Her favorite movie is Gone with the Wind. Her second favorite film is Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Two movies, both about heroines who don’t realize what they truly want until it’s too late.
The irony is, she’s always known what she wants. She aspires to attend Yale University, earn her law degree, travel the world, marry well, buy designer clothes, have three children, live happily ever after. The End, the screen fades to black as they kiss in the pouring rain, an unnamed Cat between them.
Her only problem is how to get there. She pretends she’s a heroine in a movie only she sees, dons piles of pearls, and picks and chooses which scenes to replay in her head.
Her movies teach her to be strong, think about things tomorrow, and that flirting always works. She learns that people don’t belong to people, and that the only safe place to go when you have the mean reds is Tiffany’s.
Just like Holly, she searches for a real life place like Tiffany’s. Somewhere, or someone, where she can let down her guard and be just herself.
And every time she thinks she’s found her Paul, her Rhett, he turns into a super rat and gives her fifty bucks for the powder room. She wants to run off to Brazil, to Tara, to anywhere that she can’t see his smirking eyes when he draws her in once again.
She can’t run, not yet. But she has to, needs to, before this damn town destroys her. She’s imprisoned in an elaborate cage built for her from birth, and she thought he’d had the key. Turns out there is no key; she just had to get angry enough to break it down.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Magnets
She thinks they’re like the same side of two magnets. Constantly repelling each other, only held together by sheer force and will. It’s not supposed to be this hard is it? They’re not supposed to fly apart when they’re let go. She’s not quite sure how to flip them around.
They’re attracted to each other, just like the magnets, but they can’t make up their minds which side to choose. Maybe they’re turned sideways, sometimes repelling and other times attracting. One little push could send them in either direction, but they’re both too scared to move.
One little push: the rights words spoken too soon, an accidental kiss, an innocent brush of the hands, maybe just a day like they used to share. But she’s paralyzed, unable to make a move that might cause her to lose him. Again. And he’s always been a coward who can’t make up his mind. Like Rhett Butler, she has a weakness for causes once they’re truly lost.
They’re a lost cause. She can see it, but she can’t fully accept it yet. They can’t start over; she was fooling herself if she thought they could with just a flirty smile and a simple apology.
They’re attracted to each other, just like the magnets, but they can’t make up their minds which side to choose. Maybe they’re turned sideways, sometimes repelling and other times attracting. One little push could send them in either direction, but they’re both too scared to move.
One little push: the rights words spoken too soon, an accidental kiss, an innocent brush of the hands, maybe just a day like they used to share. But she’s paralyzed, unable to make a move that might cause her to lose him. Again. And he’s always been a coward who can’t make up his mind. Like Rhett Butler, she has a weakness for causes once they’re truly lost.
They’re a lost cause. She can see it, but she can’t fully accept it yet. They can’t start over; she was fooling herself if she thought they could with just a flirty smile and a simple apology.
Random Drabble
She lost a shoe at a church service, a single white heel left in a pew for her white prince to find. She pricked her finger in the shower last night, one crimson drop spiraling from her finger to petal on the flawless white tile. Her hair’s gets caught in everything, and she’s pretty sure eating apples gave her appendicitis. She’d love nothing more than to sleep for a hundred thousand years.
Maybe she read too many fairytales when she was little, but it was never supposed to be this hard. Her prince isn’t supposed to hurt her until she cries. He’s supposed to leave the ugly stepsister for her, not a different stepsister. He’s supposed to cut through thorns to find her, not leave her in the dust without goodbye or a backwards glance.
She supposes her “signs” aren’t really the universe’s way of telling her not to lose hope. They’re simply quirks of life, designed to keep her hanging on to a fairy tale ending that will never be.
Still, she muses, as she puts a headband on in place of a crown, life goes on and the queen keeps smiling.
Maybe she read too many fairytales when she was little, but it was never supposed to be this hard. Her prince isn’t supposed to hurt her until she cries. He’s supposed to leave the ugly stepsister for her, not a different stepsister. He’s supposed to cut through thorns to find her, not leave her in the dust without goodbye or a backwards glance.
She supposes her “signs” aren’t really the universe’s way of telling her not to lose hope. They’re simply quirks of life, designed to keep her hanging on to a fairy tale ending that will never be.
Still, she muses, as she puts a headband on in place of a crown, life goes on and the queen keeps smiling.
Quote
It’s like…it’s like we’re reading the same book right? But we’re always eight chapters apart. Well, the other night, we were so close to being on the same page. We were each just about two pages apart, and all either one of us had to do was just flip a couple of pages. But..I don’t know. We make things too hard, too complicated. And we’re both too damn stubborn to just turn a page. And all of the sudden, the book just closed. And I’m left here, still wondering how it ends.
"No Deal" -A song
No Deal
Why do I let you
get under my skin
All you do is hurt me
So why do I let you in
I just can't seem to help it
It's like you're begging me to care
But everytime I touch you
You're no longer there
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
No you cannot talk to me
Please don't even start
The last time you did that to me
You stole all of my heart
I know it's wrong to feel this way
Because you're still with her
The way that you string me along
Well, it's just not okay
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
You push me away, you pick me up
You want me to stay, but not today
Oh, not your way
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
Why do I let you
get under my skin
All you do is hurt me
So why do I let you in
I just can't seem to help it
It's like you're begging me to care
But everytime I touch you
You're no longer there
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
No you cannot talk to me
Please don't even start
The last time you did that to me
You stole all of my heart
I know it's wrong to feel this way
Because you're still with her
The way that you string me along
Well, it's just not okay
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
You push me away, you pick me up
You want me to stay, but not today
Oh, not your way
I want so bad to hate you
When you ignore me in the hall
I really shouldn't answer
The next time you try to call
So here's my last attempt to show you how I really feel
And if you don't decide soon....No Deal
Sometimes she thinks her life could be a remake of Gone with the Wind. It’s her own personal screening, and no one sees it but her.
