Reedycreekgirl's Blog

It’s confusing to be here, hidden among the green, in the heart of the city. I can hear the swishing, angry flow of cars and buses, but I can’t see them. Humans in machines zoom past, oblivious to the soft, verdant fertility of Reedy Creek, just over the edge of the road, just behind the concrete and metal railing, just over a bank of Waxy Obelia, just down the slope and under the cool shade of a hundred old trees. They don’t even know I exist. It all makes me smile. I feel in control of something.

Beside the trickling waters,

I linger in Eden,

a small expanse in space and time,

where no one reaches me.

In truth, anyone could get here. In my seven little years I have learned a lot about people. I have observed that most don’t see Beauty, even when it’s right in front of them. People actually get up every morning, put their clothes on and zoom right past the little lovelinesses. Here I am, World, right behind the green and the leaves and the flowers. Do you miss me?

***

I watch birds hop in and out of the two worlds.

This world is soft, green, sleepy, sweet. Though I can hear the noises of the city, it is quiet here. Maybe Quiet is a way to feel on the inside, not a level of sound.

The other world out there is gray, loud, and moves much faster than I can keep up with. The birds flap their wings a few times, rising up and over the hedge between worlds, and they are transformed. They are fragile yet steely, small yet quick, adaptable, able to survive in either space.

They chirp on either side.

I want to be like them.

I creep over to my tree and squat down, angling my back against the bark, like a thousand times before, to sit between the roots and be warmed by the sun. But today is different.

I am too big.

I can’t fit there, anymore.

I went to the grocery store and sniffed a bar of original scented Dove soap this morning. Instantly, childhood weekends on Dunston Avenue came flooding back… including the 1940s wallpaper in the bathroom.

My Nanny had a pretty pink tin full of powder and a big ol’ powder puff sitting on a shelf by the bathroom sink. After a bath I’d take out the puff, and cover myself nose to toes.

Later,  downstairs in our nightgowns, Nanny and I would eat a bowl of ice cream on the screened-in porch. Listening to the crickets and cicadas and Harvey Hudson on the am radio, smelling like perfumed powder… we were the fanciest ladies in the world!

Reedy Creek curves sharply to the right at the end of the block. It bends back to the left directly after, making the shape of an “S” before going under a bridge. Cars drive over my head, completely unaware that I am below. Their tires sound like occasional heartbeats as they cross the seams in the pavement. At this end of the creek, things are very quiet. The birds chirp less, but the water trickles gently as it falls over smooth rocks. There are tiny pebbles and sandy shores no wider than a yard. I tiptoe down the mossy banks and squat on these little beaches, looking around me. I always play alone, yet I never feel lonely. I cradle my back against certain special trees along Reedy Creek as I watch ants, Robins, Blue Jays. One Birch tree near the house is completely covered with carvings, including my father’s initials from 30 years ago. I look up at the house and see Nanny watching me from the window. She smiles and waves. I smile and wave back. Nanny got a call today, and I have to go home tomorrow.

With too much caffeine,

and too many thoughts

marching around in my head,

angry at the past,

I paced through the house

in the still of the night.

***

The hours passed like minutes,

1,2,3,4…

***

My frustration mounted.

I grew angry at not being able to sleep

and this kept me awake.

Some invisible, teasing tether

kept my mind suspended

above the choppy surface of consciousness.

***

I tried over and over and over

to sink down

into the cool, deep, darkness of sleep

to no avail.

***

I sat

all alone

and lonely…

but for your gentle breathing in the next room.

***

I waited,

a little cold,

without relief,

bobbing like a buoy

under a too bright moon.

***

The only comfort I have ever known

is when I am beside you,

so I crawled back in bed

just before dawn.

***

I broke the seal of warmth you had created

under all those heavy blankets,

but you didn’t awaken

or complain.

***

I looked at the ceiling.

***

Two painted lovebirds carved inside a heart dangled over me.

***

In your sleep,

from out of a dream,

you asked me what was wrong.

***

I remember being surprised,

my voice cracking,

as I whispered my dilemma.

***

Without a sound and with eyes closed

you reached for me.

Rolling me on my side,

you pulled me in for a spoon

and,

in your sleepy gentility,

you began to scratch my back.

***

I softened.

***

I closed my eyes.

***

I sighed.

***

I felt your warm breath on the back of my neck

as the wind blew in the trees outside our window.

***

Under the heavy blankets,

between spine and shoulder blade,

you found the frequently sore spot

(you remembered?)

and slowly rubbed the knot loose, again.

***

I drifted off,

at last,

like a child in your arms.

I cry by all myself

and you will never know.

I’m brave enough

to be weak enough

as strong women go.

I wrapped your Christmas presents

cleaned the house, anew.

It smells like scented candles,

I did it all for you.

So even though now

our plans have changed,

you call to stay with Dad an extra night,

I don’t give away how much I miss you

and tell you “It’s alright”.

You thank me

and say you love me

before we hang up the phone.

I look around

at all I’ve done

to build a happy home.

So now I cry not for sympathy

nor for myself, alone

but for this overwhelming, splendid selflessness.

I feel it to the bone.

I wait

in expectation

suspended animation.

Something’s gotta give.

I wake

semi-conscious

in the early darkness

before the winter dawn.

I always

end up rushing,

brushing lips to foreheads,

“Mommy loves you, goodbye.”

All day

I deflect

what needs to be deflected

or should that be, “reflected”?

Something’s gotta give.

The not-so-reliable brusher of nighttime teeth

wants more than to survive,

she wants us all to thrive

and that’s our birthright, so

Something’s gotta give.

Sometimes I see other people’s photos of friends and family

and I feel a little blue.

For the 17 years I was married I was

socially “missing in action”.

It was an epic ordeal, yet

I did eventually break free from that physical and emotional wasteland.

As I enjoy my newfound freedom,

the steady calm,

the liberation and control,

the joy of real romantic intimacy for the first time in my life,

there is, I admit,

a shade of blue due to “the M.I.A. years”.

I suppose it does no good to regret,

to wish for the long term attachments that form between people

over time,

all that time

I was “gone”.

Sometimes I feel “behind”

like some kid that came back at the end of Close Encounters

and was the same age as when she left

though everyone else has moved on.

But I can’t stay sad for long,

and

I try to let the blue offset the other colors erupting around me.

Blue is a part of the world,

of Life.

Blue is a part of my inward blossoming spring.