My Comedy Routine!

Found a ledge yet? Don't jump! Have a laugh at (mostly) my expense!

Melancholy Reflections

Melancholy Reflections

Here I sit
again waiting for you
to hear words I know won't bring me happiness
But still, I sit
Waiting..
What's to become of my life
our life
at once so yearned for
Yet so unfulfilled
What was once so easy
So natural and carefree
Now like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand
The ocean of tears wash away happy memories of you and I
Smiling eyes now only shed tears.

White Flag

White Flag
There was a time we swore we'd never be here
That couple
this person
this isn't who I  wanted to be
But I'd be her if it meant you were waiting at the end
Can I live with myself if I didn't try
try to fix something that was broken
Faced with uncertainty armed with naivete
I tried to win back something that was lost before I knew it was too late to find
For us, the white flag always waves.

Sappy Poem #2

This is an old poem I wrote while going through a breakup. Shocker, I know.

Four years ago
On this very day
I met the one
I could've sworn
But it wasn't meant to be
So they tell me
But still my heart cries
Still my heart cries.

My eyes don't betray the pain
my heart feels
It's best to battle on.

I mourn the living.
Your quiet steps away from me
Now echo loudly in my chest
Questions reverberate.
Hard lessons bestowed on the unsuspecting.

Green and Blue

Feeling depressed? You will soon! I like to take a break from comedic writing every now and then and bang out a sappy woe-is-me poem. This is one of those poems. *cue music from Law and Order*


Green and Blue/ 3:35 AM/Tears on Cotton/Melancholy Reflections

I'm so lonely
No one to hold me
Nothing's below me
The forgotten one

Does anyone hear me
Just want someone near me
Settle for less to relieve some of the stress

Trying to hold on
It'll be over soon
Knowing your worth but feeling no one else does

What's the lesson to be learned
Can't move forward when is love thats yearned
A life so full with voices
Now the only one is in my head

The shame is the worst of all
Everyone watching as you fall
Further and further into yourself
Given up on saving you
It's ok I gave up too

Unsure of my escape route
Do I even have the tools
Watching life happen all around me
So easy it seems for everyone not me

Wings spread but never learned how to fly
Too afraid of the ground to reach the sky
Suspended in between the two
Green and blue

How to move on?
Thought I had already
Used to wish for no more pain
Now I feel nothing and it makes me yearn for the tears
Then I knew I was alive at least

So what now
Make a plan with promises I can't keep
But what holds me back
Feeling as though soon I will crack

Where is home? I'm sick for it
Little girl lost


This is no life
For me
For anyone

Melted candles and a broken cross

Standup Routine!

Routine:

-Albany/Gods blind spot
-Gag reflex
-Freshman 15
-baby shower
-Post partum
-Immature men/private dance

-Alcoholic slut
-Valentines day
-Shave legs/EMT
-Shopping/concerned cashier
-Seven figure salary
-Dating site/Quazzi motto

Began doing comedy to get comfortable in front of a crowd so I can eventually get up onstage for this. Well, something similar to this. Ok at amateur night. That's when the real money rolls in.

I swore the next time I appeared on stage it'd be for amateur night. I can't afford to

Just to give you some background information on me, When I was in high school I struggled with bulimia.
Well, not exactly, I just had a really sensitive gag reflex.

Actually In college I started to gain weight.
You know, The freshman 15 and so forth. But strangely enough it was only in my uterus..
After falling drunk one night down the stairs I was back to a size six again. Thanks, Smirnoff!

 I went to a baby shower over the weekend  and it was weird bc ppl have begun to ask when I'll start having babies and I think- there's no way at this point in my life if be able to support myself, a baby *beat*AND my weed habit. Just no way.  Weed is expensive.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I have preemptive post partum depression.
I don't have kids, but last month I was on a flight and there was this baby screaming its head off and all I could think of was going over there and shaking it until it stopped crying.. Or breathing. I'm not picky.

Is it just me or are men getting more immature? Ever try having a conversation with a 25 year old guy?
Better be an expert on Madden 13' and jaeger bombs.
And forget about older men, they've all earned their black belts in bullshit. Unreal.
Like, these are my options?
So I've decided to leave it up to fate; if my soul mate wants to find me,   he can buy a private dance like everyone else. I'm really romantic.

