Julia

She looked around at her office. She loved her job and she had worked hard to get there. She was smart, she had been the co-valedictorian of her graduating class. She went to college and finished in three years. She got a master's degree but decided that a doctoral degree wasn't necessary for her field. She could have been anything, but she had chosen to become a campaign worker for the candidate that she believed would be elected President in 2016.

It was kind of a funny occupation for someone like her, seeing as she was one of the quiestest, shyest, most soft spoken women most people had ever met. She barely had any friends in high school and that was still the case. She was awkward and she never could bring herself to come out of her shell. She went to school or work and then went home. She worked at home or she wrote on her blog, which only had a handful of followers. She liked to read and she had a handful of shows that she followed.

She had always hoped that her life would be less solitary by the time she turned twenty-seven. She had thought that she would have friends or maybe even a family of her own. She had always assumed that in college she would find her niche and come out of her shell a little, but it hadn't happened that way. She closed the office up and sadly watched as several of her coworkers got ready to go out together to a party. They always invited her but she never felt like their invitations were sincere.

As she walked to her car she started to think about work and about a big press release that would be coming out the next day. She had written it and she was hoping that her message would come across to the world the way she intended. She was so lost in thought that she didn't see the other girl until they smacked into one another.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I was thinking about work and I didn't even see you," she stammered.

"Oh no, totally no big. I was texting and wasn't looking up either," replied the girl she had bumped into.

"Wait a minute, don't I know you?" she asked.

"You look familiar, did we go to school together? I went to San Francisco State," replied the girl.

"Actually, I think we went to the same high school. I went to Centennial in Pueblo, Colorado," she said.

"Oh my God!! Yes!! I did too, I graduated in 2004. You're Julia, right? I'm Cassie. I remember you, you were the valedictorian! It's so nice to see you. I can't believe you live in San Francisco, too. Don't you love it? I came here after high school and just fell in love. I couldn't imagine leaving ever again. I have a degree in fashion merchandising and this is a great city for someone in my line of work," said the girl.

Julia was taken aback at how much the girl, Cassie, could talk. She didn't think she had said that many words to her coworkers over the past year. She was searching to find a reply within herself, but luckily for her Cassie just went on.

"I'm not married or anything and I was just headed to meet some girlfriends at the martini bar two blocks away, you wanna come?" she said.

"Sure," said Julia, totally marveling at the fact that she just got invited to hang out with this girl.

She flashed back to high school and remembered Cassie. She was popular and pretty and really nice. She would always talk to Julia in class and try to make conversation with her. She was one of the only popular girls that Julia had thought truly deserved to be popular. She fell into step next to Cassie and looked over. She took in the ragged looking tights that Cassie was wearing and the stylish, purple dress. Cassie had feathers in her hair and her makeup was perfect. She was walking along in four inch heels as though they were tennis shoes.

She looked down at her own outfit and took in the plain, gray slacks and the white button up shirt. She had on basic black pumps and her hair was as straight and limp as a pile of sticks. She felt like the dowdy secretary, walking along next to the mega-platinum rockstar. Cassie had just asked her a question about what she had been doing since high school so she left her thoughts in her head and turned to her to respond.

"Well, I actually graduated from the University of Chicago with a bachelor's degree in political science but I never really fell in love with Chicago so I went back to Colorado and did my master's degree in communications at CU in Boulder. I wanted to see somewhere new after that so I started applying to as many different jobs within my field as I could find. I got a lot of interviews but I ultimately decided that I wanted to work on a campaign for Riley Talbot. I think she has a real shot at becoming the next President of the United States of America and I really believe in her message," she finished and took a deep breath, not being used to talking that much to anyone.

Cassie looked at her curiously and then smiled, "I never would have pegged you as the type to be into politics. I'm a democrat too, by the way. I love Talbot, I have voted for her for Senator since I became a California voter. That sounds like a really awesome job. So, what else do you do aside from work?"

"Not much, actually. I keep to myself. I don't really date or go out or anything. I am not really a workaholic, I just have always been kind of quiet," replied Julia.

"You were quiet in high school too, I remember," said Cassie, "there isn't anything wrong with quiet. I would probably save a lot of money if I went out less and wasn't so focused on not being alone. I can't stand it, I have to constantly be surrounded by people or else I go stir crazy. I live in a pretty crappy studio because I allot so much of my income to my social life. Hey, if you aren't into the martini bar I totally understand."

