"Beautiful," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with saline sadness as she gazed intently into the depth of their teal dresses. Her maids twirled in their jewel-toned satin dresses, but all eyes were on her, clothed in white, looking as delicate as the lace detail of her dress. They cooed, mistaking her faraway gaze as bridal bliss, unaware yet automatically reverential.

Do you like the dresses? I got them in memory of you. I know you're gone, but I can't let go. It has been so long and your memory has faded from their minds, but I'll never forget.

***Ring. Ring. Hello? Oh, I'm sorry, she's not here right now. Can I take a message? No? Ok, well I'll tell her you called, have a good day.***

She smiled, suddenly self-aware, smoothed her dress, straightened her back, and stared straight ahead into the wide world opening before her, suppressing thoughts of the fallow fields behind her.

You didn't have to go, you know. If you had just held on for another day, I would have been there. I'm so sorry I failed. I didn't realize it though. I swear, I had no idea.

***Ring. Ring. Hello? Yeah, she's still not back, sorry. Oh, no worries, but I can have her call you back as soon as she gets in. I'm not sure. Ok, you too.***

The women encircled her excitedly. "Almost ready!" one exclaimed. "Only an hour left to your name" another teased. "She looks angelic" said her mother, coming in from the hallway to assist with the finishing touches. She peered into her daughter's eyes, knowing something was amiss. "You ok?" "I'm fine. Thank you. I love you" she replied, desperately trying to steady her voice.

I am fine. You had no right to leave me with your blood on my hands. You had no right to leave.

***Ring. Ring. Ring. Hello? Nope, still not back. Look, she will call you as soon as she gets in. It's ok. Alrighty then, good-bye***

"Be careful-you'll break your bouquet with a grip like that!" her mother said, concerned. "What's wrong?"

You should be here, you shouldn't have left me. That's the truth and you know it. I didn't abandon you, you abandoned me.

***Ring! Ring! Ring! Hello? Oh, hi. Yeah, she's still not back. I don't know what to tell you, I can have her call you as soon as she gets in, but that's it. She went to visit her grandparents. No, she'll be in today. Like I said though, you can leave a message if you'd like, but I'll definitely have her call you when she gets in. Ok, no no, it's fine. Take care.***

"She's trembling" one of the bridesmaids whispered. "She'll be fine, she just needs to see the groom," responded her sister. "Can I?" asked the bride. "No silly! You have to wait, it's bad luck to see him before the wedding" replied the flower girl.

Why are there so many people here?! I've had enough bad luck to last a lifetime, I think. You understand, don't you? Why I have to move on. Why I have to pretend like you aren't in the back of my mind. The doctors say it's not healthy for me to dwell on your absence. The hospital nurses said that I talked to you the entire time I was there. 

***Ring! Ring! Hello? Yeah, she's still gone. Are you ok? No, no, it's not that we mind, it's just...well, this is the fifth time you've called in two hours. You sure? Ok, yeah you too.***

"Hush" said her mother. Turning to the bride she asked gently, "Would you like to see him now?" She looked back, hearing the maternal concern in her mother's voice. "I suppose I can wait, it's only a little while longer anyway."

Mom is afraid, I can see it. She doesn't understand what's going on. If she did, she'd be even more afraid. Only he understands. You'd like him, I know it. He's kind and makes me laugh. Loosens your grip a little. Do you know how long I was in the hospital? Six days. They didn't think I was gonna make it. But I did. I was released, but I never really recovered. Until he came. I wish you could meet him.

***Ring! Ring! Hello? Ok, she is still not back. I will have her call you. Oh, you're calling to tell me she doesn't need to call you back? Ok, well I'm glad you got whatever it was you needed taken care of. Yes, you too, have a great day.***

All the guests turned and rose as she entered. At the altar, he radiated with his possessive love of her, for her. She could barely wait to close the distance between them. Her father lifted her veil to kiss her cheek. She was surprised to see her own joy, sorrow and love mingled in his eyes, reflecting her own. "He would've wanted this for you" he whispered, letting her go. Surprised, she whispered back, "thank you", as emotion dropped from her soul to the floor, dispersed upon contact.

