Friendship Bracelet

Dear ______ ,

You mean too much to me. There are people you meet in life like that - important, honest, leech-like. Your situations latched onto my heart the first time you told me the truth about yourself. Your truth was mine too, locked up in a pit of self-inadequacy and smiles. I knew you were special. You still don't know though. That's why you're cycling in pain and stagnation. But you can walk away. Give me your hand. I'll walk with you. Haven't I always?

I can never turn you away because you are connected to my weakness source. Or strength supply. I love everything about your person because its imperfect. You know though. You know that when you're tested it takes love to help a man stand after luve knocked him down and spat in his face. I'd never laugh at your misfortunate. No. That's an auto-biography written with tears from a broken spirit. I know that hurt.

So call me always. Call me never. It doesn't make a difference. Just smile when you see me. Friendship needs no thanks. 

Love Forever,

Me

Brandon

There are seldom things more beautiful than the extension of arms, the pointed toe, and face. 

Commitment. Passion. Dance.

He inspires me by the way he moves: so graceful, so thick, so powerful. I wanted to be his abused mistress in the red slip and painted red lip. I wanted him to erect me by the knees, grip me by the legs. I wanted his arms around my stomach and my eyes deep in his hands. 

Deeper. Pulse. Pulse.

He moves consistently; it's like liquid water. His flesh rushes under the dim light to the rhythm in A minor, and I. could. cry. I've never seen anything so handsome. So pleasing. His arch is what perfect looks like.

Bend. Curl. Return.

I stayed until the final number and the curtains closed. No encore. The lights came on and I sat there, staring at him through the scarlet veil of a job well done. He will never stop dancing, can never stop dancing in my memory. 8 counts.

Shirt. Tie. Barefeet.

Fade to black and then back again from the top.

I Hope You Dance

Just a little higher. A little higher. There.

I want you to watch me as I dance.

See my silk swirl.

Laugh. It blows my hair back. There.

I want you to see my cheeks.

Hear my silly sighs.

Sit. Sit still. There.

I want to sing for you.

Do you like alto?

Your baby blues turn orange at seven.

I watched them change and you let me.

You stared at me.

I gave you my back and splashed on your chest.

You were making me uncomfortable.

Sand between my toes even though I don't like it.

It will wash off. Your expression won't.

No, not until it fades.

And after, you're still beautiful.

I twirl my dress in the wind and dance on the shore to the rhythm of crash and stone.

Birds sing.

The stage is orange.

And I smile and see the painting you've gifted me.

It dances too. Over me. 

Its graceful and I stop.

And I smile.

With arms outstretched you lift me.

A little higher. There.

Just Give Me a Minute

"Sometimes I wish that I can stand here and fade away.

So that no one can see the tears running down my face.

Oh, invisibility would be great"

-Mary J. Blige, Fade Away

Death to Lufthansa

Who: A poor unfortunate soul

What: Desperation to get to America

When: Sunday, July 19, 2009

Where: Frankfurt, Germany

Why: Missed connecting flight due to a delayed first flight

Picture me dragging through the airport with a bookbag two times too big, a neck pillow, and personal blanket. No phone. No internet.

I cried my eyes dry and itchy red.

"The next flight isn't until the morning."

"No, you don't understand. I can't stay here. I can't."

He tried to put me on standby but that idea failed miserably. 

So I stayed in Frankfurt, Germany at NH Morfelden with over 50 other poor unfortunate souls. Free dinner and free breakfast were included with the overnight bag.

I took a hot shower and put on the same clothes.

I have never wanted to be home as bad as I did then. I have 4 passport stamps to boast from going in and out, in and out, trying to get home.

"Mommy, I want to come home. I want to come home."

"I can't read German. Can you please just help me ma'am. Please. I just want to call home."

"I don't know what you want from me."

Helpless.

And then it happened again in Miami.

Initial flight was delayed so I was due to miss my connecting flight and I would have if that flight wasn't delayed too. I prepared for another breakdown at customs. I would have been darned skippy chunky peanut butter if they tried to put me in another hotel.

I don't want free dinner. I don't eat breakfast. I want to go home!

It took a day later than it should have but I got there.

Lovestoned

Saturday night, just me, my man and fireworks. 

