Danny Ayal. He's my ex boyfriend. I'm just experimenting with something; enjoy the humor!

Pathetic Inspiration

Often, I find that incredibly foolish things make me realize things about myself. My latest self discovery, one that I'm having trouble thinking, let alone writing or voicing, was set off by my watching Avatar: The Last Airbender on Netflix Instant-Watch, and was furthered by the song "Can't I Just Be?" from Homemade Fusion (a musical that I'm not entirely aware of; I just know that one song). Foolish. But apparently informative nonetheless.

I'm sitting in my apartment in Ithaca on a Saturday night, fully aware that there's a full-blown party going on within 10 minutes walking-distance of my complex, bored and lonely. I thought about going to the party, but I disliked the thought of going alone (not just because my father wouldn't have been happy) and didn't feel like coming up with something creative to wear instead of clothes (since that was the theme of the party). I began to think about why I didn't want to go alone to the party, about how much I hate making small talk with people, and how there would be over one hundred people at that party I could say hello to, but very few with whom I could have an actual conversation. That's when I realized how shallow my connections with everyone in Ithaca are and why that might be.
I'm pretty sure I'm not an uninteresting person and that I'm not a person with nothing to say. But I think a layer has developed; a barrier between myself and "myself." I've also been thinking lately about how little I am affected by things these days, whether it be an insult, the loss or pain of a friend, a poor grade or late work. It seems I've built a wall that keeps out the reality of a given situation and dulls the meaning of...life. I don't mean to sound so dramatic. I just mean that I've noticed a certain numbness about me, and a certain distrust of people, that has been slowly developing and seems to have hit (what I hope will be) a pinnacle. I wonder how this distrust and numbness stems from the abandonment I felt when my mom died. That last sentence was hard to write; I still censor myself, even if no one will ever see it, out of shame. I shouldn't feel abandoned. I have no right. But I have lost faith. I'm not sure why it shames me or embarrasses me to feel this way, but I can't feel her anymore. Her spirit is no longer with me. Maybe that's the sense in which I feel abandoned.

"Maybe this doesn't make sense now. Maybe I'm tired of dogmatic decrees. Maybe my faith has abandoned me somehow; maybeI don't even know what faith means. Maybe I'm doubting and questioning everything; maybe I'm suddenly no longer sure. Maybe your faith in me was mistaken."

My realization of my numbness led me to my next thought: I am afraid to face myself. That barrier that I built may be meant to keep me out just as much as it is meant to keep the rest of the world out.

Define Mother.

Lump, n. - A pile of blanket put under a child's feet at her bedtime to make her more comfortable. Lumps are always created by a parent, usually by the mother.

Bedtime Story, n. - Any book read to a child by a mother while the child is tucked in for bed. Occasionally, as the child gets older, it is the child that reads a book to the mother. Common titles deemed "bedtime stories" are: the "Little House on the Prairie" books, "The Borrower" books, the "Little Bear" books, "Goodnight Moon," "Emma Bean," "Baby Dear," and "More Spaghetti, I Say." A good mother saves the last few on the list once her child outgrows them as a remembrance of childhood.

The Boat Basin, n. - Located on the Hudson River at roughly 79th street and lasting about a block in either direction, the Boat Basin is a place where mothers bring their daughters to feed ducks during the summertime. Coincidentally, duck mothers bring their ducklings to be fed during the summertime. Usually, mothers walk with daughters through the park to the Boat Basin holding a plastic bag with bread. Upon finding the ducks, the mother helps her daughter to feed them using the bread in the bag. This is done almost every night for the entire childhood.

Costume, n. - Something a child wears when in the school play. Sometimes, mothers are asked to make their child the costume that she will need for her role. Sometimes, this involves spending a large amount of time trying to find a way to make the child look like the bottom half of a cow. More often than not, the mother will be successful but will not be properly thanked.

Big Blue Chair, n. - A large chair (usually blue in color) purchased for the soul purpose of fitting a mother and a daughter so that they might cuddle while they watch television. Generally, it reclines.

Touched By An Angel, n. - A television show that existed in the '90s. This show was watched every Sunday by mother and daughter as they sat in the Big Blue Chair (see definition, Big Blue Chair).

Lois and Clark, n. - A television show that was popular in the early '90s. It was watched every Sunday by mother and daughter.

Regis Phillban, n. - A television persona that some mothers enjoy. He is usually the best reason for watching "Who Wants to Be A Millionare," which some mothers do.

