Years! It’s been years upon years since she’s even thought of that bench that holds so many sleepless memories. Most all of them full of tears, fears, and a driving ache. Still, she feels a nostalgic twinge of deep affection in revisiting such a place. She once found redemption here. Independence. Conviction.

Tears fall unbidden, as once again she repaints the bench with uncertainties within her. Ah yes–this place has always been good at sorting out heartaches and self-doubts. Of indulging in drama and pity without, or while, I should say–reminding her exactly that neither are productive, conducive, warranted, or deserved.

It was a very opinionated bench, she recalls with a watery smile.

She imagines leaning back onto that imaginary rest in that imaginary place under the same stars. This was also an excellent place to juggle restlessness, longing, and desires.

Settled in, she tilts her head to gauge the breeze, registering it’s play against the tree behind her. Wiping at the remnants of tears, she exhales on a long sigh, loosing the ache in her chest. Unraveling the knot of tension that had been long building was her purpose for being here to being with. No sense in lingering in limbo about such matters.

Putting her heart to rights, quieting her thoughts, and prioritizing the worries against her ability to change the world around her–so much still ends up laid out in uncertainties. Nothing new there, and she’s long since understood that such a pile will exist indefinitely in this place.

But there are regrets here too, which is not something she’s used to dealing with. How did they come about? Why? Ah, fear is a cunning subtlety, whispering dark nothings in the wake of tension –easy enough to fix, and at the top of her list of things.

There’s so much more to sort out than there was before! The price of maturity, she supposes as she tucks her feet beneath her and rises. Stretching, she takes one last look around, soaking in the scene of this memory, letting it fill her with it’s peacefulness and new insights.

Once again, the somehows aren’t so important as they’ve been haunting to be. She smiles at the memory, of company found in a bench of uncertainties.

And she too has changed, for the good that is. You can see it in her eyes, that glow of life and laughter—something she thought she lost out there in the snow. She has always been strong, always continued forward even when the path was unsure and undefined underneath all the fluff. She’s never known any other way. But she grew cold, so very very cold being out in the storm for so long. What a beautiful tragedy! It’s been a long road for this Child of Spring as a Princess of Snow.

She’s almost there; despite the road being full of twists and turns, it’s a well-traveled one…the path of self-discovery. Growth is not synonymous with hardness, but with the flexibility of a sapling. A child’s light shines in her smile though she doesn’t consider herself as such, and shouldn’t be. So much a woman, but not done growing, this fey creature will never be done. Never expire, get past her prime, or go stale. The softness and that light guarantee it.

Like I said, a lot has changed these last four years.

Sipping coffee, her eyes scan the horizon, unseeing of the many castles standing tall against her. No longer lingering in nostalgia, she looks forward to lands unclaimed. Anxiousness no longer comes from the Whys of her conquests, but from the Hows—and so she plans.

Her posture, the set of her jaw, head tilted just so, relaxed, confidence and self-assuredness painting a picture of Woman, no longer just dressing the part. Her hand brushes the windowpane, and in that moment, she is every bit of quintessential royalty. There’s warmth in her gaze, in her touch, leaving a foggy halo around her fingers. One wonders if it isn’t our dear Princess bringing consolation and warmth to the coffee mug and not the other way around.

Yet another change—one not so easily accounted for. Passion causes the fanciful smiles, wicked smirks, and devastating flashes of insight… and a peace that hasn’t been felt in ages. How ironic then…Ah, that starshine could do what the 108° summers could not.

The meltdown has begun.

Something is building here.

Something is missing still.

Yet. For. Here…

a moment.

*blinks*

But those terrorist gave us the Declaration of Independence, and we regard them today as men of wisedome and  drive– enough so as to urge a nation to stand and fight for what is right and just. They gave us these words:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.That whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security.

Just something to keep in mind.