To Do, Again

Update:

1. See the Coliseum 

2. See the Pyramids

3. Visit Greece

4. See the Leaning Tower of Pisa

5. Michelangelo's David

Substitute: 

1. See the Mona Lisa

2. Clim the Leaning Tower of Pisa (it was closed when I went)

Twice

I saw him again on my last day.

This time, the conversation was more in depth.

He asked why I didn't call him from the last time.

"I don't have a phone..remember?"

"What you mean?"

I told him I lived in New York and was leaving to go there tomorrow. He responded, "I have a dream to meet you in New York. I don't know when but I do."

He asked for my American number and so I gave him a fake one. He went to call it and I grabbed his phone and told him it was off. Smile.

"What are you doing later?"

"I may go out with my friends later and after I'm going to sleep."

I gave him the name of two places where we might go, telling him we were most likely going to the place I knew we weren't going to. Then he asked again, "What are you doing after?"

"I'm going to sleep."

"Can I sleep with you?"

"What? No, no you cannot sleep with me."

"I have a dream and my dream is to sleep with you one day."

"Well that's not going to happen today or any other day, I'm sorry."

"What if I die tomorrow?"

"That's very unfortunate."

"I like you."

He begged for me to come over where we could sleep together, where we could drink wine, and where I could pay him 9 euro to make me dinner.

"No. I have a boyfriend. Don't you remember this conversation?"

"No you don't."

Flash ring.

"So. I have a girlfriend."

"Okay well that's settled."

"You should come to Africa and work for me. I'll give you a free computer."

"I don't want a computer."

"I'll give you two free Toshibas."

"Okay I have to go now."

He didn't let me leave without his number again. I posted in incorrectly before. If you are interested in an African with two gaps and a stutter, contact Lormaine at:

329 38 40175

I Don't Even Want It Anymore

I decided to go to Pisa. When you take the train anywhere in Italy, like the bus, you have to validate your ticket. Of course the machine by my train was broken so I just got on. The whole trip I was praying a ticket checker didn't through my cart. One did, several times, but he never asked to see.

On the way back from Pisa, of course the machine was broken, again. I stuffed the ticket in the machine hard about 6 times before I gave up and just got on the train. I was riding dirty until the second to last stop. He asked to see my ticket.

I said to myself "play it cool," and gave him my ticket. He looked at it and then at me and shook his head. "No." I told him what happened, that the validation machiene was broken in both places and I tried to stamp it, pointing to where it crinkled and durned black from the ink. He shook his head again. "No, you forgot both times. You cannot do that."

We went back and forth for about five minutes. He said he needed my passport so I gave him a copy of the front page. I was not paying a fine for something I had no control over. He shook his head again. "No, I need your American address so I can send the fine."

What? You need what? No, sorry, not gonna happen. I told him that. He walked away, came back, and said he called the police on me with such satisfaction I would have spit on him if I didn't know better.

I don't care who you call. Yeah, I said that.

I had never been so nervous in my entire life. My whole body was shaking, my heart was torn between my stomach and my throat. The lump. I kept thinking, "What if I never see my mom again? What if they just take me away and not even ask what happened or don't even care? I'm not paying the fine. I'm just not. What if I never get out of here?" I had my sunglasses on so the people across from me probably thought I was being a g but, no. Not at all.

I walk off the train and see the two cops there. The ticket is busy writing up another American so I walk up to one of the cops and explained what happened. He looked at me, blew his cigarette smoke in my face, and said "they are always broken." He turns to the man who made a seen and asks him in Italian if I'm okay to go. He waves his head and nods. "Yeah."

Punk.

This is what he did to my ticket. Completely unnecessary.

As The Sun Sets

I expect to find you this way when I come again.
Thank you.

Until next time.

Akon, He's From Senegal

If I hear that one more time.

I met this man earlier this week, this African man. He stopped me in the market and said, "Why I haven't seen you around? Who are you? Where have you been?"

"Um.."

"You look very nice and I want to know you."

It's hard for me to be mean so I chatted with him, indulged him a little with a smile and said I had to go. He wasn't going to let me go that easy.

"No where are you going? Let me take you and show you around. When are you leaving?"

I told him this weekend. He said to come back and find him because he had something he wanted to give me - a nice gift.

