Cradle Lake - Flash Fiction

Cradle Lake

We saw all through amber gauze, which blurred lines of shapes, and of realities. Cicadas hummed from the trees; a lulling static song that buzzed like the adrenaline in my veins. Even now I have never felt less judged, never freer, never more at peace.

Our bronzed torsos stood bare above the surface of the water, glistening with the drying dew that still clung to our skin from the swim. It ran as tears down his back, and across the wasp sting from the previous day’s hike. I had thought him so brave for not crying. Every few moments he would reach round and scratch the place with a wince. “Don’t touch it,” I had said with a splash. The fresh drops upon his shoulders like beads of crystal shone in the light of the intensifying sun. I watched them evaporate from the angry wound, which I so desperately wanted to soothe.

I had only wanted to make it better, and for him to want me to. It wasn’t until I pulled my lips from his skin that I truly realized what I had done. Awkward, I shifted my feet in the sand beneath the waves.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he finally said.

I sank my head to escape, straining to see my toes at the bottom of the water. “Sorry.”  The sound of campers laughing passed behind us down the beach. He looked up from my face to watch them disappear before the silence drown us both.

I hadn’t expected his hands, warm despite the stifling August heat. They grasped my shoulders and urged me to face him. He didn’t say a word, only pulled me against him, my head upon his chest, his arms cradling my soul.

            It may have been the first day that I believed in love; a concept tossed about throughout my youngest years, but always challenged by behavior. Like dad, who seemed fond of the word but left us anyway. But the thing I felt then did not at all resemble the obligatory notion I’d encountered at home. It was as though I had become better – undergone a strange metamorphosis that rendered me complete. In his arms was clarity, and there I was content.

            A fire was lit inside me as his chin caressed my face, and my skin erupted when his timid mouth approached my own. There was no space to separate us, and still the whole of the universe hung suspended between our lips. Eternity passed within that moment. Suns and dependent civilizations were born and died, but no time had passed at all. Time was just an illusion created by men in suits. And then it was over.

I was thrust from him, disoriented by the spots in my eyes the sun had made. Tiny tidal waves rushed behind me as I fell into the water’s arms and watched him recover from the moment, facing the beach and waving at our counselor.

            “Guys, come on, it’s almost time for chapel!” He ran as fast as the lake would allow, the water jumping up and nipping at his jaw. I was hurt by his shame. My eyes clung to the red welt on his back as he fled, imagining my lips were still there. He was to the beach before I could stand. “You too, Calvin!”

I’ve searched my whole life for that fleeting peace; the one they would call abominable, the one they say he hates. But hate was never a part of it. Love does not even recognize the word.

Carolynn Staib, 2012 - cftaib@gmail.com

New Poem

Nearly Calvin

How proud your mother must be, sword-bringer

And strange how often I wish she were me

I can claim no credit for who you are now, or who you’ve yet to be

Still, I fancy us scraps of the same tablecloth

Where yellow daises dissolve inside the mouths of moths

Rest, little tanager

I want you to be well

And to steady the flickering light that pierces your shell

I’ll take the couch, you can sleep in my bed

Or hide in my soul and let it cradle your head

Futile devices though words may be, and I’ve no steel in my name

I hope you’ll listen to me

I see you wither with pain and loss

And deny your desires at any cost

Loving only through film-reels that burn in your brain

Of lakes and kisses and sunburns and shame

And while happiness is fragile

And fulfillment is death

The idea of you hurting stabs me in the chest

You’re right

You were not made for life, not on a rock so full of cracks

But the world is lighter because you lift it

All five parts upon your wasp-bitten back

You’ll be the first invited, little Atlas

To the parade among the trees

Your soul is the least impossible

Irrefutably (and if I accept you, so will he)

New Poem - (Dis)comfort

(Dis)comfort

I say I want contentment

I lie

There’s no healing for the healed

No recovery for the sane

Flaw is required for repair

Resurrection’s for the slain

To find perfection is to die,

Immortality the grave

For it’s through humanity we grow

Temptation frees the slave

Wisdom and innocence cannot coexist

Which do you want to be?

There is no purpose without struggle

We need to lick our sores

For to be content is to seize up

And improve no more.

~Carolynn Staib, 2011~

Northern Lights

Heads up...I'm a space geek.

For anyone interested, the aurora is predicted to make an appearance tonight or tomorrow night. Earlier this week the largest sunspot in years was discovered, suggesting a mass-emission solar flare (yes, yes, "mass-emission," quit giggling you pervs!). To give you an idea of the volume of solar matter ejected; the sun spot is estimated at 50,000 miles long and 25,000 miles wide, and could easily fit the earth inside it eighteen times over. Whoa!

Auroral forecast is incredibly subjective and depends on a lot of factors so there's always the risk for disappointment, but if it decides to drop by it should be spectacular. If you happen to miss it this time there will be other chances. 2011/2012 marks the end of a typical eleven year solar cycle, the ends of which produce a lot of flares - and it's thought that this "cycle-finale" is particularly active. Look up.

