I've just read the Bible, or at least the meatiest parts of it, and I've decided that it's a satire. An entity, that loves you unconditionally, makes bets with the Devil to prove how thin he can stretch your love without losing it. He demands you make all of the most moral decisions, yet he shrouds these choices in mystery and gives everyone different personalities with such strong senses of self-assuredness. It's like he's painting the walls black, all-the-while insisting you follow behind him with primer to cover it back up.
If there are so many angels, there most be just as many demons. I wonder if the demons are all assigned to a particular mischief, or if they switch in and out of the rules to cause mischief of their own. Does these angels and demons sit amongst, at all times, bleeding into our actions and thoughts? If those little shitheads are constantly an influence, how can anyone actually utilize their free will?
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Mel's Story Compilation
Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I refuse to tell my story in exactly that order, but I guess this one only makes sense if I start at least somewhere near the beginning.
It starts with a puddle of my own vomit. I'm 15 and I'm pig-headed and determined to become a psychologist and believe that the answer to every question I've ever asked or will ever ask in the future lies at the bottom of this bottle of Jose Cuervo I've stolen from my mother's cabinet.
Except that's a lie because my mother doesn't drink.
There's a cute boy in a flannel jacket and all I'm worried about is making an ass out of myself in front of him, so I'm trying to play it cool and say something off-handedly funny, but I'm too inebriated to completely form a syntactically correct sentence. The shirt I'd worn has come partially unbuttoned, my stomach is burning so my mouth has turned white, and he has this look of disgust-slash-amusement across his face and oh God, do I really have to tell this part of the story? Let's just skip it.
- - - - - - -
"C'mon, Mel, you used to love to throw down!"
He hands me a luke-warm beer and a smile.
I don't know his name, and after searching my memory I realize that I never did. He was a thick build, a rough dresser; but his face was kind. Inviting.
Well whoever he is, he doesn't know me too well either; I hate beer.
I hand the beer back to Thick and give him a quick kiss on the cheek as I walk through the entrance and into a sea of partially wasted twenty-ish year-olds.
Grabbing something cold, clear, and bottled from an oversized ice bucket I head towards the music.
I start small talking a girl from my psych class - Kim, or Katie or something like that. Honestly, I was just glad to see a familiar face, because so far I'd only recognized a few one night stands and a cat-fighting frienemy or two.
I wasn't feeling comfortable enough yet, so I headed back for a second bottle. As I struggled with the cap for a moment I felt a gentle hand on the small of my back and a husky but sober voice at my ear.
"What's your name, babe?" He half-yelled into my eardrum (the music level had been steadily increasing).
"Stacy," I lied to him,"you?"
"Evan. I think we had a health class together, yeah?"
Wrong. Evan looked a lot like that one guy off of Greek - the one that started off really geeky who was that one girl's brother? Evan smiled confidently and used a little too much eye contact. There was an innocence to him though, possibly fake, but it was a little difficult to judge character in such a crowded apartment.
"Right, I remember! You sat near the front." I smiled a reassuring smile that had him confused.
Apparently he's a back-row sorta guy.
I held out my drink for him to get me another; I figured that way he'd have a little extra time to plan out his next move.
My stomach was feeling a little cramped & upset, but I knew if I just drank a little faster it'd eventually wash away. Alcohol never did settle with me well.
"So what's your major?" Evan asked as he fought his way back through the crowd with a red plastic cup in his hand.
Original question, Ev. "Biochemical Engineering." I lied again.
"Ouchhhh. I'm pre-law myself, so one day I'll be able to arrest you for being so damn beautiful."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head out of embarrassment for him. He knew it was cheesy from the giant grin he was sporting, but he'd gone for the kill anyways.
"Let's go dance, Evan." I grabbed him by the hand and gulped down the last of whatever he'd put together. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't drink drinks that someone else made after a friend of mine got roofied, but Ev didn't seem like the kind of guy who even knew where to get roofs, let alone slip me one.
I danced so close to Evan that I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He'd given me a funny look after I'd swallowed down that last drink so quickly. I pressed my hips to his and he smiled a surprised but knowing smile.
"Let's find someplace quieter...to talk." I yelled in his ear halfheartedly. I've played this through so many times that I pretty much had it scripted. I grabbed a few jello shots from a passing tray as I led Evan away.
(Incerpt somewhere in first few chapters)
The city pushes its way reprehensibly through the billowing night fog. It's just me and a homeless man who smells like piss and a bit of cigarettes, but the cigarette smell might be me. When I'm too drunk in the middle of the night I always end up on this same bus, with the same disheveled-looking old lady driver. Either that or there's fifty bus drivers in this city who all look nearly the same. She always smacks her gums at me disapprovingly as I stumble onto the bus, trying to convince some Neanderthal that I'll definitely give him a call in the morning, absolutely.
Everything about this city is trivial, it's almost nauseating. Old stores, old gas stations, old shut-down gas stations, mom-and-pop diners; like swallow's nest, it's a mixture of feathers from dead animals, mud, and sticks and spit.
This city has no heartbeat.
Melanie's Story Part I
Quietly, he spoke.
"Well then I can't see you any more."
I searched his face quizzically, trying to figure out where exactly this was coming from. Definitely not his backbone, that's for sure.
"Then open your eyes, Craig! This - this isn't something you can just run away from! I can't run, and you're tied to me. Life isn't a three-legged race, Craig. We have to take this slow, together, okay? Step by step. Together."
"I can't, Mel. I just...I just can't."
I pressed a hand against my stomach. Apparently it was as sick of his bullshit as I was.
"I didn't do this to myself! WE did this! We made this...this..."
"-mistake."
I couldn't believe the word he'd chosen to finish my sentence.
"To be honest I was going to say 'baby', but apparently I was way off base. It's too late for the alternative, Craig. WE HAVE NO OPTIONS. We're just going to have to roll with the Goddamn punches."
The look he gave me said everything. He was always the kind of person who would just get frustrated when he couldn't move his emotions from his heart to his mouth, which is where I came into play. I felt incredibly calm, which so surprised me; I was picturing a complete meltdown.
"I know that you don't love me; not anymore, at least. To be honest, Craig, I'm not in love with you either. Your fingernails are way too long, and you only wash your hair like twice a week. Not exactly attractive."
I sighed a defeated sigh. Maybe this kid is going to be a superhero, because I have no idea where my strength is coming from.
"I don't have the money, or the time, and neither do you. But combined, maybe...maybe we can be our own little dysfunctional family."
He was pacing back and forth, slowly and deliberately. I stepped in front of him, staring him in the face.
"Craig, maybe we can do this."
Pressing both of his hands to his forehead, Craig slowly shook his head.
"Well. I'm not gonna lie, that's disappointing."
Together we just stood there for a second, kicking at the ground and staring off into the distance past the lakeshore. Words just kept coming out of my mouth, even though I knew I should probably keep to silence.
"You know, in third world countries like Cambodia or Somalia or whatever they used to have these things called "menstrual huts". When women were on their periods they would be exiled to just sit in these huts, because men in like the 1400's thought that the shedding of uteral lining was witchcraft voodoo or Santaria or something. Except they probably didn't actually CALL them "menstrual huts" at the time seeing as how they thought it was some form of really icky, evil magic."
Probbbbably not the best conversational topic.
Taking an embarassed second to clear my throat, I decided to wrap things up.
"Wellllpp, you've got about what?, five or six months to find your balls? So, if those two little bundles of fertile joy show up and you decide to do something halfway valiant by being a father to your own child, why don't you shoot me a text or facebook me or something. I'm probably not going to want to talk to you or see you, so impersonal communication is most likely the best route to take. But hey, what do you know about the best route, right? Have a good life, asshole."
I had a feeling that things would turn out this way.
Take a little advice from me and listen to your gut.
Mine used to be full of good judgement, but now it's probably got something in it that looks like a newborn panda surrounded by placenta goo.
