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<center>http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c4.../103_large.jpg
"is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry?" </center>
Constance sat alone in the waiting room, listening to the whirr of air conditioning and buzz of fluorescent lights. Fingers flipped through a magazine; highlighting an athlete she had never heard of, from a sport she had never watched.
"Miss Duke," the petite nurse was leaning in the doorway, chart in hand, watching her expectantly.
"Heh, yeah, that's me," as if there would have been a question as to who she was, when she was the only one sitting in the room. The magazine was discarded into a basket in passing, while eager fingers crept to the waistband of her sweatpants. She followed the nurse like a small child in a game of follow the leader; weaving through the maze of hallways until they reached the room, herroom.
"Doctor Kolano will see you shortly," her voice was annoying, high pitched and wheezy. Almost as annoying as her bleached blonde hair and bright red lipstick.
"Yeah, thanks," spoken absently while she hoisted herself onto the edge of the table, long legs dangling over enough for toes to touch the ground. Fingers drummed along her thighs, tapping morse code into her veins hoping that her message would make it to her brain and spark something. Wake up body, it said, we got shit to do. Minutes seemed like an eternity of waiting, staring up at the blur of artificial sunlight.
"Miss Duke," her eyes cut to the man with the baritone. Tall, dark, and stout he looked more like a football center than a doctor, "so, your physician tells me that you guys found a lump under your arm?"
This part was always the hardest, it brought back the bad memories. "Uh, yeah..in the lymph nodes...it's small, but I guess it was big enough to scare me.." Fingers fumbled to pull her arm from the t-shirt, hoisting it up enough to slide her arm out and extend it upward so he could see. "Do you see it?"
"Mmhmm, right there," his thumb ran over the flesh, inspecting it, "so I take it you want to go over the surgery?" She watched his fat fingers curl around the pen, scribbling over the chart.
"Not, really, I know what happens. If you haven't noticed, I am missing breasts," she realized after speaking that she may have sounded bitter, which she was, but she didn't like people to think that. "Dr. Madison already spoke to me about it all, I am just here with you for the scheduling." She offered a better explaination and an apologetic smile.
"It's all right, um, well, is there any day that it better for you? Maybe the twenty-nineth, since we want to get this back to see if it's cancerous as soon as possible?" He didn't look at her, but his voice feigned concern. Doctors tried too hard sometimes.
"The twenty-nineth is fine," neglecting to remember her trip to Savannah with Edina. Sliding her arm back into her shirt she eased herself from the table.
"Well, we will contact you a few days before the surgery, make sure you are clear with all the procedures," as a professional courtesy he extended his hand, which Constance tangled up in her spiderweb fingers, giving it a squeeze and shake before releasing it.
"Thanks, I'll talk to you then." Not wanting to hang around more than she had to; Constance was already out the door, fumbling for her car keys in the pockets of baggy sweatpants. Now the question was no longer 'is is cancerous or not' it was 'how do I tell Edina it might be back'. She would invite her for a drink, talk to her about it then.
<font color="#6633FF " size="1">[ July 14, 2006 09:26 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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Constance had been sitting beneath the whirr of broken lampposts and flicker of faulty streetlights for two hours. Fingers massaged temples, praying for some sort of relief for the headache that had been bothering her since she had sought refuge in the gutter. The phone cord from the payphone was pulled and elongated to her will so that she could nestle the receiver between her shoulder and ear. "Hello...Elliotte?" Brows furrowed and eyes closed to try and fight off the twitching of her nerves, that threatened to keep her from speaking. Fingers clawed at the broken seams of her jeans, tangling in the fray of fabric.
"Yeah, hello, who's this?" He sounded so different from what she remembered of him. His voice was deeper, rougher like a chainsmoker after a five year binge. She wondered if he looked like he sounded, if the years had been worn into his face creasing flesh and leaving their mark. The mark of years that he hadn't even lived yet. Could it have been her fault? Could she have done that to him?
"Elliotte, it's me. It's--" words didn't even make it up from her vocal chords before he interrupted and chimed in. He knew. Just like she knew he would.
"Constance..." His voice trailed off in the other end of the receiver and the silence hurt more than the sound of his voice. "You...I...I don't know what to say, baby, are you okay?" As if she had never left, as if they were still together.
"I don't know Elliotte. There was a lump, in the lymph nodes under my arm...I..I had surgery today. To find out if it is cancerous," she stopped short of any details, choosing to let him speak if he wanted to, if she even deserved that. Weight was shifted on the curb, long legs stretched out and tangling together at the ankle.
"Baby..." She could hear him fumbling over his words on the other end, seperated by thousands of miles and she could still feel him. "Do you want to come home? I can buy you a plane ticket. Do you want me to come out there?" He didn't even know where there was. She could have been lost in the depths of the sea and he would have dove down to try and rescue her.
"No, I just needed to hear your voice. I just needed to tell you I didn't forget," she should have hung up. She shouldn't have listened to him after she said that. But she did. She kept the phone glued to her ear in anticipation of something dreadful to follow.
"Don't do this to me Constance. Don't give me hope just to take it away. It isn't fair," she heard his voice crack, works getting caught up on his tongue in tangled behind his teeth trapped in a net of anguish. "I love you so much, why can't you come back to me!?" Anger mixed with pain and sorrow, leaving Constance knee deep in a moral quagmire.
"I'm sorry! I can't come back! You deserve better, I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you. You of all people deserve more!" She didn't wait for a reply this time, no, she knew better now. "Goodbye." The receiver was slammed onto the base, and her body was pressed away from the curb. She needed to go home. She needed to sleep, or find someone to spend the night with. She needed a bottle of tequila. But most of all, she needed to forget. She heard the phone ring out a cruel melody of dreams that came crashing down. She didn't answer, she wouldn't and couldn't. He deserved better than her.
"I'm nothing." She was worthless. She couldn't do anything right. Too vain to let anyone know how self-loathing she was, but too self-loathing to truely be happy at the moment. She was going to go take her pain killers, pray to God Elliotte could forgive her, and go to sleep.
