Vicky
Vicky
July 15, 2024
I remember Vicky from high school. She wore her hair long and wavy, her skirts tight, and her voice terse. She hated me then. I hope things are different today.
I walked into the gym scanning for her. Time did not touch her and she presented exactly as before. I also held that accolade. Once our eyes met, I knew she knew that I knew what she knew. A simple nod of my head and she understood to meet me outside.
I gave her two minutes to find me in the darkness.
“What are your orders tonight?”
Vicky replied, “I am here to harvest various cuts of skeletal muscle and offal for feedstocks. The Imperium demands such samples. This planet has a variety of bipeds and quadrupeds. By sheer numbers alone, I hope the bipeds are more nutritious. What is your mission?”
“I must triangulate coordinates for doorway openings to minimize energy usage during mass transports. This planet has nearly 1400 available nexus points powered by indigenous energy supplies alone. Have you discovered a viable manner in which to transport your feedstocks yet?”
Vicky looked very distant with this question. “This body is not as functional as yours. However, as a presentation device, mine surpasses yours in all what the humans call ‘social’ aspects. Thus, I do not believe I will require the Consortium’s assistance. I believe I can achieve my goals by a presence attack in which the humans will assist me so as to be close to me. They are so easily fooled by appearances alone.”
“I agree. It is unfortunate we do not have more time in which to persuade the most gullible to make their goals our goals. The harvesting of the planet would be so much easier.”
Vicky gave me an awkward nod, indicating her short time, planet side. Some humans might find her appeal even more appealing with this quirk. I found it sloppy, an oversight not worth her time in rank.
Vicky returned to the school to mingle with the previous graduates. Her conversation turned to reproduction and gestation. Many listened as she spoke. Many offered their personal assistance to forward her research. I returned to continue my measurements for possible nexus placements.
This truce cannot end soon enough.
Lesser than 1336 g
Sneaky body is never enough to hide the hidden minds behind the faces.
I know yours works better than ones belong to norms.
What if it has less weight,
Does not mean that you are stupid;
Einstein is not a slave in hands of silliness, for instance.
You are not an Einstein, but you are a better.
The thing that makes you different than the others is not only 1 kilo and the 230 gram.
106 is the difference of your bigger imaginary than them;
You are not a he, but you are a better he.Colors of your mind always inspire even the pirates flickering and fluxing through the way of the river of humans' okays.
You paint the brains of us, like you do mine.
Your brush is so soft and funny that it makes me laugh.
I feel like I am being manipulated or being in the cage of this manifestation of your fascination.
Let them put your brain into a glass globe.
The BOS of your makes you feel the boss of yours, isn't it?
Let them show your architecture.
Let them manifest the sir of yours.Creepy, hidden, and anxious.
Why do you feel so?
Are you being afraid of being abnormal according to those fears of the ocean?
Forget what they do say to you.
They cannot delete you or get you to be apart from your sir and artifact.
It will be kept for 24 hours a day and always in a 365 day.
They cannot hurt you.
You are clever enough to not care about them because of their silly being.
What if their body is bigger?
So what if their body is sexier?
Mind is the one who draws those abs of yours.
They are just existing with their screaming but living with the essence of fear and agony.Crouching never hides your extraordinary mind from the world.
Notice how big can you be a topic of speech.
Fame under the camera lights and in front of the microphones that held for you to speak.
Use your thing and beat the Leviathan.
Kraken is waiting to swallow them as punishment for their dullness.
But you are just going to rise more and more.
Floating on the salty water,
Drawing raindrops on the clouds.
What a nice dream of power.Yours is lesser than 1336 but 1230.
That 106 is your magnificence.
6^1+0
(3^1×3+6)÷(1+2-3+0)
Codes of yours__
Filling your crown of arrogance, what you deserved to have after the whole time.
Be happy with your formulas,
'Cause they make you what different is from the others and let you love yourself, accepting yourself without thinking of God's slaves.
And difference is what makes your special being already fed and makes sure with the confidence of yours.
At least let us put it in a glass globe with the lesion of your crown.
Let us give you your reward at least.
Let the others do this at least.
