“Start with what you know, then re-invent it. Art is magic, no argument there, but all art, no matter how strange, starts in the humble everyday. Just don’t be surprised when weird flowers sprout from common soil.” Stephen King Duma Key—How to Draw a Picture (IV)
Below are three stories two drawn from my real life and another completely made up but born from tiny seeds of everyday life.
My First Real Kiss (real life)
When I was 14 I had a desperate crush on a boy. He was a stoner, which for some reason made me like him all the more. Around that time I had a really fuzzy dream about kissing someone while sitting on the ground somewhere. It wasn’t so much what was in the dream that made me remember it and deem it important but it was how I felt in the dream. I felt amazing.
A short time after the dream I finally had the opportunity to talk face to face with this boy. We happened to find ourselves sitting next to each other, on the floor, at my friend’s house. He kissed me and oh my gosh that dream was nothing compared to what it felt like to be in his arms. Butterflies fluttered up and down my body from my toes to my head like they were on some sort of charity run.
After we finished kissing he gave me an Ozzy Osbourne pin. I kept it and still have it tucked away in an old jewelry box. We started dating. I self-tattooed his initials into my leg. When I went to visit my dad for two weeks in the summer he broke up with me for a 17-year-old with boobs. I was crushed for at least two weeks.
The Pin (fiction)
We were 14. He reached out his hand to mine. I stared at it. I knew his rings well but I hesitated. I stood there frozen. The train tracks were just feet away. We were alone back packs full of food, water, and clothes. He turned completely to me. I turned to him. He took an Ozzy Osbourne pin off of his shirt. I looked down at it. He held it in his hand. His older brother had given it to him. It meant more to him than a pin should and there he was giving it to me. I slowly reached for it turning the tears back down my throat. “Are you sure?” I ask.
He stares at me with those eyes that haunt me still. Pain had been so much a part of his life that his pupils seemed to pulsate with a beat of something that no one would ever understand. This offering I knew was more than he had ever given. I reach out and brush the tips of his fingers with mine. Just as we touch he clamps his hand shut around the pin. Was that anger that just passed across his face or fear?
Then he brings his fist up to his lips and slips the pin into his mouth. He smiles with his lips smashed shut. He looks so playful that the fear that had been pounding around in my heart ever since we decided to take this journey starts to unwind. I look up into his face, stand on my toes and press my lips up against his. As I do he takes my hand in his and slips the pin into my mouth.
Two more fictional stories that may have tiny roots from the memory of my first boyfriend.
I Trust You
http://ravenruckus.tumblr.com/post/3347748201/i-trust-you
Tattoo Love
http://ravenruckus.tumblr.com/post/3310975835/tattoo-love
A short time before I wrote the above story Ben and the kids and I went hiking through an old train tunnel.
On the other side of the tunnel we found a bird’s next on a pole several feet off of the ground.
“Dad can you lift me up so that I can see better?”
Ben and I both laugh.
“You can see it just as well as me.” Ben says.
The large bird’s rump is peaking over the edge of the ledge where its nest hides. We are all looking up wondering about this bird. What kind? Does it have babies up there? Is it hot? Who built this pole? The pole has a number on it. Is it for study? The water looks pretty. It’s peaceful out here but is that a chemical that stains the rocks white at the edge of the water? That’s disturbing.
A train passes by above us. We decide to walk up the trail towards the train but the sand is hot and we are all wearing sandals. D and C follow Ben all the way to the top but E stops half way up crying that his feet hurt. I try to talk him into walking more carefully so that the sand doesn’t burn his feet but this is too hard and with each step up the hill the sand gets hotter.
So I pick him up and put him on my back. We start-up the hill then Ben and the other boys are running down the hill. C is crying because his feet are on fire. D runs all the way down the hill. I have to tell him to stop. “Wait for us.”
