When Your Time Is Up

You know what you can’t do
Without drawing attention?
You can’t sprawl out on the sidewalk.
Head down, resting on the concrete, watching a bug.
Feet up, kicking.
I guess you can, if you’re eight or ten.
You could lie there for hours rubbing a rock back and forth
And no one would bat an eye.

No one would call the police.
Your neighbors would not be scandalized,
Insisting they knew all along that you
Were bat shit crazy.
I know I should get up.
The rock is just a tiny nub now
And the bug has long since passed.
Off to its hole or crack or burrow for dinner
Or out cruising along the twisting trail
Into the park looking for love.
That bug, it really does have it all.
Does it think so? Probably not.
Those with it all rarely do.
None of us content.
All of us scrambling.

Well, not me.

There is a small crowd gathering.
Someone’s (probably Patty … the bitch) has put a blanket over me.
As the sun sets, I can hear the sirens calling out their intent.
Everyone exhales when the lights bounce off their nosy faces.
When the authorities arrive.
When someone else will take care of this.

It’s just that I’ve had a shit day.
And really, I wanted to relax.
To do something in the now.
In the moment.
To be present.
To observe.
To not be bothered.
I wanted to think.
You cannot lie on the sidewalk and think.

It’s a disturbance.
Even if no one is using it.
It just not right for you to be lying there.
It’s a concern.
And I can tell you,
Everyone is concerned.
Even if they’re really not.
Just nosy and uncomfortable with the unnatural.
The strange.
A grown man (I like to think) lying on the sidewalk,
Rubbing a rock back and forth,
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Talking to a tiny bug on some errand.
Kicking, ever so slightly, his feet.
Staring off after the bug, wishing it well, and happy holidays.
No, this isn’t a holiday breakdown, thank you very much.
It’s rude to assume bugs celebrate the same holidays at the same times as us.
It’s incredibly humanocentric.

Anyhow, I woke this morning with
(Don’t laugh)
A song in my heart
A smile on my lips
A full happiness in my soul.
I had so much to look forward to today.
I was swollen with prospects and promises.
They pressed out of my every pore.
It hurt to let my face go slack.
Nothing went wrong immediately.
And like I said, I didn’t expect it to.
All was going to be amazing.

I dressed.
Collected my things.
Went to my car.
My reflection showed on the window.
It being slightly tinted,
I could see the sweep of my hair,
The color of my shirt,
And the man standing behind me.
Same sweep of hair.
Different color shirt.
I turned.
We locked eyes.
I saw latent desperation peering back at me.
I saw sweaty skin,
Clenched fists,
Heavy breathing.
I saw twitching and false starts.
I saw the coming action.

Patty (the bitch) hummed just beyond the hedge,
Her footsteps approaching,
Her cockapoo whining.
My doppelganger rocking.
My eyes flashed toward the sounds, toward the walk where she walked.
She paused, smiled, and waved
(What a bitch).
I nervously laughed.
Lifted up my hand.
Turned to confer with my new friend.

But he was gone.
In a glinting of light,
In a reflection of glass,
In a rustle of leaves to my left.
Movement continued.
The bush shook violently,
Fear crept up me.
My eyes peeled back,
Mouth stretched wide,
Arm flew up for blocking the attack.
Rooster, it was, the dog from next door.
He lifted his leg, peed on my tire,
And bounded back to where he had come.
Exhaling, I tittered.
Got into my car.
I drove downtown to the shop.

It was burning when I got there.
Great clouds of smoke plumed up and could be spotted miles before I arrived.
The flames required you to be closer.
They licked the walls,
They cracked the windows,
They ate up my one and only shop.
I parked my car.
Straightened my shirt.
Walked up the door of my shop.

Kitten mewling;
I reached for my keys,
Wrenched open the door with a pop.
Heat poured out,
Drenched me completely,
Peeled back my skin,
Pried at my eyes.
Kitten coughed.
Then leapt to my arms, whom I caught.
Grateful he clawed at me,
Right up my neck, get me out of here he cried.