<font color="#000000"><font size="1">[ January 08, 2007 12:41 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font></font>
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ January 09, 2007 08:42 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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He was fast asleep and she was tangled up in the bedsheets, she was tangled up in him. There was no place else she would have rather been at that moment. She was lost in him; in all his broken glory. He didn't realize how beautiful he was, so she whispered it to him in his sleep.
"Lucian..." she purred, her tongue rolling against a wall of enamel, that trapped all her adorations for her tongue to reel back in. She had so much to say to him while he slept, but her vocal chords only birthed stillborn words. Her mind was pregant with so many thoughts, but none made it passed the tangle in her throat. She knew that she wasn't brave enough to ever tell him it all while she was awake and her tongue wasn't loose enough when she was drunk.
She watched the sun break through her blinds and spill across the hardwood walls lined with posters and pictures of people she had never met, but knew she should have. Her fingers played his ribs like a piano, hoping that the symphony of flesh and bones would set the mood.
No, that was left up to the stereo in corner. Words were foreign to her ears, they weren't English and Constance couldn't decipher them in her current state. They were beautiful nonetheless. She brushed kisses to his neck, and ran her fingers through his hair. "You're beautiful. You're beautiful and you don't even know it..." She waited for a witty rebuttal, but got none. He was still lost in the abyss of sleep and she was happy to curl up against him and listen to his heart beat. The pretty, tattooed girl with long brown hair and the broken boy, they were beautiful.
"When we first met, I told you your hair reminded me of Cinderella's covered in soot," she spoke to him, wondering if she passed through his dreams like a ghost. "And you were my half hour boyfriend." She remembered it all too well and was fond of the...unusual memory. "Then you were almost crushed by a centaur. We had two encounters with her." She shuddered at the memory of Cass.
"I'll love you, if you let me."
She could feel him stirring beside her, not awake but no longer deep in the recesses of sleep. She wanted more than anything for him to have heard her then, but knew he hadn't and knew that she was not debonair, she knew that she was not daring; she couldn't tell him while he was awake. She was confessing all her adorations and she couldn't stop staring at the curve of his jaw. If he opened his eyes and looked in her eyes she was sure he would know, and she couldn't have that.
"I love you."
"Ehrm, hm? Did you say something?"
"I'm going to go make breakfast. I wanted to know if you wanted pancakes or waffles?"
"Pancakes."
<font color="#6633FF " size="1">[ August 16, 2006 01:18 AM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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She stared at the sky through the cobwebs between her fingertips, until the cigarette smoke catharsis clouded her atmosphere. The chitter-chatter of chalk outline ghosts corrupted her daydreams of what could have been, dragging her back into the world of what was; a world where there wasn?t happy endings, where Prince Charming never came. She shifted harshly against her asphalt bed, bones cracking in a grim symphony while her heart beat a constant background melody to the wood wind of her lungs.
The cockcrow broke the moon?s hold on the sky and the darkness? vice grip on the city, but it was the breeze born lullaby that lured her to her feet; when she walks down the street, she knows there?s people watching, building fronts are just fronts, to hide the people watching her. Another night spent in the gutter and while she couldn?t remember it she knew she had been staring at the stars. Bloody knuckles were her souvenir of too many shots of Jameson and an unwanted advance from a drunk next to her. It wasn?t the first time and it wouldn?t be the last, she had scars to prove that.
Fingers rolled along the sharp bones that were visible through too thin skin, across the expanse of colorful ink. Flesh was painted up to make up for something she had lost long ago to a surgery meant to save her life. Constance was nothing like her name might suggest because she was fleeting like the breeze on a stagnant summer day. ?What the fuck.? A question was made into a statement with a slur of her words that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the summer swelter that wore the body down. ?Eight o?clock and it?s already fuckin? hot as Hell,? she groaned into her hand as she dragged it down her face, leaving tiger stripes in soot.
?Goddamn Constance, ya here again?? The familiar sweet Southern twang came rolling off the tongue of her neighbor, Elias who was balancing on the broken sidewalk with his dog, Hank Williams.
?Goddamn right I am. Fuckin? asshole last night tried to hit on me,? which was entirely irrelevant to how she ended up in the gutter, but she mentioned it for the singular purpose of having Elias chime in on the subject.
?Did ya kick is ass, darlin???
?Fuck yes I kicked his ass. Hit the fucker in the face with a beer bottle.?
?Good girl,? like a father beaming with pride.
?I?m not a dog,? she huffed.
?Girl, I know. Take the compliment,? Elias Harrison had a charm about him, it contributed to him bringing home numerous women (but never Constance, he knew better than to try that with her).
?Yeah, yeah?? She waved him off dragging her feet across the pavement toward their apartment building. ?I?ll catch ya lata? playa?.? Two fingers were thrown in a salute to the cowboy and his dog while she exited stage right.
?Bye darlin?. Take care now.? There was no doubt that he wouldn?t be coming back anytime soon. No, he wouldn?t be coming home until his speech was slurred and he was brandishing a girl on his arm. It was just the way he was and Constance suspected that it would take a miracle to change him. In reality it was merely a nineteen year old street rat that would have the lady?s man changing his ways and cleaning up his act.
Twelve flights of stairs; twelve hellacious flights that had her panting by the time she reached her hall. ?Jesus Christ, it?s so hot,? she whined into the splintered door, trying hard not to slam her skull into it. Fumbling with her keys (which she kept hooked onto her belt for fear of losing them in a drunken stupor), she finally managed to connect the puzzle of her key and the keyhole of the door. With a simultaneous turn of both the key and the handle she managed to shove her way inside, struggling to remove the key which had a habit of getting stuck. ?Goddamn key.?