Pregnant
Walking through a grocery store makes me anxious. I'm afraid to make eye contact with any of the passersby. I mean, should I smile? Should I nod a bit? What if someone asks me a question, what if they don't look back, what if they know just by looking directly into my eyes? The thought alone makes my breathing all uneven and it feels like I'm sipping through a straw for air, so I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
Plums boil down to pulp, cranberries dry on thick rolls of parchment and yellow squash bursts into flames. Numbers fly through my scalp and all I can think of are bank statements, diapers, formula, and the bite of whiskey that I miss so fucking much.
It's an off day and I don't have as much concern for her as usual, and it makes me sick to my stomach with guilt. Also I'm just plain sick to my stomach. I hold her from the outside of my shirt, hoping she can't hear my thoughts. We walk slowly, trying to make a decision that we haven't quite figured out the two sides of yet.
I look at the cellophane bags of bread and I feel my stomach filling up, the grumbling lining absolutely stuffed full of toy trucks and glitter crayons and Barbie dolls with their hair all chopped off. Her little plastic feet carve their way into my esophagus and I'm sure I could probably go for weeks without eating.
Melanie's Story, Part II
It's been two months since the talk, and I'm still pathetically hopeful.
I mean, hey - everyone always says a woman is always a mother, a man is a father once he sees his child. Maybe...maybe he just needs to see her.
I took a deep breath for both of us.
The whole school knew by now, and all of my friends were still deciding. Still deciding if they should stay, or run, or just drop off a gift at my baby shower and then pretend like they don't know me the next day. It's a very subtle thing they're doing; trying to be supportive but also slowly giving me more 'space' until they finally stop visiting altogether.
I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to associate with me either.
I'd been taking a walk through the city's park, which is always empty on a Thursday. I stopped to take a rest at one of the benches closest to the water, holding my little girl from the outside of my belly.
I closed my eyes and just let my mind float between my thoughts, slipping around the corners of my ideas, weaving in and out of them.
Ezra. Ezra...something.
I've always adored that name. In Hebrew it means "help", and I always thought that was so fitting for a newborn - especially an unexpected one. Most new parents are so freaked out by the time that their kid is almost ready to be born that they are just about to kill each other. When their baby arrives, it soothes them into the nurturing mothers and fathers they need to be. The baby helps their relationship.
In my case, however, Ezra's going to be a different kind of help.
God willing, she's going to keep me sane.
Hugging my belly, I got comfortable and started to tell my Ezra a story.
"Once there was a sailor whose lover was The Sea. As soon as he was old enough to work on a boat, he got a job as a laborer. He soon became the captain of his very own ship, which he happily sailed all around the world until he was an old man. Every night he would go to his cabin below the deck and let the beautiful songs of The Sea lull him to sleep, his lover only seperated from him by a few inches of wood and metal. As an old man, one night the sailor became completely despondent. Do you know what that means, baby girl? That means he was so heartsick he couldn't fight any longer. He sat on the deck of his glorious ship, drinking bottle after bottle of wine, toasting to the health of his lover The Sea. Out of his mind with both heartache and liquor, the sailor tied a cannonball around his ankle, and climbed over the railing of his ship. Declaring his love for The Sea, he begged her to let him love her. He explained that he'd never wanted one being so much in his life. Never felt so connected; so connected that the mere inches of distance between them was so painful he couldn't bare it."
Taking a few moments to push the tears back down my throat, I continued.
"The Sea, feeling his pain and realizing her own feelings for him, sent a giant wave towards the sailor's ship, sending the man right into her loving embrace. To this day, if you listen closely enough, you can hear their laughter in the crash of every wave."
Ezra is born
I looked into her small sticky eyes for the first time, felt her tight, tiny hand around just my ring finger, and my heart exploded. The bits of my heart floated up my chest and then out of my eyes, heavy tears of happiness convincing me that she was all I'd ever fucking need.
Her skin was a painful reddish purple but I could already see her tan and smiling into the sun, a wealth of brown curls falling down the back of her cotton sundress as we plant tomatoes and cucumbers and bell peppers. She'd smile into the sky, absolutely joyful just to be living, to be. I'll teach her all about how the seeds grow and why we have to wait for them to be ready to eat. I'll tell her lots of fairy-tales instead of the specifics. Like how when a Borrower takes something of yours you have to write an itty bitty note asking for it back, otherwise they'll be insulted if you use human sized paper.
I'll tell her all of the vegetables are just shy when they're seeds. That she'll have to sing to them and tell them all of her deepest, gooiest secrets and dreams. Only then will their little ears reach up, up, up out of the ground to hear her songs even better.
That's what I'll tell her.
Finale.
She reached at the grass and pulled out several blades, as if digging up her memories from the earth itself. The sun warmed the freckles across her nose, her frizzy blonde hair full of barrettes and braids and happiness.
A woman with endearing eyes sat across from Ezra, sharing the same snack of string cheese and boxed apple juice.
"It's alright," the woman whispered carefully, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Ezra shook her head cautiously and gave one of her infamously carefree smiles.
"No, it isn't like that. It isn't like that at all. My real mom is my adoptive mom, and I know that. My Mel wanted me to know that. See she gave me a Silly Sad box before I could even think my own thoughts, and whenever I'm sad I just open it and talk to her through it. It's full of photos and letters and CD's she made, and even some of her singing to me. It's a magic box that turns all of your sad thoughts into silly ones."
The woman put her pen and paper aside, interested in the unusual tone Ezra had. For an adopted child, birth parents are usually a touchy subject once they get older, but Ezra spoke with forgiveness and understanding that she'd never felt come from a child before.
"So how do you feel about her, your birth mother?"
"She doesn't like me calling her that, and neither do I. She's My Mel. She taught me a lot of things while I was in her tummy, so that when I was born I'd already know them. Like how to pick a good pair of shoes and how to make plants grow. She gave me a new home so that I could share my knowledge and my love, she said. She felt like I was just so special that she had to share me with the world, even if that meant we couldn't see each other for a while... but I've got a mission, you know?" Ezra stood from her spot and placed her fists against her hips. "Somedays I have to reassure the sky that she's beautiful so that she won't fall down, and occasionally I get to teach dogs and cats get along with each other, but mostly I just like to help. It doesn't matter how. My Mel told me that's my gift, and that you're supposed to give back what's been gifted to you."
Ezra spoke with such assuredness, such fortitude that the woman wasn't sure what to say. In fact, she wasn't sure if she should say anything. All she knew is that she really did believe her, and her My Mel.
It starts with a puddle of my own vomit. I'm 15 and I'm pig-headed and determined to become a psychologist and believe that the answer to every question I've ever asked or will ever ask in the future lies at the bottom of this bottle of Jose Cuervo I've stolen from my mother's cabinet.
Except that's a lie because my mother doesn't drink.
There's a cute boy in a flannel jacket and all I'm worried about is making an ass out of myself in front of him, so I'm trying to play it cool and say something off-handedly funny, but I'm too inebriated to completely form a syntactically correct sentence. The shirt I'd worn has come partially unbuttoned, my stomach is burning so my mouth has turned white, and he has this look of disgust-slash-amusement across his face and oh God, do I really have to tell this part of the story? Let's just skip it.
- - - - - - -
"C'mon, Mel, you used to love to throw down!"
He hands me a luke-warm beer and a smile.
I don't know his name, and after searching my memory I realize that I never did. He was a thick build, a rough dresser; but his face was kind. Inviting.
Well whoever he is, he doesn't know me too well either; I hate beer.
I hand the beer back to Thick and give him a quick kiss on the cheek as I walk through the entrance and into a sea of partially wasted twenty-ish year-olds.
Grabbing something cold, clear, and bottled from an oversized ice bucket I head towards the music.
