Broken

I fell and scattered, shattered

into a thousand pieces

across the room,

and laid, waiting

for someone to put me back together.

No one came, but it’s all the same:

Mended or not

I’m now cracked

and incapable

of holding anything inside. 

Newest Novel Idea: Part 4

           The next morning I got up earlier than I normally would, meaning I only pushed snooze once.  I said a quick prayer, read a few scriptures and then I slid into a pair of dark jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.

            There were two hours before my first class started at nine.  Usually, I didn’t even have 15 minutes before class after I get ready.  What was I going to do with all this time?  I was tempted to turn on my laptop and watch an episode of Monk, but I refrained.  Instead, I grabbed my iPod, keys, and coat, and headed out the door.

            One good thing about February is that the days get longer.  It was already light outside and it was only 7am.  The air was cold around me.  I drew in an icy breath and felt some of my negative energy leaving me.  I was outside.  It felt so good to be outside with nowhere to go.  I didn’t have to rush off to class or walk to the Wal-Mart to buy shampoo.  I had nowhere to go and two hours to get there.

            At first I stayed on campus, balancing on the edges of the fountain and flower beds.  I felt like a child again.  After a few minutes I strayed over to the institute building.  There was old heavy snow on the ground.  I attempted to make a snowman, but the snow was frozen solid.  If I stood perfectly still, I could stand on top of it without sinking.  It made me feel pretty good about myself knowing that I was light enough to be supported.   Obviously this was not the right kind of snow for snow angels either.  So I moved on.

            Around 45 minutes were spent walking around the cemetery.  A lot of people think that cemeteries are creepy, but I find them calm and serene.  I read the names and dates on almost every headstone I passed, mentally doing subtraction to figure out their ages.  There were the very young, children who died in infancy, and the very old; I found one man who had lived for 102 long years.

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 3

            I returned to my room to find Tamera still dreaming pleasantly.  I dropped my scriptures on the floor, a little too mercilessly, and then collapsed face first onto my bed.  I could feel my skirt riding up, and even though no one was around besides my unconscious roommate, it made me feel uncomfortable.

            I rummaged through my closet for a minute, trying to find something to change into, but then I gave up.  I pulled my PJs off the top of my hamper and slipped them on.  If I was going to be sulking, I would at least be comfortable.

            There was no real reason for me to feel so down on life, it was a conscious choice I made.  Some people wake up each morning, breath in the fresh air of a new day, stretch all their worries away.  Not me.  I wake up each morning thinking to myself why does morning have to come every single day?! I literally roll out of my bed and slink off to the bathroom.  I stare at myself in the mirror way longer than is required before I ever get out my make-up or hair supplies.  I just look into my eyes, trying to find the light that used to be there that is now gone.

            My attitude was a dimmer.  I closed the curtains on the windows to my soul.  I didn’t know if I really wanted anyone to see in.  I mean, I longed for romance, but I was afraid of friendship.  I guess I was kind of expecting love to just find me without much effort on my part.

            The light may have been dim, but it had always been there, until recently.  Somehow I couldn’t find it at all.  I’d just stare and stare thinking about what I’d done wrong and what I needed to do better.  But I couldn’t make myself change.  I wanted to change, but I didn’t believe I could, I guess.  My head was muddled.  My spirit was muddled.

            I’ve never been too good about daily prayer, personal scripture study, journal writing, etc.  I guess I’d been getting by on “borrowed light.”  But borrowed light was still light.  So what had happened to mine?

            I laid on my bed thinking about these things, once again.  I listened to Tamera’s steady heavy breathing, feeling slightly jealous that she could sleep in the middle of the day like that.  I’ve tried to, and usually about the time I drift off someone wakes me up to go to dinner.  I sat up; It was about dinner time now.  That’s what happens when Church doesn’t get out until 4 in the afternoon.

            “Tamera,” I said, loud enough to wake her, “Wanna go eat food?”

            “No.” She rolled over and pulled her lime green comforter over her head.

