Swept Away

Swept Away

by | Nov 23, 2024 | Writing

Swept Away

Oh my god. I cannot believe my day today. It was totally magical. He kissed me! And yet… Johnny sucks face better than him. I thought all the actors gave good tongue action. That’s okay, he can learn. We can practice—a lot. I wonder when he’ll rescue me from this dull little brick town. I can’t believe we macked! I hoped to meet him, but never in my wildest dreams (well, maybe) thought I’d get to smooch Billy Preston.

 I should be sufficiently tired right now. I barely slept last night in anticipation. I wanted to look perfect this morning. Was it my smoky blue eyes or wine-stained lips that won him over? Obviously, I don’t dress like the other girls. I wore my black crocheted dress with my kitten-heeled boots. I looked pretty irresistible, indeed. How else do you think a famous actor would pick me out of a crowd of thousands? Okay, well, I was sitting at the table with the cast, unlike all those other people. I thought bussing his picture this morning might lure him to me. The funny thing is, he wasn’t even in my top 10. But now, he is totally my number one. 

God, the building was gorgeous. There were these four fireplaces and they were all made of white marble, and they had faces sculpted out of the façade. The furniture and linen were so luxurious, and everything was highlighted in gold colored accents. It looked like a million dollars– unlike my bedroom of ninety-degree angles.

 

I sat at the table with my parents, my mom’s cousin, Melanie, and her husband, Richard Haycroft, the star of the show. We were invited to the special filming in Boston; the 200th episode of, Swept Away. The high volume of chatter and dishes clanging buzzed in my ears. Randoms zigzagged in and out of the room. I barely paid attention until Billy stepped in. He is gorgeous in person. He’s tall, and has the sweetest baby blues… and a dorky gap-toothed smile. 

Everyone saw him come in. After all, he was the young star on the show and I heard he has a movie coming up. Who did he notice? Me, naturally. I sat there, looking nonchalant, sipping my coffee. And then, he called me over to him. I practically jumped out of my seat and ran to him. Somehow, I kept my composure and sauntered toward him. I couldn’t let him think I was fazed. He asked me my name. He had a slight southern drawl, just enough to keep my ear lingering for more. I played coy with him. I was Lily, and I certainly knew who he was. He said, “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”  I’ll ignore the cheesy line to say; wow, Billy Preston thinks I’m hot. I’m one step closer to my goal of becoming a movie star. Isn’t that what they taught me in biology class? Hang around with the stars, and you become one of them through osmosis? 

He offered to buy me a drink. I looked back at my parents, who were trying hard to make it look like they weren’t paying attention to us. I told him I’d have Kahlua and Cream. He asked me if I lived in Boston. What was I supposed to say? I live in a small little town, two hours away. I said I lived outside of the city. He asked me who I knew to get in, and I told him about Richard and Melanie. I didn’t mention Mom and Dad. 

I have to admit, getting buzzed with a TV star in the middle of the day might just be the highlight of my life, or second at least. Then, when we were on our second drink, a photographer from the Boston Globe came over. He asked to take a picture of us for the paper. Me, in the society pages? Billy wrapped his arm around my body and pulled me into him. The flash brightened our eyes and he leaned over and pecked me on my cheek. Okay, so how did we get to the real smacker? Because I know that one was hardly worth writing home about.

I excused myself to the powder room. I touched up my makeup in the mirror, walked out, and he was standing right there. Was he waiting for me? He told me again how pretty he thought I was and how much fun he was having in Boston. And then he stepped in, lips close, and softly pressed his against mine. I threw my arms around him and frenched him right back. It totally rocked, but what can I say? It was kind of weak. I mean, how does a fifteen-year-old boy from a small little hick town lock lips better than a famous person? But then, drat, footsteps approached, and we broke our embrace. It was a production assistant or something. She told Billy he was needed for another scene. He said he’d be right back. I stood there for a moment as I watched him walk out of my life. I felt shocked. Did he really just come to find me? And then he was gone, just like that. Like a fairytale, but was he Cinderella who had to leave the ball at midnight, and I the prince? No, not quite, but I was alone, in the alcove, abandoned by my true love. I couldn’t just stand there. I went back in and sat down at the table with my parents, a little bummed.

