Tagged: love
Walk of Shame
Her elbow as the hinge, her hand lowered the phone to the bed after she finished her morning dose of Dieter. She pushed the sheets off her body, bumping him, and climbed out of the bed.
Pulling her underwear followed by her pants over her hips, she remembered feeling the electricity of his fingers as he took them off only hours ago.
Fully dressed, she closed the door to his house and began her walk. Thinking about the night, she recalled her surprise at his home’s level of décor. At the bar, he was nicely dressed, but so were most of her other conquests. She discovered early on that not many men had the stamina to match the presentation of their home to the presentation of their body. But he did. She liked that.
She recalled that the wine he served her was remarkably smooth. “Then again at 2:00 am, (or was it 3?) what wine wasn’t?” she laughed to herself. They drank it in his wine cellar before he led her upstairs. She remembered thinking that she didn’t need the comfort of a bed. Loving how he was so in control, she willingly followed.
Already 9:00 am on a Sunday, she was sure everyone driving by could guess how she spent her night. After all, her hair was disheveled, she was in heels, and her clothing was not exactly the type women wear for a coffee run. Let them wonder, she thought. They would never guess everything. They would never know her feelings for him. They would never suspect that afterwards she turned his head–always heavier than expected–so the draining blood wouldn’t soil her half of the thousand count sheets as she slept it off.
All Good
Pete couldn’t remember meeting her. He thought that was weird. Then again, a big sister would’ve always been there, wouldn’t she have? I guess he did have some early memories of her. There was the often told bike incident with little Steven. Oh, and for some reason he could remember her displaying shyness whenever it was clear she liked a certain boy. And he’d never forget his favorite memory of their childhood. It was the day he, ahem, stumbled upon a certain diary entry which contained a baggie of gum that she saved after she was given it–handed–directly from the mouth of a crush of hers. (Not having much time for fear of being caught, he only found it because it prevented the book from closing properly).
He was so selfish that he always took credit for initiating his own desire to live with integrity. Today, however, Pete finally took a minute and realized she necessarily would have been a founding influence, even if just subconsciously. She did the ‘right things’ as a child, and not only stayed out of trouble, but was rewarded for it. Rewarded with high grades at school, with being well-liked by everyone who knew her, and with achieving success in her passions. Those were only a few of the things he unwittingly observed growing up with her.
She also never questioned or interfered with his dreams and pursuits.
Their only moments of tension came when he was too evangelical about the need for everyone to be like him. Oh, and the morning when she criticized the smell of the slightly burnt scrambled egg-whites. He was pretty upset at her for that. What could he say? Egg-whites were one of his only meals whose flavor he enjoyed some 60 days into the restrictive pre-contest diet, and she just had to say something, didn’t she? Oh well. On this day he is in no mood to hold grudges–he’s just sayin’.
These days he sees how she raises her family. There is a lot of stress, there is a lot of yelling, there is a lot of frustration. But what her children will remember is that there was a loving mom. Always. And that constancy, Pete and his sister (and their brother for that matter) knew from experience, was priceless. In this moment of contemplation, he realized that her continuing to live with the values she demonstrated as a child should have never surprised him. Either way, for him at least, the story only gets better.
There came a time when he needed help. He needed someone he could rely on no matter what. He needed a partner who wouldn’t judge him and who would hold him accountable. His mind raced through the names of everyone he knew. There was one name with which he couldn’t find fault, one name which he couldn’t dismiss, one name he knew he wouldn’t lie to out of respect, one name he knew would not let him off easy, and one name who would respect him through the journey. There was one name whose unfailing love blinded her to weakness leaving only strength.
That name was Kate. Thank you Kate. And “Happy Birthday!” All Good.
Longing
We used to be so close. Your touch was so soft, so warm. When I needed you, you were always there for me. Sometimes you’d pull away in the middle of the night. Sometimes you’d get all twisted up. Sometimes it seemed like I had to fight to get you back. But return, you always did.
Recently, I feel like the one who has been neglecting you. I’m the one who has been staying away some nights. I’m the one who has chosen a shoddy imitation of you–even though I know better.
When we touched the other night I almost cried. A flood of memories came rushing back. We used to spend hours upon hours together. You don’t know how desperately I want to return to that life. I just can’t right now. There are bills to pay. There are mountains to explore. There is writing to do.
