Finally

"Hello?"
"I dreamt about him again."
"You've got to stop doing that."
"I know."
"Do you? Because you say that every time we have this conversation..."
"I know."
She sighed. "Fine. What was the dream about?"
"Him."
"Oh my god." I could hear her patience was wearing thin.
"We were.. y'know... We had a date in last night's dream, and I guess we hooked up..."
"Oh. Wow. Was it any good?" She was teasing.
I sighed. "Yes. It was amazing. I woke up and had to change."
"Eww TMI!" She laughed. I loved her laugh.
I laughed with her, though my laugh threatened to smash hers. My laugh was booming, ungraceful, unkind to the ear. Hers tinkled like a Christmas tree, soft and delicate, and full of joy. I loved her laugh.
"Did you dream last night?"
She sighed. I asked her that every time we talked, and I always got the same answer.
"I don't want to talk about it."
I often wondered what she dreamt. Whether it was of some secret love, or of some struggle (though one could argue those are the same topics), or even just a generic floating in space dream, though I wouldn't know why she would want to hide that... Maybe she didn't dream at all, and was jealous of my very vivid dreams.
"Okay." Same answer as last time, same answer as next time.
"So does this guy go to our school?"
"Yeah..." I hated lying to her.
"Do I know him?" Very much so.
"A little." The lies were like pins in my heart.
"Will you stop being so vague and just tell me who it is?" I can't. I can't. She'd never talk to me again. I couldn't live with that.
"Maybe someday."
"GAH!"
"Sorry." So very sorry.
"No you're not."
"Yes I am." You don't know how much this is killing me.
"If you were sorry you would just tell me." I'll be even sorrier when I tell you.
"I'll tell you if you tell me."
"Are you kidding?"
"Nope."
"Ugh. Whatever." Thank you, whatever being is out there... "So what are you doing this weekend?"
I sighed. Nothing ever happened in my life. Unless she decided to hang out, I was stuck holed up in my room, avoiding Spongebob and doing homework.
"I don't know. Probably nothing."
"Wanna hang out?" GOD YES!
"Sure. What do you want to do?"
"Tajaa's having a party, want to go to that?" A party? Damn. Public place.
"Oh, I don't know... I'm not a great dancer... I dance like an idiot."
"She has a pool. You can swim, I've seen you." Damn. Damn damn damn!
"Okay, but we have to go shopping first. I haven't had a new suit in ages, and the one I have has a hole where  that stick snagged at the river."
"Yay! Shopping and party! This is going to be great!" I could see the smile on her face. It made me smile.
"So when do you want to go?"
"I can be ready in ten minutes. Your car or mine?" Crap I had forgotten to clean mine. I couldn't let her see...
"Yours. Mine needs a bath." To get that stupid graffiti off... Stupid brothers and their friends. Crap, where am I going to hide it?
"Okay. But since when have you been afraid to go out with a dirty car?"
"I'm not, but I don't want him to see..." Lie.
"He's going to be at the mall?"
"Maybe." Lie.
"Will you point him out?"
"Only if you tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"What you dream about."
"Haha! No."
"Your choice." This was killing me. TELL HER my brain screamed. TELL HER BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE, BEFORE SHE--
"So I'll see you in 15?"
"Thought you said 10?" Didn't want to wait any longer than I had to.
"I can be ready in 10. It takes me a bit to drive."
"I'm just giving you shit. I'll see you in 15."
"Bye! Muah!" She blew a kiss at me? When did she start that?
