Contracts...

She had been dead for 6 months. That was important to understand to see her side of the story.  Dead. For SIX months! DEAD.

Don't be so dramatic he would say.

She would have rolled her eyes but she was a little worried what would happen to them if she did.  When they had dried out they had shrunk considerably and were basically just resting in the sockets.

He had finally agreed to go to counselling.

They were sitting in the waiting room and she pretended the receptionist wasn't staring at her. She knew she was just waiting for them to go in to the main office so she could spray air freshener everywhere. She didn't take it personally. She just thought that Little Miss should be grateful that they were in to the musty smell portion and away from the meaty one that had been a few months ago. She was really glad her sense of smell had faded quickly. The retching noises she was greeted with had let her know it wasn't good.

As they sat down across from the highly recommended marriage counselor she could see the surprise register on the doctor's face.

Ah yes, we're a new situation aren't we?

"So...tell me why you think you are here today?"

"I've been dead for SIX months!"

"Don't be so dramatic."

See?

"Okay, so, umm, you've been dead for six months. What do you mean by that?"

She had laughed. Did you know how hard it was to laugh when your vocal chords were drying out? She was lucky nothing snapped. Well nothing more than her temper. "Dead. As in I died. As in moved on. Next level. I shouldn't be here anymore. Dead."

"But you are here, so why do you think that is?"

"Because he didn't let go."

The doctor turned to her husband, "Is that true? Are you holding her against her will?"

"She said she would ALWAYS be here. ALWAYS means always."

She looked at the doctor and shook her head, "Do you see? He won't let go. I've been DEAD for SIX months!"

"ALWAYS! What part of ALWAYS do you not get? You said ALWAYS."

"I SAID until DEATH do us part. DEATH. I've been DEAD FOR SIX MONTHS!"

"I'm not dead though."

She tried to blow her cheeks out in frustration but she had torn a small hole in the left one a few weeks ago so instead of  a sound of frustration they made a sort of sad balloon deflating noise. "It was either of us, not just you. Death is death. One death is all it takes to break the contract."

He sat back smugly, "Apparently not."

"So you see what I'm dealing with?"

The doctor looked at him, "Why don't you want to let go?"

"Why? Because I love her. Because I would be lonely without her."

"I love you too. I really do. And, please believe me when I tell you, you wouldn't be lonely for long. You are a good man. You're funny, you're smart, you can cook, we have a nice house, the girls are grown and so there are no kids to worry about. You are a catch. Someone will snatch you right up."

He shook his head, "I always thought I'd go first."

She laughed again, "So did I. Trust me, this wasn't in the plan. But you have to let me go. Thank god we live in a desert and not in a rain forest. I mean desiccation is preferable to rot, but at some point I'm going to blow away. Literally. Blow. Away."

"I don't want to let you go. I don't want to be alone."

She looked back to the doctor for help. "He won't be alone for long, right, Doc? I mean you've seen scores of couples in here who had multiple partners right? A catch like him will be gone before you know it, you tell him."

The doctor started to speak but was interrupted.

"Well, Marybeth has been coming around a lot lately to check on me."

"Excuse me?"

"Marybeth, you know from the HOA board."

"Oh I KNOW who Marybeth is. When exactly has she been coming around?"

"Well you know, when I'm leaving for work or sometimes she's waiting for me in the driveway when I come home. She stopped by the other day and offered to take me to lunch. So maybe you are right, Marybeth would..."

"Over my dead body!"

She realized what she had said at the same time he did. They laughed.

The doctor spoke up again, "It seems as though someone else has not yet let go."

She thought about it. Maybe that was true. She hadn't. Not really. The terms of the contract had been fulfilled. She knew it. He knew it. He couldn't have held her if she hadn't wanted to be held as well.

"We both need to let go." She reached out and patted his knee.

A fat tear rolled down his face, "Yes, I guess we do."

They looked at each other one more time and whispered Always. She stepped out of what was left of her body and was free. A door appeared in the middle of the room and her guide walked out, "Finally! I've been waiting for fucking ever for you to figure it out."

She laughed, "How did I not know it would be you waiting here?"

"Because you're obviously slow as fuck. Now can we go?"

"Can we stop by Marybeth's house first?"

"Oh hell yeah, already on the schedule..."

Influences.

Ursula K. Le Guin died on Monday. She was 88 so you cannot really say it was unexpected, but it was still unexpected.

I wrote a Facebook post when Sue Grafton died last month. About how surprised I was at how hard it hit me. It felt like losing a friend. Kinsey (and understand that Kinsey was Sue and Sue, Kinsey) had been in my life since I was 18. I was younger than her then aged past her as I read the books. When I got Y I was thrilled and disappointed because that meant that only Z was left and then I would be saying goodbye to my adult lifelong friend. Little did I know I would be saying goodbye much sooner.

