Prompt 1 Week 13: The things I see as I walk down the street that's like heaven to me....

                I don’t know what heaven is like. Haven’t been there and don’t plan on it for a long time but I know it is a perfect place, a reward for navigating through life’s hardships, for having faith, and for being virtuous. Everyone’s heaven must be different, made up of people they’ve loved and lost and their favorite things. Things that put big smiles on their faces. There is no pain or tears.

                My heaven would be warm; a land of perpetual sunshine but my skin would never burn. I could soak up its rays for hours every day without worrying about skin cancer or wrinkles. In my heaven nobody cares what you look like; I don’t spend time worrying about my skin-care regime or makeup. I don’t have to do my hair. It doesn’t matter what I wear and I’m always comfortable.

                I’d catch up with my grandmother who I haven’t seen seventeen years. We’d play cribbage (she’d have to teach me again; I haven’t played since she passed) and she’d be impressed that she passed her culinary skills on to me. I’d tell her all about my life on earth (even my mistakes). In my heaven, lies don’t exist. She’d introduce me to her father, a man I never met. It would be like we had never been apart. She’d be close with Shane; they play poker together. He’ll be a more gracious loser, even letting Nana win

                In my heaven you can eat whatever you want without worrying about whether or not it’s good or bad for you because there, nothing will cause heart disease or breast cancer. Pulled pork sandwiches with spicy slaw and nachos, strawberry and spinach salad with grilled chicken, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you like.

                Fragrant flowers grow freely in vibrant pink and lavender, white and marigold. The trees are tall, their green leaves bright and saturated with life. There are no allergies and all my animals will be there. Nadia, Nana’s loyal Husky and Millie, her fat, happy pug. Sasha will be gone by then and Peekah too. In heaven they don’t hiss viciously at each other. Saba, Nellie, the hamster that died on my tenth birthday. They’ll all be there, roaming around in nature without fear of being attacked, getting along.

                There is no stress, a permanent vacation. In my heaven, I’ll never want anything, knowing I have everything I need.

                Heaven will have to wait many years (I hope), so for now, I have to look for slivers of heaven on earth. Sometimes it’s hard to see. I’ll be the first to admit that when I’m stressed out and frazzled, too busy to eat, I forget there is so much to be grateful for. So many beautiful things.

                The other night I was driving on the interstate. It was about 11 PM and my craving for Pat’s Pizza and Buffalo wings sent me on the trek to Orono. I’d gotten my food and on the way back I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sky. It was raining, more of a drizzle, and the distant streetlights of Bangor illuminated the clouds hanging low in the sky. They were deep purple, a musky orange. Dark and bright at the same time and for that drive, the cold rain and the pitch dark were warm and comforting above the silent interstate. Heaven on earth.

Theme Week 12: Risks, juxtapostion, and humor

                A simple question: what’s your favorite color? I hadn’t been asked that since I was a kid, had to think for a minute. “Yellow. Or green.” I pause. “I wear mostly black though.” I feel like a liar, like I’m making something up about myself. Yellow is pretty, the color of sun and happiness. Beautiful, but if you walked into my house or peeked inside of my closet, you wouldn’t know the color even existed. Green is calm, my favorite color for home décor. But black is a staple of my wardrobe, my favorite nail polish color, and the right amount of coal eyeliner makes my eyes look amazing. It should be the winner hands down but only comes as an afterthought.

                Favorite movie? My mind goes blank and once again, I don’t know what to say. Gone with the Wind is a classic, I loved watching it with my grandmother as a child; she knew every word by heart. The Notebook made me cry every time, a great love story. I must have watched Rent fifty times; I can sing along to every song. Garden State is cute, Natalie Portman did a great job and Zach Braff wrote a surprisingly clever script. The soundtrack is first-class.  The holidays wouldn’t be complete without watching the original Miracle on 34^th Street. And how can I forget Almost Famous? That scene when everybody is singing “Tiny Dancer” on the bus has to make it a contender.

                TV Show? Beverly Hills 90210, of course. I DVR it every day. Love it even though I’ve seen every episode already. Or maybe Weeds. After all, I subscribe to Showtime just so I can watch it. That’s gotta  mean something….And how can I forget my guilty pleasure, Keeping up with the Kardashians? Every Sunday night, we have a date. Friends makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it, no matter how many times I’ve seen Ross and Rachel get together and break up then get together and break up... Certainly the best comedy ever, although the new show Two Broke Girls is hilarious too... The Food Network never disappoints either, no matter how many episodes of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives I watch. I don’t know.

