"Hi mama," I said quietly as I knelt down in the cool grass of the late afternoon. I reached out and brushed a little bit of dirt from the smooth granite of the headstone; it was still a little warm from the sun.
"There are so many things I wanted to say to you," I began to talk to my mom, as if she were there, as if she could hear me. "Things that I never had a chance to say. Things that I didn't understand or couldn't express," my voice trailed off as memories came to the surface. Memories of good times, memories of how she had shaped my young life. Many of my memories flitted like insubstantial wisps, and others stood out in sharp detail.
"I know I probably never said it enough, but I love you. And I wanted to thank you," I paused, again assaulted by memories. "Mama thank you for who I am," I began, "thank you for all the things I'm not." I knew that because of her my job had a purpose. I was not like many of the others in the units who had little to no soul, who didn't care who they hurt and why.
"Mama remember all my life, you showed me love, You sacrificed. I think of those young and early days and how I've changed along the way," I continued to ramble on, just pouring my heart out. I felt tears begin to form, this day had been long in coming and now that it was here I found it hard to go on.
"I know you believed in me and I know you had dreams. And I'm sorry it took all this time for me to see; That I am where I am because of your truth. I miss you," I choked out, "I miss you."
I stood up on unsteady feet, "Everything that I am I owe to you, mama," I whispered and turned away.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
No Second Chances
"Just a minute," I called towards the door when I heard the knock. I could feel my brow crinkle with confusion. Nobody that I knew would be coming around in the afternoon; they all had regular jobs that kept them busy. 'It's probably some door to door sales person,' I thought absently as I quickly finished typing out the last paragraph that I was working on and closed the lid to my laptop. I pulled a sweater on over my thin shirt as I stood up; the weather had gotten chilly recently and I didn't want to get sick. I was way too busy for that.
The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.
"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.
"John," I whispered in shock.
"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.
I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.
"Chris?"
It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.
I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.
My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.
"So talk."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.
"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."
'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.
"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."
His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********
Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.
I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.
I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.
"Can you forgive me Christina?"
I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."
"Chris..."
"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.
"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.
The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.
"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.
"John," I whispered in shock.
"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.
I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.
"Chris?"
It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.
I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.
My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.
"So talk."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.
"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."
'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.
"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."
His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********
Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.
I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.
I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.
"Can you forgive me Christina?"
I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."
"Chris..."
"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.
"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.
Henry
Henry was all angles. From his bony elbows and knees to the sharp angle of his chin. Tall, was what people called him when they were being polite. Fire red hair stood up all over his head in cowlicks and swirls, his bangs falling into his bright blue eyes. His deep quiet voice seemed to rumble up from the earth, or from the general vicinity of his size 18 shoes.
His movements were always slow and studied, as if he were afraid he would break something. And he felt awkward, as if he never quite fit.
Always out of place.
His movements were always slow and studied, as if he were afraid he would break something. And he felt awkward, as if he never quite fit.
Always out of place.
Dale
Screams echoed in his head. Screams from battles past, and not so past. Screams of the innocent as well as the guilty, of those he had killed and of those that he had simply stood aside and let die. Voices that lingered, reverberating inside his head, rising and falling with the rush of blood through his veins. They were as much a part of him as his own heart beat.
Dale pressed one slender hand to the side of his head, as if willing the voices to silence by sheer force alone. And when he opened his eyes, they were fathomless black.
Dale pressed one slender hand to the side of his head, as if willing the voices to silence by sheer force alone. And when he opened his eyes, they were fathomless black.
Beth
Her skin was almost translucently pale; her hands thin and spidery, and she shivered in the stiff January wind that blew off of the ocean. 'Time's getting short,' she thought, and it wasn't just the sinking sun that crossed her mind. Eyes, the same color as the waves stared off into the distance; watching waves merge into horizon.
Beth wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her stocking cap closer about her bare head, the wind seemed to cut right through her as if she wasn't even there. Pretty soon she wouldn't be.
Soon enough, only the wind would remain.
Beth wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her stocking cap closer about her bare head, the wind seemed to cut right through her as if she wasn't even there. Pretty soon she wouldn't be.
Soon enough, only the wind would remain.
Jelly
'How cliche,' she thought and rolled her eyes in self derision; but it was true never the less, that every time he looked at her she felt her legs turn to jelly. It was hard to focus and stand up straight. She hated to think of her reaction if he ever actually touched her. She was certain it would be more like water than jelly.
Impassive
Masses of shaggy blond hair obscured bright blue eyes; set in a face that seemed to be cut from stone. Intensely focused on a computer screen, his fingers flew like lightning as rows upon rows of coding filled the monitor, bypassing all of the buildings security. A grim smile flitted across his otherwise impassive face as he initiated his program.
Sirens began wailing as all security protocols were negated and doors began opening. Standing slowly, he calmly packed up his equipment and walked out of the building and into the night; as others more accustomed to confrontation, flooded the building.
Sirens began wailing as all security protocols were negated and doors began opening. Standing slowly, he calmly packed up his equipment and walked out of the building and into the night; as others more accustomed to confrontation, flooded the building.
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