Here she was, all of 23 years, 19 years of school, desperate to find a permutation that made sense from the 7 blocks of letters in her latest hand of scrabble. Crinkle as she did her newly tweezed brow, or annoyingly tap her pen (she was the designated scorer), nothing came to mind. Everything, and I mean everything, just seemed to melt away for her in a matter of seconds. She was losing herself, and it took a scrabble game to get her to finally flip.
And like in the movies, when great things come to an end, flashbacks are due, (even in this rambling pseudo-fiction, life imitates poetry, prose is the new poetry piece.)
I remember sitting in my bedroom, crying for myself and my sister. We did not belong to anything or to anyone. How could we? our parents were separated, only God knows if my mother the communist was still alive, my father was dead. my grandfather, the strict patriarch that held everyone together was dead, all my aunts, those that supposedly raised all of us in lieu of a mother, had their own lives, and finally, children of their own. We were floating, orphaned, and the reality that we did not have a family, that in fact we never did have a family, was staring us at face-point. It's been downhill since then, it;s been difficult to get relationships to last. i was desperate to find one, cultivate one, nurture one, one man who would be my future. Who would stand by me no matter what. I've had good ones. very good ones. good catches, big fishes, or whatever cliche you want to use. But they never seem to last. I grow tired of their goodness., they never seem enough. They never see me through. In one way or the other, regardless of who initiates the break up, it's always because of me that things don't last. They all asked for me to marry them. Then again, I guess that;s the most romantic thing any guy could say to a girl-- at any age, even if they are just 12.
Now, here I was living with a guy, who for once does not want to marry me-- or maybe he does? He' isn't quite in control of his senses, must be the drugs, he does not by any means treat me like a princess, and for once, I don;t demand such treatment, he fights back. he tries to control me. he makes me ride public buses. he doesn't listen to what I say. he violates me, and yet i'm here.I feel like Job incarnate. And just minutes ago, all 23 years, all 10 years of dating experience, and 4 serious wedding proposals, I was hit. I was punched. and the pins and needles don;t stop.
The tears don;t stop as well, as they trickle down my cheeks, during the first game of scrabble that I was destined to lose. Everything becomes a blur as a well of tears stream down my cheek bones. I can't stop ot any more. the throbbing from the now purple fist mark on my arm finds its way through my veins, into my heart, stinging it with bitterness, and into my chest, robbing it of air. and into my eyes, fueling it's tears, and out again into my skin. making it numb to all external feelings except of my throbbing bruise, and the thousand and one pins and needles running through them. He gets frustrated. He says I take too long. And that I already know I'm going to win. He gets even more frustrated when he sees the tears. He says He doesn't want to be with someone who's always crying. and that I had no right to be crying. after all, he already promised he wouldn't hit me again. He's right. He doesn't. He takes it out on the poor scrabble set, scattering the letters. the letters that would be words but are just too fucked up to form any sense, not to mention to perform their duty and make words.