I’m sorry Sheets, but I just don’t think this reduced amount of time together will end anytime soon. I miss you.
A Letter to Racism
Dear Racism,
I’m writing this letter to you to give you notice that I’m coming after you. You’re toxic. Every time I think you’re finally gone, you pop right back up again. Over the years, I’ve learned to cope with your appearances in private capacities, but apparently some inner reservoir of boldness has caused you to gain an increasing amount of state sponsorship.
Do you even know what I’m referring to? No? Two weeks ago, we were required to read Paul Kivel’s The Culture of Power at work. How in the hell did you convince a public school district in 2013 that you deserve an audience?
Hiding between the lines of that article, you entered the room to remind us of some challenges that lay ahead. As it turned out, no amount of wishful thinking on my part would hide the fact that you were just getting started. Once you focused our attention on our differences, you became the predominant theme of the day.
Let me me clear: I have always despised you. In the past, however, I thought if I ignored you that you would go away. That day, you showed me the error of my ways. I now know that my choice to not give you the attention you so desperately desired caused you to misunderstand me. You misunderstood my thoughts about being in the “culture of power.” Allow me to state them plainly: I know that I should be in the “culture of power.” Two of your further attempts to infect me that day illustrate your weakness and will help demonstrate how I know that I’m better than you.
First, you said, “You’re going to be dealing with kids whose parents taught them to never trust white people.” My father never–not ever–taught me such a thing. On the “Things to Teach Children” continuum “Never Trust (fill in the culture) People” is close-minded and weak. Ever read Thucydides? Heard of the US Civil War? Cultures who think like you die out.
Second, you said, “To motivate them, I say to my students, ‘Are you telling me you always want a white president?'” Never have I, nor anyone else I know in the “culture of power,” ever considered skin tone when voting. A worthy candidate is difficult enough to find as it is. What possible good could come from adding clearly irrelevant, meaningless criteria?
I guess the mistake is probably mine. For some reason I projected that because I wanted you to die, you also wanted you to die. Now that I’ve had the time to think about it for a second, I realize that that would be suicide. And not many things willingly commit suicide. But die you must. So no more will I idly ignore you. Beginning now, I’m going on the offensive. I’m coming to kill you. My weapon is constant, consistent correction.
If you want to survive, grow eyes in the back of your head. Avoid public places. If you care for your friends, avoid them. Don’t stay in any one place too long. Get comfortable wearing a different size shoe. I really hope you think I’m joking. I’m begging you to test my resolve. Do it.
Your sworn enemy,
Love
A Letter To My Friend (That I Hope To Write)
To My Friend,
We’ve known each other for some time now. We’ve seen how we each live, how we each make decisions, how we each handle problems. More than most, you’ve seen my relationships with women unfold.
I’m writing to you now because a new day has dawned. People like us, we’re different. Our brains maintain a tighter grip on information than most. We have been given all the tools necessary to accomplish great things in this life, you and I. That’s just a fact. We also know that leading a family must be one of those things. It is a timeless tradition that must be honored by all men aspiring to greatness. There is no escaping this feeling. We’re surrounded by weak men holding their hands out, expecting help. They’ve got it wrong. We’re the ones who give help, not receive help.
The point is, we made it this far, and owe it to everyone, literally everyone, to use the rest of our time to be an example.
Some maladjusted part within us wants us to believe that if a woman would have us, then she could be the one. First hand experience however, tells us that nothing could be further from the truth. First hand experience also tells us that that’s not enough. That’s why I’m writing this letter. We need to help each other stay focused on the goal. Alone, the future is bleak. Together, we can lead a revival.
Only because of you am I confident to share the news. You reminded me of something I once knew; something that over the last several years I repressed, hid, denied, and pretended to forget. You reminded me that I, too, believe ideal women exist. I, too, believe in women of such high quality that they seem unearthly. I’m talking about a quality so rare that it is only whispered about. I believe in ideal women who possess so much more than the ability to attract. My friend, we’ve always hoped we were right. Now I am certain we were, because I found mine. I hope this letter brings you good fortune, and motivates you to stay the course.
Your Friend,
A Mugwump
Captain’s Log 