Withering

Withering 

I flew into your heart,
got swallowed by the fear,
I crawled out of your soul,
coated from the terror,
I leaped into your eyes,
in hopes to find you there,
I ran down your face,
in a puddle of your tears,
I sank into your flesh,
wishing just to hear,
a faint heartbeat calling -
beckoning to me; my dear…

~

I listened for a song,
to play into your veins,
the tunes were all wrong,
I could not unlock your chains,
my eyes, were not the sun,
that shone in your membranes,
just a nagging shadow,
who clung to old remains,
now I will shrivel off,
and release all my constrains,
but surly; I will die,
with no love to sustain…

(I am playing with rhymes again, this is a fictional vision that was in my head. No withering here. Somebody has got to love me, I know it! Ha ha ha) 

Smashing Pumpkins – Without You

Mr. Man & Lovely

Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
you pulled my heart again,
draining all the liquid from my pumping blood -
sanguine
tremor’ing in and out,
luring springs begin,
Mr. Man, Mr. Man
why please share;
where have you been?

My Lovely, My Lovely,
pay no attention,
I have been loitering off,
my pleasures, don’t pretend,
I have kept nothing,
left, not at all;
no need to worry,
you know I’ll never call

Mr. Man, Mr. Man;
you tore open my chest,
awoke things hidden,
I had put to rest;
pounded my desires,
deep into the ground,
told all my passions,
it’s unlikely, and profound

My Lovely, My Lovely,
you are much confused,
I did nothing,
your mind is bemused,
I simply came a calling,
silently and stealth,
I had no intentions,
other than,
keeping you on my shelf

Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
you string me along,
say my mind reads into things,
you never meant at all,
sharing so intimately,
to crack open my eyes,
then, left me dangling alone -
losing my pride

My Lovely, My Lovely,
I never promised a thing,
I gave no words,
reciprocating any of your feelings,
I simply, told you this and that,
without possibilities,
now stay up in the sky,
patient and quietly

Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
you’ve shredded my heart again,
leaving the shards dagger’ing,
slicing me within,
I’m teetering from moon to sun,
stretched across your sky,
a kaleidoscopic canvas,
still asking “Why?”

My Lovely, My Lovely,
I’m sorry for your pain,
it was nothing more than,
a manly, playful game,
Oh, I do adore you,
and I always will,
but I never promised,
my love, my life,
maybe a little thrill

Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
I finally understand,
I am an image,
a farce,
a nothing in your plan,
I shall dwell here quietly,
lingering in the sky,
spreading out my love,
as wings, swinging on the
“Why?”

~~~~~

This came to me in the shower a bit ago. I am playing with words and rhymes, it is a story that rushed my head. I am on a roll of whimsical thoughts after cracking open my vulnerability the other day. Apparently, that is part of the creative process. You experiment for a while, master something then, feel that you need to break out of it or become intrigued with something else. Of course, that is a simplified way to explain it, but I do not want to write a huge post about it. )

Calm

Calm

stillness pondered upon my quaking lips,

shivering on clouds of damp foreboding,

isolating pangs wretched through my flesh -

clothed in despair,

the exoskeletal life bled through;

lifeless, as Sorrow dragged me to the edge -

protective seclusion, its faulty promises

wavering into the rippling wells below,

my reflection tasted of bitter salt -

a wrinkled mirror cackled,

swearing me alone!

Oh! but thunder rang into my core -

whispers cried into my eardrums,

My Love, would collect my soul,

I stood on the glass of solitude,

waiting, waxing, melting

until!

until the HUSH of pleading calm,

gathered my parts into the balance -

knowing that Calm loved me;

deeper than any Sorrow could destroy,

and we affirmed Truth together

Breathe

Though, the sun blared through the rippling sky,

lights were all a fog,

wind crisply howled against his form -

rage began to scorch the depths,

within the silence of his core

beneath his chest,

bitter pangs clanked through his scales

quickly, his right ear shifted -

slightly to the right,

His Beauty, was in pain.

~

Her scent locked onto his veins,

from the distant past;

no time or era,

far enough to undo the threads that bound,

these life-long soul dwellers,

his wings spread across the sky,

urgency flamed his blood

and his nostrils flared the call of her fingerprints,

he would not let her drown;

again -

Sorrow was not her friend.

~

Breathe, breathe,

each stride of his wing whisked into the air,

she clung onto the rope,

gasping for air -

fingers raw and bleeding,

weak and worn,

tired and frail,

her eyes closed;

she gulped down the winds in wait -

hearing, believing the words,

Breathe, breathe 

AND she knew Sorrow was not her friend.

From Max (Rough Draft)

Chapter Six

“I’m an Ass”

 The company was filled with a group of eccentrics that mostly got on well. Each one had their own oddity that was playfully mocked throughout the day. We helped each other escape from our realities through our 40 hour work weeks.

I was pretty much a loner, but had a few people that I had gotten kind of close too. We went out often. There were shared interests of movies, technology, science, and of course the grand question of God. Many nights were spent over drunken discussions about philosophy and the universe.

Most of the time she did not come, I would only see her throughout the day. I didn’t want to, I tried to be nonchalant about my eyes being clued to her whimsical moves. It was ridiculous how she could make going to the copier look like a work of art. I noticed how others watched her too. They adored her, they truly did. I couldn’t tell if she knew it or not. She was so intuitive and naive at the same time. Who was she? What was she? Spun around my head many days.

I watched her pour her thoughts into others. She would talk to them, make them laugh, dance for them, do all kinds of strange things that no one else did. The goodness poured out of her, and it made the whole place smile. It was sickening. I hated it.

I was not this person that thought of another like that. I didn’t spend time thinking about another person and what they were about. I had plans, I was supposed to do something, and that did not involve another person like her. I needed my expression to equal properly.

This sweet child, woman was too much of a total. I could not take her. I could not stop my reactions toward her either. When she spoke her words filled me with a sound, rhythm, and language that no music that has been heard with ear could understand.

She had a song written in the seams of my DNA. The numbers and letters all mingling together creating a tune that was indescribable and magnificent. The leaping waves that surrounded the very core of who I was and revealed who I wanted to be. She made my existence real – I could not live with her or without her. My heart was tattooed with vessels of lingering notes that fused with hers.

See, this is what she makes me do… still. A person cannot live like that. A person cannot live in such fantastical imaginations. Yet, with her it seems so real.

Her behavior at times was completely off and juvenile. Then, other times her expressions and ideas made me sink in thought. I did not know what to do. I still do not. I came in the break room one day and she seemed to have her guard down.

I noticed that Abby and Kenneth were in there, I didn’t care about them either way, but for some reason I really wanted to talk to her. I came up to her to introduce myself and that was the day she named me Fred Doodle.

Every time I saw her I noticed each detail, that day was no different.  Maybe it was her purple Converse that I could not resist. I do love Converse, I am not sure if it is their name or amazing styles I like best. I like how they use dead icons like Kurt Cobain and Sid Vicious, but I am very intrigued by them investing in athletic biomechanics research in the 80’s. Then they went on to develop the industry’s first biomechanics labs. They are all about technology and being state of the art. I digress.

Her dark eyes were like a black hole. That day was the first time I got to look at her directly in the eyes – she didn’t turn away. They absorbed all my light and I could feel my green eyes lose something looking into hers. I had hit the point of no return.

I needed to be witty with this one. She was quick and odd, and almost perfect. When I walked in I noticed her hair was up on top of her head in a strange flopping bun. She had sparkles coming off of her as the sun kissed her face. I knew her name, I checked the roster on the front desk one day. I was flirting with the receptionist and saw it sitting there – I casually asked the names of each person and what they looked like to find her.

I knew though, the second I saw Ada Liebling, I knew it was her. Her name leaped at me and trickled a note into my brain. I was being pulled by some invisible force to her, it was her black hole eyes. The next thing I knew I was looking down at her saying, “We haven’t been formally introduced, I am Max. I keep seeing you around and thought we should at least know each other’s name. I mean it’s the least we can do after you condemning me to being a lunch thief with unjust cause.”

She looked pissed off and said, “I never said that you were a lunch thief, I said that you should not snoop. Big difference, Fred.”

I thought, Where did Fred come from? It was intriguing so I looked at her a bit puzzled and with a grin said, “You are correct you did not technically call me a thief, that was an assumption on my part. My name is Max.”

She seemed to know my name, but did not let on. I am not sure what it was in her face that let me know, but I knew. I didn’t know what she was doing she had a slight grin, I was waiting for her response.

My head rang, What was up with this girl? Ok, now your turn missy, tell me your name. She did not follow the rules, I liked it and hated it. Finally, she spoke while breaking the eye hold, placing her gaze back into her book, ”If it’s all the same to you I will call you Fred, Fred Doodle.”

I took this as an invite to sit down, clearly she was flirting with me and wanted me to sit. I thought it could be fun so in my best nonchalant tone I smiled and said, “You can call me Fred Doodle.”

I had to say something about her Converse. Many people wore them, but she seemed to wear them with a purpose. They meant something to her. I didn’t know what, I had to know. Besides I loved them on her foot, they fit perfectly. I would guess she was a size 8, with perfectly shaped toes.

I leaned in being very cool, “I dig your Converse.” Her eyes almost popped out of her head. I wondered what I had said that was so wrong? She seemed freaked out so I tried to ease her a some with showing her mine. I thought maybe the whole I saw yours now you can see mine mentality would calm whatever was going on. She acted as if I saw her naked or something. I calmly said, “Look I am wearing gray ones.” And without a thought plopped my foot on the table, she made me forgot manners and etiquette. She made me too relaxed, but I was still on guard. I needed to be smooth. I never had this with other ladies, I really didn’t care that much with others, I suppose…

I wanted to make her laugh. I had seen her laugh many times, she didn’t know that I had seen her. Her laugh burst out with no resistance. She was free in her laugh like a little girl in piggy tails. She giggled freely and didn’t seem to notice how loud she was most of the time. Sometimes she would catch herself and throw her hand over her mouth, her big brown eyes still spewing out loud laughter.

I wanted to see that. I wanted to make her feel that full body laugh. It made my heart tinge with joy when I felt her laugh. My foot seemed to be more attractive than me. Her gaze did not leave my foot and then, she began to rub my shoe. I realized then that she was in love with my shoe – I hate to admit it, but she may have only wanted my shoe.

It was quite possible that she wouldn’t even have noticed if I took my foot and left my shoe. I didn’t care. I could feel her vibration through my shoe. The mere touch of her finger on my ankle made me feel lightning.  She could touch my ankle all day, I felt something that I had never felt before – I didn’t want it to end. There seemed to be nothing seductive about it, but it was extremely sensual and amazing.

It popped music in my head, like big bands type of music, or Billie Holiday. It was happy and intense. It felt swell. I watched her as she pet my shoe, studying it, feeling each fiber. I was enamored by her simple, yet eloquent beauty.

She definitely stole something in me when she so unrestrictedly said, “Is it wrong to love your shoe?”

I could not help, but laugh in amazement; she was serious. I was showered with surprise, when I thought I could not take in anymore she flew these words out of her precious mouth, “Did you know that in 1908 Marquis Mills Converse began the Converse Rubber Shoe Company in Malden, Mass.? In 1917 the Converse All Star debuted as the world’s first performance basketball sneaker.  In 1921 Chuck Taylor joined Converse, and he improved the Converse All Star shoe’s traction and ankle support. He also became the first American player endorser. I have always had friends who wore Converse. My favorite is black-and white Chuck Taylors, but my purple ones are my silly ones that make me feel open. I clearly cannot wear them anymore because they cause me to speak whatever is on my or it you and it needs to stop.”

I was stone.

