Words From the Mist

Sometimes, no matter how much you care, you just have to let go. No matter how good your intentions may be, there's always someone out there who will misunderstand, or someone who is intentionally trying to make your motives seem sinister. It's another lesson learned for me as I continue to change and grow in this life.

I've walked a hard, strange road the last few years. I've done things I never thought I would do (whether good or bad). I've met people I never would have met otherwise and was hurt beyond belief by people who have been in my life practically from the beginning, who I believed weren't capable of hurting me that way. I've sewn those bad oats, and regardless of what those who call themselves my enemies may believe, I have CERTAINLY reaped the results.

I think we all have things we would like to go back and change if we could, but honestly, there's not much I would change. I know, had I taken any other road, I may not have ended up going in the direction that I am now, and I am on a good path toward good things in my life. I am sorry for the pain I have caused to people I loved very much. I am sorry for the relationships that have been damaged beyond repair. I am sorry for the people and things I have lost in my life... I have said this over and over again this past year: Once people have hurt each other so bad that they look at each other differently, those relationships are forever scarred and those people will never look at each other in the same way ever again. It's a shame that circumstances, attitudes, lies, rumors, and pain have such a strong hold on our emotions and are allowed to affect us in that way, but it's just a fact of life. The things we face in life and our emotions act as a filter through which everything we see and hear pass through. We don't see the raw ingredients of an action. We don't hear the empty spaces between the words. We attach past experiences, hurts, joys, pains, emotions, and even untruths, to each word or action. All of those manipulations mold our perceptions so that each individual's experience of an event is different from the person's standing next to them. So, yes. I do obsess over breaking down situations and getting down to the truth. I do pick a situation apart until my fingers bleed, because I feed off raw, honest experiences. It's how I thrive. It's how I survive.

I can't answer for anyone else. I've spent a good portion of my life defending other people. When you love someone it's easy to justify their actions, for a while anyway, but at some point I finally decided I was tired of making excuses, for myself, for them, for anyone. It's not easy, living such an honest life, but I'm trying. I'm not perfect by any means. Facing tragedy doesn't magically make a person good. Yes, I've faced the flame. I've been put to the test, and it has changed me drastically. It's made me a better person. There are those who say people don't change. In fact, it's not that people don't change within. It's just easier to change yourself than it is to change how people see you, how they feel or think about you. That's the difficult part... For most people, I honestly don't care what they think anymore, but there are a few people out there who I do love and respect. It's difficult to know that you've hurt someone you love, or disappointed them. I used to have such a HUGE fear of disappointing people and I'm learning to get over that. I wish I could convince the people I love, that although I may not always say or do things the "right" way, at the root of those words/actions are good intentions and a loving heart. It's just difficult to get people to make the effort to see beyond the surface, to see your heart. They don't feel it's worth the calluses to work that hard at it.

I can't answer for anyone else, but my life is split up into very different books, not chapters, more like books in a series. Each book has a definite start and a well-defined ending but they are tied together by characters. The last book ended almost a year ago. Since then, I've been trying to start that new book in my life, but for the first time, I'm doing it alone. I'm both excited and nervous, and it's getting off to a slow start because I have to clean up some clutter first. People may judge me, but I don't care. They're entitled to think whatever they want about me. Just consider this - I'm not who I used to be and not quite yet who I'm meant to be.

Originally published October 31, 2012

This is just an account of this crazy dream I've been having. It doesn't necessarily mean anything, but I've learned to write this stuff down.

I woke to an earthshaking boom. In that moment between awake and asleep I thought I was dreaming. I opened my eyes to see my mother and sister being torn from each other by two huge men in long, heavy trench coats and leather gloves. These men were enormous. They were covered in a thick dust from head to toe. I watched as they shoved my mother and sister out the rickety door.

Wake up! Wake up! I heard the words screaming in my head but I couldn't move. I just laid there and let it happen as if I was frozen by some invisible force. I couldn't move or speak. I heard my family's muffled, mousy grunts as they struggled. A man's strong voice yelled something in a language I didn't understand. It was silent for a moment. Then, I heard metal doors slamming shut and a vehicle pulling away.

