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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

another chapter out and done. This hurts so much but i can feel the weight lifiting off me. The pain going away...

Chapter Seven

Searching for the music between the music. Trying to find the notes between the notes he woke up from a dreamless sleep that was all him and him alone.

Something felt different as he tried to wake.

Like a weight that held him down was no longer there.

He was silent inside.

Just. Silent.

He sat up and in a half in half out daze of sleeping and not sleeping, he looked around at the studio and saw the carnage of what it took to get the story out.

“Ouch.” was all he said.

He looked down and saw his shirt was covered in vomit, paint and what maybe looked like blood. The smell of sweat was coming off him like a dark onion rotting on a hot summer day. That just about gagged him in his state of mind. He ran his hand over his face to keep from puking and felt several days of stubble.

“Jesus, how long have I been in here?” he said as he got up and zombie walked to the shower.

Contemplating time he stood underneath the hot water until he felt somewhat clean enough to not sit in his own filth and put the stopper in the tub.

Sliding down into the steam he felt like a serpent shedding a skin. A heavy vomit covered paint stained skin.

He grabbed the tape recorder from the side of the tub, pressed play, tossed a wet handkerchief over his eyes and as he sat back took a deep sigh.

“Feels like I am floating. Like I am not me. I am me, but a me I have never seen or felt before. Wait is that right?”

Pulling the stopper out with his toes he laid back and let the water drain. Once it was gone he filled the tub with hot water again. “For me, home has been a constant fire that keeps rolling downhill. Sometimes I am chasing the flames trying to get some warmth. Other times I am running from the flames afraid I will get burned. But now...”

He turns the water off with his toe and slowly slides into the steam.

“Now it feels like the flame is inside of me. And I don't know if it is keeping me safe and warm or burning me up.”

He began to sweat then. A deep sweat that pulls out things you have held in for too long. Each drop sounded like a nail being removed from a closed coffin lid and felt just as painful. Sweating it out he heard the creak and moan creak and moan as each nail echoed and hit the still water and sending a ripple away from him.

“Perhaps that is what you have been running from all these years.” she said walking into the room. “Running from yourself. Running from that fire. Always afraid of the home that is inside of you.”

She sat on the floor, handed him his Winnie the Pooh cup filled with hot coffee, rested her head on the side of the tub and smiled, “Welcome back.”

“Hi.” he said with the typical nervous goofy smile.

“Hi.” she smiled back.

“I didn't think I would make it back from this one.” he said leaning forward and kissing her head.

“I knew you would.” she kissed him on the lips and rested her head on his. “You always do.”

“You are still here.” he whispered and sighed.

“Always, love.” she sat up and slid the mug towards him. “You need to wash all of this away and move on. You seriously stink.”

She grabbed the sponge and peppermint soap and started scrubbing the paint of his back as he leaned forward and drank his coffee.

“Wow.” she said laughing, “did any paint hit the canvass this time, love?”

He laughed.

“My grandfather used to say to me 'I hope you don't fuck like you create boy.”

They both laughed as she leaned in, bit his ear and whispered, “You do.” She squeezed the sponge out over his head, “But that is a good thing. Passionate. Full of fire.”

She threw the sponge at him and stood up, “Drain it again. Rinse off in the shower and I will climb in the tub with you. Going to get more coffee.”

With himself and the tub clean he fell back into the water and grabbed a pen and tablet off the floor.

That perfect precise moment when intimate moments refill our souls...

Under a steaming shower taking time to completely soap the sponge with our favorite soap, you caress my entire body letting the soap, your hands and song work deep into my bones.

Standing under the water I lean my head back and let the day fall from me and down the drain.

Rinsing the sponge and working the soap like a sculpture to clay, I treat your body with the same care your hands did on mine.

Lingering in places where muscles are tense, tight and need a release, I stay there until they relax.

Loving the sounds you make I stay even longer in places where you moan and put your hands on my shoulders for support as your legs begin to shake.

Time is weightless as we embrace beneath the water.

Heads resting on shoulders as arms hold tight, close and we become one.

Distance keeps us from doing these things right now so I create them with my words and images. Sharing them with love, lust, desire and all of my heart.

A powerful, beautiful song we share until I find the roads back into your arms again...

“Ready for me?” she asked walking in the bathroom.

“Always.” he sighed set the pen and tablet on the floor and smiled, “come join my weather for awhile.

She slid out of her clothes and tested the foot with her water.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are.” he asked caressing her calf with his finger.

“You have not.” she stepped into the tub with a hiss of breath, slid down into the water and leaned back into his arms, “You should do that.”

“You are so beautiful” he bit her ear gently and rubbed his nose against her cheek, “You are so beautiful that your beauty brings a light into my dark. You are so beautiful that with you my darkness is a comfort, not a fear.”

She sighed, leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“You are so beautiful that you still take my breath away and the flutter byes in my stomach fly with every touch and smile from you.”

He kissed her on the lips then. “That is how beautiful you are to me.”

“Thank you.” she whispered.

“Anytime. Every time. All the time. For the rest of our lives.” he replied.

He grabbed one of the rose stems from the cup he kept them in and twirled in it is hand as his other one caressed her skin.

“I have never told you why I chew on these have I”

“I figured you would get to it in time.”

“It was the same time and place as the Turtle incident...”

Rose Stems and the Black Queen

After the turtle incident I felt so alone. So weak. So scared. No terrified. Just terrified of life. Terrified of mom leaving me with Bruce and never coming back. Terrified of Bruce cutting my throat in the middle of the night.

This fear made me school even worse. I completely gave up and just stared off into space. I stopped my schoolwork and just went away in my head.

The sound of the kids laughing at me and calling me names vanished into the background. Just an empty shell with choes bouncing around in it.

One day I was walking to school when I ran into a group of bullies that had been tormenting me since I arrived in Pearland. Bullies always have a leader and as I walked closer to them he smiled in anticipation of either chasing or catching me.

I saw him mouth to his buddies, “look who it is.” They ran after me and I took off. Knowing they were getting close to me I ducked into the first door I saw. They stood outside and waited; all good bullies know not to start anything in a building. Grownups always break it up or inform their parents.

I turned around and saw that I was in a small grocery store. I walked around hoping they would get bored and leave.

Eventually, a woman with blue hair, sparkling glasses on a gold chain and a big warm smile came from behind the counter and asked if I needed any help.

I’m not sure why but I pretended to be deaf and dumb. The lady gave me a sincere smile, grabbed a pen and paper and wrote the question down again. I wrote back that I was hungry but not sure what I wanted.

She wrote back, TAKE WHAT YOU WANT SWEETIE.

I grabbed one of the homemade sandwiches from the cooler and fumbled around in my pockets pretending to look for money that wasn’t there.

DON’T WORRY ABOUT MONEY. YOU COME BACK WHENEVER YOU ARE HUNGRY.

Every day after school I would stop and write a poem, a story or give them a drawing and they would feed me. All the while I pretended that I was deaf and dumb. I wasn’t mean to the ladies. I never took more than they offered but I did feel guilty about what I was doing. It didn’t stop me from doing it. I was hungry; and the bullies would never follow me into the bodega.

One day before school, the bullies were chasing me and I was nowhere near the bodega or the school so I ran into a Safeway grocery store to hide and to wait them out.

I decided to make myself a sandwich while I was in the store. I opened a bag of Wonder Bread to get a couple of slices when I heard a woman behind me yell “hey!”

Startled, I jumped and spun around expecting an employee to pounce on me. Instead it was one of the ladies from the bodega. I realized that I had jumped when she yelled and I ran out of the store and through the group of kids waiting for me.

I honestly believe that I ran faster from the smiling Bodega lady than I ever ran from the kids. I really did hate lying to her and now I was caught. I didn’t want to face that fact.

I slowed down enough to walk into a barbershop to hide.

Never run through a doorway.

Always walk in with some sort of confidence.

Confidence is a damn good weapon to have.

Running through a doorway into someones world lets them know you are scared and don’t care if they know it.

That’s a secret you can’t afford to let out.

The lessons that Gary: The Convict Next Door taught me rang in my head and I stood in the doorway and smiled.

“Have a seat, Come enjoy our weather for awhile.” Said a white leathery old man sharpening a straight razor on a belt attached to the barber’s chair.

Sitting in the chair was a small black man that looked to be a hundred and ten years old. He had a giant white afro with poofy sideburns to match. There was a black pipe clenched between his teeth and white smoke drifted from between them every time the man took a breath.