After her undeclared war with the key, the door was slammed and she stopped to survey her apartment. ?Goddamn apartment.? Chipping paint was meant to be offset by the pictures she had hanging, but her attempt failed miserably. The fact that the things in her apartment cost more than the apartment itself bothered her; it was a thing. She eyed the cello in the corner, it called to her in its silence; a catcall only she could hear. Despite herself, Constance was something of a musical genius; at the age of fourteen she had attended Julliard, by twenty she was the chair of the music department at Martin Luther King Jr. High School in Atlanta.
?Goddamn dishes.? She eyed the tower of dishes piled up in her sink. She flicked the top with a spindly finger, watching them shake and clink together.
She was in a rut.
-
<center>A long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin'
Now the days go by so fast
And it's one more day up in the canyons
And it's one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven...I wish you would
The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it's one more day up in the canyons
And it's one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California...I think you should
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in Hollywood
It's been so long since I've seen the ocean
...I guess I should
counting crows</center>
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ September 27, 2006 06:31 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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<center>http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c4...tmut_Lerch.jpg
"i just want to see a field of wild flowers in bloom..."</center>
her reflection was not one she recognized. fingers traveled over the paperthin skin of her cheeks which seemed constantly hollowed out. you look like a victim, she told herself. ravaged by disease, her body was far too fragile and thin for her height. auschwitz baby, with her sharp bones protruding through flesh and spiderweb tangle of veins. her frown remained in place, deepening as her eyes shifted her attention up, up, up to what once was a halo of brown hair, but now was nothing but flesh. we can't survive this constance, her body ached. "yes we can, we have to. i have shit to do..." despite the running faucet that sloshed water around in the stark white sink, enough to splash up onto the counter, elliotte had heard her. she had been hoping to drown out her crying.
"constance, baby?" he leaned forward with his forehead against the door. he'd been standing there for her entire stint in the bathroom and knew exactly what she had been doing. she hid away when she cried, she hid away a lot nowadays; like an animal waiting to die.
"yeah?"
"are you okay?"
her voice threatened to crack and she swallowed her words back down a dry throat while she stopped to think about something more appropriate to say than 'yeah, m'fine', like she always did. "i'm cool. just washing my face." her features contorted into disgust with herself over such a lie, not even a good lie! she cleared her face of the trails of tears by splashing water up onto her face. because before he did it she knew elliotte would come into the bathroom.
"constance," he pleaded while stepping into the bathroom, his movements soundtracked by the creak of the door and the shuffle of bare feet across the tiled floor. "baby..." she was a mess of water and miles of skin and bones, and even broken he had never seen anyone more beautiful. he didn't give her time to speak before he swallowed her in strong arms and brought her in close. her drilled his love across her face in kisses. but all she could do was cry and cry. cry for the disease and cry for the love she couldn't return.
tomorrow they'd go to the doctor, and he'd tell her the cancer was gone. next week he'd buy an engagement ring, but wait to ask her until it was too late because by next month she'd be gone. next year she would be miles of hair and inked skin, laying in bed with a boy who she could love, but wasn't sure he could love her back.
"before i die, i just want to see a field of wild flowers in bloom," she had said to elliotte while he held her close in the bathroom of their apartment.
<font color="#6633FF " size="1">[ September 20, 2006 06:17 AM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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"connnnnstaaaance," his voice came as a beggar's yell, teeth rattling in the bone of his jaw. "baby, let's go already!" his grin came sincere across his face, one hand wrapped around a bottle of vodka with the other clutching a cigarette. "i got stuff! it's time to get t-r-a-s-h-e-d!"
-
She sat awake, in the chair across the room from the bed that they shared. Fingers pinched a cigarette, letting it dangle between long spindly fingers. She watched him while he slept, the slow rising of his chest with every breath; just to make sure he was breathing. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them again. She thanked the drug induced sleep that kept him from stirring when she spoke.
"I love you," she said. "I really love you. Not like people before you, never like people after you."
She watched the shadows creep across the room, winding up her ankles and over long, thin limbs. Like a plague they spread up her body, over bare hips and a bare chest until she too was a shadow. Her cigarette bobbled in her mouth, spilling ash across a colorful chest and stomach.
"I don't need you to love me back," she explained through the but of her cigarette and a veil of smoke. "After all, love isn't something that you give and expect it back. You hope, but you don't need it...you just need that person."
Her fingers itched along her shoulder, over the bandage that hid away her newest tattoo. It was for him, but he'd never know. She'd never tell him because she was scared of what he would think or say. Worse yet, what he wouldn't say. "If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky".
"Someone asked me why I was with you today. Someone from your work who was in the tattoo place. I just told them all the great things about you," she chuckled, smoke spilling from her mouth and nose. "I told them that I don't get a choice in who I fall in love with, but at the same time...I wouldn't want it to be anyone other than you. You have your problems, but so does everyone else." She felt like she was rambling on, but since he wasn't awake (atleast she hoped) she saw no problem with it.
"I told them that you made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and that my dog liked you. I told them you always smell like tea and you have soft lips," pausing, her smile crept slightly wider. "I also told them you were great in bed. Thought I'd help out your reputation a bit."
She snuffed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray before climbing to her feet. Her body a symphony of aching, grinding bones and throbbing muscles.
"Then she called you a loser and punched her and broke her nose."
She climbed back into the bed with him, curling up against his side and drumming her love in kisses along his back. "You're not a loser baby, you're beautiful, you're wonderful." As if he could hear it, if only he knew everything she thought about him. If only she could tell him it all.
-
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<center>Once I loved a spider
When I was born a fly,
A velvet-footed spider
With a gown of rainbow-dye.
She ate my wings and gloated.
She bound me with a hair.
She drove me to her parlor
Above her winding stair.
To educate young spiders
She took me all apart.
My ghost came back to haunt her.
I saw her eat my heart.
Vachel Lindsay
</center>
-
I never said I'd take this lying down...
"What is this shit?" she grunted, eyeing first her student and then the ratty CD player he had been hiding away so he could listen to this particular band.
She says c'mon c'mon, baby...
"Taking Back Sunday," as if that helped Constance at all, but she listened regardless. Unamused or disinterested couldn't be seen in the flatlined lips and half-lidded eyes.
