Sleep

He leaves his house dishevelled.  His sister didn't sleep all night again because of her... sadness.  He stayed up listening to her crying.  Knowing that he couldn't make her stop.
He goes to school, the teachers speaking are background noise.  They ask him a question, remark about how he should get his act together.
He wonders if his sister got out of bed this morning.
Did he see her in the kitchen?
Is she eating?
No, no.  He doesn't think so.
She's been too frail.
And cries.  She cries so much.
The teacher yells at him.
His tired eyes blink.
He doesn't have energy to speak.
His tired eyes blink.
He slowly falls asleep. He can sleep here.

She lays in bed shivering.
There aren't enough blankets to warm her up.
Her puffy cheeks are squished between several pillows and layers of sheets.
But she's still freezing.
Her alarm is still going off, but she doesn't have the strength to raise her arm and turn it off.
Why does she still set her alarm?  She knows she wont respond to it.
Her stomach growls.  When did she last eat?
She can't remember.  Her memory is failing.
She starts crying.  She doesn't like not being able to remember things.
She can't even remember her brother's face.
The last time she really saw him, he was starting to have a shadow of stubble.
She thinks.
Did he have stubble?
Her tiredness pulls her under.
Her breathing slows.

His classes go by slowly.  A few of his friends knock his shoulder, call out and joke around beside him.
He feels his fatigue lift a bit.
He eats a sandwich he bought with his change.
He gets to joke and smile with his friends.
They ask about his day and make fun of their teachers.
He thinks about how they're people too.
He didn't like mocking teachers.
A teacher walked by and calls him aside.
The teacher asks what's going on with him.
The teacher says that his grades are plummeting.
He can't tell his teacher it's because he can't do his homework.
Because he has to go straight home.
If he stays at school to do it, his sister is alone.
But when he goes home, he has to clean the entire house.
When he goes home he has to make dinner and try to feed his sister.
Sometimes she eats.
But then she goes to the bathroom.
And sleeps.
Then she will wake up and cry.
He blinks at his teacher and apologizes.
He says that he just has more important things to do.
His teacher takes it as he's lazy and doesn't want an education.
He just wants his sister to be here to have a chance at an education.
He walks away from his teacher.

Her breathing stops.

He walks home slowly.
His limbs feel heavy.
He wonders if he would have time to take a nap on the couch.
As he gets to the front door, there's an energy shift.
Suddenly he is awake and alert.
His parents aren't home.
He takes out his phone and sees that they should've been home already.
He opens the door and sees that everyone's shoes are gone.
Even his sister's.
It's odd to think they all went out.
He goes to the fridge, but freezes.
He should check his sister.
He walks upstairs, and knocks on her door.
"Amalia?"
No answer.
He swears and walks in.
Her room is a mess.
There's a pungent smell.
The bed is empty.
He heads downstairs and opens a can of olives.
He takes out some chips.
Cheese.
He microwaves the nachos.
Just as he sits down he gets a phone call.
It's his dad.
His dad tells him what happened.
His dad says his mother and himself came home.
They checked on his sister.
She was cold.
Asleep.
Shallow breath.
They took her to the hospital.
Her organs have failed.
They're doing surgery.
But she's not healthy.
She isn't okay.
They don't think she will be.
He hangs up.
He pushes away from the nachos.
He's very tired.
He looks at the couch, and slowly, slowly, slowly walks to it.
He sits down, and slides to lay down.
His eyes close.
And he falls asleep.Sleep

Birthdays.

Growing up, I used to think about my birthday always.  I would watch shows and movies and be in awe about how caring and loved a person could be on their birthday.  Plus there was one thing that I fantasized about.
Surprise parties.
What says 'We all love you so much and wanted to surprise you to make you feel bombarded with love' better than a surprise party itself?
And every year I would pick up hints like, "Let's go out for the day and just have a nice quiet evening at home." And of course, people not mentioning my birthday at all.
So for the entire day I would get so excited about a possible surprise party, only to feel crushed to see that there was no one.
And every year, that hope had lessened ever so slightly.
My brother's birthday and my own are a month a part, so we would go on vacation in the summer and a month after my own birthday we would celebrate both of our birthdays. But it would be on his birthday.
And my young little self always felt so defeated and sad on this day.  Because it wasn't like the shows or movies.
You see, I loved seeing people picking out these heart-filled gifts for people without having to ask the question "What do you want for your birthday?"
Because when people ask that it feels like a jab in the heart.
They don't know you.
They don't care to put thought into the gift.
All of these thoughts just jumble together and make the sad day a depressing day.
I wouldn't want to get out of bed on my birthday.  Not because of growing older, but because of how isolated and lonely I felt.
How I feel.
I love other people's birthday's.  I enjoy picking out a gift for them and celebrating with them.
But it's never happened to me.
The go to is a dinner out.
I don't like going out for dinner.
Yet every year it's the same "Where do you want to go for dinner?"
And the worst thing about this day?
How incredibly selfish I feel.
Because saying all these things seem awful to me because that isn't who I am.  Yet obviously it is because these are my feelings about it.
So it makes me feel like shit.
With telling people how I feel about my birthday, whether I say I just want something they put thought into (or even just hanging out.  I really like being with my friends) or saying I don't want to go out for dinner (in which they get sad and don't know how to respond), they do comply.
They'll say, "What do you want to do then?"
And the most horrible thing is I don't know.
If I were to say a surprise party, it would 1. not be a surprise and 2. I would feel depressed then too because I brought it up.  Not them.
So maybe television warped my views on birthdays.
I just want today to end and not talk about my birthdays anymore.