Sue's death felt personal. Like a friend. Like a companion. Because of her books.

Ursula K. Le Guin was not my friend. She was something entirely different.

I read science fiction as a child because that's what my brother read. Much like at 9-10 years old I was probably more well versed in the world of Louis L'Amour and Harlequin Romances than any other child my age. Because those are the books my parents read. Both of my parents were voracious readers. Don's Paperback Book Exchange was a monthly trip. And when we finished our own books we pillaged the other books around the house. My father always had a book in his back pocket and my mother one in her purse. A habit I picked up as well. Before Kindle and the Kindle app on my phone I always had a physical book with me. Traveling with a client and he needed to step in to the restroom for a minute, he came back out to find me leaning against a nearby pillar with a book in hand. "I wasn't gone that long!" Long enough for a couple of pages. I've always been surrounded by my books and everyone else's books.

So I read a lot of science fiction, westerns, and romances as well as cereal boxes and anything else with words on them. I read and re-read my own books. I had a constant stream of library books going in and out as well. I read a ton. My world view has been shaped by my reading. I've mentioned that I got as much of my moral code from ElfQuest as I did the church. Going back this year and reading the books by years I have been alive and seeing my childhood again through Judy Blume and SE Hinton. And yes, Ursula K. Le Guin was there as well. And when I saw her books on the lists I smiled. Because she was not science fiction I read because it was a book of my brother's. She was mine. My choice. My books. Written for me.

But she was not my friend. I didn't view her that way.

She was more. More. MORE.

Ursula K. Le Guin shaped my view of what a woman could be. What it even meant to be a woman. Why in the world we needed to have such distinctions. Her work was the first time I was ever introduced to the ideas of gender fluidity. Her take on races was also the same, but I don't remember that as much. I do remember genderless beings, and strong, smart women. And later in life when I read her essays and her poetry I got even more. Ursula K. Le Guin was a woman of knowledge. A woman of imagination. A woman of understanding. A woman of strength. She was so much MORE than a few books.

She also shaped my thoughts on writing. On what could be "allowed." Her books blended the normal and the magical into everyday life. She wrote in different genres. She wrote long form and short stories and poetry and fiction and non-fiction. Are you seeing a pattern here? I could never hope to be as good as she was, but she wrote in such a way that left no doubt in my mind that I could be as good as I can be.

When Sue died I felt a loss. A friend left this world and left a hole that aches because it will never be finished.

When Ursula K. Le Guin died I felt as if I should say of course. Not because she was 88 and so of course she would go before I did, but of course because if there is something beyond our time here, if there is another life after this life, Ursula K. Le Guin should be there first to help me, and so many others of us, understand it. And to already be seeing ways to make it better, more, expanded. Ursula K. Le Guin went first because she always did. She lead the way.

Peace to her family and to her friends and to all of us whole were shaped by her life. She was just so much more.

Childish Games...

The flowers that he brought her were dying. The petals falling off one by one. Like the childhood game. He loves me, he loves me not.

The petal falls...
He loves me.
The petal falls...
He loves me not.

You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
He loves me.

You're not very smart though.
He loves me not.

I am so lucky to have you in my life.
He loves me.

You should be grateful that I stick around.
He loves me not.

We haven't seen you in a long time. You're always so busy with him.
He loves me.

What do you mean he won't let you come with us?
He loves me not.

That's a lovely necklace, when did you get it?
He loves me.

Why are you wearing long sleeves in August?
He loves me not.

I am so sorry, that will never happen again.
He loves me.

You really are a stupid bitch, you know that right?
He loves me not.

I'm the only one for you.
He loves me.

Nobody else will ever want you.
He loves me not.

It was an accident.
He loves me.

Don't make me hurt you.
He loves me not.

This is your third trip to the emergency room this year.
He loves me.

We want you to talk to a counselor.
He loves me.

We're scared for you.
He loves me.

You should leave.
He loves me.

Come with us right now.
He loves me.

He loves me.
He loves me.
He loves me.

The last petal falls.
The mound on the ground waiting to be swept away by the wind.
He will bring more the next time he visits.

He loves me not.

Pull the Plug...

Two nights ago I was having a dream where I was fighting with someone. Like out of control yelling, angry, this isn't going to end well at all fight. In the middle of it I woke up. From dead asleep in the middle of a dream to waking up. And as I transitioned out of the dream I could literally feel the rage draining out of me. It was like I had been filled with a rage liquid and someone pulled the plug at my feet and it drained out of me. Started at my head and just lowered and away.

