Nope not today

My fingers hover over the keys
But I have nothing to say.

I can't think; my head is too clouded and my throat is too sore and the world is too big and I'm too small. It's days like this when I don't feel like writing. It's strange, but I can't tell why exactly. I just want to hide away and keep my thoughts to myself. I'm still majorly lacking inspiration. Maybe a poem or something :)

Nope. Lol can't do that either. So sick I just want to curl up in my house and hide. So I think that's what I'm going to do! I will get a good book and a cup of imaginary coffee and a big thick cozy blankie and take myself to another world.

And so, goodbye. I'm checking out for the day. Hope you all have a good one!

Don't read this unless you want to hear me ramble on in a very bipolar way....

Wow. I hate finishing a story. That is one of the first times I've actually finished writing a whole story, so I’m actually super proud of myself. But now I feel all empty like I do when I finish reading a story. I hate coming to the end of  a good book. I feel lost, and I’m usually tempted to start reading it all over again. I always miss the characters, like they’ve become my friends. I’m feeling that way now. I don’t want to start writing a new story, although usually I love starting new stories. But I don’t have the energy today. I have no ideas. My brain is officially dead I think lol. Its junior year, what can I say? I have so much to do today! Gotta write me a speech! Aaaaaah! I’m so nervous!

Well. Now what can I write about. My life is actually kinda boring right now. Well, no that’s not true. It’s crazy, but it’s not interestingly crazy. It’s just blah kind of crazy. I can’t type today. My house is sooooo cold! My hands are dying. They’re too numb to type. Well, how many words am I up to? Oh dear…. only like 200! Argh. I am very frustrated with my lack of creativity today. Well I’ll just tell you all some more about my boring life!!

Today I need to:

Clean my bathroom since my mom’s moms are coming over tomorrow.

Clean my bedroom so my dad won’t have a heart attack.

Write my speech.

American lit homework

Algebra two homework: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW NONONONONONONONONONONONNNNOONONONONNONNOONNONONONONNONONONONONONONONONONONO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Yearbook.

Ooh I better clean my kitchen too. That would be nice.

Go to the gym whooo hoooo!!! Then I can feel healthy.

Well there is my day all planned out. I don’t really know why you would care but I thought I’d tell you anyway. Maybe tomorrow I will have some more story inspiration. I need to start working on that memoir of mine but I’m not going to do that today either.

Ok. Now how many words? 343? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Wow. This is taking forever today. I turned on my heat so now my house won’t be as freezing but my fingers are still so numb! Ewwww I don’t even want to post this it is so random! I just seriously have no inspiration to write today! I don’t really know why. I am so bored. I want to go somewhere and have fun! Enough of school. Psh. School is so frustrating sometimes. I am so ready for spring break! And the sun! The sun should definitely come visit me today!

Ok I’m back. Just took a little trip to pinterest. That site is addicting. I want chocolate really bad. Oh my goodness! Have you guys seen that York Pepper mint commercial?? SO effective. Every time I see it I want to run right out and buy a billion of those. That sounds yummy right now. OH SNAP. I want an Icee. That sounds tasty too. I wish it were sunny. I want it to be Easter! I love Easter! I’m tired. Are you tired? Hey lets go nap! Oh wait, I can’t. I still have a bazillion things to do. Well. Now how many words am I at? Les Miserable has pretty music. I am tired. Ok. Yay! I’m done!

❥

amazing how fast the world can change

in a word

or in a moment

as simple as walking through a door

sitting down

and saying hello ♥

* * *

She didn’t look at me when I got in the car. Her gaze was on her hands clasped together in her lap. For a minute we just sat there, and for once I wasn’t the one going crazy. Marti was waiting for me to speak, and I was waiting for just the right words to come. Funny thing about moments like that. If you practice the words ahead of time, you’ll forget them and no other words will ever be as good as the first ones were. So I waited, keeping my mind clear, and at just the right moment, the perfect words bubbled up to my lips and spilled out.

  “Do you remember the Ferris Wheel Marti?”

She looked up in surprise, and then forced her eyes back down. But I went on. “Do you remember how you begged me to get on and take a ride? Or this summer in the water, when you made me take off those ridiculous fins and swim like a big girl. Do you remember that?” I smiled, because it feels good to say the perfect words, and know they are just right.

