And We Were Together, So it was Okay....

I've been thinking this a lot lately, and I'm sure it's normal, what I'm thinking. But my parents have been fighting more than usual. I wish I could say that it were actual physical fist fights that result in bloody noses and swollen eyebrows and I'm the referee in the middle checking on each of the warriors in the corner, asking, "You ready? You gonna make it? Next rounds up!" But nothing that entertaining.

The verbal abuse makes me uncomfortable to say the least.

It's always about something trivial. My father starts asking about whether they should add my little brother to the insurance policy. My mother automatically jumps on him with her nagging voice and says, "Well, of course we have to! Who else is going to pay for the repairs when he drives the car into a tree?" And then they go back and forth.

Or when my mother asks when my Dad will finish fixing the broken van so she can start buying bulk items because they don't fit in the small sedan. "Why are you always pushing me? Always nagging about something? The van will get fixed when I fix it." And then they go back and forth.

Or when my dad asks what's for dinner and my mom explodes, "You are so lazy! I'm tired of cooking for you. Go buy yourself some fried chicken! I'm tired, going to sleep."

Or when my mom is tidying up and my dad is looking for a bill he'd sworn he'd left on the coffee table. "Where is it? Where'd you put that letter? You're always moving my stuff around! Nothing is ever where I leave it! Stop touching my things!"

It's hard for a child to watch their parents like this. Especially when you're grown and you feel the animosity they've developed for each other. When you're a kid, you sort of drown that out. Turn the tv volume up a little louder. But now, I hear their words, listen to their accusations, and cringe at the hateful feelings that have rubbed them both raw.

Because you know that they're your parents and there was a time when they were in love with each other. That's why I'm here. And that's why I have two sisters and a brother. That's what love is: meeting someone, dating them, getting married, buying a house, raising a family. It's hard seeing that idyllic image of love melt into a ten minute argument about how bad my father cooks or how my mom talks too much.

On very few occasions, do my parents talk about their early years, before the kids, before the mortgage and car payments, before I started getting uncomfortable around them at the breakfast table and one of them would open their mouth only to be met by the other's venomous retort. But sometimes, I'd get little tidbits.

We'd drive around the old East Dallas neighborhood and my mom would gaze out the car window and point to a row of apartments. "That's where I'd used to live, Annie. When I first came to Dallas and the mission was helping us out. We were refugees and they helped us for two months, but after we'd have to find our own means of income. That's when I met your dad and he'd help me out so much. I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for your Dad."

And me and my Dad would go to the library and as I pulled into the parking lot he'd sigh, "Your mom and me would go to that Vietnamese restaurant all the time over there. It was not good food. But it was cheap. And we were together, so it was okay."

But now I worry about them when they're alone in the car together. I wasn't sure what was worse, when I pictured them at each other's throats or in complete, utter, dead silence.

My mother always nags about my father losing his memory. Forgetting things. Dates, his car keys, important letters, things like that. Usually every night when they lock up the store my mother shouts to him, "Make sure you don't leave the keys on the door! One of these days you will and the robbers will clean out the whole place. That'll teach you to lose your memory."

Tonight, at around 10PM, my father knocks on my door. It's pretty late and they don't usually come by at this hour.

"Dad?"

"Yea...I think I left my keys inside the store somewhere. I can't remember. Can I borrow yours?"

"It's so late. Can't you look for them tomorrow? I'll drive you in the morning."

"No, I want to check now, just in case they dropped somewhere around the store. I don't want someone breaking in."

"Are you sure? I can come with you."

"No, it's late. I'll just take your keys and you go back to sleep."

Reluctantly, I get my copy of the keys and hand them over. I watch him drive away into the darkness. I wonder if he will find the keys in this pitch blackness. If he has a flashlight. If the cops will think he's trying to break into the store this late. If a band of ruffians will find him and hurt him somehow. Or if maybe he just needed to get away from my mother. To have sometime by himself, driving in silence in the cold, midnight air.

A Conversation Between my Little Brother and Sister

I laid in my bed watching television and my little brother and sister were doing their homework.

Ellis grumbles to herself and turns toward me, "Is there saturated fats in feces?"

"Excuse me, since when did yall start taking Bathroom 101 in high school?"

"You know, like oils and stuff. Is that in feces?"

Peter, my little brother walks in. "Saturated fats are like butter and shortening. Solids. Liquid oil is unsaturated fats. So are you asking if liquid oil or solid oil is in feces?"

I pull the covers over my face. "I don't remember learning about this stuff when I took biology back in my day. What happened to just learning about cells and what your fingernails are made out of?"

Ellis and Peter ignore me.

Ellis says, "Saturated fats, so I guess solids. Is that in feces?"

Peter nods, "Yes. Anything else?"

"Yea, have you gotten to that chapter about mammary glands and lactase versus lactose yet?"

