One Beautiful Thing

The street lights bounced up and down before my eyes as they entangled with darkness of the night. Within my hands I carried you silently as we melted together into the streets.

I wondered what time it was? Was it today, or yesterday. Was it a year ago? It was just One day, I woke up with my watch broken down; I never got to fix it though, it was that one day when I discovered you grew within me to forever invade my alones. I hated you then, hated you with all the hatred my heart had been capable of. Then, I was too weak to hate you, so helplessly felt you in my body. That was the day I forever lost sense of time.

I sat on the sidewalk. Where to go? I had already shuffled through the places but a stinging pain within my chest told me all the doors were closed. I thought of many names; every name I’d known and beyond each face, there was a memory that bloomed within my heart and somehow the feeling of those past days brushed upon me. I smiled. Once, I smiled. My eyes fell on you and that smile froze, like the very fact of you in here killed away all my happiness, like you drew  a barrier between now and whoever I was before you came.

That night they got you out of me, you almost killed me. But I didn’t give a damn, you’d kill me anyway, I thought. Maybe when I decided to  hate you, it was me that I should’ve hated. None of that would make any difference…which left me wondering, is it soothing that feeling of letting go, or did it only hurt to know you’ve left something behind. You were that point of gravity standing at the heart of my life, and no matter how many years separated our departure, you always attracted regret to engulf the memory of you.

I sat on a sidewalk. Your eyes slowly opened for me to look at them and see they were mine. You even stole the only thing beautiful about my face. You saw me and went on crying. I rocked you but then you started a strain of screams. I rocked you again and you wouldn’t stop.

“Shut up,” I yelled, “just shut up!”

You screamed.

“Oh please  stop”

I too cried.

“Stop. Stop. Stop!”

But you wouldn’t stop.

You wouldn’t stop.

I then threw you on the sidewalk and ran away from your taunting voice not giving myself a second chance to see your face again. It might’ve changed everything.

I never had any babies again. And every time I pressed my hands against my tummy, I felt  the emptiness of my womb creating a shield around my life rendering it too empty. I loved you now. I missed you and hung on you every hope that my life should once again have a hint of a meaning. Maybe it was because you were unattainable.

Few days later, I came back asking for you. It wasn’t hard to inquire about the poor newborn baby who was left alone crying by a heartless mother. I learnt that someone picked you up and drove you to an orphanage and few weeks later, you were picked up by a family.

I saw you again. You were all theirs.

But you still had my eyes,

The only beautiful thing about me.

Would you forgive me?

Waiting Hours

Beyond me

Beholding me

Three walls

And a  single door

Never shall be but closed
A brain

Your breaths

Your fidgets

Slowly time flows

As you are

And I am

Dissolving into air

The thoughts

Of words

Quickening your heart alone

As you sit

And I stand

Withdrawn

From your heart

In mine

I hold the secret of it all

Oh , love now

Wind down

For nothing can hurt us

Not  anymore

Hard Velvet

The skin hung down your bony fingers, making them look big if compared to the re rest of your arm. You shook those hands with me and all I could notice then was my soul creeping from the rest of my body and hanging at my fingertips extending that one second in the time of my senses. For a moment, all that could be heard was that pesky noise as three of us settled ourselves into the chairs. It was just the way I liked it, the restaurant, with the huge walls painted beige and decorated with the life of the 18^h century hanging on them into the frames of drawings not quite capable of restraining them from spreading the feeling of those old times to fly in the air  as we, a young wife who three years ago only saw this place in her dreams, a husband who  owned enough money to pave his street in gold and a bachelor who had no plans in life other than staying as a bachelor.

      We talked. The two of you discussing things I could only understand few words in, still, I attentively heard and smiled quite foolishly every time you made a smart comment. Once, you looked at me and caught me looking at you and the only I thing I could do was looking at my golden watch; it had become a reflex reaction to your eyes, running away from them as they had eerie effects on every beat of my heart. I stole a glance again and your eyes had still maintained their position. Chagrinned, I fidgeted in my seat and tapped with my fingers on the table, then, rushed to the bathroom fighting that intoxicating impulse to look back at you.

   When I came back, a glass of wine was between your hands as you raised them quite eloquently rendering it weightless while suggesting to ask me about a matter you two had disagreed about. Every part of me burnt to know it and abruptly, all the intelligent stuff I managed to read in newspapers while imagining I was discussing them with you jumbled in my mind and then, I could feel cold sweat breaking into my forehead. I never r got  o know the matter. His sarcastic smile that had killed every beautiful thing in my life stretched upon his ugly lips censoring you for asking me, about such a clever thing. He laughed. His laughter was caught up between the atoms of air as every shade of it kept on echoing back and forth. I wanted to silence it. I wanted to fling one of those stained silver forks into his throat. I wanted dig his heart out so that he would never be again. But I stood, helpless. After he  stopped, a tear escaped my eyes. But no glance of you went my way. I went again to the bathroom and looking back, you apparently did not notice my absence. With a heavy heart and light, quick steps, I entered and looked at that shiny reflection of a doll who had sold her soul. I cried. I remembered you and a glimpse of hope lightened within my dim entity to be put off again; you didn’t even notice me in there. I cried even harder. And seeing how that made me cry, like  the whole of my being was only weighted by a move from your eyes, a twitch from your fingers, a word from your tongue, I realized how pathetic I was. But I couldn’t but love you.

