I’m a fate kind of girl

I often wonder if we actually realize the affect we have on each other. When fate puts us in another person’s path, some would say there must be a reason. We need something from that person or we have some benevolent gift to give them. Some would say that it’s pure chance when two people meet, that there is nothing drawing us to one another or pulling us away. And as such, there is no great meaning in relationships. I’m a fate kind of girl. I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, maybe not the reason you wanted but a reason none the less. (That’s actually not mine, someone else told me that. It’s good though, right?) So looking back on your life, can you fathom how many people you have touched, affected, changed? There are probably a lot more than you know or ever will know.

My eleventh grade English honors teacher forever changed my life because she never took of for spelling. For the first time I was allowed to use the words I wanted to but didn’t (still don’t) know how to spell. And now I’m a writer. I bet she has no idea.

The preacher, whose name escapes me, who led the revival at the Baldwin Baptist Church forever changed my life and my relationship with God. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember me, I was seven.

My friend Amy Surrency (Nash now) touched my soul when we were in fifth grade. She was the first person that ever called themselves my best friend.

My friend Michele taught me how to be a grown up and always put things in ‘Christy terms’ which helped a lot. I think she does know that actually. ;)

My point is, all these people come in and out of our lives and we never get the chance to tell them what they mean to us. So take the time and tell someone. Tell them you love them, you never know. Maybe they love you too.

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Inventory

As I turn thirty (shudder) I take inventory of my life.

House, check
Husband, check
Child, check
Job, check
Book deal, check.

I should be jumping for joy and on my knees every second of every day thanking God for all the blessings in my life. And I am thankful. At the same time, I wonder who the heck I am. All my life I have been someone’s something. Their daughter, her friend, his girlfriend, his wife, his mom but never just me. I think I am myself when I write, but I write from the point of view of a seventeen year-old girl. Now what the heck does that say about me? I have a theory. (You know I love the theories!)

When I was seventeen, I loved a boy and music with all my heart. And I mean every last ventricle. (I love him still but that’s neither here nor there.) He loved me too, as much as a teenage boy can love someone. And music was my life. Chorus, Musical Theater, all of it. Things with the boy ended, I was betrayed by a ‘friend,’ and ended up in the auditorium with slit wrists. Yes I know, but that’s not the bad part. At the suggestion of a therapist, I was pulled out of chorus and enrolled into the work release program. That hurt more than losing him. And every day when I would leave, I had to walk past the chorus room and hear them singing. It was like a knife in my soul. I think it’s still there.

Anywho..my theory. I don’t think I ever changed emotionally again. I grew older, but in my head, I swear, I am still seventeen. Ask anyone I know and they will back this up. I am that girl that says things she shouldn’t say and does things everyone else is thinking about but won’t. So now I’m thirty and I want to know who I am, or who I would have been if that didn’t happen. Would I have gone to Berklee and been a Musical Therapist? Would I sing at church? (I don’t sing in front of people anymore.) Would I have waited for him?

That’s my mission for the year. By the time I am thirty-one, I want to know without a shadow of doubt who the hell I am.

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SOON TO BE PUBLISHED

I am happy to announce that Devine Destinies has agreed to publish Emmy's Song! It will be in eBook first and then move on to print after it acquires enough online sales. Thank you to everyone who has taken this journey with me and I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you as an official published author. :)

Hi, Christina,
Emmy's Song is accepted. Fill out the AIF (author information form) and email it to XXX and cc it to XXX. Print and fill out 2 copies of the first and last pages of the contract and mail both copies to the snail mail address on the top of the front page. We will sign and date both copies and send 1 back to you.

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When Your Soul is Asleep

When your soul is asleep, the world passes you by and you miss the details.

When your soul is asleep, the words don’t register and lose their meaning.

When your soul is asleep, your heart shuts down and you forget. Forget how the wind feels on a warm summer day, forger the smell of candy apples in the fall, and candy canes in the winter. Forget how light you can feel when the weight of the world isn’t pushing you further and further down into despair.

Then something changes, the world moves under you, and your soul wakes up. Alone, scared, but awake. Awake feels so good you don’t ever want to go back. You have to change. Inside yourself, twist yourself, because you are forever altered. You see every detail, all the colors of a sunset, all the sounds of the beach. You hear the words and they touch you. You remember the sweet smells of every season and your heart is light again. Alone, but light.

Will you stay awake or allow fear to keep you asleep, missing your life? It’s your choice. Make the right one.

