10.17b

Well . . . (from Lesia Haley [burton.grayer@aol.com])

Hey!
Wanna date?
Alesia

[This latest missive is the most concrete, most comprehensible, and most depressing. Still, I'm incredibly excited about her interest in me, anyway.]

10.17

This is it.
This is the end.
I've really done it now.

I don't suppose I have much time left.

It hurts to be awake. Actual pain.

10.16b

She's right there. I'm glad I can't see how bright her smile is, or how lithe her arms are, or how dark her eyes are. All I can see is the back of her head. If I could see her ear through her hair, I'd be done for.

10.16

Catherine took an unattractively large bite of pasta and had to suction in the straggling strands. Rosalyn laughed at what was essentially a killing blow to hotness.
"Shut up, Roz!" Catherine said around the mouthful. It only further cemented how non-hot she was at the moment. Two tables away, Marco discovered the corn in his teeth and tried to pull it out of his teeth with his tongue and lips, which only caused his face to contort like a weird snarl. Catherine swallowed.
"If he's allowed to eat corn, I'm allowed to eat spaghetti. It's only fair."
"Decidedly not!" Rosalyn argued. "Your role is to be as hot as you can forever. He can eat corn and grow a mustache and run through the mud, but you have to be immaculate." Catherine, mouth now full of spaghetti, tried to protest.most of the sound came out as a muffled mmpfh. Rosalyn disagreed. "I know it's unfair to you, Cath, but hot women are cursed to forever be hot. That is, until you finally tie a man down and he has to realize you poop too. Really, you should poop in front of him on your honeymoon, just to make sure he gets the point. Basically, all marriages are ruined by the timing of the partners' poops." Catherine was incredulous.

Marco stood up in the middle of the cafeteria and announced loudly "I would like everybody to listen up! What I'm about to say is very important!" Eventually, the cafe quieted to murmurs. Marco stood up on his chair and yelled "Enrique has something very important to ask, but he's too shy. Can everybody give him some support?" His voice was full and strong and everybody heard it and Catherine wanted to know if he was this embarrassing all the time, or just this once. If he yelled a lot, he might drop on her scale from a perfect ten to perhaps a nine point fivefourthreesevenseven, or thereabouts. She wasn't trying to be exact.
The rest of the students started chanting "Enrique Enrique" and banging trays and clapping at a slow rhythm that slowly sped up. When they had reached a fast waltz, Enrique stood up and the chant dissolved into a roar.
"Hey, everyone. I just want everyone here to know I'm in love with the most beautiful girl in the world, and I want to ask her out." He turned to Erica. Rosalyn gasped and grabbed Catherine's arm and shook her violently. Enrique, quieter now, asked "Erica, will you be my girlfriend?"

Rosalyn was ecstatic at this point and practically squealed. "I knew Marco didn't like her. What did I say? What did I say?" The last trailed off into a high squeal.
Catherine just rolled her eyes and looked at Marco looking at Enrique looking at Erica looking at her hands. Nobody could hear what she said, but Marco jumped up on the chair again and yelled. The whole cafe roared out again, but Catherine could still make out his yell among the bedlam. She just stared at the way he threw back his head and let the sound ripple up from his shoes into his chest, where it built and exploded out, and she thought maybe he was just right. If he could do such an awesome thing for a friend, what would he do for a woman? She immediately tried to picture how he would ask her out. The perfectness of it wouldn't fit in her head, so she gave up and watched him jog around the cafe with his arms in the air.
Rosalyn turned and whispered deep into Catherine's ear. "Well, he's got endurance, at least."
The two giggled at the joke only they could hear, and Catherine shoveled an unattractively large bite into her mouth.

10.15

[I can't finish that story now. It will wait a day or two, I think.]

I am tremendous. I can step from one continent to another without wetting my feet. I can stand up on the bottom of the ocean. I can smell the moon.
I'm sure you've heard of me. I'm famous. I'm on tv. Most people can see me coming for hours. If I stand still too long, I cause wild temperature fluctuation. If I take a nap, I ruin local economies underneath me. I'm the leading cause of Brazil's deforestation. Like I said, I'm sure you've heard of me.

