Spilled Sound

Beyond those walls

all is soft,

quiet.

Itching for me to break it.

Close quarters click-clack

shoe-tile relationships

broken with each leg-lift step.

Solitary sniffle-sneeze.

Everything  whispered.

Thick wood conceals classes,

keeping me here.

Trapped.

I reach the walls and fizzle out.

Waves colliding with silence

to break free from barriers.

Intake air-sound-breath-slips

try again.

My human keepers won’t release me.

But then,

one hand reaches

cold metal handle turns.

Escape!

Sudden flood of too many voices

Loud-listening, head-banging rattling

unbridled chords setting me and my kind

loose into the hallway, letting their words go, freely.

Spilling out on the floor and filling it.

A spoken fog on the ground

unable to seek that silence.

Desks mooing against ear-drum-peace.

Loud laughter of men

forgetting there are still other classes,

women conversing on cell-phones

about things they think no one else

can hear.

The death of my nemesis is brief,

as the humans herd my kind

out the various exit doors.

One or two of us linger, dripping from mouths

with no volume control,

Sinking-ship-of-sound disappears

below the beige-sepian tile.

And hides again

behind closed doors.

Talk Nerdy To Me

I am your dream girl.

take me willingly

to your mom’s basement

to roll your d20’s

in lotioned hands.

The fruit of my body

splash would break through

your musky unwashed clothes.

I don’t mind your quirks

my hairy footed hobbit.

Break your discomfort

I can want your

action figures and

action too.

Show me your magazine pages,

colorful and graphic

novels with heroes

that both of us imagine becoming.

I could be your princess leia,

gold bikini-clad desire.

You could be my

Master Chief.

Roll for initiative.

Tap my mana.

Entangle our legs

in your original

Enterprise bed sheets.

Follow the freckles

on my stomach

to a triforce tattoo.

In this, your final fantasy.

Try to picture me

unclothed as your

Playstation heroines

biting into your limited edition

Green Lantern pillow

to stifle a zombie-shot-scream.

Pocky in place of after deed cigs.

Forget breakfast in bed.

Let’s catch up on

Firefly re-runs and

early morning anime.

Before I part from your nerd cave

I’d fix your broken PC for you.

They won’t believe you on 4-chan

when you tell them about me.

A witch in your muggle world.

Take me home while you can

I am a random encounter.

About a boy, a road and a journey to freedom

They glided along the road like dragonflies skimming water. The black line weaving, ducking and bobbing in and out of mountain hills and treelines like a boxer. It was a dance between car and road as much as it was a silent still and untouching embrace between boy and girl. He knew this car, but not this road, and it thrilled him. A pumpkin January sun was slipping below the hill line painting the sky a butter pink, and saying its last goodnights to a cold Oregon back wood. Any other man and she may have been gripping the car and screaming for him to slow down, but not this one. She trusted him, and knew he'd never do anything that might hurt his car. It never occurred to her that he'd also never do anything that might hurt her. 

It was a rare warm winter day, where the weather was just bright enough to warrant the windows being rolled down. She shivered, but not from the cold, from the nervousness of realizing "I should have done this before." As they turned around to take the road back home, the sun was gone, but its light still peaked up over the hills, masking the trees into black silhouettes across the horizon. The twilight slipped blue foggy colors down onto dead cold crop-lands that would awaken a few months in spring. At that time this hill would be green, and in fall it would be a golden color that would simply sing at sunset. But right now, it was the most beautiful shade of brown she may have ever seen. 

They barely made the stop sign, but she didn't flinch or scold. She just smiled and they talked the whole way back to her house, while he slowed the car down to a short 45, enjoying the drive. The car hugged the road like an old lover, around each bend, thanking it for the journey. Her fingertip just barely brushed his sleeve, her own silent thank you, for freeing her more than she ever thought was possible again. 

In May of 2002 I was in a horrific car accident. I was 20 at the time, and still believed I was immortal. My friend Chris took me out driving on what was commonly known as the "Liberty Flats" to the locals. The Liberty Flats was basically a 1.5 mile straight flat road that ended in two deadly curves marked for 35. After the second curve was the river with no bridge. It was the way to the Buena Vista ferry the farmers took across the river.

I wasn't even slightly terrified as he drove along the road. "I know this road good enough to drive in my sleep" be bragged, and I believed him. The whole drive was positively thrilling. After the drive, we had indeed survived, only proving my immortality.  

