Anchor - M. Mabie Page 0,16

found Bay beer somewhere.

God, I fucking loved her.

It was the perfect time of night. The sun was behind the trees giving the small backyard shade as we cooked and talked about Seattle and music and normal things. There was nothing spoken about beatings or divorces or dicks who needed to be shot.

“So where’s Audrey?” Troy asked.

My arms were wrapped around Blake’s waist as she checked the ribs one last time. They smelled like fucking heaven.

Blake answered, “I said I’d send her a message when the food was done. She’s working on this incredible sculpture thing.”

To that he replied, “That smells about done. Oh hell, I’ll go get her.” He jumped up from his seat at the patio table. “Besides, you two are ruining my appetite.”

I waited until I heard the door shut and Blake had the last rib on the platter before I turned her around in my arms and took a few steps away from the heat of the grill.

“Hear that? We’re making people sick,” I said conspiratorially.

Her pretty brown eyes lit up. The past week’s medication haze had cleared. They were brighter. More focused and all on me.

“What a shame,” she teased, playing along.

“Fuck ’em. I’ve waited too fucking long for the days when I could put my hands on you whenever I wanted. There ain’t no stopping me now.” There never would be again. I was joking and messing around, but the undertone was still there. I think we were both getting used to being open about how we felt around others. We’d trained ourselves to starve when everyone around us feasted on love. It was our time to binge.

My hands found her cheeks, and I held her face still as I took my time looking at her. The swelling and bruising was nearly gone and the cut on her lip was healing. She leaned into me for a kiss and before our mouths met she murmured, “I love you.”

She tasted like forever.

Monday, June 14, 2010

OH MY GOD. MY stomach.

I was hungry and smelling the barbeque floating through my open windows didn’t help. Familiar aromas and faint sounds swam through my apartment. I knew he was close.

I sat at my table, same as I had all day. Not working on the heart, just looking at it. I’d been there for hours. Examining the piece. Scrutinizing it. Looking for what was missing. There were two hearts at my table and neither mine nor the one made of the expensive polymer clay had what they needed.

Depth.

Emotion.

Love.

Most of my art flourished out of feelings, but this piece was different. When I began, I thought it was my heart¸ but it wasn’t. It was his. As the concept took shape in my head, I realized it was a heart I could never reach. One I’d never quite touch. One that not many ever would.

A heart under glass with a hand touching the clear plate on the other side.

It wasn’t my typical venture. Most of my pieces were paintings or photographs I’d manipulated to show one underlying theme. One idea. One emotion.

This was going to be different, because it was so many emotions I’d lost count.

My hands lay where they had for hours, side by side on the wooden table top. Patiently waiting for direction. But I didn’t have any.

I knew the vision. I could see it clearly, but something was stopping me from creating it.

A lot like his presence, his words always had a way of making me second-guess myself. My feelings. What I wanted.

You’re a brat, Audrey. You’re a kid, Audrey. You’re their sister, Audrey.

I didn’t care.

You’re not that much older. I’m going away to school. It’s none of their business.

I knew it was a dangerous path to let my mind walk, reliving those conversations. Because soon the words always led back to one memory. One night. One encounter where we didn’t have ages and nothing else mattered.

I let him pull my hair as he took what he’d sworn all along he was protecting. My innocence. Only I‘d lied that night and said I didn’t have any. That it’d been taken long before then.

It was the only memory I have of us where he didn’t hold back.

At the time, I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I didn’t know what was normal or how I should feel.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him come in until he said, “Wow, kid. Look at all of these. You’re getting really good. Far better than the stick figure pictures you used