Okay, so a few of you have requested I put a chapter or two up here on Myspace and I have been really hesitant because ... well because it's so personal. But I found part of the book I feel comfortable sharing with the world. It's a little lighter than a lot of the rest of the book.
CHAPTER TWO -
Currently Untitled
Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love."
Lao-Tzu
Waking up in the morning was always the most difficult thing for me. I would lay, stretched out comfortable and warm in my bed, and the thought of facing the cold morning air and the rest of the day made me want to roll back over and sleep the day away. But as always, Allen and Jeremy would make sure that I was awake-one way or another. Some days it was merely a rough shake to my shoulder. But once, when I refused to get out of bed because Mom had kept me up so late the night before, they thought themselves clever by holding me down and pouring a cold glass of water on my head. I sprang out of bed, outraged and shocked that I was drenched. The threat of the return of the water treatment as they called it, worked for a few months, but after a while getting out of bed became more and more of a struggle.
There was something about being in bed, snuggling under the warm, thick quilt, that made me feel safer somehow. Sleeping was one of the few activities that made me feel happy, peaceful. There were days when all I wanted to do was to sleep. Being warm and comfortable was one of the only things that I looked forward to. Most days, despite my great reluctance to leave my the warmth of my bed behind, I always made it out of bed in time to watch my sister and brothers leave for school. It was almost as if I was programmed, and no matter what time it was, my body would wake me up no matter how tired I was.
Every morning, as they prepared to leave, I made sure they said goodbye to me as they headed out the door to catch the bus. I would wait in my pajamas, right next to the door if they were in a hurry, with my favorite teddy Bear in hand so that he could get kissed goodbye as well.
One particular Friday morning, the temperature had dipped below freezing the night before, settling a thin, cool white blanket of ice over the ground. It almost looked like snow in a way, the way it covered everything so delicately, so perfectly. It was going to snow sometime soon, I could feel it. My room was extremely chilly and undoubtedly the fire had gone out sometime during the night and would have to be made again in order to heat up the house. Though they were much too big for me, I wore my dads old thermal pajamas that he had given me once, and could still feel the chilly morning air. The pajama arms extended far past my arms and feet and I thought about rolling out of bed, but then I remembered to roll up the legs else I trip and fall on my face-again.
I remember that it was almost light outside, and I had no idea what time it was; I didnt have a clock in my room. Everyone must have been late, because no one had bothered to hurriedly wake me as they always did. The rooms were all empty, and I heard movements downstairs. I quickly grabbed Bear and my big, pink, fluffy slippers and plodded quickly across the upper landing and down the stairs. Amie was making a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and both boys were quickly loading their bags with books.
What are you guys doing? I asked groggily.
Unlike you, we have to go to school, remember? Amie snapped, screwing the peanut butter lid on the jar.
When do I get to go to school? I knew I was whining, but I didnt care.
Later.
But Im smart enough. I insisted, and I was ready to prove it. "I can count all the way to 25. Listen. "1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9"
Will you shut up? Youre being a brat! Go back to sleep. She had finished making the sandwich and was wrapping it with plastic wrap.
I am not!
My brothers, who had so far ignored our conversation, exchanged grinning looks with one another; they were up to something. As they headed past me toward the door, Alan reached out and smacked me hard on the head with his hand. Jeremy snickered.
Owww! I protested.
They were in a hurry to get out the door, and even though I was angry with Alan for hitting me, I didnt want them to leave, not yet.
Goodbye! I waved to them, holding Teddy Bear in front of me. They didnt answer, and most of the time, I didnt expect them to give me one; sometimes they would and sometimes they wouldnt. But I knew that Amie would say goodbye, and then she would kiss me, and then they could go to school. Then I would feel okay if they left.
Dont forget to kiss me goodbye. I waited expectantly by the door.
I dont have time today. Amie walked right past me without even looking in my direction. It was all too much for me to handle.
Please kiss me goodbye! I pleaded from the doorway, watching as they walked across the lawn toward the driveway. The morning air flowed through my pajamas as if they werent even there, and I was reluctant to follow them out into the cold. But despite my plea, they had not returned to say goodbye, so I began to follow them, wandering out in the cool morning air holding Teddy even closer for some warmth.
