Middle bits

I was 19 the summer I came home to get married. I moved into a corner of my parent's basement. My fiance was not allowed to sleep with me. I huddled in my cave listening to the music of 1973 and feeling overwhelmed. "killing me softly with his song" "the morning after" "could it be I'm falling in love""sing" The light in the room as a high window well through which I could see nothing.

All of the talents I'd shown in school were worthless now. I was back home, a nobody, waiting to get married to another nobody for no good reason. Getting married seemed like my only path to freedom.

I cried a lot that summer. I created no art. No friends came to comfort me. Loneliness led me to the Pizza Hut where I applied for a waitress job. No experience, 19 years old, you took pity on me and gave me a chance. And I bloomed.

I spilled as much beer as I carried. The fishbowls they called mugs were top heavy and awkward. But somehow I charmed the patrons into finding it funny when they got drenched. I would make myself green olive pizzas and chat with the other waitresses. At the Pizza Hut I laughed all day. You were a  wonderful boss. At 27 you seemed so sophisticated and I found your long brown hair and hazel eyes sexy. One night after closing you asked me to stay.

You asked me why I was getting married. It had gotten to the point where the wedding was just a few weeks away. I felt there was no stopping it now. I was trapped, besides, "no one but my fiance would want me." You took my face in his hands and pulled me you "I would want you. I do want you. Don't you know how beautiful you are? A million guys would be chasing after you, while settle for this one?"

I crumpled into your arms and cried. You dried my tears on the back of your hand and kissed me. You was smiling as I left. I was shaking. I wanted to jump ship and be with you. A man's attention coupled with attraction overpowered my other senses. I wanted that. I wanted it bad.

Laying in the dark of my basement space, reason took over. To be drawn to you was cheating. The possibility it would become a relationship, slim. I could not imagine giving up a relationship without having another for support. I dreamed about you for years to relive that feeling of being desired.

Enough should be enough

Senior year- girls are sprouting diamonds. Others have promise rings or boy's class rings wound in red thread (orange and black on game days). You and I are a couple, but my social standing has slipped under the radar. Your shiny blue sports car was not enough for me to be seen as one of the popular. It was now overshadowed by strategically positioned PDAs - the girl's left hand draped "just so" to catch everyone's eyes on the way to next class. I wanted Mr.Now become Mr. Future. --- Envy

My diamond was a gift from Grandma Dee Dee. It came to me at 7 as part of some unexplained tradition and it was my secret treasure. I'd been told it was a lantern cut- old style- used in the mines. I marched myself to the (only) jeweler in town. Sliding the ring across the table I saw a white gold wedding set. I ponied up all the money I had for that set, then told you I wanted you to give it to me for Christmas. Selling point, "it did not cost you anything!" --- Compulsion

Your mother found the ring. So instead, your gift to me a tiny silver ring with a fake diamond to go on my charm bracelet. I had picked it out. I insisted you  find me a promise ring. You bought me a souvenir ring from Colorado Springs - floral leaves of colored flexible gold. Your selling point, "when you hold it to the light the colored gold looks like a diamond!" Where the ring touched my skin, it turned black. By the time I got my diamond engagement ring, High School was over. There were no more strategic positions for PDA to flash my ring.  --- Kharma

Gunnison was an "ok" college and I knew you could get in. My grades could have gotten me in anywhere. You traded your sports car for a VW Camper. We rode the numerous mountain passes from home to school in sleeping bags, the bus was seldom able to run faster than 40mph. I should remember good times, laughing, deep conversions, shared interests - but I don't. I can't see past the memories of how I felt at the time. ---Trapped.

I found no scholastic challenge in Gunnison, and I could not face another attempt at sex in the back of the freezing VW van. Second quarter I had us transferred to Fort Collins, where you and your friends could rent an apartment. I barely slept in my dorm and spend no time connection with my roommates.--- Isolated.

