Holding: 09.14.2013

Posted by this week's guest writer, Casey Bauer. Casey likes sarcasm, sitting by water docks, and the word "idiosyncrasy". She doesn't share her writing often, but if she does, it means she really likes you, too.

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A perpetual presence of lack lodged in her larynx: it was like she had been holding her breath for years. Her head would swim as delirious cloud bubbles bounced around inside, making words lose their syllables and punctuation fall flat. She hated these moments; moments so strong, long, and full of such a yearning for that someone, it was like witnessing as air and words, the two things she required most, rid themselves of oxygen and literacy, only to be replaced with a swooning head and a sore heart. But even worse than this? Time. Time as the single, tormenting constant standing in her way and slowly tightening its grip on her neck.


Needless to say, she and Time never stood steadily on the same soil. Never did Time have faster feet, than when hers only wanted to anchor, and never was it so slow, than when all she wanted was to race ahead into the arms of that someone, and forget that such a thing existed at all. Any excitement built up in her stomach would melt away whenever she looked at a clock, and she would kick herself, realizing that she was losing some sort of sick game. Instead, she liked to replace the concept of Time with the notion that the world hid tunnels in our backyards that made dipping in and out of moments as easy as exhaling. She imagined little notes scribbled by friends and family all over the world, waiting for her at the entrance of every moment. They would invite her to join them and have a cup of coffee, day or night because, well, caffeine intake didn’t matter when Time didn’t exist, and why would tunnels exist at all if not for the sake of using them for spontaneous coffee breaks with loved ones? Breathing would flow like laughter, and breathless, light-headedness would be a thing of the past, the “past” being a Time-related concept hardly anyone would understand how to grasp.


But as Time diligently reminded her, she could only hold her breath for so long. After what felt like years with this delirious cloud bubble bobbing around inside her head, she was finally able to do the one thing her body was telling her she wanted to do. Had to do. She exhaled.


And it was then that an ecstasy flooded her limbs with a weight that made her sink lower, yet hover higher, than whenever her last real breath was. That miserable time of lack had passed now, and here, in the midst of that face, that touch, that voice, that moment that plucked her pitiful pulsing pith, here is where the words flowed freely and the oxygen swam through her entire body. Here is where she found herself living her dream of crouching in her imaginary, liminal tunnel between Here and There, a place where she would never have to say goodbye or hello again, and anyone she had ever loved crouched in the tunnel with her, sharing their coffee and laughs.


But as quickly as it came, it also passed, and she received a swift smack back to the waiting game all over again, being forced to inhale. The countdown rewound as she felt that familiar lack of oxygen in her larynx and the beginnings of a head swoon. It wasn’t welcomed, but she was refreshed and ready, because didn’t someone once say that waiting was always worth it?


Well, at least she got really good at holding her breath.

Holding: 09.13.2013

Poop.

I’m driving, cursing every car in my path. I feel sweat beading up under my bangs, on the sides of my neck and the outsides of my arms. With the culmination of sweat my anxiety rises. I’m in the throws of a colitis flare up and I have got to go. It’s coming and it doesn’t care where I’m sitting. The driver’s seat, the couch, crouched down giving a toddler a hug goodbye or the toilet. It doesn’t care.


I’m holding it. Its coming though. I can want to hold it more than I want anything but really...it has a hold on me. And I just can’t keep holding it.


****


He walked into the bathroom, chin tucked down a little and eyes shifting from left to right. Examining the level of safety he would feel after turning on every single light he evaluated and moved forward. The awkward shape of the room left portions unseen. An unsafe obstacle, possibly able to overcome. After all….he had to go.


He held his hands close to his face as if to cradle it protectively from the images on the screen of his memory.  Each step was slow and unsteady and each breath was baited at the thought that at any moment, out of any of the drains, in any of the receptacles in the bathroom, would unleash his current greatest fear. The tub of goo from the Ghostbusters movie. He has been told it could come out of any drain. Sink, tub, shower and yes….the toilet.


The poor kid has been holding it for two days now.


The poor kid is six.


****


He’s expressing the desire to use his cute little yellow training potty. He thinks it’s a pretty neat trick. Hell, it gets a rise out of us parents every time he pees in it. We jump up and down, we shout “Hooray!”, we all do a happy dance. He gleams and shines like the stars in Newfane on a clear night in December.


