Get your pen moving: COMING HOME no more than 250 words
I fight with the stubborn window the second the train starts to pull out of the Mestre station. Inevitably one side will move freely while the other sticks solely to spite me. The train gathers speed and the signs depicting the various binarii fly past along with the McDonalds windows and tabaccheria vendor and his reviste- one of which lies on the seat next to me. I am unable to forgo my daily gossip and the newest issue of "Oggi" features ginger Prince Harry mid-stride at a polo match on the cover. At the moment I could care less about these things- all I want is to catch that first breath of sea air as we come onto the tracks leading into Venice proper.
The first time I road on a train was in Italy and it was leaving Venice heading towards Verona. I remember the shock and amazement as we left the station rolling along tracks that rose first above the canals and later the open water that both protects and damns the city. I don't know why that made such an impression or why it continues to this day. I have seen, walked and driven over many bridges in my lifetime but these rails over the water enchanted me.
The window gives way stubbornly as the last car passes out of the Mestre station. I kneel on the seat closest, crushing Prince Harry and craning my head out the window looking for that first glimpse, hoping to catch that first smell of ocean and canals. Two french tourists near me stand nervously in the space between cars ready with their bags. My french is poor but I am experienced enough to know they are wondering if they should have gotten off at Mestre. This is a common area of confusion. Mestre is Venice yes, but the mainland. The station signs however, all say Venice-Mestre and more then one tourist has gotten off only to find buses, industry and little to no water. I smile knowing that soon we will leave the land behind and they will know my wonder and joy at finally seeing La Serenissima.
I can feel the difference in the movement beneath my feet, the slight slowing as the train moves onto the bridge. I hear the excited smattering of french behind me and I smell the ocean as my beloved Venice appears out the window. I am back. I am home. Mi trovo bene a Venezia.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Summer Afternoon
She lay back on the bed throwing her arms out wide in supplication- of what she had no idea. Perhaps to the heat demon that had lain claim throughout the land in recent days. The oscillating fan did little more than tease her with a hint of cool air and tiny beads of sweat continued their journey through the valley of her breasts. It felt good to lay stretched out to feel the pull across her shoulders and the rise of her chest with every breath. The fan ruffled the hair lying across her flushed cheek but did not have enough strength to move it mired as it was in the humid dew that covered her entire body. She tried to imagine winter with it's icey frost and biting winds and soft blankets in front of roaring fires with hot chocolate cupped between frozen hands. Thinking of winter didn't really help at all. Instead she thought of steamy climates, of Brazil and Argentina of the South American jungles and of hot hands on her body and gauzy netting draped around beds where moans were gathered up and lost in offering to the surrounding ruins and their gods. A much more pleasant imagining but still of no use to the current situation...
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Ferris Wheel
Unfinished thingy from class...
It stands there tall- in front of you- a skeleton ferris wheel. Remnants of it’s former majesty on display in the flecked gold peeling from the weathered wood. Broken bulbs that used to adorn the side have long since turned to dust and the seats rock in the breeze- squeaking to one another tales of glory and tales of sadness. The iron has long rusted and the planks are missing nails and warped. In the parking lot old advertisements are caught in the chain link. A pack of cigarettes for 2.36. It is hard to remember a time when you could buy a box of cigarettes for only 2.36- longer even then when gas was that cheap. The ferris wheel looks like a clock, the seats the five minute marks, the heavy still base the minute and hour hands locked at 5:30- maybe in the morning maybe in the evening. It seems frozen but it’s not it shows the passing of time just like a clock, just like a faded advertisement for a price that hasn’t seen recent times.
In it’s fading and torn plastic seats, the ghosts of memories past remain. Billy Smith stole his first kiss from Katie Myers while pausing at the top, his hands wet with nerves and heart racing. The breeze was gentle but with a hint of approaching thunderstorms and the electricity in the air made his blood boil harder. Katie grew up and left town long ago but Billy- Bill- remains and sometimes parks his car in the abandoned amusement park lot drinking beer and thinking about that night. About the taste of cotton candy on her lips and how blue her eyes were.
In the wood of the back rest on one of the seats Tad Braun had carved T heart A one spring night while Alison Loh kept watch giggling as they approached the ride operator on every down turn. Tad would hide the knife and throw his arm easily around Alison’s shoulders while winking merrily at the carnie with a shit eating grin. Then quick as a flash he’d be back at it. Two babies and a few years later Tad was still throwing his arm around Alison’s shoulders and she was still giggling like a girl his co-conspirator in all things.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Free Man
Peterson Greymore did not like his name. It was two names, really, and cumbersome. His mother, a literature graduate student, and his father- her advisor, had been taken with the notion of naming their only son something strong, literary and romantic. He'd once asked his mother why she hadn't just named him Lord Grayson and have done with it. She had slapped him with her eyes and he skulked out of the room, the topic of his name never coming up again.
