Caught Between

Lyrics:

Why does my heart long for you?
I don't understand why I love you,
but I do. Though I swear it isn't true
'cause I'm afraid it could be
forever, forever you and me.
You and me.

So I lie to you, leave me alone.
Just leave me alone,
but I'm crying out, I'm crying
please, please don't go.
But you go.

I bleed when you forget me.
I lash out from my pain
that I never show.
Just kiss me, I can forgive
your cigarette flavored lips.

But I lie to you, leave me alone.
Just leave me alone,
but I'm crying out, I'm crying
please, please don't go.
But you go.

Oh, if only you could be
what you say you want to be.

But you lie to me, make me believe
that you could be a better man for me.
But I see, oh how I see things so clearly,
though I don't want to.
I see you.

A Call Girl Called Stacy

As he rolled off of her bare body, she felt something she never had before: filth. Stacy, the name everyone in Chicago knew her as, had been selling her skills on the streets for quite some time now. Never once had she felt any shame or filth in the things she did to get by. She sadly enjoyed herself, as pleasing these desperate men guaranteed money in her bra and cocaine up her nose.

“How much did you say?” the man grumbled with satisfaction and a hint of guilt in his voice while she pulled her skirt back down.

“A dime and 200,” she replied dryly. He glanced with a look of confusion. When he met her, she had spoken sweetly and pulled him in with the seduction in her voice. His needs had been met though, and the aftermath was not of concern to him; she could speak as dryly as she pleased. He pulled the dime of coke from his pocket and the two hundreds from his wallet.  After he pulled his coat over his broad shoulders and put his hat back over his dark brown, curly hair, he walked his short and chubby figure out the door to, in the eyes of Stacy, hopefully never be seen again.

She stayed in the hotel room for several moments after he left. She drenched herself with cheap perfume to rid the stench he had left on her skin, though to her it felt as though it had sunk in much deeper. It was a stench she could not eliminate and it reeked in her bones. She looked around the place as if this room was a reflection of her life realizing it was; the sheets messy with disgrace, the static of a TV show playing in the background, the coke in her palm, the odor of her perfume mixed with the scent of an unclean man. She quickly formed a line on the bedside table to escape. She laid back into the bed to let the high sink in.

                 An hour later, close to midnight, Stacy walked home passing by her corner at Pop’s Italian Beef Restaurant. She unlocked the door to her studio apartment where her mattress lay on the floor and her fridge was once again empty. She pulled her heeled boots off slowly and turned the T.V. on. After snorting a couple of lines the stench of that chubby man filled her nose. She felt queasy and quickly leaned over the side of her bed to throw up on the floor, but nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten in days.  She pulled herself into the bathroom, propping herself up over the sink. She lifted her raccoon eyes to meet herself in the mirror. She looked weaker than she had felt. Her face was dull and her cheeks sunken in as close to her teeth as possible. Her natural, dark-colored hair presented itself along the roots, though the rest was dead with blonde coloring. Her nose dribbled blood slowly over her dry, colorless lips.

                Grabbing toilette paper to clean up her nose, she headed back to her bed. As she lay down, her mind began to race. Flashbacks of her childhood mixed with scenes of her current life. Images of her mother’s bleeding face after yet another one of her drunken father’s beatings, or moments of dirty men grabbing at her privates after having paid a fee to own her clogged her consciousness. Half-mindedly, she decided she wanted better. Before she could think a clear thought, she found herself passed out still partially clothed.

                When Stacy woke the next morning, she awoke with a pounding headache and severe cramps. Looks like I’m out of business for a few days, she thought to herself. She opened the refrigerator looking for something to chug her Tylenol down with, but only found a cold beer. She grabbed it and sighed while she twisted the top off. Returning to her bed, she sat in silence, going back to the thoughts she never finished the night before. She searched around the room as if her answer could be found in the cracks on the walls or the spots where dirt hid between the floorboards. Her eyes found only her bag of cocaine. She concentrated on it for a long moment, for the first time thinking about what to do with it. There were roughly two lines left, and she had no money to purchase more. Her rent was due a week ago and even with the two-hundred she made the night before, she still didn’t have the funds to keep the run-down place she occupied. She felt that stench seep into her nostrils once again, and she knew she couldn’t continue this way. It was now a choice of life or death.  With the next few days now being open she took the opportunity she had been refusing for years; to help get herself cleaned up.

