Is it true that when Father Time falls asleep time stands still? And if that is true, why does he always fall asleep in moments of tragedy? Or in moments that are filled with endless amounts of love?
It is possible that love and tragedy are things that Father Time can never explore or experience and so he is filled with such boredom that he will ultimately fall asleep, making time stand still, the world halting, and reality feeling like anything but?
This weekend stood still for me. Father Time sleeping from Saturday all the way straight through until Monday morning.
Saturday afternoon I got a surprise from Mr. Unrealistic. He was on his way to see me. And escort me to the Halloween parties I had already agreed to attend. I was ecstatic. He could not get there fast enough. Time had stood still. And time continued to stand still until he left Sunday morning.
I tried to remove the goofy smile off of my face, but it was no use. He made me smile. Just for being near me, just for listening to me, just for looking at me, and not looking at me at all. He is perfect in every way important to me. He held my hand, whispered in my ear, hugged me whenever he had the chance, and would sometimes just stare into my eyes without saying a word. I was in heaven, the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, and I knew right then, that things would only get better.
I wanted to tell him that I think I love him. But I know that “think” lessens “love’s” value. And I didn’t want him to think I devalued the “love” I MIGHT have for him. I wanted to tell him that I think about him all the time and that one day I could really love him. I wanted to tell him that the world is a brighter, happier, much more interesting place for having him in it, and I am beyond privileged to having him in my life and for allowing me to be in his.
I wanted to tell him that I don’t know how to be sad, angry, or anything negative when he’s around or even when I’m just thinking of him. I wanted to tell him that he truly is the most amazing person I have ever met and every day I look forward to learning more about him, seeing more with him, and thinking more of him.
…And time stood still that night. When he hugged me. And kissed my forehead. And told me I am remarkable in every way possible and that he can’t wait to fall in love with me.
**************************************
Sunday morning.
I awaken and feel as though the night before had never happened. That it was all a dream. And I am not as lucky as I think I am.
Just when I thought time would start back up where it left off, I check the time on my phone to see if it’s real. I have seventeen missed calls on my cell phone and two new voicemails. From two people. Completely unrelated to each other. No connection, they’ve never even met before.
I check the voicemails before I call anyone back.
“Dean, its Diane, Matt’s Mom. Call me right away at home.” I hear a click and was surprised that I didn’t hear a goodbye first.
Second message:
Sobs. Short fast breaths. “Dean? I need you. Please.” Another click. Another message without a goodbye. My heart drops, stops even. Time is moving slow.
I call Diane. Who informs me that Matt has been killed in fire. My friend. One of my very best guy friends. A house fire. With a few of his friends. While enjoying the last of the nice beach weather. And I wonder, did Father Time fall asleep again? Did he forget that we need time to heal? That time is the only thing that can help us? Is he purposely torturing me by making time stand still and forcing me to grieve with no end in sight?
I fall to my knees, unable to breathe, unable to fathom what was said, what I feel, and what to do next. I want to fall into a deep coma, and be alone, and cry to myself. I want to be left in a dark place, in silence, all alone. But I know that being alone with my thoughts will only eat away at me. And I have another call to make. To my friend, a friend who needs me, and I don’t yet know why. I want to be selfish, and be alone, and ignore that message, but I don’t know how. I have to be there for my friend. I don’t know what else to do.
“Dean. Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” He says, his voice shaking uncontrollably. He says that he can’t leave his house, because he can’t drive, because he can’t do anything. Not even breathe. And I know the feeling.
I arrive at his apartment to find him lying on his kitchen floor. His face is red, and bloated, and he has been crying for hours. But I’m sure it feels more like days, weeks even. He tells me that Carrie has died. My friend. My high school teammate. My college companion. My first roommate. His fiancée. The love of his life. His best friend.
