Short Story: You Will Never Be Mine

Note: This was a creative assignment for my contemporary British American Lit class. The style is inspired by Eimear McBride’s A Girl is a Half-formed Thing.

You look at me. Pretty green eyes and all. She’s great isn’t she? Oh I know. I’m excited. I’ve got the jitters. But. Still. Excited! Can you believe it? Who would have thought? Me. Getting married. Are you okay? Hey. I know that look. Are you okay?
You rub my shoulder. As you always do. At least I’ll keep this part of you in my life. But not. All of you. I can’t tell you how much I want all of you. Not today. Today is your day. Not ever. Today marks the start of your forever. With. Her.
You’re sure you’re okay. Just a little tired? Okay. I just wanted to be sure. I couldn’t make it through today without you. You smile. Thank you. You hold me. I love you too. You are my best friend.
Best friend. Best. Friend. Just friend. Just. Friend. Couldn’t say something earlier. Couldn’t say any more. Couldn’t try to say something. Say. Something. It’s too late. You’d never view me that way. Not the way you look at her. Her. My enemy. The enemy who plunged her sword of words into my heart by being the one to say something first. My enemy. I couldn’t let you know. Why was your great girl my enemy? No. The enemy is me. Enemy. Me. Tell me you love me. I mean really love me. You say you love me all the time. Like a sister. I could never tell you how much that hurt. She’s the one you call lover. I stay your sister.
You slap your forehead. Oh right! I have to finish getting ready! Best man brother comes in to rub your shoulders and fix your bow tie. You wink at me. I’ll see you in the pews.
You do see me in the pews. But you look more towards her. She-devil. No. Me-devil. She-angel in white dress. Arm in arm with her father as she maintains your eye contact. You give the room one more glance before returning your bride’s gaze. One second. At me. I give you quick thumbs up. How pathetic. You are affirmed by it. I can tell. You return her gaze. Not mine. Never. Mine. You. Will. Never. Be. Mine.
Your aunty is sitting next to me. Doesn’t she make a lovely bride? Lovely how things worked out between them. Oh. Yes my dear. He makes a lovely groom as well. Funny he’s not marrying you today. I know I know. Just friends. Back in my day, you bring a lady friend home, you weren’t just friends. Anyway. Your boyfriend couldn’t make it? Broke up? Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, girly. Plenty more fish in the sea.
She’s still talking.
Stop. Talking.
More fish in the sea? I wanted to swim with you. I’m drowning. While you’re swimming freely into her eyes, I’m drowning in yours. At least I’ll keep those eyes. Sea foam green eyes. Pretty green eyes and all. Eyes. In my life.
Nothing’s going to change, you said. And. You’re right. Nothing is going to change. Nothing. Will. Change. Why wasn’t I. Willing. To change?
People divorce all the time. People die all the time. People make mistakes all the time. It’s not his mistake. It’s mine. It’s not her mistake. It’s mine.
I tried to replace you with nimble fingers. Deep brown eyes. Dark, swooping hair. Good job. Good teeth. Told me he loved me. I mean really loved me. Wrapped his arms around me. Stroked my hair. Wiped my tears away when you couldn’t. Good smile. Good future. Told me he loved me. I mean really loved me.
But…But.
He…He.
He wasn’t you.
He. Wasn’t. You.
Told him we were going in different directions. It was a lie.  It was for the best. You asked me if it was okay to invite him to the wedding. He didn’t come. I don’t blame him. Why did I come? For you. Always. For you. Despite my insides burning. Trying hard to yank back tears. Keep heart from pounding too hard. I. Still. Want. You. Did you? Did. You. Did you ever? Ever? Did you ever want me?
Oh, honey. Are those tears? No need to be embarrassed, honey. I’m happy for my nephew too. She holds my hand.
I actually need that. I don’t need to hear her talking. But I do need her hand. She’ll never know. How much. She’ll never know how much I needed that.
You exchange rings with your bride. My eyes release more tears. Diffuses internal burning. Does not diffuse heart pounding. Heart. Still. Pounding too hard in my chest.
Still holding her hand.
I would have ruined things for you. She-devil. No. Stop. She-angel. She would not have ruined things for you. She won’t ruin things for you. She’ll never. Ruin. Things. For. You.
You have your first dance with your bride. Still gazing. Her blue. Your green. Your pretty pretty green. Then she dances with her father. Then you dance with your mother. When everyone’s dancing you come to me. What, I can’t have one dance with my best friend? Don’t worry. Of course she’s fine with it. C’mon. You need one good dance.
You’re right. I do. So I do dance with you. But I also. Need. You.

