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The Fuel

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers

~"TRIGGER WARNING"~

 

March 15, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

 

Last night after I came home from work, I just slept the night away and woke up at dawn. I stepped outside to our front door this morning and sat on the steps. The sky was pink with a hue of purplish ray of sun. I wanted to be the sun, a source of light, but I felt so blue inside. I wrote this in the evening of today, and I had a full day of somber thoughts.

 

I loved Jack, and I would marry him and bear his children. I wanted to stay here in Jersey and go to Community College together and major in something practical like nursing. We would work together, making ends meet, but I would be safe and stable because his parents ae comfortable and Dad won't care if we married or not.

 

All Dad wanted yesterday was Brenda, she came over last night and they went to church together. She said my Dad changed himself for the better. Target gave him a raise and he's making $2 dollars more per hour now, and it's more than just minimum wage. With my paycheck and his paycheck, we make about $2000 per month and we pay the bills on time. I'm happy about the pay raise, but my dreams with Jack makes me happier, except it's all over. My reality deteriorated into a vortex of depression and whisps of darkness entering my thoughts.

 

The sadness is cold to my body at this moment, and even breathing is not comforting me.  I feel indignant of life, and what it gave me. I hoped for the most beautiful things, but the worst happened, and most of all, I lost his love.

 

I didn't call Jack. I want to confront him at school tomorrow. I need to hear his words and the truth. I don't want to imagine what he would say or predict what would happen. I need to know for myself.

 


Tomorrow will come, and I'm ready,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 


March 16, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


I came to school with a mission, to speak to Jack. I didn't want anyone to deter it, so I waited for him in front of the entrance at school. My black hoodie with elongated sleeves kept me warm, but I shivered from the cold. Jack wore a black parka with layers underneath with jeans, and I grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him close to me. I sat him down on the bench near the entrance outside of the school gates.

 

"I need you right now," I said to him.

 

"Okay," he said. We walked to the edge of the front entrance and sat down on the wooden bench. "What's going on?"

 

"How come you didn't call me for the past few days?" I asked him.
 
"Just busy with Abby, she needs some training, you know that," Jack said.

 

"Training? With what?" I asked. "We had sex, Jack. It's a big deal."

 

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "It felt good, but I thought we went too fast. We just have to slow down a lot."

 

"I thought you were setting the pace, especially after the Breckenridge trip," I said. "I met your parents and everything felt real, Jack. I'm happy about it."

 

"Are you on your period?" Jack asked. My heart dropped, because it was such a "guy" response.

 

"NO!" I scolded. "It's not always hormonal, Jack. It's called being courteous. You should have called!"

 

A few kids heard me and looked to my direction, and walked inside the gate.

 

"Don't yell at me. First of all, it takes two of us to do it. You know that, I'm not always the one who has to initiate the phone calls. Why didn't YOU call me?" Jack replied.

 

"Because I'm the girl, Jack. The guy makes the moves, we know this," I said. "The guy needs to man up!"

 

"Such a prissy move on your part," said Jack. "I was busy!"

 

I looked into his eyes, wide and dark, as if his eye brows became mountains of anger towards me.

The tips of his eye lids were pink as his eyes watered. My eyes watered with his. I held his right hand for a second as he took it away from me. He got up and left me on the bench, in the cold morning air, alone.

 

He walked into the school gates and didn't look back. I felt something inside my chest dropped to my gut, and my head felt empty.

 

I looked to the rushes of students walking in, as the bell rang. My eyes wandered to the distance, then slants to the side. I stared at the ground for ten minutes. I didn't want to go inside our school. Snow began to fall from the sky, and my bones felt a chill seeping into my bones.

 

Jack might be gone for good.

 


I thought love had just begun,

WishesOoohWishes. 

 


March 17, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


Seth, I came back from school today with my eyes swollen, because I couldn't stop the tears from falling. Each class I went to was a blank space, and I didn't want to the there but I forced myself. I'm failing English, and I haven't read Catcher in the Rye for my AP Class. I made up some story about how I had to work late at T-Bell and just sobbed. Mrs. McCarthy told me to talk to her after class, but I just left. She wanted to ask personal questions again, and I didn't want to talk to her. Of all the teachers at school, Mrs. McCarthy was the nicest, and English was my favorite subject, but I was a lost cause. I didn't want anyone to know why I was crying, because Jack abandoned me after a week of bliss and sex at his parent's villa in Breckenridge, Colorado.
 
I was scared of the kids at school, because eyes were prying into my life, as if everyone had a bubble over their heads that said, "What's the slut doing here? Go have sex behind the bleachers!"

 

I didn't even get to ask Jack those questions. Seth, I was right, right? He was supposed to call, right?

 

I've never had sex before, but I swear, in every episode of Glee, the guy always made the call. Maybe I was watching too few episodes to really know the truth. I mean, Glee showed real life right? Sethy?

 

In between songs and dance numbers, there was an invisible understanding that if a couple was having sex, they call each other and even text. Jack didn't do that! Seth, was I high maintenance?

 

My sweater and jacket felt worn out and I haven't done laundry for weeks. Dad wasn't home when I got home yesterday. This morning before school, I saw him with Brenda making breakfast. For sure, they had sex. I didn't want to ask, but I just knew. I didn't look them in the eye because that would terrify me. I felt bad because Jack never made breakfast at Breckenridge. We did it the last night we were there and the next morning we had to fly back with his folks.

 

At school, we just went back to class after sex behind the bleachers, and I walked home. So this morning, when Brenda offered some French Toast, I dodged her and said no. I took my cereal bowl and ate outside on the steps.

 

Seth, was I being difficult? I'm not sure of anything at all. I felt it was my fault I feel this way, because Jack said it takes the both of us to have sex, and he was right. I really wanted to be with him, and so I let him. Seth, why do I feel so bad? It was supposed to be romantic.

 

I felt like Drunk Uncle's niece, that cameo guy with spiky greying hair who slurs his words to talk about his dysfunctional family. I felt like I was the butt of his jokes, the girl everyone talked about. At school, Marilu and I didn't really talk, and as usual, I was
 
alone in the halls, wandering if I should be there at all because Jack wasn't with me. I felt incomplete.

After school, I worked and it was the usual burrito line and did some floor sweeping. I cleaned the bathroom and bleached the toilet seats. There weren't a lot of customers and my manager, Ben, was always nice.

 

"What's wrong, Mary?" he asked. His black vest always looked ironed and clean.

 

"Just school stuff," I told him. My eyes still felt tender and puffy from crying for the past two days.

 

"You're almost done, right? Then college, a lot to look forward to," Ben said. "You have to look at it with an open arm. The future is so big!"

 

"It's just high school, Ben. Not a big deal," I replied.

 

Ben smiled at me, and replied, "I got lucky I graduated. I got lucky with this job, and I didn't go to college. But you, Mary, you've been good. You should be proud of yourself."

 

I kept a stiff upper lip and bit them into my mouth, holding the tears from falling. Sethy, Ben said I was being good, but I wasn't. I was the school slut.

 


Slutty Mary, and now people know!

WishesOoohWishes

 

 


March 18, 2010

 

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


Seth, I didn't want it to happen this way. I wish you could've helped me. Today was brutal, I have to warn you, it was nasty.

 

I searched for Jack before lunch, and found him with Horatio just before fourth period. Jack hangs out with him sometimes, because they've been Super Mario Brothers fans since middle school. I took Jack by his arm gently, and pulled him aside.

 

"Meet me near the bleachers," I whispered.

 

"Okay," said Jack. He smiled at me. I wanted to kiss him so much and I almost did, but he dodged and hugged me instead.

 

I went outside in a hurry right after fourth period and thank goodness the snow was just melting away.

It wasn't as cold as it looked with some water spots on the seats, but I stood beside it.

 

Jack walked towards me and my heart pumped and I was so happy he decided to meet me there.

I hugged him and he held me tight.

 

"What did you want to talk about?" Jack asked.

 

"I miss you," I said, opening all of my heart to him.

 

"I can't stay for long, let's talk about what you want to talk about," he said.

 

"We're still together, right?" I asked. I was pleading for a yes, and hoping to see him smile at me, and hear him say he loved me.

 

"Eh, that would be no," he said.

 

I burst into tears, and couldn't look him in the eyes, as I asked, "Why? Was it my fault?"
 
"Yes, and no," Jack said. "My parents and I talked about it, and they felt we were too young to be so serious. They told me to wait until college."

 

I felt a huge arrow from behind me piercing through the front of my chest and my jaw gaped open. His parents said they liked me, and that they invited me to Breckenridge and flew me to Colorado with Jack because they wanted me to feel welcomed. I didn't understand.

 

"Mabel told me that you bragged to your friends about us having sex here, behind these bleachers," I confronted him.

 

"That's rumors and gossips. I didn't say anything," Jack said.

 

I held him close to me, and begged him, "Please stay with me, we can work it out. So I won't feel so alone in this. It's embarrassing, Jack."

 

I ran my fingers through his curly hair and reached to his lips and kissed him.

 

He kissed me and pushed me closer to the bleachers with his body. His kiss felt hard and he bit my lips, and I pouted and said, "Ouch, that hurt."

 

He grabbed my chest and his kiss became hard as his body pushed me further underneath the seats. Tears came out of my eyes, and I felt his body push me down to the ground. He took my jeans and opened the buttons and I wasn't ready for what happened next. His left hand cupped my face, and his right hand reached underneath my jeans as he told me, "Hush, Mary…be still. Keep quiet."

 

My body stiffened and I kept still as he told me what to do and I felt his hand pressed down my face as I gasped for air. "You liked it so much, I liked it too, let's do this," said Jack. "You want it so much, Mary. Then you got this. You asked me for this."

 

I couldn't breathe and I didn't want to scream. Sethy, I wanted to kiss him, but I wasn't ready for all of this. I wish you were here to hold my hand and helped us rationalize what we needed to do. I wanted a relationship with Jack, but I think he just wanted sex.

 

He began pumping into me and it felt like a knife into my vagina, forcing himself into my womb, and hurting my stomach. It felt harsh and my body jolted with his every move. I wanted him to get off me, but my body felt stiff and frozen. When he finished I felt him groan and pushed me in.

 

My eyes sobbed as my nose moistened and wet his hand. "Eeewww, gross. You got snot all over," he said. I sobbed and couldn't stop crying.

 

"Please stop, Jack," I begged him. "Please…it hurts. It's too rough."

 

He pushed me away and got up. He pulled his jeans up and reached for my hand, but I couldn't get up. I laid on the ground, with my tears running down my temples. I buttoned my jeans and got up slowly.

 

"Okay. That was nice, but I can't stay. You got what you wanted," Jack said.