I realized most of my jokes portray me as an alcoholic slut   Which isn't even close to the truth; I only drink on the weekends.

So this past valentines day was my first being single and I noticed the difference in the way ppl treat you versus if you were in a relationship. Like I got half a dozen 'and 'How's it goin today?' emails.
Hang in there, your man is out there and he's coming'.
Oh great just what I need, a guy who's cheating on me before we've even met.
Im Like, guys take it easy, ok,  I'm not gonna kill myself. I'm waiting until the Holidays to do that.

My mom tells my sister and I that she shaves her legs everyday in case she gets into an accident, and that we should too for the same reason.
I'm like if I didnt care enough to do it for my boyfriend why would I do it for some EMT?
And like, what does that say about how society treats women?
 I was just in an accident that was bad enough to require an EMT and his main concern is smooth legs?
I need 4 cc's of saline, a scalpel and a Schick ultra soft, STAT!
 Besides, what do EMTs make, like 30,40 grand a year?
Yeah,  Ill floss, but that's all he's gettin out of me.
And what's the male alternative? 'Better wax your nads before you go!'
Good thing I'm not an ER Doctor, I see a guy in need of a wax, he's flatlining. ///It's gender equality

I have always considered myself something of a performer and I love making people laugh, so I took a standup comedy class last spring, and this was my final routine. 

http://youtu.be/Zi4oFjPXn_0

I hate shopping, so when I'm out in a store I'm already mildly annoyed, but one thing that really annoys me is when cashiers are like overly friendly, like they pretend to care about your personal well being and stuff.
It's like how are you miss, got any plans for the weekend??
Like, ma'am, it's a Friday night and I'm here buying C batteries with a Magic Mike dvd I've fished out of the $1.99 bin,  What do you think I'm doing this weekend? Cut the small talk.

As a single female, I feel we're given a hard rap for expecting too much from our men.
It's like I really don't ask for much in a relationship- really I'm just looking for those three magic words-
seven figure salary.

And you know, It's tough dating these days.
It really annoys me how the blame is constantly put on the women that were single.
'It's bc your standards are too high, you don't smile wide enough, you only date married men'     ugh.
So I decided to try a dating site.
I was on for no more than eight hours and had gotten a slew of messages that were at once highly intelligent and richly poetic, ranging from,
and I quote, 'sup' to 'hey beautiful' which any woman will tell you makes your skin crawl coming from a strange man.
Unless you grew up without a father, then you're just like awww! 'Reply''

Some profiles I click on have a decent profile pic, then when scrolling thru the rest realize it must've been taken by a paparazzo's zoom lens from 10,000 ft away bc in the rest he resembles Quazzi Motto en route to the bell tower.
 At least Quazzi had a job. Turns out, a bell ringer makes seven figures so... Got myself a date tonight!

Short Story 2: Untitled

Ring!

The sudden blast from my cell phone startles me, causing me to jump and make the smoky eye I was trying to perfect turn into a badly done cat-eye. I checked the number on the front of the screen: Marsha, my best friend of 10 years.

            “Yesss?” I say, putting on my affected voice I always use when friends call, somewhere between seductive and annoyed.

            “Go shorty, it’s ya birthday!” chirps Marsha, doing her best impression of 50 Cent. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a tissue with my free hand and began to fix the disaster that was my makeup.

“You do realize we are now far too old to be rapping 50 Cent songs now, don’t you? That’s only OK in your early 20’s. Actually, I’m not so sure its ever OK.”

“Oh, and because you’re turning 30 youre what, an old maid? Puh-leeze. You just need a solid night out with the girls where we let loose, shake our booties and score free drinks! Are you almost ready?”

It was true, I was turning 30 the next day and even though I was joking around with Marsha, I had been dreading this day since as far as I could remember. As a little girl, I had consulted a calendar that gave future dates, wanting to see what day my 30^th birthday would fall on. A Saturday. Perfect, I had thought, that way, my fabulous and successful husband can watch our two beautiful kids, a boy and a girl, while I celebrate with my equally fabulous group of friends. What a funny little kid I had been.

