A Bad Dream? Or What Was To Come?

Dear Ether,

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

His breath is calm and steady.  He is asleep.  I lay there too.  My back is turned and I am fully awake.  The room is dark except for the street light coming through the slits in the blinds.  The orange glow cracking through dances every time the wind blows making a projected light show on the bare wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I leave for the States in 1 week.  I don’t know if I’ll get into a Master’s program and receive a student visa.  If I don’t, I never see him again.  I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love English gent.  

He shuffles slightly.  The bed shakes.  

Tick. Tick. Tick.

God this is unpleasant.  This time I brought my own pillow (if you recall Ethers, his idea of a pillow was a flattened, gray “creature”) but the mattress is old and I can feel the springs.  And his bedding is so shabby I’m freezing.  

It’s the kind of “in love” that I’m in that it’s almost like an obsession.  If I lose him I’ll wonder what would have been?  I’m already in agony when he’s away for the weekend to see his parents.  This is unhealthy.  He’s only 20.  He won’t risk anything for me.  Oh London. My London. I’ll miss you.  I’m going back to where I’m from–ironically, IT’S so foreign now.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The blind wildly whips itself against the pane making the room too bright.  The bed is making me nauseous.  I’m SO uncomfortable.  I can’t stop thinking.  I’m incredibly tired and I can’t sleep.  I just won’t get on the plane.  Yeah.  That’s it.  That’s the solution.  The blind goes wild again.  The silhouettes from the street reflect on the wall in fast flashes.  It makes me jumpy.

They say try counting backwards.  That makes you tired and occupies your mind.  99, 98, 97….

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I jump out of bed and take the ticking beast, wrap a towel from the floor around it and place it outside the room.  CAN YOU GET A NEW FUCKING ALARM CLOCK, CHRIST!

He sits up in bed and stares at me.  I’m downing a bottle of water and he lights a cigarette.  

Finally, the room is silent.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Crazy how these foxes just roam around like a common house-cat!

Magic......and yet so many haven't experienced it across the pond!

Dear Ether, 

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a fox for the first time roaming the streets in London.  To me, a fox was an animal you saw in a forest or a cartoon.  I never thought I would ever come face to face with one—especially one so bold as to stare me straight in the eye and then go back to rifling through the trash as if we were equals in this concrete jungle.  I was slightly afraid that a fox might want me for dinner, but my mates said that they could care less.  In fact, if I came too close, they would scuttle away.  I learned very quickly that the fox was as common as a cat patrolling the streets around the neighborhood.  

And just as I had been surprised by a fox being as common as a roaming house pet, I was surprised when I learned that certain things DIDN’T exist in ol’ Blighty that I took for granted in California.  English gent and I moved into a flat with a typical Victorian bay window that was bright and sunny (well, when the sun actually shone).  I told my folks that we’d finally moved up in the world (literally—we’d been living in a basement flat before) and they sent a hummingbird feeder to attract the lovely creatures so we would have a delightful view.  When I attached it to the outside of the window and proudly showed gent my handy work, he laughed.  He told me that hummingbirds didn’t exist in England!  I couldn’t believe it.  It was so foreign to me because I had grown up in a place where the sound of their buzzing wings and their iridescent bodies were so common. I was shocked to hear that many of my English peers had never seen one before.   I kept the damned feeder up for nostalgia’s sake, but it made me really think about how big the world is and how many things out there that I will never see that are magnificent.  

When English gent came to Los Angeles, we sat outside on the patio where we have a beautiful Cape Honeysuckle tree.  Its orange blossoms, though not fragrant, are vibrant and plentiful and are shaped like trumpets.  In the middle of lazy chatter, I heard the familiar buzzing of wings only a hummingbird makes.  I told English gent to quickly look over at the honeysuckle.  There, like a baby helicopter, it hovered.  He couldn’t believe its little body and long beak darting from bloom to bloom.  It’s chest reflected jewel tones of ruby and emerald in the sun.  He thought it magnificent.  

I love to travel and to discover.  And I hope that I will get a chance to jump back startled and then bemused by a fox like I did in London or have the same wide-eyed wonderment that English gent did when he spied the hummingbird. 

How vast a world we live in, eh? 

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

"Better keep yourself clean and bright; you are the window through which you must see the world." George Bernard Shaw

Dear Ethers, 

Often times when I’m lying in bed thinking, I’ll leave the window open and cover myself up in the duvet.  I like the cool breeze on my face while my body is swathed in the rich down.  Today in Los Angeles we had very heavy winds.  It was the first sign of fall. Crackling leaves dragged their dead forms down the street making scratching noises as they flew pass.  The trees shook and swayed and crows squawked their horrid cry while picking the newly laid seeds in the fertilizer often laid just before Halloween.  I stared out my window while all this was happening, warm under my blanket, only my face exposed to the day outside, and I breathed everything in, squinting whenever a ray of sun peeked through a branch.   

This is the same thing I’ve been doing since I was a little girl.  It’s strange to me that I’ve been doing this in the same bed, through the same window and past the same tree; just a different date and an older body.  I never thought I’d be on the brink of 30 staring out this window pondering, waiting for another winter to come.  You know what’s funny? I never thought I’d ever BE 30.  I remember being in a bowling alley with my parents and there were a bunch of adults and college kids.  They seemed SO old.  I thought I’d never live to see that age.  And you know what, they were younger than I am today. 

But it’s crazy.  As the years go by, they go by so much faster.  My parents are in their late 60’s, the Big Apple Beauty is almost 70 (my god—she always seemed ageless) and the car my parents bought me for getting into college (that I still so vividly remember driving for the first time) is almost 11 years old.  How does time escape us?  My grandmother, who is 93, said that you look in the mirror at 25 and the next minute you’re her age (if you’re lucky)–that’s how quickly things go.  And the scary part is that things from your youth only seem like yesterday.  

Being human is such an odd condition.  It’s something I’ve never really gotten my hands around.  Someone took a picture of me about 8 years ago looking out my said window—they caught me with the sun in my eyes.  My pupils were lit by the sun—they looked like illuminated oak floors with a spray of black lines breaking through the wood.  I remember very clearly what I was thinking in that picture.  That I couldn’t believe another sunset was happening. Do you know that your eyes stay the same size as they were when from the day that you were born?  I’ve always had really big eyes.

I cannot tell the future.  I cannot fix the past.  I can wish, but I often find that futile. It’s nighttime now.  The wind is blowing heavily and I’ve shut the window because of the chill.  I’ll wake again tomorrow and spend a few minutes of the morning staring at the sky.  I’ll collect my thoughts.  It’ll be a new day.  New leaves will fall from trees and be blown down the street scratching away into oblivion and I wonder what my day will be like.  What will hit me next? What memory will fall into my mind?  And I’ll wrap myself tight in my duvet and ponder, feeling the breeze on my face seeing life’s clock ticking through each leaf that does a pirouette to the floor.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365