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


Thursday, Aug. 30, 2007 @ 12:20 pm
Rings



Things piling up in my head, filling corners already full. Work, appointments, horses, garden, house cleaning... Daniel.

We've lived together for 18 months now. So, now what? I watch my friends get married, ex boyfriends get married, have babies. Their wives so beautiful, rounded bellies, glowing faces. That could have been me.

I feel so lost, left behind. Going back to school, working a minimum wage job. Living with a boyfriend who doesn't want a wedding. Does he really want me?

I think sometimes of someone from my past, a crush long gone but still lingering in my heart. What could have been? Am I going to be happy with Daniel, who is not nearly as affectionate as I'd like? You cannot make someone be more like someone else. I miss being held like L. would hold me. Sloppy kisser. Messy crushes, but so heartfelt and true. Daniel cannot be anyone else.

Will he ever propose? I dreamed two nights ago that he did, with an antiquey ring with blue stones. Perfect. But I couldn't say yes. I hesitated, and he saw that. Would I hesitate today, in real life?

I don't feel as though we are truly in love. Maybe it always sort of ends up like this. We still hold hands sometimes, but it isn't really that warm. He gets mad at me for not sweeping the floor, for leaving the shoe closet messy, for not wanting to drink wine on a weeknight. He says I never want to do anything fun. He says I am indecisive, that he always has to make the plans.

He doesn't know half of my insides. He doesn't know that I write, that I see flowers come alive, that I can sing harmony to the chorus. I sat down to paint something once, and he didn't like what I made. I didn't like it either. It's now in a box in the closet. I can take pictures though, and he likes them, and they are good. That's it - that's the only little part of secret-me that he knows.

Before we get anywhere near a ring, I have to show him this part. He has to need me, love me, surprise me with a gift, do something.

If I weren't like this I'd be in that wedding photo with a round tummy.

Despite all of this, I do like where I am right now. I'm giving historical tours to tourists. Talking with strangers? Not me... I always find tour guides attractive because they are confident and in charge. Has someone found me attractive: driving a heavy draft horse pulling a white carriage, divulging the rich cultural history of my new hometown, with a wide smile?

And Patrick. Cantering bareback. Next: no bridle. Riding bareback nearly killed me. I once awoke with barkmulch in my mouth, paramedics easing me onto a stretcher. That was Stanley the thoroughbred. Green on green is a dangerous combination. But here I am now, no longer shaking with fear as I mount Patrick bareback. Trusting that his body will be there when after I throw my leg over his broad back. Feeling his back muscles move as we work around the arena. Asking him to canter, his body pulling together, up, and forward, and I am still riding. I have really accomplished something for myself here.

The world falls away to grassy plains and buffalo. I don't need anything else but this.


Roots | Shoots