Blushing

I was helping Mom out at the store the other day. It was a bit chilly, so my usual attire I'd wear to the store (t-shirt and jeans) was accentuated with an overgrown sweatshirt and instead of flip-flops, I wore a pair of striped socks with my flip flops. If there were a fashion contest somewhere on Mars, I'm sure I'd at least be a runner-up.

Sitting behind the counter, I read from a book of short stories about men reveling in their tales of love and committed relationships (a combination many have lost faith in). And being newly single, I needed to renew my faith in the male psyche. There was a story about one man who couldn't bear the thought of being with just one woman their entire life. How is it that women want the complete opposite: one soul mate to share their life with when men only want a revolving door of women to whet their sexual appetites. I'm sure they're not all like that, but come on...Am I being too harsh here? Anyhow, at the end of the story he finds his true love in Paris and has an epiphany that he's never felt so liberated in his life.

Anyhow, the door rings open and in walks three young men, probably no more than 18 years old. I greet them and wait patiently as they speculate on what to purchase. I notice one of these boys eyeballing me. Oh no. I'm too old for this. But I was like a deer caught in hormonal headlights.

He walks over and leans on the counter. "What's up with you?"

I smile and nod. Maybe he'll think I don't know English. Oh, but I've already greeted them with my perfect Texan accent. "Nothing, just working."

"Nah, I mean what's up with you?"

I can't help but chuckle. Does this really work on girls? Surely even on a high school girl's creep meter, this would rank high in the slimey category. "Uhh, how old are you?" I'm curious.

"Old enough. How old are you?"

"I'm old. Really, old. You should be talking to someone younger."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to be....your auntie."

This makes him and his friends laugh.

"Nah, baby, you perfect for me."

I think to myself sarcastically. Yes, this surely is a match that Cupid foretold in the clouds of heaven. Me in my big sweatshirt and this mini-man who's found renewed confidence in himself with the commencement of his newly grown pubic hair.

"No, I'm not really looking for any new acquaintances right now. You should talk to someone cuter."

"You ain't too old. Come on, I'd hit that."

This catches me off guard. "Oh...thanks. I"m not really keeping acquaintances right now." I'm both horrified and flattered at the same time.

His friends buy some chips and soda and I bid them all adieu and a good night. The Casanova of the group walks out very slowly, turning his head back towards me as if I'd suddenly change my mind and drop my panties. How crazy these young guys nowadays.

It's so strange. That collision of when you have this idea of yourself and then someone turns that on its head. Shakes you to the core.

After they leave, I go to the back to wash my hands. I look into the mirror. My reflection peers back at me: dry skin, hair pulled back in a pony tail, glasses that are crooked from sitting on them too much, lips that are in desperate need of Chapstick. I can't help but smile at the lingering crimson of flattery heating my cheeks.

Bride and Groom Pinatas

When did it get this bad.....

Augustine Meyers (those who knew him called him Auggie) was sitting on his couch one afternoon when he realized he hadn't walked his two dogs, Peanut and Jelly, for the past two weeks. He sat there one finger on the remote control and one eye out the backyard door. His two pit bull mixes sat lazily under a shady plum tree in his yard. Their bellies looked extra big and extra soft. His guilt was battling with his tremendous laziness that yearned to see what was showing on the FoodNetwork. But as if the dogs could sniff the possibily of a walk in the air, they both lumbered up to the glass backyard door and sat on their haunches. These weren't just puppy dog eyes they were giving Auggie. They were "how-can-you-live-with-yourself-you selfish-human-don't-you-know-animal-neglect-is-a-crime" puppy dog eyes. Auggie went to put on his walking shoes and made a mental note to cough up the extra bucks for the really good doggie snacks.

Augustine realized that he hadn't been out about in his neighborhood for awhile. Litter and trash skipped in the cool spring breeze. People's lawns were unkept and riddled with crabgrass and weeds. What happened to this neighborhood? When did it get this bad?

Peanut sniffed at an empty fast food bag and Auggie pulled him away. "Stop it, Peanut. You don't know what's in there." Auggie saw a shapely woman standing at the corner at the end of the street smoking a cigarette. Auggie wondered if he should turn around and walk the other way or just walk by her briskly pretending she were invisible. Then he felt bad for judging this woman as being some kind of threat. How silly. She's probably just waiting for a ride or something. Auggie crossed over to the other side of the street and walked a little faster to avoid eye contact.

The woman took one last puff of her cigarette. She pulled out her pack and slid a fresh cigarette through her fingers. Her eyes darted to Auggie, "GOT A LIGHT?"

Auggie didn't slow down in time to reply to the woman. He didn't realize it until a few minutes later but he had been sprinting. He stopped when he felt he was a safe distance from the woman. "Peanut...(pant, pant)...Jelly (pant, pant)...did you see that? There's prostitutes in our neighborhood."

