Wednesday, 22 June 2011

The following page contains Mature subject matter.

The moon was the only light in the tiny room on the lower floor of my sisters townhouse. There were blinds on the window that had a few missing slats and depending on what time of night it was, you could feel the light hit your face and expose you. The lacquered bed posts were cool to the touch and the spindled design cast a tapered shadow on the wall. The ledge under the window kept my 15 pack of Du Maurier lights and an almost over flowing ashtray and the room smelled of stale smoke and camping gear.

He'd walk in with a cool attitude and immediately light a smoke. The way he lit a cigarette turned me on. He would take one from the pack between his thumb and middle finger and place it between his lips. It was almost the only gentle thing about him. Bringing the flame to the tip, he'd get it in place and look in my direction. Through the flame and through the smoke he'd squint his eyes and suck in his cheeks to draw the first drag. He'd rest his hand on his thigh with the cigarette between the knuckles on his right hand and exhale first through his nose, then through his mouth.

Eventually he'd lie down on the bed and ask me to get closer while putting his arm around my waist and pulling me to him. He wore a heavy, metal belt buckle I could eat a small snack off of and a leather belt that slung low on his hips. There's something delicious about that part of a man's body. The way it curves right at the hip bone and moves slightly as he walks. He was quite tall against my five feet four inches. His skin seemed to have a year long tan and his neck was thick. My favorite spot on him was right in the middle of where his clavicle bones meet and the muscles of your neck meet your chest. He wore a chain that would rest nicely in the divot and I could see the beating of his heart as it sat there.

The night I chose to have him win my virginity was the last night I'd ever see him. Up until that point I thought he enjoyed my company, I thought he cared and I thought he He was no longer a stranger. He was no longer some guy that came for long visits and sleepovers. He was the one I thought should own this part of me. He made me laugh and he certainly made me cry. I hated how he was so quiet. He hated that I gave him blue balls. He knew it wasn't an easy decision for me. He knew how much I loved him. He made me trust him.

Every little piece of that night lives vivid in my mind. He picked me up in a blue van that had manual transmission on the steering column and rusty floor boards. It was deathly cold outside and the heater was broken. We drove to my sisters new place and the first thing I did was light a cigarette. The night was young and had no time constraints or curfews. He had his arms around me as we watched TV and chatted while we drank beer. The bedroom was off the living room and I knew eventually we'd end up there for a heavy make-out session.

It started off with a kiss that was just as lovely as the last time. He used to tell me every time he kissed me how soft my lips were. His lips were soft too but the 5 o'clock shadow made the skin around my lips raw and red. He picked me up and moved me to the bedroom and kicked the door shut with his foot. I could see his outline with help from the sliver of light that shone through the bottom of the door. He was beautiful. I could see his brilliant smile through the darkness. I could feel his hard body getting harder. I could smell the natural, wonderful scent on his skin. I could taste the bead of sweat on his lip and feel the fire in his touch. He knew my world was about to change. He knew as he took off each piece of my clothing that the young woman I was, will no longer be. I cry when I think about the moment he slowly moved over me. I felt safe as he intertwined his hands in mine and asked me if I was ok. He made me feel beautiful, ugly, stripped and important. He moved into me and I gasped for air. There were no acrobatic positions. It was him and me. Breathing. Pushing. Sweating. Touching. I wanted it to stop. I wanted him to stay in me. I wanted him to tell me he loved me. I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to stop hurting me. I could feel my body release. He kissed me hard and again, asked if I was ok. I said yes in a soft, embarrassed voice. I panicked when he got up to go to the washroom. I knew there was blood. I knew he'd see it. I wanted more.

It was done and over before it began. It sits ever present in my head. Some one that took so much and gave so little. I'm stuck with that forever.

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

The invisible Man


Sunday June 5th, 17:41,
Text message from Jackie: Don't panic, Andi's Rob has been in a serious motorcycle accident & has been airlifted to Calgary. Dani and Andi r on their way up and I will keep you posted.