It was the oddest sensation.

As I started to drift back off to sleep I tried to hold on to that empty feeling. That no anger left, completely drained of it feeling. For one I didn't want to pop back in to the dream I was having and start the yelling match back up (it was about a wedding and planning and I think the woman I was yelling at was supposed to be my sister but wasn't? I don't know, but I was angry and didn't want to go back to it) and I also really liked that calm feeling. Drifting away very light and clean.

That feeling has stuck with me for the past two days. Not the empty one, but the feeling of the rage draining away. That sensation of rage being an actual thing that I was filled with instead of a metaphoric filled with rage. And there being a release valve someplace. A plug you could pull that would just get rid of it.

Wouldn't that be a great thing to find right about now? The world could use a good rage draining. Everyone is so Angry. Capital A angry. People are Angry. Political parties are Angry. Countries are Angry. Everyone has something that moves them from calm to pissed at the drop of a hat it seems. 

Yesterday I watched two friends post things on their Facebook walls and then have discussions with their friends about the post. One was from a liberal friend and one was from a conservative friend. And both of them were cool, calm and collected until someone posted an opposing political viewpoint. Then you could practically see the bristle. And the funny thing is both of them did the same thing. They went in to a defensive crouch. "I never..." "This wasn't..." "You did..." "You said..." Since I wasn't doing anything but stalking each conversation I was detached enough to see the similarities even though the original posts were nothing alike. 

This is our world right now. Everyone is braced and ready for a fight. 

I am. I admit it. We are coming up on a year since Trump's inauguration where he spoke about American Carnage and then went about creating it. And right now my conservative friends (the 5 I have left) are all bristling. They will say I hate him and so I won't give him a fair shake. I will say I would give him a pretty good shake if I could do it without the Secret Service getting upset. He fills me with rage. Every dismantling of an environmental protection, every utterance about good Nazis, every I didn't say shithole ask them they think I said shithouse, every tweet that undermines what he JUST FUCKING SAID IN A MEETING...yeah. He fills me with rage. And the fact that my conservative friends are willing to give it all a pass as long as the stock market goes up and their companies get tax breaks fills me with disappointment. And I have to take a deep breath and look for a way to not be that way.

So I would love to find the drain plug for the world. The one we could all get together and tug out. To feel that rage drain away. To have that void take its place. To feel that calm.

Middle East Peace Talks? Pull the plug first.

North and South Korea reconciling? Find that plug. 

ISIS? Wash them right down the drain.

Just less rage. Imagine that feeling. 

I'm going to find ways to find more of that. Like not engaging in the Facebook arguments. I will probably go back to not reading the public comments. I am torn on those things, I like to see what people are thinking, but the people who think are rarely the ones who post, if you know what I mean. I want my zen to be front and center, not my rage. And that means more thoughtful articles, fewer thoughtless comments. More books, fewer tweets. More righteous anger about things that matter, more getting a point across in a way that can be heard.

I mean, I'm not going to be quiet, god forfend, I am still going to talk about the things that matter to me. The things that make me angry. But I'm going to try my best to not let that anger build to rage. A little bit of anger gets shit done, rage shuts shit down.

Drain the rage.

Use Your Words...

You cannot smash the patriarchy by insisting it pay attention to your subtle nonverbal cues.

This is where the #metoo movement needs to watch out or it gets turned into a "bitches be crazy" tool for those that want to see it fail.

I'm talking about the anonymous story about Aziz Ansari that came out this weekend and the divided reaction it has had. You can tell from my intro where I fall in the continuum.

I didn't read the full story on babe for awhile, just the recaps. It was interesting the pieces that each side pulled to show that they were right. Either that Ansari was clearly a predator and deserves to lose every good thing in his life. Or that "Grace" was nuts and is seeking some sort of odd revenge for the date not being what she had wanted it to be.

When I finally read her account this morning I found I am in the middle on those accounts. Ansari doesn't come off well, but neither does she.

I think Ansari (if her account is completely accurate) is a bit of a boor. More than a little self absorbed. Imagine that. A famous actor who knows this woman is going out with him because he's a famous actor (she basically says it herself) expecting that the woman wants to have sex with him. Yes, he was aggressive. But wasn't she also passive?

She says that he ignored her nonverbal cues. The argument I keep seeing against him are that he didn't wait for an "enthusiastic yes" which is apparently the new standard. Yes isn't enough, it must be an enthusiastic yes. Okay, but what does that mean? Not everyone is a yeller. Does that make it not enthusiastic. Does a quiet response, a let's see how I feel about this kiss, this touch, this step mean it's not enthusiastic? Does every step have to be the "may I touch you here?" "may I now touch you here?" movement?