Now sooty, Kitten and I, we retreated back to the street.
Quickly around the bend.
We couldn’t be seen leaving this scene.
Now that my shop’s at its end.
Steps fell faster, heels clacked, hurried to my nearest friend.
The building was tall, gray slate, and iron wall.
Kitten in my shirt as we ascend.
Elevator dinging, hall lights gleaming.
I scurried to the end.

Knocked then banged.
Silence still hanged.
Hushed voices come up from behind.
The woman, from across the hall,
She didn’t recognize me at all.
I asked after my friend.
“That apartment’s been empty since December twenty, I don’t know about any friend.”
Then Kitten she spotted
Cooed love to the top of my shirt
Where her little head bent.

She cradled Kitten,
Removed the burnt ribbon
And stepped back with no hint of pride.
“Thank you,” she said and ruffed Kitten’s head.
Walked backward to her door.
Closing it as I blinked my eyes.
Again, I raised my hand to say goodbye.
Then returned to the street sans friend.

The day was spent walking,
The feel of someone stalking,
A stranger with my eyes and my old friends.
No wallet in my pocket,
No cash on hand.
I sat in a park to think.
With mysteries growing and, of course, me not knowing,
I couldn’t guess where I could be.
Where he could be, I mean.
Something had happened. Something called out.
Something brought about this strange circumstance.
Glanced up to the side. He stood feet away.
I didn’t know what I should do or say.

“Your time is up. You’ve been called back home.”
What did he mean?
With all thought my mind still screamed,
“This has happened before my friend.”
The shop has burned a thousand times.
Kitten has been saved even more.
Friend in the high castle, erased without hassle.

This copy of me
Shocks my memory,
Why did it take until now.
I’m tired of running,
Tired of climbing,
Tired of the Patty … the bitch.
I’m not starting over.
I will not forget.
You can tell who ever sent you.
I’m spent.

I stumbled.
I run.
Straight into the sun.
Desperate to get back to my brick.

And. This is where you found me.
Lying on the ground.
Rubbing a rock on the ground.
A group has huddled.
Shaming me for all the trouble
I’ve caused on this small strip.
A paramedic, he bends, shines a bright lens, taps me on the face.
Just over his shoulder, I see my twin
Arms crossed ,
Head shaking,
A thin smile snaking
Across his lips
Here at the end.

Oh. Light is receding.
The others are leaving.
Patty … the bitch,
Says I’m dead.

You’re Not Happy

What does it mean
When someone tells you
You’re not happy?

Don’t tell me
What I am.
You’re projecting

I’m not happy?
I’m fine.
I am working
For what I need.

Perhaps you’re better off
Considering yourself
Instead of others
You can’t say who is happy
when you don’t
know what drives them.

You can only speak for yourself.
Your own experiences.
Your own truth.

Be honest.
Figure out your
Own shit

Instead of distracting
With me.

Boundaries Chapter One


Chapter One

“Mom, come on, we’re going to be late.” I’m standing in my mom’s dining room waiting for her again. I’ve been ready to go for over an hour and I tried not saying anything to see if she could just get ready without me telling her to, but clearly she can’t. My bag is digging into my shoulder and I’m starting to lose my patience.

“Where’s my purse?” my mom asks.

“Where you put it!”  I yell.

“I can’t remember.”  My mom stands frozen, arms dangling at her side.  She looks helpless, like a giant kid.

“Mom, I don’t know either, look around. Honestly.  This place is such a mess; it blends in with all the other crap.  It could be anywhere.”

My mom looks into my eyes from across the room.  She doesn’t really move, she just reaches out at things and nudges them. She lifts a couple of shirts off the couch and slides the bag of apples against the wall with her bare foot.  She’s still looking at me when she says, “I need my shoes.”

“Okay.”  I raise my eyebrows and pretend it was just a statement then I pick up her car keys and start jingling them.

“I can’t find them.” She says to me.

“Mom, we need to go.”

