#justsomethingiwasthinkingabout

[kaytherambler]

I lay in bed as the pre dawn light washes over me

Washes over me a desire to be 

Held

Seen 

Chosen 

I let it caress my face and reach for you 

Are you there 

And would you reach for me too 

[kaytherambler]

The Ruby Necklace

The woman didn’t have much jewelry. She could count with just her ten fingers her jewels; one pair of diamond earrings, gifted to her by her grandmother for a milestone birthday. A dainty necklace with a small pearl in the center, a necklace that one belonged to her mother that she hoped to one day give to her own daughter. A ring with a fire opal at the center, a gift from her lover and partner; two more pairs of earrings purchased for her by her wife when she embraced her full self; two bracelets found at a vintage store – one with an etched pattern inlay, the other studded with a variety of small gemstones; an anklet, a bygone relic of the 1990s, saved from childhood; and a sapphire necklace, given as a token of love, acceptance, and joy from her wife, the blue of it a perfect complement to her eyes. Apart from these valuable treasures, there was a small box of costume jewelry, gaudy stuff, rarely worn, collected over three decades of combing through vintage shops, frequenting the local mall, and stockpiling the discarded gifts that her mother and sister decided were not worth the space in their jewelry boxes.

The sapphire necklace held a special space on the nightstand, partner only to her wedding band, the two being her every day items to wear, regardless of outfit. The sapphire complemented just about everything in her wardrobe, and of course the wedding band was the obligatory but joyfully worn item – not counted among her other jewels due to the expectation that it be part of the daily ensemble, while also being more precious than any other item in her repertoire.

The woman loved her jewels, but the majority had been gifts, not of her own choosing. She harbored a very open wish to purchase her own jewel someday, not from materialistic desire but from a desire to own something to signify a sense of having “made it,” a way to honor herself and the challenging journey of her adulthood so far. An item to call fully her own. She quietly set aside funds each month, waiting for the perfect item to strike her fancy. One day, it did.

She’ll never know if it was the way the light was hitting the window display at the jewelry store, or if it was the combination of things having gone well over the past month and riding the high of positive emotion, or if it was simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time, but when she saw the ruby necklace in the window, she knew it had to be hers. She threw the door to the store open with the ferocity only a woman on a mission can possess, and demanded to see the piece. A kind demand, to be sure, as the woman had nary a mean bone in her body, but a demand nonetheless. The shopkeeper fetched it, holding up the mirror as she tried it on, the ruby resting adjacent to the sapphire.

“Take it off,” the shopkeeper said.

“Hmm?” the woman asked, a confused look on her face, reflecting back at her in the mirror.

“The sapphire. Take it off. See how the ruby looks on its own.”

The woman followed the advice, and sure enough, the ruby slipped a little further down, into the center of her chest, a shining beacon adorning her.

“How much?”

Numbers crunched, savings considered, a small loan for the rest, high interest but the assurance that it wouldn’t be out of control, a contract signed but unread, and a little bag containing a little box, home to a sizable jewel on a gold chain.

A ruby. Her ruby. A ruby that she had found, selected, financed, taken home. No one could or would take from her the joy of having found this small token, her small token.

She returned home and showed her new jewel to her wife, who delighted in the joy her partner possessed for this item she had bought. Her wife knew the importance of this moment, the joy found and felt in this symbol, and relished in the clear excitement of her partner. She helped her wife find space in the jewelry box, lovingly helped her clasp the necklace on again at home, kissed her neck while whispering to her how beautiful she made it look, for the delight for the jewel was not just delight for an item, it was delight for what it meant.

They both went to sleep that night happy for the woman. The woman smiling for her own accomplishment, her wife smiling at the woman’s happiness. A small needling, the size of the loan, threatened to make its way into the woman’s head, but she squashed the urge to give in each time.

The next morning, the woman chose a black and white top to wear, accompanied by dark wash jeans, and a black cardigan. A largely monochromatic outfit. She instinctively reached for her sapphire, her hands needing little input from her brain to fluidly bring it up to and clasp it around her neck. She fingered the old gem as she did a final assessment in the mirror, and that’s when it happened.

Quiet, a whisper from the jewelry box. “You should wear me.”

She reached up to her neck, hastily unclasped the sapphire, and slipped on the ruby, her fingers fumbling with the new style of clasp, taking a moment more than usual.

Perfect. The ruby was the perfect complement to the outfit.

