Love Bytes ii
Various authors
Journal Entry
My mother in law shows up at 9:00 am with a box of chocolates and flowers. Boy, is she a wicked bitch. Tells me she loves me, she's sorry, and asks if I've lost weight. I invite her in…….why? .I have no coffee, she takes a seat in John's old chair, and asks if I know my shirt's inside out or if it's a new fashion trend. Bitch. I give her some orange juice, she rambles on about my dead husband for an hour and finally leaves. It was a bad start to bad day.
Couldn't stop thinking about John after she left. Suppose I would have either way. Considered pulling out that box of junk I've got of his from under the bed. I didn't, so instead I decided to drown my sorrows in Soap Operas. They all suck. Evil twins, passionate hospital love triangles, demons, split personalities, I can't keep up.
Impractical. That's what his mother told him when he announced our engagement. I told him we should keep it to ourselves for a while. Yeah right. John couldn't keep anything to himself. You're too young, you haven't finished school yet, blah, blah, blah……. God, how long will she continue to torment me?
Why did I drink today? Such an ordeal. Why am I so short? C'mon, a few inches more. It's not like my parents were fucking midgets. Where did I put that little stepladder John bought for me? Out of sight of course. Haven't been drunk for a while. Maybe I still am a little. I don't know. Had a freaky dream. Guess I passed out.
Dream: I'm in the kitchen, but I'm suspended in the air above looking down. John comes in and sits, then his mother. They speak. I think they're talking about me, but I don't remember. Neither of them see me. They drink something. I hear a voice in the living room and they leave. I begin to fall and wake up.
Well, we'd be having dinner right about now. I would've cooked this year. Candles, a little music, maybe a new little special addition to my wardrobe. It would've been nice. We wouldn't have fought this year. Well John, I miss you. But you know.
"Jaden!"
That practised shriek could belong to none other than my Mother-in-law, or as I affectionately call her, the scourge of southern California. Despite how impractical the idea sounded, spending the day with the shrew, the shrew's daughter insured me that by doing so, I'd earn an evening alone with my love and a bottle of chocolate sauce. As much as I wanted to go back upstairs and hide under the bed, I'm quite passionate about chocolate sauce.
"So how are things at work?" She wastes no time.
"Going good, I'm..."
"When are you going to go out and get a decent job, Jaden? You can't spend your life in that smoke pit."
"That smoke pit pays for this house Pat, and the SUV Chris drives, and my car. It also pays for that last trip to Vegas we took you on, remember?" I gently remind her.
"Oh, Vegas! That was so much fun. When are we all going back, dear? I had such a great time seeing that Seymore and Rob."
"Uhm, Seigfried and Roy?"
"That's what I said, dear."
"Right," I smile.
"You're such a good looking girl Jaden, you and Christina. When are you both going to quit this Lebanese stuff and find some nice sturdy men?"
I take a deep breath and concentrate on the blue tints in the nag's wig, and calmly ask if she'd like to help me out with something. It helps to keep her occupied.
I bring in a ladder from the garage, and ask the battle axe if she'd like to help me hang up a picture of my evil twin, Jaded, who is due in town in a few days, and whose picture is only up on my wall while she visits. I suspect the same goes for my picture over at her place. I'm not particularly fond of the girl, but mom insists we visit one another every year, what with being twins and all.
"I think it looks best over there, no, wait, over there."
After letting her lead me to three different spots, much like her daughter often does, I ask her to hold the ladder steady as I climb.
Chirp! Chirp!
"What the..?"
Before I can finish my thought, the ancient fury scurries off to retrieve her cell phone from her suitcase sized purse.
Rolling my eyes, I can feel the ladder begin to tilt, and manage to hook my foot in one of the rungs, righting it, yet hanging inverted.
"Bingo! Why of course Lil, I'd love to go to bingo tonight. I'll see you there at 6, what's that? Oh of course they'll come with us, what's more fun for girls their age than a night of bingo? No I won't need a ride home, I think I'll just stay the night here."
Suspended, upside down, with my right foot hooked into the ladder, I can only smile quite serenely when my woman chooses this time to bring herself home.
