Culture Shock
I’m 6 years old. The oval-shaped river rock in my bed has long gone cold. I get out of bed and heave the rock back on top of the wood stove where it can reheat for my next bedtime.
It’s Saturday and I’m excited to go outdoors, despite the bitter cold. Today, my brothers are taking me sledding— one of my very favorite things to do in the winter.
We dress in many layers of shoddy clothing and we use several pairs of socks for gloves. Our “sleds” are any form of smooth plastic we can scavenge, but in a pinch, we use black trash bags.
As we head out the door, my older brother looks embarrassed and sad. We are sure to be teased, like always. Poor mountain kids and their lack of proper outdoor gear and “real” sleds are easy targets. At best, we are ignored and avoided, as if our poverty is somehow contagious.
We trudge on toward the sledding hill, determined to eke out every bit of joy from this day, no matter what—
A man clears his throat.
An uneasy laugh escapes a woman.
I look around the table, trying to remember what was said and by whom.
Eyes of blue and green implore me. Nicely styled hair and perfectly straightened teeth are all around. Their clothes appear boring at first glance, but actually scream old money to those who know.
My hand nervously reaches for my water glass. It brushes against my place setting: plates chilled and heated(!). I take a sip and realize the 6-year-old girl within will never cease to be impressed with tiny details such as these.
My fiancé gently squeezes my hand under the table as his family member politely repeats his question, “Do you ski? Or perhaps enjoy other winter activities?”
Haunting
Betrayal tastes inorganic: penny running along the tongue, razor blades in the gums.
Castor oil in the eyes and honey-suckered flies, distorted in its matrix.
Sorrow, black and barren and hideous plunges itself deep within the confines of warmth, passion, love.
It turns blood frigid- painful in the skin it was born to nourish.
I help them gather stones to throw at me, believing we would build a home with them.
I strip myself of my valuables, nuzzling my neck to the guillotine blade in belief they would make it swift- but my neck, my shoulders, my back are decorated in their sloppy butchering.
But I will haunt them. I am the metal in their mouths, the blade in their chests, the raven watching. Waiting. Taking, taking, taking.
Where are all the good men?
Many women ask, where are all the good men? They can't seem to find them. They are pretty sure they exist, they just never run into them. Well, for all of you women who have asked that same question, you are in luck. The reason you are in luck is because I have an answer for you.
Many women ask, why do I always end up with jerks? Why can't I find a decent man? If you have ever asked that question, you are in luck. I have an answer for you.
The reason you can't find a good man, is because good men are not going to cold approach you. They may see you going about your day, they may even think you might be attractive. You might be someone they might want to get to know better, but even so, they are not going to approach you. Why? Because you are going about your business. A good man isn't going to come up to you and waste your time while you are going about your business. A good man knows that he isn't going to make a good impression on you while the thing on your mind is all the errands you have to run. That's not the time to try and make a good impression. Furthermore, the good man you are looking for, is trying to get his own business in order. He has plans and dreams and goals just like you might have, and he is working toward those goals. A good man doesn't want his time wasted any more than you want your time wasted.
The reason you can't find a good man is because the good man you want, isn't LOOKING FOR YOU!
That's why you always end up with jerks! So, now you know and you're welcome.
Dear Olive
Dear Olive,
I only know you through lurking on Instagram. In all transparency, I found you way back in the day when you could see what people you follow had "liked." Someone I knew had liked one your posts, and I fell into the rabbit hole that is your Instagram profile.
You mentioned yesterday that you are taking a one, two, or three month hiatus from Instagram - because the app isn't doing it for you anymore, in a lot of ways. I can only totally agree. Instagram has gone downhill, and continues to do so at an alarming momentum.
I liked you initially because you seemed health-conscious; you do hot yoga, pilates, and barre - all things I've wanted to do, or have only tried a few times - and when I first started following you, I was in awe of your relationship with your husband, whom you adore. I was jealous and wanted to know all your secrets - how you stuck to a diet of seeds and yogurt and eggs for breakfast, one glass of red wine with dinner. You travel extensively. When you announced you were pregnant, I was excited for you, and when you took your baby to Paris and Copenhagen, at only three months old, I admired that tremendously. You have a certain spunk that I just get.
One day, out of the blue - or maybe not, because you mention you do this occasionally - you gave yourself an "Olive chop." You cut off nine inches of your hair over your bathroom sink. You said that you do this because it's "practical." But because you're not bad looking anyway, it looked gorgeous. You got three thousand likes on that post. If someone else, say, me, were to post a nine-inch chop, I would come out looking like an asylum escapee, and would get two likes.
But it's not even about the likes - or maybe it is. People WANT - genuinely want - to see what you do with your life.
You also have what I would call joie de vivre - and you put that to good use. You have a blog on Substack that is extremely popular, where you put your doctorate in nursing to good use. You are excited, thrilled even, to post and share your experiences with a healthy lifestyle. It is infectious.
You are perhaps infectious - and your love for the life you live. Your son is so cute, it makes me want kids, and your little family is so - quaint, almost. Your use Instagram filters but it doesn't matter - the realness, the rawness, comes through anyway, in a deep, meaningful way.