I start small talking a girl from my psych class - Kim, or Katie or something like that. Honestly, I was just glad to see a familiar face, because so far I'd only recognized a few one night stands and a cat-fighting frienemy or two.
I wasn't feeling comfortable enough yet, so I headed back for a second bottle. As I struggled with the cap for a moment I felt a gentle hand on the small of my back and a husky but sober voice at my ear.
"What's your name, babe?" He half-yelled into my eardrum (the music level had been steadily increasing).
"Stacy," I lied to him,"you?"
"Evan. I think we had a health class together, yeah?"
Wrong. Evan looked a lot like that one guy off of Greek - the one that started off really geeky who was that one girl's brother? Evan smiled confidently and used a little too much eye contact. There was an innocence to him though, possibly fake, but it was a little difficult to judge character in such a crowded apartment.
"Right, I remember! You sat near the front." I smiled a reassuring smile that had him confused.
Apparently he's a back-row sorta guy.
I held out my drink for him to get me another; I figured that way he'd have a little extra time to plan out his next move.
My stomach was feeling a little cramped & upset, but I knew if I just drank a little faster it'd eventually wash away. Alcohol never did settle with me well.
"So what's your major?" Evan asked as he fought his way back through the crowd with a red plastic cup in his hand.
Original question, Ev. "Biochemical Engineering." I lied again.
"Ouchhhh. I'm pre-law myself, so one day I'll be able to arrest you for being so damn beautiful."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head out of embarrassment for him. He knew it was cheesy from the giant grin he was sporting, but he'd gone for the kill anyways.
"Let's go dance, Evan." I grabbed him by the hand and gulped down the last of whatever he'd put together. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't drink drinks that someone else made after a friend of mine got roofied, but Ev didn't seem like the kind of guy who even knew where to get roofs, let alone slip me one.
I danced so close to Evan that I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He'd given me a funny look after I'd swallowed down that last drink so quickly. I pressed my hips to his and he smiled a surprised but knowing smile.
"Let's find someplace quieter...to talk." I yelled in his ear halfheartedly. I've played this through so many times that I pretty much had it scripted. I grabbed a few jello shots from a passing tray as I led Evan away.
(Incerpt somewhere in first few chapters)
The city pushes its way reprehensibly through the billowing night fog. It's just me and a homeless man who smells like piss and a bit of cigarettes, but the cigarette smell might be me. When I'm too drunk in the middle of the night I always end up on this same bus, with the same disheveled-looking old lady driver. Either that or there's fifty bus drivers in this city who all look nearly the same. She always smacks her gums at me disapprovingly as I stumble onto the bus, trying to convince some Neanderthal that I'll definitely give him a call in the morning, absolutely.
Everything about this city is trivial, it's almost nauseating. Old stores, old gas stations, old shut-down gas stations, mom-and-pop diners; like swallow's nest, it's a mixture of feathers from dead animals, mud, and sticks and spit.
This city has no heartbeat.
Melanie's Story Part I
Quietly, he spoke.
"Well then I can't see you any more."
I searched his face quizzically, trying to figure out where exactly this was coming from. Definitely not his backbone, that's for sure.
"Then open your eyes, Craig! This - this isn't something you can just run away from! I can't run, and you're tied to me. Life isn't a three-legged race, Craig. We have to take this slow, together, okay? Step by step. Together."
"I can't, Mel. I just...I just can't."
I pressed a hand against my stomach. Apparently it was as sick of his bullshit as I was.
"I didn't do this to myself! WE did this! We made this...this..."
"-mistake."
I couldn't believe the word he'd chosen to finish my sentence.
"To be honest I was going to say 'baby', but apparently I was way off base. It's too late for the alternative, Craig. WE HAVE NO OPTIONS. We're just going to have to roll with the Goddamn punches."
The look he gave me said everything. He was always the kind of person who would just get frustrated when he couldn't move his emotions from his heart to his mouth, which is where I came into play. I felt incredibly calm, which so surprised me; I was picturing a complete meltdown.
"I know that you don't love me; not anymore, at least. To be honest, Craig, I'm not in love with you either. Your fingernails are way too long, and you only wash your hair like twice a week. Not exactly attractive."
I sighed a defeated sigh. Maybe this kid is going to be a superhero, because I have no idea where my strength is coming from.
"I don't have the money, or the time, and neither do you. But combined, maybe...maybe we can be our own little dysfunctional family."
He was pacing back and forth, slowly and deliberately. I stepped in front of him, staring him in the face.
"Craig, maybe we can do this."
Pressing both of his hands to his forehead, Craig slowly shook his head.
"Well. I'm not gonna lie, that's disappointing."
Together we just stood there for a second, kicking at the ground and staring off into the distance past the lakeshore. Words just kept coming out of my mouth, even though I knew I should probably keep to silence.
"You know, in third world countries like Cambodia or Somalia or whatever they used to have these things called "menstrual huts". When women were on their periods they would be exiled to just sit in these huts, because men in like the 1400's thought that the shedding of uteral lining was witchcraft voodoo or Santaria or something. Except they probably didn't actually CALL them "menstrual huts" at the time seeing as how they thought it was some form of really icky, evil magic."
Probbbbably not the best conversational topic.
Taking an embarassed second to clear my throat, I decided to wrap things up.
"Wellllpp, you've got about what?, five or six months to find your balls? So, if those two little bundles of fertile joy show up and you decide to do something halfway valiant by being a father to your own child, why don't you shoot me a text or facebook me or something. I'm probably not going to want to talk to you or see you, so impersonal communication is most likely the best route to take. But hey, what do you know about the best route, right? Have a good life, asshole."
I had a feeling that things would turn out this way.
Take a little advice from me and listen to your gut.
Mine used to be full of good judgement, but now it's probably got something in it that looks like a newborn panda surrounded by placenta goo.
Pregnant
Walking through a grocery store makes me anxious. I'm afraid to make eye contact with any of the passersby. I mean, should I smile? Should I nod a bit? What if someone asks me a question, what if they don't look back, what if they know just by looking directly into my eyes? The thought alone makes my breathing all uneven and it feels like I'm sipping through a straw for air, so I keep my eyes glued to the floor.
Plums boil down to pulp, cranberries dry on thick rolls of parchment and yellow squash bursts into flames. Numbers fly through my scalp and all I can think of are bank statements, diapers, formula, and the bite of whiskey that I miss so fucking much.
It's an off day and I don't have as much concern for her as usual, and it makes me sick to my stomach with guilt. Also I'm just plain sick to my stomach. I hold her from the outside of my shirt, hoping she can't hear my thoughts. We walk slowly, trying to make a decision that we haven't quite figured out the two sides of yet.
I look at the cellophane bags of bread and I feel my stomach filling up, the grumbling lining absolutely stuffed full of toy trucks and glitter crayons and Barbie dolls with their hair all chopped off. Her little plastic feet carve their way into my esophagus and I'm sure I could probably go for weeks without eating.
Melanie's Story, Part II
It's been two months since the talk, and I'm still pathetically hopeful.
I mean, hey - everyone always says a woman is always a mother, a man is a father once he sees his child. Maybe...maybe he just needs to see her.
I took a deep breath for both of us.
The whole school knew by now, and all of my friends were still deciding. Still deciding if they should stay, or run, or just drop off a gift at my baby shower and then pretend like they don't know me the next day. It's a very subtle thing they're doing; trying to be supportive but also slowly giving me more 'space' until they finally stop visiting altogether.
I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to associate with me either.
I'd been taking a walk through the city's park, which is always empty on a Thursday. I stopped to take a rest at one of the benches closest to the water, holding my little girl from the outside of my belly.
I closed my eyes and just let my mind float between my thoughts, slipping around the corners of my ideas, weaving in and out of them.
Ezra. Ezra...something.
