34th and Lexington
16 years ago
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Three years later
And yet, I continue to let you call all the shots. I am so sick of you, right now. So sick of you being a complete idiot about life. I am here, and god damn it I care about you. I love you. You can't even say that word anymore. Liar.
You don't understand that it's all been done before. You're not the first person who has decided not to associate with me in public. You're not the first person to want to keep things "quite" for a while. But do you remember what happened the last time I was crying about a boy who was treating me like I was worthless? I let him have everything. I regret that still. I'm not going to let you have everything, I've learned my lesson. I'm taking back my heart.
There are men who keep trying to save me. I tell them I don't need saving from you. Soon though, soon I'm going to let one of them sweep my off my feet. I need to be loved, not despised.
I have done everything I can not to hurt you, but I just don't care anymore. You clearly have no problem hurting me.
All I want, at the end of the day, is someone to do homework with, someone to curl up with on a rainy day. Obviously this is too much to ask, from you at least. Luckily for me, you're not the only fish in the sea.
Goodnight, my brown eyed heart-breaker. You're exactly what everyone warned me about.
You don't understand that it's all been done before. You're not the first person who has decided not to associate with me in public. You're not the first person to want to keep things "quite" for a while. But do you remember what happened the last time I was crying about a boy who was treating me like I was worthless? I let him have everything. I regret that still. I'm not going to let you have everything, I've learned my lesson. I'm taking back my heart.
There are men who keep trying to save me. I tell them I don't need saving from you. Soon though, soon I'm going to let one of them sweep my off my feet. I need to be loved, not despised.
I have done everything I can not to hurt you, but I just don't care anymore. You clearly have no problem hurting me.
All I want, at the end of the day, is someone to do homework with, someone to curl up with on a rainy day. Obviously this is too much to ask, from you at least. Luckily for me, you're not the only fish in the sea.
Goodnight, my brown eyed heart-breaker. You're exactly what everyone warned me about.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Touche
What a low blow, even for you.
So mad I could spit nails.
And I was so so so happy this morning.
How dare you, how DARE you step into the middle of that.
I suppose this means all's fair in love and war. This is going to be a little of both.
I won't do anything "silly," darling. But I won't forget this either, and if you are allowed to actively stop people from talking to me then I'm going to do the same.
Touche.
So mad I could spit nails.
And I was so so so happy this morning.
How dare you, how DARE you step into the middle of that.
I suppose this means all's fair in love and war. This is going to be a little of both.
I won't do anything "silly," darling. But I won't forget this either, and if you are allowed to actively stop people from talking to me then I'm going to do the same.
Touche.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
They say it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...
I want to be there giving you a birthday kiss and your birthday spanks, even though I always lose that battle, since you're bigger then me.
No big presents this year, but you have my heart and I hope that's enough.
Let's make this year a good one.
<3
I want to be there giving you a birthday kiss and your birthday spanks, even though I always lose that battle, since you're bigger then me.
No big presents this year, but you have my heart and I hope that's enough.
Let's make this year a good one.
<3
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Star light, star bright...
I wish I was allowed to call you and tell you how sick I feel. I want you to come stroke my forehead and tell me everything is going to be ok. I want a bear hug and a glass of water and the true look of concern in your eyes.
I wish you had called me, last night. I would have woken up to come give you a hug. Your hugs are always going to trump sleep for me.
Most of all, I wish I could be waking up in your arms right now. I miss the mornings when you would bring me close and we could let the world melt away.
I want to put that damn necklace on, turn my ring around, and belong to you again. It doesn't feel right talking to other people. I don't like it at all, but I feel like I have to. Just tell me you want me to be yours again, and I'll tell the world they can't have me.
I'm getting back to myself. I know what I'm worth and I know what I deserve. And I deserve you; nothing more, nothing less.
I wish you had called me, last night. I would have woken up to come give you a hug. Your hugs are always going to trump sleep for me.
Most of all, I wish I could be waking up in your arms right now. I miss the mornings when you would bring me close and we could let the world melt away.
I want to put that damn necklace on, turn my ring around, and belong to you again. It doesn't feel right talking to other people. I don't like it at all, but I feel like I have to. Just tell me you want me to be yours again, and I'll tell the world they can't have me.
