Anyway, I swing from my legs, shaking my body as I do so. If this playground had cameras, I would be jotted down as a madwoman. I kind of am.
After my monkey bars adventure, I move to the swings. I sit and toss my toes in the dirt that has clearly been raked by children’s feet who swing too hard and go for an abrupt stop. I used to stop by jumping off the swing.
My feet rock back and forth gaining speed. The cool wind blows my hair and I feel myself reaching the sky. If I reach out I may catch a star. Then I can keep it with me forever.
What happened to the woman who fucked men behind scarlet drapes in a city of lust and drugs?
I used to question what happened to the girl who ran wild. Now I question the loss of another part of me. Is that what life is about? Becoming and losing parts of us. What are we left with when we’ve lost all of these parts of us? Our soul.
In losing those parts of us we unveil our truth. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Everything is so uncertain.
Does Max have veils? He must. Everyone has them. Or did he already rid himself of them. He seems in tune with who he is. Some of us hide more than others.
At the highest point of my swinging I release the chains and extend my arms. I laugh. I laugh so loudly I’m surprised the nearby neighbors don’t peek out of the windows to see the psycho yelling. Then I really yell. I curse the ghosts of my past. Insanity has consumed me as I continue my spew of words I didn’t even know I had. I end with John.
When I’m done, I jump off the swing and land on my two feet. I stay there with my head up at the sky and my feet firm on the ground.
Purpose.
I’m not the kind of girl who wears sundresses. Starting in my early teens I began wearing sundresses. The kind that float around you when you spin. The type of dress with floral prints on it and thick halter straps that give it a vintage feel except it was 2001 and vintage was long gone. Also, I hate floral print.
I don’t know why I wore them. I told myself then that I liked them. The pretty innocence that accompanied the attire.
Yeah, right.
A girl trying on different masks until she found the one that fit perfectly. Sundresses aren’t me.
I walk down from my apartment unable to sleep anymore and just stand in the cool morning breeze. It’s too beautiful to go back inside. I sit on the sidewalk in the quiet morning while everyone else enjoys their extra Sunday sleep. I look like the maniac I’ve become. Sitting here on the street in my pajamas. I’m mesmerized though. By what? I’m not sure.
I look around and find it. I watch the sun ascend higher into the sky. He’s so humble in his rise, just like Max. My Zon.
It would be blinding to stare into his eyes except I have a fascination with watching the sun spin in my own eyes after staring for too long. The higher he gets, the stronger he becomes. Cause and effect. Still a quiet ruling of the world. For without him, the world would be a dark and cold place, and lately I’ve grown fond of the light.
This process has nothing to do with the outside world. It has to do with me. It takes certain bravery to admit things without condemnation. It takes courage to find that what you feel is from a place inside of you and not the result of blame towards someone else.
I wish I had my notebook. I could use my notebook now. My mind is clear.
The wind brushes my skin and I tremble a little. When the sun reaches its highest point in the early morning, I return to my apartment. I grab my notebook and write about the sun.
“Do you see me?”
“Yes.” Bale looks at me weird and laughs.
“No, like really see me.”
He gets somber. “I see you more than ever before.”
I’m not sure if to take that as a compliment or offense.
“I see the person I always suspected was there,” he clarifies.
I take a drink from my Moscow Mule and watch people. I’m an observer. I always have been, which makes me question why I never noticed what was happening in my own life. When things are close to you, you become blind to them. We need to take a step back to gain perspective.
I lived all these years judging others for their view of life. I criticized the masses for believing in good in a world that is so bad. My perception. I countered fantasy versus reality. I resisted the truth. Isn’t that living in my own fantasy? Not owning up to what I really experienced by hiding it in a lifeless heart and allowing it to poison me.
Isn’t fiction just an altered reality? Altered by our experiences and reactions. Max has been right all along. I wonder where he came from. There has to be more to his wisdom than a few books and enemy grandparents that loved hard.
“Bale, I feel manic and insane. As if I don’t know myself anymore except I know myself more than ever.”
“You’re coming home.”
In order to return to a place we must release the ties that pushed us away. I cannot return home without ridding my being of the emotions that locked me out.
We finish our drinks and head out. Bale works tonight and I find myself confused about what to do. At this time, I’d be heading to my window amongst the red lights and forgetting the world for a little while. Instead, I have no window to showcase a reflection I shone in. I’m left with mirrors that reflect parts I dimmed.
I don’t want to go home. I jump on a train instead and head out of the city. I get off when the landscape seems dark and natural. Then I wander through empty streets of a Dutch town without contemplating the consequences of my actions. I find a field with no gate and enter it. I’m sure I’m trespassing, but this is a ghost town.
I lie on the ground and stare up at the sky. You don’t get this in a city. The stars are a gorgeous sight when not out-shined by the city lights. I watch them float in the sky and count them. There are hundreds. Thousands of stars for me to count. I watch them intently. They take up most of the sky, and it seems as if the night was white instead of black. One shoots through the midnight sky and I stare in awe. I’ve seen a shooting star before, but in the vast sky peppered with a thousand white dots, it seems even more surreal. A piece of the sky that fell down to me. My own piece of the sun to keep in eternity.
