Where you belong

I had to leave. When the world became too small for us both to exist in, I knew it was time.

You asked for space to think in, to find out who you were and where you belonged. I already knew. You belonged with me, and I belonged with you.

That space was suffocating me. The emptiness without you crushed the life out of me. Not seeing you, not talking with you, not tasting you, was like being drained of my humanity.

I survive far away from people now, on my own. Existing only to sleep and dream of you.

Inspired by “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers

Past imperfect

If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.” – Buddha

Confess your imperfections, write them on a wall for all the world to see. Use big, bold strokes, in brutal black paint, where it cannot be ignored. Admit to every flaw, every shortcoming. Reveal your darkest lies and faults.

Yet… leave it unsigned.

Watch as the world passes by, watch as they read your words and see your images. Listen as they speculate about who is the author of these admissions, listen as they speak the names of those they believe are guilty.

Yet… you are not among the accused.

No one recognizes you. Only you see these perceived failings.

The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Wall’

Inspired by the Studio30 Plus prompt “Imperfect“

Parallel parking like a boss

Every time I take a long road trip, and I mean every single time, I think of my high school Driver’s Education teacher, Mr. Brown.

Mr. Brown was from Mississippi, and couldn’t pronounce his Rs. He was a tad difficult to understand. Lucky for us, he spoke with a sloooow southern drawl, so we had plenty of time to figure out what he was trying to tell us.

One of the exercises he had us do, during our on-the-road classes, was to change lanes without hitting the reflectors that ran between the lanes… the ‘fump, fumps” he called them.

That’s why road trips take me down memory lane. I still try to stealthily veer around the “fump, fumps.” It’s one of the very few maneuvers I managed to master during Driver’s Ed. Which was good, because I was the first student who ever received an F in backing up.

We were supposed to navigate through a dog-leg course, in reverse. Mr. Brown made me abandon my car when I ran over one of the course traffic cones and got it irretrievably stuck up in a rear wheel well.

“Jus’ get outta da caw!”

The only thing that saved me from failing the class entirely was that I was the only student in my class who could parallel park. And, I did it like a boss. None of this multiple attempts parking, I mean I could tuck my car into that tiny space, first try, every time… still can. It was like I entered a self-transcendent state of ecstasy, my moment of zen.

I was the parking space…

I may not be able to drive backwards through a narrow zig-zag shaped alley, but if you have to park on the street, or deftly avoid small plastic objects stuck on the road, I’m your go-to gal.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Ecstasy [noun \ˈekstəsē\] 3: trance; especially a mystic or prophetic trance

*I’m on a road trip with my little dog, Asta, to meet with an orthopedic vet at Auburn University. The pin in her injured leg had begun to migrate down and the pointed tip was irritating the back side of her knee. The doc removed the pin and order 4-weeks of complete bed rest for Asta. No more activity than when she needs to use the bathroom, walking outside, on a leash and only as many steps as necessary, and eating. I’m supposed to crate her to restrict her movements, but that is not going to be possible. Since, I’m home during the day, I think I can keep her still enough to avoid having to put her in doggy solitary. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully, with limited movement, the bone will mend completely and she won’t require any more invasive surgery – either a screw in the bone to secure it, or a plate on her hip and femur. Fingers crossed for us both.

Doppelgänger dilemma

A prompt from WordPress Daily Press totally gobsmacked me this morning. The idea is to write a scene where I meet “an opposite version of (myself).” A sort of DC Comic Bizarro World-slash-Seinfeld encounter.

Aside from the obvious physical differences – taller, thinner, younger, more blonde – the internal changes are what stumped me.

What sort of person would my Htrae-ling doppelgänger be like? To know that, I have to know who I am, and I was having a difficult time trying to describe me.

I want to think that I am kind and empathic. I’m relatively intelligent, and have a modicum of common sense. I tend to take people at face-value, but can also be highly cynical. My bullshit detector is getting more accurate as I get older.

There are times when I am self-confident, but more often I’m simply muddling through hoping I don’t draw any attention to myself. I don’t like crowds, but will introduce myself to strangers and can hold my own in a conversation.

It’s not easy describing the person you are when you don’t really know.

My husband chides me because I ALWAYS get him to write cover letters for me when submitting a resume. I left off an About Me page for years, because I had no idea what to write. I can compose someone else a glowing review, I could write my husband a winning cover letter, but when I have to focus on me, I’m completely lost.

The only way I got around an About introduction for my blog was to write it in third-person, as if it referred to someone else.