Alan and Jeremy turned around to look at me and motioned to Amie. They had almost reached the gate that extended around the house. My sleeves became unrolled and now extended past my feet, fighting my slippers as I walked.
It must have been some sight, me walking with my disheveled long hair, Dads thermal pajamas, and Teddy as I scuffed along toward them in my big slippers. The boys pointed and laughed and it was Amie who said, Go back inside the house right now!
Without thinking about the fact that I was getting colder by the second, I proceeded directly outside the house. I wanted to go back in, but they still had not kissed me goodbye. Didnt they realize how much it meant to me? I didnt know exactly myself, why it meant so much to me, it just did. The more I thought about it, the more worried I became about it. They always said goodbye; Amie always kissed her. What would happen if they didnt say goodbye on this one day? I continued on toward them. They were now walking up the driveway and toward the second gate that lined the edge of our property and of my world.
They were making quite a lot of distance, so I started running to try and catch up. My slippers and long legs worked against me, however, and they seemed determined to hinder my getting to them-but I ran on anyway. I forgot how cold it was as I hurried to get to them before they went too far. They had reached the gate, and I was desperate. I had started to cry as the desperation of what I was doing started to sink in to me.
Wait! I shouted. Waiiiitttt! I was out of breath and the cold air made it more difficult to breathe.
This time, they stopped, and looked at my as if they could not believe I had come so far.
You didnt kiss me goodbye! I tried to catch my breath.
Oh Sarah! Amies exasperate voice was also full of concern. She walked over to me, leaned down, and kissed me on the cheek.
Please kiss Teddy too! I held him up expectantly, and Amie gave him a quick kiss too.
Now go back to the house now! Amie instructed. Stop following us. We have to go to school now.
I turned around and realized why they were so surprised to see me. Our farmhouse was quite some distance away. I hadnt realized exactly how far Id gone.
After watching them disappear around the corner, I made my way back, not even caring that I was scuffing my slippers on the big rocks along the way. As I continued walking, it was then that I realized that my fingers had grown extremely numb, as had my toes. When I finally made it back to the house, I was relieved and surveyed the damage. My fingers werent too bad, just a little pink and quite numb. I knew that the fire was rapidly dying but worried that it had gone out completely. Hopefully it had not so that I could just simply put some wood on it and get it going again. I really didnt know how to start a fire, only keep it going.
Fire always scared me, the way it was so unpredictable and hurt if I came to close. Sometimes after I would put wadded newspaper inside to catch an ember, it would catch so quickly that the flames would lick the outside edges of the door, and I would shut it as fast as I could, my heart pounding. Most of the time, I did my best to stay away from the fireplace and only ventured over when no one else was around to put another piece of wood in. I walked over to the aged wood stove, turned the metal handle and pulled open the heavy black door. The logs had been reduced to cinders, but there was still enough to get the fire going again perhaps if I put some kindling and paper on it. I gathered a handful of the foot long, two inch thick cedar pieces and threw them into the stove. I added wadded newspapers from the two foot high stack that sat next to the coffee table. Mom would never miss the newspapers, hopefully wouldnt even notice that they were gone. I watched the wadded paper begin to curl slightly, smoke, and then catch on fire quickly catching the rest of the newspaper and the dry kindling as well. We were almost out of kindling, and I was thankful. One less weapon. I put the sticks in one by one and watched as they caught fire, hoping that one of them had been used as my punishment. Good, it was gone now. As quickly as I dared, I put a log on top of the kindling and shut the stove, opening the vent to make sure the fire could breathe. There. The fire was made so the house would be warm and Mom would have no reason to get up early. I had been kissed goodbye. The day was going to be all right.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
My Dad
I am really glad that I can talk to my friends on Myspace whom I wouldn't normally be able to speak with.
I was looking through some of the things that I have written (still working on my novel of course) and I found this partial chapter about my dad. It is still in progress because it made me cry when I wrote it a little over a year ago. The saddest thing EVER happened to me when I returned hom this June for my reunion.
