my protection.

I'm not naive, I'm not a child and I'm not oblivious to facts. Everyone dies. It's a part of life. But who made the rule that the young people with a life ahead of them could leave as easily and abruptly? Don't tell me that life isn't fair; you don't need to be a genius to realize that. But this really isn't fair. Beyond the usual unfairness of life.

Amanda Keiffer was one of my best friends. We were going on five years of friendship, shared two apartments and countless memories. This past Friday evening I got a text message asking what happened to her like there was something I should have known. I called another friend to find out what was going on and found out the girl who I had called my "buddy" since 10th grade had passed away that morning. In one instant, my life was halted. I couldn't breathe and couldn't stop crying. I was sitting out on my great grandmothers porch with Julia when I found out. I had been there for a going away dinner that was being held for me since I was leaving the following day for Nashville, TN. Moments after I got off the phone, my mom came walking around the back of the house and I ran into her arms. I was so glad that she had showed up when she did. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and I desperately needed her to just hold me. She hugged me tight for the first time in such a long time and I felt my pain entering her, like she was sharing it with me, understanding me.

We had so many memories. She was the one friend who was allowed to call me "buddy". She always told me she loved me before hanging up the phone. She got me addicted to Petville on facebook (yeah, I'll admit it). She really listened to me when I needed her. She was like my twin. We had so much in common in ways that I hadn't found in anyone else.

I saw your body today. I knew you weren't there anymore. Your mind and heart and spirit were gone. Your pale face ripped at my heart. It didn't look like you. There was a moment where I could have sworn I saw you breathing. I didn't tell anyone that. I felt crazy, hopeful. They can be the same thing sometimes. I remember reaching out to touch your chest and felt it under my palm; stiff and still just like I had imagined it would be. Tears poured through and grazed over the edges of my eyes so easily. I felt my chest weighing heavy, I could barely breathe. I wanted to hold your hand and feel you squeeze back, feel your presence one more time, hear your voice. Anything.

I called your phone in hopes of hearing you but I got nothing. Did you get my text message? I sent it while I was sitting behind the herse on the way to the church. There were pictures of us. Did you see them? Do you remember when they were taken? Do you remember sharing the memories? Do you see me now? Bent and bleeding, begging for this all to be some horrific nightmare. Pinch me. Wake me up. And then hug me tight and tell me that you're ok. Tell me you'll grow old with me. Tell me we'll both get married. Tell me there will be a day when our kids will play together. Tell me that you'll be living out a full life, a long life. Tell me this is all a dream.

 I made a playlist of your favorite songs to put on my iPod. So maybe when I'm really missing you and wishing we could sing them together, I can put them on to soothe me. Or if I need a good cry. Or a better memory. You always said I knew your taste in music. You, sappy music enthusiast. Remember "If It Means a Lot to You" or "Your Guardian Angel"? Be my angel, Amanda? Stay with me. Hold me in my sleep when dreams of our past haunt me, pat me on the back and encourage me when I'm about to take a really hard test, hold my hand as I walk onto the stage when I graduate? Yell from the audience when my name gets called like I know you'd do if you could be there in person.

I was in Levittown the day before you passed. I tried getting a hold of you so I could see you and found out you moved out of that damn area. Moved out of the bad and into a better, more stable situation. I remember telling Julia that I was glad, I was hoping you could have an easier time getting clean. I thought, like me, you were getting out finally. I thought you were starting your life. I wanted you to be safe. I wanted you to survive. I wanted you to be ok. Now you're gone and there's nothing I can do to change that. I scream to the heavens, to the sky, to wherever you are. Can you hear my cries? Can you hear me down here pleading for this to change? To bring you back. For me, for your family, for Melissa, for your friends, for all the people who loved you.

You would have wanted it to be different. You wanted a life. You wanted to get better. We talked about it all the time. You told me how we were going to be best friends until the end.

At least I can rest knowing I was yours until your end. 

 

 

Who am I kidding? Ever heard of the stages of grief? Well there should be a stage called the "Selfish Stage" because all I can think about now is how much I want you back here. All I can think about is how much I miss you and how unfair this all is.

