Slipper Socks

Whenever I tell people

"I don't eat meat."

They tell me

"Oh,

I've been thinking about

being a vegetarian."

But they never follow through.

I remember

the car ride

that I shared with you

when I told you

"I don't eat meat."

And you said

"Oh,

I've been thinking about

being a vegetarian."

But here we are

on the couch next to the

Christmas trees

(that has lights

sparklier than the Eiffel tower)

and your plate of meatballs

smells like

things I can't have.

I like celebrating

our aversion to celebrating

with pizza and television.

In ten minutes
the door will open
and my jeans will be new
and my smile will be real
and today will vanish.

Wednesday Ashes

Your kitchen cupboard arms are open
in a rare display of mother hen affection
that you are exhibiting for not me.

I can still see the eyes you wore last Thursday
when your voice was like a velvet ribbon
and I was in love with the thought that
things might change.

My sentences are stanzas that litter the
alleys of my mind.

They never find their way to my mouth
to acquaint themselves with my tongue
or my teeth
or that little dangly thing in the back of my throat.

I ride the bus home and listen to The Beatles
and tell myself not to worry
and stare out the window
and I rise from the ashes of the day.

I cut my finger on Thursday night.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
it bled all the way to the bathroom.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
I rinsed it under water that turned it pink.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
people were all asking me if I was alright.

I could see the drops of blood I spilled
on the tiles in the cafeteria.

I could see the white of the tile on the bathroom floor
and the way it looked like it was bleeding
when my finger flooded the paper towel I had covered it with.

I've had my finger for as long as I can remember
and when I cut my finger on Thursday night
it had to get acquainted with a bruise and a slice
the shape of a wheelbarrow (with much more dirt.)

I cut my finger on Thursday night.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
I could see you out of the corner of my eye.

Braille

I remember the books with the yellow spines
and the browning pages
that you used to read to me like they were
new.

I remember the pink carpet
that you put over the plywood floor
to make me feel like I was a queen

(when in reality
I was nothing more than a daughter).

I remember wanting to burn down the walls
and walk away from the ashes.

I remember loving the smell
of the grass in the morning
and running my fingers through it
like it was a head of hair
even though I knew
that the dew would make my fingers wet
and cold.

I remember reading the world like braille
and not understanding a word.

15

Ever since I was a kid
I've wanted things I couldn't touch
so my fingers are inexperienced
but my heart has always been
steel wool and tweed-
hard and soft, heavy and comfortable.

That's the way I've always lived.
I'm happy with the things I don't have
because they still belong
to my mind just as much
as they belong to the world
and other people's hearts and hands.

I've been reading this story for ages now
so please don't spoil the ending
until I've figured it out for myself.

Won't even Shine

I know you want me to go to sleep,
but this room is half dressed in shadows
and I'm not ready to let go
of consciousness for a black blanket
that will only stretch into morning.

Don't remind me that you're not here.
I know it's going to be a long night
when the stars won't even shine.

Burger King Floor

In exchange for some Orbit gum:

---

Last night was a whole lot of dark
filled with bright smiles
and too loud laughter
that made anything worthwhile.

Sometimes, I have a tendency to
say far too much
when I should say nothing at all,
so please ignore the words I scattered
on that Burger King floor
if you didn't like the way they sounded
all strung together.

Last night was a whole lot of fun
filled with scripted beauty
and a voice from the backseat
as we drove along,
three amigos in the nighttime.

Sometimes, I wonder who I would have been
if I had stuck to my decision
to bury myself in myself and give up
on nights like this.

Nights like this
are my salvation
when I forget how to laugh too loud.

Leave your gum under the table
so that the next unsuspecting customer
will know that we were young last night.

4:56 AM

this is one of my favorite things i have ever written.

i wrote it in august 2008.

---

Five o'clock in the morning: I am born.
Every word I see has double-meaning and
every idea is a chain reaction. Remembering
things not fit for any other time of day
or night, (I count the seconds before the sun
breaks into my world, a vast orb of indifference;
always there.)

In a haze, I think of what it's like
to dream when you know it will come true-
I have become the patterns and solids,
intricate against each other, layered over
the world. Everything is laced together.
The trees hold hands outside my window,
whispering to me in silent breaths.

Can I describe the lonely feeling
of being everything
with no one to witness the rise?

Stutter

Don't think that just because I stutter
what I'm saying isn't true

because my heart may be buried in the gutter
but I'm still in love with you.

Dreamy Head

I want to throw a brick on the gas pedal
like a foot to my chest, force the air out
of me and into the world as I speed down
an endless highway.

I want to choke on salt and sand
with a belt of sand dollars to hold my heart
in place while I dance, dance, dance
and I forget the world.

I want a playground of pavement
and bright lights to play in while the dawn
settles over my tired, hazy world
and I still dance, dance, dance.

There is running and there is sprinting.
There is speeding and burning rubber.
There are dances and there is music--
in my dreamy head.

My Flannel Heart

My heart is a flannel shirt,
buttoned up and folded neat
at the foot of the bed
after I awake each morning,
waiting for you to come home
and to sleep each night.

I'm warm against your summer arms,
covered in tans and burns.
I'm warm against your winter chest,
coated in a blanket of pale.
I'm warm in the autumn,
and I'm warm in the spring
and you wear me all year round.

Because my heart is a flannel shirt
that I wrapped up in matching plaid paper
and gifted to you from under the tree,
hoping, crossing my fingers
that you might even try it on.

I love a love that lasts till Christmas,

when you can put a price tag
on a feeling in the hopes that it
will last long enough to see the sun
again
to feel the warmth of spring,
to pick a flower or take a bath
in new found warm weather.

My heart is a flannel shirt
that I gave to you
to make my efforts tangible.
You wore it with an eager smile,
making promises with your eyes
that your heart
(like wet cardboard,
like tattered fabric)
couldn't exactly keep.

We never made it past the gates
of winter,
dying out in February
before I ever got a chance
to see the sun.

You took the pajamas
and my flannel heart.

A Puddle of Red, White, and Blue

So, you're a puddle of red and white,
while I sit here in my bunny slippers
and a greasy hairstyle:
the epitome of blue.

It was what? a week ago that you
decided you wanted "something else"
and left me here
to cry myself into oblivion.

So, you're a picture of a boy in blue
with a smile on your love drunk face
and I know that curve of the lips
will never be mine again as long as I'm
me and you're
an ass.

Rationality

There's a boy in the box with a smile so warm
that I'm not sure how people can give them their ice
and think it won't melt.

Cross your fingers, folks because he is
beautiful and hot all over and he isn't going to back down
just because you bury him in frozen treats.

We are strong in the face of what you have in store,
our fingers laced together in the perfect portrait
of the confidence we have built.

Though, I must admit,
I shake more when the voices elevate
and I have a tendency of forgetting how to spell

r-a-t-i-o-n-a-l-i-t-y.

So, I'll keep my focus on counting the pearly whites
he loves to flash

and keep my hopes up that I don't fall short
compared to someone with such grace
and beautiful idiocy.

Behind Blue Eyes

From now on, you can just assume all of this is original material. I don't feel like writing copyright on everything I post.

---

Richard was laying on his back in his bed, staring at the posters that had been taped to his ceiling for four years or more.

Pete Townshend stared back at him with blue eyes. The Clash was leather clad and ready to rock. He stared down the barrel of Han Solo's blaster and into the faces of four lads from Liverpool.

He wondered if he would ever be the kind of person teens stared at while they contemplated their lives.

Contemplated their lives like he was now.

He glanced at the acoustic guitar that he had bought the day he turned sixteen three years ago. It was beaten up now, and covered in stickers and one fake mustache. He could play all sorts of covers and even a few of his own original songs.

But, would he ever pose with that guitar for a photographer? Would anyone ever want to listen to him who didn't know him since he was ten?

All Richard had ever wanted was to be a musician, but, sometimes he doubted if he could ever make it. Sure, Josh played bass pretty well and Freddy could play the drums, but, did they have what it took to make it big?

