Life in 18
Need caffiene.
The world is slowing
but rushing to catch up with itself.
I finished it all,
all but the tie
and the skirt.
All well.
So much for benevolence,
but I did more than my part...
I think.
I'll try to do better, though
with the few supplies
stashed away in my locker,
the one sweater crumpled away
for months,
languishing in the top of the tall, thin,
supermodel
locker.
Let me know when I awake;
I'll want to talk to myself,
inform me of where I am,
what I should be doing,
and what I should have done.
Let me know when I awake;
I'll want to tell me to get to work,
to focus on something for a change,
something with debatable
interest and importance
but that which they've said
holds the key
to all the future
happiness and livelihood.
But I already have
joy and life
if only I could
slow this life
enough to appreciate it.
I know it's there
it's available
and I need to reach it
and I need to reach it soon,
for the good of all mankind,
or at least the parts of it
who know me
and for the good of me;
my best interest is letting go,
diving in,
surrendering completely,
sacrificing my hollow autonomy
to the Sovereign One,
the only Sovereign One
who can truely exist
without another's breath.
How lonely.
I'm glad I don't have to.
I can't.
I'd suffocate in every aspect.
Life without love
without trees, without hope, without beauty.
Without innocence, even naivete.
Cold.
But that's not the way it is.
Even with the failures
the uncertainties
the pain and the stress,
even with others' shortcomings.
That's the beauty of it.
You compensate for them,
and they'll compensate for you,
'cause that's the way we're designed:
not always perfect on our own
but perfect together,
protecting,
trusting,
hoping,
persevering.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
It was either tell half my family I didn't love them or do this.
God, how I wish that was the first sentence in some gripping fiction story and not a reflection of my life. How much easier that would have been. How much pain and struggling and indecision would've been avoided. How much harder it would've been to look forward to college. How many tears would have been averted.
I couldn't tell anyone I didn't love them. It would have been a lie. It would have torn me apart. It does to just think about it now, now that it's all supposedly over and done with. But it's not. It's all coming back, harder this time, just because the government says I can deal with it. What if I can't? What if I'm going to fall apart in the upcoming months, because I'm not as strong as I'm supposed to be? What if I have to learn slowly and have all my emotion ground away by the very people I love and who love me?
Parents are so impossible sometimes, especially when they're the closest friends you have. I almost wish I were a normal kid and that their opinions didn't matter so much to me. I wish I didn't always believe them, only to be torn apart when their opinions conflict.
Sheesh, I never thought it affected me so much. I never knew how much pain and hurt I'd been hiding behind those sheafs of hand-written fiction. No wonder the world accepts me. I can hide anything by convincing myself it doens't hurt. That it could be worse and I'd still be brave enough to face it with sarcasm and a light attitude. Or an attitude at all. Anything but the indifference that has sheltered me for so long. I can live with anything, can't I? Anything but that. Even this, so long as it's not that. So long as I don't have to tell them I don't love them anymore.
But every time they mention it, every time they suggest to each other that I should stay with them, it brings me back to that courthouse. To that question. What do you want to do? Who do you want to stay with? Who do you prefer?
All I said was that I look forward to a time when I won't have to choose. When it will be me on my own, making my own choices among my own friends, without any binding committments to those who've given so much to me. To those I can't stand to hurt. A time when it will be me and my ordained schedule and my committment to God and my studies. They always rebut with something that ends up meaning, "It won't be that nice." But they're speaking from their own experience. Their parents were never divorced before they graduated, were they? They never felt that tension. "Who do you prefer?" "What do you think?" "We missed you at Thanksgiving" and "We wish you were here for Christmas." Even the semi-pleasant "We get to have you for two holidays this year!" I know they mean well, but they don't know what it's like, and whenever I mean to explain, whenever I start to answer, as always, the words never come out right. I never say all I thought or communicate how I feel. Because everything they hear from my mouth filters through their experience, their perspective. They don't understand how much I love both of them, and that just muddles things more.