“Yeah I just have to find my comfy heels first. Actually, never mind, I think that’s an oxymoron. Gimme ten minutes.”

“Sorry, no can do. I’m already on my way to your casa to pick you up.” Thanks for the warning, I thought.

Snapping my phone shut, I looked up at myself in the mirror, seeing my less than enthused face peering back. The truth was, the last thing I felt like doing was going out on the town to celebrate another year gone by, but I had let my friends talk me into a “girl’s night” and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that what I really wanted was to change into sweats, crawl into bed and watch bad tv. Besides, Marsha was already on her way, and there was no getting out of this one. I had selected my favorite dress, the black one that seemed to streamline my squat, athletic body, hoping it would boost my confidence and make me excited to “hit the town” as Marsha always put it. Crouching down to ease my feet into the heels, I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. “Here goes nothing”, I say, passing my reflection in the mirror on my way out the door.

                                               ***********

“Ohmigod, I love this song!” my close friend, Lissa said as soon as we got into the bar, immediately throwing her hands up and dancing. The bass was slamming throughout the smallish bar, aptly named The Scene, as it seemed that’s where everyone had decided to go that night. It was one of those pretentious places that had a line out in front, which was snaked to the end of the block when we go there. Not that it mattered, we always got in when we went out with Lissa; I loved the girl, but she didn’t keep much to the imagination when it came to dressing. That and I’m pretty sure I saw her whisper something to the burly bouncer as we approached the entrance. Our friend Alexa came out that night too, and at 5 foot 9 and white-blonde hair, she was no slouch. Going out with an all-female groups almost guarantees admittance into any club, she had once told me. It was a god idea in theory, just make sure you’re not the least attractive in the group.

I had made up my mind to really try to have a good time, and so far was putting on a good charade. The truth was, I was the oldest in the group, a fact that, despite how shallow it seemed, it was all I could fixate on. Lissa and Alexa were both 28 still, whereas I had trouble even remembering when I was that age. They seemed to possess endless amounts of energy, flitting around like they had finally found the place they most belonged; their own personal Mecca.

“..cute, right?” I realized I hadn’t been listening to anything the girls were saying, but with Lissa talking, I assumed it was about a guy.

“Yeah, totally”, I agreed, completely unsure of who she was even referring to. The music had somehow gotten even louder in the 10 minutes we had been there, and the beginning of a migraine was forming in the back of my skull. They’re doing this for you, I chided myself, the least you could do is pretend to have fun. Swigging the last of the Cosmo I had been drinking that tasted oddly like sour mix, I turned in the direction she was looking, my glance falling on a guy three bar stools down that was looking back at us.

“Soo, are you gonna go over there and introduce yourself?” she asked, wide eyed and waiting for my response. “You gotta secure yourself a man soon, Chels!”

Her reasoning was not lost on me; for all women approaching or surpassing the 30^th birthday, the benchmarks of success switch from a great career, friends and nice things to mother hood, getting married, and moving to the suburbs. Living in Mamaronek, New York, I had only attained one of those.

Before I could answer her (with a firm no, I was not), I was tapped on the shoulder and swiveling around, I saw it was the guy we were just ogling.

“Excuse me, I hate to be so forward, but that was you that arrived here with a group of your girlfriends, yes?” So much for introductions.

“Yes, it was, my name’s Chelsea,” I said, extending my hand.

“Rob, pleasures all mine. Listen, I must tell you,” he said leaning in as though he was about to share a secret with me, “You have the finest ass in the place.” Well, so much for that.

An hour later we had found Marsha and Alexa and I was feeling no better about the evening, the three Cosmos I’d drunk doing nothing for my mood.  Despite it being 1:30 am, my contacts beginning to blur with fatigue, the girls were still going strong. The night only served to make me more depressed about my birthday, the brightly dressed women in their early twenties stumbling around in their too-high heels, talking more loudly than necessary, a constant reminder that I was officially too old for this scene. Telling the girls that would only give them reason to tell me how fabulous I was, how successful, that I could have any guy in the room and age was just a number. “And besides, turning thirty isn’t that big a deal! It’s not like, forty or anything”, Marsha had told me earlier in the week, actually shuddering at the mere thought of it. Sometimes she was so immature, but that was actually kind of endearing about her, her childishness.