Richard turned off the light and tried to sleep, but, even through the darkness he could see Pete's eyes staring at him. Telling him something.

But what?

Little Me Romance

I wrote this.

---

I liked a boy in the second grade.

That's usually how it works, isn't it? Girl likes boy. Boy spits in girls bologna sandwich. Girl cries until she throws up on her teacher's shoes.

It wasn't a picture perfect romance, I'll admit. But, the stains came out of the shoes.

His name was Charles. We called him Charles back then. Eventually, Charles became Charlie and even Char on some days. I loved the way that ch felt on my throat, my tongue, my lips.

I would stand alone in my bed, staring at my bookshelf or my desk and I would say his name over and over again just to feel it. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie."

Third, fourth, fifth, sixth grade all came and passed with no more ruined sandwiches or shoes. We didn't see much of each other. Our classes were split into tracks A, B, and C. I was an A student and he was B.

Then, the movement came. Jr. High. New building, new students, new classes, no A, B, and C.

We shared a homeroom. Lily Walsh and Charlie Walters. We were made for each other.

On the first day, he passed me a note on green paper. It was covered in scribbled pen tests on the corners and small doodles of circular men holding various objects: a bouquet of flowers, a small explosive, a grenade launcher, and a thick book. In the middle were three of the heaviest words I had ever read:

Wanna go out?

So, I answered him on the same piece of paper. A resounding yes.

I won't tell you he made any big, romantic gestures. I won't tell you he kissed me and took my breath away. I won't tell you the sound of his voice made my knees shake. None of those things are true.

He took me out for pizza. I ordered a cherry cola. We ate and drank. We saw a movie. Something with a lot of explosions and one sex scene that was awkward for both of us. His mom picked us up and drove us home. We were 12. Not much more to expect from a first date, is there?

We went out two more times before we stopped talking, almost all together. One trip to the mall and another playing laser tag. No sparks. I don't know what little me expected, really.

We worked on some projects together in history because we knew each other by name. Other than that, no words were exchanged. No promises kept or broken.

I was lovesick for a while, but, I got over it when I finally pulled my head out of that bologna sandwich from second grade and realized Charlie wasn't the only boy my age.

So, I little me had a romance. It was big in my heart, big on the paper I scrawled it out on, and big in the dreams I had, but, small in real life. That's how most little romances turn out, isn't it?

My life was a room.

I wrote this.

---

My life was a room

that I wallpapered with thoughts and memories
I thought I would cherish forever.

My life was a room

with a door I never locked or closed
because I thought it would be nice to have company.

My life was a room

and now it's painted white without shadows
and the ghosts of my past call it home.

Upstairs Neighbour

Written By Me.

---

There's a man who lives upstairs
wrapped in clouds of smoke and kerosene
who likes to burn me with his eyes
when I ask him for a cup of sugar.

His hair is brown and unkempt
and a beard hugs his jaw.
He wears a bored expression
and leaves his dirty laundry on the floor.

Sometimes, I wonder what he listens to
when he's falling asleep at night.
If the city drifts through his window
on the thick breeze of a summer night.

If I could fall asleep with him,
and watch the walls close in some night
when the bed is hot and the floor is cold,
I might let go of his mystery

and find my own.

Who is this man, and why do you fear him?

Inspired by this.

---

You met under green lights and you gave him your name, assuming you could trust his pointed ears to keep it safe. Assuming you could trust anyone. When you asked his name, he told you it was Edward. So, you named him Edward, in his tight, black turtle neck that clung to his round torso and the thick bone of his forearm and elbow. Edward, with a red and gold belt holding up the black pants that continued to outline his odd physique. Edward, in a pair of red shoes with black laces that could tell stories about the dirty floors of dance clubs, strange apartments, and sweat flooded parties full of nude skin and phrases broken into grunted syllables.

Who is this man, and why do you fear him?

There was nothing between you. Nothing good or bad to make you think less or more of him, but, he made your heart prickle and your skin race. The only things you had in common were the shadows and the strangely colored lights of the club. So, you carried his name in your pocket as a lightweight reminder of everything you knew about him and tried not to let him escape into the corners and empty spaces whenever you turned away.

Who is this man, and why do you fear him?

The dancing evolved as you moved. Fast, at first, like the throbbing beat of the drum machine pulsing through the floor and the walls. Then, slower, lazier, more curious as you studied each other’s moves. His eyes burrowed into yours violently and mercilessly. At moments, you could feel his arms brushing against you, like little question marks to punctuate each move. Can I touch you? he was asking, and you could feel his heat radiating, radiating. Edward, you named the feel of his fingers on the small of your back. Edward, you named the way he let his eyes fall down the nape of your neck. Edward, you named the lips that you were curious to touch and feel.

Who is this man, and why do you fear him?

You left the club without a kiss, without a number, without anything but Edward, the name of the memories you were clinging to. The street was wet, your feet got cold and you flexed your toes inside your shoes. You didn’t think about the height of the buildings surrounding you, or the thin shadows cast by signs on the side of the road. Though you were sure you would never see Edward again, you knew you would feel him, and the feeling soaked into your bones and made you shiver.

Who is this man, and why do you fear him?

First Date

The bathroom stall was cold, small, and puke-colored-pink. I rested my head in my hands and tried not to hyperventilate as I felt the walls close in on me. My hair was too long, it was frizzy and disgusting. My fingernails with dirty and uneven. My hands were too big and my legs were too small. I could still feel his eyes on me as I sat down at the table.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with him. Strong, handsome, smart, perfect.

I ordered my food and knew that I ordered too much. I was fat and stupid. A blob of filth and incompetence. I could feel his thoughts radiating toward me, despite the smile on his face.

I looked around at the walls of the stall. There were a few pitiful attempts at graffiti here and there. Something about The Killers ruling, another note with just a name, a doodle of hangman with the words "Love Hurts" filling in the spaces. I shook my head and tried to take a few deep breaths before standing up. The toilet flushed immediately and I opened to door of the stall to step out and wash my face and hands.

As I stood over the sink, I let the water run for a moment or two, staring at the stream with dead eyes. I dipped my face in, bent down, and scrubbed my face vigorously with both hands. After, instead of feeling clean, I just felt wet. I frowned at my reflection, then noticed words in my reflection. I turned around to look at the wall behind me and saw "YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL" written backwards, so that I could read it in the mirror.

I inhaled sharply and saw a smile in the mirror. It surprised me that the smile was mine. I dried my face and my hands with a paper towel and found myself smiling all the way back to the table.

He noticed the smile. "You're beaming," he observed.

"This is a nice date," I said simply, shrugging. But, in the back of my head, all I could see were those three words.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

---

Copyright JuliaBydulia
Inspired by: http://operationbeautiful.com/

A Paper Chain

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

There’s a paper chain of memories
looping around the bumps and corners
of my subconscious.

How long have you been there,
lurking in the shadows,
waiting?

I run my wrist through the holes
and wear the years like bracelets,
all the time trying to convince myself
that that’s all that’s left:

a few good years (and some change)
that we shared blindly
but together.

Bucket of Rain

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

There was a crack in the sidewalk

where our dreams would leak through

like vanilla pudding or a bucket of rain:

trying to catch it with open fists

just didn't work, no matter how hard we tried.

Still, we walked by that crack in the sidewalk

every Wednesday afternoon

when you got off work early and

I had nothing better to do.

You would brachiate from branch to branch

of your family tree on that endless search

for a spare dollar, quarter, or a dime

for us to spend on cigarettes that would

never light in the soggy street.

I kept a hand in your back pocket

and an eye on the elegant sculpture of your face

as we jumped over the crack in the sidewalk

and tried not to fall in.

My Sister's Principle: The Ten Firsts

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

When I first met you, I told you that I would never hold back. There would be no lying, no sparing feelings for the sake of our relationship. We had no relationship, but, I knew you were looking for one.

