»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
My inspiration
| Passions in Prose |
|
My inspiration |
|
|
Michael G Senior Member
since 2000-06-25
Posts 579Nashville |
I have been asked, by more than one person, what inspires me to write the way I do. What brings such emotions to me that I turn words into such feelings? I really have not a clue. What comes out of me is mostly an expression of my life. My growing up in a large city where interaction amongst different people was easy, where you could get lost within groups and places. Loosing yourself in the moments that became a memory. I grew up alone, that is to say I was an only child of a divorced mother. She was often times simply not interested in raising me as she was interested in her new boyfriend. I was left to my own vices to such a point I learned life’s lessons on my own. Love and friendship were not typical experiences for me. I did not have a singular family that I could learn from. Mine was more extended. Out of necessity I gave up on my mother and found myself taken in by a group of friends. One in particular, Michelle became a sort of matriarch for us. You see it was her house, and it was she that brought us together. A beauty of white skin and black hair. Her green eyes could penetrate the most troubled of hearts and bring out a goodness most only could dream of. Her age seemed not to matter to the rest of us and at 29 she was much older than we. There was Tom, fair, freckled, red hair and blue eyes. Pure Irish. A sort of devil in a nice black coat. His mane of hair had about it some strange sort of attraction that girls wanted. There was Andrew the Scott, crewed cut and stout. The perfect mod or skin head, when the word was not racist. Christian eas our conscience, our angel, our saviour at times. To small and thin to be called manly, he none the less proved himself more times then I remember. Chris, my fair haired vixen of pure energy gone mad. She loved to play at being hard, all dressed in leather and attitude, but reality was her softness often would shine through. This was my family. My own that I would claim before flesh and blood. We exuded decadence when we damn well felt like it. We cared more for one another than most families I had ever seen. For more than four years it was home. We all would bring in our significant others, those fell away and we still had each other. Time took its toll. Death would visit us. Drugs, rape and finally a time to leave. As I grew older I would try and keep in touch with them. One would never wish to talk. Two others vanished. Michelle would always call and listen to me, and as time went our love as family grew. She would be engaged once, but backed away, ever the free spirit. She would call me in tears wondering why she felt lost, and we would up talking to the sun came up. At times she would just want to get together and I would never say no. A few years ago the phone rang. Answering it I heard a familiar voice and hello I had been missing. She began by updating me on what she had been doing over the past year. Apologizing for not calling me. She asked how I had been, how was married life, how was I at being a father. A small silence entered. I could picture her in my mind, still the beauty as ever. It was the sound of her voice that let me see the tears she was trying to hide. That was the point at which she told me, she had cervical cancer. Terminal. I felt everything inside go from me as though I was being emptied. All emotion for anything other than her escaped. I remember my eyes welling and the tears falling down my cheeks. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke again slightly as she spoke again. Her will to live out doing the pain she obviously had. I asked her what could I do for her. Without a moments hesitation, she told me she wanted me there. To hold her when she died. To share that moment with me. I told her yes, nothing would keep me from that, for I new what it meant to her. We stayed in touch more than usual, but nothing was usual now. I gradually became accustomed to the thought that she was going. It was strange because she was still here and reality would just not settle with me. On the 3rd of December, around four in the afternoon, the phone rang. I new before I answered what it was. Her father, in a most gracious voice, told me to come. He started to give directions, but then stopped as he remembered I had been to the house many times before. He wanted to tell me sorry, and I would hear nothing of it. I told him I was going to leave in twenty minutes, and that it would take me two hours to travel there. He told me to please hurry, and then hung up. The drive became a distorted blur of landscapes and ocean. Of skies that collided with the mountains. All this spinning together with whatever CD I jammed into the radio. The blending of it all making me go through the memories of her and I. Of a shared love that we could never forget, how could we, we were much to in tune. The sun falling down behind the ocean made the sky crimson in shades I would never see again. I arrived, was let in the door. Smiles were put on sadend faces. That bit of power we try to muster when all is not well. Michelles’ mother came to me, put her arms around me, and wept. Her father stayed on a chair, not moaning, not wanting to. Through a door I walked. There lying on the bed was Michelle. I heard the door close behind me as I stepped over to her. I took her hand, feeling a familiar warmth. Her eyes opened up to me, and she tugged on my arm to have me lay beside her. I put my arm behind her, and laid her head on my chest, a position we both new well. I felt her tears coming through the fabric of my shirt. We just talked about how our lives have been so full, so vibrant. How we had lived what others only dreamt of. How we had figured out love, and how we known how to be loved. The memories flooded our conversation, becoming a sort of cleansing for us. Some time during the sunset, as I was telling her about my oldest daughter, I felt her labor to get a breath. I took her face in my hands, her eyes opened but showed no concern. I kissed her, then whispered to her that I loved her. The smile she gave me was an answer. She kissed me back. A slight pressure from her arms, was a hug. With all of my strength, I then told her it was alright to go. We would be alright. It was time for her peace. She kissed my cheek, to this day I still feel that brush. Her final breath was soft, pure, ending. Her face content with some hidden knowledge. I write for her. I write for every soul I have come into contact with. My inspiration comes from her strength, her will. The passion that two lovers get. To this day, it still inspires me. My life for better or worse, has been full of such times. Those moments reside within my mind, allowing quick glimpses into my heart. I once was afraid to let anyone else in, but as time flows I find that fear leaving me. After all, what would Michelle think. [This message has been edited by Michael G (edited 02-12-2001).] |
||
| © Copyright 2001 Michael G - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Marina Member Elite
since 2000-02-10
Posts 2245Pickering, Ontario |
I can't tell you how much this touched my heart when I read it. This is the most sad yet inspiring piece of prose I have read. She was quit obiviuosly a wonderful friend and a beautiful person. So few of us have the priviledge of having someone so intelligent in the ways of life, influence us as she has you. I wish I could have known her. She differently brings out the best in you, and I know you have so much to give. Love, Marina It is a blessing to have wings for words, and passion in pen Marina Crossley |
||
|
Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I have not come to this forum in quite awhile ... now I know why something made me come here today. Thank you for this Michael ... for sharing and inspiring. Ride the wind sweet poet ... then write it ... in that special way that you do. In the evening when you see my eyes Looking back at you no disguise Im not sure who you think youll see Im just hoping youll still know that its me |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