I lay in the floor under the stairs on a makeshift bed, frozen, tears streaming from my eyes. Who were those men? Why did they take my family, and why didn't they take me? Had they not seen me? Just then, I could suddenly see myself as if I was a spirit floating near my body. I hovered over the floor. I craned my neck, stretching to look into my own eyes. They looked like two frozen ponds, green and glassy. I lingered there for a few moments and watched as the tears stopped and my eyes closed. What? Why would I go back to sleep? Wake up! Do something! Find the authorities!

I began to drift backward, away from my sleeping body as if someone was slowly leading me away by a string. As gentle as the force was, I was helpless to fight it. I fell back into a cool mist until it consumed me - a soothing, thick cloud. I was completely engulfed by the cloudy mist, so much that I couldn't see. My body went heavy and a warmth came over me.

I floated in the warm mist until, THUD! I hit a solid surface, hard, as if I had flown backward into a wall. The warmth and mist quickly dissipated and I heard a loud ringing that nearly deafened me. I opened my eyes and jerked, frantically looking around me. I was in the floor of my bedroom. A golden glow came through the window. I must have fallen out of bed. It was a dream. I rubbed my eyes to clear the gunk and realized I was crying. I stood and grappled for my cell phone in the bed. I found it twisted between the sheet and the comforter. The alarm was loud and piercing as I pulled close to my face. I fumbled with the buttons until the noise stopped. Blinking, I looked at the phone closely. I was nearly blind without my contacts. The glowing screen reminded me of a doctor's appointment in two hours.

I knew the abduction had been a dream, yet I flicked through the menus on the phone and located the Facebook app. If my sister was awake, she was undoubtedly on Facebook. I saw a post describing what she had eaten for breakfast, good enough. My mother was still stuck in the 1980's. I would have to call her... later.

I floated through the day in a haze. The doctor told me exactly what I had expected to hear. She said something about dropping hormone levels, more blood work, and blood pressure. I made another appointment for the next week, same day, same time, same bullshit. I considered eating lunch but did not feel like going through the trouble. Besides, I had gained fourteen pounds in two months. I could benefit from a few skipped meals. I decided to go home and look for jobs on the internet. I was fired a month ago and had only been on two interviews. One of them was with a lawyer who knew he wouldn't hire me but wanted to critique my resume and cover letter - a waste of time. I was pissed because I had to get out of bed before ten o'clock to make the interview and couldn't drink the previous night for fear of being hungover. Looking back, I think I started a three-day bender that night.

I called my mom to make sure she was alive when I got home. I made up some excuse having to do with needing boxes for storage... I sat on the computer the rest of the day. I nosed on Facebook, listened to my playlist titled "My Fucked-up Side", and filled out a few job applications. About eight o'clock my grandmother announced it was time to watch "her shows", which meant either turning off the music or going to my room. I opted to watch Longmire, Design Star, and the ten o'clock news with my grandma before my boyfriend texted me to ask if I wanted to stay the night. My bra was off. I was cuddled up on the couch and was seriously considering sleeping there, but I have this serious problem with saying "no" to people so I grabbed my trusty overnight bag, told Grandma where I was going (Lord forbid I leave without telling her, since I am thirty-one years old), and started out on the twenty-five mile drive toward Jason's house.

When I arrived, the apartment door was unlocked. Jason was lying on the couch watching pre-season football. He was tall, slender, broad-shouldered and slick bald. He had a handsome face, strong nose, and was in good shape for someone pushing forty years old. His smile was what I liked best about him. He wore plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His head jerked up and he looked at me over the top of his thin-framed glasses.
"Hey, Baby."
"Hey," I grunted.
"What's wrong?"
I took a deep breath. "Nothing. Thought you were asleep when I walked in."
"I just about was."
I smiled without showing my teeth and dropped my bag next to the breakfast bar. "Gotta pee."

