{From the Vault}

I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Elizabeth of Boy Crazy [finding clarity in the chaos]. She had a heartbreak tale to tell for Girl Talk Thursday, but posting on her own blog wasn’t idea, so I’ve pulled up an extra virtual chair and let her be an author in this space for a day. Please keep all comments about this post right here, but make sure you visit her blog to see what else she has going on!

When Elizabeth wrote this, she was scribbling into a (possibly) tear-stained journal at 19 years old. She’s typed it up and published it here for our literary enjoyment. I’m so impressed with how eloquent she is!

Don’t forget to visit Girl Talk Thursday and check out the rest of the participants’ stories too!

~ xoxo MommyGeek

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(From the Vault)
July 13, 1997

We sat on the bench at the end of the dock. It was around 1:30 in the morning, but we were wide-awake. We chatted for a while about the movie, using small talk to avoid the  conversation that was lingering in the early morning air. I’m not sure if he sensed the urgency, but I felt so strongly that we needed to talk that a thick, heavy pressure squeezed my chest.

I asked him a question to lead us down the road we needed to go, but he sidestepped. Before he could take his tangent farther, I stepped in. The irritation and haste in my voice was more obvious than I intended, but I needed to make my point. He had succeeded at masking his recognition of our problem, but once I started talking he couldn’t hold back. He was on his feet in a matter of seconds; his face and body betraying his frustration before he even spoke.

I looked up at him, his features blurred through my tears. I wiped my eyes and nose with my sleeve, his borrowed shirt. I listened to him and watched his body against the midnight sky. The stars were sharp and bright behind his head, a backdrop for our act.

We argued back and forth, my captive tears finally set free. Two bodies, but one mind; we wrestled with the same fears and doubts. While I was relieved to know we felt the same, it stung to hear his doubts vocalized.

He sat down next to me, but too far away. I felt like we were actors in a play, that everything was over-dramatized. The waves washed over the pier, soaking my sandals. The water was much higher this year. I looked up. Thick clouds were creeping in and swallowing big swaths of the starry sky.

I moved closer to him, linking my arm through his and resting my head on his shoulder. I could feel his tension.

It isn’t supposed to be like this, he said. We should be returning from a movie, happy and in love, sitting on the dock seeing the same shooting stars. Everything should be picture perfect.

In awe of the irony, I sat silent, listening to the distant thunder rumbling its warning of the brewing storm. We sat for a few minutes, needing to speak but having nothing to say. Finally, he went inside, leaving our conflict unresolved.

I walked back towards the cottage, but I sat at the picnic table outside the door. In the dark, I cried with my head down on my folded arms on the tabletop. I cried for the confusion and for the understanding. I cried for the past I wanted back and for the future I feared. I cried for the present, upon which everything depended.

I don’t know how long I sat at that table. My eyes were heavy with sadness and sleep. Standing up, I looked at the sky, searching for at least one survivor star.

But they had all disappeared.

As I headed up the stone steps, I heard another rumble of thunder, but this time louder and closer. It was only beginning, and this could be one hell of a storm.