“All right, just a minute.  I need coffee.”

“We don’t have time for coffee. I don’t want to be late!”  I drop my bag on the dining room table and lift a stack of papers off the floor. One of my mom’s folding chairs stands open nearby so I dump them there. The shoes are right there, under the papers. Where else would they be? I shake my head and toss them toward my mom’s feet. They bounce a couple of times and lay there. She doesn’t say anything for a second.

“Make me coffee,” she says as she slips the shoes on.

“Make your own coffee,” I grumble, but I walk into the kitchen anyway. If I don’t make the coffee, we’ll end up standing here forever. I find a clean mug and pour hot coffee into it. Steam rises up in front of my face and moisture collects on my eyelashes. Blinking it away, I take the hot mug out to Mom in the hall.  “Here,” I say and push it into her open hands.

She looks down into her mug and back up at me. “There’s not enough creamer,” she says.

“There’s plenty.  Why don’t you have any travel mugs?”

“I need more creamer.”  My mom sips the coffee and grimaces.  She leans far to the side to set the coffee on the coffee table.

“Too bad.”  I start tapping my toes and wait for all of two seconds before walking back into the kitchen to retrieve the creamer.  “Here,” I say.

My mom pours creamer into the cup turning the coffee an off-white color. It’s way too much.

“Mom, that’s a lot.”

“Here ya go,” she says, holding the container out to me. I grab it and watch her slip her shoes back off. “I’ll be right back,” she says.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but my mom doesn’t answer. She walks away from me. And I watch her as she lumbers down the hallway. I hear the squeaking of metal and recognize it immediately as the shower faucet being turned on. The sound of rushing water follows and then, the slam of the shower door.

My mouth drops open. I hear my mother calling out that she wants me to bring here a warm towel from the dryer. I shake my head. I can’t believe it. What the hell is she thinking?

“Oh my god, Mom!  We are going to be so late!  I hate being late!”

* * *

“See?  We made it.”  Mom hits the blinker to turn left at the intersection.

“We are two blocks away, we still need to park, and we’re twenty minutes late.  We didn’t make it.”

Mom doesn’t respond, but as we near the parking lot the car slows before coming to a complete stop.  I look up from my phone and see that Mom isn’t turning into the parking lot. She’s sitting there in the middle of the street blocking the entrance, not moving. I look at her to see what’s wrong and notice she staring out the windshield barely blinking. “Mom?” I say and follow her gaze out the window at through the next intersection. Oh, I see it now. There’s a damn coffee shop, a little café just beyond the light.

“Do we have time to get a mocha?” Mom asks as cars blare their horns behind us.

I sit up and turn in my seat to assess the situation.  “No, we don’t.  Just pull in and park.  You’re keeping everyone from parking.  Besides!  We’re late.  I should have been here first!  It’s my award.”

“Yes, all right.”  Mom steps on the gas and I relax just a little. Of course, I think she’s turning. She isn’t. She speeds passed the parking lot entrance and runs the red light. “We’ll grab a mocha and a treat to celebrate and then get over there.”

“God, Mom!  Just hurry up!”  I slam back in the passenger seat and fold my arms over my chest. There’s no controlling her.

Mom pulls into the first available parking spot and hold out a twenty. “Here,” she says. “Get me a mocha, a big one, and something for yourself.  Oh and maybe some biscotti.”  A big stupid smile spreads across her face. Seriously? Does she think she’s doing me a favor?

“You want me to go in?” I ask. “I don’t even want anything.  This was your idea.  You go in.”

“But I’m so slow making a decision.”  Mom frowns.  “Don’t you want to get over there?  You’re already so late.”

I grab the twenty from her hand and wrench the passenger door open.  I let it slam shut as I run into the café. It smells so good in here and I’m kind of glad we stopped. I order all I can and pocket the change.  I shoulder the door open and approach the car. Mom’s in there reading, of course. She’s hunching over totally engrossed.   I’m certain it’s a romance. That’s all she reads. She runs off to the world she doesn’t have and leaves me to get her coffee. I shake my head and tap on the driver side window with my knuckles. “Here,” I say as the window rolls down.  My mom drops the book in her lap and reaches for her treats. I hand the biscotti and mocha to here.