"No thank you. Really."

I walked away. He followed me and gave me his number, telling me that if I was ever in Africa to give him a call. He would like to show me his country.

"I'm from Senegal. You know Akon? Yeah, he's from Senegal."

If interested, call: 39 3357192532 

And It Feels Like

My heart bleeds rivers. 

It beats drums and cries love songs.

My tears won't fall, but my dreams do.

My hopes do.

With every exhale I feel the stored joy for a rainy day leak from my mouth, slowly, and loudly, screaming, screeching, piercing my ears and disturbing my peace.

Intentionally.

Brief Reflection

Today is my last day at the Villa. Tonight my last night. I honestly don't know what to make of it.

I came here expecting so much, but without any idea of what. Something. Just something. I got a room with a view of the front garden that I looked at every morning. Every single morning I turned to my left. I'm doing it now. Three cypress trees, a fourth behind, a fountain, a bust, a Madonna and child. Bushes. Flowers.

I got my meals cooked for me. Lunch: pasta course first (always went up twice), then meat and vegetables, the expresso and dessert. Bread, olive oil and vinegar throughout. Dinner: honorable mention.

I got more mosquito bites than I care to count, a new addition today to the ten yesterday. I regret I let these witches and bees keep me from sitting outside and looking out over Florence. Today, tonight, I will suck it up and drench myself in Off Deep Woods.

I got tours and guides to places I cannot remember the names to. I was always tired, or bored, or occupied. I wish I would have paid more attention. I did see the David.

I saw Rome.

I made new friends.

I learned to write better.

I ate when I wanted and how I wanted to.

I climbed hills and sweated. And still, I gained weight.

Most of all, I got an unexchangeable experience, one I wouldn't trade even if I could. I stepped outside of myself and just did, just tried, just lived not according to rules but by choice. And willingness. I didn't wear heels one time and am okay with that. I complained very little and smiled a lot, even when it was too hot to move. 

I wish there was a way whenever I came back to Florence I could come back to this place, this Villa, but I can't. I can't.

Excerpt From A Dramatic Monologue

I know music.  I know music like I know sweat on a hot summer day.  I know I dance; I know I sing.  But passion – no, no that I don’t know like I thought I knew.  See, this man – this man he, he played and sang passionately.  By passionately I don’t mean that plum melon fruit or that carnal lust that tugs every nerve in your body and all the blood that circulates your being to the pulsing private regions that you plead to be touched with breathy sighs and closed eyes, a bit bottom lip.  No, not that passion.  His passion, bred by culture, breathed of attention and care.  He cradled his instrument and strummed her softly as if running his fingers through the hair of a lap-lain lover. He looked at her as he touched her factory-crafted curves. His gentle and lovely voice sang an attractive song – almost in a whisper – as if only to her. I could hear him, but I couldn’t understand his song. The rolled “r”s and accented “i”s didn’t translate into meaning for me, but the intonation of sweet surrender in his lyrics wooed my sappy soul.

...

Transition to Dialogue

At lunch today I managed to hear parts of a conversation. Below is the report of the bits and pieces I caught:

• African culture

• being dark African isn't as favorable as being cafe latte

• tend to be more attractive and successful

• its a shame

This is coming from someone who a week earlier verbalized his racial insensitivity.

And ignorance.

A girl in the program covered her hair with her cardigan for protection from the sun. When we met up with him to get back on the bus, he told us he had asked other students, "who is that Muslim girl they've made friends with". 

I smile.

"And then they said it was Carrie* and I was like oh okay." He pats her sides and resumes, "Just making sure you don't have a bomb and won't blow us all up."

Roaring laughter, dropped jaws, surprised faces.

I don't smile.

This should be a starting place for dialogue, of entry into why certain things, even jokes meant in the best way, are not necessarily alright. And don't have to be tolerated. Even good intentions need to be addressed sometimes.

*names have been changed

She Lucky I Didn't Get Her Name

I like to write when my emotion is fresh, like basil on the side of the road.

I accidentally booked my return flight for Sunday instead of Saturday. I'm not feeling the idea of staying an extra unnecessary night when I can go home and be in my own bed away from the mosquitos. I called Orbitz yesterday and was told by a representative that she was processing the change. She told me to call back tomorrow (which is today) and they would give me the price for the 6:30am out of Florence on Saturday, July 18, 2009.