Yankees, n. - The baseball team that mothers who grew up in the Bronx love. Generally this means that mothers and daughters watch baseball games together; sometimes over dinner.

Sacrifice, n. or v. - That which a mother does to give her daughter the best life that she can offer. Sacrifice supplies Lumps, Bedtime Stories, Boat Basin Walks, Big Blue Chairs, and Television, amongst numerous other things (see definitions for further information).

Savior, n. - That which a child is to a woman who feels lost, confused, and perhaps even broken.

Altnerate Ending

This picks up from about where Marlene leaves; I was inspired in the shower. I'm not a creep: the shower is really the only private place I can be upset without being seen by anyone.



“She’s cool,” Danny said as Molly straddled him, again. It was always made more sense than sitting on his lap. “What are you doing?” he protested when he realized that his girlfriend was on top of him. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t,” she said softly.
“I’m not doing this again,” he replied, remembering how hard it was for her to say goodbye. “Come on; you can walk me home. It’s a really nice night, and I wanna go to Alice on the way.”
As a sign of compliance, Molly raised herself off of the chair and stumbled around her apartment in a clumsy attempt to leave quickly. By the time she’d found her purse and cell phone, he was ready to go, and they headed out the door.

Central Park was dark, as it was now at least one in the morning, but the concrete path that wound through it was lit by yellow street lamps. The two of them walked side by side, Molly struggling a little to keep up with Danny’s long strides. They each had a pair of headphones stuffed inside their ears that connected to a different iPod. Danny sang along to whatever music was blasted into his ears, and Molly laughed with him. They passed the Dela Court Theater as Molly reached for Danny’s hand without thinking. She quickly pulled it back, however, remembering his qualm with public displays of affection.
“Sure, we can do that,” he said in between songs, reaching for Molly’s hand and entwining their fingers together.
They walked on, loosely hand-in-hand, until they reached the Alice in Wonderland statue Danny had mentioned he wanted to stop by. They climbed the statue, settling next to one another near the Mad Hatter.
“Do you have it?” Danny asked.
“Yes,” Molly answered, realizing his was referring to Shmolly. “But I thought you were going to bed when you get home.”
“I am. That’s why I need it.”
“Why?” she asked, handing it to him.
“I don’t sleep well.”
“Why?”
“Bad dreams.”
“Oh,” Molly said slowly. She paused. “About what?”
“Dying.”
“You’re afraid of death,” she said quietly, non-judgementally.
“I dream that I’m dying.”
Molly reflected for a minute as Danny packed a bowl. “Like, being shot?”
“Someone pushes me off a building.”
Again, Molly was silent for a minute. “I would never let that happen to you,” she said quietly to him.
“That’s what they all say.”
“Yeah, but I’m different.”
“They all say that, too.”
“How have you not figured out in five years of drama that I’m not going anywhere?”
“I don’t know,” Danny answered, adjusting himself on the statue. “Fuck!” he yelled just after he bumped his knee on a piece of the metal surrounding them. He fell silent, clearly screaming in agony on the inside. Molly watched him, unsure of whether or not to console him, until she finally felt safe putting a hand on his thigh. When he’d calmed down, she continued.
“Like that?” she used her head to indicate his knee. “I’ll be there for all of it. Through any surgery, all the physical therapy. Anything that may come up, with your knee or your heart or anything else. If the doctors are right, and you stop being able to walk altogether, I’ll push you around in a wheelchair,” Molly said. She felt a lump in her throat. “I’ll push you down hills,” she added, smiling softly.
“Why?” Danny asked, clearly not questioning her desire to roll him around hills.
“Why?” she repeated, almost scoffing, though she felt her face grow hot and her eyes start to swim in liquid. She held her forehead with her fingertips, attempting to hiding what was clearly about to come out of her eyes. “Because I love you. Because I honestly don’t think I could live if you weren’t alive somewhere, even if you weren’t with me. Because I don’t think—” she stopped, feeling tears silently running down her face, almost afraid to go on. “Because I don’t think my mom, who I know is protecting me, would allow me to be with you if this didn’t mean something so much more.” She didn’t look up at him, afraid of what she might find in his face. “I just…” she searched her minds for the right words, but none came. “I just love you,” she finished.
At a loss of words, Danny put his hand on her thigh, and it was her turn to calm down. Once she had, he removed his hand and wrapped it around her far shoulder, pulling her closely to him. She rested her head on his arm, as she was too short to reach his shoulder, and he bent down and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, you know,” he said quietly to her. She nodded into his arm, doing her best to not get riled up again.
They sat there for awhile, after which Danny lit up the bowl he’d packed and smoked it. It felt like forever had passed before Molly noticed a red light a ways away that indicated a patrol car was somewhere near them. She pointed it out to Danny, and, both of them registering that the park closed at 1AM and neither desiring to be arrested, they gathered themselves and walked the rest of the way to Danny’s apartment.
On his corner, they kissed goodnight, and Molly watched Danny disappear into his building before she held out her hand and got into the cab that would take her home.