You were following me around the library with that broken expression on your face, asking me questions. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Was what you decided to finish with.

I tucked my hair behind my ear and froze behind the mystery shelf. "Look," I said sharply, resting one hand on your chest. "I just met you, and I won't lie, I do like you." I watched your eyes light up at the sound of those words strung together. "But, I don't sugar coat shit, honey." You loved the way I called you honey.

"I'm not one for a sweet tooth," you told me, smirking nervously. You were trying to impress me with your wit, I could tell.

I laughed and rested my palm on your cheek. "See? You're cute. I can tell that you're into me, too. But I'm the kind of girl who likes to drink and smoke, who forgets to put her glasses on in the morning."

"I don't need glasses. I don't need my liver," you pleaded.

I smiled at you and I know you sensed the pity in my voice when I continued. "Frank, that's the name, is it?" You nodded, so excited. "Well, Frank, today is your lucky day. I'm about to let you take me out to lunch today. I'm free around one. Don't be late."

I continued walking up and down the shelves, and you kept on following me.

"It's only noon, little boy. Come back another time." I laughed, watching you scurry out of the library, through the doors and into the sun while I was cramped in the air conditioned air and the bookshelves.

Since that day, since that egg salad sandwich you bought me, and within every moment between, you've been loving me constantly, insistently. I told you I wouldn't sugarcoat things, and now it breaks my heart that I can't. Every honest word I speak snaps you into smaller pieces.

My sister told me that there are ten important firsts to every lasting relationship: the first time you meet, your first date, your first kiss, the first gifts you exchange, the first time you say 'I love you', the first time you have sex, the first time you meet each other's parents, the first time you fight, when he first proposes, and the first pregnancy test you buy. Not necessarily in that order, she told me. But, her theory is that, in order to be lasting, every couple must experience these things together.

We met in that library.

We dated at the cafe down the street.

We kissed on the stoop outside my apartment building.

You bought me reading glasses at the library, so I bought you a new case for your trusty Costellos.

You told me you loved me at midnight at my favorite bar over a bowl of mixed nuts, my empty glass, and your full one.

We had sex at your place amidst your comic books and novellas in your living room.

Your parents lived in a small town in eastern Illionois; my parents lived in a big city in New York. Your mom liked my "spunk" and my dad appreciated your sensibility.

The first fight didn't take long, you know. I found my ways to make my biting remarks and you were always so passive agressive.

The proposal came last. After everything. After the drugstore.

The lights were harsh and almost blinding. I felt like sheilding my eyes as I picked up box after box and tried to translate all of the gibberish into something I could understand. "They're just plastic sticks you piss on, dammit. What's with all this scientific mumbo jumbo?" I snapped.

You rubbed my shoulders in that way you had that always made me smile. Even there, even amidst all the shit we were in. "All you have to do it pick one," you whispered soothingly.

I couldn't, though. My head was spinning. I could read, I could breathe, of course I couldn't decide. I picked up every little box and tried to say to myself Yes, this is the one but there was no way.

Before I could decide, you got down on one knee and grabbed my hand. "Whatever happens after you take a piss on that plastic stick," you whispered to me. "I want you to know that I want to marry you, Pen."

My throat seized up and I collapsed onto the floor of that stupid, little CVS. "I'd marry you, too, Frankie. But, not right now. Not while my nails are black and my stockings are still fishnets. I'm no mother and I'm no wife, and I don't want your paracite growing inside me."

You wrapped your arms around me and kissed the top of my head. "Penelope," you laughed.

You weren't one to have a sweet tooth, and you had adjusted to my savory or sour language. Still, I wasn't laughing. I was shaking, I was shallow, and I was full.

I was so sick of your broken looks and the fact that you'd put up with me when I treated you like shit. But, I'd never dated a guy willing to propose in the Family Planning aisle.

We got checked out and I took a short trip to the bathroom, unleashing a storm of the Arizona teas I had chugged in the car ride to the store. You waited outside, sweating and on the verge of tears. When I returned, it only took me shaking my head to send both of us back onto the floor in a pile of formerly human puddles of relief.

"No family planning then, huh?" You asked, stroking my hair and kissing my forehead again and again.

"Hopefully not for a long time," I shot back, though I could tell your hopes had gone up for just a second. You blinked, and it was gone, but, I had seen it there when you looked at me.

You nodded and cleared your throat. "Hopefully not for a long time."

So, if my sister is right, we have a long time left for family planning. We are one of the couples that survived. We made it through the date, the kiss, and the gift exchange, 'I love you', the sex, and the parents, the fights, the propsal, and the pregnancy test. We've arrived, Frankie. Maybe someday I'll walk down a different aisle and find myself happy to be in your arms.

Until then, I'm happy being Ms. Penelope Schaffer with a job at a library, a geeky boyfriend, and a home in Los Angeles that most girls would kill for. I'm happy being sour instead of sweet and remembering all of those bitter memories with you.

Chance to say

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

I love the white pieces of your sneakers
that you scuff and scrape in parking lots
while I sit on the trunk of your car and sip my
smoothie and chew my mountain of whipped cream.

You let that sweater hang on your chest
like a white flag that screamed at me from the
perch I held on the pedestal you put me on.

Keep it real and covered in the scuffs and scratches
before we both end up out of touch and out of reach
and our parking lot just disappears

because I always knew one city couldn't hold us both
with coffee shops and parking lots and lazy afternoons
that hold us down and tie us up until
there's nothing left but a shallow daytime sky.

I love the way you wrap me up in your arms
until I melt in your lap and
I don't want this feeling to die until I've had the chance
to say goodbye.

Blurb #6

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Word Count: 97
Title: Red-Orange Phone
---

Where is the line crossed between a late night and insomnia? I’m sitting in front of the telephone, caught up in a staring contest and the feel of cracking my knuckles, my neck, my toes, my back… The phone used to be red. It’s faded since I bought it, so it looks orange now. My gray eyes are drying out, turning white through and through. I pick it up, press the button with the big white 4 on it. With my thumb poised over the 7, I hit myself and put the phone down, assuming staring position.

Blurb #5

Copyright Julia Bydulia

Word Count: 99
Title: 11 Different Ways
---

I wish you would stop popping up in my life in the most stupid, aggravating ways. Walking down the street, I’m reminded of you eleven different ways. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck and try to strangle you out of me, but, I can’t even strangle out the cold. The wind whips me left to right and back again. I stare at my shoes, the sidewalk; nothing helps. I wish you could have the decency to leave me alone, but, I should know better than to even think it, shouldn’t I? You and decency never got along.

Blurb #4

Copyright Julia Bydulia.
I know it's technically Wednesday. Sorry about that.

Word Count:100
Title: Red
---

I kept the piece of fabric that got caught on the emergency ladder. I know you probably didn’t expect me to. That would fall under the column of me “not caring.” But, it was a violent red against the wet metal and pavement of the alley. I picked it up and tucked it in my pocket as I stood there, alone, and hoped you would come back. I know that being drunk is no excuse, so I won’t use it. Her lips were so cherry red and begging for a kiss. Begging the way you hadn’t in months. I’m sorry.

Blurb #3

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Word Count: 99
Title: The Blushing Bride
---

The air was sweet and full of the scent of the flowers that the bride had chosen herself. The grass was perfectly green, the chairs were in perfect rows, the temperature outside was not too warm or too cold. Max was standing at the altar in his tux, waiting for the blushing bride with the rest of the crowd. As the music started, everyone turned around to see her arrive on the arm of her father. "I love weddings," I whispered to my date. Then, I turned my head to look at him and realized the seat was empty.

Blurb #2

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Word Count: 93
Title: Road Trip
---

I pressed my forehead against the window and felt the cold jolt through my skull. “Are we almost there?” I asked, not feeling very optimistic about the answer. “No.” The word was like a popped balloon: you knew it wouldn’t last forever, but, you were hoping it would last a lot longer than it did. Then, in the end, all you’re left with is some brightly colored rubber and a very long drive home. I kept my head on the glass and closed my eyes. The world was more colorful behind my eyelids.

