Waving Not Drowning

She pulls on her thickest socks, wiggling her toes, hanging over in a forward fold, nose to knees, letting out a long, low sigh. Mornings. She could fall back into bed right now and pretend this day isn't happening but then what? Where to then? Eventually the sun will come up and things will have to get done. A shower. Breakfast. Walk the dog, shovel the steps, do the laundry, return his messages that have been haunting her for the last three days. She has no idea what to say, how to tell him she is leaving. It's been an incredible time, more fulfilling, exhilarating and wholly encompassing than anything she could have possibly imagined and she's got to go. There is nothing left except the inevitable fall from grace so it's time to disengage and disappear. Part of her wants so badly to hop in the car, race over to his attic apartment with the fake panelled walls and red shag rug, propel herself into his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his hips and tackle him onto the ...

Joe's hitting the bottom of the bowl. Twenty minutes and the candy is gone. Floor's littered with wrappers, hands sticky with waxy chocolate. Bit of a train wreck. All for naught. Hustling home, desperate to find something resembling a pumpkin to carve, nearly slicing to the bone as the dull paring knife slides off the gourd and into his finger. Joe wonders why he tries so hard. It's expected of him, maybe, he doesn't know. All the hustle and bustle at work, everyone dressing up and gorging on cookies and cake all day like it's the end of the world instead of the end of the month. Head is raging, there's a migraine coming on. Too much crap. Sugar and coffee and cheap sparkling wine. Carly's wedding shower, with a Halloween theme. Terrible idea. The wedding singer meets the walking dead: who'd want that as an omen for upcoming nuptials. The weather's terrible. Unseasonably warm with hurricane force random gales of wind. He checks the candle in the blo...

It's the back of his head. The shape of his neck, how his ears sit on the sides of his skull. The way his spine moves, if it's fluid or locked; Zoe falls in love with the back of his body. A rather attractive guy gets on the streetcar or passes by on the sidewalk. She sees him check her out; she makes eye contact, then starts the checklist: could I love that neck? Do I see myself with those ears for the rest of my life? That back- rather rigid and held through the thoracic mid section, doesn't seem to have a lot of awareness going on. Probably not athletically inclined. Oh, wait. No, that would never do. He has no bum. Flat assed. Oh no. Nononono. I can't see loving that, no, not me. Another man sits down. He's directly across from her in the coffee shop, pulls out his laptop, plugs in his earbuds and starts to tap away, focused and easy, with a calm, zen-like energy. Zoe is intrigued. He gets up from the table to fetch his order off the bar and she sees it: the ba...

If Robbie was a dog he'd most definitley be a Bassett hound. A very large, lumbering one with floppy ears and fin-like turned out paws and a nose as keen as they come. Cheryl loved Robbie, she did, but she misses the young, fit and feisty Rob- the one more akin to a Coon hound or German short haired Pointer. Active and alert, curious and on point. The man who would wake her up with great morning sex and then hustle her out to the gym or for a run where they would laugh and whinge and moan and end up at their favourite local indie roaster for smart coffees and splurge on a decadent pastry every now and then. Now that occasional indulgence is three times a day for him, the sex has all about disappeared and Cheryl can't remember the last time Robbie laced up his trainers let alone logged some miles. Recovery is hard, she gets that. It took nearly 12 weeks of solid rehab and physio to repair her achilles but she bounced back, she had to. Robbie on the other hand, took her down time...

Perspective is a choice. It doesn't matter how many times she tells herself this, how many affirmations she tapes to the wall next to the bathroom sink, her sense of perspective left the building long ago. She's been in the weeds for months. A dark, black hole of despair curdled with anger and deep, bewildering sadness. A slow processor. Jessie's friends are tired and wary. Let it go, move on, you're better off. Breathe. As if. Suddenly single with 2 small kids after thirteen years as Someone's Person rocked her sense of self, shattering her foundation. Pat didn't love her. He was playing at marriage with kids. He felt nothing but disappointment. Jess could fill tomes dedicated to disappointment, entire libraries. Risperdal took the edge off but she couldn't be high and keep it together for the girls. Grandparents, daycare, long runs on the seawall, primal screams in old growth forest, these consume her. She is too late. She missed her chance. Moments of sel...

Every five minutes Robin pops off the couch, dumping the sleeping cat from her lap and opens her apartment door, pads sock footed down the hall and wrestles with the lock on the main door to the old three story Victorian. Somehow the landlord managed to install the deadbolt backwards and upside down. After seven years Robin still struggles with unlocking it on the first try. It's a blistering cold spring day, minus fourteen with windchill. Sliding her hand through the double doors to root around in the oversized mailbox, she was mining for gold, some magic money in the form of a forgotten insurance claim or belated birthday cheque. One last payout. It's been three weeks since her last cheque and all her bills were past due.Who knew 6 months of EI would evaporate so quickly? It seems like yesterday Phil called her into his office. Apparently Robin's presence was making the rest of the office uncomfortable. It would be best for everyone involved if she left, no hard feelings,...

Just stand to the right, smile and hand out brochures, that's all Emily was required to do. If anyone asked her where the showroom was or how to get to the bathroom, she should point them in the right direction but under no circumstance was she to engage in small talk. That was not her job. Smile, stand silently, be beautiful. Alluring. That was the word used in the craigslist post. She could do alluring in her sleep. She had, actually. Thankfully that tape never saw the light of day. Could be worse. There was the Auto Show where she had to solicit men to fill in questionnaires concerning their driving habits. An exercise in keep away, avoiding incessant casual gropings and brush bys, the not so subtle come ons and outright lewd propositions. It's amazing what some men think they can get away with. Even in tailored trousers, a button up blouse and ballet flats Emily is a magnet for attention, men and women alike. It took her years to come to terms with her physical power and fi...