I should start breathing regularly again. My lips are going numb, as are my cheeks. But I have to say this now. I have maybe twenty mintues, and after that, who knows? I'll have to put on my strong face so when I go to youth group like a promised I would, they won't stare at me and wonder why I'm so upset. I don't want them to wonder. I don't want their sympathy until they've heard the whole story, and I won't say it in front of the whole group. They're good people, but I don't trust them that far. I don't trust many people that far to be able to let them listen to me in person. Usually my parents are among them, but not on this.
God, why have you taken all my best friends from me? Why do I have to feel like I'm going through this alone? Who is this possibly going to benefit? Can this feeling of being mentally drawn and quartered possibly teach me something that will benefit anyone? I suppose I can face anything else with superficial emotions because of this. The superficial emotions that have kept me safe so far but that will probably ultimately cut me off from people. Maybe it will save me from experiencing something they referred to in Stargate: "If you had one fault, it was because you cared so much that it tore you apart when you couldn't help." If it weren't for this, maybe that'd be true for me. But is that a good thing? Is it a good thing to keep everything at an arm's distance so you don't remember what it was like--the bad times or the good? Is it a good thing not to feel someone else's emotions so deeply you have to do something? Of course, I can hardly do anything for myself.
The last time I talked about this was about four years ago. So much has changed this then. I thought I had changed since then. I suppose not. It was as as superficial as my emotions except for my connection with God. God, I know you have a plan for me. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. I wish I didn't have to sit at that table and look at her face. She looked distraught, and I don't want her to feel like that. I know it's not her fault, but she doesn't always help.
This isn't my fault. I didn't really chose this. My only choice between this or telling one of them I didn't love them, and I couldn't do that.
God, how I wish that was the first sentence in some gripping fiction story and not a reflection of my life. How much easier that would have been. How much pain and struggling and indecision would've been avoided. How much harder it would've been to look forward to college. How many tears would have been averted.
I couldn't tell anyone I didn't love them. It would have been a lie. It would have torn me apart. It does to just think about it now, now that it's all supposedly over and done with. But it's not. It's all coming back, harder this time, just because the government says I can deal with it. What if I can't? What if I'm going to fall apart in the upcoming months, because I'm not as strong as I'm supposed to be? What if I have to learn slowly and have all my emotion ground away by the very people I love and who love me?
Parents are so impossible sometimes, especially when they're the closest friends you have. I almost wish I were a normal kid and that their opinions didn't matter so much to me. I wish I didn't always believe them, only to be torn apart when their opinions conflict.
Sheesh, I never thought it affected me so much. I never knew how much pain and hurt I'd been hiding behind those sheafs of hand-written fiction. No wonder the world accepts me. I can hide anything by convincing myself it doens't hurt. That it could be worse and I'd still be brave enough to face it with sarcasm and a light attitude. Or an attitude at all. Anything but the indifference that has sheltered me for so long. I can live with anything, can't I? Anything but that. Even this, so long as it's not that. So long as I don't have to tell them I don't love them anymore.
But every time they mention it, every time they suggest to each other that I should stay with them, it brings me back to that courthouse. To that question. What do you want to do? Who do you want to stay with? Who do you prefer?
All I said was that I look forward to a time when I won't have to choose. When it will be me on my own, making my own choices among my own friends, without any binding committments to those who've given so much to me. To those I can't stand to hurt. A time when it will be me and my ordained schedule and my committment to God and my studies. They always rebut with something that ends up meaning, "It won't be that nice." But they're speaking from their own experience. Their parents were never divorced before they graduated, were they? They never felt that tension. "Who do you prefer?" "What do you think?" "We missed you at Thanksgiving" and "We wish you were here for Christmas." Even the semi-pleasant "We get to have you for two holidays this year!" I know they mean well, but they don't know what it's like, and whenever I mean to explain, whenever I start to answer, as always, the words never come out right. I never say all I thought or communicate how I feel. Because everything they hear from my mouth filters through their experience, their perspective. They don't understand how much I love both of them, and that just muddles things more.