Blurb #1

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

I used to keep a journal just for 100 word pieces of prose (blurbs). In order to keep me writing regularly, for this week I am going to post at least a blurb a day. That's up to and including next Saturday.

I'm going to be posting them on my tumblr, as well.

Word Count: 100
Title: Sweaty, Stuck, and Miserable
---

The floor was scratchy against my back. I regretted taking off my shirt, despite the crippling heat. Through the window, the stars were winking at me. I did my best not to scream. At the stars, at the heat, at myself. At him. There was no way around it, no way over it, and no way under it. I was sweaty, stuck, and miserable with no sign of any of it letting up. That, and the night seemed unwilling to break into day. I prayed for all of it to stop. But with my luck, prayer doesn’t do much good.

Cotton Candy Sky

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

The air was thick and sweet, carrying the sounds of summer bugs. The wood of the dock beneath my feet was damp and rugged, and it scratched my heels. I clenched and unclenched my toes as I stared at the blue-green water of the lake and considered jumping in.

Behind me, I could hear him breathing. He held laughter in the air he was exhaling, and I could feel the laughter inside of me and surrounding me.

I had waited all year for summer, but, now that I had it, I wasn't sure what to do with it. I tilted my head back and stared at the sky, which was covered in shades of pink. The clouds were floating, grey against all that cotton candy.

Without a sound, I walked on my toes to the edge of the dock and lowered myself so that my legs were dangling off the side. The very tip of my big toe touched the water and sent a shiver up my entire body. I swung my leg and sent ripples through the water, that were swallowed by the other small waves that were moving through the water.

I heard his footsteps behind me, and then he was next to me. He was warm where the water was cold. He pressed his whole left side into my right and I rested my head on his shoulder.

I wasn't sure what to do with summer. I didn't know what to do with the sky, or the dock, or the sticky, sweet air. It all seemed to big for me, surrounding me and swallowing me in waves of pink and blue and green.

I wasn't sure what to do with summer, but, I knew what to do with him.

I laced my fingers through his. I breathed in the air. I looked at the water, watched the ripples and the waves. The summer was too big for me to hold, but, maybe that's not what I needed. I just needed to be a small piece of it, linked together with him.

So there we sat. The clouds kept on rolling and the water never stopped moving, but, I was happy sitting still in the middle of it all.

Rain on my Wedding day

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

I want it to rain on my wedding day
and I want it to stain my perfect dress

because no day is meant to be perfect.

We all remember the mistakes and the blunders
and that's what makes things memorable,

not perfection.

Perfection is boring
so I want it to rain
on my wedding day
and I want it to stain
my perfect dress.

Strike Us Like Matches

A continuation of Mini Golf.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

Rain was pouring down in fat drops and slanted lines, though the sky was bright and blue. White felt clouds were glued to the skyline as we drove along the highway.

He was sitting behind the wheel and I was in the passenger's seat, my feet resting on the dash. "Where are we going?" I asked, tugging on my shoelaces and staring at my legs (shaved smooth the night before, in preparation for seeing him.)

He smiled and glanced at me. "Guess," he dared me devilishly.

I smirked and pulled on the bottoms of my shorts. "I don't know, Rich. The mall?"

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "Guess again."

"Mini golf?" I teased him, sticking out my tongue just because I knew he wasn't looking.

His cheeks flushed, but, he didn't say anything. He shook his head again and kept on driving.

I stopped guessing and he stopped telling me too, so we just listened to the rain hitting against the roof of the car. I looked at him once in a while, taking him in in my usual way, still blown away by the vastness of my feelings for him. I wanted him, I needed him, but, I knew I shouldn't have him. Danielle's words popped into my head for the thousandth time: Lil, you know it would crash and burn.

And that much was true. I knew it would crash and burn, but, I couldn't help myself. I still loved looking at his dark hair and how it fell in his face every time he turned his head.

"Can I put on some music?" I asked, resting my feet on the floor of the car and sitting up straight.

Without answering, he handed me his mp3 player. I took it and turned it on, smiling as I scrolled through the songs we both loved so much. I stopped on a Fall Out Boy song (labeled as The Fall Out Boys, one of our jokes) and played it, knowing I could sing along with every word.

"You are a getaway car, a rush of blood to the head, but me, I'm just the covers on top of your bed. You steer away in a rear view mirror, you make my head swim. I keep you warm and won't ask you where you've been," I sang, not looking at him. I didn't have to look to know he was watching out of the corner of his eye and listening sharply.

The guitar was strong and almost overpowered the rain, but, not quite. He joined in singing on the chorus, and we sang together, at the top of our lungs. "Strike us like matches, cause everyone deserves the flames. We only do it for the scars and stories, not the fame. At least everyone is trying, everyone is shining. Everyone deserves the flames but it's such a shame, such a shame."

It had been so long since I had listened to this song and it felt good to let the words slip from my lips again, to feel the chords ring through me again. I loved finding songs again and remembering every second.

"We're not going anywhere, are we?" I asked him quietly.

He didn't hear me over the music or the storm, but, I knew the answer. We were driving, moving, and it felt good. I felt good.

in a way

copyright julia bydulia.

stream of consciousness off the top of my head because it's how i'm feeling

---

i don't know if you'll read this
and i'm not sure if i care

because all that matters is
i like like you
and i hope you like like me back

because if you repeat a word enough
it can change its meaning

and i want the 'us'
and the 'we' we use to describe ourselves
to double and triple

until the meaning changes
and you are mine

and i am yours

because in a way i've always been yours
and i think i always will be

in a way

These Words Are Real

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

I never planned on pretending to
like the people I didn't or
hate the people I loved, but,
circumstances can change a girl
whether they be complication
and labyrinth-like or
simple like the wooden puzzles
from your kindergarten classrooms.

I never planned on having to ask you
pressing questions that
weigh down on me like a boulder
while I wait for you to answer
and to hopefully relieve me of this
guilty feeling I don't think
I should have.

I made the bed myself
and now I'll have to lie in it
but I won't let you lie to me
about the past, the present, or the future
while you promise you are being honest
like you know everything
and I am a fool.

Honestly, honestly, honestly,
---you are one of my favorite people
---to smile with, and to love
---but I am not going to let you
---act so nonchalant while I
---absorb the peoples' anger
---from every angle, every side.

No Safety Net

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

Without meaning to, or trying to, or wanting to you snatched me up and held me still when the rest of the world was speeding forward without me.

Even you were moving, getting smaller and smaller until you were a dot on the horizon that I could barely see. Whether I was being blinded or just blindsided was hard to tell at the time.

In the morning, I would always try to keep you away from my mind, from my thoughts. When you sneaked in, you would poison me with the promises I remember you making (and forgetting).

In the afternoon, my bed was rock hard without you there to keep me safe in your arms.

Safe.

The word has warped and twisted into something-some concept-that I scarcely understand now. There is no safety in the insecurity I feel when I walk into a room, alone. That alone-ness is the parting gift you gave to me. It makes my skin crawl.

It was a Saturday. I know it was a year ago, but I remember it. It was a Saturday. That summer was sticky in more ways than one.

You made it seem like a day together. "I'll come over," you told me on the phone that Thursday. "We'll talk, ok? Just me and you."

The bed was soft. I sank into it with you, your arm around my shoulder and your fingers playing with my hair. You whispered the words, every letter like a knife, cutting me, tearing me apart. "I don't love you anymore."

And just like that, it all shattered. I came unglued; I fell apart.

Those little piles of hair surprised me. Who knew I could pull so hard? Pacing and talking in circles, I begged you to take it back. We could forget it and move on. Go get some ice cream, I said. I'll never stop loving you, I said.

You shook your head and slid on your jacket, but, I wasn't having any of that. I grabbed your arm and tried to keep you there with me.

You walked away, though. I wasn't holding on tight enough.