I've always adored that name. In Hebrew it means "help", and I always thought that was so fitting for a newborn - especially an unexpected one. Most new parents are so freaked out by the time that their kid is almost ready to be born that they are just about to kill each other. When their baby arrives, it soothes them into the nurturing mothers and fathers they need to be. The baby helps their relationship.
In my case, however, Ezra's going to be a different kind of help.
God willing, she's going to keep me sane.
Hugging my belly, I got comfortable and started to tell my Ezra a story.
"Once there was a sailor whose lover was The Sea. As soon as he was old enough to work on a boat, he got a job as a laborer. He soon became the captain of his very own ship, which he happily sailed all around the world until he was an old man. Every night he would go to his cabin below the deck and let the beautiful songs of The Sea lull him to sleep, his lover only seperated from him by a few inches of wood and metal. As an old man, one night the sailor became completely despondent. Do you know what that means, baby girl? That means he was so heartsick he couldn't fight any longer. He sat on the deck of his glorious ship, drinking bottle after bottle of wine, toasting to the health of his lover The Sea. Out of his mind with both heartache and liquor, the sailor tied a cannonball around his ankle, and climbed over the railing of his ship. Declaring his love for The Sea, he begged her to let him love her. He explained that he'd never wanted one being so much in his life. Never felt so connected; so connected that the mere inches of distance between them was so painful he couldn't bare it."
Taking a few moments to push the tears back down my throat, I continued.
"The Sea, feeling his pain and realizing her own feelings for him, sent a giant wave towards the sailor's ship, sending the man right into her loving embrace. To this day, if you listen closely enough, you can hear their laughter in the crash of every wave."
Ezra is born
I looked into her small sticky eyes for the first time, felt her tight, tiny hand around just my ring finger, and my heart exploded. The bits of my heart floated up my chest and then out of my eyes, heavy tears of happiness convincing me that she was all I'd ever fucking need.
Her skin was a painful reddish purple but I could already see her tan and smiling into the sun, a wealth of brown curls falling down the back of her cotton sundress as we plant tomatoes and cucumbers and bell peppers. She'd smile into the sky, absolutely joyful just to be living, to be. I'll teach her all about how the seeds grow and why we have to wait for them to be ready to eat. I'll tell her lots of fairy-tales instead of the specifics. Like how when a Borrower takes something of yours you have to write an itty bitty note asking for it back, otherwise they'll be insulted if you use human sized paper.
I'll tell her all of the vegetables are just shy when they're seeds. That she'll have to sing to them and tell them all of her deepest, gooiest secrets and dreams. Only then will their little ears reach up, up, up out of the ground to hear her songs even better.
That's what I'll tell her.
Finale.
She reached at the grass and pulled out several blades, as if digging up her memories from the earth itself. The sun warmed the freckles across her nose, her frizzy blonde hair full of barrettes and braids and happiness.
A woman with endearing eyes sat across from Ezra, sharing the same snack of string cheese and boxed apple juice.
"It's alright," the woman whispered carefully, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
Ezra shook her head cautiously and gave one of her infamously carefree smiles.
"No, it isn't like that. It isn't like that at all. My real mom is my adoptive mom, and I know that. My Mel wanted me to know that. See she gave me a Silly Sad box before I could even think my own thoughts, and whenever I'm sad I just open it and talk to her through it. It's full of photos and letters and CD's she made, and even some of her singing to me. It's a magic box that turns all of your sad thoughts into silly ones."
The woman put her pen and paper aside, interested in the unusual tone Ezra had. For an adopted child, birth parents are usually a touchy subject once they get older, but Ezra spoke with forgiveness and understanding that she'd never felt come from a child before.
"So how do you feel about her, your birth mother?"
"She doesn't like me calling her that, and neither do I. She's My Mel. She taught me a lot of things while I was in her tummy, so that when I was born I'd already know them. Like how to pick a good pair of shoes and how to make plants grow. She gave me a new home so that I could share my knowledge and my love, she said. She felt like I was just so special that she had to share me with the world, even if that meant we couldn't see each other for a while... but I've got a mission, you know?" Ezra stood from her spot and placed her fists against her hips. "Somedays I have to reassure the sky that she's beautiful so that she won't fall down, and occasionally I get to teach dogs and cats get along with each other, but mostly I just like to help. It doesn't matter how. My Mel told me that's my gift, and that you're supposed to give back what's been gifted to you."
Ezra spoke with such assuredness, such fortitude that the woman wasn't sure what to say. In fact, she wasn't sure if she should say anything. All she knew is that she really did believe her, and her My Mel.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Mel's Story Incerpt (First few chapters)
The city pushes its way reprehensibly through the billowing night fog. It's just me and a homeless man who smells like piss and a bit of cigarettes, but the cigarette smell might be me. When I'm too drunk in the middle of the night I always end up on this same bus, with the same disheveled-looking old lady driver. Either that or there's fifty bus drivers in this city who all look nearly the same. She always smacks her gums at me disapprovingly as I stumble onto the bus, trying to convince some Neanderthal that I'll definitely give him a call in the morning, absolutely.
Everything about this city is trivial, it's almost nauseating. Old stores, old gas stations, old shut-down gas stations, mom-and-pop diners; like swallow's nest, it's a mixture of feathers from dead animals, mud, and sticks and spit.
This city has no heartbeat.
Everything about this city is trivial, it's almost nauseating. Old stores, old gas stations, old shut-down gas stations, mom-and-pop diners; like swallow's nest, it's a mixture of feathers from dead animals, mud, and sticks and spit.
This city has no heartbeat.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Mel's Story (openin' words)
Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I refuse to tell my story in exactly that order, but I guess this one only makes sense if I start at least somewhere near the beginning.
It starts with a puddle of my own vomit. I'm 15 and I'm pig-headed and determined to become a psychologist and believe that the answer to every question I've ever asked or will ever ask in the future lies at the bottom of this bottle of Jose Cuervo I've stolen from my mother's cabinet.
Except that's a lie because my mother doesn't drink.
There's a cute boy in a flannel jacket and all I'm worried about is making an ass out of myself in front of him, so I'm trying to play it cool and say something off-handedly funny, but I'm too inebriated to completely form a syntactically correct sentence. The shirt I'd worn has come partially unbuttoned, my stomach is burning so my mouth has turned white, and he has this look of disgust-slash-amusement across his face and oh God, do I really have to tell this part of the story? Let's just skip it.
"C'mon, Mel, you used to love to throw down!"
He hands me a luke-warm beer and a smile.
I don't know his name, and after searching my memory I realize that I never did. He was a thick build, a rough dresser; but his face was kind. Inviting.
Well whoever he is, he doesn't know me too well either; I hate beer.
I hand the beer back to Thick and give him a quick kiss on the cheek as I walk through the entrance and into a sea of partially wasted twenty-ish year-olds.
Grabbing something cold, clear, and bottled from an oversized ice bucket I head towards the music.
I start small talking a girl from my psych class - Kim, or Katie or something like that. Honestly, I was just glad to see a familiar face, because so far I'd only recognized a few one night stands and a cat-fighting frienemy or two.
I wasn't feeling comfortable enough yet, so I headed back for a second bottle. As I struggled with the cap for a moment I felt a gentle hand on the small of my back and a husky but sober voice at my ear.
"What's your name, babe?" He half-yelled into my eardrum (the music level had been steadily increasing).
"Stacy," I lied to him,"you?"
"Evan. I think we had a health class together, yeah?"
Wrong. Evan looked a lot like that one guy off of Greek - the one that started off really geeky who was that one girl's brother? Evan smiled confidently and used a little too much eye contact. There was an innocence to him though, possibly fake, but it was a little difficult to judge character in such a crowded apartment.
"Right, I remember! You sat near the front." I smiled a reassuring smile that had him confused.
Apparently he's a back-row sorta guy.
I held out my drink for him to get me another; I figured that way he'd have a little extra time to plan out his next move.