"Oh no, I am. I would love to catch up and I haven't ever been there. I haven't had a drink in ages, I think it'll be good for me," said Julia.

"Well awesome, I have a couple of kind-of friends here but definitely no one that I have known since high school. I don't just party, I do a cooking class and I'm also part of a couple of crafting groups. I like to go out and party but I don't like to drink every single night at all. Remind me before the end of the night and I will give you my number because I think you might like some of the stuff I do. Do you ski or anything? I love to ski and bike."

"I love to bike and run, but I never did learn to ski. I'd definitely like to start getting out more," said Julia.

They smiled at each other and then walked into the martini bar.

Ana Mia.

I thought I saw what was true; hanging, saggy, gelatinous sacks of flesh. Fat; yellow inside and clinging to every part of me, lining my body like insulation on some huge blubbering sea monster. Muscle, just as undesirable; red and moving in rhythm with me. I do not want rhythm or insulation. I want skin against bone against organs against bone. I want to see the shape of my ribs as though I was studying a corpse. I want hip bones that jet out like jagged rocks against hands that touch me. I want cheeks high and shadowed by their own concavity. I want to be like a feather.

What we have is a love affair. Sweet and fulfilling, angry and tumultuous. She loves me one day and hates me the next. She pushes me to control myself in moments when I feel like I might burst at the seems with desire yet allows me to delight in the the unthinkable as long as I handle it accordingly. She lifts me up when I am down and she pushes me down no matter how far up I may seem. She is ingrained into the very fiber of who I am. What began as two is now one and I am she. I am the best and worst of both of us and every thought, decision and idea is shared.

Our life is spent locked in bathrooms and behind closed doors. I buy mirrors, break them and re-buy them. I have mastered the art of self portraits in order to document our success and failures. I am clever at dinner parties and holiday celebrations, knowing exactly what I must do before the doors open and I am invited inside. I am convincing and conniving, lying to the people I love is protection for both them and me. My freedom is more important than their understanding or concern. I have no time to consider the effects of my actions on others, they will never grasp the depth of who we are.

I have adjusted to the stares of gawking strangers. I know they see what I see; a disgusting, worthless pig. I have learned to keep my head down and feet close to the ground. I don't want to be noticed until I am worth looking at. Sometimes I don't know if that day will ever come, and she has to remind me that we are on the right track. We are in control of this and there is no going back. We have come so far, every goal met, smaller and smaller and smaller but never small enough. Never small enough.

I have tricks for days. I know how to get up what has gone down in a matter of seconds in complete silence. I know how to become full with out substance and what a high it is to make it through days with nothing in your body but willpower. She has made me so strong. She has shown me I can be and do and become anything I want. She has taught me to depend only on us. We are aware of what others are not. We know who we are, and there is nothing anyone could say that would change that. With her I have accomplished more than I ever thought possible. I am not sick, and your concern is a front for your envy over the strength that has grown from inside me.

My days are numbered and that is okay. I will die for her.

Goodbye

“I thought I saw someone coming to the door,” she said, sitting back down.

She looked around at the people sitting in front of her. Her mom, her sisters, her brother, her boyfriend, and her favorite uncle were all there. They were all looking at her as though they expected an answer. She couldn’t give them the one that they wanted. They wanted her to go to rehab. They wanted her to stop abusing prescription drugs, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready yet.

She had started out simple, the way that most people do. She was just taking them for a back injury. Then she realized how sweet the oblivion was. She realized that the days didn’t seem as long and she wasn’t as edgy if she was blurry from the pills. She started taking more and more until she had to buy them from drug dealers instead of just using her meds. One of the dealers had told her that she would get more bang for her buck if she crushed them up and snorted them, so she had started doing that instead. He was right and she was briefly able to stop using dealers and just using up her prescriptions.

That hadn’t lasted long, however, and soon she was back to hanging out with drug dealers to get enough of her pills to keep her happy. Before long, she was sleeping with them to get what she needed. She didn’t know why she was willing to do that. She loved her boyfriend. They had been high school sweethearts, actually. Lately, she had been impressed with his willingness to pick her up off of the bathroom floor and clean her up. He had cleaned vomit out of her hair and taken all of the intoxicated punches that she dealt. She loved him even more for it, but she wasn’t willing to go to rehab yet.

“I don’t think so, guys,” she said.

She got up and looked out the front window again.

