Twins
Autobiography · Relationships

Twins

Ruby Pipes7 Comments

One pressed against the wall. One hanging off the edge. We curl up together in a twin-size bed. His arm falls asleep lying under me and I lose my pillow to the floor. In the morning I tell him we’ll call this time “the beginning years”. When I lived in a warehouse apartment with no kitchen and he lived out of a suitcase. The days before we went shopping for sheets together. Before we stayed up late sitting on the floor in our kitchen.

On the couch he rests his head on my chest. Listens intently to my heartbeat and taps his fingers in rhythm. I ask him what we’re going to do. What’s next? And he explains to me he’ll do the two-hour drive for however long he needs to. That the discomfort of distance is worth the joy of being in relationship.

In the afternoon we go for coffee, so when night comes again I find myself awake and writing. The low glow of my screen illuminating my finger tips as he sleeps gently next to me. And there is safety in his breathing. In the way his chest lifts and lowers the blanket on top of me. And I find myself not wanting anything else from existence. Just let me be.

Photo courtesy of Josh Felise.

Closing
Autobiography · Relationships

Closing

Ruby Pipes6 Comments

In the envelope went a selection of Christmas cards addressed to the two of us. Several pictures. A couple love notes. The boarding pass from the plane I took from Oakland to Seattle. Random keepsakes collected over the years. My passport. A necklace, my sobriety ring, and my wedding set. And, of course, the certified copies of our marriage and divorce certificates. I closed the clasp and brought it to my parents’ house. Asked my mom to put it in the safe deposit box and that was it. An entire life with someone distilled down to a manila envelope to be tucked into a vault and possibly never brought out again.

I asked Mason if we had any other business after the final check was mailed. After the phone plan was broken up. After the car keys were exchanged. Part of me wanted him to say yes, even though I knew we didn’t have anything left to sort out, nothing to discuss. I just wanted him to tell me he wasn’t ready for me to leave his life yet. But he didn’t. Another time I wanted him to show up, but couldn’t bring myself to ask. A beautifully distilled example of our entire relationship. Neither of us ever being able to ask for what we need. Separated by more than space and time. There was always a wall between us. Something to keep ourselves out and the other person in. Or maybe it was the other way around. It doesn’t matter now, does it?

So this is what it feels like to close off a section of your life. To remember a time with someone, but to know it will never be repeated. There are no second chances here. We do not recycle and come back. It’s over. And that’s just the kind of thing we have to let ourselves believe. We have to hold on to. We have to learn to need. This is moving on.

Andrew pulls his car up next to mine, Astronautalis’ “Guard the Flame” blaring out the windows. I climb inside and we both sing as loud as we can, “Fuck it, if I was that smart, I’d never learned your name…” The music dies and we breathe in deep in unison. Wait, wait, wait. Scream. The sun beats down hard on my face. “One hand strikes the match. One hand guards the flame.” He reaches across the center console of the car and puts his hand in mine. We’re alive.

It’s waking up from something. Breaking out of the sludge I’d been encased in for years. The one that always made me feel broken and afraid. The one that, for whatever reason, my marriage learned to perpetuate. The constant nervous aching of not being enough for someone. Of letting them down. Of losing. Of quitting. Of giving up. I don’t know how we fell into that pattern and I wish we never did. But we did. And that was it.

And here we are. Cut loose. I’m standing in a crowd screaming. My hands are in the air. And for the first time in a long time I am not afraid of being undeserving. I am powerful and lovable and strong. I am unafraid of love because I know how it feels to lose it and how it feels to find it again. How it feels to have it find you. How it feels to be in it with someone who sees you and isn’t afraid of what they’re seeing.

Buoyancy
Autobiography · Mental Health · Poetry

Buoyancy

Ruby Pipes17 Comments

It’s different now. When I crumble. The blankets
wrapped up around my face and I squirm
in the sheets.

This is not the same sadness we became so well
acquainted with. Not the monster we learned to
battle. No, I face this one alone and

only sometimes. I do not pull my knees to my
chest anymore. Do not wail into the universe about
not wanting to exist in it.

But on occasion I still find myself fighting
my own chemistry. My own memory of how I am and
how I am supposed to be.

Clay that should become tile piles up in the studio. I
argue with the urge to cut all my hair off.
Stay all day on the couch watching Breaking Bad again.

Familiar feeling, but not quite the same. Closer to déjà vu than a
clear remembering. I’m fumbling, but I trust myself to
find my footing again. I understand that this is

not how it ends. I make phone calls. Send texts.
Reach out like I never felt capable of before. I know I’m worth the
struggle this time. I know.

I find myself wondering if I would have made it. If this
desire to stay afloat was always present, even when not
presenting. If my will to live has always been vivacious,

relentless. Must have been. Because whenever they’ve asked
what they can do for me, I’ve always said, “Listen. But
do nothing.” When the time came, I’ve always known the battle is

fought and won by myself. Just listen. And sometimes that means
just to my breathing. My energy. Be present. Hold space for me and
expect nothing.

We are learning to do that again. In new places with new people and new
ideas of what succeeding looks like. We are beginning
again. And this time I know we’re not quitting.

–––––

Hey! I have a Facebook page now. Go like it to not only stay in the loop with what’s going on over here, but for all sorts of other fun stuff. There will be at least one video. Haven’t you been wondering what my voice sounds like?

Photo courtesy of Wayne Lo.