I'm the tallest man alive, but also the loneliest.

10.11

[I'm addicted to writing scenes. I can't help it; they're so much easier. Sadly, these scenes don't expand to be stories often enough for me to justifiably try to claim that I am a short story writer. I'm a struggling short story writer, trying to get quick fixes of scenes--like I'm taking meth to cope with my cocaine addiction.]

Marco wasn't aware of his effect on her. Catherine wasn't quite sure he needed to, especially, because it was kind of embarrassing, really. She knew girls weren't supposed to think this way. She knew that nice girls were nice, and didn't think about nice boys and the shape of their nice jeans over their nice butts, or the way their nice shirts slid across nice shoulders when they turned to be just overwhelmingly nice. Catherine knew this, but that didn't stop her from staring at Marco when he walked (though walk is tame, perhaps swaggered) through the cafeteria (though not swagger, really, it's just he walked purposefully, and some would describe it as a swagger. There wasn't any arrogance in it anyway). He had nice arms and she had more than once thought it would be nice if he were to wrap her in them. But she wouldn't ever tell him. And he wouldn't ever know. She had only told Rosalyn about it, and only on pain of death and because of permanent friendship. Rosalyn thought they would be great together, but only because their babies would be "so unspeakably cute." But both had sworn secrecy on the subject, and Marco continued to wear shirts that were just ever so slightly too tight and Catherine continued to look and think she was just ever so slightly horrible for wanting to know what his skin would feel like.

But it wasn't really truly fair, she thought, that she couldn't tell him about it. This is a liberated society, after all. And she was a powerful (empowered [power-hungry]) woman. And she was attractive (in more ways than one [both sexually and intellectually]), or at least that's what Rosalyn said, and Rosalyn had excellent taste in friends (at least, that's what Rosalyn said). Catherine thought Rosalyn was sweet, but perhaps a bit too free with her praise. Still, Marco didn't know quite the effect that he had on Catherine. She bit her lip pensively, but would never describe it that way aloud to Rosalyn for fear of dorkslaps. Marco sat down at a table a row away and started talking to his friends. She decided to not stare.

The next time she looked up, Marco was eating corn on the cob. It was, in her opinion, the least sexy food in the universe. He laughed at something Enrique said, and she could clearly see corn stuck in his teeth. This brief moment of humanity did not serve to humanize him at all. Instead, she wondered if he would brush his teeth when he kissed her.

Of course, Marco wasn't aware of his effect on her. She planned to keep it that way.

10.10

[Today is a palindrome, if you ignore the year. I said that last year on 11.11. Good luck?]

[I can't write anything today. I have tried. It was crap. I will write again in the morning.]

I can't feel hot breath on my face yet, but I know it's coming. I'm curled in a little ball in the boll of the tree and I can't feel the hot breath. I'm terrified to open my eyes and see it coming, but the good thing is that I can't feel it yet. I saw it from a ways off and immediately dropped to hide and I'm really excited that I can't feel. Maybe it won't find me. Maybe it will pass me by.

I can feel the hot breath on my face. It smells like death. Maybe, I think sadly, it's the other way around. Death smells like tiger breath, and I've been wrong all along.

It would fit. I would think death would curl too in the boll with me.

Good thing I don't have time to figure that out.

10.9

I can't lick the last of the ice cream out of the bottom of the bowl. It's right past the end of my tongue, and even though I'm sticking my whole face into the bowl, I just can't seem to get it. I'm super frustrated and only kind of angry but I decide to cry anyway.
I have a ring of ice cream around my forehead and chin. I bet I look ridiculous.
It feels so good to cry, I start to laugh.

Catharsis.

I'm trying to get the dog off of me, but he's snuffling my face as I lie on the ground. I'm laughing and hoping he doesn't shed in my mouth. He'll get off eventually when he gets bored, but for right now, I'm hugging him and he's smelling me.
I'm covered in fur from my head to my toe. I bet I look ridiculous.
It feels so good to laugh, I start to cry.

Overjoyed.