Legitimate Fan!

So last night I went on omegle.com (chat roulette-esque anonymous chatting for those who are unfamiliar) as I sometimes do, to search through the piles of horny teen boys in hopes of finding a legitimate philosophical conversation/connection with a stranger. It happens. ANYway, omegle has this new function that links with your facebook and matches you with people who have similar interests (this is great for avoiding the pervy teens), and I was matched with someone who likes "Carolynn Staib." I'd never met this person before and he went on to say that he's not only read, but loved my stories. It was probably one of the more rewarding experiences of my life, and I just thought I should share. It means so much to me to know I'm heard. 

Bundy Jr. ...?

So, there's this house on my walking route. I pass it every day. A child lives there (little boy) who is nearly always outside poking at things in the grass, breaking toys or just straight up staring at me as I pass. I've always found him a tad creepy, but am also hyper-aware of the overactive tendencies of my imagination, and so dismissed it. But today as I walked past this house, there was a severed doll head by the sidewalk with its eyes gauged out. Just thought someone else should know that I live down the street from a potential future serial killer.

Sorry about the bad photo quality, I took it with my phone as I was walking past. The kid was in the yard staring at me, and I didn't want to slow down and run the risk of ending up like this little guy here. The mouth was all jacked up, too.

Specters

Specters

I wondered for a while after it happened, whether or not I could haunt you for haunting me. I would tip over your water glasses and breathe cryptic whispers into your ear, melting at the sight of tiny bumps upon your neck. I’d smile at your wide eyes and the crude smoke signals of your frightened breaths on the frozen air. It’s silly though, I suppose; ghosts haunting ghosts.

You were selfless that day, and I had been selfless too. We were two magnets repelled by twin poles. You were sorry. You were only thinking of my shot at normalcy. But I didn’t want normal. Not really. I wanted that night in the park.

That night our conversation turned into an embrace that lasted hours. My arms ached the next day. Do you remember how we sat, shivering on that bench in the dark? Our heads burrowed into each other, desperate for freedom from our fleshy cages. I wanted nothing less than being a part of you, or you a part of me. I had a watch but still lost track of time and we got locked in. I could have stayed there all night with you, listening to the chiming song of the night-wind through the manicured trees, but you were past curfew and I didn’t want to get you in trouble. Your tights snagged on the ornate wrought iron as we scaled the locked gate, your silvery thigh shining through like stars at dusk. I felt strong with your waist in my hands as I helped you from the low stone wall.

We walked in silence then, remember? A dreamy, drunken stroll through the near-barren streets? I noticed others by shadows cast across the cobblestone. None of them had faces, just amorphous blurs and charcoal shadows where light and life should be. Your eyes were turquoise under the incandescent lamps and danced when you broke the hush, telling me smiley stories of your lonely childhood. You’d had a teddy bear once, a common object of unfathomable power that kept monsters away. Long before we met you had given it my name, and were certain it was proof that we were supposed to be together. I laughed, shaming you for being young and naive, but I didn’t disagree.

You asked me to kiss you that night. I said no. You thought you had done something wrong, or had imagined the strength of our connection, but I didn’t deserve your lips against mine. That’s my only real consolation now, that I don’t deserve you. Maybe I deserve normal.

Still, you only wanted me. We were on different paths, I told you that, but you left yours and walked blind in the woods to find mine. You ripped your still beating heart from your chest and dangled it in the trees as bait, hoping that I would accompany the wolves possessed by the scent of your blood. I didn’t come for it. I pushed you away, like the night in the darkened room. I’d finally kissed you and couldn’t stop. I pulled you to me, in rapture of your soft body against mine, and the unexpected sweetness of your pillowy pink tongue. That night you offered yourself to me. Again I rejected you. Your pale breast heaved in the half-light as you awaited my response, and your bottom lip disappeared behind your teeth. You laid back, reaching to me in invitation, anticipation of feeling secure beneath my weight. I didn’t deserve your virtue.

That night in the café I told you I loved you, but it was too reluctant and too late. You’d told me countless times before, but I could never respond. I didn’t deserve your love.

Then one night I got what I deserved, or at least what I had coming. The cruel cyclone of our insecurity ripped through our cardboard keep. You thought you didn’t deserve someone who thought they didn’t deserve you, and when he asked you to marry him, you said yes. I had been the only thing keeping you from doing it before, and I hadn’t told you not to.

That night I tore my heart from my chest. I hung it in the tree outside my bedroom window but it was too late. Drops of crimson fell to the snowy ground as it beat, dangling from the branch. But I had not ventured from my path to save yours before. I let you bleed, drain cold on the dark forest floor and become the enchanting ghost you are; unable to save me from becoming the same.

You haunt me now. I’ve found the normal you wanted me to have, but you still taint it, whispering of velvety nights too perfect to be real. Your smile boasts on the back of my eyelids and denies me sleep. Every soft pink mouth is yours, but still somehow not the same. She’s not you, and I want to believe that he’s not me.

Carolynn Staib, 2011 

cfstaib@gmail.com