Category: Flash

Dreaming

Dreaming

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 6 Comments

drowning

“I had that strange dream again.

I was drowning.

It was the same as the other times. I was 16 and visiting the ocean for the first time. I didn’t know how to swim but I let my friends drag me on a boat ride. But they’re not really my friends. I don’t think. It was a group of girls. I was sitting on the sand with a group of girls, and suddenly we’re all taken for a boat ride. We stop for a bit, far from the shore and everyone jumps off to swim around.

‘Jump in, Genesis,’ they yell at me. ‘We’ll help you swim.’

I tell them no. I don’t know how to swim. I’ve never been in the ocean. It’s scary. There’s sharks and what about jellyfish? They can swim and I’ll watch. But they keep on and on. They don’t stop pressuring me.

‘Jump in! Jump in!’

I can feel the judgement in their eyes. ’16-years-old and doesn’t know how to swim. How fucking lame.’

They laugh at me.

They’re laughing at me, doc! I didn’t do anything. But they’re fucking laughing at me. The jackass driving the boat starts laughing at me.

So I jump.

There’s cheering and then I can’t hear anything but the roar of water in my ears. I keep sinking. My arms are flailing. Reaching for a hand or a leg or a part of the boat. Reaching for something to hold onto. Something that will pull me out of the water. Something that will tell me I’m okay.

But there’s nothing, and I can’t breathe, I’ve swallowed water. My eyes are burning from the salt. I can’t see anything.

I try to hold onto what little breath I have but I can’t, I can’t. I clench my eyes closed and I try to scream.

And I wake up.

I’m breathless and sweaty and exhausted.”

Dr. Kein looks at me as she takes notes.

“What time is it when you wake up from this dream? Is it morning already? Middle of the night?”

“It’s usually happens in the morning when I have this dream. Right before I have to get up for work. Usually leaves me drained. I can’t function on drowning days.”

“Have you been able to figure out who the girls are in the dream?”

I shook my head. “They seem so familiar. Like I knew them, but it seems like a lifetime ago I was a teenager trying to fit in with girls who hated my guts.” I grimace and bring my legs up onto her cream couch. “I’m such a fucking cliché, doc. ‘Ooh I’m a teenage outcast desperate to fit in with mean popular girls who tease me and make my life hell.’ Sounds like a shitty coming of age movie. Except my movie didn’t get better, I just finally broke. I’m still a loser, and all the mean girls are just grown up now and we all live in the same fucking town and I don’t know who’s more pathetic, me or them.”

Dr. Kein smiled. “You are not a loser, Genesis. Remember that.”

“I’ll try.”

“Say it.”

“Please don’t make me.”

“Say it. ‘I am not a loser.'”

I hugged my knees. “I’m not a loser.” I mumbled.

“Again.”

I breathe deeply. “Please doc.”

She arched an eyebrow at me.

Sighing and raising my voice just above a whisper, “I. Am. Not. A. Loser.”

I look up at her hoping that was enough.

“Better. How are the new anti-depressants I prescribed working? It’s a lower dosage. Are you still nauseous?”

“No. I’m not nauseous. But I still feel a little lost.” I scrunch my eyebrows as I try to explain how I feel. “Like, I’m me, but fuzzy. I guess that’s better than how I was feeling?” I wasn’t sure. Before, I knew I was sad. I knew I was hurting. I knew I was a piece of shit and I could wallow in it, because it was the truth. The pain was almost delicious. It was mine.

But now? This was a drug-induced dullness. I could function without breaking down, the darker thoughts were under control, they were at bay. It was weird though. I didn’t know who I was anymore without my pain.

“Tell me more about the fuzzy feeling.”

“Like, every feeling, every emotion, are very dim versions of what they were. Which I can appreciate, I dunno. I just don’t feel like myself. I guess, I’ll get used to it.”

“Stay with it, just remember, if you start to have any suicidal thoughts, stop taking them and call me immediately.” A timer goes off. “You made it Genesis. Another full session. Good job!”

I smile sheepishly at her. There was a time where I’d just walk out, 10 minutes into our session and not appear for weeks. Dr. Kein called my mother– my emergency contact, and she started bringing me to my appointments and staying in the waiting room until I came out.