 

The tears felt hot on my face, and my eyes bulged out of my eye sockets. My body felt feeble with the air from inside of soul depleted of energy. The space in between my chest cracked and my brain split in half.

 

I felt crazy, stupid, dumb, and all I hoped for was for no one to find out about it.

Sethy, please don't say anything. Please don't tell anyone. I'm so scared. I wish you were here to be my friend. I wish you are my big brother.

 


Hurting,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 
March 19, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


Yesterday played over and over inside my head and inside my body. My body was stiff and I let the snow soaked into my jeans for a moment to cool me down. The inside of my veins felt hot and I boiled inside my body, not out of anger, but out of fears.

 

When Jack got up from on top of me, he also said, "I'm happy you love me. I think this was meant to happen." He zipped his jeans, and told me, "You know you wanted me so much. I hope you're okay. I gotta go."

 

I froze and my legs fell asleep and I couldn't move the bottom part of my body. Jack kicked me, and said, "Get up! You need to go!" And he walked away.

 

I closed my eyes and cried. My breath stifled and the moisture from my nose ran down the side of my lips. Tears ran down my temples and my eyelids felt warm. Something popped inside my head and there was spinning as I laid there on the snowy ground. I was inside a dark well, with rocks over me.

I fluttered my eyes open after a few minutes and looked up and saw the underside of the bleachers seats.

 

"I'm sorry," I said to myself. "I'm sorry." I didn't know why I said it, but I felt guilty and burned through my soul. It was my fault I kept kissing him. It was my fault I kept pushing him. Jack was angry and I pushed him too hard. "I'm so sorry," I said once more.

 

I turned to my left and cradled my legs. With my right hand, I pushed on the ground, and lifted my torso up. My head spun and my legs felt weak from Jack's pressure over me. My left leg folded and I pushed myself up from the ground with my wet jeans and my jacket soaked on the back side. "I'm sorry," I kept saying. I didn't know what else to say.

 
Seth, I got in trouble. It was my fault. I asked for it. I wished Jack would have slapped me instead of this. I wasn't sure what to do.

 

My stance felt wobbly and I almost fell walking up to the school grounds from the fields. Approaching the school doors to the hallways, I kept sobbing and couldn't bear to be there in front of everyone. I didn't want to tell anyone. This was embarrassing and there were already rumors of me being a slut. I walked through the side of the building, and kept on walking home.

 

Work was always after school. I have to call in sick. I'm so stupid. What did I do to myself?

 


Seth, I ruined my life.

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

 

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To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers


March 1, 2010

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Jack and I did it again, and this time, it was at school.

 

We had lunch and went to the farthest side of the football field, next to the bleachers and we did it. He said he used a condom, and I trust him. He always has a pack of it inside his bag. His appetite for sex is beyond my control. I can't seem to know when he wants to have it, but I just let him because I don't want to see him go away. It's the last thing I want in my life right now, because if Jack goes, I will have no one to love me. Dad is in love with Brenda and I don't  really know anyone else in town.

 

Mabel is a frenemy I think. She seems nice, but she likes Jack too much. I always hold Jack's hand tightly, especially with Mabel around, because I don't want to let him go, and sex is our bridge to each other.

 

It was nice that day we did it in the football field. It was cold and the snow flakes landed on my nose, so the heat in between us kept us warm. We have this thing that he holds my chest tight and he kisses me as we have sex. It feels intense and I love every minute of it. Jack is happy with me, I hope.

I think he's the best thing that ever happened in my life.

 

"It's okay to experiment at our age," he often tells me, and it makes me feel so much better. First, because he's with me, and second, because it's our little secret. 

 

He is tender afterwards, and he caresses my cheeks and holds me tight. He says that I am his first love, and he is mine. I don't ever want to lose him. It will be the end of my life.

 

If Dad is gone, as I sometimes feel like it might happen, I will try to survive, but if Jack is gone, I'm in deep trouble. Dad is not there all the time, so I'm used to it, and I figure, I can live with Jack's family. I know his family loves me.

 

Seth, if you meet me, I am taken by Jack. Also, I know you have a girlfriend, at least that's the rumor around school. All the SNL fans talk about it. We have a comedy club at school and we talk about SNL all the time, and although I'm not in it, I hear their gossip. Mabel tells me that they analyze the skits since Dan Akroyd and even when Eddie Murphy was on. We all remembered how to not look po nub in all the wrong places, looking po nub. 

 

Jack also loves you and he loves SNL, and he says that you're lucky. But, I feel lucky because of Jack.

 


Lucky girl,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 


March 6, 2010
  
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,


Today, you gave my sadness a piece of cheese to smile about, and that sorrow ran away like a pansy.

 

Dad and Brenda are at it again. They had sex last night, and I heard them from my room. She has been coming over to our house more often, and she cooked us dinner after I came home from work.

I ate lobster and rotini, and it was delicious, but I was nervous because I think I might have a new mother. Brenda is nice to my Dad and he loves her, I think.

 

Dad doesn't drink that much anymore, and they told me that they met through some group that Target sponsored him to go to so he can keep his job. His friend Sam doesn't come anymore because I think Dad mentioned something about Knights of the Columbus group that Sam belongs to. Sam is a good guy, and he had a bad divorce, but my Dad said that his heart was Irish Catholic.

 

I escape inside my room, and write to you. You don't have to be here, and you are only near me through a picture, but even that picture makes me forget about my stresses that wavers in my mind. It might be because of those trancing eyes of yours, even if it wasn't blue, that would make any girl fall in love with you.

 

Jack hasn't called me for a couple days, and it's okay because I know he's in love with me. He must be busy with Abby or with his parents but I don't mind, because we see each other during school and I'm busy with work after school. My biggest fear is Jack cheating on me, because I'm the easiest person to cheat on, and that's what my Dad told me. But, Dad never cheated on Mom, because it was Mom who wanted to leave us. So, Jack better not leave me or I'm going to be so sad.

 

To keep my mind off of those fears and stresses, I write to you, Seth, and it is so amazing to have you in my mind. My vision is of you and me, meditating on the sand near an ocean, while the breeze eases our souls and remedies my life with your healing presence by my side.

 

Everything is so peaceful and calm with you near me, as the ocean waves serenades you and me, to bring forward that peace of mind. This is how I think of you, not as a meditation partner, but as the helper of my soul.

 

I enjoy every letter I write, because they help me focus on the reality of everything around me through simple writing of stress relief of love to you. I just love you, Seth Meyers, and it is undeniably true that I may be your most loveable fan you will ever have! That's in comparison to everyone in the world, from Australia to Brazil, or from Sweden to Japan, I am most likely, your favorite fan! It is endearing isn't? To be loved for your skills, your work, and who you are, that in itself is a reflection of how beautiful I am.

 

I love moments of random visions of you, and I don't care what people say about me and my state of mind. Who are they to judge? I am sure they love someone, or maybe don't have the courage to stand up for themselves and become a totally random individual who just love!

 

I do worry about my own life too sometimes, because all I think about is you, and how much I love Saturday Night Live, but I am confident that Jack won't mind. I do watch other shows and I do love other celebrities, but your picture calms my soul, that's when I knew you are my favorite!

 

I love you, Seth Meyers, and it won't change, even 40 years from now.

 


Eternal Flame,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

 

March 7, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

  

Dad smiles now. I never saw him smile before, not even growing up. He was always so tired and when he worked at the car factory, he was always so serious. Mom never smiled either, and she was always so sad and cried most of her days. I don't know what happened to her now, she never writes us any letters and we don't know where she is. She disappeared.

 

Brenda is the person who is giving my Dad some smiles. I guess that's great, and I'm happy for him, and I don't want to see anything wrong again. I would rather have Brenda than Sam, because Sam is bad influence and he brings too much alcohol into our home.

 

Brenda doesn't drink, and she said she's been sober for twenty years. She looks like she's in her forties, so that's a very long time. Dad is only 47 years old, but he looks older. I hope Brenda will get him to exercise and they can start going out more and more.

 

Jack still hasn't called. I'm starting to worry. The last time I saw him was Friday, after we had sex at the bleachers, and today is Sunday, but he hasn't called. I don't know what I did wrong. I will try to call him tonight after work. I hope it's nothing major.

 

I love you, Seth, but I love Jack more because we did it. If you and I were a couple, we would be arrested for our age difference, but Jack is perfect. He's tall with curly brunette hair, and grey eyes. From a far, he looks like a lone wolf, but he's my lone wolf. He's absolutely beautiful and he has large deep set eyes and mesmerizing smile. His lips are supple and thick, enveloping all of mine, and he has smooth taupe skin with broad shoulders and a beautiful oval face. He's perfection.

 

If I never met Jack, my life would be empty. I won't have anyone to confide in, and I tell him everything but I don't tell him about you. You're my secret, and these letters are my secrets. These letters are my true feelings, desires, my relief and my comfort. I write them all to you, my SNL hero. If you didn't exist, Sethy, I would be empty, too, but I won't think that way, because it's not real and I have to stick to reality of Jack and me, and WHY HASN'T HE CALLED?!

 


Confused,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 


March 9, 2010

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 
I dreamt of you last night, and we were walking in New York City.  I think we are definitely supposed to meet, because I've had the same recurring dream for a while now, and it's starting to affect my sleep.  I think it's either because I miss you or I keep watching the webcast once too many times during the week.  

I think the real reason is because the good spirits from above are in love with the idea of you and me in New York City. In this dream, we were at Gray's Papaya, and we both got the largest Papaya juice cup in the world. We couldn't finish the drink, so we just held the cup in our hands, and walked the city together.  

We stopped near a shoe shiner, and I pulled out my harmonica that was suddenly in my pocket, and started to sing a song I wrote especially for you on G major.  "Ohhhhhh, Seth Meyers!"

 

The verse repeats twice then ended with a riff in falsetto.  The shoe shiner's son tap danced to my voice, and the shoe shiner clapped his hands and told me, "Don't kiss him if this is your first date."
 

We smiled, and you told me, "I think you are the cutest girl I've ever met."  I wanted to grab your hand, and just give you a hug, but it would have been too forward for a first date with my heor, so I held the papaya juice cup instead.  
 

Then we went inside a Chinese variety store, and for some reason, I asked the store keeper about sweeping you off your feet, because I have to make sure you will remember me in the dream.  

I asked the store keeper, "I want him to know, that I am the sweetest girl he will ever meet.  What should I do?"

 

The store keeper replied, "Just feed him, but don't sing to him, because you're tone deaf."

Then, the store keeper gave me a little rooster and told me, "I give one for you, and one for Sexy boyfriend."  Immediately, I just had to get out of the store, for fear he will try to set you up with his daughter!  

 

As we walked out of the store, you opened the door for me and told me, "It's my job to sweep you off your feet." I almost cried, and looked at you the same way I would when I see a mountain turtle.  Afterwards, I handed you one of the rooster charm from the store keeper, and we walked to the next store in New York City.  Then I woke up, revived, loving you, and wishing for Gray's Papaya juice.