Let me.
Let your dearest friend.Oh no...
I sense a problem.
I am proud of the success of his,
But he will not need me, or he will see me under himself just like the others did, I fear.
What if I do never deserve those highs of his?
This is why I wanted to put it in that with my own hands.
Mine is under the 1230 even for sure.
But maybe this is also what makes me living,
Without a reason or any begotten aim.
I am not special,
But who has to be?
I am so proud of you.
Let me support you,
Because this is who I am and who I want to be.
His Last Days
1.
That morning, he woke up not hearing the sound of alarm, but because the early morning sunlight disturbed his sleep. The ceiling above his head was an unfamiliar one. Where am I? He wondered for a minute. Then slowly he came to his senses, and realized where he was and why.
He rubbed his heavy eyelids in an attempt to rub off the sleepiness. It was more out of habit than an obligation. After all, he didn’t have to wake up early in the morning from now on. He could sleep in as much as he wanted now, but now that he actually had the chance to do so, he didn’t have the urge to sleep in anymore.
When was the last time I got to enjoy a proper vacation? He hardly remembered. Honeymoon period was probably the last time. After that, he got too caught up in work and life that it left him drained out, devoid of energy. Nowadays he barely had time to sit down and think about anything, and even when he had time he lacked the energy and mood.
You are not the only one living like that, he said to himself, everyone around you is living the same way. That's how adult life is.
That belief was what held him together from falling apart. That was, until one day, something unexpected came up and gave him a loud shake.
He rolled on the other side of the empty bed. For the last fifteen years, he had been sleeping together with someone else. He forgot what it was like to sleep alone. It was one of many things he had forgotten.
It’s a beautiful day, he thought. Despite the fact that it was only morning and soon the sun would start to pour its heat mercilessly, draining people’s energy, it was still going to be a beautiful day. At least to him.
Finally, he got up from the bed. He washed up slower than other days because he wasn’t in a hurry, He thought while getting out to get a cup of coffee and breakfast.
There was a small restaurant in walking distance from his residence. He had his breakfast there while watching people in a rush. Not so long ago I was one of them. Look at me now. What's the point of rushing so much, anyway?
On his way home, he bought some groceries. He couldn’t live on takeout foods forever, and since he could cook why bother with takeouts.
Back home, he lay on the bed again with a Haruki Murakami book. Haruki Murakami was his favourite writer ever since he was nineteen. His books had a certain charm in them that never failed to draw him in. More than the contents of the book, he was a fan of Murakami's writing style. The vivid descriptions made him feel as if he was being dragged inside the book. He found the writing style very smooth and easy-to-read.
Lost in the book, he was oblivious to how much time passed. When he finally got up from the bed, it was noon. As lunch, he fried an egg for himself and ate that with rice. Then he took a nap.
In the afternoon, he went to take a walk. There was hardly anyone around his age walking around like he did. The ones who were there weren’t alone like him, they had their wives or children or both with them. He walked until the sunset, and then he returned home.
Climbing on his bed, he decided to watch a movie. After a long search, he settled on Dead Poets Society. He remembered the first time he watched the movie with a friend. That friend of him was really sensitive, and by the end of the movie he started crying. He managed to calm his friend down after putting much effort. He wondered how that friend of his was doing now. Did he have the courage to go after his dream, or did he give in to the flow of society? He sincerely hoped for the latter, his friend was quite a dreamer after all.
He wanted to call his friend and say, "Hey, you know what, I rewatched Dead Poets Society today for the first time in years and I thought of you. I wondered how you have been doing. It’s been quite a while, right? Sorry, I have been too caught up in life to check on you. I'm sure you were busy too." But he lost his friend's contact information long ago.
After watching the movie, he lay on the bed again, and contemplated about his life and life choices. He gave up on his dreams long ago. He had to when he got married and had to take responsibility his new family. Marrying her was his choice, while the choice of giving up on his dreams wasn’t entirely his. Not that he blamed his wife for that. If anything, he blamed himself. He wondered how life would turn out to be if he hadn’t fallen in love with her. He probably would pursue his dreams, but there was a chance that he would stay alone.