“He looks as if... as if he knows what I look like without my shimmy.”
He looks straight through her, always has. It’s never pretty with him, it’s hot, I want to rip your clothes off, I have dreams about you. His imagination is her undoing. When he whispers his lines about passion and dreams, she can easily see it with him. And that’s the thing, it’s easy when she’s with him. It’s only hard when he’s not there when he promises he will be.
“I wore this old thing just cause I thought you liked it!”
She’d struggled into the short skirt, endured the achingly high heels, and forced herself into the too tight shirt all for him. She’d dabbed on perfume, painstakingly fixed her hair and makeup, and wore a satisfyingly jingly bracelet just so he’d mess with it. And he’d walked right past her without a backwards glance. She wonders why she even bothers.
“He doesn’t know that I love him. I’ll tell him, and then he’ll have to love me back!”
She sent the text late at night, when everyone else was sleeping and no one was there to witness her private shame. It simply stated that she would be whatever he wanted. Trouble is, he didn’t want her. She didn’t scream, throw a tantrum, or even toss a vase at the wall. She calmly picked up the pieces of her shattered heart and tossed them in a box underneath her bed, along with everything else he’d ever touched.
“No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”
He’d told her he’d teach her all she needed to know. And by truths he did. It started out slow, with innocent texts and progressed into something she’d never done before. And then he taught her how to break and how to crumble. He showed her that men cannot be trusted. He taught her well.
“Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief.”
She always cried at the most inopportune times. Never around a box of Kleenex, and never in the safety of her room. It always occurs as she’s about to leave, or when the tears can’t be used in the situation.
“I can't let him go. I can't. There must be some way to bring him back. Oh, I can't think about this now! I'll go crazy if I do! I'll think about it tomorrow. But I must think about it. I must think about it. What is there to do? What is there that matters? Tara! Home. I'll go home. And I'll think of some way to get him back. After all... tomorrow is another day!”
It’s one of the great misfortunes of her life that she was born to fight. She never gives up, not ever. So she keeps trying and fighting and when it’s not enough, never enough, she puts it out of her mind and goes home, where it’s safe. She thinks about it the next day, not today, and she finds ways to get him back. And it works for a while, but then he leaves again, and “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” and he’s gone but she hopes. After all…tomorrow is another day!
“He looks as if... as if he knows what I look like without my shimmy.”
He looks straight through her, always has. It’s never pretty with him, it’s hot, I want to rip your clothes off, I have dreams about you. His imagination is her undoing. When he whispers his lines about passion and dreams, she can easily see it with him. And that’s the thing, it’s easy when she’s with him. It’s only hard when he’s not there when he promises he will be.
“I wore this old thing just cause I thought you liked it!”
She’d struggled into the short skirt, endured the achingly high heels, and forced herself into the too tight shirt all for him. She’d dabbed on perfume, painstakingly fixed her hair and makeup, and wore a satisfyingly jingly bracelet just so he’d mess with it. And he’d walked right past her without a backwards glance. She wonders why she even bothers.
“He doesn’t know that I love him. I’ll tell him, and then he’ll have to love me back!”
She sent the text late at night, when everyone else was sleeping and no one was there to witness her private shame. It simply stated that she would be whatever he wanted. Trouble is, he didn’t want her. She didn’t scream, throw a tantrum, or even toss a vase at the wall. She calmly picked up the pieces of her shattered heart and tossed them in a box underneath her bed, along with everything else he’d ever touched.
“No, I don't think I will kiss you, although you need kissing, badly. That's what's wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”
He’d told her he’d teach her all she needed to know. And by truths he did. It started out slow, with innocent texts and progressed into something she’d never done before. And then he taught her how to break and how to crumble. He showed her that men cannot be trusted. He taught her well.
“Here, take my handkerchief. Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief.”
She always cried at the most inopportune times. Never around a box of Kleenex, and never in the safety of her room. It always occurs as she’s about to leave, or when the tears can’t be used in the situation.
“I can't let him go. I can't. There must be some way to bring him back. Oh, I can't think about this now! I'll go crazy if I do! I'll think about it tomorrow. But I must think about it. I must think about it. What is there to do? What is there that matters? Tara! Home. I'll go home. And I'll think of some way to get him back. After all... tomorrow is another day!”
It’s one of the great misfortunes of her life that she was born to fight. She never gives up, not ever. So she keeps trying and fighting and when it’s not enough, never enough, she puts it out of her mind and goes home, where it’s safe. She thinks about it the next day, not today, and she finds ways to get him back. And it works for a while, but then he leaves again, and “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” and he’s gone but she hopes. After all…tomorrow is another day!
First Quote from Me
You know, I used to hate rap songs. They seemed so angry, just random strings of words jumbled together. Now, however, they're almost all I can listen to. I can understand the rush to get everything you need to say out in a single breath. The hurried frustration when you have something to say and you actually have the right words to say it. Now, I understand the intensity.
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