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Things that make me happy

Cameron
Writing
Really good music
Someone singing really good music to me
Tall boys with dark hair
Tall boys with dark hair named Edward ;)
Pretty words
Chocolate Thunder From Down Under (dessert at Outback yummmy)
Andrea
Courtney
Maria
Christopher when he is not pacing
When the Gators win (at anything, football, baseball, lacrosse)
Good dreams (Like the wake up and try to go back to sleep good dreams)
Bags/Purses
A clean house
My kitties
Feeling beautiful

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The Third Day

I have this theory about the third day. The third day of anything you are going through is always the worst. When I had my C-section, third day was the worst, when you are getting over a broken heart, third day is the worst, getting over being sick..you guessed it, the third day is the worst.

The first day is always the best. When you are sick, the first day is not so bad. When you have broken heart the first day is the best because you are usually still mad and that makes it easier to cope.

The second day, things start to go downhill but they are still not at rock bottom. You feel a little worse, your resolve is wavering but you think you can make it.

The third day, everything goes to shit. You feel awful, you can’t stop crying, you’re a mess! Your illness is kicking your butt, you just want to die.

If you can make it past the third day, you can make it! So for everyone on the third day..just hold on. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.

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Will You Find Me~ Short Story

The clouds race past the window of the plane. I usually don’t get the window seat. In fact, I usually do everything I can to avoid the window seat. I hate to fly. The continuous fidgeting, rubbing my hands together, running them through my hair, checking the piece of paper in my hand, is helping to keep the palm sweating at a minimum but I know I’m green. The woman in the seat next to me instinctively moves away, eyeing the barf bag in front of the seat all the while.

It’s worth it. That’s what I keep telling myself. I need to know. I need to see him. I met him a month ago online.

“You have a pretty smile,” he had said.

That was all it took. The connection was instant. His words, the way he said them. I felt like he was the other half of my soul. It was as if we had known each other our entire lives and we had never even actually spoken. He told me he had known me in another life, that it was fate. He told me that he would keep the promise he made to me and that he would always find me. Though I didn’t really believe in reincarnation, I believed him.

The weeks passed and our conversations took a different turn, he started pulling away. Confused and hurt, I asked him why. Was it something I had done?

“No, of course not. I just need some time. We’ll be together soon, I promise.” His words were fresh in my mind.

The plane landed and I began to lose my nerve. What in the world was I going to say? Hi. Nice to see you. I had no idea. I kept telling myself that he just changed his mind. Folks were entitled to change their minds. I looked at the piece of paper I was cluthing in my hand for the hundredth time. I didn’t have any luggage, just a carry on bag. I walked up to the first cab I saw outside the airport and gave him the address.

It was a short trip, not nearly long enough for me to decide what to say. I handed the cabdriver a fifty dollar bill and asked him to wait. I was sure it wouldn’t take long for him to tell me to get lost, that I wasn’t who he thought I was after all.

A woman answerers the doorbell and my heart drops. He was married.

“Yes, can I help you?” She asks in a friendly voice.

Perfect. “Yes, I’m sorry; I may have the wrong house. Is Tom here?”

Her face falls and she swings the door wide open. “Why would you ask that? Why would you come here and ask that? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Confused, I start to apologize, certain now that I did in fact have the wrong house. “I’m very sorry. This must be the wrong house. I’m looking for Tom Davis.”

She starts to weep. She slams the door in my face and I am too shocked to move. I finally turn and make my way back to the cab. I am shaking uncontrollably when I slip in the backseat and ask the driver to take me back to the airport. This was a mistake.

He turns to look at me then. “Hey lady, I don’t know who you are and I don’t usually get involved in these things but that woman has been through enough. Just leave it alone, okay.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I was coming to meet a friend and I must have the wrong address.”

“You asked her where Tom was.”

“Yes, that’s my friend. See I met him online and I wanted to surprise him…”
“Lady, Tom’s dead.”

“What are you talking about?” I wanted to hit him. What the hell was wrong with everyone? I just talked to him last week.

“Tom Davis died in a car accident two weeks ago. That was his mother. Geez lady.” He turned back to the wheel.

“Wait. Can you take me to the graveyard? Please? PLEASE?” I was in full blown hysterics. The nausea that I felt on the plane came back with an intensity I couldn’t fight.

We drive to a small Catholic Church and park near a small graveyard. I open the door and begin to run. I know where to go. I don’t know how but I know where to go. I fall next to his grave. The date was there, etched in stone. Two weeks had passed since he had been buried. One week had passed since his last email.

I just need some time. Those had been the last words he typed me. Time for what? I feel like I am losing my mind. My heart starts to hurt. My chest is on fire and I can’t breathe. Lightning courses down my left hand and my arm loses all feeling. I collapse face first into the dirt. There by his grave, I died.

The light was bright. He was there with me. Stephan, Collin, Christopher, Dylan, and most recently Thomas. We held each other for the few brief moments we had.

“Will you find me?” I ask him.

“I always do my love, I always do.”

I held his hand while the fates pulled us in different directions. Yes, he would find me.

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