                Let’s talk about food. I love to eat, love how it brings people together. So what’s one food I can’t live without? Without a doubt, it’s nachos. Nachos covered in gooey cheese, refried beans, fresh salsa, guacamole, and sour cream. But I’m totally addicted to buffalo wings dipped in Marie’s super blue cheese dressing, I’m not sure I could give those up. And then there are these tomatoes I make. I bake them in olive oil with fresh garlic, oregano, basil, salt, pepper, and sugar at 250 for three hours. On a nice piece of ciabatta, they are perfect.

                Here’s a question I know the answer to. If I could go anywhere in the world, where would it be? Italy, of course. Good food, good wine, beautiful architecture. History. Although Australia seems so beautiful, so many cool animals, great accents, sun. I’ve always wanted to go to Vancouver too, every picture I’ve seen looks like heaven and it is my personal experience that Canadians are outgoing and open. The Swiss Alps, Nice, Paris, Russia. Well, I thought I knew…

Prompt 3 Week 12: I met the most amazing person last week....

                I met the most amazing person last week, a brand-new college graduate on the first leg of his journey to hike the Appalachian Trail. We met by accident and I’m sure he wishes he never met us at all, but hey, at least he has a good story to tell his friends when he goes home.

                It was two in the morning and I was upstairs in the guest bedroom sleeping on two mattresses thrown on the floor. I use the term guest bedroom loosely; it was more of a storage closet where we threw the things we didn’t want but held onto anyways, just in case “one day” we might need it. I never slept up there, but we had been fighting all week. It was time to make him feel bad.

                At two in the morning, just as I had fallen asleep, I heard the front door open. The screen door slammed and two pairs of footsteps pounded down the hall. Voices. I heard the deep grumble of his voice but the other one was unrecognizable, a man with a Midwest accent. A stranger. They were talking too loud for me to sleep and I couldn’t sustain my curiosity anymore, I had to find out who this was, for my own safety. He could seriously be anyone, knowing my boyfriend.

                I carefully made my way down the narrow staircase and was greeted by a young man, early twenties, clean-cut with a backpack. Not scary at all, harmless. I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

                “This is Colin. He’s hiking the Appalachian Trail.”

                As it turned out, our new friend Colin had just graduated college and was going to spend his summer testing his physical and mental limits. He was young, naïve, and apparently senseless to go home with a complete stranger like my boyfriend who met him on a street corner by the bus station on his way to the bar. He told the kid to stay put and he’d be back for him and remarkably, Colin, who had nowhere else to go, waited almost two hours.

                I couldn’t believe it and even though Colin was nice enough, I still felt like it was out of line to bring home a complete stranger and offer him a place to stay for the evening. He could have been a serial killer and even though it was rude, I brought this up. Mind you, this wasn’t the first time an incident like this had happened.

                A few months before, we had gone out and met an older woman standing in downtown Bangor. She was pulling a mid-size suitcase on wheels. It was raining and cold, a chilly mid-November evening before the chill of winter overtook the region. It turned out she had arrived on the bus from Nebraska where she gone to meet the man she had fallen in love with online. Grandmotherly and sweet, we brought her home with us. It seemed like right thing to do. It was cold and her bus didn’t leave until ten the next morning.

                We sat up with her talking. She was fascinating. Fifty-three years old, she had been a virgin before she made the trek to Nebraska. She was getting married to him the next spring and as she spoke, she reminded me of a gleeful schoolgirl after her first kiss. We were lucky with her but, nothing was stolen; we weren’t attacked in our sleep. But you can only be lucky so many times…

                “Don’t you think at all?” I asked.

                “It’s fine, he’s a nice kid.”

                “And how the hell would you know that? You knew him for what? Two minutes before you decided to invite him home? You’re so crazy….so inconsiderate.” I was enraged.

                “You’re so self-righteous, if you had been there, you would have done the same thing,” he said. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t.”         

                “You don’t know anything about what I would do,” I said, livid he had the nerve to argue back.

                This went on for a while, as Colin stood awkwardly in the corner, unsure whether or not to leave. He tried to pack up and go at one point, said he was sorry to intrude. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem, really….”he stammered.

                “You’re not the problem,” I said. “You’re fine. Smart. Sweet.” We had just heard all about his girlfriend back home in Chicago. They dated all through college. She was nervous about his adventure.