I still know everything...
"Why do you have it in my class?" she asked with a low groan, sitting forward to peer at him over her desk, "You know you aren't allowed to have them in school."
Then what's the point...
"I had to listen to it."
"But why?"
I'm at the corner of your bed...
He shrugged his response and eyed her through the thick brimmed glasses with a frown, nervously rubbing his hands together. The next song started up, a different song, a different band.
"I'm keeping it until the end of the day."
"You're a bitch!" He stormed from her room, mumbling curses toward the witch-woman he had for a teacher.
"AND A DETENTION!" her voice dropped low after her catcall into the hallway, "little son of a bitch," she grunted. It wasn't the first, wouldn't be the last time she got cursed by a student.
<font color="#6633FF " size="1">[ September 19, 2006 01:17 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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<center>how we waste our precious time,
marching in the picket line,
that surround those striking hearts,
and the time is never now,
and we know who we should love,
but we're never certain how.</center>
-
she left the comfort of her sweat ridden sheets and tangle of lucian's limbs to prowl the streets. insomnia and anxiety had gotten the best of constance and her body ached for movement. she stalked the shadows of the spiderweb tangle of streets and back alleys that made up the city. it was all familiar, each crack in the pavement and brick laid into the buildings. like her own expanse of flesh and bones, each intricate tattoo that reminded her so much of the city. the earthbound madonna walked the streets amongst the hookers and drug dealers, without fear. they were one and the same, but neither knew it. they were all searching for something to save them, but none of them knew where to look.
<center>this empty chest.
this hollow throbbing.
this empty shell will help you sleep.
and your name will come in time.
for now take a number.
</center>
she walked like she was weighed down. she carried the burden of time on her shoulders like a cross, and a liar's crown of thorns, woven from guilt on her head. a halo of pain and sorrow. her body ached from the years she hadn't lived yet, the years she doubted she would ever see. her legs begged for rest, but she kept on walking with nowhere to go and no one to see. she just had to keep on keeping on like nothing was wrong.
<center>this is a surrender skin
this is hanging on
sing the high notes, touch his hand.
this is giving up
faces on! faces on!
we are pretty when we are faking.
i am such a liar when i smile</center>
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ September 27, 2006 06:28 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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all chrome and cherry red gloss, the sixty-seven catalina didn't seem to fit with the stark stretch of street. miles of asphalt and gutter glass, it sat idling like a temple to the back alley gods and goddesses. it was here she sat, swallowed whole by the leather seats. dressed in red, dressed to kill; the bag of bones painted up with colorful flesh. her life was painted out from her shoulders to her hips and wrists to neck. tattoos that were as intricate as the city she dwelled within. her head tilted to the side, dissipating her halo of smoke into nothing more than blots on an invisible painter's canvas. her eyes were on the sky, the stretch of black expanse dotted with diamonds. "fuck man," she groaned, her cigarette bobbling and spilling ash across the red dress (which oddly enough matched the pontiac). inked fingers curled and knuckles dug into closed eyes, smearing dark liner dramatically. a tragic beauty. "i'm so fuckin' lost," she snarled, plucking the cigarette from its perch between her lips. proverbially lost, because she knew right where she was. this city was nothing foreign to the carcrash queen. she swore she knew every spiderweb crack of the pavement and mislaid brick in the wall.
despite her exit, the car continued to run and music continued to play. her movements and thoughts were soundtracked by houston calls. a shitty band on a shitty cd that a student made for her, that she listened to only because she adored her students. the moon shines bright for them. "this is fuckin' disgusting, who writes this shit, man?" she didn't feel as stupid talking to herself when the pitbull stuck his head out the window. "moshe, who does that kinda shit happen to, anyway?" she canted her head to the side, dropping the dog a glance expectantly. the pooch groaned and grunted, flopping back inside to sprawl in the passenger seat. "yeah, i dunno either. fuckin' love isn't about moons shinin' for'em and streetlights flickerin'." she snorted her retort to the song, forcing disgust to surface on her face despite having cried to the song not an hour before. "ugh!" her hands were thrown up in defeat as she slithered her way back into the car where she slumped into the leather seat. her window was rolled up, despite the cigarette she continued to smoke. evened out only because the passenger side's window was down, moshe needed fresh air. constance, however, was content to breathe the polluted air. only slightly more contaminated by rat poisons and tar than the air she breathed elsewhere and not behind a thin filter.
"i'm just so fuckin' lost."
-
<center>let's laugh in the mirrors and try
to figure out what our smiles mean</center>
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ September 29, 2006 11:37 AM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
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the phone just kept ringing and ringing. "what the fuck?" six in the morning was no time to be calling the cellist, it led to her being fairly unhappy and rude when answering the phone.
"who the fuck is calling me?" she snarled into the phone, practically yanking the phone cord from the reciever.
"constance?"
"um yes."
"it's mom."
she felt the muscles in her body constrict and her jaw lock, forbidding any words to come out.
"are you there?"
"mmhm." was the most she could get out over the fury that etched itself into her face. her lips parted and threatened to drip words of hatred, nut she knew this was no time for voices of violence. lucian was still sleeping and she didn't want to wake him up.
"did you hear me? it's mom."
"i don't have a mom." the phone clicked off and left to idle of the floor. her footsteps were soundtracked to the buzz of the dial tone. she'd sleep away the ghosts.
-
she teetered on the brink of insanity and genius on a daily basis. today was no different. she sat perched on an old, rickety stool behind the face of her cello. fingers depressed strings while the horsehair bow made them scream to her: please give us meaning. despite years of playing, calloused fingers split and bled red ribbons down the strings. five hours of nothing but playing, never once moving from her wooden stool perch. all her feelings were poured into the instrument. words were lost to the heavy thrum of the strings. it was all building up in her chest. letters were lost to notes and she could only speak and think in sheet music.
she wondered if he could hear her playing for him.
-
-
"miss duke?"
she'd been sprawled on a stretcher in the hospital's hallway for five hours. though it hardly seemed as long through her lapses in consciousness. the constant influx of pain killers clouded her mind and worse yet, loosened her tongue.