“You know that paranoia is a side-effect of your drug abuse, right? There is and will not be anyone coming through that door,” said her mother.

“When was the last time you looked into a mirror?” asked her sister, with tears brimming on her lower eyelid.

“I know that I am underweight. I know that I am paranoid. You guys aren’t telling me anything that I don’t already know,” she said.

“Well then, why don’t I start telling you some things that you don’t know,” said her boyfriend, sounding resolved, “If you don’t go today, you are going to have to move out. You will not even be allowed back in to get your things, I will be keeping them to make up for the fact that you owe me your half of the rent for several months. No one sitting in this room right now will offer you a place to live.  We won’t even have phone conversations with you unless they pertain to you going to rehab. You will have no one and nothing left if you choose to keep using today.”

She looked around, shocked and scared.

“You guys can’t do this to me. Don’t you love me anymore?” she said, starting to cry.

“We love you too much to be complacent while you kill yourself slowly,” said her brother.

“Fine,” she said, ”I don’t need you. I don’t love you guys anymore either.”

She got up and walked out the door, grabbing her purse from the coat rack. When she got to the bus stop, she rifled through her purse and inventoried the contents. She had about $100, because she had sold some jewelry right before the intervention. She knew a couple of people who squatted in a condemned house downtown. She assumed that she could stay with them, especially if she was willing to share the $100 of dope that she intended to buy.

When the bus stopped downtown, she went and found the guy in the green beanie. He sold her the pills and said he would see her later, which she found funny. Her family wouldn’t see her later, but the drug dealer would. She walked over to the abandoned house and called out for the people she knew. They said that she could squat before she even offered them the drugs. As she sat down on the flattened cardboard box that was to become her bed that night, she noticed that they weren’t doing the same thing with the pills that she normally did. A second later, she noticed the needle.

“Are you in?” one of the men asked.

“Sure,” she said.

Re-Defined

teenager- a perpetual uphill battle which may or may not end to your advantage.

Costco- the opportunity to only have to buy mayonnaise once for the next 10 years.

marriage- like dating only with less sex and more frustration.

"the owl craze"- what ryan gosling told me I started (he was right).

college- a place where as long as you can read and regurgitate large amounts of useless information you will be awarded with a degree which will mean nothing when you are waiting tables at Chili's to pay off the enormous amount of debt you got into attending said place.

Gerard Butler- what God intended man to be, with an awesome accent.

Christmas- when we celebrate the birth of Jesus by mass consumption of all the things he tells us we don't need.

"fashion forward"- looking like a 4 year old whose mom told her she could dress herself and having gay men tell you how creative and edgy you are.

football- a complete waste of everyone's time

coffee- the nectar of the gods, Johns honey, sweet liquid manna from heaven.

Ten definitions.

Practice- that which makes perfect, or gives the hope of achieving perfection.

Femur- the British pronunciation of the American disaster relief organization.

Trust- the act of placing faith in something or someone.

Epic- radtastic, rad, totally B.A.

Ugly- not meeting society's standards of beauty.

Duty- suckatstic days when servicemen should be off of work but aren't. In the Navy this generally means sitting in the barracks or staring at a plane.

Offer- to make oneself available to do or give something to another.

Crack- something that Whitney Houston once claimed was "whack."

Debt- that which should be avoided at all costs.

Dodge- One of the five D's of dodgeball.

Last Man Standing

"Hey, what the hell?!!?" Micah looked up at the stucco ceiling as if God was going to respond.

He walked over and yanked the curtains in the kitchen window aside. It was perfectly lovely out. The sun was high in the sky, not a cloud to be seen and a soft breeze glided through the trees; definitely no reason for a power outage.. His face contorted in the glare of the sun as he stepped outside to try and figure out what had happened. No one was outside, which was pretty unusual in this neighborhood. Typically there were kids on bikes cruising the cul-de-sac for adventures and for a moment the silence made him wonder if he was confused about what time it was. He checked his watch, 4:17pm. He looked down the street once more and headed back in the house.

He flipped the light switch in the kitchen just to be sure and headed for the cupboard. His pantry represented the essential bachelor. Chef Boyardee, Ramen, Pringles and warm beer. The fridge wasn't any better so atleast he didn't have to worry about anything spoiling. He popped open a can of raviolis and grabbed a spoon; no need in wasting dishes. He took his dinner of champions out on the front porch and plopped down onto the cracked plastic chair. Still so quiet out there, it just wasn't right. He tried to shrug it off but the fact that NONE of the kids were out really gave him a bad feeling. He took a huge bite of cold raviolis and put the can down deciding to go next door and see if Mrs. Murry and her son Brent where okay. Maybe they knew something he didn't.