I tell her I have to move to Illinois, and I'm not sure what that means for us. She starts crying and asks if she can move with me. I say I'm not sure that's a good idea. She says she loves me. I smile and shake my head. She says she loves me again. I'm not sure what I can do about it.
She's bawling and her eyes are bright red. She looks ridiculous.
I feel great.

Schadenfreude.

10.8

The Bible says "thou shalt not covet," but what it feels like is "keep trying, kid. You'll never stop wanting what you can't have. Go ahead. Beat your head against a wall. You're set up for failure. If you get it let me know." What it feels like is "shut up and sit down, idiot. I give you things on my own time, in my own way, and it would be best if you just developed a pinch of patience and waited for a split second." What it feels like is "I'm going to give everybody else what you want and then tell you to not want it. Have fun." What it feels like is watching the girl in front of me text the boy she refers to as "My Nathan <3" and wondering why she exists geographically two feet from me, but the idea of her is miles off.

"My Nathan <3."
Anger.

10.8

I said I would delete it. But I'm against deleting memories.

Well, here goes everything. Crumple stuff squash crush tear rip squeeze push force shove mush cut break.
Click. It's gone. The other was the sound of my heart.

10.6b

Coy. Careful. Cautious.
I asked her if I could hold her hand. It was cold out and the stars we were staring at were sharp and clear and cut through the dark like ribbons of light from heaven. I asked soft, under my breath, sucked in air, and watched as her own curled up through the cold.
"Is it alright if I hold your hand?"
She pulled off her glove and held her palm up and giggled when my icy fingers laced through her soft warm ones.
I was probably wiser than she was.

Cautious. Crippled. Cut.
I asked her if I could hold her hand. It was hot out and the sun was beating down warm and smooth and full. It blanketed us in layers of glory. I asked soft, under my breath, sucked in air, and watched her hold hers as sweat not caused by heat grew on my forehad.
"Is it alright if I hold your hand?"
She angled her shoulder away from me and laced her fingers together in her lap and said to me that it probably wasn't a good idea.
She was probably wiser than I was.

10.6

She walks in seafood like the night.

She wears krill on her fingers and whelks on her toes.

She being brand/name tuna

Half a league, half a league, half a league downward
into the briny surf rode the six hundred.

[Accidental sea-themed poetry]

10.5b

[if you're reading this, go to the sidebar and read the series from 9.27 on--they're all labeled "thomas." To Janelle, thanks for talking about the characters with me. To Kyle, thanks for being a moral compass that always points north even when my prevarication drags me down. To Lyssa, I'm sorry I ruined a good story. Just read the happy ones again and never read the sad. To Christen, Katy, Mum, and anyone else, who, I am sure, will find this, don't think less of me for it. To myself, stop writing such incredibly depressing things for a while. To God, this is yours now. Do with it as you must. To my inspiration for this long extended epic, forever is shorter than I wish it was. I'll see you on the other side of it.
To all, I give my joy with life. If the shells were in the same place as the gun, they would have a layer of dust thick enough to choke a cat. I'm fine. Please enjoy what I hope to be the last part of this depression. God bless.]

I pulled her in for a closer hug and whispered through her hair. I said forever and she said "for all time, Sam" and giggled soft and low. She was a thing of beauty, you know, all happiness and light and vibrancy and joy. And hot, you know. All curves and thin and smooth and just perfectly proportioned and short enough to be right for me but tall enough to be completely irrepressibly languid and flowing like the feel of watching a cheetah in slow motion flowing and pouncing and striking. Let me tell you, she's a killer.
Forever is a long time.

We weren't cute together like those couples on tv and we weren't incredibly mushy like those couples on tv but we were right together. You know that? That unshakably perfect feeling like the end of the world could come and you would last right through it because nothing wrong can destroy the right. And we were together for just long enough for me to say forever and for her to say "for all time" and to really really mean it.

