Dear Mrs. Anybody...

A letter for Benny, but not to you.

Have you ever walked past someone and thought 'Well, at least I'm not as bad off as such-and such?'

I am more than sure that you have and that you know what I mean, For I am a woman and so are you and we two are not as different as you would make us out to be for that reason alone.

Say, perchance, you have an encounter at a grocery store. After you retrieve your bruised artichoke heart from the produce floor because some one was in such a rush they narrowly missed you in their search for the perfect beet, you think,

'At least I'm not as rude and inconsiderate as she is.'

You slam on the brake in the middle of a busy intersection while the rain beats out a rhythm on the hood of you civic because some jerk ran a red light and you think,

'At least I am a more cautious driver than that guy.'

You feel uncomfortable in your 'skinny jeans' after a weekend off the diet and you proceed to eye up Jennifer in your office that just can't seem to shake the baby weight and think,

'At least I'm more attractive than that.'

It's okay, I've done it too. Just today, as a matter of fact,

I saw a picture of your tentative wedding dress and read the invitation with the hearts and dove and flowers. I saw your registry for dishes and sheets and baby clothes. I skimmed a blog entry where you gush about the new adventure you are headed on with your never ending love in tote, and I thought,

'At least I'm not about to be Mrs. DR'

Good luck.

Really.

You'll need it.

Signed Mrs. Nobody Special, Who is in love with Mr. Young John, Esq.

My Cigarettes and This Old Dirt Road...

Last night I was so tempted to buy a pack of cigarettes and drive out to the boondocks with The Wreckers blaring like I used to when I was... Well, when I used to get worked up.

When he used to come around.
When he used to treat me like I didn't matter.
When he used to scream and cry and fuss until I hurt inside and just wanted to drive until I could feel again.

The Boy and I got in an argument. No, that's not really true.

I got in an argument with The Boy.

Because he isn't perfect. And I forgot for one minute that I have no right to expect perfection.

I got home from a long weekend of crying. Aunt Maryann's memorial was this weekend and it was difficult to say the least. How do you say goodbye to someone so amazing? So perfect? So a part of you and what you are?

I remembered something about her that made me cry hot wet tears that were heavier than I expected. When he was here and a part of this whole thing, He actually accused me of being a witch. And my mother. And my Aunt Maryanne. His words? "What is she, 412 years old?"

I wish she would have lived that long. But no. She was just a woman. A tiny frail woman with a big heart and a great rhythm who could out-tap Fred Astaire with a smile as big as the sea. Just a woman who clung to Christ when everyone blamed her for everything. When everyone left her. When there was no other choice.

Any how, The Boy.

The point is, he isn't perfect. He didn't show up when I needed him, he didn't hold me like I wanted, He didn't ask me about here or how fantastic she was or how I got a picture from her bedside that I painted for her that she must have seen everyday she woke up, and what do I deserve to be so honored? He just didn't know.

And secretly, I hated him for that.

But I hate the sun for shining when there is no one important enough to shine for. And I hate the rain for raining when the world is already dark enough without her. And I hate just everything for moving on so smoothly when that is that last time for a very long time that she will ever impact change.

I just hate it.

But I also forgot that The Boy is not so tragic. And that he does try. And that he loves me, even in my moods.

Oh Boy, I am sorry I am so complex.

Don't you know I don't mean to be?

Young sets out to make her understand.

"Am I mistaken? Did I just dream that or did you really just ask me that?"

He shook his head at her. "Oh Benny, you are beautifully mistaken."

His smile betrayed him as he held her even closer than he was wont to do and kissed her eyelids in the soft summer moon light.

"Young, I just don't understand you sometimes." She almost sounded harsh as she held his face away from hers.

"What is there to understand, Love?" Something as sweet and pure and Young Learning to Love was indeterminable at it's core, let alone for her.

"Well, for one thing, just last week, you scolded me for mentioning that we should plan a vacation together and now this?"

And he had. Maybe it was wrong of him, but last week he was scared of her and, all of a sudden, it became clear what he needed. He needed Benny, and there was no amount to pretending and no more waiting to be done. All he needed now was to ask her and have her say yes. So he waited, he held his breath, he pressed his strong hand around hers, holding it for fear that she might turn into an ephermeral mist and disapear as had been her tradition so many times before when things were too perfect as they were in this late night moment.

"Oh Benn-
"Yes Young, I mean, go on..."
"I only wanted to tell you that you don't have to answer me now. You can never answer me if you want, I only just-"
"I know what I want to answer."
"Oh, then, by all means, Yes, Miss. Benny?"
"I want to be Mrs. John."

And with that, the end of the middle of a beautiful song had found a climax while they lay together, tightly intertwined in a moment only lovers know. A moment that signifies the begining of something bigger than one person's love for another, A moment that begins all families in all ways, A moment of true love's passion coming to fruition.

