Wednesday, July 30, 2014


I was meant to be someone else.

I know that everyone says that at some point. They look at their life and where they are and they decide that this wasn't where they were meant to be. This is wasn't who they meant to be.  But I really mean it.

I was meant to be someone else. It's in the paperwork.

I'm sure I wasn't supposed to find the paperwork. I was in the attic, putting away some boxes for Mr. Baker, and I accidentally knocked one over.  As I put the files back in the banker box, my eyes fell on one with my name.


Well, what would you do?

I opened it.  I opened it and then I sat down.

My name is Jessica Tanker. I live at 375 Firefly Lane with my mom, my dad, my two sisters, and my dog. I'm a banker's apprentice because that's what it says on my paperwork. You do what the paperwork says. That's the rule. So I went to school, and I did well. And now, I work with Mr Baker at the First National Bank on Main Street.  That's what the paperwork should say.

But that's not what this paperwork said.

It was my picture, but not my name. Not my parents. Not my sisters. Maybe my dog. It wasn't my occupation or my history. It was like reading about someone else. Someone I'd read about in stories, someone I dreamed about being -- but... they were just dreams. Weren't they?

I slipped the file into my bag, and I went about my work.  And I went home. When dinner started, I slid it onto the table. I put my hands in my lap, my eyes on my plate, and I whispered, "Dad... who am I really?" I didn't look up.

The silence lasted a long time.  But my dad finally broke it by speaking to my mother across the table. "Marjorie...  lock the door. I guess it's time."

Tuesday, July 29, 2014


It hurt when they lied to you, when they couldn't see the plea in your heart. Didn't it?

And so you hardened yours, and you turned away, and you said it didn't matter. You said you were fine.

But you weren't. Not really. A hard heart isn't fine.

You tried to make it okay. And you tried to heal. And you tried to forgive. Maybe you were successful, maybe you weren't. And yet your heart is still hard.  Because if you don't soften it, then it can't be hurt again.

Then, you can't be hurt again.

But a hard heart doesn't get to feel much love, either. A hard heart is tough to find a way into, and repels a multitude of attempts.

You want to protect... but what you really need to do is trust.  Even if you get hurt again, what you need is trust.

Friday, July 25, 2014


We said we'd never speak of it. I know.

And so we don't, at least not in words.  
But the fact of it hangs in the air.

It's in the way we don't speak of it. It's in the sidelong glances and the heaviness of the silence. 
It's in the awkwardness and the stops and the starts. It's in the politeness. 
It's in the way we tiptoe around it, lest one of us slips.

We don't talk about it. We pretend it isn't there, and we're afraid of what speaking of it would do. 
How would it change things? What parts of us would it break? 
What parts could we never get back?

So we tiptoe, and we talk about other things. We stay where it's safe.

But I think we both know we're pretending... and that as long as we play it safe...

...we aren't playing it real.