The Woman Named Amy

So I met this woman named Amy. The situation had the strong potential to be extremely awkward. She and her boyfriend, my neighbor, were coming over for dinner with his two sons. But the thing is, her boyfriend is the ex-husband of one of Mom's best friends. I found myself trying, yet failing, to convince myself that I could truly, honestly like her.

She seemed impressed by me right off the bat. This was, by itself, somewhat surprising. My surprise was only to be built upon. The conversation was between my mother, Amy, and myself, and it turned to politics. Being sincerely impressed at the 19-year-old with not only an opinion, but one that could be reasoned and explained fairly well, I, for lack of a better phrase, blew poor Amy out of the water.

Finding myself somewhat captivated by this new woman who had not only faced family tragedy, but also done volunteer work in Africa and visited Italy some five times, I sort of followed her about the house, dancing between conversing and listening intently.

Through a series of chance events and encounters, I wound up alone in the library with that very woman. It had arisen earlier that I was floating in the center of three very different majors; psychology, film, and marine zoology (which apparently does not actually exist, so marine biology). She asked me how, exactly, I had ended up in such a position, seeing as the three are hardly related. Sure, film can go with either of those, but psychology and marine biology don't really have many over-lapping features. I explained how I had happened upon psychology via my grandfather. She then asked my how marine biology had happened. What was it that I liked so much about marine biology?

The speechlessness that ensued is impossible. I opened my mouth several times, feeling an answer of the tip of my tongue that was so completely imagery that I couldn't even begin to imagine how to describe it. Each time I tried to speak, my smile grew slightly larger. With a breath of almost exasperation, but far too joyful to be anything of the sort, I admitted defeat. I found myself talking about the most pointless things: my frustrations at humans interfering with marine life during "research," my thoughts being the exact opposite of my mother's "they sure are ugly things aren't they," upon the viewing of a Great White Shark. The more I spoke, the more I knew, the more I realized, the more I found myself saying, "that's probably what I'll end up doing."

It all fits together. The only thing that makes summer even mildly tolerable is the idea of sitting underwater for hours at a time. Mom often referred to me as a "sealy," the proper term for which is a "Selkie," because the seals at the zoo seemed somehow drawn to me--added of course, to the fact that I only ever came up from beneath the water's surface to breathe. Even when I was deathly afraid of sharks, and wouldn't dare sleep with any part of limb hanging from my bed for fear of it being eaten off, I was completely captivated and fascinated. I went whale watching with Mom while in Boston, and though I got sea sick and didn't see more than the lower backbone of a few Mink and Finn whales, I have never been happier (with a few rare exceptions--all of which you are aware)... Mom refuses to be truly satisfied until she has seen a humpback dive. I refuse to be happy until I have seen a whale dive from beneath the surface.

And thus, a conclusion was reached, and the only question yet to be answered it how.

Passion

All I have are words, yet speechlessness is all I can muster. The feeling inside of me right now is so completely undescribable, I can't even tell you how undescribable it truly is. It's a joy, an exhileration, a fear... an unbelievable fear.

It's like love--assuming, of course, that I was correct in interpretting this feeling as love when I felt it before. It's like beauty defined is second best... or even nothing compared.

Is this it? This must be it. I think I may have found my passion.Th question now is how to achieve it.

Ideas, anyone?

The Devil's Keep

You'll find inside the devil's keep
An angel who has learned to weep.

A heart does not just simply break,
It burns and tears and hurls and quakes.
A single step too far to reach,
But jumping is too far a leap
To sit beside the one who tore
And left it lying on the floor.
I find myself alone.

Apologies cannot describe
The horrors deep inside my mind.
I cannot turn the past away,
or it will fester, curl, and fray,
and I will never learn from this
that life cannot be simple bliss.
I find myself alone.

The road of friendship drives both ways,
and driving on those longer days,
one needs a hand to take the wheel,
when lids grow dark to sight conceal.
And now that I have fin'ly crashed,
And lying here upon the grass,
I find myself alone.

Apologies cannot describe
The horrors deep inside my mind
Where you'll find, inside the devil's keep
An angel who has learned to weep.

Sunlight

Sunlight filtered through the cracks around the edge of the window curtains. Christina Harris lay in bed, staring at the window, hoping that this new day would be better than the last. She heard the door open and knew that Charles had entered the room. Her body rose slightly as her husband sat on the bed at her feet. He said nothing. She altered her gaze slightly to look down at him. He too was staring at the window, no doubt hoping for the same thing.

"I won't happen, you know," she said softly.

"Yes, I know." He looked at her with a sad sort of smile, "But I can still pray for it."

