Friday, February 6, 2009

This is going to be a bunch of different things in one post, so try not to get lost, whomever you are.

I just saw He's Just Not That Into You. I was so excited. It is very rare that that much excitement actually pays off and that you are not disappointed...but it happened. See it. Feel bad about all the cyberstalking (or real stalking) you've done. Hey, we've all done it. Okay, I've done it. It was a good start to a hopefully great weekend. Butttttt....

Here's the heavy stuff. I finished a book today. The Secret Life of Bees. I like to read books after they are made into movies because then I know it's probably something worth reading. Remember I said I liked books that made me think? This made me think. The book is about a motherless girl. My teacher let me borrow it... I'm a mother less girl. You get where this is going. I loved it, but it still made me think. Nothing I've never thought about. That's just it- stuff I've spent so much time thinking about. I have these certain memories that just stand out. It's not like big events, but small things that seemed meaningless at the time. I can close my eyes and be there. It's Saturday morning. I'm 9 or 10. My mom's wearing her blue robe that has bare patches on the arms and this pink slippers that smelled awful. She's got a cup of coffee and we're watching those Saturday morning shows... remember Hoop Time? She's stroking my hair. If I close my eyes, I can feel it. I used to be able to smell her, too, as if she was right beneath my head again, but I can't anymore. The only smell I remember now is this weird perfume that somebody sprayed on her at the funeral. I've got the bottle under my nightstand. When I smell it, it takes me right back. I feel nauseated all over again, wondering why they picked this harsh smell that she would have hated. I should throw that bottle out. But I won't. I won't ever cut any ties that might bind me to her. I know it's not jsut me. Lily, the girl in the book, felt the same way. I think the author must be motherless because she portrays it so meticulously accurately that it...brings up all this stuff again. Stuf that I know will never completely go away. It makes an appearance on days that you would expect, like my birthday, and days that you would not, like today, a cloudless glimpse of spring reserved for those times in the winter when you feel like you just can't take the blistery cold one more day. And, just like that, you get this perfect balmy day to remind you that spring is coming, if you can just hold on. I don't expect my mother to pop up on days like that. Except, she was more of a spring person than a winter person... that's who she was. But she was dark too.

See, I'm helping with a pancake breakfast in the morning. On my day off. At 8 a.m. Did I mention I've slept 12 hours in the last week? A lady at church said, "Oh, Chris and Lori must be so proud of you. You're such a good kid." I smiled and thanked her but if only she knew how I'm not. I have this hate all bottled up inside for my father, and everytime I look at him, it bubbles up so much that I have to look away. I have it for my mother, too, but it makes it easier that she's gone. I don't really hate either of them, but I do have it in me. I'm not good at all, lady. But that's not the sort of stuff people want to hear about, hating your parents. They want to see that you're a good kid, with a scholarship and a boatload of potential.

These are things I tell Him every night. And every night, He to him. talk to him. talk to him. But I can't even look at him. He says, I'll be right there. But the hate in me is so much that I'm not sure any of it will ever get out. I can't even look at him. I can't listen to what God's tleling me because I have so much hate.

I'm certainly not a good person. But maybe I have potential, if I keep at it. Maybe even a boatload. Who knows.

I like to make up stories about the people in the cars as I drive. She's heading home after work. No, she told her boyfriend she was at work, but really she was cheating on him. But it's because he's a douchebag who hits her. The other guy is gonna help her get out. She has a child. That's why she's staying right now.

That sort of thing. Today, I saw this little blue SUV. It had one of those stick figure bumper stickers that has all the members of the family in it. I tailed them for awhile ebcause I couldn't figure out if the last character as a dog or a baby stroller. It was a dog. There were two kids in the car. The little boy kept sticking his head out like a dog and making me laugh. The mom had her window down- it was springy after all- and siunglasses on. She turned around and laughed at him when she stopped at the red light. I imagined they were on their way home from soccer practice. She was going to fix him a peanut butter sandwich (I don't know this was part of it- I hate peanut butter) and start cooking dinner. The windows were opened. They just happened to turn into the neighborhood I turned into- a suburban one close to the school. They'll live there for awhile. He'll grow up here, with lots of friends and his mom will be the cool mom.

Sometimes I wonder if I get it right, or if that lady was hiding behind those sunglasses, wishing she could escape the constraints of southern suburbia and run until she find out who she was really supposed to be- not his mom, after all. I wonder what people see when they look at me like that. They surely wouldn't get it right.

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