So while I lurk on Instagram, and follow your adventures through life, I want you to know that I admire your decision to take a month(s) leave from Instagram. I wish I had the same gumption, or even joie de vivre, that you have, to just "log off" for a while, and focus on what makes YOU happy. It's truly admirable.
Best of luck in the real world, I'll miss your content.
-A.
Necklace of Kisses
A necklace of kisses
I am building for my love.
With butterfly kisses in the center,
Those soft ones that touch the heart
And then linger into the soul.
Along their side are soulful kisses
Which fill out the moments
Between hello and good night,
Between the dream and reality,
Each a memory of passion
Burning into our lives,
A passion rarely shared by many,
But shared by two alone.
Stolen kisses at either end,
The sweetest treasures of them all.
Moments of our lives frozen in time,
Memories recalled,
Echoes that stir in our souls.
A necklace of kisses
I am building for my love…
Each one a treasure,
Each one pure gold…
And every day I add to it…
A necklace to behold.
Déjà vu
I've...
Well.
I have been here before
Yes.
Only
last time I was here,
I vomited
I know, I know.
I did, though.
I did.
And where everyone saw the most repulsive, pungent, steaming heap of waste, I saw --
Well,
I saw something different
I saw a perfectly blanched almond
I saw caramelized onion and cake
I saw an espresso martini that made me chuckle and more Midori sours than a table could accommodate
I saw dancing and lights
I heard music
I saw the smiles of my friends and I felt the touch of my lovers
I saw the bowl of cinnamon oatmeal and the promising brightness of the day outside
I saw ways be made through clandestine paths
I saw dirt and blood
I saw my heart's every desire
I saw deception
I've been here before.
Born to Die a Beautiful Death
I have no special immunity
From my time's incontinuity.
I will age, as sour, in time
Like a grape, our, on the vine
Unbound, I'll drop to the ground;
Brown, lost forever, never found.
I have a ghost and it is time to give it up
When I see, half-empty, my Victory Cup.
Nights will fall as days will rise
I'll lie in state, when time-to-live dies.
For I was born with beautiful apoptosis,
And not, with bountiful, apotheosis.
Freshwater Pearls
Freshwater pearls in a tricolor string.
Yes, I’m the girl he’s buying the ring for.
Pearls are the last thing you put on
and the first thing you take off.
Funny to think I’ll have a stone on my hand,
then come summer, a silver wedding band.
’Til then, I wear three colors of pearls on a string,
it’s hard to believe that steady girl is me.
I’ve never had nothing so nice before.
How nice, how very nice, just to be looked after.
My mom watches my wrist, the pearls, when I’m getting ready,
and whatever the look is in her eyes, I don’t know it.
“He’s a good one, Mom.” Then, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Through tears, “Well, who do you think prayed him into your life?”
Pearls lose their luster through contact with skin.
It’s best to store them in a silk pouch.
The Forgetting, Part Four
“You’re joking.” Lucy forced her voice down to avoid drawing attention. The coffee shop was livelier than usual, people bustling around them. She subconsciously fiddled with one of her larger rings, the one black as onyx. “You can’t seriously think I can do this, Officer Martin.”
“Jesus, so formal. We’ll work on that. Call me Jude.” The man lit his cigarette despite the no-smoking sign two feet away.
“I’m not a celebrity… Jude.” The name didn’t sit well with her. She tightened her grip on her mug.
“But you could be. You’ve got the looks for it.” His eyes roved over her. “And, more importantly, the talent.”
“For robbing banks? You caught me.”
“You’re giving the police force too much credit. They aren’t nearly as competent as you think.” He let out a puff of smoke.
“And you are?”
“You said it yourself: I found you. It was a pain in the ass, too. You’re practically a nobody.”
“Then why me? I’m definitely not the best out there.”
“True, but I don’t want the best.” He met her gaze. “I want you, Lucy.”
For a second, she swore she felt her heart stop at those words.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“That’s why you’ll have me.”
Lucy set her mug down, careful not to spill anything on her hands or rings. She didn’t know what to think.
“It’s your choice.” He set his cigarette on the ashtray. “But I can’t protect you if you say no. You’ll be on your own, and as incompetent as the other officers are, they’ll find you.”
“Are you threatening me, Officer Martin?” Lucy flexed her hand, knowing now he could see the small camera on the onyx ring. “You could be convicted for what you’re saying, and you’re threatening me?”
“Oh please, every cop who does this knows what they’re getting into. I just think it’s a risk worth taking.” He gestured toward the ring. “If you want to hand it over to them, go ahead. I won’t stop you. But I don’t think you would do it.”
“What makes you think I want to work with the likes of you?”
“You’re still talking to me.” He took out a few bills and set them on the table. “If you were honest with yourself, you’d know you’ve already made up your mind. I just hope you’re making the right decision.”
Lucy looked at her hands again and the ring.
“The camera was a nice touch,” He commented. “Subtle but beautiful.”
“How could a camera be beautiful?”
“The ring matches your eyes.” He shrugged. “And I didn’t know what I should’ve stared at more.”
She looked up again, hoping to find some level of insincerity, of a lie. He just smiled at her, and for the first time, it felt real.
“Keep surprising me, Lucy.” Jude walked away, leaving her there with her coffee and her thoughts.