My heart filled with a fullness it never felt and could never feel again. I could only stare at her perfection in that moment and think My God! What are you? I softly spoke, looking deep at her, glued to this specimen and said, “Interesting information did you also know that in 1935 Chuck Taylor invented the first “stitchless” leather basketball? It helped improve the bounce for a better game.”

She looked at me blankly and replied, “Hmm… Impressive.”

She was cooler than I and that could not happen. In haste, I grabbed her book in hopes of winning this battle of suave with utter coolness, “Starbucks Preacher,” what is that a preacher in a coffee shop?”

She pulled back a bit and I felt shaken off my pedestal. I had to gain ground here, she seemed to drift into another world. I wanted to be in that world. I wanted to know what was going on in that mind of hers.

I wanted to probe her and ask her about that 11 squared bit, but I knew it was not the right time. I tried to play it cool and I waited until I could not wait any longer. She just stared as if she was piercing into me, reading me without my permission. I thought that she was playing me and with that I shook the book in her face as playful as I could and asked,  “Hello, are you there?”  Then, I casually asked with a hint of jerkishness so I could win, “Starbucks, is it some Christian romance novel?”

Clearly she was upset, but I was gaining the upper hand. She wanted to smack me, I knew she was not the type to read a romance novel. I didn’t think she would, I wasn’t quite sure. I was still feeling her out.

Quite annoyed with me asked her voice pounded, “Do I look like I would be reading a romance novel?

I had her, I was winning so I smirked gleaming, “Yes, I think you are one of those girls.”

Her rage flew flames straight into my soul,. She calmly, with a stoic glare fixed on me, yanked the book out of my hand. She got close into my face and whispered in a voice that could have made a demon tremble, “I am not one of those girls, thank you. And I would kindly ask you to not notice my shoes.”

I had to know if she was that kind of girl or not. I had to push those buttons to make sure she was who I thought she was. I needed to be definite if I was going to spend any of my brain mass thinking of her. Not like I could help it, she invaded my brain even when I pushed her out.

She didn’t want me to notice her shoes. I chuckled a little, when she left the room thinking, There is no way I could not notice her shoes. They were always specific and unique. I presume they described her. I didn’t even get her to say her name.

I turned around as she walked out watching her strange flopping bun pounce on top of her head. She looked great with her long flowing hair shrouding her, but she also looked great with a big, flopping, messy bun bouncing on top of her head. I could see droplets of gold flow off of her.

The longer I sat in the break room, I noticed that Abby and Kenneth had left. It was quiet and still and that was when the whole conversation replayed. For a moment, I thought, Damn! I am such an ass! 

I had to be though; it was the only way to find out what she was about.

I was sucked into her vacuum, there was no denying it. I could not stop it now, the more I found out about her the more I was fused to her. We had become some strange orbital velocity for each other. I needed her and she needed me. Well, it felt that way. It was as if we had been set in motion on earth to discover each other and place the pieces together to find the answer to some mystery of the universe.

I was losing my mind. I was losing control, and could not stop thinking of her. That night I was thinking of my plans for the future. All that I had going for me, everything that I wanted to accomplish on this planet before I died. As I was standing on my balcony in the freezing cold, to help me feel something, anything, she thrust her presence upon me. I looked around thinking that she was actually there.

I could smell her, I could feel her, it felt so real that I could not deny that it happened. I am not sure about the mystical, but she made me believe in something.

As I was swept into another dimension, expecting something magical or spiritual because it felt that intense, I heard, “Maximus Plank don’t be an ass anymore.”

I laughed. My god, she could even make my expectations of a spiritual experience be trashed. You could expect nothing with her. She was my great riddle and she was able to solve my great riddle.

I wanted to see how all of this played out and to make sure I was not truly losing my mind, later in the evening I set my mind on her. I put on some instrumental music, laid on my bed, and envisioned her. After a while what felt like a dream, I saw her walking in the night. The moonlight bouncing off her hair, and I whisked around her, then through her. I didn’t say a word, but I could tell by her face that she knew it was me. I do not know what we did that night, but we were definitely a swimming infinity.  ∞

~

(This was in chapter six, but as I read through it I found it did not flow the way I intended so I will mix it with another chapter or play with this one a little more. Either way I liked to share this little bit.) 

She never called me by my real name. She called me Fred Doodle. I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. I could not read her thoroughly. One day, out of the blue I walked over to her and asked, “Why don’t you call me by my real name, Max?”

She did not look away from her monitor; she clicked in rapid tapped upon her keyboard as she answered plainly, “If I say your real name then, you exist. Once I confirm that you exist that means that I believe. If I believe, you will disappear. It always happens, the second I believe it all disappears. Hope is a deadly trap; you cannot live with it or without it.”

My head nearly burst; God! shouted through my brain as if I was sincerely calling to him. I might have been. I stood staring blankly, dismissing all that I had preconceived about her.

Skipping To Chapter Five

(I have not had time to work on the book for a while, but I am trying to get back into the groove. I am making my adjustments on the actual draft instead of on my posts here, but this has been so great for me in being able to focus and see edits that I will jump ahead and share. I am sharing this chapter because it made me laugh. It’s from Ada’s perspective… just because. )

Chapter Five

Fred Doodle Ass! (Ada)

I vowed to keep my distance from him. I tried, but ever so often our paths crossed. I do not like salutations, I always forget to say them anyway. Instead, whatever random thought I had would blurt itself right through my lips.

I never wanted to see that Fred again, that was not his name. I decided that the name Fred Doodle was more fitting. He felt like a Fred. The name looks direct, to the point, which I am very fond of, but could be a real smart ass as well. I like smart donkeys.

I chose Doodle because I love the word doodle. I love any words that have the “oo” sound. Doodle, Google, boodle, roodle, foodle, woogle, toodle, I could say them all day long and laugh. On occasion I have fallen out of my chair laughing at the words poodle and noodle.

My favorite was “doogies” from  a song titled, “The Good Eleven.” It is from School House Rock. I used to sing it out loud without realizing it. Especially, when it came to singing “double-digit doogies.” It was a little slow for my liking, but it was worth it to sing just to get to “double-digit doogies.”

Yes, I named him Fred Doodle because I love direct, smart donkeys, who make my mouth dance with their voice. He did that; no one else could do that. That was precisely why I needed to stay away from him.

I focused my attention on work, which I thought was the most wonderful thing, I could obsess in my thoughts while still doing my work with ease. I didn’t want anything too challenging – I had a lot of information to consume. Granted I did get a bit lacking in my attempts to learn things about different aspects of the job. It was because I could not deal with the social dynamics in the building, what my true interests were, and the work.

It took a long time for me to scope out the people I worked with. I took six months and observed all of them. I watched and studied them. I memorized their mannerisms and how they responded to each other. I paid attention to what they did in the break room.

You can discover a lot about people as you watch them in the break room. It’s the place, when people think no one is around, they think they can get away with anything.

There was a small little nook in the back if you sat just right, no one could see you unless you made yourself seen. I sat there all the time hidden behind my books, eyes peeking silently at the person or people – listening.

Kenneth who was a very flamboyant fellow, and happened to love speed dating. He was notorious for backstabbing or gossiping. I really liked him. I am not really sure why. He was a very kind person much of the time.  He had a lot of love in him, but for some reason he could transpire into a gossipy person. Every person has their own way of protecting themselves. I could relate – I was a sneaky prowling feline.

He came in with Abby who was just plain mean. There was nothing about her that could be salvaged. My theory, Abby grabbed hold of Kenneth and decided that he would be her bitch. It was perfect. She was the Sith. She continued to work on him to pull him to the dark side. I didn’t like it one bit.

They entered the break room with barbwired whispers and their mouths flapping spears all over the place.

I covered my face with my book and quietly waited for my moment to pounce. Abby’s voice spewed venom as her arrow shaped words bounced off the walls into Kenneth’s vulnerable brain, “No, Kenneth she is a bitch. She sucks at everything she puts her fingers on. I don’t think the woman even has a brain, how the hell can she have two kids? I pity her kids. They must be complete nimrods with a mother like that.”

Kenneth weaseling in with his empathetic heart, “I don’t think so Abby she has a degree in computer science, she cannot be that stupid.” Abby placed her hands on her hips and looked him squarely in the eye–I could feel the onion aroma filling each syllable, “Kenneth now you are a dumb ass!”

At this I kept my book covering my face and said from my safe little nook, “Hey Abby thanks for this, I felt like I was back in middle school. You are such a great actress have you been working on this character for a while?”

She spun around with a startled look on her face and said, “Oh, geez you scared the crap out of Ada! You are such a sneaky freak! You know damn well that I am not acting. Wait. I mean I don’t act. Oh, Ada.”

Kenneth laughed.

For some reason Abby could not get angry with me. I assumed she spoke all kinds of horrible things behind my back, but it really didn’t feel that way.  The word ass kept swimming around my head the bigger it got the funnier its dance.

I laughed and proceeded to say,”Did you know that the old English assa probably meant beast of burden. In the ancient Greek, there was an animal described as clumsy or stupid, there was also a term, but it is not exactly clear where it derived from “he-ass” which eventually sprang into ass and by 1860 the word ass became slang for backside. So are you saying that Kenneth is clumsy or stupid, the backside of something or a donkey? Because technically he is none of those, he is quite intelligent, and does not resemble a donkey in the least bit.”