Do not get me wrong. A hard no is a no. A soft no is a hard no. As soon as you say no it's no. I don't care if you were enthusiastically saying yes! just a minute before as soon as you say no it's no. But say no. Don't think that a yes, okay is a no. Or a well I said yes, but I didn't use tongue so he should have known I meant no. Or, in this case, well, yes, I gave him a blow job after he performed oral sex on me but I didn't do it for long so he should have known I meant no.

If you mean no, say no. When she got up and said, no, I'm going home he called her an Uber. He texted her the next day saying how nice it was to see her and when she responded that she had not had a good time and he had made her feel taken advantage of and used, he said he hadn't realized and apologized. Pay attention to that. She told him she was upset, she told him she hadn't been having a good time and he responded by saying that he hadn't realized that and was sorry.

You cannot smash the patriarchy by giving subtle nonverbal cues and expecting it to smash itself.

Use your words. No means no but you have to say it. If you can help it, do not allow yourself to be in a sexual encounter you don't want to be in. Get out. If he is undressing you and you don't want to be undressed then leave. If you cannot leave and he forces you to stay, then press charges. I'm not victim blaming here, I'm saying take some steps to try not to be one. And try to see that many of us see what "Grace" described as a bad date with a lot of mixed signals, not a abusive situation, not a victimized moment. Don't send mixed signals and then be upset when someone doesn't understand what you are saying.

No.
I don't want to.
Stop that.
I'd rather not.
Put your penis away.
I'm not comfortable here and I'm going home.
Any of these phrases work, but especially no.
It's clear, simple and to the point. No.

Making a List...

She needed salt. She knew that for sure. Did she have any sage? She would have to check the cupboard. She hadn't been shopping in awhile. When she did go out she bought everything in bulk and then broke it down in to smaller packages. Her shelf of empty containers let her know when it was time to shop again. But what all had she used up? Salt, always salt, but what else?

She was humming to herself, enjoying the empty house. The quiet. It had been so busy lately, so much to do, so many things to take care of. She had been so harried that just being by herself making a shopping list seemed like a small luxury.

The lights flickered. Candles. She needed candles.

As she made her list she thought about the past few months. One thing after another. As soon as she had finished one project it seemed another was banging on her door. Had she ever been so busy? Had there ever been a time she had been so tired? She didn't think so.

The wind rattled at the door. She should probably buy some aged wood as well.

A vacation would be lovely. Someplace warm. And sunny. With a beach. A calm beach. She'd had enough storms lately. She spent a few moments day dreaming about sunning herself in a lounge chair next to a calm ocean. The waves gently coming in and shushing their way back out. How long had it been since she had done something like that? How long had it been since anyone had been able to do something like that?

Thunder rolled and the house shook on its foundation. She needed to finish her list before the storm really got going.

Salt, sage, candles, aged wood, lavender, lemon grass, oak leaves, she still had a collection of various ashes. This should be enough to see her through again.

She tucked the list in to her pocket and reached for her cloak. Going out in to the storm was always the worst part, but if she didn't the storm would eventually find its way in to her.

She gathered her light. Calling it to her with the old words. Forming her own walking armor. She wasn't sure how much longer this would be enough. Opening the door to her cabin she stared out in to the darkness. She stepped over the salt threshold and set off for the store.


(Okay, as you can tell this is a piece of something else. But going with my theme for this year of just making sure I write I am putting it out there to breathe. Let's see where it goes.)

Missed Connections...

His flight had been cancelled. No warning. No delays giving you false hope. Just cancelled. So he sat at the airport bar trying to decide his next step. He was a frequent flier and as such had been assured they would take care of the situation and let him know what flight they could get him on. No long lines at customer service counters for him. At least he had that going for him. But he was still stuck in an airport with no flight home after a week away.

He knew the route well enough to know that he was most likely stuck here until tomorrow. Should he wait and collect a voucher for whatever hotel partner the airline was working with and stay in their crappiest room or book a room downtown and pretend that he meant to stay an extra day. Maybe go out for a nice steak dinner, see a movie no one at home was interested in? These are the things he liked to tell himself he could do. But he knew himself well enough to know that he would sit at this bar drinking until the airline came back to him with a plan and a hotel room. He had been traveling for work for decades now and the thrill of a night on the town was no longer there.

He signaled to the bartender for another round and checked his phone for the 30th time. No missed calls. He sent another text to his wife letting her know that he had no news but probably wouldn't be home until tomorrow. He was sorry he was going to be late. He knew she wouldn't mind. Or at least wouldn't say that she minded. He had been traveling for their entire marriage. This was not their first cancelled flight.