Dancing on Spider Webs ـــ Poem

The untrodden places in the mind

Where dreams flourish still

Imprisoned birds in cages

Of crude reality

Freed by the hour’s fantasies

Where I rule and cannot be ruled

World as fragile as

Spider webs

Wounded is the soul

From yesterday’s slap

In anguish she ruminates

Of retaliation and striking back

But no power left in her

To even sigh

Away, she runs away

In denial of

The irrefutable past 

A Summer Day ــ Short Story

 Today marked the first day in the second week of our annual summer visit. It changed, changed very much from those days I could remember. But  no, I couldn’t remember days, not a whole day anyway, just fast glimpses that flickered within my mind then went away before wrapping my hands around them digging for more depth, more memories.

    The first instance I entered the house, after one year of not seeing it; the little changes that seemed so natural to the inhabitants of the house took my surprise. Little details year by year, that must’ve been imperceptible one day, now swept away the place in my reminiscences, and the people within it. This year, gramps put a T.V on the table facing his favorite chair in the bedroom where he and granny stayed. I watched as she entombed herself beneath the many layers of quilts her bones incapable of taking the air conditioner artificial coldness whilst she repeatedly asked her husband to turn the damned TV off as her ears were fed up from hearing the reruns and he would either ignore her or tell her to stop controlling his life. I passed their room and advertisements were on. Funny! So funny how they seem to disentangle life’s deepest conflicts and true heart of suffering into simple products that buy you happiness. The toothpaste will get you the girl. Coke will make you dance. Soap will make all men want you and cologne will make women have hard time resisting your charm. And at the end, all are happy, all a smiling. I watched the sullen face of Gramps and the light in his eyes put off before the cheerful ads and the  irony overflowed my heart and I couldn’t resist smiling contemptuously.        

    At the end of the hallway, there was the kitchen where mom was standing under a cloud of smoke. Seeing me dressed up, she said, while stirring whatever it was in the bowl, “Where to miss?”

  “Going for a walk.”

   “Okay, just don’t be late.”

  On my way to the door, I saw my sister in the living room playing with my cousins; both toddlers whose mother left five months ago. My bag fell and when I bent down to get it, the youngest approached my face with his mouth still incapable of kissing, yet his almost-kiss had more purity and innocence in it than other thing I had ever seen. I kissed him back and wondered how any mother could do that to her child.

   In the sky, the sun was blazing and almost immediately, I was covered with beads of perspiration that made my clothes stick to my body. I had second thoughts about heading back home, but visualizing what awaited me of  dullness made me push my legs faster away.

   Before me stood a clothes’ store and just a glance at it told me that there was nothing there my parents could afford; and really, I took only twenty bucks with me, so anyways, I’d buy nothing. Still, I entered.

   It was a hobby I had, entering fancy places and acting like I had a mine of gold in my backyard. It wasn’t like I ever had dreams about these stuff, but it always amused me to see how the treatment changed when they knew your purse was full. I could act well. I knew how my posture determined everything. Using hands and especially pointers implies a feeling of superiority that makes people feel inferior to you and thus, hate you; but when you go ‘shopping’ in places like that, it was inevitable  to act proudly in order to gain respect determined by how much money is in your bank account, and since I had no bank account, I had at least to make them feel like I was a millionaire.

   I tried on a beige dress that had fake but beautiful jewelry all over it reflecting the lamp’s light. Looking at the mirror, some changes had to be made. I took off the rubber band and let my hair glide gracefully down my back; the shoes too, I threw them away for they didn’t fit. I saw the reflection and it was no longer me. It was someone beautiful. For the first time in my fancy stores adventures I wished I could own it. The price of it appalled me; it was what my dad made in a month. I hid it away and focused only on that beautiful reflection that I seemed to have stolen away from someone else, for it couldn’t be mine. Through my head, ran a million fancies, when abruptly I heard a knock on the door from the salesgirl that made my feet land back on the crude lands of reality. Embarrassed, I gave her back the dress tying my hair and wearing my shoes and the me I had  always been came back.

  I moved forward with a destination unknown. It made me insecure, walking without a target. Within the wide streets, I felt my skin melting into the particles of air as the y burnt in it. My eyes could determine no end to the way.