Telling the girls I had a killer headache, we decided to have a last drink and leave. I knew I was being a party pooper, but hell it was my party, and in addition to my headache, there was a dull ache somewhere in my chest that I couldn’t pinpoint. Sure, I was turning thirty, lived alone and had no significant other to speak of, my last boyfriend ending things when he decided to become a born-again Christian and devote his life to God, effectively terminating our relationship on account of my being Jewish, this pang was different than any other I’d experienced.  It seemed to come from someplace deep within the confines of my heart in a place I didn’t know existed.

                                                     *******

The next morning I awoke with a wicked hangover, my dress still on and twisted up around my midsection. At least I remembered to take off my shoes, I thought, disgusted with myself. Rubbing my eyes, my contacts still in them, I grabbed my cell and looked at the time with one eye, my vision refusing to focus. 11:11 am. Marsha was a big believer in superstitions, and never failed to make a wish when she saw it was 11:11, her reasoning being it was the only time all the numbers were the same. “Ok, then what about 4:44? Or 3:33? Or-”

“Be-cause, it’s the only time there are four numbers that are all the same, and when they line up, you can make a wish,” she had replied, emphasizing her words as though speaking with someone a bit slow. This birthday morning, all I wished for was a greasy breakfast and a ginger ale, and after taking my contacts out, washing the raccoon eyes that had been my ‘smoky eye’ look last night, and brushing my teeth, I went to the deli on the corner that served the best breakfast sandwiches in the world. After buying the sandwich and driving home, I raced into the driveway of my duplex eager to tear into it, my stomach grumbling with a mixture of hunger and hangover.

 “Hey, lady!”

Whirling around, I prepared myself for an altercation when I recognized the prematurely lined face of my neighbor, Jose.

“Ugh, Jose, you scared me!”

“Hey, lady, you scared me the way you flew into the parking spot here! Thought you was on fire the way you’re driving!” his deep, good natured voice boomed from across the small lawn. Laughing and shaking his head, he wished me a good day and disappeared inside his home, the shouts and squeals of his two kids, delighted as always to see their dad, sailing through the open windows, my heart giving a funny jump at the sound of their voices.

Turning my key into my lock, I was immediately hit by the shock of silence as I walked into my living room, decorated in muted earth tones with help from feng shui- obsessed Marsha. (“It will totally open up your space, it makes it look way bigger!” she had assured me). I had to admit, the tones and placement of the furniture did open the small space up, but suddenly I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.  After all, it was just me here, it wasn’t like I had roommates to share it with..

After showering and answering the obligatory happy birthday calls from friends and family, I decided to get dressed and go out window shopping, refusing to allow myself to lie around all day. I spent the day window shopping and popping into quaint stores I never had the time to go into but had always been curious about, buying myself a trinket bracelet and a top. The day was coming to a close when I decided to stop into Melinda’s, a coffee shop with the most amazing cinnamon buns. I’m getting old, I thought, I may as well get fat, too.

Sitting down at the tiny Formica table I was just getting to the good part of the bun where all the cinnamon was, when as woman about my age popped in, pushing a stroller and balancing a baby on her hip. She looked tired but had this glow about her that I couldn’t explain, but found myself wanting to ask her where it came from, and she took a seat at the table next to mine, humming a song to her sleeping child.

“What a beautiful baby you have, how old is he?” I asked, hoping she would indulge me and not look at me like some creepy spinster.

“Oh thank you, yes he’s the absolute love of my life. His name is Peter and he is 11 months old yesterday.”

“Aw, how nice,” I said, unsure of what the proper response was.

“Yeah, my husband and I tried unsuccessfully for years before he came into our lives,” she said, looking down adoringly at her sleeping son in his stroller. I realized I had never looked at anyone or anything that way myself. Sure, when I see a really great pair of heels 40% off I probably came close, but there was something.. different about this look, something that says nothing else matters.

“Iced tea?” the man behind the counter said, and the woman jumped up, adjusting her diaper bag and grabbed her drink. “Well, it was nice meeting you..?”

