Morning Companions

Jackson's eyes snapped open; she heard Routine rustling beside her, a clear indication she was about to be herded to the shower. Her detached body began the climb from the bed and the cool walk to the bathroom. The radio buzzed behind her with the same volume it did every morning. Routine bustled around her freeing her from the need to think about reaching for the hair dryer; he erased the need to really see the table she skirted on the way into the kitchen. Routine ensured the eggs were made, her gym bag was a packed, and her wallet and cell phone were in the proper purse. She was eternally grateful every day at lunch that he oversaw to her nutritional needs.

Routine efficiently ran the the mornings in their house. Jackson willingly allowed him control and disappeared into the background. Routine worked in silence and she smiled at his focus. Even so, Jackson thought she heard sounds echoing through her head. Routine familiar rhythm rocked her body and Jackson began to listen to the sounds else in a daze.
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"He makes eggs every morning. This morning they seem to be a bit fluffier. I wonder how that happened."
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"I think I'd like to find a gentle man. I wonder if that would work..."
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"It's Friday. That means it's movie night. Hope the movie's good."

These sounds didn't even come through as conversation to Jackson. She felt they were on the other side of the side of her cocoon. Perhaps this other person was talking to Routine to keep him company. She certainly wasn't much of a companion in the morning and didn't want to intrude on the conversation.

"I wonder which bus will show up first today. Maybe I should put on my headphones instead of read."
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"We don't normally stop here. Oh...it looks like the "Hey Lady" didn't get on today. Hope she's alright."
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"His skin looks like he uses lotion. Wonder if he does lotion his elbows. I think that might be odd for a man but who am I to say. His hair cut is perfect – every hair in place. Too cute and a bit scary."

Jackson was stunned. The sounds started to pound past her, one right after another – never giving her space to hear the silence. She wondered if it bother Routine but he seemed unphased, continuing his methodical plod into the new day. The conversation's pace increased until there seemed to be no space to draw a breath.

"She looks like she' really running hard when she runs. Her form makes her look like she's not in control of her own body."......."I love living in an active town."........"I mean, really. It's 7:30am – it's not so hot that you need to be only dressed in shorts. But you do look prettier when you run that way.".........."They're in full army gear with backpacks and running the other way. Wonder if that means anything. Wonder if the guys in the shorts would feel inferior if they had to run past the army guys."

Routine resolutely plodded with her, keeping her company as she walked across the campus and headed inside the building. Everyday, she felt him leaving her side about the time she stepped inside and pressed the button of the elevator. He usually just wanted to see her safely to work. As his presence slipped further and further away, the sounds she heard faded with him.


"Why is there something in my mailbox – who in the world leaves things in my mailbox between 5pm and 7am!"
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"Wonder will Jackie come up to say hello today."
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"Coffee sounds like an excellent idea........"
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Silence.

Locked in

I stare calmly out the window and watch the city slide by the bus window. My headphones in my hears but the device attached to them is silent. I sit and listen with a placid face.

Inside the cage of my chest, I feel it, scraching relentlessly to break through. Screeching in an unknown language – there are no words that conveys their meaning, yet I understand each piercing sounds. I control the flinch threatening to cross my face.

The creature beats itself against the walls, bouncing off of them in a fury that threatens to shake my entire being and I feel my muscles clench into stone in order to contain the violence. Frustration screams from the creature in the form of vibrations and furious shaking. I can tell it wants free.

Would be claws would rip my throat out and my breathing becomes shallow in a concentrated effort to give it as little room to move as possible. Maybe if it's constricted, it will stop thrashing and quiet down. But my reasoning fails. It becomes more animated in it's need to lash out and hit. I become more resolute to quiet it.

I long to give it control - to let its words become mine – to give it command over my fists. I long to throw the hissy fit that is raging inside of me. At times I believe that if I could just let it free, it would fly from my body and leave me alone, calm and once again at peace. But I know that this is an illusion, a dangerous plot the creature whispers inside my head at a volume that seems deafening.

I will have to wait it out. The reasoning tone will seep into my thoughts and over the course of the days, I will talk my creature into a state of calm. It will once again become part of my soul and we'll sleep together through the night, comforting each other.