Now, I wonder if we would ever meet, and if you would ever notice me.  

 

I trust and believe, that some forces beyond my control is holding me gently, and loving me. Heaven knows, how much love I have in my heart for you, and love will never go unnoticed.  I write these love letters out of respect of that love, and I know you would respect me, for loving you in the most peculiar way.  

 

Maybe one day, I will be the most perfect dream for you, and maybe deep down inside, you love Gray's Papaya juice. If somehow these letters escaped from under my bed and landed in cyberspace, please know that I love you.  I think you are the most amazing star I would like to meet, and I think you are forever gorgeous, Seth Meyers!  

 

I hope one day we can go to Gray's Papaya, and order their papaya juice in the largest yellow plastic cup in the world, and walk in the city while holding hands.  
 
That was a great dream, and I'm sticking to it!
 
Ohhhhhh, Seth Meyers! I love you!
WishesOoohWishes 

 

 

 

March 10, 2010

   

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

  

I called him. I wasn't supposed to, because the guy was always the one who has to call the girl after sex.

 

At the bleachers, Sethy! I got hurt. I wasn't supposed to. It was just a gossip, and it was supposed to be romantic, but now he hasn't called and I'm screwed. If he breaks it off, then the rumors of him being a player was true. I got hurt, Sethy. What in the world was I supposed to do?

 
I watched SNL this past weekend and it didn't help. You talked about how worms mated in the night and it was a one-night stand. Then you were with Ben Affleck in a crazy skit and you both started to kiss each other, but those crazy antics all didn't help.

 

I cried all night and couldn't breathe properly. My mental illness flared up, too. I was just slumping down and it I couldn't do anything about it. What will I do now at school? Everyone will laugh at me. I got hurt, Sethy.

 

He hasn't called. I got hurt!

 

  

I wish you could help me,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

March 11, 2010

  

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I talked to no one at school today. No one looked at me in the eyes at school. They dodged me, each one of them. Mabel said she couldn't talk and she had so much homework that she couldn't spend anytime with me. I didn't do any of mine and everyone at the lunch table helped me do it. There was Sean, Derek and Benjamin, and Annette and Alexis and Nga. They each gave me the answers to the Trigonometry homework.

I won't know if my grades will make it this year, and I was planning to go to the Community College anyway. I didn't want to stress myself out.

 

I remembered you said that in Florida, shit happened all the time? That news in Florida was like news from outer space? That's what my life felt like right now. It's crazy and shitty, and slimy, putrid, green pukey and I hated it.

 

All the kids didn't look me in the eyes, and that meant something was wrong. I needed to know.

 


Shit will go down in my life, and you're the only hope,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

 

March 12, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

   

Sethy! Jack screwed me over.

 

I cornered Mabel near the lockers after school. I walked from behind her and steered myself closer to her shoulders, and just kept pushing her to the lockers with this whole body. All 140 pounds of soft flesh, cornering her to the edge of the lockers as she flailed her arms trying to fend off the wall on the other side. She lost, and couldn't beat me or the wall, so she put her back to the lockers and I kept edging with my shoulders.

 

"What is going on? I know you know. What was whirling in the crowd?" I asked her.

 

"Nothing is swirling. No hot chocolate, nothing. Just me. I don't know anything," Mabel said.

 

"Why is everyone ignoring me? I didn't do anything wrong. Jack hasn't called and not a soul wanted to speak to me. Tell me the truth," I said to her.

 

Mabel looked down to her measly sweater and I pushed her stomach in with my fist. She squirmed and finally said, "Okay! Okay! Okay!"

 

"Tell me!" I yelled at her face.

 

"Everyone knows you had sex with Jack behind the bleachers. Some kids saw you, and the whole school thinks you're a slut!" Mabel said. "You asked for it!"

 

I stepped back. I couldn't stop the tears from falling and Mabel held my arms, she said, "Don't….not in front of everyone. Get out of the hallway."

 

We walked to the bathroom, and got into the stalls, and she told me, "Jack bragged to the guys that your vagina was soft and tight. They smiled and got happy and Jack said you were hot."

 

I sobbed. She told me the truth, and I was really hurt inside, my soul cracked and I felt it in my gut that my life was over. I couldn't get out of the bathroom and wanted to stay in the stalls with Mabel.

 

"Did you do it?" Mabel asked me.

 

I breathed in, and broke the silence that held me. I tried to say, No, but couldn't.

 

"Yes," I told her, then closed my face with my palms and sobbed.

 

Mabel wasn't impressed. She looked to the toilet, and inhaled a big breath in. Thank goodness no one else was there. It was in between classes and my History class was for the birds.
 
"I didn't know Jack would do this to me," I said, in between breaths. "He told me he loved me. And that it was between us."

 

"They all say "I love you," said Mabel "They all just want some."

 

"But, I met his parents and they took me to Breckenridge," I told Mabel.

 

Mabel held my arms down from my face, and breathed in and looked at me. I followed her breathing, and calmed myself down. 

 

Mabel cried with me. We held each other's arms and cried.

 

"What's your plan?" Mabel asked.

 

"Nothing," I said.

 

"You have to have a plan," said Mabel.

 

"Shit. Nada, nothing, null. I'm screwed over," I said. "When did you find out?"

 

"A week ago," said Mabel.

 

"A week ago? We just had sex a week ago? He talked loud," I said. "That means he did it after we had sex."

 

I wiped my tears, and my snot. Mabel took some toilet paper and gave it to me. I took it and blew my nose as loud as possible. I hated my life. I hated Jack.

 

I couldn't stop crying. Mabel said, "I need to go to class. I won't be able to get into NYU if I skipped Calc."

She always wanted to go to NYU, but I just wanted to go stay alive.

 

She left me in the stalls, sobbing. I took some more tissues, and walked out sometime later. I went to the school office and told the admin-lady, "I'm sick. I need to go to the doctor. I have to go."

The admin-lady tried to stop me and said something about a permit and a signature from my teacher and the principal, but I crossed her and walked out.

 

I walked home, a few miles away, and wrote this to you.

 


My life is over, Sethy. Don't know what to do,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

March 13, 2010

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 
I didn't do anything. I stayed home. Dad knocked on the door, and told me to wake up. It was noon, and I didn't want to get out of bed. He said, "You still have to pass your class to go to Community College."

 

I didn't care. I was supposed to graduate soon. I didn't know when, sometime in the Summer. Who cares.

 

"Mary, you have to make sure you can survive this world without me," Dad said. "I'm not going to be here forever."

 

I didn't answer him. I pulled my blanket over me, and closed my eyes, then grabbed my pen and wrote to you, Seth. You're my inspiration. I ignored Dad, and kept closing my eyes until words appear in my vision, and wrote them down.

 

In my vision, hope jumbled down to oblivion, and around it were thorns of roses, but it was silver steel sharp and it surrounded me. The thorns from the roses pricked my skin all over my body, and it wrapped itself around me piercing through. Blood spurted out of my skin, bleeding me down to the Earth.

 

I felt a darkness inside my blood and it ran through inside my heart and it depleted my energy. My head thrown back and my eyes rolled back as it took my energy, this dark spirit, and I wilted down to the Earth and laid bare in my jeans and shirt all bloodied and sopped.

 

I didn't tell Dad, and I told no one else but you. I loved your face, Sethy, and I loved your whole being. I knew you wouldn't do any harm towards me the moment I saw you on television. I knew you would be my anchor, aside from Weekend Update.

 

I knew you would be my hero, from a far land of New York, even if New Jersey was next door. I've never been to New York. All of my life, I was with Mom and Dad and when Mom left, all of my desires went with her. Dad kept knocking on the door and asking me, "Please get up, honey. I don't want you to skip school tomorrow. Can you please get up?"

 

I ignored him.

 

I think I will ignore the world, because the world ignored me.

 

Yeah! That's my revolt! I'm throwing a protest.

 


I'm hating it,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 


March 14, 2010

  
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 
T-Bell was brutal. There were tacos with my tears in it, and burritos with no salsa. I didn't know what to do. I just kept holding the line, and placing every order as it said on the printer. I almost burned myself on the heating block and there might be a burrito with two layers of tortilla. I didn't tell anyone that I was depressed. I kept on.

 

Sethy, you would be proud of me, I didn't drink soda. I might have cried the whole six hours I was at work, but I didn't drink a sip of Diet Coke, my usual vice. I was offered Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew, that orange stuff, and the tea, but nope….I said I was drinking water. My body craved it.

 

The probability of me graduating was slim, because I didn't pay attention to class at all since I was with Jack. He took all of my attention and all I wanted was to hear from him this week, especially after we had sex at the bleachers. The least he could do was call me to say everyone didn't find out, and that he kept our moment to ourselves and everything Mabel said was speculations, rumors, gossip, unproven theory. Then everything would be fine and back to normal.

 

Next order was nachos, and I piled on the beef and queso, because someone would be happy at the other end. My manager said I was pleasing him, so I kept piling on the queso for each order, even when it didn't call for it. Everyone loves cheese, why waste melted gold?

 

It worked for a while, but I kept thinking about Jack and how hot he was. His perfect nose, his curly brown hair and how gentle he was when he made love to me. This whole ordeal felt surreal, and the whole rumors and gossips at school felt outer space. It didn't fit Jack's personality. Would he brag about this? Or did someone saw us? Mabel did say someone saw us, but why brag about it to other kids.

 


Something was wrong, I have to talk to Jack,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

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To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers

February 18, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Some people are meant to be soldiers, and some are survivors, fighting the same war, one day at a time.

Sethy, I am a bit of both. I am sure you don't really care when it comes to fan-ship. I think you love us all the same, and reserve the most unconditional love for your Jersey babies. But, some people are too scary to even speak about. Like Jack, and our relationship for instance.

 

I wish I never met Jack under the circumstances of high school and teen angst, but a perfect environment is somewhat an illusion nowadays for everyone at any age. I don't know if anything will change for the better, because he says to his friends that I slept with him behind the bleachers three days ago. But, I never did that. I swear to God! I'm a virgin! I think Jack is testing me, and I'm traumatized.

 
I confronted him after English, and all of the boring world history of the universe. I wanted some clarification. He said he wants to get together so I can prove my love to him. He said that he wasn't sure if I love him, unless I sleep with him.

 

What do you think, Sethy? I wish you are here. Dad is still at work, and it's only 9 pm. He goes to work from 6 pm to 6 am, four days of the week. He sleeps during the day when I am at school, then later after school I work at T-Bell till about this time, so I don't see him at all. I wish Dad can tell me what he thinks.