"miss duke?" the nurse was trying her best to remain patient with the tattooed woman.
"hm?"
"do you have someone we can call?" she repeated for a fourth or fifth time, constance couldn't recall anymore.
"um," she took more than a moment to think before she replied somewhat coherently. "well, i have a boyfriend, but i think he's at work so don't bother him..." she rolled over on the stretcher and pulled the paperthin sheet over her head.
"he might want to know why you're here, miss duke."
"that is no one's business!" she barked back, sinking further into the stretcher.
if only it would swallow her whole.
-
the nurses' whispers travelled like a grim lullaby, carried on the wings of hospital sheets and magnified by the constant influx of drugs that ravaged her body. beneath the skin and behind the drip, drip, drip, of i.v. fluids the pain dwelled, rearing an ugly head when she dared to move.
"miss duke..." hesitant to speak for fear that the tattooed bag of bones would spit venom.
"yes?"
"i called your boyfriend."
constance laid in silence, wanting to slap the woman and hug her all at once. mummified in sheets in the dim room (one she had waited seven hours for), watching her i.v. drip to make sure the bag didn't empty.
"thank you," she finally managed to murmur, "i want him here."
-
he woke to the absence of her sharp bones and warm hollows, groaning to himself as fingers splayed across his face, pushing cinderella soot hair from the tips of his eyelashes. the ex-artist could still feel the strum of her fingers playing his ribs like they were her cello, that beautiful boat that haunted his dreams with it's worried drone.
"constance baby, where are you?" he murmured as gummy eyes came apart, sutured by heavy nights of vodka and dope. "oh christ, my head.."
lucian slipped out of her bed, naked as the morning he slid screaming from his mother's womb.
"constance..?"
the phone rang; it made him jump.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 01, 2006 12:34 AM: Message edited by: killjoyed ]</font>
-
she slumped into the couch, the ache radiating from deep in her bones to the surface of skin. "fuck man, i can't do this much longer." she spoke to moshe and ash, who stared up at her like they could understand anything she said. she pinched the joint between her fingers, eyeing it for a long moment before she plugged her mouth up. there were few things that dulled the pain, drugs were one of them.
"not like, living but dealing with chemo and shit." it wore her down more than the cancer did. "i don't wanna lose my hair again!" it was a beggar's catcall to the heavens. "i just wanna live and not deal with doctor's appointments all the time and fuckin' radiation." she didn't cry even if her voice faultered and threatened to crack under the weight of her burden.
"there's gotta be other shit." she groaned, cheeks hollowing out and head filling with smoke. "i'll find some other shit. fuck chemo. i'll talk to my doctor tomorrow." her conversation with the mutts ended when she climbed to her feet and moved down the hall. "i feel like i need to get lucian something..." she tagged onto the end. "i dunno what he'd want. guess i better figure that shit out." she silenced herself, not wanting to ramble on with her gift ideas as she collapsed onto the bed beside him. naked as the day she was born she sprawled out across him and prayed for a better tomorrow.
-
she stared down at the devil dogs, leaning forward to flick their horns. "what the fuck?" she straightened out, arms crossing her chest and twining together.
"did lucian dress you guys up?" ash aarfed, drawling his bark out into a whine as he plopped down and sprawled; dejected. "it isn't that bad..." she dropped down onto the ground, folding up her legs like origami beneath her. "i'll buy you guys a treat or somethin'. it could have been worse, ya know?"
the dogs looked skeptical.
"you could have been dressed up like princesses."
they stopped whining, suddenly seeming to appreciate the doggie devil costumes a little more.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 10, 2006 04:18 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
-
she was another year older and found it amazing she'd made it to twenty-seven. she eyed herself in the mirror, fingers dragging along too thin skin to eye her face for wrinkles before inspecting her hair for strands of grey. "i know i'm not that old, but i sure as hell feel it," she murmured to the mutts who sprawled down at her feet. a cigarette idled between her lips as she moved from the bathroom, dissipating the halo of smoke that had clouded her atmosphere. she dragged her hands down her sides and headed for the door. "don't tell lucian it's my birthday, he might try and pull some goddamn prank or somethin'. i dunno." her shoulders rolled and she shrugged it off. out the door she was heading to the doctor's for yet another check-up.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ October 14, 2006 02:54 AM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
-
she stirred in her drunken stupor, exhaustion still weighing heavy of her limbs. "hey baby," she slurred with sleep and from too much vodka. "holy shit, you found me." moshe whined and nudged at a rail thin leg. her body ached with chill and a night of sleeping on a hard bench.
"i'm so glad to see you, i get so lonely sleeping without you," she whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair. ash and moshe both got a ruffle of their ears as she sat up with a groan. "what do you wanna get, like...mcdonald's breakfast or something?" she didn't know, she usually just had guinness for breakfast.
-
hours were spent scribbling nonsense into paper, worst case scenerio plans transferred onto paper for fear of never getting her verbal wishes out. on the fridge, she stuck an envelope with his name scrawled across the front in green sharpie. 'lucian'. inside was a letter, that she would have given to him and explained had she not been running late for a parent-teacher conference. out the door in a blur of floral prints and blues, she left him with the note to read and try and understand in the absence of long limbs and inked skin.
lucian-
i'm writing this letter not because i think i will die, i have no intentions of letting cancer get the best of me. not yet, at least. but i wanted you to have this in case something happens to me and i never get it out there. you're the only person i'd trust with such vital information.
i don't want anyone wearing black to my funeral. and i don't want that fucking funeral dirge playing. you can pick out something fun, something that'll make people smile. if i'm fragile and thin, broken and weak i want it closed casket. i'd prefer people to remember me how i was not what i am when i die. invite who you see fit, not like i have family to worry about. however, if you could get a hold of elliotte, i'd appreciate that.
with all that out of the way, i wanted to thank you. you have given me something to wake up to every morning and think about before i got to sleep. i like your hair, cinderalla soot, and i like your dog. i like the way you murmur in your sleep and the way you smile at me. i like when you talk to me thinking i'm asleep and the way you're fun to get tangled in. i like the tea you bring me, and how you always smell good when you get off work. i like your clothes, more so on me, than you. i like the way you hug me, i like the way you kiss me. i like like that moshe likes you, and the way you come looking for me when i call drunk on my birthday. the list goes on and on and on, but those are the first things that came to my mind.
so thank you for that, lucian. thank you for letting me love you. because god do i love you.
the end,
constance
-
<center>When you said tulips
I knew that you're mine
When I caught you there
Crying in the night
Wearing my jacket
Wearing that smile
I knew that I'd found you
This could be an opportunity
Were you unawares
Did it catch you out?