For the next week, each morning the ruby beckoned. You should, you should, you should. It shininess, its newness, made the rest of the jewelry in the box look old and weathered, so the woman agreed each day. Yes, I should, I should, I should. The sapphire took the place of the ruby in the box, and the ruby took its place on the nightstand – quickly the new favorite.

The first of the month came. A bill, sent via email, payment expected by the end of the week. A number that was larger than what the woman remembered, but that made sense when she thought about it. She’d be short, though, and asking for help from her wife was a request she was not yet willing to make. Stubbornness can be a hell of a trait to put aside.

Rummaging through the jewelry box, she pulled out the two bracelets. Not the fanciest of items and surely not the most expensive, but a plan was hatched.

A short walk to the pawn shop, an icky feeling in the pit of her stomach entering. A small compromise of morals, selling precious items to make money she didn’t have and still wouldn’t. At least she wouldn’t be trying to give these as collateral, trying to get them back later. It was just this one time. There won’t be a next time, but if there were, she would ask for help.

The amount received was just $5 short of what was needed, and by day’s end the bill was paid, no one the wiser.

Another month, the ruby shining every day on her neck. Another bill, this one a little higher. Jeez, that interest was no joke, the woman thought.

The anklet didn’t fetch much money at the pawn shop. The costume jewelry, the collection of decades, got even less at the consignment store. Two more compromises of who she hoped to be. She had hoped to be the woman who held on to the sentimental, who looked lovingly back at these pieces. She had been wrong, but that was the cost of the ruby.

Two months with enough set aside to pay without compromise.

Two months of Christmas money to pay the loan.

Four months in on a one-year loan period. Just eight months to go. An extra hour here and there when she could, no skipped days of work, one less takeout meal per month, one less tank of gas – no day trips. Her wife was still oblivious, the woman’s stubbornness was still in tact.

Another month. Month six. Month five she’d made the payment, just barely. Six was going to require a conversation, if she could just find the right time.

She didn’t. The earrings were pushed across the counter at the pawn shop.

“Collateral, please.”

Another repayment plan, a deadline come and gone, the earrings sold, the ruby remained.

Month seven, her mother’s necklace.

“Collateral, please.”

Another missed deadline, another item sold, the ruby remained. Thank God her wife never looked at her jewelry box.

Months eight and nine, birthday money. Just three more months to pay. She could do this, she thought. You should wear me, said the ruby. She dutifully clipped the clasp around her neck.

Month ten, the opal ring.

“Collateral, please.”

The pawn shop manager shook his head, a speech about how “no can do” when you don’t ever actually do the terms of the collateral echoing in the woman’s ears as she walked home with the small check the opal caught. It felt too late to talk to her wife, too late to right the course of the ship. “You should” is a poor reason to do anything.

Month eleven.

Her wife had planned a night out for their anniversary, dinner at a local spot they both loved. She bought herself a new button-up shirt to wear, and found a beautiful baby-blue dress for the woman to wear. She thought of how the sapphire, on its silver chain, would look so beautiful with the blue dress. She hadn’t seen the sapphire in ages, and while she loved the ruby and what it meant to her wife, she hoped the sapphire would make an appearance for this special day.

She left the box with the dress on the bed, with a note that read, “Wear me, beautiful,” and went downstairs to wait, the shower the woman was in still running.

An hour later, the woman emerged, baby-blue dress hugging all of her curves, hair down, perfectly framing her face, the ruby necklace resting just before the plunge of her cleavage.

“Oh, I had hoped you’d wear the sapphire tonight. I thought it would look so good with that dress!”

“I thought I should wear this,” the woman said.

The wife wasn’t angry, but brushed past the woman and went to the bedroom, a beeline for the jewelry box. “Let’s just see how the sapphire would look, please?”

The woman ran to catch up, but she was too late. Her wife’s face was pale.

“Where’s all your jewelry?”

The only necklace that remained was the sapphire, and it was destined to be pawned in the next week.

The weight of the year caught up with the woman, and everything poured out. The payments, the collateral, the loan, the pawn shop, the slow compromise of morals that started small and spiraled, the inevitability of the sapphire being sold to make the final payment for the ruby.

The wife took the woman’s hand. “I’ll make the final payment. But remember, that ruby will someday be as dull as the rest of this. It won’t stay shiny forever, it won’t be new forever, it won’t be the item you ‘should’ wear everyday forever.” A kiss on the forehead, a meal ordered in, the dress returned, the shirt returned, to help make the payment.