Next to the big window that looked out on to the street, two men sat at a table staring at the pieces on a chess board. One of them looked exactly like the man sitting in the barber chair. The other man was white; he wore a black suit with a string tie like the jazz musicians wore in New Orleans. He was very tan with long black hair that was showing some gray. He was bald with several scars on his head. He looked to be squinting at with one eye closed more than the other. Chewing on a small stick with great focus on the chessboard he didn't even look up at me.

I looked at the door thinking maybe it was better to run after all; but after a moment, I decided old smoky men were safer than young angry bullies and walked over to the bench.

“Relax, we’re all friends here.” Said the black man as he moved one of the chess pieces and then sat back and lit his pipe. “So what brings you to the barber shop? Since you should be in school?”

I began to elaborate one of the many lies that just seemed to roll off my tongue; instead I shrugged my shoulders and looked at my feet.

“I’m going to guess it was those other yard apes chasing you up and down the street all the time.” Said the bald man with the stick in his mouth. His voice was harsh, dry, and very deep. Each word a voice to it as it came out.

“Yes sir.”

“Well,” said the man moving a chess piece and sitting back, “You’re safe here.”

The barber brushed off his seat after the man got up and took a long look at me, “Is that him?”

“That’s the little artist. Not a very good actor though.” Said the white guy. He looked at me, the small stick moving around in his mouth as he talked. “The ladies know you aren’t deaf. Felt sorry for you. I can see why. Seen you wearing those same clothes for a month now.”

The barber brushed the seat off, put a smooth white board across the arms and smacked it.

“Have a seat, get that mop cut. Name’s Clive. What’s yours?”

“Christophe, and I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money.”

“Didn’t ask for any. Now hop up here.”

As Clive worked his way through my hair that hadn’t been cut in two years I watched the two men play chess.

“The black man is Anthony. His twin over there is Timothy; call him Tim.” They both nodded at me. “The crusty Italian is Giovanni.” Clive said as the scissors snipped away.

The scissors flew and my hair hit the floor as Giovanni and Tim played their game.

“I do believe we are at a stalemate.” Giovanni said leaning back.

“All done.” Said Clive pulling the cape away with a swoosh and brushing the hair off my neck with a very stiff brush. He brought a jar full of Dum-Dum suckers down from the shelf, opened it and offered me one. I took a green one, said thank you and returned to the bench.

I quietly sat in the barber shop and watched men come and go. Some received haircuts; others sat on the bench chatting with me. Around noon a large woman stopped by. She unfolded a small poker table, snapped a checkered board table cloth out and draped it over the top. She then set out enough food to feed an army.

She counted the number of men around the room and got as many plates. She scooped out lunch and passed it around.

Then she looked over at me above the rim of her glasses. Sniffed, scooped some spaghetti out, looked me up and down and scooped some more. She thrust the plate under my chin, “someone should have been feeding this boy. Look how skinny he is.”

“That is my sister Gloria.” said Giovanni, “If you know what is good for ya, you will eat.”

The plate had to weigh five pounds as I set it on my lap and dug in. Halfway through the meal my stomach felt like it was going to burst. The other men were taking their empty plates to the large woman to be cleaned. I looked around for some help and no one looked me in the eye. The woman shook a finger at the plate and I kept going.

Somehow, I finished it all and wound up falling asleep on the bench. I didn’t hear the woman leave; I didn’t hear people come and go.

I felt a hand shake me awake as a voice laughed.

“Wake up, dirty one. Time to close shop.”

I sat up rubbed sleep from my eyes and looked around. The lights were out and Clive stood at the front door with keys in hand. Giovanni stood over me smiling.

“My sister’s pasta has killed men. If it didn’t kill them it made them stronger. You stick around and she will either kill you or make you strong enough to take care of those lil bastards that have been chasing you. But for today it’s time to head home. Where do you live and I will give you a ride.”

I automatically began to lie. I never told anyone where I lived in case they wanted to talk to my mom. And if they realized she was never home they may wind up putting me in a foster home or worse. I told him I could walk home.

“I need to walk the food off.”

“I don’t believe you. Tell me where you live.”

The look that man gave me told me people listened to him and obeyed him or else.

I told him.

For the next week I hung out at the barber shop and didn't go to school. I didn’t have to worry about school calling home because we didn’t own a phone.

Every day at noon Gloria showed up with a pile of food. They always kept saying the same thing. Fatten me up to take care of the bullies.

“Now what you need to do.” Giovanni said in his scratchy voice. “What you need to do is just go fucking crazy! Crazy is good at times.”

Slapping the back of his into his palm and that rose stem in his mouth he smiled, “Just. Fucking. Go. Crazy and beat the biggest one. Bite him, rip his eyes out. You do what it fucking takes to win kid!”

I would leave the apartment in the morning and hide in the bushes until the kids were almost at school and then I would go to the barbershop. But one morning I left too soon and the main bully and his crew found me.

The kids name was Derrick. He had been held back twice and towered over ll the other kids. He always had this evil grin on his face like he enjoyed the malice he inflicted. There were four smaller kids that hung with him hoping to one day be just as mean as he was and followed everything he did.

I wasn't going to make it to the barber shop before they caught me so ran behind a taco bell hoping to get to the alley and to another street.

But the kids got smart and I didn't see them split up. As I was running I saw one of them step out from behind the dumpster and tackled me so hard that it knocked the wind out of me.

I was on the ground gasping for breath when I heard the red wings on the concrete and derrick say, “Hold him down.”

The kids held my arms and legs, laughing as they did and Derrick sat on my chest.

First he grabbed my hands and hit me in the face with them saying, “stop punching yourself. Stop punching yourself.”

Bored with that he then would get a trickle of spit hanging off his lip and let it fall to my face. Right before it hit me he would suck it back into his mouth.

Then bored with that he started punching me. Over and over and over.

“Keep him down!” he said as he got up and walked over to to a pile of dog shit and stepped in it.

He came back and as I squirmed and kicked and tried to get up he stood over me laughing and started to step on my head with his boot.

All I can now remember is seeing that boot coming down over and over again on my face.

Then there was nothing.

I do not know how I got loose. I don't really remember anything except hearing that scream in my head when Bruce held me over the sink. Then I was screaming and snarling and somehow I had knocked derrick down and fell onto this back, grabbed his throat, and bit down on his ear. I felt his hot blood squirt in my mouth and that made me even angrier.

Screaming and snarling even more I grabbed his hair in my hands and pounded his head into the cement.

“Leave! Me! Alone!” I screamed with each smack of his head to the concrete.

I felt some one pull me off of him.

Then there was nothing.

I was sitting in the principals office crying. I still had dog shit and blood all over my face as he stood over me sounding like Charlie Browns parents. Incoherent and gibberish as he told me how horrible I was.

“You are getting popped. Do I need to call your parents?” he asked grabbing the paddle from behind his desk.

I shook my head no.

He wasn't even going to let me clean my face before he did it.

I placed my hands on his desk and he hit me ten times with that paddle then sent me to class.

I didn't go to class.

I ran to the barber shop and as I walked in they all stood up clapped and laughed.

Especially Giovanni. He was laughing and imitating me smashing Derricks head in, “I told you. I told you. You did it kid.”

One of them grabbed me in headlock and rubbed my head gently with his knuckle. Several pats on the back and Gloria walked up with a wash cloth and clean clothes.

After Gloria cleaned me up and fed me Giovanni motioned for me to sit at the chess board with him.

“It's time you heard a story.”

He tapped the table with his hand, staring at the chess board; gathering his thoughts before he spoke.

“We all fall in love.” He held up a finger. “Once. Tru Both souls involved.”

He took the stick out and held it between his fingers. “My love was Raquel. We met in Italy as teenagers. We fell in love, we danced through life and we married. We were going to grow old together.”

He grabbed the black queen off the board and turned it slowly in his fingers.

“I took over the family business. We moved to America. We became rich. Every day of our lives together when I came home from the killing and corruption, I would pledge my love for her and give her a rose and whisper, “I made it my love. And I would kiss her. Kiss her deep and she returned the kiss with even more depth.”

He grew silent and kept turning the queen around in his fingers.

“She died, didn’t she?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Yes, yes, of course she did. All good love stories have a death in them or they would not be good love stories.”

He passed the black queen over to me and gently slid the rest of the pieces off of the board.

“You win.” Then with a deep sigh he said, “I chew on these because on her death bed she told me our love would not die even after she did.” He pulled the stem from his lips and held it just like he held the black queen.

“I chew on rose stems to remind me that love doesn’t die. That love is always there on the lips to be said, or shared.”

He sat back and stared at then and was quiet for several seconds.

“You did good today kid. You need that fire and anger to survive. But remember this. Do not let that anger override the love in the world. It is all around you in different forms. Always keep love in your heart. Always always remember that.”

