Cry

The song is a bad omen. The piano keys echo in her ears and her feet pound against the pavement in time with the beat as she rounds the corner. She shouldn't have let herself run in his neighborhood. She can feel it in her bones; she's about to run in to him, or his wife, or one of his daughters, all of whom are so close to her age it nearly makes her uncomfortable.

She sees their mutual friend walk down the front pathway three houses away and she slows down, nearly walking instead of running. She watches him follow Elaine down the pathway and she takes a deep breath and speeds back up so she can pass them. She turns her music up and lets her feet carry her across the concrete and past them, feeling them watch her and hearing him call her name over the words of the song, the words that are reiterating what she's feeling; wanting to cry and for it all to go away. She hears Elaine's voice, but still doesn't turn, focusing instead on the hills in front of her, wishing she was running up them instead of just watching them move up and down behind the houses.

She forgets about the cracks in the sidewalk until they affect her, her palms hitting the concrete long before she has realized she is no longer falling.

¥

"I'm the loneliest person I know," She says, playing with the loose strings on the pillow clutched to her chest. "And I know a lot of people."

"If you know so many people, why are you so lonely?"

"Knowing their name is different than really knowing them."

He nods, writing something on the legal pad in his lap. She hates it when he does that. "Do you think that maybe you don't really know them because you won't let yourself?"

"No," He doesn't look up from his paper, and his silence shakes her. "Ok, maybe."

"Why is that?"

She closes her eyes. "Dr. Grove..."

"Answer the question, Juliet."

She sighs. "Because I don't want to get hurt." It's a mantra she's been repeating for years; she told it to herself when her mother left her Dad, her Dad repeated it to her when she left home 4 years ago, and it was what she told Elaine when she was asked why she had never been in a serious relationship. "I just...I'm afraid."

Dr. Grove nods, staying silent for a few minutes before looking up. "I'm going to tell you something, and you're not going to like it, but I want you to listen."

"Okay..."

"In order to stop being so lonely, you're going to have to be more open to the possibility of getting hurt."

¥

The smell of rain fills her nose as he presses her body into the wall, wet kisses on her neck in twos, threes and fours. His cologne mixes with the rain and all of a sudden it's her favorite scent, making her weak at the knees and warm between her legs. Three weeks she has known him, flirted with him, been falling for him. His blue eyes are the focus of most of her newly developed photographs, his smile has taken over her brain; his heart warms her soul.

Grove said she had to get hurt, but this doesn't feel like hurt, this; this feels like bad thoughts and good feelings, like cold raindrops and warm bodies. It's a cluster of emotions she can't quite describe, and though his shirt is clinging to his body and her hair is sticking to her neck, when their mouths collide and a mixture of wet and salt and heat explodes in to the far corners of her mouth, she never wants to let go.

¥

It's one of their infrequent dinners out when he tells her; clutches her hand across the table and tries to make the words sound less catastrophic than they are, though he's not very good at it.

"I need to tell you something," He says, after the waiter has dropped off their food and will certainly leave them be for a while. "Jules?"

She looks up and takes the hand that is stretched across the table, her brown eyes watching his blue ones speckle green and grey. "I'm listening, Alex." He smiles softly at the way his name falls out of her lips. He stares at her for a minute and then lowers his gaze and her heart starts to thump. You're too young for me; My daughters don't like that I'm dating someone this young; I just don't think we're right for each other...

"I'm married."

The pad of her thumb stops moving stops moving over his hand. "What?"

"Married." His free hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white-gold ring, which seems to clatter above the restaurant noise when he drops it on the table. "I don't like wearing it. I love her, and I never imagined falling for you. You surprised me, Juliet. I never expected to love two women. I'm so sorry. I had to tell you. I don't want this to be over but I...well, I suppose that's up to you." He looks up at her, his eyes grey with confusion and brimming with tears.

She can't say a damn word. She's forgotten how.

¥

Elaine's little brother ends up being her rebound guy, a man in age but a boy in all other aspects. He doesn't hold a candle to Alex; no one ever will. They date for a month and half before she finds herself standing outside of Alex's office, wringing her hands together. His meeting ends and she waits, eyes tracing the patterns in the carpet as the head of human resources leaves his office.

They don't say a word to each other; he touches her arm and she follows him in, settling in the black leather chair that sits in the back corner before bothering to look up.

"Hey," He says, pulling a chair from in front of his desk and sitting down across from her. "Is everything alright?"