The Little Mud in Life

When she was young, she tied her hair up away from her face.
His hair was trimmed but messy as he ran through the field with his friends.
She carried a colouring book to the swings, laughing with her older sister.
As she tried matching the blue sky to her picture, her sister pushed her gently.
He was slipping in the mud and yelling at his mates, screaming with joy.
But he slipped too close to the swings, and kicked up some mud onto her.
Her white stocking were wrecked, and the picture she worked on wasn't able to be seen.
Her sister started yelling,
He tried to apologize,
She didn't say anything,
and then the bell rang.
All the students scurried inside, trying not to be late.
But the boy stayed behind to try to wipe the mud off the swing.
The girl wasn't angry, just embarrassed that she was so dirty.
She was sent to the washroom to clean up, but on her way she saw through the window that the boy was using his water bottle to clear the mud from the swings.
She blinked a few times before walking into the bathroom.  She opened the closet full of cleaning supplies and grabbed the bucket and sponge.
She filled it up with soap and some water, but when she got to the swings there was no sight of him.
When she was about to turn away, she heard a slapping noise behind her.  To her feet were a pair of mucky black running shoes.  Her confusion was short, because after she saw them, she looked up.  At the top of the swing set was the boy, and in his hand was one of his socks as he was scrubbing the post.
She called for him to come down, but he resisted.
Finally, she soaked the sponge and threw it at him.  A squishy splat echoed in the air, and a large, oval, damp shape cloaked his navy t-shirt.
He was stunned for a moment, and both the boy and girl watched the sponge squish back onto the gravel.
He hopped down, and asked her what she was doing out of class.
She didn't speak, but pulled falling strands away from her eyes.  She reached down for the sponge and began cleaning his runners.
They didn't speak for a while, but cleaned the mess around them.
He put on his shoes bare-footed as she tried getting the mud out of her stockings.
And when they walked into the school again, they went into their own classrooms.
They didn't see each other again, for he played soccer when he was older while she drew.
But when they passed each other, he thought of her ruined stockings while she thought of his shoes.
And they went their ways.

Matthew

I first met this boy when I was living in the tiny shack that my mum excused for a house.  This house had one hallway when you open the sliding glass door to the very minimal space meant for a living room couch.  I guess it was more like an in ground trailer.

     The living room had somehow managed to fit an under stuffed deep red plaid couch that had frayed holes along the arms.  And if you stood behind the couch, you were already one step from the kitchen.  It held a mini fridge and a toaster oven.  And that was how we cooked.  

     But of course I didn't care then.  I was a six year old little girl who simply adored sprinting up and down the single hall way.  The single hallway that lead to two rooms.  As you walked down the narrow ply wood hall, to the left was the snug office.  Surrounded by a book shelf that lined the entire room, and was stuffed with a book in every space.  On the furthest side a desk was placed, taking up half the room.  As well as an overly large plush leather swirly chair.  

     I used to play simple games on the computer that lay evenly on the desk.  

     And if you walked to the end of the hall, you would enter the bedroom.  The single bedroom that held my mum and I.  I slept with her for the longest time, because we only had the single queen bed.  But as I grew old enough to be considered a woman, we sold the queen for two single beds. 

     I first met this boy when I was whirling in circles in the office.  The computer had gone to sleep and as I spun around, making myself sickly ill, I caught a glimpse of a boy's hair behind me in the reflection.  I tumbled out of the chair, toppling it over with fear.  I became scared, paranoid of what I had seen.  I hadn't truly seen someone, it was a trick of the light.  