I think she desperately wanted to be angry with me, but all she could do was roll her eyes and shake her head with a grin. I think she was ok. Kenneth looked at me with soft eyes; I think he was thanking me. I am not sure because in the next second Fred walked in. My innards wailed, AHH!

I hid behind my book.

I peeked over my book, and watched him as he kind of bounced like a basketball with his body movements. Yes, when he walked and talked it was like a basketball pinging against the floor.

It made that echo sound that rang in my ears and thumped my heart. I continued to be consumed by the waves that flowed off of him as he spoke to Kenneth and Abby. His mouth was a perfect shape and I could watch him speak with no problems. I wished he would show his teeth. I loved his teeth, but he always hid them. As my eyes rose to his nose my stomach did a little leap.

He had a wonderful nose and his philtrum connecting those beautiful lips to that marvelous nose was definitely a love potion. I wanted to go touch it, the yearning to go and softly run my finger back and forth on the most perfect groove consumed me. I was afraid to look at his eyes, I could never look people in the eyes, but I studied their eyes from a distance when they were not looking at me. I didn’t want to look at his eyes because I knew that I would be a goner.

I gasped a little when my eyes lingered to them. He looked directly into my portals and I could not look away. The green iris’s lunged at me, pulled my eyes with tiny little fingers and held tightly. I wanted to scream “Let go! Let go!” It hurt, but not the usual pain I felt when looking into someone’s eyes. I felt intense pleasure that made me hurt and I liked it.

He smiled and walked toward me, his eyes like a straight jacket to mine. I tried desperately to unlock the gaze, but I could not – I had no words. My mind was blank with happy. I could see numbers, colors, and musical notes tying together as he got closer to me. I felt like a rope being knotted into him and I didn’t want to feel this way, but I could not stop it. I gulped, my mouth was dry. The next thing I knew he was standing right in front of me looking down into my eyes, forming a pull with his magnetic field.

I was a vortex of confusion and fear.

He said, “We haven’t been formally introduced, I am Max. I keep seeing you around and thought we should at least know each other’s name. I mean it’s the least we can do after you condemning me to being a lunch thief with unjust cause.”

That ticked me off.

“I never said that you were a lunch thief, I said that you should not snoop. Big difference, Fred.”

He looked at me puzzled and with a grin said, “You are correct, you did not technically call me a thief that was an assumption on my part. My name is Max.”

I looked at him knowing full well that his name was not Max because I looked it up on the employee roster even though I did not want to know his name at all.  His name was Maximus and when I thought it in its entirety, I smiled a little. I wondered what his parents were thinking when they named him such a powerful name. He did seem to carry it properly. There are some people who are named important names, but they cannot carry it with grace or hold up to its power.

I think of a tall, lanky, wobbling fellow named Alexander. His named defined him as defender of men, it was clear he could not even defend himself. That name was all wrong for him. He looked more like a Houlda. However, that was a woman goddess. If you dwindle down through the different myths, one could find the meaning to be little dog. He looked like a little dog. Or the one guy named Peter. Peter was a strong name meaning stone. This guy looked liked a Brodie, which means ditch, yes more of a ditch than a stone.

I often wondered what parents were thinking when they named their children.

Maximus carried his name strong and comfortably. He was supposed to have that name and his body knew it. It intrigued me, his Latin name so full of ump; did his mother know what it meant? Was she a Roman? Did she time travel into the day of his birth to name this man that stood before me? I wanted to know if he downplayed his power by calling himself Max, or did he not quite understand that he was Maximus? He was waiting for my reply and I realized that I had a slight smile as he tilted his head looking at me, some form of non-verbal communication I did not understand. I looked back at my book and said,” If it’s all the same to you I will call you Fred, Fred Doodle.”

He sat down, leaned back in his chair with his arm crossed, linking his fingers, cradling his head in them and said, “You can call me Fred Doodle.”

He seemed to enjoy that. I tried to figure out what his problem was, he proceeded to talk to me in idle chit chat, I still do not know why. I found it a bit annoying.

Then, it happened he leaned in and said, “I dig your Converse.”

My heart pounded and my flash screamed, WHAT? Panic set in as my mind raced the words, He saw my Converse? NO! 

No, this was not good at all. I was wearing my dark purple lovelies that exposed me to no end. I only wore my dark purple Converse All-Star’s when I felt safe. I had completely forgotten that I was not safe at work any longer with him around. I thought surly with my odd sayings as I passed him once in a grand while, that would make him not notice me or think me insane. But no, he noticed.

I stood naked in front of him. I wanted to cry. I could never wear them again. I had to start wearing boots. I would have to wear my tall black boots with the Attila the Hun zipper for a several months because they were powerful and made me feel confident. They spoke for me and fought off fear.

My eyes must have popped out of my head because he said, “Look I am wearing gray ones.” as he laid his foot on the table.

First of all I was wildly in love with the fact that he put his foot on the table and secondly, I sank when I saw his shoes.

They were the most beautiful of gray. They had the best texture, color, and the soles were wondrous. I wanted to grab his foot and dance with it. I lost control and smiled at his shoe. I am not sure how long I stared, but he seemed to be ok with it. I rubbed my hand on it, caressing it and grazing the Chuck Taylor All Star High-Top emblem with my finger. I saw streams of colors bounce off with each stroke – my heart was racing. The shoe was him, he was the shoe, and both were beyond beautiful.

I hated him.

As I gently pet the lovely specimen, I didn’t know if there was anyone else around. I did not care. I was having a moment. The words flew out, “Is it wrong to love your shoe?” I did not realize that I said it out loud.

He laughed and his laugh woke me up. I looked at him and realized that I was completely exposed. Immediately, my anxious and fearful words came spewing out hitting him all over his body, “Did you know that in 1908 Marquis Mills Converse began the Converse Rubber Shoe Company in Malden, Mass.? In 1917, the Converse All Star debuted as the world’s first performance basketball sneaker.  In 1921, Chuck Taylor joined Converse, and he improved the Converse All Star shoe’s traction and ankle support. He also became the first American player endorser. I have always had friends who wore Converse. My favorite is black-and white Chuck Taylors, but my purple ones are my silly ones that make me feel open. I clearly cannot wear them anymore because they cause me to speak whatever is on my mind to you and it needs to stop.”

This is when I realized that he was staring at me. I was not sure what he was thinking, but his eyes felt like whirlpools sinking me in. I saw the slight movement from the corner of his lip, a small smile curling up on the right, leaving tiny little wrinkles that could only be seen if you were an inch away from his face or if you were me and had eyes like a hawk.

The green rebirth that swallowed me into his eyes took hold of me. His glistening emeralds spun their spectrums into me and connected things that have never been connected. They woke up parts of me that I did not know existed and awakened sleeping pieces that I had lost. His chlorophyll gave back things that people had stolen from me. I had no understanding that people had stolen anything from me, until I looked upon him. He pinged fabulous sound waves into my ears just by sitting there.

While my thoughts danced in another hemisphere, I was not sure if he really existed.

Making me feel at ease he said, “Interesting information, did you also know that in 1935 Chuck Taylor invented the first “stitchless” leather basketball? It helped improve the bounce for a better game.”

The words rang in my head, He is a basketball! I hear him bounce. I just looked at him and said,  “Hmm… Impressive.”

He grabbed my book saying, “Starbucks Preacher” what is that a preacher in a coffee shop?”

He was definitely being very intrusive, but my normal shut down did not happen. I did not seem to lose my voice with him. I could speak. I was filled with an amazing rush to share everything that was hiding inside of me. I wanted him to know everything about me and I wanted to know everything about him.  Although, that did not change my annoyance with him, or change the fact that I felt like I needed to tie my eyes shut around him.

As I sat in some dream-like state my mind drifted into thoughts of the number 11.

He made the number 11 dance around me. It would do flips and laugh at me. I was not a fan of 11 even though it had many great qualities about it. It still bothered me because it had three syllables. Three bothered me too, it was green and I did like that, but it was an 8 missing the rest of its body. Eight always needed to be whole. Three constantly reminded me of the piece of me that I was missing that I was sure I would never find, my total, my complete infinity.

I loved 8 it was such a beautiful number, it would always swim passed me smiling in its brilliant purplish, indigo like glowing state. It would gingerly say, “Ada, you are going to be fine. It’s ok.”

Eleven is said to mean “one left” deriving from the Germanic compound ainlif. It is the second unique prime; three is the first one of course. I have to add one 1 +1 to make 11 equal 2 because I prefer even numbers. 11 bothers me again because it always reminds me of one next to one, which leaves an empty space that I do not want to think about. However, when I think of 11 squared it crashes into 121, that I can add into 4 which makes me think of 2 and multiply’s into 8. I love 8.

“Hello, are you there?” He shook the book in my face, and woke me up. “Starbucks, is it some Christian romance novel?”

What a baboon! I thought. The words sprung like tacks in my head, As if I would read a romance novel!

“Do I look like I would be reading a romance novel?” I asked with my most perturbed voice I could muster toward him.

He smirked and said, “Yes, I think you are one of those girls.”

And so the words flailed about in my head, What an ass! He was a complete donkey. I yanked my book out from his amazing glowing hand, and got close to his face whispering in a very soft, but eerie voice, “I am not one of those girls, thank you. And I would kindly ask you not to notice my shoes.” I then, walked out telling him nothing about me at all. I didn’t even tell him my name.

