Sunday, July 26, 2009

Not Fake Positive

IF there are two years left, then they will be the best goddamned two years we can muster. I envision: parties, motorcycle trips, new niece/nephew/cousin, road trips, quiet visits, karaoke, lots of family time, helpful muscle on a new house, mellow christmases, happy birthdays, and on and on and on.

Be positive

The one thing that keeps coming into my mind is, my brother won't be able to get married. I feel by writing that I've just cemented something, but that's stupid. A childish way to think. I wish I could be childish right now, though. I wish I could scream at someone. Blame someone. Tell someone to go fuck themselves and have that actually amount to something. I want to say the most overused statement in the world; it's not fair.

Suck it up buttercup, life isn't fair.

How does someone pull themselves up off the couch and leave the house when every time they muster up the strength, something blows them back off their feet? How can we cast judgement or have opinions on something we've never been faced with? Especially when that "something" is our life. How do you move forward when you've been given an expiry date?

The panic that wells inside of me when I think about a life without my brother is enough to make me shut down. Suddenly I'm going over every year of our lives. I'm thinking about how much I don't know about Shane. I'm regretting every ill thought I ever had. Wishing I could turn back time and take in more of the quiet moments. Like the time we played under the Christmas tree. Him with his army men, me with some sort of girly doll... or maybe it was my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figures. I'm thinking about my mom and dad and sister. And grandpa. Grandpas shouldn't out live their grandsons. I guess I'm going through the incredibly typical feelings of someone trying to process bad news.

Fuck. Typical.

Can't I just scream and have it go away instead? Can't I ball up his hurt and swallow it and hold it deep inside me? I can take it. Just let me take it. He'd say the same thing. He'd want to take our hurt and eat it. I guess that's the way it is when you love someone.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Back home

The floors seem a little slanted, the walls seem extra white, the world seems a little too quiet.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Ebb and Flow

My mind is my enemy. I can visit the most beautiful worlds, I can see the most frightening faces, I can love the most incredible people. And then I wake up. Unable to vocalize the feelings that bubble inside me, I'm left to roll them over and over and over and over.

The highs and lows have gotten tiresome. I want to sink my teeth into flesh and rip apart every ounce of fat that oozes into my mouth. I want to chew it and spray it over the world. I want to feel it drip from my lips to my chin to my throat to my chest. I want to be naked. I want to feel the weight of your body pressed against mine. I want you to fill your hands with my ass. I want you to wrap your hands around my throat. I want to breathe clean air mixed with the heaviness of your musk. I want to be covered in your sweat. I want to be left screaming for more.

I want to be floating weightless in dark waters, ears covered, eyes open, staring into the infinite sky and fearing the unknown.

Sunday, July 12, 2009


Me - I have five days to live.

You - Wow, what a coincidence! I have five days left on my car insurance.

Saturday, July 11, 2009


I'm wearing a long sleeved, light purple Patagonia shirt with a half zip, black stretchy pants, jogging runners, a bun in my hair and a long gold necklace that opens to reveal a clock. I'm rounding the corner of the Pepsi Cola factory and continuing down the dirt road. To my left is an open field that stops at the base of a hill after giving way to multiple shacks. Pot hole. To my right is the brick wall of the factory. Another pot hole. My connection to home is coming up on the far left. Huge hole in the middle of the road. A pile of dirt and rocks. Road work.

The world around me is slowly waking up. I can hear the metal shudder to the tiny communications shop opening. The man that owns it takes a step outside and puffs a cigarette. The rising sun kisses his face before he has the chance to shield it and go back inside. I'm following him in the shop. I'm pointing to a phone and giving him a phone number. I'm entering the poor excuse for a booth and picking up the phone. The man is signaling me.

I'm taking a deep breath.

A distant crackle. A few weak rings. A far off,





-Marce is that you? I can barely hear you.

-Sorry there's a really bad connection. Can you hear me?

Delay. Delay

-Yeah I can hear you a bit. How are you?

-I'm okay.

Delay. Delay. Words cutting over words.

-What? I can barely hear you. Are you Okay?

-I'm fine! There's a huge delay between...

-That's good to hear. How was the... there's a delay?

Panic is rising in my chest. I'm trying to hide my face from the man that's all to obviously trying to watch and listen.

-How's everything at home? How are you?

-Good. We're all good. How's

-That's good. How's work?

- your homestay? What's good?

-It's okay. It's a huge adjust...

-Work's work. Do you...

-Oh goo...

I'm crying and panicking. What's with this piece of shit!? I can't hear anything!

-Are you still...

-Sorry the delay is terrible.

-there, Marce? Oh the

-Yeah I'm still here

-delay is...

No! The connection is cracking up. She's getting away. Let me jump through the phone LET ME JUMP THROUGH THE PHONE!!

-I'm losing you

-I can't hear any...

-Can you call...

-I'm losing you too...

-You're losing...

-Call you when!?

She's drifting.

-I love you!!

She's drifting.

-Call me after...

She's gone.

FUCK! I'm hanging up the phone and secretly wiping the tears from my hot face. I'm leaving the booth. The man is looking at me.

-So soon?