At work he went by plain old Peter. Plain old Peter lived in a nondescript apartment with white walls and minimalist furnishings and designs. He also worked in IT- it was the most boring non-romantic job he could think of growing up and the perfect fuck you to his elitist academic parents. They took heart in the knowledge that he had been accepted into MIT, they ignored the fact that he'd dropped out after a semester to attend ITT Tech.
Peter enjoyed the anonymity of his career. He never had to leave the cave like office where his cubicle sat. In fact, most of the time he hardly talked to anyone save Sam- cubicle neighbor and fellow underachiever. While drinking beers after work at the local titty bar, Sam liked to point out that one was hardly an underachiever who knew coding like they did. Peter just nodded but knew better. It wasn't necessarily their careers that were an underachievement but their participation in life.
Peter enjoyed the routine of going from home to work to bar to home. Occasionally he played the part of the dutiful son and returned home for dinner or the requisite holidays functions but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had escaped this gilded cage society his parents so loved...
At work he went by plain old Peter. Plain old Peter lived in a nondescript apartment with white walls and minimalist furnishings and designs. He also worked in IT- it was the most boring non-romantic job he could think of growing up and the perfect fuck you to his elitist academic parents. They took heart in the knowledge that he had been accepted into MIT, they ignored the fact that he'd dropped out after a semester to attend ITT Tech.
Peter enjoyed the anonymity of his career. He never had to leave the cave like office where his cubicle sat. In fact, most of the time he hardly talked to anyone save Sam- cubicle neighbor and fellow underachiever. While drinking beers after work at the local titty bar, Sam liked to point out that one was hardly an underachiever who knew coding like they did. Peter just nodded but knew better. It wasn't necessarily their careers that were an underachievement but their participation in life.
Peter enjoyed the routine of going from home to work to bar to home. Occasionally he played the part of the dutiful son and returned home for dinner or the requisite holidays functions but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had escaped this gilded cage society his parents so loved...
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Bare Walls
"Why haven't you hung any pictures on the walls? No pictures...no art...nothing. It looks like you've just moved in."
She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke watching it get caught in the path of the fan that was ineffectual in it's attempts against the mid-afternoon heat. She looked at her hand studying the ashes clinging to the edge of the cigarette before moving to stub it out in the ashtray with a frustrated sigh. Across the coffee table from her a clearing of the throat reminded her that he was still there still waiting for an answer to a question she had already almost forgotten. A quick glance around the room did show bare walls and bare canvasses leaning against the walls.
"Actually it's been nearly three years since I moved in." It had been quiet so long that he jumped a little in his seat, startled to hear her raspy voice answering him. Of course it has nearly been three years, he thought. After all it had been nearly three years since the last time they sat across from each other like this, only then they both wore gold bands on their fingers.
"You know I think I keep the walls bare because I prefer the potential that they represent. Like those canvasses leaning by the bookshelves. I bought them at least two months ago with a very specific idea of what I wanted to do with them, yet there they stand still white still waiting and still full of potential."
He found himself nodding- it made sense, kind of. "That doesn't explain why no pictures of your family and friends though." When they'd been married the house had been full of pictures and all the little homey things that make a house a house. She used to bitch about the dust they collected but it never stopped her from adding new pictures. He had always loved coming home to the warmth of that house, so different from the sterile cold feel of the downtown loft he returned to these days. He found himself studying the colors of her furniture and the throws and pillows thrown around the sofa and chairs. Even without the pictures and artwork she still managed to surround herself with warmth. There was a welcoming feel to this bare little apartment.
"How's your mom," he asked when the silence had gone from pleasant to opressive.
"Why are you here Brad?" she countered.
He cringed, hating the steel in her voice- the steal that he'd given birth to three years earlier. He looked up to find her studying him with eyes not entirely hostile but guarded nonetheless. Did I do that to her? he asked himself. Or perhaps he was mistaken in remembering a time when those eyes were open and trusting. There was a hardness to her face now. He couldn't imagine the woman in front of him ever laughing, but he knew she must- that she had in another life and maybe if he looked just hard enough he could find those laugh lines, find where she had buried the twinkle from her eyes. She started to bounce her leg and he could feel the vibrations through the coffee table, it was a nervous tic of hers that he used to find endearing now it just made him want to say what he needed to and get out except that his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and his chest felt tight and painful. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered to himself.