A moment which Young had never felt more free, and Benny never knew more peace.

I am a selfish brat.

I want her to be here.

This weekend, the world lost a great soul.

And I just don't think it is fair.

But seeing her, quite literally, wasting away, broke my heart from end to end. It definitely helped to know that after you die there is no more pain. I never want to see any one in that state again, but I am sure it won't be the last.

But are we not just souls with bodies, and is there nothing in this world so great that we should leave it for the next with a shred of regret?

I love you, Mima, and I will miss you until I come Home.

DR seeks the End.

"DR, why would you do this?" Benny wiped a hot tear from her cheek as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

This scene is long before Young, the baby, and her happiness. What follows is about Benny, her formation, and one she loved with all her heart, despite what he had given her in return. Long before she thought of salvation, or freedom, or peace.

"Do what?" He smiled a cruel smile at her as the pile burned behind them. True, it wasn't a very large pile. But everything we love seldom amounts to much of anything.
He flicked his cigarette into the flames as he turned his back to her and swaggered towards the flames.

"Is this a joke?" She examined what little she could see of the base of the fire through the thick smoke and light of the fire. What he had done and why never would make sense, not to you, or me, or Young or anyone else that loved Benny. If it were a joke, no one but DR would have much to laugh at. And if you asked him today, I'm sure he would shrug and blame Benny.

"Is what a joke? You see it, it's all there. Every last piece. Burnt. Scorched. Finished." He spit into the flames and she swore she saw fire come from his mouth. Whatever the case, no matter how hard she prayed, the crackling heap kept on burning.

"Why did you do it, what did any of it ever mean to you?" I know you didn't want to assume what was in the fire, and truthfully, neither did I, but I will tell you here. I will tell you in this recount of her story, while she isn't around to remember everything she lost.

DR was burning everything Benny ever owned. Every prom picture. Every diary entry. Every handkerchief. Every memory. Everything.

"I don't want it." was all he ever said to her.

"But I- But DR, I just-" He never could let her finish a sentence. Oh, what brilliance did we miss from you Benny the years you were under his thumb? What thoughts must have stayed locked away in your fair head, thoughts that Young can never tire of, thoughts that do nothing but benefit everyone who they are for?

"You just want your things, I know. You are attached to it all. But not any more. Now everything is gone and we- you and me, Benny- we're going to start over. Isn't it all too thrilling?" She thought, if she stared long enough and hard enough, she could see herself in the fire, knocked out and tied to a chair, smoldering away.

"Thrilling? Start over?" She was stunned, dazed, and a little sun-drunk. She reached her hand out in a very dramatic fashion. She was very dramatic for a long time if only to attempt to impact him. I know, she isn't like that now. She is much more the Benny she was meant to be, but you will learn all of that about her some other time. This is just a mere retelling.

"You don't need any of it anyway. You're not Benny anymore. You are mine." And with that, he kissed her. A kiss she grew to fear. A kiss that meant she had lost.

A kiss that meant Benny had two choices:

Run

Or Die with him.

What is a girl, who is in love with a monster so much that it hurts her to sleep for fear he should eat out her heart while her eyes are closed, to do with her grief and pain?

Benny did run, but not before she lost everything she was.

Now, there is just a little matter of who to become.

Do you say "Thy will be done?"

Or does God say, "All right then, have it your own way"?

For a long time, and maybe even a little still, my life resembled the latter statement. Oh, I prayed earnestly for God's guidance in my life. I prayed and waited for His response, for His word, for His command. When I received it, I turned away , on purpose, just to see what could possibly go wrong, and did just the opposite.

When I prayed in the face of sexual desires, I found myself giving way to all of my sexual instincts. My biological imperative took over.

I started being sexually active, then I prayed about a marriage. Because I never wanted sex without a marriage, or a marriage without sex.

I got married and had sex, a lot of it, and so did my husband. And not always with me, and certainly never with a prayer.

I prayed about my broken heart, and God rescued my life. I cried, a bawled, I never wanted to breath again. And God said, "Oh, yes you will breath. And live freely in my love. And love again."

Life, love, these things are far from easy. But they are glorious gifts.

Sure, my wrong doings haunt me with guilt.
Sure, I still cry about the things I did or didn't do with or without God.

But I would rather be humble and sad a wary then pompous and proud and indignant.
Atleast I realize the mistakes I made in ignoring God.

I am trying to change. Will you be there when I'm all better?

I don't typically fall in love,

But you're no typical boy.

I don't want to write about how much I like him.
I want to cry and run away and forget about him.
I feel he deserves so much more than I can give.

I want to list some setbacks I have had this week.
And some triumphs.
And a few panics.