I told him I would.

Mom came home that night and woke me up with the usual whisper, “Wake up baby. We are leaving.”

I was so grateful that I think I jumped up from my sleep and ran to the car of the new boyfriend and didn't look back.

It didn't hit me until later that day that I did not get to say goodbye to the barber shop crew. It seemed I never got to say goodbye to the people that were important in my life.

But now I realize I never really did say goodbye. They have been with me all this time and always will be.

Love is like that and always will be.

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

i did it. got it out. at what cost, i am not sure, may never see you again. but know i love you always have and always will

ok so here it is. The one chapter that kept me from completing the book for so many years. I wrote it before, but didn't really write it. For years i heard a voice in me, a dark evil voice that sang to me no matter how hard i tried to drown it out or run away from it. It has haunte dme to the point that i believe i do not have a home and has killed so many relationships, and probably the one that mattered to me most. That fear told me it It was time to stop. You can only be scared for so logn before it eats you alive and becoming something else. I found that voice and music in me and dealt with it. The past two weeks have been nightmarish, lonely and i believed i was not going to come back. But i keep I searching inside of me ripping open doors i slammed shut. And then i found it. And that is jsut it. I shut it away. You cannot do that. It happened. there is nothing i can do about that. But once the darkness in you has a name and a face, then the dragon is easier to defeat... And now i am pissed!!! Pissed i let it have a hold of me all those years. That voice will never win!!! Never!!! It is time to prove that. This book will be done soon... I have got this now!!!! Chapter Six Ocean: Sometimes you see the beauty in some one, even when they don't. You tell them, but they don't believe it, “well as long as you see it, that is the important part.” If you could only see what I see.... I can see the distance between us. Not in miles, but in me. In what I have to do to heal myself. To get back to you in one whole piece. Going through my journals I keep seeing the same thing over and over but not knowing what it truly meant until now. waiting for my ghosts to catch up... Reading that now I can see the things that I have been so afraid to write. Things that happened when I was a kid that I couldn't let go. Things that cut my heart and never really healed but left a scar so deep my heart beats around it. This is a mountain in the distance. Dark and looming with jagged edges and no path to get over, I keep believing I am getting close but the distance stays the same. Now the shadow of that mountain is stretching to me and I feel all my warmth going away. I know I have to climb it. I know it is the only path that I will find to truly be with you again. To be happy. To let that child go. The terrifying thing is that it is a long road and I don't know how it will end or where it is going. I am going on faith and my faith sometimes gets shaken. I am afraid of my own words. So afraid I will actually give the ghosts more power in speaking of them and that mountain will just get that much bigger. I know around that mountain is you. Around that mountain is a life without fear of the ghosts that have haunted me all these years. But being in this shadow I am afraid that when I do get over it, you may be gone. I will still feel you in my soul, but that will be all. And life without you is just as terrifying of the ghosts I keep running from. I hold on too hard, I know. It is no longer a rabbit hole I am falling down, but a mountain I may fall off of. I cling to you because you help the fear go away. But doing that I do not get closer to the mountain or you. It keeps me at this distance waiting for my ghosts to catch up. I now know that I have to go to my ghosts. I have to climb that mountain, conquer that mountain and even still climb down the other side, which at times is just as hard. I have to do this to set the ghosts free. I have to do this for you and me. I want to so much to be in your arms, to laugh at silly things no one else laughs at but us. To wake up on rainy days and do nothing but nap and hold you as we dream of the sun and things to come. I truly do not know what this mountain has in store. I know things happen how they are supposed to happen and right now, this has to be done. And there is no one else to do it but me. I hope when I came down on the other side at least I can see the path that will lead me back to your smile. To you. No longer waiting for my ghosts to catch up I am walking into the shadow of the mountain of all those horrible things I have hidden away. Confidence is being scared, no terrified of every next step but having the strength to do it anyway and ready for what life brings. I love you. I miss you. I miss feeling you put your hand in my hand and feeling you squeeze tight and not let go. I miss you walking up behind me, putting your chin on my shoulder and whispering hi and waiting for me to turn and kiss your lips. I miss these things so much. I miss when we stood under the stars. Moving so close to you, I could feel your heartbeat enter mine. I could not stop trembling as I stared in your eyes. They were deeper than the stars shining above us. “To kiss you.” I whisper as my shaking hands reach up and caress your cheek. “Do it.” you whisper back. That small distance between our lips seemed a lifetime. The excitement lasted longer. When my lips caressed your lips, a fire and a sigh of relief roared through me. The moan was instant and you grabbed me and kissed me deeper. As I kissed back and bit your lower lip you say, “tongue.” I give it to you, and the fire became a storm and I could not get enough of you, I still cannot get enough of you. And that is the way it should be. My bridge, my ocean, my tide that rises and falls over my shore.....just to hold you. Just to hold you. To feel you underneath me, over me, beside me. To feel you as I do now with the distance between us. To feel us close the distance. To feel your music inside of me. I am singing to you, hear my music.I love you, my oceanRiver He was screaming in his sleep.The scream came from down deep inside of me. It gurgled and bubbled its way up through him and the nightmare that was causing it. He screamed in the the dark until he could no longer catch his breath, and even then the scream tried to work its way out through his gasps. He woke up and tried to wipe the nightmare from his face. Swiping his hand again and again across his face as his gasps for air still held more screams and tears.Sweat poured out of him as he crawled to the trash can and made it just in time to throw up. He fell onto his back and cried himself back to sleep. Then there was nothing. The Turtle Incident We we were in South Houston again. It seems at this time in my life we always wound up there. We were living right on the edge of the a nice school district and mom had even bigger high hopes for us both. We were sharing an unfurnished apartment with a man she went out with once, but didn't really connect with. He needed a roommate for the expensive apartment he just rented and mom agreed. Mom was living at the bar she worked at just to try and pay the rent. As always she was never home. The mans name was Bruce. He was an alcoholic and very very angry man. Angry at everything and he took that anger out on me. Five foot five a hundred ten pounds, he was a pale ghost with soulless eyes. He had a stinky scraggly beard that came down to his muscle less chest and it always had food in it. White beer foam seemed to a permanent fixture around his lips and his speech always had the same angry slur no matter how much or how little he drank. He hated me. He hated me more than anything in the world. I honesty believe he saw the world that hated him in me and decided I was everything that went wrong with him. “You know one of these days, you keep pissing on that toilet seat, I am gonna cut that little pecker off.” In various degrees of verbal abuse he would tell me how worthless I was. How my mom was a “white trash whore”. How I was the son of white trash whore and would never amount to anymore than the trash I was. This went on for months. “You even think of telling your mom, and I will kill you both.” He would always lean down close to my face whenever he told me this. The smell of beer and cigarettes reeked as he belched in my face. When I looked into those soul less eyes, I knew he would mean it. He would kill us both. So I kept my mouth shut. Every night I would curl up in a ball and wait in pure fer for the creak of the hall floor. He would walk up, stand in our doorway and sway back and forth as he sharpened his pocket knife he always carried in his pocket. He never said a word. Just his silence, the silhouette of him in the door and that knife against a wet stone. School was just as bad. The clothes the sirens had bought me were now filthy and once again I was the stinky kid in school. Even though we had hot water and a shower, I was so afraid of Bruce that I wouldn't bathe. I was so afraid he would come in and come my pecker off that I chose to stink and be bullied for it. Everything about love, romance and a home that the sirens opened inside of me vanished. I completely gave up. Bullies at school, teachers ignoring me believing there was no hope, teachers looking the other way when I was getting picked on. Getting beat up or chased as I walked home then getting to the apartment only to have a drunk, angry man threaten me in various ways. Life became a dark painful shadow for me. A scene in a horror movie I lived over and over again. Mom did her best. One day I came home from school and she was actually there. With a smile on her face she had a turtle in a small glass bowl. “One of the guys at the bar gave it to me. I thought you would like it.” she said as she handed me the turtle. “what are you going to name him?” He was a small thing with a tiny grin on his face that never went away. I picked him up and he stretched out his neck, and rested his head on my chin. He was just happy. I named him Grin and at that in my life he was my only friend. He was something to look forward to. An actual light on an otherwise dark days and even darker life. I loved that turtle. One day I walked into the apartment and our roommate grabbed me by the hair, pulled my arm behind my back and shoved me into the kitchen and over to the sink. The sink was full of water and Grin was swimming around trying to find a way out. “Listen you lil cocksucker.” he held my head still as I squirmed and tried to get away. “Stand still or you will make it worse. Lesson time.” I stopped and stayed quiet as I stared at Grin swimming below me. The little guy swam straight for the edge of the sink, little claws scratching against the white linoleum his little his and grinned. “You touch any more of my shit, bring any more fucking varmints in my home, or eat anymore of my food...” He pulled the plug on the sink and flipped on the garbage disposal. Instantly a whirlpool began and Grin struggled not to get caught up in it. I know I screamed and couldn't stop screaming. But the scream sounded distant to me, like it wasn't me but another boys screams echoing in my head. He pushed my face closer to the sink as Grin got close to the drain, his little legs kicking harder as he tried to escape. And then he went down into the garbage disposal. I know I was still screaming as I closed my eyes and heard the crunch of bone and shell and after the water was gone I felt little junks of him hit my face. I screamed even harder and bits of him flew into my mouth where I tried to spit out and started to gag. Still screaming the entire time I did. I heard Bruce laughing as he raised my head and threw me against the fridge. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. With a click it came open and he pressed the blade against my nuts. Lesson time wasn’t over yet. “And if you piss on the toilet seat one more time, I’m going to cut your cock off and put it down the garbage disposal as well. Do you hear me?” Crying with snot running out of my nose and vomit on my chi I nodded as turtle guts fell off my face. I felt my pants grow warm. I was so scared I pissed myself. “Good. Lesson time is over. Don't even think of telling your fucking mom.” He left slamming the apartment door behind him, leaving me sliding to the kitchen floor wiping my turtle off my face and crying. I’m not sure which upset me more, the turtle guts in my face or the fact that I had just pissed all over myself and it was the only pair of jeans I had. The kids at school would beat me even more if I went to school smelling like piss. After I wiped off the tears, I grabbed moms shampoo and washed my jeans in the bathtub. I wrung them out the best I could, put them back on and then walked down to the apartment complexes library. I sat on the outside bench in wet jeans and waited. The sun was starting to set and it was getting chilly. I prayed I didn't have to wait too long because I could already feel my teeth chattering from wearing the wet jeans. A woman stopped one of the dryers threw her clothes in the basket and left so she could fold her clothes at home. I locked the door, took off my pants and threw them in the dryer hoping there would be enough time to dry. I threw the underwear away in the trash can. My clothes still smelled like pee the next day. Then there was nothing.