"Sarah...um...well, really I just came by because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of from someone else."
She never flinched, looking him straight in the eyes but he could feel the tension, could see her closing in on herself almost becoming smaller in and effort to protect herself. Oh Sarah I'm so sorry I hurt you, he thought to himself.
"See the thing is...well, the thing is Sarah that Phil and I are going to get married." The second sentence came out in a rush and at first he wasn't sure if she had understood him. She continued to stare at him for a minute and then she blinked slowly and with a deep sigh leaned back into the couch laying her head on the backrest and staring at a spot somewhere beyond his right ear.
He looked down noticing for the first time the dried bit of mud on the tip of his loafers. He felt like that bit of dried up mud. When he finally drew the courage to raise his head up he found her sitting forward again and studying the cuticles on her right hand. She'd always had great nails he thought. After a long night at the hospital, he come home and try to crawl as noiselessly as possible into bed but she always woke up. She'd sit up against the headboard and he curl around her, his head resting on her chest feeling it rise and fall while she scratched his head softly with her long nails- relaxing him as he told her about his day. Her nails weren't long anymore, they were short and looked chewed. He fought the urge to cry, suddenly wanting to crawl over to her and rest his head on her chest while begging her forgiveness and kissing the tips of those bitten down nails. But he didn't, he wouldn't because he had done what he had to do but that didn't mean he'd ever meant to hurt her so or that the guilt would ever leave.
She finally looked up to meet his gaze, no more steel in her eyes just a calm sadness. "I already knew. I knew the other night when I was watching the news and saw that the appeal had been overturned." She looked down for a minute and then right back up nodding a little to some but of internal dialogue. "It's a good thing", she said. "I'm glad."
He noticed that there was only a little bitterness in her gaze, mainly though there was just acceptance. He nodded too. "I'll...uh I'll send you a picture. From the ceremony."
She laughed then. It was a rueful laugh to be sure but a laugh nonetheless and her eyes almost twinkled. "Maybe I'll put it up."
They chuckled together then, each knowing that this would be the last time they'd see each other.
She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke watching it get caught in the path of the fan that was ineffectual in it's attempts against the mid-afternoon heat. She looked at her hand studying the ashes clinging to the edge of the cigarette before moving to stub it out in the ashtray with a frustrated sigh. Across the coffee table from her a clearing of the throat reminded her that he was still there still waiting for an answer to a question she had already almost forgotten. A quick glance around the room did show bare walls and bare canvasses leaning against the walls.
"Actually it's been nearly three years since I moved in." It had been quiet so long that he jumped a little in his seat, startled to hear her raspy voice answering him. Of course it has nearly been three years, he thought. After all it had been nearly three years since the last time they sat across from each other like this, only then they both wore gold bands on their fingers.
"You know I think I keep the walls bare because I prefer the potential that they represent. Like those canvasses leaning by the bookshelves. I bought them at least two months ago with a very specific idea of what I wanted to do with them, yet there they stand still white still waiting and still full of potential."
He found himself nodding- it made sense, kind of. "That doesn't explain why no pictures of your family and friends though." When they'd been married the house had been full of pictures and all the little homey things that make a house a house. She used to bitch about the dust they collected but it never stopped her from adding new pictures. He had always loved coming home to the warmth of that house, so different from the sterile cold feel of the downtown loft he returned to these days. He found himself studying the colors of her furniture and the throws and pillows thrown around the sofa and chairs. Even without the pictures and artwork she still managed to surround herself with warmth. There was a welcoming feel to this bare little apartment.
"How's your mom," he asked when the silence had gone from pleasant to opressive.
"Why are you here Brad?" she countered.
He cringed, hating the steel in her voice- the steal that he'd given birth to three years earlier. He looked up to find her studying him with eyes not entirely hostile but guarded nonetheless. Did I do that to her? he asked himself. Or perhaps he was mistaken in remembering a time when those eyes were open and trusting. There was a hardness to her face now. He couldn't imagine the woman in front of him ever laughing, but he knew she must- that she had in another life and maybe if he looked just hard enough he could find those laugh lines, find where she had buried the twinkle from her eyes. She started to bounce her leg and he could feel the vibrations through the coffee table, it was a nervous tic of hers that he used to find endearing now it just made him want to say what he needed to and get out except that his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and his chest felt tight and painful. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered to himself.