Well, in the end, I'm still alone, ain't I?
Being alone right now was also his choice. He was the one who decided to stay separated from his wife for time being after losing his job. Being fired wasn’t his choice, though, that was the last thing he expected. But turned out, at that moment it was the best thing that could happen to him.
After all, he got to enjoy a slow morning and a Murakami book and went for a walk and watched a movie and not to mention slept a lot for the first time in years. He forgot how those simple actions could make someone happy.
He thought of giving his wife a call, but stopped. I am enjoying my vacation. I better not call her. His wife had become a part of his hectic daily life. Calling her felt like dragging himself to that world again. He didn’t want that.
That night, it took him a little longer than usual to fall asleep. But when he slept, he slept soundly. He didn’t dream.
2.
One afternoon, he called his wife.
"Finally, you called," that was what she said upon picking up.
"Sorry it took me so long to call you. Anyway, when you get a bit free time, can you come by my place? I want to talk to you face-to-face."
"Why don't you come by instead?"
"I don't feel like leaving my place."
"Can't it be talked over phone?" she sounded tired.
"No."
"Fine, then," she gave in, "I'll come by this weekend."
He was lying on his bed when doorbell rang. He opened the door to find his wife.
"I was waiting for you. Come in, have a seat."
She sat down.
"There is something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
"It’s not your fault that we separated. The reason I decided to live separately is not because you are not good enough or you hurt me or anything like that. It’s just...a result of my selfishness."
"I am not blaming you."
"You deserve to know why I made that decision, as my partner."
"That's true indeed."
"The thing is...over the years, we have fallen out of love, don't you think?”
“It has become more like a habit, us staying together. We are not even contributing in each other's lives anymore. We live under the same roof but we live different lives. Even now...it seems like my absence isn't affecting you that much. And to be honest, your absence isn't affecting me either. Even when I miss you, it’s out of habit and not emotional attachment."
"Isn't it inevitable? Both of us are adults now, and we have a lot on our plates. Work. Finance. We don’t have room for worrying about falling in and out of love when we are at our thirties."
"But even so, don't you this we are a little, you know, too indifferent about each other at this point as partners? I decided to get separated and you aren’t even interested about why I made such a decision. I am not worrying about what kind of life you are living in my absence, either. Isn’t it abnormal for a couple who spent fifteen years together?"
"Maybe so."
"You are not even bothered by the fact that I lost my job."
"Well, I am not financially dependent on you anymore, so why would I worry about that?"
"Isn't it funny? You were the reason I decided to get a stable job. But in the end...What have I done with my life?"
She didn’t say anything in response to that.
"Tell me. Are you seeing someone?"
"I have no intention to have an affair."
"Is that so? Maybe this is your chance to find someone new and have a fresh start, now that I almost let go of you."
"I don’t want to. I like my life as it is now. If anything, you are the one who should take the chance."
"I also like my life the way it is now. I take photos and walk around the city, sleep a lot and read often. I even own a cat now."
"A cat?"
"Hmm. I bumped into a stray cat and took it in."
"Good for you."
"You should come by sometimes, you know, and we can have conversations like this is over a cup of coffee. It feels like old times but in a slightly different way."
"Hmmmm. Doesn’t sound bad."
"And just in case, the passcode of my front door is 2104."
"Our wedding date? That was such an old-fashioned way to assign a passcode."
She smiled.
"It’s easy to remember."
"It indeed is."
3.
It was just an ordinary afternoon.
He had been feeling out of sorts for last few days. The left side of his chest wouldn’t stop aching.
That day, the pain became unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, he fell on his bed, facedown. The sun was about to set.
Is this how I am going to die?
He called his wife. No answer. He attempted to call again, but stopped. She must be busy.
At that moment, wave of loneliness washed over him. He wished for someone to be by his side like never before. It wouldn’t make his pain any less, but at least he could get a glass of water or a warm hand holding onto his. He closed his eyes in pain.
When he opened them again, he felt a warm presence next to him. It was none other than his cat, the only companion in his solitary life.
