It's interesting, ita, that until you wrote this I'd never considered the parallels between LRRH and Bluebeard's closet. But the line:

The next blood you shed shall be for me, and your last.

ties in so much to menarche and the loss of virginity and the consequences thereof in both stories. Nicely done.

ita, you give me shivers in my lizard-brain, where my contact with the supernatural/Divine happens. I am quietly in awe.

Sail, both the one here and the one about your mum in LJ are just exquisite.

eta: Erin, look at you! So dark and ... sexy.

Yep. That's what I was looking for. Thank you, ita. Perfection.

This one hurts, kinda.

Handball Girl

slap-slam-bounce

How old was I when you first saw me, when we recognised something in each other? Fifteen? Doesn't matter, really. Apparently, I was unique. You told me so.

smack-slap-wall-rebound

You were very married. We came together when your coupling frayed. You recognised me, and I you: need, individuality, passion.

slap

flew-apart

rebound

came-together

slap-slam-bang-rebound

Flew, finally, apart.

Our final meeting in this life, you recognised me. God knows how - surely so many times of the heart hitting the wall must have disfigured me.

And I recognised you. So tell me - does that mean your heart was broken, too?

Though it’s been years since I’ve seen you, and longer since I wanted to, really not a lot has changed. The restlessness we shared is still there, only slightly tempered by age. My sense of humor is still dry, and I still change my hair color at the drop of a hat.

Back then you called me loyal. Loyal and steadfast, and I was, long after it was reasonable or wise. That hasn’t changed either. It’s been years, after all, and I am still loyal to my anger at you and the harm you caused.

Back then you called me loyal. Loyal and steadfast, and I was, long after it was reasonable or wise. That hasn’t changed either. It’s been years, after all, and I am still loyal to my anger at you and the harm you caused.

Perkins broke me.

That makes me smile, Perkins, in anticipation of a smackdown.

****

It hits me every time I put foot to this tarmac. I know how to bundle against the cold, get by speaking French, am not surprised at the number of curries out there, don't think twice about homosexuality, never go to church, am used to monochromatic currency and coins that are actually worth something, and can name multiple types of malus domestica.

But you can't take here from me. When I'm there I'm strange, random, cold-shy, an eater of strange foods, over-educated, almost-accented, a bad speller, and overly fond of rum.

Everyone thinks I'm foreign. Who calls me their own?

It's a little short, but oh well.

You lied.

You cheated.

You slapped.

You hurt.

You maimed.

And I accepted.

Accepted that sometimes, that was love. That it was ok. That is was normal.

Friends would look at me with pity, with sorrow, and with disgust.

I looked inside me, and had no idea who it was.

I left.

And you had no idea I was gone.

Then again, how could you? You didn’t recognize me when you had me.

So why am I surprised you don’t recognize me now?

Love both of those, ita and Aimee.

ita, I know another Jamaican-Canadian (born on the island, raised in Missisauga, her folks are back in Jamaica now, and she's living in Portland, Oregon, of all places) who would just smile and nod her head at your latest.

Deb, you broke me a little bit, as you always do.

Perkins, I don't know whether to hope that yours isn't from life, or just marvel at its glittering simplicity while staying well away from its very sharp edge.

Aimee, ouch. That's lovely and heartbreaking.

Oh, you can make me laugh. And you know it. You know exactly when I'll be overcome with giggles, unable to stop laughing out loud. You know how to get my heart rate galloping by word alone. I will be breathless and begging for your touch, exactly when you want me to.

You know what makes me cry, and how to get me to stop. You remind me that people care, that it's never as bad as I think, never as pointless. You love me.

Standing here in the arrivals lounge, I wonder how much I look like my photographs.