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

i do not know if you watch or read these anymore. And i understand why if you don’t. Perhaps this is just me putting this out there to tell you i still love you with all my heart, but know why you want no part of it... and maybe one day i can fix that

The only that can save you from you, is you. That is a cold hard fact that many of us cannot, will not or choose not to admit. To do that. Well, you have to look inside yourself. Deep inside at all of you. And that, is probably one of the most terrifying things any of us can do. For the last thirty some odd years there has been a voice inside of me. A feeling. A darkness. A place where no matter how hard i worked, tried to be a better man, to hope my words and images would help those when they neeeded a hand, to live by the music i heard inside of me... there was always that vocie and feeling that said no, "white trash piece of shit!!" So as a defense i wantd to create worlds for others to enjoy. It was the one place that voice coudl nto touch me. If i was singing fro some one else, whether it was to make them angry, sad, happy, feel love, feel lust.... whatever it took for them to feel and and help them heal, or at the very least. give them a moment to breathe and hear a story that make the day not so heavy... I did this telling, but never truly telling any story to myself. Afraid of finding that voice and having to deal with the terror that with something strong inside of me... I finally found that voice. And it is a monster that has fed off of me and grown to the depths of fuel for nightmares that have no place int he mind and heart that wants to be free. It has sparked a fear that i have held deep in me all these years and i want to run. But there is nowhere to run. You cannot run from yourself. But now i know the voice and i know the monster. And now i am pissed. And it will not defeat me. I cannot write it yet, that time is soon. But living my life the way i do, i reveal the most gentle fragile sides of me to the world. Believing this song needs to be heard and others will hear and they to, sing the same way... and when it is time for my words and my images to turn this darkness to a balanced grey, because too much light can blind just as much as darkness hides our fears, i will defeat this monster and find the me i have believed in to keep me going when i wanted to quit. Confidence is knowing the only one that can you save you from yourself, is you.. Can you ear me singing to you. Would you care to sing along. We are all int his together and this is just one great song....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2S0BmvZs6Xo

i love you and always will,

river

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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I can see the distance between us. Not in miles, but in me. In what I have to do to heal myself. To get back to you in one whole piece.

Going through my journals I keep seeing the same thing over and over but not knowing what it truly meant until now.

waiting for my ghosts to catch up...

Reading that again I can see the things that I have been afraid to write. Things that happened when I was a kid that I I can't let go. Things that cut my heart and never really healed but left a deep scar.

They are a ghost like mountain in the distance. Dark and looming with jagged edges and no path to get over.

I know I have to climb it.

I keep believing I am getting close but the distance stays the same. Only now the shadow of that mountain is stretching to me and I feel all my warmth going away.

I have to get to that mountain, I have to climb that mountain and I have to move on from that mountain.

I know it is the only path that I will find to truly be with you again. To be happy. To let that child go.

The terrifying thing is that it is a long road and I don't know how it will end or where it is going. I am going on faith and my faith sometimes gets shaken.

I am afraid of my own words. So afraid I will actually give the ghosts more power in speaking of them and that mountain will just get that much bigger.

I know around that mountain is you. But being in this shadow I am afraid that when I do get over it, you may be gone. I will still feel you in my soul, but that will be all.

I hold on too hard, I know. Doing this alone and it is no longer a rabbit hole I am falling down, but a mountain I may fall off of, I cling to you because you help the fear go away.

But doing that I do not get closer to the mountain or you.

I hold on to that and it keeps me from getting close. It keeps me at this distance waiting for my ghosts to catch up.

I now know that I have to go to my ghosts.

I have to climb that mountain, conquer that mountain and even still climb down the other side, which at times is just as hard.

I have to do this to set the ghosts free.

I have to do this for you and me.

I want to so much to be in your arms, to laugh at silly things no one else laughs at but us.

To wake up on rainy days and do nothing but nap and hold you as we dream of the sun and things to come.

I truly do not know what this mountain has in store. I know things happen how they are supposed to happen and right now, this has to be done. And there is no one else to do it but me.

I hope when I came down on the other side at least I can see the path that will lead me back to your smile. To you.

No longer waiting for my ghosts to catch up I am walking into the shadow of the mountain of all those horrible things I have hidden away.

Confidence is being scared, no terrified of every next step but having the strength to do it anyway and ready for what life brings.

I love you.

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

After the moon has shed her light on a new night with no burden, uncertainty or fear..

When her sky is a blanket to keep our desires safe, warm and secure until the dance has been done and the song has been found...

After you move on me, over me, into me and the night carries our cries of everything we feel into her eyes..

It is then I know wjat love truly is..

It is when you fall on me and our breath is gone.

When our heartbeat is stronger than before and all we have have to hold onto this world is your weight on me and my trembling arms wrapped around you.

That is when our song grows strong and your whisper is what keeps me going when I am lost...

“River,” catching your breath you fall into me more, “river, I love you so so much. Please, please, please be patient...”

You rest your head in my neck as I feel you try and catch your breath.

My arms that surround you try to pull you even closer as I sigh, “My ocean, my ocean, my ocean...”

And my breath that escapes me and falls into you gives me the strength to tell you, “I. am. Going. Nowhere.”

After the moon has shed her light, our song grows that much stronger...

i love you,

river

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

That perfect precise moment when intimate moments refill our souls...

Under a steaming shower taking time to completely soap the sponge with our favorite soap, you caress my entire body letting the soap, your hands and song work deep into my bones.

Standing under the water I lean my head back and let the day fall from me and down the drain.

Rinsing the sponge and working the soap like a sculpture to clay, I treat your body with the same care your hands did on mine.

Lingering in places where muscles are tense, tight and need a release, I stay there until they relax.

Loving the sounds you make I Stay even longer in places where you moan and put your hands on my shoulders for support as your legs begin to shake.

Time is weightless as we embrace beneath the water.

Heads resting on shoulders as arms hold tight, close and we become one.

Distance keeps us from doing these things right now so I create them with my words and images. Sharing them with love, lust, desire and all of my heart.

A powerful, beautiful song we share until I find the roads back into your arms again...

i love you.

River

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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I am scared.

I am scared of the things I have to write to create the music of my past that will turn my demons into angels.

I am scared of my words failing of finding the heaven I have when you are in my arms.

I am scared I miss you too much when my arms are empty and that fear of you not here tries to embrace me.

I am scared of that rabbit hole I fall down to create.

