other people's money

most of the time it comes in the form of a check.
personal.
hand written.
paper clipped to a note that reads,
"this is my favorite passage from the bible..."

those are the hardest to cash.
they sit on my kitchen table for days
judy or martha or scot's black ink stare up at me from the yellow table top.

or sometimes it comes in cash.
wrapped in a simple drawing of two bicycles.
sent from venice beach.

i feel guilty every i buy a new record.
or a pair of wool socks.
or when i google airfare to portland.
because the money was intended for,
well,
i actually don't know what the intent.

help with rent i suppose.
or help if i need therapy.
or just because some people didn't know me well enough to hug.

first i thought,
"i can use this to pay her rent and live alone."
but i can't fall asleep before 3:30am
and it's because i hear the sound of bare feet on the kitchen floor.
or the latch on the front door clicking.
or the water in the bathroom running.

so someone is moving in.
a good friend.
the girl i've known the longest here in the city.
she was my first choice to move in.
but had committed to another place.
but that place has a downstairs neighbor that makes her life hell.

but i still have a savings account
spilling with money.
strangers' money.
cash that wasn't earned.
a stack of green bills handed to me in a brown paper bag marked,
"$ FOR TIF."

i still have debt.
a lot of it.
i have a hospital bill from the day of the accident.
but the impulse to splurge is there.
to waste it on things.
to buy everyone i know an awesome christmas gift.
to move.

i'm meeting with a guy on saturday to discuss the custom cycling specific backpack he's making for me that i'll pay for with blood money.

hideaway.

i've never been a runner.
that's a lie.
i ran track in middle school.
i was okay.
not as good as my sister,
but okay.

when tough times hit,
i expose my left cheek
and take it.
i'd say like a man
but i'm a feminist
so it's not my style.

ten days after liza died
my mom was locked in a room by a guy she thought she loved.
he used a pole to keep her to himself.
she had to crawl out a window just to get away.
he broke her cell phone.
he beat her up.
he tried hitting the cops.
she said they almost tazed him and he's in jail.

sometimes i look into my bathroom mirror and say,
"what next?"

how much does it take to break a person?
when do they look to the sky and scream?
is it my turn yet?
to fall into a pile of leaves that gather on a yard in michigan,
sigh,
and sink to the core of this planet.

things smell better in michigan.
the trees line open pavement and remind me that there is love.
even if i think it will never find me again.
because sooner or later, it will catch me.
the bad will grab me by the hood of my sweatshirt
and pull it over my mouth
to muffle the sounds of my crying.
it will tell me to stop.
that i'm not the first to have a bad day.
or two.
or three years worth of bumpy road.

i believe it's what they deem the human condition.
being alive is hard.
but refusing to run from it is even harder.
and no matter what,
i can't hide.

even when that's all i want.

and then there are the panic attacks.

William Hundley

it's like drowning in a sea of the driest water.
your lips pucker as your lungs grow.
your eyes are lined with bread crumbs.

for a person that has issues dealing with stressful situation,
or a person that creates stressful situations,
or a person that only exists in stressful situations,
this is rough.

i'm creating problems where there are none
because i can't deal with this one.
the big one.
the elephant in the room.

instead of tossing and turning over her
i lose sleep over ben not hugging me goodbye.
even though there was a kiss.
to avoid replaying liza's death
i'm snapping at customers and crying into the dish bin.

i'm not dumb.
i know this is going to linger.
it's going to be something i carry everyday
until forever comes.

but this is a first for me.
i've never really had to deal with death.
especially seeing it.
and feeling it.
and hearing it.

liza's mom is on her way over to pick up a few things.
including a cat.
this lonely place is about to get a little lonelier.

sunday

this is reversed, but you get the idea.

don't trust this feeling because it will change in four.

really, what is there?
what word or sentence or fragmented thought could be applied to this feeling?
it's not easily punched into a label gun and then adhered to the middle of your forehead.
it's more like having your eyelids replaced with a flip-book cartoon.
and every time you blink,
every fucking time,
it starts over.

you see her in front of you.
then you in front of her.
then a truck.
then a pool.
then her glasses on the cement.
then the inside of a strangers sweater as she rocks you back and forth.

it comes in waves.
tidal waves that wash away a brand new box of business cards and candy wrappers.
and you know there was nothing you could do.
and there is nothing you can do.
and there is nothing that anyone can say to make it better.
except for, "i'm sorry."
and even that, well, it means nothing.

liza died on october 21st at 12:43pm under the rear wheel of a white box truck.
liza lives in the spokes of my back wheel and between the particles of espresso i serve to customers.

i can't get rid of this farmer's tan and my boyfriend feels like a ghost.

i have to do something besides write because right now, i couldn't put together a sentance.
even if it would stop the kidnappings in bagdad.
i've been drawing.
i started painting.
i've been... nothing.

i replaced my netflix with a npr pledge.
actually, i replaced a student loan with netflix and a npr pledge.
i did it to hear my name on the radio.
and the water bottle.
i've been needing one for awhile.
why not one that costs $15 a month?

james's birthday was a couple days ago.
i felt it coming so i sent him a letter, assuming i would have missed it.
he got it the morning of his birthday.
that night he sent me a message on facebook.

"The penmanship was familiar to me in a way that was reminiscent of last year's harvest, a time when you and I we're much closer than mere acquaintances. A time when you were a daily thought of mine. A time when I could rely on seeing you soon. I can't deny that I used to dream at length about the things our relationship might unfold. And Inevitably I was reminded of nearly every moment we've spent together. From that I felt just as much longing from holding your card as I did enjoyment."

and like almost every interaction i've had with him, i received it at the end of a long shift at work.
i don't know if it was exhaustion from 6 days in a row of work
or that he said what i had spent all last fall waiting for.
it took two martinis and a piece of chocolate cake to keep it all down.
the year of doubt.
the journal pages filled with his name.
the hours spent tracking his travels on the internet.

i still have the corn he sent me during last harvest.

there isn't an issue.
with this.
the issue i have concerns conflicting schedules and the distance in which we live.
and when i say we, i don't mean james and i.

on average, i spend 2 nights a week with him.
and then spend 5 nights figuring a way i can see him more.
and then spend hours wondering if it's okay to want to see him more.
and then an acuiantence says,
"is that your boyfriend? you guys are really cute. he seems like he's got a lot of energy. like, i see him here all the time and i just wanna talk to him."

i think i'm gonna buy an ipod today.

across the city.

it's not that i like him more than you.
it's more about me.
the me that has grown into a person that will allow myself to like him more than you.

it was becca who made it clear.
it was a year after i left when we smoked cigarettes by the dumpster.
she said,
"i really think it's going to take you liking someone else more than him for you to forget about him."

it's true.

because him falling asleep before me is different from when you did it.
you would pass out because you were soaked in whiskey and cheap beer.
the glow from the tv was that of a movie you picked and wouldn't watch.
he let's me decide.
he needs the noise like you.

i see it in his back
and his hidden muscles that he flexes after saying,
"i've gained some weight."
i see the moment i decide to say it.
i see the moment i wonder if it's true.
i see the moment i replay the day we met while he's away on vacation.

his smile is wider than yours.
it reaches up halsted and tucks me in between jobs.
even when he's sleeping on a worn out futon
i feel his arm going numb under my neck.