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POEMS (by me, Melissa)
UPDATED: 2/9/03
Red Little Pills
Friday will be the anniversary of my aunt's suicide. My parents want me to go out to dinner with them, in some sort of commemoration of her life, but I declined the invitation. My mind often wanders back, meandering through the vague memories I have of her. The memories are sparse and I often question if that is the reason I hold so tightly onto them, embellishing them with images that only exist in my mind, placing her on a flowered altar similar to Mother Theresa’s. I sit alone most days, buried deep within the solace of my worn comforter, the breeze from the fan barely penetrating the layers of cotton stuffing. It's October 1st, but the temperature in the comforter would lead you to believe it is July. Tiny beads of perspiration begin to pull together, forming pools on my furrowed brow. The pressure builds and sweat drips down into my eye, which I almost mistake for tears. I feel numb inside, and though the memories are welling up inside me the tears don't come. I sit quietly, my legs crossed, lost in a labyrinth of memories. When the heat is too much I fall asleep, my hand still clasping her opal necklace, the last artifact of her existence. (I used to wear it around my neck until the chain broke. I found it that night, nestled between the folds of clothing. My father fixed the chain, molding it together with his thick fingers. I look inside the swirls of rock, imagining she is a part of it, swirling into oblivion. At moments I find myself wishing I too was part of that circling sediment.) In my dreams I hold her. She is crying, her wiry brown hair hi-lighted gray is stringy. Her eyes are puffy and streaked with strings of blood. She continues to sob, her body shaking against mine, her pain wracking my own body.
****
SPINNING ON BLOODIED KNEES
The pitter-patter of rain starts slowly, polka dotting the concrete streets. "My skirt is going to be ruined!" Lindsay shrieks shrilly into the night. Her sheer orange sherbet skirt is billowing in the wind and she’s holding it down like a picturesque scene of Marilyn Monroe. Her eyes are glowing wild and her hair is whipping around her face, curls battering her cheeks relentlessly. She flips her head back; her curls springing out like a slinky.
I sift through the contents of my backpack, searching for something that could be used as a makeshift umbrella. The rain is forming little rivers where the curb meets the street, splattering against the gutters like gunshots. We crowd into a tiny stairwell, huddling against the building trying to hold its warmth. It’s a hot July night but the rain has soaked my thin cotton dress, and the air has turned cooler. I look up at Lindsay, shrugging my shoulders. She bites her lip, concerned, and eyes the pleats in her skirt. "I dunno, Linds," I say, trying to come up with some solution to her pleat problem. "Maybe you could just iron them back in later?" She nods, her eyes still attached to the pleats.
Cars speed by, rain cascading like pinwheels from the spokes of their wheels. The brazen wind tugs at the green pipe cleaner leaves, clinging to the branches of the small tree concreted into the deteriorating curb. Lindsay finally breaks the tranquility, "My dad’s coming soon." There’s a pause. We watch the cars pass, their windows steamy and their headlights illuminating the falling raindrops. "What do you want to do until then?"
I chew thoughtfully at my lip for a few moments, pulling at the dead skin with my teeth. Kneeling down, I attack the ground, searching in the wet leaves for sticks. I grab two sticks, and shove one into Lindsay’s hand. "Spin," I direct her, and I begin spinning, slowly at first, until the world is an unconscious blur. "Melissa!" She shrieks, her shrill voice bouncing off the thick alley walls. I spin faster, unable to form words. "Stop!" Lindsay shouts the command from the curb where she’s leaning against a rusting lamppost. "Ok now jump over the stick!" I try to hop gracefully over the stick, but somewhere between lifting my feet and bending my legs my brain stops and I crumble to the ground.
I crouch on the concrete, my face pressed against the wet warm blacktop, panting. The world is spinning in a psychedelic mix of colors, magenta fusing with green, gray, and black. I mutter curse words as the world spins. Lindsay hovers above me, and I roll over on my back, staring up at her. A woman sits smoking a Marlboro on a grafitti stained bench, the sweet smoke clouding the heavy air. I lie sprawled on the cracked concrete, damp with rain. Ben Cianciosi sits on a red sparkled vinyl chair and pushes his greasy hair to one side, peering out at us through Ragtag’s streaked glass. I raise one eyebrow slowly, and whisper in a breathless voice, "Let’s play again."
