Country

Wierd as a lot of you may call it, im an avid country fan. That is, i love country music. Im no redneck, nor am i from the south or want to be (no hockey down there) but i do love the music. A lot of people would scoff at me when i told them that, in fact some of them would proceed to tell me they hate country music. Well have you heard that saying "hate's a strong word"? Well its true.

For all those country haters out there, you ever heard of Taylor Swift? Oh yeah, bet you never thought of that one, and as this may come as a shock to some of you, shes a country artist through and through. What about Rascall Flatts? Lady Antebellum? Brad paisley? All very popular, all very country.

So to all those country haters out there i just wanted to say, you cant hate a whole genre then tell me you love when of its premier artists, contradiction much? Hey i got no problem with you not liking it, im not going to take offence or what not, but i find it hilarious you tell me you love taylor swift but all country music can go down the can. Those kind of walking contradictions just grind my gears.

The Scarlet Letter

We started the Scarlet letter in class the other day, and right out of the gate i was angry with the way people thought back then. Could they be so narrow minded about something so small? I understand it was a cultural thing, but i had to wonder, weren't there people who stood up for her, werren't there people who cared?

Of course that got me thinking about today. Would anyone anyone stand up for hr in similar circumstances today? Would i? Would you? Its an interesting question. On one hand the argument couldbe made that it happens all the time, and that people aren't outcasts because of it. But lets be honest, even as a guy i know pregnancy/motherhood changes a person, drastically. So who's to say it doesn't change those around them as well?

These questions, im sure, will go unasked until the actual situation is thrust upon you. However it is a fun hypothetical question to ask yourself. Are you better than those narrowminded people of yesteryear? Or will you fade into the existing sterotypes we've set today, not standing up for that which you believe?

The Wild Blue Tempest

This is based on a poem i wrote. Have fun.

The Wild Blue Tempest

            “Seeing the world through my eye’s, is different from that of a normal person’s. My doctor’s tell me I was smart once, a Yale graduate in law. But of course you know that already. Last time I told you about our beginning, we danced and ate and drank together in happy abandon. You recall my tale of how I wooed her? The long hours I spent at her window? Yes, yes, I daresay I told you plenty of that. Believe me when I say those 6 weeks were the best of my life. Even as my eyes dim now, and the wrinkles spread deeper into my face do I remember the tenderness in her eyes and softness of her touch, how I used to trace the palms of her hand with my fingers, and watch her tremble in laughter. I strike you as old fashioned no? A ratty old man with no ambition or drive. No son, I was just like you, free-spirited and young, I chased a fair bit of tail in my time. No this was different, it’ll be the same for you I’m sure boy, just you wait. You’ve heard the wonderful beginning of my story, now; hear the wonderful, albeit terrible end.”

            Those deep blue eyes stopped me dead in my tracks, like they did every day I had seen her. We celebrated her seventeenth birthday yesterday, on a chilly March day. I took her to Ricker square, blindfolded and anxious I led her to the center of the grassy plain. I whipped off the red scarf over her eyes and my jaw dropped with hers as I drank in her face as love to happiness to surprise and back to love danced across her beautiful features. Fifty feet ahead a large bright red and blue striped hot-air balloon was slowly filling itself in preparation for flight. Her hand grasped mine as she read the words “Happy Birthday Honey, I Love You” Written across the front of the wicker carriage. She pulled me forward and jumped in after me. She looked right at me, deep and long. She leaned in close and brushed my lips with her own; I closed my eyes and held my head close to hers. As we pulled away she whispered “I love you Aaron,” ever so softly so the balloon operator wouldn’t overhear.

            The balloon ride was magical; she laughed and cried, smiled and scowled, hugged and praised me. I basked in its glory, a true day of happiness. If I think hard now, I would say it to be the best of my life. As we drove back to her house she told me that she had had the best birthday of her life, because of me. I brimmed with pride and she kissed my hand and each of the fingertips one by one. I blushed unabashedly and continued to keep my eyes on the road. We got to her house and we stepped out of the car, and I went to take her hand but she dropped it away just as I reached for it. Unperturbed we went up her steps and entered her home to be greeted by her mother who squashed her daughter in a bone breaking hug and giving me a swift kiss on the cheek. “You’re a darling Hun, you know that?” Asked her mother, “After what you did for her today” she said as she walked over to her husband. With a swift rap on the head of her husband she cried “Take notes!”

