Wasting Away: An Excerpt from My Forever Unfinished Book (pt. 2)

Wasting away.

That’s what the doctor said. My father was slowly wasting away.

As I sat beside his hospital bed my hand unconsciously reached for his and I gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hi, Dad,” I said as tears filled my eyes and a smile stretched across my face. He didn’t answer and I didn’t expect him to.

“You know what I was just thinking about? I was remembering when you taught me how to drive. Do you remember that? You took me to that empty parking lot behind the school and setup two trashcans so I could practice parallel parking.”

The words spilled out quickly as the tears streamed down my face. I was terrible at parallel parking and my father knew it. I thought I saw a faint smile spread across his face as I continued. Or maybe I just imagined that.

“I must have ran over those trashcans a dozen times, but you keep making me try again and again. I remember being so mad at you for laughing at my failed attempts.” The memory made me laugh aloud as I held his hand more tightly. “You told me I was taking the whole thing too seriously.”

And he was right. Less than a week later, after I had finally gotten the nerve to take my driver’s test, I parallel parked that damn car on my very first try. I was so excited to tell my father, but I could tell from the look on his face when I charged into the waiting room at the DMV that he already knew I had passed. He never doubted me.

I remembered jumping up and down excitedly waving my new license in front of him. He smiled and reached to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind my ear. “What did I tell you? You need to start believing in yourself, little lady. You are capable of so many great things. You just have to remember to believe in yourself.”

He always called me that. Little lady.

“I’m going to try harder, Dad,” I said in a strained voice while tightening my grip on his hand once again. “I’m going to try harder to not take life so seriously, and believe in myself they way you do and to stop doubting everything…”

My voice cracked and trailed off as I took quick, sharp intakes of breath, willing myself to pull it together. The room smelled like a mixture of medicine and Lysol and the soft wheezing from the ventilator was beginning to sound like loud screeching to my ears. The urge to flee this confining, white walled box was almost unbearable.

Finally, the tears stopped and I began to breathe more easily. I lower my lips and kissed his fragile, wrinkled hand.

I felt as though I too were wasting away with him.

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This excerpt has been waiting for me to hit the publish key for a while. Again, my fiction is hard for me to share. I think it's because 1) it always feels incomplete, and 2) I love my characters so much. It's strange to feel protective of fictional characters...

Anyways, if you're interested, you can read the first excerpt I shared of this novel here.

I'm taking a few days off of blogging for the Memorial Day weekend. I hope all you lovelies have a great weekend and stay safe! I'll see you next Tuesday :)

Lies: An Excerpt from My Forever Unfinished Book

“She asked me to meet her...to see if anything was still there.”

Silence ensued for a few seconds as I gathered my thoughts. What can I possibly say to him, my very best friend?

All I could come up with was, “What did you tell her?”

“I told her there is no way I could leave my life here. I mean, honestly, I’m curious, ya know, to see what could have been. What may possibly still be if I allowed it…”

Relief washed over me. As much as I knew that she was the one for him, that his life could be greater if he fled this small town into her arms, I couldn’t bear to see him go.

All I could offer was a sad smile. “I know it sucks right now, but it will be better soon. You’ll see. You made the right decision.”

Lies. Everything I said was a lie. It’s easy to lie, even to those you love most in life. It’s so easy to offer surface sentiments and clichés. It’s easy to simply give a slight smile even though you’re jumping for joy inside. It’s easy to damn the ones you love to a life of mediocrity. Being selfish is easy.

He lifted his eyes to mine and gave a sad smile back. Except his was different, it wasn’t masking joy, but grief. Open, vulnerable, ugly grief.   

“You really think so?” he said.

Lie.

“I know so.”

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Writing for me is one of the easiest, most natural things I do, but sharing it is always hard. Especially on this blog (now that more people than just my mother and husband read it). But sometimes I think it's worth putting out there....even if only in small, incomplete pieces. 

But honestly, this blog has become an excuse not to write. After reading and writing at work all day, and then writing for Taking Notes..., I find that the last thing I want to do in the evenings is sat down at my computer and write for me. 

Lately, that has become a problem. I feel uninspired and unfulfilled. Sometimes something has to go. 

I vote my job. What do you think? ;)

It's a circus act, really. And, quite frankly, I've never cared enough to learn how to juggle.  

If you're interested, you can read more of my fiction here. 

I Don't Mind The Rain

She chatters easily, incessantly, nonstop. The words fall endlessly from the tip of her tongue into the receiver pressed against my ear. I lay the phone upon the counter and the chatter continues, mindless chatter falling on deaf ears. 

Her pitch changes and I quickly reach for the phone and press it once again to my ear.

I’m sorry, what was that?

I can hear her heavy sign. Her failed attempt at repressed frustration.

I saaaid, how can you stand all that rain?

There it is. The change in pitch I thought I heard before. A slight raise in the octave singling that a response is in order. A small adjustment, but big enough to bring me out of my reverie, to set off warming singles in my mind, to remind me that a phone conversation is an exchange between two people.

I don’t mind the rain, I simply answer.

I gently, soundlessly place the phone back on the counter and the ceaseless chatter begins again.

She doesn’t know that it hasn’t rained for weeks in Seattle; that the ground is in desperate need of a downpour, that there is a burn ban and a brush pile in my backyard. She doesn’t know how the lake water is receding. Nor does she know how I have seamlessly adapted into my new home 3,000 miles away. How I too am in a fragile season, a drought. With only one careless spark away from bursting into uncontrollable, raging flames.

She never asked.

I don’t mind the rain. The rain would be relief.

I wait by the counter a little longer, listening for the change in pitch to once again occur.

One. Two. Three minutes pass.  The words fall off her lips into the open space around me. I hit the red button on the receiver, push away from the counter, and wait for the rain.

A Torn Page From My Diary...

...because sometimes, happiness is found in reliving the pain.

A long time ago, I believe it was in 8^th grade; I dislocated my left thumb and never went to the doctor to get it properly replaced. It’s an old injury that I rarely think about, but then, when it’s bended just right, I feel the aching in that joint. It’s not a sharp pain; but rather dull and almost non-existent, but a pain nonetheless. It always startles me when I feel it. Just when I’ve almost forgotten all about it, I do something silly such as pick up a coffee mug awkwardly, grip too tight while opening a jar of jam, or any other simple movement that agitates that joint. Normal things really. But it’s in those ordinary moments that something happens to make me once again feel the pain. The injury was never a gaping, open wound. No surgery was necessary for it to properly function again. Yet, the pain is still present. I tried to take care of the injury myself, and because of that, it has never properly healed.

It reminds me of you; my thumb --an old injury, that most days, never crosses my mind. Then something happens that reminds me –a mother calling her child after the same name in the grocery store, the curve of a stranger’s forehead, a laugh –and the pain returns. Dull, almost nonexistent, but there nonetheless. Again, it startles me how unexpectedly everything returns. I can feel, smell, hear everything I once loved. Perhaps, those remembrances are the things I still do.

The pain used to bother me. I used to regret never seeing a doctor to get my thumb properly reset. But it was an injury no one else could see. It seemed so easy to fix myself and simply move on. At first, the pain was unbearable. Thankfully, I have always had a high tolerance for pain. It was easy to repress.

I’ve learned that it’s too late for me to fix. The pain will always be there. Like the phantom pain of an amputee it is an ache I’ll always feel. Yet, I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve even learned to enjoy it. Like the breeze on a hot day or a drop of water after a long drought, it reminds me that I’m alive. I feel –even the most subtle aches, I feel.

And for that, I am grateful.