"Bye!"
We hung up. An early riser, I was already dressed and ready. Now to occupy myself for 15 minutes...
I locked my door, laid back down, and reached into one of the drawers under my bed. I shimmied out of my shorts; I could put those back on in an instant if need be. The familiar hum took me away from my immediate problem.
The doorbell rang, and I was at the door in a second, beating my brother by a foot. I stuck my tongue out at him, grabbed my purse off the hook, yelled to mom where I was going, and shut the door behind me.
"Hi!"
"Hi!" We hugged, and raced to the car. This had been "our" game since we were kids. I won, my door being on the closest side.
I hopped in, and nearly missed the pink envelope. I grabbed at it before I sat on it, and ended up sitting on my hand. She giggled (god I loved that giggle), and I stuck out my tongue at her.
The envelope had my name on it. I loved her handwriting. I started to open it, and she stopped me.
"Wait."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing... Just wait, okay?"
"Until...?"
"Until I'm ready. Promise me you won't open it until I'm ready."
"Okay, I promise. Will you tell me when you're ready?"
"Yes."
"Okay then."
We drove in silence to the mall. I turned the envelope over and over in my hands, nervous. It felt like a bomb, and I swear I heard a countdown beeping. I put it in my purse, trying to forget about it.
We pulled up to the mall, and got out of the car. It was like a sigh of relief.
Our favorite shop was on the south side of the mall, but we parked in the north parking lot. It was tradition. So we walked from one end of the mall to the other, looking at the booths, going into the shops and looking at some suits on the way. I didn't find any I liked, though there was a necklace that tempted me.
We walked into the SPCA shop. There were all kinds of rescued animals in there, from puppies to kittens to older dogs and cats, to birds and fish and frogs. I loved that shop. We headed to the puppies.
I was playing with a little yorkie through the grate when she walked up and put her hand in mine. "Open it."
"Open what?" She stared at me. "Oh..." I reached into my purse and grabbed the envelope. I tried to get my hand so I could rip off the edge, but she wouldn't give it to me. I giggled. "I can't open it with one hand."
"Use your teeth?"
I laughed. "Okay..."
I ripped it open with my teeth (I'm sure the Yorkie thought it was funny) and grabbed the little note inside, and opened it.
There was more of that handwriting I loved, but as I read it, the letters quickly became blurred as tears formed.
"Are you crying?" Yes..
"No."
"You look like you're crying."
"I'm not."
"Are you okay?"
I looked at her. Her green eyes looked back at me. They were worried. Worried! HA!
I looked towards the letter again. I couldn't believe this.
"I dream about you too."
Her eyes widened. "But you said he..."
"I lied. I lied a million times. I'm soo sorry. I was afraid if I told you..."
"That you would be grossed out and hate me. I know."
It was silent for a minute.
Then, I kissed her. Once. A peck.
I kissed a girl, and I liked it... The chorus to Katy Perry's song came over the speakers.
We laughed. A big, booming laugh, and a Christmas tree laugh. And we kissed again.
"I don't want to go to the party."
"I don't either."
"Want to go back to my place and watch stupid movies all night?"
"Yep."
"Yay!"
We laughed again.
Walking back to the car, she put her hand in mine. It fit perfectly, just like when we were kids.