I'm getting back to myself. I know what I'm worth and I know what I deserve. And I deserve you; nothing more, nothing less.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Polistes exclamans
I like to be up close and personal with my victims. Some killers like things clean and neat, a rifle through a window, a quick squeeze and away; not me. I like to taste the blood and feel the organs crush. There is something roughly spiritual about killing, taking a life force from another even as you see how tenacious your hold on mortality is.
Today is much the same. Different house number, scribbled on a paper as I sip my Starbucks and click my phone shut. The other cafe patrons take no notice of me, just another young woman in yoga pants and a track jacket. Smoothing my hair I stand and hold the door for a young mother who is flusterdly trying to balance a baby carrier and purse on one arm and a diaper bag on the other. I return her gracious smile, wondering how much she will bleed if she is the one I got the call for today.
After dark, I park my minivan across the street and count mailboxes. One twenty-eight, one thirty, one thirty-four...two more blocks. Two eighteen, two twenty, two twenty-two. Target acquired.
Two twenty-two has the curtains drawn on a pristine sitting room. The back corner has what might be a study desk, and the silhouettes of bookcases line the right side of the room. I know this house, it's just like every other cookie cutter construction on this side of the iron gates. There will be impressive leather volumes on those shelves that still crinkle when they're opened, a neatly swept fireplace awaiting this years yule log; the rooms are currently being permeated with Maratha's fall collection candles. Just like every other house, until tomorrow, when the neat lawn will be flooded with media personalities and the drapes will be drawn shut against the morbid curiosity of neighbors. Two twenty-two.
There is a car parked in the drive, and lights on in the connecting garage. I look back at the paper, reading the instructions one last time. Top floor, second room on the left. Bed under the window. I look in my mirror, smooth my brows and pat my nose with a tissue to remove excess powder. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I slide out of the car and jog across the street.
Tap tap tap. Pause. Breath. The door swings in, revealing a polished woman wearing a cardigan and a yellow glove, clearly cleaning up the aftermath of dinner.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm so sorry, I just didn't know where to go and your lights are on and it looked like such a nice house, and I'm really starting to freak out."
I am gushing, and I can see my panic already wearing down her wariness.
"What's wrong?"
"Well my car won't start and it's getting dark- I was supposed to pick up my son from band practice hours ago. I called Triple A, of course, but the tow company hasn't shown up. I'm getting really nervous and I don't like waiting in the dark, I know it's such a safe community but there has been a group of boys on skateboards past the car twice already. Would you mind terribly if I used you bathroom and just waited in the light of your garage? I'm so sorry to impose." My apologetic air is pathetic, it makes my skin crawl but she is already opening the door further. She can sense a fellow wasp in distress.
"That sounds horrible, of course we won't make you wait in the garage. I'm just cleaning up from supper, why don't you sit down with us for a while. Would you like a glass of water? Tea? Juice?"
"Oh, no thank you I couldn't impose. Would you mind terribly if I used your bathroom? I've been out there for the better part of two hours already."
"Of course, it's right upstairs, first door on the right."
I nod my thanks and climb the stair, being careful not to touch the polished white banister. I wait until I can hear the water running in the kitchen again before flicking on the bathroom light, closing the door, and creeping across the hall.
Second door on the left. I remove the long thin piece of steel from my sleeve, careful not to prick myself with it's needle tip. Pushing open the door I brace myself.
There is a bed, under the window. It's a crib. Above it hangs a mobile, still playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star In the tired sort of the way that tells me that it's been unwinding for a while now. I creep over, careful not to step on a plastic fisher price monkey or a set of stacking blocks strewn across the floor.
The baby is maybe a year old, clutching at a tattered blanket. It snuffles and stretches an arm out before settling back into sleep. Poor child, almost innocent.
I close my eyes and see the old image, hand around my throat, my head bouncing off walls; those beautiful eyes, beautiful eyes, beautiful eyes.
Open my eyes and plunge the rod down.