Maybe it was best he wasn't going to make it home today. He wasn't quite himself today. He had had a dream last night that was still holding him hostage. She had been in it. Or around it. Involved in it. He had heard her laugh. That's what did it. He had been dreaming about...something. He couldn't even remember the original dream and he heard her laugh. That high, clear, strong, laugh. He had turned around in his dream expecting to see her there and nothing. There had been a door so he was sure she must have just left. He had spent what seemed like hours wandering through rooms, and jungles, and movie theaters, and beaches, and restaurants looking for her. One place leading to another to another. He never found her but it felt like she had just been there. If he walked faster he could catch her. But all he ever found was the echo of her laughter.

He woke up tangled in the sheets. He must have been thrashing around in his sleep as he chased her laugh from place to place. He felt hollow. Missing a piece. Which was crazy considering he hadn't even thought of her in years. Not really. Maybe once or twice but never for long. Once on vacation his wife had given him a bite of Key Lime Pie that was incredibly sour. He told her, "That makes my teeth itch!" She had laughed at the expression. And for a minute he was confused, wasn't it her that had first said it? No, it wasn't his wife. It was someone else. But he didn't think of her often. And not for long.

The bartender finally brought him his drink. As he reached out for it he heard her laugh again. He turned slowly, part of his mind trying to work out if he had been sleeping all along. One of those weird dreams where you dream you woke up, but then you didn't. But no, he was awake. And she was laughing. He turned and saw her eyes. Her eyes were like the green of trees. Not the pale green that green eyes sometimes are or gold green or even the really those are hazel,who are you kidding green that people tried. But green, like a forest. So green they didn't seem real. In fact people usually thought she was wearing colored contacts, but they were really that green. And they were staring at him now. Puzzled.

"Yes?"

He continued to stare. These were her eyes looking at him. But this was not her face. But he had heard her laugh.So it was her. But it wasn't.

"I'm sorry." he stammered, "I'm staring. You just look very familiar."

She gave him a half smile and he realized how lame he sounded. An old man at the bar trying to pick up on the younger woman.

"You have very green eyes."

He realized this was not making it any better.

"I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. I just thought..." he trailed off. How could he explain what he thought.

She smiled again. A little smile, a smile of reassurance maybe. Or of nervousness.

The bartender came to his rescue, taking the attention off of him. "What can I get you?"

"We just need our check." she motioned to a table filled with young men and women all laughing and drinking,"I think we might have scared our waitress off."

The bartender laughed and she laughed with him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Look, I know that this is going to sound weird, but did you stay at the Commodore last night?"

She took a step away from him and gave him a concerned look, "Why do you want to know where I stayed last night?"

"I know, it seems like I'm being creepy and odd and...it's just I think I heard your laugh earlier and..."

She relaxed a touch and laughed again, "Oh gosh! I am so sorry! Did we keep you up? I've been told that I have a laugh that can cut through concrete! I don't know why it carries like that, I don't think I'm being too loud but, Oh my gosh I am so embarrassed!"

"No, no, please don't be. It's a wonderful laugh. I just..."

She shook her head, "I got it from my mother. She laughed..." and with that her green eyes clouded and she shook her head, "I'm sorry. I just. I'm sorry I bothered you last night. Good news is that we are on our way out of town and you should get a good night's sleep tonight!"

He was struck still for a moment. Everything after "laughed" had faded in to a low buzz. He looked up at the young woman's face again, "Laughed? You said you mother laughed? Does she not laugh anymore?" He realized as it was out of his mouth that it was incredibly rude to ask like that.

She shook her head again, "My mother died last year. That's actually why we are all taking this trip. They think it will keep me from spending the anniversary wallowing. Which she wouldn't have wanted. So we are going to go lay on the beach and drink more than we should and eat Key Lime Pie so sour..."

"...it will make your teeth itch." He finished.

She cocked her head to the side, "That's just what my mother would have said."

He nodded then turned to the bartender, "I've got their tab."

"Oh no! I couldn't possibly let you..."

"No, you can. I insist. Indulge me. Go catch your flight and enjoy your trip. And, you know what? If you want to wallow, you go right ahead and wallow as well, but I think they are right. She would want you to laugh more than cry."

She smiled again, "Thank you. I...well...just thank you."

She joined her table and he watched her explaining their good fortune to her friends. They all looked at him and smiled and waved. He waved back. Remembering a trip to the beach to drink more than he should have and eat Key Lime Pie and stare in to impossibly green eyes doing everything he could to make her laugh. But he didn't think of her often. And not for very long...