I called back today and was dealing with the most impossible, incompetent human being. I would have loved to give her a death stare. She basically told me I had to call the airline directly, completely unwilling to help. I explained to her what a representative told me yesterday and she repeated insistently, and rather rudely, that I needed to call the airline.

"No you must not understand, I am not calling the airline directly. I was told that all I needed to do was call today and they would have a cost reference for the 6:30am flight out of Florence, to Frankfurt, to Philadelphia, to Tampa. The representative said the information would be put in my file. You don't have to help me that's fine, I want to speak to your manager or someone else you work with because I don't want to talk to you. I know you are not the only person working in the office so I don't care if its the person in the next cublicle to yours. I do not want to speak to you. You can transfer me and you will. It's your job to do so, so don't sit here and tell you can't and that I need to hang up and call again. No, I don't actually and you know I don't. So please, just transfer me."

She hung up. 

Do You See My Face

She said to me, "This program my boyfriend is in, he is the only white person. Everyone else is Indian. Isn't that weird? I wonder why that is."

No dear, it's not weird. The whole world isn't made up of white people. Additionally, other races and breeds of people do seek culture and involvement in program and activities. White people do not rule the world, nor make up the majority of it. Study abroad programs, college acceptance, job positions, etc.. are not reserved for those of you with porcelain skin, but extended to all. Don't believe me? Ask the President. YOU ARE TALKING TO A BLACK WOMAN! I find it quite natural that Middle Eastern people (because I know for a fact they were not all from India) are studying in a different country. Maybe your boyfriend is strange, his ambitions slightly skewed from his ancestry and resulting expectations. 

So no honey, its quite normal actually. 

Masterpiece Part Deux

I wrote a few posts ago about greatness and didn't have any pictures.

Well someone managed to sneak a few shots.

God bless her soul.

Where's Waldo

To Do

1. See the Coliseum

2. See the Pyramids

3. Visit Greece

4. See the Leaning Tower of Pisa

5. Michelangelo's David

Smile and Wave

She decided we would get up at 9:30am.

I think okay, whatever. We need to see a lot today so I'll take the l. Cool.

I wake up at 9:45am. I set my alarm for am instead of pm - a common mistake I think.  I get downstairs to meet the rest of my travelers and she glared at me.

"Sorry guys, I set my alarm for the wrong time, am instead of pm." Everyone said that it was fine, instead of her.  I'm thinking we are only leaving a half hour later, who really cares, and who put you in charge. Deal. We still got to see Vatican City and the Pantheon during our 7 hour walk.

I missed breakfast.

The next day the plan was to leave at 11:00am. I set my alarm for 9:30am. I hear it this time but turn it off because everyone else is still sleeping, assuming that their alarms would wake me up later. Fail. I woke up at 10:45am and was downstairs by 11:08am. Everyone was there and ready. She glared at me again, so I smiled. No return.

I missed breakfast again.

We get to the Coliseum and are just walking around aimlessly. Now the Coliseum is where I really wanted to go. She had the map and was the self-proclaimed tour guide. With such distinction, I ask her "Hey, where are we going?" She glared at me and said, "I don't know, Dahlia."

Oh you don't know do you? Yes you do. Yes, you do.

He Called It Poe-Like

...

"Madam," Marcello announced with a curtsey and a hand, helping Leah out of the car.  She refocused her attention and smiled shyly, somewhat proudly at the service of a chauffeur - a luxury college tuition wouldn't let her enjoy.  On her bed lay the San Giselle gown she pointed to in the boutique window a few days earlier.  Its cream satin lay like warm icing on a fresh bundt cake.  She slipped on the dress with ease, not bothering to shower.

As Lead stared at herself in the full-length mirror, she pictured herself as a wife of royalty, as an assimilated Italian, and an addition to Roman history.  She straightened her back and lengthened her neck, shifting her body slightly to the right.  She would have to learn Italian for conversation purposes and convert to Catholicism in order to marry in St. Peters, a tradition important to his family.  She nodded in agreement.