I had to leave before he came back. I can’t believe my parents made me leave! I’ll write poetry every day until he drives his limousine up to the front of my school. He’ll put down his window and yell out to me, “Lily Dylan, come with me. You don’t belong here. Move to Hollywood with me, it’s where you belong.” And I’ll climb right in next to him and teach him the proper way to make out.

Don’t Cry

Don’t Cry

by | Nov 23, 2024 | Writing

Don’t Cry

“It hurts, it really hurts.” I bite my lip, trying to contain the pain. The ground beneath me is damp, the air thick. It’s hard to breathe.

“Don’t cry,” he said, glancing around with eyes wide and alert. “If they hear us, we’re done for.” He gently cups his hand over my mouth; dirt drips down in the creases of his face.

“I won’t cry, don’t worry,” I assure him.

“You mustn’t cry. They’ll find you.” He whispers.

“I know,” I replied.

An owl cries in the distance. He turns to look for it, his dark eyes tell me his fear. 

I pushed myself to a sitting position and looked down at my leg. I was losing a lot of blood. If I didn’t get it taken care of, it wouldn’t matter if I cried. The metal claws were biting deeply into my leg. I thought they’d hit the bone. I leaned down to try and get the trap off, but I couldn’t manage it.

The damp leaves air their earthy scent, reminding us where we are. We hear a crack from a branch nearby. He stands quickly, looking all around. He pulls out his Swiss army knife, his weapon. We can’t get caught.

“Oh damn, this hurts,” I tell him, pleading with my eyes.

He pulls out one tool at a time on his knife. “Here, I think we can use this one. Do you think you can hold this tool tight in the hole here?” He points to the metal entrapment. The owl hoots again, its warning is louder, closer. “I think if you—

I whimper.

He looks at me, his eyes soften, moist with fear and determination, “Don’t cry, just don’t cry. We’ll get out of here, don’t worry.” He brushes my sticky hair off my face. The air is damp, it makes everything ache. “I need your help, though. I need you to push on this while I try to open the trap.”

“It’s burning,” and I yelp. The owl shrieks, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the forest like a mournful dirge—a sound that always seemed to accompany the patrols when they swept the woods.He listens for the sound of the enforcers coming, then turns to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. 

He encourages me with his eyes, his small smile,”I know. Don’t cry, though. They’ll find us.”

“I know, I know. I know. I won’t cry. It hurts, please hurry.” A drizzle falls down on us, we barely notice.

He hands me the knife and guides it into the hole. “Okay, hold tight now, keep pushing,” he says.

I push with all my strength. He takes both his hands with all his strength and might,  and pries the trap open, freeing my leg. Pools of sweat drip down his face, and he wipes it away with his shoulder.

“Okay. Let’s get this off,” he says, “Now pull your legs toward you.”

“Oh, that hurts!” I say, my face wincing, I bite my lip hard.

He looks at me, then rips his shirt off and ties it around my leg to stop the bleeding.The rain drizzles on his bare back. The owl lands on the tree branch above. Its brown and white plumage stained the color of dried blood. Its glowing yellow eyes fixate on them with chilling intensity, its gaze unwavering as if assessing its prey.

He pulls me up to stand, staying calm but quickening his pace. The owl swoops down toward us. 

I scream, he quickly puts his hand over my mouth and shushes me. “Okay, it’s okay. Now let’s get out of here,” he whispers, tightening his grip on me as he watches the owl with wary eyes. “It may be too late, but we can’t let them find us.” Faint voices rise in the distance, streams of light, cut through the trees. He lifts me on his bare back. “We’ll be quicker this way. Are you okay? We have to escape. Whatever happens, don’t cry.”

