100 Words #5

February 1, 2002
I could read the dictionary a million times, and still not come up with the words to speak to you the way I want to speak to you. I could steal a million quotes from a million famous people and find the same result. When it comes down to you, my thoughts become elusive. When you’re not around, I know what to say, I’m witty and wise. I see you, you smile, and some cat’s done run off with my tongue. And I always thought cats were my friends. Maybe you’ll take my silence for wisdom, or think me mysterious.

February 2, 2002
A cold February night, sometime between midnight and dawn, she stood in her back yard aiming her gun to the sky. You slept inside, so close yet further away than you could've guessed. She briefly pressed the barrel to her lips then aimed it once more upward.

A sharp crack echoed in the darkness, startling you awake. You ran into the yard, blanket wrapped around your waist.

‘What in the hell are you doing?’ You yelled, as she stared at you, her eyes wild with moonlight. With a smile promising madness, she lowered the gun.

‘I just shot the moon.’

February 3, 2002
‘Show me.’ He pleaded again. She shook her head no; her lips pressed tightly together, her body rigid. ‘Please show me.’

She shook her head again, but her unyielding stance started to tremble. Seeing this, he took her hands in his and gently caressed them.

‘Show me.’ Under his ministrations, her fingers flexed and unclenched. And still she shook her head, her lips parting to speak a word but never forming the word to be spoken.

‘Show me.’ With a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, she gave in. She slowly took off her mask.

And he wept.

February 4, 2002
Just two weeks left to build the robot. Two weeks, and then there’s going to be a void in my life. I didn’t mean to care for these kids. I tried to remain aloof. But they’re so great! And they’re going to be gone. Yeah, I know, there’s still the regional competition, and the Nationals, and maybe an occasional meeting here or there. But it won’t be the same. And this is why I don’t let many things matter to me. I hate goodbyes. But, laughter, tears, temper flares and all, it’s been worth it. I knew it would be.

February 5, 2002
‘You are a figment of my imagination.’ They huddled under the streetlight as if trying to absorb heat from the orange glow.

‘How can you say that?’ He touched her face with one cold hand.

‘I don’t believe in you anymore.’ She shivered and pulled away from him.

‘Aren’t I as real as you?’ He pulled her back and leaned down to kiss her.

‘No. I’m not real. I’m a figment of your imagination.’ She pushed him away.

Not again, he thought as he stared at where she had stood one second before. He walked away cursing his overactive imagination.

February 6, 2002
'Shhh... hold still! I want to feel what you look like.' She closed her eyes and let her hands explore his face. Stubble tickled her palms as her fingers outlined his cheekbones then moved down his nose to brush across his lips. Over his chin, under his chin, pausing to feel his pulse before moving once more downward. Fingers moving in a circular motion, she began to trace his...

Grabbing her wrists, he held her hands flat against his chest. She opened startled eyes.

'Shhh... hold still... I want to taste what you look like.' It was his turn now.

February 7, 2002
Need. What a word to be both so compelling and so revolting. I don’t want to need. At all. Sometimes I even resent the air I need to breathe to stay alive. But I love that you need me. That when you dreams are full of fright, you reach for me. And sometimes I love that I need you. That in your hands I feel so safe. But have I ever told you I need you? Not really. I think that would give you too much power over me. Maybe one day I’ll realize it is not a power play.

February 8, 2002
'Our relationship is like the world at war. I feel like you're a minefield, and sooner or later, I'm going to blow myself up.' She stared at him over the rim of her glass, the wine casting a faint blush on her face.

'Ah, but the peace times. The days when all's quiet on every front. Sweet surrendering.' He waved his napkin, a white flag of truce.

'But I can't help it, it's an addiction. I'm a prisoner of this war.' She licked the last of the wine from her lips and reached for him. Touched him.

'Man the torpedoes!'

February 9, 2002
I can close my eyes and type and be surprised at what I write. No errors, that time. Maybe if I close my eyes and live my life, I’ll make fewer errors. Living in the dark. Can it really be that bad? Or maybe I don’t have to close my eyes to type. Maybe I can just look the other way and not read what I am typing until I finish. Still, no errors. Okay, I’ll admit, some words my computer will correct. So maybe I’m making more mistakes than I think. Do they count if you don’t see them?