Until then, the battle will be exhausting.

The bus stops and I gather my things to my shoulder. Stepping to the door, I drop the headphones from my ears and cheerfully thank the driver – the same as any other day. The walk to the apartment is as slow and deliberate as any other day. My creature is visible to no one but me. Somehow that comforts both of us.

Black Silk

Finally, it was time to indulge in the most decadent thing she’d ever worn.  She tried to give this to herself once a year.  Once a year she wore nothing but black silk.

Earlier in the day, she had stripped her sun dress over her head, dropped it to the sand next to her bag and froze in pleasure.  Her firm belief had become firmer.  Yes, the first time in the year that the sun and wind caresses every inch of skin you can possibly give to it is one of the sweetest moments of each year.  She had pulled the sensations of the warm sand up through her feet and concentrated on spreading that through her limbs.  Then she had set off for the water. 

She started stripping slowly in preparation for this moment of the year.  First came her forearms and a bit of ankle between her shoe and pant leg.  For a couple weeks, that’s all that she could expose to the cooler air.  But she was so eager for the touch of the sun she indulged the small spots that could handle the weather.

 Gradually the creeping months peeled back her sleeves, revealing the elbows and continuing the slide upwards to her shoulder.  Her pants became lighter and shorter.  She felt less weight pressing her down as the days went on and there was a feeling of giddiness descending around her.  She now had slightly tanned arms and her legs loved the heat of the sun.

As the sun grew hotter, she traded tennis shoes for toenail polish and flip flops.  Straight heavy skirts were cheerfully abandoned for light summer dresses that let air flow through her outfits.  Then the summer dresses came off leaving a bikini. 

Then she traded the bikini for black silk.  Tonight.

She sunk into the water and watched the sky turn darker and darker.  Eventually the entire world wore black and she felt in suspended in it.  She laughed at the moon and pulled herself into a ball.  Flipping, she drove herself down, further into the core.  She could feel blackness slide along her body and she turned, rising towards the surface.   The night air was cool on her face but she could still feel the blackness on her face.  The separation between the two surfaces was less defined here.  She was less defined here.

She lingered as long as she dared and then, drawing in a breath and smoothing her hair back from her forehead, she headed towards the beach.  She started the slow process of dressing again. 

First the bikini and then a sundress….

Pancake Layers

Standing on the back porch, I heard the door behind me slam shut and felt my sister come up beside me.  I held a red-headed doll in a fancy dress in my hands.  It was brand new and for my birthday. She admired it for a while and I could feel her wanting to hold it.  Then she asked me if she if she could hold it.  I didn’t want her to!  It was my birthday and this was my doll.  But then I remembered - since it was my birthday I could do anything I wanted.  I said sure and handed it to her. Then I bite her.  Then I got a spanking – on my birthday.

Getting my own jar of peanut butter, one I didn’t have to share, always made me excited.  Jumping down off the bus and running inside was always so much more exciting when you knew that you could scoop up creamy peanut butter and lick it from the spoon.  The jar would last as long or as little as you could stand.  You didn’t have to share unless you wanted to be nice.  The thick butter would stay on the spoon and you'd insert the whole spoonful into your mouth.  Then you withdraw int slowly, skimming the first layer off and feeling it change shapes in your mouth.  One spoon could last a very long time if it was eaten right.

The red dishes were being laid out on the table cloth when I got home.  I had been looking forward to this all day.  Mom had made ravioli special – just because it was my birthday and that’s what I wanted to eat.  There would be a salad and Cherries in the Snow later for dessert.  I felt a thrill watching the fancy dishes, deep cherry cut glass red, sparkling as they were being placed on the table.  The light seemed to dance in time with my tummy.  All this just for me because today I was special.

I got a doll that was the size of real baby, just the thing I had been really really wanting. My neighbor had a baby doll that was the exact size of a real baby and I wanted my own life size doll.  Those small dumbed-down versions weren’t for real girls.  I got her and carried her around, pretending she was real.  My sister made her a couple dresses that had her name on them and she became a real comfort to me.  Her body continued to fit mine as I grew and she remained a child.  I talked to her in college and cried on her shoulder when I got a divorce. 

