Edge of Glory excerpt, chapter 5

Obviously not the official cover, but the image I plan on using for advertising purposes until the cover is done

Lindsay’s phone ringing interrupted the conversation. She paused before looking at it. She had changed her number already but still worried. It was a text message from Jade.

“Are you guys still up? I need friend therapy like yesterday!”

“It’s Jade…she needs us,” Lindsay said worriedly.

“Tell her to come over. I’ll put coffee on,” Sarah said, shuffling to the kitchen as Lindsay followed, replying to Jade.

“Come over. Sarah has coffee on.”

The coffee gurgled to life with the morning, as Jade walked in the door about fifteen minutes later, tears down her face. She looked like she had been crying for a while.

“Jade, what’s wrong?” Lindsay asked, hugging her.

“Oh boy,” Sarah said as she watched them walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table while she poured coffee for three.

“He wants a divorce,” Jade said sadly, wiping tears from her face. “I know I said I didn’t care but…fuck, what hurts is that he doesn’t understand how much you two mean to me, that I would do anything for you guys. It’s not fair that he gets to go out with his friends to his little church functions and I can’t have a social life outside the church.”

“And considering we’re about the only ones outside of church you spend time with? You’re damn rights that isn’t fair,” Sarah stated.

Lindsay shook her head. “Fucking stupid. I’ve had it with stupid men.”

“I think we all have,” Jade shrugged, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug as though it comforted her somehow.

“Are Lindsay and I the reason he wants a divorce? That’s it?” Sarah questioned, perplexed.

“It’s that, it’s how I am not as religious as I used to be, I want my own life and career instead of being a house wife forever popping out babies, I want to get back into music, which means being part of the bar scene and he can’t handle that. He always said what he liked most about is that I’m not the average Mormon girl, but really, that’s all he wants. It just doesn’t make sense,” Jade explained tearfully.

“Nothing makes much sense anymore,” Lindsay remarked. “How relationships go from the most epic fucking thing you’ve ever experienced to pure hell in a few years is beyond me. How it all just gets destroyed…I don’t know.”

Sarah sat back in her chair contemplatively. She too looked tired and worn down. Lindsay glanced at her.

“You alright, Sarah? Something bothering you, too?” Lindsay asked. She and Jade looked at their friend quizzically.

Sarah shook her head. “I am just perplexed at how our lives all seem to fall apart at the same time.”

Lindsay frowned. “Why, is there something going on in your world you’re not telling us?”

Sarah sighed. “Oh, you guys. You know how I officially came out as a lesbian to my family a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, why?” Jade wondered, her eyes wide.

“Well, my family disowned me,” Sarah said with a hint of spite. “Turned into a huge fight, my parents want me to go get ‘cured.’ Fuck that! I am who I am.”

Lindsay took a sip of her coffee, glancing at Sarah in disbelief. “Seriously? Fuck my life, Sarah. I’m sorry. Why the hell didn’t you say anything a few weeks ago?”

“Because you were dealing with Alex and Jade is having marital problems,” Sarah said casually. “I’m fine, really, girls, it just….it bugs me, you know? That your own family can let you go so quickly over something that really in the bigger picture just doesn’t matter. There are worse things I could do than kiss a girl.”

“Of course,” Jade replied. “Well, you know we love you and we don’t care who you fall in love with.”

“As long as you make better fucking choices than Jade and I did!” Lindsay told her, lighting a cigarette. All three girls laughed.

“Look at us,” Lindsay continued. “We’re like a fucking soap opera right now. Sarah’s family, Jade’s divorce, my ex is a psychopath…” ”

“Fuck me,” Sarah replied. “If this is adulthood, take me back to those pink picnic tables.”

“Yeah, really!” Jade agreed.

“When all else fails, start a rock band,” Lindsay repeated one of her favourite sayings.

They all looked at each other in surprise at the offhanded remark, each of them thinking the same thing.

“We totally fucking should!” Sarah exclaimed.

“That would be fun!” Jade said in delight.

“Win,” was all Lindsay said as they exchanged high fives around the table.

Lindsay sat quietly for a moment, feeling the first inklings of a song trickling into her head.