That Story I Wanted To Write

Note: I can't believe I wrote this. Tell me what you think. *wince*. It's not titled, and is probably a little rough. I'll admit I barely winced writing it, and tried to keep it as real as I could manage. I hope I did a good job. The biggest judge will be...well...I think we know. This is slightly fictional, and definately a collaberation of several...experiences. Just don't kill me, okay?




He was already fifteen minutes late and she wasn't ready. As she stood in the bathroom patting down the legs she'd just shaved, her phone rang. Quickly walking through the kitchen into the living room, she grabbed the bright blue phone from the coffee table and flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Yo," answered the uncharacteristically male voice from the other end. "What's up?"
"Nothing," she answered. "Waiting for you. Where are you?"
"Leavin' my house now. I'm walking to seventy second then taking a cab to your place."
"Okay, whatever," she answered quietly. It would take him another half hour, and by now she'd begun to think he'd never get to her house.
"What's wrong?" He sounded genuinely concerned.
"Nothing, Danny."
"Look, I'll be there as soon as I can," he said sweetly. "I'm makin' you dinner woman! Be excited," he added.
"I'll believe it when I see it," she retorted, with a slight sadness in her voice.
"Believe it, babe." He paused. "Aight, I'm gonna go."
"Okay. Call me when you're closer," she said, and closed the phone before waiting to hear his reply.
Molly sighed as she put down the phone, disappointed that he was going to be late again. She walked through the kitchen again to her room, stopping on the way to adjust things to make more room on the kitchen table. Once her in room, she approached the dresser next to her bed, picked up the hairdryer lying on top of it in one hand and her brush in the other. She turned the dryer on and blow-dried her shoulder length brown hair until it was dry, and turned on a hair straightener, also on the dresser, to heat up while she did her makeup in the bathroom.
After her hair and makeup were done, she walked back into the living room and turned on the TV. Just as a new episode of House was beginning, her phone rang. "Hello?"
"Yo, what's your apartment number?" Danny asked.
"Where are you?"
"Getting out of a cab," he answered, as she heard fumbling in the background.
"Just go to the door and I'll buzz you up. 4D." She waited for him to answer, but instead heard the buzzer ring in her apartment. She walked to the phone and monitor hanging on the wall just before the front door hallway and pressed a button, opening the downstairs door. With her cell phone still to her ear, she could hear the obnoxious scratching sound the buzzer made in the lobby.
Without another word, Molly closed her phone and walked down a short hallway to the front door of her apartment. She waited quietly, listening for the sound of the elevator door opening, indicating that Danny was almost to her door. As he walked down the outside hall to her door, she slowly turned the lock on the door, opening it. A second later he came to a stop in front of the door and knocked. "It's open," she called from behind it, and he opened the door.
"Yo," he greeted her, as she quickly surveyed him. He towered above her, as usual, almost a full foot taller than she was at 5' 3". His hair had been cut since she'd last seen him, and he was tan from playing tennis in the sun. He was wearing the tan shirt that Molly thought brought out the color of his brown eyes, and in his hand was a flimsy plastic bag with few contents.
"Is that dinner?" she asked skeptically, glancing behind her at the bag again as Danny walked behind her into the living room.
"Yeah, yo," he said, grinning.
"Tacos?" Molly asked dully.
"No. Chicken and rice," he said as she turned to face him.
"Really? What about tacos?"
"You didn't want them," he answered, moving into the kitchen to set down the bag.
"I know, but…" she trailed, watching him as he moved out of the kitchen toward her.
"Hi, baby," he said playfully when he noticed Molly leaning in to kiss him.
"Hi," she responded softly, before their lips met.
After they broke apart, Danny said, "I bought a new bowl today. It's really beautiful, and I picked the perfect name for it. I think you'll like it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," he said, fumbling in his pocket and removing a small glass-blown hollow object that resembled a pipe. He handed it to her, and Molly examined the swirling patterns of red, yellow, blue, green, white, and orange glass.
"It is beautiful," she said, still turning it in her hand.
"Guess what I named her?"
"It's a girl?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm, looking up at Danny.
"Shmolly," he said, answering his own question and ignoring hers.
Molly gazed back down at the bowl in her hand, touched. 'Shmolly' was her nickname. "It's a beautiful bowl," she said finally, smiling.
"Let's go smoke it!" Danny said excitedly, heading for the door.
"Wait. I have to find my keys."
Once Molly found her keys, she grabbed her fake black coach bag and followed her boyfriend out the door.