"Sarah...um...well, really I just came by because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of from someone else."
She never flinched, looking him straight in the eyes but he could feel the tension, could see her closing in on herself almost becoming smaller in and effort to protect herself. Oh Sarah I'm so sorry I hurt you, he thought to himself.
"See the thing is...well, the thing is Sarah that Phil and I are going to get married." The second sentence came out in a rush and at first he wasn't sure if she had understood him. She continued to stare at him for a minute and then she blinked slowly and with a deep sigh leaned back into the couch laying her head on the backrest and staring at a spot somewhere beyond his right ear.
He looked down noticing for the first time the dried bit of mud on the tip of his loafers. He felt like that bit of dried up mud. When he finally drew the courage to raise his head up he found her sitting forward again and studying the cuticles on her right hand. She'd always had great nails he thought. After a long night at the hospital, he come home and try to crawl as noiselessly as possible into bed but she always woke up. She'd sit up against the headboard and he curl around her, his head resting on her chest feeling it rise and fall while she scratched his head softly with her long nails- relaxing him as he told her about his day. Her nails weren't long anymore, they were short and looked chewed. He fought the urge to cry, suddenly wanting to crawl over to her and rest his head on her chest while begging her forgiveness and kissing the tips of those bitten down nails. But he didn't, he wouldn't because he had done what he had to do but that didn't mean he'd ever meant to hurt her so or that the guilt would ever leave.
She finally looked up to meet his gaze, no more steel in her eyes just a calm sadness. "I already knew. I knew the other night when I was watching the news and saw that the appeal had been overturned." She looked down for a minute and then right back up nodding a little to some but of internal dialogue. "It's a good thing", she said. "I'm glad."
He noticed that there was only a little bitterness in her gaze, mainly though there was just acceptance. He nodded too. "I'll...uh I'll send you a picture. From the ceremony."
She laughed then. It was a rueful laugh to be sure but a laugh nonetheless and her eyes almost twinkled. "Maybe I'll put it up."
They chuckled together then, each knowing that this would be the last time they'd see each other.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Panic
The thing about a panic attack is that from the outside one can appear quite calm. Imagine the scene. You, sitting in your nondescript cubicle, fingers clacking across keyboards echoing around you. The rustle of papers, the murmur of voices on the phone along with a cough here and a clearing of the throat there. If you listen carefully you can hear the beeping of the truck backing up outside 7 stories down. Mainly you heart your heart trying to jump out of your chest. You try to inhale shallowly to keep anyone from hearing your erratic breaths but your heart keeps beating faster and you are convinced everyone knows it- everyone knows you are on edge and about to jump into the chasm of fear. On the outside you appear fine, giggle at the gentle flirtation of a coworker, flash smiles that don't fully reach the corners of your eyes. Everyone walks away from you thinking "what a great gal, she has really got it together." You want to run out of the building screaming and rending at your hair. The panic and the tears bubble in your chest trying to escape and you adopt a frozen mask of official business that hardens trying to keep the fear at bay. Your skin crawls with the want to run run run but you don't give into it. The idea of hiding in the stairwell is quite tempting, so is a long walk maybe to Starbucks to get a drink but that would only make the anxiety worse. It's the feeling of being out of control that is the hardest to deal with. Of having to clamp down so deeply and concentrate so fully to keep everything tightly reined in when you want nothing more then to let go.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Signing
I can hear the buzz right outside the door. The murmuring chit chat of a couple hundred people standing in line, comparing notes. I am humbled and frightened simultaneously. My publisher is next to me conducting some sort of business on her cell phone- she is always on her cell phone, it used to make me bristle but that cell phone is what brought me here so I can't complain too much. The event coordinator for the bookstore is on my other side ear piece in ear and talking animatedly with the voice on the other end- no doubt someone out on the line. Behind me sits my sister sipping from a glass of wine and relating embarrassing anecdotes about my to a gaggle of star struck book sellers. They weren't scheduled to work that day but had come in to meet me and get signed, I give a small snort at this. They see me as some sort of hero- the book lover that wrote a book...one of them who made it. Everything is in motion all around me but I am still and quiet thinking about how I've come full circle, how even though I never worked in this particular store- I know it intimately. I know these people and I know this world and I never imagined that I would be standing here on the other side of the mirror.