 

It doesn't matter, because in a day, you will be on SNL, and I will just watch your Weekend Update and feel the vibes through the television, and get my answers that way. I swear, one Saturday night, I felt your vibes so strong, I almost convulsed through time and space. You had your shirt off on Weekend Update and then on top of that, Kristen Wigg was the Target Lady at another re-run and I saw you were on that sketch, and I was like, "Oh my gawd. He's like family!" And I felt you told me a secret that you actually LOVE Jersey and especially girls like me with black hair and dark brown eyes. So, that was one special night for me.

 

Anyhow, about Jack, he has a friend, William, who told me, "You shouldn't do it, because it won't work," and this scary tactic of his friend who talked about "discouraging motivation" or "barriers to my proof of love," may not be his true friend. William said that it was "the flesh" and the devil is playing tricks with Jack and me, but the truth is. Jack and I want to do it, all the time, and it's been hard for me to resist. I let him put his hands on my chest and I love kissing him with his hand down my pants. I'm not sure if I am suppose to do it at this age, but I like Jack a lot, although he's an asshole sometimes. But, he's the only guy who's interested in me because I'm poor and Jack said I look "homely."

 

William is probably fearful of taking chances, because he never had a girlfriend. William is....heavy, okay….fat, and already has a mustache. All the girls think he's forty, but he's actually 16.

 

"I'm a genius, trust me," William says all the time. But, I don't have proof that he is or not. How am I suppose to know he is a genius and if he's a good guy if he doesn't want Jack and I to get together and have the best time of our lives?

 

I don't know, Sethy. I just know, that every time I see you on Saturday Night Live, I just adore you, and you are my dream man. I'm too young for you, because you're in your late thirties, and I am in my late teens, but who cares about age, right?

 

Am I suppose to compare you to Jack or to anyone or anything? I don't think so!

 

So, I decided, if Jack wants me, with all of the imperfect accents in my life of having an absent Dad and a runaway Mom, then why not?

 

The best thing about me is, I am sweet, from head to toe, and I don't care if people tell me I'm too crazy about Jack. Jack already knows that, and I just know that we are meant to be together and it's time. I think that's how candies of love are made, and how good hearts are born with.

 

So, please think of me in good thoughts and pray Jack will not treat me as hard candy, so I can stop feeling the imperfections of life from now on. Jack is from a middle class family and I am low-income, so I will be in good hands, forever.

 

Until next time, and YES, I still love you,
 
WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

February 20, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


I'm so happy that you don't care if I write to you at all. I guess this letter is going to be all about my anger for people who tells me not to succeed. Dad tells me to lay low and stop working at T-Bell and concentrate at school. He doesn't understand that it's my only way to get money to go out with Jack. It's the only place where I feel excited and happy.

 

Between tortillas and the heating block, I put my stresses about Dad on the hot plate. The fresh pico de gallo and salsa verde gives me a spicier taste buds and knack for life. I ask Dad all the time, if I can have some time with him, and he says he has to work. So this job, sort of replaces my time with him and the sadness from it. It helps me, and it heals me. I don't want to lose my job.

 

I just hate people right now, and I'm going to blame a lot things on people in general. World hunger, bullies, human trafficking violation, black carbon, all kinds of stuff, I'm going to think it's all their fault, not mine...all theirs, and all Dad's. Because he doesn't care about me!

 

I am really angry, just don't get upset at me, Sethy, since I'm just releasing my pain and stresses out on these letters. You should be proud of me, because I'm trying to help myself, to just release all kinds of pain through my job at T-Bell, and maybe someone out there will see how they are not alone.

 

It's all just stresses I have from my life because my Dad is a drunk. It's too weird, because I'm almost 18 years old (an adult), and Dad doesn't want me to have the money to take care of myself. He might as well tell me to never dream, imagine, succeed, or even love Jack, because he is a failure and I am so angry about it. Dad is on the same team as alcoholism, and addictions. He's on THAT team! Why should I bother listening to him?

 

He says, "You should sympathize with me, and feel how much I want to be more successful and happier in life." He's super stupid! He tells me this when I am the one who is taking care of the house chores, and taking care of myself. He pays the rent and electricity, but I pay for the groceries, and I never ask for my money back.

 

"You're going to become a failure! So you need to work hard!" Dad says to me, all the time. SO I AM WORKING HARD DAMN IT!

 

Somehow, he feels it is necessary to label me with his own dictionary that he made up with dirt. This is why I don't like him, because he's not very smart or creative and he uses a large negative value to create a positive effect. He failed ethics and math, the same way I am doing in those class.

 

This is why I don't care about people in general, and this is why I don't care for friends. I only have Jack and I want to prove my love to him, because I doubt that Dad loves me at all.

What kind of life partners was Dad in the first place? I wondered why Mom left, and I think I know why. I only heard fights, never discussions or even sweet talks. They always blame each other and talk about each other behind each other's back.
 
Sethy, I'll just release all the beef I have about him by writing it out. Don't worry, I'm not always this tart, and the sweet will come out when we meet, it's all sugar cane. I promise.

 

All the negative that deteriorates me, really won't hurt me anymore if I ever meet you, or if Jack marries me after high school. The ridicule of Dad's rejection that completely destroys me, will not degrade my values in life anymore.

 
I am sorry that I am just confessing my hate to you. Thanks for just being there Seth, you don't have to do anything at all, and it's really a simple help you gave me. You're so sweet, and I'm enjoying our imaginary friendship! LOVING IT!

 


I'm stronger without him,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

 

February 27, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers, of Saturday Night Live,

 

Do you have a dream, Gorgeous? Boy, do I have dreams. I have a dream that there are happy people everywhere, just loving, sweet, and not willing to give up on themselves. I have a dream that every family has a powerful leader, a good strong example of good support, and responsible provider for their loved ones. I have a dream of a family with Jack, and he is my dream man.

 

I just spent the whole week with him at his family's cabin in Breckenridge, Colorado. His father, who is an engineer, asked me to come.

 

Sethy, if it wasn't for my dreams, goals, or even day to day hopes and wishes that are so beautiful, I would lose my sight of my own beauty. What I mean is, I didn't say no. I realize I am allowed to love Jack, even if I'm a low-income teen with an alcoholic father. You know us girls, … we want to feel beautiful! This is why I am wishing, praying, dreaming, and planning for a good life, and most of all … working on it! I am proving my love to Jack. It is going to be hot hot hot.

 

We only spent a week at the cabin, and snowboarded, all paid by Jack's father and mother. I didn't mind it. Most of all, I felt included. I am a part of their family.

 

"What does your Dad do, Mary?" Jack's Mom, Jennifer, asked me. She is a brunette, and only 35 years old. Jack's Dad is Ben, a blonde, 45 years old, and looks like Jack. They're a perfect family, and his younger sister, Abby, is a smart cookie. She's ten years old, and already reading at high school levels. I rarely have time to read, and I feel so priviledged to be a part of their family.

 

Sethy, besides you, I'm in love with Jack. It's final. I won't take no for an answer. I decided and it is forever. I want this to last, and if it only takes sex to do it, then it shall be.

 

I love being in love, and I want everyone to be on this adrenaline love, without the Diet Coke! I just want everybody to feel happy, and to respect one another, because there are just too many lives tattered, and dreams torn apart, and Mothers leave their children, leaving Fathers sleeping on couches. This is why I am working on being a part of Jack's family, because I want a good life. One day, I can have a strong family, good community, and powerful children out of my womb, like Jack's Mom, Jennifer.

 

I'm going to start with me, because I love you, Sethy. This is REAL!

 


I'm so pretty!!!

WishesOoohWishes

 

 


February 28, 2010
 
To the forever gorgeous Seth Meyers, of Saturday Night Live,


Okay, I read over the letters I wrote you and they all suck! Full of all sorts of errors, and funny words, and I wonder if you will ever read them.  I need to write to you about my life and how I feel, because this is the only way I can survive.

 

I have no one to call family, Sethy. It's not funny. I talk to a counselor and the state pays her, otherwise, I have no friends at all. I don't want to talk to anyone at school about my life, except for Mabel, because she asks me. Fine, maybe she's a friend, but I'm still not sure.  

 

I am writing these letters to you because I think it's romantic, but I don't even think I will send them.  I sometimes kiss your picture in my wallet, especially during the bus rides and on those less than perfect days.  You make me feel better, and I don't tell Jack. If I can kiss you, I think I will just lose control! I will drop Jack in an instant!

 

Do you really have a girlfriend?  Why can't we be friends? I think I'm crazy about you, and I just dream about meeting you, being with you, loving you, dating you, and falling in love with you. I just can't help it, and I don't ever want to see you go away from SNL! Where will I find you if you go away? Surf another channel on television or internet? Unless you'll have another show, then I'll watch your show forever!

 

I'm praying that we will meet, as soon as possible, before you transfer to another job! I wish you tape your shows nearby my house!  Then, we can have bagels and lox each week, and maybe we could have Vietnamese Pho Noodles for dinner.  I have no idea how these ideas come to my mind. I promise I'm not ill, but I am sad that some things in my life. My job, for instance, I almost got fired this evening because I kept asking for help on the burrito line and no one wants to help me. My manager said I was being lazy, and I whispered and told him to screw himself and he heard me.

 

My microcosm of life is never perfect and I only have SNL to ease my pains.  If it was a perfect world, my wishes would come true, and we would meet, then everyone would let me love you, EVERYONE! Who cares if I'm only 16. If you can only see my heart, you will fall in love with me. 


I still want to meet you, even 40 years from now.  I just think you/re HOT! I'm sure you have millions of gorgeous women who are falling in love with you, but maybe some of them aren't spicy and sweet like me.  But, maybe they're proper and older than me, but I'm flavorful, and a little Szcheuan never hurts anyone.  

 

I just pray you will give me that fair chance when you see me, or maybe you will want to sweep me off my feet today. I just want to love you, and I hope you are down to Earth. If you can only feel what I feel, you may even cry about it.  For a girl like me, to fall in love and reach out to her dream celebrity hottie, it's a miracle.  

 

I love Saturday Night Live, and I am just captivated by you! Please don't think I'm desperate or lonely, even though I am. I just know you make me happy.  

 

I think it's okay to write to a celebrity and wish upon a star for him to love her.  It's normal and healthy, even through these letters.  If you think I'm reaching too high, trust me, I am actually an angel, who is sweeter in person than you think.  I am not ugly Seth, but I am charming and cute.  

I am not always perfect, but my feelings for you are all perfectly beautiful. 
 
Somehow, a pretty fairy, 
WishesOoohWishes

 

p.s: I also wrote Jack a letter, but he never wrote me back. Maybe he's being lazy. Who knows.

 

 


February 29, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I want to tell you something, Sethy. Jack and I, ... we did it. In the cabin in Breckenridge, when his Mom, Dad and Abby were asleep. I didn't want to tell anyone, even you, even through these letters, but I'm scared. I don't know why.