I could hear my dark purple lovely Converse All-Star’s shout, ”So there! Mr. Fred Doodle ASS!” As I thought the words in my raging skull.

More of Ada?

[Here is the rest of Chapter Three, Ada at the book store. I am working on my poetry book and editing this one. Since, I am having such success with posting these to help me edit, I will post this too. Maybe I'll post another chapter the one titled "Fred Doodle Ass." Ha ha ha Ada goes into the etymology of where the word ass came from. ]

They all looked at me.

I weighed the consequence of the stress between leaving and staying. I sat down, as I put my hand in my pocket I began to play with the die I had tucked away in there; I usually have some sort of small object in my pocket. I remember this particular smooth, red cube with the white numbered grooves because I have had it since I was eight years old. I took it from the Yahtzee game that my parents and I used to play every now an then, when people came over.

(I do the same thing every time I find that gem in my pocket, I let my skin soak in the tiny circles feeling them between my thumb and forefinger.)

It was now 6:20 pm and the book club was supposed to start at 6:00 pm. I sat crossed legged thinking crisscross applesauce as I pulled my legs to the top of my chair. I held my red die; it didn’t help I could feel the eyes burning my flesh – I was rocking. I looked around and smiled, I kept rocking.

Gray Crone smiled at me.

Mildred spoke up, “Welcome everyone to Lofty Book Nook. I know some of you from before, but we have a few new people and I would like to get to know you a little before we start. The first thing that I want to make clear is that this needs to be a safe place. We all have opinions, ideas about what we read, and we need to keep open minds. I am a very easy going woman, but I do not tolerate intolerance. If you are unable to do that this is not the book club for you. We are here to learn and grow from each other, hopefully be changed and influenced in a positive way.”

I started to feel calm again, my mind started to flow in numbers – the spiral stairs smiled at me. I thought that I should be more respectful of her as well. I decided to find out her name.

She went on,”The book that we are reading is a challenging one. Based on the reviews, if you are familiar with Christianity in a Charismatic type of setting this can either be offensive or confirming, either way it should wake us up with some of our own ideologies and fallacies. Did everyone get a book? Good, good. Who has already started reading it? Oh, everyone, excellent!” Her teeth glistened with excitement and her eyes twinkled, it brought some sort of pleasure to her.

She clapped her hands together and said, “Well we are missing 5 people tonight. First nights are usually like that. We are already starting late so let’s share a little bit with each other. Let’s go around the circle, say our names and something about ourselves.”

Panic rang through me it felt like group therapy. I almost threw up.

She spoke first,“My name is Maddie short for Madeline and I own this bookstore. I used to be an English teacher, but the schools became too political for me and I had to quit. I will not go into the whole story; some of you know it all too well. I love books, people, and my two parakeets named Julia and Proteus. They are insanely in love and he sings her a love song every morning and night. It can get quite obnoxious, but when you watch them together it is hard to stay annoyed. That is all from me tonight, next.”

“Hello, my name is Nester.”

I do not know what came over me, I blurted out,“Is that your real name?”

He looked at me oddly, “Yes.”

I nearly jumped out of my seat, “Where did your parents get that name?”

I do have a fascination with people’s names, I think that may be a slight reason why I forget them or do not want to know them.

I invest too much time in people once I have given them a name. He wasn’t sure how to take me, but I had to know I had to! “Why did they name you that?” I asked practically leaping to my feet they had hit the floor by this time. If he was going to tell me some lame as reason I was going to scream.

His eyes were really big. They were hazel with splatters of different colors that let me know that there had to be something amazing about this name. He leaned back in his chair as if to get away from me, “Nestor of Gerenia, they named me after Nestor of Gerenia.”

I hopped in my chair, clapped, and squealed, “I knew it, I knew it! Oh, Nester you have a spectacular name.” When my giddiness dwindled as quickly as it came – the realization that I had exposed myself had rushed over me.

I looked at Nester, smiled calmly, “I really like mythology.” It was a strange moment, after I said that everyone smiled at me and the awkwardness faded. I was so excited about Nester, anyone who had parents who would name him that had to be interesting. He was young, I was positive that I scared him.

I forced myself to hold back all of the questions that I wanted to ask him. I let him finish speaking.

I chewed on the inside of my mouth, until I tasted blood. Then, I had to bite my lip, sit on my hands, and rub the six and one at the same time between my fingers. I fidgeted with the threads hanging off of my sweater – I stayed quiet.

I watched him closely as he shared that he was going to the community college for graphic design, but his heart was drawn into writing. His black hair held a lot of volume and was very shiny. He wore skinny jeans, his boots were all worn and taggered with big silvers buckles – I felt that his boots made up for the skinny jeans.

His arrow-shaped nose was large, but fit well with his pale skin. When he spoke his hair would fly and his lanky body kind of quivered along with the vibrations of his voice. I continued to get mesmerized by his puffy lips that touched with every word. I could not look at his lips for long though, they bothered me. He annoyed because he would not show his teeth.

[It is always more telling when a person hides their teeth than their eyes.] His fingers were long stick-like phalanges, they flicked all around when he spoke. He seemed kind – a gentle spirited kid. I was intrigued to see what he had to share in my world.

After Nester had finished, a girl who looked to be in her 20′s spoke.

“My name is Bianca. I work across the street at the bakery, and I am a self-taught baker. I really enjoy making soft, fluffy French pastries.

Her words came out flat and plain. Her blonde hair lightly bounced around her face, plainish pink skin covered her frame, her light brown eyes seemed comfortable, with a hint of awkward. Nothing like me, she was neither boisterous nor mousy. As the words poofed out of her mouth like a soft marshmallow, her whole demeanor was as if watching a delicate puffed pastry rise in the oven.

I instantly enjoyed her and her name – Othello! I thought, as I wondered if she was a jealous lover. She seemed too flaky like a perfect pie crust to be a jealous lover. However, it looked to me that she held the qualities of Bianca in Taming of the Shrew – obedient and sweet-tempered.

I became consumed with all of the names. They started to spin through my head. Shakespeare was clamouring in my skull, beating through the books that surrounded us, as though I was in some Alice in Wonderland version of Tell -Tale Heart. My heart was pounding as Bianca rose like a buttery flaky croissant with gentle, glazed words.

“I would love to find people that I could relate to and share my thoughts with and learn fro—”

Bursting through my lips the letters bounced out and danced in a stream of white fluffy clouds, “Bianca, your name is in Othello and The Taming of the Shrew!”

The words took over.

“Did you know that the inner satellite of Uranus was originally called Peaseblossom, but was later changed to Bianca due to the US and USSR having a silly conflict about the name so it was changed to Bianca? Bianca, Bianca, Nester, Nester! Fabulous. Wonderful. Delightful.”

My hands took over waving up and down. Clap, clap, clap Then my feet had a party of their own. Stomp, stomp, stomp After a few minutes of this, the ceiling started to quake with my giddy giggles. Finally, I calmed.

Maddie looked at me confused, “Ada, did you want to speak next?”

I was perplexed. “No.”, I said flatly while, I wondered what gave her that idea? Everyone looked around at each other then, at Maddie. Gray Crone was smiling – she started to turn a bit bluish in color.

Maddie smiled at everyone, landing her eyes upon me, “Do you really like literature?”

I laughed. A loud, thunderous sound bounced off the walls, leaving trickles of little echoes springing off the black staircase.

The realization of my behaviors overpowered me at once. I had interrupted someone, again. My eyes sank into Bianca’s, the awkward pain filled my bones, but I knew it was more important to keep eye contact than to allow anxiety seep into my pores. “I am so sorry. I am very nervous, when I am nervous I tend to connect things. If they have a special meaning to me – I get obsessive about it. I am sorry to you too, Nester. Please forgive me for interrupting you both. I want to try being here, but maybe I am not cut out for this book club.”

I was surprised that everyone wanted me to stay. There were no indications of people being offended. Gray Crone had a strange grin with what seemed like a little twinkle in her left eye. Bianca tilted her head, she had a soft smile, “I think it is fascinating that you connect names to literature so quickly.”

Maddie gave a warm look, “I find your trivia bits to be interesting as well.”

I looked around at all of the people, it felt inviting. They did not comment on my animated expressions, or body movements. The atmosphere felt a little, slightly comfortable. I managed to limit my outbursts as the others spoke their names and shared some information about them.

My mind started to race, I had no idea what I would say about myself. My thoughts were swimming with every detail of each person. Their words became loud thumps and pounds throughout my neurons. The shape of my fist shaped pump was protruding through my flesh. I watched it thump in and out, fearing that everyone else would see my heart trying to escape my cavity as well.

I could not get consumed in the other names – I had no interest in them, at the time. I did not truly hear them I was too busy clasping my hands together tightly; as I studied the features of each person. I was taken into their details as the words danced out of their mouths, singing with colorful tunes.

One of the guys was a violinist. He played in the local symphony and also taught at a classical school nearby. I was intrigued. I stared at the black streaks on the tips of his fingers. He mentioned that he had been practicing for a reception scheduled for later in the week.I could not take my eyes away from his fingers. The tips looked like tiny train tracks from the indention’s; discoloration from his skin chemistry looked to flip about winding with the metal from the strings.

His music soared through my cranium, sweeping me into twining notes pinging along my cells. I wanted to see  and hear him play right then and there. The longer we sat listening to his words the more I could see the color – indention’s faded into the unknown of pigmentation sinking into his skin.I could feel the music notes leap off his fingers into my ears. It mingled some mystical feel that comforted me.

