Thursday, February 27, 2014

I didn’t want to be somebody’s husband and I didn’t want to be somebody’s dad, that wasn’t my goal in life. But somehow it was.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

“I feel like men are more romantic than women. When we get married we marry, like, one girl, 'cause we're resistant the whole way until we meet one girl and we think I'd be an idiot if I didn't marry this girl she's so great. But it seems like girls get to a place where they just kinda pick the best option... 'Oh he's got a good job.' I mean they spend their whole life looking for Prince Charming and then they marry the guy who's got a good job and is gonna stick around.” - Dean, Blue Valentine

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

 LomoLit: Flutter (Part 2)

He had long quit smoking. During the time that he was still churning out smoke clouds like a Wall Street broker in the 40s and 50s, he always felt sorry for the silver paper that came with every pack of cigarette he bought.

Photo by les_parisiens
Dean folds the paper carefully into silver butterflies. He creates the wings out of the paper folded into triangles. Those triangles are then repeatedly folded until they looked like bellows from an old-timey camera. Dean then twists a strip to create the spiral-looking tail. He always thought that his stubby fingers were a hindrance to him whenever he created those silver butterflies. He then fashions the butterfly’s antennae out of another curled strip of paper.
Ten minutes must have passed since he started, and for all he knew, the cigarette in his ash tray may have already expired. Dean lifts his little creation from his lap, its little creases still damp from the sweat in his hands. The air smelled of dry ash; it reeked of cigarette smoke. He then flips the wings and pulls on the tips to reveal a silvery gleam from the repeated folds on the paper. He smiles every time he finishes a butterfly in his spare time.
“What are those?” asked Mika, amused.
“Those.” She was looking at the silver butterflies that were lying around on top of Dean’s metal cabinet. The cabinet was all Dean had in the world aside from the old beat-up car he always worked on. It contained memories from his father that come in the form of tools with years of patina on them.
“Oh. Just a little thing I do on my free time.”
“Can I have one?”
“Help yourself.”
Mika snatches one butterfly and puts in into the pocket of her jacket. Her hand is as big as the rough imitation of the insect.
For Dean, that butterfly was something intimate. He didn’t show it to anybody else. He only felt comfortable around Mika that he need not care about whether she saw it or not. Secretly, he wanted her to notice it the way he notices her every flutter. She was delicate to him as those silver paper butterflies but he didn’t show it.
Photo by milkybaldguru
Mika remembers the time when Dean got into a fight because of her. She thought it was stupid at first, like, why pick a fight and blame it on her? But she felt a little sorry about what happened when she learned that two guys were talking about her in a bar. They were laughing about how she was an easy “catch.” She saw Dean all bruised up with a cut on his left eyebrow. The blood had just dried and little flecks and crusts were visible from his jean jacket.
He didn’t mention a word about it to Mika. It was some sort of omerta for him. She thought, what kind of a guy goes into a fight because of an overheard conversation and makes little paper butterflies on his free time?

written by cheeo

Monday, February 10, 2014

LomoLit: Flutter (Part 1)

White knuckling through the busy thoughts in her head, Mika tries to figure out how things happened in a snap.

She is holding a sliver of foil paper between her index and middle finger, the folds and creases of which have become permanent, like patina on an old and reliable instrument. The silver parts of the paper have already begun to fall off.
Photo by nacarilegea
“I’m glad you showed up. I was already planning to ditch this whole thing together. My seat was getting too warm for me,” Dean was saying as he wiped the cold beads of sweat from his brow. He was wearing a hand-me-down tux that looked too good on him. She liked it when he cleaned up. It brings out the man in him, she thought.
“There. Let me fix this for you.” Small leaves in his boutonniere were starting to fall off and scatter around his lapel like little green eyelashes. Dean was blushing but his eyes looked into different directions. He refused to look at Mika, the petite girl who had become a mainstay in his life for the past year.
The unlikely couple entered the ballroom. Everyone was all suited and booted as Dean would say. He thought he didn’t fit in at such affairs. He’d rather be holed up in his garage, hammering or sawing away with projects that collect dust in the corner. Lights were everywhere as they walked in slowly; a foreign song was playing on the background. Mika looked up to Dean but he still didn’t look at her.
“Why’d you invite me to go to this again?”
“Uh, ya’know. It’s kinda hard to be alone in this kind of event. And besides, you said you were free tonight so, there.”
“Ooohh.” Mika knew there was something else. Even when Dean hadn’t asked her yet, she already knew what her answer would be.
Photo by fivedayforecast
She was wearing her long hair almost down to her back. The light little curls and waves of her auburn hair were draped over her bronzed shoulder. Parts of it were perched on the left side of her face and it accentuated her small and pensive face. She was wearing a little black dress and heels, making her look a bit taller than she really is. It wasn’t difficult to spot her, even inside a crowded room. Maybe it was her youth and pixie-like charm — or her nubile body — that made people turn their heads.
Photo by scholt
They eased into each other as the evening progressed. Dancing lights covered the walls and ceiling of the ballroom. She caught Dean staring at her from across the hall but he pretended that he was just looking in her direction. It was awkward for Dean; it was awkward for him to finally admit how beautiful she was that night. He took a swig of whiskey from the glass he’d been serenading the whole night.
“Ya’know what.” He could feel the burning from his gut rising to his nose and throat, its sweet and spicy notes clinging to every word he said. Fine drink.
“I’m really glad I asked you to come with me tonight.”
“Uh, okay. Why is that?”
He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s getting late. I should take you home, now. I had fun.”
Mika looked up and saw the fading blush on his face. She got the answer she was looking for.
The burning sensation of her tightly closed fists reminded Mika to open her eyes. She was still at the airport, and passengers for the next flight were being called. She almost missed hers. There were barely 10 minutes left before her flight. Still, the silver specks from the paper she now clutched in her left hand looked like glitters, leaving a trail as she made her way through human traffic.

written by cheeo