 

 I Don’t Know How You Do It

 I Don’t Know How You Do It

by | Nov 23, 2024 | Writing

 I Don’t Know How You Do It

People have always said to you, “I don’t know how you do it.” Solo parent your two kids, take your kid to all their doctor appointments, produce a multidisciplinary arts festival, work, and run a household.  You thought you could, you felt fine, if not a bit stressed and worried, but now you say, “Well, I guess I didn’t.” Look at me, I’m crying. Maybe doing it all, didn’t cause this for you, maybe it’s a coincidence. “There are no coincidences,” you tell me, annoyed by my diminishing statement. But you were on top of your game.

You saw other people, their ambitions solidifying into success and stability. But yours, without a solid foundation—or maybe Foundation—seem to have crumbled. Any words of wisdom? I wish I knew what to say, you can’t look at it like that, maybe it did take its toll on you, and this is how it chose to, not by heart attack, cancer, or stroke, but by attacking your nervous system. It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? That your strength and perseverance would be met with betrayal by your own body.

You thought you were a bundle of nerves, but then you realize that they aren’t working, so maybe it was something else.

 If your body is telling you it’s too much, then it probably is. But you didn’t have a choice. So many things landed on your plate, and you received them with grace and patience. Your attention to detail, for so long, went unnoticed. Reading medical journals to inform yourself about health issues with loved ones, your websites, the clothes you wear. I wish I had your drive.

I don’t have advice for you, I’ve never been through this. Don’t give up. I remember you saying you were dead inside, maybe you were right, you said you felt lonely and that nobody held you, but you I’m holding now. I hope it’s not too late.

Could it have been different? It’s so hard to know, after all ,this could be epigenetics.But you spent most of your life fighting those inner battles, telling yourself all the go-to pep talk phrases, but deep down, you knew it was just lip service. Don’t let yourself spiral into blame. This isn’t your fault. 

What if it was…? What if I could…? What if I didn’t…? Your lists are a mile long and counting.I don’t know if you should have regrets, but you have so many. Regrets are an awful thing.

Sometimes these things happen. It isn’t the choices you made; it’s just bad luck, I suppose. 

Don’t forget your gifts. Let’s focus on what’s ahead, let’s make your bucket list.

  • Get published.
  • Land on the New York Times bestseller list.
  • Publish your plays and have them picked up by Broadway.

With all your imagination, it’s bound to happen. Oh, and go to France? I’ll try to get you there—but the economy, the political atmosphere, the money, the dogs… There are a lot of obstacles, but let’s get there while you can still walk. 

You’re wasting away here, let me feed you. I made you some nourishing food. How else can I help? Did you take your vitamins? What about your medications? Of course it still matters. You’re here now, and that’s what we’ll deal with. You look fine on the outside, but I know the truth—that it’s creeping up on you, quietly, insidiously.

And when you’re too tired to get out of bed, I’ll bring you my acoustic and sing your favorite songs. I know, you want me to sing “Creep” by Radiohead and “Waltz #2” by Elliott Smith.

How’s the chicken? I made it your favorite way. I know you love vodka sauce. And next time, I’ll make you eggplant parmesan. Don’t worry, I’ll make it gluten-free and slice the eggplant nice and thin. I’ll use tomato chunks so there’s lots of texture and taste.

For now, we’ll take it day by day. I’ll hold you, cook for you, and remind you of everything you still are—and everything you still can be.

Tears of a Dragon

Tears of a Dragon

by | Nov 22, 2024 | Writing

Tears of a Dragon

You used to never cry, and now you cry every day. At the drop of a particular word or phrase, at a chore or errand you struggle with now. I know why you’re crying now, but why didn’t you cry before?

“I think I was numb to it. Maybe I had to be strong? Maybe I couldn’t give that person the satisfaction?”

There are dozens of reasons why we shut off our water pipes. But you’re firehosing it now. I’m drowning in your tears. Come here, let me hold you tight. I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. If we face the dragon together, will we win?

