Hyacinths

It’s funny how a little sleep can change perspective. And a tech run. And people knowing their god damn lines (myself included.)

I get to be the best and worst parts of Catherine. I can run from a room, “you must despise me forever” without a smidge or irony. I can feel a sort of triumphant delight. I can tell John Thorpe to go jump in the Thames and poor Isabella that she must be stupid to think me such a fool. I can fall in love after one dance without even learning his name.

And tomorrow, I get to live it all out in front of a sold out house  (with a 200 person waiting list!) They hyacinths, the picnic, the ball and the horrid mysteries. I’m so grateful for this. I’m glad to have my £3,000 pounds, though it took me longer than a *true* heroine to get there. And hey, my sister in law is a viscountess, so there’s that.

Cheers to opening, and remember that when in doubt, I can have my cake and marry Tilney too.

Valencourt

It’s closing in on one am, tomorrow I have a three hour marathon of a show and yet my brain still won’t shut off. All of the things I have left to stitch- a gown, a bonnet- if he was here I could ask him to pin up my hem, the lines I should run- I can’t forget how I reacted during the proposal because Amy said it was perfect; it was perfect because I was thinking about him but could I do that if he was in the audience? Should I ask Amy about the kiss or leave it be? Tim never really told me how he felt about it but then I never pressed him. It’s my job, my life’s work- can I give it up so easily? If I could get a job- a good one in pa that’s a step up, I could come back here better, stronger. Not until next year though. And then what if there isn’t one? Do I leave because I said I would? Battle the inevitable depression that circles whenever I’m not at work? Or do I stay and risk losing him? If I leave this, will I become a disappointment to my father? He only just said he’s proud of me. I don’t want to lose that pride.

The show, the show. I need to run the scenes with Isabella. I need to remember to walk more slowly during Valencourt. But it’s so strange hearing someone sing my name- Emily- not Catherine, it unnerves me. Do I sport with my Valencourt? “Catherine, he won’t ever love you.” But could he love Emily? Tim, not Henry. Tim. My Wickham. My Tilney? I hope so, god I hope so.

What shall I do if my stage brother tries to kiss me? I’m genuinely concerned. I shouldn’t have mentioned that Dave and I broke up. And sure, we flirted last spring but it was harmlessly safe- both of us I’m unhappy relationships but unable to act. I could never actually love him, it was a lark. Not like Tim.

I cannot become co-dependent. I need my own identity.   Who am I, really? I’m not Catherine anymore. I’m not 19. I’m proud of what I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished. I shouldn’t have hinted to Dave today, it wasn’t professionally unwise but damn it he was such a condescending ass- I wanted him to know that I’m successful without him. I don’t need or want his “professional assistance” because I’m actually better at this than he is:

Will Ken lose his faith in my if I leave? Will Nicole? Jack and Jacque will kill me, I know. But ohmygod the look ok the ex’s faces will be p r i c e l e s s. Remember when I said I was over him? I was letting him go because it was the noble, the right thing to do. Yeah, I lied.

What would Dolly do? She married a man twice her age, and they lived happily ever after. Except for the war. And her step-sons ptsd. And Jefferson. Fuck Jefferson. But not Kurt, he’s a sweetie and I hope I don’t lose him or Michelle if I go. WHEN I go. I think I’ve decided.

Shit, I’m really going to do this. This job is all I’ve ever wanted in my whole life. I’ve rocketed to the top of this field and I know leaving will change that. I’ll return and I’ll have aged out of roles. Maybe I’ll be a mother. People will have found another best and brightest. But I think it will be worth it, for the life we could build together.

Together, because I will not be dependent. I will keep my own identity.  What would Jane do?

She didn’t get married, but she wrote endless stories of women in love. Women who give all of themselves. Women who tell men to fuck right off. Women who change every part of themselves when they see a nice house and realize they have been in love the whole time.

What would you do Jane? And Dolly? Amo? Minna?

Germaine understands, I know. She left her whole world behind for a soldier, and she sometimes regretted it. Was it worth it to marry a mechanic from New Jersey? Do you miss France grandmother?

I miss him.
I love him.
Duh.

It must have been very wrong to have dreamt of him before he dreamt of me- but I did. I kept dreaming of him. I’ll never stop.

I must remember my blanket. My dressing robe. My bonnet. My corset. My book.

Everything a lady needs really, to fall in love.

Catherine, what would you do? Tell me what to do, please. How does my novel end? Am I a heroine after all?

Surprises discovered

I tried you know. I went boldly out into the world, I dated other people and tried on different versions of myself. I loved, fought, lost. I went years without speaking to you.
And yet.
You’re it. Done. The end.
Love is a beautiful place to be, and I’m
In
It.