I had to overcome my fear, you know. The last relationship I was in was pretty o.k. too but there wasn't that unshakable rightness about it. We just kind of hung out and made out and went out and things were good and then that was when this girl she said she--well you know how it is, you never really notice your potential feelings for someone until they admit their feelings for you? Like there's someone you've never even thought about particularly and then their friend comes up and says hey my friend likes you and you're all like well that's awesome and then you think about it and the more you think about it the more attracted you are--well anyway this girl I dated and who dated me, she said she loved me. Well. It shook me down to my toes let me tell you and I didn't know what to say, but I thought about it and I thought about it and I kind of realized I could love her back, you know, given enough time. Well it was about that time that we started getting really serious and she started saying things about how her love for me would mean things that were exactly what I wanted and so I asked her to love me that way, and just so, and really love me, and I got just to that day of everything was just right and I found out she was also sleeping with my best friend (I mean I'm sixteen at the time you can't take everything so seriously but she was still sleeping with my best friend and I at the same time and it destroyed everything she meant with me). And she left me and yelled all sorts of profanities and told me she hoped I died of syphilis and that she never really loved me and looking back on it now I think it all makes a lot more sense in the context of this story she told me one time about how her uncle used to look at her and it gave her the shivers I mean he was effed up but he effed her up and then she effed me and that effed me up. The whole thing wasn't very fair. And I was very afraid of this happening again and so it took time. It took ages. I mean a whole six months and she and I never so much as made out really and we just took our time and really got to know each other and you know I'm about to turn seventeen and she's about to turn fourteen and we finally got to this point that we were able to say forever and it meant so much to me to know she wouldn't ever leave.

She knew my whole story, you know, all about the hurt and the pain from the last girl, and she was still able to look past it and see me inside it and it was all so unshakably right. That was when school started and she said she would still see me around, but my job and her school and time, you know? Time was so short. So I told her she wasn't mine and she could do whatever she wanted and so she did.

Time got apart from us being away and it was a whole year later and she was about to turn fifteen and I was about to turn eighteen, and I had a better job and I wanted to find out if for all time for her was the same forever for me and I found her at school and asked, low and soft in her ear, but she didn't really respond right away and she looked weird at this kid across the hall, so I grabbed her waist like I used to like we did when forever and she just stared at this kid and I looked at him and he looked at me and I didn't know what was going on I just wanted to yell forever at this kid and at her and at the paint on the walls and the florescent lights that hummed just at the same frequency as my brain as I just wanted her to say "for all time" just like she used to, but she didn't. All she said was "I'll explain it later" and I left just as scared as before.

She never did say for all time but she said it with her eyes and that was enough for me, you know. She said it with her eyes and she never really did say anything else but I knew she knew the story about the girl from before and she didn't want me to hurt and she had promised for all time. She didn't have for all time to offer anymore, but she had that night and if it was all I she had, it was all she could give me. I felt so horrible afterward I left her house and I cried for the first time since that girl had left me years before and I cried so hard my face hurt because if forever didn't mean for all time I guess there wasn't anything left for me.

I didn't kill myself after that because I'm here talking to you today, but if my father kept his shells in the same place as the gun I don't suppose I would be. I would be gone forever, and let me tell you, forever is a long time.

Forever is a very long time.

10.5

[It seems that I can't write a story that ends with two people happily together unless the story ends in the middle. Sorry, all. Have this instead: http://community.sparknotes.com/2011/09/30/nbk-to-totally-bk-in-one-post-or-less because SparkNotes is inexplicably interesting.]

George slapped the emotion down, but it bounced back up. Slap, slap, slap like he was playing basketball with his subconscious. Slap: "George, she's not right for you," he told himself, "and you'll only end up hurting her." Slap, slap, slap, slap, yes but--slap, she's so--slap, maybe once--slap. So he just looked at her with alternating emotions. George wasn't quite sure why this was such a problem now when it wasn't a problem just a few short years ago, but he was accustomed to it being a problem nonetheless. And it's not like he was alone in this; everybody had the same problem. Why was he saying problem so much? Negative connotations don't develop overnight. Slap slap slap slap. Her arms are so smooth--slap her mind is so empty, her laugh means she's interested--slap interested in leaving, she's smiling a lot--slap you're trying to be funny.
Slap slap slap.
This was going to be another very long day.

[I've noticed I try way too hard to be funny around attractive women and I think I don't want to know why]

10.2

I have never pulled an all-nighter.
I have never consumed coffee of any kind.
I have always had a song in my heart.

When that changes, I'll run scared. Until, it's business as usual.