SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
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Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Wednesday, Sept. 28, 2005 @ 12:23 am
Piccolo



We stood out on the pier of John Lawson. Huge waves, where did they come from on such a calm windless night? I pull my coat around me; the first day of autumn and already the penetrating cold. It's probably not really that cold, but I feel empty and echoing, this is all different than I'm used to. He's standing across from me, leaning nonchalantly, long legs and arms propping him up against the salt-stained railing. He's not trying to be near me, I nearly think there is no chemistry... I fear that he could not love me, that he is looking for a different type of girl.

I realized on Thursday night that Tim and I are done. I sat in the living room with his mother, and she started giving me advice which I did not ask for. With her, every conversation must end in her giving me advice. But more than that, I looked around and I couldn't see this being my family, my mother... the world I'd bring my child into.

Certainty. Knowing the direction to go. Walking forward, not looking back. He sat on the edge of the bed sobbing, uncontrollably. Odd, considering he was the first to push me away in a fit of emotional unthinking anger. The confessions suface: Each month I hoped you'd be pregnant because then I'd not lose you. I was so lonely before you, you can hardly understand

But that's for him to work through, not for me, even though I love him. I cannot devote more time to this - I age and wrinkle and single men thin out and burst away like bubbles, invisible, just a small trace of moisture falling to the floor.

I hurt to, but this time I look forward and tears hardly happen. Like holding my breath, I hold my heart. Justdon'tfeel. I talk on the phone to Daniel who remains strangely unsexual. Friends first still exists? I hardly know what to do with Daniel; all I know is making out and talking under the covers. Don't be shy... he coaxes me.

And coaxing comes from other places too. Band. She hands me the piccolo. It is now my turn, my turn to be the piccolo player. The torch, an olympic burning flame, a rainstorm of piercing clear silver notes. From my fingers and from my carefully directed breath. I hold it protectively like the child that I am beginning to yearn for. A smaller version of the one that I love.

My drawing instructor touches my hand and turns it slightly, Try it from this angle and he puts my thumb and index finger together to make a relaxed ok sign. Ok. Yes, I know, it will all be ok.


The gift piccolo and my well loved flute.


Roots | Shoots