“Oh I close my eyes and see, pink picnic tables, our summer of love, wild and free…”

~ Excerpt ~ Edge of Glory, chapter 9

 

Obviously not the official cover, but the image I plan on using for advertising purposes until the cover is done

 

“The guitar is a reflection of what you put into it, giving back what you give it, just like life. Put the love in, get the love out.” ~ Nancy Wilson from Heart

It was another clear night, when the stars could be seen in the sky, and the moon floated just aimlessly out in the indigo nothing, as the Trans-Am pulled up to Rex’s house later on. As always, Rex opened the passenger door for Lindsay, holding her hand as they walked to his door. Lindsay was relieved to be back in a familiar place, even as Rex put his arms around her and started kissing her again before they even got to the end of the walkway. His affection was both blissful and overwhelming. She couldn’t say whether it was confusing her more or convincing her that she had feelings for him. She forgot where they were when he kissed her like that, and it left her slightly light-headed. All she knew for sure was that he made her happy.

“I had a wonderful time,” she told him as he held her against him.

“I’m glad you did,” Rex replied sweetly. “The night isn’t quite over. I figured we could go inside and watch a movie or something. Like I said, trying to keep a low profile. I want you to enjoy yourself, not worry about who you’ll run into.”

“That’s very thoughtful. A movie will be fine,” Lindsay said. She’d had quite enough of being around people anyways and was looking forward to some peace and quiet with just Rex. Lindsay was pretty sure she embarrassed herself enough that night as it was.

Rex unlocked his front door and let her in first. Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to act as publicly proper anymore, though got a bit nervous walking past his bedroom. The flashback of his skin on hers when she closed her eyes was a pleasant memory, but not one she was into repeating that night.

As if reading her mind, Rex closed the bedroom door as they passed it by. Somehow it made her less nervous.

“Want a glass of water or anything?” he offered.

“That would be lovely,” Lindsay replied. “I’ll just be in the washroom for a minute, to freshen up.”

She closed the door to the small bathroom behind her. Just breathe, she told herself. There had only been on hiccup to the entire evening and other than that, she held herself together quite well. It surprised her that actually going out on dates was so much different from just hooking up. It seemed obvious that there should have been a difference.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a bit messed up from Rex running his hands through it; though right then her hair was the least of her concerns. It made her feel a bit more normal, though she wished for her jeans and a t-shirt to wear again.

Mentally pulling herself together, and calmer than when she was at the restaurant, Lindsay wandered down the hall to rejoin Rex. A soft, slow melody drifted down the hall to Lindsay’s ears, the delicate strumming of an acoustic guitar. She hummed along with it to herself as she entered the living room. Rex had pulled out his acoustic guitar and was messing with some chords. He was playing a soft melody to himself, those blue eyes closed in relaxation, and he had unbuttoned his shirt, his hair falling over his shoulders as he sat back on the couch, his feet up on his coffee table. It was a charming sight that had Lindsay slightly mesmerized as she leaned against the door frame, closing her eyes as she found herself spinning lyrics on the spot to his playing.

“Something in the way

You looked at me

Made me feel alive that day

Wild late night love

Sweet summer morning dreams…”

Rex glanced up at her with a soft smile as their eyes met. “Sit down, let’s record something.”

He paused his playing to pull out his cell phone, flipping through the apps on the touch screen. Lindsay was surprised at how freely those lyrics had come out of her mouth as she sat down on the couch beside him. Rex set his phone down on the coffee table between them, with the recording app pulled up on the screen. He sat back again, nodding to Lindsay as he started playing the same melody again.

Without needing to talk anymore, Lindsay sang out those lyrics again, with Rex adding something in every so often, and together they wrote the song, though it seemed to come together naturally on its own. Lindsay had never co-written anything before. But just like everything else with Rex and her, it seemed to come just as smoothly and free as they loved to be. She could have sat there all night with him, gazing into his eyes while they sang together. It was almost as good as the sex had been, if not better, more exhilarating and freeing. It was as beautiful as the lilac scent flowing through the open windows there in the summer night.