I went to the restroom, changed into my pajamas, and brushed my teeth. As I shuffled back toward the living room I passed the kitchen and saw four empty beer cans lying in the sink. I stopped, rolled my eyes, and peeked into the living room. There was an open beer in a koozy sitting on the coffee table. I took a deep breath and thought, If he is drinking, so am I. I opened the fridge and reached toward the back for the half-empty bottle of Moscato I opened a few days before. It wasn't as full as it had been but it was enough. I started to grab a glass from the cabinet but changed my mind. I carried the bottle into the living room and plopped down on the couch at Jason's feet. He took one look at me, then at the bottle.
"Rough day?"
"I guess."
"If you're ready for bed we don't have to stay up."
"Lemme finish this." I raised the bottle.
"Okay, Baby... How'd it go at the doctor today?"
I took a swig of the now flat sparkling wine. "Same ol', same ol'."
"Did your levels drop?"
"Blood work comes back tomorrow. She said my blood pressure is kind of high."
"Did they guess as to why?"
"No, but I'm guessing it's lack of sex."
He laughed nervously. "Well, did they say anything about that?"
I rolled my head to face him and raised my eyebrows. "Really? You're going to ask me about sex? You knew when we started this thing that I couldn't-"
"Hey, hey, hey, shhhhhh. That's not what I meant. I just know you're frustrated. I wasn't asking for me. I was asking for you."
I sighed. "Well, once these antibiotics are done."
"Okay then. Something for you to look forward to then."
"How do I know if I should look forward to it? We've never had sex. It might be terrible!" We both laughed...

As we went to bed I tried not to think about the dream I had that morning. With all the insanity in my life lately, I had been having a lot of really crazy dreams. I blamed the hormones...

The following week the doctor released me to have sex, but I just wasn't ready so I told Jason it would be another week. After all, we had only been together a few weeks. He knew when we met what he was getting into. Perhaps I would test his spirit, see how long he could have a girlfriend, sleep in the same bed with her, and never have sex. I just couldn't fathom having sex with someone else so soon. Everything I had been through was enough to make some women swear off sex for the rest of their lives. I knew that wasn't the case for me. There was at least one person I might still have sex with. It just wasn't Jason, not yet anyway. I had thought about it, and we made out constantly, like teenagers, but I had a mental block. How does one suffer everything I had and just move on?

Eventually, with the help and encouragement of some close friends, I was able to break through my sexual aversions. The first few times we were both a little rusty. We had a few failed attempts. I began to think I was forever cursed. The one person I felt I could have sex with was the one person I definitely should not be sleeping with. He and I had already been through so much and, although we were still friends, I knew we would never be more than that. It was my one constant torture, the one thing I couldn't live with. We always want what we can't have. Jason, on the other hand, I could have whenever and wherever I wanted. He was game for almost anything, and he was so very good to me. I enjoyed being with him. He made me laugh, and once we got into the swing of things, the sex was satisfying. I just couldn't get out of this torturous rut.

Every night I went to sleep fighting off the crazy dreams. The one about my mom and sister stayed at bay while other, more graphic and terrifying dreams emerged. I heard screaming babies, saw my nephew get kidnapped, and watched my ex-husband fall in front of a train. One image I will absolutely never erase from my psyche is that of some kind of tissue, or organs perhaps, floating in a bloody metal bowl... I began to think I was going crazy. The nurses at my doctor's office were amazed at how positive and calm I seemed every week. One nurse told me she had seen women in my position get locked up in the psych ward. I didn't bother telling her my ex had put me there overnight once before - strong motivation to avoid going back. Try getting locked up overnight in a room with grates over the windows, with a woman who cuts herself. I had smuggled my cell phone into the room. I used the music on my phone to keep me awake, just in case Miss Cutty tried to slit my throat with a wooden pencil. They let me go the next morning, and that was the day I suddenly realized, after eight years, that I was strong enough to leave...

A few weeks went by and I was slowly growing more and more comfortable with Jason. In fact, I was spending more time at his place than my own. We went to Sunday lunch at his mom's. She always made some gourmet dish, like crab quiche and lemon-blueberry tarts and sent us home with plastic bowls full of leftovers. We started going on walks and exercising together, and I decided I liked being in a steady relationship. I still struggled with my past and was still going to the doctor every week, but things were looking up. I was slowly becoming more proactive about my life and had some pretty active days...

