prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2002-01-21 - 7:48 p.m.
This is part 2
This is you, in the no talent, no goals, no more dreams, relocation program. This is you hiding from the eternal Florida sun's seering gaze. This is you bored. This is you watching really bad television and meeting tons of old people. This is you, living with your grandparents in a pink house. This is you, laying out by the pool every day, pretending you don't care. This is you, getting old lady haircuts, because it's the only coif, that the blue haired beautician's, know how to style. This is you, going to endless Dr's appointments with your grandparents, because this is how much you love them. This is your grandmother telling you, that your grandfather is dying. This is your grandfather dying, the one who was always the love of your life, the one who thought that you were the sun and the moon, and all the stars in between. You never had the heart to tell him, just how extra ordinary you were, because he believes in you. and everyone who knows him, knows how AMAZING he is. This is you, realizing that you must be special, because you are a part of him.
This is you walking on eggshells, watching him constantly, scanning his landscape for any change, because you wonder what exactly dying looks like. You swim, and try to forget. You get sunburned and hope that you don't have cancer too. You don't have anything to do, so you decide to take a job watching someone else's small children.
This is you, once again holding babies, all day, and going home, to a pink house, that you love, but suddenly are so very afraid of. You wonder if one day it will turn grey and then you will " know". You will know when the greyness arrives, that life will never again be the same.
This is you, so very very lonely. This is you driving at night, with the darling babies, before bed, taking them to see cows in a bushy abandoned field. You love a snow white cow, because she is always standing alone. This is you telling the children to wave to the cows, and teaching them all of the cow's names. This is the look on there amazed faces, believing you, when you explain to them, that the cows themselves told you their names. This is you, naming the beautiful white cow, Zahara. This is you worrying about what will happen to her. Somewhere inside of you, You realize that you are that cow. This is you knowing that you stand far apart from all the others. this is you knowing that she will never blend in, only disappear. You fear the day that she is not there, in her arid field.
One day, this is you crashing into a boy, a thousand miles away.This is You finding him through typing words, into a little white box, purchased at walmart. You are not sure if he hears you, but he most definately sees you. This is him seeing right through you, into your pale, opaque, abandoned ghost heart. This is You telling him how very alone you have become. Just how sad and scared you are too.This is you whispering, that you do not believe in love. This is him answering you he that he feels the same way. You fear each other, but you can not look away. This is you pretending all day, that you are normal, but by moonlight, you are crazy for him. You type all night,into the little snowglobe box of dancing words. sleep never enters your world. This is you, afraid to sleep, afraid you will miss one waking moment, of living in a world, where you know he exists, and where you have become each other's reflection. This is you starting to believe that it is possible that he might truly l o v e you, because, you finally accept that you love him. you love him *madly* Night after night, he asks you to run away with him. This is you starting to wonder if you should.
The babies are growing, the cows are in the field, the sun still burns you, but everything is wonderful. This is You listening to the cure and morrissey all the time, but the songs never make you sad. Nothing makes you sad, as long as you can crawl into the comfort and safety of this far away boy's lap. One day, this is the boy telling you that he can't live like this anymore. He has to see you. He is coming . This is You, panicking. . You fear things have escalated out of control, and that it is too soon. or it is too late. This is you, never believing in things in between. You cry all night and then you realize, you must let him come, it will give you both peace, to finally just *know*. Somehow, this has to end or this has to begin. You fear one, and pray for the other.
He flies to you, in the space of your shared birthday's. He arrives on your's, and leaves on his. In each others presence You are one anothers gifts. You swallow each other up.This is you laying in his arms, while he plays with your hair. This is You not eating or drinking for 4 days. In the heat filled nights, there is an orchestra of tropical sounds. The low hum of crickets, hooting owls and trumpeting frogs, serenade you. This is you making him lay with you, in the wet grass outside. Together you stare at the moon, the same one that he sent to watch over you, before he came to hold you in his arms and keep you safe.This is You showing him the star, that you had named for him . This is the baby calf that he bought you, for your birthday. Because he knows how sad you were, when Zahara disappeared into the mouth of some greedy, fast food patron.
This is your life, this is you sneaking him into your stained glass room,with french balcony doors, open to the night air,and you opening your self up to the far away boy standing before you ( whilst your overprotective grandfather sleeps, dying, 300 feet away) This is the boy, entering and fleeing out of your life, when you aren't looking. This is him taking all of love's covers. When he flies away, on his birthday. This is you shivering, in the heat filled unsilent nights. The crickets song, unrelenting. This is you, alone again, disappearing into the mouth of noone's god.
This is you promising this will never ever again, happen to you. This is you, still honey golden and with only youth on your side. This is you crying, on the phone to your best friend, and this is her, telling you to come to Philadelphia. This is you, racing to the airport. because you need to be near someone who understands. This is you, being surrounded with the love and support of a perfect friend and hearing your laugh again, This is the girl who is the best friend, who gives it back to you, on a silver chain. You wear it, and adore the way it chimes. You see yourself in the amused reflection of others, and you start to come alive again.
This is you, starting to come back to life.just as your grandfather is dying. Everything turned grey the day you went away. This is your grandmother calling you.This is your grandmother telling you,that it is happening very very fast. This is your dying grandfather, on heavy doses of morphine talking about imaginary bus headlights in his room, and scary black figures of ghostpeople in the shadows. This is your grandmother telling him, that they are not really there. This is your grandfather slipping away. This is your grandmother telling you that he is asking for you, when he is lucid. This is your grandfather asking " where is wendy, when is she coming?Where is she?" This is your grandmother beseeching you to get on the next plane and to hurry. This is you, racing back to florida. The sympathetic moon peeks through the plane window, as you cry. because you know. You know nothing is ever gonna be the same.
This is you dropping your bags and running into your grandfathers room. Pushing wide open the closed doors. This is you smelling the horrible scent of sickness and medication. This is your grandfather, a tiny shell of what he once was. This is you, not believing, this is him. These are your dogs, tucked under the crook of his arms, whimpering as your grandfather slips away. He asked about you, he wanted to see you, he called out for you, and now he does not know who you are. He softly pets the dogs, while his eyes are closed,and then this is him opening his eyes. He stares fixedly at you, for a moment (framed in sadness always,) and mistakes you for his long dead mother. Your tears fall everywhere. He does not recognise you. This is you realising that you arrived to late. This is you,much much too late. This is you remembering all the times, he told you, that you were the best thing that ever happened to him, and how he was never so proud in his life, as he was on the day you were born. He was there to catch you,when you fell like a tiny star into the world. This is you, knowing somehow, that 25 yrs later, you are the face of his mother. You are there, when he falls like a burning star, into another galaxy. This is you holding his hand. This is the first time your hand is bigger than his.
This is your hand, big, this is your heart, breaking, this is larger than life him, tiny and frail and naked. This is you, wishing you were still the tiny chubby 2 yr old in the pink velvet dress and the ruffly tights, slipping your tiny chubby hand into his, when he would pick you up and take you out to a fancy restaurant for lunch. He liked to show you off, and he always made you feel so safe. This is you, crying over the shell of your tiny grandfather. Who is gonna make you feel safe, now, tiny girl who grew bigger than the biggest brightest man she ever knew?
part 2
old starlight - new starbright
Click here to read the WendChymes archives
Please make a wish and sign my Guestbook!
(C) wendchymes 2008
