Open Scribbles

Brotherly Love “I’m going to slap you.” “Go ahead, try it.” He got slapped. “That’s mean.” “Hey, you asked me to try it.” “But you weren’t supposed to actually!” “And you weren’t supposed to look through my book.” It was very random poetry and he didn’t want anyone seeing it. “But I asked – ” “But I said no.” “But I asked nicely!” “But I said no.” “But I said please please please with cherries on top – “ “But I said no. Don’t you understand what “N-O” means.” “Nitric oxide.” “You’re begging to get slapped again.” “Try me.” He got slapped again. This is too predictable. It reminds me of Catch-22.

I sit behind the block, fidgeting with my goggles and cracking my knuckles. There is one more heat before I swim, and watching the other swimmers race makes me want to rip somebody’s spine out. I lick my lips; the arena tastes like rusted copper and it reeks so grossly of chlorine I could swear the air is tinted yellow. The drone of thrashing water and frenetic onlookers makes my mind go numb. Silence settles over the building as the next heat steps onto the block. The stillness is louder than the uproar moments before. Beep, I say, mimicking the starting official. Beep Beep. Take your mark. The starting buzzer fires, shattering the silence. The crowd erupts violently; their shrieking voices make my ears ring. I love it. I stretch my ankles, counting to ten as I bob up and down on my tiptoes. My hairs stand on end and my stomach feels like ice -- for the first time in years, I am nervous. This race will be my last. I whip my arms around me, slapping myself to get the blood going. The p...

It’s all I can do to cherish you, but it will never be enough. In your absence I dream of memories that never were.

I’m waiting -- longing -- for friends, for family, for old scars to heal, for your love and your forgiveness-- fruitlessly yearning for you.