 

Dad doesn't know. Please don't tell him, in case you have telepathy. I heard every anchor on Weekend Update has some kind of gift, that they have visions of people's lives because there is that world map behind them and it has some kind of powers. It is a curse but also a gift, but each anchor knows who their favorite fans are, and they can see the lives of their favorite fan through the camera.

 

I just always picture you, inside my mind, working my conscience and helping me. But, trust me, Sethy. Jack loves me, besides, no one loves me at all, so Jack's love is precious. I seriously don't think anyone will appreciate me, if Jack isn't my boyfriend and if we aren't having sex.

 

It feels like it's some kind of higher status, that we are a sexually active couple in high school. Sort of rebellious, but liberal and forward thinking at the same time. We used a condom, of course.

 

I think it's time people accept it, but trust me, I won't EVER tell our parents about this. NEVER! They are the last people on Earth that should know about it, because I don't want to get in trouble.

 

I think everything is safe with you, Seth. I can tell you everything through my letters, and it's perfectly normal. Even my counselor advices me to keep writing, and she tells me that I'm smart. I think I am too.

 


In love with you, … and Jack, 😊

WishesOooohWishes (a.k.a Mary, the marriage material).

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To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers

February 14, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


Why write to Seth Meyers?

 

Of all the souls in the world, I felt I know you, Sethy. Presumably you will read this, but for now, it will be etched inside the pages of this diary. High school feels like a scar on my face, embarrassing, and irritating for me. Although I am a pupil, but never the crowd. Teachers talk at me, because of my boredom and lack of enthusiasm. Their voice had a ball and chain attached to every syllable and I ignore them, as I ignore every adult in my house. Well….there was only one left.

 

My Dad lacks responsibility and my mother is long gone. She took her baggage to a more handsome man she met at the laundrette. So, Dad bought a set of washing machine and dryer because he didn't want me to run out on him too.

 

My life as a teen feels ominous since the day Mom left us, just a few years back. Sometimes, I feel sad and alone, and I wonder if you would condemn me for writing these love letters to you. I would never send these, at least not to the Rockefeller Building where you work, next to that white tower of Grace. I saw online that no letters or parcels were allowed inside the building, no matter who it was addressed to. Screwed up law, if you want my opinion.

 

Just a precaution, condemnation leads to sorrows and those viruses won't bear fruit, but will lead to painful lives. If I were to send these one day, please don't be sad for me or for these series of love letters. And please don't give me a restraining order, because I write these letters for my relief, of the unspoken love I have for you. I am some random underage teen in the burbs of Jersey, your favorite, but you're a better choice than Jack who screwed me over last year.

 
Jack is the depressive opposite, no pun intended. Don't make fun of me! He lives in Cherry Hills, and from an upper middle class, that means a hundred grand more than what my fragile father earns from his graveyard shift. He works at Target, as the stocker with a man named Sam, who often comes over with a brown bag of vodka. They drink till they sleep because their ladies (my Mom, and his wife) left them. I'm the idiot daughter who can't stay awake in class because I work at T-Bell after school, and it damn pays the bills.

 

My life is lackluster of fun and merriment because it's full of scrap metal of divorce and abandonment.  In case you're wondering what is the 'real' reason for my love letters, it's really up to you to decipher. I won't judge, as long as you won't do it to me.

 

From watching your show and just loving you, I feel joy in this world and love comes after the whole rain of tears is done and over with. I'm always alone on Saturday Nights, and Dad doesn't care. Jack hates me and called me a 'pauper' in front of his friends. I know better than to be there for self-pity.

 

I know, I know these love letters are nothing to you, because you have a million dollars and a hot girlfriend. But, these words are true, and you give me joy, even for a short moment on Saturday Nights.

So yeah, this is why I write to you, and because I just love loving you…

 
 
Loving Seth Meyers,

WishesOoohWishes (aka. Mary).

 

 

 

February 16, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


Sam and Dad never took a shower this morning. They slump on the couch, and slept like a baby since Valentine's Day. I wash the laundry and the dishes, and Sethy, you would be so proud to know that I made lasagna all by myself for lunch. I got it out of a box, but it's still lasagna. Dad has all these box lunches and dinners, and that's all there is in the fridge.

 

"Get up, it's morning, Dad," I say to him, shoving his elbow into the couch from hanging over the side arm. His lips smacks and his tongue licks the side of his mouth. He goes back to sleep.

 

"Sam, get up!" I practically scream into his ears. He turns his shoulders to face the other side of the grey cotton recliner. His eyes tight with protein smearing on the corner of his eyelids. Nose hairs protrudes from his nostrils and he sniffs in. He's a tough old man, and my Dad's best pal, but he looks gross.

 

Dad and Sam are two grouchy old men, and more likely, they must have met some bad people in their lives that makes them like this. Dad's name is Bob, and his name backwards is Bob. He says he loves his name because it's friendly, but all he does is sleep and drink, and rarely speaks to me.

 

I don't know how to describe him to you, Sethy. I wish he was a Jewish pediatrician, with an upper class Jewish background, with a confident and sweet demeanor. But, he's not. He's my Dad.

 
Sethy, do you have someone you love, but you never know if they ever love you in the first place? You probably don't because the whole world is at your feet, and they listen to you, especially when you do the Weekend Update with your co-anchor, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. I wish I can talk to you, about everything. Especially our Dads, because mine is invisible, although he's here with me. 

 


100% in attention of you,

WishesOoohWishes (Or you can call me Mary if you want).

 

 


February 17, 2010

 


To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 


I feel so pretty, and I am having a Diet Coke moment at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday. It is two days before Saturday, and I think heaven is smiling down on me.

 

It's deep and dark at night, like the abyss, but at this moment, it is all about love, in the wee hours of the morning!

 

I am forever into you, Seth Meyers, and I don't mind it, at all. I ask God all the time, "Do you think Seth Meyers knows me, even in telepathy?"

 

I swear the Diet Coke speaks in bubbles and shouts, "Yes, Seth Meyers does know you!"

 

Seth, I expect you to read with the eyes of love, for every single page of this letter.

Every page is of truth, and I type each word with the most loving thoughts in my heart.

I am on adrenaline love, circulating in my blood at this time. You will be proud that I even have a goal, to train for life for every dream I wish and hope for, because I have love through you.

Yes, this is so real to me, and it is NOT CRAZY or DEPRESSIVE at all!

Besides, these letters are in the secret safe under my bed at this time, in the pages of my diary, so you will not have anything to worry about. 😊

 

I believe love is so near to my life, and I wish for you, Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live to meet me, when you can and you would. I love being in this state of mind, when every word I write on each page are tender and real. I am so happy for me, and I am so in love with you. I believe, there is nothing wrong with professing how much you admire and love a star, especially from someone like me. I have no one, and Dad is always at work and high school is full of Jack asses.

 

I only get excited about lunch at school. I have a lot of opinions about it, and it's not just about veggie pizza, it's more about steak and lots of peppers. My opinions are all about love, full of flavors, and the ardent tastes of life. For instance, don't you think every high school, or even middle school, should come with a food bank for less unfortunate kids like me? So, in case we don't have food at home, we can shop for free for veggies and even meat and chicken at the food bank? But, that's probably too stupid for people to understand how bored I am with boxed lasagnas.

 

I need to tell you something else, Sethy. Today, Jack asked me if I want to go out to the movies and do our 'thing.' It means making out while he fingers me. It's the in thing to do at school, but I don't feel like it. Dad doesn't care, but I just don't want to get in trouble with the movie attendant. We got kicked out once, a year ago, and it was just for putting our feet on the chairs in front of us.

 

Okay, yes, there was another time when Jack and I made out near the bathroom and we went inside the stalls and got caught. I don't want to do that again. My pants were so tight that I had to pull it back up like a pair of jeggings. Jack just put on his hoodie and walked out without me. He looked back to me, and said, "if you tell anyone, you're a slut!"

 

But, don't worry, my feeling right now is all about you, and IT IS REAL. I am not the type who would make superficial love. Sethy, I am not afraid of loving you, and I am not afraid if people can read my love letters to you. Why should I? Just because I am miles away, does not imply that I would ever need to repress my emotions at all. Until tomorrow, love me.

 


Adrenaline love,

WishesOoohWishes (Okay, don't tell anyone I'm Mary or I'll never SNL again!)

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Thoughts with tiny bubbles

My head submerged underwater and my lungs breathed out the condense air as tiny bubbles floated over my face. The evening news showed deaths of Asian women in Atlanta a few days ago, but I refused to listen to the thought and immersed myself in the bath water relaxing my mind. 

Two days ago, an active shooter murdered 10 innocent people at the King Soopers Grocery Store, in Boulder, Colorado, nearby a cafe I frequently spent time in to write. There was a clearing force injecting my heart, to clean nonsense and only give space to those who loved me and no one else.

 

The rest of the world no longer mattered, and I felt forced to shelter in the comfort of stable friendships, critical people only, because those were my community. I didn't want to speak or process my grief to anyone around me. I wanted to close the door to the friends I have yet to meet or develop relationships with, and focus only on the current and immediate close circle of families and friends.

 

Those violence almost closed the door to a future filled with harmony, new friendships with beautiful lives and souls, and almost impeded my growth as a human being.

 

My drive and purpose in life came knocking on the gates of my brain, and asked it to open and relent compassion for my well being; through trauma processing and making connections with my fellow coworkers and customers I met on a daily basis.

 

I realized, my purpose was to send out beautiful energy and to help others in words, action, and love, more than I received. It was my calling to fulfill as a fateful destiny, for which I never chose but it chose me and happened accordingly. 

After witnessing those tragedies via social media and television, I almost lost my sparks. It stunted my creativity for a couple of days, from fearful thoughts that I might pose as a threat for a senseless and irrational human being. People who committed mass shooting, racism, rapes, violence, terrorisms at all levels, including stalking and gang banging, have no purpose in life, their souls full of egos. They felt the existence of good prevents them from their freedom to release the erratic behavior to oppress those who pose as revolutionary. They felt threatened in their subconscious by good lives, opportunities, diversity, tolerance, harmony, and peace. The crazies almost had their statements fulfilled, but that would only suppress growth of our future and ridicule our youth. 

Came back my thoughts to the knocking of my own heart beats pumping my subconscious. It asked me to write out my thoughts and gave me a newfound freedom of expression. It was my right to be Asian because I was born with it, and my right to want gun safety, and my right to grieve for my beloved Father, who died a month ago.

 

I had the right to process it, to not fear it, to be angered by it, but not to be negatively moved or provoked by it. I was the strong tower who had the right to sunshine, and it was an ordained future. Those vile acts and the death shan't lead me to captivity. I was free to express my emotion, because it was sane and creative, not vehemence of ghore. 

