prompt: write about a mystery

As I finished the wiping, then started another, “how did this happen so fast, these bums in these diapers?” I’ll never quite know, the mystery of God; his gifts and his picking of two people together, or the thoughts of that ball, made of plastic of white, bouncing between us, a boy and a girl; its flight short and happy, over that table for tennis.

It began as a friendship, and long conversations, about beliefs and our dreams and jokes we found funny. The shyness in me, and innocence, too, took a rather long time to notice him, though; the warmth of his eyes and joy in his smile, his heart ever patient, and loyal, and kind. He asked me to play ping-pong, after Mario Brothers ended in my losing frustration. With my single right hand grasping the paddle, I joined in the game of marriage and babies and all that is happy.

We played for a while, and I was doing quite well, better than ever, for a girl with no skill, or even an interest in the properties of serves or how to keep score at that basement table. Yet, I held the lead with pompous delight that he seemed to enjoy, for he already knew that there is never a time I don’t revel in winning. As the game came to a close, I rejoiced and spoke loudly of beating a boy, yet it was him who was winning the girl with the voice high in volume. As he put down the paddle, with a grin wide and gleaming, I noticed his hands, his left and his right, strong with a nerve in their pulse and a plan that was working. My eyes became wide at what hung by his side, revealing his jovial affection for me. His predominant one, made for handshakes and hockey, never did enter the game that he lost. They grew even wider, their darkness opening, at the notice of flutters, and butterflies dancing, igniting my heart. The ball, small and silent, rested with purpose fulfilled, its spin having never turned naïve into notice. The mystery of God is one hard to fathom, at the thought of a life so happy and joyful, built by a ball; small, round and plastic, bouncing between us right into our hearts. The game he did forfeit, yet the prize we both won: five years married and forever, and the next diaper too.

I, by the suggestion of a great and talented friend, signed up for a class full of writers, real and better, with degrees, and jobs. I’m intimidated, and nervous, but excited to face a challenge of writing everyday in a company of impressive talent and opinion. So here’s my prompt for the day, describing a place… comments and criticisms welcome!

It’s 11:00am, which matters not when neither time or exhaustion are indicators of progress. The floor is parquet, small pieces of dull wood making a puzzle frustrated with no beginning or end. Its just like the one in the living room at home, but, hopefully, cleaner. The walls, covered in a maroon colored, fruit patterned, wallpaper, circa 1986, or some other year of unfortunate fashion. I wonder what this room designer is like, the one who decided the color of dry blood for walls looked upon for courage and strength. The runners outside the 5th floor window drip with sweat and rain, cold yet muggy, too, on this early Fall morning. They climb mile five, one foot in front of the other, in a continuous stride of determination and ‘almost there, you can do it’. I imagine flying by with speed and long legs, toned and tight, without veins or cramps or extra pounds. “Stop looking at them,” he says hoping the race ends soon because the envy is distracting and he is tired, too. The sheets are itchy, and confining, and hot. The gown is draping, revealing, too big, too ugly, too hot,  and not made for a woman so small and with so many opinions. The bathroom a few feet away, might as well be eight miles from this squishy ball, made for stretching and sit-ups, on which I sit, leaking, and swaying, as if rocking will make it end sooner and squish could absorb the pain. There is just not enough time before the next one begins to stand and make it there to empty this bladder full of mixed messages. The sun struggles to break through the haze, just like the one for whom we wait, while praying with beads of peace and rhythm, so long as I don’t find it annoying. The sound of hearts beating, muffled, and quiet, determine the moment and the future, too. There is a drip of contraction inducing medicine, steady and constant, up too high, for my liking. I wish she would turn it down, but fear all this stopping, and going home, just the same; fat and swollen, with no one small to hold, so I let it continue and bear its consequence with parched breath, dry and stale. Their offer of ice chips from one of the stacked styrofoam cups offends me. Their faces are in mine, as I demand they push my back, but no matter their amount muscle or sweat, nothing could absorb my body, that feels much too small to bring forth the life of my own, let alone someone else’s. The sound down the hall, of screaming, then crying, could be heard as motivation. Yet, it thwarts, and baffles, because I am not close, and if I hear the number 6, again, I think I’ll rip out the needle and throw it at the bearer of “not enough centimeters”. My thoughts turn to rulers, such stupid little sticks, whose measurements now dictate what I can do and when. The door continues to open and close with people intending comfort and help.  “You are on mile 20, maybe further” he says. But its worse, and he could never understand, even though the warm concern of his eyes indicates otherwise. I’m confused, and weak, and tired, and cannot possibly lift my legs, let alone climb back into the bed, right next to me. Its an enemy, high, and too hard and firm. The lights are bright, and reveal too much, of a lady. The stirrups offer cold support, but their presence seems more appropriate on a horse for someone strong enough to use them. The mirror should be thrown and cracked and broken. The silver table, ready to greet her, with a test, and to find her weight, seems too cold, far away, and rather judgmental. Now, its 5:00, and time is important, because it inspires a final push to end the pain. In an instant, she is here, with life; pure and true, and so am I, and the room is warm and happy. The floor supports, the runners finished, and the red walls listen, to joy and tears of miracles incarnate.

I woke up that day in my own twin bed, refreshed and bright eyed. The only interruptions of the night’s sleep came from my excited checking the clock to see if it was time  yet. My excitement sent me for a long and fast run that led me to my childhood parish. I took some time to think in the pew where we sat weekly as a family. The only tears of the day fell joyfully, and I knew with great confidence, that this, truly, was the day God had made, for me and us.

I primped, and fussed, and posed, and prayed. And there is something very special that lace does to a girl, and I was wearing a ton of it.

The aisle, though long, felt short and went fast, as I excitedly hurried my dad along, stealing away his big moment. The aroma of hydrangeas, and lilies too. The amount of grace is sort of like trying to take a drink from a waterfall; delicious and pure, and too much to take in at once.

“Will you accept children lovingly from God?” “We will!” We thought we knew, but we had no idea, of how happy, and hard, and funny and gross, and that’s why promises are made at the beginning of things.

This morning I woke to giggles and jumps, and crying in the crib down the hall. My sleep, interrupted by nursing and nightmares of boyhood. There was no makeup artist, not even time for a shower. My steps were slow and crunchy since they think its okay to eat cereal anywhere they want. I smelled poop, and pee just like always, and burnt eggs too, because Jim’s romantic effort was left on the stove for just a bit too long. There is camp, and work, and laundry, and snot. Grocery shopping, cleaning, disobeying, and time out. 6 eyes that need us, and three mouths to feed. Its a great day to be married, and I’m really fired up that we did, we do, and we will.

Happy Anniversary, Jim. We are five years, five people, lots and lots of funny. You are definitely the only person with whom I’d ever want to have 10 kids.