They waited for the elevator and, when it came, rode it to the ninth floor. Once on the ninth floor, they walked quietly up a flight of stairs that led up to the roof of the apartment building. Molly opened the door and instantly felt the warm breeze of the summer evening on her face. Once Danny had walked through the door, she grabbed the brick that lay beside the door and used it to prevent the door from closing. Then she joined Danny, who was standing near the thick brick railing that surrounded the roof, packing a bowl. Molly looked up at the sky and sighed. It was just before twilight, even though it was about 7:30PM, and stars were beginning to show themselves, even in New York City.
"I'm tired," Danny said as he finished packing his bowl.
"Why?" Molly asked, still looking up at the sky, and the nearly full moon.
"Went to sleep late."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Couldn't sleep," he said. "Do you have the lighter?" he added, having finished packing the bowl.
"Yeah; it's in my bag," she said as she began to rummage through it. Once she'd found the lighter, she handed it to him and put her bag on the floor.
Danny sat down and lit the bowl, smoking a little. Molly sat down next to him, and fiddled around, trying to get comfortable. She leaned against the railing and stretched out her right leg while her left one stayed close to her body. "Come here," she said to Danny, though he was inches from her.
"Why?" He asked, though he inched even closer to her. With some effort, Molly manipulated his body so that Danny was leaning against her, resting his head on her chest. They sat there, in peace, while he smoked. "This could be life," he said quietly, after awhile.
They were both so comfortable and content. Molly was quiet for a minute, drinking in what he'd said, and the implications it provided. "It could," she said slowly. "It really could."
When Danny was finished smoking, he emptied the bowl of the resin and the two of them headed back to the apartment.

Once inside, Danny walked into Molly's room and started her Limewire application, preparing it to download a couple of songs he'd wanted her to get him.
"Baby, I'm hungry; make me dinner," Molly half teased, snaking her arms around his waist.
"Okay, okay!" he replied, leaning down to kiss her. Something in her snapped a little then, and she didn't want to stop kissing him. After several minutes, he inturrupted their rythym. "Come on," he said softly. "I'm hungry, too. Let's save it for later," he added, pulling her gently toward the kitchen.
"Are you going to be okay operating a stove?" she asked when she noticed the sloppy grin on his face. He instantly sobered up a little.
"Yeah," he replied, rummaging through her fridge, pulling out the chicken he'd put there. Molly watched as he walked over to the stove and attempted to turn it on.
"Let me do it," she said, intervening. "It has to be lit a special way." Molly grabbed a grill lighter and held it in the middle of the burner Danny had been trying to light and turned the knob. Once the fire had been lit, and the proper kitchenware had been retrieved, Danny set to work making dinner. Just as he had put the chicken on the skillet, Molly realized that she didn't have anything to drink. "I have to go out," she said as she walked out of her room, holding the money she'd gone to retrieve. "Will you be okay? With the fire?"
"Yeah; why wouldn't I be?"
"Uh," she paused. "Because you're high?"
"I'll be fine."
"You sure? If I come back to find my house burned down..." she started, joking.
"Dude! I'll be fine."
"Okay." She looked at him, noticing his slightly bemused expression.
"You really think I'm gonna burn your house down?" he asked.
"No. Shut up."
"Make me," he challenged.
"You shouldn't have said that," Molly said to him, and moved from the front hall toward the kitchen. Danny noticed what she was doing and met her just inside the living room. Their lips joined passionately, and she tickled his lower lip with her tongue. She heard the wooden spoon he'd been holding drop as he walked her backwards toward her orange couch. He sat down, and she straddled him while they continued to explore each other's mouths.
Molly was the first to come to her senses, and, though she felt bad for seeming to tease him so, stopped kissing her boyfriend and removed herself from his lap. "We should wait until after dinner. I'll be right back; I'm just going across the street," she informed him as he stood up and picked up the spoon he'd dropped. "You should wash that," she added, almost teasingly.