            “I went home that night in a mostly cheery attitude. We had argued briefly over her despondent attitude while watching her television shows. Regardless, the day to night had been almost perfect. I truly loved her you understand, she was my everything. But I digress; you aren’t here to hear of my still beating broken heart are you? No, no, let me be more to the point, yes more to the point…”

            I wake three days later, in my cold 12x10 bedroom on the 2^nd floor of a small rustic home on the outskirts of Plainsboro Virginia. I check my cell phone; I have two missed calls and a single voicemail. There is a missed call from my mother and Angela, my best friend. I call my mother swiftly to hear that my little sister was sick and they had taken her to the hospital without me. I was too follow as soon as I got the message and to bring her laptop and magazines and such. This was her third trip to the ER in as many months. I wasn’t angry though, far from it, her liver was failing for reasons the doctors couldn’t pin. She is only eight, and I can hear her cry herself to sleep every night from down the hall. My brother Matthew, is ten, and is seen as a delinquent at the local elementary school; he’s been suspended twice for fighting and is working his way towards a third. The kids at school are, cruel to say the least; they mock my sister and tease her being a sickly orange yellow color because of her liver. In her defense my brother has broken many noses and one poor child’s jaw. I call Angela swiftly, barely listening to what she has to say, I am too preoccupied with my sister, I hear phrases like, “talk” and “I have some bad news.” She tends to be a drama queen so I let her ramble. Hanging up the phone after agreeing to meet later at Al’s Diner, I check my voicemail. It’s my one and only, Chelsea. “I’ve gone to see your sister, I hope to see you there, if not tell her I send the best again and that she gets better, I love you Aaron Creeley, remember that. Always.” Click. I freeze, the message though heartfelt, is cryptic, she phrased it as though to never see me again. I push it from my mind, I will see her at the hospital.

            I speed slightly over legal limits through traffic on the highway, hastening myself to the hospital. As I pulled into the hospital parking lot swiftly and parked the 04 Chevy Malibu in a front spot in a fit of luck and walked briskly to through the sliding doors into the now all to familiar waiting room. “Aaron, your family and that girl Chelsea are in room 332, in the ICU.” Said Emily, the nurse on duty. She patted me on the back as I walked by.

            “Be strong.” She breathed…

            “Listen close now boy, this parts important. This is where it starts. This is where the beginning of the end begins! Now understand this, it is not poetic, nor do I ever intend to portray it that, what happened to me was a bloody mess, but look at me now eh? Fit as a fiddle! Goes to show you no matter what, you can get through it. Nothing’s impossible son! Just gotta keep your mind on the goal, stay focused, that’s the key. If I had known that then, well, I’ll never know. Hey! You listnenin’? Pay attention, this part’s important you know!

            I’ll never forget the scene that met my eyes as I entered the ICU. My sister was sleeping, ever so peaceful, like she hadn’t slept in months, I smiled glad she was getting her rest. I looked around and spotted Chelsea just as she spotted me. My smile faded in an instant to be replaced by a sense of confusion. Chelsea was crying, not a slow sob or tearful bliss that accompanies one of uncanny happiness. No Chelsea was bawling her eyes out, thick wet tears were leaking out of her crinkled eyes as she buried her head in my chest. I wrapped her in my arms as I studied the room in fervor. Something was wrong. Something seemed morbidly out of place; the more I looked the more I realized the reality of what was staring me right in the face. The machines, normally centered around my sister’s bed had been stripped away or turned off, there constant beeping at a halt. My family had their heads down, on their knees they wept freely like Chelsea, without any reserve. Lastly I noticed something that should’ve triggered the tears to fall like they had begun to, from the moment I stepped into the ICU. I stared and I stared, for a whole minute I stood as a statue, like granite, hard and immovable. My small sister’s eight your old chest, had refrained from rising and falling for the entire time I had entered that accursed room.

