(no subject)
but only a piece of it:
It was your 'hello' that made me pick up. It was your love that kept me hanging on every word. It was your goodbye that keeps me listening to this tone.
The dial tone was a rude awakening. Crashing back into reality, I found myself crumbled on the harsh tile, shaking. With the cordless reciever in my right hand, I lay there. I was so close to graduation, here at Parson's College of art and design but the bathroom had always been my real dorm. I spent more time in here than in class, than in my room. I cant remember getting in the bathroom or why I was here in the first place, all that was real was the dial tone. Who had I called? These panic attacks were becoming more frequent all too soon. I knew it was because of him. But this tone. It seemed surreal, to close to me, as if it were actually a part of me. The bathroom was gone and I must be crazy to find so much in common with a noise. We're both operated by a force that we cannot control. Nobody wants to hear a dial-tones consistent buzzing, on and on. It's always there, until you mute it. All that takes is a touch of a buttom, or a simple hello.
I was the annoyance that you chose to disconnect from and I will always be there when you pick up your phone. I remembered him, then.
Now I was crying. The bathroom was coming back in waves. The blur from my tears and the spinning in my head made it hard to tell the difference between the sink and toilet. I was washing my face in what I had hoped was the sink when Cherry came through the door. "Oh my, Venna. What on earth are you doing? No, the sink's over here." Cherry was like a mother to me. Her voice was soft and I knew if I could trust anyone, it was her. Cherry was nothing but pure. She was my best friend. Her blonde hair, always tucked behind her ears, brushed my shoulders as she helped me up. Her green eyes sparkled more than jade. She was beautiful and kind, an unlikely combination. I was glad to have her here to pull me away from the toilet. I couldnt remember how to walk. She held my ravaged brown hair away from my face as cool water flushing my pores; I couldnt stop crying. She saw the blood on the tile and searched my body with her eyes. They stopped at my legs and widened. "Venna, what have you done?" It was then that I became conscious of the bits of skin between fingernails, the burning running up my legs. I looked down and saw scratches. Deep red with matted blood, wet and dry. I had him to thank for this. No I had myself. And that was an understatement.
...........
Four years ago was when I first came to Parson's college in New York City. I wanted to paint and it was an art school. Luckily enough, I recieved a scholarship for full tuition and board for four years. As a girl it had always been my dream to live in the city, a place that overlooked the streets of New York. I was infatuated. The fashion, the theatres, the art, the life. It was overwhelming. I can remember distinctly my first step out of the cab I had hitched from the airport to my dorm house. Fall had started early this year and the few trees occuping the side walk had redened, beginning their shed. The streets were busy with business men on their lunch break, mothers taking their children home from daycare and hot dog stands run by men with Arabic accents. I was besotted and two hours early. Orientation and houseing didnt begin until 2:00 P.M. so I took advantage of my time. Sitting on a bench facing the passerby's, I watched. A mother trying to control her crying child. A woman in a robe yelled down from a window at her husband. Sirens wailed in the distance. It was enrapturing. I almost couldn't breath.
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that's all you get. Preview ended.
maybe this was a mistake.