I fall to my knees again. Time stops. And we hold each other. And cry. And I don’t say a word, because I don’t know what to say. I know nothing will make it better. Make anything better. I want to tell him she’s happy, but I know it won’t help. I want to tell him she didn’t suffer, but I know she did. And I want to tell him that there will be justice, but I have seen it before. And justice does not always follow through when a drunk driver hits an innocent woman head-on going the wrong way. Not even when she’s engaged to be married, and carrying a child for the past four and a half months, and on her way home from the job she hates but works at anyway to help pay the mortgage on the brand new house her fiancée built for her. She hates that job, doesn’t need to work at all, he insisted that she didn’t. She insisted that she did. That’s the way she was. “Nothing in life is free… Except for love. And I have that. Why be greedy about anything else?” She always said.
She quit her job finally. That was her last night. Her last night at work. Her last night on Earth.
He had gotten a second chance at love. His first wife gone. At 23 years old. Cancer. Tumors. Uncontrollable. Unstoppable. Caught too late. Left him to raise their little boy alone. Only eight months old. He never thought he’d love again. Not until he met Carrie. Who showed him that sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, and deserve it, and appreciate it enough, and are open to it, you get a second chance. They were having a little girl. To be named Isabel. After his first wife. Carrie thought it was perfect.
**************************************
Matt. Son. Brother. Grandson. Nephew. Cousin. Friend. Boyfriend. College student. 21 years old. Gone. So quickly.
Carrie. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Granddaughter. Niece. Cousin. Friend. Fiancée. Mother-To-Be. 24 years old. Gone. So quickly.
So I beg you, Father Time, to please wake up. Save me from this pain. Because I need you, Father Time, to keep time going, so I can keep going.
I was on the subway. The dreaded F train. I don’t know what it is about the F train, I just never really want to take it. Nevertheless, I was on the F and sitting across from a couple. Now, I know it’s not polite to stare, so I didn’t, even though I love to people watch. I glanced in their direction for what felt like the shortest second known to mankind.
Later I found myself walking through Union Square alone. I was utilizing my photographic memory and recalling just how that couple looked during that moment in time on the F train.
He had thin brown hair that was well past his shoulders. It was straight but somehow messy at the same time. He wore jeans that were tight and ripped in the knees with black Converse sneakers that I haven’t seen on anyone in years. His tee shirt was old, faded, and had the Live logo in the middle. He looked like someone who would listen to Live. Without standing up, I could tell that he was most likely a foot or more taller than she.
Her hair was black. It was pulled back into a messy bun with a few strands sticking out here and there with large waves in them. I could tell that her hair was long, but not much longer than his. The only make-up she wore was on her eyes and it was very dark and very heavy. But still, her brown eyes looked big and wide and taking everything in. Her eyes were young. Not like his.
Her top was tight, but not very revealing. She wore a short, black and red skirt that showed her black lace stockings leading down to where her black platform boots started, just under the knee. Her legs were draped over his lap and she was childishly tapping her right foot while gabbing on and on about the most recent cartoons she had seen.
He appeared to be about 20-25 years older than her. You could see it in his pale skin and the way that he smiled. She talked and talked while he played with the hair on the back of her neck. She thought he was listening. I know he was undressing her with his mind. Once in a while he would interrupt her with a kiss. She never minded.
She was happy. You could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about the future. About tomorrow. About ten years from now. What THEY would be doing. And where THEY would be living. She adored him and admired him, and her soul was bare and visible in that naïve face. She would smile wide and stare at his face. She was wondering what her family would think of him. And how she couldn’t wait for her friends to meet him. Their relationship was still new, but she was so excited. She was so in love. She hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, but I knew she was in love.
He was looking at her lips. And at her neck. And at her exposed thighs. He never looked her in the eye. He grinned. It was different than a smile. His grin was mischievous and alarming. He didn’t care what she had to say, he wasn’t listening to her anyway. In fact, he wished she would stop talking and start kissing him.
But he was thinking about the future too. He was thinking about what would happen when the subway stopped and they got off. He wondered what color her underwear was. And he thought about what the rest of the night would be like. He never thought about the next day, or the next week, or the next year. Not as she has. Only his immediate future thoughts involved her.
