dreams of reinvention

At the end of the day, it is what she knew she would do. She is suffocating, dead to herself, creative vibes and urges dying among this midst of screaming children, children that aren't even hers, little ones she loves but does not like. She takes solice in a solitary canine, one who looks at her with wide amber eyes, sits near her just for the sake of sweet, owned respite. She feels herself dying, fading. She reads things she once wrote and feels as though her talent has been sucked back into the pores of the oak, oil seeping back into human skin. She does not feel her baby move, only imagines it, beating it's tiny fists against the hull of her abdomen, screaming into fluid that, for it, is air. She knows better things will come. When she smoke clears, and relative peace remains, ophelia will return, if only under a different guise. She will retain herself. She needs to get out of here, get away. Her heart pounds like the rabbits, hunted and alone in it's plea. Will it burst, straining to free itself from impossible chains? Perhaps.

Such a beautiful girl, she was, such a beautiful mind.

I lived with Ryan for about two weeks and I considered murder. His parents, actually, not him. I considered breaking it off when he stumbled into the house at 4 AM, stupiddrunk and covered in beerpuke, and told us all he'd lost his car. Idiot. Later, I found it for him, in Providence. Near the Girl's Dorms as Providence College. I realized I want that part of Life so badly- college, higher Education, all that. But my period hasn't come yet. It's been due since the end of September. I don't expect it, but please God, SUPRISE ME. What about a baby?! I wanted so bad, now what?! Hell. The end of me. Please everyone, I NEED your support so I won't fadeaway. Please family, support me. I need it so I can go to college and be one of the suprises, the success stories. And all the wiser for it. You know?!

I am breaking into a million peices.

I walked into school, and walked out. Dissapointment forms in the pit of my stomache, broken expectation. Home of the Trojans, denied me. But hope, somewhere in the distance- a liberal college, ivy-covered and romantic, someone waiting in the shadows. I don't know yet if it will be Ryan. That could be a lie.

A year will come quickly. It did last time, when I swore it couldn't.

She yearns to be alone, yet when allowed her silent serenity, she cannot stand the lack of noise. She yearns for connection, yet when offered the chance, the denies it. She yearns for true love, yet when true love knocks on her door, she locks it from the other side. She yearns for perfection, and yet she knows, nothing will ever be perfect. Not for her. Not in her world. Not ever.

Her heart beats faster, pounding against the cage of her chest. She wishes it would end.

I discussed moving in and babies with my boyfriend. We talk about getting an apartment in Fall River, one that allows Kush. I asked him what would happen if I got pregnant. He told me he would be a father. He would be there beside me. He asked me what I would do. I told him I would be a mother. I would get a job, I would finish nightschool, I would raise my child. Healthy and strong. Swimming and hiking and riding horses, reading and (maybe) some selective math. My father knew how to be a father. Up until I wasn't a child anymore. Could I be a mother? I know what it means to be 'on the fence'. One side of my fence is multicolored, brilliant and everchanging, beautiful in it's uncertainty. It offers options, something the other side lacks in quantity. It offers travel, experience, experimentation. The other side of my fence is plainer, but more heartfelt. It tells me I will travel, when I'm older- that the experiences on that side are far greener than the other, at the end of the day- and that I have experimented with enough explosives already. I sit on this fence, the sharp posts digging into my backside. I run my hands along each section, trying to feel for splinters, for smoothness. Smoothness is always preffered. Isn't it? I sit on this fence a lot, for many different causes- for love, for family, for education, for passion, for personal preference. And for parenting. God, how can I even consider it? But in nightschool I see the swollen bellies, and I do, I do meet this with a bit of jealousy. I wonder if they realize the loveliness of what currently resides inside moist, sloppy wombs. I doubt it.

Suddenly amongst the smog and smoke things clear. I could say they always do, always will, but then I would be lying. There was darkness, that much is clear and true- then I escaped these cities for ten days and while I was missing, there was more light. I learned about myself, about my limits, about how I really can agree to drive 28768976 miles to an unknown location, be left there by a mother in tears, and triumph through it all. With my dad only a short motercycle ride away. I really did work there, up to the last second, and I watched. I family of comparable success, in seeming fine shape, but underneath, teeming with discourse. I called my mother at least once a day, I only smoked 2 or 3 cigarettes the whole time, I gave up drugs. I simply rode horses, worked, watched some TV, and slept. And, I must say, took great care of my skin. I even visited with my father a bit, however miserable that experience was.

When I returned, I kissed Ryan right when I saw him, after leaving him without his pride or definition. I allowed his hands all over me, after swearing them off forever. I drank like the Irish wench I am for days, did oxy's and shit, kpins and xanax. Didn't smoke as much. (I've realized I no longer like to smoke, beyond the initial few inhalations.) Took aderall a couple times, toned a little, a litter flatter.