You will always live in my heart and mind. All the way up until my last breath. Sometimes it takes a great person to pass for others to realize that what they're doing isn't right. Maybe your death was a message to everyone who loves and cares for you. Maybe you're trying to tell us to get our act together, to get out in your honor, to clean up in your honor. I am doing this for myself but you are my strength. Whenever I think that I can't go on or keep up with my life, I'm going to remember you and remember how you wouldn't want me to give up. I promise to kick myself in the ass and work my hardest for the next three years to get to that stage if you promise to walk it with me. Every step of the way. Every passing moment I better feel you by my side. I understand other people need you too but there has to be a way to be in more than one place at a time. You gave me the strength and the courage to keep going.

I remember the last time I talked to you. It was the night that I had everything happen at my dad's. You were trying to find me a place to go. I remember you telling me it was going to be ok and that you loved me. I will never forget you. You were my rock through the good and the bad. You were always there for me. No matter what.

I love you too, Amanda Marie Keiffer.
I love you too.

puppet show.

Sitting under the stars, I look to the sky and wonder where you are. A glimmer flashes across the sky and my eyes close. I hide in my thoughts and make a wish to outshine the rest. Squinting, I catch a glimpse of a far off silhouette on the edge of the moon. Hand raised, pleading to be recognized. I lift my arms up, let my eyes close again, and go inside myself to a part I rarely allow myself to visit.

I feel the ground disappear beneath my feet as my body is lifted up. All of my energy is forced through my bones, skin, muscle. All in order to reach the space that you occupy in the clouds. Your smile fades as I climb the rope to where you stand. Tears begin to fill your eyes and the sun catches a flash in your hands. Reach down and cut me loose. Let me fall back down. I was so close. I was almost there.

But your heart had other plans, 

other ambitions, 

a hidden agenda.

The ground hits me harder each time. I try to reach for you but your life is closed to me. Your heart and mind no longer hold a chair for me. The place I used to have on your front porch is now home to a black hole. Trying to fill the space and I just get sucked back into the vortex.

Hope lingered in my throat and I had to catch it, not let it escape. I think I knew you would trick me. I think I knew you would hurt me.

You never mean to. If I look close enough, I can clearly see the thin strands that are now attached to your wrists and ankles. Puppet dear, use those scissors for something useful. But I can't tell you what to do. I can't voice my hope or my desire.

I lost that privlege long ago. 

I just want to know why you keep me here. Why your voice visits me in my sleep, begging me to join the stars time and time again. Just to be pushed off the ladder, just to fall back down. I can hear the smile in your voice through the reciever again, I can hear the longing for what used to be there.

Give it time, puppet. That longing will soon be pulled from your lungs and the smile will be replaced with a rasping cough, a feeble attempt to keep the tears from falling. Have you already forgotten that I know you well enough to know how it ends? Have you already forgotten that I know what it means the moment your voice changes? And my heart sinks every time. Like I expected something different. Don't ask why because I don't know the answer. I ask myself all the time.

So why do I keep hitting the talk button?

Because I don't want to let this go. I have enough pride and respect to know that what we had aside from our romance was real and true and you know me in a way that no one else ever will. Find yourself on my porch steps at the end of your life and you'll see me there, sitting next to a vacant chair. It's here waiting for you.

Whenever you're ready to accept it. 

Whenever you're ready to admit it. 

Whenever you're ready to answer that wish.

Don't make any promises though. Remember, I know how it ends.

somewhere in the middle.

Open your eyes and someone will love their color. 

Open your arms and someone will hold your body close. 

Open your mind and you are finally free.

I know that distance will soon be a factor again. I've lost before so I know how tightly I have to hold. Tight enough to keep you. Loose enough to let you breathe. My face will stay frozen, my gaze will never waver. But, I promise, I'm just as scared as you are.

I will take these moments and lock them away. Treasure each laugh, remember the taste of every kiss, memorize every inch of your hands so that I never forget how it feels to hold them in mine. I promise to make every step I make count because, in the end, it's one step closer to you. I promise to keep a box to hold our secrets. Don't let them know you're shaking. Make sure they see your head held high. Nights will be more than enough to yearn for. One more graze of your cheek, one more moment in your eyes, one more moment in between everything else.

I'm splaying out my cards for you. 

Take your pick. 