And I felt apologetic for her. She was blind to it all.
“I am drawn to you.” He said. His face was serious. He meant what he said. He kissed me. And it was wonderful.
But I laughed. “Drawn to me?” I thought. The idea of ANYONE being drawn to me was just down-right ridiculous I thought. After I let out a small giggle, he looked at me. “What?” He said while looking into my eyes so deeply, I thought for sure he was looking at a roadmap of my brain and reading my thoughts.
“Nothing.” I whispered while leaning in to steal a kiss. He made that face. The one I love. He has this half-smile smirk thing that I melt just thinking about. It says that he’s thinking something, oh how I wish I knew what that something was. After seeing that face, I had to steal just one more kiss.
We took trains from different directions to meet each other half-way and get some drinks and just enjoy each other’s company for a few hours; Mr. Unrealistic and I. After three bars, a few drinks, and more laughs than I can count, we walked and sat in the park. He put his arm around me and we discussed art, religion, politics, family, and an abundance of funny, childhood stories.
We walked and talked and drank and laughed for over eight hours. And it was time to head home. I let him leave first, because I knew it would be easier walking away after saying goodbye than it would be to leave him behind.
We kissed one last time. “I really had a great time. Please tell me I’ll see you soon?” Our faces were close and we were holding hands at our sides. He rested his forehead against mine.
“Yes” I whispered with closed eyes.
I smiled the whole way home.
Just the thought of him brings a smile to her face. Sometimes she swears she can smell him if she tries hard enough. And when it’s quiet enough, she can hear his laugh crystal clear.
They had met at a Halloween costume party and had instantly gotten along while discussing the details of their costumes and analyzing everyone elses’.
He never treated her right, but she misses him anyway. He had a temper, and sometimes she was the target. She was tough, pretended things were fine. She thought it was normal. She had not been hit as a child, or by any other man, but she thought she was in love.
When he tried really hard, he was romantic. He made her laugh and hugged her from behind when she least expected it. He knew that was her favorite. While he was a horrible boyfriend, he was a great friend. He really understood her, and she thought that’s what made it all worth it. He could read her like a book and she wished she could do the same for him.
He lied to her about other girls. He would kiss them and treat them great. She knew about it. But she always thought “It’s just sexual. Those girls mean nothing to him. He LOVES me.”
He lied to her. And she lied to herself.
She was a hypocrite. She did not want him living such a destructive life anymore, though she had no problem ruining her own. Much to her surprise, he agreed to slow down and then eventually stop. The summer went well. He was less angry, more importantly he was less angry with her. There were fewer girls. There were still girls, but a lesser amount of of them. Things were turning around, she thought. “He really does love me,” she thought.
That’s when she learned. Things were not as great as they seemed. There were additional girls, he just hid them better. His lifestyle was more harsh than before, she was just blind to it. She gave him the ultimatum.
“It’s me. Or it’s everything else.” At that moment in time, he wanted everything else. But he was thinking differently a week later. He was calling her and calling her. It took everything she had not to answer that phone. Finally, she couldn’t do it anymore. She answered the phone that morning.
“I want to see you. I’ve changed. I gave it all up. But to do it forever, I need your help. I want your help. And I want you to be around. Please meet with me tonight so we can talk about it.”
She agreed to meet with him. Even with everyone’s disapproval, including her own.
But he was lying again. He had not given up anything. For that night, while on his way home to get ready to meet with her, he had seen it harmless to blow some lines with a friend before driving. His judgment was gone. His perception has disappeared. His conscience had disintegrated.
He and his friend would be the last to see each other that fateful night. At excessive speeds, the car would flip numerous times killing its two passengers, their families’ hearts, their dreams, theirs souls, and their futures.
That was four years ago today. And I’m still sorry that he’s gone. And I still miss him. Even though he never treated me right.
My sister is getting married this New Year’s Eve. She is my only sister. I have two step-sisters, a sister-in-law, and a cousin who might as well be a sister. But no one compares to my TRUE sister. She is my best friend, my confidant, my conscience, my non-romantic soulmate.
