Posts Tagged alone

She reached out
In loneliness

He reached
Back eagerly

Only far enough

To slap
Her hand
Away

It starts the same every time. She has a story she wants to share, and being her friend and loving her like I do, I’m there for her and more than happy to listen; though it’s the same worn out tale she’s been weaving for almost a year now and always ends in a river of tears. But while the lesson has yet to be learned, I’m not giving up hope.

I know what she wants, whether or not she’s ready to admit it to herself; and she knows I’m right. She wants to be loved, plain and simple. But she’s not going to find it in a local pub, filled with other lonely women looking for love and men just looking to score.

It’s the attention that makes her high; gives her a feeling of invincibility, self-assuredness, validation as a single woman in her late thirties. That is, until the euphoria diminishes and she’s left alone, wondering why they never call just to chat or want hang out; and why not one of them has, or will ever, buy her dinner, take her to the theatre, cook for her, introduce her to their family; or any of the things that people in relationships do.

Yes…she wonders why.

Uh, could it be because she’s not dating; not in a relationship with these men. She’s just fucking and recognized as the one sure thing the minute she walks through that door; every Thursday night, like clockwork.

Enough with the excuse that she was married with a baby right out of high school and just now sowing her wild oats; the thing she has that her little girl friends don’t, is twice as much living experience, but she still lacks that sense of self; still filled with little girl insecurities.

She works so hard for all that she has, yet she gives herself away; to anyone who will have her. And still she wonders why she’s alone.

Times may have changed, but people haven’t. A whore is still a whore, no matter the age. And don’t get me started about safe sex practices and her lack thereof; or the example she’s setting for her teenage daughter!

I did say I wasn’t giving up hope, didn’t I?

Sitting in the dark
Listening to silence
Lights from the Christmas tree
Illuminating the room

Angular parking along cobbled streets, trucks as far as the eye can see; and a midnight blue minivan nestled in the mix, belonging to the mysterious hippie-chick; observing for weeks as she sits in lone silence; the stranger with the face slowly coming familiar.

Friendly people acknowledging, as they pass her by, all smiling and wishing her to have a nice day; wondering of her ritual that never waivers; steaming espresso, four cigarettes, seemingly disinterested as she writes in her notebook.

Trying to calm the waters that rush under her bridge, musing as the waiter delivers carafe’s of hot coffee. Little birds chirp, singing for crumbs, unaware that she has none. Breaking from routine she goes back inside, ordering a piece of pumpkin bread, picking the seeds for her self.

Like Snow White in the magical forest, the birds flock, singing just for her. Thirteen gather and eat crumbs at her feet; two on the table, one brave chickadee perched proudly on her knee.

Today was quite different, breaking from routine; embracing the world she found her self in, deciding she might just stay for a spell; laughing out loud, showing traces of her true self, gathering her belongings, she left with a smile…

A small little town, quaint in fact, once she actually ventured in and took the time to look around; but still, it felt like a temporary stop on her way to nowhere. The trees bursting in full fall regalia, before the barren grey of winter sets in, and for this natural wonder in all its simplicity, she found herself grateful.

She turned the corner and the heavenly scent of fresh roasted beans filled her senses, lightened her mood; led her to café Edmond, the only one in town. She walked in and the aroma of fresh brew mingled with wood smoke from the fireplace momentarily warmed her soul. She was greeted with smiles and friendly nods as she made her way through to the counter, where she hesitantly ordered a quad-shot latte, relieved when the gentleman responded, “take a seat, we’ll have it right up.”

She went back outside and picked a table in the sun; the waiter arrived a few minutes later with a steaming ceramic mug. She put down her bag, took a soothing drink, pulled out her laptop and began to write…

He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene before him; a haunting melody seemingly echoed from nowhere, as the candles cast flickering shadows upon the walls; black tapers in polished brass holders; always black and brass. The smell of incense filling his senses, yet he could not tell from which direction it burned; swirls of invisible smoke wafting; permeating the room.

A room divided by a sheer white veil that hung from the ceiling and fanned out over the floor; the bed clearly visible, illuminated from behind; black satin sheets made for a welcoming sight. He closed the door silently and slowly stepped inside; casting his eyes upon her in the corner, when he heard a muffled cry.

A shard of etched crystal reflecting a flame; the goblet from which she always drank, broken in perfect pieces before him on the floor; a puzzle with one piece missing; the one she now held in her hand; examining closely before the flame.

He spoke but she did not answer; what game was this she was playing. He walked across the room, pushing the veil aside; she turned her attention from the glass and met his gaze with unseeing eyes. “What are you doing,” he asked, as he slowly inched closer; she shook her head and he could see that she was crying. He knelt down before her, in her white satin robe; before he could stop her or even realize what she was doing, she cut with intent, one more time; crying out in agonizing pain.

Pain so deep that the slashes on her flesh meant nothing; a means to remind herself she was still alive, fleeting at best, yet unable to surmise; for darkness had crept in and settled upon her soul; and although she was clearly pleading for help, he was too wrapped in himself to recognize what it meant; she didn’t want him to save her, she just wanted to die.

