Losing, me (originally posted on March 1 2010 on K)

You're losing me. I tell you no but it's not true. Every day our conversations get a little blanker, every day we say less and less with more and more words.
I live mostly in remembrances.
When we first started talking, when we unwrapped the truths of each other layer by layer. It was more then a first kiss or a first night spent together, it was the first time you asked me a question and I asked one back; the first starry night and the first freezing cold walk.
I tried, once, to remember that night with you.
Too cold, let's not stay out long, ok? Just around the block? Ok I'll agree, but in that moment I have lost the magic and so stumble beside you trying only to keep up.
Everyone goes through this, I tell myself. Everyone comes to the end of the honeymoon and the beginning of reality. But it's more then that. I see you slipping father away day by day, living more and more in Virtual Reality. Some days I ask you questions, things I don't care, will never care about. But you seem excited when you answer them, as excited as you once were to have me in your life.
So then, there is a time limit I suppose. I'm sick of watching you slip away minute by minute, retreating father and farther into your cave of a room. There will be a time, soon I think, when I will say ENOUGH.
You will lose me then, but looking on perhaps we will both realize in years to come that you lost me ages ago.

Sleeping Fits (originally posted March 22, 2010 on K.)

You fell asleep again today. We were in the middle of a conversation, I was trying to be coy. You were there until all of a sudden you weren't. I want to know why.
Why?
Am I not smart, pretty, funny, interesting enough?
Because it must be me. It has to be me. I can't hold you for five minutes and yet tonight you played a game for three hours, three hours spent on something that's not real.
I want to yell at you and show you that I am real and I am here, at least for now; that I love you. But I choke and only the last part comes out. Then you tell me that you don't want to hear it anymore.
All we ever say is I love you and I miss you.
But this is my life I scream in my head. I am nothing but missing and loving you.
You have other things in your life, other voices to talk to and other worlds to explore. Even if they don't exists they must have something I don't.
I failed you.
I'm sorry.
I just want to know how I went wrong.
How?
 

Cheers, Darling.

The beer was warm that night and she was gone in a flash of brilliantly red hair that set his heart on fire.   Home was too empty, so instead he threw a jacket over his arm and went searching for loneliness down at Hooligans.   The walk didn’t take nearly long enough, and he wasn’t drunk enough not to notice Andy and Jade watching him from the booth by the pool table; Jade, surreptitiously fingering her phone under the table.  Small town news, he supposed, traveled faster than even modern technology allowed.

“Heya, Ty.  Beer and fries?” 

“Just the beer, thanks Jack.”  His normal seat was surrounded by a second cousin with overly bleached hair and a grade school friend turned ex.  Catching the beer as it slid across the bar, he turned and moved to the other end of the bar where the only company was a stranger.  It wasn’t that unusual to have unknowns stop by the bar, it was a popular midway stop for truckers and the yearly migration of loggers, but it was usual for them to be female wearing grey business skirts and heels.  Ignoring her company he settled into his beer and his anger.  With every sip he drowned out the looks he was getting from across the room; when it was too much not to notice he set the empty back with a force that made Jack raise a brow before wordlessly refilling it. 

Turning his back on the bar and digging quarters from his pocket he grabbed a cue from the wall and headed for the green felt topped table.  Methodically he knocked ball after ball into the pockets, playing until his pockets were empty of change and then silently handing Jack a five and waiting as he counted out ten more games worth of quarters.  Three games and six more beers and the seven ball rocketed off the table and rolled past Jades handbag towards the bar.  Cursing he didn’t notice her until she was too close to look away.

“You favor the left and center, but every time you try to make a shot to the right your angle is off.”  She was too close and dressed to nice, but more importantly she was the only person in the bar who didn’t know better than to leave him the hell alone.  

“Your timing is off.  I came here alone, I mean to leave here the same way.”

“You’re drunk, Tyler Long, and you live too far away to get back alone.”

“And you’re a nosy bitch- I don’t know who you are or how you know me, but you should leave.”  He looked towards the bar, hoping to catch Jack’s attention, but the bartender-bouncer had slipped into the back room.

“You’re wallet, Tyler.  You left it at the bar after you bought your weight in quarters.”  She held up the worn leather and he quickly shoved it into his back pocket.  Looking closer he realize that she wasn’t unattractive, blue eyes danced under dark auburn curls.   “You’re drunk and you should go home.”

“Course I’m drunk, that’s why people come to Hooligan’s, to get wasted.  It’s nonea your business if I am.”