My moms calling. Fuck. I'm bridging an Aircraft at D41. I answer and she asks me how I'm doing, I say "not good, but I can't talk cause my plane is here". We hang up. (Prior to this call, we hadn't spoken in 5 weeks. due to the fact that in an alcohol induced argument, she told me how she thought my entire life was a fuck up.)
I walk to the bottom of the bridge and see 'Truck Stop' on the ramp getting the TUG in place. He looks up and smiles...but with tears streaming down my face...runs up to the bridge and asks whats going on. I can't breathe. In a broken voice I try and talk and tell him. I'm breaking down and hes there to catch me. The sound of the engines get louder and I cant hear myself think. I don't want him to go, but he has to marshal the aircraft I am set to bridge. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, and quite frankly I have no recollection of how I moved a building within an inch of a multi-million dollar airplane. The doors swing open and in true WestJet fashion, there is a smiling flight attendant who's face went from 'HELLO!' to 'Oh shit' in under .1 second. I ask how the flight was trying to be strong and she says 'It was good, quiet. Are you ok?'...I say 'No, but yes. Lets offload.'
I make a point to walk up to the top of the bridge first, as I do not want any of our guests to see my  red eyes and my ugly cry.
The phone will be an appendage for the next 20 minutes. I'm gathering information, sobbing and have a mental picture in my head so clear it makes my heart race. My sister is coming to pick me up and I've let DDC know I'm going to leave. As I pass through the hallways of the airport, I'm trying to hide my face. Chris comes over and strokes my back and tells me to breathe, that things will be ok.

I bbm my cousin Andi: Be strong baby girl. Rob is tough.
Andi replies: Thanks love, it just feels like a bad dream.

She honestly could not have said it better. It does feel like a dream.

My sister rounds the corner on Departures level and I immediately start to cry. I get in her car and tell her I love her and we talk about how surreal this is. I say, this is probably the longest drive to Calgary Andi will ever have. She agrees and we sit in silence for a few minutes.
My thoughts have now shifted from the dream like state of the accident to the fact we are 5 minutes from my Moms. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. Right now is obviously not the time to discuss what happened in the month prior to today.

We all sit in the living room and there is a bit of small talk. I see my sister get up and leave the room and head to the kitchen and open and close the back door, she must be heading out for a smoke and a Bud Light Lime. I want to go out with her so badly and ignore the uncomfortable tension in the room but I know...this needs to be dealt with. Now. To my surprise my mother gets up and walks out of the room. She putters about and places what sounds like plastic Safeway bags in the drawer and runs the kitchen sink for a second or two. All of a sudden I sense her stand behind me and feel her hands on my shoulders. Complete silence. It makes me cry silently until my lungs need air and my body convulses in a hard whimper. The only words that are spoken are from me and I say 'You really, really hurt me, Mom'. She starts to cry and says over and over she didn't mean it and she truly in her heart doesn't really think my life is a fuck up and she loves me so much it hurts. We both know alcohol was the culprit in the ugly words that spewed from her mouth and agree that its not an excuse but somehow, for whatever reason those 7 words slipped past her lips and cut me open.

Its done. Its over. There's no bitterness. There's no pointing fingers. There's no going back. We bring it down to earth again and realize there are more pressing, deeply serious situations happening right now. For the sake of those horrific and sad circumstances, all is forgiven in an instant.

We arrive at the hospital and learn Rob is in very critical condition. As the result of a dirt bike accident, he's in surgery where Doctors are trying to stop the bleeding that has already released 2.5 liters of his blood into his body. He's got himself 2 broken legs, a break just under his hip, a few broken ribs and completely severed his spinal cord. Rob's Father is white as a ghost and goes on to tell my Cousin Andrea and my Auntie Dani that he will be paralyzed from at least the waist down. The nurse takes us to a room where we all sob and hug, pass kleenex and pray. Plans are made to bring his sister in from |Kelowna and I ask Tim (Rob's Father) who is picking her up? He looks at me confused and almost like 'oh yeah...thanks for mentioning that' and he says he doesn't know yet and it's a detail that is not yet figured out. 'Let me get her' I said, 'I'd be happy to.' I ask Tim if she knows the details yet, namely does she know he's paralyzed. He says no, he wont tell her till she gets here. I go with my sister and and we wait outside Arrivals and talk about what I'd say if she asks whats going on. I agree to keep the conversation light and airy. This will be a very difficult drive back to Foothills.

She sees her Daddy and they both burst into tears and embrace the moment they see each other.  It sends shock waves through me and I hope with all I have, that I will never have to be standing where they are, for the reasons that they are.

Hours pass and I no longer know what time/date it is. A handful of us go look at the x-rays and I feel like I'm looking at film stock frame by frame. The black and white images on the screen look horrific at best. They save the one of his spine for last and I couldn't help but gasp. I have no control over my hand or my breath and realize I've placed my hand over my mouth to hold in the gasps that come from within. This image is burned in my mind. You don't have to be medically trained to know that this is not a good situation. The realness sets in at that very moment.

Friday, 13 May 2011

Back in Time.

I listen to music roughly 75% of my day. It takes me back. It helps me heal. Its stirs emotions and awakes my creativity.

I heard a song the other day that reminded me of a boyfriend I had when I was roughly 14. By 14, things like your period and tits are a scary thing of the past and now you just deal with them as you have them mostly under control. You're girlfriends are important but boys become even more so. For me, I have a handful of pivotal 'boy's to men' that I keep near and dear.