As she opened the door, Molly was greeted by an enticing smell that emanated from her kitchen, where Danny stood over the stove. When he heard her shuffling, he walked into the living room, saying, “Baby, you’re home!” before planting a kiss on her lips. “What’d you get?” he asked, as she began depositing the contents of the plastic bag she was holding into their appropriate storage locations.
“Coke, vanilla ice cream, and brownie mix.”
“Really?” he responded, his eyelids as parted as he could manage.
“Yeah. You’re making me dinner so I’ll make you dessert.”
“I love you,” he said, grinning.
“I love you too,” Molly replied as she put the coke and the ice cream in the freezer. “When will dinner be ready?”
“Soon.”
“Okay. We’re going to eat on tables in the living room.”
“Sweet. Can we watch TV?”
“Sure,” Molly answered as she walked into the living room and began pulling 2 individual wooden foldout tables out of a nook and setting them up. By the time she was done, Danny had two plates of food in his hands.
“Where is the coke?” he asked, setting the plates down, one on each table.
“In the freezer. I put in there hoping it would get colder before we drink it because my dad doesn’t believe in ice.”
“Okay,” Danny said as he opened the freezer, grabbed two glasses from the dish holder on the counter, and filled them with coke. He walked back to the living room, sat down in the unoccupied chair in front of which stood one of the tables Molly had set up, and handed her one of the glasses. “Where is the remote?”
“I think you’re sitting on it,” she said, laughing once.
“Don’t eat that yet,” he instructed, remote in hand, noticing Molly picking up her fork.
“Why?”
“You have to tell me what you think.” The TV turned on after he pushed the appropriate button, and he flipped through the channels until he found something interesting, which didn’t take long. Then, he dug into his food.
“The Titanic?” Molly asked, picking up her fork again and stabbing a piece of rice-covered chicken with it.
“Yeah. It’s a good movie. Do you like it?” he asked, indicating the chicken he’d prepared.
“Yes, I do,” Molly said, sounding slightly surprised. “It’s really flavorful.”
“Damn right!” They both turned their attention to the television, and watched the movie and conversed through dinner.