I am scared of not going down the rabbit hole and the creativity eating inside of me until it turns into anger or hate..

I am scared.

I am scared I won't see you again and the last memory of my hands on yours is all that I will be between us.

I am scared that in loving you I try too hard and make mistakes.

I am scared those mistakes will be too great and drive you away.

I am scared of making the same mistakes and afraid of doing too much so I do nothing and I am scared nothing be the the mistake I make over and over again.

I am scared because this is a new kind of fear for me.

I have never felt this way about some one before.

I am scared of the distance between us that seems so great at times that it eventually it will take its toll on our bodies that cannot touch and rely on our souls for that intimate moment that may or may not come.

I am afraid our souls will stretch thin and cannot reach each other anymore.

I am scared of that emptiness and I feel a pull, a desire, a need to fill this empty space and I am scared that I will not be able to do it and am afraid that empty space will be the rabbit hole I finally fall down into and never crawl out of again.

I am scared in trying to keep that from happening I will keep doing the wrong thing and I will drive you away.

I am scared of being scared.

To reveal so much of you to some one else that you feel vulnerable and weak, but could not imagine keeping those things from them...

Before you, I was used to being alone. The things I wrote about were there for others to find and live. A fairy tale of flesh, desire and good dreams.

To hear that strong music that is so hard to find unless you actually look for it....

The little things in life that truly matter to those that listen. When you get up and you kiss your loved one on the head without even realizing it.

When you caress their skin as they lay on you and you just exist. Nothing else.

During conversations with close friends you reach out with your hand and just touch them, giving the wonderful moment in life that much more strength.

Leaving love notes in places for them to find at the most unexpected times and maybe help a day that is just a little too intense to handle alone.

To not be alone in life.

To have some one with you, walking next to you on this path together but also separate.

Two different songs that find one another and weave in and out like a beautiful melody that cannot be caged or held but loved and cherished when heard.

Before you, I wrote about these things hearing the music of other people wanting the same thing. Never expecting to find it myself.

Then I met you and all of those words and images I have created all my life became true.

You are the music between the music.

You are the notes between the notes.

You are what makes life beautiful and after you I cannot imagine that beautiful life without you.

I am scared.

Because even though we found each other again, and I believe we have done it a thousand times before in a thousand different lifetimes....

In this lifetime, it seems far more important, like our song needs to be heard that much stronger this time around.

I am scared, because life tells me to wait. That this song is not yet sung, that we cannot be together just yet. And life is teling me that like a hammer to a nail in being driven to an unforgiving storm in my head heart and song, I have to sing alone and hope you hear it.

To stand back and watch your life catch up to me.

And there are times watching that life is so hard and believing it will always be this way that it is a fear I have never ever felt before and I should embrace and give up on us.....

A fear that equals just how much I love you. And my love for you is endless.

I am scared.

I am scared because we have a love that just cannot be put down in words, can only be felt and hinted with whispers and sighs in those dark wonderful places where desire can let go without fear of burden or regret.

I am scared because it seems my words and images are all I have at times and there are times that they are not there and I am terrified that if they are lost I will lose you as well.

I am scared.

I am scared because of the way I love you and the way I feel you love me and wish the words would stop time, stop us, stop long enough just for me to let you know how much feel for you and hold you in my arms to truly feel our song and just how incredible it can become.

I am scared.

I am in love and always will be and believe love will override that fear and keep giving us the music that makes us so happy and beautiful and feels what most people dream of.

My love equaling my fear like a perfect balance on a sharp edge of a good dream that can cut when you wake and want it again...

This is my way of saying I hope my mistakes are small compared to the feeling of love I try to give so far away from you...

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letterstoocean · 7 years ago

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ocean,

chapter two and three. as always, it needs polished, but i like the rhythm and wanted to share ti with you.

I love you,

river

Chapter 2

He was nervous.

He knew he shouldn't be nervous.

But damn, he was really nervous.

They had went through hell to be together. Both their own private, theirs and those around them. They had shared weaknesses, fears, cried at the fear of loving some one else and even telling the other one to go away. They wanted to suffer alone. Believing suffering was the only true feeling they knew. They were scared.

They had experienced both the wonderful pleasures and the sheer terrifying feeling that goes along with truly being in love.

Each one refusing to leave, because they just couldn't. The thought of life without the other one was just to terrifying to bear. They had stayed and loved giving all of their heart. And they loved one another even more for doing this.

And, like true lovers, do. They came out the other side better for it. The love that much stronger.

But he was nervous and scared as she sat upstairs and read about his childhood.

He had never shared that part with her.

He had kept that locked away from her, and even himself.

A place so dark inside of him that light couldn't break it.

A darkness he had tried to hide from everyone most of his life.

White Trash!! White trash piece of shit!!!

Whenever he tried to shine light into the darkness, he just created more darkness. So he tried tucking it away in the back of his mind, much the same way he had tucked Songs from the Hourglass in the back of the closet.

Out of sight, out of mind, out of fear.

It was a part of him that he had never really revealed to her.

What if it scared her?

What if she wanted no part of him after that?

She already dealt with his chronic pain, and that almost tore them apart. What if this was too much?

He resisted the strong, very strong, urge to tip toe back upstairs and peek in the door. Instead he headed to the kitchen. When he was this nervous he couldn't write or paint. It always turned horrible and made him feel even worse. The only thing he could do was cook.

He loved cooking. And the more he nervous he was, the better the food he cooked. Taking his time, letting out all the worries into giving the food all the love it deserved, he was abe to find a calm again.

He searched through the fridge not really thinking about what he was going to cook. Garlic, always garlic. Half an onion, a zucchini that needed to be eaten, tomatoes, Artichoke heart, red, yellow, green peppers, parmesan, white cheddar and provolone cheese all went into the cradle of his arm. He put it all on the counter, then grabbed the bacon and eggs.

As the bacon sizzled in the cast iron skillet, he took his time peeling the garlic and cutting all the veggies. As always there was a journal nearby in case he needed to write something down. He glanced over to see if there was something he should think about it as he cooked.

Confidence is.....

Confidence is having some one whisper very strong, very clear at one constant rhythm into your ear, “I believe in you.”

“Perfect.” he heard her say in his mind.

He gave the voice a smile as the knife sliced through a veggie and a thunk as it hit the cutting board.

Slice! Thunk! Slice! Thunk! Slice..

“Confidence,” he said exhaling sharply. Slice! Thunk! “Is having your loved one read a revealing part of your life you never told her about and believing it will be ok.”

Slice! Thunk!

He fell silent and listened to the rhythm of blade to board.. Eventually the noise became soft as he started to relax. Soon the smell of bacon filled the air . He put the bacon on a towel to drain, added olive oil to the grease, grabbed several taters from the tater bin.

Slice. Slice. Slice.

He diced them up and threw them in the skillet with more garlic. They popped and sizzled to his satisfaction so he went outside, cut some rosemary and sage and added that to the taters as well.

He was calm again.

An hour later he returned to the studio with a massive plate of “fried taters”, a side of bacon and an omelet filled with grilled veggies and cheese along with a fresh pot of coffee from the stove.

“I made Sally's brew.” he said as he walked into the room.

She had set the story aside and was watching the rain through the window. For a second he was wasn't sure she heard him. There was a very serious look on her face and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Not sure what to do, he stopped in his tracks.

Still holding the plate of food and coffee he asked very carefully, “What?”

She looked around at the piles of papers. “Where is the beginning?”

He set the food down and looked around for a second.

“The beginning? Uhm, well there really isn't one. But maybe this. No. Wait. Where is it?” he fumbled nervously with the papers. “Ah, here it is. What's wrong? Do you not like it? Shit, you don't like it do you? I should have just put it back in the closet. Shit!”

She grabbed the papers, plate and coffee, kissed him on the head and said, “It's wonderful. Now go away.”

As he was leaving the room he looked back to see she had already started reading.

“Go on,” she said with a serious tone without looking up. “Love you.”

First of All

I am telling you the story, so I survived.

I guess that much is obvious.

Or is it?

I feel that way sometimes. When things are tough. When the world weighs a lifetime and I weigh nothing.

It doesn't seem real.

Let me explain why.

I love puzzles. I always have. There is something about the intricate, sometimes sideways glance it takes to solve an enigma that I have always found very comforting.

When I was three years old my grandfather gave me a long length of rope to play with. He had tied about twenty knots in it, not an easy task since he had only one arm, and he told me the next time I saw him he would give me a dollar for every one of the knots I had worked out. I had them all untied before we even got back home.

When we got home, I took the rope to the backyard, climbed Old Man Maple, which guarded our home from evil spirits and tied the rope around one of the branches. I made a sloppy but effective noose, put it over my head and with a loud Tarzan yell, I jumped off Old Man Maple.