Summer came and I picked the church, music, cake, dress, everything. We had no friends in attendance, only family and older members of the church. We could not toast with Champagne as we were 19 and 20. I had pushed you into this - it was obvious by the tears that were streaming down your face as we walked back down the isle. --- Confusion

We drove off with encouragement and cans dragging but neither of us was smiling. When we got to our first motel - you dashed into the bathroom and took a shower while I called "home'" collect from Deborah Crimond. My father told the operator he did not know a Deborah Crimond. ---Rejected.

I'd been playing, gathering things that I thought would make me feel grownup and in control. I had wanted it all. My father's voice denouncing my prior life set something in motion I could stop. It seemed there would never be enough of anything to fill the void inside me. ---Depression

The lucky ones

"Just take a couple, don't be greedy."

Just reaching into a Trick 0r Treat candy bowl was sensory overload. Of course I wanted more than a couple pieces. Later I would flop belly down on my bed , spreading the contents of my bag and sort into piles left to right from amazing to icky.

The next school day would be a brag-fest of who got what and how much. Someone always seemed to be more fortunate - with a full size candy bar or a caramel apple. Someone always got coins that sank to bottom of the bag, jingling as they dashed from porch light to porch light. Someone got a new printed pencil while I was stuck with yellow #2 with the the dusty pink eraser chewed to soggy bits. Someone's costume so amazing that adults gave them an extra portion, snapped a photo for the local paper, called them inside their home to do a runway walk, turn, pose before being sent back into the chilly night, a grin fogging up the inside of their plastic mask. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky.


"Draw a picture of what you'll grow up to be."

I added glitter to the purple evening gown, leaving the mic stand shiny and dark. I wished I could include the sound of the big band just out of the spot light. I wished I could just be that singer now. One day I would beautiful. One day I would be onstage and as my voice filled the room everyone would be looking at me. I would be famous.

My drawing taped to the wall with the astronauts, the doctors, the teachers, the farmers, the mommys -glitter screaming to be noticed, to be recognized as the best future. It would take luck to be famous. I was claiming all the luck in the room.


"You still get to be onstage."

9 of us were cast as the children of the King of Siam. Daughter #1 got to sing by herself. Her costume was glittery and silky while 8 of us shuffled across the stage in sticky nylon pajamas.Black eye liner implied our oriental heritage. Daughter #1 got lipstick, face powder, rouge. The rest of us of were told not to "draw focus."

She lived in the biggest, newest house in town. She'd had voice lessons. She had her hair professionally styled and a new school wardrobe every year. She was the first to wear (or need) a bra. Our 6 grade class was in love with her. In a cow town of 5000 she was the shiniest. Everyone one said she would be famous one day. There was no daughter #2, just 8 other daughters and sons, singing and moving as one, no voice to be heard above the others.

She moved. By 9th grade, I got all the leads in every musical. I begged for voice lessons and perms. I runway walked, turned, posed. My photo frequented the newspapers. I won swim meets and art shows. I played guitar and wrote songs. I was the shiniest. Everyone said I would be famous one day.


"Did you see the new guy's car?"

The high school parking lot was filled with junkers. Kids drove whatever was not rusting in a field or no longer in use by their parents. His car looked like a bright blue ornament on a long dead Christmas tree. Between his roaring sports car, his long blond hair, blue eyes and shiny "newness"- he was instantly pick of the litter. The cheerleaders claimed him first, having been asked to show him around the school. Long smooth legs beneath short pleated wool skirts, they moved like a pack but one of them was always homecoming queen. Their boyfriends were the football, baseball, basketball stars. Their Colgate smiles and silky hair the envy of the 10th through 12th grades.

I wanted him to want me so I chased him till he caught me. On his arm I was Lucky. I was #1 even through I was his second girlfriend. His first a cheerleader from his old school, a girl with mythical huge breasts who he claimed he had had sex with.

I sent away for the Mark Eden Breast Developer.