Heartache

The problem is that I love you.
I can tell myself over and over again that I’m being deliberate, careful, that I’m letting myself have the time that I need to be with myself. I can tell myself that I have learned to let go and allow life to happen, the chips will fall where they will. But then, two words and I’m panicked at the thought of losing you- I’m planning to give up my whole life, my whole dream just for the chance to be yours. And I don’t care if it’s logical or sensible because it’s the only thing that my heart wants.
I’m afraid of losing myself but I’m more afraid of losing you. I can physically  feel a pain in my chest, sometimes it’s a dull ache but then unexpectedly it intensified into an acute pricking, pulsing whenever I’m doubting or fearful or unsure.
Do you mean it, really? Can I trust that this is real, that it’s not another in a long line of dreams born of longing? What if tomorrow you decide it’s not worth it, I’m not worth it. What if it’s a joke, a trick. Why should I deserve your love now, after all these years.

Some days I celebrate modern technology, the ability for instant gratification. The way my face lights up when I see your messages.

Some days I hate it, because it’s up to me to keep myself from going crazy. From sending missive after missive, begging for validation.

And that’s why I’m waiting, hoping and praying that these moments will pass and I’ll grow stronger in my convictions and belief in the truth of myself, of you, of us. That I’ll be able to put this anxiety behind me, that it won’t ruin something so good and so beautiful. That we could have a future.

That there is a future.

Soul searching

This is not real. There’s no way that after all these years of struggle and heartache I could come out on top. I’m not a winner, I’m a surviver.

But.

I don’t think it’s a lie either. I’ve tried to tell myself again and again that it could be some sort of cosmic hoax, that I should prepare myself to be b r o k e n. I’m very comfortable with being in pieces.

So.

If it is real, maybe all the pieces can be stitched back together. Maybe I can leave the past well enough alone and win myself a present.  And if I’m whole again, then who am I? Twelve years of being in pieces and slowly I’m unlearning and relearning me. I don’t need to be completed. I need to be complimented.

My cracks are going to stay, I couldn’t fix them with all the glue in the world.  But eventually maybe time will make them less obvious. And anyway, the Japanese say that mended things are beautiful (hah!)

If he loves me. If he really truly does. That means I can fall, right? No more fear of being caught. Fall of my own volition and pull the string to my own parachute.

Just. Don’t ask me to give all of me, please. I don’t know who I am if I’m not where I am.  Love me by wholes, not halves. I want to continue to discover all that I can be. Maybe that’s my fear. If I do say yes and fall, does that mean that I give over the control of my descent after all?

Once upon a time I was the girl crying tears of heartbreak, real or imagined. And now. Now I grin into my pillow. I wear white dresses in my dreams. I do soul completing work and then I talk to the person who fills that completed soul all the way up.

If.

This is real, don’t let me break it. But if it’s not, don’t let me wake. I want this dream. I want it now. I want it forever.
I have never been so
Utterly
Unequivocally
Happy.

Over you

Well, this is awkward. Went to re-find my old *fiction* stories but I had the most annoying habit of pretending that everything I wrote as fact was actually fiction which means the titles and labels are super confusing (thanks past Emily, it’s literally in your subheading and you still managed to fool yourself.). Every time I’ve ever said “the last time” it’s been a lie so I won’t pretend I won’t dive in again in the future, but here’s a short sampling of all the times I’ve been “over him” over the years.

Yeah.

Totally over him.

The nice thing is that the trauma has blocked so many of those early memories that it’s nice to remember some of the sweet times. We watched bad horror movies together- I had forgotten. Your window was always open and FREEZING. I forgot that I could hear your boots and tell you were coming. So anyway. Just one excerpt and I’ll stop. In a strange way, this gives me strength, confidence.  I can stand here now and know that I’ll survive anything the world can throw at me. I can know that I have no reason for heartache, not now. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s an interesting study in time travel. 

***

You wrap your arms around me and tell me to stay, stay; purring in my ear in that way you do. You're so very very good at that. He doesn't have to know, you whisper, caressing my neck, shoulder, warm breath in my ear. And she?I hiss in reply, What will you tell her?

 Anything, or nothing. What does it matter. Stay with me tonight. Stay and be warm. It's so cold out... the windows open and it's refreshing to be here with you. Why go back to a lonely bed?Shrug you off and move away. Lying on my back with my head turned toward you, leaving a pillow between us so I can't see your eyes. Goddamn those eyes. Breath in and out, in and out, and you are beyond exhaustion, I can tell in your voice.

So why not? Your breath is on my neck again, you know I hate that and love it too. You smell of beer and you need to shave, your chin is tickling my neck maddeningly. Sit up and wrap my arms around myself for a moment, gathering the strength to swing my legs out of your bed. Find the shoes in the dark-much easier then nights before when it was a shirt and bra and pants. Open the door noiselessly in that way that I learned months ago and turn to see your form on the bed. Well goodbye then, good luck with life."Want to answer with something sweet and poetic, but not so.

 Bye.