“Chelsea.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you Chelsea, my name is Karen, hope to see you around!” and with that, she walked out, the bells of the door jingling behind her. I must’ve sat there for an hour reflecting on what had just transpired and trying to pinpoint the flood of emotion entering my heart because the next thing I knew, the man behind the counter was closing up, the sign now facing me read Yes, We’re Open! I paid my bill and walked out into the balmy night, knowing that there in fact was something missing in my life, and it wasn’t a man, or a fabulous wardrobe, or anything I could buy. It was a baby of my own.

Short Story 1: Untitled

This is one of two short stories I wrote for my- you guessed it- short story class at SUNY. Enjoy! 

The day began as any other day. It was a rainy, miserable Thursday in March, the kind of day that makes one decide first thing in the morning that that day will be bad. I threw the down comforter aside in an aggravated motion, glaring at the flashing and beeping alarm clock for disrupting my peaceful slumber. Getting out of bed, I turned off the alarm and checked my cell phone: three missed calls from my mother. I had been successfully avoiding speaking to my mother after making the colossal mistake of telling her about my most recent breakup with Tom, the senior talent scout for the local talent agency. It was an impressive title, at least it was to me when we first met and I was still dumb enough to think there really was still time left- of course I could see myself being married to him!- I now shuddered, remembering the foolish, school girl-ish words that I had uttered not two weeks prior to my best friend, Jeanine. Words that, at the age of thirty-three, seemed fit only to bolster my own mood and Jeanine’s and not centered in any reality to speak of. Because, when you wake up one day and realize you’re thirty three and single, working for a temp agency and no career to speak of, not to mention the ubiquitous “When are you having kids?” question hurled at you from every Yenta you make the mistake of having small talk with, you need some reinforcements.

             “You have two new messages”, said the electronic voice at the other end. “Denise? Are you there? It’s your mother..” I know its you, Ma, there’s a little thing called Caller ID nowadays, I thought bitterly. “Listen, I was at the market the other day and ran into Susan Orphell, do you remember her? With the ringlets? You used to be inseparable..” Tapping my foot impatiently, I considered throwing my phone against the wall, but thought better of it. I may need it later, in case Jeanine calls. Or Tom. Wishful thinking. Putting my ear back to the phone, my mother continued with her rant. “Well, she is on this new diet where she counts points, or they give her points for not eating sweets or something..? Anyway, it has to do with points somehow..” Yup, definitely should have thrown it.. “and she just looks ah-mayzing! Added emphasis for further insult, I thought, looking down at my protruding- yet still without child- belly.

My mother was practically giddy, for goodness sakes. Of course I remember Susan Orphell, she was my best friend for all of junior high and high school, until she moved away our junior year. “Somewhere out west”, she had told me when she first heard, “Where no one knows me and I can start fresh as the most popular girl in the school!” Apparently, Susan told herself grandiose things that she knew would never come to fruition, too. With frizzy light brown hair, a mouth shoved full of orthodontia, bushy eyebrows and about thirty extra pounds, Susan wasn’t exactly gonna be prom queen. Her father’s company was to have a merger with another company, and that turned out to be in some town in Arizona. When she moved away, I knew that was the end for me. As two outcasts in our high school, rejected by both the popular kids for not having the newest fashions and fastest cars, and the losers for not having an opinion on the best level of Asteroids on the Atari, we clung to each other at first out of necessity, lest we be eaten alive in the dangerous hallways of junior high and high school. From that point on, high school as I knew it became one long blur of social rejection. Even back then I’d tell myself it was going to build my character, mold me into this pillar of strength and personal conviction, but in reality all it did was make me dislike people. And myself. And acid washed jeans, actually.

My mother’s voice snapped me back to reality. She was still droning on. “..6 sizes! Can you imagine.. She looks half her size! Although she was never that big to begin with..”