“How can we beat the dragon?” you ask. “I really want to know.”

It’s as if somehow my reply would have the right answer. I didn’t have the answers or solutions. But I’ll try to sneak you into its cave, along the edge, and then sneak up beneath its purple skin and towering head, stories above us, and you jab it right in the jugular. I’ll help you thrust it; I know you’ve lost strength.

“The dragon’s blood holds the antidote,” I say with a smile. You lean into me on your teal blue couch. “Oh, your feet are cold, here, I brought you a gift.” I reach into the bag I brought, sitting at my feet. “They’re slipper socks, made of the softest wool,” I tell you and your eyes get wide and a smile sneaks past your lips.

“Polka dots,” you say, and I gently put them on your feet.

And lean forward and give you a healing kiss. You smile at me and hug me tight. I hold you and hold you, I’ll never let go.

“I don’t know how to do anything anymore. And the waiting on doctors, orders, and referrals isn’t helping anything.” Your smile fades. Your eyes settle back down to their sad resting position.

“I know the waiting is intense,” I say, putting my hand on your thigh. You lean back, your face tightens, your eyes crush your eyelashes, and the tears appear in the corner of your eye, wait to make their debut, then drizzle down your cheek.

“What’s going to happen next?” you implore. You wrap your arms around your ribs. “How am I going to get it all done?”

“Does it all have to be done? With your timeline? I’ll help as much as I can.” I reach out and hold your hand. “Let’s just worry about one thing. Let’s prioritize.”

“It’s also overwhelming.” You look across the room, looking for answers. “They’re not there,” you say, your voice so quiet.

“No, the answers aren’t there. But we’ll battle the dragon together.”



I’m So Proud

I’m So Proud

by | Nov 22, 2024 | Writing

I’m So Proud

I was so proud that I wasn’t embarrassed when I burped and skipped in public that I hugged myself and said, “I am enough.”
I’m so proud that I am enough that I wrote a self-help book.
I’m so proud I wrote a self-help book because it helped millions of people.
I’m so proud I helped millions of people that I started a mastermind.
I’m so proud I started a mastermind because now I know Tony Robbins.
I’m so proud I know Tony Robbins because it means I made it to the big time.
I’m so proud I made it to the big time because it means I was successful.

I’m so proud I’m successful because I came from nothing.
I’m so proud I came from nothing because the payoff to success is that much sweeter.
I’m so proud that the payoff is sweeter because it meant I could brag to Tony Robbins.
I’m so proud I could brag to Tony Robbins because it meant I was in an intimate conversation with him.

We were talking about strategies, and I told him I had the best strategies because I came from nothing.
He said he came from nothing too, and that his dad kicked him out of the house.
I told him that must have made him good at strategizing because he learned to be resourceful at a young age—much like me.
I had a mother who liked to play with asphyxiating her kids, and we must have lost brain cells.

So, the fact that I could strategize myself all the way to this mastermind with Tony Robbins is something to be proud of.
I’m so proud that I strategized my way into this mastermind with Tony Robbins because it meant I had charisma and people liked me.
I’m proud of people like me because I used to think I was worthless.
I’m so proud that I used to think I was worthless because there’s only one way up from there.
I’m so proud there’s only one way up from being worthless because it shows how far I’ve come.

I’m so proud of how far I’ve come because look at me now.
Tony Robbins said Richard Branson was on his way, and we could fly around on his jets.
He said he has new technology where planes can go straight up in the air, revolutionizing the airline industry.

Then Steve Jobs’ ghost came in the form of a hologram, and he said Apple was still better than Android.
But I pointed out that Google is a thousand times better than Siri.

I’m so proud I said that to Steve Jobs’ ghost because it meant I overcame my fear of ghosts.
I’m so proud I overcame my fear of ghosts because it meant I could have a frank conversation with Steve Jobs about how Siri needs to chill the fuck out because Google is running circles around her.
I’m so proud that Google is running circles around Siri because I just bought stock in Google.