"I hate you." She whispers, slipping out of her heels and pulling her legs up so that she is sitting cross-legged in the chair. "You-you cheated on your wife with me and you broke me."

"I know. I'm so sorry..."

"Stop," She says, shaking her head. "Stop apologizing."

"Julie..."

"I miss you." She looks up at him, willing tears to form in her eyes. She hasn't cried since he broke the news and she feels like a robot. Not to mention she wants him to care; wants him to see her tears and feel bad. "I need you."

His hand brushes against hers and she clutches at his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I miss you too, but I...Juliet, I can't."

"Why did you tell me?" She snaps, his hand dropping out of hers. "We were happy. I was in love. Couldn't you have just...left it alone?"

His heart breaks when her voice cracks. "No, I couldn't. It wasn't fair to you, or her."

"You know what else isn't fair to me?" His head shakes slowly, but she can see it in his eyes. He knows. "This. THIS, Alex. I'm dying without you. I need you so badly, and I..." She stops, standing. "I have to go. I can't believe I came here."

"Come on, don't leave."

"No. I'm going." She walks away from him, reaching for the door handle and closing her eyes. "I need to not see you any more."

"We work in the same building."

"On different floors. Just, try."

He doesn't say anything at first, but she hears him cross the room and rest his hand on her shoulder. "I promise, I will."

She leaves without another word and goes home for the day. The don't see each other for another two months. It's at the company Christmas party that she meets his wife, and then leaves and drinks herself to sleep on Elaine's couch.

¥

Her eyes open slowly, Alex's face coming in to view; fuzzy at first, and then clear, clearer than she's ever seen it. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," She says, sitting up. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" He lifts her up by her arms, helping her stand. "You hit the concrete pretty hard."

"I'm fine." She pulls out of his grasp, moving back and forth from the balls of her feet to her heels.

"Juliet, what about your hands? You went palm first..."

"I. am. fine." She snaps. She moves to run her fingers through her hair, but her wrist screams at her and she cringes.

"I told you. You need..."

"You didn't tell me anything." Alex opens his mouth, but she shakes her head. "No. Don't say anything else. I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. I don't need your help. Just leave me alone!"

"Juliet." Elaine steps between them, reaching for her friends arm. "Sweetie, calm down."

"I am calm!" She screams, and Elaine steps back, lifting her hands in defense. "I'm sorry, Laney. I'm just..."

"Fine; you're fine." Alex snaps. "We know." He turns to walk away and then stops, though he stays facing away from her. "I got hurt too, Juliet. I fell in love and got my heart broken too. You're not the only victim here."

"No, I'm guessing your wife is the other one." She hisses, watching his shoulders tense before he finally walks away, his steps slow and steady as they head towards his front door.

The two women don't say anything else to each other, but Elaine helps Juliet in to her car and takes her to the emergency room, insisting that she get her wrists checked out.

It isn't until the doctor is splinting and wrapping her wrists that she finally, finally, lets herself cry.

Head vs. Heart

There was something about the way he smiled. It set her stomach in motion; made her hate herself for being so contradictory. "Always trust your head," he told her, but her head was telling her to write him off, to be finished trying to be his friend; to stop trying to fix him, and she couldn't. She wasn't ready.

She never really understood how to flirt. Is it flirting when she makes fun of him, giggles when he counters her statements, or touches his shoulder? Is she obvious; does he know? Is he flirting back, or just being nice?

She feels like her head will never stop being angry with him, and she thinks that her heart will never let him go. She's less worried about the other girl interested than the competition between her head and her heart. He'll date the other girl before he dates her and that's fine. She just wants her whole soul to be on the same page.

Sometimes she hates him. It's not just because he has changed, or because he doesn't understand; it's mostly because of the way he thinks. It's the zen, the open-ended questions; the written pieces that she doesn't really understand. It's that he keeps finding ways to justify his change; changing who he is and who he was so that people will understand the change. It's that he wants her to keep him accountable, even if it means she can't let him go. She's worried about his past; worried that he'll start again and it will really change him. Will it just be nicotine? What about alcohol? Hard drugs? Is it already happening?

She never wants him to know how she feels because she doesn't want him to stop being himself, but she wonders a lot whether he would feel the same way if he knew the truth. (Unless he already knows, she thinks, knowing that could certainly be possible.)

It's 9 pm when she gets the news. It's not a subtle call at all - the person who calls hasn't made a call to her since...forever. She answers the phone confused, and when the voice on the other end cracks she knows something is really wrong.

"An overdose," the woman on the phone says, "We still don't know if he'll wake up." She can barely respond. "Did you know he was doing drugs again?"