A sudden nausea disrupted her fantasy and narcissism.  She thought of the familiar black leather in the back seat of the black Fiat and shuddered; she was two weeks overdue.  She looked at herself again, wrapped in cream ribbon, damped with cold sweat on her upper lip.  Fate had decided itself.  She would extend the line of Borghese.

This is Where People Spit

and where wine spills into the cracks.

and green glass breaks into big pieces.

and babies crawl.

If You Gota Do All That

You are probably better off barefoot

Happy Independence Day

Italians don't care much for the American holiday. So this year, I passed up BBQ chicken, potato salad, corn, apple pie, drank, and the O'Jays to watch people drink wine on the Spanish Steps.

And these guys.

Chapter 6

Stephano proposed on the Spanish steps; the roses bloomed for the special occasion. Leah

looked at him wide-eyed and embarrassed,

"Excuse me?"

"Won't you marry me?" he repeated through perfect English. His eyes were as gentle as they were that first time, when he caught her looking at him across the restaurant. He rubbed her left ring finger between his thumb and pointer, her other fingers lying lifelessly in his palm. He didn't rush her to answer, aware that she'd rather not. Smiling, Stephano rose to his feet and calmed her stuttering lips by holding them with his own; her breathing steadied. With the same imposition, he slid his arm across her hips and led her down the stairs towards the Piazza di Spagna, the ring impatient in his other hand.

...

Gelato Man

I wish I would have got him earlier when "Hot in Here" came on.

He knew every word and paused between scooping Gelato to add lib his favorite parts.

I was doing my two step in the back. 

Encore: Peaches and Cream.

Genesis 9:15

"I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all live."

I could see every color. I tried to take in the beauty amidst screaming Japanese tourists fumbling for cameras. 

I had mine out and managed to capture this.

Sweet Dream

You lie beside me. You resemble beauty. 

Your body so still, your chest so lightly rising and falling. Rain paints your skin spotted grey - it kisses the window, and you lie beside me. 

You resemble beauty.

Masterpiece

Psalm 23: The Lord of my Shephard, I shall not want...

Even if you aren't a lover of painting or sculpture, one cannot help but be moved by this depiction of King David as a shepherd boy, armed for battle. We've all seen this picture of the sculpture, but an in-person view provides details incomprehensible considering its date.

The sling falls delicately against the curve of his back; he cups the stone in his right hand. His hands are veined like real men's.

This. picture. does. not. do. The David. justice.

When I walked into the Galleria dell Academia and turned that first left, I was nearly led to tears. Yes, tears. I cannot say anything that will woo you to the awe I felt, standing there with mouth wide open and so I won't try.

If you ever visit Florence, this must be at the top of your list followed by whatever else your heart desires. Nothing else in this city compares in my opinion.

A replica stands outside of the Palazzo Vecchio in Piazza Senoria. Don't be among the swarm of tourists happily snapping pictures at a treasure they think they've seen. No. 

The real treasure stands alone in the back of the corridor, governed by a dome far exceeding its 17ft in height, quietly aware of its beauty, calmly requesting no pictures be taken.

He Gave This a B+

A Dear John to Sienna

"L" is for the way you looked at me -

brick faced, 

brown and red.

You were blushing, giddy.

The table was set and walls decorated for company.

It was your responsibility to carry on the tradition of polio

and you were nervous, clearly;

your reputation stood on it.

The ground was already packed with sand, like 3/4 cups brown sugar.

You were flustered, warm.

The sun beat on your bricks relentlessly and swarmed

above your head like storm clouds.

But you kept face, torn

between cancellation and continuation.

You chose the latter.

And so I sat in your living room with other guests,

those who weren't in the kitchen or at best

the den. The piazza, cleverly furnished with medieval memories,

is where you served us wine, blessed

with the crest of Christ ahead.

I laid back and looked at the stars through your roof.

Yet still, I wish I could speak better of you

love you for more than the two

reason you gave me: quaintness and culture.

Both do make you beautiful, but you didn't court me,

didn't ask me to dance when I bid you

hello and a smile.

You watched me twirl alone.

He treated me better, even in his vastness,

and I came running back to him, past

this place where I first met you - by the sunflowers.

I made the fastest

exit I could on the bus to him, looking out the window only twice,

until I saw Firenze.

You didn't impress me,

Dear,

but I thank you for the two reasons you gave me.