Deep Dark

 It was funny, for a few seconds. But it’s amazing how funny can turn to fear in a matter of moments. Like when, as a joke, your friends close you up inside a sofa bed and then sit on it, laughing the whole time. It was funny, when they sat there, and I could feel their weight in the darkness that was so complete I could not see my own hand in front of my face, if I could move enough to put it there. It was funny when I told them to let me out and they said not yet. It was funny when they finally agreed and started pulling on the bed. I could feel them pulling, my whole world shaking and moving, the clinking of the springs muffled by the mattress surrounding my body, but I could also tell that I wasn’t getting anywhere.

 It stopped being funny when they swore, because I knew there was a problem. It wasn’t funny when they said “we’ll be right back,” and I could hear the worry in their voice as they ran upstairs. It wasn’t funny when it sank in that I was alone. It wasn’t funny as I felt the bed get tighter, or when I started to wonder how air tight a mattress can be. In the movies you see people suffocated by pillows, and a mattress is so much thicker than a pillow. I began to thrash a bit, moving myself as much as I could, kept turning my head even though I could feel the mattress material hard against my cheeks like sand paper. I had to keep moving my head, I had to keep breathing. I could feel the air getting thin. I could feel the pressure on my chest getting heavier, crushing me. Did I black out?  How do you know if you’ve blacked out when there was no light to begin with? Is there a darkness deeper than your tomb?

 I was going to die, trapped in this mattress. I couldn’t think anymore, all I knew was that I was going to die. They wouldn’t come back in time from wherever they went. I’d be buried in this sofa. I just gave up. I gave up struggling, I gave up moving my body, I gave up moving my head side to side. I just laid there and breathed, waiting to die, feeling the darkness fill my body.

 I didn’t hear them come down the stairs. I didn’t hear if they called my name. I don’t know how long I was inside the sofa bed. The first thing that registered was movement, ascension, upward and outward.  Then the weight was gone, and light appeared, bright and wondrous.  I didn’t jump and flee from my prison. I sat up and looked around, then climbed off the mattress. It may have been shock that made me seem so cool about the whole thing. I laughed it off with the guys. I played it off as no big deal. They said I must have fallen asleep or something and I didn’t deny it. We went outside and walked to the store.

 This was many years ago, but there are still times, as I lay motionless in my bed, when I close my eyes and plunge myself into that deep darkness and feel the weight pressing against my body as the world wraps itself around me tightly. I hold my eyes shut as long as I can, the air getting thinner in my mind and my lungs, the darkness behind my eyelids fading into something deeper and darker still, something that beckons to me. Then panic from lack of breath forces me to open my eyes and expel the nightmare I had placed myself in.  As I stare at the ceiling until that deep darkness fades, I wonder if I was really asleep and, if so, how much longer before I would never have woken up, before that deep dark that calls to me would have called me home.

Let Go

 Such a simple thing, touch. And yet it can fill you so completely. Hands on skin, lips to lips, body to body, so exotic and amazing. But it doesn’t have to be just so, it can be so much more. Like fingers entwined on a cool night as you walk along together, or a hug that lingers for just a moment more. These feelings are what get through to me. These are the moments that peel away my armor of self control. Piece by piece I let it fall away, giving in to emotions I’d kept dormant for so long.

 I could feel the walls crashing down in my soul, creating waves of joy and excitement as I held her hand in mine. I could hear the beating in my ears and feel the warmth in my chest as my long silent heart began to pulse anew. There is no awkwardness as we talk, no insecurities. We laugh and smile and enjoy each others’ company with no remorse or fear. The outside world is only a distant memory, completely separate from the place we are right at this moment. There is only us, and the path we walk along together.

 When the night is done and we hug goodbye, I can feel the pressure as we pull each other closer. The want to say more, the desire hanging in the air. We hold for a while, more than a moment but just short of eternity. And yet, even though I have let go of so much, surrendering myself to these feelings, there is still that shred of control still there, a single piece of armor still shining in the moonlight. And so, we smile sheepishly and say our goodnights and goodbyes, and we go our separate ways. I drive away, the feel of her arms around me and her head against my chest to comfort me as my mind wanders to what could have been, if only I had finally let go.

Out of Control

  Such fury as I have never known. Such anger as should not be felt by any man. To think the things I could have done to her. No one has ever pushed me so far, has drawn from me such anger as she has. I could feel it like a savage beast barreling through my veins, through my chest, my arms, my mouth. It was consuming me. When she stood up and pushed me, I grabbed her arms. I pushed her onto the couch. I held her there as she writhed and fought and tried to kick and claw. I would not let go. I could not. I did not grab her for fear that she might hit me, but because I did not know what I would do if she did.

