An Attempted Story Part II

She couldn't help but dwell upon the fear she felt from the words “I’m ready”. She didn’t know if he was ready or not, and that’s what scared her the most. Those two words “I’m ready” were silent, unlike her father’s infamous random aisle Wal Mart farts when she was an adolescent, but just as deadly and embarrassing. Ahh, how wonderful would it be to be young and free again with the wisdom of a “grown up”, she thought. In her early twenties, she was coming to learn that this very thought was a sure sign of fleeing the freedom of youth, never to return, the event horizon of becoming an adult. As fearful as she had been of this in the past, it was no longer of concern. The fear had fled with her adolescence. Her mind was in constant battle, fear being one of the main topics for which the war was fought. It seemed as if the paradox of her mind had completely consumed her, it was forming a construction of destruction which was forming the foundation of her life. She was fearless but scared, educated but ignorant, happy but sad, hopeful but doomed, all intense and all simultaneous. How could she be so sure she was ready? How was her confidence so overwhelming? It was more than intuition, somewhere deep down her subconscious had chosen to be ready. This was where her dwelling ceased. Her coffee though abandoned by her thoughts and chilled by the Antarctic apartment was now the focus of her vision. While she was lost in her thoughts, she had disregarded the hookah. The once burning hot fiery red coal that sat atop the stretched and multi punctured aluminum foil, although gray, still kept its seemingly perfect form. She had many a time entertained the coal life metaphor. The burnt out coal was much like her life, as she saw it most of the time, cold, dry, and begging to fall apart while portraying the art of perfect form outwardly. The hose lay in her lap as she sat with her feet propped up by the coffee table and began to relax. Her vision still fixed on the coffee cup. It was quite a work of art, a smooth beautiful pale green terracotta textured pattern of lima bean sized repeating circles. The shapes reminded her of delicate elliptical orbits protruding in a vertical form. It was a simple classy coffee cup, her favorite coffee cup. The kind of coffee cup that doesn’t make one’s love hate addiction to caffeine seem quite so bad. However, the coffee cup and her completely controllable, but unwavering addiction to caffeine were the furthest thing from her mind and now removed from her vision as well. She began to entertain the idea that he would bring the beauty she saw in the coffee cup to her life. With this idea, her eyes closed and body relaxed further as she began to imagine him.

More than an idea, and more than a picture, she vividly imagined his mind, character, and soul. She knew his soul was a missing piece of hers, and he knew the same of her soul. She would imagine how their souls would intertwine as one. He was the yin to her yang. This was not an opposites attract kind of mash-up, and he was not a parallel version of herself in male form. He was simply a perfect fit. Witty, charming, and clever, she was envisioning the moments he could genuinely make her laugh without even trying. They grew together. He, like her, subtly got to know himself better every day. She thought of him and how he loved to take note of the same drive to grow and motivation to learn in her. He was humbly creative, amazingly intelligent, and even quirky at times. She thought of how his logical sense could ground her dreamy mind with perfect timing, and how she could inspire him like he had never been inspired. He had the kind of positive independence that she had admired her entire life. It went without mention, for both of them, that alone time was necessary. There was never a “need” for time together. They had a mature mutual understanding of when, where, and how was best, no pressure. They were finely tuned to one another’s minds. Their thought frequencies ran parallel. He always knew the right thing to say, even if it was the wrong thing. With open hearts, clear minds, and growing souls they made each other’s day easier and more fulfilling. She would go on and on like this in her mind about this man of her dreams, a man she knew so well in her head, but had no knowledge of physically. Thinking of him today, she felt different. She had begun to think of him in present tense rather than future. The feeling of the concrete fact that he existed was enough to tame her soul and ease her mind as her brain waves slowed to stage one of sleep.

Her thoughts began to haze and mold into crazy images one can only subconsciously think of in the beginning stages of dreams and sleep. She briefly heard the sound of a hand moving quickly through the air below her chest which led to a mildly painful slap that left her thigh tingling. “WAKE UP!” Her heart stopped and she lost her breath. For a moment she thought this was her dream. It was like the kind of feeling she felt many times before while dreaming she was just about to bust her ass, then waking up thinking she actually was busting her ass. She opened her eyes in a mild frenzy, it was Jack, she was relieved. He was up and making himself known plopping down on the couch beside her. She quickly followed his slap with “g’mornin”. “Wanna come to an AA meeting with me today?” Jack asked as he grabbed the hookah hose from her lap. He was a recovering, proudly gay, low bottom alcoholic who she had known practically her entire life. He had been waking up late recently since he was fired from his first “big boy” job out of college. “You might not want to hit that.” she said as he brought the hookah to his larger than life lips. Then she briefly contemplated her list of things to do in her head which solely consisted being free, she followed with a “Yea I’ll go.” He spoke with a tone of vigor and a smile, “well get your ass ready, we’re leaving in thirty minutes.” He got up, tossed the hose back in her lap, and hurried to the shower as he turned to condescendingly say “I’m leaving without ya if you ain’t ready.” He always said things like this to pressure her because he was so punctual, but never actually meant them. She softly laughed, rolled her eyes, and gently wrapped the hose around the hookah as she said “don’t worry, I’ll take my time.” Unbeknownst to her, the most beautiful and eventful day of her life had spontaneously began, just like that, with a slap from Jack.