LOOK I'm Doing Something: An Update Into My Real Life

So one of my friends in REAL life (OMG I have those??) introduced me to this guy, R. G. Ryan. He's a published author, who is actually pretty down-to-earth. Well, recently on Twitter he put out a casting call for writers who wanted to make a collaboration.


So, I decided I wanted to at least try.


And I did! 


And I was good! Don't believe me?? LOOK! 'Cause I'm not kidding and I'm excited.


Feel free to check out the rest of the collaboration. 'Cause it's GOOD. I encourage it.


OH! R.G. said in an Email that I've got... Y'know what, I'm just going to copypasta:
"So, listen...just from the little I saw, you definitely have ability. I get it about life making demands, but innate giftings cannot be ignored. I'm a writer. I'm published many times over. I think you're good. For what it's worth. 8-)

So glad we ran into each other here in the cyberverse."


Excuse me while I go squee like a small child.

Fast Romance

At camp, going to the astrology tower, watching the stars, talking, starting out as a small glance, turning into a kiss, growing into an urge, blooming into need and greed, a mix of passion and romance and base natural wildness, a tango of breath and limbs, to a climax, to a finish, to whispers and kisses and caresses, to a naked cuddle, a comfort, asleep.

I see him. He walked out of the library with that adorable walk he does... It's like he's dancing on clouds with the surefootedness of an assassin. Despite his heavy-looking work shoes, his feet make no sound. His denim jeans make no rustle as he walks by my little outdoor cafe table.
His hair is scruffy, his face unshaven, and I think I've seen him wear the same shirt three days in a row once. It was green.
I don't know his name.
I don't know anything about him.
But I really, really like him.
Goddamn I hate being shy.
But it gives me imagination.
He passes by my little table and I smell him. Cologne and deodorant and toothpaste and sweat and pheromones... Oh god, am I pregnant? Oh. Right. I can't be. Duh.
I smell him and I love that smell. It's the kind you can curl up in. Or at least, I can... and enter fantasy.
We meet at a bar, random chance. We start chatting, and he recognizes me. And I recognize him. We really start talking and find we both love children's books, architecture, ancient things, and learning. He spends his lunch at the library and I spend mine at the cafe, and we work right down the street from each other. He's a writer. I'm an editor. This is amazing. I'm having the time of my life talking to him, until the bartender kicks us out for closing.
We walk out a ways towards my place, still chatting. It's a nice summer night out, hot, but with a cool gentle breeze that keeps the air stirred. We reach a corner, and he turns to the left while I keep walking straight. We stop and laugh. He wants to take me to his place, I want to take him to mine. A car swerves by, giving momentary illumination to the scene. I get a perfect flash into his eyes. Emerald green eyes surrounded by black lashes. They're smiling. Enticing. I don't want to look away, but the car passes us and leaves us back in the orange glow of the streetlamp. I shyly look down, my face is burning so I know I'm bright red, and he takes my hand and tows me down the street that is not mine.
Oh. My. God. He is touching me. Our hands are grasping each others', and it is totally normal and comfortable and wonderful and meant to be and and and...
The breeze whispers across my face, and I smell him again. And the skin contact and the eye contact and the smells and the excitement of it all....
Oh god. I'm excited. And now I'm red all over again. I'm sweating, my eyes are probably dilated, and I'm practically dancing. I look up at him, He Who Is At Least Six Inches Taller Than Me, and see he's a bit excited too. I feel like a teenager again. Butterflies. I giggle, and not because of something he said. He looks at me, and, by the change of expression, knows it. He grins.
And I stop. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. I plant my feet and stop. He takes a couple steps ahead and turns to face me.
Butterflies. I don't know what to do with them. I'm suddenly nervous. Dammit.
I look up at him. He's got a questioning look on his face. He's wondering if I've got doubts. I don't. I've been wanting this for months. But what if he doesn't like me?
Shut up mind!
Suddenly I hear an AOOOOGA in my head and a voice screaming, "DIVE DIVE DIVE!" and so I do.
Up I go in my flats, on to my toes. There's a spark of electricity as my lips touch his. I rock back onto my heels, rubbing the sting from them. He laughs, then touches my arm. No spark this time. We look into each other's eyes, and the laugh fades. Serious. Anxious. Wanting. Straining patience.
His face is a mirror of my emotions.
That spark was like a pesticide to those butterflies.
I put my hands on his face, and softly touch the scruffy, almost petting. My eyes never leave his.
And suddenly we're kissing and his lips are soft and supple and on mine and my arms are wrapped around his neck and his hands are on my waist and it's perfect and slow and...
I'm going to kill whomever was driving that car and honked at us. The moment is ruined.
Goddamn it!
I'm now pissed AND horny and who the hell wants to have angry sex the first time with someone who can be  The One?
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and look at him. He is not looking at me he is looking straight up. He's strained and tense. I don't know what to do, so I do the only thing I can think of.
I hug him.
Yeah yeah, it's juvenile, but it works, because he lets out a lot of air in a big whoosh, and then hugs me back. I smile against his chest, and breathe deeply.
His hands are on my shoulders, and I look at his face again, letting go. We don't talk. Just look at each other, gauging what the other will do.
I have no idea what I'm going to do.
So I surprise us both.
I take his hand and face the way we were walking.
Fuck the guy in the car.
I'm NOT going to let him ruin this.
"Are you sure?"
I smile, and simply say yes. And I nod. But that's assumed, because of course I would nod.
We keep walking until we stop at this picturesque home squeezed between two others. There are steps leading up to the front door, a window on each side, and three windows upstairs. In this light, it looks brown with light orange shutters.
It's frigging adorable.
But he's even more so. OMG is he scruffy!


(((I have to go to bed. Either this will get finished or it won't. Hope you enjoyed what was written!)))

A Short Suicide Story

We were sitting on the bench, trees and grass and sand and sky and lake spread out before us, picturesque sunset contrasting against the morbidity of our conversation.