A few days later I was hanging out with a few of my other friends. The night was as young as we were and we were all looking for something to do. Let's go to the flats!" I suggested. None of them knew what I was talking about. It was 11pm and I didn't think I would be able to drive the road. But I knew Chris could. So I went over to his house in my Dodge Intrepid, and asked him to drive us out to the flats. "I've got a cold, and I just took some Nyquil" Chris told me. But I was immortal, I just shrugged and said "That's okay, we'll be fine."

My best friend sat in the back seat, and a pair of guys we had met that night did as well. I took the front passenger seat and Chris drove us. I don't know if it is because of how my car was weighted, with the extra people in it, or the cold medicine invading Chris' body, or the fact that this time it was night, but when we came out of the flats to the first turn, music blaring, everyone cheering, I heard Chris utter "Oh shit."

My first reaction was to hold onto the "oh shit bar" above the window, as everything seemed to go silent. I don't even remember hearing the music at that point, just the sound of the wheels of my car skidding on the blacktop, the impact of the trees hitting the metal frame on the side of my car, the shattering of glass against my head. And the fearful hissss of the engine once we came to a stop.

That night is one of my most vivid memories. I can recall jumping from the car when I came too, convinced it would blow up like in the movies. My best friend had a punctured lung and four broken ribs. She couldn't breathe. One of the guys in the backseat had been lucky enough not to get impaled by the rear... axel? suspension? whatever holds the wheels to the car, which had punctured through the back seat when one of the trees went under us. But that same kid had been unfortunate to break the back window with his skull.

I had shattered the side window with my own head and broken my collarbone with the seat belt. Despite our own injuries, three of us scurried to the nearby farm house to get help for my friend. It took the ambulance 45 minutes to reach us. And the police officer told me later that when he' dbeen told where the accident was he was sure he was on his way to scrape five kids off the pavement. We were very lucky.

I'm not sure how lucky though, since I spent the next near decade in fear. I became one of those drivers that irritates everyone, the kind that is terrified to make left turns against traffic, or who drives barely above the speed limit and takes a long time to make right turns. I also became controlling over who drove. I didn't mind taking th full stint of a road trip, because I just didn't trust anyone else not to get me killed. I'd lost that glorious immortality and fearlessness that you experience as a young person.

Until last saturday night. I invited him on a date. A DATE! Let me explain why this is exciting for me: I never ask people out. I am too terrified of rejection. And he is the ex-boyfriend of one of my best friends. I know it isn't cool to do that, but keeping n mind that I didn't expect anything to come of the date, I felt asking him on a date as friends was a safe way of getting over the whole "What if they never speak to me again" fear that I love to cling too so much.

He was just going to come over and watch a movie and sit in the hot tub for a little wile, but when he got there he confessed he didn't want to stop driving. "Let's go for a drive." I said with a smile. And we went right back out of my house and got in his car, taking to the roads like immortal teenagers again. I had never said a word to him about my accident, or how it was unlike me not to be chastising him for driving at speeds exceeding 100mph. I just watched the scenery, occasionally observing his own profile against the sunset backdrop.

He likes to take a lot of photos, but being a writer I didn't need any. All of the images were locked in my mind and I could keep them safe there. I could keep us safe there.

Later in the night, I'd had a little to drink. I know where you think this is going, but don't get ahead of me. I was used to this scenario, I feel dead inside, I drink, I throw myself at boy seeking approval and validation for myself, boy takes advantage of me, I wake up feeling like a dirty slut, and then start the whole self sabotaging process. But when you happen to have a good friend with you, you don't have to fall into that scenario.

He was kind enough not to take advantage of me, but even kinder was the fact that he didn't once let me believe it was because he wasn't attracted to me. Maybe he isn't, that is not only possible, but likely. He wasn't really flirting with me, but where he could have used that as his excuse for not making a move despite my not so subtle attempts to throw myself at him. He could have said, "Listen Athena, I'm just not into you like that." therefore shattering my little girl heart and locking me back into the cage I like to put myself in.

But he didn't do that. He's the road. The one who frees me and always believes in me. Who supports me and lifts me up in all I do. Am I hoping to go on another date with this boy? Yes I am. Am I hoping someday to know what he really thinks of me? Definitely. But right now I couldn't be more grateful for the fact that where so many others have let me down and made me hate myself he has done nothing but roll the windows down and show me what its like to live again. To really live.