 I could feel my control dwindling, not relinquished through joy or love, but abraded by her sharp tongue and constant assaults, pushing me closer and closer to that edge. Like a cord pulled taut I could hear the individual twines snapping as she cut away at them, and I could feel the monster in me pulling harder, screaming for release as his shackles slowly came loose.

 I held her so, on the couch with my hands on her arms holding her tightly in place, until I could feel the chains lock, until the door could close and seal it in once more. I could not let go until I knew I was in control once more. After it was done I did let go, and I sat down, and though she wailed like the four winds, though she said all she could to draw me out, it was too late. This battle was over. We had both lost. Her words of how I surely bruised her arms went unanswered, her insults were barely acknowledged. I let her sit there on the couch where I released her and let all her rage and frustration out on me like a hurricane against a tree. I did not bend, and I did not break. I only stayed where I was until it passed.

 And pass it did. Behind it all I found the fear and anxiety she was hiding. After the storm I saw the troubled waters beneath. We spoke more calmly then, and though we did not solve anything, no answers were found that night, we left each other with a little more understanding, and hopefully a little less pain. But still, as I lay in bed that night, I could feel that rage inside of me, stronger now for being so close to release. I could feel the breath of the beast on the back of my neck, feel his growl in my own throat, and hear his howl in my ear. Sleep took long to find me, and when it did I dreamed of beasts...

Best friend for life

  We were sitting in a classroom talking about those silly things teenagers talk about. Friends who really aren't, enemies who have done us no serious wrong, how hard/boring school is, and love that we don't understand but swear we do. How the conversation started I have no idea, I was very shy in school so I’m sure I didn’t start it, and I do not know how it happened, but suddenly we were opening up to each other. We told each other everything and anything, our deepest fears and desires, our most humiliating moments, the things that truly made us happy. Sitting there in that classroom we talked to each other like two old friends, long lost but never forgotten and always thought of. And just like that, in the blink of an eye, we were best friends for life. We've played jokes on each other, and made fun of each other. We've talked with each other about things we could not tell anyone. We've cried on each other’s shoulders, and held each other when the world was too cold. We've carried each other’s burdens, and worried one over the other as if we were two parts of the same whole. And we are, connected by a bond and a line that is unbreakable and intangible. We’ve gone sledding together, drank together, we have even showered together; don’t get too excited we were fully clothed, well until I took my shirt off and through it at our friends’ mom. We were wild and crazy, young and free, and totally ignorant about life, as it should be for teenagers. We each had our own problems at home, which we talked to each other about, and troubled relationships, which she talked about because I didn’t really have any, and it helped to get us through school and life.  In the years since high school we have been apart, but never truly apart. When I was in the desert she wrote to me, and wrote to me, and I barely ever wrote back, but she still wrote. Her letters were a wonderful reminder of the bond we share. And when I get those loner tendencies, when I feel the foolish need to disappear and get the crazy idea that it would be better for everyone if I did, I feel that bond pulling me back, and I know she would hit me if she were there. When the worries of the world come crashing down around my best friend, I am right there to move away the rubble and rebuild the house of cards we all live in (because she can't really build card houses, no patience). She has grown into a strong and capable woman; though try to make her believe that! She is a wonderful mother, caring for her children above all things. She is strong willed and stubborn, but she is also kind and caring to a fault. She is willing to work hard to get the job done, but she can just as easily sit down and relax and read a good book or chat with friends. Her beauty is greater even than her absolute denial of that beauty. She is a smile when you don’t feel like smiling, a laugh when you want to cry, a conscience when you feel evil, and a compass when you’ve lost your path. She is many more things as well; I could write for days and not cover the depth that she hides behind those eyes. I am thankful to her, and I am thankful for her, because there is no other person I would rather have to remind me of exactly who I am, because she knows me better than I know myself, and that is why she is my best friend for life. Because I could go a lifetime and never find another like her.

My Brother

  I have a lot of siblings, so to say he is the brother I've never had isn't because I've never had a brother, or that I compare him to the brothers I did have, but because we were brothers, no matter the blood lines or heritage or science of it all. He was tall and goofy, and lived only a few streets away. We had a class or two together. We hung out and had the same friends. We would play video games at his house and hang out before and after school. He was a talented artist, with an imagination as open as the sky. He could draw anything, and it would look amazing, even though he would always say its not done yet. I have to wonder if he's ever truly "finished" any piece of art he's ever started, not because he procrastinates, but because he always wants to make it better.