            The room seemed to cave on me, the stark whit tile, looked to shatter on my very existence, as Chelsea let go I collapsed, to my knees I fell, like the salty beads of water draining from my tear ducts. My sister could not be dead, no she was sleeping, she was only sleeping, turn the machines back on, I thought desperately, turn the damn machines back on, now! I rose, strong again, a steely look in my eyes and a hard set expression replacing the grotesque grimace I wore but moments before. “TURN ON THE DAMN MACHINES, TURN THEM BACK ON NOW!” The last thought exploded as a shout from my mouth. I moved over to a doctor, and grabbed him by the cuff and raised him a whole six inches from the ground…

            “Now as unlikely as that seems now kiddo, seeing as I have to use this dang wheelchair nowadays, I was a pretty formidable cat back then, I was tall, damn tall, 6’3, 220 pounds! So it isn’t that hard to understand I could lift up a doctor now is it?..”

            “Go back, now, and turn my sister’s machines back on now, I want to see her pulse understand? GO!” I screamed full on in his, spit flying from my mouth and hitting him around his face. Fear grabbed his features in an iron grasp, “Sir, I’m sorry, there, there’s nothing I can do. Sir please! You have to believe me!” He stuttered. A firm fragile hand wrapped my wrist, “Put him down, Aaron, put him down now.” The heat of anger left me in an instant, the drive to destroy and demolish every machine and computer in the room disappeared like smoke on a windy day the second I stared into the deep blue eyes, they swam with determination and anger, frustration and power. She was showing me yet another side of her I’d never seen before, and I loved her all the more for it. She was it, my true love, my life, she was the girl poets dream of and artists envision, she was my Wild Blue Tempest.

            “My sister’s death hit my family like a semi-truck, an analogy of such irony I have trouble making it. You could say I never fully got over it, and it’s true I mourn her still, to this very day. And my mother, may she rest in peace, went a little nuts over it, she was never quite the same afterwards. The only shining part of my life was Chelsea, in my woeful ignorance inspired by the death of one so close, and the bright hope of what my new found love blinded me to something far too important. She was fading Alex! Fading like the light on the horizon at dusk! And in my stupidity I missed it! How! How did I miss it?..”

            We were with each other always, almost every minute of everyday we weren’t sleeping, we were together. She tried to drown my sorrow with a wide range of activities that spanned form picnics alone to ball games with thousands of people. Essentially it worked, while I never forgot Sam, being with Chelsea kept the most horrid thoughts from my mind. As the days passed I became dependant on her company, excluding all my other friends and family from anytime with me away from her. Some of my other friends became angry, still other’s understood. The one that truly hurt me was Angela; I had been ignoring her calls and dodging her in town. Though like all of God’s plans, this one was to happen no matter what.

            After answering one of her increasingly frequent calls in one of the brief instances I had without Chelsea I realized I had never met with her the day my sister died. I wept, like I did most frequently most days, and promised to drive to her house to meet with her to see what was so urgent, before continuing on to Chelsea’s house.

            As I pulled into Angela’s driveway I checked myself in the mirror, I could nothing for my puffy eyes and slacking attire, but I ran a comb through my hair and straightened my shirt out in an attempt to look marginally presentable. I hopped up her steps and went to knock on the door as it was flung open by an equally puffy eyed Angela. She flung her arms around me and pulled me into her house at the same time. “Aaron, you should’ve come sooner, this is gonna hurt even more now. I’m so sorry.” To feel worse than I already did would be quite an accomplishment at the moment, so I pretended to be honestly concerned. To placate her.

            “Aaron, it’s about Chel…”

            Immediately I froze, her appearance had a new sickening tinge to it. What about Chelsea could bring her to such extremes? Especially when she so dotes on how she looks? I grabbed her hand, “What is this about Angela?” A more sinister tone was now underlying the casual tone I asked my question in. She looked balefully up at me, fresh tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

            “She, she’s dying, Aaron, Leukemia, maybe 6 months...”

            “Aha! My folly! You see it boy?! How naïve I was! She was sick, and had been for some time, her despondency now seemed sinister to me. Oh! Her death now fast approached. Oh yes I argued Angela’s points for quite some time, yes we argued and  I am ashamed to say I screamed “I hate you” at the top of my lungs. I called her “Liar” and other hurtful things, and I regret that to this very day. Now boy, listen to how I sealed my fate, and hers.”

