cgrogers

cgrogers

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I smelled the bourbon sitting on the edge of the bar and coughed. I didn't just cough, I snorted and gagged. The fumes of that strong, pure, alcoholic drink did me in.

I am tracking down my keys, which, in the frenzy of making a bottle, changing a diaper, and de-snow suiting my son, I haphazardly discarded in, what at the time, may have seemed like a logical place.

I was hoping to see you tonight. Not that I've been waiting or anything. It's just, that, well . . . these things are boring along . . . or if you don't know anyone. And I'm glad to see you. Do you want a soda?

There was a mirage of him the passenger window of my Ford Explorer. Like he was there like he used to be there - in that grey leather seat. Not so much navigating as ignoring the consequences of a wrong turn, and embracing my panic as I repeatedly, exit after exit, swerved across busy lanes of traffic to stay on course.

scuba

I went scuba diving once. Down deep to the sandy white ocean floor. Off the coast of an island somewhere south. Far away from what I consider reality. And to be down there, beneath the world, in another state, with another population, changed my view of everything above. And when I surfaced and returned - when I went north - I didn't see people or cars or buildings. Instead, there were beautiful individuals floating about - human powered and motorized. There were reefs of buildings, with organism shops living among and within.

The intrigue in the eyes of Yogi Bear chasing after the cotton-tailed bunny bounding behind the jagged rock piles at the foot of the driveway let to a sudden jerk of the leash that shocked his walker, who lost grip of the leash handle letting him chase.

The barrel of clubs in the corner was filled with dinged up old treasures. Putters that hadn't seen the light of day in years, if not decades, but were old, well-made, tools that did the job as well as the new-fangled alien clubs.

sure

I was so sure, that I set the come down. And I walked to her and said,"Hrllo, beautiful. Can I have this dance." She looked at me with her blazing brown eyes And nodded. Just a little. And so I took her hand and walked with her to the edge of the laminate wood that was the dancers' floor. Like the boxers ring. And I had made it this far. And I was holding her hand. And my heart was racing. F'ing pounding from my chest trying to reach hers to see if it, too, wanted the same kind of freedom. And all I could do was take that next step. The leather of my shoe skidding to a start on the dusty wood. I reached my arm around her thin little waist and pulled her warm body to mine so that I could lead her away to the rest of her life. For there was no turning back on this little leap of love. She was my wallflower. Me, her punch bowl mixer. And together we were everything at once. The disco ball above stopped to watch as we spun faster and slower around anyone who dared to stay. And then I stopped us. The music stopped. And I dipper her til her hair was in the dust of that worn out floor. And I looked At those brown eyes of hers and I whispered that I was amazed by her grace and beauty.

"Scatter, buster, before mom sees you on the tile." The dog sulked backwards to his usual spot in the corner of the TV room. He was safe for not, but unhappy and wanted to play.

five

Across the street, backed by climbing ivy and silver graffiti hearts, is a young couple sitting on a green cement bench. The axis of his world tilting towards hers. A lean to her gravity - to the sunny disposition of her beautiful smile, and all of the kind things that come with it. And then he lifts his left hand, which is covered by a mitten, and runs it along her right jawbone to pull her cold light pink lips to his.

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writing since 2010 · 68 entries · 68 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Chris showed up.

7longest streak

68days written

0.4entries / week

on this day 14 years ago

Chris wrote about themselves
“Themselves got to go now. Don't listen to the devil. But to the cool whisper of the morning dew that sticks to the soles of their ratty work boots. Their glossy penny loafers. And it says to them . .…”

the words Chris reaches for

morningcouchalongeyesfloorlighthanddogblacksetdarkworksnowsittingbeautifulnorth