Paybacks.... paybacks.
Family Reunions by Blindzon Elyzon
I don't have much time to get into all the sordid details, but somebody's gotta hear my side of things. It kinda started with my base animalistic needs really, it's more my mother-in-law's fault. If I could've, I would've suspended her from the highest yardarm, smothered her in chocolate, and let a herd of PMSing women loose on her. But damn Harry's Mama-boy ways, he locked the garage so I couldn't get at the ladder.
Okay, let me take a breath and try to explain this.
I was at Brad Pitt's latest movie, and oh my God, well ya gotta know what I mean. Grrr! Anyway, I was feeling kinda frisky, passionate and all, so I thought I'd surprise Harry with some of these things I've been reading in Cosmo. I got the box of stuff I bought out from under the bed, got all fancied up, and waited.
Ya know them slinky little pj's? I'm sittin' there thinkin' to myself, these things are pretty darn impractical, but there was that Cosmo guarantee. There I was, all ready like, But after about an hour of shivering, I decided to try out tip #7. Setting the mood with a roaring fire.
Did'ya know that silky material sure aint flame retardant? Next thing I know, I'm smellin' bacon and quickly realized my drawers were on fire. Pardon the pun, but I high-tailed my ass right into the bathroom and plunked myself down in the commode. A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do, and I had to put out that bush fire, before the whole Serengeti went up in flames, if ya know what I mean?
While I sat there praising indoor plumbing, I began to notice a slight tingling down yonder. Ya know, like my legs were falling asleep. So I thought I best haul my ass up and out of there and check the damage, when I realized I was kinda wedged in real good. To further add insult to injury, that's when Harry's good for nothing brother showed up, I mean of all the times to have that idiot come over, this had to be one of them?
Harry's brother, more like his evil twin, Larry, was always looking for his 15 minutes of glory. Why he saw this particular predicament of mine as his one way ticket there, I'll never know. But I can tell you this, that whole incredible Hulk thing happened to me when he dragged out the camcorder and talked about America's Funniest Videos.
Okay, I'm gonna have to cut this short now, my arraignment hearing is about to start. Suffice it to say, the jaws of life set me free and Harry is now an only child. I suppose I could've handled it better, but I did at least learn somethin' from this ordeal. Always check out the family gene pool before you marry in. Harry's mother was a bit too close to her cousin, if ya know what I mean? Damn those family reunions!
It Could Only Happen To Me by Crys
The damn doorbell keeps ringing and I'm tempted to rip it off the wall. Of course, I could just sit here and finish my chocolate ice cream and ignore it. Ah, screw it! Whoever they are, they aren't going away.
I place the ice cream bowl on the counter and notice that my crystal hummingbird, suspended over the kitchen sink, is no longer sparkling. Dusk is almost here. Samson, my obese drowned rat, is putting up a fuss under the bed. The doorbell is cutting into his precious nap time of sixteen hours straight. Wish life was as easy for me as it is for him. Friggin' cat.
I finally make my way to the door and squint through the peephole. Some woman is standing there with a pissed-off look on her face. Never seen her before, really don't want to meet her, but she won't lay off the bell. I start to sigh as I unlock the door and swing it open.
"Yes?" I ask, attempting to match my voice to her scowl.
"Where is he?" she barks, trying to take a step into the house. I block her way, right damn quick.
"Where's who?"
"Tell Jimmy that I'm here and I want to speak to him. If he won't come out, then I'm coming in," she froths. I swear. It looks like she's foaming at the mouth. If I see spittle coming my way I'm slamming the door right in her face.
"There's no Jimmy living here, lady. Who the hell do you think you are trying to force your way into my place?"
She snorts and crosses her arms. "Your mother-in-law."
I can't help myself; I laugh my ass off. "I'm sorry, Mrs..."
"Delupe," she declares impatiently.
"Right. I'm not married. I think you have the wrong place."
"I know who you are. I saw your picture in his wallet... next to the marriage certificate."
It hits me like a sack of flour. My evil twin, as I always call her, is up to no good. Leave it to Lillie to get married and mess things up.