I can say I like to read and write stories. I can point out that my favorite hobbies are photography and hiking. I like to cook, and eat. I’m kind to small animals, but have a low tolerance for little kids (having already raised two of my own.) I can point out that I have always lived in the south (my excuse for my Dixie drawl), and probably always will.

If asked, I admit to being Republican, but forward thinking on many social issues. I hate few things or people, but am a grudge holder. I’m on a first name basis with God, but rarely visit Him at His House. I’m also friends with Buddha and Gandhi.

My business card could list me as a wife and mother, sister and daughter, aunt and friend, but not an expert in any of those roles – a deficiency that causes no small level of consternation.

It’s the intangible variables that are hard to pinpoint, the essence of who I am, that I can’t seem to describe. I don’t know what an opposite Me would be like, because on any given day, I can’t characterize the actual Me.

Submitted to WordPress Daily Prompt. The theme was to, “craft a scene in which you meet an opposite version of yourself .”

Cornflower fields

The cell is all I know. Brick walls on four sides, and a single window at floor level my only source of light. I’ve lost all track of time, not knowing the passage of days, only counting meals. Does the gruel come twice a day, once? Does it even matter?

It’s difficult to tell if I am alone in this gulag. I hear noises that could be from other cells, but are so inhuman I don’t want to think about what has become of my fellow prisoners.

The guards who patrol the grounds don’t speak to us. I haven’t heard another’s voice since I awoke on the cold, damp floor of my cell.

I once tried to recite all the songs and stories I knew, trying to keep a tenuous hold on my sanity. I stopped speaking aloud when I no longer recognized the sounds as words.

The memories faded, the libretto lost in the echoes, and I gave up, surrendering my mind to the darkness.

My only refuge is sleep. In my dreams, I am unbound. Running joyfully across open fields of cornflowers. Soaking in the sun and fresh air, breathing in the heady sweetness of freedom. I wake sobbing, not wanting to leave that reality.

Is this cell, this ungodly prison, my the actual dream? A recurring nightmare, and that field of blue is my true life? It’s so hard to separate the two. My nightmares have become less harsh. I spend it curled up in a corner, hiding from the cries from outside, trying to empty my mind of chaos so I can return to my place in the sunlight.

One day soon, the nightmares will finally end, and I can stay in the field, weaving wreaths of blue for my hair. Perhaps today will be that day.

Inspired by Christopher Moore’s “Lamb”
“That’s all I remember“

Conversion conversations

One foible of working from home is the great temptation to stay in pajamas all day, sans bra and makeup. It can make for awkward encounters if you feel compelled to open your front door.

He blushed a shade of pink that reminded me of a newly washed baby, a color that I wished I could duplicate on my pale, aging cheeks.

I admired his faith and dedication, but was amused that he suddenly had somewhere else to be when I offered to share my beliefs with him. Seems his door-to-door calling didn’t extend to reciprocating conversion chitchat.

The Trifecta challenge this week is: Color [noun \ˈkə-lər\] 3: complexion tint

The 100 Word Challenge is to tell a story in only 100 words. This week’s theme is ‘Calling’

Kicked to the curb

In 1991, then Tennessee Sen. Al “I invented the Internet” Gore was in town to commemorate an Air Force Base anniversary. Being the seasoned local newspaper reporter, I got the interview. Our only opportunity to speak was in his limo on its way to the airport. Afterward, I was unceremoniously dumped on the side of the road.

Prompt #16: Share a celebrity encounter

I worked for a time at a thrice-weekly newspaper in rural Middle Tennessee. The paper served an area that included Arnold Engineering Development Center, Arnold Air Force Base in Tullahoma.

Gore and Sen. Jim Sasser were special guests at a 40th anniversary commemorating the opening of the base. I was to interview Gore for an article about the event. He was traveling to Chattanooga immediately after the ceremony, so I had a very small window of opportunity.

I knew he was headed to the airport, but had not been told how I was supposed to get back to the base. To say I was distracted during the interview, would be an understatement.

Just before the interstate on-ramp, the limo driver pulled onto the gravel shoulder, turned around and just looked at me. Gore also sat there simply staring at me, not saying a word. I was expected to know this was my stop. Dumbstruck, I got out of the car, all alone in the middle of nowhere, and watched as the car drove off.

This was before cell phones, so I had no way of calling anyone to tell them where to pick me up. Just when I was about to start walking the five miles back to the base, in a dress, in heels, another car pulled up. A Gore staffer got out and opened the back passenger door of car for me to get in. I didn’t say much on the drive back, but my poor husband, who was waiting for me at the base with our two-year-old daughter, certainly got an earful.