Over the years I have consistently had dreams and thoughts of one person in particular. I wondered where he was in life. Was he married? Did he have kids? Did he settle down or for that matter settle for less? Though he wasn't my first kiss, he was the one that taught me how to kiss. I remember it was slow, wet and soft. I remember passion. I remember his hands, respectful for the most part and always holding mine. Our 'relationship' was brief but ever important. He was slightly older than me, by a year or two. Tall. Deliciously handsome. Older in his spirit than what showed in his face. His mind was complicated and dark. His lips plump and satisfying. The cuts left by his braces made my lips swell and itch.

He'd pick me up in this jeep-ish looking thing. It belonged to his father but somehow we drove it more than he did. Parked in front of the Friday night party, we'd talk and kiss in his truck. He'd go off into deep tantrum about something and all I could think is, fuck me. Just take me here. Right now. Being 14 and in my mind thinking I was ready, maybe the reason he didn't is because he knew I wasn't ready. I had every intention of letting this boy strip me off and pluck me. I wanted him to take what I thought belonged to him and keep me forever. He was at the very center of my heart. His hardened life. His weak soul. I don't remember if I ever told him I loved him, but I know with all my heart,  I did.

He had a very busy social life and was liked by many people. He had a handful of very good friends around him, of whom I've dubbed the 'Brat pack'. Kids that drove cars and smoked a pack a day. They didn't go to school when they should have and drank copious amounts of booze at noon on a Tuesday.

The dreams I have about him feel real. My dreams tell me things and usually, I understand them. I have dreams all the time about people from my past and the next week I'll see them in front of me. I'll see someone I don't know in my dreams and let's say that person is pregnant, I can wake up and know one of my friends is actually pregnant and know exactly who that person is. I can tell who's calling even when there's no call display. By no means do I think I'm some clairvoyant, uber psychic-I-See-Dead-people kind of gal, but I can see and feel energies. I dreamt about him the other night, nothing sexual, he was just there, as he always was, swave and gentle. His smile was bright and his voice was calm and velvety. Since the era of Facebook I have caught up on the life of my once-cardinal lover. I feel it's important to reach out to people from your past and now, with modern technology its simplified and easy. I write him emails when he's come into my head or seen him in a dream. I often will contact people when I think of them. Weather or not they appreciate it is a different thing entirely. I'll write him simply to say hello. Its never more than a paragraph or two, but I helps me keep him important. I've learned he's married. He has two kids, a Girl and a Boy. He lives a province away in a house he's fixing with his own hands. His brother is almost as good looking as he is. It seems hes tight with his family and doesn't take life too seriously. I love that his life turned out well. I love that when I email or message him, he actually replies. Little hello's and little goodbyes.

He had and still has intense energy. He could vibrate my world the minute he entered a room. His disposition was eerie and well played. He came across as cool and indifferent. He could hold my attention which frankly, at 14 was near impossible.

Teen-angst played a soft roll. He'd tell me how he hated the world and how people pissed him off. Something as simple as the word no would make his face tight and his fists hard. I felt at the time that I could relate and if I could make him understand that I 'got it', it would be me and him against the world and we could collectively change the mother-fuckin way shit works. Perhaps I felt more deeply about him then he did about me. Or maybe it was just strong feelings going in different directions. Either way, I loved him and in some ways I still do. I haven't seen him in probably 13 years and I don't really know that much about him anymore. But the things I do know about him, freezes me back in time and keeps me full on the ease of a simpler time.

Thursday, 14 April 2011


The past 4 days I've been alone with the kids as Chads been away on business in Toronto. My days were happily filled with busing kids here and there, trips to the grocery store for fresh produce, play dates with friends after school, baths, stories and bed. Theres something to be said about pillow talk with a warm, exhausted 4 year old. That to me, quite possibly is the secret to life.

I like being alone with them. My children are calmer, as am I. I've noticed I am more of a 'yes' person when he's gone. I don't have to hear about drama going on at home via text message at work. I'm not asked questions I've already given the answer to 8 times. When they are with me, there simply IS no drama. We get along. Chloe is helpful around the house. Ryan finds ways to keep himself busy when daily duties beckon. They play together nicely and there are less fights I have to break up.

I wonder why taking him out of the equation makes us 'run' so much smoother?

I feel like his priorities are out of whack. Work is number one for him, always has been always will be. We recently went to New Orleans, LA and I am not kidding...EVERY picture with him in it he had his blackberry in hand. If I could fucking throw that goddamn blackberry out the window of a speeding train, I would. He checks it during dinner. He checks it during a trip to Costco. He checks it at school functions, family functions and play dates at the park. He's always on his Blackberry. How he lasts on flights to anywhere is a complete mystery.