                “You never cut, self-mutilated, did drugs, got into trouble in school.  Your teachers loved you.  So why do you say that you were suicidal?”

                “That’s easy.  I had to fool everyone.  I didn’t want a lover being freaked out by a scar.  I didn’t want to lose the only control I had over myself.  I didn’t get into trouble at school because I wasn’t brave enough.  My teachers didn’t love me, they pitied me.  And because I had to fool everyone, I was miserable.  The people that knew me… I could freak out on them, my family. I could lash out at them because they were as stuck with me as I was with them.  Blood is a mysterious and powerful thing.  Another reason I never let blood: I didn’t want to lose that power. It was the only power I had.”

                “Okay, so why kill yourself?”

                “It would be dramatic.  Out-of-the-blue.  I felt like by doing so, I might be doing someone a favor.  In my fantasy, my school would come together, united in their shock and grief. My parents would be rid of their devil-child, one less mouth to feed, one less thing to worry about.  The universe would forget about me and move on, because in the grand scheme of things, I didn’t matter.”

                “So why didn’t you?”

                “Two things; fear, and a dream.”

                “Erm…  Really?  Those seem kinda simple.”

                “Ha. As if anything in life is “kinda simple”.  Either the universe or the government makes things so inextricably complex that almost nothing has meaning.  If you perceive something as simple, you aren’t seeing the molecular, atomic, sub-atomic etc., magic, or you’re not filling out the right forms.”

                He gave me a sideways look, as if to make sure I wasn’t going to start biting him in the abandonment of my sanity.

                “Okay, fine.  So fear and a dream.  What was the dream, and why were you afraid?”

                “The fear is the simplest of the two, so I’ll start with that explanation: fear of the unknown.  How the hell should my 10-, 13-, and 16-year-old self have known just what exactly was out there, waiting for me on the Other Side?  Was there nothing?  Was there actually a God? If there wasn’t a God, was there still Heaven and Hell?  Would I even be welcome in Heaven?  Was Hell as terrible as everyone made it out to be?  Or what if the Buddhists were right?  Would I become a bug? And on and on.  Then there was Socrates…  I once read the story of his trial before he was executed.  They asked him about death, and what came after.  He responded that he didn’t know.  If there was a Heaven or Hell, he’d fit in somewhere, and if there wasn’t, he’d be just fine with sleeping for the rest of Eternity.”

                “Those are deep questions for a 10- 13- or 16-year old to be asking.  Even at your age now, those are really deep.”

                “Most of those questions came into play around year 13.  But I had been questioning the reality of a God since right after I turned nine.  Probably the reason I was so miserable.”

                “What happened?”

                “No clue.”

                We sat in silence for a time, as if he expected me to elaborate.  I was waiting for his next set of questions, though I could probably already guess what the next ones were.

                “The dream.” Bingo. “What was so profound about the dream?  Why did you think, ‘That’s no ordinary dream! I must stop what I am doing!’? Why did you put so much stock into it?”

“I dreamed about being a mother.”

“A mother?”

“Yes. A mother.  I had a dream where I was doing dishes and looking out the front window.  There were a bunch of boys in my front yard, kicking a ball around, throwing sticks at each other, and terrorizing a golden retriever that was having a blast.”

“Were they all yours?”

“No.  Only one walked in the door, the dog at his heals, mud covering my linoleum floor.  He was blonde, with really striking eyes.  I don’t remember them, but when I looked into the little boy’s eyes, it felt as though my stomach had gone through the floor, because I knew him to be mine.  I loved this little boy.  He was my world. I go and I hug him, ask him how his day’s been.  He disappears upstairs, and the door opens again.  I rise to greet a man with the little boy’s eyes, and I’m blinded by the love.

“Even now, years after I’ve had this dream, I still feel the warmth and safety and love when I remember.  I can almost feel the man’s kiss of greeting when I concentrate.”

“So, why did this dream affect your decision to stay alive?”

“Because I realized that that is what I want. That future, that family. And if I killed myself, I would never get to see if it came true, if I ever got my wish. So, I lived for them.”

“And because you were afraid.”

“And because I was afraid.”

