set adrift. no momentum, no direction. a body with no mind.

a heartless apathy.

.

i've given a fair amount of thought to perspective lately. there isn't anything, for me, that can't be managed with an adjustment of perception. where was your head when it happened? if you give it one moment's consideration, where was the person's head that was involved? are you overreacting? how seriously does any of it really affect your day to day? what's fucked as a result? Nothing? Then fucking move on. Even if everything is fucked, why would you want to stay in that moment? I have a great difficulty understanding the dwell of things. It already happened. It's done. Why not move past it? Why not grow? I also don't understand why you'd make the complaint without making the attempt at resolution. Did you just want to say it? Do you want sympathy for your inconvenience? I carry a lot. I will always listen. I will always be honest, my filters don't work well and I will probably say the wrong thing, but it's who I am. I will tell you why I think this way and I will keep your secrets safe. I will always have your back. I care deeply for those close to me. We live one life at a time. We exist in one timeline. This is all we have, right now. Shouldn't it be the best it can be? Every moment is precious. I don't care what you think of me. I don't care what he thinks of me. I don't care what she thinks, either. Once upon a time, I did. "I no longer have the patience for certain things". It's the perfect summation.

When I was in 6th grade, a boy in my class was dared to snap my bra. He did and it garnered laughter and praise from the ones that dared him. As it happened, I stood up quickly and spun to face him. My reaction and the look on my face must have taken him by surprise because he shrunk back and blushed hard. The feeling that took me over is one I will never forget, and I believe it was right then that I decided no one would ever inspire that feeling in me again. I felt hot and sweaty with embarrassment and shame, my heart raced and my head swam. I left the classroom and cried in the hallway. My teacher came out to console me, but it didn't matter. She made the boy apologize, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered, he had taken something from me. Something I couldn't identify at the time, something I didn't know how to embrace, but something I knew I couldn't let go. I was a young girl and I learned in that moment the power of self.  

When I was 18 I worked at ChiChis. I bussed tables and prepped the fried ice cream and rolled silverware and other random things. I worked evenings. My car broke down after my shift one night and I didn't have a cell phone and I was by myself on the highway. I sat in the drivers seat thinking for a minute and then went in the trunk and grabbed a wrench. I was walking home. I was just past the State St exit on 94, toward Ypsi. I lived off Textile. Long stroll. It was chilly out but not cold, moisture in the air, crisp on the skin. I walked in the grass to be as off the road as I could. I'd only been going for about ten minutes when a car slowed down and pulled over. I gripped the wrench in my hand immediately. It was a 40, maybe 50, something couple. A man was driving, his wife (?) in the passenger seat. Everything in the universe told me not to get in that car, but I did. I climbed in the back seat with the wrench pressed flush up my arm under my sleeve, I don't know why I hid it. I lied about where I lived and was silent otherwise. She was smoking. My heart was beating fast and hard. The seats were old cracky leather and the floor had bare metal parts and there were a couple newspapers next to me. I rolled my window down and stared out. They got off the highway at Huron and I said I'd be fine at the gas station. And, I was. 

I had the weirdest reaction to the smell of a man yesterday. My initial feeling was determined confusion. Like I had to dissect the layers of what he smelled like to make sense of it. It was cinnamon gum, sweat, oil, outdoor air stuck to the skin. Pretty unpleasant to me. There was another smell that was darker. Moldy, and dirty. Damp. That was the layer that kicked in a memory I don't know if I ever even had. I was suddenly small, like five or six, and I was sitting with my knees pulled up to my chest on a cement floor in something like a barn, but with no animal smells. Maybe a garage, but commercial not residential. The edges of the peripheral vision are really smudged out. I'm hyper aware that I'm somewhere I shouldn't be with someone that wasn't meant to have me but I didn't have fear, there was logic about everything going on. I didn't have a sense that anyone was going to hurt me. I wasn't crying or talking. No one else was with me that I could see. The sounds of the memory(?) never came to the surface.

Leon sees Noel.


He's standing with their friends and looking right at her. She makes passing eye contact and gets flustered, looking away quickly. A nervous laugh in her own conversation grants her an exit and she wanders out of his line of sight.  Loud music, beer, cigarettes. Warm weather brings them all out, a giant tribe of homies basking in the summer like lizards in the sun.

She sits on the deck steps, the back yard is huge. Everything is so green. The smell of charcoal and chlorine are light in the air. People are talking, grilling, listening, drinking, smoking. It's beautiful and she's so in love with all of it.

"Whose house is this, anyway? Do we all live here?"

An older man walks up from behind and sits down next to her. He is small in stature with white, curly hair retreating from his forehead in typical fashion for his age. He's leaning in toward her and smells like french fries. A sticky grey tongue drags across her cheek and he kisses her deeply with his fingers creeping into her eye sockets. She pulls back with no success. His arms extend unnaturally, wrapping around her body while his clothing flakes away like burnt paper exposing corpulent, white skin that quivers with every movement, like a giant larvae. Panic threatens to consume her, she can't move and no one has noticed what's happening. She's suffocating under the weight of his undulating form, but makes the choice to accept and give in completely to the repulsion, gaining calm clarity.