 We wrote a story in creative writing class, me him and a third boy. The third boy gave us some help, but he and I were the driving force on the small novel we had started. We wrote more than we needed to, and our teacher said she liked the vividness of our story, although she thought maybe we had a little too much description. The story was about a convict being given freedom if he would fight in the war, and we used our extensive knowledge through all the books of different soldiers we've read to capture every gruesome detail. It was the most fun I'd ever had writing anything at the time. We were friends before this story, and better friends after, and then somewhere along the way we just became brothers.

 He lived with me senior year of high school. My parents let us make our room in the loft over the garage and we were as free as two guys could be. We played video games and talked and stayed up all night and, though I'd never admit it to my mom, we played hookie from school more than a few times. It was messy and dark, but it was a great time, one of the most comfortable places I've ever lived. We also worked together at a hardware store and walked everywhere in our small town, he with his tall lanky legs and me with my determined stride to keep up and in step with those I walked with. I was shorter than him even when I finally grew which didn't surprise me, but being short for so long and then having some actual legs underneath me instead of toothpicks made me fast. There was a time when, on our way to my house, I had the sudden urge to urinate, He had his bike that day and was riding slowly next to me. I think I got out "I have to pee!" before I started sprinting the last block to my house. He never caught me, even with my turtle shell-like backpack bouncing on my shoulders the whole way.

 There are a million such memories that I have of hanging out with him, and though we are roughly the same age, there were times he felt like a big brother to me, a mentor. I can't explain exactly when or why, but that's just the way it was. We were different in so many ways, but no two brothers are exactly alike, not even twins. I was quiet, book smart, and had the artistic ability of a rock. He was very artistic, could be loud and outgoing when he wants to be, and had street smarts. We've gone our separate ways since those days in the loft. I joined the army, went overseas, and being quiet as I am, I did not write or call often. He did write, and we talked sometimes, and I always knew if I needed him, he would be there. For his part, he fell in love, he married, and had kids. He also joined the army, and is a great soldier, husband and father, and still an exceptional artist. We don't talk often, and when we do it is simply catching up, but even with the distance, and the time, and the long silence between talks, I still know he's there, my brother.

The Giant

  We went to summer school together, not because we had to, but because we were bored and not yet in high school. It was a JROTC (a military sponsored class to teach things like responsibility, pride and teamwork) course for middle school kids going into high school. Even then he was a giant, especially standing next to a kid like me, who's growth spurt waited till senior year to kick in, but he was about as intimidating as a bologna sandwich with no crust (aka extremely scary!). We were friendly to each other, we talked and had the same interests in video games and x-men. Then one day a trouble maker in class, who had been trying to start fights with everyone for no apparent reason, flew by us on his bike as we left the school. The giant said "have a great day!", and there was no sarcasm in his voice (he hadn't found out what that was yet). The boy stopped as if slapped, turned and flung his bike at me and the Giant, and then began to yell and bring his hands up as if to fight us, spouting the gibberish that usually comes up when someone is trying to start trouble. We tried to walk past, I swear we did because me and the Giant are the same in that we are very nearly always in control and not in the least aggressive, but the boy would not let us. He even went so far as to swing at the Giant. In a move that would have been used to swat at a fly, he raised his right hand (he's left handed) and connected with the boys cheek, to my eye it seemed barely a nudge but a nudge from a giant can't be measured in the same way I suppose, and the boy staggered back with a look of astonishment and fear with his hand pressed to his cheek. When he pulled his hand away, it was bloody from the cut appearing at his jawline. He ran straight back to the school. We could have run, we could even have just kept walking, no one would have taken his side or said anything, but we didn't. The Giant went back, I think he even took the boys bike with him, and got expelled from the class for fighting, even though the teacher knew it wasn't his fault. When he did the right thing, when he did the opposite of what every other kid I knew would do, that's when I knew we would be friends for life, me and the Giant.

take it back

I'm going to try to take my life back. To actually be who I want to be and do what I want to do. It's going to be really hard in the beginning. I will be letting go of a lot to do this, and I can't say it will ever be worth it, but I cannot just let go of everything and gain nothing. So I will use this freedom I will soon have to its full advantage. I plan to better myself, I plan to work out, and learn an intstrument, and go back to school. These are goals I've given myself. But most importantly, I will be more of a friend to those people who have been my friends through it all. This is not a goal, some measurable thing that can be checked off on a list when it is completed, because it never will be completed. I have been someone else for a long time, and yet these people knew the real me and carried that part of me with them, as if I were a wounded soldier who needed rest to heal. I have rested enough, and now it is time to walk on my own two feet, and to carry any who need the weights lightened on there back. I cannot take it all away, but I can share the burden now, and I am stronger now from my trials. So, I hope my life is ready for me, because I'm coming to take it back.