My eyes carried to the older woman who seemed very out of place. She looked strangely uncomfortable, but not in the same way as I was. The air about her swirled a sense of superiority. At the same time, she was trying to be kind. It was off putting. It was a familiar presence that I could not place that at moment – it took a few more interactions with her for me to figure it out. I quickly became bored. Her words filled the room with shallowness.

After her, I spoke. Stress and fear consumed me jumbling all of my words. They crashed into each other, blocking my vocal chords, until I felt like I was choking. The waves of letters formed tripping my words. They managed to squeeze out of my throat finagling, “I met a guy today at work, but not really I spoke to him for a second, but I watched him.”

I had no way to stop the words from escaping.

”I think I may be in love, but I don’t know because I have never been in love before. Although, I am pretty sure I am because I have never felt this before. It reminded me of bits in Romeo and Juliet, but that may sound really cheesy.”

My brain was trying desperately to stop my tongue from wagging the insanities. My brain was yelling, “Stop! Oh, my god! What are you saying?”

While my tongue was flapping and my lips were spewing,”He also made me hear a song in my head from my teenage years called “Sweet Child of Mine” by Guns and Roses. They used to be one of my favorite bands. I had all of their albums. Plus some bootlegs. The song made me feel safe.

Losing all control over my limbs, mouth, and brain, I sang,“Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place, where as a child I’d hide, and pray for the thunder and the rain, to quietly pass me by”

Stopping mid-tune, “It always made me want to keep my hair long. My hair always keeps me safe and hidden. He made me feel like that.”

Feeling my brain skip, but not miss a beat,” I am already on chapter 5. Five is red. I like its bottom swoop. Starbucks Preacher, so far; well I really like it. It has been very difficult for me though, I have a lot of issues with church and God.”

Rapidly, combing over that tidbit I jumped quickly to, “Some other music that I like is Fritz Seitz’ Student Concerti No. 2 and No. 5. That adds up to seven. Look! There are seven of us. I wonder who belongs in the other five seats.”

I felt eyes burning my flesh, again. The whole group had spiraled into a blur as I was talking. I had almost forgotten they were there. When the heat of their eyes dug into me I remembered that I was not alone. I looked at Gray Crone who was now sitting straight up. She had turned a lovely soft blue. She had green eyes. She looked at me with her arms crossed, “Wunderbar! meinem Freund wunderbar!”

German! I loved her.

Practically jumping over the wide open space, her words flew at me, “What is your name?”

We gathered into a different dimension. Our eyes locked, with a slightly sharp though, gentle curve of her lips she simply said,  “You can call me Emmy. Emmy Rings or Fritz if you like.”

I giggled. Silently, we understood. I watched in awe as her face turned a lovely shade of indigo. I looked around the chairs the people were all still smiling. My awkwardness had not scared them away. My abruptness had not made them grimace.

I cannot recall the rest of the words I was overwhelmed with liking people. I fell in love with their brains.

It had been too much for one day. I needed to escape to my precious home. I needed to climb into bed with my perfect Mr. Cat. I could not wait to get home to tell him all about my day.

I used to get worried about my cat getting depressed without me. I would think, “Poor, poor Nicholas, he needs me ever so.”

He was my quiet friend who let me talk away about all of my emotions and feelings that I never understood. He was my therapy cat. I would pet him as I struggled with trying to discover what I was feeling.

I did not know how to handle all of the emotions that had consumed me that day. I wasn’t sure if I liked them at all. I had written down on a piece of paper that night, “I fear by morning I will be in a state of black with no rainbows to discover at all. Nick-Knack will cover me in kitty kisses to help blow away the fears I have to face at work tomorrow.”

Enter the Book Store (Ada)

[It has helped me a great deal in posting the first two chapters, so I am posting part of chapter three as well. I have been able to see some needed edits and changes that I just could not see because I have been keeping this in hiding. Please feel free to share any comments. Are you interested in the characters? Would you like to know more? Does the story seem interesting? I don't know, if you think of anything please share. These are still rough drafts and need edits ... so be gentle. ]

Chapter Three

I did make it to the front doors of the bookstore.

I loved that bookstore. On the outside, it had big glass windows featuring wonderful book displays. I would walk past it often thinking that I would go in, but then, I would lose my nerve. I am not exactly sure why I did not go in, except that the timing just never felt right. I do that at times. I save things until it is the proper time, I have held off on movies or songs for decades to make sure it is the exactly the right time for me to experience it. I feel like I should never rush something, it takes me time to prepare for certain treasures. I saved this bookstore for precisely the right time.

I will never forget the unwrapping of this tiny present. It had been sitting in the heart of our curious downtown. It was one of the most delightful experiences for me. I stood outside looking at the numbers above the door flashing their smiles, and singing in colors of yellow and silver meshing 202. They pranced around my eyes. They giggled inviting me in. I went to place my fingers around the black iron door handle. As I laced my digits onto the handle, it felt a little loose, and fragile. 202 rapping its tune into my ears, swarming me into the warmth of its colors, and the embracing doors continue to fill me with every moment of that night – the beginning of my entire world colliding with a new reality.

Possibly reality had been there all along just waiting to peel its layers off right in front of me.

I opened the door, old mildew stench hit me consuming my air with pleasantries of antique words.  It had that nice old book whiff.  I was startled by the sounds of pages flapping, it sounded as if an orchestra of book covers and laughing pages were playing sweet piano tunes into my heart. As much as the odor was unpleasant it was pleasant - familiar and safe. The curvy walls, wrapped in colorful delights of books. My eyes chortled. The rows are perfectly, neatly organized, and making the environment much more soothing. While I gazed across each shelf  I half smiled. I would have loved to count them at that very moment. I wanted to touch their covers and caress their introductions. I noticed in the far back a black metal spiral staircase that went straight up to a tiny loft.

I fought the urge to run up them to see what treasures hid upon those shelves. It would have to wait, I was zapped out of my awestruck state by a woman who was short, with a little pointy nose, and a mouth full of glistening white teeth wrapped with some sort of red liquorice colored lipstick.

“Hi! Are you here for the book club?” Her large blue eyes jumped into my face. She had a high pitch voice. When she began to speak her red lipstick crinkled into the crevasses of her lip lines. It began to flake tiny sparks and then, flecks popped onto her sparkly teeth the more she spoke.

I stood silent unable to take my eyes off of her teeth, but as much as I wanted to stop staring I could not.  I stood with my eyes sealed to the red dots that started to swim across each front tooth, as if they were waving at me every time her lips crossed and her tongue thrust saliva. Finally, after her third question I was able to get out. “Oh, yes I am here for the book club” while glaring at the happy faced red dots that passed by.

She led me to the back area where there were 11 chairs in a circle, I felt the tiny ridges of the floor grip at the soles of my boots. I was distracted for a moment by the odd number of chairs to form a circle and rolled my eyes at 11 because it had been messing with me for some time. I immediately added 1 +1 to make two because I did not want to leave 11 mocking me. I wore boots that night because they made me feel safe.

My Converse were too casual and free. I did not feel free yet. I was not about to let my feet walk in their freedom among strangers. My boots were much better equipped for new social encounters. I chose my tall, knee high; black boots with a block rubber heal. The zipper demanded confidence and respect.

Anyone who noticed them would definitely think that they should not mess with me or at least think that I was an emo chic – no one wants to disarray an emo chic. Either way they made me feel better and I loved my boots. Boots were always stable and strong.

The bounce of the light sucked me into the floor again. It was stained concrete that had a yellowish green tint to it. There were cracks throughout. I wanted to get on my hands and knees to study the small cracks. I was fascinated with every tiny vein. I wanted to see where they vesseled off to – what grand pathway did they lead to. It was a glamorous shiny floor. It looked smooth, but its grooves reached for me with each step.

In an instant, I was overcome with knowing that I had to come back on a day when there was no book club. I had every intention of plopping down on that cold, slab floor, surrounding myself in books, and daydreaming of walking up the spiral stairs straight into book heaven.

It looked much like my therapy group. I thought that was a good thing, it gave me some sort of script. There was another woman sitting in a chair close to the spiral stairs. I knew I had to sit across from the stairs so I could attempt to see what was hidden away up there.

The squeaky black hair chic asked, “Would you like some tea? We have green and Earl Grey. Do you prefer coffee? How about some cookies or pie?” I don’t know what else she offered I felt as if I was at gourmet cafe with Seven-Eleven products. My ears felt as if cotton balls had been shoved into them and muffled everything I did manage to say, ‘Thank you, but I am on a strict diet for my health.” I had hoped that would get her to leave me alone, but it only caused her to hammer me with a butt load of questions.

I had to explain why I eat only gluten-free. That information spun her into sharing about a friend of a friend with celiac disease.  I really did not want to go into all of the pseudoscience and myths that she was spewing at me so I decided to just nod and say, “Yes, I know how tough it can be.” I wanted to call her by the name Mildred the second I saw her. She looked like a Mildred wearing the 1960’s wanna be glasses. As she continued to ramble on about genetically modified food, I was struck with her glasses. I remember I had to clasp my mouth shut and not shout, “Seriously, if you are going to wear glasses like that wear real vintage!”