Noel sees Leon.

Doctor Emerson's Exempliphonic Whistle

When a legend is created, origin names it as the legend in order to uniquely identify it and ensure that the object behaves as such.

The legend, now, is yours, my friend. How lucky you are to have this fabled whistle brought into your life. Use it wisely and with great caution, for you are now it's keeper.

The following information is furnished exclusively for the possessor of the whistle. Dispose of this material immediately if you are not the holder of said object and purge your eyes of what you've seen.

Before you begin, please read all instructions carefully.

General Warning: Prior to transference, the exempliphonic whistle is imbued with tightly coiled energy. At the moment it becomes uncoiled, kinetic aftershock becomes a threat. The resulting force may cause damages and/or injury. Proceed with care.

1. Keep the unpacking area clear of obstruction and debris.

2. Position the crate in the standard fashion.

3. Wedge the end of a crowbar into the opening between the slats and pry carefully.

4. Once a plank is loosened: take two steps back, rotate 180 degrees and speak these words clearly. "By the charm of generic conservation in the dim light of daybreak, I (insert your given name here) admit you into my life and accept, fully, the impact of doing so."

5. Your whistle is ready to use!

"Rum... rum..." I murmur.

A woman looks in my direction and motions to my friend "Get him, the fuck, out of here."

We'd been there for hours, it was a fair request. My brain was fighting hard to escape my skull, I had no idea what was going on, the pain is blinding. Alex takes my hand, her touch is gentle and her skin is soft. I'm immediately comforted as she leads me to the door.

It's hot outside, I feel like I'm suffocating. The air is thick and my feet do not want to carry me. I lean forward and try to move with her. I'm traveling in slow motion toward a vehicle that is miles away, I barely know someone is with me.

"Rum... rum..." I murmur.

guns. we go to the gun range. i love to shoot them, but i can't lie, they produce a small intense ball of terror in my gut. it makes me second guess every move i make. knowing that the piece of equipment in my hand could end life is intimidating. my hands shake when i hold it. it's a feeling that i'm sure will pass with familiarity. i'd like some time to take the gun apart and put it back together. to feel all it's parts. i enjoy the feeling of the metal on my fingertips and the weight of the gun in my hand. the entire experience is good, even the fear. the bullets are slick with lubricant of some sort. the casings are hot. "You ladies gonna keep your brass?" the guys that are shooting the hand cannons next to us are really nice, even though they look like they might hunt faggots for fun, but we are ladies, after all. i'm a pretty good shot, despite my trembling. most of my bullets end up where i intend them to be, a peppered head on a pink man-shaped target. i'd like to go more often, to shake the fear off, hug it right to nothing. absorb it and turn it into a steady hand. i fall in love with the little old lady in the far lane shooting all by herself. she's inspiring. it's really hard to remember to not swing around with a loaded gun in your hand. don't look into the business end. no selfies with guns. always point down range. keep your finger off the trigger. i feel fully confident shooting 22 ammo. i want that confidence with bigger bullets. baby steps to reasonable goals.

high school. teenage life. smells, textures, visions, needs, desires. that weird girl that sits alone by her locker eating lettuce. i wasn't weird. was i weird? i had one friend for the sake of having one, i didn't care about anyone at school, really, but it didn't stop me from feeling anxious about what any of them thought of me. it seems like basic human nature to try and fit in, or at least think of the ways that you might, even if you don't pursue them. i thought plenty of what to wear, how to present myself. do i put make up on? how will i act normal if i'm all painted up and out of sorts? i had already done modeling and hated it. what do i look like? how do i feel? who am i? why aren't those things good enough for other people? i settled pretty naturally into slightly too large flannels and airwalks. the comfort of a found place becomes apparent in the confidence you carry yourself with. even once i was dating that football player, i still didn't care about interacting with the entourage. i guess i didn't really care about him, either, but it seemed like the right course of action. date the guy, go to the parties, meet the popular people, fit in. they're all as insecure as the rest of us ever were. and, they're not really any better at disguising it, we're all just too preoccupied with our own shit to see. i feel lucky and pretty fucking satisfied to have accepted myself at such an early age. accept and don't expect. i say it to myself all the time. everything happens, what will you do? will it all come to you as you expect it? will you accept that? what's the point of resistance and anger if it's already happened. now it's just pouting. the ebb and flow of it all can be staggering, but i constantly remind myself of how small it is. each thing. is small. and life is long. shit, even days are long. i've grown. i've adapted. i've evolved. i've procreated. i've influenced people. i still eat lettuce. fewer people think i'm weird. i've lived and made my world a better place.