My stomach was feeling a little cramped & upset, but I knew if I just drank a little faster it'd eventually wash away. Alcohol never did settle with me well.
"So what's your major?" Evan asked as he fought his way back through the crowd with a red plastic cup in his hand.
Original question, Ev. "Biochemical Engineering." I lied again.
"Ouchhhh. I'm pre-law myself, so one day I'll be able to arrest you for being so damn beautiful."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head out of embarrassment for him. He knew it was cheesy from the giant grin he was sporting, but he'd gone for the kill anyways.
"Let's go dance, Evan." I grabbed him by the hand and gulped down the last of whatever he'd put together. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't drink drinks that someone else made after a friend of mine got roofied, but Ev didn't seem like the kind of guy who even knew where to get roofs, let alone slip me one.
I danced so close to Evan that I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He'd given me a funny look after I'd swallowed down that last drink so quickly. I pressed my hips to his and he smiled a surprised but knowing smile.
"Let's find someplace quieter...to talk." I yelled in his ear halfheartedly. I've played this through so many times that I pretty much had it scripted. I grabbed a few jello shots from a passing tray as I led Evan away.
It starts with a puddle of my own vomit. I'm 15 and I'm pig-headed and determined to become a psychologist and believe that the answer to every question I've ever asked or will ever ask in the future lies at the bottom of this bottle of Jose Cuervo I've stolen from my mother's cabinet.
Except that's a lie because my mother doesn't drink.
There's a cute boy in a flannel jacket and all I'm worried about is making an ass out of myself in front of him, so I'm trying to play it cool and say something off-handedly funny, but I'm too inebriated to completely form a syntactically correct sentence. The shirt I'd worn has come partially unbuttoned, my stomach is burning so my mouth has turned white, and he has this look of disgust-slash-amusement across his face and oh God, do I really have to tell this part of the story? Let's just skip it.
"C'mon, Mel, you used to love to throw down!"
He hands me a luke-warm beer and a smile.
I don't know his name, and after searching my memory I realize that I never did. He was a thick build, a rough dresser; but his face was kind. Inviting.
Well whoever he is, he doesn't know me too well either; I hate beer.
I hand the beer back to Thick and give him a quick kiss on the cheek as I walk through the entrance and into a sea of partially wasted twenty-ish year-olds.
Grabbing something cold, clear, and bottled from an oversized ice bucket I head towards the music.
I start small talking a girl from my psych class - Kim, or Katie or something like that. Honestly, I was just glad to see a familiar face, because so far I'd only recognized a few one night stands and a cat-fighting frienemy or two.
I wasn't feeling comfortable enough yet, so I headed back for a second bottle. As I struggled with the cap for a moment I felt a gentle hand on the small of my back and a husky but sober voice at my ear.
"What's your name, babe?" He half-yelled into my eardrum (the music level had been steadily increasing).
"Stacy," I lied to him,"you?"
"Evan. I think we had a health class together, yeah?"
Wrong. Evan looked a lot like that one guy off of Greek - the one that started off really geeky who was that one girl's brother? Evan smiled confidently and used a little too much eye contact. There was an innocence to him though, possibly fake, but it was a little difficult to judge character in such a crowded apartment.
"Right, I remember! You sat near the front." I smiled a reassuring smile that had him confused.
Apparently he's a back-row sorta guy.
I held out my drink for him to get me another; I figured that way he'd have a little extra time to plan out his next move.
My stomach was feeling a little cramped & upset, but I knew if I just drank a little faster it'd eventually wash away. Alcohol never did settle with me well.
"So what's your major?" Evan asked as he fought his way back through the crowd with a red plastic cup in his hand.
Original question, Ev. "Biochemical Engineering." I lied again.
"Ouchhhh. I'm pre-law myself, so one day I'll be able to arrest you for being so damn beautiful."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head out of embarrassment for him. He knew it was cheesy from the giant grin he was sporting, but he'd gone for the kill anyways.
"Let's go dance, Evan." I grabbed him by the hand and gulped down the last of whatever he'd put together. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't drink drinks that someone else made after a friend of mine got roofied, but Ev didn't seem like the kind of guy who even knew where to get roofs, let alone slip me one.
I danced so close to Evan that I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He'd given me a funny look after I'd swallowed down that last drink so quickly. I pressed my hips to his and he smiled a surprised but knowing smile.
"Let's find someplace quieter...to talk." I yelled in his ear halfheartedly. I've played this through so many times that I pretty much had it scripted. I grabbed a few jello shots from a passing tray as I led Evan away.
There's so much poetry in the persistent way the ocean always returns to the shore. Each day it kisses its sugary cheek just to be turned away, yet continues back for more.
There's a taste of God in the endless salty barrage of walls of waves from the sea.
There's a self-righteous glow about the sun as she triumphs ablaze pretentiously.
There's a taste of God in the endless salty barrage of walls of waves from the sea.
There's a self-righteous glow about the sun as she triumphs ablaze pretentiously.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
The Rent
I spent this month's rent on putting my dog to sleep.
I went to the Humane Society every day for a week in January. I'd told myself exactly a year from that week (I say that, but I've got no idea when I actually thought of the idea) that if I still want a dog a year later, I would get one, no matter what. I'd cuddled a number of puppies with big clumsy paws that were sure to foreshadow many a broken breakable and chewed Steve Madden's, which would suck because I only own two pairs. They had such wet little eyes and fuzzy bellies that each one seemed like the right pet, but not the right friend. The last day I went, January 28th, was actually the 8th day, because I wasn't ready to give up looking. I tried to figure things in percents - 80% sure that the lab/pit mix would be gigantic but really awesome. 95% about keeping the miniature pincher until it tried to maul a puppy through the chainlink. 75% sure I don't want a cat instead, even though they'd be an easier option.
I walked into the small dog kennel with my best friend, who I no longer talk to because she thinks I was texting her Neanderthal boyfriend. Seriously? Girls disgust me most of the time. Anyway, we walk in and there's a big orange and grey mess in the very first kennel on the right. The card on her cage reads "Carla" underneath pink highlighter, which indicates she's a girl. According to her info card, it was her birthday that day. January 28th. 80% sure that's a sign.
She's coughing and trying to use her red-pink tongue to push her overgrown hair out of her mouth without any success. Her backlegs were a dark orange, which I didn't understand. Is it mud? Does that mean she's sick? Man I don't know anything about dogs. I remember thinking to myself. The long matted hair from her stomach dragged across the floor, which was gross. This dog is gross.
My at-the-time-best-friend was loving this dog, though; she has a schnauzer of her own, which apparently is what this dog was supposed to be underneath all of her mess. She quickly went to work trying to sell me on her while throwing in plenty of "but it's your decision, don't let me influence you."
I asked to visit with the thing, and I'd be lying if I said I was thinking about getting her. I wanted a puppy. A lovable, cuddly bundle for me to raise. This dog was already four.
We went outside on the visitor's patio to see what she was like. She ran around excitedly in circles while we whistled and tried to get her attention. Occasionally she would stop to pay us a little bit of love, which was so surprisingly endearing. Her ears were big and stood straight up, except the tips of them which bounced quickly along with her footsteps. 65% this dog could be cute with that shit shaved off of her and a bath. I still wasn't sold, though.
She was put back into her cage, and we went to see her to say goodbye. She looked me right in the eyes when I opened the door, and she let out the shrillest, most annoying sound I've ever heard. Something about it told me I couldn't leave. I sat down in front of her for a good 25 minutes. By this time I'd come to the conclusion that I was 99% taking her home in my car. 99% sure her birthday was a sign. Does it go higher than 99%? I wasn't sure at the time, but now I know - it's always at 99%, because you're a little scared. Especially when it's your first dog.
She freaked out in the car, making that piercing yipping noise the whole time. 15% I made a mistake.
I named her Madeline, like the children's book. Carla is a stupid name.