Now, I am alone. The sun burns. Everything burns. Without meaning to, or wanting to, or trying to, you pulled me close to you and held me there in your arms, and in your eyes. Everything but your thoughts.

Now, I'm all alone. No safety net and no more love. Just old CDs to listen to when I need to cry and empty rooms to remind me that you're not here.

Requests for the Public

I am taking requests!

I did this when I used to have a LiveJournal and it went fairly well.

There is no limit on the number of requests one person can place.

The requests will be filled in the order they are posted.

Try to specify anything you can about the piece you want written.

Leave prompts in the comments.

A Quick Update

To everyone who has been reading "If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll" (aka Mikayla, Rose, and Kiri):

I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.

Holly's History

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.

He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.

In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.

The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.

Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.

There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.

The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.

Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.

This Is An Open Letter

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

For Kiri (Like Woah).

---

I consider me.

And I consider you.

--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.

In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.

I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.

I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.

---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.

You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.

----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.

I consider me;
I consider you.

Mini Golf

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

"Your turn!"

Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.

Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.

I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.

"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.

Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"

I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.

Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.

"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.

He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"

"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.

He failed.

Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.

When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.

"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.

"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.

I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."

She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.

"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."

I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.

His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.

He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.

"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.

She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."

I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"

"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.

I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--

"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.

I laughed and started down the stairs.

Sunflower

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.

---

Yellow and brown.

I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.

I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.

I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.

"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."

He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.

I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.

I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.

Yellow and brown.

The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.

It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'

His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.

"Thanks, Danny."

I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.

My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.

My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.

Maybe (Won't Get Me Too Far)

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

Maybe the morning will wrap you in her
slender arms and carry you past the sunset
into today, where we're all waiting.

Maybe the twilight will strangle you with
thick, black fingers and powerful threats
that push you forward into violent sleep.

Sometimes, I wonder where you are
when I wake up and find the house empty.

Sometimes, I wonder what you're doing
when I'm trying not to think about you.

Maybe noontime will capture you in her
sun stained eyes and you'll fall in and get lost
until the brightness fades.

My mind is covered in thoughts of you like
messages on a bulletin board that
swallow my attention span and bury me alive.

Sometimes, I wonder how you are feeling
while my heart beat beat
-----beats ------------and
beats at the thought of you.

Maybe when the sun and the moon mingle in the sky
we'll meet again and try not to get burned
by the forecast or Father Time.

If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Part XVI of a story with a working title!

---

The stage behind the curtain was dark. Michelle was washed in the shadows, standing just next to the light that was leaking in from the hall outside. That light was harsh in the hall, but, it was softened by its journey through the window in the door. Elena and Michelle were wandering around backstage, bored because they weren't needed on the stage.

"Do you see that light?'' Elena was leaning against the wall, rolling her head back and looking up at all the cracks in the wall.

Michelle looked up and followed Elena's eyes. "Oh my gosh, where is that coming from?" As she shifted her feet and her eyes back and forth, the light moved in the opposite direction.

"I don't know!" Elena was staring at it, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Michelle stole some glances of her, petite, blond, and beautiful. Pale like a porcelain doll. Her shirt was a bright but soft blue that hugged her body and wrinkled as her body moved. Michelle liked that blue looked in the shadows and in the light. She liked the softness of her hair that swung past her shoulders and tucked easily behind her ears.

"Is there a room on the other side of the wall?" Michelle asked, tucking her hair behind both her ears and keeping Elena in her peripheral vision.

"Yes, isn't there?"

They kept their heads lolled backward, their eyes glued to the crack in the wall that was leaking that angelic light on them. Elena had a smile spread on her face like marshmallow fluff. Michelle was in awe. She almost didn't want to figure out where the light was coming from.

"That's amazing," she whispered quietly.

I'm getting more and more biographical.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

"They're not gay."

"They are so gay."

"I think they're just friends."

"Nerds."

"Band geeks."

"Faggots."

Max and John walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, before school, between classes, and after school was over. John was taller by an inch or so, so he would lean down closer to Max's ear sometimes, so that he could be heard over the constant buzzing of the hallway.

"Have you heard the shit they talk about?"

"Shitty anime and some lame online game."

"It's sort of funny--"

"--one's so big and the other is so little."

Some kids like to laugh at them and point out their flaws and the weirder things. They hung on the details that accentuated their strangeness and dissected the things that made them stand out from the crowd.

"What about their clothes?"

"All those track suits that Max wears!"

"And all of the weird tshirts with animals that John wears!"

"I think Max is funny."

"He's a grade below us, isn't he?"

Speculations flew. About their musical and sexual preferences. About how they spent their time outside of school. About their grades, their other friends. People watched the way they walked and the way they talked. Some wanted to be like them, to know them. Some wanted to avoid them.

"They are such freaks."

"Have you heard how many people talk about them? They're more popular than you."

Max had a way about him that made certain people want to be around him. John was reliable to stay faithful to his personality, rather than changing himself for others. They were both unique in that way.

They made girls like me smile.

I'll Remember

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

You give me a warning:
learn to drive.
And then I slide out of the seat
and into the booth
that you reserved with
your purse and a broken
napkin dispenser.

Four of us with dollars to change
ready to be spent on
unruly, unblinking machines
who will gobble them up
faster than we can manage
to feed them.

Who cares?
I'll empty my pockets
for a trio of circular promises
that can follow our fingertips
and lead our palms
into memories we are making
for days when we want to reminisce.

Love is a creature of habit.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

I know exactly what this is about, but I won't admit it.

---

Yes, when I picture that day, I see those wispy, smoky clouds dumping buckets upon buckets of water on our heads. I see you clinging those pizza boxes to your chest and looking for the dumpster. I see him, all cocky smirks and cigarettes. I can see it all as if I'd just gotten home, and my hair was still wet.

A memory like mine if a gift and a curse, some might say. I know the smell of the wet gravel in the parking lot and of the mud that we kicked up. The feel of the dirt that stuck to me with a little help from the rain.

The thing is, I don't always remember everything. It comes back to me in bits and pieces. Strips that I have to reassemble and make into one coherent thought, as if someone had taken my life and put it through a paper shredder. (Which, in essence, is what happened.)

I remember you.

I don't think I'll ever forget that day, though I'm still not sure what most of it meant. I'm highly confused most of the time, but, I don't usually like to show it. You confuse me, and so does he, but, I don't like telling anyone. I like to look smart, even when I'm dumb. And I can be very dumb.

I remember the rest of them.

No one else seemed to care that the three of us were building walls, walking in circles while they worked and ran to finish what had barely been started. We were bundled up in jackets and our own self assurances. They didn't look twice, and I sure as hell didn't want them to.

I want to be able to say all of the things that I felt then. I remember all of the feelings all too well and all too often. But, I keep them locked up on a cage in my chest, tearing me apart and holding me together at the same time.

Love is a creature of habit. And so are we.

Justified Excuses

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

I could sing you a song, but, my throat is sore.

I could walk with you
down pathways and sidewalks
but my feet are blistered.

I could write you a story, but, my hand is cramped.

I could lay with you
in this bed all day
but my schedule's packed.

I could give you a smile, but, my cheeks aren't cooperating.

I could hug you
long and comfortable today
but my arms are tired.

I could love you, but, my heart is sore
and blistered
and cramped
------------------------------from beating so hard for you.
It's packed
------------------------------full of the lies, promises, and names you dropped on my toes.
It won't cooperate with your bullshit anymore
because it's just too tired.

If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll

Part XV of a story with a working title!

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

There was no practice on Wednesday. During school, it was easy to promise herself she would work on her lines when she got home. She promised herself during almost every class. Homework and running lines, she told herself again and again.

But, the couch and the laptop didn't receive those plans so well. They much preferred having Michelle sit around, eating potato chips and pretending she was getting work done. It was sad, really, and she knew it was. But, some part of her was shouting that she just couldn't help it, and she was listening to that part.