     But as I fixed the chair and turned around, I practically ran into a boy who was a head taller than me, with sandy brown hair tousled in front of his hazel eyes.  He grinned then, pulling me into a tight hug, sighing with relief as he smelled my hair.  At that moment I couldn't figure out why someone would love the smell of apple so much, but today I could understand why.  

    He pulled away with me still in shock.  From closer up I could see he was a few years older than me.  He looked as though he was nine or ten years old.  He was very lanky, no muscle anywhere.  No fat either.  And he had high cheekbones that lifted as he smiled.

     "Danny!"  His voice was still quite high, but excitement laced through my name as he stared in disbelief.   I felt so confused as to who this boy was.  A neighbour?  A school chum I hadn't taken into consideration?  "Oh Danny, I'm so glad to finally meet you."  At this point fear struck through me that I didn't know him.  And that I never did.  I started to call for my mum, but as I did his eyes widened and he ran out of the room.  I sprinted after him, down the single hall and into the living room.  No door was open, nor window, so I knew he couldn't have left. 

    But as my mum came rushing in with soil on her knees and daisies in her grip,  there was no sign of him.  I told her what had happened, but she laughed and told me my imagination sure was wild. 

     But he was real.  I knew because he came again.  

     I wasn't as frightened, but I was still fearful of who this boy was. 

     As he kept coming, we would go outside into the forest surrounding the trailer and pretend to be professional archers.  Or we'd play hide and go seek until the stars shone our way.  Every time we'd play together, he would never come into my house when my mum was making tea or serving a meal. He told me he didn't want to intrude because she seemed like such a lovely lady.  Of what I told him about her.  I told my mum everything, and finally she asked his name. 

     "Matthew."  I would say proudly. 

     But my mom wouldn't smile at that.  Instead she would frown dubiously, turn back to the kettle or onions she would satee,   Never asking about him. 

     We became best friends as a few years went on.  We both were growing, and soon I was in middle school.  My mum didn't believe that this boy existed.  Every time I would promise he would come over this time, he cancelled and ran home.   We made a rule not to enter each others homes, that our home would be outside.  Together. 

     As soon as I'd get home from school I'd drop my bag and sprint out to the backyard.  There on the same chopped stump would sit Matty, and we would go off on our adventures. 

     It became ours.

     As we grew older, Matthew became quite tall.  He held the same shaggy hair that he had when I first met him, and the same stunning hazel eyes.   He did get more muscular, but thinly so.  I became jealous of his body as mine became curvier, but he would always reassure me it looked better than fine.  That it was perfect.  And not to take any crap from any girl or guy.  

     We didn't go to the same school.  His parents home schooled him, he would say.  And I was fine with that.  We saw each other plenty.  

     But whenever I would bring home some friends, I would check the stump and he wouldn't be there.  He wouldn't come out when I had company, he always said how he would be intruding.  Wrecking something so beautiful.  

     I told him he wouldn't be wrecking something beautiful because he was beautiful. 

     And I remember as we sat under the canopy of trees, he stared at me with a melancholy laced in his iris's.  It made me sad.  It made me want to know what was wrong. 

     But he barely spoke of himself.  He would let me talk about my petty issues with guys, and grades.  Eventually it became normal that we didn't talk about him.  

     It was like I was the main character of his book. 

     But as high school ended, he asked me what I would do now.  

     And I told him about the boy who asked me to move away with him. 

     And I saw the pride grow like a fire in his smile. 

     And I felt his love as he pulled me into his arms. 

     And I felt heartbroken when he pulled away

     and I saw something flicker. 

     Him. 

     He stared at me expectantly. 

     "Danielle,"  He started, "I didn't want to come over, but I think I should now.  I think I should."

     He gripped my hands almost as though he was pleading, but without hesitation I said of course.  And we went into the tiny cramped living space.  And as my mum came home with dirt on her face she smiled at me and sat so close to Matty that I thought she'd sit on him.  I gasped, fearful for a moment, but Matthew turned and grinned. 

     "Don't worry Danny."

     My mum leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I realised what was happening. 

     She was ignoring Matty. 

     But, she wasn't.

     She didn't see Matty. 

     Terror sliced through me, and I stood up suddenly, rushing myself for air. 

     Matthew raced out after me, grabbing my arm to stop me. 

     "Danny, I'm sorry!"  His eyes plead, waiting for me to say something. 

     "What's going on Matt, what the Hell was that?"  He winced at my words, but I had given him what he wanted;

      my voice.

      I trembled as he spoke fluidly. 