"It's time", the coordinator gently guides me towards the door as she nods curtly in response to the voice in her ear. The door opens and I'm assaulted by a wall of adoration and cheering and shouting. A small part of me wants to cover my ears with both hands and fall into a fetal ball at their feet screwing my eyes shut, the rest of me takes a deep breath and thanks god that I don't blush easily as I feel the heat infuse my entire body and my hands begin to shake with nerves. I smile then, it's shaky but genuine as I move towards my seat in the signing area trying to make eye contact with everyone as I walk along the line. Faces swim past me young and old, men and women. I smile at that- didn't think men would be my core audience so their presence is nice. I catch snippets of conversations as I seat myself and break open the seal on a bottle of water.
"I heard it's a true story- torrid love affair between the three of them."
"No, no you have it wrong. It's a true story definitely but I heard she was still in love with him and told him to pursue the other one."
"Well I heard that she was secretly in love with Jennifer but pushed her back into his arms because she thought they belonged together and was being a martyr."
"Martyr? Who even uses that word anymore? No you are all reading too much into it. The true love story is between Jennifer and Matt and she just kind of got caught in their story and helped it along."
"You think she'll tell us if Jennifer choose Matt in the end or Ned. I think she went back to Ned, I mean she wouldn't just give up on her husband like that."
"Sure she would, Matt is her soul mate and he was there first before Ned anyway. God I hate that she left the end of the book dangling!"
"Oh I don't. I think it was absolutely perfect how she left it so ambiguous. It lets me imagine it how I want it to end."
"And how would you want it to end?"
I wonder myself how she would want it to end as I smile at the next beaming face and ask who I should address my words to. The other women's voice gets lost in the din and I will never know how she sees the ending of my book but I smile to myself as I realize this is exactly what I wanted when I sent my baby out into the world. Truthfully, I'm not even sure myself how it turns out. I have my suspicions but no confirmation and I catch myself scanning the crowd every now and again hoping to see them, or maybe just her. I had thought that she might come but it's been so long and they don't really owe me any answers, I'm profiting off of their story as it is.
After about two hours, I catch the coordinator out of the corner of my eye scanning the crowd. I wonder if she is trying to decide where to cut off the line. My hand feels as though it may fall off soon but I keep going. I know what it's like to wait for just a second of time with someone I admire and I won't disappoint those in front of me so I bend down to sign yet another book and that's when I smell her. I freeze for half a second, my hand poised mid signature as my blood boils and my heart jumps into my throat. Without looking up I struggle to finish signing the book in front of me and then glance quickly at the person thanking me profusely. She is next, I know it even without looking- I know her scent just as I know his- they are both so unique. I fiddle with my water bottle too nervous to look up until she speaks to me.
"So how does it end?"
Her voice is still the same and I find that I didn't realize just how much I missed it. I take one last trembling breath and calling myself a coward force my head up. The first thing I notice is her large, round belly. I pause there for an instant my body flooded with envy, regret, pain, happiness and joy for her. It's painful to see her have that which I cannot but I can't be upset not when I know just how much it means to her as well and as I raise my head towards her smiling face I find that I can deny her nothing and feel so much warmth towards as my smile matches hers.
I don't know if anyone noticed my odd reaction to this woman before, but as I stand and make my way around the table towards her, our smiles lighting up the room, I can feel all eyes on me. I reach out and gently lay my hands on her belly, staring down in wonder. She asks me again "so, how does it end?" I meet her eyes, grinning even harder as I feel the baby move beneath my hands. "I don't know", I tell her. "You tell me."
She grins back at me and covers my hands with her own. I look at our hands together feeling the baby move when I notice that her rings are different. Her wedding rings are different. She must notice the quick intake of breath I make because she squeezes my hands once and then tilts her head to the right pointing my attention. I close my eyes again and take a deep breath, already knowing what I am about to see. I turn my head and when I open them he is standing there, a hesitant smile on his face. He is worried about my reaction but he shouldn't be. I am suddenly so happy for the both of them that I start crying and laughing all at once. I don't care that we are in a room full of people who are no doubt wondering if these two people with me are the elusive Jennifer and Matt. I don't care that I holding all these people up after they have waited for so long, all I care about is that two people I care deeply for finally figured it out and I can't stop hugging her and kissing her cheek and now we are both crying and I'm sure we are making a fantastic scene but I just don't give a shit. Then, suddenly, he is behind me and wrapping his arms around me as I turn to hold him back and he still smells so good. It's a sin how good this man smells and all I can think over and over is "Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god." They figured it out and I am so happy for them I could just burst and finally, my story has an ending.