"Mrs. Delupe, I think we have a small mix-up. You're looking for my identical twin, Lillie. She doesn't live here. Frankly, I'm not sure where she's living at the moment." I see doubt clouding her eyes.
"You aren't the one I caught sneaking out of my house last night?" Yup, that's doubt all right.
"Hell, no! I would never shag up with some guy in his Mom's house. Especially considering I'm gay."
That set her back a moment. "It wasn't 'some' guy. She was with Jimmy's brother."
"Well, Lillie's a passionate gal at times."
"Not after I get my hands on her."
I nod in understanding. Impractical as it sounds, I invite her in for a cup of tea. This is a story I have to hear. Every good sibling needs blackmail material, right? I mean, it's either that or pull out the ladder and start cleaning the ceilings. Not!
I hid behind the bushes and waited until they emerged, arm in arm. Yeah, some people might call that sad - maybe even a little obsessive. So shoot me. I have a right to be anywhere I want to be, and if my business takes me down Acacia Avenue, then how can I help it? Okay, so my business involves viewing a house that I can't afford to buy, and not - strictly speaking - hiding out behind the bushes of the house ten doors down.
Like I said, shoot me.
So out they came, all giggly and kissy and generally sick making. Made me sick, anyway. I would've thrown up in their nice laurel bush if I thought the acid from my stomach would've killed it. Instead, I decided I'd pee in their pansies on the way out, if nobody was looking.
Okay, so that might sound a little bitter, I admit. Maybe even a bit excessive. But hell, it's not like I don't have reason! See, he used to look at me like that. He used to take my arm that way, and tuck my hand securely into his palm, and swing it slightly as we walked along. He used to peck me on the cheek when we hit the sunshine, used to twirl his fingers through my blonde hair when he took my head in his hands and kissed me, and told me that he loved me and it would be forever.
Lying bastard.
"All men are false, so says my mother," I sung under my breath as I watched them turn the corner and kiss their way out of sight. "They'll tell you wicked, loving lies. The very next evening, they'll court another...leaving you alone, to pine and sigh..." The old folk song was dead on. Or at least, it was dead on for this lying, cheating son of a bitch.
That wasn't very fair to his mother though. She'd always been nice enough to me.
I peered cautiously out from behind the bush, and then stood slowly, stretching my muscles, which were starting to cramp after ten motionless minutes of squatting amidst the foliage. I stamped my feet to shake free the loose dirt, then scuffed the ground to make sure there were no footprints left.
I knew exactly where they'd gone, and I knew exactly how long they'd be. He'd done it all with me, and inwardly I mocked him and despised him for not having any originality when it came to love. Yeah right, like he had anything to do with love...he was thinking with his pants again, and not very well at that.
I pulled on my gloves, fished around in his hanging basket and let myself in with the key which I knew would be there. He'd changed the locks since I left, but he hadn't changed anything else. Bloody hell, my umbrella was still in the porch, propped up against the wall. Bastard. I hadn't been good enough to keep in his bed, but he still had a use for my bloody umbrella. I bent down, and ripped all the spokes out.
The stairs beckoned me; I resisted for as long as I could, with one foot on the lower step, staring upwards into the darkness. "Who's there?" I remembered how his voice had been high and surprised as he'd heard the front door click shut behind me that afternoon, so long ago it seemed now. I hadn't expected him to be home, with it being late afternoon and all. Clearly, he hadn't expected me.
I put my hand on the pine bannister - we'd chosen it together, and I'd stripped it and revarnished it a few years ago when it started looking worse for wear. I noticed they'd varnished it again, a dark stain which gave the wood a reddish tinge. I touched it, and it felt cold. Aloof, somehow. I felt like I'd been whitewashed out of my own home.
"Jonathan?" I'd been surprised to hear him too, as I'd walked up the stairs on that Wednesday. Surprised, but pleased, and I'd dashed up the stairs to greet him with my customary kiss.
"Caroline? Is that you? What....?"