            The engine of my old 04 Malibu revved high and whined as I pushed her to the limit in an attempt to make it to Chelsea’s house, as if the faster I made it there, the less chance of dying she had. I pulled into her drive way at a hard stop, she was already outside wrapped in a blanket, and her newfound paleness scared me now. I stepped out of the car with a vigor and called out to her, “Is it true!? Chelsea please! Is it true!?” She began to cry in earnest as she rushed into my arms.

            “Please don’t be mad at me Aaron; I didn’t want to worry you.” I simply wrapped her in my arms and cried deeply with her. I couldn’t lose her, not now, not ever. I was scared, and for what seemed like years we held each other, we wept together the sound of our own sobs mingling together. We agreed upon a car ride for her to explain her condition. Stony eyed I put the car in gear and pulled out of her driveway and onto Dennis road. The local thorough way and worked myself up for a disappointing and frustrating conversation.

            She explained to me her condition, her disease. It was ravaging her blood, radiation and other forms of medication had proven to be ineffective in curing her. She began to cry again, full heavy tears. It broke my heart to see her like that, so broken and vulnerable. Minutes passed and I allowed her to weep freely to let her let it out. Her attitude changed ever slightly after she stopped her crying. Those beautiful wonderful eyes, Those Wild Blue Tempests, became swirling pools of determination once more. “Aaron, there is a clinic in Boston, they specialize in my disease. But I, I don’t think I’m going to go.”

            “What? Why! You could live; you could get back your health!” I screamed and ranted, how could she say this, it was a clear way forward. Her life seemed more precious to me then it did herself. We argued like this for some time until she shushed me quietly and said, “Aaron, if I go to Boston, I’ll never be able to come back, I have to stay there forever. I’m staying for you, to be with you.” My grip around the steering wheel hardened as I pressed the accelerator still harder. I turned to face her and explain that staying for me was foolish and stupid when her life meant so much to me. What stopped me was the halo of white light around her head and body. White hot light framed her body, and some loud penetrating noise seemed to be filling the air as well…

            Now boy, you remember the semi-truck reference I made earlier? Hmm? Well the white light was in fact the head lights of a semi-truck!  It smashed into her side of the car killing her instantly! Bah these tears will be the death of me, get away get away! She was killed! Because of me, can you believe it boy! Me! Me! I ruined my own life!..” He cackled an insane laugh, as the nurse rushed in.

            ‘”Okay Mr. Creeley time for bed and medication.” Said the nurse as she led him away. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, he’s usually so nice.” She frowned. “Will we see you next week Jared?” she was pretty, but no she would not. I had gained all I could from listening to my uncle’s maniacal ranting. My search for the truth in his past had lead me to understand my father’s erratic behavior when pressed about his family. My aunt to be was killed long before her time, because of a man’s stupidity. His own love and devotion blinded him of her true condition. His Wild Blue Tempest was dead and gone because of him.

            Jared Creeley walked out of Mercy Hospital for the Insane and Mentally Unstable, full of disgust, anger, and remorse.

A Sundrenched Landscape

This was written from a females point of view, girls, i make no promises.

A Sundrenched Landscape

            “What are ya Linda? In love with the guy?” The memory of her roommates question swam in her head all through dinner and into the night. Even now as she stared out into the sunset holding his hand knee deep in the pacific it plagued her. The question was playful, and was brought on by the fact that this was her seventh date with Mark in seven days. Oh she didn’t understand, he planned all the dates, he picked her up every night, and in the morning on Wednesday, he was the one insisting on complete secrecy on where they went and what they did. But she was the one who agreed to all of them. Yes that is her friends argument, “You love it don’t ya Linda?” she crooned blowing fake kisses across the room at her. It wasn’t her fault of course, Linda thought to herself, he’s so, well, so damn charming. Ugh, charming, who uses that word to describe a person nowadays. And the looks too, I mean come on! She thought to herself, just look at that dimple! Her eyes slowly traced his figure standing ever so close to hers, and that’s not even the start of it, she thought to herself.

            Oh she rebuffed him plenty of times before finally agreeing to go out with him, if there’s one decent thing about him, he’s persistent, she told herself.  But eventually she’d given in to his charms, she shuddered, there’s that word again. She had to admit, the rose on her Sunday shift sealed the deal, or the poem attached to it, she wasn’t quite sure which, but she’d read the poems so many times that day she knew it by heart.