Then there was nothing.

And, much like a scene in a movie where we are looking through my eyes, there I am walking through the tall grass. Bugs and grasshoppers scatter around my legs. The wind blows the grass as I walk up the steps to the back door.

See my hand grasp the door knob, turn it and as we walk inside, we see the outline of my dad sitting at the kitchen table. Do not bother trying to picture his face or his body, because after this he will fade from this story.

Now hear the crunch of the gravel as my mom pulls into the driveway. Hear the car door slam. Hear the back door open as she walks in with the groceries.

For a moment all I can see is the brown grocery bags and her arms cradling them. As she puts the bags down on the table, I see her turn and look down at me with a smile. She is about to give me a kiss when she stops. Her hand reaches up and her soft fingers turn my head from side to side. With a loud hiss, she traces the rope burn on my neck.

Then there is nothing.

I now see her on the phone talking to grandma. “His neck is just one massive rope burn. But there isn’t a mark on his face at all.” She starts to cry, “I went out and saw the rope on Old Man Maple and there is no way his head should have fit through. He! He!” She sobs again. “He should be dead!”

Then there is nothing.

The thing about some one telling you a story, you know they survived.

Did I survive?

Am I telling you a story?

Or am I still swinging from Old Man Maple and this has all been me living a strange life in several short gasping breaths?

Memories come back to me like little stories with no beginnings or endings. Just small scenes that fade to black and then another one will begin. Why are they doing this? Again, I don’t know. If you find my story interesting and stick around, I am hoping we will find out together...

The Lyndshelds

It was early eighties, probably eighty one or eighty two. Mom was married to her second husband and we were riding in one of those vans that was decked out for the seventies lifestyle of parties and orgies.

There was a small, round poker table bolted to the floor. It came with handy holes for your drinks and small spaces for the poker cards and poker chips to rest in.

Two swivel chairs were also bolted to the floor around the table. There was a half bed couch in the back where I was sitting eating a Wendy's frosty for the very first time. Next to me in its own little stand was a two gallon bottle of Canadian Club that had its own pump for easy pour. It was my job to refill the glasses when they were empty, three ice cubes, three pumps, fill it up with Coke.

Mom and Steve, the new husband, were sitting in the poker chairs while their new friends were in the front. The Eagles Hotel California was blaring from the new speakers and eight track cassette player they just had installed.

As mom was passing me her glass to refill, the new friend, Dena, leaned over the front seat, looked at me, then at mom. “We will drop him off at our house with the boys, then head out for the night.”

Mom looked back and smiled, “You’ll have some kids to play with instead of hanging out with us.”

They pulled up to a two story house, opened the vans sliding door, let me out on the sidewalk and drove off. I stared at the steps that led up to the door. I didn’t know any one in this house and I was just supposed to walk in?

I walked up, raised my hand to knock and heard screams. Actually it was more like a boy screaming all osrts of profanities I had never heard before while a woman's voice kept telling him to, “shut the fuck up!”

Expecting to see a murder in process and ready to slam the door and take off running, I opened it very slowly, and poked my head in.

Right inside the door was a skinny kid close to my age with very bad buck teeth and a very tall beautiful blond woman in her teens sitting on his chest. Her knees had his shoulders pinned and she was sitting straight up so all her weight was on him and he couldn’t squirm free.

There was a steady stream of blood coming out of his nose and running into his mouth making his already ugly teeth even uglier. Each time he would start to cuss at her she would punch him in the face.

Next to the fight was a small, white poodle just as angry as the beautiful woman and was barking inches from bucktooth's face. Showing its teeth and barking luder every time the woman would hit buckteeth.

There was a boy that looked close to the same age as bucktooth only taller, sitting on the couch watching the TV. Well, he really wasn’t sitting but rocking back and forth bouncing off the back of the couch and making this strange humming as he did. He glanced over at the fight saw me, saw the frosty in my hand and his eyes got really big.

“Hey!” He hopped off the couch and stormed over to where I was standing terrified in the doorway. “Where the fuck did you get that?” He snatched the frosty out of my hand and began shoveling it in his mouth a as fast his hands would allow.

I stood there silent. Just watching this bizarre scene unfold with an unbelievably horrifying feeling in my gut..

Buckteeth, still bleeding looked up at me and the bouncy kid.

“Hey! Give me some of that.” He squirmed even harder now that he saw there was food.

The beautiful blond looked at me, studied me for a second, then let buckteeth off of the floor. She stood up, bent down, and wiped the blood from her knuckles off on buckteeth's shirt. She towered over me and all I could do was look up at her and stare with fear and desire in my eyes.

“Hi. I’m Dawn. Who are you.” She wasn’t even breathing heavy from the butt-whooping she just delivered.

“Christophe. Christophe Dorazio. My mom is with your parents. They dropped me off. Uhm, I’m supposed to stay here and play, I guess.” I said looking over at ��buckteeth and his bloody face.

Buckteeth was now standing and screaming at the boy that had stolen my Frosty. “Give me some you fucking punk sissy!!!”

“It's mine!” And the two boys started pulling at the Frosty until it ripped and fell to the floor where the angry poodle dove on it lapping it up just as quickly as bouncy kid had shoved it in his mouth.

“Look what you did, fucker.” Said buckteeth and punched the taller kid in the face. Then they were on the floor rolling around screaming, biting and punching each other.

“Dink! Lenny! Goddammit stop.” Dawn planted a foot on buckteeth's head and grabbed bouncy kid by the hair, picked him up and threw him to the couch where he landed with a scream of profanities.

“Both of you sit the fuck down before I tell mom and dad when they get home!” Dawn said taking her foot of buckteeths head.

Just at that moment a very tall kid older than Dink and Lenny, but younger than Dawn, walked into the room. He was wearing a KISS t-shirt and black jeans. Long, black wavy hair fell to his bony shoulders and he had a big cheesy smile on his face until he saw Dawn taking her foot off Dinks head.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dawn?” He came at her screaming something else but I was too terrified to hear as I backed up to the door wanting to run out of it. He looked really mad.

Dawn stood her ground and waited until he took a swing. She blocked it with her left hand and punched him with her right. She hit him so hard his knees turned to rubber and he dropped to the floor. Dawn fell on him and she was back to the original position I saw her in when I came through the door when I first met her; knees on shoulders, punching away.

“Mind your own fucking business, Zane.” she popped him in the nose. “You are already in trouble with mom for stealing money out of her purse.” Another punch to the nose.

“You just can’t go hitting,” Dawn punched him in the mouth. “ Ow goddammit! You fucking cunt!” Zane screamed.

Dawn punched him again. It was probably the most violent thing I had ever witnessed in my life.

The two boys who Zane was defending didn’t even bother to save him. Instead they chimed in with Dawn, “Yeah, Zane. Mom knows you took the money and she’s going to beat your ass when she gets home.” Lenny said as he threw the remains of the Frosty on Zanes face.

“ Hey! Where is mom anyway?” Dink said looking out the window, “I thought I heard the van?”

I tried to speak up and tell them, but Zane was into another round of screams as Dawn punched him again.

“If you would just stay still and quiet I will let you up and not keep hitting you, you fucking moron!” Dawn said popping him in the nose for emphasis.

After several more hits to the face, Zane did what she said and stopped squirming and grew quiet. Dawn got off of him and the second he was free, Zane went after Dawn again.

“You fucking bitch, you narked me out didn’t you.”

Dawn side stepped him, kicked his feet out from under him and Zane fell into the pool table. There was a very large girl with big braces with a cue stick in her hand now glaring at Zane. I never even noticed her in all of the chaos.

“Zane!!!” Was all she said as she came around the pool table and swung the pool stick, breaking it over his head.

Dawn grabbed one of Zanes arms and pinned it behind his back . She then held his bloody head down on the pool table.

“Say ‘I’m a poody!” she told him.

“Fuck y---ow o wow .” Zane screamed and struggled but he was going nowhere.

“Say it. And I will let you go and you can go hide until mom gets home. Say it.” She cranked his arm even harder.

“Ow. Fuck!!! Okay, Okay! I’m a Poody.”

At that, all of the other kids started chanting as the poodle barked at Zane's feet

“Ha! Ha! Zane is a poody!!! Zane is a Poody!”

Dawn let him go. He stood up, thought about saying something, but merely pushed Dink out of the way and stormed out of the door.

“Dick.” Dink said, but with not much enthusiasm.

Every one watched him go and then all eyes were on me.

“Who the fuck are you?” the boys asked together.