A year later and the ruby was still the daily necklace, the little voice in her head or the siren call of the brilliant red gem telling her she should, she should, she should wear it. The hands working in agreement saying I should, I should, I should. A wife who still hadn’t seen the sapphire around the woman’s neck, but now in over two years. An itch had planted itself in the woman again, another itch for a new item of jewelry.

She’ll never know if it was the way the light was hitting the window display at the jewelry store, or if it was the combination of things having gone well over the past month and riding the high of positive emotion, or if it was simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time, but when she saw the amethyst necklace in the window, she knew it had to be hers.

Rubies don't stay shiny, all that glitters isn't gold, everything new someday fades.

These are lessons that must be learned, not told.

[kaytherambler]

Diamonds don't stay shiny

All that glitters isn't gold

Everything new someday fades

These are lessons that must be learned, not told

[kaytherambler]

I had an idea for a romantasy book I wanted to write that has the queer representation and actual plot that I really wanted to see in the books I was reading. I'm about eight chapters into writing it and haven't worked on it in a few months. I just reread what I have so far and am still just as stuck on what to write next. Ugh....

Any suggestions for writers block y'all?

[kaytherambler]

When its my turn

I promise to treasure every second

When its my turn

I promise to smile through the pain

When its my turn

I promise to be brave

When its my turn

I promise I won't be afraid

When its my turn

I promise to love beyond compare

When its my turn

I promise, I promise, I promise

When its my turn

Love will flow through my veins

[kaytherambler]

Sun goes down

The last echoes of yellow and orange reverberate across the sky

The baby blue fades to black

Stars wink,

The moon rises, laced with trepidation, she knows what comes next

I feel like a vampire or a werewolf, or some other nocturnal creature

Sunset is my siren call

Instead of flesh and blood

My meal is fear

Give me your deepest, your darkest

And I'll show you it's real

Convince you it'll happen

Make you grieve before it's time

Self sabotage, honey, your soul is mine

Cured only by the rising sun,

Claim victory if you made it this far

Congratulations, you survived the night

But I'll be back, just you wait

My darkness always finds a way

I am the dragon, the demon, the phantom you must slay

A wink, a kiss goodbye,

That was a fun game

I watched you squirm, I watched you cry,

And I'll see you again tonight.

[kaytherambler]

Catholic mass on a Saturday evening

Winter

Our Lady of Peace

Long Island, New York

Knees on the...kneelers?

Aptly named, but I had to Google it

Elbows on the pew in front of me

If you didn't know, this is the Catholic way to call God

But tonight God ghosts me

A phone call in the basement of the church

A pay phone?

Her voice is far away

"I'm just tired"

And then we're driving home

Grandpas car

Hes a hoarder

I'm wedged between two buckets of something

Classical music on the radio

He's talking about listening to people's stories before it's too late

Blah blah blah

I'm thinking about how this is just another thing he'll say and I'll forget

But I'm almost 30 and I remember

Pull up to the house

My parents car

I thought they were working late?

He's gone.

And then we are crying, and laughing

And I don't understand

And they go to work the next day

December 10

Like nothing happened.

A seed of resentment planted,

Providing fruit for a lifetime

The second time,

2011

My dad told my mom in the kitchen

She'd just walked in the door

March 7

My best friend won't let me forget

It's her birthday

Emo songs in the earbuds

Deep gashes down my legs

A habit I recently picked up

A plate of hash browns at the diner

A cryptic Facebook status

A long flight to California

I know their address

Street name and number

But the zip code escaped me long ago

Just like the sounds of their voices

Our great aunt is like an apparition of her

And I almost call her by a different name

When she appears in the doorway

As if death were an impractical joke

And this was a rouse to get the family together

A funny story we'd all laugh at later

In a lake in California

High in the Sierra Nevada

In the bluest water I'd ever seen

Rest the remains

Of people taken too soon

And I wonder

As they set out to spread the ash

The tiny white box in its own seat on the boat

How is it that people so grand

So much larger than life

Ever fit in a box so small

[kaytherambler]

When I die I hope it feels like a long car ride

Like the sunrise in that West Virginia valley

Slow and soft

Like the sunset on the Oklahoma plains

Bright and magnificent

Like your hand laced in mine

Comfortable and calm

Like the turn onto our street, when I know we're almost home

Familiar and secure

Just like on a long car ride.