I think about my dad. He used to talk to me about the man on the moon. How did I forget that? The missing link. He may know more than I think. But in order to reach him, I’ll need to return to the place I ran away from. I may be returning home to my inner self, but I’m not sure I’m ready to return to my physical home.
All I have for him is a name. No address or phone number. No real memories or details.
Edgar Allen.
Every time I would read Edgar Allan Poe growing up, I would think of him. Spelled differently, but sounds the same. Like homonyms. All we have in common are our eyes and our last name.
“Mevrouw.” I feel a stabbing.
“Mevrouw,” I hear. What the hell is that?
I open my eyes and squint. My back is wet and I smell soil. I see an old man looking down at me with a stick in his hand. The villagers’ version of a walking stick.
“Sorry.” I sit up. Sheep are near. I have no idea what word he was saying. What time is it?
“American?” he asks in his thick accent.
I nod.
“Miss, this is no place for a young woman to sleep.”
“Sorry,” I repeat.
“Come.” He walks away. I follow him and notice the sheep stay. This must be his field.
He walks into a small cottage and I’m hesitant to follow.
“Come,” he says again.
He begins to speak in fast Dutch when I enter. I hear another voice. A woman. I look between the older couple, presumably.
“Sorry, dear. My husband is a stubborn one. He found you sleeping on the land?”
“Yes. I apologize.” For the first time in a really long time I feel embarrassed for my rash decisions.
“Where are you from?”
“Amsterdam.”
“And before that?”
“America.”
“Come and sit. We’re about to have coffee. Do you like coffee?” She smiles warmly. I do like coffee.
I get to know Anika and Markus. He is stubborn, but gentle. They have lived in this small town their entire lives. Married fifty plus years and work the land and animals. Simplicity at its finest.
They talk Dutch to each other and Anika translates for me. Mostly arguments people who have been married for too long have. Markus goes back to gather his sheep and Anika speaks to me quietly.
“Dear, you must not wander on your own at night. The stars shine everywhere. They shine within you also, no matter where you are. It’s the magic of the universe.”
She must have read Paulo Coelho, too. That sounds like something he would say.
“Yes, ma’am. I just wanted to see it with a clearer sky. One not clouded by city noise.”
“We cannot run from our minds.”
I laugh. “Are you Bale’s grandmother?”
“What?” She’s confused. I don’t blame her.
“Never mind. Bad joke. Thank you for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” The way she looks at me freaks me out a bit. It’s like she saw me. She saw the scars and the battles. It’s weird.
I head back to Amsterdam and take a shower. For some reason I think of John while I’m there. Instead of coiling, I allow my mind to go to him. Just to see where it takes me. Just to gauge my reaction.
Using the steam that has accumulated on the shower wall, I write words.
Anger.
Poison.
Forgiveness.
I wash them off with my hand. No trace of them left.
I feel a tinge of nausea but not as much hatred as before. Maybe the dead could finally rest in peace.
We eloped. It was wild and crazy. I was wild and crazy. It was when the drinking began that the honeymoon ended.
Max returns and finds me. His breath plays along the back of my neck as he speaks from behind me. A simple hello that cracks me open.
I soaked up the light sitting on the sidewalk the other morning and its remnants are still lingering. In the quietness of your core, you come face to face with your truth. My truth has been clawing from my core and I have been releasing her little by little, adjusting to this new version of me.
“What are you doing?” Max asks.
“Drinking a mule.”
“I see that. I mean in general.”
“Drinking a mule,” I repeat.
“Went for a run?” I nod.
“You’re the only person I know who fuels up with vodka after a run.”
“How was Germany?”
“Your change of subject is anything but subtle. It was fine.”
“Fine?” It’s his turn to nod.
We sit at the same table but not together. Max is in his mind, me in mine. We both sip drinks.
When you begin to feel, you open up a faucet of emotions. You wake up the numbness that has flowed through you and suddenly everything has an affect on you. You feel good and bad. You feel happiness and jealousy. No longer are you walking veiled in coldness. You now go through the heartbeat of emotions, roller coasters.
I experience this with Max. Sometimes I hate him and other times I feel how he has snuck into my being. Sometimes I’m jealous of Germany for taking so much of his time. At times, I’m grateful he’s away so I can be alone. Those are my new moon days. The days I would rather darkness swallow me than be lit for someone to analyze.
Some people tamper with darkness and then get out, and others get swallowed whole. Although I am finding balance between my darkness and light, I was swallowed whole. I like it there. In the emptiness of my mind where memories escape me, but I’m learning we need to work through those memories to find some kind of middle point in life. I could live lifelessly in a pit of black, but I’m not sure what kind of life that would be. It used to be the ideal life for me.
“Are you ready?” Max interrupts my thoughts.