                Looking through her closet, she realized she owned nothing professional in any area of work besides prostitution. She did the best she could to make herself presentable and began the search for job openings. Since she didn’t have a car she rode the bus all over the city, stopping at each diner and pub she could find. She figured serving people would be easiest for her, since she had been doing it in a sense for so long. When she walked into the fifth diner of the day, Lou’s Diner, she felt she had finally succeeded. They were hiring and set her up with an interview for a couple days later. Thrilled with a possibility of change, she went to the nearest clothing store to buy some waitress attire. She figured since she couldn’t pay the rent either way, she might as well invest in her new job. Returning home, she snorted up the last of her dime, knowing this was the last of it for good. 

                The next morning she awoke to the sun in her eyes. It was nearly twelve when she rolled herself out of bed. Today was going to be a big day for the newfound Samantha. No longer would she be calling herself Stacy, no longer would she sell herself, and no longer would she do cocaine.

                She walked slowly up to the house just outside of Chicago. It was a half-way house, but everyone knew it as Marg’s Place. Marg was the lady who ran the house and helped those fighting addiction. When Samantha knocked on the door she was greeted by a warm face partially covered by red, curly locks.

                “Hi, I’m Samantha Burt. I called you earlier this afternoon,” Samantha said shyly.

“Yes, yes! Come in, Samantha. It’s so nice to meet you!” Marg replied with glee. They walked in to the small living room with green walls and a brown sofa.  “Would you like some tea?” Marg politely asked.

“Oh, thank you, but I think I’m all set. Maybe just a glass of water would do,” she nervously answered. After Marg returned to the room with Samantha’s glass of water and tea for herself, they spoke for a long while about Samantha’s big step of moving in. Samantha and Marg agreed that it would be best to do it as soon as possible, and with her being free after her interview in the morning the next day, she would move in then.  It was nearly 7pm when Samantha left the house. She was filled with joy. Luckily, a bus was running close to her apartment at 7:20pm. She hopped the bus and journeyed home, ready to begin her packing for the next day’s move.

She stepped off the bus into the chilling wind and began her five block walk to her apartment. It was just after 8pm, but the sky had already darkened. The streets seemed slightly quieter tonight than they usually were, but this could have been due to it being a Thursday evening. Pop’s Italian Beef was on her walk home and she dreaded walking by her corner. She continued briskly by the window hoping to not be seen. As soon as she got to the alley just beside it, a man stopped her.  He was short and chubby with brown, curly hair. She recognized him from a few nights ago. He was the man whose stench she could not rid; the man who changed her life.

“Can I get another round?” he said, obviously remembering who she was. He grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“No, I’m not doing that no more. Sorry buddy,” Samantha said firmly trying to pull her arm out of his grip. He held on tighter and had an intense look in his eyes. She felt a bit of fear rise in her.

“Well, I don’t care. I had you once, Imma have you again,” he slurred as began forcing his mouth onto hers. She fought back but she was weak and he was drunkenly strong. With force, he pulled her into the alley beside Pop’s. 

Mending Shades

                I view through large, open windows the hectic world continuing on its diligent course. In here, this place in which I rest and mindfully observe, it is quiet.  Empty tables where people should reside sit lonely around me. The smell of cooked meat and fresh cut vegetables fills my nostrils as I breathe in deeply. The walls hold few paintings and are a hideous orange. The carpet shows areas well-traveled and where people lost their manners and left pieces of lettuce to rot upon the floor. My plum scarf heats my sorrowed heart as a breeze drifts through the bell singing door. Slowly, this place begins to transform.

The walls paint mountains and trees onto themselves, and oddly, I can smell their sweet scent. Puzzles unfinished make up the tiles beneath me, creating unexplainable images. The tables stay empty, longing for company. Heart shaped flowers spring delicately from each table top but droop when I look away, as if I have not given them enough mind or attention; the open windows distract me. I draw the shades, casting shadows into this visionary room while flickers of light break through.

A gentle tune of flutes plays lightly in the background. I can hear my heart beat half-heartedly in my chest and faint sounds of the happenings outside. A bird flies by with a destination in mind. Many cars speed and pass each other, hoping to cut minutes from their travel. Though, I am here, as if in another world where time is not defined but rather left outside. Only the measure of breaths I take guide me in understanding the world exterior to me.

These pieces scattered about, these heavy flowers, I question. Where are the missing pieces? Why do these flowers droop so sadly when I do not contemplate them?  I explore more deeply, letting myself out of my sound grip holding me in the moment; an epiphany begins to arise.