-Bad connection

I'm throwing my money at him and making for the door.

-Later. Better time. Better connection.

-Thank you

I'm leaving the shop and turning left. I'm wiping the tears. Pothole. I'm passing a man on a rickety bicycle shouting to the world about the lettuce he has for sale. I'm veering right. The shop to my left is selling the last bag of milk to a young girl. I'm crossing a small chunk of mud and grass. Stray dog. I'm breathing deep. Another stray dog. I'm passing a little boy kicking a ball around. I'm walking up to the stone fence that surrounds my new home. I'm taking a deep breath. I'm reaching for the gate handle. I pause. I turn around and look at the rows and rows of lettuce, the young kids in uniforms walking to school, the mist burning off the field, the half built brick houses, and the dirt roads. I'm listening to the prayer bells. A small smile is spreading across my lips. I'm entering the gate. I wonder if the tea and biscuits are ready yet?

Thursday, July 9, 2009


I walk towards the cashier and try to stop an employee scurrying by.

Me - Excuse me?

The employee barely blinks and walks by. I'm so polite. I'm so meek. I'm so Canadian. I continue to the cashier. There are a few customers. Be bold!

Me - Excuse me, can I ask a quick question?

Customer - Miss? There's a lineup. I suggest you stand in it like the rest of us.

I throw my hands in the air and surrender to your assholedness. I walk up and down the aisles looking for an employee. At the back of the store I hear a raised voice seething from behind a closed door marked employees only.

Voice - What were you thinking!? Were you even thinking!? Do you have any idea how many complaints I've had? I mean, this is ridiculous! The blatant disrespect for the customers, for your fellow coworkers, for the STORE! Do you have ANY idea how much trouble you've caused? Do you even care?


Voice - Are you even listening to me? I have been at this store for seventeen years and have NEVER had to deal with a situation like this. Quite frankly I'm flabbergasted. I don't even know HOW to deal with a situation like this.

Silence. Cough. Someone clears their throat.

I looked behind me and realize I'm hovering over the blood pressure machine and an old man is trying to use it. I'm pretty sure my face goes red. I blindly grab at something on the shelf. Nasal problems? Why yes. I have those.

Voice - You must have thought something would come of this. In your wild head, how did you think I would react?

Silence. Old man grunting. Old men are always grunting.

Voice - What are you doing? What is this? Is this a joke? Excuse me we're not done here...

The door flies open throwing me off guard and into the shelf. A girl flies out of the room and is followed by what I assume, is her boss. Maybe he can answer my question? I move to follow them, but peak in the office first. There's a crumpled piece of paper on the desk. Holy shit I want to know what it says! Where's the grunting old man? Fuck him! Zip! You're mine. I run down the aisle and out the door.

Blasted by the sun. My god it's hot here. I run across the parking lot. I feel like a little thief stealing the key to the world. My heart is racing. It feels great. I wish I wasn't alone. That's okay though. Thieves work best alone. I run across the busy street and don't stop until I'm in the shadows of the market. I pick a table. I wipe the sweat from my face with a lone napkin. Ew. Maybe that was gross. I flatten the paper on the table and read:

"Please consider this my resignation. As in I will no longer be coming to work.
Truly; Lindsay"

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Letters From Mickey pt 3

James came home for a visit. He brought his fiance. His mother loves his fiance. She's precious. She's delicate. She's a lady. His mother has never known what it feels like to be a lady. James needed to get away from work. The pressure had been getting to him. His hair is thinning. James misses the days of following his big brother around. He still looks up to Mickey.

Mickey was at work when James and his fiance arrived. He was looking forward to their visit and asked his boss for the week off. His boss said no. He asked his boss for a couple days off. His boss gave him Saturday and Sunday. Mickey doesn't work Saturday and Sunday.

When Mickey crossed the lawn to the front door at 5:30 he was greeted by a huge grin. The grin was followed by James. They embraced. James started talking a mile a minute. Mickey listened.

James' fiance was sitting at the kitchen table basked in golden light. She smiled at Mickey as he walked down the hall towards her. Her smile caused Mickey's heart to skip a beat. She struggled to get out of her chair in order to give him a hug. She was much bigger than the last time he saw her. She was seven months pregnant. His mother was at the stove cooking. She beamed. Her boys were together again.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Letters From Mickey pt 2

Mickey is 32 and his brother James is 30. James still talks a lot and tries to impress Mickey. Mickey is still strong, thoughtful and quiet.

James studied engineering and moved to New York. He's engaged. His fiance is expecting. He deposits money into his mother's account at the beginning of every month. She refuses. She's proud. They fight. She threatens to give the money back. He calms her down. She accepts the money.

His mother doesn't have a husband. Mickey and James don't have a father. He would drink. He would beat their mother. He would pass out. Their mother would send them on "missions" when things got bad. She would ask for a perfectly round rock. She would ask for a hatched robin's egg. She would ask for a wild red rose. One day she asked for help. When help arrived, their father was dead and their mother was shaking.

Mickey lives with his mother. He works at the mill. He plays hockey. He doesn't have a girlfriend. He receives an anonymous letter once a week from Kingston, Ontario.