Stream of Consciousness 4

Someone told me that if I really don’t have one hour, or two hours, to give completely to myself, I had to explain to them exactly why I wasn’t worth my own personal time. Wow. So I’ve been spending my time writing, praying, meditating, and it’s a nice feeling. I would really like for this to continue as a regular thing. Once a week, set aside time just for me. Set aside time between me and God as well. I’m trying my hardest not to get sick, but at the same time, I’m anticipating it to happen already, if that makes sense. I’m excited for a lot of events this week regarding interfaith work and slam poetry. We have a second general body meeting of the year, we have one once a month, and I hope to have just as good of conversation as last month, we’ll be having a movie night in order to talk about religious and non-religious representation in film and other forms of media (talk about stereotypes, how to be better consumers, etc.). My spoken word organization is having an event in awareness of domestic violence, and we’re looking forward to the turnout at that. I’m really excited for CUPSI in April of 2016. Fingers crossed, fingers crossed. I like writing pieces about mixed race identity, I’m doing that for one of my social work assignments, so I hope that turns out well. I have an apple in my room that I could eat right now. Looks pretty tasty. I’m wondering if I should watch a movie or not. We’ll see. Maybe, probably. The Prince of Egypt would be good to watch again, it’s one of my favorite movies, not just one of my favorite animated movies. I don’t know, I should keep writing. I got a Twitter account over the summer. I used to have one in high school, but I hated it. I like Twitter now. Hopefully today continues to go well. If not, that’s okay, at least my morning was nice, but I do hope for an overall good, productive day.

Stream of Consciousness 3

I really need this:

There is not enough representation of biracial people in the media, and not enough representation of multiracial people either; and I am not only speaking about those mixed with black and white. I have European American, African American, and Native American descent; my mother identifies as biracial (black and white) in most situations and my father identifies as black in most situations. There are those who believe that Mixed people are ill-equipped to speak on certain issues for communities of color. Then there is the dilemma of having to choose one facet of one’s self when they don’t. There is a difference between identifying as one part because of being more comfortable with it, and just choosing one part in order to hide other parts to be comfortable. Personally, I’m not comfortable with just identifying as one part of myself, because I felt that I had to do that when I was younger out of obligation. A tricky word: comfortable. It’s interesting, the words people have come up with for mixed people: mulatto, hapa, black bean, race traitor. There are websites that explain all kinds of words, positive and negative, many even really outdated, for mixed race individuals. Let me make this clear: I do not see myself as a “tragic mulatto.” No one should say mulatto anymore and nothing about my racial identity is tragic. I mesh well with both black and white relatives. I now know that who I am is not a curse. I also don’t enjoy it when people ask whether or not I hate white people. Just because I care about social justice, it doesn’t mean that I hate white people. Why should I hate a part of who I am? Don’t ask me if I prefer white men or black men to date in the rudest way possible. I do find it fascinating to talk about hair products, but, again, don’t be rude about it. I would like to see more media platforms talk about mixed people with mixed parents like me. It’s usually one parent is only this, and one parent is only that. It’s sometimes hard to write something down in a more creative way about my experience. The Girl at Mirror poem on here and something I wrote for a solo performance class were the closest things I got. I want to write a novel about it. And it’s not the multiracial experience, it’s only a multiracial experience. It’s never great to generalize a whole people. It’s never healthy to generalize a whole people. I get really excited when I meet a group of people who identify as mixed outside of my family. I saw this blog recently: http://www.vox.com/2015/3/11/8182263/biracial-identity and it was a joy to read. I have some mixed views about the sixth point made, but it’s still great.

That felt really nice.

Stream of Consciousness 2

Another experiment. In my Writing for Solo Performance class, we just wrote the first things we came up with in order to later write a poem.