      "I love you and your mother so very much, Danny.  You need to know that.  And I am so absolutely proud of you for how far you've come."  His eyes were swelling with tears.  "And I'm so glad to see your bright future.  Please.  Please remember you have a brilliant future."  Confusion shuffled through me.  "Danny,"  He took a deep breath, "I'm your brother."  I was about to speak but he cut me off, "--Danny, mum had a miscarriage before she had you.  Several years before she even wanted to try again.  And daddy?  He left when he thought mum wouldn't get pregnant.  She found out she was with you three days after daddy left."  His face was faltering, "I wanted to grow up with you, so I waited here for you.  you have a life Danny."  I was shaking, crying with upset.  Disbelief. 

    "Matty, no.  No no no."  I was shaking my head aggressively, "No!  You're real, I'm touching you now!"  He looked down at his hands and he smiled sadly. 

     "That's because you saw me when we were so young.  You got used to me.  I'm so sorry Danny.  But I love you so incredibly much.  And I am so proud of you.  I want to watch you get married and have children, but I can't."  Pain flashed through his eyes, "Every moment I stay longer, it hurts Danny.  It hurts so much."  

     He was fading, in and out.  I hugged him tightly, feeling the fabric of his shirt disappear through my fingers. 

     "Matty, oh Matty I'm so proud of you too.  I never thought I could love someone as I do you.  You are the most incredible person I have met, and I owe so much to you.  I won't let you down, Matty.  I owe you so much.  So... so much."  My sobs were clouding my speech, and I shut my eyes tightly.  

     I don't know how long I sat there, but after a while I heard the door slide open, my mum coming over and rubbing my back. 

     "You okay, sweetie?"  I nodded numbly. 

     

I dream of him often.  And I still love him as I hold my son in my arms.  I still love him as I hold the hand of my husband.  I still love him. 

     

     Matthew, I regret that we didn't get to have a life together, but every time I feel a pressure on my hand I want you to know that I think of you.  I think of you watching me grow up and even though I'm still so much a child, I love you no matter what.  I love you Matthew.  

Dancing Girl

Her thin blond hair was twisted into a limp ponytail as she shimmied around the bar counter with obvious bags under her eyes.  Her bony frame made her look sunken, but her head was raised high with a flirtatious smile pasted on her lips.  The music was sultry, aiding in the dancers on stage.  Men lined the sides, tossing generous amounts of money onto the stage and into the women's suits.  The woman with the long ponytail leaned against the bar casually, with her sparkly blue lingerie twinkling with the dimmed pink lights as they spun.  She was given several drinks by different men, but she only took the one with a cap still on it.  It was cool against her throat, and she held it against her pale skin so her sweat could subside.  Her smile then faltered slightly.  Just for a moment.
     She knew what was coming.
     She gracefully placed the chilled beer back onto the counter, and just as she shimmied around the bar, she twisted into the bathroom.  As she closed the door, she checked to make sure no one was in the bathroom so she could lock the door.  She then walked over to the bathroom mirror, staring at her now yellow skin due to the cheap lighting.  The lights flickered every so often due to the expense of the stage, and the lighting in the bathroom didn't make anyone look the least bit attractive.
     As she studied herself in the mirror, she felt bile rise in her throat as to what she was wearing.  The blue bikini like outfit had many long fringes on it, making it look almost cow girl like.  She bared her teeth as she leaned into her made-up face.  Thick foundation and bright blue eyeshadow made her look more like a doll than a human.  And the bones that showed disgusted her.  A few wrinkles creased by her eyes and mouth, showing signs that she was ageing.  That also disgusted her.  In a few years, men wouldn't want her.  And if they didn't want her, then she couldn't feed her son.
     Who was going to be disgusted by her.
     And then, what she was waiting for came.  The tears.  The sudden feeling of sadness that crept up on her at the oddest of times.  She stood by the sink crying silently for a long time.  Until someone knocked on the door to wake her up.  She dabbed her eyes as she stared confidently in the mirror, and adjusting her bra, she twirled out of the bathroom back onto the stage.
    It didn't bother her, the attention she got.  What bothered her was who was giving her attention.  She could blatantly see pudgy men staring intently, and it gave her chills to know that when they go home they'd be jerking while thinking of her.  That bothered her.  It wasn't difficult to find a man willing to sleep with her for money after her shows.  It was hard to leave their place with a sense of dignity.  It was hard coming home in a wreck of an apartment to her son.  Who was old enough to know what she was doing by now.  To tell his friends she's a whore.  A slut.  A hooker.  But he didn't know that she was doing it for him.  So he could live.  Even if it meant to sacrifice her own life.
    And so she danced on the stage, accepting the coos and caws given from the men.  And none of them would see her cry when it felt like everything inside of her was being torn apart.  Because this was her life.  And even if she wasn't living, her son was.  