February 10, 2002
At the stove, he used the spatula to flip the potatoes wedges as they cooked. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he swiveled his hips and sang along with the music, holding the spatula up like a microphone. Her giggle slid into a full laugh as he grabbed her hand and spun her around the kitchen.

‘You’re silly.’ She gasped as he let go of her to flip the potatoes. It wasn’t really true. He wasn’t silly at all but for her. But for her smile.

Under sway of that beautiful smile, he pretended to flip potatoes across the room.

February 11, 2002
‘Follow me.’ And he did, even knowing Pied Piper stories always end badly. Whether it was her voice that compelled him, or the dark intrigue in her golden-brown eyes, he couldn’t say. But where she went, he trailed faithfully behind.

‘Wait!’ He said. ‘Why do you always make the women strong, and the men weak? I don’t think I like this, no, not at all.’

I smiled at him rather serenely. Raised my eyebrows. Flashed him an inviting smile while tilting my head very slightly. I didn’t need to speak. He came to me. My little rat. My little child.

February 12, 2002
Then there was the day my brother and his friends were playing with matches and set the fence behind the Pizza Castle on fire. If they had just ran away, they wouldn’t have gotten caught, and the fence most likely wouldn’t have burned completely down. But because they weren’t really bad kids, they tried to put it out.

Billy grabbed what he thought was a can of water and threw it on the fence. The liquid hit the fence and splashed outwards, directly into my brother’s eyes. Gasoline. As the fence burned gaily on, my brother was carried home, screaming.

February 13, 2002
I use to be so idealistic. It was easy to place things into categories of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, ‘good’ and ‘bad’. But somewhere along the way, I was introduced to the subtlety of gray. I think the wisest people learn the world is not black and white. But I think there is wisdom to be found in knowing this and still clinging to strong beliefs. Me? Gray took away my voice. Took away my commitment. Made me believe in exceptions. I’ll never believe in black and white again. But hopefully, one day, I’ll find my voice and let it sing.

February 14, 2002
‘I love it when you stroke my hair.’ She whispered to his sleeping form. ‘And the way your hands frame my face when you kiss me. The way your lips gently part mine…”

She listened to his steady breathing. She tried to make out his features, but the room was too dark.

‘And I really love that moment after sex, when you collapse on top of me and I can still feel you pulsing inside me.’ She snuggled further into the blanket and closed her eyes and drifted into sleep…

A car went by outside, the headlights revealing his smile.

February 15, 2002
It’s disconcerting to look up from doing something and realizing someone’s been watching you. I wanted to run over to him and shake him while yelling ‘what did I do? Why are you smiling? What did you see?’ Instead, I smiled back, chose another book from the shelf, and sat down to skim through it without seeing a single word. I’m not used to being watched. I’m a shadow dweller. A lurker. A wallflower by choice. The only time I like to be in the spotlight is when there’s no one in the audience. I only feel safe when anonymous.

February 16, 2002
‘Can’t you feel the magic of this place?’ We walked along the Fells Point dock area, sipping our frozen cappuccinos. Lights from the many bars lining the dock sparkled on the water as boats rocked gently to and thro. At the end of the dock, we stopped and stood in silence until the sound of music and laughter drifted out around us. Without a thought, we both close our eyes and listen. We finish our drinks and head back down the dock towards the bars. Our favorite band is at the Cat’s Eye tonight.

‘Yeah. I can feel the magic.

February 17, 2002
I remember the sweet smell of rain after a long drought. I remember what sound a flower makes when it first unfurls its petals. I remember the softness of your skin the first time I touched it even though I’ve never touched it at all. I remember what a snowflake caught on your tongue tastes like. And I remember seeing the spark of desire in your eyes that you quickly banked, frightened by what it meant. But I can’t remember why I remember all this.

Let me remember the good things for once. Give me a chance to remember you.

February 18, 2002
You knew this day would come. You knew it would one day be over. So why the surprised look in your eyes? You should have prepared better than this. If you had, it wouldn’t be so odd now. But it is and there you stand, in the pouring rain waiting for someone to call you in. But they’re not going to. And they are not going to bring you an umbrella. And it’s going to rain for a very long time. Yet there you still stand, silly fool. Shake it off. You’ll get through this as well. You always do.

February 19, 2002
He stared at the creature in front of him. Her iridescent blue scales glistened in the setting sun as she slept. He crept closer, raising his machete but before he could bring it down on her serpentine neck, a claw pierced through his back, into his heart. She opened her golden eyes to watch the last of his useless struggles.