I usually had no problem sleeping at Jason's. Sure. His mattress was old and hard as a rock but I had my own pillow and he didn't crowd me or hog the covers. Sleeping with my ex-husband had been like sleeping with a bear. He consumed the entire bed, stole the covers, and often rolled over on me. Since he outweighed me by about 150 pounds, I basically spent eight years of my life sleeping lightly, hoping I wouldn't be suffocated in my sleep. Jason was gentle, considerate, and slept almost as lightly as I did. When he did touch me in bed, it was a gentle caress or short snuggle before he rolled back over onto his back. Some days he would wake up, get ready for the day, and leave without ever waking me. I rarely slept so peacefully, but there was one night that was different...

I blamed the caffeine at first. I had been drinking sweet iced tea before bed. I normally drank milk or water before bed but I had half of a drive-thru sweet tea left from earlier in the day so I chose not to waste it. When it came time for bed, I was wide awake. I tried stretching and meditating before lying down. It just made me even more alert. I cuddled up next to Jason and caressed his chest through the signature white t-shirt. That only led to sex, which woke me up even more. He was exhausted and went straight to sleep. I laid there all night long, tossing and turning. I got up twice to pee and once to get a drink (of water this time). When I came back to bed, Jason was half awake. He said, "It's almost time for me to get up." I apologized for waking him but he was already back to sleep. Shortly thereafter his alarm sounded. He got up and I rolled onto my stomach in the middle of the bed, stealing his pillow and wadding it up under my arm. I don't remember him leaving...

I awoke to T.J. shaking me by the shoulders. "Wake up dammit! I found them! Miss Erlene, I think she's dead, but we can save them if we hurry."
I was still in the mist between awake and asleep. "What? T.J., what are you doing here? Found who? Who is Miss Erlene?" He was dressed in trousers, a button-down oxford shirt, and suspenders. Suspenders?

I looked around me. I was lying on the floor. The room was dirty and poorly kept. I looked down and saw that I was wearing a cotton nightgown. Instinctively, I reached up to a hook on the wall and grabbed a faded robe, wrapping it around me and crossing my arms over my chest as I stood.

"Come on! We have to get moving! Get dressed." T.J. threw a long skirt and high-collared shirt in my direction. "The train leaves in..." He pulled a pocket watch from his waistband. "..fifteen minutes. If you want to see your mom and sister again, we have to make that train."

I began to feel dizzy. "T.J., I.. ugh... I..."
"Why do you keep calling me T.J.? It's me, Timothy. Are you okay? You look pale." My eyes closed and I slowly fell backward and braced myself for impact but it never came...

The mist overtook me. I floated, wrapped in the warm cloud. When I awoke, I was running through an empty train depot, holding my little sister's hand. My mother trailed close behind. T.J. ("Timothy") followed, holding a revolver and looking over his shoulder at two men who were chasing us.

Timothy yelled up to me, "The pub, Jess! Two-thirteen Pleasant. Go! I'll meet you there." He stopped running and turned toward the two men, gun raised.

I squeezed my sister's hand and reached back for my mother. She grasped my fingers tightly and we ran outside the depot into the dark street. I looked at my mother "Pleasant?" She didn't speak. She yanked me to the left, around the outside of a cobblestone building. The three of us continued to cling to each other as we darted down an alleyway. We stopped to breath. I looked at my mother and sister. Their faces were thin. They wore tattered 1930's-era dresses. Taking a look at my own attire, I was wearing a close-fitting skirt suit. It was a deep red, like blood. I released the hands of my mother and sister. I wore white gloves that were stained by the dirt from their hands. The three of us stood there, staring at one another. I could feel that my eyes were full of questions.