Why is it always 30? Because that’s about as long as my attention span lasts, kiddies. My last 30 days has been completely in the dumps as far as my personal health goes, I’m not so proud to say. But at least I didn’t go backwards!

Case in point....

Why now? I’ve been asked to participate in another wedding. 3rd time a bridesmade… and I’ll be a damned fine looking one, thank you very much–in May (dress purchased in November?). So I’m back on the bandwagon (–ung), and this time I’m tackling my 20-off goal with Jillian.

It’s difficult to blow off a workout when I know it’s only 20 minutes long. In my own living room.With obligatory free days. Nekkid if I wish it–most likely not though…there’s the girls to consider. And neighbors. And dogs.. Okay, not nekkid, but I could if I wanted.

I’m a fan of using water bottles as my ‘light’ weights and drinking them after. That’s a goal concurrent, by the way–getting my water intake back on track. Yeah bathroom breaks!

Rewards? Yes, I’m glad you asked! This 20= the last 20lbs off that I promised myself before getting into the MMA business. This 20 also gets me passed that blasted 200lb mark that I’ve been riding for so freakin long.

Mantra: I will have the tenacity to fight for myself.

I follow slow lines of condensation with my finger. A hint of a smile makes itself known despite the unreadable look in eyes caught and held by my reflection.

What does she think of, I wonder?

The smirk grows satisfied, and her eyes sparkle. Ah, a secret then, between myself and I.

I look away first, coyly glancing back to find flirting eyes in my reflection.

That minx! I giggle and shake my head at the woman before me, watching affectionately as she wrinkles her nose and does the same.

Rainy days like todays of past, are best passed in one of many ways;

A many ways that I could choose would be running around without shoes, dancing and laughing and possibly splashing and letting the rain wash away the grime of burden, of woe, of worries that require shoes. I dance to the rhythm of a peculiar silence, of the world made quiet, muffled by the falling new.

Another ways that count for many days includes a mug of Constant Comment, which says nothing of the orange spice tea that I sipped away while idly working. Click, click, print, and repeat, as spicy tendrils of warmth mimic desire, and I sigh and work up a good squirm, tapping the heels of my shoes against the chair. Occasionally I’ll gaze at the city before me, below me, all around me making noise and scurrying about. The rain holds no consequence in this place. Busy, busy, busy—but I pay it no mind. Even in this place, the rain makes new.

My favorite of many ways would include cuddling and blankets and coincidently no shoes at all, listening to the pittering and the pattering, while doing the same. Wrapped up in arms and smiles and Eskimo kisses, we linger in our own world beyond the outside, beyond the gray, tracing imaginary lines over skin like those of water down a windowpane. Teasing and pleasing in this new world of soft curves and hard angles—In this moment, we are us, squished together and baptized by our self-inflicted confinement.

There is no thunder or lightning in this kind of rain, no passion or purpose beyond what is. And Is is a steady fall, persistence found in the science of precipitation. This Is is just enough to make the grass a little greener, make the air a little lighter, while washing off that coat of dust that’s settled everywhere in the heat. This kind of rain brings smiles, brings hope, brings joy, and brings dreams to those who wish to take advantage of the simple example of what could be.

I touch the hand of my reflection, and she’s cold with eyes that hold mystery. Water continues to slice its way down the glass, speeding up when meeting fellow droplets of water, all making their way toward gravity.

Eyes of the woman before me are neutral, a misleading reflection, to be sure. Would I fall, I wonder, if I were to become one in such a way? Or would I be like the glass, washed new? Regardless, there is clarity to be had here.

I look beyond to the world, watching as life takes a breath of renewed purpose.

Steadily still, the rain falls.

Captivated by his eyes, she fought to control the instinctive fight-or-flight response his appearance brought forth.  Muscles seized before rationality took over, and Yana became as still as the air around her—expectant, charged and tense, yet she knew better than to act on her instincts.  Mystical or no, he was still a wolf.

