Dear Patch Of Grass

Dear Patch Of Grass –

Hey, what’s up? It’s been a while. How’ve you been? Have you been sick? You look a little green. Haha, j/k. Good joke, ldi. Good joke, indeed.

Anywho, I was just wondering if you remember the last time we met up. Remember? It was a little more than a month ago. Srsly? You don’t… Okay, well, what happened was I saw you, and I thought to myself, Well, I could walk around you… or I could jump over you. Guess which one I decided? It was to jump over you.

Anyway, long story short (too late, j/k) I landed just fine, and everything would’ve been cool like that, but then I twisted the hell out of my ankle, sprained it like crazy, it swelled up to softball-size proportions, and many, many different shades of purple materialized as it started bruising.

On that day, you almost won, Patch Of Grass. In fact, there were days when I was convinced you had won. The pain, the inability to walk, there were days I wanted to just give up, let you have your victory.

But that’s not how I roll.

So, through it all, I persevered. I worked through the pain, calmed the swelling, and finally, two days ago, I triumphed. Two days ago, I drove a car for the first time in over a month. Just to the gas station around the corner at first, but then to work, and then home from work. And I’m not gonna lie, it hurt. In fact, that night, I was convinced that I wouldn’t be able to drive again the next day.

But I did. And I will again today.

And so, Patch Of Grass, you lose. I win, and you lose. But I know that won’t sit well with you. Yeah, I’ve got your number, I know how you think. You’re probably planning something right now, aren’t you? And that’s just fine. Because when you strike again, I’ll be ready. The ball may be in your court, but we’re both on the playing field. (It’s a metaphor. A mixed metaphor.) Your move, bitch. Make it a good one.

– ldi

Glass And Tears

She broke a glass and broke into tears. Everybody saw it, they’ll tell you positively. There was the loud crash that came from the other room. The partygoers rushed in and saw her sitting, surrounded by thousands of tiny shards. Sobbing.

Nobody understood. They judged her for it. Silently and not so silently. What kind of woman would be so affected by a broken glass? Or was it that she’d made a mistake, and couldn’t handle being imperfect? Either way, they all thought, this was an extreme reaction.

What none of them knew was that earlier that day, as she was preparing for the party, she’d stubbed her toe. And she hadn’t screamed. She’d looked at the small bead of red forming, and just continued looking. Finally, she’d washed it off, and continued her task.

What none of them knew was that two days ago, she’d gone to her car, and had found a bit of metal broken off in the lock. And she hadn’t sighed. She’d looked at it, stared for too long, and called a cab.

What none of them knew was that a week before that, her partner of over a decade had left her, abandoned her. And she hadn’t screamed. She’d sat in stony silence as the woman she loved packed her bags and walked out of her life. She’d stared at the door for hours, until the sun had disappeared, and the darkness had lulled her to sleep.

What none of them knew was that the day before that, a woman she’d grown up with but never really knew passed away. And she hadn’t cried.

One thing had led to another and to another and to another, until, finally, she broke a glass and broke into tears.

What she doesn’t know is that tomorrow, the sun will rise and she will feel its warmth on her skin for the first time in what will feel like ages.

What she doesn’t know is that a week after that, a true friend will call to ask if she’s all right, and they will talk for hours.

What she doesn’t know is that a couple of days after that, she will meet someone, and they will nervously flirt, and she will return home and laugh.

What she doesn’t know is that that laughter will last for days.

What she doesn’t know is that a month from now, or a year from now, or ten, a friend will give her a set of wine glasses as a gift, and she will smile, and she will cry, and she will remember, and she will be loved.

One thing will lead to another and to another and to another…

– ldi