I should start breathing regularly again. My lips are going numb, as are my cheeks. But I have to say this now. I have maybe twenty mintues, and after that, who knows? I'll have to put on my strong face so when I go to youth group like a promised I would, they won't stare at me and wonder why I'm so upset. I don't want them to wonder. I don't want their sympathy until they've heard the whole story, and I won't say it in front of the whole group. They're good people, but I don't trust them that far. I don't trust many people that far to be able to let them listen to me in person. Usually my parents are among them, but not on this.
God, why have you taken all my best friends from me? Why do I have to feel like I'm going through this alone? Who is this possibly going to benefit? Can this feeling of being mentally drawn and quartered possibly teach me something that will benefit anyone? I suppose I can face anything else with superficial emotions because of this. The superficial emotions that have kept me safe so far but that will probably ultimately cut me off from people. Maybe it will save me from experiencing something they referred to in Stargate: "If you had one fault, it was because you cared so much that it tore you apart when you couldn't help." If it weren't for this, maybe that'd be true for me. But is that a good thing? Is it a good thing to keep everything at an arm's distance so you don't remember what it was like--the bad times or the good? Is it a good thing not to feel someone else's emotions so deeply you have to do something? Of course, I can hardly do anything for myself.
The last time I talked about this was about four years ago. So much has changed this then. I thought I had changed since then. I suppose not. It was as as superficial as my emotions except for my connection with God. God, I know you have a plan for me. I just wish it didn't hurt so much. I wish I didn't have to sit at that table and look at her face. She looked distraught, and I don't want her to feel like that. I know it's not her fault, but she doesn't always help.
This isn't my fault. I didn't really chose this. My only choice between this or telling one of them I didn't love them, and I couldn't do that.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Plot dragon:
Michelle awoke at the soft scuff of her bedroom door being opened as quietly as possible. Struck with fear with her mind still dulled with the remnants of sleep, she stared into the darkness, trying to discern anything from the swirls of shadows in her room. Unable to stand it any longer, she reached out to turn on a nearby night light. As soon as she moved, a hand clasped over her mouth and a weight settled beside her on the full bed, pinning down one of her arms. Another hand held her outstretched arm in place.
As she lay there, stunned with fear, a man's voice whispered into the stillness of her room. "It's me, Chris, okay? I'll let go if you'll be quiet."
Tears leaked down her face, landing in her hair. She didn't know any Chrises that might sneak into her room; his reassurance meant nothing to her, but she nodded anyway.
Immediately, his hands withdrew from her skin, and he shifted over to the edge of the bed. "Sorry about that," he commented, still whispering, "but I didn't want you to wake them."
Hardly listening, she flicked on the night light and waited for a burst of retribution. When it didn't come, she looked back at him. He was fairly muscular; his broad shoulders sprouted thick arms that peeked out from beneath his short sleeves, but he would definately have lost an arm wrestling match against Christopher Judge or Michael Shanks. His face was somewhat round with a thin goatee lounging beneath his widely-grinning lips. He looked genuinely happy as he stared at her, and nothing about him appeared predatory or opportunistic.
As the seconds passed by, his smile faded. "You don't remember me, do you?"
"No," she whispered quietly as tears streaked down her face again. The shock had killed her normal impishness.
Sighing, he got up and closed the door, checking to make sure no one else had awoken. Then he sat on the computer chair across from her bed. "I'll explain while you get what you need."
She sat up and hugged her knees, not moving to obey him. "For what?"
"For breaking out of here," he snapped, his voice straining to keep low. He calmed himself. "Look, have you ever felt like you don't belong here?"
"No."
"What?"
"This is my house. This is my room. This is where my family lives or part of it. Of course I belong here."
Chris rubbed his face with a hand. "Fine. I get it. This is where your memories are. We thought that might happen."
"What?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Vinnet, I'm your borther. I know you don't--"
"You've got the wrong house. My name's Michelle." But the name he called her sounded familiar; she had used it for one of the characters in her stories.