“Where’s yours?”  She frowns.

“I have to run back in and get it.  They don’t have carrying trays.”  I thumb over my shoulder before turning back to the little shop.

“Well, hurry up, Kate.” I hear her call.  “We’re really cutting it close.”

“Right.  Be right back.” I say. Like I don’t know that already. Still I hustle in and back out with my hands so full I’ve got to hook open the passenger door with my pinky finger. I set my stuff down on the floor before hopping in.

“Ooo, what’d you get?”  Mom eyes my paper bag.

“Just a scone,” I answer and shrug.

“Any change?” she asks.

“Nope.”  I say as I pull the strap of the seat belt across my shoulder and click it in.  “Let’s go.”

* * *

My face is on fire. So much heat is rushing up my neck; it’s burning the tips of my ears. I can feel sweat running down the small of my back. I just know I’m beet red. I always change colors when I’m like this. Nervous. Late. God, I hate it. “Everyone is staring.”  I whisper to my mom’s back.

She’s walking just in front of me toward our table. She turns slightly as she scoots between to tables and says, “Only because you’re so pretty.”  Then she slides into her chair. I roll my eyes at this.

“Only because we’re so late, Mom.”  I correct her.  “You know I can’t stand it.”  I sit in the next empty seat and set my coffee on the table next to the water glass. I take a deep breath and let it out slow. All right, so not everyone is staring. Maybe Mom is right. I glance at her and smile and then notice her hands are empty. She’s being very attentive and listening to the speaker go on about how talented the young women in the room are, but she doesn’t have her biscotti or her coffee.  “Mom?”  I hiss.  “Where’s your coffee?”

“Oh, I left it in the car,” she whispers.  “I didn’t want people to think we were late because I stopped to get coffee.”

My stomach tightens.  “But I brought in my coffee!”

“It’s okay, you’re getting the award.”

“Mom.”  My voice drops dangerously low.  “It looks like we’re late because I wanted coffee.  And I didn’t.”

“Then why did you get some?” she asks furrowing her brow at me like I’m crazy.

The ringing in my ears starts to push out all other sounds and I can feel the heat returning. I must be holding my breath because my vision clouds and I’m certain I’m going to pass out.  “Because we were already there.  Because you wanted a coffee.  You skipped the parking lot.  You made me go in.”

“If you didn’t want to go, you should have said so.”   Mom snaps.

“I did say so, Mom.”  I growl out the last word and then everyone is clapping.  I pull my eyes away from Mom and look around the room.  People are smiling at me and nodding their approval. Shit, I didn’t even hear what the speaker said.

Now Mom begins clapping. “Well, go on.”  She says through smiling gritted teeth.

I take in a deep breath and exhale with slow deliberation, looking away from my mother.  I didn’t hear what was going on. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m looking around like an idiot. The other mom’s and award recipients are starting to giggle.  They probably think I’m just too excited to move.  I’m not. I would have been, if we didn’t stop for coffee, if my mom wasn’t arguing with me, if she wasn’t making me look like an idiot. But we did, she is, and I do. I’m too pissed to puzzle out what I need to do. So, I just sit in my chair, bright red, and grinning.

The spokesperson clears her throat.  “Just up here, Kate,” she says. She nods encouragement at me and I begin to move. I keep my eyes locked on the podium and zigzag up between the tables toward the front.

My Family Is …

Passive aggressive bullies.

Now,  Be Nice.

Okay … Full of shit.

Nope.  Try again.

My family is full of people trying to make it.  Trying to make their life full.  Trying to navigate what they need, what they want, what changes their minds, what keeps them going, what pushes against them, what others need, what others want, what pressures them.

One wants you to visit.