To a Pessimist

Her ashy ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk.   Her little hands gripped the cottony rose bag that held her school kits.  As she made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school.   She stepped on cue to each syllable, giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme.    Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky, chasing the birds that glided through the air.  She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one of them felt like a bird.

     Her thoughts walked home with her, until she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy.   But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped through the door.   She slid off her small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door.  She turned, taking in the dust filled cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor.  Although she barely blinked as she hobbled into the kitchen.  Pots and filthy dishes filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare.  All except for a rotten apple. 

     Her feet danced over the glass as she pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim lips.  She spun into the living room, holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn couch.  She sat there for a bit, listening to the dead clock that hung on the wall.   The big hand stuck on three.  She imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click.  She crunched the cereal melodically, humming as she kicked her feet.   Her eyes scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.  The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy yellow filled the shades.  She placed the box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo.  She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the current eighties mix.  She twirled and jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson.  But as she jumped against the ground, the stereo silenced.  Her cheeks flushed as she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became clear that the technology was fried. 

     Slight creaking sounded from the wooden staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the stairs.  A woman who looked older than she was placed her frail hands against the railing.  Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s, and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.  

     “Lynn dear, how was your day?”  Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she pulled the child into a weak hug.  Lynn smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living room.

     “Oh, mama I learned a new song today!  And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he tore my music sheet into confetti.”  The woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama.  I used the confetti to throw into the air.  Everyone was having so much fun with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.”  Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the woman’s response.

     Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she sat down the couch sunk with her.  She patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did.  He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for it.”

     “But he did-“

     “How could you know he meant it?  No one means anything now a day.  They’re all just a bunch of liars.”  The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through Lynn’s curls. 

     Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s ribs.  Her mother frowned thoughtfully.  They sat there with Lynn’s head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains.   Finally her mother spoke.

     “Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s today.” 

     Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the couch.  Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch though. 

     “They told me I’m getting worse.  We are going to have to find you a foster home soon.”  Lynn tilted her head.  

     “But did they tell you when you’d be at your worst?”  As her mother shook her head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we still have time.”   Her mother dropped her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.  But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.”  She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying.  I know we won’t be together for much longer, but with the time we do have… we can make everything special.”  Her eyes glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn.  Her face was solemn.  The wrinkles creased around her eyes and mouth as she parted her cracked lips.  Lynn’s mother took in her daughter.  She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her curiously.  Usually when her mother spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative.  She expected her mother to say something about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die anyways.  But instead, her mother lifted herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort.  She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never fully leaving the cold ground.  Finally, she reached the door.  With all her strength she pulled the door open.  She lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off.  As she turned back into the house, her eyes caught Lynn’s.  Lynn watched her mother move more than she had in the past six months.  She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and place the wreath in it thoughtfully.

     And then she smiled at Lynn.  Ever so slightly.

 

The 'Love' Bite

I remember seeing my grandmother's cat for the first time. 
Big Red.
What a scary name.
But she was so beautiful.  With thick orange fur that kissed her emerald eyes gently.  The way she strutted through the large wooden house with pride made me want her to love me.
So I wanted to pet her, love her, kiss her, hug her.
But when I asked my grandmother about the cat, she told me not to chase or bother her because she wasn't a friendly cat.
But I was young.
That isn't an excuse now, but I was just so curious.
Wanting an animal to love me.
So when my grandmother was in the garden I set out to find Red.
Once I found her in the kitchen I started running at her.
Of course she ran.
Into the living room.  I finally caught her though, feeling my tiny hands fold into her thick fur.
And then it was like a scene from jaws.
Her head turned sideways, her mouth seemed to unhinge, and she submerged her fangs  between my left eye and temple.
I dropped her.
Not from the pain, but from fear of what my grandmother would do.
I was scared she'd be angry.
I disobeyed her.
I just wanted to love the kitten.
So I sprinted upstairs into the bathroom with tears down my cheeks.
I looked in the mirror in horror.
Blood was gushing from my face, no matter how many tissues I used it wouldn't stop.
My grandmother knocked on the door after a while asking if I was alright.
I told her I would be out in a minute.
So me.
Thinking oh so cleverly.
Plastered tissue to the side of my face.
And walked out of the bathroom.
My grandmother of course instantly asked what happened, and I told her about Red.
She hugged me then.
Which startled me.
And she took me to the doctors.
I had to take pills to make sure it didn't get infected or anything.
And that was that.
It took weeks to heal.
But me and that cat...
We're on good terms now.
Sometimes if I'm lucky, she'll let me pet her.
Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, she'll lay in my lap.
She's a good cat.
I was just a bad child.