When it was over, Danny washed the dishes and requested that they go up to the roof again before making the brownies. On the roof, they cuddled up in the same position, quietly enjoying each other’s company. It was dark out, and Molly looked up, marveling at the fullness of the moon and the fact that until this summer, she’d never seen stars in New York City. Interesting how he made her see stars.
They went downstairs again, and Danny sat in the living room watching as Molly read the baking instructions and finally put the brownie mix into the oven. It wasn’t until she was closing the oven door that she noticed Danny watching her, seeming lost in thought.
“What?” she asked him, walking over to him.
“Nothin’,” he replied, still very clearly deep in thought.
Molly hugged his head to her body and stroked his hair. “What?” she probed gently.
“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly, after awhile, looking up into her eyes with a soft expression.
“Wait,” Molly said suddenly, feeling his hand caressing her shin and thigh.
“What?” he asked. “You’re gonna ruin the moment.”
“No, no,” she said lightly, playfully, as she tugged his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Just come with me, okay?” she said softly.
“Where are we going?” he asked, as she pulled him toward the couch.
“Just over here, she said, sitting down and pulling him down with her. They got comfortable, and finally Molly said, “Now what were you going to tell me?”
“No. You ruined the moment,” he half whined.
“No, I didn’t,” she replied, and kissed him softly, yet deeply.
Danny paused, reveling in their kiss, and then said, “I had just been thinking that I could really spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Oh yeah?” Molly breathed, with what little air should gather as, once again, the meaning of his thought penetrated her and left her breathless.
“Yeah,” he replied, looking deep into her eyes, and kissing her softly.
“Wow,” was all she could muster, making sure that he understood that the idea was appealing to her, as well. When she found her breath, she pulled him into a deep kiss, clearly indicating her desire to explore his body.
“Let’s wait until after the brownies,” Danny requested.
Just then, Molly’s phone rang, and Danny grabbed it from the table on which she’d left it, close by, and read the name of the caller. “Marlene,” he said, snapping out of the dreamy reality and allowing his voice to fill with boyish excitement.
Molly flipped open her phone. “Hey!” she said happily. “What’s up?” “Oh, that’s cool. Danny’s here. We’re about to make brownies.” She paused, looking at Danny, who was listening to her conversation, smiling. “Hey, why don’t you come over and eat them with us? We have chocolate syrup and ice cream!” “Cool; see you in a few. Bye!” She said, and closed her phone. “Marlene is coming over to eat brownies with us,” she informed Danny as she planted kisses on his neck. He squished his ear into his shoulder, giggling, attempting to prevent her from continuing to attack his neck as her kisses became more heated.
“Dude! What is wrong with you?” Molly asked in a teasing voice, smiling at his giggling.
“It tickles!” he answered, giggling again.
“Fine,” she responded in a fake annoyed voice, and sat straddling him in silence.
All at once, he reached for her breasts with both hands, squeezing them and exclaiming, “Titties!” delightedly.
“Stop,” Molly protested, laughing and grabbing his hands and forcing them away from her body. “That tickles!”
Danny struggled against her hands, trying to break free. This went on for some time, and every time that he would break free, he would yell out “Titties!” as he reached for them. Once exhausted from laughter, they tried to catch their breath. “That’s my favorite game,” he said after he’d caught his breath.
“It’s a fun one,” Molly stated, half sarcastically. “I should check on the brownies.”
Molly walked over to the refrigerator, on which was a timer-magnet. “30 seconds left.”
When the timer went off, she pulled the over door down and retrieved the finished brownies, sticking them with a toothpick to make sure they were baked all the way through. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Walking to it, Molly looked through the peephole and, seeing that it was Marlene, opened the door. “Hey,” she greeted the girl, who was also taller than she was, though she didn’t tower over her.
“Hey,” Marlene responded, as the two of them walked into the living room, where Danny sat waiting. “Hey,” she added, spotting him. “I smell brownies!”
“They just came out of the oven. We should let them cool a little first,” Molly said, gesturing with her hand toward one of the two blue chairs on which she and Danny had eaten dinner. She then took her seat next to him on the couch, which seemed all too natural.
They talked and laughed for another fifteen minutes until the brownies had cooled enough to be eaten. Then the three of them gathered around the brownie tray while Danny cut them into large pieces. Molly pulled out three plates and piled a brownie piece and scoop of ice cream onto each one, smothering them with chocolate syrup. She handed forks to each of them, and all three went back into the living room to ravage their desserts.
“I’m all out!” Danny whined jokingly, when there was indeed no more dessert on his plate. Marlene giggled.
“You want more?” Molly asked, raising one eyebrow. Danny nodded, still invoking a toddler playfully in his mannerism. “Say please,” she said, as though she were talking to a child.
“Please?!” Danny responded, rounding his “l” so it sounded like a “w.” Molly got up and recreated the dessert with the last piece of brownie for him, handing it back to him as he smiled and said “thank you” in a childish voice.
She sat down again and turned on the television, flipping through the channels to find something she felt like watching. She stumbled upon an episode of House, which the three of them watched until it was over.
As they were watching the last commercial break, Marlene looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Wow, it’s later than I thought! I should go,” she said.
“Already?” Molly asked, though there was part of her that wanted to be alone with Danny again.
“Yeah, me too,” Danny said, though he didn’t move.
“Yeah. It’s late; my parents want me back,” Marlene said, and laughed. She gathered her purse and headed for the door, as Molly followed. “Bye Danny. The next time you do this I want me some more brownies!” Then she turned to Molly, adding, “Call me and we can go see a movie. Definitely let me know if you get any free passes.”
“I will,” Molly replied. Marlene stepped out the door and Molly closed and locked it behind her. She walked back into the living room, where Danny was still sitting on the blue chair, where she’d left him. “I love Marlene,” she reflected.
“She’s cool,” Danny said as Molly straddled him, again. It was always made more sense than sitting on his lap. “What are you doing?” he protested when he realized that his girlfriend was on top of him. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t,” she said softly.
“I’m not doing this again,” he replied, remembering how hard it was for her to say goodbye.
“No, really, I’m serious this time. You don’t have to go.”
“Yes I do. I need to get home.”
Molly looked a little hurt. “But your parents aren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“I told you: I want a night and the morning after,” she said, looking down, a little embarrassed. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “When you didn’t seem like you were gonna give me that I did it myself.”
“Did what?”
“I told your parents you were sleeping here. They said it was fine.”
“But your dad…” Danny started.
“He’s working in Connecticut tonight and tomorrow. Rather than making the trip twice as much, he’s staying there.”
Danny was quiet, having been defeated. There was nothing that could get in the way. He wasn’t sure why he wanted there to be something stopping him, but he did. “Look,” he began.
Molly got up from on top of him and sat on the couch, sensing his apprehension. “What are you so afraid of?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Everything.”
“What do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. You never know.”
Molly smiled slightly. “Stay here,” she said to Danny as she stood up and headed for her room. “I’ll be right back.” She returned moments later with his iPod Touch.
“What are you doing with that?” he demanded, stretching his hand out, waiting for her to give it to him.
“I’m showing you something,” she said as she rifled through his play lists. When she found what she was looking for, she turned to him and asked, “How do I get it to play from the speakers?”
“I’ll do it,” he said, snatching the iPod from her hands. He looked down at the screen and stopped. “Why are we listening to ‘Another Day?’” he asked.
“You know why,” she answered. “There’s only this; there’s only us. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss,” she sang softly. “We must let go to know what’s right,” stating gently.
Danny heard the music echoing his words, and knew it was now or never. “I love you,” he whispered, once he’d stood up.
“I love you, too,” she responded, craning her neck up to kiss him. “Are you staying?”
He paused, looking into her eyes. “Yeah.”