  “Yeah I remember. And I remember that you wouldn’t go on it, and you wouldn’t go on the big roller coaster either. Because they’re scary. And I’d never ask you to again.” Her voice sounded bitter and contrary. It quivered, tight with tears. She swallowed them down and continued to stare stubbornly down at her hands. But my smile grew wider and I even let out a little laugh.

  “You can say that, but you’ll ask again. Marti,” I willed her to look at me, and when she did I saw the fear shining bright in her eyes. I grew serious. “And if I promise to go, will you go in and talk to that girl? Forgive her Marti, or you’ll never feel full again like you did before your mom died. That’s what you came for isn’t it?”

 She looked uncertain but nodded. “I know you can do it.” I said.

Marti sighed and replied, “Ok. I’ll do my best. But let’s not kid ourselves,” She slid out of the car and ducked her head back in to say wickedly, “There’s no way you’ll ever make it on that Ferris Wheel.” With a nervous laugh she walked back toward the house. Shelly Price opened the door and they stepped inside. I closed my eyes and prayed, feeling like a little girl watching the most magical moment in a Disney movie.

 

   That summer was magical too. After I gave my valedictorian speech in front of thousands of kids, with my best friend cheering me on, Marti and I had three glorious months to hang out and giggle like we always had. We filled them with water sand and adventure.

Marti was always different after her meeting with Shelly Price. Like I had predicted, she was fuller, more at peace with the world, although still a thrill seeker. Somehow she was even more reckless and free-spirited than before. I, although still the voice of caution during our escapades, also managed to rise up and conquer some of my fears. When we said goodbye at the end of August, I bound for Harvard and Marti off to Liberty University, there were many tears but mostly smiles. Our friendship faded in and out through the years, but friendships, like everything else in this upside-down world, change. A few years ago, during a reunion chat, Marti thanked me for what I did that Spring. She said that without me she would have never had the courage to face her greatest fear: forgiving the woman who’d cost her mother’s life. I thanked her too.

  After all, without my best friend Marti, I would never have faced any fears at all. But Marti was right: to this day not even she has been able to get me on the Ferris Wheel. I’m telling you, that thing is freaky.

                                                           

                                         THE END



* * *

The house didn’t reek like I’d expected it to. The glass of sweet iced tea Shelly Price offered me wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t broken or chipped. The whole place was plain, but nice. And clean. It had the look of a place that had once been very dirty, seen some tough sights maybe, but had since cleaned up its act and changed into a pretty decent little house.

  Like Shelly Price.

After Marti had run off to her car, Shelly had invited me in and asked me to sit down. At first I’d hesitated, but what good could I do Marti outside of that house? After I came in and settled onto her summery sofa, Shelly Price went about the regimen of fixing our teas without any words at all. She seemed to be thinking deeply. Her hands were shaking and I could tell even with her back to me that she was fighting back tears. However when she handed me my tea there was a smile on her face.

   “So. Why did you come?” She asked. I answered honestly.

   “I came because Marti’s stuck up for me her whole life, and I needed to stick up for her. Be by her side.” Something about those deep blue eyes that were so much like Marti’s made Shelly Price easy to talk to. “I’ve never been the brave one before today.” I confessed sheepishly. Realizing I that hadn’t really answered her question, I continued, “But Marti came because she wanted to know about you. Who you are. How you live. I guess….” I trailed off.

  Across the little coffee table, the young woman seemed to hide behind those golden strawberry curls.

 When she looked up there were glossy tears filling her eyes, but she was still smiling and she said with a shrug, “Well, I’ll tell you. My name’s Michelle Joyce Price. I’m twenty-four years old. I have three cats named Johann, Dante and Wren. Wren’s still a kitten, Johann likes to snuggle and Dante’s shy. I’m single.” She sucked in a cavernous gulp of air and went on. “I’m a Christian. I play the cello at my church every Sunday. I love to sing. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite movie, but not the new one with Keira Knightly, the old one because you couldn’t find a better Darcy than Colin Firth, and the new one is too short. I hate gravy. I love salads, and shoes are my only current addiction. I work at Papa Murphy’s, but I’m studying to be a professional interior designer.” She paused again to take another breath and pick at the makings of a hole in her jeans. I took a sip of tea. It was sweet, southern tea. Somehow it tasted bitter, in spite of all its sweetness. “But I guess you don’t really want to know those things, do you?” Shelly Price was saying now. “Well, I’ll tell you about that too. I was sixteen years old when the accident happened. I was drunk. It was my fault. I took a turn too fast I guess. And she died.”