Mildred had quickly got on my nerves and I was not sure I could stay at the book club. I could not even remember her real name. I stayed quiet out of fear that I would call her Mildred or 1960′s wanna be chic. My anxiety was filling up into my throat. I was concerned about the other people coming that Mildred was babbling on and on about – I think I lost a couple of decades that night. I thought possibly the other woman had potential. I looked over at her, but she was just gray.

Her hair was a blondish sort of gray – it was dull. She was wearing a gray hoodie and blue jeans with gray generic Converse.  Her skin had a grayish hue. She was curled up more than I was. I had an excuse; I was ridden with social anxiety. I wondered if she was too. I wondered if her therapist told her to try a book club. I gave myself a mental note, “Watch the gray mystery, possible stalker. She could be a real freak. I’ll call her Gray Crone.”

I was mesmerized by her, I wanted to know how old she was. She dressed as if she was young, but her face had the wrinkles of an older woman. Her body was like a walking stick. I was contemplating whether she smoked or not when I felt her eyes burn into my flesh. She looked directly into my eyes! I think I made an audible sound that was much like, “Eek!” I told myself, “Look down. Make no contact.”

I heard my therapist whispering into my brain at that moment. “Ada, you must speak to others. Take a chance that is the only way to overcome this.” I shook my head and smirked, telling her, “That is easy for a person who does not lose their words!”

I decided to flip through the books that were on the table. I hoped that she would ignore me. I thumbed through some that looked a little interesting, but nothing really stole my interest. “Hey, what’s your name?” Gray Crone coughed out at me.

My heart stopped, I lost my breath, and I started to shake thinking, “Oh, crap! Gray Crone is talking to me. Can I get the words out? Do I want to? Do not look at her eyes. Shit! I looked into her eyes. Oh, they are so cold. They are gray too. I wonder if she has gray blood. I can’t look in the eyes long, I am feeling nauseous.”

I stared into her forehead. “Um, my nnnname is Ada.” My arms were pulling the words from my throat. She watched my limbs dance wildly as I spoke. I was used to that I hardly noticed it when someone else looked at me awkwardly.

“Do you have a stutter?”  Gray Crone looked directly at me and asked in a monotone voice. I didn’t think she was being mean.  I forced my brain to calm and spoke slowly, “No, I do not have a stutter–I just have a hard time getting my words out sometimes.” I was fiddling with my fingers listening to the sounds they made when they rub against each other. I had my head down facing the floor.

I saw Gray Crone look at me through my peripheral vision.  She tilted her head a bit – it seemed awkward. I decided to look at her from the side of my right eye. She gave a shoulder shrug and said, “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She wasn’t as bad as I thought, but I still had my guard up. She reminded me of a Demoiselle Crane with her body movements and long neck.

I went back to staring up at the spiral stairs. There were twenty-two steps. The black paint had chipped off in some places, it was barely noticeable, but I could see the tiny rust spots poking out their flakes. The wavy designs that swirled through each step left a shadow from the yellow hazy light above.

There was a slight flicker from the bulbs that really bothered me. I could also hear the tiny buzz sound when no one was talking, or it seemed too quiet. I looked at each step counting them over and over again. I loved counting–my favorite is counting by two’s.

I counted the steps by two and envisioned myself leaping on each one with both feet. I knew the sound would make a ting after each number echoing into the next number. Two-ting, four-ting, six-ting, eight-ting, and on until 22-end. When I arrived to the number 22 I added them together to equaling the number 4 dancing about in my head. After that, the images in my head manifested into two swans that morphed out of the 22. They multiplied by 4, to create the beautiful number 88.

I sat waiting for the others to arrive feeling panic start to fuse my body. I continued to focus on the numbers to help ease my fears. I thought about how much I love 88. I pondered how beautiful they looked together. They looked like two swimming partners linked for eternity. I gave them the name, Infinity Twins. They gave me joy and comfort in the midst of anxiety. Fred reminded me of the twins. That was what I named him. Fred Doodle. When the thoughts of him invaded my brain I screamed as loud as I could, silently, “Stop it mind!”

Quickly my mind wandered off to my other self-soothing tactics. I thought about the date. It was 8/22. Staring at a spec on the ceiling and speaking slowly in my head, I started to add and thinking of numbers,

“8 + 2 + 2 = 12. Twelve, two remaining, it is the smallest number with precisely six divisors, 6 is a good number. Six is swimming on my sweater. I really like this sweater because the gray is a dark pretty gray that looks marvelous with the deep purple designs mixed throughout. They remind me of hexagons. They seem to blend into sixes that look as if they are appearing and disappearing.  6 + 6 = 12, square 121 has 12 as its aliquot sum.  12 *2 = 24 and 24 separated into 2 + 4 = 6 and 6 *2 = 12 and there are only 11 chairs, which is so wrong.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up rushed up to the woman I named Mildred and asked, “Could we get one more chair to complete the circle, please?”

She turned with a nurturing type of attitude as if she was a mother, but I did not think she was one. Her big blue eyes looked a little confused and she said, “Of course, Ada I didn’t realize that I only had 11 chairs. We are expecting 12 people altogether.”

I felt the blood leave my face and the knot gallop my stomach. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly, “OMG! 12 people! Don’t panic, don’t panic.”

Then, I looked at Mildred’s dancing red spots and white teeth and said, “Excuse me, where is the restroom?” Panting the whole time.

Mildred lady looked concerned, pointed to the stairs and said, “Behind the spiral staircase, are you alright?” I spilled out of my mouth,”Yes, I am fine thank you.” I tripped over my boots as I walked as quickly as possible to the restroom. I caught myself on the back of Gray Crone’s chair, shook my head,  barely making  it into a stall.

I sat in the restroom, breathing slowly – counting the tiles on the ceiling. The people were not there yet. I didn’t know if any of them had read the book. I didn’t know anyone. I was all alone and scared. Before sitting on the toilet I cleaned it. I sat on the sparkling seat wondering if anyone else had gone online to see what the book was about. Had I started reading too soon? What were we supposed to discuss? How was I going to handle the whole church thing? What if there were Christians in the group? My heart was racing, I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, and I felt as if someone had locked their strong hands around my neck – squeezing. I finally said to myself in a defeated voice, “I can’t do this, I need to leave.” The thoughts had pulsed adrenaline through my veins. I went to the mirror to try to talk to myself.

As I looked in the mirror I saw a glimpse of my eyes, they looked like a scared bunny that stood still in the grass. You can always tell what they are thinking, “Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.” I was thinking the same thing as I decided to walk out of the bathroom. I had planned to head right out the front door being completely invisible.  I am not sure how long I was in the restroom, but when I walked out there were five other people sitting, and Mildred – I was stuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meet Ada (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two

I recall sitting in the back corner of the break room the day I encountered him. It was my little hiding place where I went to escape and read. I like my alone time. During my breaks it would help me calm down as I worked through any anxiety. Along with the pain of social interactions or the phone that rang and rang. It filled my core with rage from the annoying sound. The phone with its pounding high pitched frequencies into my ears directly attacking my brain.

It was nice and quiet in the break room. I had always tried to schedule it to ensure that no one would be there. I knew everyone’s lunch patterns, and if there were special visits or other occasions I knew pretty much what people were going to for lunch. I had watched them for months, observing, analyzing, questioning, and gathering all of my data to make sure I knew when I could stay in the break room.

No one could see me hidden in my nook. The funny thing is that everyone knew I sat there, but no one remembered to look when they came in. They always forgot, and I was able to gather all sorts of information from my spy spot. I never used the information for evil, but sometimes I used it.

The day that he disrupted my equilibrium I was already uneasy because I knew that we had a new employee starting. It takes me some time to handle information like that. Though the company was not obligated to tell me that they were hiring, I would like to have known earlier than that morning.

I was in no frame of mind to meet a new person on that day. My mind was filled with anxiety already because my therapist had convinced me to go to a book club. It was the first meeting that evening. She felt it would help my social anxiety. I was not the willing participate for some time, but finally, I found a group that was going to read “Starbucks Preacher”. I had been holding onto that book for a while. I carried it with me in my bag. I left it sitting on my coffee table looking at me. My cat used it to rub his head a couple of times.

I knew it was time to start reading it front to back for the first time. I started reading it that morning, by lunch I was so consumed with anticipation to read on that I could think of nothing else. I could barely get my work completed. As I was consumed in the chapter reliving events, I felt a shift in the earth. It shook me a bit, it was not a physical, tangible shift. It was a shift farther up in the heavenlies. As the jolt filled me, I saw him walk in.

I peaked over my book and felt annoyed. Then I felt scared, then I felt confused, then back to annoyed. I watched him as he looked around, his gaze completely passing me. I saw the curl of his lips and the glisten of his eyes. I did not know what I was feeling, I had never felt it before – I have never felt it since. As I watched him I was intrigued by my feelings and by him. He was up to something, looking in the refrigerator. As I watched him poke around I knew that he didn’t really want to take anything, he was exploring. Although, he thought that he could get away with it.

I spoke up before I had a chance to chain down my words, “You shouldn’t do that.” I chuckled a little behind my book because I had startled him. He thought that he was alone. I remember liking the feeling of being invisible most of the time, but I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know that I existed.