It slides easily into the soft flesh, I feel the satisfying *pop* of a lung. It recalls the childhood joy of bubble wrap in relatives Christmas presents. These bones don't crunch so much as snap, so pliable still. I linger over the left side, drawing out the pleasure before thrusting down again. The child expires with my hand over it's mouth, blood covering the blanket still clutched in it's hand.
For tonight, at least, I know I am alive.
Today is much the same. Different house number, scribbled on a paper as I sip my Starbucks and click my phone shut. The other cafe patrons take no notice of me, just another young woman in yoga pants and a track jacket. Smoothing my hair I stand and hold the door for a young mother who is flusterdly trying to balance a baby carrier and purse on one arm and a diaper bag on the other. I return her gracious smile, wondering how much she will bleed if she is the one I got the call for today.
After dark, I park my minivan across the street and count mailboxes. One twenty-eight, one thirty, one thirty-four...two more blocks. Two eighteen, two twenty, two twenty-two. Target acquired.
Two twenty-two has the curtains drawn on a pristine sitting room. The back corner has what might be a study desk, and the silhouettes of bookcases line the right side of the room. I know this house, it's just like every other cookie cutter construction on this side of the iron gates. There will be impressive leather volumes on those shelves that still crinkle when they're opened, a neatly swept fireplace awaiting this years yule log; the rooms are currently being permeated with Maratha's fall collection candles. Just like every other house, until tomorrow, when the neat lawn will be flooded with media personalities and the drapes will be drawn shut against the morbid curiosity of neighbors. Two twenty-two.
There is a car parked in the drive, and lights on in the connecting garage. I look back at the paper, reading the instructions one last time. Top floor, second room on the left. Bed under the window. I look in my mirror, smooth my brows and pat my nose with a tissue to remove excess powder. Tucking my phone into my pocket, I slide out of the car and jog across the street.
Tap tap tap. Pause. Breath. The door swings in, revealing a polished woman wearing a cardigan and a yellow glove, clearly cleaning up the aftermath of dinner.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm so sorry, I just didn't know where to go and your lights are on and it looked like such a nice house, and I'm really starting to freak out."
I am gushing, and I can see my panic already wearing down her wariness.
"What's wrong?"
"Well my car won't start and it's getting dark- I was supposed to pick up my son from band practice hours ago. I called Triple A, of course, but the tow company hasn't shown up. I'm getting really nervous and I don't like waiting in the dark, I know it's such a safe community but there has been a group of boys on skateboards past the car twice already. Would you mind terribly if I used you bathroom and just waited in the light of your garage? I'm so sorry to impose." My apologetic air is pathetic, it makes my skin crawl but she is already opening the door further. She can sense a fellow wasp in distress.
"That sounds horrible, of course we won't make you wait in the garage. I'm just cleaning up from supper, why don't you sit down with us for a while. Would you like a glass of water? Tea? Juice?"
"Oh, no thank you I couldn't impose. Would you mind terribly if I used your bathroom? I've been out there for the better part of two hours already."
"Of course, it's right upstairs, first door on the right."
I nod my thanks and climb the stair, being careful not to touch the polished white banister. I wait until I can hear the water running in the kitchen again before flicking on the bathroom light, closing the door, and creeping across the hall.
Second door on the left. I remove the long thin piece of steel from my sleeve, careful not to prick myself with it's needle tip. Pushing open the door I brace myself.
There is a bed, under the window. It's a crib. Above it hangs a mobile, still playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star In the tired sort of the way that tells me that it's been unwinding for a while now. I creep over, careful not to step on a plastic fisher price monkey or a set of stacking blocks strewn across the floor.
The baby is maybe a year old, clutching at a tattered blanket. It snuffles and stretches an arm out before settling back into sleep. Poor child, almost innocent.
I close my eyes and see the old image, hand around my throat, my head bouncing off walls; those beautiful eyes, beautiful eyes, beautiful eyes.
Open my eyes and plunge the rod down.
It slides easily into the soft flesh, I feel the satisfying *pop* of a lung. It recalls the childhood joy of bubble wrap in relatives Christmas presents. These bones don't crunch so much as snap, so pliable still. I linger over the left side, drawing out the pleasure before thrusting down again. The child expires with my hand over it's mouth, blood covering the blanket still clutched in it's hand.
For tonight, at least, I know I am alive.
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