“Yeah, who the fuck are you?” Chimed in the fat girl who then looked down at the floor at the glob of Frosty, “And why did you throw that on the floor?”

Dawn saved me.

“He didn’t. Dink and Lenny did. Mom dropped him off. This is Steve and Pat's boy, Christophe. The bleeder over there is Dink. The hyper one is Lenny. And that is Sarah and Dad is going to kill her for breaking that pool stick.”

“Uhm, Hi.” I said in a squeaky voice.

“Hi.” They all said together.

“Goddammit Dink! I told you to sweep the floor and pick up that fucking dog shit! You were supposed to walk him, so you clean it up!!” Her face changed from kindness to anger as she yelled at him but then she turned back to me and smiled so sweetly my heart melted. “Have a seat. Would you like something to eat?” Angry face, “Dink! I mean it!”

Dink jumped up. “Why do I have to sweep? This is fucking bullshit.” He stormed over to the vacuum cleaner stomped it on and began to thrust it around the floor in anger.

“Because you were the one that threw the glass at Penny and shattered the mirror. And make sure you pick up that dog shit!”

Dawn headed off into the back of the house. I stood there and watched Dink vacuum until she vanished. He unhooked the brush attachment, sucked the poop up, then reattached the brush and finished sweeping. His nose drying in a big black clot on his face as he did.

And that was how I met the Lyndshelds.

Those kids terrified me. That whole household terrified me.

So of course, several months later mom dropped me off because her and the new husband were having troubles and she needed to sort her life out.

Time is an interesting thought. When you need time to move on the most, that is when seconds may seem like minutes. Minutes seem like hours. Hours turn into days, and days turn into years. And those years. They weigth heavy as you keep hoping time will now catch up and move on. Time can be a burden. A weight pn your shoulders, To a child this is even more so because they are experiencing this for the very first time.

I stayed with the Lyndshelds for several months. To me it seemed like years. A life sentence in a prison where I did nothing wrong, but was still being punished.

Before the Lyndshelds, I spent most of the time at my grandparents while mom ran around. I lead a fairly normal life of a Midwest child in the first grade. I liked living with my grandparents in Devons Side. It was a very small town. Every one knew everyone. You were safe to be a child.

I had never been in a fight. I hadn't really heard any of the cuss words they spouted. Granted, my grandfather did cuss like a drunken sailor but not when I was around. Overall, I was a pretty innocent kid. I went to school. Played with friends. Came home and played some more. As a child's life should be.

That all changed when I lived with the Lyndshelds.

Altogether there were fourteen kids, two adults, and two dogs living under one roof. There was also friends who were hiding from their parents, the police or got kicked out, there was always a strange group coming and going.

The house was a constant tornado of violence, noise, and sheer terrifying chaos that smelled like dog piss and shit and I was soon caught up in the bloody fights that I had witnessed my first time there.

Only I didn't know how to fight. So it was more like I learned how to take a beating. And when I say take a beating. I mean it. There was absolutely no mercy in that house.

I experienced my first broken nose in that house. As Dink slammed his fist into my face, I heard the crunch of bone and white stars danced in front of my eyes.

All I remember is Dawn picking me up, telling me to hold still, then putting my nose back in place by putting a pencil up my nose and popping it back in place. The pain was relentless and I screamed and cried and cried while deal held me telling me it was OK.

I experienced deep cuts that should have received stitches, but instead were met with Krazy glue, band aids and more cuts.

While fighting with Lenny he threw me down the stairs and dislocated my shoulder. Again, Dawn was there to pick me. She put a belt in my mouth, told me to bite down and proceeded to pull my arm until it pooped back in palce. The pain so severe I passed out. When I woke, Dawn was holding me again and Dink, Lenny and Zane were laughing calling me a pussy.

Slowly but surely that household hardened me and soon I began to follow the path of beatings, cussing and destruction that was expected from living me living in that house.

The kids at school hated us. The parents in the neighborhood hated us. Any time something happened in that town the cops came to the house first and questioned all the kids. Usually they had a hand in whatever it was.

There are moments in your life that are monumental in who you become. Perhaps a fork in the road. Perhaps a crossroad. Whatever path it is, it changes you. It changes the way you feel about the things you thought you knew in life.

Originally, I was going to say that a part of me died living in that house, and perhaps it did. Or perhaps it just went to sleep. Knowing it would wake when the time was right.

. Another part of me woke up. A dark, quiet part. A part that I was desperately going to need to survive in the years to come. It was one I would need.

Finally mom came and picked me up.

The new husband was gone and we were moving on from the town.

I was so happy to see her.

So glad thinking my hell, my prison sentence was over and we could go back to how it was before the Lyndshelds.

But hell was just beginning. The prison would be going with us for several years.

Things happen how they are supposed to happen, and me living in that house was training for the next several horrible years to come. Even though it was hell living in that house, it actually saved me. A precursor to the hellish life I was about to live. Without them, I would have not survived.

Chapter 3

Ocean,

Have I told you how beautiful you are?

I haven't?

Well, I should do that.

You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. When I think of you, your eyes that are deep as my thoughts towards you, your smile that captures my heart in a breath I cant catch, when I remember your lips on my mine, feel your beauty that floods me, all of it gives me the music to sing back to you. To tell you you are beautiful and mean every syllable, word and rhythm. That, my love, is just how beautiful you are and so much more.

I love you ocean,

River

As he read the letter the porch swing creaked a patient tune while the rain fell and added its own hectic music to the morning. After reading the letter again he tucked it back into Songs From the Hourglass and watched the rain.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He thought as much the first time he laid eyes on her, even more so the he first time they touched.

The sheer joy of knowing what love, true love feels like, the absolute terrifying feeling that it may all go away, this teeter totter balance of feelings felt like an emotional hourglass that he kept turning in his hands. Hoping he could find a balance where the sand stopped and leveled off, but never truly getting the sand to cooperate.

Like so many times in the past year he thought of his life before and his life after her and marveled at the contrast.

Shhhh.... patience.

He caressed the spine fo the book that he poured the sand into. The book that writing it, kept him sane while he waited. It was all in there. Everything he felt for her, everything. Even the stories he created to try and keep them together, believing she would feel them from a thousand lifetimes away. His love for her. His fear of her giving up and running away. His fear of doing the same. It was in there.

Since they had met he hadn't published a single thing. Thinking that if he began to tell a story, any story, that it might have an effect on their secret life and end it. That terrifying fear kept everything locked away in his journals.

After that night by the bonfire, he could not stop thinking about her. She was in every thought. Every breath. Everything seemed to be her.

He would try to casually bring her up to their mutual friends both who would immediately reply, “No. No. No. You are not going there.”

Such turbulent times. But having her in his life, even if fleeting...

He opened the book and several letters fell out.

It was all in there. So much it couldn't be contained.

He grabbed one of the sketches and poems off the ground:

She was a beauty that stretched past his eyes and found a home in his thoughts.

Trying not to think of her was like trying to hold his breath under cold water. The longer he tried, the more painful it became. Drowning in keeping her away and drowning in every thought of her.

One morning as he drank his coffee and stared out the window wishing she was there, he grabbed the pen and tablet:

“With you I am a deity.

Without you, I am unholy

Ma jolie

Mon enigme

After all the words that fueled our dreams, you are still a lifetime away from me.

You are a sleep that I crave, but never comes.”

He put the letter down and reached for his journal. Feeling like he should write it over again, write it better, to tell her just how beautiful she was to him. When it came to her, he felt he never said the words correctly, never said enough. He always fell short of telling her just how he felt.

His pen tapped against the journal trying to find a rhythm with the swing and rain and rewrite the letter. His other hand grabbed the letter and read it again. He needed to say it better. He just couldn't help it. It just didn't.... It was a fire... that....

Her hand fell on his knee. “I know what you are about to do.” she gently pulled the letter from his hand. “ Don't. It is beautiful, just as it is.”

He looked up and noticed she had been crying.

“Are you OK?” he said about to get up and hold her.

She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I am fine.” she said with a soft laugh as she wiped more tears from her eyes. “I just finished The Plate story. I came out to tell you it is wonderful.”

Sitting down next to him, she put her legs over his, leaned forward like she was going to give him a kiss and then smacked him gently on the head.

Laughing he said, “What the hell? What was that for?”

“For not ever finishing this.” she held up Songs From the Hourglass. “And for never finishing the Boy Stories. I know you know how talented you are. You pretend not to know. But you know. Both of these need to be finished and you know it. If not you would have burned them. Instead you tucked them back in the closet until you were ready.”