Or did it break you in
Right from the start
It's as pure as fire
It's as pure as snow
I knew that I'd found you
This could be an opportunity
If you promise to let it grow
'Cos you're the one I love</center>
( bloc party. )
-
the moon howled to constance as she trudged through the city on a mission. she sang her apologies but it was all lost in the static that flooded the swallows of constance's eyes and spilled from her ears. she took the record store by storm in the early morning hours before it had even opened. when the single employee from the store would open up the door for the girl bundled up in layers of clothing to make her appear more than skin and bones; until they looked at stalks for legs.
"hey constance, how's it goin'?" the drug-addled street brat asked from behind a poster matted door.
"same shit, different day."
"cool, cool."
"how're you, judas? how's addy?" she asked without looking up from the neatly packed vinyl that she fingered through.
"i'm okay. i dunno, i haven't talked to her." he lied through his teeth and busied himself with stocking newly released cds in hopes that constance wouldn't notice.
"how's addy?" she repeated, not needing to look at the boy to know his lies.
"we got into a fight. she has a new boyfriend-- oh wait, i mean fiancee." he lamented, acting out his heart being ripped apart to constance's back.
"fiancee? i didn't think she had a boyfriend."
"yeah, well she did, landon or some shit like that." he groaned, slamming the gnarles barkley cd into his forehead repeatedly.
"is he good to her?"
"yeah, i mean, i think so..."
"than you should be happy for her." she plucked up three different records, clutching them under her arm as she headed for the counter. she dropped them beside the register and fumbled through the pockets of lucian's sweatshirt.
"nice hoodie."
"it's my boyfriend's." she chimed while digging up a few dollar bills.
"you have a boyfriend?"
"i've had one! i talk to josie about him all the time."
"well fuck."
"what?"
he groaned. "i was going to ask you to dinner."
"sorry man, i'm pretty head over heels for this kid." she shrugged, tossing three twenties onto the counter.
"i never pictured you for the love type."
"yeah, fuckin' love just sneaks up on your ass, judas. i swear to god." taking her records, she shuffled toward the door and with a wave tossed back over her shoulder.
and all it had taken was one broken boy.
-
constance sat across from the parents of michael murphy, sophomore and violinist brat. prim and proper, it was no surprise that michael had turned out the way he did. with a crow's beak nose that seemed to always be stuck upward, his mother, nani, didn't seem to understand what authority constance had. with her myriad of tattoos and mess of brown hair, her demands were met with nothing but a devilish smile. though that was in part to the mask that constance was wearing.
"why are wearing a mask?"
"why should it matter?"
"it's odd." the stout father replied with a grunt.
"i'm an odd woman." constance could see by the looks on their faces that neither of them liked odd.
"halloween is coming. dressing up is fun. but to be honest, we aren't here to talk about we. we're here because of michael."
"what about him?"
constance peeled back the mask and settled it on the desk, leaning forward on her forearms. "he's pretentious, he never does his work. and he isn't as good as he thinks he is. he's failing my class."
the parents sat in silence, staring from one another to her. "can he still pass?"
"i'm willing to stay after and show up before school to help him. if he agrees to the extra lessons, i'll pass him. he has to improve or he isn't going to go anywhere." she groaned, leaning back away from the pair.
"are you sure it isn't something you're doing?"
"of course, i'm sure. your son is a brat, end of story. if anyone did anything it was you."
the pair abruptly climbed to their feet, mumbling their disdain for the young teacher as they stormed from the room, grabbing michael by the collar in passing. it was time for her to start taking bets on how bad the complaint they were going to file would be.
-
constance had refused to look at herself in the mirror while the hair dresser had started cutting her hair. with her chemotherapy treatment intensifying, she knew better than to let her hair fall out on its own. so there she sat, watching a tangle of brown hair flood the ground. "ohmygod." she tried desperately not to cry, but tears managed to well up in her eyes without her permission.
"i told myself i wasn't going to cry," her form of apology to the hairdresser who was trying to work around the shake of her shoulders from silent sobs.
"honey, don't cha worry 'bout it." deep southern twang coming out honey sweet. the snip, snip, snip of scissors were drowned out by the buzz of a razor as it trimmed the last bit of her hair. only a thin layer of what once was remained, leaving her head dark and not completely barren of hair. constance finally looked up, seeing herself for the first time in years without a mess of brown hair. "girl, you look so damn good. shit, i might just have to switch teams just so i can git ta know ya." the hairdresser, elise, was trying her best to keep the fragile woman before her from breaking into hysterics.
fingers fumbled with the green silk scarf, tying it around her head and bunching it at the bottom. "thanks elise." she reluctantly climbed to her feet, arms wrapping around the woman's neck for a hug. "how much do i owe you?"
"nothin' darlin', don't cha worry 'bout it, just work on getting better."
that alone brought more tears to her eyes as she gave one final squeeze before peeling herself away from him and moving out the door.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ November 01, 2006 07:42 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
-
constance sat hunched over on on the edge of the bed, body aching. "fuck..." moshe and ash whimpered, resting their heads on her lap and licking at her fingertips. "it's okay, guys. momma is fine." she leaned over the bed and snatched up a a pair of bottles. zofram and dilaudid. first came the zofram which dissolved on her tongue and kept her from throwing up the pain medicine that came next. even when she moved, the dogs refused to leave her be. they had taken to keeping close to the fragile cellist.