“Is there anything else you wanted to bring up before we finish?”

I shake my head and bend down to pick up my black boots and slide a foot inside.

“Okay Genesis. Remember, you are not a loser. You are not broken. You are healing, and you are doing your best.” She handed me a little note.

In the process of healing.

“Put it up on a mirror, on the fridge, next to your bed, somewhere you’ll see it on a daily basis. A reminder.” She smiled at me and I finished lacing up my boots and stood up.

“Thank you.” I placed it in my notebook and threw my book in my tote bag. “I’ll see you next week.” I walked out of her office and saw my mom waiting, half asleep, with a magazine in her hand. She looked up when she saw me.

“Ya, mija?”

“Si, mami. Let’s go.”

Last Call for the Wild Bunch

Last Call for the Wild Bunch

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 13 Comments

I haven’t been able to sleep since the pigeons got into the house.

It’s not like they keep me awake, just seems like their arrival coincided with my insomnia.

Now it’s me, Butch-Cassidy, the Sundance kid and The Wild Bunch.

Butch-Cassidy is home again. Steven left him here when he came for breakfast.

“Take care of your dog. He needs you, not me.”

Butch-Cassidy is the only reason I leave the house. He needs food. He needs to walk. I don’t need food and I could probably lay in bed forever.

Maybe I need him more than he needs me.

The Wild Bunch showed up about a week later. They must have realized my love of Wild West outlaws and figured the dog and the fish needed a gang.

They’ve made a roost in my pantry and since I’ve stopped buying food, I cant bring myself to care. They live next to an old box of knock off cereal and a container full of sugar.

Steven told me to get rid of them, but I’ve gotten used to the cooing– that and for being such chunky, slow birds they are rather difficult to catch.

After a couple attempts I made peace with them being my new roommates.

There’s flapping here and there throughout the day as they explore the back porch, but I drew the line at them actually coming inside the kitchen.

I don’t want bird poop on my things.

They got in the day of Butch-Cassidy’s bi-annual bath. I left the back door open while I chased Butch-Cassidy around the yard trying to bathe him.

Took me three hours to get him fully clean. When I came inside exhausted and wet and covered in white fur. I heard movement and immediately called out for my mother.

She is the only one with keys. Well, Steven has keys. I’m alive because Steven has keys. But Steven works during the day. I didn’t expect him to be over.

There was no answer.

Butch-Cassidy ran past me into the house.

My guard dog.

“Get him, Butch!” I yelled. “I don’t know who you are, but Butch Cassidy has killed before, and he’ll kill again!”

No answer. But there was wild barking from the pantry and the sounds of the last remaining food items crashing to the floor.

When I got inside I found Butch barking like a maniac at my three intruders. Three chubby little pigeons huddled together on my top shelf rustling their feathers and looking around warily.

“Could’ve been worse, could’ve been rats that got in,” I told Steven.

“Pigeons are flying rats.”

“Aw, I think they’re cute.”

“You’re in denial.”

“No, that’s a river in Egypt.” I laughed at my own wittiness.

“That’s not how that joke works.” He groaned.

“I thought it was funny.”

“They’re gross.”

“I will not have you speaking ill of the wild bunch in their own home.”

“This is not their home. It’s yours.”

I asked him to help me get rid of them, but he told me that was my job, and then hung up on me. He was still angry with me. I had avoided him for months after I was released from the hospital. And now I was calling him about my pigeons like nothing ever happened.

Getting the birds out felt impossible. They seemed to have grown tired of the wild life and chosen my pantry to retire in.

“Last call you crazy bandits!” I’d taken to leaving a little bird bath kind of water dish for them at night before going to bed.

I’ve caught them splashing in the water and it’s unbelievably adorable.

The birds give me something to focus on. Just like the dog. Just like the fish. Lives that are entirely dependent on me. In their own weird way they give me a sense of purpose.

My God, what has become of me?

I leave the water dish and head to the living room and sit on the couch.

“Butch-Cassidy!” I yell. And immediately I hear the jingling of his collar and the pitter patter of his paws as he trots from my bedroom to the living room.

