in his bed

in his house

she asked him once

if he loved her

but she asked like a coward

in the quiet of the night

while he was falling asleep

and in either his delirium

or his negation

he didn’t answer

but remained quietly

with his back against her

and she stayed awake

unable to sleep

seeing if his breathing would change

become slower and deeper

she sat

in his bed

and listened

My eyes were wide open. Never had I seen this machine working. It had sat quietly in the corner of the flamingo-pink living room for ages. I touched the top; it was covered it dust. Unused.

I dusted off the top of the massive music maker to reveal a record. “What’s the album inside?”

“It’s the last one your grandpa must have played.”

{Pause}This wasn’t just a record player. This was a piece of my grandfather. His love. His hands touched this but not since he decided that music wasn’t something he could handle anymore. Music was memories for him. Dancing, parties, family, the reason for music had been taken away from him years ago.

“I have no idea how to work this machine,” I answered, afraid of breaking it. It seemed too fragile for my unfamiliar hands.

“You have to push this trigger and that lifts the needle. Now push the same trigger down, and it puts the needle down on top of the vinyl.”

A sudden burst of dry popping noises, then crackling, then music, big band music. It sounds warm.

Warm like the feeling of being back at their house. It’s scratchy, not perfect in any way, but I like it. I feel like I am here, in their living room, listening to the music. I’m here dancing with my grandfather even though I never had in real life.

“I brought a bunch of albums back from the house. Take a look at them.”

I sat on the couch and listened. Listened. And. Listened. And slowed down. And breathed. And thought. And appreciated the moment, the music. The slow dance of memories.

One step forward. One to the side. Other side. Then back. Repeat.

Grandpa, thanks.

Fix me like a car, because eventually you (or I) will find something wrong with me again.

I’ll be back in the shop for more soon.

Fix me like a dog, because if I reproduce it’s just another animal unwanted in the world.

I can’t imagine having complete sexual responsibility.

Fix me like a road, because I have cracked and cratered foundation.

I want to be smoothed over, blemishes removed. Perfect again.

Fix me because you can.

I’ll pay.

“Question. How can you be in love with someone as completely fucked up as me?” I take a long draw from my one hitter. I picked the lighter stuff so I could be clear enough to do this right. I’m slowly watching his disillusionment that I would stay sober disappear. It’s only weed, but it hurts him still.

“Because you’re not as broken as you pretend to be.”

“You’re naïve to think that I’m broken. You’re naïve again to think I’m pretending. You must think I am a wonderful actress. Who are you suppose to be in this scene? My lover? My psychiatrist? My father? How about the billionaire who pulls to my corner and decides I’ll transform this whore into a high class lady?”

“I’m just Alex. No acting right now. I’m serious. I thought you stopped?”

“I’m not going to be the girl you can magically fix. Alex, I’m past being broken. I’m destroyed. Blown to a million pieces. I’m nothing.”

“Rachael, please, you know you can do better than this. Don’t talk like that.”

“You know why people stop doing drugs? It’s because they have something to lose. Friends, boyfriends, health, money, kids. I’ve never had anything to lose. Only everything to gain from being the clichéd word – numb. Sometimes I’m more than that. I’m Ms. Life of the Party. No, I’m fuckin Dr. Party. I’ve worked hard for my education. Sometimes I feel emotions, but it’s a disconnected feeling. If it’s good shit, I feel hysterical or something close to happy or just plain horny.”

He lets down his guard and says the words that he knows that I don’t want to fuckin hear, ever. “You could lose me.”

“AAAAAANNNNDD…. Scene. You’re ruining my buzz. ”

This was his clue that I was done with him. He was dismissed, but he didn’t leave. Alex, I say to myself, why the fuck didn’t you just leave. So I lay it on thicker, hurting myself. Thinking to myself I will need to find some harder shit when he leaves.

“I think you need to work more on conveying your emotions. I didn’t really feel that you loved me. Where’s the hurt in your eyes? Where’s the passion. Let’s redo the scene again” I take another hit. “Question. How could you ever love someone as completely fucked up as me?”

“You’re a bitch, you know that.”

“Every fucking day of my life, but thanks for reminding me.”

He slams the door and I am left alone, finally. I take another hit and impatiently wait for the numbness to come. It never comes fast enough, especially not from weed.

i was stuck in the studio again. way past deadline

 panicking for some brilliant idea to pop into my head

 nothing happens, so instead i give in to my thoughts about my thoughts

i need to create something nice for a change

 no more black miserable pieces from my childhood

 no more misshapen body parts thrown together

 no more drugs

 no more sex
 

so i continued to stare at the canvas 

 
as always, i imagined the possibilities thrown onto the blank slate

 completely sober, my mind was pranced upon by unicorns

 with showers of cupcakes from the sky

 and beautiful rainbows in the backdrop

 my idea of happiness was fucked up and slightly scary to me

 like something a pedophile would draw to entice children
 

disturbed, i switch to paper and grab one of the millions of charcoal pencils on the floor

 twenty shades of black were always my starting point when i lost the nerve to paint
 

happy

how the hell do i convey happy?

i touch the charcoal to the paper

 stream of consciousness drawing helps sometimes

 i form a black c-shaped curve down the length of the paper

 and the curve turns into a back,

sitting on an invisible floor
 

from here the idea comes

 a curvy woman form appears

 then a child nestled into the warmth of the bigger figure

 the woman is hunched downwards

 protecting.

 enveloping.

 loving.

it was comforting to look at

 i almost felt warm

 almost

until i remembered this wasn’t my happiness