Brian stalked closer, letting her get used to his presence.  While this form relied much more heavily on instinct, Brian was still himself.  He and the beast were one and the same, not separate entities like so many of his kin.  The modern era hadn’t been favorable to his kind; media had more of an influence on children these days than parents—and Hollywood wasn’t a reliable teacher of morals and customs, not for a human and not for one of his ilk.  It spoke of too many ideals instead of realities, working against the nature of Nature and teaching its followers to do the same.

He gave off a readiness that crawled under her skin, putting her further on edge. She studied his form—he was tawny red, with a blond underbelly. Fur shifted over sinewy muscles as he took another deliberate step forward, revealing a gray saddle highlighted with black flanks. Yana’s eyes traveled back to his, and she startled at how blue they seemed against the grey and red mask of fur instead of his usual pale tan coloring. His eyes were the same, as was the predatory gaze.

Drawing to a stop and pinning her with his gaze, he waited.  When Yana showed no signs of following his silent command, he bristled at the challenge but shook it off due to her ignorance. Moving forward, he looked at her expectantly and gave a soft huff.  She scooted off the log onto her knees, tentatively reaching her hand out to touch him.  ‘Humans,’ he flicked his tail.

Using his head, he edged back indicating his dissatisfaction.  Confused, Yana let her hand drift to her side.  She was still weary, but she trusted him.  In a move reminiscent to how he had positioned her earlier, Brian stepped forward and used his snout to edge her chin up and to the side. Understanding dawned, and Yana quickly pulled her hair out of the way, exposing her throat.

He buried his nose firmly into the crook of her neck, huffing with emphasis for this first greeting.  Again she tried to pet him, and again let off a low warning rumble.  Immediately she froze, feeling his teeth clamp down lightly in such a vulnerable area, the growl reverberating through her whole body and settling in her collar bone.  Holding deathly still, she closed her eyes and waited. He wasn’t hurting her; she was just a little bit uncomfortable.  The teeth didn’t chomp down—had never planned on it…and she realized that this was Brian. Relaxing slightly, she felt him edge back and lick her cheek.

Opening her eyes revealed Brian, hand reaching up into her hair, positioning her more surly into place. “So quickly you’ve forgotten how to greet your Alpha,” he grinned, leaning forward and softly nipping at her neck again, only to pull back and kiss her cheek.  He still had the same intensity about him that he usually did; paired with his usual strange humor and the fact that she had just realized he was completely naked, and Yana was thrown for a loop.

Eyes seemed to wander on their own accord, before she wrenched her gaze to a spot over his shoulder.  Blushing she stuttered, “It’s not like we’ve gone over this stuff formally.”

Brian hummed. She was so young sitting there blushing over something as silly as a bit of skin. Thinking to give her a bit of modesty, he went for clothing.  Grabbing up his pack, he ruffled for a pair of light cotton drawstring pants.

Yana quickly got over her mortification at forgetting his lessons, and watched avidly as the firelight played over his body.  And what wasn’t to appreciate?  The man wasn’t bulky or well-defined, but his muscles were obvious with every move he made.  He moved with the grace of a natural-born predator, every step smooth and every movement full of potential.  What’s more, he carried an air of time on his shoulders that not even his easy smile could mask.

It, along with his heritage, flavored the atmosphere around him and pricked at her skin like an electric charge.  She just had a very real sample of what that heritage entailed, but watching as he cursed and almost fell over putting on his pants, and she couldn’t help but simplify it down to the fact that he was still male, if not fully human.  Her luck in that department had run dry lately anyway.

She suddenly gave in to the need to move, the access adrenalin still pumping strong through her system. Standing, pacing a few steps, and then realizing she had reason to go anywhere, and Yana stopped rather abruptly in place, offering up a sheepish smile as she tried to rub the buzz out of her arms.