We did not always get along. In fact, we hated each other. I never thought in a million years that we would ever be civil, let alone be as close as we are.
Our brother got married his past May. It was beautiful. But it was hard. My sister and I had a hard time for him. He was concerned about having a traditional wedding with all of the traditional things. Father/Daughter dance, cutting of the cake, throwing of the boucquet, etc. He was heart broken.
“Ever since I was a little kid, I always wondered what song I would choose to dance with mom to on my wedding day. It never occured to me that I would not dance with her. That she would not be here to dance with me.”
My sister and I cried for him many times before, during, and a few times after the wedding. I was so sad for him. He had always appeared to be so strong, but he was really sentimental and emotional and it ate at me to see him like that. I wanted to fix everything for him. But I knew I couldn’t.
And now it’s my sister’s turn. When it was time for my brother to get married, I did think of what it would be like when it’s my sister’s turn. And at the time, I thought to myself, that it wouldn’t be as hard for her as it was for him. I thought “Well, they don’t do a Mother/Daughter dance. And other than family photos, there’s almost nothing that the mother and daughter do together.”
Boy, was I wrong.
My sister, and I (the horrible maid of honor that I am) head out looking for bridal gowns. My sister does not like being the center of attention, so we went just the two of us. She felt more comfortable knowing it was just me there. We got there and my sister and I were looking around. Things were going really well. She had picked out a bunch that she wanted to try on and they had started a fitting for her.
After about a half hour of picking out dresses, it was time to start trying them on. When we arrived at the fitting room area, my sister stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around and stared at me. I knew that look. That was the look that told me that her heart stopped. That someone had ripped it out and stomped on it. And me, being her sister, needed to protect her. I needed to stand up for her, make her feel better, revive her.
There were six other brides-to-be trying on dresses. All were with their mothers. And it was more than my sister could bear. My heart broke for her. Because I knew, there was nothing I could to take the pain away.
We left without trying on any dresses.
That was the first time in a long time that I couldn’t protect her.
I let her down.
I quit smoking yesterday. I smoked my first cigarette at the age of eleven. And was smoking regularly at the age of twelve. So I have been smoking for over ten years. Does that make anyone else sick to their stomach other than myself?
I calculated some things and I have to say the results were quite disturbing.
* I have spent approximately $32,850.00 on cigarettes in my lifetime.
* I have smoked approximately 109,500 cigarettes in my life time (not including the second hand smoke I was inhaling since birth from three daily smokers living with me.)
* If it’s true what they say (you lose 7 minutes of your life with every cigarette you smoke) that means I have lost 766,500 minutes.
* In other words I lost 12,775 Hours of my life.
* In other words I lost 532.29 Days.
* That’s the same as saying I lost 1.46 years… MINIMUM!
And I have asthma.
And I’m alergic to cigarette smoke.
And lung cancer runs in my family.
Both sides.
So does Emphysema.
And throat cancer.
And yet, I’ve been smoking for over ten years.
I’m done.
It’s a waste.
And far too risky.
Especially for someone like me.
Someone who wants to live.
And enjoy life.
And travel.
And have a family.
See my kids grow up.
And see my grandkids grow up.
Any other smokers care to join in my new Smoke-Free lifestyle? I promise you won’t regret it.
I found this list, “50 Things She Wants You To Know” at the Men’s Journal website. (Also, you can find there, “50 Things He Wants You To Know”) and I thought it was interesting. But I did not agree with all of it. But then again, I wouldn’t consider myself a typical woman.
Agree? Disagree? Let me know!
So here is the list: (With my own commentaries underneath showing my point of view on the matter)
1. Saying “I love you” immediately before, during, or following sex doesn’t count.
True story.
2. Real men drive stick shift.
I wouldn’t say “real men” but I would say it’s definitely extra bonus points in the “sexy department”.
3. I will leave if you lie.
True!
4. You are cute in raglan-sleeved T-shirts (two-toned baseball undershirts).
True.
