here she comes Muffled voices
outside my door
that October morning
woke me
and took me
from a peaceful place
to one I'd come
to hate.
When one of them
stepped into my room,
the hallway light
landed on my
closed eyelids,
urging them
to open
like a hand
pulling on a
doorknob.
"It's time," Dad said.
I didn't open my eyes.
I didn't move.
I didn't speak.
"Ali, you awake?"
I gave a little grunt.
The event
wasn't worth
wasting breath on.
"We'll call you later.
When she's here."
Pause.
"I love you," he said
quickly and quietly.
It's pretty sad
when you have to
think about it
before you say it.
just breathe
The clock read
4:13 a.m.
My dog, Cobain,
slept at the foot
of my bed.
I changed directions
and curled up
next to his warm body,
feeling the rhythm
of his breathing.
I stroked his golden fur,
and my heartbeats
s o f t e n e d.
He breathed.
I breathed.
Soon my breaths
were slow and steady,
in sync with his.
Cobain.
My oxygen tank.
He breathed.
I breathed.
The garage door
rumbled open
beneath me.
They were gone.
Gone until
they'd come back
with her.
Then there'd be me.
He breathed.
I breathed.
They knew her name.
But they wouldn't tell me.
It'll be a surprise, Victoria had said,
like a surprise is a good thing.
My stepmom.
Victoria.
She reminded me
of a chameleon lizard,
with her annoying habit
of curling her tongue up
just slightly,
and touching her top lip,
when she was
concentrating.
A chameleon.
One minute sweet as chocolate cake.
The next, sour and possessive,
like an old banker.
Once upon a time
he and I were close.
Dad.
We'd cook together,
watch basketball together,
and make up silly jingles together,
since advertising
is his line of work.
Things changed.
Victoria moved in.
He changed.
It's like he tried
to move on
to greener pastures,
but the tractor in the barn,
once adored,
became a nuisance
and kept him connected
to the painful past.
I squeezed in closer
to Cobain.
He breathed.
I breathed.
I could see Dad
holding his new
baby girl.
Smiling.
Happy.
Totally in love.
He'd breathe.
She'd breathe.
Then there'd be me.
the short version
Mom got cancer.
Cancer sucks.
She died.
Dad remarried.
The end.
our time is now
After a while
I got up,
showered,
and put on my favorite jeans,
a white shirt,
my black jacket,
and my combat boots.
I grabbed my battered,
scuffed-up
guitar case
and headed outside.
The sunlight streamed
through the tree in our front yard,
lighting up the yellow leaves,
creating a brilliant
golden statue
that moved magically
when the breeze blew.
Amazing.
I love fall.
Fall in Seattle.
The season of
warm colors.
I thought about calling Blaze,
to see if I could talk him into going,
but he likes church
about as much
as the queen likes profanity.
It's the one thing
between us
that feels like
a tiny splinter
in your foot.
Painful and annoying,
but difficult to remove.
Blaze and I met
at a concert
last spring.
Our eyes locked
just as Mudhoney
took the stage,
and it was like a rocket
blasting off
into space.
I felt heat
and my body trembled
and forces
beyond my control
pulled me
to him
as the music ripped
through our bodies.
I didn't know his name.
He didn't know mine.
And yet,
it was like
we'd known each other
forever.
My best friend, Claire,
was with me,
and she kept trying
to pull me away,
like she was afraid
for my life.
Silly girl.
Nothing to worry about.
If anything,
he sparked
a fire
inside of me,
making me want
to live
again.
the peace I need
I pulled up in my old Nova.
Claire got in
wearing a long, flowing purple skirt
and a silky, smooth black blouse.
She makes
all of her own
clothes.
Fashion
is her
passion.
I think she
should be a singer.
She's the voice
to the music we make
at church.
Like hot cocoa
and a soft blanket
and fuzzy slippers,
warming you up
top to bottom.
Raspy and sweet
all at the
same time.
I used to envy her,
but then I decided
to just be thankful
for making
incredible music
together.
My music
was complete
because of Claire.
She got in
and threw a CD
in my lap.
"Your turn to listen."
The church we go to,
Center for Spiritual Living,
makes CDs
of the sermons
and the music.
After I backed out,
I looked at Claire,
but my smile
didn't want to come out
and play.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
She knows me
like a druggie knows
his best vein.
"They went to the hospital.
Early this morning."
She gave a nod
of understanding.
I drove
in silence.
That is,
until she reached over
and popped the CD in the player
Blaze had installed for my birthday.
We listened to her sing
the words:
Pain in your heart.
You're playing the part
of a human in need.
You beg and you plead
Wash it away.
Wash it away.
Give me the peace,
the peace I need.
I wrote that song.
Funny how
time goes on,
things change,
and yet,
some things stay
exactly the same.
Copyright © 2009 by Lisa Schroeder