She sat up. "What would they do, Charles, if they found out?"

His eyes grew wider and sadder as he turned to face the window one more time. "Let's not talk of this, Christina. It will do no good. I do not know what would happen, nor do I wish to. The less we speak of it, the less likely it is to be overheard." He stood. "You should come downstairs now. It is nearly time for lunch, and you and I both know I can't cook worth a farthing."

Christina nodded as Charles left the room. She looked back to the window, her thoughts returning to the conversation that had just ended. "But I can still pray," her voice said inside of her. She stood and walked to the window. She reached out, grasping the curtains.

She did not open them.

Conflicted

"Conflicted" is a word that comes to mind. Ordinarily I am not one to believe in all of that astrological mumbo jumbo, but there seems to be at least a relative amount of outside evidence. I seem to be suffering from mental confusion due, I believe, to mental conflict.

I am quite well aware that everyone uses both sides of their brain--ok, there are a few terrible exceptions, but the point remains--one side is usually dominant. I seem to be confused as to what side of my brain is dominant. I am right handed and right footed, implying that I am left brained; I can only wink with my left eye and, when driving one handed, drive with my left hand, which implies that I am right brained. I focus constantly on logic, try to have everything as organized as possible, and am extremely detail-oriented... but I'm also very creative. This leaning would say I'm left brained, but the test I took said I was right brained... just barely.

Is it possible that this is due in some way to all of that astrological nonsense? Is it possible that being caught between Aries and Pisces has had some devastating effect on my life and the way I am? Could that somehow explain why I would love to be a psychologist but see it as sacrificing everything I love to do?

I seem to be stuck in my own mind--wandering aimlessly in circles, having epiphanies that I had only a few years, maybe even months, before. I try to look at things in a different light, but I always seem to arrive at a conclusion that had already been reached at some earlier date. So what should I do? Should I become a psychologist or should I pursue film direction? Or should I try and achieve the impossible dream? Should I go for the shack in Rhode Island and sail around the world, shark diving all the way? Or should I stop thinking quite so much?

"Conflicted" is a word that comes to mind.

Dinner Conversation: Part II

Annie was, and always had been, terrified of her mother leaving and simply never returning. It was almost as though she remembered her father vanishing from her family map. Later in life she would hold this above her sister's head and claim that she had felt it happening from their mother's movements and heart rhythms, and that she was simply more in tune to people's emotions.

Isabella looked over at her mother, her eyes large. She didn't know what to say. She had been feeling somewhat conflicted about the young law student. Something about him made her uneasy, but at the same time, she felt almost impatient about seeing him again. Her mother seemed to feel her daughters eyes and turned. Isabella transferred her gaze quickly back to her plate. The food was still untouched. She hadn't had much of an appetite at all that day since meeting Mr. Raemon.

"We should look into it then," Poindexter said, deciding that Isabella was not going to eat her beef and plucking it off of her plate. "I know I would have no objection to the idea."

"I agree," Lana stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone.

Annie looked at her mother, horrified. "But he's not related to us! We've never even met him!"

"Anna Catherine, keep your voice down. We're going to look into Mr. Raemon as a potential sitter for you two, whether you like it or not, so if I were you, I'd learn to accept it."

Annie eyes dropped back to her food. Isabelle's heart lept into her stomach.

Dinner Conversation: Part I

"He attends the University, I hear," Poindexter said through a mouth full of food. "The law school. Political Science. Something like that."

"I don't see why he chose to live here," Lana snorted. "We're not very close to the University. I don't know that we can trust him."

"We don't need to trust him, Lana. He's just another neighbor. Unless you want him to watch the girls so we can get some alone time," he winked.

Lana smiled sweetly--too sweetly to be completely honest. Lana was in her mid-fourties with short-cut blonde hair. On most days she would dress in little more than a colorful cloth wrapped and draped over her. She always had a false sort of sweetness to her affect. Her boyfriend, Poindexter, had short black hair and very tan skin and a good twenty years older than his girlfriend. Strangely, he was just as unemployed as his young girlfriend. He also showed a certain amount of annoyance towards the girls, mixed in with a strong love. All in all, he seemed a bit conflicted. Both Lana had Poindexter had had children earlier in their lives that were, as far as any outsider or Lana's daughters knew, very much not a part of their lives at all.

"I certainly wouldn't mind having someone to sit for the girls every now and then," Lana smirked. "Maybe we should check him out. What do you think, girls?"

Isabella was snapped out of her thoughts at her mother's address. She looked over at Annie, who was blubbering, trying to concoct some reason why her mother should never look at any sort of babysitter.