forward, but stopped just before our lips met. I swear to God there was a plastic sheet between us, something keeping me from you. I just couldn't do it on my own. I froze, but, feeling my breath, your eyes fluttered open and you grinned.

"Took you long enough," you said, pulling me closer.

My eyes were open the whole time.