“Up-up, little man.” I pat the cushion next to me, waiting for him to jump up. He hops on easily and stomps around in circles, kneading the couch until he deems it comfy enough to lay–which he does with his head in my lap.

“Good boy.”

I looked around for the control when I heard knocking at my door. Butch-Cassidy leaped off the couch and ran barking to the door.

I stood up, groaning at being inconvenienced after plopping down in my comfy spot.

“Who is it? We don’t want it.” I yelled.

“Open up, Genesis. You’re being evicted.” Came the voice from the other side of the door.

I run to the door, undoing the chain and flinging it open.

“Walter Carmine, don’t you dare evict me!” I scream before throwing myself at him.

I hadn’t seen Walter in months. I understood why he didn’t see me. He  couldn’t face it. I forgave him for it. Also when one of your best friends is the owner of your apartment building and hasn’t demanded you to pay your rent, you look past the fact that he couldn’t face seeing you in the hospital or during that time when you wouldn’t leave your bed and your mother forced you to shower.

“I heard you’re housing vermin in my building and I can’t have that.” He was holding a metal cage in his hand.

“Who told you about the Wild Bunch?” I asked as he walked in.

“You would name them wouldn’t you?” He shook his head and walked towards the kitchen.

“What? I couldn’t just call them the pigeons. That’s so déclassé.”

“Your mother called me and told me to do my job as a landlord and get rid of them. I told her, her daughter needs to pay her rent first and she told me who wants to pay rent when your apartment is infested.” He stopped at the pantry door and smiled. “It’s not easy arguing with your mother.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Ok, I’m going in. Shut the door behind me. I’m not coming out till I have them.” He opened the door and closed it quickly behind him.

“Oh my God, Genesis, have you been feeding them?”

“I couldn’t let them starve!” I was happy he couldn’t see me turn red.

There was flapping and angry cooing as Walter worked on capturing the birds. I could hear him swearing at the birds and could only imagine the scene.

I heard the container of sugar hit the ground and Walter screaming profanities.

“Don’t hurt them!” I yelled.

“I’m about to kill them all and feed them to Butch-Cassidy in a minute if I can’t catch this last bird.”

There was more cursing and finally the slam of the metal.

“I got them!” I opened the door to find a very disheveled and triumphant Walter holding the Wild Bunch in the cage. “Grab your jacket. We’ll take them to the old apple orchard and release then far from here so they don’t get any ideas.”

If it was possible for pigeons to look pissed, these sure did. He set them on my kitchen table and pulled out a cigarette carton.

I shot him a disapproving look and he shrugged.

“I think I deserve this one.”

I looked into the cage of my former roommates. “I’m sorry guys Walter says you can’t stay here anymore. And if it’s between you and me getting evicted, I’m gonna have to go with you. But you’ll be happier in the orchard it’s nice there and you can steal school kids’ field trip sandwiches.”

They just cooed at me. Like a very cross pigeon version of “whatever.”

“Stop taking to the birds and let’s go.” Walter had a cigarette in his mouth and his car keys in hand.

“I’m coming.”

We pulled up to the orchard’s main entrance and parked.

“Ok Gen, I’ll wait for you here.” We both got out. Walter leaned against his truck finishing his cigarette. The orchard was not well lit. I could only see his outline and the glowing embers of the cigarette as I walked away.

I reached a picnic table and set the cage down. Three sets of beady eyes looked up at me.

“This is the end guys. It’s been swell.” I opened the cage. They didn’t move. “Um, get out guys.”

More staring and feather rustling. I sighed and shook the cage. There was angry cooing and the birds fought against each other to get out.

I could hear Walter snickering in the background. I looked over and he was throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

The birds were free and I could use my pantry again. Eventually. When I cleaned it and bought food.

I picked up the cage and and walked back to the truck.

“Good job, Gen. Please never keep a family of wild birds in that  apartment again.”

I hugged him.

“Thanks Walter.”

“You’re welcome kid.”

We got into the truck and drove back to my place in silence.

“Do you want to come in and watch a movie?” I asked when he parked.