My old, worn stair carpet had gone and the walls had been repapered a modern cheery yellow colour. I hate yellow; such a fake colour, full of pretense, the brittle sham of sunlight and joy. It smelt fresh and new, and clean somehow, and the subtle scents of new wallpaper and paint almost suffocated me. I took off a glove, dragged my nails through the paper on my way up, leaving the faintest scratches - invisible to the naked eye, but I knew they were there. Yeah, I know it was petty, but you know what? It felt so good to do. There'd always be a little bit of me in this house, no matter how much they tried to decorate me out.
I'd run up the stairs on hearing his voice, heart leaping as it always did when I heard that rich voice, or smelt that tangy sweet smell that was uniquely him. It was halfway up when I'd heard the rustling of the bedclothes, and the scrabbling around and I'd wondered what was wrong. Stupid, naive, trusting fool.
I stood outside our bedroom door for long moments, conscious of the clock on the wall ticking down the precious minutes, knowing that I didn't have too much time left before they came back to their cosy little lovenest. I didn't want them to find the cuckoo squatting - they'd done such a good job of throwing me out. I hesitated, then pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, half expecting and half fearful that they'd redecorated that too.
It was just the same. And it was empty, stripped of all furniture save our bed. I laughed, despite myself. How sweet. He couldn't bring himself to have her - again - in our bed, so he'd moved into the spare bedroom. What a laugh. I closed my eyes against the images that flashed through my mind; the last time I'd seen him in this room, the sheets half covering his naked body as he'd tried to struggle out from under her. The room had reeked of them, and I could still smell her now; she'd marked him and her territory, and the whole house stunk of her now, even as she tried to mask it with her paint and her varnish. Like the tom cat's pee in the corner - no matter how many times you wash the carpet, the stench never goes away.
I put my glove back on, went into his room and pulled open the drawer where I knew he kept his underclothes. I grabbed his boxer shorts - something he'd never worn when he was with me, even though I'd asked - and pulled out my scissors, and you know what? I couldn't do it.
So I went into his wardrobe, and pulled out his shirts. Cliched to hell, I know, but I wanted to rip his life to shreds, the way he'd torn mine apart that day. With tears trickling down my cheeks, I stood there with the scissors in my hand, willing myself to do it.
Couldn't, though.
I saw the framed photo next to the bed, of him and her, laughing and happy in a way which I guess we had never been. I'd fooled myself, and he'd helped me. All the signs of their intimacy were around me; discarded nightclothes, a condom wrapper, an old valentine's day card from him to her, a half eaten box of chocolates on the dresser and a tiny love note scribbled on a pink post-it note, stuck onto one of the pillows.
I admit, I was as jealous as all hell to see all the signs of his love which, looking back, had never been there for me. But more than that - I guess I must have still loved him, because for some stupid reason I didn't want to hurt him, and that for both our sakes, the best thing I could do right now was to just walk away, and never come back.
I packed his underwear away, repocketed the scissors and padded quietly down the stairs.
Suppose you think I'm soft, eh? Gone all mushy in the face of love? Yeah, well what the hell do you know about it? I clicked the door shut behind me, locked it, tucked the key back where I'd found it and then walked away without a backward glance.
Giggling like a mad fool as I did. Because, you see, I'm not quite that forgiving, and I knew it'd be ages before they looked under their mattress and found the prawns that I'd hidden there.
And by that time, who knows? Maybe I wouldn't be in love with him any more.
The sunlight is simply captivating. Thick, dusty bars of gold infiltrate my room, and since I don’t have much else on my agenda this morning, I watch them slide arrogantly across my floor.
"Some nerve, eh?"
"Oh, completely," I agree and tuck some loose hair back behind my ear. "No manners whatsoever."
"You’d think sunlight was American or something."
I stifle a laugh and immediately make a repentant face; I know several Americans and they’re not at all arrogant. Well... maybe a few. But even for those that are, it’s not really their fault. Just something in the water perhaps. "That wasn’t nice. You know they can’t help themselves."
There’s a muttered, "Whatever," just loud enough for me to hear.
Incorrigible, I sigh, but apologies are about as rare as good programming on television these days, so I take what I can get.