My sister and I have not been close for years-the subject of which many know and I will not cover that today. But I really got the unique opportunity to see the graceful young lady she has become and I couldn't be more proud of her journey and progress.
We were all sitting around the dinner table, celebrating my mother's 56th or oh no-is it 58th? Ack! Anyways, and somehow we started talking about my Dad. Shauna has always felt that Dad loved me more than her-but she's wrong. Dad loves himself the most. And it took that trip home to really realize that.
As Shauna was talking about her struggles with him, she burst into tears, real tears of sorrow and regret. What kind of father would leave his two children behind to be tortured and abused? What kind of father would sit back and allow his babies to grow up without him? When I saw her crying, I realized in that moment, how much I love Shauna and am so glad that she's my sister. Dad really missed out on being a part of her life. Of course, he missed out on being a part of my life, but I got to know him for 9 years and she only got to know him for 4. 4 years. Three she probably doesn't even remember. That means, there was one year when Dad was the guy she hugged and called "Daddy." That was the ONE year when her life was complete.
And when she cried in June, I realized that this whole time, she has been haunted by a memory that will not let her rest. Her vision of her father for that one year met the reality of the person he truly is-and they are not the same. The part of our hearts that wants to believe the best in people probably made her think that Dad was simply a guy trying to save himself in some strange twisted sort of way. Perhaps she even thought that he considered his leaving as a sort of "gift" so that his absence might lessen her anger. But Dad was selfish. Perhaps had he stayed around a bit longer, he would have been the Dad Shauna wanted him to be.
I realized that I really wished, for just a moment, that Shauna could have seen the man I saw when I looked at him and truly, wished that he could see the people in us that he left behind.
Her tears merely reflected her broken heart and my failure to see that she has been hurting all this time. This part of my book (below) is part of the last day my dad was really in my life. I have forgiven him for being selfish, for being a poor father, and for not believing in himself. But I don't think I can forgive the fact that he was not in Shauna's life. She deserved better than that. She is a beautiful young lady, and he should be so proud of her.
Anyways, here's the excerpt. Perhaps you can see the qualities in him as I do. Perhaps it is just the part of me that would believe he's truly a good person.
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
1.
A man does not always choose what his guardian angel intends."- Thomas Aquinas
1.
I woke up that morning with a start. Dad had not woken me up like he usually had. Something was wrong when our Saturday morning routine was disturbed. I rubbed my eyes, and settled back down into my blankets convinced that he had slept in or there was some other good reason that he was not leaving. Sleep had almost found me once again when I heard the slam of the screen door below, a few mumbled words, and the chinking sound of something being loaded onto the truck. I was out of my bed in a flash, grabbed my big pink bunny slippers, and plodded down the stairs as quickly as possible. Maybe if I told him to wait, he'd give me a few minutes to get dressed and then we could go.
For a few moments, I considered the fact that they had fought again, and Dad was going to quietly slip away to stew about it in peace. I strained to remember if there had been any noise coming from downstairs last night, but I couldn't remember hearing any. Something was strange about the morning, something not quite right.
I padded to the edge of the porch and watched as Dad stared at the back of his truck. He was muttering under his breath and appeared to be looking for something, taking no notice of me watching him. Still not completely awake, it took me a moment to realize with a sinking feeling that he was loading several things into the back of his truck. At first, I was sure that he was going into the woods, but then I noticed that he was loading other things as well. As soon as I saw an old blue suitcase go into the truck, I realized what he was going to do.
At first, I was hopeful; I ran out to the truck and asked him if he needed any help. I was more than ready to leave that place and never come back-ever. Of course he was going to take us, his angels, with him. He stopped, surprised to see me, and almost seemed to pretend I wasn't there. "Dad?"
He continued to load his stuff into the truck and finally leaned down, gave me a hug and said, "I'm sorry punkin, I can't take any more of this ... any more of her."
"I know." was all I could manage. With that hug came the realization that he was not going to take me with him. Was he going to pack up his big green truck and leave without me, taking my whole world with him? My beloved doggie Sammie was sitting anxiously in the front seat as if he couldn't wait for whatever adventure lay ahead. He was going to take the dog but not me?
