That Girl

That Girl

All alone, night calls
Warm embrace, silence falls
Hearts freeze, then reclaim their beat
Won’t let those feelings unfurl
because I’m not that girl

Hands shaking, knees weak
Can’t move, won’t speak
Butterflies dancing wildly inside
Trying my best to hide and remain shy
You are that guy
But I’m not that girl

Spoken words send the face burning
Unspoken and the soul is a-yearning
For you
For me
Together
As it should be
Lost in Cupid’s world:
That boy
and that girl

Hands grip, biting lip
Too afraid to kiss
Too afraid to slip

I’m not that girl
I never will be
My future’s only filled with closed doors
My hands are tied and my heart is not free
To be the girl I want to be:
Yours.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Family Ties

“Joanne? Joanne, pick up, it’s Mom. Joanne? Hello? …Listen, we’re all at the hospital right now. Your sister just gave birth. A perfectly healthy boy. Joshua Tyler Warrington; 7 pounds, 5 ounces. Where are you? Joanne? Call me when you get this. We’ll be at the hospital all night. Please come by. Your sister really wants to see you.” Beep.

Your sister really wants to see you. Now there was a laugh. My sister, Joyce, never wanted to see me. Ever since I was born three years after her glorious arrival, it’s been a constant tug-of-war between the two of us. And when I say tug-of-war, I mean I’m left with my face in the mud while Joyce twirls the rope in her hands before tying a Girl Scout knot and rescuing a kitty from a tree. True story. Family reunion of ’93. I was 7.

Things got worse when she off to college. She’d call home every week to tell Mom and Dad how great her classes were going and how exciting Boston was. I swear they would wait by the phone for those calls. I guess I should thank Joyce for occupying our parents’ time so that they didn’t seem to notice when my grades starting slipping, when I got my first hickey, or when that boy ran past them in the kitchen that one time from upstairs. Especially that last one. He was a babe.

It came as no surprise to me when Joyce graduated in three years instead of four and was instantly snatched up by some prestigious law firm on the East Coast. She was always so damn perfect. That’s where she met Jonathon Warrington III. He was some rising star in the firm who “just swept Joyce off her feet in one glance.” A few years later, they were married. The whole idea made me gag.

When Joyce got married, I wasn’t the maid of honor—not that I wanted to be. No, that was her roommate from college, Chrissy, the beauty queen. If you ask me, the title seems a little crazy for a 28-year-old. But don’t tell her that or she’ll freak. Believe me. I wasn’t a bridesmaid either. Jonathon had four sisters: Layce, Chasity, Bambi, and Barbie. Or as I liked to call them: Legs, Chest, Blonde, and—well, Barbie actually worked for that one. Apparently, Joyce thought I was “gallivanting about the country with my rock star boyfriend” that weekend. I didn’t bother telling her I only dated Tommy, the bass player of a local band, for about a month and a half before I found him in my apartment with the lead singer, Amy. And we never traveled anywhere together in that time. He was always rehearsing. With Amy. I really should have seen that one coming.

I figured my parents wanted just one weekend where they didn’t have to explain to everyone why I didn’t have a decent job because I didn’t graduate from college since I completed high school at an alternative school due to that mix-up at that gas station with Rick and his buddies. Joyce was quick to remind me accessory was just as bad as a robbery itself—something she learned in her law class. Of course, my parents jumped on her side before I could plead my case. If I had to hear about how much trouble I could have been in if the owner of the gas station had gotten hurt one more time, I was going to scream.

And now they were procreating. Joy. I sighed, staring down at the stack of bills piled high on the kitchen counter.

“You’re really not going, are you?”

“Hm?”

I had almost forgotten Davis was sleeping on my couch this week. I was too busy avoiding my family. There were twelve messages on the machine. “Joyce is going into labor, Joanne!” “Joanne? Visiting hours are about to be over. Are you coming?” “Joanne, answer me! I know you’re home…”

“Your sister’s kid,” he said, making his way towards the fridge. “You’re really not going to see it, are you? Wow, you’re cold.”