I look up and focus my eyes on him a second. Tilting my head to the right I say, “Yeah.”
On the walk to my apartment, Max asks what I had done while he was away. I tell him about my escape to the countryside to admire the stars. He shakes his head but I know he’s humored. I see his eyes smiling.
As we reach my apartment, Max stops and turns me until my back is on the wall of a building.
“Let me love you tonight.” Permission.
Anxious. That describes Max today. My curiosity about his mood is drowned when he kisses me.
“Okay,” I whisper.
The same way darkness swallows a soul, light does as well. Max’s light is becoming an addiction. A drug I want to steal from him. Breathe it all from his lips until his heart is begging to be released. I want to devour his soul like a stubborn tornado and then drop what’s left of him. The only thing that stops me is the damage that will be left if I do. He’s taught me compassion.
Max pulls me into him once we are in the privacy of my apartment and kisses me slowly. His lips memorizing my curves and his tongue savoring my skin. His hands grip my hips with desperation as he seeks refuge in me. He slowly undresses me, the thought that I have been on a run distant as his fingers dip into me carefully. It’s sensual and something else. He’s . . .
I shake my head. Not now. Instead I focus on the feelings he is creating. A deep sensation builds at the base of my chest and spirals upward. Heat and that unfamiliar feeling consume me—separate to the physical pleasure he’s offering.
Max lays me down right before the pressure builds and takes his time loving me. I watch him do so, too afraid of closing my eyes and missing his beauty.
I used to be so different. A shy teenager hiding away from the world with a mask. The older I got, the more I became the complete opposite. A different layer taking over. The loneliness changed from physical to emotional. No longer holding any importance to emotions. Max has changed that. Hell, even Bale has to an extent. Now I look at situations and people with different eyes. I search for the reasoning behind actions. The purpose to people. I search for answers I never wanted. I find understanding where I used to find excuses.
I look at Max from across my living room reading some book he bought in Germany. If I could pronounce the name, I’d try to interpret the story line. He is focused on the words he’s reading. Words that maybe resonate deep within him. Or maybe they are words that are just that. Words. No meaning, just letters combined. You can be captivated by anything if you allow yourself to be dragged by it.
“Stop staring.” Max doesn’t take his eyes away from the book yet he speaks.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He finally places the book on his lap. “What’s on your mind?”
“What is that book about?”
“World War II. It’s a historical.”
“I’d assume so. Why read something that affected you so?”
“It didn’t affect me. Not directly. It affected where I came from, but I’m still here, right? I have a fascination with the war.”
“What else fascinates you?”
“Many things, but mostly the mind. You fascinate me as well.” I roll my eyes. “You do. Your subtle care and the transformation I’ve witnessed are something to behold.”
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve never been one to take a compliment easily. I sit back on my heels and stare out the window. The sun is shining and it seems warm out.
“I don’t want to like you.”
“You don’t have to like me. Many times we don’t like the people we’re bound to.”
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to trust you. Trust takes vulnerability. It takes you giving a part of yourself to another human. You could break me.”
He looks at me sadly. “You can make me the bad guy in this film, but we both know I’m not. I won’t break you unless if it’s to release the person you’ve incarcerate
d because I know she’s seeking escape from the life you’ve summoned her to. You don’t want to hear it, but you know it’s true.”
“I don’t want to like you.”
“Then don’t.”
People come in and you give them access to disappoint you. Max will never disappoint me. I know that. I’m not being fair. I’m being the cold-hearted bitch I’m used to being. I don’t need to be that with him. He sees through it. He sees beyond the mean words and indifference. I may not want to like him, but that doesn’t stop me from loving him.
He continues reading his book seemingly unfazed by my words. He begins to read out loud.
“Hatred is the root of all evil. The human race feeds off of this, causing millions to suffer. It gives us power and it destroys us. It gives man the sense of control over something that is uncontrollable—life. Hatred feeds us more hatred, and we inhale it like starving animals. Hatred ends all and begins all.”
Then silence, as if he didn’t just read to me about the very thing that fueled me for years. Secret messages meant for me to take in without deciphering. Just accept and release. Listen and understand. Learn. Max is an exception to the human race.
“That’s an intense book you’re reading.” I can’t deal with the silence anymore.
“They’re just words.”
“Words with intense meaning. Words with truth.”
“So you agree with the author?”
“On that bit you read I do.”
“I’m glad it resonated and gave you something else to focus on than your dislike for me.” He mocks my earlier behavior. He’s back to regular Max. No longer despondent because of my words.
Words may be words to some, but they have meaning that vibrate alongside us creating emotions.
“Are you going to read all day?”
“What would you prefer we do?” His eyes twinkle with mischief.
“I think I’m going to go for a run.” I stand to go dress.
“I’ll go with you. I can use a run.” I turn to look at him. I’ve never ran with company. It’s always been my escape. Did I really think I was just going to leave him behind?
“Okay.”
Red Lights, Black Hearts Page 15