“So what changed, after you chose to live?”
                “My relationship with my parents got better.  I realized who my friends were (almost none of them, so it turned out), and dropped the posers.  My paradigm shifted, and everything wasn’t shaded in a haze of rage anymore.  Granted, I lost a few things.  I’m more scared now than I was of things. I’m shy, and I cry a lot more.  I think when I realized what I wanted in life, my shell that had been protecting me for so long fell away, and I became a grub without any protection, so I was forced to hide again, or accept that I was no longer armored.”

“What did you do? Hide, or accept it?”  I looked at him, realized that he was entranced by my odd story.  I think he was hoping the hero would win.

“I hid. Differently, this time.  I said I became shy, didn’t I?  It’s not stage-fright bad, I can still sing in front of an audience when encouraged, but I don’t go up to random people and start talking to them and hug them anymore. And I become easily embarrassed.”

“You aren’t right now.  You’re not shy or embarrassed with me.”

“You needed my help, so for this moment, I got over it.”

“I’m not afraid of the unknown, I like exploring things, and I’ve never had some life-altering dream. How will a conversation with a 20-something help me?”

“I’m 19.”

“Whatever.”

“Sometimes, dreams aren’t only intended for the recipient.”

“Huh?”

“I think one of the reasons I was granted the dream was because it wasn’t just me that needed it, or because someone would need me later on. Besides the boy and the man.”

“You think that you had the dream about your future so that you wouldn’t kill yourself and possibly save someone?”

“Maybe.  No one knows anything about dreams, really.  Not even experts.  I think the Native Americans were close, though.”

“What did they think about dreams that you think are right?”

“No clue.  Just a good feeling about it.”

“Yep. You’re crazy.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Oh.”

                I chuckled.  I couldn’t help it. He seemed so abashed by the thought that I was crazy, and had accepted it. For the next few minutes, we watched the sky, waiting for the first few stars to being sleepily winking at us across the vast expanse of the universe.  They came, twinkling like the glitter on a Kindergartener’s art project.  I smiled.

                Star light, star bright, first star I see alight. I wish I may, I wish I might, tell the Wish I Wish tonight. I wish I could find…

                Before I could even start finishing my wish, he stood up, hopped onto the bench, and untied the noose hanging from the tree, untying the knot, and coiling the rope up into a neat little bundle. I smiled.

                “So why’d you change your mind, kid?”

                “Because,” he replied, “A crazy old lady in a very young and hot body sat down beside me and answered my questions, prayers, and wishes.  I think I’m dreaming.”

                I smiled, and looked into his eyes.  My heart was suddenly beating around my feet. 

                I wish I could find those eyes.

A Note from Froggoddess

Right now, I'm taking the stories from my other blog and adding them here.  These aren't the actual dates of composition, so I apologize. If you are wanting the original dates, please leave a comment!

Just a ditty...

For weeks now, since she had been accused, she had felt a presence. At night, as she lay awake pondering her shortened future, she knew someone-or something-was watching over her. She only had to wait a few days longer before she could see more than the small expanse of sky her tiny barred window would allow her, and during that time, it would be fleeting. She hoped she would see The Presence.

As the days lagged on, she started talking to it. It didn't matter whether anyone heard her. She was simply lonely. Wearing nothing but her ragged shift, she was cold, but talking about everything and nothing kept her mind off the chill. She would not die here.

Then the morning came when she would no longer have to wait. She wakened from the sound of the village gathered around the hole that was her prison. The door was opened, and a ladder was shoved in. The leader of the witch hunters barked at her to hurry up, they hadn't all day! She slowly crawled to the ladder and pulled herself up. Such large movement was difficult; living on naught but stale bread and dirty water for a month wasn't enough to sustain a fully-grown woman right after giving birth.

Slowly and shakily, she climbed the ladder. Rough hands grabbed at her, and she allowed them to pull her up. The sun was so bright compared to the dingy hole. It torched her eyes through her eyelids and seared her skin. 

They dragged her to the pillory located in the tiny town square, and tied her there, facing the sun. They didn't bother to cover her, and the shift she was in had been ripped and torn even more than before by the angry people. If she wasn't already naked, she felt like it.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she heard the wail of a newborn, the high, cracking screech of a babe just from the womb. Hers? There were only three babies in the whole village, and the tiny village was so secluded that not even for the novelty of seeing the destruction of a purported witch would bring in more people.