Submerged underwater, my brain cooled down, the door to my mind and heart opened for a life of adventurous journey, running with beating pulse pacing my life to enjoy it once again. The tiny bubbles kept floating over my face and I rose up exposing my shoulders over the bath water.

 

This was a thought processed, after a few dismal days.

 

Just write.

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No Babies, No Cry.

The crevasse of dirt ran down the path to the right side of the road like a long Earthworm sleeping on land. Summer in Colorado was torrid after a blizzard winter, and driving by dry farm lands scorched me in this car with no air-conditioner. I felt the Pontiac swerved but my thoughts flashed of Julie's face with her clear plastic glasses. I could careless of the passage I ignored at home about her, because she made me cry. This old Pontiac was red once, but now it streaked with bronze and copper marks from scraped paint. It was my soul deteriorating as an augury of life, and I wanted nothing more than a few Pabst for consolation earlier, but this mess got me guerilla driving. 

 

The steering wheel made me sick, and the leathery crap slipped out of my hands. Julie's face was on me again. I tried to hold it together, but just like trying to control Julie, it wasn't my time. Damn tree was too close along the path as the road ragged on the wheels and I hit that damn dead bark in the middle of nowhere. 

 

The crash was bad. I felt my neck popped forward out of my back and I knew I just about died. Nothing in my vision. There was dark and more dark, and the air felt light in my chest, lifting me up. I breathed in, and got shook out of my beard. It wasn't even a long one, and I even moisturized my beard. 

 

"Wake up! Get the hell out!" said a voice. 

 

I shook out and shook up, my eyes like a wild dog, searching for something I could focus on. The hand pulled my shoulders and dragged me out of the car. Whatever animal was dragging me, pulled the hell out of me like I was food.

 

"Stop! Get the hell off me!" I screamed, my legs kicking as my temples throbbed. The six pack of Pabst slowed me down and I gurgled out some and was about to vomit a pint or two.

 

"Stupid! You're stupid! Get up! or I'll kick ya!" said a man's voice. What kind of a man would help someone then kick him? 

 

He stopped dragging me and left me on a hot afternoon like a broiled shrimp on the ground, with my skin all pink and burned. Old white men cooked in his own flesh like seafood on a grill in times like these.

 

"Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am?!" I shouted and something liquid spat out of my mouth. My legs folded and I pushed up off the ground. "Mind your own damn business!"

 

"Lucky dog, you bastard! You thank me!" he said, his head cocked at me like a rooster in a hen. "Drank up and drived like you own shit!"

 

"That's my car, you asshole!" I told him. "Carl! Who the hell are you?"

 

He was short, with dark hair, his nose flat, like he was Chinese. A brown t-shirt and jeans with sneakers made him looked like a young college student. Maybe he was Chinese, maybe he wasn't, but I didn't care what he was. He looked double and my eyes watered.

 

"Paul!" the man said. "And you're stupid!"

 

"Paul?" I said. "You look like a Chang, or Van or something...."

 

"Why? Because I look Chinese?" he said. His arms beside him, and his face looked red and I saw sweat on his forehead. Might be because I was a heavy load and he pulled a fat man out of his car, or he was mad. "Just because I'm Asian, I'm supposed to have a China man's sounding name?"

 

I stayed silent, and looked into his eyes. "Nah...," I replied.

 

A soft peace was about me, as if I knew he was helping me somehow, but I wasn't supposed to know.

 

"We gotta go up a mile and talk!" said Paul. His right hand made a fetching gesture swaying and I felt like a small animal.

 

"What about?" I asked. I looked behind me, and the car was wrecked with the front bumper concaved in and some oil must have leaked with whisps of smoke exhausting out. There was a shadow of a body inside, but it couldn't be mine. I was outside, talking to Paul.

 

I looked to Paul, and didn't have nothing better to do and the dip of the crevasse looked like a cliff and I wanted to dive into it. 

 

"Don't even think about sleeping in that dirt," said Paul. "You're crazy if you do. Come with me!"

 

Paul was mean, and his tone was gritty like a chain smoker but clear sound of voice.

 

"Where we going?" I asked. 

 

"Quit it! Just walk," Paul said.

 

I followed Paul, with his shorter legs, as I caught up. My husky 6' feet body could sit on Paul and squash him, but I wasn't about to get rude to a man who said he had something to say to me. I walked and stayed calm, but Paul wasn't double anymore and my chest wasn't full of puke either. Inhaling the hot air, I swayed a bit, and almost tripped, but I staggered my legs and kept my stance. Paul ignored me, and kept walking. 

 

In the distance was a small house with a porch and a rocking chair in front. The sign on the top of it said, "Highway to Hell," in wood and white lettering and the "Hell" part was hanging down. My eyes felt wet and I looked back to the Pontiac and it was still there, down the road, kissing the tree with branches that looked like the witch's fingers.

 

Paul kept walking and stepped on the porch and opened the door as it creaked and walked inside. A few steps behind him, I looked around and realized this was some kind of bizarre something, because I must have passed this road before and never saw some small shack for a resting point. I followed Paul and walked in, and saw a few tables and chairs with yellow gingham liners.

 

"Just got in, Paul," said the waitress. She looked like a waitress, with an apron and a flowery Summer Dress and her hair was in a bun. Her brunette hair made her blue eyes prominent, and while she was beautiful with a heart shaped face and high cheek bones, I knew she was of age. She walked from the kitchen from the back to a table, and what seemed like a small house, felt vast inside. I looked around the room, and it was like stepping into a prairie cottage, with chairs of wood with soft yellow plaid padding and a blue gingham love seat to the left of the room. A small fireplace over the chimney was in front of me, and next to the hallway leading to the kichen in the back of the house.

 

"Yogurt please, Bonnie," said Paul. "Pro-biotic treat for me."

 

"And you, Carl?" asked Bonnie.

 

"How'd you know my name?" I asked. Bonnie sure was pretty, and if I wasn't in my sixties, I'd marry her.

 

"Stop thinking smack, Carl. What are you having for your afternoon snack?" Bonnie asked. 

 

"What are we? In kindergarten?" I joked. "Are you serious?"

 

"Just,....," Bonnie said, as she exhaled and seemed upset. "Milk and chocolate chip cookies, then."

 

She walked on to the back of the house and must be for baking or some sort, because how else would chocolate chips be made? I sure never tried.

 

"Julie," Paul said. "She's your only daughter. Why aren't you behaving properly?"

 

Paul pulled up a seat and sat down, as he leaned back and I stared at him for a moment. Paul was a bastard I didn't want to talk to right now, because who was he to ask me these questions at a time like this? I wanted to die about thirty minutes ago, and Pabst was helping, and now this Chinese thing was in front of me, asking personal questions.

 

"I really don't want to talk to you," I said. I stood at the same spot, and my arms tensed and felt my veins pumping my heart and hands. The heat must got me overwhelmed because my eyes rolled back and I dropped like a dead fly.

 

Paul immediately got up off his seat and picked me up, and threw my arms around his shoulders and laid me on the couch.

I inhaled and closed my eyes. Breathing for five full minutes, as Paul must have pulled the chair next to the couch where I laid and sat there. He waited for me to flutter my eyes open.

 

"Here, Bonnie gave me a glass of water," said Paul, holding a small glass half full.

 

"Thank you," I said. I felt my heart beating hard. 

 

"It's your coronary heart disease. You shouldn't be drinking this much," said Paul.

 

"Julie's getting married, and no Gypsy woman should be marrying another woman," I said. I cried, holding the bridge of my nose. "She's my baby girl, and now she's gonna marry some Gorger lesbian named Tristan."

 

"That's a nice, name, Carl," said Paul. "But, I don't look like a Tristan."

 

"You look like a Van," I told him. Paul sighed, and giggled. 

 

"Your daughter is a lesbian," said Paul. He smiled at me, and I looked at him with sharp eyes and moistened beard from the water dripping off my mouth. 

 

"She never told me. Now, she wants to elope with this woman,... or man. This thing," I said. My heavy chest heaved and my mouth frowned down and felt my heart dropped to my gut. "I wanted babies for her."

 

"Oooohhh, I see," said Paul. "Babies...."

 

I looked to Paul, and he smiled at me. He must felt smarter with probably all that computer knowledge all Chinese men knew and got chops for. 

 

"I know what you're thinking," said Paul. "That's Bill Gates."

 

"You're shitting me!" I said. 

 

"You asked, and you thought it," said Paul. He shuddered, and said, "Stop thinking racists things. Okay...let's start over."

 

"Julie never told me she was a lesbian," I said. "Gypsies don't do lesbians. We give birth to normal people, like everyone else."

 

"You have a beard, Carl," said Bonnie. "Not everyone has a beard."

 

"Bonnie,...it's okay," said Paul. Paul looked to Bonnie as she came out with some chocolate chip cookies and milk and placed it on the ground next to the couch where I laid. "That's good stuff. Bonnie is top stuff."

 

I looked at Bonnie with endearing eyes, but Bonnie rolled her eyes. 

 

"Divorced," I said. 

"Not interested!" Bonnie replied, and left to the kitchen.

 

"Carl! FOCUS!" said Paul. He took a cookie and handed it to me, and I accepted. The brown chocolate chip cookies was warm and soft and I must have slobbered because Paul handed me a napkin. I took it and wiped my whole mouth with it. Bonnie was talented and I kept chewing on the chocolate chip cookie. Paul smiled again and folded his arms. He breathed in and waited for me to finish my cookie. I gulped the last morsel down and wiped my hands with the napkins. 

 

"Thanks, needed that sweetness," I said. 

 

"Why aren't you smiling?" Paul asked. He smiled at me and I couldn't help but to return the kindness.

 

"She was my favorite," I told Paul. "She's the only daughter I'll ever have, and since her mother died five years ago, she's been driving up to Denver to meet some friends, or so she said. I didn't know she's been out with that Gorger lesbian."

 

"Tristan," said Paul.

 

"Yeah, that's his boy name. I don't even want to know his girl name," I told Paul. I closed my eyes, and breathed in.

 

"Tap your chest, three times with both your forefingers on your hands," said Paul. "Like this." Paul tapped his chest with his two fingers of both hands and I followed him. "Breathe, Carl," said Paul. "Say "I'm good and I'm kind, and I sure love these cookies."

 

"I'm good, I'm kind, and I sure love these cookies," I repeated. I tapped some more, even more than three times. I liked this tapping shit.

 

"So you think she's crazy now?" asked Paul.

 

"Yeah, she's nuts! What the hell do they do? These lesbians! Where do they go? How the hell are they going to be good Gypsies and raise children?" I screamed out all of the chest air and flumoxed anger. "I don't even know how to hug her anymore. Is she the same Julie?"