A Sundrenched Landscape

I once met an angel

She fell into my dreams

And I crossed a great ocean

To gaze on her beauty

Such beauty such beauty, I loved her complete

She kissed my brow and said to me

I love thee too as no other compares

No greater beauty had I seen,

Then on a sundrenched landscape

            Now that was classy, of course it was spotty and lacked real basis and surrealism, she’d studied poetry in college. But the gesture is amazing, who rote poetry for anyone anymore? Let alone her? Mark, that’s who. She smiled, and he chose her! But she knew deep down, if I like him this much, he must like me so much more. The moment she thought it, she knew it was true, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight, he whispered it in her ears. “I love you, you know that?” He kissed her cheek and let her be. Oh my, got to stop blushing, got to stop blushing, he’ll see! Oh great, she thought, now look what he’s doing. Her emotions were flying around her head, it’s been two weeks she said, calm down, nothing like this happens in two weeks. Even small town America doesn’t happen like this. Get a grip, Linda, be reasonable. But a small voice in the back of her head piped up, but he loves you. Doesn’t he? Of course he does, she banished the thought immediately. It’s silly to think so, if there’s anything she learned about Mark in the past two weeks was, he was anything but a liar.

            Oh but did she love him? That’s the question as her roommate so aptly put it. Do I? Should I? Lord knows he’s the best thing to happen to me in, well, ever. So what was she worried about? It felt perfect to be in those wiry arms of his, so peaceful, so safe. She’d never felt like this with Darren, or even Kevin, her ex-fiancé. Oh damn it, she hadn’t felt like this ever. It was utter bliss, without the ignorance mind you. He kissed her neck, and she began to feel dizzy, so she did what she always did to distract herself, recite her and her roommates inside joke, Tell Tammy to take out Todd’s terrier. Tell Tammy to take out Todd’s terrier. And so on. Until she had control of herself again. Well I tell you this much she thought, Darren and Kevin never did that to me, whether with kissing or otherwise.

            She looked over her shoulder at him, he smiled at her and she remarked at how his dimple looked like the Grand Canyon, most people scoffed at that comparison, she liked it, it reminded her of white water rafting with her father he loved that damn river. He said it reminded him of mom, and how the first time he saw her was on those swift moving currents. Her mother would always jokingly remark he fell in love with the river and not her, he’d always swoop her up and kiss her saying, “What’s the difference?” He told her one day. Years after her mother had passed, that she was wrong, he’d fallen for her, and the river was just his guide to her. He sat her down and said, “Find your river darling.” She’d questioned him what he meant and he responded, “That river was my path to your momma, find ours darling, find yours.” Those were the last words he ever spoke to her, he went rafting one last time, and never came back.

            Thwack! His arm whipped around and slapped his left thigh crushing a mosquito underneath his palm, her eyes gazed hungrily as she watched his arms tauten and flex. She stared up at his broad features and stormy eyes as he gazed out at the sunset, as beautiful and cut from marble as the statue of David, and with hands as soft as velvet. He leaned down and kissed her, gently. She sighed as he released, not too long she remarked, but definitely enough. He released her body but held onto her hand as they both gazed into the amber sky. She smiled, her roommates thoughts plying through her mind “What are ya Linda? In love with the guy?” she began humming to herself as a smile played across her lips, yes, she thought, why yes I am.

What Lips my Lips have Kissed and Where and Why?

Ill have you know, all you critics out there, this was my first short story, so be easy.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why?

            What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why? Three years ago when she walked out of thirty year old red-cedar door of my recently sold Victorian home, it tore me apart. I had asked myself that question everyday, every minute, every second of my life alone, without her. She rent my heart in two, shattered every aspiration, and ground my happiness into the cold, rain-soaked asphalt she drove away on

Free Street

Greensboro, North Carolina

. Since then I have moved. Perhaps even moved on from the ache, from the deep longing that dragged on through those long autumn months. I entered winter, a resolute and lonely tree.

            Those years were the worst, after she left. I walked my home like a ghost. I began to withdraw into myself. Everyday, as I woke up and rolled to my right, I would gaze on her photo from Valentines Day two years passed. It was my favorite, she was smiling, she my sweetheart, was happy, she had accepted my proposal.  I can still remember the hot tears burn my face. Gazed in the mirror and watched them carve lines of pearly anguish on my cheeks. I didn’t go to work any longer. My attendance started to slip before becoming non-existent all together. I was fired, and I couldn’t care less. My life had lost all meaning; there was no more reason for a continuation of my languished existence.