"Why can't I go with you?" I begged.
"Where I am going, I can't take you with me."
"Please Daddy. I don't care about money." He continued to load things into the truck. The sound of the tailgate closing, the crunch of footsteps on gravel ....
He walked away and into the house and I dared my tears not to come. I had hoped against hope that perhaps by the time he had loaded everything up he would change his mind; he would come back inside the house and I would wake up from this dream. Maybe he wasn't really leaving. But a few minutes passed by, and he returned carrying his lunch box under one arm. Without a word, he put it on the front seat, like he always did when he was leaving for work. But this time, I knew he wasn't going to come back. I didn't care about the tears anymore. I let them come, let them slide down my cheeks in torrents until my breaths turned to sobs.
He got the truck started, after a few failed attempts, and I could not stop sobbing. He was going to leave, and he wasn't even going to say goodbye. When he made another trip into the house, engine still running, front driver side door open, I hopped up into the cab-resolute that if he only let me go with him, everything would be all right.
Moments later, he reemerged with something, and I slunk down low in the seat so that he might not see me. But he found me right away, perhaps because he already knew what I was thinking.
He lifted me, sobbing, still in my nightgown and pink bunny slippers, from the truck. For the first time, I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. This was it. He leaned over and rustled my hair and said in a high-pitched sad voice that I had never heard before, "I have to go. I am going to take Sam with me. I wanted to say goodbye to your sister but ..." he looked sadly toward the house, then back at me again. "You take real good care of your sister for me, until I can see you both again. Be strong for me." And then he hugged me tightly, more tightly than ever. The hug was so tight it hurt, but I couldn't let him go. I just didn't want to end that hug, as if ending that hug meant losing something great and wonderful forever-as if it meant somehow that I was losing my whole family in just one day. He hopped into his truck, pet Sam who was bouncing up and down with excitement, and shut the truck door. I was so choked up with emotion, I was unable to muster up words or scream at him to stay before he began driving slowly away.
"Wait!" But my words were lost against the roar of the truck and the sound it made on the gravel.
"Don't go, Daddy! Please don't go!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Please, come back! COME BACKKKKK." But it was too late. I watched as his truck disappeared up the driveway and out of sight.
The strangest thing about Dad leaving was the absence of his presence in the house. I never saw him much, but it was as if the whole house felt cold and empty the moment he was no longer there. Just knowing that he was there had always been a comfort to me; without his presence I knew that there would be no one there to protect me. I would have to rely completely on my faith in God and hope that He was looking out for me. That first day was the hardest day I'd ever had to experience. Seconds passed like an eternity as I sat at the table in the kitchen waiting for him to change his mind and come back. I could just make out the end of the driveway through the kitchen window and I remember watching, waiting for the cloud of dust and the roar of his truck. Minutes passed in agony as I waited, sitting there at the kitchen table, feeling all alone. No one was up; the ticking of the clock was a constant reminder of the emptiness that had filled the room in Dad's absence. My hope that he would come back slowly faded into a panic that erupted into another rush of tears that fell from my cheeks and onto the table. Why would Daddy leave when I needed him most? What I needed most was for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that everything was going to be all right; he was my protection from Her. He made everything all right. Without him around, who was going to protect me? Shauna was loved by everyone, but I knew that I would have no one to save me from Her wrath. Suddenly a weariness washed over me and I felt weak. My energy was gone.
I think Mom knew he was leaving. It was the strangest day of my life, and yet the house was oddly quiet. It was the first time I really wanted someone to be up early. I didn't want to wait until her usual noon waking routine or her morning cigarette and coffee. Worse, I wanted everything just to go back to the way it had been before. Even if Daddy was miserable, he was still there.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, as hope began to slide slowly away, my head began to play games with me. Perhaps, I told myself, he would start to drive past the woods and would change his mind; he would make it to the end of our Melling road and would come back; he just had to. How could he leave us, his angels, behind? If he didn't come back at the end of the day, surely it would only be a couple of days until he returned for us, just a couple of days …
I was looking through some of the things that I have written (still working on my novel of course) and I found this partial chapter about my dad. It is still in progress because it made me cry when I wrote it a little over a year ago. The saddest thing EVER happened to me when I returned hom this June for my reunion.