 

"I see," said Paul. "You think she's transformed into some outer space being who likes only women?"

 

"No," I said. "I'm a Catholic, and Catholics don't do that shit."

 

"Are you a practicing Catholic, Carl?" asked Paul.

 

"No, but I still am a Catholic," I said, defending myself, my core, and who was Paul to ask these questions?

 

"I've never met anyone who was a non-practicing Catholic," said Paul. 

 

"You're shitting me?!" I asked. What god-damned person has never heard of that before? I was baffled.

 

"I know....I'm an atheist," said Paul. "I don't practice any religion."

 

"You're going to hell, Paul!" I told him. What sort of cookie maker was this Chinese man about? He kept telling me what to do and told me to follow him to some shack and now he felt he was sane for telling me he was atheist? I had to ask him, "Do you think Julie should get married?"

 

"You know what I do think?" said Paul. His eyes wide and looked intently at me. "You drank and drove into a tree, and you told me that you didn't want to live. I think you need therapy!"

 

I felt the sweetness inside my mouth, and shut my mouth for a moment. Paul was right, I drank and drove carelessly and I hated Julie for wanting to elope with Tristan, the woman who was a man, who was actually a woman. I reached down to the ground, and took another cookie.

 

"Are you a cookie maker?" I asked, just softening the hard water.

 

Paul shook his head, and took a cookie and ate one, and said, "I don't want you to be a coward, is all."

 

"I'm no coward," I said to Paul. I swallowed the whole cookie and felt almost full. 

 

Bonnie stepped out and saw me, and looked down to the ground, and nodded. She went back to the kitchen.

 

"Are you a good father, Carl?" asked Paul. "Tap your answer on your chest."

 

"I'm a good father," I said, tapping my chest three times, and repeating it.

 

"Are you a damn good father, Carl?" asked Paul. "Repeat it. Three times."

 

"I'm a damn good father," I said, tapping my chest, repeating the words three times. 

 

The room felt still and I closed my eyes and breathed in. I stayed still and basked in the quiet silence and solemnity. It felt peaceful, and for once, I was happy. I haven't' felt this calm since Julie graduated college.

 

"Describe her dress to me," said Paul.

 

"It's got a thousand jewels, and a Sondra Celli knock-off. We got it dressed in Broomfield," I said. "The ruffles has rainbow colors, and the fabric is pink glitter with more beadings and jewels all over."

 

"Sounds girlie," said Paul. "All those jewels must cost much."

 

"We saved up for six months, and we're having it at Estes Park, in the small white church, but we're having a friend do it. We won't have a priest," I said. "I felt bad, because her Mom wanted her to be traditional, marrying a Romanichal and into the community. Not some Gorger boy and girl in one body and just having me as witness."

 

"If you don't do it, who will?" Paul asked.

 

"That's why I drank and wanted to die," I said. "I lost her, and now I'm gonna be alone. And she's a lesbian."

 

"Okay, let's go outside, we gotta go back to the car. I'm tired. You're crazy," said Paul.

 

"What?" I asked him. "We're not done talking."

 

"Yeah, we're done," said Paul.

 

I got up the couch and drank the milk. I lost the headache and the intoxication was gone, completely. I didn't know chocolate chip cookies was magical, but I was mistaken.

 

Paul opened the door, and stepped outside, as he stood for a minute on the porch, inhaling the now evening air. Summer nights was breezy tonight, and it felt smooth caressing my skin this evening. I stood next to him, and Paul began to walk before me. 

 

"You remember Arlene?" asked Paul. He looked above, and kissed his hand and waved at the stars.

 

"My ex-wife, Arlene?" I asked. My throat choked, because Arlene was a sore subject of a woman I once married too young, and had to let go out of heartache and addictions. She was my red, in my white suit.

 

"She never re-married," said Paul. "You never kept in touch with her, did ya?"

 

I walked beside Paul, pacing him, slowly together. "Nah, no need to. She was gonna be allright," I told Paul.

 

"She died a month ago. Breast cancer," said Paul. "She was at St. Joseph's in Denver for a year."

 

I gasped and stood still. Arlene never reached out to me and I never cared for her to. I knew she was going to be okay, because she was always a career woman, working, hard core business oriented and never backing down in an argument. She was the balsy type with black hair and angst for miles. Arlene was a kicker in the football team.

 

"She never told anyone, because she thought no one cared. Her parents passed before her, and she was alone," said Paul. "You know what her motto was?"

 

"What?" I asked, confused of how this had to do with me and Julie.

 

"No babies, no cry," said Paul.

 

I felt tears rolled down my eyes, and my body shook from the triggering conscience of understanding how Arlene never had babies. She was alone, all this time. 

 

"She was a good woman, Carl," said Paul. "She was just different. Ambitious, but she was kind. She put up with you for a good six years, didn't she? She almost ended her own life one night."

 

I didn't reply. But, I knew she did love me. I didn't cheat, but I was addicted and she didn't care for it, so she left, and I found Mary, Julie's Mom. "I thought she'd be okay," I said to Paul. I sobbed and smelled my breath of alcohol.

 

"That's what you think, Carl," said Paul. "I wished you can love a person just as she was designed, but not all ends well. She was alone in the hospital, but I was with her. And we talked, and that's how I knew about you," said Paul.

 

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" I asked. We were a few steps away from the car, as the conversation drawned out to a mile or so. 

 

"You son of a bitch!" said Paul. He punched me and kicked my shins, and dragged me into the car, and screamed into my ears, "It's not always about you and your addictions, Carl! It's about loving them back! You piece of shit! You fight for your life, you bastard!"

 

I fought for dear life, with my arms searching to fend him off, but Paul was a strong one with that tout Chinese Karate chop stuff physique. What kind of person would invite some man for cookies and milk, then attacked him near his car? I was about full cup anger and half cup of confusion, all drunk again.

 

My eyes opened as my head cocked back and my whole body shook as I suffocated from the air bag blown on my face. I was inside the car and I smelled smoke in whisps inside the car and I smelled fumes. My gut stuck in between the air bag and the steering wheel, I wiggled and couldn't move.

 

"Oh shit!" I kicked the driver's side door open, pushed down all of the air bag out of my face and crawled out. I crawled on the ground so fast, I didn't realize I was alone. I stood on the dirt and stepped back and almost fell into the crevasse of dirt. My foot got stuck and it turned out it was just a crack and it looked bigger than it seemed.

 

I took my foot out and stepped back on Earth, and pulled out my cell phone. Julie's number was my emergency contact and it rang a couple of times as she picked up the line.

 

"Hello, Dad?" said my daughter, Julie. She's my baby, no matter if she was lesbian or not. 

 

"Baby, I need a ride home," I said. "Got into an accident, but I'm okay. Where are you?"

 

"Dad, you're supposed to be at the rehearsal with me!" said Julie. "The wedding is tomorrow!"

 

"Why you want to get married so much anyway?" I asked, still irritated.

 

"I want to have a family, Dad. You'll be a grandpa someday. I want to have a family with Tristan. We wanted to adopt or something like that," said Julie. "Please, Daddy."

 

Tears ran down my cheeks and I sobbed, gasping for air, and thought of Arlene in the hospital and how she must have wanted to have a family with me, but never amounted to anything. I felt like a jackass, but hearing Julie, I was a happy jackass.

 

"I'll be there, honey," I told her. "I'm so happy you're getting married!"

 

"Oh, Daddy," said Julie. "If you only knew how much Tristan loves you. We want to do things right. We are crazy about you! You're my only Dad!"

 

"Pick me up, baby. I want to be at the rehearsal," I said. 

 

The tears felt warm and Summer got hotter with my cheeks and beard moistened from something that felt familiar and smelled like chocolate chip. I looked around, and Paul wasn't around. While waiting for Julie, I ran a mile up the road, and there was no small house, and no shack and nothing but barren land, and further up, there was a farm. I was confused and hurting inside of the memories left behind of Arlene, my darling wife whom I never cared to help. I fell to my knees and my heart broke in half. 

 

"I'm so sorry, darling," I said to Arlene, but she wasn't there. I looked above me, and kissed my hand, and uttered, "Thank you, Paul."

 

The End. Just write.

 

*Inspired by The Stand, a novel by Stephen King.

 

 

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Clementine, my son.

Love came to me during a sunny day with nothing but the glory of the skies above. The skin on my body was rippled with sweat as the water from the grove sprinklers sprayed over us, rooting the soils and splattered on my skin. Atop the second lowest branch, where I lived, the Earth was at peace and the wind breezed through the leaves with a soft gentleness upon my whole body, round, supple and naturally orange. 

 

My name was Pomelo, but others called me Junior, because I was a medium sized gent with a penchant for water drops. At times I screamed to the top most branch where Old Pomelo was and he always said, "Son, there will come a time when your worth will enhance human kind. Think of all the many oranges in the world and the vitamins we preserve. We are giants of lineages of fruits!" I believed him, no matter how low I was to the ground and how much rotting days approached. I was sure I would one day be picked for something great.

 

My buds came early last Winter, and the grovesman planted a special fertilizer upon Mother to feed her nutrients. She sighed of relief as her branches drooped and she breathed out "growth" from the eye of her bark and kissed each Pomelo with a drop of liquid love. Pomelos lived hundreds of years and at times, thousands, depending on the grovesman and purveyor. We were their birthed inheritance, and treasured investments, so we all trusted on their kindness for foods, lodging, births of new buds and fertlization.

 But,...all dreams of family and love plucked out of me when a grovesman came and poked me. He took his syringe, as large as 50 mililiters, and sucked out the spirit and vitamins into his tubes. The orange fluid flowed into the plastic bottle, and I wiggled out of fear. "Please pluck me and have me with a decadent joy. Instead of taking my life this way. Please, spare me the suffering and bitterness of a rotting body over Summer and Fall. Please...," I pleaded and pleaded. He was ignorant and kept depleting my vitamins and body fluids. I wanted him to peel me off, and I felt I was sacrificed as a useless scrab. Uneaten waste was my destiny. He left with those plastic tubes of my juices as I wept. 

 

"Don't worry, my dear," I heard a voice. Her soft motherly voice came to my leaves and I heard her next to me. It must be the next tree nearby. I looked up, and I saw her, another orange, with a different life, different trait, different beauty. She was the most gorgeous species I've ever seen. Her skin brighter than my dark orange, with her peels matched the sunshine above us.

 

"I am Mandarin," she whispered, and giggled. She was smaller in size, but so beautiful, with perhaps a nectar sweeter than I could ever imagine. "We will meet again, but for now, let's dive deep our souls into our buds and branches for the sake of life. Our buds will regrow, and a new progeny will come," she explained.

 

"Mandarin, you've gotta tell me your nickname," I said. "Mine is Junior."