He stood and loomed over her; a look of disgust splayed over his face, as her insanity had become way too intense; and so without a word, or a second glance in her direction, he turned and left, never to return.

The next one was different, her ticket to ride; through the portal of illusion into the afterlife. She knew when she walked in and saw the picture over his bed; a Goth chick with strings, attached to her ankles and wrists; the puppet master non other, than the Grim Reaper himself.

She knew he would take her there, she hadn’t a doubt; as they raced full throttle from city to town; always under the cover of darkness, as she could no longer tolerate the light. They came close more than once, but fell short every time; in the end the only one he destroyed was him self.

She drifted aimlessly from north to south; touching the lives of all those she encountered; in love or in hate; differing only in disguise. Compromising her self for beliefs and tradition; while trying to maintain some semblance of self; looking for the path to freedom, stumbling each time she believed she’d found redemption.

Then one dark and stormy night, the knock fell upon her door; knowing who stood on the other side before even opening it; she did not hesitate, but flung it open wide; inviting him in to sit for a while.

Beside the fire, fueled by love and understanding, their stories unfolded as if all part of a dream. “Take my hand and walk this way, I’ve seen the dawn of enlightenment; seek shelter with me along the path, against the illusion of life, we are forced to fight.”

His invitation tempting, filled her with hope, but she’d come to the end with no fight left within; she spoke with her eyes as she reached for his hand; he felt the cold steel and understood her master plan.

He did it out of love, because he knew her true soul; although he wanted desperately to walk with her, he understood that she was done. Giving reverence where others had miserably failed, he released her from the bonds of her torturous hell.

He built the pyre and stayed by her side; standing before her with truth in his eyes. He kissed her lips one last time, struck the match and alighted the flame. The road beckoned and the rains finally came, he spoke one final goodbye and went his own way…

One more crisis
Diverted
One more time
Forced
To face fear
Alone

I’ll never forget the day he asked what was wrong with me. I looked at him as if he were speaking in tongues; having absolutely no idea what he meant. “What’s wrong with me?” I finally said. “Yeah, what’s wrong with you; why don’t you have any girlfriends? I’ve never known a woman who didn’t have a slew of girlfriends. You don’t even have one.”

“And that means there’s something wrong with me?” He didn’t answer.

We’d been married for almost 5 years when this conversation took place, and I couldn’t help but wonder; how is it possible to live under the same roof with someone and know so little about them. But when I thought about it, I realized that it wasn’t the first time this had happened; co-existing with someone who thought they knew me inside out; when in reality I was nothing more than a perfect stranger. And then I wondered something else…

What was wrong with me?

I see them all the time, in groups, usually three or four; always laughing and coming off like their having such a great time; just hanging out and doing “girl stuff” and at times I find myself coveting their relationships, wishing I was one of them, but it always only lasts for a minute.

The other day I decided to take myself to lunch; so I put on my favorite sundress and strapless sandals, grabbed my journal and headed to Bistro 101 – an upscale, overpriced, retro-glam eatery in my neighborhood. I saw them as I walked in and waited to be seated; a table of four; country clubbers from Sawgrass, deciding a day of slumming along the river was in order – my attention momentarily diverted when the little waif of a hostess asked if I had a party waiting, then sneered when I told her I was dining alone. She proceeded to walk me in their direction and seated me at a table beside them. I wondered what point she was trying to make, and why. I thought about saying something, but chose to let it slide.

I sat back and sipped my wine once the server had taken my order, and for a brief moment, somewhere deep inside, I wished I was sitting at that table, engrossed in conversation, sharing the world of these women friends – something I hadn’t done in over twenty years. And then I heard it, the voice, whispering from the far corner of my mind…What’s wrong with you?

I decided to write, but the words wouldn’t come – I kept hearing their laughter and snippets of conversation – private schools, vacations abroad, shopping spree at Tiffany’s and Miguel the pool boy; telling their tales, sharing their secrets; an unspoken pact between them; these women who came together in friendship and fun; while I sat alone at a table for one.

One of the ladies rose; excusing herself to the powder room, and before she was even out of sight the other three huddled together and began tearing her apart. Reality slapped me hard in the face, bearing its vicious claws and I felt a fool for ever questioning or doubting my self and my conscious decision to walk this road alone.

I tried to explain to him that day; why I have acquaintances and not friends, but he wasn’t listening – he droned on and on about it not making sense; me being the outgoing and likeable person that I am. “Yes!” I exclaimed; “I am, I am, but with me there is no middle ground; don’t you see, you either love me or hate me, that’s just the way it is…I don’t know why!”

As I sat and picked at my salad, their voices and laughter began to fade; until they were nothing more than a colorful blur. I placed my fork at the side of my plate and instinctively reached for my pen; finally understanding why…

Why I refuse to succumb to the premise of friendship and man-made ideology; opting instead for acquaintances, casting my own beliefs – not from that which others tell me and would have me believe – but from what I see and know to be the truth – and why I don’t have time to waste, playing foolish games…

…because the truth of others, is not that, which I seek; with its candy-coated shell – covering a dark center of deceit.