5. I’m convinced I’m pregnant and obsess about it for a minimum of 24 to 48 hours before my period, even when I have no rational reason to think so.
False!
6. I love it when you hug me from behind and whisper in my ear.
True.
7. “Fine” is never an appropriate response when I ask you how I look.
I almost never ask how I look, so this one does not apply to me.
8. Most of the time when I fantasize, it’s about you.
True.
9. I’m terrified of becoming my mother, even though I admire her.
False. I would love to become my mother.
10. I get turned on simply seeing that I have an e-mail from you.
True.
11. I expect you to call me.
Only when you say you’re going to call.
12. Only rock stars are allowed to wear leather pants.
TRUE! haha
13. I’m scared of losing my independence.
So very true.
14. I’m more forgiving of you than I really should be.
I wouldn’t necessarily say this statement was true.
15. Oral sex is your get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card. Manolo Blahnik shoes also do the trick.
False. To both the oral sex and the shoes. I couldn’t care less about shoes. I’m more about my Target $9.99 flip flops than anything.
16. You did something bad. I seem cool with it. I’m not. (See directly above.)
False.
17. If I’m not having sex with you, I’m… a. …having a fat day. b. …not feeling “connected” to you. c. …blackmailing you to get something I want.
False to all three.
18. Shoes determine whether you’re fashionable or not.
False.
19. I own a Debbie Gibson CD, and I’m not afraid to use it.
FALSE!
20. When I compare my flabby tummy to a kangaroo pouch, say nothing.
I would only doing that kidding around, and I couldn’t care less if you agree or not. Actually, I would prefer it if you joked around about it with me.
21. A man I love plans the occasional fancy-schmancy dress-up date and impromptu weekend getaways, and he buys my favorite candy in advance when we’re just going to the movies.
False, true, false. Not a fan of fancy dinners, love weekend getaways, and I’m not big on candy.
22. You look hot in hooded clothing items.
T-R-U-E! Wear them often. Please.
23. You should never tell me what to do.
True. Suggestions are good. Advice is nice. Don’t TELL me what to do.
24. If I slept over, you owe me breakfast.
False.
25. My breasts love much licking and sucking.
False.
26. If you ask me out directly, I will say yes.
False. Not always. But I would love it more if you just came out with it.
27. I’m very impressed when you ask for my advice.
True.
28. I’m unimpressed with a man who doesn’t take the lead.
True.
29. When in doubt, go with the shirt that matches your eye color.
TRUE!
30. I want to be Madonna.
Oh God! FALSE!
31. Women get urinary-tract infections easily, so watch (and wash) your fingers.
True.
32. I’m in heaven when you hold my hand.
True.
33. You’re sexy when you’re shaving, fixing things, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, driving, eating a peach, holding a baby.
True. (Although, I don’t really know about the peach. Then again, I’ve never watched a guy eat a peach. So maybe there is some truth there. I will have to keep my eyes peeled for that one.)
34. I need to hear how you feel about me. Often. Tell me now.
False. Showing me means so much more than telling me.
35. Surprises, especially gifts for moi = more loving.
False. No gifts please. Surprises are good sometimes.
36. I want to be the best thing that ever happened to you–and for you to recognize this.
True.
37. If I’m not feeling loved, I will start looking….
False.
38. Discussion of ex-girlfriend’s and ex-boyfriend’s should be avoided at all times.
False. You can learn a lot about your significant other by knowing what kind of person they’ve dated before and how/why the relationship ended.
39. I like it when you tell me what you’re thinking, even if you don’t know yourself.
True.
40. Celebrating our anniversary, even if it’s only been a few months, earns major bonus points.
False. I couldn’t care less.
41. I love it when you’re sweaty.
TRUE! (And I would like to add a “YUM!” in there too please.)
42. It’s best to consult your gal pals for gift ideas.
False.
43. A lady should always be greeted with kisses.
True.
44. I like porn.
Some, I suppose. But for the most part? It’s cheesy.
45. I love holding your bum in the palms of my hands.
True.