My sister and I have not been close for years-the subject of which many know and I will not cover that today. But I really got the unique opportunity to see the graceful young lady she has become and I couldn't be more proud of her journey and progress.
We were all sitting around the dinner table, celebrating my mother's 56th or oh no-is it 58th? Ack! Anyways, and somehow we started talking about my Dad. Shauna has always felt that Dad loved me more than her-but she's wrong. Dad loves himself the most. And it took that trip home to really realize that.
As Shauna was talking about her struggles with him, she burst into tears, real tears of sorrow and regret. What kind of father would leave his two children behind to be tortured and abused? What kind of father would sit back and allow his babies to grow up without him? When I saw her crying, I realized in that moment, how much I love Shauna and am so glad that she's my sister. Dad really missed out on being a part of her life. Of course, he missed out on being a part of my life, but I got to know him for 9 years and she only got to know him for 4. 4 years. Three she probably doesn't even remember. That means, there was one year when Dad was the guy she hugged and called "Daddy." That was the ONE year when her life was complete.
And when she cried in June, I realized that this whole time, she has been haunted by a memory that will not let her rest. Her vision of her father for that one year met the reality of the person he truly is-and they are not the same. The part of our hearts that wants to believe the best in people probably made her think that Dad was simply a guy trying to save himself in some strange twisted sort of way. Perhaps she even thought that he considered his leaving as a sort of "gift" so that his absence might lessen her anger. But Dad was selfish. Perhaps had he stayed around a bit longer, he would have been the Dad Shauna wanted him to be.
I realized that I really wished, for just a moment, that Shauna could have seen the man I saw when I looked at him and truly, wished that he could see the people in us that he left behind.
Her tears merely reflected her broken heart and my failure to see that she has been hurting all this time. This part of my book (below) is part of the last day my dad was really in my life. I have forgiven him for being selfish, for being a poor father, and for not believing in himself. But I don't think I can forgive the fact that he was not in Shauna's life. She deserved better than that. She is a beautiful young lady, and he should be so proud of her.
Anyways, here's the excerpt. Perhaps you can see the qualities in him as I do. Perhaps it is just the part of me that would believe he's truly a good person.
The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
1.
A man does not always choose what his guardian angel intends."- Thomas Aquinas
1.
I woke up that morning with a start. Dad had not woken me up like he usually had. Something was wrong when our Saturday morning routine was disturbed. I rubbed my eyes, and settled back down into my blankets convinced that he had slept in or there was some other good reason that he was not leaving. Sleep had almost found me once again when I heard the slam of the screen door below, a few mumbled words, and the chinking sound of something being loaded onto the truck. I was out of my bed in a flash, grabbed my big pink bunny slippers, and plodded down the stairs as quickly as possible. Maybe if I told him to wait, he'd give me a few minutes to get dressed and then we could go.
For a few moments, I considered the fact that they had fought again, and Dad was going to quietly slip away to stew about it in peace. I strained to remember if there had been any noise coming from downstairs last night, but I couldn't remember hearing any. Something was strange about the morning, something not quite right.
I padded to the edge of the porch and watched as Dad stared at the back of his truck. He was muttering under his breath and appeared to be looking for something, taking no notice of me watching him. Still not completely awake, it took me a moment to realize with a sinking feeling that he was loading several things into the back of his truck. At first, I was sure that he was going into the woods, but then I noticed that he was loading other things as well. As soon as I saw an old blue suitcase go into the truck, I realized what he was going to do.
At first, I was hopeful; I ran out to the truck and asked him if he needed any help. I was more than ready to leave that place and never come back-ever. Of course he was going to take us, his angels, with him. He stopped, surprised to see me, and almost seemed to pretend I wasn't there. "Dad?"
He continued to load his stuff into the truck and finally leaned down, gave me a hug and said, "I'm sorry punkin, I can't take any more of this ... any more of her."
