Sunday, May 02, 2004

I can see her.
Holding out her hand, thumb sticking out.

The car is broken again.
It doesn't help that the back window is busted out.
Victim of another fight gone bad.

They still have not found work.

She crawls in-not before I hide the chips and the coca-cola under my seat.

"Don't worry about me" she says.
I can take care of myself.

Each day she pricks her finger, steadily dropping pieces of herself into a mechanical device.
A steady reminder of our fragility.
She tells me, "No-I'm not on insulin shots--just pills."

Just pills love, just pills.
I bite the bitterness on my tongue.

She asks me for money, "they ate all my snacks",she tells me.

"I'm losing."

I can tell, but I do not say anything.

I put her in my car-thinking that this is the last time.
The last time I will help her kill herself.
The last time I will stop and let her get out to buy more sugar.
The last time I will give her money only to have her ask for more.

The last time I will stop.
The last time I will stop.
The last time I will stop.

Danna Saunders at 3:11 PM

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This is one I posted on my blog:
I want to turn it into a story.


Lately I've been thinking about my dad.
I worry about him.
More so lately though.
I think it may be the season.

'Tis the season to rememeber father, fa la la la laa..la la laa laa.

I know it's getting warm.

You see my dad is, well to say the least--difficult.

His first love was the bottle. I think I was the 3rd. A charm of sorts.
But, given the choice between spending the day with me or a cold bud-bud won.
I can't knock him though.
I know there are things that I can't see.
Things I will never feel. Places I will never be.
Thoughts I will never think-yet I want to be there with him.
In that place where I can say that felt like I had more in common with him than football, salsa and bad jokes.

I have a great memories of us when I was little.
He used to read to me.

He would come to my room each nite prior to bedtime.
He would fix my bun or my braids.
He would get a book and read to me.
I at some point caught onto the fact that my dad had trouble reading, but it never took away from the quality of his reading to me.

When he was done would look out my window and see where the bun was.
Bun=moon.
Because if the bun was out our dog would be running around all nite.

If the bun was out my dad might not be there in the morning.
If the bun was out we might see red and blue lights flashing.
If the bun was out we might have to sleep in our car.
If the bun was out we might miss it.

Danna Saunders at 10:36 AM

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Saturday, May 01, 2004

I have decided to write more.
Here it something I wrote the other day:

Arnold wanted me to meet him.
In that smokey, yet-not nearly dark enough room.
Letting all other things go-I agreed.

Initially I wanted to say no.
To walk away from the madness.
To let him go.
To end it.

But there was something in him.
He knew things about me.
The right way to hold me.
The way I took my coffee.
He opened doors for me.
Even if it was only so he could grab my car keys-to drive so he could pretend control for 2 moments.

I told Emma today about him.
She called me and asked how I was embracing motherhood.
How I was planning to tell my boss that I needed to think about time off and look for a bigger place.
How I needed to buy some clothes that I could grow into instead of the typical-'I'll lose the weight and it'll be perfect' approach to my wardrobe.

In between her rambling thoughts of Arnold popped up.
He was singing tonight, as he does most nights.
I can't fault him. Being a lounge singer is a good way to gain both experience and exposure.

But I knew I wasn't ready to tell him that after 13 dates and a few mistakes I was carrying a version of him in me.

Funny how we met.

I went to the lounge (where he works) with my friend Missy from work.
She had been bugging me for weeks to go there.
Talking about the hot waiter and the stunningly adorable singer that she flirted with.
And having found myself alone after being stood up by yet another horrid blind date, I called her and met her there.

The lounge had an old cigarette machine.
You know-the kind that you pop the bills in and pull a plug and WOP-a pack of 4,000 chemicals comes swooping down to kiss your hand.

Except all I had was a crumpled up five dollar bill & an addiction to feed.
The machine wouldn't take my bill.
Just as I was considering taking my 2 gallon purse and swinging it through the glass some dimples came to my rescue.
Arnold.

So I'm telling Emma to mind her own business.
To let me be.
And yes, I tell her I don't know what she's talking about or how again she knows I peed on a stick 2 minutes prior and was on the verge of tears.
There is so much turmoil around the corner.
I've never been good at confrontation.

All I can think of are the years we spent trying to undue my fathers addictions with women, drugs and control.
The time I spent trying to forget seeing my father with his fist in my mothers face.
With his money in my bank account.

I'm not sure I know Arnold enough to know he won't be the same.

We were a family now.
Stronger than ever, but I doubted if we were strong enough for my newly acquired status as single mother to be.

Or was I?
Does having had sex with someone and starting a monogamous relationship make you ready to be parents?
(or A parent?)
Does me having a stable job and a car make me mother material?

The universe thought so.

I wasn't so sure.

"Hi Arnold. It's me Leslie, I can't come tonight I have to go see my grandmother Emma, she needs me."

Danna Saunders at 5:47 PM

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