Dawson's Ink

For most of you, this is just the week of the 4th of July, the week when “other” people celebrate their independence. But for me, I can’t think of that week, that day, without going back to thoughts that will forever be shackled onto my mind.

There are two instances from back in the day when I was young, independent of one another, both with extraordinary visuals.

They always come to mind on that day, make my mind race back and forth with the images. Let’s go.

Read the rest of this entry »

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It wasn’t a mistake. His lips on her shoulder.

It was more inevitable, with the mixture of the moisture, the movements and the moment stirring things to a slow boil on a night when house music served as the soundtrack. It was a slow heat. A slow rise. An attraction that wasn’t built overnight, yet was acted on that night.

For them, it was more of a conscious need. Not an ‘if’, but more of a ‘when’. So much more of a win.

It was a mix of smiles and laughter since they’d met, the ‘getting to know one another’–the hard part, the ‘why must we do this’ part, the ‘here we go again’ part–that led them to this night. A perfect mix of beats and banter. A mix of trust and two-steps. Curiosity made them spend time. Caution made them take their time.

A constant back and forth, a constant presence… that turned into a present when their lips finally met.

It was all of that, combined with a hypnotic house flow, a Saturday night dance party where inhibitions literally fell away with each song, the bass line serving as a type of serum that opens your eyes. Parts your lips.

That night, it started with her shoulder. A gentle touch with each lip, gradually wiping away all evidence of the night’s sweat with each peck. Each lick. Each impression made a deeper one.

That night, a DJ saved their lives. Saved their first kiss–a best first kiss–for the dance floor. Her hand. His chest. Her head. His chin. Her look. His reaction. Their lips. Their exhale.

They never missed a beat.

That night, in the middle of the city, as they danced to Ten City, their connection grew. Their lips and tongues made formal introductions. A measured, steady, sexy mix. Neither knew what the future held. They just held each other. Held that moment.

One that wasn’t a mistake. Just a slow boil. A first kiss of many.

A mix…

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I‘m not in love with the way you are… but I love you.

Not in love with the way you process love, or the things you claim to love. The way you run away from it even after making love to the very thought of it. I’m not in love with the way you put in the work. Or the fact that you really don’t. The way you run when things get complicated, or when you think the one you love is upset.

I hate it every time you think that love don’t love you, even when you don’t say it. I can see it. I don’t love you when you don’t allow people to love you, or that feeling you get that you somehow don’t deserve their love.

No, I’m definitely not in love with the way you are… But still, I love you. Read the rest of this entry »

Popularity: 26% [?]

Thirteen, in the ninth grade*. A year younger than everybody else. Barely 5 foot 2. A year shorter, too. It may have been the other side of Queens, but it felt like a world away.

First time taking the train alone. First time outside of the circle of friends that followed one another through elementary and middle school. First time out of the comfort zone that was the neighborhood.

There were a lot of firsts that fall, which was my first semester in high school. A lot of changes, a lot of adjustments, a lot of experiences that have made my book worth writing. A new slew of teachers and characters that would be a part of my world for the next four years.

It was the “Wonder Years” before the sitcom. It was Doogie Howser-like in that I was the youngest, the most out of place, considered pretty smart since I was a year ahead… but not really sure if I’d fit in. If I’d be accepted. Just an awkward teenager in every sense of the word.

So, to be sure, there were changes that would occur. There were adjustments to be made. To say I’d be experiencing a host of firsts would be an understatement.

And then… there was that first. Read the rest of this entry »

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Hopefully, by now you know how this all works. On any given Friday, I attempt to come up with a few stories (usually four), each made up of 50 words. The catch? They’re all fiction. All. Of. Them. Then, I challenge you to do the same. Deal? OK, cool.

Let’s GO!
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He made the painful decision to stay away, thinking she was unattainable. Unapproachable. Never realizing that she felt the same way for him, that she was waiting for so long for him to make a move. Now, it was too late. She was now spoken for. He was now speechless.
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This was definitely her time. Everything was falling into place. She worked hard. Loved harder. Her well-earned promotion to the company’s top spot put her in a position of ultimate power. Men loved her. Ladies admired her. Only, none of it made her happy. She struggled mightily with her success.
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It was the longest trip he’d ever have to take. Back to the house where he was raised. The one from which he tried so hard to run away. Ultimately, he couldn’t. He went back to care for his ailing mother. He sat on the plane, lost in the memories.
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Her voice? Ethereal. Delicate. Heavenly. If she nailed this audition, her life would change. Which meant a new life for her. Her family. Sadly, the wear and tear from the long week of rehearsals rendered her hoarse. No voice. One chance. Her turn. She stepped to the microphone. And prayed.

Your turn… whatcha got?

Popularity: 21% [?]

[The following was a Five Word Challenge. I had to use the words bookshelf, mantel, shampoo, slinky, tinker toys. Here's how it went down.]
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He was just about done packing all of his things when he stopped in his tracks, gazing one last time at the mantel where their family portrait sat.

Theirs was a love that went on a downward spiral of Slinky proportions the night he walked in from an alleged business meeting smelling of hotel shampoo.

It was the last straw, she’d declared, right before advising him to call Tyrone to help him move, and just after hurling an encyclopedia from the bookshelf in his general direction.

No more would he get to treat her heart like tinker toys, taking it apart with his indiscretions and attempting to put it back together with his words.

No, this time it was over.

Popularity: 9% [?]