Faith

When she came into the room, she realized she was in hell.

Her mother was sitting in the middle of it. Broken.


Memory after memory was spewed all over the floor for both mother and daughter to see. Pictures of childhood. Pictures of high school. Grade School. Halloween. Christmas. Pictures of a baby girl naked in a bath tub. Pictures of the mother looking into her baby's eyes adoringly.


That life was gone. They both knew it.

She looked at her mother, with tears in her eyes, 'I'm sorry, Mom.'


Silence. The silent treatment was so common in this household.


'I learned my lesson, I won't do it again. I can't let myself do it again.'


Silencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilencesilence [neverending]


'Goddammit, Mom! I wish you could just hear me. I'm so so sorry. I just want to turn back time,' The daughter screamed.


Her mom went into the closet, grabbed some posterboard, and laid it next to the pictures. Never hearing her daughter. Never realizing she was standing next to her. Longing to be comforted. To be comforting. The mother went about her business creating posterboards of memories.


'This is probably the worst part of the funeral process...what pictures to place. Having to go through photographs when all you want to do is forget,' the mom thought, as she placed a prom picture in the middle.


Karen, mother of three, two boys and one girl. The girl, April, was the wild child, always getting into trouble. Karen gave up on April, decided to let her do what she wanted. She always said to herself, 'Abe will learn her lesson one day.' But this was not what Karen had in mind.


She had lost faith in her daughter, and on the day when April did not come home, Karen lost everything.

dangerous

I walk in with a chill down my back, even in the heat of the summer. People were everywhere, but I did not see any of them.

I walk up and see Joe. He began, 'What..'
I cut him off. 'The usual. And I do not want to hear it.'
He stared at me for a while, as I averted his eyes. I stared into the distance feeling his eyes all over my face. Trying to get a read on me. But he just sighed, 'Whatever you say, Kate.'

I sit down. And he puts the glass in front of me.
I look at it.
I knew this was dangerous.
I had been sober for exactly 6 months.
It was the longest 6 months of my life. And Joe knew exactly what I had been through. Part of me was kind of pissed that he let me through the door, but this was not his game to play. And he knew damn well of that too.

Vodka tonic.
My elixir.
Could I really let myself do this?

I close my eyes and imagine what would happen after this one drink:

I'd have one. Then another. Then another. And by the sixth, I would go back to my ex ask him to take me back. That I was wrong for leaving him, that I needed him as much as he needed me. And I'd stay with him for months, drinking as heavily as I had when I wasn't with him. He'd kick me out, probably. I'd run to my family who would stick to their, 'We told you we were done,' phrase. And I'd be back in rehab, going through withdrawals and therapy again.

I sighed. I took the glass and put it to my lips. I put it back down. I bring it back up.

Joe began walking over to me from the end of the bar, and I gave him a flash of the look my mother always called the 'Devil's Eyes'. He turned back around, knowing he was unwanted.

At that point, I looked at the bar. All the liquor, staring at me. Laughing at me. And I stare at myself in the mirror.This was too dangerous. And just not worth it.

I begin to leave and I hear Joe yell, 'Way to go Kate.'
I just say, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm sure I'll be back again one day..'

And that was true.. maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.
But one day.. there's a big chance I will play this game again..
And lose.

Writer's Block

This writer's block will be the death of me.
Hopefully, I can do some regroup and create something.

Me (A Letter): Fiction

Dear Mom and Dad,

I have to tell you about me. The whole me. No holds bar.
You won't like it.
You won't understand it.
But I can't control that. All I ask is that you love me, as your son.


As you know, my name is John Michael Donovan, and I'm gay.
A queer.
A fag.
A flaming homo.
Whatever you want to call it, I am that.

I've known probably since the fifth grade, and have wanted to tell you since... well, forever.
Mom, I know you can take this easier than Dad probably can. I've a feeling you've known for as long as I have (well, since you caught me singing along to your Bette Middler albums. A very gay cliche).

I tell you this now, because I'm in love. I will marry this man. Of course, not here. It's not allowed. Which is unfair. But this isn't a letter to shove my political views down your throat.. It's to let you know that your son loves his life. I really do. And I so desperately want you to be a part of it. A part of me.

I know you'll need time. I understand that. But please write me, email me, call me. Invite me over. We can talk about it. We can argue about it. We can beat around the bush, if you want.

I just want you to be my family. The Three Musketeers as we used to call each other. The only difference now is that I might be wearing pink (Joking Mom! I'd never steal your color).

I love you both, very, very much.
I hope you can accept this..and accept me. I will always be your son.

Love,
JM

PS. Mom- His name is Liam. I think you'd really like him.

life swap: a process.

When I step out of that bright light, is when the adventure has ended.

Because before those lights turn off and the crowd dissipates, I am a whole different human being. Some people say that for them, it's like bringing out there inner selves on stage. But for me, it's as if I have become a different creature. An entity of sorts. When I finally leave the stage, and say goodbye to the rest of the girls, I see myself in the mirror as a fantasy. As I begin the process of becoming myself, the beauty of it all disappears. I remove the eyes (contacts), remove the lashes (fake), erase the red (lipstick), taking away the tan (bronzer), and finally pulling off the wig.



I'm halfway there at this point.
I have to take off the dress and remove my breasts (latex). I untuck and therefore I am back to being the man I truly am.

But every Saturday night, I am lucky enough to swap lives with an extravagant bitch named Tess Tosterone.

