Waving Not Drowning

Sometimes she lies. Just a bit. Smoothes over the rough spots without breaking his heart. Or betraying hers. The sin of omission. It's second nature now. A slight smile, an imperceptible nod followed with a hmm or an uh huh. He doesn't notice most of the time. Or so it seems. The level of disconnect is tacitly agreed upon in the silent storm that brews between them, slowly picking up steam, until the gale force of indifference blows them apart. He listens halfway. She stews passive aggressively. Mind like a steel trap, remembering every single word, thoughtless aside. Half-hearted kiss. There is hair growing out of his ears. His eyebrows are unruly. This repulses her. His skin is losing it's tenacity around his already weak chin. All she can see is his disappearing profile. It used to be his smile and ever so slight gap toothed grin would leave her a wet mess on the floor. The imperfections turned her on to  no end. He was rough around the edges, soft in the  ...

Eleven am and transit is humming along. She's timed it so she hits the pocket beween the morning crush and the late lunchtimers heading back to the office after a three martini mixer. The heat is rising and people are overdressed from the cool, crisp morning. By mid afternoon it's downright balmy, definitely not October weather. She peels off her jacket, unwinds her scarf but leaves her cap on, only because her hair is now completely soaked to her forehead. Hat hair is too much to pull off right now, given her circumstances. With her sunglasses she's rocking out the celebrity incognito vibe. The beauty of big cities, where no one looks twice. The aesthetician said two days tops then it'll settle down. She feels like Groucho Marx. The whole point of waiting for cooler weather is that it's easier to camouflage. Sweaters, hats, scarves, heavier makeup. The twenty degree heat only increses the swelling and flushed face. Plus the groupon expired at the end of the week. S...

Another trip round the sun. Three hundred sixty five days, couple of blue moons, handful of seasons, myriad of cells sloughed off, regenerated and she's still here. One year older, arguably wiser, certainly more experienced with this thing called Life and all that entails. Every moment of every day carries within it the pure potential to swing wildly in or out of her favour so she's been practicing choice, adaptation, engagement, disentanglement, acceptance, forgiveness, righteous indignation, compassion, kindness and outright fear and anger wrapped in a bottomless pit of Now What? One more year, one more ring around the trunk. Roots grow deeper, sails bellow out a bit deeper and black and white becomes a tenuous shade of grey more often than not. The what ifs, the shoulda woulda coulda's mean something different now. That surprises her. Expect the unexpected. Better yet, lose all expectation. Investments are larger, losses are greater and the highs failed to manifest in an...

The paper gown is more like one of those disposable table cloths you buy at the dollar store for a kid's birthday party. Why bother, really. Gina is lying on her back, bum edged to the lip of the table, feet in stirrups, knees folded in together, waiting for the doctor to return. Another young fresh-out-of-med-school graduate. At least she didn't give her the stink eye when she asked for an internal. Gina's old enough to be her mom. When did she get old? How does that happen. She's getting hit on by younger and younger men every day, disconcertingly so. She's stopped responding because it's just not worth the effort to try to communicate with them on any level. She doesn't find it flattering anymore. When did that change, huh. So much shifting and it's only in retrospect that Gina puts things together. A relief actually. No longer concerned with what anyone else thinks- how she dresses, what she looks like, how she moves. It's not like she was obsess...