“Yes, but since I’m here as a concerned citizen, I’m making it my priority to get you home.”  She was making fun of him, he thought.  Teasing.  A crooked smile cracked his lips.

“You tryin’ to take me home?”  She sighed, annoyed.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.  I’m going to make sure you get home and then you’re going to let me stay on your couch or your floor, if you don’t have one.  My car’s got a bad sparkplug, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future until I get it replaced.  Going to see the guy downtown on…Franklin street? Tomorrow.”

“Mike’s a good guy, he’ll get you what you need. Guess you can stay, if you need, but I hope you’re not planning on comin’ back in those.”  He cast a dubious eye at her three-inch stilettos.  She smiled, wryly. 

“I’ll manage.”

            The house was chilled, autumn was turning to winter and soon it would be wood-fire weather again.   Tyler switched on the lights, and as a courtesy to his guest, turned the heat up a few degrees.  Sticking his hand in his pockets, he turned to find her surveying the small living room. 

            “Live alone?”  He shrugged.

            “Since recently, yeah.”  His eyes strayed to the throw over the armchair, quilted lilac and salmon, clearly not his own decorating style.  “Well, Miss…”

            “Ms. King, actually.” 

            “No first name?” 

            “Not tonight.  Maybe tomorrow when you’ve sobered up.

            “You sure you don’t want to come upstairs?  The bed is much more comfortable than this old couch….”
            “Good night, Mr. Long.”  Grabbing the throw, she threw it decisively over the couch and pointedly sat.

Upstairs Tyler threw his keys and phone onto the bedside table, (Not “her” bedside table, he reminded himself) and plucked a long red hair off the pillow.  She couldn’t even keep her damn body to herself; in that moment he let himself feel the ache that the beer had only begun to dull.  Tomorrow, maybe he would find out the name of the pretty young woman who was staying on his couch.  Tomorrow, he would find out what she did and where she came from.  Tomorrow…

Somewhere, there was bacon sizzling.  His head was still swimming but there was light pouring through the open blinds.  What the hell?  Where was she?  She always closed the blinds on days that he went down to the bar…joked that as a future housewife she better get used to her place in domestic society.  Where…? 

Oh.  Memory flooded back, it wasn’t his fiery vivacious sweetheart downstairs, it was the mysterious woman who wore heels in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.  Dragging on sweatpants he hauled himself downstairs.  She was wearing the same clothing as last night, but her shirt was un-tucked and she had a spatula in her hand.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Hmpf.”  He filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter, watching. 

“I made enough for two.  I don’t normally do the whole making breakfast thing, but then I don’t normally sleep on strange men’s couches either.  I walked into town for eggs and bacon this morning.”  He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to, that he liked his bacon crispy, that there were already eggs in the fridge, but instead when he opened his mouth he couldn’t help himself.

“Who are you?”  She sighed and wiped her hands on a towel before pulling a black bag across the counter. 

“Isabelle King, Special Agent.”   She pulled a black badge out of the bag and with a practiced flip revealed an ID showing her face, before quickly closing it and turning back to the bacon.  He stood there, staring at her as she casually slid the bacon out of the pan and cracked an egg into the grease.  Finally, he wordlessly crossed to the fridge and pulled out bread and butter and began making four slices of toast. 

Breakfast was silent; he concentrated on his plate, every now and then he felt her eyes on him and looked up, only to see her equally absorbed in her food.  Finally, she met his gaze.

“Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“Ask me about being a Special Agent, ask me what I’m doing here-ask me.”

“Is your sparkplug really shot?”  He laugh was nice, he thought, as it exploded around the kitchen. 

“What?”  He smiled too, it was contagious.

“It’s just…normally the first thing people say is ‘Do you have a gun’ or ‘But you’re a woman’ or ‘Can I know a secret….’ And you’re worried about my sparkplug?  Yes, it’s really and truly a goner.  Believe me I wouldn’t have ended up here if it wasn’t.”  

“So, why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“With the way you were looking at me?  I wanted to sleep on your couch, not keep one eye open all night fending off advances from the drunken stranger I met in a bar.”

“What makes you think…?”
            “Oh please.  A fairly attractive woman from out of town shows up at a bar, you already can’t keep your hands to yourself and then you learn that she’s also a government spy.  You really would have left me alone?”  He snorted and she smiled.  “I’m glad I met you, Tyler Long.  You’re a decent and honest.  You would make a horrible spy.”

“Don’t count me out so quickly, lady.  I can be as cold blooded as the next guy.” 