*****
STEALING ECSTACY
the pitter-patter of rain polka dots thick concrete streets
cars pass, windows steamy,
headlights illuminating swollen raindrops
sheer orange sherbet is billowing in the wind
like a picturesque scene of Marilyn Monroe
eyes wild, curls spring out like a rusted slinky against chafed cheeks
cars speed by, rain cascading pinwheels from the spokes of their wheels
wind tugging at green pipe cleaner leaves
I attack the ground, sifting through wet sediment
somewhere between lifting feet and bending legs I crumble to the ground
crouching on concrete
soft flesh presses against wet warm blacktop, panting
my world is spinning - a psychedelic mix of colors
magenta fusing with green, gray, and black
a woman sits smoking a Marlboro on a graffiti stained bench,
sweet smoke clouding heavy air
I lie sprawled over cracked concrete
perched on a glitter indented red vinyl chair you peer out
Ragtag’s glass streaking your sagging eyes
pushing messy hair to one side
with thin callused fingers
miniature rivers throb where the curb meets the street
splattering gunshots against gutters
our voices slamming off slimy alley walls
****
A.A. Meeting
One by one the people file out
chattering to newly met acquaintences,
heading their separate ways into the world of the unknown.
I stay - sitting on my dark brown metal folding chair - staring at the ceiling
looking for an answer in the stucco.
The door sighs as people head out into the star studded night.
I am left in the hard brown chair inadequate and unauthorized
fingering the cold gold token in my frayed pants pocket.
The beer bellied janitor begins sweeping around my chair, a signal for me to be on my way.
I begin my journey into the snowy world unprepared
I’m left alone at the door, as a sharp wind hits me, and I stand there, with the door open
letting in the cold
wondering why I did not follow the masses.
At least then I would have a friend by my side
****
OBITUARY
On a gray page
puffy bloodshot eyes
are straining to read
the black and white newsprint
of the obituary in the paper.
Ashen tears still fall
as the rain beats down against the soggy ground drowned in mud,
mascara lines streak her pale white cheeks.
Visitors come by
bringing sweet red cranberries and squishy colorless grits,
she cannot force herself to swallow while they tell her of visions they have of him
and still she cries
drenching her empty eyes with saltwater tears.
Hollowed out cheeks
and tired blue eyes
colored only by tears,
make her wonder about the trespasser in the mirror.
Wrestling with starchy white sheets
wrapped in his soft blue button down shirt still smelling of dial soap,
hugging his pillow to her chest she rocks it like a baby cradled in her arms
and she drifts into a dreamless sleep,
wishing she could feel him
like the others do.
****
Paper Maiche Flowers
You slink down crowded hallways
Glass blue eyes staring straight ahead
While paper maiche roses
Wilt in a beer bottle vase
The angry lumps of construction paper
Hunched against the peeling stucco wall
Chewing at faded lips
You wander through rows
Of paint chipped lockers
****
in red cracked vinyl booths
we chew at rubbery pizza
while I scribble absent mindedly onto an off-white notepad
a tall stick figure with a mohawk
and stab a knife through his nonexistent heart
glancing up to watch as a dribble of red sauce slides down his cheek
offset by his pale skin
that reminds me of the blood red tears I cry that stain my cheeks
as I stab another spear through the stick figure’s torso
he doesn’t even glance up
*****
(G and d chords)
Everything you say is coming through just a little bit fuzzy
A few strands beyond the way I wanted it to
If you could only hear me now (am g d)
All those things I wanted to say but you could not hear
I reach out to touch you but you’re not there (am g d)
You’re not there (am d)
Just come out to play today (g d)
You look like you need some sun (am g)
Wipe those tears out of your eyes (g d)
It’s a little bit windy today maybe you need some sleep
Let’s lay our heads down
On a sea of green and we’ll float out onto the saline ocean
Close your hinged eyelids and pray for a dreamless sleep (g d am / g d c)
I know it’s gonna get better someday
You were waiting there for me your converse bending a bit along the edges
Your hair is curling out a little bit
I guess it’s from the moisture in the air today
Later you said you wished you could have stayed out in the rain
For a little bit longer and you took the long way back
I’m feeling a little bit numb today
Could you rescue me? (g)
Could you pick me up? (d)
Could you come and rescue me (am g)
Everything seems so different to me here (g d)
All these shoes and feet and voices don’t make sense (am g)
I’m shaking but I don’t see you anywhere around (g d)
The tongue against my neck isn’t yours (am g)
Could you rescue me? (g)
I need a little pick me up (d)
Could you come and rescue me tonight (am g)
Your voice comes through a bit fuzzy
The phone wires have been frayed just a little
Everything is spinning once again
Can you hear me now? (g)
Could you rescue me? (d)
I need a little pick me up (am g)
****
IN THE NIGHT
“So how was school?” my dad asked at the dinner table that night. “It was okay,” I answered, without much enthusiasm “Your teacher called me today.” The hair on the back of my neck raised inexplicably. I wondered what the call had been about. In my head I ran through all the things I had done wrong in the last few days. “Said you don’t talk in class,” my father finished. I sat there, looking down at my untouched mashed potatoes, not daring to speak. I jolted when the dinner plate hit the wall, shattering. My mom shrank back. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” My father screamed at me. I closed my eyes tight “Our father who art in heaven…” I repeated in my head, as my mother scurried away to the kitchen to get a broom to pick up the peices of the plate. “I said look at me,” my father said, his voice growing quieter, more threatening. “Hallowed be thy name…” I continued on in my head. Just before my father’s fist hit my jaw, I looked up at his face, into his stone cold eyes that showed no emotion. That was the last thing I saw before blacking out.