He leaned out of the chair and knelt by her bed, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "I know that's what everyone calls you, but I know who you are. Doesn't that name sound right?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't fit. It can't hold everything of who I am."
Smiling again, he hugged her. "I knew it was you! You may not remember it all, but you still have your gifts."
She pulled back. "I don't know you. I'm not leaving with you in the middle of the night just because you say you know me."
"Well..." He stood up again. "Can we catch up with each other until it's not the middle of the night?"
"And have Dad wake up to find you inside?"
"So you'll come now?"
"No. I'm waiting to talk to my dad."
He nodded to the clock in the corner. "You're eighteen now. You can do whatever you want."
"And don't you forget it."
Frowning, he let his voice get louder. "Are you the girl I've been looking for or not? Are you the rebel at school who used a plastic toy hammer to post ninety-five complaints on the principal's door? Are you the one who totally imagined what it would be like to be part alien and wrote about it for over 150,000 words? Are you her or not?"
"I did that," she admitted, "but I"m also the girl who cries whenever she's in trouble, because it doesn't happen often. I don't think I'm wyou think I am."
"And I don't think you're who you think you are, either." He stared down at her. "We're twins, Vinnet. I was born two hours before you, and our mother allowed them to take me to be trained to use all the gifts they identified in our DNA. She game them her consent to take you, too, but your father noticed when they switched you. He didn't know about me. You were supposed to come with me to Antarctica.
"Ever since I was reminded about you, I've been spending all my spare time trying to find you. It's taken me ten years of hard work to get here."
"And you expected me to remember you?" Michelle stammored. "How could I?"
"I do. I remember from that night on. When do your memories start?"
"When I was three, but I tend not to remember much at all."
He sighed, exasperated or disgusted. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you felt alone. I'm sorry I missed intimidating all the boys who wanted to date you--"
"All two?" She shook her head. "I don't believe you, but you seem sincere. I'll meet you on the balcony of the food court at the RP Mall at eleven, okay? We can talk there if you know where that is."
He frowned but nodded. "I don't suppose you can give me a ride?"
"You got here from where, Antarctica? You don't need a ride to get to a place half an hour away."
"Right." He drifted back to the door. "Please don't mention this to our father."
"I'm eighteen; I can do what I want," she repeated, "but I wasn't planning to."
***
"What?" the passenger exclaimed, turning to her friend in the driver's seat. The short, friendly girl wore a blue hoddie, jeans, and green tennis shoes and usually had a smile on as well, but at the moment, she was just too worried.
Michelle nodded. "Yeah. He woke me up, told me to pack some stuff, and then explained that he's my long-lost twin brother."
"Why didn't he just knock on the door? I'm sure you dad would've liked to see him."
"He said my dad didn't know aobut him." She shifted and gave the old Protegee some gas as the light at the largest intersection in town turned green.
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know. So he explained all that supposedlly happened when we were born and how I was supposed to be swtiched at birth but EDad noticed and thwarted that plan. Oh, and he says my name's Vinnet, too."
"As in the Tok'ra?" Jean wondered incredulously, having heard more than she cared about the story.
Michelle nodded. "Yup. Then I convinced him we should talk at the mall, but I didn't want to go alone."
"This is a bad idea."
***
Chris had been pacing the balcony for half an hour; the mall employees had begun to stare, and he suspected that one of the security officers would come speak to him soon. He didn't care. He was too worried about his sister. The longer he spent with her, the more he would be able to sense her, but right now, he only had a faint idea of her presence, unlike the strong, almost telepathic link he felt with Merritt.
Finally, he looked up to see his sister in a camoflague skirt and almost martial outfit walking with a shorter woman in a blue hoddie. His twin made eye contact, but they diverted to the Chick-Fil-A line before heading his way. When they both had drinks, they sat at one of the half booth tables.
He sat in a chair across from them with a nervous smile. He sensed Vinnet's presence now; she was nervous, too, but not as much as he. "Good morning," he greeted.
