Month: August 2019

Windswept, Part I

On By SimonneBradenLeave a comment

I knew it would happen at some point, as these things usually do. I always figured it would have happened earlier, but being a late bloomer, this wasn’t much of a surprise.

I’d heard the stories from friends and co-workers, who’d tell of the crazy times that followed their first time. “Always be prepared,” they said. “Have everything ready because when the time comes, you don’t want to run out to the store in the heat of the moment.”

It wasn’t completely innocent. I messed around with Ernesto (I wasn’t ready for any of that) right after I moved here. Irene once kept me up most of the night, but she was gone by lunchtime. Then there was Arthur – he caused lots of drama at work for no reason – and he also met my mom.

My virginity was still in tact. Whenever someone asked me if I was “experienced,” the answer was always no. I was technically still a virgin.

And then Matthew showed up on my doorstep.

I knew I was going all the way with Matthew, there was no turning back. A mixture of excitement and fear combined like cement in my stomach. I could entertain him if he decided to stay a few days, but he was one of those who was gone by daybreak.

He came over after dark. I knew what to expect, I just wasn’t sure how it would feel, how I would react, and worried about what I would do if something went wrong or if my protection failed. And yet, when the big moment arrived, I was entranced. With the lights off, I watched him in the pale glow of the street lamps. It was all happening.

It was quite different from my other experiences. It appeared slow at first. Ha, I thought, this is nothing. And then things picked up and I was amazed at how different it was: the weird way it felt against my naked skin when I stepped into his embrace, the sights and sounds were foreign, and I wondered what would become of all this in the light of day.

Matthew was quite gentle and kind, in all honesty, and I’m glad my first time was like this; I know it’s not always the case. I’ll be forever grateful for his easy touch.

His Category 1 status took out the wax myrtle trees in the front yard, but wax myrtles are notorious for falling over if you sneeze too hard near them. There was no flooding, just a bunch of leaves everywhere, a few brown outs; it was basically a very windy storm without thunder and lightning.

Matthew, my sweet Matthew, did not prepare me for my next admirer: Florence.

Save a Prayer

On By SimonneBradenLeave a comment

“It’s not there anymore,” Phoebe had said. I was strolling through town and had planned to stop at the college bar we frequented back in the day. It was dark by the time I walked through the door. Phoebe was only half right: the bar was still there, but most of the building was a restaurant.

Then I realized she was right all along: it wasn’t there anymore.

The bar I remembered was a dimly lit unrefined establishment that drew in the early 20’s crowd. There was a large and scary looking dude manning the door, who put your ID under a video camera to document the time you arrived. His glare insured you wouldn’t start any problems. There were pool tables, a dance floor, a DJ booth, tables, and a large bar that was perpetually sticky with spilled drinks.

This bar, with the same name and location, now was lit with what can only be described as flood lights. Only two pool tables remained, but they were obviously new. The hightop tables were not only clean, but shiny brushed nickel. The bar had liquor bottles lit up on shelves and a several TV’s broadcasted ESPN. A small area was dedicated to gambling machines, a big deal in Illinois now, apparently. The bar was a fraction of the size I remembered, the dance floor gave way to the restaurant. The girl behind the bar looked like she was still in middle school with no bouncer. I was the only patron.

I ordered a peach vodka and Sprite, checked my phone, and looked around. This was not the place I left. Then again, I’m not who I was the last time I was here either.

I was here my last night as an Illinois resident. What a night that was.

Alex and Phoebe were here with me, as well as Three – the four of us played pool. Three was a co-worker. His real name was a mouthful of prestige, and he was the third generation to carry this long bulky name, so it was shorted to simply Three, which fit him better. We flirted constantly. He asked me out right after I accepted the job offer in North Carolina. Three was a good man, but he had his gaping flaws. In addition to falling asleep during the sermon when I brought him to my church, Three was banned from several bars for starting fights while drunk. Despite this, he had a good heart, kindness, and a love for hard rock. I knew he wasn’t long term boyfriend material – he was older – but to me he was a pint of beer on a hot day: probably not the best thing to be drinking, but it hit the spot.

