Friday, March 29, 2013

I couldn't sleep, so I wrote.

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.” 
 Saul Bellow


Ever Been in Love
By: Leslie Li Hikida

            “Have you ever been in love?” he asks.
            I laugh at this because not too long ago my answer would have been yes, but right now I’m tongue-tied. 
“It’s funny how clear things can seem when you’re intoxicated with the affections of another,” I say coyly. 
“No stalling.  You picked ‘Truth’, so answer the question,” he prods.
I think this is silly.  “Well, have you ever been in love?” I ask.
“Of course I have,” he replies too easily for my taste.  “Just once though.”
“Oh,” I say, then pause.  “Is that all?”  He nods.  “What was her name?”
“I can’t remember, but---.”
“Wait a minute, you were in love with her, but you can’t remember her name?”
“She and I were not together for very long, only a couple days, in fact,” he says. 
Normally I would not buy into this, but something about his European accent, the way every sentence he says sounds a little bit like a question makes me believe he’s telling truth.  I decide to go along with it.
“How old were you?” I ask.
“Don’t laugh, okay?”
I hold up two fingers saying, “Scout’s Honour.”
“I was only sixteen and she was, I think nineteen or twenty.”  He stops talking until I can regain my composure.  “I was on vacation with my parents in London and she was the room attendant at our hotel.”
“Saucy!” I say despite my best efforts to behave.
“Nevermind, we can talk about something else,” he replies, his cheeks turning red.
“No, that was it.  I promise.  Please...go on.”
He takes a deep breath.  “We had passed by each other in the lobby and in the hall many different times and every time she smiled at me.  That’s what I remember most about her.  That, and her eyes, they were this absolute royal blue.
“Three nights before we were going to go back home I finally got up the nerve to talk to her.  My parents had left me at the hotel while they went to some play or opera.  I got fed up with the TV in the room and went out to get some air.  It was crisp and cool out, I remember that the hair on the back of my neck stood up as soon as I stepped outside.  The street our hotel was on was quiet except for the occasional automobile.
“After I had been out there for a little bit, I saw her exiting the hotel.  She was holding a cigarette in one hand while searching in her purse with the other.  Without warning she asked, ‘Do you have a lighter?’”
“Wait,” I interrupt.  “I thought you said you got up the nerve to talk to her.”
“I did!” he replies in self-defense.  “I could have very easily jumped like a mouse and run back inside, which was my first instinct.”  We both laugh.  “Anyway, after what felt like an awkward silence that lasted for an eternity I told her, ‘Sorry, but I don’t smoke.’ 
“She frowned in a way that made me want to gather up all the of fire in all of the world and give it to her just so long as she never had to frown again.  She started to put the cigarette back in its pack and said, ‘Good.  Don’t ever start.  It’s a terrible habit.’  ‘How come you do it then?’ I asked her.  She giggled and I fell for her even harder.  ‘I don’t know why,’ she said.  ‘I guess it relaxes me.’  She told me she would be off at 11:30 and wanted me to come back to the front steps and meet her.”
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask him, suddenly standing up from the sofa.
“Please,” he replies, un-phased.  “Coffee?”
“Sure,” I say and head for the kitchen.  “Pick something for us to watch while I’m in here.”
He doesn’t reply, but it doesn’t matter.  I have a feeling this little story of his will be going on quite a while.  Why did he even bring it up?  It’s only our second date.  I mean, he was with that girl for only a few days and he knows without a doubt that he was in love with her.  Meanwhile, I was with Brandon for two years and I can’t even answer that question in my own head...not anymore anyway.
I press the start button on the coffee maker.  I mean, I guess I was in love or why else would I have stayed for so long?  It definitely wasn’t because we had tons to talk about.  The silence between us in the car and at dinners could have filled the Rose Bowl Stadium. 
Then again, if I was in love with him, why was I in such a hurry the last few months of our relationship to get the hell out of it?  Bradnon was charismatic and charming, sure.  He was also so rational about everything from how to deal with disagreements to what movie we should see.  And at first I thought that was great, I thought what a gentleman he was, but then after a while, well, it got kind of...boring.  That’s when I knew it had to end.
“Do you need any help in there?” he asks from the living room.
“No,” I say, seeing the coffee is done.  “I’ll be right out.”
He doesn’t notice I’ve re-entered the room until I place the tray with our cups of coffee and some cookies I found in the cupboard that I’m praying haven’t gone stale.  He lifts his head from the back of the sofa and smiles.
“I love the smell of coffee,” he says.
We both take a mug and put in some cream and sugar.
“Did you pick something for us to watch?” I ask.
“Yes, but I wanted to finish telling you my story first.”
I nod, “Oh, of course.  You were saying she wanted you to meet her after her shift at the hotel.”
“Ah, yes.  I waited until my parents had fallen asleep and went back down to the front entrance of the hotel.  I waited there for half an hour and when she still wasn’t there after forty minutes I laughed at myself.  I mean, I was just a kid, what would a beautiful woman like her want with me?  So, I decided to go for a walk.  And that’s when I heard her voice.
“’I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘They never let me go on time.’  I turned around and by the way the light from the hotel was hitting her fair skin, I could have sworn she was an angel.  I told her it was okay and that she was worth the wait.  She said, ‘We’ll see about that.’  I can still remember the mischievous look in her blue eyes when she said that.  It drove me crazy.
“So, she took my hand and we walked and walked until we came to an open grassy field.  She took me out to the middle of it and from there we looked up and could see nothing but stars upon stars in the sky.”
I suddenly have to interject, “And let me guess.  That’s when you made passionate love for the first time.”
He laughs and shakes his head.  “No, no, no.  I know it must be hard to picture, but I was a shy little boy then.  Nothing like the rugged, handsome man you see now.”  Again, we laugh at his little joke.  “We just sat and talked,” he says.  “I could have listened to her voice forever.  I will say that we kissed that night when she walked me back to the hotel.  It was the sweetest kiss I think I’ve ever received.  So little was said, but so much was revealed.”
He stops to take a sip of his coffee.  I don’t know how much more of this story I can take.  Brandon would have hated it.  He would have said it was too sappy and that when it came to love, some things are better left unsaid.  I find myself agreeing and disagreeing with him at the same time.
“Shall I go on?” he asks, as if sensing my discomfort.
“Oh, yes, please,” I lie.
“The next morning, my parents woke me up.  They told me something had happened and we would have to return home a day early.  As soon as I had my suitcase packed I was running up and down the halls, searching for her.  I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye.
“We stood in the lobby as my father checked us out of our room.  I scanned every corner praying I would see her royal blue eyes one last time.  My heart sank as I picked up my suitcase to follow them out.  That’s when I felt someone grab my arm.  I turned and there she was.  I told her I was worried I wasn’t going to see her before we left.  She threw her arms around me and said, ‘Thank you.’  ‘For what?’ I asked.  She said that since we met she decided to quit smoking.  Despite my parents watching us, I kissed her once more.
“It was then that I learned what love was.  Up until that point I thought love was what we see in the movies, but it has nothing to do with rose petals or perfume.  What it is is truth.  I’ll never know if she smoked another cigarette, but I don’t have to.  For that moment I loved her and that was enough to make her want to be a better person.  In improving her, I improved myself.”  He paused.  “You’re a million miles away, my dear.”
“What?” I ask, looking at him again.
“So, that is my ‘Truth’.  Now it is your turn to tell me yours.  Shall I ask you the question again?”
I look down at the empty coffee mug in my hand.  After hearing his story and how resolute he was in his explanation I say, “No, I have my answer.”  