I shall label them, and here is your key:

SUBJECT:
T- Triumph
S- Setback
TP- Triumphant panic
SP- Unhappy panic

LIST:

T- You missed me while I was away.

TP- I missed you while I was away.

SP- I had a dream about not wanting to get a divorce. I woke up in a panic that you could read my dreams. Then I remembered that my dreams aren't listed on my forehead, and they are no shame, just an odd mash of life without order.

S- The divorce.

S- The Jeep.

T- Kissing you for the first time since I left made me very happy.

TP- You make me very happy.

S- I wish you could have met me in Paradise and I could have never had to come back to the Big Grey City.

TP- You really are a nice boy and you really do like me and I really want you.

I will organize these thoughts and talk in more complete sentences, this is more just an outline of what I wanted to tell you. And we all know how tongue tied you make me.

Young and a love song.

"Young, you know, I don't know half the songs you sing to me, why do you suppose that is?" Benny smiled at him, looking across their tiny bedroom while he took off his shoes and hummed an old tune he loved so much it made his heart dance.

He watched her, six months pregnant folding the laundry and thought of a million songs to sing to her about how much he loved her. Instead, he answered her with his usual evenness "Oh, Benny, I'm not sure, perhaps you have heard them you just don't recognize when I sing them to you."

She stopped folding socks for a moment. I recognize your heart when you sing them. And without another moment, he scooped her up and hummed to her as he twirled her down the hall, a very un- Young moment. But a positively perfect thing to do.

Do I want to be with you as the years come and go?
Only forever if you care to know.
Would I grant all your wishes and be proud of the task,
Only forever if someone should ask.
How long would it take me to be near if you beckon,
Offhand I would figure, less than a second.
Do you think Ill remember how you looked when you smiled,
Only forever, thats putting it mild.

I love him, and that is the begining of everything.

I am speaking, obviously, about the impact of dreams and wishes and fairy tales on one's perception of reality.

And I love it.

The Boy and I had what I would like to call an amazing weekend. I would like to call it that and I would like to write and speak a million facts about why, but I must limit myself. We musn't get too carried away, for sanity's sake.

Here are a few things I loved about this perfect set of days and a few things I hope never change:

1. Friday night was short and sweet and real. The Boy came to the dance hall where I work on Fridays and Fridays only while a live band strums out a hundred perfectly acceptable covers including things from Dino and Rob Thomas, the Four Seasons and Diamond Rio. He met some of his familia there to join in dinner and the festivities of the evening. They are real people. You know about real people, right? Messy people with great stories and knowing smiles who make mistakes and make you laugh and, in his case, cry a little in a good way.

He enjoyed his time from what little I saw of it and then he did something he has a million times told me he wouldn't. He took my hand and lead me out on the floor. While I was drenched in sweat and had a myriad of things to do, he twirled and whirled me with the best of 'em and I tell you I was smitten. He's a good sport to spoil me and not a half bad dancer at that.

1A. Saturday night we attended the wedding of a dear friend of mine and he was a fantastic date. He calmed me when we were late and lost, he let me fret over forgetting my battery for the camera (instead of telling me not to worry about it and hush up,he just let me be bummed. It's nice to have someone empathize with you and indulge in feelings once in a while-- real messy uncomfortable feelings) Then again, he was happy to dance with me. Sure he chose the song, but I can't blame him there. Sure, I tricked him to boogie-woogie, but he's good enough not to blame me.

2. He just held me. Saturday night we spent together after the wedding, just talking and dreaming and musing out loud and he just held me. In a few ways too. Sure, he wrapped his strong loving arms around me and pinned me to the bed with a leg here and his lips there, but it was more than that. It was nicer than that. He held my attention and my loving glances. He took what I said to heart and he made useful comments about me and life and where I fit in. This is what it means to be held, and to know what a promise is in real time

3. We had some cool, typical unforgettable moments together. Getting lost-ish, running around in the freezing rain, dancing, waking up next to someone you can't get enough of, lazy Sunday's, and an Ikea date. It's nice. Just plain nice to have someone to share those things with that you know doesn't take them any more or less serious than they are. They just are. They just spend time with you knowing that they are building toward the same calming rush that you are looking for, a peace in love. So say Whitman, "Peace is always beautiful."

4. I just like him. I just like the fact that he's real. And honest. And he lets me talk. And he wants me to be happy. I can see everything amazing about him that I like in the simplest things. In the way he lets me just turn around and kiss him whenever I want. And the way he lets me say things that sound like "future" love ideas. The way that he tells a story so that I understand it. The way he will answer me every time I ask him what he's thinking. The way he makes me want to be calm and sweet and always thinking about what is best for him.

Oh love. Oh peace. Oh Boy.