Sunday, August 11, 2013


Dear Latayah,
We talked last night. Or, I should say this morning, to be more precise.

You knocked on my door in my dream, and I opened it to you being your same beautiful self. We talked about...something. I really can't remember and its not important. What mattered was that I was able to see you again. To hear your laugh, to ask your advice (you always gave the best advice) and to see your smile.

There were bizarre parts of the dream, of course-you had an obituary of someone else you carried with you. I don't remember who's it was, but it felt like it was your own. Odd, right?

And then there was the moment when I looked away from you. At that moment, I realized you were dead. I was talking to a dead woman. I looked back and your face was covered by a cloth. I asked you about your apartment; if you were still there and you said "Yes." And everything froze for me.

Suddenly I was back at your apartment- staring at the door. (It's been replaced now, but it was the old one I was looking at). I'll never forget seeing the scars on your door--you know the ones. The hatchet marks where the fire department broke down your door to find you, already gone.
You were Sleeping Beauty on the couch, only no prince could ever wake you.

I miss you, my friend. I hope you're not still home. I hope you're resting peacefully and happily, wherever you are. I'll see you in the sunshine and hear your laugh across the room.


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

And The Thunder Rolled...

I'm sitting here, in my quiet little cozy corner of the house. (Cozy being a euphemism for hot and small, but whatever. Glass half full, and all that.)

As I write this, the RainPocalypse has descended upon my neighborhood. Thunder roars as it beckons the rain to slash mightily through the tree lines and across windshields...and here I sit. Safe. Warm. Excited.

I love storms. Always have. There's a cleansing quality about them that can't be replicated by any shower you can ever take. Perhaps it's the unpredictability or lack of control, but storms, they are magical. As the RainPocalypse continues, I can't help but think about what storms meant to me when I was younger. 

They were nights snuggled on the couch with my parents, who rarely even spoke to each other, let alone snuggle on a couch. They were candle-lit walks to the kitchen for snacks because our power always (ALWAYS) went out during a thunderstorm. They were boardgames played by lantern light because OH MY GOD, the Nintendo was out.

It was thrilling and bonding, at the same time. It was extraordinary to see the lightning spider like broken glass above the lake.

It was during a storm that I found my first true love. We sat on a dock in the rain for hours and talked of everything and nothing. We've since lost touch, but I will forever have the memory of that storm tattooed on my heart.

So, as this storm rolls over our house, I'm taken back to nights where life was simpler, safety was a given, and love was earnest and true.

It's amazing how a little water, noise and electricity can do that.