***

Here’s the thing about time travel. At some point, you must live in the present. I cannot keep going back and questioning my current reality. Not if I want it to survive. So, I’ll do my best to stay in the here and now. I’ll probably fail sometimes, I have years of assumptions and false conclusions to unlearn. I need to figure out how to say sorry- to him, to myself. 

Because I won’t jeopardize this for anything, if  someday it could turn into my reality. It would all be worth it. First though, I need to be whole- I need to finish all the stages of grief that I’ve cut short again and again.  Not for this man who’s worked his way back into my head (who am I kidding, he never left.) Rather for the things the other one did to me. I need to mourn the loss of my self identity and my trust. I need to find a way to move beyond it wholly. Because I want to be able to be all of myself. For me, and I hope someday for him. 

County Fair, Chapter One

There’s nothing better than the fair really. She had been to more than her fair share of counties and states, and they were all alike in their nostalgia of hometown pride. The first county fair was held before the country was a quarter of a century old, but somehow no matter how they started every fair seemed to long for the mid century graduate of a midway lit with electric bulbs and girls in crinolined skirts. This suited her just fine, it was always easier to find her a mark if he already wanted what she was selling.

Walking past the boulevard lined with hucksters calling for patrons to step up and try their “luck” at the decidedly rigged carnival games, she felt eyes on the back of her head. Pausing, she pulled out her compact. It had been her grandmother’s once, but she had filled it with her own special rouge. It’s mirror sent light dancing over her skin but in it she could see the man behind her left shoulder. He was talking to a buddy, but his eyes kept drifting to her waist and her bare shoulders.  There was something about his gaze  that was picking at the back of her mind, but the more she searched her mind the further it slipped away.  Mentally shrugging she dug in her purse for lipstick- American Beauty, her signature color. Checking the mirror once more, she slipped her things back into her purse and continued her slow walk down the avenue. A  man leaned against a display of  oversized stuffed bears in front of a wall of targets, water guns waiting at the ready in front of him.  

“Wanna play sweetheart?”

“Oh... no. Thank you but I’m terrible.” She was about to walk away on when a voice behind her made her pause.

“I’ll play for you, if you keep the prize.”  Turning she saw her mystery man, up close his blue eyes were softer grey and she could see the threads wearing at the edge of his green cap.

“That doesn’t seem hardly fair!”

“Sure it is. I got no use for a bear this big, but I been looking for a reason to show off for my buddies all afternoon. I win, you carry the bear and I can tell all of them I talked to a beautiful girl. Even trade.”  There was something about him that made her want to stop, but she was already in too deep. She knew it the moment he spoke. 

“All right then, swell.”  Grinning he hunkered down over the gin and waited for the attendant to half heartedly call for a challenger to 

“STEP RIGHT UP, STEP RIGHT UP.” At the sound of the buzzer the water made the little stuffed animals on their tracks climb higher and higher, until her champions hit the top rung as she knew it would. It was easy to pick a winner once you had been around for a while, and this guy may be a loser at any other place in the world but he was a winner when he was at the county fair. Grinning, her let her pick her prize- not an overstuffed bear but a soft little lamb that was looking neglected next to its gargantuan shelf mates. Thanking him, she turned to walk away but he caught her arm.

“Hey, you gotta boyfriend?” She felt color rising in her cheeks, somehow The straight forward nature of the question made her insides squirm. Romance is not what it used to be.

“No, I haven’t had a beau in some time actually.”

“Well then, mind if I walk with you?” 

“Sure, is your friends don’t mind.” He grinned, it was a little lopsided but no less charming.

“The guys are drinking bud over at the tent, they don’t know which was is heaven and which way is hell, let alone what I get up to.”  They set off around the edge of the midway, he was careful to match his pace to her high wedge sandals. 

“I haven’t seen your around here before.  Did you come down from the city or are you just passing through?”
“Oh, I won’t be in town long. Just a couple days- but everyone told me I had to come down here, I guess there’s a tractor pull later that everyone’s excited about.” She knew by looking at him now that she had him. His eyes lit up and she could see actual excitement in his smile.
“Yes ma’am, my cousins organizing it. Been a family tradition now since right after World War 2, my great uncle started it.”
“Well then I guess I’ll have to stay and watch, mustn’t I?” 

“I sure hope you do.” A crowd of teens swept past, girls in jean shorts- could they rightly be called shorts she wondered? Young men in shirts proclaiming their high school graduation year. They were near the food tents now, and she could tell that the pull of his friends and beer was getting stronger. She stepped in close enough to smell his musk, it was hot and still somehow he smelled like pine and hay and all sorts of nice things.
“I better let you get back to your friends, but I would love to see you later if you don’t mind.” She was looking right up into his eyes now, she could tell that having her so close tilting her head up to his was causing him an internal battle. The beer won, as she knew it would.
“I sure as heck don’t mind. See you around six? I’ll be at the west gate of the grandstand.”
“I can’t wait.”  She walked away, weaving through the crowd and feeling his eyes on her back.
She had him.