New windows appear on the far wall. I look out them and see myself placed in the middle of that hectic world. I see myself continually pass by my ill-colored heart but embracing my mind close, looking as if I’ll never let go. Puzzle pieces disperse beneath my feet as I hurry forward. I step back from my realization to let it sink in, to better understand how I let myself fall apart. I glance at those flowers again and see a fully healed heart emerge from its center. In my palm, puzzle pieces grow from nothing, but fit my unfinished foundation. I return them to their destined place and place my blooming heart in my hand, pressing it against my chest. It sinks into me, beating beautifully.

Weaving Through Time Slots: A Mind Never Lost

The floor smells of rotting leaves, soft soil, and bits of blood. Shards of the dead leaves stick to the fresh cuts across his face. Around him is a blur. Colors of green, brown, and slivers of grey smudge together. A slight sight of blue emerges in the background. “That must be the sky,” Tristen Wolfton thought to himself. Laughter echoes in the distance while the sounds of birds’ wings send pings of pain throughout his head. As he slowly props himself up, all around goes black. He holds on for the moment until his blurred vision returns. It becomes clearer as he sits against the giant oak. A large rock, almost a boulder, sits bloody to his right.  Leaves and broken sticks lay beneath him, some still sticking to his wet face. His blood drips to the ground, from both his head and the rock.

He touches his face and forehead to feel how bad the wound is. It feels as if his head has been split wide open. He can fit the tip of his pinkie between the two flaps of skin. From this thought, he becomes light headed. He is unsure what has happened, why he is here, what he was doing. He shuts his eyes for a moment, but dizziness takes over, so he reopens them quickly. He turns his head slightly to the left at the blur of a squirrel scurrying by. Finally, he sees something to jog his memory; the outline of a bike, his bike to be exact.  “Am I on Rocky Curb?” He thinks to himself, trying to figure out his location. He faintly remembers leaving his house; his wife, Christy, left in a pool of anger as he headed towards the trails to let off some steam. He felt the dampness beneath him, slowly remembering the difficulty of the trails this afternoon.

He tries to move towards his bent and broken bike but slips down the small slope beside him. Once he catches his footing he rises to his wobbly legs. He steps slowly to his bike to examine the damage. It is ruined. He delicately falls beside it, letting himself rest.

The leaves begin to sway strongly in the trees as the wind starts to pick up. The air smells of coming rain and sounds of thunder stir in the distance. His unsteadiness will not disperse so walking home is hardly an option. He suddenly hears the crunching of leaves beneath a foot and realizes the sound is coming closer. His body becomes tense with worry that grows with his knowledge that there are bears and wolves on this mountain. He keeps his eyes peeled towards the noise, ready to put up whatever battle he can, given his condition. A figure appears from behind the blur of many trees, though he is still uncertain what is approaching him.

“Tristen? Oh, my God. Are you okay?” a voice finally speaks. It is a familiar voice; his good friend Ron. He can see another figure approaching and realizes he was biking with his two riding buddies, Ron and Alden. Memories slowly come back to him about the path. It was difficult to ride today due to the hurricane that just passed through.

“Yeah, I… I don’t know. My bike… my head… is cut,” Tristen tried to spit some words out.

“Just sit back. You’re bleeding pretty bad, man. We’re gonna have to call the ambulance. Did you bring your cell, Ron?” Alden asked in a tone covered by concern. Ron searched his pockets and pulled out his cell phone. Alden took his over shirt off to wrap around Tristen’s head and hopefully slow the bleeding. Ron called the ambulance while Alden attempted to patch Tristen up. Tristen, loosing lots of blood, was feeling slightly delusional. The words they spoke around him began to slur into nothing that made sense. Trees looked as if they were falling towards the ground and the sky became black. He looked towards the mid-day sky and saw the moon, full and orange. A lightning storm formed around it, as if it was happening outside of the Earth and in the atmosphere surrounding the moon. “What the…? What is going on?” he questioned as he closed his eyes and felt his head fall back into Alden’s hand.

“Tristen… Tris…”

He delayed moving from his bed, looking at the unfamiliar walls. His wife’s arm was wrapped around him. “Where did all our pictures go?” he puzzled. He scratched his head and felt a large bandage wrapping fully around his skull. He thought the accident had been a dream, but when he looked at his hand still covered in blood, he knew it was real. Sitting up too quickly, he blacked out while a vision of the blood covered rock flashed through his mind.