"It's time", the coordinator gently guides me towards the door as she nods curtly in response to the voice in her ear. The door opens and I'm assaulted by a wall of adoration and cheering and shouting. A small part of me wants to cover my ears with both hands and fall into a fetal ball at their feet screwing my eyes shut, the rest of me takes a deep breath and thanks god that I don't blush easily as I feel the heat infuse my entire body and my hands begin to shake with nerves. I smile then, it's shaky but genuine as I move towards my seat in the signing area trying to make eye contact with everyone as I walk along the line. Faces swim past me young and old, men and women. I smile at that- didn't think men would be my core audience so their presence is nice. I catch snippets of conversations as I seat myself and break open the seal on a bottle of water.
"I heard it's a true story- torrid love affair between the three of them."
"No, no you have it wrong. It's a true story definitely but I heard she was still in love with him and told him to pursue the other one."
"Well I heard that she was secretly in love with Jennifer but pushed her back into his arms because she thought they belonged together and was being a martyr."
"Martyr? Who even uses that word anymore? No you are all reading too much into it. The true love story is between Jennifer and Matt and she just kind of got caught in their story and helped it along."
"You think she'll tell us if Jennifer choose Matt in the end or Ned. I think she went back to Ned, I mean she wouldn't just give up on her husband like that."
"Sure she would, Matt is her soul mate and he was there first before Ned anyway. God I hate that she left the end of the book dangling!"
"Oh I don't. I think it was absolutely perfect how she left it so ambiguous. It lets me imagine it how I want it to end."
"And how would you want it to end?"
I wonder myself how she would want it to end as I smile at the next beaming face and ask who I should address my words to. The other women's voice gets lost in the din and I will never know how she sees the ending of my book but I smile to myself as I realize this is exactly what I wanted when I sent my baby out into the world. Truthfully, I'm not even sure myself how it turns out. I have my suspicions but no confirmation and I catch myself scanning the crowd every now and again hoping to see them, or maybe just her. I had thought that she might come but it's been so long and they don't really owe me any answers, I'm profiting off of their story as it is.
After about two hours, I catch the coordinator out of the corner of my eye scanning the crowd. I wonder if she is trying to decide where to cut off the line. My hand feels as though it may fall off soon but I keep going. I know what it's like to wait for just a second of time with someone I admire and I won't disappoint those in front of me so I bend down to sign yet another book and that's when I smell her. I freeze for half a second, my hand poised mid signature as my blood boils and my heart jumps into my throat. Without looking up I struggle to finish signing the book in front of me and then glance quickly at the person thanking me profusely. She is next, I know it even without looking- I know her scent just as I know his- they are both so unique. I fiddle with my water bottle too nervous to look up until she speaks to me.
"So how does it end?"
Her voice is still the same and I find that I didn't realize just how much I missed it. I take one last trembling breath and calling myself a coward force my head up. The first thing I notice is her large, round belly. I pause there for an instant my body flooded with envy, regret, pain, happiness and joy for her. It's painful to see her have that which I cannot but I can't be upset not when I know just how much it means to her as well and as I raise my head towards her smiling face I find that I can deny her nothing and feel so much warmth towards as my smile matches hers.
I don't know if anyone noticed my odd reaction to this woman before, but as I stand and make my way around the table towards her, our smiles lighting up the room, I can feel all eyes on me. I reach out and gently lay my hands on her belly, staring down in wonder. She asks me again "so, how does it end?" I meet her eyes, grinning even harder as I feel the baby move beneath my hands. "I don't know", I tell her. "You tell me."
She grins back at me and covers my hands with her own. I look at our hands together feeling the baby move when I notice that her rings are different. Her wedding rings are different. She must notice the quick intake of breath I make because she squeezes my hands once and then tilts her head to the right pointing my attention. I close my eyes again and take a deep breath, already knowing what I am about to see. I turn my head and when I open them he is standing there, a hesitant smile on his face. He is worried about my reaction but he shouldn't be. I am suddenly so happy for the both of them that I start crying and laughing all at once. I don't care that we are in a room full of people who are no doubt wondering if these two people with me are the elusive Jennifer and Matt. I don't care that I holding all these people up after they have waited for so long, all I care about is that two people I care deeply for finally figured it out and I can't stop hugging her and kissing her cheek and now we are both crying and I'm sure we are making a fantastic scene but I just don't give a shit. Then, suddenly, he is behind me and wrapping his arms around me as I turn to hold him back and he still smells so good. It's a sin how good this man smells and all I can think over and over is "Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god." They figured it out and I am so happy for them I could just burst and finally, my story has an ending.
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