I will be behind you with whatever you chose. 

Do you like my hand? Do you like the choices? Or do you feel your stomach turn? Do you feel my heart racing? Trying to stay calm was never a card. I can't read your mind so let me in, let me feel what you feel. Open your mouth and lay a map of your uncertainties in front of me. I won't view you differently. You're still strong in my eyes.

Maybe we can create a road to meet in the middle. A barren, deserted road that only we can travel. Bookbag slung onto my bag. I'll bring my heart wrapped in tinfoil and exchange it for a kiss, a touch of fingertips, a memory to share.

We'll meet under the moon every midnight, picnic in the middle of an open field with a single tree to climb together. If we reach the top, we can pretend it's our own world, away from everything else.

Pick your favorite

-the brightest- 

star 

and we can wish for that road together.

If you close your eyes, you can create a house up on a hill somewhere far away. A place where we can run away to. A place for just us. A place to share our lives. And when we open our eyes again, we can pick ourselves up and move forward.

Move towards the tree in the clouds. The tree that holds our memories on each leaf. It's growing with every day that passes.

Survive the seasons with me ...

somewhere in the middle.

straighten up.

There are always people who make you really reflect. Always in different ways. My favorite is to reflect on friendships. It took me a while to realize that people have treated me like shit. People who I confided in. People who I cared about. People who I thought cared about me. And maybe they did. But they had the worst ways of showing it to me. Maybe it's how they were brought up. Take care of yourself and fuck everyone else.

Fend for yourself and survive ... or don't at all. 

Simple enough. 

But it breaks hearts. 

It hurts views.

All for one ...

fuck the second part.

Sometimes people walk into your life, stay there, and make no difference. Then others walk in for a moment and change you forever. Let's hold tight to the change and the cause. Meet me in the middle of the night, bring some coffee and cigarettes, and talk till the sun rises. Lose time with me and make me remember what it means to have someone who cares.

This is new to me because while I've always had friends, always got along with everyone, I always found it hard to be friends with and become "one of the girls". I lost a lot of girl friends when I came out and it scarred me, made me wonder if I could ever be truly close with someone like that again.

What are they thinking? 

Are they afraid I'm going to hit on them? 

Do they think I'm crushing? 

Can I compliment them without there being a hidden agenda?

Do they want the friendship I want or are they nervous? 

Scared even.

We share hearts, 

tears, 

laughter.

We aren't breaking rules beneath the stars.

We are making our own

rules,

inside jokes,

shoulders to lean on.

Stay here a moment longer. I want to lay in the friendship we've created; swim in the words we've shared. The ease is present as I open up and allow my words, uncensored, to flow from my lips to your ears and I can feel you listening to me. I can feel you taking it in. And you have no idea what it all means to me. How much I really appreciate it.

Take a drag of my mind.

Inhale 

my thoughts, 

views, 

experiences.
And I'll do the same for you.

Friendship caught in my throat.
You're making me feel again.

entre nos

From day one, I never gave up. So what has happened to me these past few months? These past few years?

Between you and me, I'm not a quitter. 

Between you and me, I want a better life.

Between you and me, I'm already on my way.

So here are a few new rules to live by, a few new things to keep world peace. I'm not one for rules and I'm not one for guidelines but drastic times call for drastic measures. And they're not so much rules anyway. More like something to stand by more often, something to work towards, something that will help me.

No more drugs.

No more lies.

Start working harder.

Stop trusting everyone.

Get a job.

Start school at Bucks and prove to him I'm driven.

Get a car.

Prove to her that I'm better than this.

Build a better relationship with my mom.

Stop caring what people think.

Don't talk to her until I move to California.

Start building a portfolio.

Get a video camera.

Get a photography camera.

And between you and me ...

Start documenting my journey.

electric from fingertips.

I stand in the living room and look out the big windows at the trees. All naked and scrawny. Not good for climbing. Not strong with thick leaves and fat branches you can swing up on and climb into and disappear. Sometimes from somewhere over my bed at night, I look down and I see me. I'm not that little kid anymore, I'm not all lazy and warm and bad. I'm just this bigger kid.

Shifting through the sands of time, like eternity can last only one small second in your mind. Flipping through the pages of an old, worn book that tells the story of millions ...

it's two pages long.  