He’s still not quite there yet. And while I know it and while I’ve reassured him its okay to use his diaper still I can see the anxiety as he shouts “POTTY! POOPY!” and rushes to the bathroom.


I follow him and help him to undress. He sits and its still too new. Its still too scary.  He can’t let it go. We diaper up or go with the birthday suit. But he still has to go.


You can see his strain and his sadness and his shame, all created in his head as he works it out, while he stops holding it.  He’s been holding it all day.  


I give him a comforting look and say that he did a good job. I reach out offering my arms for a hug but he’s angry with himself. He tells me to go away. I tell him he did a good job and step back. I extend my hand and he takes it we go off to the changing table and I tell him…."You did a good job."

Holding 9.12.13


Ideas must be concrete; they absolutely have to be. I've been holding on to one unchanging notion for so long now. I've been holding on to the notion of you and I walking through the golden-green fields of tall grass, making our own path, for over ten years now. That's longer than I've held most of my jobs. That's longer than I've held on to certain personal beliefs. Thats longer than I was interested in the Catholicism I decided to convince my family to return to when I was 7 years old. It's longer than I've held on to many ideas of salvation or growth that I once did.

I've been holding on to us for so long...

 It's funny how I hold back my questions and feelings about it sometimes, that I may hold your attention longer; I hate when my words make you anxious, freeze up, and hold it all inside. 

I love holding on to your physical form as much as this idea of us...but I'm learning to allow you to hold yourself and not get in your face, which is difficult, since your face and body are my power pellets. Allowing me to hold off the encroaching ghosts of fear. Allowing me to eat all of the negativity and turn it into a high score.

 I've not ever held a love this strong. It's nice to finally see how to cradle it in our arms in a much better way. How to appreciate its weight, and how to support its growth and glow as it radiates forth from between us.

I will hold back neither all of my feelings nor all of my intentions. I will fight to my last breath to hold you above anything else in my heart, spirit or mind. 

I'm holding on to my last threads of sanity, while the strands of patience attempt to hold fast. I'm holding out. I'm holding out for only you. I'll always  hold out for you. I'll always long to hold you. I only want to hold you. It feels so good to hold you.

Holding: 09.11.13

i wear her watch
sometimes

even though the batteries 
have long since drained

i wonder what she would think about that

just a way to hold

sometimes
memories need an anchor

i noticed it
at least i think i did

when we worked at a puzzle until the whole afternoon had drifted away at that card table

when we cut the sugar cookies 
and you didn't mind that i infused the dough with so many hues of food coloring that it finally settled on puce

when you carefully measured 1/4 cup of chocolate chips for me to nibble on while I did my homework
i never questioned the measurement
just tried to make them last longer than they did the day before

i can only remember you in those ways when i wear the watch

you weren't wearing it
the last time i held your hand

i'm glad for that

Holding: 09.10.2013

I had a revelation.

It wasn't earth shattering. It didn't blow my mind. It was a quiet, simple revelation. One that I needed and will continue to hold on to.

I spend a lot of time planning, day dreaming, and otherwise thinking about tomorrow. I was so swept up in this notion of being prepared for what the next day will bring that I realized I had missed today.

I had missed the thousands of tiny moments and details that made today amazing. I was blinded by the glowing promise of tomorrow, next month, next year. Meanwhile, today, this moment, slowly went away, unnoticed, under appreciated.

Yesterday I did the same thing. I planned and scheduled. I prepared and I budgeted. I had hopes for the new day.

Today was the new day. The day I focused so much time on.

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Instead of relishing it's arrival and enjoying every minute I had so painstakingly planned for, I started the prepping and planning all over again.

For tomorrow. Which will never come. Instead it'll be just like today. Unless I break the cycle. Let go. Focus. Enjoy the moments that make today so good.

I will focus on the present. On the details all around me. I will appreciate all the day brings so that tomorrow can be appreciated, too.

I will hold on to today.