As I watched him, he spoke a little annoyed, as if I had offended him. I hid behind my book trying to control my words. I was startled by my inability to keep the lock upon my lips that I was so good at maintaining. He caused me to want to speak. I found this confusing and scary because I had always been the opposite around people. I normally couldn’t get anything out, or it was a lot of work to get something out. I found in just the short seconds of our encounter my mouth wanting to shoot out all of my existence showering him words.

I held my book tightly, gripping it and clasping my lips together behind my book. He looked directly at me  and asked, “I shouldn’t do what?” I felt his eyes peeling through my flesh straight into my core, and I held on to my book for dear life. My new bible that I used to help bind my mouth shut in that moment. I remember being upset, confused, and needing to get out of there before I said or did something.

I was losing control and needed to get away from him as quickly as possible. I thrust my book and grabbed my belongings, with everything I could to get away from him before speaking. It was no use before I was able to flee without flying words at him, these mysteries of my mind rushed out and hit him with a charged blast of energy,  “11 squared. 121 crashed into 4, I like 2, but it always ends with 1.”

The number 11 had been messing with me for months.

After work, my head was swarming my plans to go to the book club for the first time were staring to consume me with fears.

I remember thinking that I was in no position to go to the book club after meeting the new guy. I knew that I had to though; I really had to force myself. I needed to do it for myself. I needed to take a step out of my comfort zone and start dealing with some of my issues.

When I got home I plopped onto my big beige and white striped sofa – cradled in the cushions and the fur of my cat against my palms. The traditional cheers filled my mind, “It’s going to be ok” pep talk. My thoughts swirled and whirled to him. I could not stop it. I had to have seen him before. I knew him from somewhere. I had the overwhelming feeling that I had been waiting for him to arrive in my life. However, I also had the sense that I did not know it though. Nothing made sense. It was not until I saw him that day that I understood I had been waiting for him, but for some reason I felt as though he would break me.

The day, him, and that evening fused into my neurons becoming a permanent memory fixture that I have relived every day, since I looked into his eyes.

I did not want anything to do with him. I was prone to not want anyone. I was content with the shadows being my companion. I did force myself to believe that I cared for some people or that it was worth it to stick with them. Not him. I didn’t have to force anything in the first seconds that I saw him – I hated it. I was vacuumed into his essence that day.

Though I had only seen him for a few minutes, it felt as though I had known him forever. He also seemed to know every particle of me, as much as I knew of him. I wanted to yell at him, “Go! Get out of here before I am shattered into pieces.” I did not have time to think about it I had to face my fears and go to the quaint used bookstore. I was able to gather my fragmented self enough to pull myself out of my apartment.

Meet Max (Chapter One)

[ I am going to share the first two chapters of the book I am still editing. Please feel free to give me input, any suggestions, or ideas that may come to mind. I am doing this in part to force myself to make this real for me. I keep putting this aside for several reasons, but I truly want to complete it ... posting it will help me get it out of "hiding." I will most likely remove the posts after I get back to the book itself. If I sound silly, well may I am! ha ha I'll publish Chapter Two tomorrow.]  

Chapter One

I remember that it was my first day on the job, I was feeling a little nervous, but I knew that I was very good at everything I did so I didn’t worry too much. I had already scoped out the company months before I started.

I spent time dissecting them, and researching what they were about. I knew that I could do the job–I had no problem with that. I was more concerned about the people. Actually, I wasn’t really that worried with them either, I am just trying to be more human.

I don’t care either way about people I work with. I have my limited friends, sometimes I make some good ones at work, but mostly I use them for convenience; when I want people around. I like my solitude–I don’t like to be lonely.

On my first day, I had gone to the break room for lunch. I was going to sit and have some quiet time. As I walked in I thought I was alone although, I did feel something. I decided to investigate the items that were hanging out in the refrigerator anyway.

“You shouldn’t do that.” A voice blared its eyes on the back of my neck. I looked around for the soft, but direct voice. Scanning the room, in a small corner, I saw a covering of brunette hair, with dark eyes. The eyes were so dark that the white surrounding them were like fluorescent bulbs. The obscure figure was cowering into a book that read “Starbucks Preacher.”

She sat being gulped up by a dark gray and deep purple heavy sweater. I could not tell if she was mousy or eccentric. She seemed too confident for mousy, and as I looked in more detail at her sweater I noticed how the threads swirled into odd patterns that normally does not adorn a sweater. I thought she had to be eccentric.

The patterns swam into hexagons, but not really. They were fused with their own breath rotating symmetries that were dancing in my eyes. The sixes covered my visual and then, disappeared. They were coddled in thickness that was very odd, being it was almost 80 degrees outside. Still she looked to be shivering.

As I poured over the sleeves of her sweater I noticed tiny threads hanging and dangling as she held the book in her hand as if it were a pot of gold. She peered over her book only revealing her black eyes. Her iris’s blended with her pupils making it look as if they were one solid vortex of black that was both warm and cold at the same time.

She stared at me with a piercing curiosity. In those few moments, I noticed how she looked like a cat studying me, tilting, and slowly moving her head in wonderment. Was I prey or a playmate? I wondered. I chuckled slightly as she hid her head behind her book then, slowly crept one eye around the corner with a peaking shapely eyebrow. I thought, “She is a ninja cat!”

She had one eye burning on me. I couldn’t help but feel uneasy and yearning at the same time. Who was this odd person and what was she doing? My thoughts became perplexed and uneasy. “I shouldn’t do what?” I asked with tiny annoyance in my voice.

Now she was hiding completely behind her book, with a vanished eye she said, “You shouldn’t snoop through refrigerators.” She closed her book roughly, picked up her belongings abruptly and said, “11 squared. 121 crashed into 4, I like 2, but it always ends with 1.”

As she passed by her long hair spewed out a fragrant smell that I had never experienced before. The back of her walked into a midst of yellow. I noticed that her long strands had sparkles throughout. She was a brunette, but I had never seen so many different colors mixed together making a new kind of brunette-ish hue.

Instantly, I loved all of her oddities. I swear for a moment I saw her glow. As I stood in the break room of my new work place I felt rather exposed after being in her presence. I thought, “What was I to do now after I experienced that?”

She bewildered me with her words and I was then hit with the thought of, “What on earth did she mean with the 11 squared crap?” My thoughts poured, “How did she know I was snooping around in the refrigerator? Was it obvious that I was a lunch thief?” I didn’t want to steal anyone’s lunch–alright I admit I was looking for the unwanted foods. Or possibly a soda that no one would notice. Was it written on the back of my shirt I forgot my lunch?

A flux of questions came over me. It was such a strange encounter that I still have it ingrained into every fiber of my brain. I got angry at the thought that she would assume that I was going to take something, but I was mainly upset with myself. She was right I was snooping, and I got caught. I decided then that I was staying away from that girl. She was dangerous. I didn’t want any part of her. I burned that in my brain, tattooing it to remind me to stay clear.

The rest of the day however, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. I wondered what she was about. I remember thinking, “My god! I am consumed.” I told myself to shake it off. I considered her some strange girl who happened to guess what I was doing. I did decide to leave that day to get something to eat, I had an hour for lunch.

My first day was not too bad; I seemed to like the people. I do hang out with some of them on occasion. I had met a few of them at a local bar; geeks seem to gravitate toward each other. Although, I admit I am a pretty cool geek. I do manage to get the ladies – I feel confident in my flirting abilities. However, when I think about it I usually spend my efforts on woman who I really do not care about. I do have a habit of playing with women who I know are safe. Playful emotional banter is fine, we both get what we need without any real attachment – at least on my part. I find most women lackluster even if they are physically attractive. Sometimes I get lucky with the beautiful intelligent girl, but mostly I find them devoid.

Nothing against any of them, I can’t seem to keep my heart stuck on one. I love women; I want to be surrounded by women. I want to swim in women…not really I am trying to be manly here. I am a ladies’ man, but I can’t care for the ladies.

I tried love once. I have had plenty of women, but they never last long. Sometimes I feel dirty even being around them. It is not because there is anything wrong with them per say, but their minds, their interests, their looks, their smell, their feel, their color, their number; I don’t know they never fit. They never add up to the correct sum.

There are times when I walk the streets, the number flashes at me from a license plate, or an address and I think, “What the hell did she mean by 11 squared. 121 crashed into 4, I like 2, but it always ends with 1.”

Damn it! That sentence still makes me naked. She saw me and spoke it and I continue to convince myself I do not know what it means.

She was the first day of my unwelcomed awakening. The job was alright, it wasn’t what I wanted, but it helped me get to where I wanted to go. I couldn’t stop thinking about her words for days after that encounter. I could not stop smelling her or seeing the waves of color that flowed from her. I can smell her now and see the colors clearly. I will eventually press it all down as I did before. I do enjoy remembering some days – it makes me smile.

She made me see things differently; I swear she was like a walking rainbow. I find it all so disturbing because she made me think things like that. From the moment I met her, I felt like I walked into a movie. It was being made without our knowledge, some strange iconic flick. I remember telling myself that I didn’t want anything to do with her, ever.

She made me think of music – she still does.