Safe

“You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to leave.”

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That old log cabin, the rotting dock, that even if I could still touch the bottom of the lake, I was not allowed to swim past. That place was home, for the summers.

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Liam is crying. I can hear them yelling outside as Tori helps me gather my items, but all I can focus on are the hands clenching my arms. Her wrinkly, dry, hands, showing their experiences through the tough years, raising two boys, having her husband be away in wars; the strength that they revealed.

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I think that grandpa loved that place more than any of us combined. Always up with the sun to complete the daily chores before any of the kids were stirring and in that embracing water before we could finish our breakfast. His whistles were all we could hear, just teasing us as we helped grandma clear the table. Running out the door, we always heard that familiar list of rules called out to us as we welcomed that East Barrier sun.

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I can barely see her face through my foggy eyes but I can feel the confusion, I can feel the weakness in her hands. I look down at my own naïve hands, pause and force myself from her grasp, shaking off the second of guilt of running away.

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Grandpa’s laugh and silly songs about fishes in the sea rolled up those rotting stairs as we clumsily fell down every other step, grabbing ahold of the railing we had come to be so acquainted with after years of winding down the staircase. His childlike thoughts and mischievous eyes were always the best part of that safe place.

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As we were piling in the car I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t. He was the only thing that held any comfort; he was the only one that understood. Yet there was no way I would look into those sparkling eyes, because I knew they were dull.

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In a few years I got a call, and emails, and many messages. He’s gone, is all they would say. All that I could think about in that moment was the last time I saw him, the last thing he heard and the last thing he witnessed. I could not believe that the moment had come. 4 am, life stopped.

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I kissed my grandma. I told her I loved her, and I ran. Grandpa just watched me run. I didn’t look back, I didn’t say a word.

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When I was present enough to understand what was going on, I made it across that border as fast as I could. Watching the men cry and punch the casket out of anger and fear I stood, silent. It was when they left, I finally spoke. It was finally just him and me. “You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to leave, yet.”

                       

Short Story.

The Expedition

The early day provided boy issues and frustrating family issues, so an adventure was needed. That dark warm summer night had the howl that only sounds when a storm is coming. Ariel was always the most adventurous of us all. The four of us crawled into her little red car, Sarabi as we called it: Ariel and Stephanie up front, Cassandra and me in the back, knees pressed against seats and legs touching. We were ready for the adventure Sarabi was about to take us on.  We made it maybe a mile, before we saw that first great flash. Bright enough for us to see each other’s faces clearly, even at midnight.

We were giddy. Wanting to get a better view we drove until we saw the darkest corner we could find, in a city filled with bright lights skewing our view of the sky that awaited us. We parked and we waited. The first boom rattled the entire car and some of us possibly peed a little bit from the frightening call. With our attention focused on the show that mother nature was providing us, no one noticed the red and blue lights flashing behind us. When the tap of a flashlight against the window came there were no longer any dry panties in the car. I don’t think any of us have screamed that loud before and I don’t think the poor young man in uniform was expecting to see four high school girls in that car. He had us roll down the window and asked if we were okay. We explained that we were just trying to get a better view of the show, and he explained that he was just looking for drug dealers. Considering this was a common dealing corner we all agreed it wasn’t the best place for us to be parked. Once apologies were made and everyone was calm, it was time to head home. That was enough excitement for one night.

Or so we thought. Driving down the long empty road home, we saw a car parked off the side in the distance. As we approached, there, on the hood of that grey SUV were two very naked adults showing the world just how much they love each other. I mean they had the idea, sex during a thunderstorm, yes please. But on the side of a main road, perfectly placed for four innocent high school girls to see them do things, and hear them make noises that none of us had experienced yet? We couldn’t look away, but we couldn’t look straight at them. So we sped past and put all of our energy into just simply getting home.

The excitement of the night must have gotten to us. We were not ready for calm or ordinary, just yet. It was summer, we were young, and the weather was perfect. It was time for skinny-dipping. Ariel had the perfect pool and the perfect way of convincing you to be a rebel, and yes, skinny-dipping was very rebellious for us in those days. We stripped down and jumped in. Splashing and laughing and trying to remember that we were in this together, we forgot all embarrassment, all heartache, all anger we may have been feeling earlier that day. We were on top of the world. We jumped out, our bodies glowing in the night, we ran through the long raspberry fields behind the house. Feeling the dirt between our toes, tasting the sweet red juices, laughing until we fell over. We were feeling the freedom of the couple on the side of the road; we were alive. Every time the lightening came down we paused. Every time the thunder growled we clapped. It was the most magnificent feeling in the world that we thought four high school girls could ever feel. It was a night for adventures, a night for daring expeditions. Mother nature challenged us with her adventurous calls of terror and we accepted. 

