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Your Red Room

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She called and told me about all of the fun you were having. She described the art galleries, the friends, the laughter. That time you all wandered together in the dimly lit streets and life was quiet and beautiful. And in that instant I knew her, she was lovely. She spoke to me like a dear friend just catching up while she had a few minutes before rushing off to the next awe-inspiring agenda. She made me feel like I was a part of it all. And at the same time she showed how much I was not a part of it.

I’m sitting on a box bursting at the seams. Holding down the cover to beautiful contents that reveal the answer. I have never seen inside but I have felt the energy, the resting momentum. It is waiting to be opened to the world. Ready to soar like a thick golden light that passes by in the consistency of molasses floating in the air. And when the time comes, I will be ready to jump into the path and spin with arms and fingers spread wide. And this light will wrap around me like I remember your arms holding me. Lift me like your arms until there is no earth, there is no direction, and there is no turning back.

Until then, I am sitting on the leather casing of this box, running my fingers across the worn edges and catching my fingernails on the cracks and tears. Sometimes I lay across the top, and the surface is just large enough to hold me if I curl my knees to my chest. My cheek rests on the darkened surface. I feel all of the comfort in the world from this oh so well known encasement to riches that have been growing inside. I live for the moments I wake from sleep from the slow sensation of the worn leather across my cheek as my lips form a smile.

One day though, she will call me and she will not tell me about your life adventures. Instead she will say, “Tonya, you need to know that this box is not yours. I let you believe it for so long, but I need it back now.”

I will lift myself up as I begin to grasp this realization. On the way, my sleeve becomes snagged on a loose nail, tearing the thin fabric and leaving faint white scratch mark that will quickly disappear. I watch the mark fade, and think, “Is that all? Not even a scar to take with me in defeat?”

I finally see the dingy and dark room around me. Kneeling atop the box, I am colder now, and my bony knees fight against the hard surface that felt so soft before. I have the sudden urge to leap as far as I can. At the same time I have the urge to pry open the box and take what is inside before she has the chance to claim it.

I feel the all too distinct pangs of regret, jealousy, loss. They present themselves in my chest in sequence, and repeat. By this time I have jumped down to the floor, both of my thumbs prying into the crease of the cover. I press my lips against that crease and whisper, “What do I do? What do I do?”

I receive no answer. So I wait.

I am still waiting.

Honey, Sweetheart...

**Disclaimer: I don't do drugs and I don't plan to. Metaphor.**

I’m an addict.

(That’s it, huh?)

I have a drug.

(That’s what we’re calling it these days?)

But I only use in my sleep.

(ha!)

That’s ok right?

(sure, of course, certainly)

If it happens in my dreams

(silly girl)

It’s not real.

(“real,” nice try)

But man, I have to confess,

(confess)

It’s starting to spill over.

(you have more to confess than that)

It’s starting to happen

(continuing)

During the day,

(the safe place)

Daydreams?

(euphemism?)

Maybe.

(maybe.)

But wait!

Quiet!

My daydreams

I can control those.

So that means

I am making the choice

I am taking that drug

Because I want to

Because I love it

It feels so good,

I tell you, if you only knew!

This drug

Must not actually exist

If it was real

It could never be this good

Or could it?

I think that’s the question

The one that keeps me hooked

Could it exist?

Somewhere?

When I wake up nowadays

I’m still high

And I want more.

It’s affecting me

The side effects,

I still haven’t

Experienced them all yet.

And I am afraid to.

But I just can’t shake you.

You, this drug

You, dirty, cheap

And dangerous,

I want to send you away,

Kick you out of my house.

But before you go,

(No don’t go)

I have to know

(I have a secret)

Are you here for a

(I don’t want to let you go)

Reason? Meaning? A Clue!

(Just stay a little longer)

Are you trying to tell me something?

(She thinks she’s letting go)

I’ll listen.

I want to listen.

Tell me.

I give in.

I give up.

I will wait for the answer.

(honey…)

(sweetheart,)

(desperate fool)

(it’s never going to come.)

Little Improv