My earth needs more spark, and cursive, and God, and sharpened pencils, and watches, and kisses, and falls. Fall for me. On the fall. Scribble scribble scribble what can I get typical reasonable no punctuation no structure no fear but there is fear what yes how because why? Construct. Yellow construct covered in old cheese and technicolor sprinkles, reruns of Girlfriends, Friends, Modern Family, comma splices, synonyms, paper, paper people in paper towns. Jesus, poetry, sports, liking art more than sports and being unfit because of it. Consciousness. Unconsciousness. Love. So vague, yet so meaningful. No erasing no TV no YouTube mispelling grammar mistakes no plot graphs or lines or other charts. Nonsense. Madness. Release. How? Freedom ain’t always free. Rings. Purity rings. My three rings comfy shoes strangling feet to be wanted and held during the day since they’re always tossed to the side at night. Clicking, ticking, screaming, Jesus, Holy Spirit, God, hands, eyes, hair. What the heck is good hair?! I don’t want to stop. Tell me to stop.

Below is the poem that came out of the chaos above I titled “My Three Rings”:

Two on my right and one on my left.

I have my own holy trinity to prepare me daily.

I have tan lines on display that can be read

Between the lines of my past and present through

Virginity, class, and mood.

They hug so tight to my fingers

During the day.

Are they hurt when they’re tossed upon a dresser

Or a desk at night?

Do they understand that I don’t want them

Trapped in screaming sheets

Or reruns of the storm in my head

That makes me toss and turn?

They make my mattress rumble in either misery,

Exhaustion, or anticipation.

Stream of Consciuosness 1

This is an experiment.

The rain is such a faulty representation of the mood I’m in right now. Or is it a great representation? Have we been getting it all wrong? Rain is the Earth’s medicine for growth, baptism, new life. Why have we viewed it as a symbol of pessimism? Sure, not everyone likes the cold, I know I don’t like the cold. And yeah sometimes it’s not the prettiest with its grays and blacks everywhere causing muck and mud. It still has its rare pretty moments though. Rain gives us rainbows, right? Sunlight can’t do it on its own. Sunlight can’t do anything on its own. We can’t do anything on our own. Don’t overwhelm me with your justification of independence and strength for not needing a companion all right? You still have at least one friend, don’t you. Oh Lord, this is tough. I don’t want to repeat my self over and over again. I’m quite scared that this won’t help me with my writer’s block entirely. However, it’s quite relaxing, not having to have structure or a specific theme or other lists for how to write. I don’t have to draw a plot diagram or over think about metaphors and forms of personification needed. My shoulders are kind of tense, but at least my head is clear. I was looking forward to this break, this holiday. Thanksgiving has the tendency to be the undermined sidekick to Christmas, but don’t people realize that it’s one of the only holidays in which you can spend time with family and friends without having to give them presents? You can just eat food, enjoy company, watch movies and rest. You don’t have to follow suit with awkward, planned out games some social circles may force upon you. Holidays make us obligated to force out more love than we have to, but I don’t believe Thanksgiving does that as much as other holidays. It does stink that many charitable acts are emphasized during Thanksgiving and Christmas when charity should always be emphasized. Many feel obligated to volunteer and preach goodness and mercy during the holidays for a gift in return. Just as it is tradition to cook a turkey every year in this American society instead of spending it on cheaper food, it is tradition to place on a bejeweled smile in order to give and receive instead of focusing more on the giving. Oy, didn’t intend this to be a “ticked at the world” kind of post. There are many good things in the world, I don’t just post about the bad. I hope to bring awareness, that’s what’s good about writing, to bring people together in this knowledge when outside of art, you would hardly bother to. Tense shoulders. I’m baking cookies this Thanksgiving with my cousin, that will be fun. Keep Michael Brown’s family in your prayers. What’s upsetting is that many, including myself, were not surprised by the jury’s decision. I’ll place a link in the comments if anyone is confused or haven’t heard on the news or social media yet. My family got two cats a month ago. My two sisters own one each: Dan and Roseann. Clever, huh? I enjoy writing. It’s soothing. Reading can be soothing too. I haven’t tried painting often. Sometimes I can be good at it and sometimes I can’t, but the few times I tried, it has been quite relaxing. Even when it looks like a blobbed, colorful mess. When it actually looks good, that’s when I feel confident. Haha. I miss acting in plays. Finding time to audition more would be pretty nice. Oh, time. A constructed concept we must obey to keep society moving. I always liked to believe that Time and I have a compromise, but now I’m not entirely sure. However, I find it idiotic to rebel against it by being late to everything I attend. I don’t find that very smart. Time is a helpful concept in some aspects. Breathe. That has been showing up a lot in my writing, my prayers, I write my prayers a lot too, my therapist has been showing me breathing exercises. It’s time to bake cookies now. I hope this finds someone well.