Miriam was still pretty wet from her bath, but lay in her terrycloth robe on her bed and let her hair leave a large wet spot on her comforter. She didn’t have to reach to feel the lump beneath her left arm. It was big enough that she could feel it there: taking up space inside her and stealing years away from her life. Miriam believed her tumor was a thousand worries and things unsaid; all turned to a piece of tissue that began to fight for a voice. For her attention. In order to deal with it, she needed to raise her arms in surrender, literally. She had not told anyone close to her that she was being eaten alive by something inside her. Her family and friends, her children, her co-workers…none of them knew. Miranda imagined the tumor vanishing into darkness. She closed her eyes and saw it glowing and textured and alive. She studied it and told it to go away. It had made its’ point. She finally got it. The point of it all. The reason to stay on earth as long as she could. Miranda let the tumor say what it needed to and thanked it. She imagined her body dissolving it away but reciting the lessons the thing shouted into her each day. Everything was precious in some way. Everything. No exclusions. Even the tumor and the pain and the fear that she might be too late to tell everyone she had ever met, ‘thank you’. Miranda listened to the tissue eat at her, and rebbutted with a sound of her own. Miranda chewed back. The thing and she had been made for and by eachother. The woman next to her in the elevator last week was the only person she had told. A small woman with a kind face and pants that were all wrong. Miranda cried when she told the woman, and the woman cried too. #nightwalk
Grateful to have just booked more work and to have birds in the trees and fish in the pond. #gratitude
Kate sat down on the floor of the attic and ignored the jacks and marbles she had spilled earlier. They dug into her ass and thighs and she let them. There were boxes open everywhere around her, the smell of her father moving around the musty space and making the clamp lights glow a bit warmer. She was still wearing her black dress and stockings,.but her heels were downstairs…no sense climbing up here on a ladder in stillettos. Many times she heard people calling out and up to her. They were concerned. Did she need anything. Was there anything anyone could do… there was food in the fridge if she chose to come down… but she was only empty in her heart. Her stomach did not speak. She just wanted her father back. She held tight to the book in her hands and ran her fingertipts over the unmistakeable doodles he made in the borders. Squiggles and lines. Loops and such…In every book he loved. As he thought about the stories and his days. He doodled as if he were never going to run out of ink…or pens…or thoughts…or time. Kate tried to feel him in the markings, she reached for him in the paper and ink, and for a moment, she wished she were dead too. #nightwalk
The pond is blooming and tonight you can see FINDING CARTER Episodes #9 (last weeks) and #10 (new) back to back on MTV. Very proud to have been a part of the show. #findingcarter #LOVETHATCREW!
Tate didn’t remember much from the accident. It had happened so quickly. He had finally gone to the post office and mailed the package he had promised his sister, months earlier. Photos of them as children, photos of her with friends she had not seen in ages; be it distance or death that kept them apart. And a pot holder she had knitted at camp one summer. Somehow it had gotten into Tates belongings when he left for college and then life. So he sent it all. Finally. He had sent it and was walking home wondering if his wife would let him inside her tonight or if she was still upset with him about so many little things. So he was thinking about touching his wife when he saw the woman across the street. She wore a blue, sleeveless dress and she seemed to stiffen while at the same time, collapse. She saw and was reacting to what Tate could not. The truck behind him, the drunk man behind the wheel. She saw the last few steps Tate would ever take with his legs, and while he thought of his wife, and the price of postage and felt the sun on himself, he saw the woman in the blue dress see more than either of them wanted to. #nightwalk
Claire stood naked in front of the mirror and tried to see herself as beautiful. She saw a body changed by time and choices. So many turns and side streets, and still going strong. She saw a body that had built human beings and fed them until they could feed themselves. She saw places where she had been opened and then, over time, healed closed. Tight pink scar tissue told on her. It spoke of drunken bravery. Adolescence. Self doubt. Collisions. She saw skin that remembered many men, but did not hold their fingerprints visibly. It remembered them the way old houses recall the discussions had within them. Claire was like an old house. A good foundation, and many different layers of colored paint. What seemed a thousand echoes of love and fury, hope and loss, all inside her…even though so many people were no longer inside there. She was not for sale, Claire… but there was a small sign in her eyes that said she considered letting someone new enter her, perhaps on a month to month basis. #nightwalk
Amber walked home in the dark, make-up smeared, and dress torn. She carried her high heels by the back straps and tried to avoid stepping on anything sharp with her bare feet. Her body ached from what had happened. She knew it was coming, but still it was bad. The cash, folded and tucked into her bra, would make the next week of her life bearable, but still she felt split in two and shamed. Amber hoped her dead relatives could not see her now as she moved towards home, filled with the bodily fluids of a man who hated women. She was nothing like the girl she was supposed to be. All of those dreams gone…all of the school pictures were just posed lies. Amber had a little of the sweet child left in her, sure. There was a little. The part that wanted ice cream and a bubble bath and that tried to not step on the cracks in the sidewalk as she walked home. There was a little of the little girl left in her, but she was just a whisper. A small thing, now covered in the bad choices her older self had made, and the semen of a man who would not kiss her or tell her his name. #nightwalk