Crash into me – June 5, 2009 | Part 2

“How are you, by the way?” you say.

I smile and say, “Well, I feel shaky.”

“That’s the adrenaline,” you say.

“I don’t feel sore yet, but I was looking backward when he hit us,” I say.

“You’ll probably feel it later,” you say.

Crash into me – June 5, 2009 | Part 1

I nod, looking at you, and when I turn my attention back to the road, I notice a red Mercedes convertible in front of me, stopped in the middle of my lane, its right blinker flashing. While we’ve been talking, I have been accelerating toward it, distracted by you. I pump the brake hard, and just barely, I manage to stop a foot from its bumper.

Then time slows. I turn my neck to the right and look up into the rearview mirror. I see a white box truck coming up fast. I brace as it slams into the back of the car.

Come with Me – May 22, 2009

Jeremy: hey I’ve been looking at that conference… I got in touch with the guy in charge, and he sent me a schedule.

me: So cool! Live jazz, bach cello recital, music collage, a play, “art as a gift to rehumanize the world”! This sounds like the sweetest conference ever. I hope you’re going to go with me, because it’d be more fun to go with somebody I know. : )

Uninvited – May 14, 2009

I do not at all take to heart the passage from Mark 4 that we discuss at bible study the day before: “A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come.” (Mark 4:26-29, NIV)

I ignore the truth it screams at me: growth is slow, imperceptible, out of my control. A seed can’t be rushed into a stalk into a wheat germ. I cannot prod it along with my tears and anxiety and journaling and library stalking, not even a little bit.

Even so, I am desperate for signs of change. Which is probably why, when your teenage sister texts – she got my number from you, and she wants to know if I’d like to come over to hang out with her – I think, sure, why not, and by the way, maybe I’ll just happen to see you while I’m at your house hanging out with your high-school aged sister. Surprise!

Thank God it’s Tuesday | May 12, 2009

I sweat during the whole twenty minute drive to TGI Fridays to attend my welcome home party, cranking up the AC even though it’s practically snowing outside the car windows – what if you’re there? What if you’re not there? I’d just arrived back in Colorado Springs that day, after a long drive from the […]

Taken | April 20, 2009

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I say.

“Aw, Liz,” Karen says. “I know it kind of sucks, but I’m really happy you like him so much.”

“Yeah, well, I have mixed feelings about it,” I say.

Dancing – January 30, 2009 | Part 2

[All photos from Unsplash] This is a serial telling of my falling-in-love story. Read the story from the very beginning here. Read Part 1 of “Dancing” here. You face me and hold out your hands. I grab hold and you pull me into the center of the floor. “Do you know the basic steps?” you ask. “How about […]

Dancing – January 30, 2009 | Part 1

[All photos from Unsplash] This is a serial telling of my falling-in-love story. Read the story from the very beginning here. The first Friday after the first bible study I attend, I email the entire bible study list to see if anyone wants to go to the young adult church service with me, the one where […]

Hearing – January 28, 2016 – Part 3

[All photos from Unsplash] This is a serial telling of my falling-in-love story. Read the story from the very beginning here. Read Part 1 of “Hearing” here, and Part 2 here. Eventually, he stops strumming. I wipe my face quickly and glance around. Several people have their eyes closed. The silence persists until I hear whispers, and then, […]

Hearing – January 28, 2009 – Part 2

“Is this your house?” I say slipping off my Chuck Taylors, and resting them near the pile of shoes that has formed in the tile entryway.

“No,” you say, “It’s my parent’s house… they’re letting me crash here so I can save up to buy my own place.”

“Cool. Nice sweater, by the way,” I say.

“You like it?” you say. I nod and smile: your sweater is grey wool with red and blue snowflakes covering your upper chest and shoulders. You look like you’ve walked out of a Swedish Christmas catalog from the ’80s.

You smile proudly. “I just found it today at a thrift store. Three bucks for this!” you say, pointing at your chest.

“Great find,” I say. “I like to go thrifting myself.”

“Well, you’ve got to check out the Goodwills around here…” you say as someone calls you from the living room. You turn your head, and then look back at me—“I’ve got to check on that. Just head on into the living room whenever you’re ready. Put your coat anywhere,” you say, already walking away.