"let's go find lucian, puppies. i need him now." she felt like she could possibly die that very moment, paranoia setting in she needed to profess her adoration for the cinderella soot boy. she gathered up the leashes and stumbled for the door, braving the could and a four block walk to go to his work. but the dogs behaved and stayed at her flank, making the walk more bearable. while she tried to stay strong, she broke in to tears block three and they never stopped flowing.
-
"Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life."
- Bertolt Brecht
"What is this," she hissed through clenched teeth when eyes dropped to the gutter and the crushed glass mosiac that had been assembled from broken beer bottles and crushed syringes. Constance swallowed the skeleton of stillborn words with a mouthful of cheap vodka and sutured thick lips together in a frown. The wardrum throb of her heart and woodwind of blackened lungs created a brilliant symphony of life with each movement she made. Long legs fell into stride with the ghosts of businessmen who hours before had rushed the sidewalk in a mass exodus of steel castles. The metal skyline heaven was cast a glance; God lived in a penthouse. Sharp-toothed shadows chomped at her heels, urging her to move faster still. Angry arms of darkness dragged her through the spiderweb tangle of city streets, but she was not one with them. Tonight she was a blur of color that streaked across the grim background of the asphalt purgatory. A phoenix amongst the ashes and ruin of an once upon a time life. Constance held no fear of the demons that dwelled just out of sight. Where there was blood in the gutter and sin in the street, she was at home. The inksplashed goddess watched the world through a looking glass, not experiencing only observing the trials and tribulations of others. "It's my turn to be brave," she murmured into the hollow curve of a gloved hand. "It's my turn to survive." Grimeslick lines ran lines down her face into the quarry of her mouth where teeth split the stitch of her lips as they were drawn out wide. The night would be hers, if only for the fleeting hours when the moon queen held firm her reign over the sky. She would lay beside her king and watch him breathe, fingers tripwalking the length of his chest to feel the throb of his heart.
"I'm going to beat this."
-
"i had a dream last night," constance caught the rest of her words on the tip of her tongue to leave the mess of a girl in suspense. she shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfort zone in between a slouch and sprawl. veruca was carving out shapes in her cheek.
"oh yeah? about what?"
"i died."
veruca sat in silence across from the cellist, drawing her knees up into her chest. she found the words to say but they lost all meaning in the static between her ears, so she sat in silence and waited for a further response.
"but that wasn't the part that upset me. i couldn't remember his face."
"whose face?"
"lucian's."
"oh.."
"what?" constance's brows knit together and her eyes sought out an explanation in her eyes.
"i dunno, it's just-- do you love him?"
"yes."
"why?"
"because he's beautiful."
"what kind of fuckin' medicine do they have you on, pocahontas?"
and they both laughed and laughed trying to decipher the meaning of their smiles.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ January 13, 2007 10:39 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
-
"miss duke?" doctor wainwright sat on the small stool staring up at the inkfouled cellist, trying to decipher her facial expressions after delivering the news. the flood of emotion made it hard to pick out what exactly constance was feeling, but the tears that flushed from green eyes made it easier to decide. "constance?"
"y-yeah?" she pryed her scarf from her head, displaying sprouting brown hair that refused to give into the chemotherapy, something the rest of her body had forgotten through the constant influx of drugs.
"are you alright to drive home?" a hand outstretched to gently pat her knee, feeling every jut of bone beneath the paper thin skin. her eyes tracked the intricate design of ink from her wrists to her shoulders and down her chest. she had seen it so many times before but still, she found something new everytime she tried to search. "is that a new tattoo?" her fingers motioned toward the scrawl of black ink over her chest. a name; lucian.
"lucian? heh, yeah. i haven't shown him yet, he'll probably slap me."
"you really love that kid, huh?" her smile was small, but genuine. a woman like constance deserved to be in love, to know how wonderful it was to be alive.
"yeah, i do. i should probably get going, i need to call and tell him." she tugged her shirt over her head and grabbed her bag. "thanks for everything you've done for me, doc."
"i'll talk to you soon, constance." she offered what comfort she could in a squeeze to the woman's shoulder before releasing her.
the willowy cellist cut a path to the door and out the clinic's front doors, carefully craddling her phone between her shoulder and ear as she fumbled through her bags for the keys. the ringing on the other end ceased when she heard lucian's hello.
"the cancer is in remission." in her mind, it was better than hello.
-
october 2006
"what is it like?" jamal warren was one of the students that made working at the inner city school worth it. bright and eager to learn, he excelled on the violin and constance was determined to get him into julliard like he had dreamed of for so long.
"what is what like, jamal?" she peered at him from over her desk, pausing her paper grading to give him her full attention.
"dying?"
his question caught constance off guard and it showed when her jaw went slack and eyes widened slightly. lips cut into a frown, lower lip getting sucked into her mouth and pinned by her top row of teeth. fingers rubbed along the curve of her jaw before opening into a craddle to rest her chin. "well, it's only dying if you give up, jamal. i haven't given up yet, so i don't consider it dying. i'm struggling to survive, but i sure as hell am not dying yet." her frown faded into a small smile, eyes cutting from her student toward the door and back.
"oh."
"why did you wanna know, kiddo?" she dropped her hand and folded it into the other on top of half graded papers. "is everything alright?" worry ran in avenues along sunstained skin, furrowing brows and downturning lips.
"i was just wondering, you've gotten so skinny. you just look so sick. i just wanted to know what it felt like." his shoulders hitched up in a shrug as she draped the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. his violin case was hoisted up and he made no hesitation in heading for the door for a quick exit.
"i know i do. but i'm not dy-- catch ya later kiddo!" her words trailed after him, cut off when the door clicked into its frame. she dragged a hand down her face, smearing lines of grime and blue ink down sunsmeared skin. despite the cancer that coursed through black tar veins, constance refused to believe she was dying. no, constance duke would never admit defeat to a disease. she was going to survive this.