   I was snatched away from my thoughts by a smell of cigarettes that at first, I let pass unrecognized but when I felt the proximity of it was something I couldn’t neglect, I looked beside me. There stood that kinda guys you always seemed to instinctively avoid saying, “wanna talk a walk with me sweetie?”

 “You go to hell!” I sneered going further away. Going back home.

  I remembered the way he smiled and it made me nauseous. There was always something humiliating about a guy hitting on you; turning the person in you into nothing more than a body that would be rotten when your soul leaves it. Few tears escaped my eyes, and for some reason, the way back home was longer.

   I pushed the door open. No one was in there. It scared me a little but then I saw them all, in the bedroom, around the TV. Gramps was more  alert and granny finally awake; mom out of the kitchen and my sister sat beside her with the little boys on her lap. All were laughing. I couldn’t say happy. Laughter is a spontaneous act that has not the least relation with anything within you. You can laugh when you are happy, and sadness could never stop you from it. Nothing could. You laugh and have no control over it. I searched for an empty room and threw myself over the bed choosing to pass the rest of the day blissfully sleeping.  

To Catch A Thief ـــ Short Story

 For so many years, more than I can remember, I enjoyed the sight of people as they hesitate  near me feeling their pockets and a certain look of confusion accompanied b y the straying of the eye  colors their faces, as though doing some calculations within their heads before they either walk away or throw me a dollar or two, mostly, without even looking. They never do that for me, or for anyone like me, but solely so that they can be so full of themselves and before putting their heads over the pillows, use the missing dollars as a reminder of their act of benevolence. Often, I smile trying to hide my sardonic thoughts at their faces.

   Straying in every corner of this town, my home is always a sidewalk; and  I do not claim that I ever came close to liking it. It has become inevitable, people averting their eyes when they fall on me as though they fell on nothing, shouting at the top of their lungs within my head, “You are nothing!” And I look at that sidewalk and feel that somehow, everyone has rendered be part of it.

    I steal. And I cannot tell when it started for, like the sidewalks, it became part of me. Of course I do it for money, but I will not deny how enjoyable I find it. The rash of adrenaline as my hands pass swiftly over whatever they fall on then quickly hide it into the long sleeves of my only jacket; the fear of being caught that somehow, challenges me into doing it; and after it is done, the feeling I have when I own something I never got to pay for; all make stealing a source of momentary delight. But then, there comes this time when, before sleeping, I stand  defenseless before the guilt that inhabits the unreachable places within my soul. It talks  to me like an outer being using telepathy to inject something good within my filthy being that feeds on hurting others. I tried to quit. A lot. other rosy dreams of a happy conscience that permits sleep to pass through my eyelids without horrible nightmares fill me but quickly fall on nothing. I can never stop it. If not for getting money, then for its pleasure. And then I go and steal, and after that ephemeral happiness comes to an end, I feel self-dread overwhelming every empty hole within my being until it makes me want to peel my skin and get out of it. I crawl back to the sidewalks and feel their uneven surfaces scratching my back , they too, trying to torture me.   Conscience is not my only punisher, neither is it the worse, for as they, sometimes it “sleeps”. Fear never leaves.

  Today, while passing the fish market, I felt a couple of eyes  fixed on my back. Without looking, I ran fast as I could. This all was new to me. After many turns and desperate trials to escape, dirty hands got me.  They took turns punching me and I could feel the salty taste of blood all over my mouth. My head felt as though being twisted in a hurricane. Finally, they let me go throwing me into mud. My blood mingled with mud, The whole of my entity was in mud, And right then, the only thing I thought of was, “You came back to where you belong.’

Lighter Head

The boy at the cafeteria, he looks at me that extra bit longer. I tell him I want my coffee. He imitates what he thinks he normally is handing it to me with a pathetic smile that changes the moment I turn my back and then he starts staring again. The man at that far corner too, stares. And then, all of their eyes turn. Men look at me in a different way, I think, secretly smiling at myself, then fall into a seat.

    I spilled the coffee. Damn. I go to the bathroom to save what can be saved. I meet my reflection in the mirror, and out of the blue, I remember how I often amused myself imagining Brenda Thompson at high school bald. It made me laugh. I laugh now.. And, you are in there, at the top of my head. I laugh at you too, then laugh at myself. I laugh till the bits of my stomach hurt. I push myself against the wall and cry. You told I was nothing but something beautiful to look at. I take a second look at the mirror; I'm the same, just hairless.

Self-portrait with Cropped Hair by Frida Khalo

The Words above: "Mira que si te quise, fue por el pelo, Ahora que estas pelo ya no te quiero"

Translation:"look at what I loved you for, it was for your hair. Now that you are bald, I love you no longer"

Been a while since I last wrote a flash fiction