46. Even nice girls like hushed dirty talk in public.
True.
47. It’s cheating as soon as you’re doing something with her that you wouldn’t want me to see, hear, read…
True.
48. For the record: I’d rather you break up with me than cheat.
TRUE!
49. I remember everything about our relationship.
False.
50. You should know all this and more with-out my telling you.
False. You’re not a mind reader, and I don’t expect you to be.
I know this. And I’m sorry!
Things have been… Well… Hectic to say the least.
Work is crazy right now. (Which is odd, because this is typically the slow time of year for us.) I got a second job. An overnight job. Restocking a retail store while they’re closed. Sounds lame, right? Well, it kind of is. And the money is shit. But you know what? It’s nice to have something to do in the middle of the night when I would normally being walking, reading, painting, writing, and driving myself mad by overthinking every single thing that happens on a day-to-day basis.
So I work Monday through Friday from 9:00am-5:00pm at my “full-time” job. And then I work 10:00pm-6:00am four nights a week at my “other job”. Interesting huh? And when I’m not working, or not working, I am babysitting my handsome nephew, or shopping with my sister for wedding gowns, brides’ maid dresses, invitations, flowers, favors, place card holders, centerpieces, bands (the musical kind, not the jewelery kind), and everything else you can imagine that a bride would need for her wedding. Which, by the way is New Year’s Eve. THIS New Year’s Eve. Talk about cutting it down to the wire.
Great Guy Friend confessed his love for me this week. Also, MySpace Man calls me almost everyday. Not to mention CC Guy is still waiting for me to “settle down” with him, and him alone.
And here’s where I’m at…
Great Guy Friend and I should just be friends. It’s safe.
MySpace Man is so intriguing and interesting and I want to know everything I can about him.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I do have a crush on CC Guy, but we would never work as a couple.
When did things get so complicated?
“You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be miserable.”
“But, I’m not miserable.”
“Fine. Well, then you don’t have to be alone.”
He is smart. The kind of smart that makes me feel stupid. The first person to ever make me feel stupid. He can talk about nuclear physics, and debate me on politics, and discuss the importance of 17th century Greek statues. And sometimes I feel like he can read my mind.
He makes me laugh. He can tickle me until I have tears in my eyes, or tell me funny stories about things he did when he visited his Grandfather in Texas. He can tell jokes and improv and put on a show. He can mimic his family members and great comedians and leave me in stitches.
He can listen to me so well that I feel like he feels what I’m saying more than he can actually hear it. When he smiles, I know he means it. When he cries I know it’s because he wishes I didn’t have to. And when he laughs, he laughs with his whole soul. And I laugh with him. I love to laugh with him.
He paints beautiful artwork so effortlessly. He says it’s what he loves, but thinks he’s no good. He can paint a sky so perfect that if it were real, I would jump up into it wishing that I were moving in slow motion. He can paint a field so beautiful, that I can smell the grass and feel the breeze. And sometimes he can paint a woman so sad and so beautifully that I feel like I know her, I know her better than myself. And I know why she’s sad. And it makes me sad too.
That woman he paints is me. And it’s only when you look closely that you can see that I am sad in this painting. Because I am a modern day Mona Lisa for him. She smiles, and no one knows why. Because she’s not fully smiling.
In this painting I am smiling like her. Like Mona Lisa. But when you look into my eyes, you can see pain. And fear. And endless amounts of sadness. And he says this is what he sees whenever he sees me. Even when I am smiling. And even when I’m laughing. And I start to cry.
But these tears are happy ones. Because he understands why I am sad and I don’t have to force myself to say it. He knows that my heart is broken, and he tells me that his heart is broken too. But his is broken because he knows mine is. And he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.
He holds my hand in his, and puts his other hand around the back of my neck. We look each other in the eye, and for the first time in a long time, I knew that he was reading my mind.
“I love you.” He whispers with his forehead now resting on mine. And then he gave me the most passionate, loving, caring, and understanding kiss I have had in my entire life.
But he is not realistic.
