Portals

I remember the february cold and the taste of the cigarette and the burning of adventure between my blood and my soul. it was fucking freezing and we were outside the building we called ‘work’. My best friend glanced at me in an interested manner with olive-toned eyes that sometimes are icy blue. I was fifteen.
And things were changing.
Then there was alcohol. Alcohol that  burned down my throat into my stomach and then cuddled with an esophagus for a few minutes before coming up again. Alcohol that dulled the senses, until I was tingling, breathless, full of sighs. Alcohol that led to drunken screaming matches and 4:00 a.m. phone calls that were not tolerated for long. This happened in the dark, just like I was. In the dark for a long, long time. Walking the line of sanity/insanity. I was sixteen.
That summer led to trouble.
Once upon a time, there was a boy. He had kind, warm eyes that bespoke of some kind of mystifying wisdom and capable hands that toiled for many a day. His skin was warm, caressing the cold that leaked from my every pore. I stared at the walls as he turned out the lights. I believed, for a moment, that my soul would rest. Time unraveled as a frayed string and he was lost. I was harbored in a field that became more and more dull, gray.
Fast forward.
Blue eyes, confusion. I walked many times along the bridge that wasn’t even really a damned bridge, it was just a hunk of rusting metal. The water lapped over the dock of the river, as close to a damn ocean as I can get in Bumfuck, WI. Is that why his eyes remind me of an ocean? I am tied to a tree trunk and I want to pull free. The water starts closing over my head, I’m fighting to breathe. Flailing. Trees whip back and forth, the sky is rust-colored, like the fucking bridge. As suddenly as the brutish storm appeared, it recedes. The ropes loosen. I begin to wonder if the tree trunk is useful. On my bed, lazy in the summer breeze and warm sheets, my wondering gets me nowhere.
Now.
The air is electric, and the smell of thunder & lightning excites me. The couch is wonderfully soft on my aching limbs, but it makes my nose clog up and I start sniffing. I am reminded of Blue October but not sure why. Everything seems to be hopelessly attached to each other, like dominoes: if one falls, surely the rest will follow suit. I sigh, reach for the remote. I am quelled by soft smiles and kind words. I can’t expect to escape if I don’t even have my shoes on, right? They’re in the closet, Irish green against the hardwood floor. I don’t bother getting up. The smell of popcorn infiltrates and I am reminded that I am home. My soul is restless, my face flushed. The cat naps behind me. Monotony smiles as it swallows me.
I wait for the sun.

Love,
Amanda.