From beyond my window I hear the sound of voices and laughter, and I think I hear one in particular that, of late, has interested me. Not the voice itself, mind you. It sounds like it belongs to a smoker, all hoarse and raspy and such. Yet it’s pitched oddly at the same time. It’s like… well, have you ever smelled something kind of nasty, but it’s intriguing at the same time? And you almost feel naughty and weird about it when you breathe in deeper again, trying to figure out what it is? Like a twisted pleasure. That’s what the voice is to me. It’s awful, but I listen for it in spite of myself.
"Right on time!"
Apparently I wasn’t the only one to have noticed.
"You coming?"
I duck beneath the impertinent rays and come to stand beside the window. The light is brighter here, so I shade my eyes as I take in the view beneath my study. "The grass wants trimming."
"The kid’s late. No sense of responsibility in any of ‘em these days."
"Goodness, aren’t we peaches and cream today," I reply absently as my eyes search among the trees that cover the gardens.
"Yeah? Well, you can just shove your fuckin’ peaches up your"
"I see her!" She was laughing again at something the man with her was saying, laughing in that raspy squeak that makes me want to hit her as much as have her do it again. Her long hair is loose today instead of in its usual braid down her back. Seaweed in the water. Airweed on the breeze? Whatever the case, little tendrils kept lifting into the air wanting to fly. "Her hair looks soft."
"Oh, for god’s sake, she’s a dog!"
I flush, mortified and angry, not even aware that I’d spoken out loud. "She is not!" I don’t know why I’m protesting; the pathway doesn’t come beneath my window and she’s never come close enough for me to effectively argue my point. A pity, if you ask me.
A disgusted sigh and a headshake are all the return volley I get.
Irritated by the lack of response, I choose instead to ignore it, though I feel my brow furrowing regardless. Not a good sign, that; I don’t want premature wrinkling. I wiggle the pad of my thumb against the tension spot between my brows and return my gaze to the woman walking slowly along the path.
She’s wearing a dark green cardigan, and it’s as open and loose as her hair. Beneath it, she’s wearing a pair of immaculate dark jeans and a button down shirt. Very casual and comfy. Something shiny around her neck suddenly catches the sunlight and throws glints in my face though, and I whip up a hand to quickly rub my eyes. "Rude," I mutter at the sun again, but it’s weak at best. All my attention is on her and I’m annoyed by how fascinated I am by the way she shrugs. It’s almost twitchy, the way she does it. If I did it that way, I’d sprain a muscle for sure.
"That’s disgusting."
"What are you talking about?" My eyes flitter about, wondering what I’d missed.
"There! Did you see that?"
"What!"
"She bites her nails!" Indeed, she appears to chew on a finger as I look on.
I huff and hold out my hands so that my ragged cuticles and uneven nails are readily obvious. "Like she’s the only one around here."
"Gross. You do that around me and I’m outta here."
"Don’t tempt me."
"Har har."
Personal grooming habits are no deterrent; I still watch her avidly. Her gaze flows naturally towards where I am as the path curves around to face my study, and I press my hand against my chest where a pain has started. My breath comes hard for a moment and I blink and swallow, hoping that the medication I took earlier will relieve it.
"You’re pale, eh?"
"Am I?" My eyes unfocus for a moment to look at my reflection in the glass of the window. It’s true, and my worried expression looks back at me.
"Shuffle over and stand in the sun."
"No, thanks." She might see me. And at some point in the last couple of days it’s become important to me that she doesn’t. I look down at myself with my threadworn clothes that, no matter how clean, always hang on me as if I’ve slept in them for a week. Uncomfortable, my fingers brush my hair back again, pausing to rub the thick curls between my fingers. Much like the lawn, I could do with a trim as well. And my hair feels nowhere near as soft as hers looks. Wish I could touch it.
"Who’s the guy with her?"
My gaze narrows on him suspiciously. He hasn’t walked with her before, but she seems really happy to see him. I hate him immediately. "Don’t know."
"Quite the hottie."
"Shut up!"
"Hey! Who got up your nose?"
"You’re doing pretty good all on your own," I snap back. It bugs me, but I feel entirely possessive. And my stomach feels all knotty, did I mention that?
