Lucille (a love story, pt. 4) .reconnected.

This winter... has been a long one.

I sat inside more than anyone I know.

I’ve brooded and sulked and dreaded facing days where I would see no sun.

You sat in the shed, tucked next to everyone else for the winter.

By the time I pulled you out of there, you were roarin’ and ready to go.

I remember we went out on quite the soggy day.

The snow had just melted and the salt and dirt and shit had made quite the soup of road scum.

Needless to say we were covered in it once we were home but we were both very happy. It had been so long since we danced and even though we were dirty, we had fun.

As the weather started to become fairer, we found ourselves out and about more.

Storming about our old stomping grounds, through the traffic and other sorts situations wea find in the city that we had to contend with whenever we were out.

But we missed all that shit we had to deal with. It’s what makes it fun.

One day in particular, very recently, shone the brightest in my mind of our recent ventures.

A long way to get coffee and breakfast that made for and intricately woven route of retail and thrift stores all the way home. Legs and lungs aflame through some, cruising through plenty and you weren’t really complaining either ;)

It was like all the days I’ve shared with all these people before.  6 hours of you and I are gone before I know it and I’m left with nothing but good feelings…

Did you know you inspire me? I thought of several things to write about that day and I don’t believe I would have if it weren’t for you. If you hadn’t given me the chance to just let go for a little while, I don’t think I would ever be able to think.

It makes me sad that your bottom bracket is now creaking. I just got so caught up in all the fun we were having, I didn’t even think to check on you that much… I am so sorry. I’ll make it up to you I swear!

Sometimes I think it’s pretty fucking weird that I write about my bike like I do. I’m pretty much in a relationship with her. BikeSnobNYC says you aren’t supposed to get attached to your bike, as it always ends up leaving you somehow, through theft, unfixable damage, etc. but dammit how can I not love my sweet Lucille. I write about her because she is the only girl who hasn’t coerced me into it. I write about her because she inspires me to write, even if it isn’t always about her. She is there for me, to take me away when I need. To help me rid of unnecessary stress. And to learn more about myself.

Love you, Lucille.

dreams pt.1

Dreams. I don’t have too many of them, and when I do I don’t really remember them.

1.

I meet up with my friend at a bar. Out of the friends I have, I don’t recognize this one from my real life. We greet each other, exchanging hugs and smiles and laughs. This person must be really close to me; I wish I could put an identity to him. We sit and talk and drink beer. Smiles never seem to leave our faces as we reminisce about things that I cannot recall. They’re lost in the dream. We sit and talk for a few hours.

We decide to leave.

As we are walking out of the bar, my friend is behind me and out of the corner of my eye I can see him reaching for something inside his jacket. As I turn around to see what he is doing, he has a gun pointed at me. This is the part of my dream which is most vivid. The pistol, a small silver revolver which if I had to guess I would say it was something like a Smith and Wesson .38 Special, is pointed directly at my sternum.

“…you fucking bastard,” my friend says to me.

Before I have time to knock the gun away, he pulls the trigger.

I feel this incredible pressure, a touch of pain, smack dab in my solar plexus. I can’t breathe. My vision is blurry. A burning starts deep in my chest.

I remember the feelings I felt at that moment in my dream. I was scared, I was confused and I was hurt. Not just physically, but emotionally. Why would my friend have done this? Why would he sit and bullshit with me only to shoot me here in the street? I felt betrayed.

Before I know it I’m struggling to wrestle the gun away from my friend as he is slowly forcing it towards my face.

I wake up.

I lay in my bed with my hand holding my chest, and this strange feeling, a pressure directly where my solar plexus is. I take a deep breath and shake the rest of the cobwebs from my brains.

Throughout the next the day I wondered what it all could have meant. Trust issues? Or just a crazy dream?

2.

I’m dead asleep. My room looks the exact same as it does in the awake world. There are no lights on and it’s late at night/early morning, probably around 1 or 2am. The door of my room is shut, as it normally is. Blue ambient light is blocked out by drawn shades on my window.

There is a pound on my bedroom door. I snap up in my bed, tired and groggy. Confused and disoriented. I sit there a moment in silence and stare at the door. Did I dream that someone was pounding on my door?

There is another pound on the door, enough to make it shake on its hinges. Followed by another and another and another. How the door is not falling to pieces is beyond me. I spring from my bed onto my feet.

“WHO’S THERE?!” I yell.

Another pound. And another. And another.

It doesn’t stop this time.

I go to the door and brace against it with my back. The pounding continues.

“WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” I’m screaming.

The only answers I’m getting are more pounds on the door.

The door is rattling, as am I along with it.

“PLEASE STOP!”

Whoever/whatever has knocked the door loose of the jamb and is able to reach a hand inside. Whatever it is, it claws and grabs at my arm. A gloved hand? A fucking paw? I couldn’t tell.
I could actually feel it pulling at me. Trying to get a good enough hold on so that it could tear me out of my room.

I’m totally losing it. I’m scared out of my fucking mind. Tears are running down my face, I’m sobbing.

I’m helpless.

I wake, lying on my side. Staring at the wall, with my back to my bedroom door.

Do I turn around to look? Feelings of fear, confusion and desperation are still fresh in my mind.

I slowly look over my shoulder at the door. Nothing happens.

I make my way over to the door and open it. Nothing but dark, empty living room.

Subconscious, you scare me.