“It’s late.”

“I don’t sleep and I could use the company.”

He turned off the car and opened the door.

“You’ll stay?” I asked, climbing out of the passenger side.

“One movie and I get to choose.” I groaned and smiled.

“Sure, you did just take care of my pigeon situation.”

We headed upstairs to a pigeon free apartment.

70. orchard, denial, ember, last call, insomnia, pigeons.

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Venus

Venus

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 16 Comments

Venus is the planet of love.

I read once that the heat on Venus creates a pressure so intense that standing on Venus would feel like the pressure felt 900 meters deep in Earth’s oceans.

Crazy right?

Sounds just like love.

My mother brought me a small potted cactus the other day. “Mira Geni, it looks like a little star.” I placed it on the windowsill of my kitchen, right above the sink.

It’s the only bit of green in my sunny yellow kitchen.

I like to stare at it whenever I do the dishes.

Which is twice a day to wash Butch-Cassidy’s bowl and to clean out the little container of food my mom drops off on Sundays.

She trusts me now to eat the food she brings me without her watchful eyes.

Before she would sit across from me at my bubblegum pink table and watch me as I forced myself to eat.

The color of the table seemed to bother her every time. She’d look down at it like it offended her by being so pink.

“Ay mi’ja.” She’d sigh and then order me to eat.

Love.

I miss the company.

There are bread crumbs on the counter from the peanut butter and honey sandwich I nibbled on earlier. I take the crusts and leave them in the bowl for the Wild Bunch, the family of pigeons that took up residence in my pantry. They won’t leave, and I haven’t kicked them out, so I just feed the bread and give them water and it seems like it’s working out okay.

Today I have a full sink, because for some reason I told Steven I would cook for him.

I was sitting on my couch watching a sappy movie and trying not to cry as the main characters finally have their first kiss when Steven called me.

“Are you crying?” He asked.

“No.” I sniffed.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok? Should I come over?” I could hear the panic in his voice.

Panic which is not unfounded given that he was the person who found me in a pool of my own vomit on my kitchen floor. In my sunny kitchen with my lemon yellow walls and my bubblegum pink table and mismatched chairs. My happy little room the scene of my attempted suicide.

Hearing your best friend crying by herself with only the menagerie of animals she keeps to protect her would be unsettling at the least.

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m watching a made for TV movie and they’ve finally found love.” I assure him.

“Can I come over to be sure?” No one really trusts me.

I don’t blame them.

“Come over.”

He came over and sat on my couch with me. We watched the end of the movie in silence. I watched. He watched me out of the corner of his eye. I did not look good.

I’d pulled my hair up in two messy buns, rinsed my face and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. But the water couldn’t rinse away the dark circles and hollows under my eyes from lack of sleep and from eating the bare minimum to survive.

“This movie is terrible.” He said. He reached down to rub Butch-Cassidy’s belly. Butch laid next to him after jumping all over him when he arrived.

After me, Steven is Butch’s favorite person in the world. He only likes my mom because she occasionally feeds him scraps.

“I know.” The movie ends and we sit there in silence.

“You know what I miss?” He asked me.

“What’s that?” I turned the TV off and shifted to face him.

“When you would get all ethnic and make the sweet mole with rice and homemade tortillas.”

I rolled my eyes. “‘Ethnic.'” He laughed.

“You know what I mean. You get all, ‘my mother taught me and her mother taught her and her mother taught her and the great eagle taught them all’ when you make it. I miss it.”

“‘Great eagle,’ mas pendejo,” I mutter and smile in spite of myself.

“Great eagle or whatever your people believed in.”

“Oh my gosh Steven I’m about to sick Butch-Cassidy on you if you don’t stop.” We laugh as we look at Butch-Cassidy, belly up on the floor at Steven’s feet, snoring.

“Your ancestors demand the sweet brown mole… and handmade tortillas…” He trailed off.

Cooking requires effort.

Cooking requires care and a love for the food and for the ones who will consume it.

Cooking requires a desire to give some kind of shit.

Love means giving some kind of shit.

I exhale slowly. And watch him. He looks nervous. Like he pushed too far. Like the suggestion of me doing anything that required effort may have already mentally exhausted me.