Its embarassing for me to have to get his attention in public by yelling his name. It hurts my son's feeling when he's supposed to be playing airplanes with him and he's still has that stupid thing in his hands. Look, I know work is important as he is the bread winner after all...but I am seriously losing my patience. Matter of fact I lost it a long time ago. Last night was the straw that broke the camels back.

5:30am I roll over to find him checking his fucking email on his Blackberry.

SEX??? WHAT's SEX??? Get the fuck out of my bed if thats not where you want to be.

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

I want.

There's times I feel as though there is more to life. But what exactly do I have to complain about? I have a job I love. I have a wonderful family. A couple dollars to line my pockets and I'm not plagued by abuse or dependency. Yet I sit here and feel like there's something waiting for me. Bigger. Better. Fabulous. What am I using as the template for happiness? Have I hoodwinked my mind so much to think these things are possible? Or perhaps even that they are not?

Some one said something to me not long ago, in hindsight I wish they never did. Somethings are better left unsaid. Yet when I heard it, I soared. How is this possible? How can something that feels so good to hear, later make you wish you were in a different time and space? You can't tell a girl like me things like that. I have a rather capacious imagination. I take it and run. The end result is yearning for more which unfortunately does not bode well for my well being.

I feel change coming on. A storm is a brewin'. I feel it in my core and its in the forefront of my mind. I've reached in a few times to take what belongs to me but was never successful in maintaining the adjustments it brought about. Fear took hold too soon. I wasn't over the hump. Was I busy being strong for everyone else that I forgot about me and what I wanted?

I want love. True. Authentic. Delirious. I want it to come in and roll over me. The kind of love that makes you levitate. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm not loved. I am in more ways than one. I am loved as the Mother of some one's Children. I am loved as a best friend. I am loved when I do a good job. I am loved when the power goes out and little hands need to be held tight.

I want to feel it again. I want him to take my face in his hands and bury his kiss on my lips like he's not letting go. I want the world to disappear like it did before. Before responsibilities and babies. Before coin operated laundry and part time jobs. I want to feel it chasing my heart. I want to have the desperate feeling when we're apart. Drown in love and a pool of sexuality that no one else can infiltrate. Whisper in my ear 'I love you, baby' in a voice so low it cuts my thoughts full stop. I want desire so thick its makes my vision blurred and my feet feel like air. I want to see you again my love. I want to taste the salt on your lips and feel the wave of passion come over you. Transfer your body to mine and light me on fire. Love. I want it back.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011


His sense of complacency worries me.What he doesn't know is he reminds me of myself. A ticking time bomb with the intensity to rip worlds apart and scatter shrapnel some people will carry around with them for the rest of their lives. Emotionally that is.

Sometimes people come into your life because there is unfinished business from past lives. Others come into your life to teach you. While others will rape and pillage your soul till you are left feeling so empty and depleted how you take your next breath is a miracle in itself. I don't know why he's letting this happen. A better question may be why I give such a big shit about him? I suppose the answer is again, cause he reminds me, of me.

I see colors around him. They dance like streaks of fluorescent light, like its 5am after your first hit of Extacy at a rave. Blurred and beautiful. I'm sure he wonders why I stare at him. I'd love to tell him but he wouldn't understand. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. That could not be truer in my opinion. There's a depth in his eyes that carries me off to extraordinary places. All it takes is a split second, a glance.

I like watching him move, it tells a story.
I love hearing his voice, its restoring to my soul.
I need to have him near me, its pure addiction.
I want to taste his lips, its my therapy.

The thought that counts.

I'm sitting on the floor with my back against the couch. My head feels heavy. I let it fall back until its resting on the cushion and stare at the ceiling. Blank. In the corner of the room the popcorn ceiling is testing my ability to see something out of nothing.

I'm reminded daily that love surrounds me. I see it at home when I kiss my children goodnight. I see it at work when Husbands are leaving or returning from business. I see it at the park as fresh lovers hold hands and walk slowly. I love to love.

My close friends know I'm a fixer. A handy dandy at mending hearts and lending a shoulder. I can feel the hurt most people try to repress and grave. I can see it in your face and feel it on your lips. Although I may not always be able to understand the source of the pain, I feel a tremendous urge to help. I like to be the sounding board that helps you move through life and in turn help move me through mine.

I've no interest in earning the most money or hanging a Masters Diploma of whatever whatever on my wall. All of my grade school report cards had the same comments time and time again...'Tracy needs to focus on her school work instead of talking to her desk-mates'...'Tracy, does well in social settings and is never shy when working in groups'. Im a professional people person. An alumni at the state of human condition.