Packaged: Return to Sender

she looked at him again.  just barely.  long enough to notice bits and pieces but not long enough to like any of them.

she was nervous.  she wanted to present something attractive to him.  she didn't think about the steps after or the consequences of.  she only knew that right now, in this moment, as she smiled and wished for better lighting, she hoped he might think her worthy - worth his time, worth his efforts, worth getting to know.  she didn't want this to go anywhere, she didn't need this to.  she only knew she had to pass this test.  she could've sworn she heard the ticking and tocking (perhaps the "tsk-ing"?) of a watch, the drumming and pointing of impatient fingers.

she wanted to laugh.  how silly the entire situation was!  to allow a complete stranger to read her palm by scanning her face and her body, to allow this person (who, by the way, wasn't really listening to anything she was saying) dictate her present value and future worth.

she rode along the conveyor belt, pinched and poked, sized, scaled and scrutinized.  she was sure she had already been branded so she wondered why it always took so long to....
ah-ha!  and there it was.  the moment the judges revealed their scores.

she didn't want him.  he wasn't the prize.  she wanted to pass the test.  she wanted to win.

she had forgotten that winning wasn't everything.

Beloved

He remembered the first time he saw her.  He knew who she was.  He knew what she had done.  He knew where she'd been.  He knew with whom.  He knew her fears.  He wanted to hear about her hopes.  He wanted to make her dreams come true.  He wanted her to be unafraid.  He knew where she thought she fell short.  He saw so much more in her than that.  He wanted her to see herself the way he saw her.  He didn't wince at her words.  He didn't cower when she screamed.  He didn't shout back.  He didn't walk away when she cried.  He didn't care about the smeared eyeliner, the dirty tissue, the stuttering, the mess, the mistakes.   (Did she know how she made him smile, how she made him laugh?  Did she know all the crazy, crazy things his heart did around her, for her?)   He didn't play games.  He didn't keep score.  He didn't wish for more.  He didn't wish for less.  He didn't regret.  He didn't give in when she threatened.  He didn't give up when she did.

He didn't turn around when she dared him to go.

She was running away.  She told him to f*ck off.  She told him she didn't care, that she never did.  She wanted to hurt him.  She wanted to push him so far over the edge that she could say, "I told you so."  She was with somebody.  She was with somebody else.  She was with anybody who could make her forget.

He didn't turn around.  He didn't walk away.  He told her he would fight for her - not because it was the right thing to do, not because that's what she wanted, not because he saw it in movie, not because he didn't have a choice, not because there weren't others, not because it was a habit, not because she was a last resort, not because it was a game, not because he was a pawn, an idiot, a toy, a fool, not because he was weak.

He will fight.  Because He loved her.  Because He still does.  Because she is worth it.

Carpe Diem, Ladies. Carpe the Freakin' Diem.

It's that time of the year again, folks.

Seven days left.  Seven of what could possibly be the longest and most dreadful, panicked, angst-ridden, sob story days of this month that not only falls short on days but also on the fulfillment of high hopes for that ring, that bling, that elusive thing which makes us sigh and scream....

"Where is my freakin' valentine?!?"

Fellas, this may not be the cry of your heart, particularly after a weekend of German beer, American BBQ and Mexican salsa. And, frankly, that may be the closest you ever come to exotic pleasure.  

So this message is dedicated to my fellow females.  Sponsored by overworked and underpaid cupids who are sick and tired of staring at people's butts and failed romances. 

Valentine's Day is no longer for the committed, the seeking, the hungry and the serial daters.  Ladies, trust me when I say that this blessed day is, hands down, the best day to spend with that particular class of society that tends to be neglected, underappreciated, overlooked and misunderstood: your HOT, SINGLE GIRLFRIENDS.

That's right, ladies.  Valentine's Day is the day to officiate Ladies' Night Out.  Never had one?  It's time to start.  Think it's a lame last resort?  My dear, you simply don't know what you don't know.  ("Huh?"  My point, exactly.)  A Ladies' Night Out on Valentine's Day (or the weekend before, should it fall on a weekday) is the best freakin' excuse to doll-up and pig-out.  Who else will tell you that you look beautiful and mean it?  Who else is going to tell you that you look dang hot without wagging their tongue and tail at the next hottie that walks by?  Who else will allow you pick your wedgies, burp rudely after meals, pick the food off someone else's plate, laugh like a hyena on nitrous oxide and be as indecisive as you damn well please?  Who else will allow you to take 2+ hours to get ready and join in the festivities?  And, should the need arise, who else will understand your gripes and groans about Valentine's Day?

