Midnight Thoughts, Sweet Dreams

Like the trickle of the brook along the serene and silky stones, the skies tears kerplunked in the puddles around me. I wore my favorite tights, sheer with polka dots, and my paisley purple puddle boots. The world around me, the world outside my circle of knowledge and naivety, would disappear when I danced in the rain. I imagined a whole other world evolving inside my own, my imaginary people, invented support systems, and creative play. My world was filled with those I could inspire, teach, love and care for, and depend on. Skipping splashes, the plop of the pebbles, and laughing in the rain, were only fragments of that summer. The summer of 2004. My mama, papa, sissy, and me in our apartment in Atwood Dorm. Together we listened, the chirp of the crickets on Wally’s Pond, and their silence in the rain. Goodnight.

He wouldn’t stop telling me to stop yelling at him. Stop. Stop, Stop. Ironic I thought to myself, we were at the crosswalk at the stoplight. I wanted to punch him smack in the nose. You see, he had this imagination, sometimes like a billionaire on Wall Street, and other times like the dork on the shows we watch: Family Guy, That 70’s Show, Superbad, Blades of Glory, etc. Those I loved, those were the ones I could handle. Then all of a sudden like the switch to a cold winter in Alaska, one hundred and eighty degrees the weather vane’s gold point turns, East to West, light’s out. He’s come up with the worst scenario. It’s very typical for him to think that way of me, I love him to death I do, but he works so hard to never believe me. He believes in me but he doesn’t believe me. You have to understand the difference between the two. You have to. Bipolar disorder. I only yell when I can’t take the stress of my emotions anymore. He’s never understood that I guess. Maybe he never will, I don’t know really, I wish someone would tell me. Stop yelling, he kept hissing. Night.

Neutral colors surround me while the wind picks up the loose-hair crown that rims my face. It’s a typical spring in Maine. Hebron, Maine especially. Everything blurs together when I come out here. The gray of my sneakers flashing rhythmically beneath me reminds me that I am capable of a level head, focused play, and the responsibility it is to lead. I have this season to show what I am capable of. I am a female athlete here and I choose to represent that to the best of my doing. There are people I don’t want to let down. They don’t know that though. I don’t know why, when I write, I tell the reader about the things that I cannot say out loud. It’s like an escape from silence to write down what one cannot say in the soundwaves we produce with our vocal chords. Of course I explained it like that. I love the science in this world, yet I am caught up in writing it down. Neutral colors surround me while I lay in my cool bed sheets. I inhale a steady, yet tired breath, then let it seep into the atmosphere that surrounds us. In this moment, it’s just me and Moyale, the one best friend who loves like no other yet can’t live forever. Its that screwed up system in this world. Life and death. Midnight thoughts, sweet dreams.

Jamie Roach, the hockey guy, jello cake with fishies, crying in my car seat in the back of his truck, second dad, “manny”, friend. The good old days. I remember that day we picked my sister up from school as a surprise and brought her home for the afternoon of searching through a jello cake for the suspended fishies together. Jamie would do that sometimes, it was just the way he was, he aimed to be trusted, thoughtful and fun, and to love us as if we were his own. Those were the happy days. I was a sweet little bossy baby, and when that guy came everyday and freed me from daycare, I was on top of the world. Something about the pine smell in the back of his big silver truck, and how he always double-checked my car seat, because, well just in case. I would get lost in the rhythm of the trees passing by, and we would listen to the Curious George, Jack Johnson album all the way back to campus. Suddenly the trees passing grew dark around the edges, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and thinner. New car scent, pine, Curious George, the rhythm in the trees passing by. We pulled up the hill, climbing towards campus. I knew exactly how the car felt under my little bum cheeks and toes when we came up over that hill, it was routine, it was comfort. I couldn’t hold on any longer, and I closed my eyes. Goodnight Jamie, all the love in my little heart, Avery.

It’s raining this week and the mood all around me feels dull and overstretched. We call them “choose your own adventure” practices. Today I chose to run campus loops. I usually run with my friend since birth, but she couldn’t be at school today. The earth has run out of capacity to hold the water that the atmosphere deems necessary, and the soil has overflowed onto the pavement surrounding me. I am breathing hard, heavy and fast. It is rhythmic yes but the tempo feel’s off. A twinge in my left hip, the strain in my calf, my planting foot, idiot, I thought. As I round the corner by sturtevant dorm I recall the times that I have traveled there and then gone away again in various directions. I have created a life for myself here, and my family believed I could. I kept running and my heart beat faster, sweat beads began to crawl down my forehead, and I coughed. Allergy season, the worst for me. The hot steam in the shower clears my nose and throat, the soap bubbles slide down my skin toward my toes, and I am clean again. Washed clear of the sands of mud season, mint-hinted breath, and a dream waiting patiently. Midnight thoughts, sweet dreams for our future.

Goodnight, Stearns.