“Well, I am a really good cook,” I whisper.

He chuckled. “I guess.”

“We’ll see if I feel like it and maybe I’ll invite you over.” I smile at him and we sit quietly until he says it’s late and heads home.

Because Venus reflects so much sunlight, it is usually the brightest planet in the night sky.

I wonder if it’s because of this brightness that they decided this planet would best represent love in the night skies. Love makes you glow.

I stir the pot of mole and turn the heat low as I start on the dishes.

13. first kiss, a planet, a type of plant, bread crumbs

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Love Letter (Scavenger Hunt #6)

Love Letter (Scavenger Hunt #6)

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 6 Comments

I met you on the corner of Madison and State.

Zero, Zero. The center of the grid.

You probably don’t know that.

You don’t look like you’re from around these parts, and honestly most people who grew up here don’t know that.

Chicago is a grid city. Going North, South, East or West from Madison and State Street the numbers get bigger the farther you go.

Cool right?

You probably wouldn’t think so, so I didn’t tell you.

Your hand was out and I was the first taxi that pulled up. You were carrying bags from some store on Michigan Avenue they probably have where you’re from.

Tourist.

You tell me you need to get to Water Tower Place. You asked if I knew where that was.

Of course I know.

You climbed in and shook the snow out of your hair.

Lovely.

All over my seats.

Thank you.

You ask me my name, I reply. The company I work for tells me I should be nicer to the customers.

Why? I ask myself.

It’s a taxi service. I take you safely from point A to point B, does it matter if I tell you what my favorite color is or if I tell you about my love of fish sticks?

I listen to you tell me about your trip so far.

Your husband took your kids to the mall so you could shop. Isn’t that sweet? I nod my head.

Your younger son is into some book series about werewolves. Kids today, right? I shrug.

You were about to go back to the hotel for some “me time” but you lost your key. I make a consoling noise as I dodge a cyclist.

Turn right on Washington. Left on Michigan. Right on Pearson.

Here we are.

You pay your fare and tip me $5. You smile and wish me a good night.

Enjoy the city, I reply.

You close your door and I turn on my light. Ready for the next bout of human interaction.

6. love letter, werewolves, taxi service, lost key, fish sticks.

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Keep. In. Touch.

Keep. In. Touch.

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 3 Comments

I remember his mom calling my house looking for him.

We still had a landline at the time. It’s been a long time since we’ve had one of those.

I wonder if she just went through his autograph book.

“Good luck! Have a great summer. K.I.T. love, Kastle.”

What was his name?

“Bushy” is all that comes to mind. That wasn’t his name obviously. But Mrs. Martinez gave us all nicknames. Bushy had really thick eyebrows.

Poor kid.

I think she gave him a complex. At some point during our eighth grade year he got them waxed for the first time. He came in the next day with really sharp eyebrows and really red skin.

I got the name “Kastle,” with a K though, to  differentiate me from the other Castle in Mrs… (What was her name again? Something with a K I believe now that I think about it. I hadn’t thought of these people in 15 years) K’s class.

I’ve been Kastle for nearly 16 years no one ever questions it.

I remember a few other nicknames, “Barbie,” “Spikey,” “Elfie,” “Peanut Butter Girl,” it seems odd to grown up me that an adult would give some mildly offensive nicknames based off of physical traits to her young teenage students and get away with it.

But Bushy’s mom called me one summer night not long after we graduated. I think his name was Ricardo. Somewhere in the back of my mind that name stands out.

She called the house, my sister was the one who answered the phone. She’d asked for me. My sister handed me the phone.

She told me she was Ricardo’s mom and that he hadn’t come home and if I’d heard from him or seen him.

We were never that close, but I’d told him to KIT!

I told her I hadn’t but that I’d call around.

A few days later he called me. Told me he was home. That he was fine. A misunderstanding.

We were 14.

“KIT! have a good summer! Good luck in high school! I hope you don’t run away from your mom’s house!”

I don’t think I spoke to him again after that.

But for some reason driving down Laramie, I thought of that boy and wondered what ever happened to him.