 

"Mei-Mei," she said. "I was planted when Mother was just a small three feet high."

 

"Your Mother was an immigrant? I was native here, but Mother has been here for decades." I told her.

 

"I know. We were planted here next door, for a new life," she said. "The Grovesman worked inside the plantation for a study. We are their main focus."

 

I, Junior, never understood "studies." I hoped it won't left my soul rotting away in the heat that my peels grew fungus.

 

"Stay quiet, they're back," said Mei-Mei.

 

Mandarins were beautiful, with a gentle tartness on the palate that was small and meshed with the taste buds as desserts for men and women. Their kind were loved by Mother's ancestors. We were long lived friends and the descendants of their friendships. My heart on the buds of the branches breathed in a subtle pink hue of romance and love. I was mezmerized by Mei-Mei. 

 

The grovesman came back, this time with more empty plastic tubes, yet, the searched for Mei-Mei, and palmed her in his hand. He kissed Mei-Mei, and inserted the syringe inside her body, and took a seed from her Mother, out of the top most branch, where another Mandarin had died out of the extreme heat in the Redlands Orange Groves.

 

Mei-Mei cried as her peels moistened, and I felt her spirit crept up the branch and stayed there. I did the same, leaving my body and peels at its place, as I crept up my branch to stay solemn upon the sympathy of the Mandarin carcass before me. 

 

We grieved together, and often, we came out to the tip of our branch and cried together. Remininiscing the long gone friends who were plucked as we stayed in spirit in our branches and Mother caressed our souls with songs and melodies harmonizing with the wind.

 

Mei-Mei and I, Junior, bonded over Summer and over the dead carcass of friends unplucked and over-ripened. We didn't get plucked instead our bodies were preserved inside a covered plastic, and it was kept there as Specimen A and Specimen B. 

 

Fall came and our souls sang together, in baby blue romance, bringing our hearts melodies of ripened red hues of love.

 

"We join us here, as souls to be. Our bodies lives on.....We gifted them with our harmony, and our hearts lives as one."

 

Mei-Mei and I sang all the time, and over Autumn, when our leaves fell as we grieved our barrenness and lifted our words of hope and faith to the Earth, for a harvest next season, in fortuitiy. 

 

A month before Winter, a grovesman came and dug a deep hole nearby, and Mei-Mei noticed a seed was planted before us. I, Junior, didn't want to witness another Mother came to the grove without a welcome, therefore, I summoned the dead leaves to cover her on the Earthen soil, protecting her soul.

 

"Another Mother tree, Junior," Mei-Mei screamed. "Another family."

 

"We must wait, and we must warn them of the grovesman and the impending deaths and plucking seasons," I told her.

 

Rain poured, and the muddy ground almost covered the new Mother. She must struggle through it, but came a leaf, sprouting up. Not all seasons were meant to break you, because some were meant to strengthen you and birth a new life.

 

The grovesman chaffed the planted Mother, and fertilized her, letting her grew speedily over the soil. A month flew by, and the new Mother, stood tall, about a foot, with growing tendrils of leaves teasing me of new souls inside her core.

 

"We will have an extension of us, Junior," said Mandarin Mei-Mei. "I overhead the grovesman, researching of its budding season, and sending more water to splash over it. We will have some, too."

 

"What breed?" I asked Mei-Mei.

 

Uncontained of my joy, I perched over the tip of Mother's branches, and saw the new Mother grew. Months flew by, and a tiny flower came bursting out into the nothingness of the grove, bombastically exploding with colors of white and tiny buds surrounding it. 

 

"Heeelllllooooooo SUNSHINE!" the little voice said. "Hello Mother, Hello Father!" The tiny flowers cracked the barriers of sounds between me, Junior, and my Mei-Mei, Mandarin romance. 

 

"Father?" I asked. "There was never one."

 

"Mother?" Mei-Mei asked. "I was just a few buds amongst the many."

 

"Oh, not so fast with those self-deprecating thoughts! My name is Clementine! I am YOUR SON!" the tiny voice called out loud. It was vivacious and with a strong personality, and outburst of optimism inside him. 

 

Mei-Mei and I, Junior, sighed and embraced the sound of the gentle wind as Spring kept on, and Clementine budded into small oranges, smaller than Mandarin, with peels as dark and smooth as me. 

 

A grovesman approached, and plucked me first, then Mei-Mei, and our souls crept into the branches, but our bodies were to be the delight of man. 

 

"Should I creep up to Mother," asked Clementine.

 

"My son, there are many things, we must say to you," I told him, as Fatherly as I could. "First, my name is Junior, and I am a Pomelo."

 

"My name is Mei-Mei, and I am a Mandarin," she said. "Echo. We must name him."

 

"Yes, I agree," I said. "Clementine is your family name, and your soul is ECHO!" 

 

"That means.....I AM ECHO and I am a CLEMENTINE! I AM THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE NEW DAY!" said my son, Echo, the Clementine.

 

Our family stayed at the Redlands Grove since then, and new souls came and by, but life kept on, as fruits blossomed, and seasons never faltered, but families stayed together.

 

The End. Just Write.

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Letting go

My hands were deep underneath the Earth, fingers searching for roots to pull up as I knelt to soil level over the green sprouts of my carrots. There were no rabbits, just my soul in joie de vivre inside the life I earned for the writing I composed. I was a local author in provincial Loveland, Colorado, not quite suburbia, but countryside with a few lovely families nearby and a farm to tend. Snow melted months before and butterflies 🦋 flew by beside me beyond the trails to run in early morning. I pulled the elongated carrots and placed it in my basket next to me, and stood up to water the other vegetables on the plot of land. 

 

My house was not the biggest in the block, but it was good enough to hold me in peace and I made enough to sustain a living. A life I filled with the love of literature and the joy of writing and best of all, he made breakfast to enjoy it with me. Perhaps, the family was asleep, and I was a mother, a true gift I never knew I could have. The love of my life held me close and kissed me, and we enjoyed the eggs over-easy on toast, and hopefully, my Mom was still alive.

 

The dream I once knew made me lagged behind as I clenched it, and stubbornly dwelled upon it, over and over again. It caused jibberish and prayers to utter upon days and moments of my life, without a wholesome truth behind it and it was full of the fears that I was a prey by the devil who wanted otherwise. But, the butterfly kept flying near and so did the blue jays, finches, red-tailed hawks, and several eagles. It was pregnancy of faith that I needed to unleash, because I kept on the dream of that quaint house with a plot of land and the love of my life with a life of literature.

 

Truth was, I was on a journey only God knew of the plan. I could pray and pray and hope and hope, to thwart the enemy's curses and prayers upon me, but it only built these walls of fears over me, and it closed in to my life. 

 

So, I had to let go. No more dreams, because I had to work. I was always working, but my soul was complacent. My mind was focused on the dream, not the now. It looked ahead and hoped for a future, a plan unshakeable and unbreakable, but I realized now, it was God's plan that was worth my days and nights. I had to surrender everything, even my dreams, and the hope I had, everything to embrace what may come. The butterflies kept flying nearby, and this time, the eagle perched on a tree, the finches hopped on the ground near my feet, and phaenopeplas flew all around the fields in the farms nearby my house. These beautiful birds entertained me and kept me in love with nature, life, my heart and God. It landed near me, always, and the caterpilar made its cocoon in my tomato plants last Summer. It was a sign, to enjoy it, one step at a time.

 

Dei Gratia. Just write.

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For Daddy

Immersed in the golden ray as I stood underneath the sun, my spirit soaked in the goodness of the will. The will of one I won't name but took my dearest who built me up. No more apologies, instead live on to the fullest to make him proud, my Father. No clues or compass to guide me, just persistence and drive, that kept me on with his plan each day, one at a time. 

 

I won't know what happened unless I invest my whole gut into it. Each page, each word, each sentence, and what became of it on the friendly empty pages of my documents. I won't know the ending until I wrote it down and I won't predict the future with my work for it metamorphosized into art in its own time. My job was to fulfill its destiny and mine, through passion, worth, and effort. 

 

My Father, my cloud of witnesses, had gone just a month ago, yet I felt his smile with each creation I made. Behest, the will of God, upon my life, I shall keep. It was for me to live and to work for. It was my destiny and with a promise to my Father, who had gone before me, I shall keep going. 

 

Just write. 

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Love Letters to Dear God,

February 27, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Have I told you my love for you just hit its formative years? 

 

When I was little, I thought you were most likely that brave soul who wasn't afraid to hold my hand to play in the sand box. You whispered to me, inside my dreams, "It's okay to be shy. I still know who you are."  Then, you said in my dreams, "I have a huge monster in my backyard, wanna see him?" and I would be silly enough to believe that monsters really scared me at all. 

 

Times when the skies were grey made me wish you were my sand box buddy, because you would be the cutest sand box buddy I would ever have (and the oldest);and it would be completely fun to have you as my friend. 

 

Maybe if I was your sandbox buddy you'd be my best friend, although I never grew up with sand boxes or monsters in my back yard.  I grew up with lots of mud and rain that I played outside all the time, to watch the ground turned slimy and muddy. In the springtime, I would run outside in the fields of flowers where their buds bloomed and somehow, there was an ocean nearby, where I soaked my feet in the sand, and looked up to the sky and said, "Thank you for loving me."

 

I prayed for those wishes and prayers to be worthwhile for God, or for another soul like ours, to meet one day, from across the world. That perhaps a little girl and a little boy with the same wishes like mine, would meet and their hearts would take form, and they fall in love.

 

I know there were more important issues in the world than wishing for you to be my play mate. Like the fate of a little boy who carried a basket of rocks in India, or the little girls fighting assaults from the Rwandan militia; that my wishes of having you as my sand box buddy seemed like hop-scotch to God.

 

I prayed for those children too, that maybe they will have such a loving sand box buddy like me or you.  But today, I just wanted to love you very much, and maybe my wishes to meet you will one day come true.  I knew we live under the smile of heaven under the same moon and stars, with angels watching over us. Maybe they would notice that I was in love, and praised my wishes to God, to send you one day to be my friend.

 

For every letter I wrote, I prayed for every heart to be lifted up, and immersed inside that happily ever after I wished for everyone.  I also hoped for you to appreciate these series of love letters to God that I wrote for you. I raised them to heaven as a protest for love to conquer all.  For every child to grow up and experience true love as I wished in that vision of you and me, as sand box buddies. For the happy childhood and loving memories of all children to withstood the test of time. 

 

This sand-box buddy wishes might come true one day, maybe if not for you and me, then for two little children who God saw as a pair of doves, meant for true love.  If not, these wishes were still true, as I prayed dreams to come true, hearts to mend, and my heart to manifest to life!  In hope of you, Seth Meyers, that maybe one day, I would meet you.

 

Because I love you,

WishesOoohWishes

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