When her brain started getting bored of scrolling through random pages on the web, she tried to distract herself with romantic plots. None of them seemed to matter without any real faces to put in next to her. She tried one of the old ones she used to run over and over with Vincent, but, it didn't feel right at all. There were no sparks with anyone. Maybe you should've let yourself be sick over him for a little while longer, she told herself. Then this wouldn't be so weird and boring.

She knew that idea was no good, though. The sickness wasn't just a metaphorical thing. It was a literal sickness that would tie her into knots almost every night. Knots a boyscout couldn't recognize or undo.

She thought about Terrence for a little while, but, that didn't particularly work. He had nice thick, brown hair that Michelle liked a lot, but, she wasn't too interested, and neither was he. John was cute, so, she tried to imagine herself with him, but, it didn't work either. She didn't even know John, so how could she daydream about spending time with him?

Sighing, she shut the laptop and stretched out on her back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her bangs fell in her eyes as she reclined, but, she didn't brush them away like she usually did. She let them sit there, filtering her vision in dark brown fringes.

Slumps suck, she thought to herself, trying to build up the energy to stand up and do something productive. No energy came, though, so she stayed on her back, staring at the ceiling and berating herself for making such bad decisions.

Better and Worse

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Happy Mother's Day, Mommy. I love you.

---

Whether there is a storm on the horizion
or promises of sunny skies,
I find myself pondering plans to make with you.

These years that pass are full of
love and memories that I want to
keep forever, and for better, and for worse.

Let this poem be the flowers
that I'll probably never buy you
or the card that I refuse to make,
and let my words be tangible
for you to have and to hold when I
might be far away.

There aren't enough thank yous to
speak or to think that could
express the gratitude you instill
when you raise me and love me
for better or for worse.

Full Grown

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

I used to believe you when you said
that those long walks on the beach
where romantic and loverly,

but, now I know better and my
vision has gotten better than the
20/100 that I used to be.

In the middle of the night,
this beach house still shivers and shakes.
Her boards are old and unsteady
and her eyes are veined and bloodshot,

but, she'd not going to stop
standing just because you're
trying to tear her apart.

I sleep tight knowing that you're
out there, somewhere,
trying to smile when you shouldn't be.

I sleep tight knowing you're
getting exactly what you deserve

because I used to believe you
when you made me promises,
but, I've come a long way from
the places where I was small and naive.

Now I'm full grown.

Story, An Untitled

Part XIV of a work in progress.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Maybe I'll title it soon.

---

This school is kind of awesome when it's empty like this, Michelle thought as she walked through the lobby to get to the front doors, where she would wait for her mom to pick her up. She felt light, despite the literal heaviness of her bag and the metaphorical heaviness of having forgotten to wear her coat on a day that had summoned a flurry.

In the gymnasium, she could hear the band kids practicing and down the halls there was the sound of track kids' sneakers on the tile. Michelle liked to see if she could walk in the beat of all of it, combined. Most times she didn't succeed.

When she reached them, Michelle stood behind the front doors and stared through the glass at the parking lot and at the snow being whipped around and wondered how long it would take for her mother to arrive. She kept her eyes peeled for the green of the car (or for any movement at all), and she was focused, but, she couldn't help but notice the small lump of black in her peripheral vision.

Ande.

Michelle didn't turn her head. She kept on staring through the window in the door at the parking lot.

After a few moments of silence, Ande stood up and walked outside into the snow with pounding footsteps and no jacket. She kept her hair down and her arms tight to her sides. Michelle couldn't help but laugh at how determined Ande always seemed to be to prove that she could make it seem as if she didn't exist. The angry staring at the floor as she walked never worked, though. Michelle knew she was just trying to avoid eye contact. It looked freezing and Ande looked foolish as she stood outside, the wind nearly knocking her too-thin-frame completely over.

The room echoed every noise that Michelle made, so, to distract herself from the past that was standing outside, she started spinning in circles and singing the songs from the play that she could remember. "The most amazing thiiiing..." she bellowed, losing her balance and toppling to the ground.

When she picked up her head, she looked backward into the lobby and saw another familiar face.

Vincent.

She jumped up and ran toward him, wanting to envelope him in a hug, but thinking she shouldn't. Instead, she smiled at him. "What's up?"

He nodded in Ande's direction. "Why is she outside?"

"Because she's stupid?" Michelle shot back, still fighting the urge to wrap him in a nice, warm hug.

"It's cold," was all Vincent said.

"And I forgot my jacket. My mom is going to kill me. And so is the snow." Michelle crossed her arms over her chest. She felt like a hug junkie. "Band practice?"

"Band practice," Vincent affirmed, smiling. The dimples in his cheeks made Michelle smile as well.

"You make me smile," she said, smiling, as to illustrate her point.

Behind Vincent, a few girls from band that Michelle recognized passed by, rolling instruments and things. He didn't respond to her, but, he turned around. "I'd better go," he excused himself before running off with a quick wave.

Michelle watched him go with long strides and kept on smiling at him. It was always funny, seeing Vincent after school was over. She liked it and kept on wishing she had the courage to make it happen outside of the school.

Story, An Untitled

Part XIII of a work in progress.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

The school day passed slowly.

Michelle noticed that Kayla was in her geometry class. If she was honest with herself, then she would know that she had seen Kayla walk in every day and barely given it a second thought that she was also the girl from her chorus class. She found herself wanting to say hi to Kayla in the halls. She even opened her mouth to do it a few times, but, all that would come out was a cough.

She was tired all day. Teachers caught her yawning. Kids asked if she was sick. She couldn't explain the exhaustion that had come over her, but, she hoped that she could get over it by the time the real work on the play started.

Every time she found herself alone in the bathroom or in the halls, she started to go through the warm ups that they had done on the first rehearsal.

"Ten, nine, eight...seven..."

After school, she waited with Ryan in the hall, staring at the wall as Ryan went on and on and on about the book The Outsiders and the movie of it that they had watched in their seventh grade language class. Then, the jokes they had made about the movie were hilarious. Even in eighth grade, they were funny. But, now Michelle found herself getting sick of the punchlines. She tried to smile but she knew it came off wrong. Ryan didn't seem phased by it, though.

Other kids were gathered in the hall around them, immersed in their own conversations.

One of the Tinas and Summer were huddled together in one corner. When Ande walked into the room, she walked right past Gerrard, Ryan, and Michelle and sat down a few inches away from Tina and Summer. The act seemed useless to Michelle. Why even pretend not to want to be part of the conversation? After a few seconds, Ande butted in and made her presence quite clear.

Atta girl, Michelle thought spitefully.

Suddenly, the doors to the chorus room opened and Mr. James waited, holding the door open for everyone while they gathered their books and filed in.

Elena sat down in the second row, so Michelle sat next to her. Ryan sat one row back, and Ande, Tina, and Summer one row forward. On the other side of Elena was Taylor and the rest of the girls playing the sisters in the play.

With nothing to say, Michelle stared at the door and wondered if she would get a look at Pete or Keith during the rehearsal.

She got her answer to the second when Keith came waltzing through the door, his book for the play tucked under one arm, and a cigarette tucked behind his left ear. Michelle stared at him, wondering if she would reach that level of cool by the time she was 21 years old. Doubt it, she answered herself plainly, leaning back in her chair.

There was no fluttering of her heart or anything romantic, like she used to feel with Vince or any of the guys before him. Still, she felt like what Keith thought of her mattered. She just wasn't sure how yet.

The lights of the chorus room felt harsh and unforgiving. Michelle had that feeling in her stomach as though everyone in the room knew exactly what she was thinking and what she was feeling. In her head, she played out romantic scenes that she could write during any of her free time.

He laughed and bent his head back slightly, whispering so that no one in the classrooms they were walking by could hear them. "Frankly," he told her, grabbing her hand, "I don't give a fuck whether we get caught or not."

"Then why are you whispering?" She shot back in a whisper of her own.