            I laid back down and stared at the MormonAds across the room.  I had put them up, perhaps to remind me to be better than I naturally am.  They weren’t working.  Or more aptly, I wasn’t working.  One of the posters taunted me to “rise above the blues.”  I ignored it and pulled out a box of cereal.  I didn’t feel like walking across campus again in this February weather.

            I’d prayed to God one hundred times to help me change, to help me become happier.  But had I really done my part?  Is happiness something you have to work at, or is it something some people just naturally have?  I wasn’t sure, but I was going to make the 101^st prayer count.  Tomorrow I was going to get out of my room.  I didn’t know where I would go, but sitting in front of a laptop watching chick flicks and crime shows was getting me nowhere. 

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 2

               Well, I was holding a guy’s hand at that very moment.  It was another one of those Mor-mon handshakes, and he was married anyway.

               “Hi, Kymber,” Brother Jinks, second counselor to the Bishop said with authority, “This is Joshua.”

               I took Josh’s hand.  Instant discomfort.  He was a dead-fish shaker.   This kind of hand-shake can only be made worse with cold hands, and Joshua’s hands were freezing.  Great, a dead fish on ice.

               “Can you guess why I just introduced you?”

               For a moment some part of me, a stupid and desperate part, entertained the idea that Brother Jinks might be hooking me up.  How did he know I needed a date?

               I looked over Joshua again.  His hair wasn’t dark, but it was thick.  I’d give him half cre-dit for that.  He was taller than me, another plus, though not hard to achieve.  He was a little scrawny, but I was a little overweight, so neither of us was really the gym-hitting type.  I guess this could work. Besides, then I could teach him how to properly shake hands.

               “I’m sure I don’t have a clue,” I told Brother Jinks.

               “You can’t think of any reason?”

               I shook my head and anticipation built up inside me.

               “We’re your new home teachers!” Brother Jinks exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than was actually required for these sort of things.

               “Oh, great,” I muttered, “I mean, good, good. That’ll be . . . nice.”

               That was it.  I was leaving.

               It’s so hard to be single in a church of families.  Okay, so I go to the single’s ward.  But half of those people are engaged or steadily dating.  They scratch each other’s backs in sacrament meeting.  The hold hands in Sunday school. And then they act like they’re parting for eternity when they have to separate for Priesthood and Relief Society.  It’s quite sickening.

               Usually it’s not so bad.  Tamera, my current roommate, usually sits with me, equally sin-gle.  But today, Tamera was sick and those had to be the longest three hours I’ve ever endured.

I missed the single’s ward I’d had at the community college.  Now that I was at the Uni-versity I felt even more insignificant and invisible.  I was one of 200 people in my ward.  My other ward had 60 people total.  I would be surprised if the Bishop even knew my name.  But there I go again.

                Brother Jinks and Joshua set up an appointment for later that week and I finally made my escape.

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Newest Novel Idea: Part 1

               It was finally over.  After three long hours I could go back to my room and take a much needed nap.  When I tell you what I’ve been doing for the last three hours you might be disappointed in my bad attitude.  In fact, I’m sure you’ve already guessed by now and are already considering putting this book down to read something a little more uplifting.  But don’t, just bare with me a little longer.

            I gathered up the fifty cutesy handouts the Relief Society teacher had printed out on cardstock and mercilessly shoved them in my scripture bag.  I looped the handle around my left arm and started to leave the room.  I realized my mistake only moments later.  My mistake was that I left my right hand free, something you should never do inside a Latter-day Saint building if you wanted to get out untouched.  I shook hands all the way from the classroom to the front doors.

            I’m not a germaphobe or anything, but I do have my own personal bubble which everyone at Church seems to want to invade.  This ward wasn’t as bad as others in that sense, I only had to worry about shaking hands here.  Back at home random old ladies would sit down next to me, put their arms around me and welcome me to Relief Society.

            “I can’t believe you’re already 18,” they’d tell me, a little too close to my ear, “I remember when you would run around in sacrament meeting with nothing but a diaper and skirt on.  You used to really hate shirts, didn’t you?”