He knocked on the door and got no answer. Her silver Prius was in the driveway. He knocked again, nothing. He hustled across the street to old man Jones and knocked heavily against his door. Nothing. Jones was 87 years old and without a license where in the world could HE be?? He banged again on the heavy green door. Feeling something was certainly not normal he jogged back to his house and got his pistol, tucking it into the back of his jeans. He hopped in his car and headed to the Circle K a mile down the road. As he pulled in he noticed cars at the pumps unmanned. He parked and rushed into the store. No one. There was money on the counter and a bottle of Coke on the floor as if someone disappeared into thin air just as they were about to pay.

"HELLO?!?!?" Micah yelled.

He ran back to the car and drove to the next gas station but with the same result. Two hours and 17 business later he was sure he was losing his mind. He sat in the drivers seat open and closing his eyes thinking somehow he would wake up in his bed and understand that this had all been a bad dream. It was dark now and without power the streets were black. He slowly maneuvered his way home. The echo of his slamming car door was unnerving and he hustled into his house to dig out a flashlight. He had no idea what to do with himself other than to sit watch on the porch still hoping at any moment he would jolt awake and see the red numbers on his alarm clock. He wrapped himself in an old flannel blanket and sat down back in the plastic chair. In his lap sat his pistol and a flashlight, and the half eaten can of raviolis sat beside him.

He sat for hours, eyes wide and shifty. He had never been so terrified in his life. Surely there was no way he was the only person still on the earth?? Was this some sick joke played on him by his neighbors, strangers, the whole community? Had he lost his mind and all of this was some delusion meanwhile in reality he was strapped down to a metal bed doped up on pills? His mind raced until he finally drifted to a heavy but unsettled sleep. When he woke the sun was up and he jumped from his chair almost before he even had a chance to get both eyes open. The pistol and flashlight fell to the floor. He ran back to Mrs. Murry's and pounded on the door. Still nothing. He ran to the back of the house, hopping the wooden fence and pressed against the sliding glass door trying to see in. Homework strewn across the dining room table, open fridge and broken mug with spilled coffee on the tile floor....but no sign of life.

Micah dropped to down to the pebbled patio and put his head in his hands. What in the world was happening?

Powerless

The TV flickered and then it turned off completely. The work she had been doing on the computer was gone and the kids looked at her, perplexed. They had been watching Dora, and the little one started to cry.

“What happened, mom?” said the older one.

“Just a power outage, Sweetheart,” she said, smiling.

“What are we going to do now? It’s snowy out and there’s no school,” the child asked, looking annoyed.

“I’ll think of something,” said the mother.

She went into the kitchen and looked around. Since the weather was so bad, it was kind of dark. She began lighting candles and looking around for something they could do. The stove was electric, so baking was out.  Reached into the craft closet and pulled out the Play-Doh, but she thought better of it because the little one might try and eat it.

The next thing she grabbed was the crayons and the coloring book, for the little one. She found some glue, construction paper, and pipe cleaners to build something with the older one. They set to work.

She watched her son’s small hands as they molded the pipe cleaners into a shape. He had gained dexterity over the past few months. He carefully glued the shape to a piece of paper; he didn’t glue any place that he didn’t intend it to be. He made five careful, perfect shapes out of pipe cleaner and glued them all to them to his paper. He wrote his name at the bottom, it was legible. She smiled at him and rumpled his hair, not surprised at how much he had grown.

She looked over at the little one. He was scribbling with the crayons, as expected. He had torn more than one page of the book; he seemed to be chewing on some paper. He held the blue crayon toward her.

“Byoo,” he said, and smiled, before sticking the crayon into his mouth.

She smiled and got up and walked to the window. She looked out at the snow and then said,

“If you will bundle up, we can go outside and build a snowman.”

The older one jumped up and ran to his room. He didn’t even respond because the idea of building the snowman was so exciting to him. She knew he’d like it.

When they got outside, she made sure that their hands were covered and so were their ears. Both of their little noses turned pink immediately. They were so cute and so small. They all stood there, surrounded by the whiteness of the snow. She took a deep breath and set to work, building a snowman with her children. It would melt by the next day and the power would be on soon. The whiteness would be gone.