The guy has just put his arm around her and kissed her head. There’s a distant thump as I lean closer, wishing with an intensity that’s breathlessly painful that I could be the one to make her smile like she does at him. "No…"
"Jesus, get a grip and peel yourself off the glass, would ya?"
"She can’t be with him."
"Who’s she gonna be with? You?"
It’s an incredulous thought, but I suddenly grasp at it because it gives form to the pain in my chest that makes my heart hurt. "Yeah," I say quietly. "I think I love her."
A snort of laughter. "You don’t even know her fucking name!"
"I don’t have to!" I shout back. "Love doesn’t need names."
I can hear the eye rolling from here. "Tell it to Hallmark. They’re the only ones who’re gonna buy that crap."
"What do you know about it?!" I turn back to look at her, only to find that they have moved on and beyond my view. My breath leaves me when I realise I’ve missed her. My fist bangs lightly on the window, and I turn away and slide down to sit on the floor, my body as deflated as my hopes.
"You need to get out more. Seriously."
I pointedly chew on my fingernail and glare.
"Pig. I can take a hint."
There’s a sound at my door and I hastily rise to my feet, wondering why I hadn’t heard the doorbell downstairs. It swings open and produces Serge, a stern black man who never seems to smile. "You got a visitor, Dansker. Just stay where you’re at, okay."
A visitor? I check my watches and see that it isn’t even noon yet. Definitely not time for guests. I step under the sunlight again and move to the other wall, more than a little put off by this unusual development. The secretary hadn’t informed me of a change to my schedule.
From behind the intimidating man steps a woman, and I freeze, pressed up against the wood panelling.
"Hi, Dansker. I’m Cara Lieken." She holds out a hand to me, but I can’t move to accept it. She’s standing right here, and I’m not ready. "Your counsellor asked me if I wouldn’t drop by for a talk. Would you like to come outside for a while with me? It’s lovely out."
Her voice sounds different up close, I notice. Gravel on top with silk beneath it. Fascinating layers that make my hearing itch. She’s standing in the sunlight and I can see the scar that runs from the corner of her jaw down across the front of her throat. It looks jagged and thick, so personal, and I watched her fingers unconsciously scratch at it while I stare. I have to tear my eyes away; I feel like I’ve touched her when I shouldn’t have.
"Dansker?"
Suddenly, it’s important for me to share something of myself, to make up for having invaded her privacy. "Erin."
"I can’t believe you’re doing this," I hear in a disgusted undertone.
"Excuse me?" she asks, a little puzzled.
"My name is Erin. But only to you." I shoot a look at the Serge, who’s looking back at me in surprise.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Erin," she responds easily. "So, what do you say? Feel like a walk?"
She’s prettier than I expected. My cheeks feel hot and I don’t understand why I’m letting this happen. It’s only the warm ache inside that feels as good as it hurts that convinces me that I don’t really have as much say in this as I think I do. "Alright," I finally answer and walk slowly, hesitantly, towards the door.
Serge leads the way and she follows after, but I pause at the door to look back. "Well?" I ask, expectantly. "Aren’t you coming?"
A hand on my arm startles me, and I nearly gasp at her touch. She’s looking at me, concerned, and I worry too, wondering what’s distressed her.
"Erin, who are you speaking to?"
Is she blind? I turn to look back into my room, but find it confusingly empty except for the sunlight that’s taken over the floor. "I…" Oh, dear. I blink a few times and try to compose an answer.
"Let’s go out and you can tell me about your friend." Her eyes are kind, interested even, and the very fact that she doesn’t laugh at me like some do makes me love her more.
"Alright." I nod and let her slip her arm through mine. It’s more than I could have dared hope for, after all, and I soak it in as we step out into the hallway to leave the building. "Your hair…" I begin, but pause, suddenly aware of how it might sound.
She laughs, almost selfconsciously I think, and runs a hand through it. "Messy? There’s a breeze today. Must look a wreck."
Something about the way she says that, the way she pats it down, that make me feel I could say anything I want to her. "No. Not at all," I reassure her softly. "I just wanted to tell that your hair is beautiful."
The smile she gives me holds a soft, gentle glow, and if sunlight could be like that, I think to myself as we descend the stairs, it would be welcome in my room any time.
End