The utter bleakness that crept suddenly into her voice startled me. The tone changed, lowered, as if fleeing back to a prior existence. She was remembering….

In that grave, dead tone I heard an age old call that suddenly awakened my young soul. I came alive to more than math and science and being nerd and graduating high school and someday my prince will come and Marti and me and if only David O’Hara would actually call me and tomorrow’s history homework and I’ll grow up and win a Nobel Prize. As I sat there in Shelly Price’s living room, I suddenly saw that there was more to my life than just living.

For the first time I sensed an ambition inside myself, an ambition to help the human race: to show them the true meaning of compassion and love and true freedom as so many have never known it.

In that moment I realized that exactly what this woman needed was exactly what I could help her receive. What I could help Marti give.

  No heavy constraint of guilt is lifted completely, not by time, nor by rationalizing, or even by simply forcing oneself to forget. It can only disappear with the freedom of forgiveness.

 

 

Dedicated to a wonderful friend. She's been gone six years now, but her memory still reminds me to love openly and forgive freely.

 

* * *

I studied the door trying not to breathe too loudly. The silence was so heavy it seemed like a noise in itself and I didn’t want to do anything to disturb it. The sudden buzz of a bumble bee a few feet away was deafening.

The dark gray paint on the door was peeling and the black “B” in “14B” was hanging crooked. We heard footsteps from the other side, and for the first time it came home to me that Shelly Price was real.

 

The footsteps got louder and then that chipping gray door swung open just like any other door would. And there she was.

I struggled not to show my surprise. The girl standing before me looked like she was about twenty-five. She had shoulder-length tightly curled strawberry-blonde hair that frizzed out in an 80’s kind of way. She was wearing a white t-shirt and boyfriend jeans and light make up, and she was short and curvy and had big blue eyes. They were deep, sea-blue, kind eyes.

She didn’t look like a killer. She looked like a friend.

 

  “Can I help you?” She smiled as she said it, like she might actually want to help us, not as if it were an obligation. I turned to Marti, waiting for her to say her piece, but my friend was gone and a motionless statue stood in her place. Marti’s face was blanche as the grave and her own sea-blue, kind eyes were glazed with…something. I didn’t know. How could I? It wasn’t my mother who had died. I couldn’t imagine or even begin to sense what she was feeling.

  I snapped out of my musings about Marti’s eyes and turned back to the girl standing in front of me before the moment could get too awkward.

   “Are you Shelly Price?” I asked timidly, not used to being the one to speak up. Marti was the talker, not me.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, blinking those baby blues. “But I go by Michelle now mostly. Do you guys want to come in?”

  “Sure,” I stuttered. My elbow nudged Marti in the ribs in the hopes that she would wake up and start walking in with me. “If that would be ok.” I added. Marti mumbled something intelligible.

 “What?” Me and Shelly Price asked at the same time.  

 

  “I can’t do this.”  Marti repeated. Then before I knew what to do she turned on her heel and took off down the walkway back to the car. The door slammed and the radio started blaring.

Aghast, I sought desperately for something to say. But no words would come.

 “Who are you?” Shelly Price whispered, her voice suddenly pale and hollow instead of breezy and friendly. I tried to scramble my scattered thoughts together. Leaving now wouldn’t change anything. I had to be the brave one today. I had to be brave like Marti was always brave for me. Today was my chance to step up and help her, give her a push that she needed. She’d nudged me and pushed me and encouraged me and prayed for me my whole life. And now in this moment I would do my best for her.  

 I thought at the time that maybe I wasn’t doing the right thing, but somehow in my heart I knew that I was.

  “My name’s Margaret Corey. And Marti Crawford is my friend. Grace Crawford was her mother.”

Prepare yourselves imaginary readers of mine...

So, the madre is telling me to be in bed in precisely eight minutes and my room seems to have suffered a heavy blow from a tornado, so alas… you know what’s coming. You imaginary people reading this better prepare yourselves! I am not going to write my whole 500 words tonight. I’m so sorry. I know you are very disappointed, but it cannot be helped. Goodnight!