I couldn't get to bed last night. I sat there, sleep and even tiredness had abandoned me. I was left, just me and my clock, to wait for an intervention, whether that meant sun or sleep.
I am not so blessed to have patience as a virtue. I will not, however, give up trying to obtain it. So as the red numbers stared at me, switching ever so slowly, I felt frustration grip the inside of my stomach.
I know!! I must try to relax and think of nothing, that should help. So I switch sides, putting my stubborn clock to my back, and try to lay as still as possible. I deepen my breathing, and pretend relaxation is overcoming me. It starts at my toes, creeps up to my heels, into my ankles, and through my shins. I think of my body sinking deeper into the mattress with each exhale, as the weight of relaxation calls to tired to come back.
The surest way to insure that tiredness will not come, is to think of him. Now that I look back, I see this is in fact where I went wrong. For just when relaxation was numbing my shoulders, I thought of tired, and that is indeed when he ran away from me for the second time.
I try to win the battle against my clock and not look at him, but of course in my undeniable defeat, I face him and his mocking red numbers ablaze that read 3:26. I sigh, completely beside myself in frustration, and then it happened, something I haven't done since I was a small child, completely forgotten in it's on little world. It brought a wave of nostalgic pleasure into my heart, in turn making me smile.
When I was a little girl, I had a yellow baby blanket. It even had a zipper, so that you could make it into a sleeping bag, should I wish it. Around the edges was stitched thick durable white lace. My dad would tuck my sister, Courtney, and I in for bed at night, and I remember he would always spread my yellow blanket over me.
My dad did this thing where he would rub his cheek on ours, so that we could feel his whiskers like sandpaper against our skin. Courtney and I loved getting whiskers before bed, after that Courtney would contentedly pacify her thumb and drift right to sleep. When I was on the verge of sleep I would always grab the corner of my yellow blanket and rub it between my fingers as my cheek tingled from my dad's whiskers.
Last night in my desperate fight to sleep I subconsciously grabbed the corner of my comforter and started to rub it between my fingers just like when I was little. When I realized it, a flood of childhood memories came back to me. I lay there in the sweetness of my treasured times, remembering when it was all so simple. It was almost tangible, my childhood, and then I finally fell asleep as my clock, defeated, blinked 4:00.
I should like to find my yellow blanket, so that when I have children, I will have something to cover my little daughter with. I smile thinking about this, and now, I feel I am in need of a nap.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Like a Bird
Whenever I am having a hard time, I sometimes imagine where I would venture to if I could go anywhere. Somehow I always end up in an airport amongst all the other possibilities. I have often wondered why an airport would be the one to bring me solace or comfort...
When I am watching that movie, you know the one that is created to make your heart long for something? Sometimes it is the movies about love, or even loss, and often times adventure. It is this epic story about finding something that is worth all these undignified actions. Well when I get to the" airport scene" of the movie my heart nestles in this place of amenity. Even as the characters are walking away from each other, I confusingly find a sort of solace in the scene. I find sometimes I even rewind and watch it again to enjoy every second of it.
I found myself in my beloved airports these past weeks, and as I walked through the terminal to my gate I felt the buzz of adventure and the tingle of nostalgia. It is an odd thing, standing in a room full of perfect strangers. Yet, somehow you all have the same intention that is a destination or concourse that you will all embark upon. All of us, like a flock of birds, are going somewhere.
I muse ideas of where the Amish looking couple sitting in front of me will be going. Newspapers expertly unfolded as if they were home in there small drawing room, as always. There was a sort of captivating essence about the make-up less face that the woman wore. Her stark white tresses pulled loosely back in a small bun at the nap of her neck, you know the kind you only see in prairie movies. Her husband in his itchy Grey woolen sweater had a fanny pack fastened safely around his middle. How perfect they looked on the orange padded chairs that we shared.
I wonder how it would feel to be a Nun, like the two sitting behind me. They sat laughing in their polyester and grey-blue head coverings complete with rosarys latched around their necks. One had a battered guitar case next to her, which made me think of Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. I thought about the ugly dresses this Nun would wear if she hadn't decided to swim in her polyester and celibacy. Nuns are interesting, indeed, I would like to become acquainted with one someday.
As I stood to board, I noticed the guy in a black hoodie with two beautiful women standing on both sides of him. There was an impressively large trophy in the youngest girl's hands. 'World Champion' was etched on the plate of the glorious golden statue of a man with raised arms. The guy in his hoodie had scars on his face, and the women were all too beautiful. I understood his agitation and his emptiness. Even though the world declared him champion and he had two more beautiful trophies on his sides, he had a desperation in his eyes. I remember how it felt and I even felt it only briefly as he walked past me to his seat a few rows behind, girls giggling in there onomatopoeias.
There is a blond boy sitting on his papa's lap in the front left seat. He likes to look at me, and I give him a smile that says "we have a secret". He agrees to my proposal of friendship. He is maybe three years old, and I decided he would make a good "Connor" or maybe an "Emmit". We played face games for awhile, all the time his dad completely unaware of the social butterfly perched on his lap. Connor fell asleep looking at me. It was a sublime and perfect moment, one I hope never to forget.