“There you are,” he said in a weak voice, and gently ran his fingers through the cat’s white, fluffy fur. The cat probably sensed that something was wrong with its owner. It licked his cheek and neck, as if it was comforting him in its own way. It worked, because he felt a little less lonely.
In the faint light of dusk, he looked at the photographs hung on the wall. Those photographs were taken by him. Every single one had a story behind it. Some of them had memories associated with them. Looking at those photographs always comforted him.
Most of the pictures on his wall were of sky. He loved taking pictures of sky. He took countless photos of sky. Morning sky. Evening sky. Cloudy sky. Sunset. Sunrise. Different shades. Different angles. Different times, places and colours. He said that sky was that one thing that he never grew tired watching, as it looked different everyday.
There were also a bunch of pictures of the road and the streetlights. More than the green of the nature, the grey concrete attracted him more. He loved the city.
He wanted to hold exhibitions. An exhibition with the photos of sky. Another with the photos of concrete-grey city. But in the end, that was just a dream. A futile wish he knew wouldn’t come true.
He thought of his family. His parents were probably at one of their older son’s place. He thought of his elder brothers who were always busy with their works. Not so long ago, he was just like them. He didn’t tell his parents or brothers about his unemployment or separation from his wife. He didn’t feel like letting them know and getting bombarded with questions and judgemental remarks.
He wanted to be acknowledged. He wished his family would recognize him as who he was. In the end, it remained as just a wish.
He felt that he needed to go to hospital. He was already unable to get up from the bed and there was no way he could look after himself given the state he was in. He reached for the phone and dialled 911. Shortly after, his wife called him back.
"What's wrong? You don’t sound good."
I feel like dying, that's what he wanted to say. And I am feeling really lonely right now.
Instead, he just said,"I'm sick."
"What happened? Do you need to go to hospital? Should I come?” She said in a concerned voice.
"I have called an ambulance already. I'll call you after arriving in hospital, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Finishing the call, he patted his cat again, ever so gently. While doing that, he talked to it, knowing all too well that cats don't understand human language, “I am sorry. I will probably have to leave you all alone and I don't know for how long. I hope someone will take care of you. If they don't, then I hope you will be able to take care of yourself.”
He kept patting the cat his fingers no longer moved. As his eyes fell shut and his breathing shortened, the cat licked him again and meowed.
By the time the ambulance arrived, he and his cat both fell asleep – while his cat was taking just a nap, he fell into eternal sleep. His breathing had stopped.
Epilogue
When the cat woke up next morning, its owner was nowhere to be found.
Later, a woman came to his apartment and packed his belongings while crying.
Soon after, the cat ran away to the street. It was a stray to begin with.
Google text-to-speech is wild
I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not a writer. What is a writer? Definitely not me. I don't think anyone would listen to me. Or read what I write. I mean who would listen to me right. Are worthless, lesson worthless at least something that worthless doesn't take from you. When we speak of useless things, the only thing something useless can take from you is your time. I'm worse I make you believe I'm worth something for the moment I believe it too but soon we all find out I'm worth less. Just voiceing my thoughts I hope nobody have reached this I actually I hope someone reads it or at least finds it I hope it makes something further maybe I'm not worth this maybe I'm more to read we'll see a few minutes I hope I can entertain you though I doubt it. outside I hear the voices of very trying to females who like thought I was trying to do but man well that's not the way things work is it attraction isn't as easy as see what you like or like what you see it's um a lot more complex than that because it guess what I'm one of them. Them the ones I used to shame not so much shame just misunderstand I was never a truly my level and forth I was always on the fence with everything whether it's releasing a song or have no relationship or a friendship I was always on the fence always afraid always cautious always keep in my heart closed keeping my cards close to my chest. I was worried that someone would find me out. Find out that I'm not who I say I am. I've never met a gangster never smoke weed, never had a girlfriend, never had sex, never even played a video game. I would love these things as if they are a part of my regular life obviously this was a lie no child and seventh grade could have access to any of these things but you see I was raised and a household way for very young age I was told I was inferior simply because I couldn't do these that well if I'm being completely honest now with the age of 22 most of my. Still cannot well not that I can either see I was in good enough so my brother had to do it but bye that's sort of so anyway as I said I lied about all these things things that uh I still don't have well the video game and also stuff did but the whole girlfriend thing relationship thing never felt it got closed didn't understand it but scared but a lot of help getting a girl well not a lot one time a friend help me and I got the number but then I couldn't call God's scared what would I say what I do I wasn't going to try to tour she was a girl but she was so skin fresh out looking too I was just trying to make her attractive in my mind but I just couldn't I was never tried to her I guess that makes a lot of sense now like I'm back they were girls I like training attracted to two but I was just always afraid to say something again because I would be exposes as a fraud uh well what's done in the darkness always finds a situation
I get to choose
I get to choose.