Making his way opposite her around the fire, he sat down on the log that she just vacated. With an easy smile, he patted the seat next to him. He was pleased to see that she didn’t even hesitate to come over and get situated; though he noted she was still antsy- if the slight bounce of her foot was any indication.  As an experiment he stilled her knee, wondering if her other foot would start to bouncing.

Yana acknowledged the feeling of warmth that came from his hand and pushed the feeling back to think on later. Rearranging so that her feet were tucked against the side of the log, hands on her knees, she couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position.

‘Interesting,’ he thought and removed his hand, the subtle change in her scent far more fascinating than a bouncing foot. Leaning in close, he inhaled deeply, studying the nuances of her wellbeing. Shifting to face her, he grinned wide.  “Now, the proper way to greet an alpha: lift your chin a bit.”

She demonstrated with a slight head tilt.

“Good. And if it’s your alpha?”

She craned her head to the side, scooping her hair into a ponytail over her shoulder, leaving her neck exposed.

He chuckled as he reached over and coaxed her face forward, “Nothing so extreme as all that.”  She now sat looking like she was offering her up her cheek, a self-depreciating smirk on her lips.  Leaning in, he gave her a smacking peck, waggling his eyebrows as he leaned back.

“What’s the kiss thing about?”  She smiled.

“It’s a sign of affection, last I checked.” And bingo.  The change was slight, but her scent intensified.

“But you—”

Before she could get too incensed, he leaned forward again, nudging her chin back into the proper position, and rubbed his cheek briefly against hers.  “There’s a few ways your alpha can respond,” he pulled back just enough to gauge her reaction.  Slowly rubbing his cheek back and forth across hers, he continued, “Differences come depending on the relationship. It’s all about transferring scent.  A rub on the cheek gets the job done.”  With one last pass, he brushed his lips across her jaw with a tiny smooch, and then rolled to rub his face with hers one last time. “And a kiss is a sign of affection.”

***

Note: Occasionally, I’ll go through my computer, old USBs, and memory cards to see what’s what–especially since I had to do a factory reset and lost everything on my hard drive a few months back. Going through my backup documents, there’s no telling what I’ll find.

This is one such gem. Sadly, this is the only little bit of this entire story that I have because 12 ounces of cough syrup decided to flood my bag the day I decided to bring this USB in to work for document recovery. I vaguely remember the storyline. Key plot points and main characters needed to accomplish my goals–I remember those being hazy even after mapping out possibilities. But characterizations and interactions? I didn’t realize I’d made it this far.

And from what I do remember of this particular story, I’m rather touched and surprised that these two have a gentle moment at all. As strange as it is, I want to know what happens next! What happened that my Yana and Brian manage to be cordial, cute even?  It had to have been earlier on, before. Where are they now? I have a few notes, single sentences and false starts down on paper–those few words have always been enough to bring a story forth.  But there never was a story, just Yana and her children.

They were a dream I had once, a dream that woke me up shaking and frantic trying to remember their names, the place, the smell of it–mostly their words. I wrote them down phonetically, and found a few…all in Sanskrit. I very clearly remember doing the search of names. I have the paper here with my ponderings… but the story was incidental. It was a way for me to keep a dream of dead language alive.

I wish wish wish that I still knew what lead to smiles and flirts between two beings that in all rights should have strong weariness betwixt them! I’m posting this here, for if I do take up the mantle for Yana and her pack of puppies…I’m afraid this lovely moment won’t have its place in their story any longer. 

A pup ambled along at her heels, for all the world looking the farce. Dachshunds don’t inspire visions of badassery, especially when racing along a straightaway through tall grasses.

She could hear squealing voices now and picked up her pace. This race would be hers! Cluttering, clomping and the slamming of screen-doors didn’t distract her from her goal: the neighbor lady, wiping her hands on her apron and smirking at all the commotion her summons had caused.