The next day I met Mandy at the bus stop after school. I was bruised, and had gotten next to no sleep the night before. Mandy was perched on the gray metal bench as if she had been waiting. Waiting for me? She kept looking at me while we sat, periodically brushing her long brown hair out of her face but in a few seconds it was in her face again. She would sigh every few seconds, as if it aggrivated her, waiting for the bus. I closed my eyes and must have drifted off because when she tapped my shoulder I jolted out of the phantasmagoric state I had been in. She introduced herself and I was glad for the attention she gave me. We walked around outside until 8:00 – two hours after I was due home for dinner. I could only hope my father would not be home. Maybe he was at a bar tonight. Maybe he wouldn’t come home. I came around the corner of Snowmay Lane holding my breath. As soon as I turned the corner I saw my dad on the doorstep smoking a cigerette. Waiting for me. I thought about running, but it was too late. He had seen me. As soon as we were inside he was yelling about me being good for nothing. Then he took off his belt.
I started laughing when I saw the river. It was so like Mandy to take me to this place. Without even bothering to remove our clothes, we jumped into the lukewarm water. She dunked me, and seconds later I came up, choking from laughing so hard. Suddenly she got a playful look in her eye and swam to the shore. I followed her, not sure of what she was doing, but completely trusting. Reaching Mandy’s house, we followed the now so familiar routine. She handed me a beer and began rolling the joints. We laid out on the deck, like two lizards soaking up the warm sunlight, and pointed out pictures in the clouds. “I hate my dad,” I said, breaking the silence. “Yeah,” she replied, not even bothering to look at me, bringing the joint up to her mouth and sucking in, then blowing the smoke out sharply and said in a far off voice “Yeah, mine’s an ass too.” “Not in the way mine is” I replied. I opened up my mouth to say more but her eyes were closed. I sighed inwardly, knowing she didn’t care to hear it.
My dad woke me up at 3 in the morning. He shook me and I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spat his words out at me “I got another call from your teacher today Gabe” I turned to face the wall as he spoke, but he grabbed my arm, forcing me from my bed. “She says your grades are dropping. She says you don’t turn in assignments. She says-“ Out of irritation I interrupted him “Let me sleep Dad! Okay? Let me sleep!” I had such a hangover from that day. As I turned my head from him, he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his angry gray eyes. “She says you aren’t even bothering to show up anymore Gabe. I put food on the table! I work! I don’t see you working! You are a mistake! All you do is waste energy! You know why your mother cries at night? Because of you! You make her cry Gabe!” My eyes were burning with tears, but I would never allow him the gratification of seeing me cry. Suddenly I broke away from him, and ran towards the bathroom. Once inside I locked the door. I could hear my father pounding on the door as I sat on the toilet, tears streaming down my cheeks. Once the banging stopped I waited an hour until I was sure he was asleep and snuck out the front door, into the night.
I arrived at Mandy’s house a little after daybreak. She was passed out on the floor, a bottle of Stolichnaya clutched against her breast, her only comfort in the lonely night. I went into her makeshift bedroom that was so small that it seemed to have once been a closet. The paint was peeling off the walls and the room contained only a stained matress. I changed the vomit caked sheets and picked up Mandy and as gently as I could. I laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket, while I sought refuge on the floor.
I sat up late at night on the porch, a bottle of cheap vodka in my hand that Mandy had stolen from the supermarket downtown. It was easy to steal from them because they didn’t even have security cameras. I used to feel bad stealing from them. It was a locally owned store and I doubted if they could afford it, but lately money was tight. Mandy was inside, passed out on the floor again, like usual. For some strange reason I thought back to a year ago when I signed a pledge for school saying I would be alcohol free. I laughed. Not because it was funny, because of how fucking depressing it was. So much had changed since then. I raised the bottle of vodka to my lips, but found it was empty. “Dammit” I cursed under my breath, and went inside to search for a new bottle. I needed something to get my mind off this depressing shit. I felt my way along the door in the dark, searching for the light switch. Finally I found it and I turned the light on. God it was bright, and seemed to make my head pound. I turned the light back off. Opening the shades, the moonlight trickled in the room, lighting the way to some kind of release. The ziplock bag of powdery white coke on the table caught my eye. It was Mandy’s, but I needed it. I needed something.