With calm eyes, my mother reached out to my sister and I. We each took a hand. Without ever saying a word, she led us down the alley and out into the adjacent street. At the end of the street to the East was a small one-story brick building. A faded wooden sign dangled above the doorway with the number "213" carved into the wood. A streetlight lit the sidewalk. A snapping noise sounded behind us in the alley. A large, dark figure raised an arm. My mother reached out and shoved my sister and I away from the alley. We fell to the ground and - BANG - a shot rang out, and another. I turned back. A large lump lay midway down the alley and my mother lay bleeding on the brick pavement just a few feet away. I screamed, "NO!!!" Just then, I heard footsteps running toward us and saw a shadow cut across the alley. I grabbed my sister's hand and ran toward the pub. We started banging on the door. An older, black woman in a wheelchair opened the door. Even though I'd never met her before, I knew who she was.
"Miss Erlene?"
"Yes, child. Come in, come in." We stepped in and I shut the door behind us. Miss Erlene reached out for us, hugging us and kissing each of us on the cheek. "Where's your mama?"
"Oh, God, Mama!"

Just as easily as before, the mist set in. I was curled up in its warmth, unable to move, unable to speak. All I could do was breathe, with my eyes closed. Time seemed to creep by. It felt as if I floated there for hours and suddenly - a crashing noise came from just above my head. My eyes flickered open. It was dark. I was in a cellar of some sort, my sister wrapped in my arms as we rested against a feed sack on the floor. I covered her ears, but she was already awake. Peeking through a hole in the floor, I saw two shadows cast against the pub wall upstairs. I heard a creaking noise and heard Miss Erlene's gentle voice, but it was muffled, then, I recognized a man's voice yelling, "Jess! Jess!" The cellar door swung open and Timothy came running down the rickety stairs. My sister and I jumped up to greet him. He ran to us and embraced us tightly. My mind whirled. How long had it been? Why were we hiding in this cellar? Where had Timothy been? Then, my mind darted to my mother lying in the alley, bleeding. I looked up to Timothy and met his gaze. His eyes were two perfectly round pools of hard chocolate candy. My voice squeaked as I whispered, "Mama?" Then, just like every other time, the mist overtook me...

When I awoke, I was stepping out from a round doorway into the street. The building I emerged from had a painting of a train down the outside of it. On one side of me, Timothy held my hand tightly. On the other, my sister did the same. Miss Erlene was sitting in her chair across the street. Next to her, a single, black, iron table stood on the sidewalk with two empty chairs.
I looked up at Timothy, "What is this?"
"Wait for it." He smiled a big, crooked smile and squeezed my hand tighter for a few seconds, leading us across the street. "Here. Sit." He pulled out a chair for me. I sat, and he did the same for my sister. "We have a surprise for you." He put a hand on my shoulder and knelt down between my sister and me. "Cover your eyes. No peeking." We did as he said. I heard clinking, like two glasses tapping together, and felt the table move next to us a bit. "Open your eyes."

As I opened my eyes, I saw my mother standing there in front of us. She was dressed beautifully, but a sling held her left arm close to her body. I gasped and put my hand to my mouth. Tears began to flow down my cheeks. I reached for my sister's hand but she was already up, clambering toward our mother. She tumbled into her and I saw Mama wince at the pain. I stood slowly, sobbing as I stepped toward her. She put her hand to my face and wiped a tear away with her thumb, kissing my forehead. I lay my head on her chest and cried as she held me.

Timothy stepped toward us, holding a third chair. He helped my mother sit down and said, "Look. There's more." He pointed to a metal bucket on the table. It was filled with ice and five bottles of Coca-Cola. I looked at Timothy in wonder as fell back into my chair. He rounded the table and knelt before me, reaching for a bottle. He opened it using the edge of the table and handed it to me. It seems so surreal and ridiculous now, but for some reason, I was absolutely thrilled at the prospect of drinking a cold Coca-Cola. I giggled as I took a sip. Timothy smiled and began opening bottles for the others.

Miss Erlene placed her hand on my knee. I smiled, saying, "We found them, Miss Erlene. We found them."
She smiled back. "I know, child." She laughed. "How you like that Coke?"
I took another sip. The cool, dark liquid tingled as I let it slowly trickle down my throat. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked at my family - Timothy, Miss Erlene, Mama, and my sister. "It tastes so good!"

Words From the Mist

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Who I'm Meant to Be

Ghost

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Perfect Stranger - lyrics

Come for You - Lyrics

Coke

Copyright 2012 - Simmons