Thursday, April 03, 2008

Let Me Explain

I can't believe how many years it's been since I've seen you.
And yet, you still have that same sad look in your eye, that look that says


"Don't Go. Don't do this."

But I explain to you now as I explained to you then that
I needed to leave.
I needed to find myself.
I needed to...go.

I explained it all, but I could tell you didn't believe me. You nodded your head and placed a finger to my lips to quiet me.

I didn't explain to you then but I explain to your now that I loved another.
He was there for me, a shoulder to lean on, when you had no time. And although you worked hard and took care of our family, he was there for me, even if it was to share a simple glass of wine.

Yes it's been many years, so many years filled with so many tears, far too many to count.

But I ask you again now, like I asked you then to not forget, but to simply forgive.

So I can go on with my life.



Afterword

Okay. I don't know what that was. It's not a poem, because you know the Oldgirl is not poetic AT ALL. It don't even flow right. And it's not quite prose. Not sure what it is. Humph.

But it is on my mind.

So let me explain.

I wrote this in about 2 minutes time, for my women's journal writing group.

The writing prompt was: Start with "I can't believe how many years it's been since..."

Is this story about me?

Nope. That story above looks to be about a married woman who left her husband for another man. I never did that. I've never been a wine person, either (well, Boones Farm - but no glass, straight out the bottle).

And I am known for being VERY evasive and terribly passive aggressive. I don't sit around trying to explain NOTHING to nobody. If I gotta explain myself, I run for the hills. (A bad habit, I know).

Not autobiographical.

Or is it?

I don't know.

It stems from me walking through a Wal-Mart one afternoon last year, minding my own business. I have no idea what I was shopping for. I don't think I even had a buggy.

When in through the front door, past the kindly greeter, walks in a man whose heart I broke many years ago.

We made eye contact.

I ducked into the greeting card section. Got a crook in my neck from turning too fast and too hard. I pretended I was reading greeting cards. Did that for about 5 minutes and then got the HECK out of dodge. I made a mental note to make sure I not frequent THAT particular Wal-Mart ever again. (Well, I've been there a couple of times since. You know how I am about trying to get over my fears.)

What would I have said to him if he walked up to me?

Hmm... I don't know. The sound of my heart beating hard in my chest would've drowned out all conversation.



But over the years, when I've gone through ish with men, I wonder if it's punishment for breaking that dude's heart.

I remember laying in bed in the dark with the ex-husband once, and him whispering...

"You still think about him, don't you?"

Hmm... I said the answer that was appropriate at the time.

I don't know what that quick story means. There's a story all up in there, though.

I'm not going to worry myself about it.

Therefore-

I will go on with my life.

9 comments:

  1. Are you nuts?! I'll be damned if that's NOT poetry! Listen OG, I know poetry, I write poetry, I read poetry, and I assure you my friend and undiscovered poet THAT was poetry...and good poetry at that! There you go babysis, tryna move me all up outta my spot as usual! ;b

    Now to the stuff below the stuff you actually wrote...explore all of that girlfriend. Not to be intentionally contradictory, but as opposed to what you said about there being a story in there somewhere, there are many stories up in there! Go explore the memories and the fantasies about the memories and then write like hell. I know I'll be amazed by what you'll create ;)

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  2. @That Oldgirl Sharon...

    Okay, if you say it is poetry, then it is poetry. But I will stick to my normal prose, thank you very much.

    I plan on using that someday, somewhere...I don't know. For now, I think I will just tuck it away until I need it.

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  3. Er-ah...that my Dear Lady Lee is sheer poetry - literally. That's what you call that!

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  4. @Mr. Cheap Seats (Terry)...

    Aww well doggonit now Terry... if you say it is, then it is. Poetry to me is "Mary had a little lamb..." and that complicated sensitive stuff that Sharon writes over on her blog... not this. But maybe if I work on it, I would see it as such.

    And dude, what's up with your blog address? Sometimes I catch it, sometimes I can't. Help a sister out!!!

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  5. New URL for the blog Ms. Lee. The racists were giving me hell.

    rydioflyertwo.blogspot.com

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  6. I felt that. shoot. I am going back to my corner now.

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  7. @Terry...

    Thanks, man! You know, I was trying to put in "2" instead of "two". Cool... Got it, I'm good.

    @Deepnthought...

    Oh no... That was too deep for deep! I must be on to something! LOL.

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  8. This evoked deep feelings and the movement of love expressed with "a finger to my lips to quite me."

    I believe in every writers works you'll find some connection whether it's in truth or fantasy. Keep discovering and uncovering.

    If you ever meet the brokenhearted dude again, I'm wondering if you're supposed to. Hmmm.

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  9. That's poetry, Lee. Definitely, and Marry had a little lamb aint no dayum poetry. It's a nursery rhyme.

    As for the other half of this post..do you.

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Slap the *crickets* out the way, kindly step up to the mike, and SAY something!!