Auggie regained his composure and started to walk again. Peanut and Jelly occasionally looked up at him to see if he was alright. Auggie decided that he would walk another block and then head back home. All of a sudden a group of about 5 or 6 children were seen up ahead walking from a dilapidated home. Auggie slowed down a bit. One time Peanut tried to bite one child who was throwing rocks into their yard. He had a sudden image of each of the children pulling out a bag of rocks from their pockets and pelting him and his companions to death. How silly.

He crossed the street and tried to walk fast to avoid the children running up to them and asking to pet the dogs. But it wasn't fast enough.

"Hey look at them dogs." One of the younger kids proclaimed. They all turned to Auggie's direction. They started to walk closer. Auggie began to sweat. "Umm...be careful..don't get too close. They might bite." He hoped the mere word "bite" would make them back off. The older kids stopped but the young one proceeded toward them. "Them yo' dogs?"

Auggie rolled his eyes. "Of course, they're my dogs." He wondered why he hadn't bought a house near a lake or park where he could walk his dogs in peace.

The young one held out her hand toward Jelly. All of a sudden Jelly jerked away and gave a loud growl. Auggie pulled her toward him. "Jelly-NO!"

The young one stopped in her tracks and looked hurt. "That dog is ugly."

Auggie gasped. He thought his two dogs were adorable.

The girl began to walk away back to the group of other kids. "That's the ugliest dog, I've ever seen."

Auggie thought of the various rebuttals he could shout. "Well, you're the ugliest little child I've ever seen!" he imagined himself saying. How he'd grimace devilishly as the child began to cry. If only....

But Auggie was an adult and that was a child. So he just walked away back toward his house. Prostitues and little rude children running around his neighborhood. Trash and unkept yards. How the house values must be plummeting as we speak...

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Quitting My Job in This Economy-Am I Crazy?

Sometimes we all need to be a little crazy....

It was a Friday morning. Two days prior, I had sent a meeting request to my manager asking to have a one-on-one chat. He had replied, "This sounds serious. Should we meet sooner?" I replied back, "It is serious, but it can wait till Friday."

I didn't want to be dramatic, but I assumed he knew what was up when I emailed the meeting request. People really can read between the lines. I also didn't want to quit mid-week. Awkward...

Anyhow, Friday rolled around and as I shut the door behind me, I could already see my manager eyeballing the envelope in my hand which concealed my two weeks notice letter.

For the past few months now, I'd been feeling increasingly unhappy. I was 26 years old working in a cubicle, staring at a computer screen all day. I don't think its anyone's dream to become another farmer in a cubicle pasture. Granted, I had a desk with a window view, but is it worth it if you want to jump out that window every day you have to stare out of it?

My time at my job originated with humble beginnings. I was temping as the front desk receptionist. It was purely supposed to be a short-term thing. When the owner of the company found out I had a college degree in Marketing, she created a position for me which was pretty cool at the time. But as time passed, I realized the glitter had faded and I was just another cog in a machine that was leading me astray from my real personal aspirations. Maybe it was the fact that my job title was very vague and didn't really indicate what I was supposed to be doing therefore I was pigeonholed into doing everything. I was the "Miscellaneous." It was an amalgamation of Project Manager, Accountant, Contract Administrator, Marketing Coordinator, Receptionist, Trade Show representative, and Community Outreach planner. Is your head spinning? Well, mine was. If I took another call from the conference room that asked me to research the latest on Carbon Trading credits in Europe and then travel to Houston for a Vendor symposium, followed up with how much we were invoicing our latest client, I was going to explode.

So, as I drove home from work one day, and was listening to NPR and the depressing news of our down-spiraling economy, I had an epiphany. "I HAVE TO QUIT."

Many people have called me crazy for leaving a stable job in this economy with no back up plan or means of income. Luckily I have a good amount in my savings account and I occasionally dabble in eBay. So I do have a plan of some sorts. Do some traveling with my boyfriend who also recently quit (Birds of a feather, what can I say?) and concentrate on my writing. As crazy and idealistic as it sounds, it makes me so happy and content about my future.

So back to that Friday in my boss's office. I stare him straight in the eye and say, "I'll give you 20 guesses about why I'm here."

No one there

The boxes were stacked perfectly at my front door waiting for any princess. Glittery gold ribbons and cold, shiny boxes. I carefully placed them inside the privacy of my house. I called out, “Hello?” But there was no one-- as expected. Thinking maybe it would be different. But, no. It was not different. I watched my foot kick over your gracious mountain of love. My hands ransacked it all. Like a furious banshee, paper flying everywhere, I held up the pretty lace and string. Who was this for? Who would see me in this?

I burned your lingerie.

I watched the lace and string curl into hot wiry wisps that crumbled into ash and smoke. The pink boxes and crème tissue paper strewn around my limp body like a Barbie tomb.