Posts Tagged Relationships
I worked on this piece in a Creative Writing course a few semester’s ago and I have decided to go ahead and let it out into the world.
For your reading pleasure. . .
For 19 of her 22 years of life, her only constant was the shade of a mango tree on the side of her abuela’s home in South Florida. In a place where residential developments were plastering over seas of green grass and gravel roads were becoming four lane highways, the shade from that tree provided her with more than relief from a sun that poured rays of blinding light and suffocating heat.
The shade from the mango tree was her everything. She would lie on the plush green bed of grass and stare up at the long leaves that masked the sun and the mangoes that would fall to the ground when they were oto ripe to han on to the tree any longer and escape.
So this is how it ends
This is where it all goes down
This is what “I don’t love you” feels like
It ain’t the middle of the night
And it ain’t even raining outside
It ain’t exactly what I had in mind
At a red light in the sunshine
On a Sunday
Nothin’ to say
Don’t even try
It’s been exactly – yes, even down to the minute – five days since everything happened. I haven’t had much time to just sit down and think about what’s happened. Well, I have thought about it, but not on my own. I have been reminded about our relationship at red lights, while getting into my car, while watching a YouTube video about a father-daughter duo, and even at what was once my haven – the baseball stadium.
But want to know the worst part?
Feelings change. Memories don’t.
June 2010 – I open the door and she turns from her brother to look at me. At first her eyes are wide because who would enter her home without even knocking? Not even my Bella (mom) would do that. Then her eyes softened. . .even smiled. . .when she saw me. I only stopped by to make sure she knew which medicine she was suppose to take since my Tia had left the day before. I check the bottle in her hand and tell her I’ll get going. . .then she opens her arms for the first time without me initiating it. . .and hugs me.
January 2006 – I’m sitting on the ground next to the lockers looking out at the courtyard as rain pours before a doubleheader varsity soccer game at my high school. Everyone always goes to buy food from good ol’ McDonald’s or BK before games. The girls are on the other side of the courtyard and I just don’t feel like taking the long walk to the other side. He comes walking up and stoops down to my level. We talk about the rain. We talk about how I’m quiet. We talk about who is better at soccer. He gets up to leave so that he can go grab food before the game. I watch him walk away with that light as air pace.
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It is 4 am on Valentine’s Day and I am faced with the ending credits of “P.S. I Love You” and a silver bowl smeared with chocolate with a few kernels of popcorn at the bottom. The Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino carton is empty and sitting in my sink. I am depressed about Valentine’s Day. I never thought it was going to happen. Right after Christmas my favorite holiday is Valentine’s Day. I am addicted to the insane amount of red and pink at every store I walk into. . .even the gas station with its little display of an 8-count box in the shape of heart with chocolate. I love the absolutely ridiculous balloons with frogs declaring their love in big, bright letters. I enjoy the romantic movie marathons on every channel with the women between 18-40 demographic. . .except for today.