Today is my birthday. My 10th birthday. In the shelter, this means I get to choose one foodstuff from the pantry. I heard so much about the variety of flavors and tastes from the old days. Before she died of the sickness, my mother told me of chocolate and strawberries and even something called chips. I never believed all of the stories about these foods. I don't even believe they ever existed.
But that was then. Today is my 10th birthday and I get to choose.
My friends told me to pick the biggest thing I could find. Others said to go for the one that has no smell for it must still be good after the 16 years since the war. My best friend wants me to take my time and get something I could share.
Not today.
Not from the pantry.
I am going to make the most important decision of my life and take a bite out of history. I am going to see if all of those pictures in the books and magazines were just lies or something so much more.
I am hoping for so much more.
I have 2 minutes to choose once the door opens.
I need only 2 seconds.
I see it right in front of me. I heard about it during story time about a ritual called, "Halloween". The teacher (who is now blind from the light from Day 1) told us about it.
And there it was for the taking.
I chose a "Snickers".
Bite size and factory sealed, I started to salivate at the possibilities.
But not for long.
I tore into that wrapper and ate it all in one bite.
I was in Heaven for the moment. That one moment where the misery of the war doesn't dictate every single action of my life. That one moment that makes me wonder if all of the old stories were true. Did people actually live topside? In the air, unprotected? Is there really a sun? And if so, what does it feel like to be warm? Or safe? Or clean?
12 seconds into my 10th birthday and I finished my present.
All that I have remaining is a memory of what I missed.
I go to bed hungry and cry for yet another reason.
Keep Looking Up
I miss the stars.
When I was a girl, you could see them from town.
Now, only a few are able to wink through the layer of smog and city lights.
Where there were once shooting stars, there are only satellites.
I mourn the stars.
I long to live in a place where they might exist, too.
I used to look at them every night.
I'd look and look and look.
And I'd wonder about who else might be seeing them.
There is something about looking at the stars that makes one feel so wondrously small.
There is something about looking at the stars that makes one feel so wondrously significant, too.
Stars connect us to times and places we'll never truly get to visit. So vast. So familiar.
My father was the one who taught me to look up.
He was a troubled man, but in those moments we stared up at the gaping maw of the universe, he was able to set aside the terror in his heart. He was able to just exist, to be the purest version of himself- the one untainted by the cruelty of this world.
The stars were his escape.
He made them mine, too.
He told me once, that he'd sometimes climb onto the rickety roof of his childhood home to see them. He'd sit under the glory of starlight and pretend that he was anyone else, that he were anywhere else. He said when he looked at the stars, he could convince himself that he was some other boy, one who was loved and fed and whose clothes weren't filthy and tattered. He could pretend that anything was possible.
I liked that.
On clear nights, father would haul out his and Ma's frayed wedding quilt. He'd spread it on the grass and lie down, patting a spot beside him. I'd curl into his warmth and he'd stroke my hair. And then we'd look at the constellations. We'd wish upon the shooting stars. We'd wonder where planes blinking red against the backdrop of galaxies were taking their passengers. And he'd tell me stories.
Stories about before he became a monster.
Frogs he caught with his brothers.
How he'd torment the turkeys on the farm.
The way he'd run barefoot in the grass.
The candy he'd buy for a penny at the corner store.
How his father had loved cameras and radios and tinkering.
How his mother had planted flowers and crocheted.
He'd tell me about growing up poor and filthy and rotten.