He walked down the hallway that used to be covered in family pictures, but now was bare. Once in the bathroom, he looked in the mirror to see a mangled face. His heart stopped for a moment as he observed the stranger in the mirror. He had a five o’clock shadow, which never happened for him. He was always clean shaven for his teaching job at the local high school. One of his eyes was now brown, rather than blue. His cheekbone was swollen and looked as if he had a tumor growing there. As he looked in shock, his wife came up behind him. Her hands were weathered, not the hands he once knew. She wrapped them around his torso saying, “I’m loving this new look, hunny. I’ve never really seen you with facial hair before. Let’s go back to bed. Adam is still sleeping you know,” she hinted kissing behind his ear. He was in no state to mess around, though. As he was about to deny her, he was saved by the cry of their young son, Adam. They both sighed and she walked out the door to attend to the baby.

“I’ve never heard him cry that way before. Everything feels so strange. What day is it?” he thought to himself, feeling confused, as he walked towards the kitchen. A white board hung on the fridge with the duties for the day, given the date. It was July 21^st. He looked in disbelief. He couldn’t remember the last week. He sat down as the blackness returned to him as whispers flooded his escaping mind.

Happy birthday, honey. Another…

Dad, can you hear me? Dad, I...

Several weeks had passed while his wounds healed. He still suffered some blackouts but it was getting better. The day was filled with sunshine and a cool breeze, perfect for a bike ride. He had rode a few times with his new bike on level ground but was feeling an itch for the mountain once more. He set out for Rocky Curb again, with Ron and Alden joining to make sure nothing happened.

He rode carefully down the slopes and over the roots of tall trees. When he came to the corner where he had spilled last time he slowed right down to a stop. Not because he was scarred but because he wanted to observe the area. He still did not remember how it all happened, just the things he saw after the accident. He walked to the rock which was still stained slightly red. A chill shot down his spine as he noticed a bright white light between the oak and the rock. Ron came walking up behind him, making sure everything was okay.

“Man, that was really scary. Luckily it was just a little concussion though, right?” he said as he shoved his elbow to Tristen’s, trying to make a bit of a joke. Tristen smiled.

“Do you see that light there? Next to the rock.” he asked with a slight worry in his voice. He had been seeing strange things lately that others weren’t. He hoped this wasn’t one of them. He was sick of looking crazy to his family and friends.

“What light? You mean the sun rays touching there?” Ron replied as Alden came walking up to them.

“Examining the scene, huh?” Alden interrupted before Tristen could agree it was just sun rays, though that was not at all what he was seeing.

“Yeah, I just wanted to see the spot. It was kinda blurry last time I was here,” Tristen said with a chuckle. It was easier to make a joke out of the situation that happened.

After finishing the ride, Tristen felt rejuvenated, but couldn’t stop thinking about that white light. “Have I lost all sanity? “  he questioned. He couldn’t make sense of the things he’d heard or seen. He knows better than to really believe his dog, Bob, could speak to him or that there were lightning storms in his room and circling the moon that never left the sky. He felt the answers may lie within that light. The image of that light swelling from beneath the rock blanked out his vision as he heard loud ringing and voices.

“Tristen, can you hear me? Come back to me, hunny. Come ba…”

Tristen was walking alone up Rocky’s Ledge when he realized he had no recollection of getting there. He was almost to the white light by the rock though, and he knew he wanted to examine the area. Once he approached it, it looked as though it had gotten bigger.  He set down his backpack and kneeled in front of the white hole. It was so bright it was hard to look into, but he couldn’t look away. He shifted his head slightly, trying to reduce his blindness as he proceeded to put his hand through the hole. He shoved his whole arm, up to his shoulder, down the white light’s throat, but felt no end. He pulled back, confused.

“What could this possibly be? I don’t know that I dare look inside. I wouldn’t be able to see anyways. I don’t think… maybe I have to look in. Maybe I will understand,” he thought, trying to talk himself into proceeding into the unknown. He cautiously stuck his head straight into the white light, leaning forward trying to peer down into its depths. He opened his eyes to see a blur of lights, ceiling lights; the long ones that hang in schools and hospitals. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision as he heard a familiar voice.

“Tristen!? Oh my God, Tristen, hunny? He opened his eyes! Call the nur…” the voice blurred out. He pulled his head up quickly, unsure of what he just saw and heard. He looked around the forest. No one was in sight. “What do I do? What do I do?”  he repeated to himself. He had no explanation, only curiosity. He wanted to jump right into the light, discover what was in there, who was calling his name. He thought for a moment, trying to reason the possibilities, weigh out the risks and benefits. “I need to understand. I can’t keep living this way. I have to,” he started to tell himself. He looked into the light with fear filling his dark brown eyes, and dove.