I'm a drag queen, and I'm lucky enough to enjoy two lives at once.

recipe

"Tell me everything." He said to her.
Her eyes were swollen red. Her nails bitten down to a nub. 12 cigarettes were in the ashtray. The confining room began to feel smaller. She sighed and lit up another cigarette.
"Come on. Let's hear it."
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and began her story:

It began when he came home from work one day. Four weeks ago or so. He had been distant. He told me that he had been sleeping with his secretary. His fucking secretary. She was quite a few years younger than me which pissed me off. But it wasn't just that. He wasn't even attractive anymore. He had gained weight and lost hair. I, on the other hand, had kept my physique. After three fucking kids, I looked damned good for my age and he is the one having the affair. Him. I went upstairs and stayed in the room for hours. I didn't want to look him. I wanted to cry but the emotion was gone for some reason. I eventually came downstairs and started to work on dinner. He was in the living room, he looked at me with tears in his eyes, and began the "I'm sorry"'s and the "I love you"'s Bull shit. Bull shit. Bull shit. Kept repeating in my mind. But I listened and waited, patiently. I looked at him and just told him OK. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to respond to him. I just told him to sit down and eat dinner and we'll figure it out. The next day is when I started it. I went to the store and got what I needed. I never thought twice about it. I had to ask a guy at the place what exactly I needed.

The man interrupted her, "I need explicit detail. I need to know."
She nodded, put her cigarette out, and continued:

Sorry. So I asked him what kind of Rat Poison would be the most.. potent, I guess. He directed me to the aisle and I got it. You see my husband loved his iced tea. Every day after work he would have 2 or 3 glasses of my iced tea. But this time it would be my special recipe. I was nervous. I thought he might taste it. But I put a lot of lemon and sugar in it to disguise the taste. Every day for three weeks I would put little by little. My anger kept building. I even kept sleeping with him just to make him not suspicious. I was disgusted. Completely and utterly disgusted with him. I just kept hoping that he would get sick soon enough. And he did. Sick as a dog and when I heard him puking in the bathroom. I smiled. I laughed at the son of a bitch. I was on my laptop and I Heard him from upstairs mumbling and puking. And I just smirked as I was googling funeral rates. Sounds heartless right? Probably how you found out what I did. Fucking google. Technology, am I right? Anyway, so that's basically it. I took him to the hospital obviously and he died a few days later. I put on the tears. I was sad a little, for my children. I felt bad for them, losing their father like that. But my daughter knew how I felt. How angry I really was. Well, not really really. She didn't realize how crazy I went. Ha ha. But then I guess that's it.. You know the rest.

He got up from his seat. 'She's heartless,' he thought. He knocked on the window and two more officers came in. "Cheryl your under arrest for the murder of John Hannah. You have the right to remain silent.."
She didn't hear anything else. All she could think of was her special recipe and smiled.

courage

I've had a bit of writer's block lately ... so we shall see how this one pans out.
Prompt from http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com

He sat at our kitchen table.. stared blankly at me. I was waiting for a scream, a cry, words of hatred flowing out of his mouth. But all that came out was,
"What?"

I sighed and frowned. My emotion was going to get the best of me, but I had to stick to it. I couldn't just say, Haha Just kidding! I was waiting for more reaction from him, but he just looked at me and waited patiently.

To say the words once took some courage. But twice? I didn't want to have to repeat myself, he had heard me there was no doubt about that. How can I say it again? It just proved more and more that the marriage we had for the past 5 years was a lie. And I made it that way.
"Please don't make me repeat myself. This is hard enough for me to tell you."

He laughed. Like a maniac. Once of those horrific laughters where pain and anger and sadness are within. He looked at me and said, "Bitch. That's what you are. How could you? How could you have lied for the past 3 years? You're telling me our son isn't mine?"

I began to cry. Not for sympathy. I knew that what he was calling me was his own right and with merit. But it still hurt. Not because of him, but because I knew this moment would come. I would have to explain again and again that I just wasn't sure.

"I don't know if he's yours. That's what I'm telling you. I'm so sorry. But the only way we'll know is if there's a DNA test. The timing isn't adding up in my head and I just need to know. And so do you."

"Well no shit I need to know. But how is it that just now.. after his 5th birthday that the 'timing isn't adding up in your head'. Why didn't you think of that when he was born? Or when you got pregnant?"

I began to raise my voice without realizing it, "Don't you think I did? This may come as a surprise to you but I have not stopped thinking about it since the day I got a pregnant. It's a lot harder than you think to come up and tell someone that they slept around on them and oh by the way your son might not be your son afterall. Don't make me the evil one here, I know what I did was wrong and I put our son into the mix but don't act like you're all high and mighty. You're the one who has been sleeping around since the day I met you."

He laughed again. This laughter was pushing me more and more over the edge. This was exactly the reason why I needed to leave him years ago. This was exactly why I needed to be with someone else. To feel love that I never got from him. The marriage was a hoax anyway. In my family being pregnant meant getting married. And this did not, never will, sit well with me. But I did to not get disowned. And this was my life ... no love, just anger/hate.

I looked at him and said, "This is it. I don't care if he is yours or not. I am taking him and we are gone. This is the last straw. I did it. I told you. Now you know..and now I am going to go upstairs pack my stuff and get the hell away from you."

He got up after I said the words and came closer to me. He slapped me in the face and laughed again. "I don't think you're going anywhere. Just go upstairs and lay down and get some rest. We need to both calm down before any rash decisions are made."

I looked at him with anger, but did as I was told.. In my mind, I kept thinking, How am I going to pack without him being aware of it?