She paused for a second then leaned forward, “And this...” She kissed him on the lips. “is to let you know you are ready and that I am here.” She kissed him again. “We have got this. I want this story finished. I want to read all of it. You are going to finish it.”

She rubbed her nose with his and sat back.

Finding a rhythm...

Mom and I stepped on to the Greyhound bus cold, broke and wet at a small furniture store in Devons Side Indiana. My mom wiped tears off her face and squeezed my hand tight with the other, “It’s going to be okay. Things are going to be different.” she said.

Having the sick feeling in my gut that things were never going to be the same again and we would be moving like this for the rest of our lives, I wiped the rain from my face and put my tablet and pen underneath my seat.

The next four days the Midwest turned into the west in front of our eyes. We had fifty dollars to our name and she wasn’t sure how long that would that last. We slept in bus terminals, crawled under the stall doors because Mom didn’t want to waste money on the pay toilets, and ate out of vending machines that dispensed moldy, out of date food because it was cheaper than the cafeterias and restaurants along the way.

Mom had high hopes of starting over. She knew a friend of a friend who lived in Texas.

“You just wait until we get to Houston. Things will be okay you’ll see.”

We were there two days when I was pretending to be asleep on the living room floor so that the friend of the friends kid wouldn't pick on me when I heard Mom and the friend of a friend in the kitchen .

“Look! I didn’t know you were planning on living here. I thought you had things planned for you and the kid and were only going to be here for a couple of days.”

“But I thought everything was taken care of. I thought we were living here.” Mom started to cry.

“Taken care of!? Taken care of!? I get a call from Kathy saying a woman with a kid would be staying here. That’s it. You don’t know me. I don’t know you and you expect me to take care of you. Taken care of? My roommate gets home Monday. You have until then.”

Sunday night. One day Left. Mom and the woman were combing through the newspapers. I sat and watched CHIPS with her son who would occasionally stick his tongue out at me when the adults were not looking.

“Wait.” The woman says picking the paper up to read it better, “Here’s one. Housekeeper wanted for Man and son. Food, Room and board. Let’s call this.”

A phone call. An interview. A thank you that was not heartfelt and more filled with anger and we were moving again.

We were still waiting for the report card to catch up with us in the mail. There was no proof I was in the fourth grade and without that report card,Texas would not let me in school. Rather have you stay home and learn nothing.

One thing I did begin to learn was how to be alone.

Mom was supposed to be the housekeeper, But the job only supplied a room and meals, so she took a job at a local bar, Amy’s Lighthouse.

We lived deaf Mexican guy and his son. He was married but the wife was deported back to Mexico for not having a passport,which is how mom got the job. Without the wife here they needed some one to cook and clean.

Every day when he and the boy, Rudy I think was his name would get home from work and school, he would stomp around the house cussing out mom for not being there.

I stayed silent and would hope she would come home soon.

The guy two apartments down was usually sitting out on his porch smoking and I would go down and see him.

He asked why I wasn’t in school, and I told him. He nodded and left it at that. He just got out of prison and said he didn't want to know much. Easier to stay out of trouble that way.

I mentioned to him that I was hungry and there was no food in the house.

“If you keep yer mouth shut, I'll tell ya you how to get some easy cash.”

I agreed and he went into his apartment and came back out with a hanger. He started to straighten it out, “Go find a car in the parking lot across the street. You can work this hangar into the soft foam around the door, “he made the end into a small loop, “work the hangar down until this here loop fits over the door lock and then pull up. When you get in the car look around for change or money. Don’t take anything else. People won’t miss a few dollars here or there. They will miss valuables though and besides, what you gonna do with valuables. Once you get what you want, lock the car back.”

He gave me the hanger. “If you get caught just say you thought it was your moms’ car or something. You have an innocent look to you and that will help. One more thing, don’t run if you do get caught. You be surprised what confidence can do in a fucked up situation.”

It was easier than I realized. After several trials of twisting the hanger the wrong way I got it down. An older woman pushing a cart came by and asked what I was doing. I told her my mom was inside shopping and I was just playing cops and robbers until she came back out. She kept walking with a strange stare, but no comment.

I took the money I got from the car, bought some food and was home before the man and the boy returned.

Mom would get home late at night, do the dishes, clean and would be gone before the guy could ask her any questions. Judging from the tone in his voice he was almost “at the end of his rope” as my grandfather would say and it wouldn’t be long before he exploded..

I heard him mention that he would call the cops on mom for neglect but I think the boy was also an illegal alien and he didn’t want to push his luck..

The guy two doors down also taught me how to reach up into a soda machine and pull cans of soda out with ripping them open.

“Another good trick. You can walk through a grocery store and just help yourself to stuff. Open a loaf of bread, get ya a couple of slices, open some meat, some cheese and eat the sandwich as you go around the store yelling for your mom. People will just think she brought you the sandwich or she bought it somewhere else.”

We were in Texas almost two months when mom came home from work one night, ran upstairs, packed the small bag of clothes we had, grabbed me and ran out the door and into a cab and we were moving again....

0 notes

letterstoocean · 7 years ago

Text

ocean,

wanted to share chapter two with you. i need to work on the ending, but i just had to take a break, i hope you like it,

river

Chapter 2

He was nervous.

He knew he shouldn't be nervous.

But damn, he was really nervous.

They had experienced both the wonderful pleasures and the sheer terrifying feeling that goes along with truly being in love.

And, like true lovers, do. They came out the other side better for it. The love that much stronger.

But he was nervous and scared as she sat upstairs and read about his childhood.

He had never shared that part with her.

He had kept that locked away from her, and even himself.

A place so dark inside of him that light couldn't break it.

A darkness he had tried to hide from everyone most of his life.

White Trash!! White trash piece of shit!!!

Out of sight, out of mind, out of fear.

It was a part of him that he had never really revealed to her.

What if it scared her?

What if she wanted no part of him after that?

She already dealt with his chronic pain, and that almost tore them apart. What if this was too much?

Confidence is.....

Confidence is having some one whisper very strong, very clear at one constant rhythm into your ear, “I believe in you.”

“Perfect.” he heard her say in his mind.

He gave the voice a smile as the knife sliced through a veggie and a thunk as it hit the cutting board.

Slice! Thunk! Slice! Thunk! Slice..

“Confidence,” he said exhaling sharply. Slice! Thunk! “Is having your loved one read a revealing part of your life you never told her about and believing it will be ok.”

Slice! Thunk!

Slice. Slice. Slice.

He diced them up and threw them in the skillet with more garlic. They popped and sizzled to his satisfaction so he went outside, cut some rosemary and sage and added that to the taters as well.

He was calm again.

“I made Sally's brew.” he said as he walked into the room.

Not sure what to do, he stopped in his tracks.

Still holding the plate of food and coffee he asked very carefully, “What?”

She looked around at the piles of papers. “Where is the beginning?”

He set the food down and looked around for a second.

She grabbed the papers, plate and coffee, kissed him on the head and said, “It's wonderful. Now go away.”

As he was leaving the room he looked back to see she had already started reading.

“Go on,” she said with a serious tone without looking up. “Love you.”

First of All

I am telling you the story, so I survived.

I guess that much is obvious.

Or is it?

I feel that way sometimes. When things are tough. When the world weighs a lifetime and I weigh nothing.

It doesn't seem real.

Let me explain why.

I love puzzles. I always have. There is something about the intricate, sometimes sideways glance it takes to solve an enigma that I have always found very comforting.

Then there was nothing.

Now hear the crunch of the gravel as my mom pulls into the driveway. Hear the car door slam. Hear the back door open as she walks in with the groceries.

Then there is nothing.

The thing about some one telling you a story, you know they survived.

Did I survive?

Am I telling you a story?

Or am I still swinging from Old Man Maple and this has all been me living a strange life in several short gasping breaths?

The Lyndshelds

There was a small, round poker table bolted to the floor. It came with handy holes for your drinks and small spaces for the poker cards and poker chips to rest in.

Mom looked back and smiled, “You’ll have some kids to play with instead of hanging out with us.”

Expecting to see a murder in process and ready to slam the door and take off running, I opened it very slowly, and poked my head in.

I stood there silent. Just watching this bizarre scene unfold with an unbelievably horrifying feeling in my gut..

Buckteeth, still bleeding looked up at me and the bouncy kid.

“Hey! Give me some of that.” He squirmed even harder now that he saw there was food.

“Hi. I’m Dawn. Who are you.” She wasn’t even breathing heavy from the butt-whooping she just delivered.

“Christophe. Christophe Dorazio. My mom is with your parents. They dropped me off. Uhm, I’m supposed to stay here and play, I guess.” I said looking over at buckteeth and his bloody face.