"No," she says, her voice coming out much softer than she expected it to be. "But I thought - I had a feeling. I should have said something."

"Don't blame yourself." She wants to say something else but can't, so she just nods, as if the older woman can see her through the phone. "Do you want me to stop by and get you? I'm on my way to the hospital."

"Yes." The rest of the conversation is a blur, and the next thing she knows they are on their way to Mercy, and she is seated in the backseat of a cab, crying in the arms of her mentor, whose tears are not hidden.

"He'll be okay." The older woman runs her fingers through the girl's messy curls and she closes her eyes. "I know you guys were close..."

"I never told him," she rasps, trying to cough away the tears. "I should have told him how I felt."

"You'll still get to." The girl with the brown curls nods, even though neither woman actually knows whether or not the statement is true.

He's awake when they arrive, but just recently. The doctor says he'll be fine and lets her go in to the room by herself. He bursts in to tears when he sees her, and when she tells him she loves him, he repeats the sentiment.

Two weeks later she is driving him in his car to the rehabilitation center that his parents chose, his fingers threaded through her right hand as she drives.

"I'll miss you," he says, and she smiles. "Will you miss me?"

"Yes," he squeezes her hand and she glances over at him. "But the wait will be worth it."

The problem is that it's not worth it. He comes back in love with a girl he met at rehab, and she finds herself watching him walk away just like she always dreaded he would.

She moves away from home, starting a new life with new people, and never sees him again but hears. She hears that he and his sweetheart get married and have children and that just after their second son is born she relapses and overdoes, leaving him with three children and a broken heart.

She determines that he deserves it.

Dry Erase

Squeeks ring in her ears as individual letters string together,
A green marker marks a white whiteboard,
From a shaky hand,
A short sentence forms,
Words drip from her careless lips,
Whispers of thoughts she wants to convey,
A quiver comes with an audible vowel,
A tap on the shoulder,
A clearing throat,
Remind her that she is not alone.

Squeek.

- MRB and NJF 10/20/2009

What motivates you to succeed?

the blue in his eyes,
the laughter that spills from her mouth,
the way their skin contrasts with mine,
how the adults arm fits around my shoulder,
how the childs hand fits in mine,
sarcasm,
wrinkled noses and tapping fingers;
laughter that cackles and fears of armpits;
inside jokes,
tea stained shirts,
too much coffee and not enough sleep;
GLEE,
languages i can't understand,
you,
concrete jungles and rural homesteads,
baby elephants and blind rhinos,
my past, present and future,
people,
laughter,
music,
LIFE.

Red Wedding

Blank paper.

Crisp, clean, perfect.

The only thing there may be are flecks from the journal cover, little pieces to be wiped away once the pen and the mind are jointly prepared.

He worships the blank sheets, buying notebook upon notebook and staring, knowing one day he will write something; anything.

It starts with one word; red. His pen digs in to the pages and he writes with abandon, describing with love a woman he worships almost as much as he worships the blankness of the pages he is now describing her on.

He knows not how to say the words, so he writes until he can write no more, then goes back for the sentences he likes and moves them to a new, crisp notebook. He fills two notebooks with her, watching her details spill on to the white.

Six sentences are chosen; phrases that describe her flaws and perfections in such a way that he sees her beginning to form in front of him; curves and contours and all.

He carefully sketches the three-letter nickname on to the front of a third notebook and fills the front page with the sentences. It will be his reminder notebook; one to keep for the ages.

He dresses, white tie, and leaves the room, carrying his new reminder with him.

The six sentences are used later, when she stands before him, white flowing from beneath her deep red waves. It reminds him of the notebooks.

When the sentences fall from his lips, and the tears from her eyes, he forgets the blank crispness of the pages and watches them fill with ink, all colors, with scratches and drawings; perfectly sketched ‘i love you’s’ and lopsided ‘don’t talk to me today’s.’ He sees laundry instructions and recipes and potential baby names; funeral dates and anniversary reminders, and he finishes with words not previously planned and most definitely something he never thought he would say.

Red is the color of the ink I like the best, the blood that will bind us, and is the universal color of Love, but mostly it is you; it is how I will always know that you are the one whose hair will drift through my fingers and whose lips taste like strawberries, because red means my love, my wife; my life.

Her hair drifts through his fingers later, red against the white of his vest as she lies in his arms. He reaches for the notebook while she sleeps and scratches words on the second page, still mostly blank.

Red. White. Wife. Life. Love.