It was true Susan always suffered from baby fat, constantly switching from starving herself to bingeing and never having any luck with losing weight. Although we kept in touch, we never had the closeness that came along with sharing the same time zone, and I remember her telling me once that she had gained another 20 pounds when she was in her late 20’s. Flitting around the house with the phone still pressed to my ear, I wondered if my mother was going to get to the point. If she even had a point. Though I had begun ignoring my mother’s phone calls, my usually wide open schedule becoming increasingly clogged with make-believe appointments and errands, I still found it necessary to listen to her messages in their entirety, a weird habit I had in case at the very end she had some dire message about someone being in trouble, or to tell me dad had another heart attack.

Hopping on one foot, I put my shoe on my left foot, then my right. I smoothed down my skirt (our office has a casual dress code, but I’ve always abided by the old adage “dress for the job you want, no the job you have”, another lie I tell myself) and pour my coffee from its steaming pot into my travel mug emblazoned with Middle Valley Community School on it. Taking one final glance in the mirror, phone still to my ear, I decide I looked presentable enough for the job I’ve hated for the past six years, one that I was sure they could just have a monkey do and save a hell of a lot of money. But, as the saying goes, “A bad job is better than no job”. Or maybe that was just my mother who said that. Six years ago, before finding the temp agency and being placed at my current job, I was unemployed for 5 months after my other job laid off me and forty others. I didn’t think my mother would ever get over the shame of that one. I was busy a lot then, too when she’d call. My father was much more a live and let live kind of guy, laid back and unassuming. Whenever I would ask his permission for something growing up, many times he’d begin to answer with a “ Sure, Nise. I don’t care.” Then he’d quickly change it to “Well, what did your mother say?”  And even though I never did anything too bad or dangerous, when my mother told me I was grounded for a weekend I would nonetheless try my father to see if I could pull one over on her and get out of the house, most likely to go over to Susan’s and watch R movies. My father was a hard working man, an arborist who had thrown out his back many times and broken almost every bone on the job. I remember the day he fell out of the cherry bucket thirty feet below, instantly shattering both heels and how he’d suffered more from the boredom that came with sitting inside the house for those three months. Even with the danger that came along with that field of work, my father was the kind of man who preferred possible danger with lungs full of fresh air and dirt under his nails to being chained to a desk, staring at a computer screen.

Screwing the lid on my coffee mug, I grabbed the keys from the end table next to my weathered beige couch that was once white and ran out the door, running down the two flights of stairs from my apartment and into my ancient Toyota Corolla. My office is located downtown, and has first come first served parking, and as a perpetually late employee (even though I personally don’t think 5-7 minutes should qualify as late), I usually had to park in the overflow lot two blocks down. The drive itself was a short one, about 5 minutes, and when I arrived that day I was still on the phone listening to my mothers message. Locking my doors and grabbing my umbrella, I dashed across the street, only avoiding being clipped by a biker by mere inches. “…The real reason I called..” Thank God, I thought. “..was to tell you that she’s found someone. Susan is engaged!” Stunned, I dropped my phone into a giant mud puddle as I was crossing the street and stooped down to retrieve it. It was then when I heard the bus hurtling toward me at full speed. Lurching forward, I escaped certain death by a hair.

Getting home later that day, still shocked by the news of Susan’s engagement and my near death experience, I pulled the car onto my street, immediately spotting my mother’s maroon SUV. Scoffing and cursing my luck, I knew I had to face her sooner or later, and I pulled the car into the drive, slamming my door with perhaps a touch too much force.

“Well, good you’re home. I left you a few voicemails, you know”, she said, her way of saying hi.

“Yes, mom, I know, I’ve just been a bit-”

“Busy, yes I know. Susan wasn’t the only reason I called, but I figured it would be at least a little incentive to call me back.” This time, my mother seemed truly hurt and I vowed to take most of her calls from then on.

“Well, I’m sorry, here, come inside and we’ll talk.” I secretly cursed myself for not washing the breakfast dishes before I had left that morning, knowing that, even if she didn’t comment on them, it would surely come up in a later conversation, probably in front of people. Leading her into my modest living room, she immediately plopped down on the couch, and to my horror, began to cry.

”Your father and I are separating.” The words seem to hang in the air like a toxic cloud, ready to rain down acid on me.

“Wh-why? When? How?” I was at an utter loss for words. My mother was not one for wasting time or mincing words. My parents had always seemed so happy to me, the exception to the rule that marriage equaled unhappiness.