About how he got a job at the mill and bought a T-top Corvette with his sixth paycheck. How the women had swooned for a chance to sit in the passenger seat. It's how he'd won over his first wife.
He'd tell me about our family. About the golden retriever he bought to celebrate my birth, the playhouse he built, the pool table that had a permanent place in the sun-room of our family home.
And all the while we'd lie beneath a blanket of stars and mourn.
He mourned the life he lost.
I mourned the childhood I would never have.
The version of my father who held me and whispered stories under the stars was the only version I could ever really love.
We could both pretend.
I could pretend he didn't hit me and scream and tell me I was worthless.
He could pretend I didn't hate him for it.
We'd lie there until the blanket turned soggy and reality came crashing back in.
There was always a moment when I could see he was entertaining just staying the way we'd been... when he was considering shirking the overcoat of evil he wore to guard his heart and just becoming the father I so badly wanted him to be.
But the moment would pass, and the coldness would settle back into his steely eyes, and we'd go back to the truth that neither of us could escape.
He'd stalk inside with the wet quilt draped over his shoulder like some kind of dead animal.
I'd stand in the yard awhile longer and look up.
And I'd wish.
And my heart would ache for the tremendous possibility that hid in the blackness between the stars.
My heart still aches for that possibility.
My heart still aches for everything that could have happened but didn't.
I miss the stars.
I miss the world of only a decade ago, where I could see them from my bedroom window.
I want them back.
I want to fill up all the empty spaces inside my heart with stars.
So as long as there is even one, I'll keep looking up.
And I'll wish.
*AI art image.
the train trip that transcends time
I didn’t used to believe in past lives. Until I boarded a train in Vienna. There was a man a few rows ahead who looked familiar but I couldn’t put a name to his face. I considered the possibility that he looked like a childhood friend or a famous celebrity, but I couldn’t come up with anyone who looked quite like him. Sometimes I dream about people I’ve never seen - scientists swear it’s impossible, but my dad insists it happens to him, too, and he often meets people later in life that he’s seen in his dreams. When we locked eyes, something felt different. I knew he was thinking the same thing.
I recalled at that moment our story.
Coincidentally, it began on a train, the Orient Express, going from Paris to Budapest. I spent my inheritance on a ticket, which I came to regret come time to retire. We were in the dining car, and I tripped right next to his table. I have never been good at walking in heels. I had borrowed that pair from a friend and they were about half a size too big, making my balance even worse.
I knew that not everyone was staring at me, but the hush that fell over the room was significant enough to make me feel humiliated. I was not raised in the upper class - the inheritance came to me through technicality. I’d never met that side of my family. It was obvious that I didn’t belong here. I was about to regret my decision to purchase a ticket when the man next to me reached out his hand to help me stand up.
The first thing I noticed about him was the way that his brown eyes softened when I met his gaze. The second was that he was sitting alone.
“Yes, I’m traveling solo,” he said, knowing I was thinking of a way to broach the question.
“Why is that?”
“There wasn’t anyone to take with me.”
“I can relate.”
“You’re here alone?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
I realized that I was in the way of a waiter who was doing a much better job balancing a tray of plates than I was at balancing on my own two feet. I made the split-second decision to sit across from the man who I came to know as “William”, sometimes just “Will”.
We talked until the dining car closed when we were politely asked to leave, though I could see behind the waiter’s eyes that he did not like me.
“Would it be inappropriate to ask you if you’d like to come back to my room?” William asked. “And I’m not suggesting anything like that.”
“It might be, but I’d say yes if you did ask me.”
“Okay, then: will you come with me to my room?”
“Yes, I’d like to.”
I came to find that he had a nicer room than I did, but there was no reason to be jealous because I slept there too for the remaining days of my trip. William opened the door and immediately removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes, and I started to consider the fact that he might’ve been propositioning me after all. I lingered by the door, trying to decide if “it’s vacation” or “I paid a lot for this trip, so I should get my money’s worth” was enough of an excuse to sleep with him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he noticed I hadn’t spoken.
“I’m still trying to decide if I should sleep with you or not.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“Would you like me to leave?”
