Dreamworld

Sometimes
  I pace
    walk stairs
    wander
       doing anything
                other than
    what I am trying
         to do.

Most nights
   I remain
     where I should be
     where I should
        eventually
            wake up,
     with the exception of
          turning
            left
                up
                  right
                up
                  right
            left
     wishing I knew
        the secret.

If I could only
   find the exact combination
         the right sequence
         the precise routine
   or knew
         the correct code –
                up
                up

             down


             down
            left
                  right
            left
                  right
                B
                A.

But for some reason
   I remain on this side
     of consciousness,
           estranged
           banished
           locked out
     of the dreamworld.

Cul-de-sac

It sounded like a hammer repeatedly hitting metal. Clang! Clang! Sprinklers, pipes of some sort, or large nails, perhaps? The sound echoed through the cul-de-sac, masking the exact direction and identification of the source.

After checking the peephole in the door, Nathaniel went to one window after the next, peeking through the slits in the blinds. As he peered out at the street, he scanned everything in his view, looking for anything out of place.

The driveway at the tan and white house across the way was empty, which was unusual for the busy family who tended to drive their large SUV and minivan to and from the house multiple times each day with various combinations of people.

No one lived in the pale yellow house to the right, so it was no surprise that everything looked still there.

The man and woman two houses over on the right were new to the neighborhood. Kate turned out to be a nurse, and Phillip was an elementary school principal in a different district. Nathaniel had heard them through the open window earlier that spring when they introduced themselves to Camarina, a harmless busybody who lived a few houses down the street.

The couple seemed sweet, kind and friendly, yet that was just the problem. Something was off. His smile? Her eyes? Or the way they canvassed the neighborhood each evening as they walked, surveying it and taking in all the details.

And Nathaniel noticed.

He noticed everything. That was the thing with the cul-de-sac. It was practically impossible not to notice. And the way the sound carried through the circle, people didn’t need to speak loudly for Nathaniel to hear. They probably all thought their conversations were private, but he was aware of the illusion so he made sure to keep quiet.

Phillip and Kate were a little too gossipy, without being straightforward about it—too interested in everyone’s personal lives without drawing too much attention to how interested they were. Nathaniel’s suspicions of them grew almost daily. He didn’t know what their agenda was, but he didn’t trust them. It’s possible the sound was coming from their backyard. But he couldn’t be sure.

The Grands lived two houses down on the left. Kids and friends of the kids who lived there frequented the house and its backyard. It was the place every kid and teenager wanted to be. Nathaniel imagined Kelli feeding their four kids and all their friends fancy organic preservative-free snacks after school and on weekends while they played video games, watched TV or hung out by the pool. Kelli’s husband Josh was an engineer of some sort, the explanation boring Nathaniel enough that the recollection of the description had been lost long ago. Regardless, the clanging sound was not originating from them.

The west wall had no windows, which meant no view of the house directly next door, unless Nathaniel went outside. But it had been four years and two months since he had left his house.

Though the hammering made him curious, it was not enough to compel him to leave. After this amount of time, he was convinced nothing would.

Returning

Returning
   to my teenage bedroom
       makes me
         want to open the window
               and crawl out on the roof,
                      lie down
               and look at the sky
                                     stars
                                     clouds
                    God created –
                       the God
                          I didn’t even really believe in,
                                yet –
               and listen to the world
                  one song at a time,
                     while contemplating life
                                            and death
                                            and everything
                                                I don’t understand
                                                     about people.
                                                     Or anything else,
                                                         really.

I’m not even sure
   I understand more now
     than I did then.

Maybe I am just willing
   to acknowledge
     that what I do know for sure
                 is I know very little.

Words

enTheLiBetwenes
enTheLiBetwenes

I can’t identify
     all the words I said.

They tumbled out quickly
                          precariously
                          clumsily
                   then crashed
                     into each other
                        and
                           f
                           e
                              l
                                l
                           to the ground
                              in  p i  e c  e     s.

I don’t know
   if I am missing phrases
                         words
                         letters
                     or parts of all of them,
                             or
   if that’s how I put them out there
       because they were jumbled
                           and incomplete
                                  before I spoke.

What I do know
   is they don’t add up,
     and I can’t put them together correctly
                 or put them back
                         where they came from.

Solace

I’ll never get tired
     of the ocean.

Even when the weather
     isn’t “perfect”
        for everyone’s preferences,
     and circumstances
        are difficult
             frustrating
             overwhelming
     and life is a mess,
               there is solace
                   and peace
                      with the ocean.

The waves
     are mesmerizing.
I could listen to them
              forever.
They are the sound
     of my soul
        being refueled
                 refreshed.

There seems to be
     a proximity
        to God
           that I don’t experience
              in the same way
              anywhere else.

And I am grateful
     for any time I get
              to marvel
                 at Him
                 and His creation.

House

I woke up to see the bedroom door opening. It was hazy, entering back from the dream world. The room lit up dimly from the hall nightlight reflecting off the paint, then got darker again as the door was pushed back, almost closed but with a small slit.