Maddie and I had a rough start. She got a haircut and a bath, and when the groomer came back around the corner with her, I was a little disappointed. Her hair was so matted and dirty that they had to basically shave her. Plus the Rays were doing really good at the time, so they gave her a mohawk. Shaved with a Rayhawk, she looked like a little monster. It was almost cute, but mostly she creeped me out. I wasn't sure what to do - I'd already taken pictures of her and put them on Facebook, I didn't want to have to tell everyone I gave her back already. I can't believe I really thought about giving her back just because she didn't look cute enough, that's such a dick move.
A week into being a dog owner, she bit me. I was livid, but mostly because I was hurt. My first dog, the only that's supposed to be my best bud, doesn't even like me. I was right when I told myself that I didn't know anything about dogs, I didn't. I'd tried to pick her up while she was sleeping, and I'd frightened her. I didn't know that at the time though, so I scolded her and pushed her off the bed angrily. She wouldn't come up onto my bed for a few days after that.
I remember when I finally fell in love with her. I'd loved her all along of course, but it was like an obligatory love - she was mine, and I had her, so I loved her. Like the way you love your car, or an Ipod.
We were driving back to Lady Lake to see my best friend Hannah, a month or two later in March. I'd had her in a dog bed in the back seat, with a rawhide bone to keep her occupied. All of a sudden I felt the side of my cheek get warm, and I realized she was standing with her front two feet on the center console, her cheek almost pressing against mine. She had her eyes fixed onto the horizon, like she knew we were traveling somewhere. I realized we were driving home together, like she was my partner instead of my possession. I scratched her behind her ear and she gave my palm a few quick licks. From that day on, Maddie Rae always sat next to me instead of in the back.
She got really sick over the summer and I've never been so scared. I'd come home with groceries, just a handful of bags, back when I had to get the plastic bags so I had something to pick up dog doo with. My grandma had scared me that weekend, telling me that rawhides are really dangerous for small dogs since a piece can get stuck in their stomachs. Maddie Rae was a super-chewer so I knew I had to find a solution. I found some bones that were big thick compressed something or other that were for dental hygiene. Schnauzers have a lot of teeth issues. I picked those ones, since the compressed-stuff bones for dogs that chew a lot had corn meal in them, and corn meal isn't good for Schnauzers. Of course I would pick the most complicated dog, right?
So I come home with this pack of three bones that cost me almost ten bucks, and I pull one out in the car so it's already in my hand when I get to the door. She was so stoked. I set the bags down on the ground and began putting away the groceries. I noticed a items were super old, so I started cleaning out leftovers as I put things away. I turned to grab the last bag and there she was, gobbling down the third and last bone from the bag. I panicked and tried to grab the chunk that was left from her mouth, but she wasn't letting go. She could be seriously bratty at times.
I kept an eagle eye on her for the next two days to make sure no funny business happened. She went to the bathroom, went for walks, and barked at black people like she usually did, so I wasn't concerned. I came home from work on the third day and she didn't greet me at the door. Instead I walked into my studio and found puddles of vomit and diarrhea and my baby girl shaking, walking towards me. She came up to me and laid down across my feet with a sigh. Holy Shit.I KILLED her. Frantically I dialed my vet's office and was redirected to the animal hospital up the road. With tears biting at my throat I tried to explain the situation to a nurse - she wanted me to come in so they could see her immediately, it might be serious, she said. I don't have any money, though. I went anyways. I was so frazzled I could barely put the key in the ignition. Mom, Maddie's dead. I fed her three fucking bones all at once. I was psyching myself and making it impossible to function, so I called my oldest sister and told her to just talk about nothing with me on my way to the FVS. Thank God I got a GPS for my birthday. She bullshitted with me all the way to the hospital, and when I came jogging into the office, Maddie Rae in my arms, there were other people waiting in front of me. By this time it was 12:30 at night, so it seemed ridiculous that all of these people had emergencies, too. Mine is more important, get out of my way, get out of my way. I listened in on the man in front of me, who was explaining that his carrier he was holding (which apparently contained a cat) had been hiding in his closet for days. Seriously? Your cat hates you, that's why he's hiding, now fucking MOVE.
My patience is always more powerful than my bite, however, so I waited. A woman asks me what's wrong and before she finishes her sentence I begin to ramble to her, then I start crying, then sobbing, then I have to sit down. She takes Maddie from me and pats me on the shoulder.
I zone back in and I'm filling out paperwork, and my mom is calling me. Awesome, my older sister told her I bet. I answer and I can't really speak, so she yells at me and tells me to calm down. Brilliant. I take a few breaths and explain quickly, and tell her where I am. Of course her first words are "You don't have the money for that." And I'm in tears again. I know I don't, I know I don't. But I can't let this be my fault. I can't. "You don't even have rent, Kelley." Seriously, just stop. I know. I know. But I can't, mom. I can't let her...
I don't know anything about dogs.
The doctor comes back and Maddie is a little perkier. They gave her some oxygen to help her calm down a bit. That was nice, but she needs real help, how does she get real help? It's a hospital, shouldn't they have started fixing her by now?? The doctor looks at me with a forced look of understanding on her face. Fuck. She knows I'm a student and I'm broke and she's trying to empathize and this is bullshit, she can't go this way.
The doctor explains that she has to stay overnight. She needs fluids, and there's some sort of blockage in her abdomen, but they aren't sure that it's her stomach. There's blood in her urine. Blood? From eating too many bones? Why? I sob these questions into her face, wiping snot on my sleeve. I'm sure I looked a little frightening, either that or pathetic.
She says it might be her kidneys. If it's her kidneys, that means surgery. If it's a stomach blockage, that means surgery. But they need an x-ray to know.
Instead of playing the percentage game, I was now playing a sick game of prices - how high is too high of a price to save your pet? She isn't my pet though, she's more than that. She's more than that. The doctor could see me doing math, and she nodded slowly in agreeance.
$1,000 is as far as I could go, if I begged and pleaded from a few people.
The bill was $1,007. I had to pay before they would do anything, what the fuck kind of place does that? I had to pry the money from my mom's hands, but thankfully she agreed to pay. If it had been the middle of the day, I don't think she would've been so easy.
They said she was super dehydrated and something was up with her kidneys - either an infection or stones. Infection was solved with just meds, while, like before, kidney stones would mean surgery.
She took meds for a kidney infection, and she got a thousand times better, so I assumed that must've been it, just a kidney infection. Good. I even got her special dog food for dogs with kidney issues from the vet my twin sister works at. That's the vet we usually go to, because she knows some of the people there so she doesn't get as anxious. She had the WORST separation anxiety, she would howl for a good five minutes after I left, Kryssa said. I could hear her bark from outside of the building. Even sometimes when I left my apartment, if I didn't say goodbye properly she would freak out. Crazy ass dog...
So when I came home on Thursday and she had thrown up a little, I felt that same panic in my spine, but she was acting normal, still all hyper and full of energy. I figured she just ate too much, I had overfed her a bit the day before. We took a long ass nap, and then I got up to take her for a walk. She was shaking when I looked at her, which had me worried all over again. But I don't have any money so I kept trying to convince myself that she was fine. She's just cold, I told myself, so I put a sweater on her. I got a leash from the wall and she still jumped up excitedly. See? Totally fine.
We walked out the door and she was trailing behind me instead of pulling me forward like usual... maybe she's just tired. We go for a walk and she slows her pace even more until she finally just sits down and I'm numb. I didn't know what to do. She's shaking, then she starts to gag and vomits. I'm sitting on the ground outside with her, at 3 in the morning, and I just don't know. That was the last time she walked. I pick her up and take her inside, laying her next to me on the couch. I call that overpriced hospital and just ask them for advice. I can't afford to go back to your place, I don't know what to do, I tell them. She tells me it's okay, just wait until your vet opens in the morning. Four hours seemed dangerous to wait. I fed her some water, tried to get her to eat some food. She'll get better... I tried weakly to tell myself.
