Gemma: Part & Parcel

On Mondays, when I would sit at the window at Lorna's house, I felt like the whole world outside was somehow trickling inside. I'd sit and watch the rain for what felt like hours, but would really turn out to be only a few minutes. I remember hearing Lorna's television in the background, coming from her bedroom. I remember the sudden silence once her "afternoon shows" were over and she'd slip into her Xanax and milk-induced nap. I remember that that was the first time I had ever really felt completely alone. The whole house was quiet as winter, and I would sit there at the window, watching droplet after droplet of rain crash into the glass pane and slip down until it hit the sill and puddled for a while, until the pressure of too many droplets forced the tiny puddle to burst and send the new family of droplets into a cascade down the side of the house, an adventure I couldn't watch from where I sat. And I remember everyday, when I knew Lorna was asleep and wasn't going to wake up for anything, that I'd rummage through her jewelry boxes to try on her costume jewelry from her "stage days". I'd put on piece after piece and stand in front of the mirror imagining myself to be anyone and anywhere but who and where I was. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not.
Also, I remember how at around 3:30 in the afternoon, I'd pull out my little box of tic-tacs (the white ones), pour myself a glass of milk, and wash two little tic-tacs down my 9 year old throat with a gulp of milk. Then I'd curl up in front of the window and fall asleep waiting for my father to pick me up in an hour.

Tristan says:

it was mostly fumbling and trying to say the right thing, or not really knowing what to say at all.
it was being so nervous that you're off balance completely and unsure.
it was that tingling in your fingers and on the edge of your lips, waiting for the touch, the kiss.
it was being so unawares, so off guard, so bare and trembling.
it was that you knew it was going to be more than you could take, that it was going to be something that, even if it didn't happen (what you'd hoped would happen), you would remember and it would warm you, and you think on it again, over and over, and how close you came to holding the moment for even a little while.

you'll think of his smile or the sound of his voice, or maybe the trace of his fingertips along your back will linger longer than it should.

>>>>how did you know this is what i'd always wanted?<<<<

all of these things, and you'll recall and know and wish and love and more.
it becomes something else, something better, and it's all involved, it holds everything from before and later.

"what do you love more than love?" Dar Williams