Numb

Numb Hands

There she stands breathing in the cold air deep

The look of solid terror begins to show

Images soaring, her mind is about to leap

And there she stands bright eyes of a young doe

Simple words are not enough to express

The pain felt and all the thoughts to take place

And time stood still in the midst of this mess

Quiet breaths with numb hands to hold her face

In this moment it seems all that she once feared

All of the whispers in the dark of night

All of the shadows began to disappear

Those deep quiet breaths as she planned to fight

Holding herself with all that she could

Slowly tears fell, with great strength, there she stood.

Replacement

Replacement for You Learn. 
*for a creative writing class, we had to pick a poem and replace the nouns and adjectives with our own. This was mine. 

After a while I hear the fragile change
Between whispering in the night and calling to a soul,

And I learn that breath doesn't mean life
And quiet doesn't mean peace.

And I begin to understand that softness isn’t pain
And laughter isn’t pure,
And I begin to decide my fate
With my breath steady and my eyes closed
With the strength of a woman, not the boldness of a man,
And I learn to live all my thoughts for today
Because tomorrow's adventure is too unknown for plans
And love has a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while I learn...
That even smiles fade when you hold too tight.
So I steady my feet and hear my own soul,
Instead of holding on someone to bring me life.
And I learn that I really can endure...
That I really am pure
And I really do have life...
And I learn and listen...
With every good-bye I learn.

A Peaceful Place

Here is a little video I did for a class. It is one of my favorite personal works. Not the best video, but it gets the point across....

Dear Demographic - Amber Tamblyn

I’d like to say: 

As a former member of your clique
(and a current member of your representation)
I know it’s hard to be a young woman ages 18-to 24-years-old.

They put you in a time slot
that doesn’t reflect your views
with a ratings system
that doesn’t respect your truths.

Listen:
From one cynical self-hater-by-default to another,
please put down the magazine article that has bored you
into hair extensions and reality television.
Stop with the 20th century redux:

Make your own era. You are not out of your own league.
Fake eyelashes will not get you Ryan Gosling.
Nor will sporting a Barack Obama keychain.

No need to break all the rules:
Just bend them into balloon animals,
give them to your little brothers and sisters.
Show them how silly and cute American culture is.
Time will naturally deflate all of it.

Start mosh-pits in the crowded thoughts of tycoons:
Stir something up with your tongue.
Sip someone else’s logic then spit it out
(preferably when they’re looking).

Taste test your own style. 

Get your mind into the gutter of others:

Search for the things they let go down the drain or threw away.

Everyone’s scared to tell you how they really feel.

Including Oprah.

Stop getting wasted and throwing up
your individuality outside of clubs.
There is no fast food to help you cope with that.

Leave your mark on the world
with something that can’t be chosen from
a tattoo book of Chinese symbols
for the lower back.

Pierce something other than your skin:
When I tell you to think for yourself,
don’t give a shit what I say.

(© 2010 Amber tamblyn)

A letter never sent

I have this box of letters. Letters that I have written, yet I never am able to send. See, there is a time of year, which happens to be right about now, where I start to think about those I miss, those I have lost. Each year there are a few more that I have to add to the list. I know, I know... as you some fall a way others will come along. Still my heart aches for these few people. Friends, family, lovers. So, I start to write a letter. Something to say I'm sorry, I miss you, I love you. Every single letter filled with as much truth and heart possible. The fact that I am pouring my heart out in these letters is not what holds me back from sending them. What holds me back is the thought of, once I send them what will the response be? Will I get a response, and if I do will be full of respect, hatred, love or most of all forgiveness? I start to think of all the possible responses and scare myself into just folding the address letter up and putting it in the box full of unopened letters. Never knowing, never facing that small fear. I guess the reason why I am writing this for the entire internet world to read is because I am curious. I want opinions. What would you do if you received a letter from some one you were once close with? Maybe once loved, once were in love with. Would you want to see their name on the bottom of a love filled letter. Would you judge them, would you forgive them? One day I may build up all of my courage and send these letters, or maybe they will stay unopened in that box for my great-grandchildren to find.