Mr. James walked with confidence, but, not so much ease, to the center of the front of the room. He cleared his throat, making it just as obvious as he could that he wanted all eyes on his bloated self. "I believe we are going to attempt reading through the book today, correct?" He stared at Lee as if she had just made the announcement, rather than having been sitting there and hearing it for the first time like everyone else.

"Um, sure," she answered, her voice dripping with unease.

I would hate to have to "co-direct" with him. I bet she'll do all the work, she made the silent bet to herself, still doing her best to listen to everything that was going on.

When Mr. James finished leading himself in circles, everyone took out their books. And so the reading began.

Keith's attempt at an accent made Michelle laugh softly to herself. She could hardly tell if it was supposed to be German or Italian.

The sheets were soft and comfortable. She could hardly peel herself out of bed, but, she sat up and looked over to the window, where he was sitting and staring out. "What are you looking at?" She asked, smiling and stretching.

He turned to her, looking a lot more awake than she felt. "Outside," he told her, quietly.

The image stuck in Michelle's head like a cheesy song from the 90s. Her concentration faded slowly as everyone but Keith read their lines. Kayla's conviction did catch her attention, and Elena's attempt at a whine made her smile. Lee did fantastic, as Michelle expected. But, Keith surprised her. Maybe, by the end of the play, she would know him better than she ever could have in the seventh grade.

The room felt like a tent, flimsy and unsure as Michelle looked all around it, only listening to everyone. There were shadows in the small practice rooms, but, the room itself was almost violently lit up. Her shoes were dark and black against the white of the tiles. Her fingernails were choppy and uneven as she bit them down.

This is going to be good, she told herself as Joanna and Daron ran their scene. Each of them stumbled over words and phrases, but, they still made Michelle smile. This is going to be good.

Shred

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

You are the
----------------------------------papers that I shred
on Saturday night when I realize
I have

more important things to do,
-------------------------------so I procrastinate.

You

------f
----a
----------l
-------l

like melted snowflakes
to the fate that you have chosen.

You drift
---------------down
----------------------and down
until you touch the floor and
reacquaint yourself with the
grooves in the wood.

Make me smile like you did on
that day when
-----------------------we first met
and I'll shut down the power
until you can regain your composure.

----Because

you are the paper I shred
without
-------------------------------thought
and without---------------------- mercy
until there's nothing left but
single letters and

unfin-----------------ished

th---------------------------------oughts.

Reminder

Copyright Julia Bydulia

Please read and tell me what you think

---

I print you on my skin like
I tie a string around my finger:
reminding myself not to forget.

Don't forget the long nights when we didn't talk
or the short nights when we did

and don't forget the look on your face when I
repeated myself and you expected less.

Your eyes were like guiding lights in the darkness
and I followed them as they darted and dashed
everywhere but my eyes, but my smile,
but my self.

Don't forget the promises that were never told
or the dreams you had where they were

and don't forget the echoes you could barely hear
or the shouts that rung vibrantly in your ears.

I print you on my skin like
I post sticky notes on my mirror:
reminding myself of you
every morning and every night.

Informal Reunion

Copyright Julia Bydulia

Please feel free to comment if you read.

---

The playground was our refuge
when we were younger
we would hide under the wooden steps
and promise not to change.

The playground was our doorway
and we stood still in it for too many years,
stopping the other from moving.
We were stuck.

The rooms that we ended up in
when we took that step forward
turned out to be different rooms
than we had originally planned.

Meet me at the swing set
with an open mind and a bad memory
and maybe we'll get along better
than the suckers who showed their faces at the reunion.

Story, An Untitled

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

Part XII of an unfinished story.

---

Practice was exciting. Mr. James read off the cast list.

"Lee will be playing Jo. Joanna will play Meg. Mary will play Beth. The two Amys will be played by Elena and Tayler. They look alike, right guys?" He laughed that big fake laugh and looked around the room, expecting a response. A few people smiled. "Kayla as Marmee. Keith came back to help us out and play Professor Bhear. Lee's friend Peter is going to come from another school to play Laurie." The list was going on and on, but, Michelle heard her name nowhere on it. Mr. James went on. "Charlie will play Mr. Laurence. Daron is going to play John Brooke." He turned the page on the packet he was holding. "For the scene about the newspaper--"

"Weekly Volcano Press," Lee told him, smiling.

He nodded at her and then went on. "We'll have Tina as Clarissa, our other Tina as Rodrigo 2, Summer as the first Rodrigo, Michelle as Braxton, Gerrard as the troll, Tanya as the hag, and Daron as the knight." Michelle's heart stopped and when it started again, it felt as if it was beating in her feet instead of her chest.

"Everyone else will be chorus members or dancers or whatever, right?"

Everyone nodded and Lee clapped her hands, standing up. She turned to Mr. James. "Auditorium?" She asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Sure," he answered, seeming uninterested in what she did.

Elena and Michelle turned to each other. "Amy! I'm Amy!" Elena cried, jumping up and down. "I'm young Amy!"

"Braxton! I don't know who that is! But now it's me!" Michelle squealed, spinning around in a few tiny circles.

In the pit of her stomach, she felt a tiny thrill. She couldn't help but think, I got a part and Ande didn't! before she walked with everyone else into the auditorium for warm ups.

Little Women would be great. It would be grand! Michelle could feel it in every step she took, every swinging or swaying of her arms. Her heart was smiling with the rest of her. She had a part.

Everyone was on the stage already when Michelle finally climbed on. The whole cast formed into an uneven circle. Michelle stood with Elena on one side and Kayla on the other. Ande was a few people down from her. She could see her and Gerrard out of the corner of her eye. Keith was standing next to Charlie, directly across from Michelle, near Lee and Joanna.

"Let's warm up!" Lee announced. "Quiet time! Reach for the cookie in the sky," she instructed, reaching her arms as far over her head as she could. Everyone else followed her lead. "Aaaaaaaand flop over like a rag doll." She and everyone else flopped over loosely, doing their best to touch their toes. "Slowly roll up, one vertebrae at a time, and count backwards from ten. Ten...nine...eight..." Michelle counted along in her head and followed Lee's instructions with everyone else.

They followed that up with a few vocal exercises. "Whether the weather is cold, or whether the weather is hot, we'll be together whatever the weather, whether we like it or not!"

"We'll probably just play some games for today. I wanna see if Pete can come in tomorrow. Whether he does or not, we'll start our read through." Lee stretched a little. "Let's introduce ourselves!"

The names didn't surprise Michelle. She recognized most everyone from the halls or knowing them through other people. A few of them were new, but, they wouldn't be too hard to remember. She laughed at the prospect of any of them actually committing her own name to memory, but, she said it anyway.

They all played fun little theater games for the full two hours. She and Elena paired up for the Mirror Game. Their new catchphrase became "of one mind" as they did their best to follow each other's movements and match each other's thoughts.

Of one mind, Michelle whispered in her thoughts as she watched Keith out of the corner of her eye.

Story, An Untitled

Part XI of an unfinished story.

Copyright Julia Bydulia

---

After school, Michelle was nervous. She got the feeling in her mouth she usually did when she got nervous. Like her tongue was itchy, like there were tidal waves of blood flowing through the veins of her head. She let all of it flow and tried to take deep breaths, concentrating on the tiles of the floor as she walked over them.

Her locker was on the opposite side of the school from the chorus room, so she had more than enough time to think.

There were people all around. A lot of them were in track shorts and tshirts, their sneakers squeaking on the floor as they all walked together and out of sync with one another. Michelle tried to walk as quietly as she could, just to set herself apart. She hugged the wall of the hallway and rushed toward the chorus room. There were some teachers walking, too. Only a couple of them caught Michelle's eye. She wanted to seem cool, instead of like a weird kid, walking alone in a Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie who might shoot up the school if she got the chance.

The cafeteria was quiet as she walked through it. There were some kids getting water bottles from the machines. They were all laughing together. They weren't wearing sweatpants or shorts or anything with a school logo on it, so Michelle betted they were there for either band practice or the rehearsal. One of them had beautiful blond hair that Michelle envied. She recognized the girl from her gym class and could have sworn her name was Elaine. Neither one of the others looked particularly familiar to Michelle, but, one of them was short with long brown hair.