We considered printing it in the programs, that the color of their dresses were in memory of you. But he thought it was better left as a silent tribute. He was right. You would have wanted this, right? Is it wrong for me to move on? Why do I keep asking the same questions over and over and over? You never answered. You left no answer. The note wasn't an answer, it was an excuse! Why???

***Ring! Ring! Hello? What happened, is she ok?! She just found out, just found out what? Wait, are you serious? I just talked to him on the phone yesterday. Yeah, he called six times for her! Ok, thanks, we'll be right over.***

Charleston is a delightful city. As delicately potent as the gelato the vendors hawk on every corner of this tiny town, it manages to make quite an impression. In some ways, it is completely foreign to the American way of social divides--the haute couture establishments nestled cozily between the barred windows of barber shops and beer stores. The upper class and the lack of class are hodge-podged together, huge mansions with sprawling porches next to barely bricked stoops within a block of each other. In other ways, it is Americana incarnate with the ten thousand college students divided among a military school (Citadel), a liberal arts school (College of Charleston), a technical school (Trident Technical College), and a medical school (Medical University of South Carolina). Those are the ones I know, but there are more. It is American in the openness of the people, reflected in the open market of farmers selling everything from boiled peanuts and blueberry chutney to spiced pickles and fresh squeezed lemonade. There are bins of farm-fresh, hand-picked fruits and veggies, and a small stage with a 2-man bluegrass band. Around the gravel walkway cutting through the open field, people are throwing frisbees, playing with their babies and puppies.

My favorite aspect of this city, though, is the people. Here, people smile and share their life stories to anyone who will listen. Expecting people to listen.

There is the captain who sells liquor next to the historic Exchange who regales us with tales of his sharpshooting abilities and how he was a hair close to snuffin out the four men that came in his store a few weeks ago, intending to steal. If it hadn't been for the family he could see out the window, there would've been a firefight, and you can bet your life he could've hit three easily before they'd even be able to return.

About two shops down from Jestine's Kitchen, made famous by recent exposure by Oprah, the Travel Channel, and the Food Network, is a cigar shop where all the cigars are hand-rolled. Spend five minutes inside and you've basically smoked a cigar for free. Inside is a jocular woman from the Dominican Republic whose hair is as wide as her short body and whose cigar is a plume embellishing every word she utters. She gasps and smiles and dances. She touched my hair, exclaiming her love for it, she danced around me and told us stories of her daughter, who, is as white as--a sheet of printer paper. Not one ounce of Latina in her, the cigar lady bemoans. No dancing, no passion, no fire, just slow and steady.

On King Street, the owning family of a children's boutique that isn't even open yet, beckoned us on account of Andy wearing a Soddy Daisy t-shirt. The owner's brother-in-law (I think?) lived in Nashville for about ten years. They told us how they got the location, who everyone working on the store was, and their vision and purpose for their clothing store--I'm sorry, the manager said, it's just inappropriate to have five year old's with teeny belly shirts and suggestive slogans. Yeah, added the good-ol-boy brother-in-law, this store is gonna have old southern flair to it, from casual but classy play clothes to Sunday best dressin' to the nines. When we finally extracted ourself from the beautiful pastels, they invited us to come back anytime between now and opening day...

At the market, while Megan and I finished our crepes, my brother Andy decided to play frisbee with the most precious little girl imaginable. Completely unaware of the softened scarring left from her harelip surgery, the adorable three year old Chinese girl laughed as she directed my brother and her cousins. Her Caucasian mother told us that they had adopted her and were in the process of adopting a Vietnamese girl and a child from Ethiopia. She explained her desire for adoption, even though she was capable of naturally producing children, she believed her children were already out there and it was her job to find them. She discussed the research and her fears of the hardship that comes with adoption. And I had a rare, frank conversation regarding my own process. She was receptive, determined, and maternal. She told us how she resigned the day her husband said the only way he'd support them having a third child was if she quit her job.