The wrapping paper came off and there it was.  There was a soft leather bound, blue bible.  My name was printed in gold letters just like I’d seen on other bibles at church.  The sides were gold and the corners of the pages rounded, allowing my fingers to slide over them gracefully.  There is nothing more perfect than a book that lays just perfectly in your hands, whose pages stroke your fingers back with the same softness you stroke them with.  Years later that book sported more highlight colors and pen marks than I would have imagined possible.

The box did indeed hold the alarm clock that was advertised on the outside of the box.  I guess I was old enough to get myself up now.  The small radio alarm clock would snooze for 9 minutes and then wake me up again.  The pattern is ingrained in my sleep patterns now.  In high school, it woke me with classic rock and John Boy and Billy.  In college, it spat me out of bed with a annoyingly pitched alarm that bleated instantly at my head.  During its last days, 15 years later, it edged me awake and out into the world with NPR voices.  

Tossing the towel over the rack, I reach for the hairdryer and freeze.  Cocking my head to one side, I concentrate certain that I’m hearing things.  Who would be calling me this early in the morning on a work day?  Picking it up, my heart starts beating just a bit quicker – it’s my parents – I wonder what’s wrong.  “Happy Birthday” mom says cheerfully.  “OH!  Thank you!”  The worry dissipates and I smile.  I had forgotten I was a year older today – leave it up to a mom to let me know there’s one more year passed in my life.  I leave the house that day with a smile.

Soon, there will be another layer in my stack of birthday pancakes.  They aren’t all steamy and delicious, or soaked in comforting butter.  But the layers that arrived cold have been warmed over the years.  The butter and syrup have soaked in delicious spots and I take a bite and savor each layer.  So many different, complicated flavors, simple flavors -  spicy, sweet and bitter.  Most importantly, they all blend together to make something delicious – my life.

Ink

I stare at the character - wondering if this is the correct thing to do.  Asking it to exist forever in my skin seems like a big step.  Would the two of us get along as we both aged?  Were we compatible enough to coexist in the same body.  Was I sure I wanted to explain it over and over again?

The bite of the needle keeps me focused, unforgiving in it's insistence that you pay attention; the buzz keeps my nerves jangling.  The sudden stillness of the air shocks me; the artist pauses long enough to gather more ink, wipe the blood from my hip and grease the needle. The soft sting of my raw skin comforts me and I feel an immediate relaxation through every single muscle.  Then, I feel his hand touch my hip, the buzzing starts up again - bringing my nerves with it, and I tense immediately, preparing for the return of the bite.

When it's over, I stand up - feeling slightly smug and a tad victorious.  I've got a new badge - a new addition to my body.  There, on my hip, is a new piece of jewelry - but one that won't snag on my cloths or break when accidentally jerked.  I don't have to worry about it ever matching my outfit or display it for others.  I'm content to know it's just there - decorating my skin, dancing when I move.

For me, tattooing about making a concept a living part of you.  It's about taking a thought into yourself so deeply with it that you can no longer feel the difference between you and it - so that it moves when you moves, grows as you grow and changes as you change.  The concept has now changed you visibly as much as it has changed your soul.

Strings

I sat, staring at the table, swinging a leg, hoping that the meeting wouldn’t turn into the time waste that they always seemed to be.  Trying to think of ways to make the most of my time, I started making a mental grocery list.  Of course, I had forgotten that one actually had to have a menu in order to plan a list of groceries, so I sighed, shifting both in my seat and in my head.

The other people in our small group filled the conference table one by one, dripping in from the rain to puddle in their seats with the blank look of people attending a meeting that they neither understand the need for nor feel the desire to be at.  Behind every chair stood the invisible boss that had ordered us to trudge through the rain.

The corner of my eye caught a silver haired lady walking into the room, capturing everyone’s attention.  She was a stranger to our weekly group staring session but she seemed to think she belonged in our group.  Pulling out a large black folder, she established herself as the answer to all the questions we’d developed over the last month.  The sheet of paper she carefully laid in front of her was an exact copy of the one in front of me, only hers had answers following each question mark.  I shifted again, preparing to be enthralled or to at least give the impression that I cared about what would be said today.

