God must have been laughing when I pictured our futures together. But I wasn’t what you were looking for, at least not in the end. I was short on affection, short on words, short on love, short on everything.
Kira arrived at the top of the mountain, concluding the hike she was no stranger to. For the last 8 years, when the weather was nice, Kira and her husband Machon would hike their favorite trails in the nearby national park. A bag was always packed with lunch and a bottle(more) of wine – a celebration for their 6-mile endeavor.
At the summit, Kira removed two sandwiches and ate hers slowly, breathing in the fresh mountain air with each bite. She placed her husband’s sandwich next to her on the rock she was perched on. Across the valley, everything looked so insignificant. No boisterous highways to distract her train of thought. This moment was hers and hers alone. She thought back on the early days her and Machon would race to the top of the trails, delighting in the fact that he always let her win. She remembered the way he smelled after a long hike, in the brightest of sunlight that would warm their bodies. Machon had a strict no camera or phone rule – if they were too busy taking pictures, they wouldn’t know how to appreciate the photos later because they never appreciated it to begin with. Kira hated him and loved him for that – what she wouldn’t give to have just one picture of them on the mountain. As she fanaticized, her mind drifted along with the clock. Before she knew it, the sun was making it’s way westward and it was time to pack up.
She looked down next to her at the uneaten sandwich and half drunken bottle of wine. It had been 5 months since her husband passed away and though she loathed hiking alone, it was springtime and it was a tradition.
In the wise word of sir Usher I, "you got it you got it bad, when you're on the phone-- hang up and you call right back."
Seriously though, there may be some truth behind this top-20 song. When you feel there is no other option but to swallow(more) your pride (that may often be too big) in the face of someone you love, perspective sets in. You come to terms with what you're willing to put up with. You can't help it-- the heart wants what the heart wants.
In the wise words of my five year old nephew, "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit!"
Well my dear boy, you got me-- you got me bad. A kindergartener knows more about my life than I do. (less)
Across the smoky room, his eyes lock with mine. In a tavern on a Friday night, people surround me with drunken noise. I’m perched up against the sidewall, dutifully out of the way—a simple onlooker. I take a sip of my Guinness and begin to observe. My friend has drunkenly(more) made her way to a man who has his arm draped over her shoulders, passively making her territorial mark for the evening. Across the shadowy room, I see others sway to the music. Some sing along with one another while others pursue banter that is only to be heard in bits and pieces over the muffled amplifier.
Why does everyone seem so absorbed in one other while I, in the most cliché of clichés, can only focus on the man playing his guitar? Could he really be looking at me? No, no. Musicians engage the audience, he is simply looking at me, but not actually seeing me. Me—the girl who is overlooked by many and seen by fewer less than few. As he strums his last few chords…”Lover, you should’ve come over. Cause it’s not too late.”
His ending breath of lyrics as his guitar solo concludes.
There is a lot that can be said about a woman who cuts her hair short. Not Meg Ryan, You’ve Got Mail short—not even Molly Ringwald in, well, everything short. I cut my hair Michelle Williams short. And despite my thick, heavy hair that often had a mind of it’s own, I(more) went for it.
Well it just so happened that on the very morning 5 inches of my luscious locks fell to the unkempt floor of my favorite mom-and-pop hair salon, outside, rain had the same idea. I suppose it never occurred to me that as difficult as thick hair was long, short was somehow more difficult. Newly styled (and about 2lbs lighter) I took a step outside. Not so much to my surprise but to much dismay, wind and rain swirled and engulfed my head. The safety of the flatiron was all but a distant memory from that moment on. So, instead of the angular pixie cut I was so desperately hoping for, I accidentally and vehemently pulled off a P!nk.
Arriving to campus, there I was outside my ECON 330 class kicking myself to grow up, walk inside and take my seat. Struggling with the right motivational words to calm my nerves (but unfortunately not my hair) I asked myself, “What would P!nk do?” It was only in this very moment that I realized I know only one song by the notoriously bad girl—Big Girls Don’t Cry. Oh wait no, that’s Fergie isn’t it?
Wah, wah, wah went this big girl all the way home. Home to: rebuild my spirits, rebuild my hair and most importantly my shallow depth of musical knowledge.