If I Lived On My Own
If I had the courage to live on my own, I would never again eat fast food or processed sweets. I would be a queen, upon her golden throne.
I could've been better
I could’ve been better. I could’ve seen more, asked more. I could’ve worked harder and longer to become some kind of role model. I could’ve spoken out about my concerns. I could’ve said something about the notes, the scars. I could’ve shared my fears of failure (it probably wouldn’t have helped though). I could’ve held in my judgmental looks when you made those choices. I could’ve made more eye contact when you were embarrassed. I could’ve been less avoidant, less passive. I could’ve tried harder to find that balance between hard and soft. I could’ve waited longer for you to get into the school, instead of leaving, allowing you to run off with him. I could’ve trusted you less. I could’ve told them about the secret under your pillow. I could’ve stopped comparing you to others your age. I could’ve hidden the scales for longer. I could’ve gone away, done something of myself instead of being fearful of leaving you alone. I could’ve gotten off my ass and shown you what life is made of. I could’ve tried to stop being so annoyed with you. I could’ve been honest and told you how I felt about the betrayal, instead of letting us move on from it. I could’ve hated you less, or moved on, or let go a little. I could be so much fucking better, but then again, so could you.
The first dead body I saw was when I was fifteen. I was in a freezing cold funeral parlor wearing a black blouse and flowery pink skinny jeans, staring down at the lifeless body of the kid I met in remedial English. I wouldn’t say we were friends, more like acquaintances. He was liked by a lot of people but got in trouble regularly. If a teacher told him to do one thing, he’d do the opposite. His dialogue was summed up with “life sucks” and “fuck this shit." You know, one of those guys. He shrugged off authority and was a pessimist at best. He pushed against the future with a vengeance.
The Colorless Chalice
There was a birdsong coming from behind the walls. “The colorless chalice, being old and new Lights the path the wood crew grew. Carrying tomorrow past the fireflies dew, What a task only the brave will do…”
“Tell me where you want to go,” I say. “To the very bottom of the ocean,” she replies without hesitation. I turn my head to face her. Her eyes don’t leave the stars above us.
She woke with her arms spread wide on the cool forest floor, her body both tired and alive, like she had been running and then reborn. Her fingertips dug into the soft soil, leaves crunching beneath them and dirt finding its way under her nails. With heavy weighing eyes, she looked up at the stars.
Gabin and Marlo, I am wondering if you two would be willing to help out after school this week. If you can, I would pay you each an extra $100 per day to clean some lodges after school. I was hoping you tow could do the following: Sunday (10.31.21) after school clean Lookout Lodge Monday (11.1.21) after school clean Paradise Falls We would pay you your normal hourly rate and then I would add $100 for each of you each day. Please let me know if it is possible. You could come here and get supplies and vehicle.
The Daily Route
Mr. Acker’s house was at the end of Miller road. It was shadowed in the large trees the old man refused to trim and the yard was covered in weeds he never mowed. There was an old and decaying treehouse in the fat oak tree stationed in the front yard. Bill visited the house daily, but only because he had to. Today, his route manager, Roderick, impatiently reminded him that he had yet to collect Mr. Acker’s two-week dispatch subscription fee. Bill knew this, of course. He was always on top of his deliveries and fees…but Mr. Acker was different. Mr. Acker had a goat, and Bill hated goats.