Sobriety’s Glass Eyes VI (Screaming Demons)

~ For those of you who have read my poetry book, “Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged” you will be familiar with my poem series “Sobriety’s Glass Eyes” about addiction. This is another one, that has been in my head for a while but took a little longer to come out.~

He phones once in a while
when he’s out on the street again.
Mother just shakes her head, mutters
“He’s never going to change…”

I don’t know what to say.
He has always been my uncle but now…

I saw a side of him I never knew that night.
Mother always said he was an angry drunk.
Never saw it until he gave in to the demo
screeching within, finally busting with rage…

He screamed at me, said I didn’t respect family,
all those words I wish he could take back…

But alcohol is a truth syrum, spills the things
you want to say but a sober mouth never would.
He’s been evicted again but even I won’t help him
this time, not for how deep demons run in a man who,

two packs of cigarettes a day later
and way too many beers, stumbles away into the dark.

Watched that bus leave town one more time.
Didn’t even hug him again, for I know how
it will end next time I see him. It will be his body in a coffin,
if there is even that much mercy for him.

Sometimes even your family grows weary of your ways,
recklessness and selfishness, the ways of addiction…

It’s just a shame, knowing what kind of man he could have been,
knowing the shadows that creep into a bed each night,
thieves of life, pushing that bottle ever closer. But I also know
all the things his mistakes taught me…

The bottle is never your friend, no matter how
down and out you get, how badly life beats you up.

For like the leaves whisper down to sidewalks,
like snowflakes flutter in solace to the ground
when the whole world simply snows, like a first
delicate flower of spring, here is where I end the cycle…

Sometimes there is no pulling someone back out,
no reaching out any farther outside that circle…

For addiction’s circle only ends when the hands
bound by those chains reach back. I’ve watched you
for all these years and not once did you
even try to break that circle…

I guess some eyes find sobriety’s clarity, like glass
while others keep the glaze from a lifetime of drunken hate.

 

 

Women’s Day ~ Celebrate but don’t forget…

International Women’s Day is supposed to celebrate women. The strong ones who stood up for our rights, who are the reason we can vote, be treated and viewed as equal. They are the reason why we are no longer possessions to our fathers later to be handed off to a husband, only to be forgotten while popping out babies and cleaning the house, keeping our “place in the kitchen.”

My hubby took me out for dinner and ice cream tonight. It was a wonderful evening to have out as we approach our second anniversary. But driving through the snowy and cold streets, I was thinking about how far we still have to go before we are completely equal in this world. Let’s remember, there are places where a rape victim still cannot get a legal abortion should she get pregnant as a result of rape. If she does manage to get one, she is shamed, ridiculed and treated like she is the criminal. There are places where grey-haired male politicians are trying to tell us what to with our bodies. I won’t mention the one who thinks our bodies “shut down during a rape” so that pregnancy as a result isn’t possible. Ludicrous, right? Guess what? These people exist. Even worst, there are fellow women who agree with these sickos who have never experience a day in the life of a woman who has to make these choices.

According to
http://www.alternet.org/gender/number-states-which-rapists-can-sue-custody-and-visitation-rights-31-and-other-shocking-rape
an estimated 32,000 women are impregnated against their will as a result of rape. And in 31 states in the US, that monster has rights to the resulting kid. The rapist is allowed to see that kid and his victim has to comply, constantly being reminded over and over again what he did to her.

And let’s not forget there are child sexual abuse victims who get blamed for what happened to them, disowned and shamed; with parents who don’t believe them, so they get forgotten and tossed away. Most rape and sexual assaults go unreported and the ones that do get reported are hardly treated seriously. Pedophiles go away for only two years. Here in Canada, a pothead gets more jail time for merely possessing the plant than a pedophile does for raping a young girl repeatedly.

And remember the countries where women don’t have a say in so much as what they wear. Their entire bodies must be covered, including their face. They are still sexually assaulted or raped.

Still here at home and still abroad are women who live every day in fear of their partners or fathers, abusive and violent. These women don’t have basic safety in their own homes. Many of these women get killed by hands who are supposed to love her. And the cops? They don’t do a whole lot, either. It is like our justice system doesn’t know how to properly deal with domestic violence. “There isn’t enough evidence” or “It’s not that bad” or “Just deal with it” or “it’s not anybody else’s business.” These attitudes run rampant in many people, stereotypes about something we all should be concerned about because it could happen to anyone. It happened to my family. To my mother. Ten years of not being believed until he burned the house down. No one saw his true colours until it was too late.

This all sounds repetitive of things I have been saying along, but that is the problem. People just aren’t listening. So celebrate Women’s Day and celebrate the ones in your life, but do not ever forget the ones who still struggle, the ones the day is meant to commemorate, and the ones we still have to fight for.