The buildings here aren't the only ones with stories worth hearing...

The other day, a co-worker came to the office with a sheepish demeanor. Apparently, she confessed, she made her first drunk on-line purchase the night before. And in 5 days or less, the violin would be arriving at her house. Time to pull out the old music books, Violin Girl said, amid gales of laughter by her eager audience.

I am not a drunk on-line purchaser. I am a sober impulse buyer. I'd quit but I have the unfortunate good luck of loving my impulse purchases. Usually much more than my carefully planned and researched ones, actually. It has been a long while, though, since I've been in a good place for an impulse buy...

But I swear, I wasn't thinking this when I walked into the Money Man Pawn Shop on Meeting street this afternoon with Andy and Megan. Waiting for Andy and Meg to decide whether or not to buy the bikes they were carefully considering, I heard part of the pawnshop man's story. MoneyMan, is a city boy, not a Charleston boy. But he left Charleston and then returned. I heard about the death of his mother four years ago, and how he chose his church. He told me about the laryngitis that has been bugging him the last few days and his hopes for healing before he has to sing in church tomorrow. I heard about his love of music and how many instruments he plays and how much time he sings. He invited Andy and Meg to his church, cuz you won't fall asleep at that church, but don't come if you don't like huggin' and hand-shakin'.

Considering the beauty of the landscape and its everyday storytellers, it occurred that I really needed to purchase a guitar and learn how to play. It's in my destiny, I realized, standing in front of the row of many-not-so-enticing but a few interesting guitars. I checked out a few with Megan, who actually plays, and did a little haggling. MoneyMan may give church reviews for free, but he also wheels and deals...

I'm now the proud owner of a no-name black acoustic guitar with plug-in capabilities and a rich sound. There is a skull and crossbones design right below the tuning knobs, and a black heart sticker affixed below the bridge. Moreso, I feel like I went from owning a part of Charleston to a certain kinship with it.

Xanga is beginning to look like my bedroom--cluttered and unrecognizable. Actually, you could also say it's beginning to look like my life.

I just flew back from Chicago. The Hobbit and I surprised Julie.Bailey. It was great catching up over Chicago-style foods with the Magnificent Mile and the Chicago Bulls as our landscape. It was active, energetic, and familiar.

Familiarity creates intimacy, intended or accidental. It can also breed contempt. Familiarity takes work. And time. Sometimes, it's as simple as having your schedules overlap until you slowly recognize the other person as a stable foil in the flotsam and jetsam of your life. Ever so cautiously, you begin to greet the other person--eye contact, a slight smile and head tilt. Finally, you speak. You are no longer two strangers, you are now default acquantances, and if either of you wishes and if you play your cards right, you will be much closer than that. Whether it's gym rat buddies who bonded over mutual feelings of being creeped out by the oddities that lurk in the gym corners using mirrors to stare at you early in the morning or late at night, or whether it's a slowly developed interest by virtue of sharing a similar schedule, it seems far more frequent than first considered.

But, after the door of opportunity has been flung open, you walk through it or you stop. And if you hesitate, that door shuts, ever as quickly as it opened. And if you walk through it, then there are about 359 directions in which to take this new relationship, all of which, will bring  you to some semblance of familiarity. All of which require work. So what makes us decide that it's not working? Or it's no longer worth putting in the work?

Nature, naturally, decomposes, reverting to chaos and absurdity. Take my room for example, or my inability to navigate xanga. Likewise, relationships get messier and messier as the threads of your life and the threads of others' lives begin to entangle and knot and mesh. And, when relationships end, for whatever reason, they sever not only the ties you have with another person, they bludgeon parts of the soul. The parts that were connected with the other are now either ripped away or left grasping at the non-nonexistent threads once known. It's not just emotions either, it's judgments, memories, perspectives. The universal law of gravity says that your mass and my mass and the combined mass of every single person, thing, element, etc. in this universe pulls and pushes against each other--affects each other. Is it possible that this is something that occurs psychologically, spiritually, and emotionally, too? Is that why relationships never really seem to end, they just change, sometimes, beyond recognition? Sometimes, to the point where you wish they never started?

