Wow. Kristin, Deb, way to start off. Both of those gave me a lump in my throat.

Beautifully, honestly written, both of them.

Kristin's just about broke me in half.

Heaven/Hell

I have a note I saved, proof against the revisionist historians. Mother's handwriting says, "We may be a little late. There's dinner in the refrigerator." Dad's says, "Fuck you."

At least your father never hit me.

No, the broken wrist and the cracked ribs came from grabbing and shoving.

We had so much fun playing Parcheesi with Dad.

You used to scream at each other at the top of your lungs. He would curse. You would yell, "I wish you were dead."

This was your Dad's birthday. I wish he was here.

You can't get to heaven by denying hell.

God DAYUM, Ginger.

Just - wow.

This category is going to literally blow the walls apart, isn't it?

Drive. Drive. Drive. Just get there. Get there. Before. Keep driving. Only 500 more miles.

Sing. Keep your mind on the road. “You need to get here now.” Drive.

“I’m about 200 miles away.”

“They’ve moved him to a room to keep us more comfortable while we wait.”

Drive. Get there. Now. Get there. Reach out for a cat who understands. Drive.

Find the unknown hospital and the only door that’s open at midnight. Just inside the door is a woman who looks like me.

“Daddy’s awake and talking.”

We both made it.

Damn, those are all intense. You all broke me. My only defense is to offer something a bit on the lighter side.

The Stomach Knows

The waiting seems to be interminable, heart palpitating and hands sweating. At last, you get to strap yourself into the car for the ride of your life.

The climb up the hill is slow, but steady. As the car reaches the pinnacle of the track, it seems to hover in that weightless space right before you reach what might be heaven. Balanced there, between heaven and hell you can see both spread out before you.

Then, with a thunderous roar the car speeds down the track and you scream in terror/delight as your stomach flies into the first corkscrewing turn.

And another.

Eternity in His Arms

I’d come over the hill a little too fast . When I saw the curve coming up, I knew I was in trouble. Rain slick roads at 34 degrees meant only one thing, black ice and maybe a dark death in the early morning.

I held on, trying to steer until the rear end of the car finally broke loose. When I knew it was hopeless, I relaxed, consigned myself to my brother’s ethereal arms and waited. When I came to rest, I knew it was not yet my time to find out where I was to reside for eternity.

Edited because I did think of a title.

Sail's on a roll...

Brimstone and Bitters

Here I am, in hell. Weird; there's no fire, no brimstone, burning lake, no devils.

There's torment, though. Does that count?

Right now, hell looks like my office: computer, cats, books. Oh, and the downloads of a couple of live shows.

Right now, hell looks like my office by way of some sick Greek myth. I'm pushing the rock uphill, with water held just out of reach, except the rock is the piano music pouring from the speakers and the water is you.

And first time around, when I was actually living this, why did the same damned thing feel like heaven?

Requiem

If I could go back
If I could find that door, that magic carpet
That perfect understanding
That moment of growing up that came too soon, too late

I would take myself through it
You would be waiting
I would be who I should have been, wiser, older
I would destroy the world
If such was required of me

To find that safe place
That perfect note of music
Rippling like moving water
Healing both our hurts.

I would walk between these flaming walls, fearing nothing
And you would be here with me
Instead of rotting in someone else's heaven.