Judgement

No one likes being judged. At least, I don't know anyone who does. Often, those who like it the least are those who judge the hardest and most frequently; their judgements and first impressions stick and they don't give anyone the chance to reverse those impressions. I try not to judge people, especially in serious mannors, and I usually give people every chance I can to let them show me who they really are.
I think that I hate judgements so much because they force me to face the truth: maybe I really am immature, or have an attitude, or am not yet qualified for that job I really want. Some people say that we are our own toughest critics, but I think that sometimes we shut down that voice because we can't take the strain. And when we're finally forced to look at ourselves and consider the judgements that others pass on us, we find it very difficult to take the blame for our own actions, and immediately try to pawn our decisions or reactions on the other parties involved.

Picture

Man a year sure flies fast.

Looking at it (the picture), I can feel the slightly rough but very comforting texture of the white cotton thermal blanket that covered the disgusting black couch that was left in her house in Pennsylvania when she first bought it.--It was our house. But it was her house. She loved it so much...being there is like breathing her in because she put everything into it. Now; well, now it's my house.--There's a giant black pillow behind her. Curled up like a princess-dragon, Softy smiles out at me from the corner of the couch, her green eyes glowing with the flash of the camera. I know what it's like to rest my head on her soft furry body, like she's a pillow, the way Momma (wow, it really hurts to write that word; I don't know if it has to do with the fact that "For Good" and "Defying Gravity" have been blasting into my heart for the past 15 minutes) is laying. Her light gray turtleneck, which is scrunched up all over but still fits her healthy body well, allows me to make the mental note that it must be winter. Momma's salt-n-pepper hair sort of blends in with Softy's at its darkest. Both of them are smiling back at me with the most contented, pleasant smiles I can possibly remember ever having witnessed. Her face looks soft, full, and clear, and her eyes, though not unusually large or particularly magestic, bare into mine and make me feel so happy.

Listening to "Defying Gravity" in the context of my mother is...different. Incredible, and so empowering. She really did, didn't she? She trusted her instincts, lept, and seemingly was through accepting limits 'cause someone else they were so. I just knew her as this...perfect, intelligent, incredibly powerful and amazing woman...Momma. But there's an entire past there, that I never really got a grasp on. I'm not sure I want to. She was too proud, and, as I see it, had every right to be. I don't mean to idealize her, or idolize her, but I suppose that's the general thought pattern I've got going here right now.

I used to have a message she left me on my voicemail. Her "Oochkie BahBah Boochkie" thing. I believe it said something like "Oochkie bahbah boochkie, Momma call daughter, daughter no answer. Daughter call when she has time. Momma love daughter." The one I ended up saving was her explaination of why she couldn't come to parent's weeekend; the other one got deleted by accident.

There's no point to this really; no moral or anything. And I've run out of time. But I suppose the point is that in 10 months this is the first time I can really write about it or share it with people. Of course, it still makes very little direct mention of emotion, compared to what I used to write, but it's the first step.

Much Love,
~Shmolly