I write this not to flip a middle finger at February 14th.  I'm sure Valentine's Day already has more than enough hate mail coming its way.  I write this because, ladies - this may be one of the last Kodak moments you can create and share with your lovely girlfriends.  Let's face it.  Most of us are getting to that age where it seems like every-freakin'-body is either dating, engaged or married.  And as we approach that reality, the nature of our treasured and beloved friendships will inevitably change.  That's not to say that your friends are going to say, "See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!" once they find a significant other.  But the fact is, when people enter into relationships, their focus, priorities, availability and responsibilities change.  And how and when you get to spend some quality time with your girls will change, too.

So go ahead and grab that cute top on sale.  (Hell- grab it even if it's not!)   Grab your trusty camera.  Call-up your crew.  Order in or get ready to head on out.  Strap on those heels and walk with that switch that makes men itch.  Bust out the champagne and the chick flicks.  Turn up that music in the car 'cuz that is your song, girl!  Seize this moment.  Because you've got more valentines than you can count and it is going to be the best dang Valentine's Day you and your girls have ever had.

God, I love being a woman. 

Yes

She closed her eyes.

She imagined how it would feel, whether their fingers would interlock or cup one another, the first time he held her hand.

She imagined what she would see the first time she looked into his eyes. Their color, their brightness, that smile, their warmth, the gaze that would hold her there forever and never let her go, the gaze that would assure her that she was the only one he saw, the only one he noticed, the only one he wanted to dance with...the gaze that would banish the world and everything in it to the periphery...the gaze that she wouldn't be afraid to meet but afraid of falling for.  Would he notice - would he appreciate, would he fall in love with - that something in her eyes, too?

She imagined the first time their paths crossed, the first time the curtains fell and they came face-to-face.  Had he always been there?  Would he be somebody new?  Had he seen her for the first time and known?  Would she see him the first time and know?  Was it through the cracks between books on a bookshelf in the local library?  Was it through a mutual friend?  Did they almost run into each other when they turned the corner?  Would he care to see her again?  Would he fight to see her again?  Did he see her at the grocery store in her pajamas on her worst hair day and somehow still know - know that it was her, know that she was a princess, know that she was beautiful, know that she was worth it?

She imagined how it would be to walk through the hurried streets of urban cool and metro chill, layers and labels and gray all around her, only to have his arms wrap around her while she burst into laughter because he refused to believe her insistent "I'm warm, really!"

She imagined how he might ask her.  It wouldn't be, "Will you marry me?"  It would be, "Will you be my wife?"  She imagined the time of day, where they would be, whether the world would hush and wait in expectation, what song her heart would sing.

When she opened her eyes, she saw everything she had ever imagined, everything she had never dared hope for but always believed in, everything she had prayed for but nothing she had ever expected, completed in this man who had changed the color of her world when he told her, with one single question, that even though the world and everything in it was somewhere below and somewhere around the corner, today - today and for every day and eternity after - he wanted her to be his and he to be hers.  And that was all that mattered to him.

She stopped imagining.

"Yes."   "Yes."  "YES!"

And then came those arms that refused to let her go.

Home Again

She knocked on the door.  She knocked softly so that she could leave and tell everybody, "I did try, but he didn't answer."

Silence.  "See, I tried. I knew he wouldn't answer."

She began to make her way to the car.  But someone wasn’t going to let her walk away.
He stood a few feet away, his back against her car.  He had been there all along, waiting.  In his arms, he hugged the same bouquet of flowers that had won her heart so long ago.  He looked directly at her, but his gaze didn’t hurt. 

And suddenly she knew that everything - everything - was going to be all right.  More than all right.

He met her halfway and swept her into his arms.  He hadn't forgotten how gorgeous she smelled, how perfectly she fit in his embrace.  He couldn't.

"I'm home again. I'm home." 

“I’m home!”

She wanted to shout.  She wanted to dance.  She wanted to question.  She wanted to run.  She wanted to know.

She closed her eyes and the only thing she knew, the only thing that mattered, was that he had answered.