            My family contacted me; they whispered words of comfort through the scratchy receiver of my far-too old Samsung phone residing on my end table. My mother used to tell me I was making progress, answering the phone, making conversation. Only a women as deluded as my over-protective seventy year old mother from Topeka Kansas, could mistake my poor attempts at ending the transaction of pleasantries, as soon as family courtesy would allow, as conversation.
            I can still remember the very feel of the air that day. The taste of the sawdust and ozone from the recent thunder storm that’s remnants still waded over our, my, house. In hindsight it must have been symbolic; it must’ve been planned that way. To have the heavy rains patter and splash on my tin roof. The heavy fat drops set the tone of my evening, I came home roses in hand, with only three weeks till the day we would bind our lives forever. I yelled my arrival with a throaty hello to an empty household. I rushed upstairs and burst through the door into the empty master bedroom. I froze at the sight of the 48in x 24in suitcase filled to the brim with clothes I’d seen her wear a thousand times. The roses made near enough to no noise as the connected with the plush beige carpet. I heard the slam of my new cedar door, rough and emotional. My throat caught, I’ve lost her.

            She came up the stairs, one at a time, slowly, deliberately. My heart broke in step with the clatter of her heels on the hardwood. Every step lengthened into an eternity in the enclosure of panic I’d encompassed around myself. The world slowed, I could see the very curve of the earth, see the rotation. Sweat beaded my brow and slicked my body in perspiration with a thin sheen of the vile odorous chemical, adding to my discomfort. The door clicked shut with immense speed comparatively to the skewed outlook on the world I had but moments before. She walked toward me, head down; unawares I stood stock still and shocked five feet away. She looked up at the sound of my voice, “Where are you going?” She looked dumb-founded, frightened. Undoubtedly she expected to leave before I came home. Perhaps she would’ve left a note, or some other type of message. The only thing she did leave though; was her ring. “I’m leaving Johnny.” She placed the ring on the dresser by our bed. She then proceeded to walk right past me and closed her suitcase, then walked right back through the door. As she passed me I caught the scent of her shampoo, a mango tropical type of 2 in 1. It hit me like a sledgehammer sent straight from god. It barreled into my chest and buried itself into my heart with the force of a thousand nail guns. She left me there, barren and alone, an empty husk of my former self. I watched her start the car and drive right out of my life. I believe that’s when my heart truly broke, when the realization hit me that I would never see her again, or feel her touch, I fell to my knees and my arms began to tremble. That was three years ago, and this is now.

            I stared into those eyes I longed for since the day they left me, the deep pearly blue that shone like diamonds. This time beads of sparkling white gold dripped form her eyes onto the leather couch in my one bedroom flat in New York City. How did she find me? Where did she go? Why did she come? These questions now ran through my head, and to be honest with myself, I don’t care. My sweetheart had come home to me, she was explaining to me, how sorry she was, the mistakes the made, and the problems she had. She tells me over, and over, “I love you Johnny, I love you again.” It was almost a whisper. I realized with a start, she was scared, scared of me rejecting her. How could she think that? I loved her, longed for her to come right through the door I knew she never would. She proved me wrong yet again, she had come.

            She cried in my arms for what felt like hours, but in reality, must’ve only lasted a minute or two. She apologized with a shaky laugh, I was speechless. She, Victoria my Vicky was sorry, for what? For coming back to me? For putting the pieces of my heart back into place? I asked her, why, why would she of all people be sorry? I explained to her that the sight of her sent my heart aflutter pumping white hot blood through my veins. She looked at me closely, “I spoke to your mother.” I froze, of course, my mother would have told her I was broken, shell shocked, shaken. I stopped her, and told her one more time, “You’re here, and I love you as much as the day you left. I promise you, so long as you are with me; you have nothing to be sorry for.” She stared into my eyes with a newfound passion.