Vinnet returned the greeting, but the other girl glared at him.
***
"This is my friend Jean," Michelle continued.
Chris turned his smile to her. "Nice to meet you."
"You know," Jean began, her tone proving her lack of patience with him, "you should have more decency than to break into her room in the middle of the night and tell her to leave everything."
"Jean," Michelle cautioned, "just leave it."
"No!" She glared at him. "I want to know what you were thinking!"
He slouched in his chair. "I didn't know how they treated her. I just wanted her to come with me, where she belongs."
"She belongs here, with her friends!" Jean exclaimed. "Now, you'd better have a really good explanation for why you want her to leave behind her family, friends, and foundation to go with some guy she's never heard of before."
He held his face in his hands. "Because if we wait much longer, you're not going to be able to learn all the techniques you would have learned at the academy where I grew up. I don't want to see all my sister's potential wasted becuase I didn't do anything."
Michelle awoke at the soft scuff of her bedroom door being opened as quietly as possible. Struck with fear with her mind still dulled with the remnants of sleep, she stared into the darkness, trying to discern anything from the swirls of shadows in her room. Unable to stand it any longer, she reached out to turn on a nearby night light. As soon as she moved, a hand clasped over her mouth and a weight settled beside her on the full bed, pinning down one of her arms. Another hand held her outstretched arm in place.
As she lay there, stunned with fear, a man's voice whispered into the stillness of her room. "It's me, Chris, okay? I'll let go if you'll be quiet."
Tears leaked down her face, landing in her hair. She didn't know any Chrises that might sneak into her room; his reassurance meant nothing to her, but she nodded anyway.
Immediately, his hands withdrew from her skin, and he shifted over to the edge of the bed. "Sorry about that," he commented, still whispering, "but I didn't want you to wake them."
Hardly listening, she flicked on the night light and waited for a burst of retribution. When it didn't come, she looked back at him. He was fairly muscular; his broad shoulders sprouted thick arms that peeked out from beneath his short sleeves, but he would definately have lost an arm wrestling match against Christopher Judge or Michael Shanks. His face was somewhat round with a thin goatee lounging beneath his widely-grinning lips. He looked genuinely happy as he stared at her, and nothing about him appeared predatory or opportunistic.
As the seconds passed by, his smile faded. "You don't remember me, do you?"
"No," she whispered quietly as tears streaked down her face again. The shock had killed her normal impishness.
Sighing, he got up and closed the door, checking to make sure no one else had awoken. Then he sat on the computer chair across from her bed. "I'll explain while you get what you need."
She sat up and hugged her knees, not moving to obey him. "For what?"
"For breaking out of here," he snapped, his voice straining to keep low. He calmed himself. "Look, have you ever felt like you don't belong here?"
"No."
"What?"
"This is my house. This is my room. This is where my family lives or part of it. Of course I belong here."
Chris rubbed his face with a hand. "Fine. I get it. This is where your memories are. We thought that might happen."
"What?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Vinnet, I'm your borther. I know you don't--"
"You've got the wrong house. My name's Michelle." But the name he called her sounded familiar; she had used it for one of the characters in her stories.
He leaned out of the chair and knelt by her bed, taking her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "I know that's what everyone calls you, but I know who you are. Doesn't that name sound right?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't fit. It can't hold everything of who I am."
Smiling again, he hugged her. "I knew it was you! You may not remember it all, but you still have your gifts."
She pulled back. "I don't know you. I'm not leaving with you in the middle of the night just because you say you know me."
"Well..." He stood up again. "Can we catch up with each other until it's not the middle of the night?"
"And have Dad wake up to find you inside?"
"So you'll come now?"
"No. I'm waiting to talk to my dad."
He nodded to the clock in the corner. "You're eighteen now. You can do whatever you want."
"And don't you forget it."
Frowning, he let his voice get louder. "Are you the girl I've been looking for or not? Are you the rebel at school who used a plastic toy hammer to post ninety-five complaints on the principal's door? Are you the one who totally imagined what it would be like to be part alien and wrote about it for over 150,000 words? Are you her or not?"