The print is large but the book seems so small, clutched by a little boy of six who knows everything about everyone because he read the book fifty million times over. 

He read about wars, lovers, peace, hatred, sadness ... life. All in a few minutes. Just a few minutes of his wasting day, as the sands of his life drift slowly out of a large jar by his feet that has his name sketched in red on the front. He picks up the fallen sand and puts it back in, with hopes that by doing so, his life would last a little longer, but this only makes his life shorter. So he's stopped caring about the sand and just stands there, holding onto the book of time, a blank expression on his pale face. 

He's seen more than any child the age of six ever should but he found this book and pasted it to his mind; threaded the needle and fished it through his right hand, attaching himself to the book. Dry blood clings from his now old and worn hand; they're the first to age. His right hand looks that of an old man's who has been through far worse and now holds the weight of time, not the world (time is much heavier), in the palm of what would look to be an eighty-year-old's hand. He's counting down the minutes until it falls completely off his wrist and to the floor. When that day comes, he'll do his best to weave some more thread and lace himself with the book once more; maybe on his leg this time or his still young shoulder. 

Until that day comes,
he just waits,
ages,
and watches as other people's lives
slip helplessly and soundlessly
into a great abyss of forever.

The keyboard hammered into my brain as my complacent fingers soared over the strategically placed keys. I felt as though I was invading the spots that they held; each one cursing me as I typed. But in that moment, I didn't care, I had too many things that had to be said, had to be stated, had to be written down. My fingers outlined and traced a life that was once my own but now that it was down on the screen in front of me, it was no longer mine to claim. It took on a tactical life of its own and, soon, it had become something I no longer knew, no longer could affiliate with. I was only the typist; I was not the one in the story anymore.

Before I could release my fingertips from the enticing letters that drew out a story of heartache, love, mystery, and life, I knew that something was being created … and it was beautiful. The screen mocked me and challenged me to do better but nothing seemed to fit. I tried different words for the same meaning; life, existence, being, time, living, verve, days, weeks, years … but none of them could describe what the electricity was creating.

That's what I called it; 

electricity. 

My own personal current of time and space and, most importantly, thoughts. The words would form in my mind, move down through my arm like an electric current as it picked out pieces of the story it liked, and bolted from my fingertips to the keys that cursed me as I continued to hammer out the life that I was creating. The life of an atomic bomb, maybe. Or a child who lived in a far away county. Or maybe it was a fairy tale; a beautiful temptress with long flowing hair who tricks her lover into marrying her for his money; wait, that was my mother, not a fairy tale.

six years in december.

When you lose someone in a self-inflicted tragedy, you always wonder. You spend the rest of your life wondering. But when you lose someone in a self-inflicted tragedy and you're there with them when they pass, you spend the rest of your life, not wondering, not asking yourself a thousand questions, but remembering. You can't stop that memory from returning. You spend the rest of your days remembering. You remember their eyes, their mouth, the smell of the room, the last thing they said aloud. For Dan it was, "I won't be far." I remember thinking that he meant that he knew everything was going to be ok. But then I realized that he meant something so much more.

When I heard he was in the hospital, I didn't understand who was screaming until my father covered my mouth with his hand. That moment it was Dan who I thought I might lose forever and I wouldn't let anyone touch me again until I knew he'd live.

He didn't want to be cremated. He wanted to be buried with all his old rock records. Ron never knew what his son wanted. He always thought he knew better than anyone else, especially when he was drunk. He knew Dan was suicidal but he didn't care. I was supposed to be the suicide watch. And I think that he was disappointed in me that I couldn't save his son for him.

The shadows moved across my blanket, the wall behind me. People were just like that. We couldn't even see each other, just the shadows moving, pushed by unseen winds. What difference did it make if I was here or somewhere else? I couldn't keep him alive.

Dan, you used to make me smile; do you remember those days? Those days where we made root beer floats even if it was winter and played hooky every once in a while because you missed swinging on the swings with me. To this day, I can still feel close to the sky when I'm on a swing and I can feel you pushing me from behind. I won't keep talking about it because I'm supposed to be angry with you and I can't afford to break; I can't afford to cry.