I can't be a writer without knowing what that feels like. So thank you. And accept my apology for being such a drunk author. I promise... no more tequila.

Welcome to Oregon, Enjoy your stay, unless you're a Californian, then go home.

I am a California girl. I was born there and raised there, and with the state being the second largest in the Continental united states (and vastly overpopulated) it isn't really that surprising. On the west coast it isn't difficult to find Californians, there are so many of us we have started to merge into the other states as well, and everywhere we go we try and turn it into "more California." Where other people move to new states but remember what it was like "back home" we, instead, opt for moving to new places and find ways to make it just like California.


While I was not so "California" that I owned a purse dog, shopped on Rodeo drive, or said the word "like" as every other word, I did own obnoxiously large sunglasses, know how to pronounce Rodeo drive, and said "hella" a lot. I have since expanded my vocabulary to eliminate most of my California slang, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

My senior year of High School, my family decided "Hey! Great idea, lets move to Oregon!"

Me: Um...what?
Grandma: Yeah, I'm retiring, and I've always wanted to live on the Oregon Coast and raise llamas.
Me: Can we not raise llamas here?
Grandma: No, you raise llamas in Oregon.
Me: I'm a senior in High School!
Mom: Exactly! This is your last chance to go to school someplace else.
Me: This sounds like trickery to me.

Needless to say at 17 I lost the argument, and my whole family, mom, stepdad, grandparents, aunt, 2 dogs, 2 parakeets, 1 parrot, 2 cats and a bowl full of goldfish, we made the trek up to Oregon.

I remember several things about this voyage, but when we were on the freeway I caught a billboard advertising a local Indian Casino. The Casino was running a series of campaign adds at the time that were using the slogan, "Luck happens" they would have commercials where a guy would be spreading peanut butter on his toast and drop it on the kitchen floor and then it would land peanut butter side up and they would freeze the frame and say "Luck Happens" and then do all the blah blah blah about the Casino.

Well on this billboard it had a picture of the West Coast Map. Only it cut out the shape of California and filled it with water. Under this map image were the words "Luck Happens." I was doomed.

Oregonians as a whole are nice people, sometimes a little too nice, but I'm not complaining, but they are also very territorial. They don't like Californian's coming in and screwing up their backwoods ways. (Now that I've lived here 11 years I find myself sometimes doing it too) Because I had the summer to get used to Oregon, I figured the first day of my senior year at a new school wasn't going to be that scary. How wrong I was.

I walked into the school confident, excited, and confused (because unlike my nice open air California schools, all of the classes were contained inside one building, which was odd to me) I had used a pair of sunglasses to hold back my hair, which was really fairly normal to do in Sunny California. Just as I had walked into the building a woman comes tearing out of the office at me like I walked into school with a gun. She snatches the sunglasses from my head and takes them from me. I was left with a dumbfounded look. Did my mother drop me off at the wrong place? Was this the local Californcentration camp?

Office Lady: You can't wear those in here!
Me: Oh...kay....
Office lady: At this school those are a gang sign.

I was in complete shock, and I couldn't stop myself.

Me: Really? Because in California it just means the Sun is out.
Office Lady: Don't get smart with me young lady!
Me: God forbid I should be educated in your backwoods state.

I had detention the first day of school. I was also asked my first day of school a verbal cornucopia of the following questions:
1. Do you know any celebrities!
2. Can you surf?
3. How many times have you been to Disneyland?
4. Did you used to have a big house with a pool?
5. What kind of car do you drive?

I'm not sure why the kids at my small town school were convinced all Californian's lived next door to celebrities in big houses with pools which they surfed in before they drove their sports car to Disneyland, but I knew that I would not be able to survive here.No I don't know any celebrities, no I can't surf, nor have I ever tried, I didn't live anywhere near the ocean. Okay I've been to Disney an obnoxious amount of times, but that's a different story. I did not have a pool, and we had a moderately sized house. My car? My car was a beat up blue 95 Honda accord. Because anyone who gives a 17 year old a new sports car is an idiot.

Well I did survive here. It's been 11 years, and I am now entering my last year in Oregon. It seemed like the perfect time to reflect on all of the things that have changed me and that I've had to deal with here as a Californian, before my life takes me off on my adventures.