I'm back

“Critical, observant, big words, sweaty hair, sunken eyes, and thick curves”
-Atmosphere

An accurate written description, sans the thick curves – I have the dwarfed body of a prepubescent teen. Hi, remember me? I stand (metaphorically) before you now with eyes cast to the unlaced shoelaces of sneakers, arthritic hands shoved in pockets; my damp hair spreads a veil of shame before my face – Cousin It-like. I haven’t written a word in two weeks, apart from the behind-the-curtain scribbles nervously etched in the rare solitary moment spent behind a bar stool.

I have spent the last two hours perusing Myspace for attractive females to poke holes in the fishnet tights that are my self esteem. It is my own personalized form of self-abuse. My fingers are stiff, my wrists crack, my Daddy issues have worsened, and my sense of self-worth has diminished – oh-so-behind-the-times laptop, how I love thee – it is time for my electronic ego trip to inflate the round tire of self-esteem.

“Act tough, but your blood is exposed.”
-P.O.S.

I looked over at the handsome face intently staring at the outstretched highway, chewing on the corner of his lip, covered thick in the absence of voice, riddled with the family traits I didn’t inherit – the full pout of our grandmother, the sharp fangs of his mother – the only man I love daily. He caught my staring eyes in a net and pulled them in to the glowing screen of the I-pod.

“I have a song for you. In fact, it is you.” My musical brother who relates life to music; to him I am the physical manifestation of a song in his I-pod. I listened as the sounds of his scrolling filled the car. I closed my eyes in the calm induced by the open road, void of man made noise. His affirmative nods accompanied the words of P.O.S. I scrunched my nose and huddled close to my bent knees, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and earth friendly laundry detergent. The green of the bottle mixed with the yellow streaking the highway. The sting of words telling of a woman sewn with the stitches of jealousy, held together by the fraying threads of empathy fell on my vulnerable skin. I shuddered at the similarity and reached for the half-empty pack of cigarettes separating the siblings.

“You don’t smoke.” He nervously tore his eyes from the road for an eye’s blink and batted at my hands. “I do when I’m in the car with you.” The lighter sputtered in my hands, flickered, and lit the end of the rolled paper. I licked the end of the cigarette, smacked my lips, and breathed in. I held the smoke in my lungs and coughed it from my sweet tinged lips. After each meeting my lungs adjusted to the familiar taste of smoke. I tilted my head back against the headrest and exhaled long streams of creamed air. His suspicious eyes found mine, and in sympathy I rested my head against his bony shoulder. “I won’t tell Dad.”

The exit read the name of our destination and he swerved, nearly missing in his guilt. In the motel room I reclined on the bed and watched as he shaved the stubble of two day’s passed and brushed his teeth, mint flavored bubbles falling from lips to chin as he mumbled the night’s plans. I stared at the valley of cleavage now present and picked bits of fuzz from the land. My toes wiggled, constrained beneath heavy brown boots. He tapped the tops of both and questioned, “Shall we?”

As we crossed through the doorway I repeated pacifying lyrics in my head, vowed to remain agreeable, and mute my complaints for the sake of my single and hopeful brother. We picked a table bathed in low light, our physical errors camouflaged; the view of the room opened before us. Tablecloths of liquid covered the tables, forgotten wrappers crouched in the corners; the bartender frivolously wiped the counter. He spotted a group of youths crowded around a table and extended his hand in an offering. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, back to the chore of pulling the weeds from the valley. The group, now led by my brother, moved slowly towards our table, grazing at each pasture of people, and the squeak of chairs sliding against the dryness of wood filled the space around me. I eyed the new recruits and painted a crooked smile. My right hand instinctively reached to the middle of the table and I straightened my mouth in accordance to the rules.