I was two Long Island Iced Teas into my night when we left the bar. He was buzzed too, so we walked back to my empty apartment. He had been over a few times already. We worked the same weird shift and it wasn’t uncommon for him to crash at my place – we spooned.

I awoke the next morning before sunrise. The reality of everything hit me. I was leaving Illinois for good after breakfast. I really liked Three and I wondered what would have happened if our timing had been better or if I had stayed. I watched the sunrise with all of this flowing through my mind, while he slept. Once the sun was up, we hugged and kissed good-bye and that was the last I ever saw of him.

I ordered another peach vodka and Sprite as the past seeped into my consciousness. A conversation in the days to come revealed Three was married with children, still working the same gig.

I left the bar, surprisingly sober, and mulled it all over in the couple of miles walking back to Phoebe’s house. It felt like two lifetimes had passed since this ground was under my feet in different shoes.

Two lifetimes had passed.

And it was.

Breakfast & the Battlefield

On By SimonneBraden2 Comments

“C’mon were going out to breakfast,” Phoebe said. It was the last day I was staying with her family in the middle of nowhere central Illinois.

“But the kids, Alex?”

Phoebe shook her head and waved her hand. “They’ll be fine.”

We drove into town and ended up at an old haunt, a mom and pop diner. I had totally forgot this place exsisted. Phoebe was still reconstructing her life, as her and Alex’s legal separation ended. The bump Phoebe sported was proof their seperation wasn’t as seperate as the legal papers say they were. It was unplanned, but Phoebe and her prophetic gift knew this was in the cards years ago. 

“I hope I’m making the right decision by letting him come back. He’s changed, he’s good to me, the kids, he’s making amends, but I worry he’ll cheat again,” her voice trailed off as she gazed longingly at my mimosa.

I made the wrong decision by ordering huervos rancheros in a small farming town restaurant run by white people: it was an uncooked flour tortilla with scrambled eggs topped with tomato sauce. I was jealous of Phoebe’s breakfast of eggs, toast, and hashbrowns and her ability of getting pregnant with birth control.

“You have to go by the fruit they produce, but nothing is ever guaranteed,” I said. She knew I was fully supportive of her decision, to stay or go. If I were her, I’d have left and not looked back, but it was not for me to decide.

“How did we get here, Simonne? Why is marriage so damn hard?”

The weight of her words hit me like a sack of flour dropped out of the sky. I thought about my own heart wrenching struggles in my marriage and how it changed me and ultimately us. I thought about my friend who divorced a parasitic narcissist with an abusive streak a mile wide dressed up as a good Christian man. I thought of my other friend who appears to have the perfect marriage from my distant view, wondering if they found the secret that has elduded us, or if they’re as effed as we are and hide it better with their megakilowatt smiles.

“No one said it would be this hard,” I said barely above a whisper. “Problems, sure, thats life. But this – all this – why had no one warned us?”

“I don’t know, someone should have said something. I just never knew it would be this hard.”

I scoffed at those empty platitudes we shove on brides to be: never go to bed angry, laugh together everyday, put Jesus in the center and everything will be fine. Sometimes going to bed angry is better than having the same arugument an octive higher and an hour later. There are times when laughing is on the list below cleaning the grout in the kitchen after a long and tiring day: not happening. Jesus said He would be with us, not that bad times would be avoided by obedience and prayer. I doubt the second time Paul was shipwrecked, did he think, “Wow I must really be doing something wrong.” America with her prosperity gospel of smooth sailing and happy clappy Christians: gag me with a place setting.

Yet here we were.

We ate in silence. We both were fighters, women who followed after Jesus, and loved our husbands. We ate like we were gearing up for battle.

As we left the restaurant and headed back to the house, I reflected how on how Alex’s adultery changed Phoebe: she became less dependent on Alex and more dependent on God. Old Phoebe would have fretted over the kids and Alex for breakfast, but now she left him to be a father. Maybe something good came out of this mess.

I recently learned they’re moving to the east coast and will be within driving distance from me. They’ve decided to hit the reset button on their marriage by moving away from the cataclysmic damage. I’m excited to see where the Lord leads them in this new season.

And my heart is so full that I have a another Christian soldier so close to my heart and my city once again.