Holding: 09.09.2013



My sister took a 16 hour Greyhound bus and a ferry by herself, in order to hold a koala on the Magnetic Island of Australia. While she was there, she went to a full moon party on the beach and watched fire dancers, and got hit on by a guy who had a girlfriend, but wanted to pay for her to gallivant around for the weekend. I’m holding a computer on my lap with a dusty screen, and the heat is making my thighs red, and I’m imagining what it would be like to have a baby, and if we should plan a trip to India first. All of this both makes me giddy and makes me want to take a nap.

A woman in her seventies with dyed red hair and boobs that fold into her belly, is holding her wire rimmed glasses steady on her face; it’s windy and she’s nervous that they’re going to fall off as she hikes up the overpass. She’s squinting and her square purse is tapping at her left thigh with each step like a metronome. I stop, after passing her on the right, and hold my phone in place to photograph a curly golden party ribbon on the street, and because of this, I miss my train and am late to work.

I’m holding the hand of my first boyfriend while watching Homeward Bound at the Garden Cinema. I can feel the sweat release from his palm and gather into a little puddle of condensation between us. We experiment with interwoven fingers, and then go back to the cross-palm clasp. He gets a hand cramp. I go to the bathroom and come back with some Junior Mints.

I’m holding my mom’s hand while she’s in the hospital. We close our eyes and she tells me to give her energy. We say energy energy energy over and over again. I’m 7 or so, and once I envision what my energy looks like,  I’m trying really hard to imagine it moving through my little being and into hers. She's my idol and I want her to get better. 

I’m holding the small hand of a 1 year-old boy as we walk across the street together. His little fingers are just resting on mine, fluttering about, looking for stability. I can feel him wobbling toward independence and I am extra conscious of the cars whizzing by.

I’m holding onto a black pen and I’m all hunched over drawing on a piece of brown paper. I’m sitting by an almost burnt out tea light and I’m intermittently taking sips of strong ginger tea and honey. It’s 11:30 at night and the windows are open and I’m listening to an album we used to listen to on repeat over a decade ago. He comes home, and is over the moon that I’m drawing, and listening to that album. He loves me when I’m like this, and he tells me so.

I’m holding on to three plates and the one resting on my left thumb is too hot and it’s burning me, but I’m already mid way thru the restaurant, so I keep going. I imagine I’m going to drop it on the lady’s lap, and the jus from the steak will drip onto her white dress and down her leg. I imagine I’ll have to kneel by her veiny calf and wipe it up, and when I do I’ll notice the rag looks pretty with the jus and the wood floor, and I’ll forget what I’m doing, and then laugh. I imagine that if it was a lady that asked for her steak served rare, she wouldn’t be too upset. But this lady asked to have hers well done, so I don’t see much room for error. I tell myself to stop imagining that, because the imagination is powerful, so I imagine that l get it to her safely, and I do.

Holding in pee on car trips, holding out for an awesome job, withholding my own words to listen more carefully to yours.

I’m holding onto a lint roller and she’s bent over in a black cotton dress and tights with a rip in the back thigh, and I’m rolling the pills off of her in the middle of the teeny cluttered office. Around us, one coworker plays chess on his phone, another applies purple eyeliner in a small mirror, and another sips on her Chia seeds in water.

I’m holding tension in my left upper arm from continuously lifting weights improperly. Weights I was taught to use by my personal trainer Felix, to get in good shape for my wedding, which I was motivated and a little embarrassed to do. I never thought I’d be that woman, but I was-sort of. And maybe I hurt myself because Felix didn’t really believe in the machines; he believed in running and his intense cross-training classes. He was so handsome, and from Barcelona, and apologized profusely for having coffee breath at our first session. I should’ve asked for more guidance on how to use that one machine, but I was stubborn and wanted to figure it out myself.

Holding patterns--lots of them.

I’m holding a picture of myself in a florescent pink tube top with my arms on my hips while standing on a black sand beach in Hawaii. I’m remembering all of the crushed  green and rosy guavas smashed all over the sand. I remember how even that perfect contrast of colors and tropical heat couldn’t get us to change our minds about moving to San Francisco. It was while holding glasses of sangria on a foggy night with older Cuban men drumming out renditions of Many Chao songs, that we knew we had to live in the city instead.  

I'm holding space for you to soften. You're so tender under all of that skin and muscle and clenched jaw. Unfold, untangle, unsnarl, unwind.

I am here to hold you.