                “Why is it you are so nice to everybody but me?” my boyfriend asked.

                “Because, not everybody is as big an ass hole as you are,” I replied.

                That was it. I had gone too far. He started yelling, I had to go. This was over. I knew we were out of line as we stood in the dimly lit kitchen screaming at each other. This was not the time to get into it but there was not stopping it. He picked up a butter knife and threw it across the room. It didn’t even come near me, missing me by so much it didn’t seem like he was aiming for me at all. Silence. Everything stopped, nobody moved.

                “They said people from Maine would be crazy,” Colin said, with an unmistakable weariness in his voice.

                The next morning when I woke up, he was gone, the blankets I had gathered for his bed neatly folded and placed in a chair.

Prompt 2 Week 12: My Summer Vacation

                School had just ended for the summer and I should have been excited for long, lazy days in the sun and adventures with my friends but I wasn’t. Instead of hanging out every day with my best friend Katie who only lived five houses away, I was being sent to Kentucky to visit my father, the land of slow-speaking southerners and fried everything. So what if I was being judgmental? Even though I had never been there, I knew I would hate it. I was determined to hate it.

                My brother Zak and I stepped off the plane and our designated travelling companion (babysitter) guided us into the airport where our father was waiting, all smiles in his bright blue wind-pants and Wildcats tee, hat on backwards. Standing at most 5’ 7”, he looked like a wannabe baller without any game.

                “Hey baby,” he drawled, giving me a hug. “I missed you.”

                I cringed as his accent rang in my ears and quickly pulled away. “My name is Sam,” I said.

                “Well you’ll always be my baby,” he replied and I gave up, giving him a point this time. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through the whole summer, especially if he continued to insist on giving insidious nicknames. I hated being called baby. He gave me a name for a reason, I felt like he should use it, but what did I know?

                Collecting our luggage took forever but nobody noticed except for me. My brother, for some unexplainable reason, loved Kentucky and chattered away about track, bragging about the school record he broke for fastest 100 meter sprint.  After our suitcases finally came out, Dad said “Ready?”

                “That’s not everything,” I said.

                He looked around, taking in my two huge green suitcases, Zak’s duffel bag, and our L.L. Bean backpacks. “There’s more?”

                “Just one more thing,” I said. “We can’t forget Millie.”

                “Millie?” he asked.

                “The. DOG.” Duh.

                His face said it all, and even at ten I was perceptive enough to know my mother hadn’t told him about the dog. I smiled brightly. “So cute! You’ll love her.”

                I was right. He did love her and Millie loved him. We lived in an apartment complex with a huge parking lot filled with cars and a grassy area with picnic tables. Each apartment had a sliding glass door in the rear bedroom that led to a small BBQ area and a small square of lawn. The grass was yellow and brittle, too spiky to walk on with bare feet. The excruciating heat from the sun beamed down on it every afternoon and between the hours of ten and seven it was best to stay inside or risk dying from heat stroke. I was a Maine girl and anything past sixty-five was hot, eighty was too hot and the heat of a Kentucky summer was unbearable. The thick humidity in the air clung to my lungs, stifling my breath. I couldn’t get enough water and thought people were crazy when they bundled up in sweatshirts and jeans at night.

                Millie loved to run in the parking lot; the heat never bothered her. She ran in circles every morning before she settled down to do her business on the lawn. One day, Millie saw my father in the kitchen with her bag of pebbles. So excited, she ran at top speed into the glass door and her thick, little pug body bounced of the glass. From that day on, he loved that dog.

                My father worked every day and since it was too hot to go outside, I became a sports fanatic. The Olympics were on that year and they were in the United States. Atlanta. I was hooked, awed by the speed of the track and field athletes, mesmerized by the dangerous moves of the gymnasts. My brother and I fought over the television as we lounged in the air-conditioned apartment. Who knew I’d ever prefer to spend my summer vacation inside?

                No matter where we went, it seemed like every girl was blonde with tight curls and a face full of makeup. They wore dresses during the day; they were tan, and beautiful. It was like being face-to-face with real, live Barbie dolls every single day. I had never seen anything like it and I secretly made fun of them in my head, wondering how long it took them to make themselves look so perfect and I faithfully reported my adventures (if you consider sitting inside an apartment day after day and occasionally going to Kroger an adventure) in letters to Katie who always promptly responded with disbelief and sympathy for my waste of a vacation.