I am thinking of this at 2am because my sister is getting married soon. My brother recently got married, and it seems relationships are now experiences that are unavoidable. Far too often, they end up mirroring my room--chaotic, absurd, and suffering from severe lack of attention. Not that I don't want to attend to them, it's just a matter of survival, dear. And when I have the time to pay attention, it's really stupid, the way I do it. I micro-clean. I don't straighten my room in the general sense. Oh no, I go straight to the details. Which means, I could spend 4 hours in there and you'd never know the difference unless you looked closely. Same with relationships, I fly by the seat of my pants, which means some get over-attended and others get overlooked.

Then there are the "special" relationships. There are times when I wish I could write anonymously so that the people that I think of when I write can't actually read what I'm writing. It's not only a form of protecting them, honestly, it's more of a form of protecting myself. Or I wish they could read about it and not realize it was about them. Either way would work, really. Because, as much as I try to pawn the blame on them, the issue really rests with myself. I'm an overthinker/over-analyzer/over-feeler. I rarely want what I have and I surely never have what I want. I can befriend anyone, but I have a difficult time "clicking". So if I find someone I "click" with, it's like there is magic in the sky. And if it's a guy, it's hard for me to navigate through the emotional waters that I'm realizing are more treacherous than they appear. Like an undertow. And of those, the absolute worst are the ones I know I click with but wish I didn't. It's like, "Oh, hello. Why you?"

You never really escape, though. That's the thing, try as you might, the words are written on the wall, and I for one, always come up lacking.  Also, this world is far too small to have bad break-ups, or even worse, bad non-break-ups. Those are the worst--the ones that completely lack resolution. For me, 2007-2008 is a experiential gallery of revisiting old wounds and predicting new wounds to come. Big events like weddings, funerals, and promotions have a way of doing that.

Recently, I had a mini meltdown. Many factors are included in this: I'm overworked, sleep-deprived and sick. Apparently, my life construction management team decided to majorly renovate and forgot to inform this tenant. Imagine my surprise when the proverbial wrecking ball hit about every single facet of my current life. At first it was traumatic, but slowly, I grew accustomed to the din and skeletel outlines of old buildings being torn down, new buildings being put up, and brand new traffic patterns to navigate around the wreckage. However, the pressure does build, and everyone has a breaking point.

So, in addition to all of that, the little mental gerbal started racing on the wheel as I considered some of the more messy relationships that will soon be resurfacing, and some of the soon-to-be messy relationships ripe for archiving. Why you ask? Cuz I'm an idiot, that's why. I recently described one such incident to another friend as "hard, because when you find people that actually get you, it's hard not to become addicted to that sensation...It's astonishing how entrenched another person's presence can become to your general well-being...Having a flash-in-the-pan interaction with someone who gets you has a way of uncovering insecurities, loneliness, and a strange restlessness. It's easy to revert to unhealthy mentalities like feeling inadequate, lacking, somehow irrationally and unwholesomely personally inept...I grew accostomed to a certain dynamic and having someone so foreign to my experience inject himself randomly and then extract himself in just a mercurial a manner, left me somewhat, disheveled, for lack of a better description. Bad timing, really."

Mid-meltdown (which, it was only like a half day freak out session), I received a timely one-statement declaration of love from one of my mentors and favorite people ever. It was like someone plunged into the suffocatingly icy darkness of my twisted mind, and reminded me that all is not lost. I am not a lost cause. It was affirming, without stipulations, conditions, or caveats. Just a simple, clean declaration. I am loved. There is nothing more intrinsically broken in me than in anyone else. It forced me to remember that I am also not really alone in my experience. It told me that there is at least one other person in this world who gets me and gave me the courage to think of another, and another. Until I had a little hedge against that cold mental trap that threatened to snap me yet again.

I am blessed.