            She moved closer to me, just an inch, but I knew her intent. Her breathing quickened with the beat of my heart. She drew closer; my breathing became quick and shallow. Her face upturned ever so slightly, letting the light fall on her long brown lashes. She was as beautiful as the day I met her. It was a desensitizing feeling. Her so close to me again, I knew her scent before it hit me, the fresh mango and a new tantalizing citrus blend. She leaned in till a wisp of air was the only thing separating our lips from what I had once taken for granted, but what I wanted now more than ever.

                        Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she stared deep into my eyes, which seemed to ask for guidance or maybe permission. I couldn’t offer either one, I was hers entirely, and with slight shock and widening of my eyes, I realized she didn’t know of her power over me. It was a realization that emboldened me. I wanted to lean in, close the distance. It was a near physical pain to hold myself back. Why? I asked myself, why should I stop or, slow down when this, right here this moment was what I had longed for the past three years? I searched myself, delved within my head and in an instant gripped the horrible terrifying reason to why I halted her advance.

            I was scared. The thought of her being back with me, just beyond that half inch barrier of oxygen heartened, excited and filled me with an exuberant joy. Though that feeling, that reality, was tainted. In her sudden reappearance I had forgotten the hole she had left when she drove away from me. When I felt its ache again it scared me. What if she left again? I tried to calm myself but knew it would be impossible to survive another traumatic experience like that. If she walked out again it would destroy me. I contemplated this, I analyzed this, and I couldn’t come to a conclusion.

            I leaned in and went with it. Connection. Our lips pressed together with a vigor of a hurricane washing and storming along the coast. Her smell once again enveloped me and it pushed me on, faster more passionate. She broke off to take a breath; I inhaled the sweet aroma and welcomed her as she delved back to my lips. My heart screamed its approval as she allowed me trace her collarbone and the smooth contour of her porcelain neck with my lips. We rolled to my leather couch and our bodies pressed together. Sweat poured from our forms and mixed as we continued with our dance. She whispered in my ear “I’ve missed you Johnny, I love you.” Her words set my heart ablaze like the forest fires of California in an august heat wave. I answered her with a renewed energy and longing.

            She was mine again, and amidst the huff and puff of our actions my mind registered the incredible situation I was in. My mind must’ve exploded because beyond that recognition I knew nothing of what was going on outside my living room. I knew not the day, week, month, or year. I cared not because my entire existence now lied in my arms.

            Eventually our bodies slowed down, and our breathing while heavy wound itself out till it was a slow and monotonous ebb and flow. We moved to my bedroom and she closed her eyes under my quilt, and her breathing became the deep and heavy breathing of a person at rest. I lied there in love’s warm embrace and reveled. My heart was back; my home was where she is. She was with me, and I could not be happier than I was now. My heart and body and mind all in unison cheered and roared its approval of my night. My skin still burned pleasantly where we touched, like aloe on a heavy unprotected sunburn.

            A low grainy vibration came from my bead stand on the other side of my mattress. I reached across her body and plucked it from its charger. My mother was calling, her name flashed repeatedly on my phones small and insignificant screen. I sighed, and then decided to let it ring; undoubtedly she wanted to know if I had come out of my stupor. I wouldn’t let my mood end that quickly. I wrapped my arms around her and fell asleep with her cradled next to me, this was right this was love. What lips my lips have kissed and where, and why? Didn’t matter anymore, what mattered was wrapped around my cool body and slowly sleeping till morn.

Stepping on the ice.

I dont know about the rest of you, hat hobbies you have, what passions you may play host too. But i for one, adore the game of hockey. The rush of stepping on the ice is absolutely one in a million. I have problems, hust like evry other teenager. I struggle just getting from one day to the next. But when i step on to that shet of cold glass, my world dissapears. The new world, the only real one at that moment, is the game, my game. The only game i'll ever love like this.

Last year i won the state championship or my level of play. Beating out severaly of my friends, i still felt ecstatic. I swear to you now, the sense of euphoria i had when that final horn went off, was exhilerating. I cant even remember all the details. I might've cried, i know i screamed. And when they hung that metal around my neck, well suffice to say, it might've been the happiest moment of my life.

For me, my passion is hockey, the rest of you could have a number of other hobbies or loves. Some of you could draw or play baseball, could like to write or sing. Some of you could even love another human being. And to all of you i tip my hat, because whatever we love, however we love it, i hope we can all have that feeling of stepping onto the ice.