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5:47 PM Monday, November 4, 2013

Remembering the liquid past can be such tortured ecstasy most of the time. For a woman may have a menagerie in waves combined with a sea of secrets and a gargantuan ocean of pain running through her blood. Sitting here in the unsettled relaxation of my keyboard (listening to Miley’s lyrics from Wrecking Ball).

“Don’t you ever say I just walked away

I will always want you

I can’t live a lie, running for my life

I will always want you”


Hauntingly recalling a rugged sexy boy, who once adored me when I was young and beautiful. When star crossed lovers swooned the same path, he was 15 years old and I was slightly more mature at 16 years young. His name was Brian. I was head over heels with him back in the generic times of the early 80’s. Big hair, shoulder pads, acid washed jeans and when music videos rocked our world. It was around my junior year in high school where I never dated, but only admired the cute boys who hung around me. Jimmy was one of my best friends during those innocent times, where we palled around together and just spoke of our life’s dreams. My height overpowered his, for I was a statuesque skinny girl at 5’10” feet tall while standing barefoot with naked soles, and catapulted in length when I wore my 4” high heeled shoes. We never dated, just really cool friends. Jimmy was kind of like the notorious character of Marty McFly played by Michael J. Fox in the movie, “Back to the Future”. Oddly, even the actor Michael is a tiny guy, and only grew to be 5ft 4in just like Jimmy.

The amazing benefit about Jimmy is that his close and best friend at the time was his first-cousin Brian. For me, meeting Brian was love at first site. Jimmy was the one who proposed for me meeting his cousin. Brian was rugged, masculine and beyond sexy with strong physical features of great maturity. However, he did not go to my high school, but lived about an hour away in Cedar Lake, Indiana from my home town.

Strangely, as I sit here typing these words it is his birthday today. Odd how the motivation of this personal post was seduced by the celebration of his life. So my dearest Brian, I silently wish you a happy birthday and must rummage through my cell phone to find your lost number to lovingly text you my best wishes. Memories reminiscing of you, as I spoon deep into my chair with legs cradled together thinking about my fleeting thoughts of my childhood beau. He was a “bad boy” indeed, even back then. A beautiful gift from god or something magically birthed from his DNA, he looked like a guy that would be in his young 20’s when he was only 15 years old. He sported an extra thick stylized hair cut, with short silky waves throughout his brown locks and a little length from the back of his neckline. Certainly not like the crazed mullet that Billy Ray Cyrus created, but he was definitely the “it” guy during that circa when it came to sex appeal.. and that infamously big 80’s hair.


During our summer love of simple pleasure Brian, Jimmy, myself and my girlfriend Candi purchased a 6-pack of aluminum canned beer along with a box of smokes, and drove all the way to the forest preserve during the eve of dusk during a night in July. Back in the rural area of Illinois, a forest preserve was sacred land. No drinking on premise or hanging out when the sun stopped shining. Well, as rebellious as I was not, I joined in on this little festivity this one particular day. I do remember it sharply, as all of us sat there drinking cheap beer and smoking a pack of Marlboro’s on a public picnic table. Posturing our lazy butts on the surface of it, along with our feet stabilized on the horizontal seat of the bench. I thought I was so cool, as I blew smoke from my lips. My father would have killed me if he saw me. But that is the pleasure of being young and fancy free. As soon as the sun was setting we were spotted by a local police car. All of us were awarded four single tickets of being in the forest preserve after hours, while drinking. A double-whammy. Inevitably, now my father had to hear about it.

The day of court was not pleasant. My Catholic and highly strict papa was not going to put up with the shenanigans of any boy who was trying to court his virgin daughter, especially one who had a mischievous evil in his eyes. From that miserably long day, my dad forbid me to ever see Brian again. My heart was broken.

Fast forward a few years. When I was 21 years old, (after I moved to New York) I played a visit on Brian and saw him for the first time since that time. He still looked handsomely intriguing. More built in muscle. More mature. It is bewildering sexy what 5 years can do to a boy to turn him into a beastly man. In a peculiar way, he still carried on the persona of being a rogue. A fierce rebel. A young man with a shaved chip on his shoulder due to his own destructive childhood. Even so, I still continued to love him. The time we spent together was brief and that is all I could give him. It was an evening of simple pleasures of hanging out, going to a few bars, and then heading back to his apartment with his musician friends. My memory does recall the events which took place, nonetheless that is to be packaged away deep within my brain. 

Fast forward again. After decades of never speaking to him from that last time, I recall connecting with him on Facebook several years ago. Then taking a leap of faith and desirous hunger to see him in the flesh. A visit was in order, and certainly long overdue. It was clearly beyond 25 years, or more, since the last time we kissed.

Unsettling, from what happened from that moment till now.. is the reason for the writing of my poem “DARE”. Turbulently, I forever continue to love Brian. My heart still swoons for him. Yet, from his messy childhood, to unloving relationships and his current situation today.. that glorious man who deserves my mouth does not know how to love me back. Does not know how to express love. Does not know how to let (my) love in. 

  • With proof of this personal statement, ironically he just text a response from my response.

Me: Celebration for you is not your thing.. is it? For decades I would always wish you a happy birthday.. always remembering you.  

Him: No it’s not. Thank you for thinking of me though.. I just don’t see the importance of a day I was born or anyone else for that matter.

Me: My sweet, begin to let LOVE into your life so you can FEEL life. (Know that I love you.)

Him: I know you do I just don’t know if I do or can or know what it is..

Before I left him, to fly home to Vegas in September of last year of 2012.. the night before I flew out, I took a black permanent Sharpie thick marker in my right hand, along with the copy of my poem in my left. Stood there while he was on the other side of his barn, and wrote its entire length along a few wooden beams. My hand print of words was on a 6 foot beam (two of them) where he would have to walk slowly across the other side to read the message, and then have to walk back again a few times, reading from left to right. To this day, the poem of expression still remains. I wanted to let him know what he is missing.