I Remember

Hi Jamie,

It's November again. I'm running around, working and getting ready for holiday dinner. My brain has been jumping around on so many things and this time of year has snuck up on me...again.

Every November 25th, I'm hit with your memory and I find myself sobbing. Two days before Thanksgiving, I'll be working on something and I'll suddenly remember you. We buried you on November 26, 2003

Every November, the week of Thanksgiving, I remember the last time I saw you.  I remember the last conversation we had.

The last time I saw you, you were working the checkout counter, at the Cone gas station diesel fuel isle. The day I'd stopped by was the first time I'd seen you in months. I had been avoiding you.

It wasn't your fault, it was because I was afraid to run into my ex-boyfriend. You two had been friends since high school and I knew he hung out a lot at your place with you and Larry. And it seemed that every time I drove past your work, his car would be there. I guess I could have called, but I was scared that you'd be mad at me for the breakup with Matt. You had introduce us and he was one of your closest friends.

The day I stopped, I was on my way to somewhere else and I didn't have a lot of time. When I saw that his car wasn't there, I pulled into the parking lot. I ran back to your counter. I remember you looked a little surprised to see me.

I don't remember how the conversation started and I don't remember most of what we talked about. I vaguely remember telling you why I hadn't been coming around and why I hadn't called. You understood.

Sometimes when I think back to this conversation, I remember asking you if you were angry at me  and I remember you saying that the breakup was between me and Matt. You weren't mad at either of us. But I'm not sure this really happened because I've relived that last conversation every year since your death and the conversation changes in my memory.

I do remember that my eyes kept darting to the clock. Someone was waiting for me and I had to go. I apologized for not being able to stay.  You understood.

I said goodbye and turned to leave. I got three steps and turned back around.

My memory isn't the best, but I remember clear as day what I said. I asked you if you knew that I loved you. You smiled and said that you did and then you said that you loved me too. I remember smiling and then leaving.

People tell me that our last conversation was what it should have been.

But every year, Thanksgiving week, I'm suddenly struck with the memory that in November we lost you. We buried you on November 26, 2003. And the last thing I said to you was the best thing I could have said, but in my heart I will never feel like it was enough. And every year, during this week, I break down.

You stood by me during a dark time. You were there when I cried. You were always there to give me advice. And every November, I remember that you're gone.

What else is there to say?

I love you still.

My First Rock Repel

We did this repel twice. This was my first time down.

Age Gap

For those of you who read this blog, you might not know that I have two little sisters. 

As I type this, one is sixteen years old and the other is thirteen. I am *cough cough* thirty-five this year; which means there is a bit of an age gap. 

I've tried not to let it be to much of a problem and my sisters don't really tease me about it much, but there are times when it's tough. For example, when the older of the two was nine years old, she didn't think I was cool anymore. Up until that point, she thought I was pure awesome. Then one day she thought I was goofball. Well I am, but she was embarrassed of her goofball big sis and that kind of stung a little. 

 

Writing Group Prompt: Woman/Mother

This week in writing prompt was the loose subject of school. We only had to mention school one time in the story for it to qualify. This is the story that came out. 

Woman/Mother

I was twenty-two years old and working as a waitress when I first uttered the words, “I don’t want to have kids” out loud.

I had just sat down for my lunch break in the dingy little break room of Piccadilly Cafeteria when a coworker asked me, out of nowhere, when I was going to “find me a man and have a few kids.”

My mouth began to work before my brain could catch up as I heard myself say it.

“I don’t want kids.”

Even though, up until this point, I’d never felt the urge to become a mother, I thought that one day I would. That’s what women do, they become mothers. So the normal thing would be to have a child.  This was how it worked out in my mind.

Here I was, a college dropout working as a waitress, being asked the question once again and a truth I’d hidden from myself spilled out. It was this moment when I admitted something I felt but hadn’t put into words, and it caught both me and my coworker off guard.

Mrs. Carla, a cook well into her forties, stood with her mouth agape for a second before her face darkened.  “Your ovaries should be ripped out and your rights as a woman stripped away.”

I sat in shock as she stormed off red-faced and angry.

This was confirmation that the thing I had just discovered about myself was not only bizarre, it was also extremely wrong. Something about me and how I felt wasn’t right. So much so that I was told, by the first person I’d ever admitted this to that I didn’t deserve to be a woman.

I could scarcely finish my shift from the jolt, and Mrs. Carla refused to talk to me for months after that.

So there's video proof of me dancing?

I believe that I mentioned that our writing group had a movie night....
Yeah...
Enjoy. ;)

Sometimes you just need support.

Joining a writing club was one of the best things that I've done in this town. I just can't tell you how much fun we have at our meetings. Writers are a special breed of people. ;)

My favorite part is sitting around discussing creative ways of killing off characters. I can't imagine what bystanders are thinking when they overhear us. Lucky for me, we have a couple published writers in our group. That means, I get to learn how things work in that respect.

One day I'll have a book published...one day.

Happy Tuesday!

Love, Peace, & Veggies Please,

Victoria