                Our biggest excitement that summer was Church Camp; shockingly, it was fun in a twilight zone sort of way. The people at camp were like aliens to me, the strict Catholic girl I was, who gave up chocolate for Lent and went to church on Christmas Eve and Easter. Wesleyans, they sang and danced and did arts and crafts. They rejoiced in their love for God and faithfully went to church not only on Sundays but on Wednesdays as well. They placed their entire well-being in His hands, content with whatever happened because “things always happen for a reason.” They were always happy and robot-like. I had never seen anything like it, never seen people so passionate about anything, much less God. They kind of creeped me out.       

                It was a whole other world down there, in the south where slimy okra was a dinnertime staple. I figured the heat must have made it difficult for people to think clearly, prohibiting them from speaking in grammatically correct sentences or moving faster than the turtle I rescued earlier that year. People were reserved, women upheld a feminine stereotype that was lost in the seventies, and the only thing that got them excited was God. Me, raised in a liberal family, Catholic, didn’t fit there. I couldn’t wait to go home, where people knew what a red hot dog was or even a whoopee pie, to normal temperatures that allowed me to go outside.

Prompt Week Twelve: 50 (plus one) ways to break up with somebody

Breaking up is hard to do. There never seems to be a “good time” and it’s so hard to find the right words. If you know it’s over but can’t figure out how to break it to him, try one of these tricks and he’ll probably be glad you ended it.

1)      Tell him you’ve had a religious awakening and are seriously considering becoming a nun.

2)      Make a date with him and send someone you think would be a better fit for him in your place. She can explain everything.

3)      Do it Berger style and break up with them on a post-it. And don’t bother wasting time feeling bad about. Carrie Bradshaw got through it, they will too.

4)      Smile sadly and explain how you need to focus on yourself.

5)      Tell him five times it’s not them, it’s you.

6)      Finish by saying you wish they were the one but they’re not.

7)      Don’t forget to say you hope you can still be friends.

8)      Send them a wedding invitation to celebrate your marriage to someone else.

9)      Write them a letter. Then send it to them in the mail.

10)   Pack up and move without telling them. They’ll figure it out eventually.

11)   Change your number.

12)   Have your best friend do the dirty deed for you.

13)   Throw a tantrum in a public place, advertising the fact that it’s over because he cheated on you when he didn’t.

14)   Say it’s not going to work out because your signs are incompatible.

15)   Send him a text message with the two words “It’s over.”

16)   Pack up all his stuff and have it by the door when he comes home from work.

17)   Go on vacation for a week and don’t call him.

18)   Meanwhile, post pictures of you with another person all over Facebook so he’s sure to see.

19)   Finally, when you get home, change your relationship status to “single.” Just to make it official.

20)   And of course, you can always say you’re too busy to have a relationship right now.

21)   Tell him you’re sorry, but your cat/dog /fish doesn’t like him so…..that’s it.

22)   When you have plans with him, ditch him. No phone call, no text, nothing.

23)   Make sure you do this every single time you’re supposed to get together.

24)   Tell him you’re not over your ex, even if you are.

25)   And of course, you can always say you wish you met him at a different time, that you’re just not ready for the type of relationship he is looking for.

If the above tips aren’t working for you or if you’re just the non-confrontational type and want to bypass taking any responsibility for “the end”, make it easy on yourself and make THEM break up with YOU. This way, you don’t have to hurt their feelings and you can continue living your passive-aggressive life. Here are some ideas to help you.

26)   If you’ve only been dating him for a short while talk non-stop about marriage and babies.

27)   When you know he’s coming over make sure you’re with somebody else. Naked.

28)   Preferably one of his friends.

29)   Nag incessantly about the things he does wrong, making him despise you.

30)   Force him to watch the Kardashians with you every single Sunday night. Even if they’re repeats.

31)   Followed by Ice Loves Coco.

32)   Tell him you love him when you’ve been on three dates.

33)   Buy him a whole new wardrobe and make him a hair appointment with your personal stylist.

34)   Stop showering.

35)   While you’re at it, stop shaving too.

36)   And using deodorant.

37)   Talk about how much you love his mom. Tell him you want to be just like her.

38)   Every night, wait until he falls asleep and start screaming like a crazy person, like you’re having a bad dream. After a week of sleepless, interrupted nights, he won’t be able to stand it anymore.

39)   Every chance you get, tell him how fat you are.