Michelle walked past them and toward the chorus room. She was greeted by a group of kids waiting for the door to the room to be unlocked. There was Lee and Kayla both sitting along one side of the wall. A girl named April was sitting alone with just a tote bag nearly as big as her torso. Michelle recognized Tina and Summer, two girls who were obviously Hot Topiv junkies. Charlie and Gerrard were sitting together, much to Charlie's disdain, it seemed. Michelle saw Elena and jumped toward her, happy to see someone she could actually talk to.

"Door's locked?" Michelle said, rolling her eyes.

Elena nodded, kicking the bag that was sitting next to her on the floor and tucking her hair behind one ear.

Just then, a surprising face greeted them all by busting through the chorus room doors. "It's open!" The Face yelled as he kicked the door stop in place and ran back inside the room.

Michelle felt her heart kick into gear. She hadn't heard that Keith had come back to do the musical.

Keith had graduated two years ago, just after the year when he had performed as Mr. Bumble in Oliver! with Michelle. She knew of his existence, but, didn't really know him as well as other's might. When they had first met, she was in seventh grade and he was a senior. It was embarrassing, but, Michelle had to admit that he intimidated her. She ran into the room before anyone, intrigued by Keith's appearance at the rehearsal.

He was sitting in the back of the room, his feet resting on the back of the chair that she usually sat in. A streak of reddish-pink hair stuck out from the front of his hat as he reclined, staring at everyone as they filed in the room. Michelle wondered if he even remembered her.

Then, she wondered why her heart seemed to care so much if he did or didn't.

Story, An Untitled

Part X of an unfinished story.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

"You guys!" Michelle slammed her paper plate of cheese nachos down on the table, followed by her water bottle. Everyone at her lunch table looked up at her. Nella smiled sweetly at her, Craig kept on chewing his crackers, Allen shrugged noncommittally. "Today is the very first time that the cast of the play is getting together! I'm not, um, calling it a rehearsal yet because we don't even have our parts yet. But whatever."

Nella laughed. "You're so cute," she commented, as she usually did.

"Cool," Craig said, though he sounded like she had just told him that his dog died.

Allen stayed hunched over his plate, trying to get as much grease off his pizza as he could. He didn't say anything, though Michelle heard him make a small grunting sound.

None of these were quite the response she wanted. She dug into her nachos, frowning as she did and trying not to get the corn starchy cheese all over her chin, because she knew that Craig would have to make a comment about--

"You've got white stuff all over your face," he told her, giggling like a five year old girl.

Allen jumped on the bandwagon and laughed with him. "I think it missed your mouth," he commented, pointing to the cheese that was on her chin.

Michelle wiped it off as fast as she could. "Shut up, you pervs," she yelled at both of them.

Nella laughed at her, though she looked a bit oblivious as to why Michelle was so angry. She couldn't really keep up with some of the sex related jokes that Allen and Craig loved to make. It was part of the reason that Michelle loved hanging out with her. She never cursed and never said anything bad. On the other hand, it could mean trouble, because Michelle cursed a lot and barely said anything good. Still, she loved Nella.

When Michelle turned around, the first thing she saw was Vincent, his face red from laughter. She smiled and looked around at everyone else at the table. There was Terrence, who was obviously the source of the entertainment, John, egging him on, and Ande, looking glum. How could you ever look that sad sitting with so many hilarious people? she thought.

She recalled all the times that she had been feeling cheery, and then sought out Ande to tell her whatever it was that was making her that way. The cheeriness didn't last long after she found Ande. Somehow, there was always something going horribly wrong or something frustrating her that no one could fix, no matter what they did. Michelle remembered watching Ande sit silently at their lunch table, picking at a tiny salad and staring off into the distance while everyone else laughed and talked to each other. Her eyes were always dead. Dead, that is, until someone gave her the attention she so obviously yearned for.

At her new lunch table, only Vincent gave her the light of day. It was obvious that Terrence didn't want her there. Terrence couldn't quite grasp the concept of Ande's constant sadness. He only ever felt happy and only really expressed his feelings through laughter.

Michelle turned back to Nella and smiled at her from across the table. "What's up?" She asked, unscrewing her water bottle.

Nella just shrugged and smiled pleasantly. There was something reassuring in the smiles Nella was always flashing.

The bell rang to tell everyone that lunch was over. Michelle tried to walk out with Vincent and his friends without having to run into Ande. She ended up walking with Craig most of the way. She smiled genuinely at his jokes, but, she wished she could hear what Vincent was saying that was making Terrence laugh so hard.

Story, An Untitled

Copyright Julia Bydulia

Part IX of an unfinished story.

---

It felt like a month had passed by the time Mr. James handed out schedules for rehearsals. Michelle was sitting in chorus class, making small talk with Kayla, Petunia, and Elena. Mr. James smacked a stack of calendars down on a desk in the corner of the room and leaned on the desk. "First rehearsal is next week," he announced in a booming voice without looking at anyone in particular. "Schedules are here," he added, tapping the papers before he ran back to his office and shut himself in.

Elena and Michelle both jumped up and headed toward to desk to grab their own schedules. "Practices on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays," Michelle muttered to herself as she flipped the page to find the schedule for the next month as well.

"How many times do you think he'll change it?" Kayla asked, randomly popping up behind them and peeking at Michelle's schedule over her shoulder.

Michelle laughed awkwardly and nodded. "I know, right?" Immediately, she felt stupid. That's all you can think of to say? I know, right? SERIOUSLY? She shouted at herself as she pretended to examine the schedule, her eyes unfocused and a small, fake smile on her face.

When she looked up, the first thing she saw were the windows above the doors that lead outdoors. The sky was bleak and gray with a few stringy looking clouds drifting slowly across it. They looked like a lot of kites torn by tree branches. Michelle watched them mindlessly for a few seconds, keeping her eyes glaze over and pretending that the trees she could see were really giants' fingers.

"Michelle?" Elena waved a hand in front of Michelle's face. She and Petunia were both laughing at here.

"What? Huh?" Michelle blinked a few times and started blushing.

"Class is over," Elena informed her.

"The bell rang, honey," Petunia added.

"I didn't even hear it," Michelle whispered as she turned around and blinked at the clock. Elena and Petunia both laughed again and Petunia patted her shoulder.

As Michelle walked out the doors that lead out into the school, she swore she could hear a giant's throaty voice. "Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishmen." Regardless of whether it was just her imagination running away without her, Michelle's heart rate sped up. "Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll have his bones to grind my bread!" She ran through the cafeteria, ahead of Kayla, Elena, and Petunia, to get as far away from the leafy fingered giants as she could.

Rabid Okapis Slowly Maul Four Year Olds in a Department Store

This is a favor for my friend Matt.

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

---

The roof was too low to stand and the room was too short to lay down.

Sigmond was laying on his back, cold and damp, his eyes closed against the ragged sensations caused by the room. He could hear footsteps over him and felt an uneasy rocking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His mother was somewhere off in Ireland, eating the fruit flies he'd commandeered for her. He wondered if her teeth were still as razor sharp as they had been ten years ago.

The sun was shining somewhere else in the universe, far away from Sigmond.

The honey badgers were on their way. There was no escape.

His father was still in Russia, chewing on the bones of the innocent. Sigmond wondered who the bones belonged to. He wondered if he could kill a child so mercilessly.

His fingernails were twelve feet long. "Yes!" He cried, scratching them against the cement of the walls and the floor. "I'll build a restaurant in Paris!" The thrill of an escape filled him and he set to work on the restaurant. "The hamburgers will be exquisite!"

The honey badgers were getting closer. Their noses were twitching, and Sigmond knew that they thirsted for his blood.

"HAMBURGERS!" He cried out, the sound echoing off the walls and making his ears bleed. "HAMBURGERS!"