'Silly human. Never, ever trust a sleeping dragon.' She snorted. She really had to thank her sister for sending these tidbits to her. 'Or a woman who asks you to slay for love, for she's but a dragon in disguise.'

February 20, 2002
I wrote about you once, in a story. You weren't the hero, but you weren't the villain, either. You were the comic relief. The trusty sidekick. Some people are never meant to be main characters. But don't feel bad about it. You may not have been the main character, but you're one of the unforgettable secondary ones. I'm not a main character either. I'm not even a trusty sidekick. My character would be the character who dies early in the story, a sad moment, but quickly forgotten as the story advances. Maybe I should write stories with no main characters.

February 21, 2002
'You shouldn't think about death so much.' She said. I looked pointedly out the window at the stark trees and the cold bare ground. 'But look, look, look! The trees are getting buds. In a month's time, these buds will bloom.'

I push a newspaper across the table at her, the headlines screaming of a fatal fire.

'Media! Of course they're going to push death, it's what sells!' She sputters. I take her emaciated hand in mine. 'Yeah. I'm as good as dead, but I value what little I have left.'

Listen to the dying, they'll teach you a lot.

February 22, 2002
Under the bed. That's where they never thought to look for me. And that's where I would go when they got to be too much. Under the bed, with the dust and forgotten shoes, I would lay with my ear pressed to the floorboards. Their voices were muffled, but I could always tell if they were still fighting. In the dark, in my warm little cocoon, I knew they'd never find me. And if they couldn't find me, they couldn't split up. Again. Thus is the logic of a child.

In some ways, I'm still hiding in small cramped spaces.

February 23, 2002
It’s too much, you know. Your voice coming over the wire, almost a whisper in my ear. I could close my eyes, and almost figure out why people like phone sex. Sometimes I suspect talking on the phone is more intimate than talking in person. Which I also suspect is why I don’t like using the phone much. Intimacy overload. But you, with your voice, low and maddening, I’ll allow. But I’ll never tell you that if you could reach me so in person, you could get away with anything you wanted. Some things need to always remain a secret.

February 24, 2002
‘Remember when you said you would never forget where you came from?’ His question drew her attention away from the brash couple at the next table. ‘Well, I think you have.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You think they’re inferior to you, don’t you?’ He jerked his head towards the other table. She looked at the couple, the man in his purple polyester shirt and his cheap toupee, the woman with her over bleached, teased hair and flashy gold plated jewelry.

‘I don’t…’ She started, but stopped when the woman’s braying laugh pierced the air. ‘Well, maybe I am a snob...’

February 25, 2002
My brother bought a video camera for our parents from a man he works with. It came with one tape. While my father was going through the tape to see if there was anything on it before he recorded over it, he came across a section where the man who owned it had recorded himself jerking off. Three hundred hairy pounds and a frantically moving hand filled the screen for two very long minutes of viewing pleasure. And from the angle, and movement of the camera, you can tell he filmed it himself. At least he didn’t record with sound.

February 26, 2002
‘I just want to build a wooden dick in my back yard.’ He threw his hands up in frustration. I could see the three members of the Design Review Board trying hard to keep straight faces. My lip hurt where I bit it to keep from laughing, and I could hear chuckles from the rest of the applicants behind me. Eventually, he got his deck approved. After the meeting, when all the applicants were gone, we laughed hysterically. But it prepared me for the phone call I got the next day:

‘I need some information about dicks.’

‘Upper or lower-level?’

February 27, 2002
Do not draw attention to yourself. Do not talk about the past. Do not tell any family ‘secrets’. Do not cry in front of strangers. Do not doubt anything we tell you. Do not believe anything we do not believe in. Do not trust anyone. Do not trust anything. Do not play it any way but safe. Do not forget where you come from. Do not forget, family first. Do not show fear. Do not talk about him. Do not talk at all. Do not be anything we do not want you to be.

Luckily, most programming can be undone.

February 28, 2002
Tonight, I want to destroy something. To rip something to shreds, and then to rip the shreds even smaller. I hate it when I get this angry. Enraged to where only destruction will calm me down. But I’ve trained myself to not react physically. Instead I turn to you. And with words, I slowly tear you apart. Because for some reason I don’t fully understand, tonight I want you to hate me.

Do you hate me? Have my words finally wounded you enough to push you to that point? You forgive me this time, but what about the next time?