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Why am I not a songwriter?

So, as I'm going through my archive of old writing I am finding some poems that are pretty good that I know I intended to be songs.  I can definitely see my influences in them from Ani DiFranco to Garbage to Tori Amos to Nine Inch Nails, etc.  And I'm thinking of this for my book title: You + Me: A Collection of Short Stories, Poems, and Songs Without Melody.  Take a look at this next little sample!



Through it All
By: Leslie Li Hikida

Put you on the scale to see if the good outweighed the bad.
The heads didn’t match the tails and I knew that I’d been had.
And the room don’t change unless you move something first.
And you can’t deny the pain when it’s you who’s being hurt.

Hot ash burned my skin before I could blink.
And your charm’s fading fast, like you’re running out of ink.
And I’m running out of words to define what we are.
It’s like trying to pave a road when you’re flat out of tar.

You never should have messed with me.  You should have stayed home.
Now that you’re dismissed looks like you’ll be walking home alone.
You expect every time for my  body to break your fall.
You think my heart will stop, but, baby, I’ve been through it all.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Up a Mountain



By: Leslie Li Hikida

I love driving up a mountain to clear my head.
It helps me to see where my paths have led.
It is tricky if I go farther up than I meant to.
But then I find my way back and I know what to do.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Gettin' busy with it!

Hey there!  So, I'm FINALLY getting to serious work on my collection of short stories and poems that I intend to self-publish on Amazon this year and I am SO excited!  Here's a little taste of what to expect.  There will be more to come!


No Patience This Time

By: Leslie Li Hikida

            Writing makes people nervous.  I am constantly writing during class, writing stories, writing songs, basically, writing bullshit.  After a while, inevitably, someone will ask, “What are you always writing about in your notebook?” like they actually care when in reality what they really want to ask is, “Are you writing about me?”
Krissy sits next to me in English 101.  She’s a Christian goody-goody and every time I see her I am astounded at the variety of Jesus shirts there are manufactured in the world.  We’ve really only spoken once and that was for her to ask me if I had accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.  I think it’s so cute when someone thinks they can save me.
I could be writing about her, but I’m not.  I am trying to figure something out because it seems I am always trying to figure something out.  The trouble with me is I never do.  I analyze, dissect, and pick apart every word spoken, every action offered until I am left with one huge question mark.  If I could see it, it would look like a slippery black snake, its forked tongue exposed to form the dot at the bottom.
Andy sits behind me in Calculus 280.  He looks like a walk in unchartered territory, a quick jaunt around the wild side.  And I have to admit I am tempted.
Okay, so at this moment I am writing about him.  It’s unavoidable, his offer too good not to abuse.  The thing is he told me I was different and I fell for him.  I jumped through flaming hoops suspended from the ceiling and, yes, I got burned. 
            My heart hurts.
            My brain hurts.
            Damn, do my thighs hurt.
            I should have known better.  Stupid.
                                                           Stupid.
                                                           Stupid.
            LOVE is dangerous territory because in my experience this is the natural progression of things:
            “I love you.”
            “I liked you.”
            And then soon enough it’s, “I hate you.”
            Usually after that it’s all, “I miss you,” and junk.
            MISSING someone seems to be the only thing I can fully commit to these days.  It fills every vein in my body, every cell, every particle of who I am.  I want you back (see: MISSING).  My life is shit without you (see: LOVE).
            Ethan’s a boy I started dating from work and I use the term “boy” loosely.  With him I see companionship.  I see stability.  I see...uh oh.  Maybe it’s time to slow things down and put things in perspective.  I feel it’s time to write about another hundred pages during Chemistry 86 in order to coax someone into asking me what it is I’m always writing about.  I’ll have no more patience this time.
            I’ll simply put down my pen and say, “You.  I am writing about you, okay?  Now, will you please just leave me alone?”