I barely slept that night. Every siren on the street was coming after me, and I was positive someone was watching me. Instead I spent the night huddled in a corner, where the paranoia consumed me.
I dragged myself out of bed a few days later, needing to get to the store. We had nothing to eat. Mandy and I had been living together for a few months now, if you could even call it that. I was basically crashing at her house, and paying all the rent out of my life savings while she bought the coke we both so desperately needed. I came home with some bread and cheese, the only thing we could really afford, and the cheese was stretching our budget enough as it was. As soon as I opened the door I felt like something was wrong. I opened the bedroom door and there he was. Sprawled out on top of her like some animal. “Get off of her!!!” I exploded, flying at him, fists flailing, with intent to kill. He was in shock for a few seconds before he reacted. We bit and punched before Mandy tore us apart.
I stayed away from the apartment for a day before I went back and spent it wandering down by the old railroad tracks. I wandered into town sober. As I walked down Fifth Avenue I saw a girl. This was not an ordinary girl; this was a girl that I instantly wanted to know. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in a mass of dark brown curls. Her pale skin stood out, and the only trace of color on her face was in her sparkling dark blue eyes. I wanted to know her and I had no clue how to, so I followed her, periodically stopping and looking at some store display in a window so it would look like I wasn’t a stalker. Suddenly she turned around. Busted. “I haven’t seen you before” she said, her hands in the pockets of her faded blue jeans. She didn’t seem mad, in fact, she was acting like people followed her every day. “I haven’t come here before,” I said, which was the truth. Silently we exchanged numbers. As if we didn’t even need to talk. All the way home I looked at that folded piece of paper resting in the palm of my hand. “Marie,” it read, “351-4479.”
I set out for Marie’s house at 3:14 in the afternoon. This was enough time to let the hangover from the night before wear off. Sunnonbourg apartments were only 3 blocks from Mandy’s tattered apartment. I pushed the familliar button on the intercom to alert Marie of my arrival. Her voice came in barely decipherable over the scratchy intercom. Suddenly her face appeared in the window above me. “Gabe! You came!” “I always come at this time” I called up to her, but she just smiled. She was wearing a long white dress. The wind caught it and blew the silky fabric around her. With the sun hitting her hair, I could have sworn she was an angel.
“What do you think of life?” Marie asked, lying on her back, strumming a guitar, the same chord, over and over again. She didn’t wait for my answer, and I don’t think she expected one “I think it’s wonderful,” she went on, looking up at the peeling paint on the ceiling of her apartment, “to be alive, I mean. Don’t you Gabe?” I nodded silently, watching her talk. Watching the way her hand moved effortlessly over the strings of the guitar. Suddenly her hand stopped moving across the strings. I glanced up.“I’m going for a walk” She announced, and hopped up, grabbing hold of my hands like a child, tugging at them. “Come on Gabe! There’s a whole world out there! Lets explore it!” We ran along the rivers edge, two shadowed figures in the twilight.
I woke up that night in her arms shaking violently. I needed coke. I went into the next room, careful not to wake Marie. We’d been talking late into the night for the fourty millionth time and once again I decided to crash at her house. This had been going on for several months but usually I brought some kind of drug to keep me sustained through the night. It was easy enough to sneak outside for a little while. Tonight I had forgotten to bring anything. So I did the only logical thing to do - I searched everywhere. Even under the couch cushions. Nothing. “Fuck!” I whispered under my breath. I remembered Marie’s cabinet. The one she kept the wine in. “For special occasions” she had told me. There was a lock on the cabinet, but by this time, I was pretty good at picking locks. I had to do it when I was younger and had forgotten the key to the house. I picked the lock with one of Marie’s bobby pins. I brought out the alcohol. Not the best, but it would do. I drank it all at one time, fast. I remembered earlier how Marie had pressed her hand to my heart and asked me if I loved her, how I had looked at her and said yes. She had pleaded with me to stop doing drugs. I had said I wouldn’t do it anymore. She had seemed happy with my reply. I lay back and felt the alcohol pulsing through my veins, pure adrenaline.
Resting against an oak tree, Marie said the words no guy in the universe wants to hear. “…Gabe… We have to talk” This did not mean we had to talk. It meant she had to talk. “I can’t be with you if you do drugs”
“I won’t do them anymore! I’ll stop! We’ve been together for so long - it can’t just be over. I love you...” I tried to persuade her to stay and that I would change if she would just give me one more chance. Marie stood up and looked at me, and her eyes made my heart break. Sad, forlorn, and rimmed with tears, they displayed such pain and anguish I felt like I had killed her. “Goodbye Gabe…” She whispered softly, and turned away from me, leaving. I don’t know why I didn’t go after her. I wanted to run to her, pick her up in my arms, and tell her everything would be all right. But I couldn’t. Instead I watched her go, leaving me behind.
****