"I know." was all I could manage. With that hug came the realization that he was not going to take me with him. Was he going to pack up his big green truck and leave without me, taking my whole world with him? My beloved doggie Sammie was sitting anxiously in the front seat as if he couldn't wait for whatever adventure lay ahead. He was going to take the dog but not me?
"Why can't I go with you?" I begged.
"Where I am going, I can't take you with me."
"Please Daddy. I don't care about money." He continued to load things into the truck. The sound of the tailgate closing, the crunch of footsteps on gravel ....
He walked away and into the house and I dared my tears not to come. I had hoped against hope that perhaps by the time he had loaded everything up he would change his mind; he would come back inside the house and I would wake up from this dream. Maybe he wasn't really leaving. But a few minutes passed by, and he returned carrying his lunch box under one arm. Without a word, he put it on the front seat, like he always did when he was leaving for work. But this time, I knew he wasn't going to come back. I didn't care about the tears anymore. I let them come, let them slide down my cheeks in torrents until my breaths turned to sobs.
He got the truck started, after a few failed attempts, and I could not stop sobbing. He was going to leave, and he wasn't even going to say goodbye. When he made another trip into the house, engine still running, front driver side door open, I hopped up into the cab-resolute that if he only let me go with him, everything would be all right.
Moments later, he reemerged with something, and I slunk down low in the seat so that he might not see me. But he found me right away, perhaps because he already knew what I was thinking.
He lifted me, sobbing, still in my nightgown and pink bunny slippers, from the truck. For the first time, I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. This was it. He leaned over and rustled my hair and said in a high-pitched sad voice that I had never heard before, "I have to go. I am going to take Sam with me. I wanted to say goodbye to your sister but ..." he looked sadly toward the house, then back at me again. "You take real good care of your sister for me, until I can see you both again. Be strong for me." And then he hugged me tightly, more tightly than ever. The hug was so tight it hurt, but I couldn't let him go. I just didn't want to end that hug, as if ending that hug meant losing something great and wonderful forever-as if it meant somehow that I was losing my whole family in just one day. He hopped into his truck, pet Sam who was bouncing up and down with excitement, and shut the truck door. I was so choked up with emotion, I was unable to muster up words or scream at him to stay before he began driving slowly away.
"Wait!" But my words were lost against the roar of the truck and the sound it made on the gravel.
"Don't go, Daddy! Please don't go!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Please, come back! COME BACKKKKK." But it was too late. I watched as his truck disappeared up the driveway and out of sight.
The strangest thing about Dad leaving was the absence of his presence in the house. I never saw him much, but it was as if the whole house felt cold and empty the moment he was no longer there. Just knowing that he was there had always been a comfort to me; without his presence I knew that there would be no one there to protect me. I would have to rely completely on my faith in God and hope that He was looking out for me. That first day was the hardest day I'd ever had to experience. Seconds passed like an eternity as I sat at the table in the kitchen waiting for him to change his mind and come back. I could just make out the end of the driveway through the kitchen window and I remember watching, waiting for the cloud of dust and the roar of his truck. Minutes passed in agony as I waited, sitting there at the kitchen table, feeling all alone. No one was up; the ticking of the clock was a constant reminder of the emptiness that had filled the room in Dad's absence. My hope that he would come back slowly faded into a panic that erupted into another rush of tears that fell from my cheeks and onto the table. Why would Daddy leave when I needed him most? What I needed most was for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that everything was going to be all right; he was my protection from Her. He made everything all right. Without him around, who was going to protect me? Shauna was loved by everyone, but I knew that I would have no one to save me from Her wrath. Suddenly a weariness washed over me and I felt weak. My energy was gone.
I think Mom knew he was leaving. It was the strangest day of my life, and yet the house was oddly quiet. It was the first time I really wanted someone to be up early. I didn't want to wait until her usual noon waking routine or her morning cigarette and coffee. Worse, I wanted everything just to go back to the way it had been before. Even if Daddy was miserable, he was still there.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, as hope began to slide slowly away, my head began to play games with me. Perhaps, I told myself, he would start to drive past the woods and would change his mind; he would make it to the end of our Melling road and would come back; he just had to. How could he leave us, his angels, behind? If he didn't come back at the end of the day, surely it would only be a couple of days until he returned for us, just a couple of days …
Friday, September 08, 2006
Boysenberry Togetherness
I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich having gotten back from the "club" at a little after 1:00 a.m. this morning. The reggae band was pretty awesome, and the grooviness of the music made me want to close my eyes and pretend I was in Jamaica rather than downtown Newport Beach.