By the time we were at the vet her breathing was fast and uneven. I was in tears, trying so hard to think of anything she could've gotten into. Bleach? Sweets? I carry her in and the lady up front looks worried when she looks in Maddie's mouth. I'm in tears again. They know I'm Kryssa's sister, they know me here. Everyone's gonna know I accidentally poisoned my dog. Everything moved really really fast after that.
Kryssa came to be with me the minute she knew I was there. I don't know how she knew something was wrong, twin thing, I guess. She saw me crying and a look flashed across her face that I knew really well. The "Oh man, my twin is crying and I can't do anything" feeling that feels like you're pushing against your own skin. The vet took one look at her and said she looked like she had kidney stones. We can do some expensive tests, he said, but he's been doing this awhile and he's positive it's stones. His eyes were light blue I think. He was genuinely sincere, not fake sincere like the hospital people. I started brainstorming ways to get a loan, or borrow money, or something. How much can surgery be? It can't be all that much, I can do this. I can fix this. Kryssa was so great. She calmly spoke with me while I was sobbing, choking because my stomach was upset from seeing Maddie so sick.
"It's not your fault, I would do the same thing, I know it's hard now, but it's for her." It all still seems so wrong.
I just want my dog back, that's all.
I went to the Humane Society every day for a week in January. I'd told myself exactly a year from that week (I say that, but I've got no idea when I actually thought of the idea) that if I still want a dog a year later, I would get one, no matter what. I'd cuddled a number of puppies with big clumsy paws that were sure to foreshadow many a broken breakable and chewed Steve Madden's, which would suck because I only own two pairs. They had such wet little eyes and fuzzy bellies that each one seemed like the right pet, but not the right friend. The last day I went, January 28th, was actually the 8th day, because I wasn't ready to give up looking. I tried to figure things in percents - 80% sure that the lab/pit mix would be gigantic but really awesome. 95% about keeping the miniature pincher until it tried to maul a puppy through the chainlink. 75% sure I don't want a cat instead, even though they'd be an easier option.
I walked into the small dog kennel with my best friend, who I no longer talk to because she thinks I was texting her Neanderthal boyfriend. Seriously? Girls disgust me most of the time. Anyway, we walk in and there's a big orange and grey mess in the very first kennel on the right. The card on her cage reads "Carla" underneath pink highlighter, which indicates she's a girl. According to her info card, it was her birthday that day. January 28th. 80% sure that's a sign.
She's coughing and trying to use her red-pink tongue to push her overgrown hair out of her mouth without any success. Her backlegs were a dark orange, which I didn't understand. Is it mud? Does that mean she's sick? Man I don't know anything about dogs. I remember thinking to myself. The long matted hair from her stomach dragged across the floor, which was gross. This dog is gross.
My at-the-time-best-friend was loving this dog, though; she has a schnauzer of her own, which apparently is what this dog was supposed to be underneath all of her mess. She quickly went to work trying to sell me on her while throwing in plenty of "but it's your decision, don't let me influence you."
I asked to visit with the thing, and I'd be lying if I said I was thinking about getting her. I wanted a puppy. A lovable, cuddly bundle for me to raise. This dog was already four.
We went outside on the visitor's patio to see what she was like. She ran around excitedly in circles while we whistled and tried to get her attention. Occasionally she would stop to pay us a little bit of love, which was so surprisingly endearing. Her ears were big and stood straight up, except the tips of them which bounced quickly along with her footsteps. 65% this dog could be cute with that shit shaved off of her and a bath. I still wasn't sold, though.
She was put back into her cage, and we went to see her to say goodbye. She looked me right in the eyes when I opened the door, and she let out the shrillest, most annoying sound I've ever heard. Something about it told me I couldn't leave. I sat down in front of her for a good 25 minutes. By this time I'd come to the conclusion that I was 99% taking her home in my car. 99% sure her birthday was a sign. Does it go higher than 99%? I wasn't sure at the time, but now I know - it's always at 99%, because you're a little scared. Especially when it's your first dog.
She freaked out in the car, making that piercing yipping noise the whole time. 15% I made a mistake.
I named her Madeline, like the children's book. Carla is a stupid name.
Maddie and I had a rough start. She got a haircut and a bath, and when the groomer came back around the corner with her, I was a little disappointed. Her hair was so matted and dirty that they had to basically shave her. Plus the Rays were doing really good at the time, so they gave her a mohawk. Shaved with a Rayhawk, she looked like a little monster. It was almost cute, but mostly she creeped me out. I wasn't sure what to do - I'd already taken pictures of her and put them on Facebook, I didn't want to have to tell everyone I gave her back already. I can't believe I really thought about giving her back just because she didn't look cute enough, that's such a dick move.
A week into being a dog owner, she bit me. I was livid, but mostly because I was hurt. My first dog, the only that's supposed to be my best bud, doesn't even like me. I was right when I told myself that I didn't know anything about dogs, I didn't. I'd tried to pick her up while she was sleeping, and I'd frightened her. I didn't know that at the time though, so I scolded her and pushed her off the bed angrily. She wouldn't come up onto my bed for a few days after that.
I remember when I finally fell in love with her. I'd loved her all along of course, but it was like an obligatory love - she was mine, and I had her, so I loved her. Like the way you love your car, or an Ipod.
We were driving back to Lady Lake to see my best friend Hannah, a month or two later in March. I'd had her in a dog bed in the back seat, with a rawhide bone to keep her occupied. All of a sudden I felt the side of my cheek get warm, and I realized she was standing with her front two feet on the center console, her cheek almost pressing against mine. She had her eyes fixed onto the horizon, like she knew we were traveling somewhere. I realized we were driving home together, like she was my partner instead of my possession. I scratched her behind her ear and she gave my palm a few quick licks. From that day on, Maddie Rae always sat next to me instead of in the back.
She got really sick over the summer and I've never been so scared. I'd come home with groceries, just a handful of bags, back when I had to get the plastic bags so I had something to pick up dog doo with. My grandma had scared me that weekend, telling me that rawhides are really dangerous for small dogs since a piece can get stuck in their stomachs. Maddie Rae was a super-chewer so I knew I had to find a solution. I found some bones that were big thick compressed something or other that were for dental hygiene. Schnauzers have a lot of teeth issues. I picked those ones, since the compressed-stuff bones for dogs that chew a lot had corn meal in them, and corn meal isn't good for Schnauzers. Of course I would pick the most complicated dog, right?
So I come home with this pack of three bones that cost me almost ten bucks, and I pull one out in the car so it's already in my hand when I get to the door. She was so stoked. I set the bags down on the ground and began putting away the groceries. I noticed a items were super old, so I started cleaning out leftovers as I put things away. I turned to grab the last bag and there she was, gobbling down the third and last bone from the bag. I panicked and tried to grab the chunk that was left from her mouth, but she wasn't letting go. She could be seriously bratty at times.
I kept an eagle eye on her for the next two days to make sure no funny business happened. She went to the bathroom, went for walks, and barked at black people like she usually did, so I wasn't concerned. I came home from work on the third day and she didn't greet me at the door. Instead I walked into my studio and found puddles of vomit and diarrhea and my baby girl shaking, walking towards me. She came up to me and laid down across my feet with a sigh. Holy Shit.I KILLED her. Frantically I dialed my vet's office and was redirected to the animal hospital up the road. With tears biting at my throat I tried to explain the situation to a nurse - she wanted me to come in so they could see her immediately, it might be serious, she said. I don't have any money, though. I went anyways. I was so frazzled I could barely put the key in the ignition. Mom, Maddie's dead. I fed her three fucking bones all at once. I was psyching myself and making it impossible to function, so I called my oldest sister and told her to just talk about nothing with me on my way to the FVS. Thank God I got a GPS for my birthday. She bullshitted with me all the way to the hospital, and when I came jogging into the office, Maddie Rae in my arms, there were other people waiting in front of me. By this time it was 12:30 at night, so it seemed ridiculous that all of these people had emergencies, too. Mine is more important, get out of my way, get out of my way. I listened in on the man in front of me, who was explaining that his carrier he was holding (which apparently contained a cat) had been hiding in his closet for days. Seriously? Your cat hates you, that's why he's hiding, now fucking MOVE.