Exhaling a shaky breath, my mother dabbed at her eyes with the ever-present kerchief that she always keeps in her purse. “We’ve been at ends with each other a while now, but I just figured we would grow out of it and things would go back to normal. There is no one reason for a separation, Denise, sometimes its just inevitable at some point that two people grow apart, I just hoped that we’d find our way back to each other, back to the way things were when we were happy..” Her words trailed off and I realized she was no longer talking to me, but reminiscing about the good times she had shared over a 35 year marriage with my dad. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes and threatened to spill over, but I wouldn’t let my mother see me upset. Even though it was traumatic for me as an adult to see my parents go through a separation, I tried to put myself in my mother’s shoes and be there for her the best I could. It was the first time in my memory I had thought of my mother as an actual person, and not just my mother, and I felt a surge of a mixture of regret, guilt and love for her at that moment.

“…Just can’t be fixed, believe me, we’ve tried. We even went to counseling, and you know how much your father hates shrinks.”

It was true, my  father was a staunch disbeliever in all thinks therapy- he thought problems between people would best be solved between the people involved, not some therapist who’s only investment in the people were their wallets. “Besides”, he had once reasoned with me, “if they don’t solve your problems right away, they get to keep charging you for sessions.” Things must’ve been worse than I realized.

“Your father has agreed to a separation agreement, but wishes to keep the house. It allows us to keep our benefits intact, and this way I won’t have to go out and look for a job at my age, as your father has agreed to continue to handle our finances,” she continued. I wanted to scream at her to get to the details of the split, but knew no answer would suffice for me, and besides I wanted to allow her to talk freely to me.

“..don’t know what the people at church would say if we divorced, we’d never get over the shame of that and besides, it’s against God’s will.” I realized I had been lost in my own thought and trained my eyes back on my mother’s pained, lined face. Really looking at her, I saw she looked much older than her 59 years, her beautiful face and creamy ivory skin that had always been her source of pride now seemed sallow and wan.

“Ma, when’s the last time you had a really good night’s sleep?” I gently inquired, for even in times of extreme stress she was sensitive to any inquiries about her looks. I remembered the time our evil tabby cat, Stitches had scratched her face when she had tried to pick him up when I was little, and she had called out of work for two days from embarrassment, never leaving the house while it healed.

“I- oh I don’t know, it seems like years in truth. I just feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me, even though I’ve seen this coming a while now. I just have so much to think about now that your father and I are basically going to live separate lives. The only suitable apartment I’ve found doesn’t open up until May, and since it’s not yet April, I will have to find myself a place to stay until then.” Lifting her head up suddenly, she backtracked, “Not that this is the reason I’ve shown up today, I would never impose on you in such a way, I just needed to vent my frustrations on someone, and well, you-”

“Ma, you know you are always welcome here, you’re my mother for God’s sake, what kind of a daughter would I be if I didn’t at least give you the option?” I said incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know, the kind who never answers her mother’s phone calls?” she replied with a wry smile, the first I’d seen since she showed up.

I slid down the length of the couch and wrapped my arms around her, the embrace feeling like the most genuine act of love we had ever allowed ourselves. It seemed to last for an hour with the both of us crying, rocking back and forth and I prayed a quick prayer of thanks for being given such a mother. Through my tears, I apologized for having been so self involved, for not seeing she was going though trauma of her own, for being so distant.

“Seriously, Ma,” I said when we let go of each other, “You can stay here with me in the spare bedroom. This way you can be more comfortable than you would be in a hotel or anything.”

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Mom,” I said, looking her square in the eye, “I would love to have you.”

And I meant it.

                                           ********

Greetings!

First and foremost, thanks for giving a crap and reading! This blog was created to showcase my writing I have amassed throughout the years, beginning with some short stories I wrote while in school. I am a somewhat stream-of-consciousness writer in that whenever inspiration strikes I grab my phone and jot it down. But, alas, with extra time on my hands and a perusal through old documents I figured why not share them; they are of no use to me or anyone else hidden away in my iPhone, so enjoy (hopefully!)

Cheers!

Anna