So as I was spreading the jelly on the bread, I was reminded that he liked boysenberry jam-just like me; it was both our favorites. It was little things like this that make me think of the time when I was happiest. It was crazy like that, the way we liked the same random things. we had so much in common, him and I.
But the other day he called me and reminded me that he now is "in a different place in his life" as if justifying why he would find the need to be with "new girl" rather than me.
We had so much to talk about, we'd talk for hours. I didn't think it was possible that a person (especially a guy) would have so much to say. He liked boysenberry syrup and loved breakfast as much as I do. He liked my artistic talents and I loved his ninjitsu training skills; he always promised to teach me-but I was a poor student.
He made me tea just the way I liked it, and would make me dinner "just because."
But he's with someone else now, and I am not as bitter about it as I thought I'd be. I have finally accepted it and am ready to move on. Perhaps the next guy will like all of the things that he didn't. Perhaps my new guy will want to cuddle with me, want to take vacations and explore the world, will want to really live.
I realized that the boysenberry is really a combination of three berries-the raspberry, loganberry, and blackberry. They took three very good berries and combined them to make what I consider to be the best berry. And I guess that's what it is that makes a good relationship.
Instead of looking at my past as yet another time of broken hearts and dreams, I think that J is like one of the berries-one of the experiences I needed in my life to combine together to make me who I am. And me, the new and improved Sarah who has learned from her mistakes, will go forward and take what she's learned-the good and the bad-and will use it to better her next relationship.
Old relationships are merely the fruits of labor that combine to make you into the wonderful person that you are. Instead of hurting you, they help to form you and make you stronger, better.
There was once a time when I regretted meeting J, but now I am glad because it taught me to be a better person, and to look for better people than myself. It's important to look for people who lift you up, challenge you, and make you into a better person. After all, you owe it to yourself to be the best berry you can be, right?
So as I was spreading the jelly on the bread, I was reminded that he liked boysenberry jam-just like me; it was both our favorites. It was little things like this that make me think of the time when I was happiest. It was crazy like that, the way we liked the same random things. we had so much in common, him and I.
But the other day he called me and reminded me that he now is "in a different place in his life" as if justifying why he would find the need to be with "new girl" rather than me.
We had so much to talk about, we'd talk for hours. I didn't think it was possible that a person (especially a guy) would have so much to say. He liked boysenberry syrup and loved breakfast as much as I do. He liked my artistic talents and I loved his ninjitsu training skills; he always promised to teach me-but I was a poor student.
He made me tea just the way I liked it, and would make me dinner "just because."
But he's with someone else now, and I am not as bitter about it as I thought I'd be. I have finally accepted it and am ready to move on. Perhaps the next guy will like all of the things that he didn't. Perhaps my new guy will want to cuddle with me, want to take vacations and explore the world, will want to really live.
I realized that the boysenberry is really a combination of three berries-the raspberry, loganberry, and blackberry. They took three very good berries and combined them to make what I consider to be the best berry. And I guess that's what it is that makes a good relationship.
Instead of looking at my past as yet another time of broken hearts and dreams, I think that J is like one of the berries-one of the experiences I needed in my life to combine together to make me who I am. And me, the new and improved Sarah who has learned from her mistakes, will go forward and take what she's learned-the good and the bad-and will use it to better her next relationship.
Old relationships are merely the fruits of labor that combine to make you into the wonderful person that you are. Instead of hurting you, they help to form you and make you stronger, better.
There was once a time when I regretted meeting J, but now I am glad because it taught me to be a better person, and to look for better people than myself. It's important to look for people who lift you up, challenge you, and make you into a better person. After all, you owe it to yourself to be the best berry you can be, right?
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