Con (Part II)

She stared at me. "That's...that's not what happened." Her voice was barely a whisper and her fingers fluttered, helpless,by her sides. "It's not what I meant."

My face was cold, but heat thrummed though me, forcing me forward. "Not what you meant?" I asked, incredulity warring with anger. "Beth, you had to call a fucking ambulance."

Somehow, impossibly, her eyes seemed even paler as did her skin and she shook her head. "It was...it was an accident, I swear to God."

The haze I'd felt earlier kicked back, a vicious buzz that now impelled me, my hands, my fingers curled around the cream and white lapels of the fashionable short trench coat she wore.

"Was it an accident that you fuckin' tripped me out, fucked me up, left me needing stitches? A fucking accident that happened almost three months after we broke up, I'd moved out?" The words came out an angry hiss, my eyes barely two inches from hers.

She blinked, flinched, under my hands, under the tone, and her face worked, tears in the corners of her eyes as I watched her struggle for control, something I knew because I'd known her so very fucking well. And then...the damn broke.

"You were mine, you were fucking mine, you didn't belong to her, with her," she said, her voice a harsh rasp. She covered my hands with hers, skin smooth as always, cool from the wind.

It was my turn to flinch, and I let go of her lapels, slipped my hands out from under hers. I stepped back again, I had to get away. Memories, no longer dull, sharpened by her voice, by her presence, flooded through me, as icy as the wind that had picked up off the river, of how much I'd been hers, of how it hadn't been enough.

At eighteen Beth fed me vitamins and pasta, cuddled me to her skin because she said I made her feel safe and loved, but except for the sensual, beautiful kisses, velvet soft touches of her body and mine, wouldn't touch me, because she said she was afraid she'd hurt me.

At nineteen, someone else--a beloved friend--had done what Beth had said she'd been afraid to, because she'd asked me to, because she wanted me to. It also infuriated her and since I lived one floor above her, two days later she came into my room with several bottles of wine, twined my body with hers and there we stayed for days following.

We matched, she said, we matched, and it was true, our hands were almost identical. I met her parents, her brother, her sister. When we made love that night, she wore my ring after. She came home with one for me the next afternoon.

Con (Part 1)

I started cramping somewhere toward the late morning, hard and vicious, the sort that lets you know you're in for it, and it floated over that...that sense...I had, the edgy anticipation of something, or actually, someone, headed my way.

I hate that sense sometimes. I can go days, occasionally weeks, and if I'm lucky, a month almost two, before it hits me again, because when it does? I'm an edge-jangled mess, hyper-alert and twitchy.

That it came now, on top of pain that was four days early--an extremely unusual occurrence--left me gritting my teeth. This...was going to be ugly.

The nerves and the pain were beginning to fuzz me out and the effort to smile, to engage in animated conversation with strangers, the effort of separating mind from the aching throb that begged me to curl up somewhere dark to puke in peace, was surely eating away at the last of my reserves.

A slight lull in the crowd gave me my chance, and I excused myself from the table. I slipped between people and bags, costumes and weapons, the haze between my eyes flowing down my neck, my chest, until I reached the door, the patio of the convention center that overlooked the river.

There were perhaps half a dozen people--mostly in pairs--scattered about the large deck and I found a comfortable spot to lean against the concrete railing, lit myself a cigarette, and let the pain and the edge drift away with the smoke as I watched it.

I was clear and alert, the cramp settled to a warm, mindful discomfort in my belly. A name, a face, drifted through my mind and as the muscles seized--a twist that forced me to shift my legs, compensate with my stance--in the resigned way you know that whatever comes next, you'll still be wrong and have to correct it, I knew she was near.

"JayJay."

Her voice was the same: husky, low, and it sent that spike of resignation through my spine.

"Beth."

I didn't turn around, because she did what I knew she would: lean along the railing next to me.

"I heard you'd be here," she said as her sleeved arm rested next to mine and my peripheral vision caught her staring out over the water next to me.

I couldn't stand the thought of my back so vulnerable to her and I shifted again--pain be damned--and the leather of my jacket rubbed up against the concrete, guarding me.

"Wasn't a big secret," I answered. That was very true; it had been announced on websites and boards, even a couple of stores and a few emails. And then, there was always word of mouth...and there were always plenty of those.