He pulled back the comforter and slid under the covers next to me, like every other night.

Except it wasn’t. The movement was different. He was quieter than usual, not smoothing the sheets as he got in bed. And his breathing was off.

It wasn’t my husband.

Colin was out of town on a business trip, and there was no way he could have flown back across the country that quickly.

My heart raced, but I didn’t want to alert whoever it was that I knew he wasn’t who he was making himself out to be. I managed to lie there calmly, silently.

The breathing next to me evened, and I made my way out of bed as unnoticeably as possible.

Exiting through the door, I walked down the hall toward the stairs and tried not to put my full weight on the steps as I went down, so as to not let any of them creak or crack.

A bluish light peeked through the open blinds to the outside. Maybe it was a full moon. But we never left the blinds open at night. Had the man in my bed opened them before coming upstairs? How had he gotten in the house? Everything was locked and the alarm was on. Nothing made sense. The fear was screaming at me in everything I saw, yet it was also paralyzing. I couldn’t think clearly.

The windows were a little off. They were close, but they were larger than they should be. There was a porch out front, with a swing and chairs. But we didn’t have a porch. There were two windows on the south side of the house, but that was just a wall that had no windows. The dining room was larger than ours and the table was oblong, not rectangular.

Was this even our house? Did I somehow end up in someone else’s? And how would I get away from here so I would be safe?

A hand touched my shoulder from behind, and I jumped. So this is how I die.

My eyes open to a dark room. Our room. Our house. With the right dimensions and the right lighting. And I am alone. My heart is beating through my chest and I kick off the sheets to break away from the sweat.

It is real now. Isn’t it?

Wrenches

It shouldn’t be this hard.

I know life can throw
     wrenches
       junk
              crap
           turns
         t
          w
       i
          s
         t
           s
                at all of us
           but it makes no sense
                why this should be
                      so excruciating
                      so difficult
                      so maddening.

Yet why do I
     keep expecting
         things to be different?

I fall for it
   every
   time,
     hoping that someday
           things will work out
              the way they should.

Instead
     I am disappointed
           frustrated
           angry –
                again.

Evidently,
   I should stop hoping.

Months
      years
            decades
                    don’t change the outcome.

Time
   and technology
          still
      can’t make printers
                      print.

Camping

The reservation was made. The car was overpacked (my fault, because being prepared is way less stress than not having what we need), and we were ready to go.

It was the first night Jeff and I had alone together out of town in months.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, since we had never been to that campground before – and Google tried to throw us off a bit with the directions – we were not disappointed with the campsite. It wasn’t crowded, and it was quiet, which is exactly what we needed. The air was clean. The canopy went up easily. The space for the tent was mostly flat and the ground beneath it was smooth. 

Jeff went to start the fire, and I started setting up the sleeping situation inside the tent. I spread out the self-inflating air mattresses and let them do their thing while I zipped the sleeping bags together.

Then I checked on the mattresses. They both had inflated, so I went to tighten the first valve – which was broken, so it wouldn’t close and air could still escape.

Awesome. Because that is the entire point of an air mattress.

Then I checked the second mattress, and that valve was broken too.

Clearly, they were a solid investment.

“So the good news is we have air mattresses, since we finally bought them last year,” I told Jeff. “The bad news is both of the valves are broken so they are pretty much useless.” I mean, without the air, what are air mattresses other than small tarps?

The hard ground and lack of sleep that night was not great. But the cooler temperatures, time away with Jeff, and talking by the campfire while roasting marshmallows made up for it. And that we hadn’t been able to book a second night turned out to be a good thing.

That’s camping.

Something always goes wrong, but it’s worth it anyway.

17

A throwback to when Jeff and I were dating, as we celebrate 17 years of marriage today.


The Words

You know me
all too     all well
you know     when
I hide because
you listen      to the
silences          between
you read my face
when I force it to
say nothing     pursue
me when I or
when I almost     run
you worry when I
don't call or if I am
late and I know    even 
if you do not 
say it     because
you show me
and you do not
give up on me     so I
know     and I do too

2001

Murky

Free?
Free?

Suspended
             between
                    d
                    i
                    v
                    i
                    n
                    g
                        in
                and the overall catharsis
                    of              finally                   letting  go,
           unsure which way to   lean
                 because I’ve already done
                            both
                         (I think).

                  Either way I choose now,
                       it feels like
                       it could be 
             backwards.

I can’t place it,
   but something doesn’t seem quite
                     done –
              at least not entirely.

But maybe I also don’t need to
                                        (re)surface
                            old ghosts
                                   if they are meant to remain
                                       buried

                                         far

 

 

                                         far

 

                                         below.

Sometimes  b u rro w ing
                 in the past
       only digs up      remnants
            of what was always
                           supposed to be
                                              released
                                                       to move      forward.

There is
   no way to stop
               an impending storm.
There is also
   no reason to dig up
               decayed degradation,
               a rotted coffin
                       again
                         and
                       again.

It’s a murky place to be.