The Other Half

 

 

As a child, I was taught the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.  What you see isn’t always what you get.

Jordan was barely fifteen when I noticed the change.  Her skin, becoming paler every time she walked through the duet doors of Carter Smith High School.  That smile that blessed her face, now permanently fixed horizontal.  Her eyes, no longer sparkling like stars currently filled with fire and hatred.  And people talk.  Talk about what they think they know and relaying what they hear.  The other half never knows.

Light chatter and secret messages shared in presence.  As if she couldn’t hear when she hesitantly placed one leg in front of the other.  Looks of sympathy darting her way striking like a bolt of lightning.  But no one seemed to notice when she immobilized the fork on the cafeteria tray.  Her weight waxing day by day.  Never enough energy to fulfill her days at a desk learning mc squared.  Slowly being denied the gift of life.  Jordan’s other half had not merely been the rumors of separation by two people that created her existence, but Cancer.  Which the popular girls, jocks, and teachers knew nothing of.  They were concerned with the hottest groups in the music industry, who to take to the prom and what color dye they should apply to their extensions.  Futile efforts of meaningless beauty.

Jordan failed to show up for school on Wednesday, first day of Spring.  Thursday and Friday failed to accompany us with her presence as well.  Making it easy for ruthless rumors to dwell.  Breaking under the pressure, I capture attention by shouting-

How dare you judge the other half, the 570,000 that lose the fight and can’t face another Spring.  Your mother, brother, sister, aunt or uncle amongst the 1,529,560 barely battling to keep their sanity.  13 million new cases a year.  Look around.  The reality is that 2 out of 5 of us will develop brain cancer.  Black, White, Asian, and Latino struggling against a disease that has no known cure.  Those rumors, you let slip through your lips about a girl who lived her life living, loving and laughing with every breath she took.  The same girl that tutored your precious quarter back after failing three classes.  Who stood by your side when that life you denied from your womb met its death by two pills and hit your conscious while salt trails and sharp pains show remnants of what had been.  The girl who gave you the answers to question 2, 7 and 9 because she knew how bad you needed a measly C to pass.  While you are planning that next chapter in your life, there is a family at home buying a coffin for their beloved daughter.  A child should never die before her parents.

As I stand here mourning a classmate who will never get to witness our success story, you fail to realize how blessed you are.  So when you walk down the steps through those duet doors, remember,

 The Other Half.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons of Life

 

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   

Who half the time were soppy-stern

    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

    It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

    And don’t have any kids yourself.

_Philip Larkin_

Tile Floors

White tile floors once used for mirrored dances,

words streaming in to a hair brush using shower curtains as drapery

My bathroom,

Filled with memories of your sweaty torso hunched over my form pumping for one last stroke while,

raged filled revenge filled salt drops crash onto the floor, my time was just the beginning.

I pulled guns from overstocked shelves searching for oversized wounds that you continuously showed me you deserved.  

Bullet shells in cases, yes cases, awaiting turns to be fired.  I have watched you since our presidents birthday, now, it is Christ's birthday again.

My heart skipping beats with every drawstring bridge we crossed as you hunt for your prey. 

And i watched doorknobs clicking when you so humbly force yourself along with them into their houses,

lungs filled with the substance you call chloroform 

those women unaware of the damage you were causing their bodies, taking the only gift that could never be returned.  I , did not succumb to your trickery.

You generously laid me onto my bed conning to dress and I studied every inch of your figure, 

hating myself for admiring your king of the jungle tattoo 

with teeth sharp as a hunting knife stretched over you shoulder, the handle I grip so tightly lurking over your now useless form waiting to regain consciousness.

Until then, I shall play, carving highway roads and runway lines through the flesh of your hennessey hued body 

and muscles representing gym tan laundry, noticing corners of my lips lifting as the fluid floods from your veins 

a painting Pollack would admire. 

Slowly the sound of pain slip through your lips as you realize your danger, reminiscent of the room you once occupied 

eyes surprised as your gaze locks mine, 

remembering my face, 

I, will forever remember your name. 

My lips made contact with your forehead like you have often done moments before leaving our homes.

I smile at you as I remember an interviewed killer stating, 

"give them one last hop for life, then quickly take it away." 

Without hesitation, my hand glided across you neck. 

my rage escapes, for so long I waited for this moment.

my last thought whispered ever so kindly in your ears as I generously hold your hand 

and you pant for your last breath.  

You should have killed me first. 

Verbal Mayhem