What I couldn't say.

I still can't write

Someone in my real life died.

I've been wandering the darkness.

Now the sun is rising and the window's gold.

I hear a gunshot, a ceiling fan.

The coffee's cold.

I wish I blogged every day, and was warmer to my friends. More reliable. I wish I had the day to write, read, and edit short stories for the contest I will never win because you can't win a short story contest unless you're perfectly prepared.

Where have I been??

Last Saturday, I took Baby Girl out to eat.

Last Sunday was Easter.

He died that morning.

We went north to my Grandparents and spent time with family. Ate questionable food. Had a nice time visiting.

On Monday, I went slightly off the deep end. I sent Baby Girl away and cleaned.

On Tuesday, they buried him. Gray skies and soft rain. A good day for a funeral.

I wanted to clean again, but the house was spotless.

I baked instead.

The Cake of Death

Two hundred chocolate chips in forty rows of five to serve as the tombstones in snowy white frosting.

I went to bed that night, thinking everything was fine. That the soft rain would stay soft rain, but Wednesday morning, around three AM, I woke up to the loud crinkling sounds of a giant hand trying to crush my house the way you crush an empty Coke can before throwing it away. Along with hail, and a rush of rain. A tornado.

I ran into the office here, and hid beneath the desk while reaching one hand up to the mouse, I got online to check the radar; to see if the worst of the storm was coming or going. It was a few miles up the road. The power went out. My child screamed, Mommy, monsters! and slept in the bed with me for four stormy hours.

I worked most of Wednesday. Finally ran away in the late afternoon. Went back to the library in College Town. Drove past the site where he died...saw tire ruts in the mud, and for the first time on that clear and blinding day, the sun went behind a cloud, and the curve where he died was dark in shadow.

On the hill right past it, the sun returned.

I sat across from a gorgeous man in the second floor alcove, and read Everything that Rises Must Converge.

When I left, the wind was fierce, as always following a tornado, like a ghost of the horrid skies long past, and two black men walked towards me where the sidewalk intersects, and one mumbled to the other, Her skirt's gonna blow up.

I blushed and fumbled to hold down the white billowy bottom of my candy-colored outfit as they watched with a spark of anticipation.

How ya doing, one asked.

My voice broke, and squeaked, Just fine.

I went to see my sister. We talked about his death.

Driving home that night, I looked again, with all the windows rolled down. Trash in the floorboard, airborne, all floating about. The music loud. I turned it down and saw his rusted bumper lying in the grass.

I never knew a boy so sweet. So happy. Always smiling, and excited.

He had a million friends and deserved every one of them.

On Thursday, I took a two hour walk with Baby-bot. She fell and skint her knee. I carried her home half a mile with her bleeding and crying.

On Friday, she sent herself away; begging to go back to the Others. I didn't feel well, so I laid on the couch and listened to the rain and hail, and watched Match Game.

That night, it stormed again. I drank coffee and got online.

While sitting here, I wrote for hours. A big prosed-up story of what I've been up to. Then I thought I'd read everyone's writing, and write lots of email...oh the optimistic dreams of an overly-caffeinated, frustrated writer/blogger/human-being.

None of it happened.

I stumbled off to bed in tears of a sad dark reality. The quiet online existence I can't seem to remedy. And for the sake of still being afraid to sleep knowing he's in a grave, wearing what? I can't imagine. I want to pick up that bumper, bring it home and bathe it. Nail it to the side of my blue painted shed and let the sun shine off it every morning when it rises.

On Saturday, it rained. I took Baby Girl out to eat. It was prom night in Doctor/Dentist town. All the kids were sitting about in formal gowns and tuxedos, and I was jealous. My waiter was gorgeous! I felt old and tired and ugly and fat.

That night, I took dirty pictures of myself.

I felt younger and thinner, but cheap.

Eventually fell asleep, only to have nightmares.

On Sunday, we dressed up fancy and went to the grocery store. Bought lots of food, and a bouquet of red flowers.

At sunset, I took Baby Girl to Mom's house where my sister was staying. They played, while I drove out to the cemetery for my Grandmother's birthday.

I laid the red flowers on her red grave, and stuck a note inside the tombstone.

I wandered about, reading names. I saw an Annie Hall, which made me laugh, but then I felt guilty for laughing while old tired people lay sideways beneath me.

The not-so old, and his bright smiling face.