“No, but I think you should take your shoes off because you look like you’re about to fall over and I’m pretty sure you only had one glass of wine.”
“Okay.” I placed my shoes next to his and I heard the distinct sound of his body flopping back onto the mattress.
I gathered a lot from the way he smiled when he was sprawled out on the bed like his long day of mingling in the bar car exhausted him to the extent a day spent in combat would.
I didn’t ask him if I could take off my earrings, but I did before I mirrored the way he fell backwards into bed. He later told me he liked how I was “unapologetically myself”. In reality, I was ready to apologize for any misstep I took, but he happened to be easy to please on account of the fact that we were very much alike.
We were late for breakfast the next morning and I was absolutely positive that everyone in the dining car assumed it was because we were having sex the night before - I overheard a snippet of a conversation and I wanted to go over and correct the record, but William said I should enjoy my fifteen minutes of fame. Most people are unremarkable, and that I must be remarkable since they were making remarks about me.
The truth was that we spent the night playing Gin Rummy with a pack of cards he borrowed from an old friend and “forgot to give back”. I insisted on playing until I won, but I didn’t win until well after midnight.
We were in as much of a committed relationship as two strangers on a train could be by that night, which was when I stopped by my room to grab my toothbrush before I headed back to his. We didn’t sleep together, but we did sleep next to each other. It was quite possible that he caught a glimpse of me naked when I changed into one of the complimentary robes after I spilled champagne on my shirt - actually, he made me laugh so hard it came out my nose. He promised not to peek, but if I were him I would have, so I couldn’t blame him either way.
Since the other passengers made their assumptions and judgments about us, we decided to make some about them, making up rumors about the rich folks around us as they walked through the bar car. Most of them were unbelievable and some of them were crude, but all of them were hilarious.
I remember the moment I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. We were in his bed and he started singing this song he had stuck in his head, but he could only remember the chorus. He gave me the tune of the verses and we worked on lyrics. He wrote them down on a napkin and kept them in his pocket. The pen was mine, but he asked if he could keep it. I had no particular attachment to the pen, so I let him have it.
It was a few hours later that I asked him why he wanted it. “Why did you ask for my pen? It’s nothing special.”
“Not to you, it isn’t,” he said. “It’s special to me because it’s yours.”
I wanted to tell him that he already had my heart and he could have my soul if he wanted it. But instead, I asked him for the deck of cards he had, and he gave them over without hesitation.
I’m not a writer like I was then, but I still carry a pen in my purse almost always. I take it out along with a receipt, so I can write him a message. I don’t address him by name because I don’t know what his is in this lifetime.
I don’t have the time or space to tell him everything I’m thinking either so I keep it short.
“Just so you know, I loved you. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”
When an attendant comes by with the drink I ordered, I hand him the note and beg him to discreetly deliver it. For whatever reason - maybe it’s the desperation he sees in my eyes - he places it between two napkins and hands them to the man I knew as "Will".
I get off the train before he does. When I pass by his seat, he mouths “I love you too”.
Birth of the Goddess
I know it’s cliche -
the virgin nerd
with glasses, pimples, greasy hair.
But he’s MY nerd,
he won’t be hers!
I’ll save him from her wicked lair.
Go through the window,
down the stairs,
and gently now, don’t make a sound.
Next ease the doorway
just a crack…
But ears prick, and She turns around -
They’re pointed!
And Her eyes, they glow!
As does Her flowing, golden hair.
She laughs, but he -
he makes no sound,
from where he lies, eyes closed, chest bare.
Now from the dark,
a chorus grows:
”It’s dangerous to go alone!”
chant ranks of
green-robed acolytes.
She lifts a golden, shining stone.
It spins and
dazzles in midair,
then pauses, jumps - reach out your hand!
A gasp and stumble,
shuddering stop -
all quiet, eyes turn as You stand.
With Power, Wisdom,
and Courage within,
You are the source of the golden light.
She howls and leaps -
stretch out Your hand!
A flash! She drops without a fight.
He opens his eyes -
within them you find
an unexpected result.
For he sees his Hero,
together You stand -
The Goddess, and Her cult.