"Hometown girl making it big, everyone whose known you knows," she said.

The afternoon sun shone down on her and reflected back up into her face from the water that shimmered below. Ice blue, winter sky blue, almost colorless eyes stared down at the river and the ice that lined its edges. Grey hadn't taken over her hair yet, a few thick streaks here and there were strung among coal-black waves, waves that still flowed just past her shoulders.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked quietly, turning those eyes, and those soft, soft lips, to me.

"Huh. Around you? Probably," I answered as flippantly as I could.

"You look like you're in pain," she said in the same quiet voice, and she reached automatically, the way she had almost a lifetime ago, to touch me, to reach that spot that would ease the muscles.

I caught her hands half way, gently pushed them back. "Again...around you? Definitely," I told her as I let go.

She stared at me, those ice eyes on mine, and for a brief moment, I wondered what she saw, what my eyes looked like to her. I knew than when I was at any emotional extreme, the outer ring turned a bright emerald green, but when I was hazy, or as both my mother and my beloved partner had told me, half awake and furious, they shone an amber gold. I wondered what she saw--the green or the gold?

Beth nodded. "I deserve that."

"You do, Beth. You do," I agreed.

I tossed my cigarette over the railing--it had lost its appeal--and shoved a hand into my pocket as I edged away.

"Can we talk?" she asked as I took my first step.

I hesitated. The last time we'd spoken, she'd issued an invitation, an invitation to her wedding that I didn't attend. Eight years. Eight years since I'd seen her to that invitation, eight years to this day on the patio.

She edged closer. "We haven't spoken in a long time, not alone." Her face was somber, sad, her eyes fixed on mine.

I glanced around the patio. The chill of the air off the water must have gotten to those who'd been outside, because with the exception of one lone smoker stationed about thirty feet away, she was right: we were alone.

"We haven't spoken alone since..." I let it hang, because the memory was dull, but the pain wasn't, another knife through my gut that made me want to retch.

"Since I hurt you," she supplied. She took another step closer.

"No, Beth. No," I corrected, stepping back with a shake of my head. "You didn't hurt me--you raped me." 

Sober - A Fragment

(consider this a...prologue...to the story that will follow)

It had been several years. I hadn't thought, spoke, not even dreamed, not a thing about her [I'm off you, baby, my blood's mine now] and it was good, so good to be clean.

Then...at the wedding of a mutual friend:

"C'mon, baby, you know how I feel - felt - about you."

[No, I never really did]

"You must have been pretty stupid, then."

[Yep, that was me, pretty and stupid: a landscaped vacant lot she'd driven around in dusty circles]

She caught my chin in her hands, fingertips a sensual cage as her lips drew closer. "I loved you. I still love you. Stupid."

She kissed the corner of my mouth, gently, softly, not quite the kiss she used to give. After all, things were different...now.

"I still wear your ring." She showed me. She wore it now on the other hand, in the position of friendship, and I watched as she switched it over, to the position that swore love.

[I'd forgotten about that. Forgot how I'd had it custom designed, the first real piece of jewelry I'd ever bought myself, the only piece since. Forgot how I was so drunk on wine and you, so wanted to see you smile, that I gave it to you, a piece of me, like all the others I gave. You gave me yours, an exchange, our left hands, the ring, the one that symbolizes friendship, loyalty, love, union, marriage. Your lips were full of wine and your tongue drenched in honey when you swore we'd always, always, be beautiful together. I didn't know then that lies were sweet]

She hugged me tightly then kissed my neck in that perfect, perfect spot she knew so well, the spot that always guaranteed my "yes" - or at least my "maybe." Then she begged me to come to her wedding.

To him. His initials were mine, his name similar, too. I promised I would - and didn't - my own would be three weeks later.

And now? That too was years ago, and since... There are days when my blood runs thick and dirty.

Creation

Let the music...

let the words flow out

hot...fat...wet

Through my veins

to my hands

from my hands

to the pen

from the pen

to the page

words to you

in black

and blue

words for you

who couldn't read them

     

  when

they       

            were

red

Tap...tap

Okay, so I'm gonna try this blogging thing. Post a few thoughts, bits of stories, songs, poetry...the flotsam and jetsam that sooner or later become concrete works. 

I figure I'll have something new about once a week. Hope ya like it.

JD