“You don’t know my sister.”

“You’re right,” he pulled a beer from the bottom shelf and opened it. “But I do know she is your sister. And like it or not, she’s still the only one you’ve got.” He took a big sip, waiting for me to thank him for his bit of wisdom. I hated when he did that.

“Right. And now you’re going to tell me how she was the only one to write me when we were in that alternate school together. How my parents refused to come and see me on visitation days because they always said the commute was too much for them and Joyce’s letters were the only thing from home I had…”

He raised his eyebrows and twisted his mouth into that sly smile.

“Shut up and get your keys.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Qu'est-ce que vous avez fait heir?

Qu'est-ce que vous avez fait heir? This was all my French teacher wrote on the board today before we started to "play a little game." The object of this game was to help us practice and recognize the passe composse. Little did I know, this would turn out to be one of the most exciting and creative classes so far in the semester.

The question means (more or less) "What did you do yesterday?" My professor proceeded in telling us that we, as a class, could make up a story using the past tense about two characters. All we had to do was tell what happened (in English) and she'd write it on the board for us to see (in French).

This "game" started out innocently enough: Our two characters being Jacques Cousteau and Isabelle Clouseau. Soon, after the initial shyness and fear of saying something wrong wore off--all of five minutes--we discovered that Jacques was a superhero. And here is where it got interesting. This is the story that Dr. Carter's French 101, section 02 class wrote (skip down to the bottom for the English translation):

Je me suis lévé à 18h00 après une nuit de lutter contre la crime. J'ai mis mon cape (de violet et du vert). J'ai mis mon costume de superhéro. J'ai bu du nitrogen avant de sortir manger au restaurant avec mon meilleur ami Hancock.

Ils étaient des comarades de chambre à l'université des supérhéros. Ils étaient tout deux amoureux avec Isabelle à l'université mais elle est devenue une villaine, donc ils ont du travailler ensemble pour la battre.

...

Isabelle est entreé dans le restaurant pendant leur repas. Elle avait en rendezvous avec le Joker. Ils ont discuté leur plan de conquérir la Terre.

"Dis, mon frére: Il faut les arreter!"

Jacques est d'accord, donc Hancock a arraché le bar, et il l'a jeté aux villains. Jacques a utilisé sa vision de lasers de fondre le métal dans les portes pour empêcher que les gens sortent. Le Joker a jété une de ses bomboes de fumée et ils se sont echappés par la cuisine.

Quand Jacques et Hancock sont arrivés dans la cuisine, ils ont trouvé une note. La note disait:

Pourquoi si serieux? Tu es faché parce que j'ai volé ta femme?

signé: le Joker

...À continuer dans les adventures fantastiques de Jacques et Hancock!

___________

English version:

I get up at 6p after a night of fighting crime. I put on my cape (purple and green). I put on my superhero costume. I drink liquid nitrogen before going out to eat with my best friend, Hancock.

They were college roommates at Superhero College. They both were in love with Isabelle at college but she turned into a villain, so they now work together to defeat her.

...

Isabelle entered the restaurant during the meal. She has a date with the Joker. They are discussing their plan to take over the world.

"Say, my brother: We have to stop them!"

Jacques agreed, then Hancock took the bar and threw it at the villains. Jacques used his laser vision to melt the metal over the door so they (the villains) couldn't leave. The Joker threw one of his smoke bombs and they (him and Isabelle) escaped threw the kitchen.

When Jacques and Hancock arrived in the kitchen, they found a note. The note read:

Why so serious? You mad because I stole your girl?

signed, The Joker

To be continued.... in the fantastic adventures of Jacques and Hancock!

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Because you're someone alive today, I can live to see tomorrow

[Two things: First, you need to read this for the following to make sense. Second, apparently, this looks better if you use IE over Firefox.]


