sketch #5: Quari Street

Driving away from the house I felt a familiar sense of pride - one that I've become accustomed to, but never taken for granted, over the last 3 years. 3 years. That's how long it had been since I met this family of 7 - each of them letting me into their lives little by little - and understood for the first time what pride in the growth and development of a young person feels like. We spent the evening sitting on the front porch (the same one that had been a mess of sidewalk chalk and buckets of water only months before), reminiscing about first meetings, shared dinners of home-cooked fried chicken and lasagna and catching up on gossip about mutual acquaintances. A memory reel - lacrosse games, Chuck E. Cheese, meetings with school counselors, continuations - played in my mind as I listened to a mother's woes and a 4-year-old checked me for "ear boogers." I'd felt already the weight of many goodbyes, but this one read like a lesson in symbolism. Chapter 1: Trust-building; Chapter 2: Advocacy; Chapter 3: Boundaries; Chapter 4: Communication; Chapter 5: Community Re-defined...
I felt a completeness upon being reminded again of my status as a member of this family. And I felt an emptiness as I searched for words to thank each of them, aged 4 through 43 years for what they had meant to me/taught me/rewarded me with. Hugs would have to suffice, and my trademark challenge to each kiddo to do their best in school this year, complete with the warning that I would be checking up on them. After all, if I've learned one thing about kids it's that consistency is key.
As I parked in front of the house I didn't know it yet, but the domino-effect of smiles, followed by shouts of "Miss Melissa!" and the rush to the car to hug me, would be one of the best parting gifts I would receive.

sketch #4: Sweet Action

As I sat at that cool, slightly sticky counter and entertained my taste buds with a fudge-laden, cherry-topped sundae, I embroiled myself in an unexpectedly heady conversation with a friend who would be closer - if only time allowed. * Why does everything become so poignant when you're running out of time? * Suddenly I felt the weightlessness of being unencumbered by domestic conventions. All the days, weeks, months spent lamenting how I was so far behind, feeling that hollowness in my chest at the latest revelation that someone was buying a house/engaged/pregnant. All the while hoping that this holding out for something to funnel all of these "bigger than me" thoughts and intentions into was going to pay off. As my life-weary, would-be-closer friend gave me a pep-talk about how and why not to be intimidated by the latest path I had chosen, as neighbors were lured in by the days flavors, as friends dished over their scoops, I felt exhilarated. Odd place for that, an ice cream parlor. I realized that yes, I was taking up yet another risk, maybe one that upon its revelation struck a hollowness in those who heard it. And yes, my path was different. But I was indeed not behind. And perhaps part of the promise for the pay-off to those of us not yet resigned to domestic conventions.

sketch #3: Wine Loft

With eyes closed I listened, anxiously trying to capture every vocal nuance, every octave in every laugh, the sound of glasses clinking in celebration, the smell of champagne bubbles. * Store this in your memory and return to it for comfort * The warmth in the room made my heart swell and, realizing how thick the air was with intimacy, I felt out of body. Dim lights, the trappings of well wishes and birthday gifts were strung about the room. And each glowing, familiar face represented a beautiful heart to which I was connected. In one evening I felt - actually sensed deep within my body - the meaning of the word blessed. I reveled in my good fortune and wore gratitude like a scarf about my neck. And carried it with me throughout the next day, determined to hold on to it long into my upcoming journey.

sketch #2: Underground Music Showcase

Slender. He was a slip of a man with a ruggedness and a raw, un-nerving passion all too big for his frame. A stoic, local music scene cowboy. His face was weathered beyond its years and I could sense the smell of cigarettes lingering at the tips of his fingers and stale in his clothes. His hat cast a shadow, obscuring only intermittently the vulnerability in his eyes as he lifted his voice to the strum of his guitar. Conviction. Honesty. Soul-wrenched, long-hour-drawn, naked, urgent words. His performance more like a spiritual unburdening, hanging heavy in the room like the humidity on his brow.

sketch #1: Thin Man

It happened. I insisted that it wouldn't (all the while knowing I was lying to myself). As I sat across from him in that dimly lit bar - pulse racing, mind reeling, prosecco bubbles tickling my nose - I wanted to reach across the table and pull his blue eyes closer to mine, feel the heat of his breath. Tell him how perfect I'd imagined we could be. * If only we had more time * I drank the ideas of "he" and "we" through wine-stained lips, biting the lower as I pictured my fingers running through his hair. Wondered if he felt the same lust pulling him toward me, fighting to keep focus. Every sentence I spoke felt half-empty, like there were so many things that I wanted to share, but now was not the time and this was not the place. Dammed: my thought stream. Damned: this late crossing of paths in pursuit of dreams. I knew it was going to happen, that kiss. I had anticipated it every time he came near me and I could sense the blood pumping through his veins like a current over my body. And then a rush - that deliciously human sensation - surprise/satisfaction/desire. I'd be hooked from then on, each "what if" replaced by another.