"I did that," she admitted, "but I"m also the girl who cries whenever she's in trouble, because it doesn't happen often. I don't think I'm wyou think I am."
"And I don't think you're who you think you are, either." He stared down at her. "We're twins, Vinnet. I was born two hours before you, and our mother allowed them to take me to be trained to use all the gifts they identified in our DNA. She game them her consent to take you, too, but your father noticed when they switched you. He didn't know about me. You were supposed to come with me to Antarctica.
"Ever since I was reminded about you, I've been spending all my spare time trying to find you. It's taken me ten years of hard work to get here."
"And you expected me to remember you?" Michelle stammored. "How could I?"
"I do. I remember from that night on. When do your memories start?"
"When I was three, but I tend not to remember much at all."
He sighed, exasperated or disgusted. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you felt alone. I'm sorry I missed intimidating all the boys who wanted to date you--"
"All two?" She shook her head. "I don't believe you, but you seem sincere. I'll meet you on the balcony of the food court at the RP Mall at eleven, okay? We can talk there if you know where that is."
He frowned but nodded. "I don't suppose you can give me a ride?"
"You got here from where, Antarctica? You don't need a ride to get to a place half an hour away."
"Right." He drifted back to the door. "Please don't mention this to our father."
"I'm eighteen; I can do what I want," she repeated, "but I wasn't planning to."
***
"What?" the passenger exclaimed, turning to her friend in the driver's seat. The short, friendly girl wore a blue hoddie, jeans, and green tennis shoes and usually had a smile on as well, but at the moment, she was just too worried.
Michelle nodded. "Yeah. He woke me up, told me to pack some stuff, and then explained that he's my long-lost twin brother."
"Why didn't he just knock on the door? I'm sure you dad would've liked to see him."
"He said my dad didn't know aobut him." She shifted and gave the old Protegee some gas as the light at the largest intersection in town turned green.
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know. So he explained all that supposedlly happened when we were born and how I was supposed to be swtiched at birth but EDad noticed and thwarted that plan. Oh, and he says my name's Vinnet, too."
"As in the Tok'ra?" Jean wondered incredulously, having heard more than she cared about the story.
Michelle nodded. "Yup. Then I convinced him we should talk at the mall, but I didn't want to go alone."
"This is a bad idea."
***
Chris had been pacing the balcony for half an hour; the mall employees had begun to stare, and he suspected that one of the security officers would come speak to him soon. He didn't care. He was too worried about his sister. The longer he spent with her, the more he would be able to sense her, but right now, he only had a faint idea of her presence, unlike the strong, almost telepathic link he felt with Merritt.
Finally, he looked up to see his sister in a camoflague skirt and almost martial outfit walking with a shorter woman in a blue hoddie. His twin made eye contact, but they diverted to the Chick-Fil-A line before heading his way. When they both had drinks, they sat at one of the half booth tables.
He sat in a chair across from them with a nervous smile. He sensed Vinnet's presence now; she was nervous, too, but not as much as he. "Good morning," he greeted.
Vinnet returned the greeting, but the other girl glared at him.
***
"This is my friend Jean," Michelle continued.
Chris turned his smile to her. "Nice to meet you."
"You know," Jean began, her tone proving her lack of patience with him, "you should have more decency than to break into her room in the middle of the night and tell her to leave everything."
"Jean," Michelle cautioned, "just leave it."
"No!" She glared at him. "I want to know what you were thinking!"
He slouched in his chair. "I didn't know how they treated her. I just wanted her to come with me, where she belongs."
"She belongs here, with her friends!" Jean exclaimed. "Now, you'd better have a really good explanation for why you want her to leave behind her family, friends, and foundation to go with some guy she's never heard of before."
He held his face in his hands. "Because if we wait much longer, you're not going to be able to learn all the techniques you would have learned at the academy where I grew up. I don't want to see all my sister's potential wasted becuase I didn't do anything."
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