There it went. The tiny slip of paper that held my destiny. I watched as the wind swept it away. The symbols meant nothing to me. A name. A location. A time perhaps? I didn’t know. And now I would never know. I watched with tears in my eyes as we sped away from the floating paper. I watched as that tiny white slip danced in the arms of the wind, teasing me with each dip and swirl. And, then, it was gone. I sighed.

I guess you’re goin’ with me now.

I barely knew who he was. Only a kind stranger who took pity on me, the girl with the slip of paper and no clue. And I, the foolish girl, followed him. He could kill me, I thought. Right here. And who would look for me? Who would know I ran off with him? Who would know to ask for a girl seen riding a—what did he call it—motor bike? But something felt right with him. There was something genuine in his smile. There was an honesty in his eyes. I trusted him. I trusted him and I didn’t even know him.

Everything sped past us so quickly. This entire world was far too quick for me. Nothing stayed here. Everything seemed to be a blur of color and light. With sound. Oh, there were such sounds! Horns and motors, bells and whistles, and so many other things I didn’t even know the names for. I was used to the slow, tranquility of things. Where one could stare at an image until it was engrained in your mind for eternity. Where a scent stayed with you long after you had gone from the location. Here, I could barely see what we were passing, much less savor its image.

We slowed to stop. Gas, he had said. We needed gas. I wanted to ask him how air would be useful in this situation, but decided against it. I knew nothing about these contraptions. Once we stopped, he dismounted and turned to me. I stood there, frozen.

He was staring. I felt my cheeks heat up suddenly and darted my eyes to the ground. It was smooth and grey with many spots about it. Some were large spots. Some small. Whatever liquid they were comprised of was thicker than water. And it smelled very badly. He was talking again. Something about a drink. My throat was quite dry, now that he mentioned it. I nodded.

He handed me colored slips of paper with faces on it. I held on tight to these, should the wind be looking for another partner.

It was so bright inside the building. I winced, looking around for some sign of familiarity. Nothing. I was instantly reminded of a wizard’s lair. There were brightly colored bottles and vials filled with liquids lining shelves that seemed to stretch on for miles. Their labels may as well have been blank, for I couldn’t read them. There were hardly any pictures on these labels either. This saddened me. I would have known to stray away from skulls, coffins, or black roses. But there were none. Only letters. Letters and words that meant nothing to me.

A voice sounded behind me. I jumped. I whirled around to face a man much older than the one I was traveling with. Perhaps old enough to be his father. His smile, however, was not genuine. I saw no honesty in his eyes. When he stared at me, I felt a cold sensation. So I dropped my eyes to the ground to avoid contact.
He reached over my shoulder, pointing out a particular beverage. Get him this, he said. And then he was gone. I thought about this for a moment. Could I trust him? Did he direct me to poison? Why would he wish to kill the man I rode in with? After shaking such thoughts from my head, I decided to get the drinks. I had spent too long in this potions’ closet and was ready to leave.

I had seen one before me hand similar colored slips of paper with faces on it to the boy behind the counter. I followed in the same suit. The attendant was calling to me as I walked out with the drinks. Something about change. I didn’t want to change drinks. I wouldn’t know what to change to.

I wish I had changed. The drink stung my chest and burned my throat. At first it was cold and soothing to my mouth, but then it turned on me. I choked while trying to swallow. He watched me as I struggled with this. I simply nodded to his question, not wanting to insult the drink.

We were on the road again. Pictures fading as quickly as they came. Blurs of lights, colors, and sound. I closed my eyes, trying not to focus on the twists and turns we took at such an alarming rate. But I could still feel my stomach churning. Thinking it would help, I tightened my grip on him. This seemed to prompt him.

We exchanged names in a casual banter. My heart skipped a beat when he repeated mine. It sounds so strange with his accent. It barely resembled my name at all. Then, it was his turn. August, he’d said. The rest seemed to fade away with the passing trees and street lamps. August. I savored the taste of his name on my lips. August.

August, who would show me this strange place. August, who would explain the strange sounds. August who would take care of me.

I liked the sound of that.

So, I rested my head against his back and simply said, “Yes. I’d like that.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.