Ryan convinced me we are in love, or at least he convinced me to say so. And he had Sara Jean do my hair. Blonde. I sold a bag to John last night and he came out with three of them- him, Rob, their cousin. I'm going over to chill with them and their pool today. Should be interesting.

I start nightschool Wednesday. Well, orientation is Wednesday. That is going to be a trip and a half. We'll see.

Having realized I've no other choice, except to make my choices. Having realized it will not be pleasant, not always, not even mostly. Having realized I must- not should, but must- I'veleft myself no other option.

Lost what only I thought I had. Twirling into oblivion with a memory of a dark haired siren. Not the one you would expect. Lost, anyways.

Night school starts Wednesday. Before that- Sunday til Wednesday, that is- I'll be at Six Flags. And a hotel. With the family.

Last night I sat dreaming drawing abstract shapes on white filler paper. Sirens around my ears like diamonds and I can't help but chuckle. Why strike the face that smothers you, when you could kiss it away. Why even try to save this day, bloody since before you awoke.

We drove alone 44, from Taunton into Rehoboth, searching for this blasted veteranarian that I swear doesn't fucking exist. My mom's voice went on and on, seemingly only continued from the former midnight rant. "You are fucking Unbelievable, Jessica." Don't I know it. We stopped, and I went in, swearing out into the perfect summer air. The people inside stared. "Dr. Cohen?" I asked, gritting my teeth, betraying my utmost desire to tear their prying, damned eyes out. Shaking heads. A thanks, or maybe not. I turned on my heel. Outside my mom was still bitching, maybe to herself now, talking and talking and talking. I felt my rage grow like the needs of an addict, from wistful to habitual. I dialed the number. 4-1-1. The voice there aggravated me, asking me if I would please press 1 for English. THIS IS FUCKING AMERICA. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PRESS SHIT FOR ENGLISH. I pressed 1 anyways. My mother's voice continued in my ear.

Then someone fucked up. In all likelihood, that somebody was me. But the trigger was there- forgotten, now, in the sludge of chaos and raw ugly emotion. I threw the phone, and the flimsy Cingular plate snapped off the front. I screamed, swore, threw my body against the door and windows and dashboard, smashing my hand against the glass and my head against where the airbag nestled. "YOU FUCKING CUNT, I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING CUNT. YOUB RUIN MY FUCKING LIFE." My own mother. I'm a peice of shit. This continued,blind undeniable rage, I said horrible things. Hours later Iwould notice my hand, lumpy and blue. And the bruised crease near the line of my scalp.

For once, I have no explanation as to why I snapped. No catchy excuse or reasoning. It came suddenly, it came without question, and fucking Christ, I didn't know what to do.

I'm going to Hell for my weakness.

Such pretty girls, such open smiles. Glossed lips stretched over ivory teeth, in an effort meant for comfort, but recieved in a manner almost menacing. The circle had, at first, seemed wide- almost too wide, almost mismatched and missing certain links. Somehow it has shrunk to a size mimicking claustrophobia. Amber tried to smile, too, tried to play nice like them- but the couldn't ignore the hard gleam of their eyes. Behind the facade, there was something truly worrying, drenched in a most unpleasant odor. Amber shivered a bit, pulled at the sleeve of her shirt. Their eyes bore into her, waiting, asking, demanding- she wasn't sure of what, for what. But the holes were deepening.

She could feel, almost see, the smoke she'd inhaled twisting and curling in the dark confines of her lungs. It made such pretty patterns, fading lines and promises etched against the faint moist pink. Then a clutching feeling- a desperation, for air, for breath! A cough. The girls giggled a bit, hunger filling the emptiness in their gazes, the foundation of cruelty. Desperation.

She'd long since passed the blunt- such an odd contraption, too original to line up with her predisposed opinion of those who smoked this sweet antiquated thing- and in the moments beyond the Cough she began to feel the lightness. At least she assumed it was light. It rose from within her- not from herlungs, where she'd brought the smoke, but from a deeper place- and filled her whole head, her whole brain, her whole mind- her whole skull. A shimmer took over the scene. Her eyes fluttered slightly, her vision flipping on and off, and she smiled- a faint, almost unseen smile. But it was seen. Too seen.

She became suddenly aware of the circle tightening once more, their eyes burning into her pale skin. She could have screamed, but instead, she held her breath, wondering how hard they would laugh if her china flesh turned azure instead. They no longer were attractive to her. They looked old, pursed. Used. She had half the mind to tell them of their horrors.

She looked away, into the woods around them, anywhere but Here. She thought of her mother, at home- Drunk- and her father, working, workworkworkwork. "Got to provide for the family, you know, can't just sit around on my ass like your mother." Go to Hell.

She looked back. And realized that the girls weren't so old at all- used, yet, but extroardinarily young. And filled with the wrong kind of hunger, the kind that could never satiate itself.

Desperation.