My patience is always more powerful than my bite, however, so I waited. A woman asks me what's wrong and before she finishes her sentence I begin to ramble to her, then I start crying, then sobbing, then I have to sit down. She takes Maddie from me and pats me on the shoulder.
I zone back in and I'm filling out paperwork, and my mom is calling me. Awesome, my older sister told her I bet. I answer and I can't really speak, so she yells at me and tells me to calm down. Brilliant. I take a few breaths and explain quickly, and tell her where I am. Of course her first words are "You don't have the money for that." And I'm in tears again. I know I don't, I know I don't. But I can't let this be my fault. I can't. "You don't even have rent, Kelley." Seriously, just stop. I know. I know. But I can't, mom. I can't let her...
I don't know anything about dogs.
The doctor comes back and Maddie is a little perkier. They gave her some oxygen to help her calm down a bit. That was nice, but she needs real help, how does she get real help? It's a hospital, shouldn't they have started fixing her by now?? The doctor looks at me with a forced look of understanding on her face. Fuck. She knows I'm a student and I'm broke and she's trying to empathize and this is bullshit, she can't go this way.
The doctor explains that she has to stay overnight. She needs fluids, and there's some sort of blockage in her abdomen, but they aren't sure that it's her stomach. There's blood in her urine. Blood? From eating too many bones? Why? I sob these questions into her face, wiping snot on my sleeve. I'm sure I looked a little frightening, either that or pathetic.
She says it might be her kidneys. If it's her kidneys, that means surgery. If it's a stomach blockage, that means surgery. But they need an x-ray to know.
Instead of playing the percentage game, I was now playing a sick game of prices - how high is too high of a price to save your pet? She isn't my pet though, she's more than that. She's more than that. The doctor could see me doing math, and she nodded slowly in agreeance.
$1,000 is as far as I could go, if I begged and pleaded from a few people.
The bill was $1,007. I had to pay before they would do anything, what the fuck kind of place does that? I had to pry the money from my mom's hands, but thankfully she agreed to pay. If it had been the middle of the day, I don't think she would've been so easy.
They said she was super dehydrated and something was up with her kidneys - either an infection or stones. Infection was solved with just meds, while, like before, kidney stones would mean surgery.
She took meds for a kidney infection, and she got a thousand times better, so I assumed that must've been it, just a kidney infection. Good. I even got her special dog food for dogs with kidney issues from the vet my twin sister works at. That's the vet we usually go to, because she knows some of the people there so she doesn't get as anxious. She had the WORST separation anxiety, she would howl for a good five minutes after I left, Kryssa said. I could hear her bark from outside of the building. Even sometimes when I left my apartment, if I didn't say goodbye properly she would freak out. Crazy ass dog...
So when I came home on Thursday and she had thrown up a little, I felt that same panic in my spine, but she was acting normal, still all hyper and full of energy. I figured she just ate too much, I had overfed her a bit the day before. We took a long ass nap, and then I got up to take her for a walk. She was shaking when I looked at her, which had me worried all over again. But I don't have any money so I kept trying to convince myself that she was fine. She's just cold, I told myself, so I put a sweater on her. I got a leash from the wall and she still jumped up excitedly. See? Totally fine.
We walked out the door and she was trailing behind me instead of pulling me forward like usual... maybe she's just tired. We go for a walk and she slows her pace even more until she finally just sits down and I'm numb. I didn't know what to do. She's shaking, then she starts to gag and vomits. I'm sitting on the ground outside with her, at 3 in the morning, and I just don't know. That was the last time she walked. I pick her up and take her inside, laying her next to me on the couch. I call that overpriced hospital and just ask them for advice. I can't afford to go back to your place, I don't know what to do, I tell them. She tells me it's okay, just wait until your vet opens in the morning. Four hours seemed dangerous to wait. I fed her some water, tried to get her to eat some food. She'll get better... I tried weakly to tell myself.
By the time we were at the vet her breathing was fast and uneven. I was in tears, trying so hard to think of anything she could've gotten into. Bleach? Sweets? I carry her in and the lady up front looks worried when she looks in Maddie's mouth. I'm in tears again. They know I'm Kryssa's sister, they know me here. Everyone's gonna know I accidentally poisoned my dog. Everything moved really really fast after that.
Kryssa came to be with me the minute she knew I was there. I don't know how she knew something was wrong, twin thing, I guess. She saw me crying and a look flashed across her face that I knew really well. The "Oh man, my twin is crying and I can't do anything" feeling that feels like you're pushing against your own skin. The vet took one look at her and said she looked like she had kidney stones. We can do some expensive tests, he said, but he's been doing this awhile and he's positive it's stones. His eyes were light blue I think. He was genuinely sincere, not fake sincere like the hospital people. I started brainstorming ways to get a loan, or borrow money, or something. How much can surgery be? It can't be all that much, I can do this. I can fix this. Kryssa was so great. She calmly spoke with me while I was sobbing, choking because my stomach was upset from seeing Maddie so sick.
"It's not your fault, I would do the same thing, I know it's hard now, but it's for her." It all still seems so wrong.
I just want my dog back, that's all.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Shore
Forced myself to write on an off day - didn't edit it at all, just one fluid chunk all at once.
The sun gleamed off the ocean water, and with one sultry glare she turned the sands raspy texture to that of glossy plastic.
I planted my toes deep within the shore, trying to force myself beneath the earth.
The breeze wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned my weight into it.
This place makes me think of everything all at once.
About broken childhood toys, my brother's coin collection, raccoons digging through our rubbish bins, my loose teeth. Time struggles to continue here, I think, just like when you're young and you try to run underwater.
It makes me, obligates me, to remember that first time she'd gotten sick. I'd held the loose frame of my mother in my arms, whispering frantically that'd she be okay, she'd be okay. My mother nodded weakly in agreeance but even then I could see the color leaving her blouse.
This beach, this goddamn beach. We'd spent so many summers vacationing her, and now it's a tomb. Bits of her teeth and her legs and her hair all mixed in with the sand, the dog piss, the beer bottles.
I'd had a mother. One that hugs you and smells like clean linens and makes the best scrambled eggs. Then I had a room in a hospital, and then a box, and then charcoal sand. And now I've got broken sea shells and this grey-scale green water and it isn't a fair trade at all.
The sun gleamed off the ocean water, and with one sultry glare she turned the sands raspy texture to that of glossy plastic.
I planted my toes deep within the shore, trying to force myself beneath the earth.
The breeze wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned my weight into it.
This place makes me think of everything all at once.
About broken childhood toys, my brother's coin collection, raccoons digging through our rubbish bins, my loose teeth. Time struggles to continue here, I think, just like when you're young and you try to run underwater.
It makes me, obligates me, to remember that first time she'd gotten sick. I'd held the loose frame of my mother in my arms, whispering frantically that'd she be okay, she'd be okay. My mother nodded weakly in agreeance but even then I could see the color leaving her blouse.
This beach, this goddamn beach. We'd spent so many summers vacationing her, and now it's a tomb. Bits of her teeth and her legs and her hair all mixed in with the sand, the dog piss, the beer bottles.
I'd had a mother. One that hugs you and smells like clean linens and makes the best scrambled eggs. Then I had a room in a hospital, and then a box, and then charcoal sand. And now I've got broken sea shells and this grey-scale green water and it isn't a fair trade at all.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
