The thunder rumbles in the distance. The rain has slowed to a soft drizzle. The lightning is sporadic but the lightning bugs are constant, flirting about under the cover of thick bushes and trees.
I always wanted to sit under a covered porch, my covered porch, in the rain, and enjoy the ambiance. Ambiance. What a ridiculously big word I learned from a ridiculously simple woman. I miss what our relationship once was. I miss it a lot. Like the death of a mother, one who actually gave a shit about her kid and who the kid actually gave a shit about. I found that so late in life, and lost it too soon.
My actual mother apologized recently. She said all the right words, had the right tone, meant the right things. It was, at its core, exactly what I wanted. But now that I got it, I hate that she did. Things are messy now. The guilt and shame I managed to shake off is back, even if it’s not valid. I think I never wanted to forgive her. I think I just wanted the past to never have happened. Those thoughts bring a whole different kind of guilt and shame to the party.
It’s been nearly 11 years since I tried to check out and really meant it. Although I’m not looking to turn in my room key anymore, I had hoped that I would have forgotten what it’s like to want to by now. I haven’t. I think that’s why it’s been 2 1/2 years since I got this covered porch and just now got around to experiencing the chaos of the summer under it’s protection. I still don’t feel like I deserve it’s protection. I still feel like I deserve the heart of the chaos.
Things are different but they’re not. The porch was my favorite part of the house when we viewed it. I dreamed of this moment before we even had the keys. I never thought we would have this. Could have earned this. Would had survived to get this. I cannot explain how thankful I am that we have this, together, we have this life. My greatest fear was always that I’d turn out like my mother. Now that I realize I became her anyway, my greatest fear is that I’ll ruin what we have together. These beautiful things that I’ve got. Please, I want you, I need you, oh god.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop being 16. I don’t think I’ll ever shake those feelings. I don’t think those wants will ever fade. I think I will always, at my center, be scared, angry, cruel, lost. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being 16. But I’m hopeful there’s room for me to be someone else too. Someone who doesn’t say shitty things to bring others down just to gain 5 whole seconds of satisfaction. Someone who doesn’t refuse to communicate and plays mind games. I’m trying, so fucking hard, to be someone worth coming home to. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being 16, but I want to bury her under someone who’s 30. 40. 50 still sounds like I’m asking too much, but if we get there, I hope she is strong enough to forget where 16 was buried. And more than anything, I hope she still has Magpie.
Things are different but they’re not. It feels like reality is a ball hanging from a string. The wind flings it around, but in the calm, it always comes back to the middle. Reset to default. The rain has stopped. The birds are back out and singing. And I want to ask the front desk where I place my room key at checkout.
I never liked talking to people though, anxiety and all that. So I guess I’ll blow on the ball that is reality, set it adrift, and enjoy the sunset on my covered porch.
This time the sun is out. There’s no rainbow to be found, but it’s beautiful anyway. The gutters are clogged, overflowing, but they’re still our gutters. Our emotions are overflowing but they’re still our emotions. Ours. That’s the important part. That’s the whole point. I’m still 16, but now I’m also 30. I’m still 16 and I’m not buried yet but I am 30 and I dug the hole. Most days I stand in the hole. Hopefully I’ll stop jumping out by 35. Hopefully I’ll fill it in by the time I’m 40. I’m not quite sure 50 feels like asking too much anymore, but maybe we can plant a tree over the hole instead of forgetting once we get there. Is this what it means to set goals?
Im out here for the normal reasons, but also because the new water purifier is running inside and I cannot stand the sound of it. That’s the thing about change, sometimes it brings only positive outcomes and still pisses you off. The bulbs in the globes over my bed have been burned out, dark, for over a year now. I finally bought new bulbs, and when I was putting away the extras I found the extras from last time, exactly where you’d expect them to be, exactly where I didn’t bother to look. There’s an analogy to explain here, but I can’t do all the work for you.
Things are different but they’re not. We’re different but we’re not. The ball hasn’t stopped drifting in a while. This is probably a record. Sometimes we sit on this covered porch in the rain together, but only in the mornings. The mornings are for us. The darkness still owns my evenings. Sometimes, Magpie leaves a light on for me.
I haven’t talked to her in over a year and I don’t regret it a bit. I haven’t talked to her in about 3 months. I yelled the last time we spoke. And after everything she put me through, she’s the one that stopped taking my calls. I may have become my mother but I’m not done fighting. I have more patience than she does, the price of loosing your one and only want in life I guess. Yeah, you were right, you did ruin your chance, sabotaged your own dream and for what? Eventually she caved and reached out. I get my satisfaction in the end. I was always faster than her. How did you think I survived?
Things are different but they’re not. There’s no thunder in the distance this time, but there is a donkey braying at dusk. The birds still came out to sing after the drizzle slowed to a stop. The lightning bugs are still constant, still flirting about under the now thicker bushes and trees.
And sometimes, I avoid the front desk because I’m scared they will ask for my room key, and I’m not ready to turn it in.