“Please, no “woman’s day” greetings. We should be celebrated every day. We can be the most powerful army, if we support each other. If we believe in ourselves, respect all the others…” ~ Cristina Scabbia, Lacuna Coil

Drawing Broken Hearts

 

Drawing broken hearts
in coffee clouds and foam.
Cinnamon and milk,
caramel and coffee.
Evening falls over a chilling prairie.
You’re leaving me here
with just a smoking habit and rum.
But don’t come running back;
You’ll think of me long before
I think of you…

Cigarette ends the only remnants left
of your presence
in strange crevices of my house.
Ashes and smoke,
mirrors and shadows.
Never was much for
telling you how I feel.
We were vagabonds
in need of someone
but the roads separated one night
when you lost your mind.
Think of me when you’re
out there somewhere, alone…

A few rum drops at the bottle’s bottom.
Taste of it lingers on lips
like coffee rings on my table,
Nights and fights,
stars and bars,
guess my restless soul settled
before yours could.
Just remember when you
walk out my door tonight
I’m gonna be strong.
There won’t be a tear on my face
until you’re gone,
then I’ll think of you…

And I’ll only break down once
in the moment it takes for you
to disappear on the horizon,
never going back again…

 

 

~ Poem ~ Scattered Ruins (Vagabonds and Tumbleweeds)

Loving a vagabond is like
chasing a tumbleweed.
He never did unpack his things
in two years we spent together.
Tonight he left me here
with nothing more
than a smoking habit and a cigar,
some rum in the fridge,
darkness in my house.
Only a writer could pour out lyrics
while he packed his things
angrily.

Emotions are scattered ruins
across my bedroom floor
as random as haphazard
patchwork on blankets
that kept us warm.
Now only this settled gypsy
snuggles in.
Soon he will be no more than
another set of lights
on the freeway.
They say being single
is the only free way to go.
Free…

Will he think of me
out on some lonely highway?
Will it make a damn difference
if I’m drunk when he’s gone?
And what the hell is freedom anyways?
Standing out the sun window of a car,
hair blowing on the summer wind;
wildflowers in a ditch, nonchalant;
the peace in a cup of tea at midnight?
I don’t even know
what I live for
anymore.

He’s taking his suitcase,
every shirt that smells like his skin,
guitars and old letters too.
But the sky is blue
as the sun sets below
a prairie.
He threw his hands up, gave up.
I stand at the doorway
breathing the anticipation of summer
deep into my soul,
when long drives and old country songs
will find me over him,
moving on,
never knowing
what could have been,
and I’d rather not know
anyways.

 

 

~ Poem ~ Any Less Lively

If I were any less lively I’d be dead.
Tragic messes find their way in the night
long after a drunken haze wears off.
I guess you found out the hard way.
This town closes down early enough
I’m left driving around in the dark,
street lights the only way to know
I’m still alive.

There’s got to be magic somewhere,
a little black dust, enchanting,
wondrous eyes beneath ebony banners.
Strength is only how well you hide pain
or so they say, someday you find
what you’re made of.
It comes the nights one has to
suppress the urge to do something stupid
like hide a bottle under the bed,
cover the rum on your breath,
drive around for hours wondering
if this is all life is ever going to be.

Sometimes spiralling
into uncontrollable wrecks,
sometimes falling backwards
into nothing,
slipping through cracks
where you swear no one cares
if you disappeared tonight.
I honestly don’t think you would.
It’d be a cloud of dust outside the door
vanished by morning light.

For the highway is open and empty
under the crescent moon
guiding nomadic spirits,
sometimes shuffling, sometimes running.
I’m left with nothing to say
standing out on the side of Highway 3.
Nothing out there is clear, no dreams; no hope.
I lost a part of me with every break down.
Maybe these words
aren’t more than lyrics to you.
To me they’re a diary.
Sometimes you don’t know what you feel
until you write it down.

And they say
you just have to
move on,
keep going,
carry on,
I choose to leave.
Wheels keep turning,
white lines flying by,
highway signs.
Someday I will go,
when the story line here
finishes.
It’ll remind me I’m alive again.

Photo by Lavinia Thompson 2011

“Any Less Lively” will be included in my upcoming poetry collection, “Like Throwing Hockey Pucks at the Wall”, to be released in 2013.