            Well, I wear shirts all the time now.  Actually, I prefer to wear shirts with high collars, low waistlines, and longish sleeves.  I suppose that comes from being a Mormon, or maybe just that if someone is talking to me, I want them to be talking to me and not my chest or stomach.

            I’m also not 18.  I’m 21.  Twenty-one and single.  In fact, it’s worse than that.  I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’ve never kissed, never held hands.  The last time I went on a date was when I was 18.  Which is partly my fault, I suppose.  After high school, where the only dances I attended were girls’ choice, I decided that it was the men’s turn to start asking.  I was headed for community college.  I wanted to go to a university, but this college was free!  They gave me a full-ride scholarship just for existing.  I was ecstatic.  College would be the perfect place, a fresh start from my awkward years.  Most exciting was the prospect of new datable men.  I soon found out, however, that my picture of college was all wrong.

            My freshman year I spent a lot of time in my dorm room with the door open waiting for friends to invite themselves into my life.  As a result, the only friend I actually made was the one who had no choice to be in the room as well, my roommate, Wendy Allen.  Wendy was great and we had a lot in common, the same music, the same movies, we both wanted to convert Michael Bublé and then marry him.  We’d fight over who could have him until we found out he was engaged.  Then we’d argue about who would get Zachary Levi.  Of course, then we found out he was a smoker.  So then we wouldn’t fight about anything unless I’d get in a sour mood. Then Wendy would tell me, “Kymber, STOP IT” in her perfect theatre major diction.  For some reason we haven’t talked since she graduated at the end of my freshman year.  I suspect I was a little overbearing, much like a giant black raincloud hovering overhead about to burst at any moment. But there I go being a Grumpy-Gus again.

            Wendy went on three dates while I knew her.  I know what you’re thinking, “Three dates?! She only went on three?”  Well, that was three more than I’d been on.  Not for lack of trying.  I tried everything, short of asking the guys myself, for three long years.  I’ve been from no make-up to lots of make-up to moderate make-up.  I went from t-shirts to blouses to Wal-Mart specials.  I’ve had long hair and medium and short.  Thin glasses, thick glasses, no glasses.  And with all my variety in bait, you’d think I would have caught at least a small fish.  But no.  Not one fish bit.

I did get asked on a date once freshman year, by Levi Haycock.  Wendy had helped me pick out the cutest clothes I owned, a green shirt and long flowing black skirt.  Then I did my make-up. I was in the middle of doing my hair when there was a knock at the door.  Surely it couldn’t be Levi, he was 45 minutes early!  It was Levi.  I answered the door with a curling iron up to my scalp.

“You look . . .” He began in his shy way, “Um . . . you’re not doing your hair for the date are you?”

“Um . . .” What did that mean? Levi hadn’t told me what we were doing.  Maybe I was over-dressed.  Maybe he was concerned I’d spent all this time on my hair and it would just get wind-blown.  Maybe he was taking me horse-back riding! “Why?” I asked.

“Um . . . I’m going to have to cancel, my roommate Joe . . .” He let his words fade out as he closed the door behind him.

As I listened to his footsteps retreating I gave Wendy an appalled look. All she said in return was, “Hair! Kymber, your hair!”

I stared her for a moment before realizing I still had the iron up to my head.  I lost a big chunk of hair that day, and that is when I went from long hair to short hair overnight.

Levi never explained why he stood me up and he never asked me out again.  I suppose I shouldn’t dwell on that too much, I just got his wedding invitation in the mail. Scott and Linda Allen would like to announce the marriage of their daughter Wendy Lynn to Levi Peter Haycock.

There was more, but I’ll spare you the details.  I don’t know how it happened.  They must have met up after graduation or something.  When they announced it on Facebook I thought it was some kind of joke.  We’ll see who gets the last laugh.

Here’s something I just don’t get.  A whole lot of my friends and acquaintances are married.  One in five of the people I know who are around my age (5 years either direction) are married, engaged, or have children.  How is this possible when I still stay up at night wondering what it feels like to hold a guy’s hand? 

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