They miss you.  They love you.  You aren’t trying hard enough.  Where did you get that idea?  No.  I can’t believe you thought I’d want that.  I want.  I want.  I want.  You just need to show up.  Be present.  Do whatever.  But also run it all.  You disappoint me.  You should have.  You needed to.  You can’t keep me from doing this.  It means so much to me.  Since when?  Since always. You never said.  I shouldn’t have to.  You are letting me be.  You don’t expect me to do it.  I already paid for something else.  I want to do this.  Well, I just thought you’d want to see your family.  I thought you cared.

One doesn’t want to visit.

You don’t love us.

Yes, I do.  My family is full of needs.  My family is full of hurt.  My family is full of love.  My family is full of sadness.  My family is full of shame.  My family is full of desires for laughter.  My family is full of missing out.  My family is full of ideas.  My family is full of procrastination.  My family is full of disappointments.  My family is full of borrowed feelings.  My family if full of unclaimed feelings. 


Questions About My Behavior

I spend an awful lot of time feeling right. I know everything. I have every answer. I think everyone else in incompetent.

Why do I do that? Why do I try to fix? Why don’t I let people tell me the answer? Why don’t I think they’re capable? Why don’t I let them be better than me?

They’re answer is the better choice. I can listen. I can let others lead.

Why do I think they need to be rescued? What’s happened that I am certain they can’t do anything by themselves? Why am I so frightened for their safety and protective of their feelings at the sake of their feelings?

I think I’m an asshole. I don’t know better. I don’t know everything. Is my behavior is reinforced? Expected?

I will not fall in line to be the way I’ve been. I will be in the present. I’ll let others lead. I’ll listen. Today.

Kicked Out

I have been kicked out of many things in my life.  Some of them were institutions that promoted love  and understanding.  I was kicked out of Brownies – that’s the step below Girl Scouts.  You know that song you sing with your troop it has the line “My honor is to try and my duty is to love?” They were loving me right out the door.

I was kicked out of youth group.  Youth Group – where you go to church during the week to hang out with others that love God and talk about how you need to be accepting of all people – kicked out.  I was kicked out.

Most recently, I was kicked out of couples counseling – where you go to make things better with your partner.  Yea, asked to go somewhere else to work on my “issues.”  I have mentioned before that I am working on some codependency issues but the couples counselor felt that I wasn’t allowing us to progress do to other issues.

I was still too hung up on my daddy issues and my ex-spouse issues and my mommy issues.  I need to find someone else to pay to work those out before we can go back to work on the relationship.  Last I checked, our problem wasn’t my dad being an addict.  Or my mom being apathetic.  Or my ex being a douche.  Now all of these can contribute.  Yea, yea, yea.  I know.  But I can have some current, up to date, complaints that are legitimate and worthy of discussion.  Worthy of repeating.  Worthy of standing up against.  I can and I do.

I haven’t dismissed the “work on the past to help the future” decision made for me.  I have gotten underway discussing all the wonderful things about my family and I feel like shit.  My new therapist has told me that I was physically abused – by today’s definition.  I am not attaching myself to that bullshit.  I got the hanger.  To me, it’s just what happened when I was a pain in the ass.  Or the belt when I was a pain in the ass.  Or the brush, spoon, chair.

I was a pain in the ass.  I still wouldn’t say I was abused.  Would I?  I am having a difficult time enough trying to set appropriate boundaries for the members of my family that don’t know what they are or give a flying fuck about them.  I am not going to run home for Thanksgiving and say, “You abused me.”

It doesn’t matter.  It wouldn’t change the past or the future.  These people aren’t capable of change.  They are nice enough on the phone but they can’t even clean up when I visit.  Or the other half can’t even call at all.  They have too much.  They’re just as unhappy as I am.  They need just as much help as I do.  They aren’t going to get it.  They don’t want it.  They aren’t there yet.  They may never be there.

This is my own thing.  I have to heal without confronting.  The response would halt any progress.  My awareness is sometimes great, sometimes lacking.  The irony may be right in front of me.  But maybe I’m not there yet either.