Sunday, January 10, 2010

today was beautiful

Hi strangers.
This last week has been incredibly stressfull and full of surprises- but Monday is only two hours away, and with Monday comes a new week.
U2 is playing. My toes are incredibly warm.
Here is something I wrote about a month ago, it's called Jackie.
Next blog will contain important news.

Jackie walked the rocky shore looking for any shells that were more than fragments. Sometimes she’d step on oysters that had burrowed in the ground and they shot water at her. Other times, she’d find pieces of glass who’s edges had been softened by the constant polishing of the water and sand. Those were her favorite. They were green, pink, brown, clear- you could find any color if you were lucky enough. Once she had found a blue one, and had held it up to the sky. The colors had matched, and she had giggled. This just reaffirmed her belief that the sky was part of the ocean, and the ocean part of the sky. Maybe she had come up with that all on her own, or maybe she had read that the ocean would not be blue if the sky didn’t reflect off of it in some science book, but somehow that had become ingrained in her brain. It felt true.
Sometimes things feel true, like marshmallows in hot chocolate, or the sound pine trees make when they wave in the wind. Nothing can persuade you from them; or their essence. Jackie’s dad said that was called god. That he was everywhere and in everything all at the same time.
Jackie bit her fingernails. She’d tried to stop, and her mother had put chilli pepper juice on her fingers to discourage her, but Jackie would always wash it off. Maybe it was a nervous habit. Maybe it was an oral fixation, but one thing that always puzzled Jackie was that every time she was by the ocean she stopped biting her nails. There was no real explanation, nothing about the little apartment her family stayed in while they visited this part of the coast was different from her house. Peddlers still sold crazy knick knacks just outside their door, and fishermen would roll their fish carts around early in the morning and shout out what kind of fish they had. Maybe it was the salt that somehow integrated into her body or the fact that she didn’t have time to sit and chew. But somehow, something was different.
Her hair had a curly, Shirley Templeish look, but it looked unmanageable. There were tiny pieces of drift wood and maybe even seaweed stuck to the back of it. She walked with her stomach stuck out, making her spine curve, and making her seem like she was trying to draw attention to the little tank top with a yellow sun on it that she was wearing. She may have had underwear on, but then again, she liked walking around the house stark naked, so there was a definite possibility that she had none on. You couldn’t tell, though, because the tank top reached to about the middle of her thighs.
Her parents had always had trouble trying to find clothes that fit her right. They said she’d always been small, being born at only 4 pounds 6 ounces and growing slower than normal after that. This tank top was an XXS in child sizes, and their only option was to go to toddler sizes next.
She held one of her hands in a fist, protecting her most valuable shells and pieces of glass, and in the other she carried a sand bucket, partially filled with sand, pebbles and wood, but also dripping water out of the bottom. Every once in a while, when the water stopped dribbling on her toes, she’d walk to the shoreline and dip the bucket in again, making sure that none of her treasures fell out. Then she’d start off again, in a silly little gait that was half run and half walk- kind of a trot. If you had asked her, she would have told you she wasn’t sure where she was going.
She may have said that she wanted to go to the edge of where her eyes could see; to just keep walking and walking until she was at that little point where the land disappears into the sky. That day, she may have just been trying to find a good spot to build a sandcastle. She was never good at making them, because she’d always try to make them too close to the shoreline and they’d eventually be wiped out, but she tried. There were moats and buttresses and when her dad helped her with them, he’d cover her completely up in sand so she’d be a huge mountain range right next to her splendid castle. One buttress was always the tallest, and she never told anyone, but she imagined that that was the princesses room. No one knows why the princess always has to live in the highest room, but it’s true and she always has.
In Jackie’s mind, the princess was dressed in a pink ball gown, with a funny cone-shapped hat on. The hat was pink too. So were the streamers coming from it. The princesses hair was straight and blonde, because Jackie thought blonde was the most beautiful color of hair, and she’d always been jealous of girls with straight hair.
Once in a while she’d bring crackers with her, and munch on them while she dug her toes into the sand as far as she could get them without letting them pop out the other side. Sometimes the seagulls followed her around, and she’d run to try and escape them, but kind of wished they’d come down and be her friends.
Jackie didn’t have any friends, not really. She had a stuffed bear who was a circus bear because she was dressed in a white onesey with different colored polka dots on it. There was also the bear who her parents had taken her picture with when she was just a baby because the bear was bigger than Jackie was and they thought it was funny. If she curled up into a little ball, the bear was still bigger than her. There were also her aunt’s dog and cats.
Animals had always liked Jackie, and she’d never scared any off or gotten attacked by them. Her parents and other adults would warn her to stay away from all the wild animals, but Jackie would always go to them. At times she felt like they were telling her things; stories and secrets. Their eyes were full of something that Jackie couldn’t explain, but she knew it was good- true.

There's an end to this story- I just haven't had the time to finish it. ;]


1 comment:

  1. I don't think I've seen you write prose before --- great, as usual. I haven't been in contact much lately but I think about you often and hope you're doing well! Take care.


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