She began to speak and suddenly my attention snapped into place.  Here was a person who seemed to be made entirely from a human salvage yard.  Her entire body seemed to function independently from each other, as if the parts had not yet learned how to work together.  Each motion, breath, word seemed to come through as a string of unrelated events and I watched in a kind of stupefied fascination.

She moved her hands as if they were perhaps controlled by a distant remote control.  Someone was playing a joystick somewhere, trying desperately to get the hands to create a complicated cat’s cradle.  Or maybe the game was based on a grandmother knitting and the grandmother had managed to tangle her hands in an inescapable trap.  Either way, her pink tipped fingers seemed to be still functioning under the command of their previous owner and rebelled against any pleads her brain may have been making to help her supplement the points she was making to the table around her. 

Her facial expressions had little effect at emphasizing any points that came from her mouth.  Her cheeks seemed to work on a random pulley system that jerked them upwards towards her forehead at unpredictable times.  During the middle of points, where a smile was not needed, a joker like look suddenly sprung into place and her lips yanked upwards without any consideration for the words she was trying to form.  The entire time this stranger’s face continued to scroll through a random selection of expressions, much as a screensaver sifts and displays pictures.  The lips always arrived into position slightly behind the eyes or the cheeks slightly ahead of the rest of the face.  Miraculously, nothing ever seemed to work in harmony with each other as if each muscle was warring to take the lead in the expression that was rising to the face.

I began feeling as if I were watching a dubbed movie; not only did the facial expressions seem to be out of time but the speech seemed off to.  Unbelievably, her lips seemed to be forming words vastly different than the ones that were landing on my ears; perhaps this was a ventriloquist act gone horribly wrong. 

Overwhelmed by the strange symphony in front of me, I watched, mesmerized by this strange interaction in front of me.  I couldn’t look away from her.  Even her breath seemed to run independently of her control.  Her chest jerked slightly or her shoulders twitched upwards, all in an uncoordinated attempt to allow the lungs to expand.  Without concern for the rhythm of her speech, air seemed to bubble up at odd times, something she seemed blissfully unaware of.

I sat back, stunned, a trapped witness to this oddity dancing before me.

The meeting ended with little accomplished, just as every previous meeting. But as I gathered my papers into my folder, I felt transported.  My short walk back to the office slid past me unnoticed as I tried to replay what I had just seen.  Back at the building, I entered the elevator, blinked, and convinced myself it had been a really odd dream.

Meet Giddy Freedom

The hand of Giddy Freedom pushed me forward; I stumbled just a little and laughed out loud.  She’d snuck up on me and started pulling me towards a walk as soon as I stepped out of the building.  Her offer was incredibly tempting, especially when I weighed it against the dark dungeon of the gym and the never ending run of the treadmill.  She had beckoned so seductively that I tucked my head and headed towards her, suddenly intent on playing hooky.

Giddy had led the way through the campus and headed across the quad.  The sun brought out short summer dresses and white legs.  The campus was covered colorful dress splayed against brilliant spring grass.  She and I ambled, bumping into each other; energetic electrons bouncing off each other and working ourselves into frenzy.  We giggled like embarrassed curious school kids when we saw a couple kiss and gawked at the shirtless young man catching the Frisbee.
 
True to her style, Giddy had suddenly streaked across the lawn and began twirling around in front of a fiddle player.  I leaned against a tree to give her time to work the music out of her body.  I understood – I could feel the flutter that the bluegrass encouraged growing in my own chest.  Just as mesmerized as she, I watched in a trance and lost myself in the voice of the guitar player when he hesitantly began a ballad.  We were off again.

Now, she was pushing me; I could feel her hand on my back.  I could feel her urge me forward, laughing in my ear that we had nothing to do, nowhere to be, there was nothing stopping us from anything.  Ms. Freedom always knew the little things to say.  Her touch seemed to sink inside my chest and stir everything up but I didn’t speed up or slow down.  Instead I simply expanded to let Giddy ease inside my body.  She was a great fit – she rode just below the skin and I knew that the rest of the trip home would bring nothing but amusement, beautiful impulses, secret smiles and bouncy steps. 

Giddy and I were gonna have a fine spring stroll – just the two of us.