-
sleep ached against the stretch of bonework beneath skin, while the rest of her body ached for movement. "mmph, have a good day, baby," a garbled farewell as she buried her face back into the belly of her pillow. sweat stained bedsheets were tangled around her like a spiderweb, holding her down, keeping her safe. it was only after she heard the door click shut that his absence finally registered in the dormant synapses. "bye!" she called after him, not fully realizing it was too late until yelping dogs came barrelling into the bedroom and sniffing at the edges of the bed.
"hey guys," she murmured, reluctantly sitting up to scratch behind the ear of the mutts. "goood morning boys, I'll take you guy for a walk in a..." words trailed off as her fingertips grazed paper beneath her pillow, "minute." carefully she pulled it away from the sandwich between her pillow and the bed.
she thumbed it open and wiped the sleep from her eyes so she could focus. sinking back into the bed, her breath caught in her throat and her vocal chords asphyxiated; constance was silent. a swell of tears ( which she would always blame on her medicine ) dripped at the corners of her eyes only to be smeared away the back of her palm. constance broke into laughter, suddenly enough to startle the dogs, and made no attempt to try and smother her laughter.
"oh god, boys, this is wonderful. so wonderful." the dogs look startled, because it was so rare they saw constance smile and laugh these days. "i'm gonna get dressed and do something with this..." hands waved around her head and the brown hairs sprouting from her skull. "ahaha, maybe i'll wear a barrette. i don't thing my hair is long enough for that shit." and ancient bones did not groan in resistance this morning when constance crawled from her blanket casket. "c'mon, i'm gonna put bows on you guys, make you look dashing."
this morning constance woke up with a smile on her face.
-
<center>http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...urs/YGP2BB.jpg
dream me, oh dreamer!
down to the floor,
open my hands and let them
weave onto yours.
feel me, completer
down to my core
open my heart and let it
bleed onto yours.</center>
tv on the radio "wolf like me"
-
the wind piped the perfect ballad for the waltz of rose red fabric around the bow of her knees. it was on the days when the weather was unseasonably warm that constance shed the second skin of stolen clothes and resurrected the ghost gowns of summertime. tulips crowded the dip of her chin, framing her face in a myriad of brilliant colors until her hands dropped the bouquet down to the cut of sharp hips. inkfouled fingers tripwalked the curve of her skull where hair now sprouted in rebellion before dropping off at the junction of her neck.
for the first time in weeks constance was free of sniffling, yelping dogs and found herself at a loss in direction without being tugged at the high end of a leash. she smothered a sigh with the butt of a cigarette, long since neglected by needy lips. lungs burned with black tar but her veins pulsed with some small measure of pleasure over the sudden spur of nicotine. swallowed by the city, constance navigated the spiderweb tangle of side streets and back alleys through the veins in the back of her hand.
and it was on those days when the city swallowed constance and the sun leaked into her smile, that she swore she could feel the tickle of god's fingers along the traintrack of her spine.
<font color="#000000" size="1">[ January 13, 2007 10:38 PM: Message edited by: vodka slurs ]</font>
-
hold your glass up, hold it in
never betray the way you've always known it is.
one day i'll be wondering how
i got so old just wondering how
i never got cold wearing nothing in the snow.
constance awoke to the shins bleeding through the speakers in the catalina and the lick of morning breath against the swan's slope of her neck. fingers fanned out across the curve of lucian's jaw, tripwalking down his neck and over the mountain range of his collarbone. sun splintered through the fogged back windshield, keeping the cold at bay. buried beneath layers of clothing from previous camping trips in the middle of nowhere, the winter chill was bearable against exposed skin.
she brushed a kiss to the corner of his lips, body stretching out in a leonine sprawl before sinking into his again. in the early morning hours, when he was still swallowed by street and asphyxiated by dreams, that constance wished she could keep him like this... so peaceful.
"just stay with me, just a little longer."
-
she breeched the hollowed halls of saint catherine's catholic church just as the sun had staked his claim on the noon sky. splintering through the stained glass windows, light painted the worn pews a myriad of brilliant shades; greens, blues, reds. constance duke was the daughter of a catholic prostitute who had attended sunday mass every week. she, however, hadn't stepped inside of a church for twelve years, but it was here between the cherry oak pews that she found solace. comfort in a god she couldn't bring herself to believe in up until two weeks prior. down on her knees, hands clasped together with a mind bloated with prayer.
"i've never seen you here before," said the priest from the end of the pew while he slid into a sitting position. her eyes cut to their corners, watching him lazily before closing her eyes and returning to her silent prayer. "i didn't mean to interrupt, i apologize, i just try to get to know the parishioners." his voice leaked into her consciousness a moment later as she eased up onto her feet and turned to face him.
"i'm not part of your parish, father," it was a quiet reply as she side shuffled toward the aisle.
"oh, i'm sorry to hear that."
"it's just--" she began before silencing herself abruptly, continuing her shuffle toward the end of the pew's length.
"it's just what?"
"i've never had many reasons to believe in god, father."
"why is that, my de--"
"constance, my name is constance."
"sorry, why is that, constance?"
"a lot of reasons."
the father sat silent for a moment, rubbing the sprouting stubble at the bottom of his chin. his browline distorted briefly and he sunk into thought before waving away the ghosts of advice with a shake of his head. "will you come speak to me about it, sometime? tomorrow i won't be busy for most of the day..."
"i don't know, i feel like a whiner if i say all my reasons."
"i pass no judgement, constance, i just want to better understand your lack of faith."
her shoulders lifted in defeat, shrugging off the burden of hesitation. her head dipped in a nod as she finally slipped passed the priest into the aisle. fingers smoothed down the ruined jeans, trying to make them look somewhat presentable. "how is four?"
"that is fine, i'll be waiting."
"wonderful, have a good day." with a wave of her hand in a mock salute, she cut a line toward the door with the priest's goodbyes and god bless chomping on her heels.