I sit back as the plane takes off. Mr. married next to me grasps the arm rests as if they can save him from his undeniable queasiness. Later he asks if he can buy me a beer, and I reply "umm I'm 19, thanks though" The screen entertains us with a movie about a man with aspergers syndrome, and a beautiful woman that fall in love. Through their awkward romance yet strangely powerful with emotion and harmony, Mr. Married sits closer to me resting his arm against mine, no longer clutching his arm rest, but completely safe resting against me forgetting all about the turbulence. For a moment I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in the screen that displayed such beautiful and honest affection that I didn't even recognize the hazard and red lights that started flashing when his left hand rested on my wrist. As the credits scrolled towards the ceiling I looked down, and came to my senses, standing up with my seatbelt still on I acted like seabuscit in desprete need of the commode. Needless to say after that he kept to himself as did I.
Through all these, I still don't know why my heart longs for terminals and checked bags. I don't know if it is the adventure I long for, or the escape. I don't know if it is the love story locked away waiting just for me to step unto the screen, or the feeling I get in my chest as I fly with the sun. I don't know if it is the way my imagination gets drunk off of all the things and people my eyes drink in, or peeing 40,000 ft in the air. My heart is determined to live in a suitcase, and for now I will not object.
When I am watching that movie, you know the one that is created to make your heart long for something? Sometimes it is the movies about love, or even loss, and often times adventure. It is this epic story about finding something that is worth all these undignified actions. Well when I get to the" airport scene" of the movie my heart nestles in this place of amenity. Even as the characters are walking away from each other, I confusingly find a sort of solace in the scene. I find sometimes I even rewind and watch it again to enjoy every second of it.
I found myself in my beloved airports these past weeks, and as I walked through the terminal to my gate I felt the buzz of adventure and the tingle of nostalgia. It is an odd thing, standing in a room full of perfect strangers. Yet, somehow you all have the same intention that is a destination or concourse that you will all embark upon. All of us, like a flock of birds, are going somewhere.
I muse ideas of where the Amish looking couple sitting in front of me will be going. Newspapers expertly unfolded as if they were home in there small drawing room, as always. There was a sort of captivating essence about the make-up less face that the woman wore. Her stark white tresses pulled loosely back in a small bun at the nap of her neck, you know the kind you only see in prairie movies. Her husband in his itchy Grey woolen sweater had a fanny pack fastened safely around his middle. How perfect they looked on the orange padded chairs that we shared.
I wonder how it would feel to be a Nun, like the two sitting behind me. They sat laughing in their polyester and grey-blue head coverings complete with rosarys latched around their necks. One had a battered guitar case next to her, which made me think of Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music. I thought about the ugly dresses this Nun would wear if she hadn't decided to swim in her polyester and celibacy. Nuns are interesting, indeed, I would like to become acquainted with one someday.
As I stood to board, I noticed the guy in a black hoodie with two beautiful women standing on both sides of him. There was an impressively large trophy in the youngest girl's hands. 'World Champion' was etched on the plate of the glorious golden statue of a man with raised arms. The guy in his hoodie had scars on his face, and the women were all too beautiful. I understood his agitation and his emptiness. Even though the world declared him champion and he had two more beautiful trophies on his sides, he had a desperation in his eyes. I remember how it felt and I even felt it only briefly as he walked past me to his seat a few rows behind, girls giggling in there onomatopoeias.
There is a blond boy sitting on his papa's lap in the front left seat. He likes to look at me, and I give him a smile that says "we have a secret". He agrees to my proposal of friendship. He is maybe three years old, and I decided he would make a good "Connor" or maybe an "Emmit". We played face games for awhile, all the time his dad completely unaware of the social butterfly perched on his lap. Connor fell asleep looking at me. It was a sublime and perfect moment, one I hope never to forget.
I sit back as the plane takes off. Mr. married next to me grasps the arm rests as if they can save him from his undeniable queasiness. Later he asks if he can buy me a beer, and I reply "umm I'm 19, thanks though" The screen entertains us with a movie about a man with aspergers syndrome, and a beautiful woman that fall in love. Through their awkward romance yet strangely powerful with emotion and harmony, Mr. Married sits closer to me resting his arm against mine, no longer clutching his arm rest, but completely safe resting against me forgetting all about the turbulence. For a moment I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in the screen that displayed such beautiful and honest affection that I didn't even recognize the hazard and red lights that started flashing when his left hand rested on my wrist. As the credits scrolled towards the ceiling I looked down, and came to my senses, standing up with my seatbelt still on I acted like seabuscit in desprete need of the commode. Needless to say after that he kept to himself as did I.
Through all these, I still don't know why my heart longs for terminals and checked bags. I don't know if it is the adventure I long for, or the escape. I don't know if it is the love story locked away waiting just for me to step unto the screen, or the feeling I get in my chest as I fly with the sun. I don't know if it is the way my imagination gets drunk off of all the things and people my eyes drink in, or peeing 40,000 ft in the air. My heart is determined to live in a suitcase, and for now I will not object.
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