40)   Make sure he knows how important it is to you that he buys you expensive presents and make it clear this is the only thing you care about. If he’s lucky, he WILL break up with you.

41)   Cry. All the time.

42)   Flirt with the waiter incessantly while the two of you are on a romantic Valentine’s Day date.

43)   Talk about you ex. Every single day.

44)   Argue with every single thing he says, even when he’s right.

45)   When he tells you how much he loves you, look at him and tell him you know. The key is to never, ever say it back.

46)   Lie about everything. And make sure he finds out.

47)   Beat him at every video game he plays.

48)   Find out his greatest phobia and become a huge fan of whatever it is. Mice, snakes, cereal. Whatever.

49)   Tell him you can’t stand him mom.

50)   Did I mention to tell him how much you love babies? Stress how you can’t wait to have one, preferably in the next year.

If none of these suggestions are getting the job done, I have one last piece of advice:

51) Try telling the truth, sharing how you feel, and giving your partner the respect they deserve. I know, right? Crazy.

Prompt Week 11: He had the sense she was senseless, yet there was still so much he could see...

                I wasn’t sure why, but every time I saw him I was left with an odd feeling, like he could see right through me. I didn’t know his name; he was just a customer who stopped into the store occasionally on his way home from work. He’d walk in, jeans tattered and dirty like he had been working outside all day, his boots heavy on the linoleum floor. A six-pack of Moosehead was all he ever bought and as I rang him up we discussed the best ways to run a store. He owned one down the road, making me wonder why he ever stopped in at all.

                I was always pleasant, smiling and perky even though my life at home was crumbling a little more each day. Andy and I were at each other’s throats, not one day went by where we didn’t fight and as sad as it was, I looked forward to work. It was an escape from the tension that surrounded me, my attempt to live a normal life.

                He began to stop in more, each time leaving me more uneasy than the last as I wondered what he was looking at when he looked at me. I avoided his eyes when I gave him his change, sure if he saw mine he would be able to tell exactly what I was thinking. A different kind of tension stole the air and I could hardly breathe as I stood vulnerable to him without understanding why. He wasn’t attractive; his hair was always messy and his clothes were wrinkled and splashed with paint. He was tall and strong but he wasn’t chiseled and fit. He was average .

                When we talk about how we met, he always says he could sense my unhappiness, that my smile wasn’t real. He could tell how nervous he made me, always thought it was funny. He says he knew he met me for a reason, cliché, but not really because it’s the truth. Like a sappy love song, he knew me before he met me. He saw more in myself than I did.

Theme Week Eleven

                The thing about this town is that nothing ever changes. Not for the better, anyways. When new restaurants open downtown, boasting authentic Mexican food or unique sandwiches, it can be almost certain they’ll eventually close their doors and re-open as something new a few months later to a slow trickle of customers who try it out once and decide they like their usual place more. People who like what they already know. Here, chain restaurants like Longhorn Steakhouse or Bugaboo Creek rate as fine dining.

                But even as storefronts change signs, the people walking the streets remain the same. Stuck in their routine, they hurry to grab a coffee in the morning where the lady behind the counter knows their order by heart. She works every weekday morning until about noon, has for years and many of her customers have grown to consider her a friend. Not to mention she’s the only one who knows how to make their coffee right.

                There are more people now than there used to be. More people walking around, broke and looking for a break that will never come. Too poor to own a car, too many years of bad luck and bad decisions to make a change now.

                I felt safe here when I was a kid. I walked the streets after dark, playing outside until the only light in the sky was the glimmer of the moon and the stars. Strangers didn’t scare me and I never remembered to lock the door. It’s different now and while walking at night, every person I pass seems like a threat as they mumble to themselves, their eyes darting every which way, paranoid. I stare at the ground and walk fast, cell phone in my hand. Last summer when I was bringing my trash cans to the side of the road, my neighbor come speeding towards me on his bike. Down the road his girlfriend called after him, screaming, “That’s my pillow! That’s MY pillow!!” She was enraged. He was leaving her, he explained. She was on Bath Salts and he “wouldn’t put up with that shit.” He loved her, he thought he was going to marry her, but not on those drugs. He said all of this as he scratched his arms and paced back and forth in my driveway. Every night I lock the door.

                Nothing ever changes around here, except the level of desperation in the faces of my neighbors, people who have given up on supporting themselves. They got lost along the way to drugs, alcohol. They were always here but there are more of them now. So nothing really ever changes, not for the better.