“Don’t be- it changes a person.” 

She was very pretty, he thought, especially now that her eyes were dancing and he hair had a way of escaping its tight restraints.

The garage was full but as promised Mike made time for the out –of-towner.  She had tried to insist on walking down, but Tyler argued that it was cold and he had to go into town to get milk anyway.  He waited in the hard plastic chairs, watching out of the corner of his eye as she flicked through the Outdoor Life and Motor Trend.  She seemed oddly at home here, and then he remembered the glock she had pulled out of her bag earlier when she was looking for her keys.  She really was something else. 

“Yup, she’s good to go.”  Mike tossed the keys and she caught them, smiling widely.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.  I would have been here for days waiting for the company to send another car.”  Tyler had noticed that in public she didn’t refer to her line of work except through vague terms, but everyone seemed to accept that she must be a high level executive in some large corporation.   Mike smiled back.

“Well, I’m sure Ty here would have taken care of you.  He’s a good guy, you know.”  Tyler cleared his throat,
            “Yup, best be getting home I suppose, you’ll want to pack up before dark so you can hit the road.”  He ignored Mike’s pointed stare as he walked out of the garage and climbed into the truck he had parked across the street. 

She packed quickly and neatly; in the space of fifteen minutes the only trace that there had been another person in the house was a half eaten package of eggs and a bottle of orange juice in the fridge.  Tyler watched her, ignoring the pricking at the back of his throat.  At least for the last forty-eight hours he hadn’t been alone; the prospect of her leaving only made his new solitude seem harsher. 

“You can stay another night if you need.  It’s getting dark out there.”  The words were out of his mouth before he knew that he was thinking them; she flicked the zipper of her bag closed.

“I’m sorry, Tyler.  I have to go save the world and all that-“ she grinned but this time it didn’t meet her eyes. 

“Oh, right.”  They stood there staring at each other for a minute, and then she was walking across the room and her arms were on his shoulders and she was kissing him.  It was a good kiss, he thought later, not too soft and there was a moment right before their lips touched where he was looking right up into her startlingly blue eyes. When they separated, she had a sad little smile on her face.

“You’re a good man, Tyler Long.  I hope you remember that.”  He didn’t ask her to stay again; instead he slung her bag over his shoulder and held the front door for her.   

The car door slammed, and she gave a funny little half wave-nod, and then the dirt crunched under her tires and she was gone.

Inside he found a big black trash-bag and stood in the middle of the living room.  The salmon throw was the first thing into the bag, followed by the decorative pillows and the artistically arranged sticks in their vases.  He didn’t stop until the whole house was purged, and then he stood there panting with five bags of womanly comforts.  He thought briefly of dousing them with kerosene in the front yard, but instead he hauled them into the bed of his truck and covered them with a tarp bound for the goodwill in the morning.

Tonight, the beer tasted sweeter and the house was less empty than it had been in weeks of cohabitation. 

As time goes by

There are these beautiful wonderful moments when I can close my eyes and forget the last four years completely.  It's me and my old music, you know the cd- "Ashley and Meridith."  Love song after love song, and to me they're about someone unattainable who I am content to admire from afar.  And then, right then, I believe it's possible.
In this world I smile and take silly photographs and love to play dress up every day.   I am an actress again, and I'm as worried about my auditions as I am my bills.  I believe in pink and outlandish headbands and that every true love must come with a dog. 
I'm not heartbroken, I'm not broken at all.  I have someone who is depending on me, at least a little bit, to get them through the day and that's such a wonderful feeling.  They make me giggle and smile and blush; I do all of these things without needing to remember how. 
The best moments are when I look up into the most beautiful set of eyes I have ever seen, and hope and dream of a kiss while knowing it will never come.  This is a passion that I can keep for myself, something secret and delicate that can never be ruined or tainted by reality.  Maybe I'm missing out on the love of my life, maybe this one time I should reach for something I want instead of forever settling for what is easy and seems logical.  Maybe, but part of me is Meridith still and I am shy and can't share any of this with the one person matters. 
Happy.  I am happy.
It will take a word, a look, a breath to end this moment of remembered independence.  But each time the moment is a little longer, and this is me-I am still me, even after the pain and the isolation of the last years of my life.  Maybe, by September, November, December, I'll finally have stitched myself back together enough to give part of me away again.  Right now I enjoy my dreams of stolen kisses, and wonderful blue, and hands that are gentle as they brush away the tears. 

Dearest Ash, Meridith loves you still.  A different face, a different smile, the same old heart.