Pulling up short, our heroine took a moment to straighten up and flip her hair out of her face, tugging clothing back into place. Ramona had an idle moment of gratefulness–She didn’t have to wear those confining underthings yet, like Aidan did. They always seemed to make Aidan cranky and kept her from doing all manner of fun things that they used to do together. Mother assured Ramona that she’d get her own underthings one day, but really, why would she want those? Obviously she didn’t, especially if it meant dragging slowly along the way Aidan was, behind all the neighbor kids.

Speaking of–Ramona smiled wide up at the lady who had called them all over. “Can I pick first?”
Humoring, the lady bent just enough for Ramona to choose her prize.
Bobbling a quick curtsy, as odd a motion as it was, Ramona tugged lightly on the lady’s apron when she overbalanced, but managed to pop back with a grin and aboutface that looked like a truly practiced maneuver.

Ferreting away from prying eyes, Ramona marched off, raising her bounty to eye-level with both hands held to keep her prized concealed–just in case. The silly pup tried to trip her up a few times, but she paid him no mind, honing all her senses in on her chosen prey: A very large, beautifully decorated homemade sugar cookie. Taking a moment to consider it, she marveled at the shiny bits of sugar that looked like dewdrops on her flower-shaped cookie of choice.

Unceremoniously, Ramona chomped on the petal that had a ladybug iced onto it, taking out a quarter of the cookie in one go. A chuckle beside her revealed Aidan, who was daintily pinching pieces off of her equally beautiful butterfly cookie. Ramona wondered if underthings also meant that she’d forget how to eat food like a normal person too.

Poor Aidan, Ramona thought, if Mother’s right, she wont ever be normal again, not now that she’s becoming. Whatever that meant.

After watching her sister a bit more, Ramona thought maybe Aidan was just weird to begin with, because, wasn’t she always a little strange anyway? It wasn’t like new underthings could change a person—Tom D. constantly talked about how his new shoes make him faster, but Ramona still had no trouble trouncing him in a race, so obviously he was wrong about that.

Aidan caught Ramona’s contemplating gaze and returned it with a patient one of her own. “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“Do you feel different?”

“Different, how?” Aidan crouched and let the pup bounce around her hands, licking surgery crumbs.

“I dunno. You’re supposed to be different now.”

“Ah,” Aidan canted her head, “well…sometimes I do. Mostly I’m just tired and hungry.”

And cranky, Ramona thought–

“I am not cranky!” Aidan stuck out her tongue with a giggle.

–maybe a little too loudly. Put out, Ramona struggled trying to figure out how to ask so that she’d get the answer she was looking for. “You’d tell me right? Tell me if you get different?”

There was a pause that hung between them–one of those rare quiets that happens between sisters sometimes and says more than words ever will.

Nibbling on her cookie, Ramona waited. She needed to know.

Sensing this, Aidan tried to answer, knowing what Ramona was asking, even if she didn’t. “I..I don’t rightly know if I’d know. Seems like I’m already different, but I don’t feel different. Just tired, like I said.”

“Momma would know.” Both girls met eyes with that statement. ‘Momma’ was only used by the young ones. That Aidan picked up on this, said something, meant something just then, even if she didn’t understand just what. That Ramona recognized this as a defining moment, even without understanding how.

Standing there munching on her cookie, watching Aidan with their puppy, there was an aching in her heart. Ramona realized she was sad, but she didn’t know why.

Today is Monday. I had a good day. It was foggy like horror movies and dry ice, but the air felt like the sea on a clean day in autumn.

I left the office today, 4pm, right on time. I walked out without saying goodbye. It felt wrong, but I don’t have anyone to share goodbyes with. No one relies on me. So I said goodbye to my white board. On it I wrote, “Feeling purpla.” Then, I smiled. I’m still trying to find a name for my computer up there. I’m thinking it might become Little Brother.

I had a good day today.

My dad threw my chips in the trash. He thought they were junk mail.

I’m out of moisturizer.

No matter how many times I watch it, Kate still gets shot in the forehead.

I’ve got the munchies.

Tomorrow is Monday.

Erg.