Author Archives: aDistinctPersonality

A little smile

I was waiting at the bus stop. There were some others waiting as well. A mom and her little daughter caught my eye. The little one clearly needed her nose cleaned. But every single time her mom put a tissue close to her face trying to clean the nose, she started a little fit. After Mom attempted it 3 times, she had enough of it. She took control, cleaned her daughters face. After done, she picked her daughter up, and played a little word game with her to comfort her down. It worked very well; her daughter smiled  and put her arms around her neck.

It reminded me of my kids, when they were this little. It was the same pattern, and the same response. And at the end, my son and daughter always ended up smiling when they were picked up by me, holding onto me with their arms around my neck.

The thought of my kids smiling at me made me smile. Today was a better day.

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Smiling…

I was 11 years old. It was summer vacation, the schools were closed. I talked my parents into letting me stay with my brother for a week. My brother lived 80 miles from my parents house and I had to take the bus and train to get there. I always liked traveling by myself, it was my favorite way to spend my life. For hours, I could sit in the bus or train and watch the landscape go by.

So, I packed my travel bag and took the money I saved from my allowance. My mom and dad gave me some additional money for the travel expenses. I said bye to both of them and walked to the bus stop to start my journey. It was an early afternoon on a sunny summer day.

The bus brought me to the train station where I bought myself a snack and a one-way train ticket. I felt happy and I smiled. I hopped on the train that arrived a few minutes late but that would bring me to my destination. I found myself a seat on a bench opposite of an elderly couple. They looked far older than 60, having wrinkles all over their faces. But the couple looked nice and they smiled at me while I sat down. I greeted them back by saying hello. Before the train left, a man sat down on the empty seat next to me. He smiled to all of us.

The conductor blew the whistle, the doors were closing, and the train got in motion. I sat at the seat closest to the window and was looking outside. Slowly but steadily the train picked up speed, and I saw the houses that were build near the track go by faster and faster.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my leg. I moved a little more towards the window as it may have been by accident. But the hand reappears, and the hand start rubbing my leg. I look at the elderly couple, scared and confused. They smile back at me. Didn’t they see this? The man keeps his hand moving up and down my leg, slowly but visible. I look again at the couple. They for sure saw what just occurred. But they just smiled…

I decided to get up and walk down the aisle to find me a different seat. But I realize my travel bag is still with the couple and the man. So I walk back and sat back down. But as soon as I did, I felt his hand on my leg again. Seeing the smile on the elderly couples faces, I picked up my travel bag and walked away. I decided to hide in a lavatory. I thought to wait till the conductor knocks on the door when he checks for tickets and then I would be safe. I waited awhile, but no one knocks. I heard no other noises than the train running on it’s tracks. So I told myself, I was just going to find myself another open seat and continue the travel.

I flushed the toilet, like I even had used it and then opened the door. I see the man standing there, smiling at me. I smiled back but start walking to the right of him. While I try to walk away, and not looking at his face, I feel his eyes following me, and I feel his smile. He blocks my path, and softly pushes me back into the lavatory. He closes the door and he takes my hand. He smiles. He opens his zipper and he guides my hand rubbing him. I feel his eyes looking at me, and his face showing a smile.

I notice that the train lowers speed, we are getting closer to the next station. He closes his zipper and smiles at me. The train stopped. He opens the lavatory door and leaves the train. I watch him exiting the train, calmly walking down the platform. He turns around and he smiles at me.

I went back to the bench with the elderly couple. They looked at me, smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.

I often turn around, look over my shoulder, but I seldom smile.


Staring….

I was watching a movie where a mother says she was proud at her daughter. That alone made me think. My mom or dad were never proud of me. And now they aren’t proud of me either. They can’t be anything anymore, they are dead. My dad past away of age, 84. I didn’t go to his funeral. By dying he left me so why would I? It’s not like I called him one day and told him I would come over so he could die. My mom, I caused her dead my family says. They say I was a difficult child. I made her brains explode. After 2 aneurysms within a period of 10 days, she slipped into a coma. 16 months later she decided to wake up, live in a wheelchair for several more years, and then past away after an internal bleeding in her stomach. She didn’t like me. And neither did my dad. I have a picture of each of them. They are somewhere in a pile on the floor of my apartment.

There isn’t much in my apartment besides that pile. An old couch, a tv that is not working well, a dining room table. And dirty dishes in the sink. Not that it matters. No one ever comes over to my place. Except for my kids, I haven’t had a visitor since I moved in three years ago. Why would they come over? Never had a visitor in the place before this, and the one before that.

It’s a sunny sunday afternoon, and I am siting on the old couch. It’s dark green and left over from my married life. The tv is turned off, the movie had ended and now I am just staring at the wall. It feels like the Sunday afternoons when I was little. My dad was sitting in a chair in one corner of the living room. He had a magazine with crossword puzzles in his lap. My mom is sitting in a chair in another corner of the living room. She is doing some cross stitching. The tv is turned off. I am laying on the couch in the living room. I don’t think they notice me. They are too busy with their own activities. It’s quiet. The silence makes me stare at the wall paper. I hear kids playing in the street. They are laughing, running, screaming, having fun. They didn’t ask me to come outside. They didn’t like me.

Today is a special day though. It’s Mothers day. My Mom and Dad are waiting for one of my brothers and both my sisters to show up. After they arrive, they will all sit down, have a drink, eat some snacks. Then later that afternoon, we all go out to a restaurant to have dinner. My Mom and Dad know how to talk to them. They always smile when they are around. They never talk to me, or smile when I am around.

One of my sisters arrive with her husband. I am told to get up from the couch, they need to sit down. They start talking, smiling. I am heading to my room. I hear several times the doorbell ringing, more voices in the house, more happy conversations, more laughing. I am in my room, waiting for my sisters or brother to say hi, laying on the floor watching the ceiling and the wall.

Suddenly I hear chairs moving, and the front door to open. Then I hear my moms voice. “Come down, get your coat on, we are leaving.” I get up from the floor. I join them to leave, hoping someone says hi. Mom says “hurry, where’s your coat?” I grab my coat, join them in the car, leaving for the restaurant. No one said hi, no one looked at me. I want to stay home, staring at the ceiling and the wall.


Another day, another disappointment

I walked into this pub and sat down at the bar. I was the only visitor. For some reason I can’t just stand the taste and smell of beer at this time, so I ordered a rum and coke. After she set down my drink, she picked up a magazine and started reading. An article about an uninhibited look into sexual lives. Like I know what that was. I, the one person on this planet that is deprived from sex for many years. I was sitting there. Perplex staring at the article, and then looking up staring at her. Why would she read that? And why in public? And why in front of me?

I often thought she was beautiful. Beautiful brown hair with a red glow over it. Not just plain skin over bone but not overweight, and very well build shoulders. Nothing lust, just plain beauty. But now all has changed, forever. She became a different person. A person that is no more or less than an animal. No intelligence involved. Only reading about and thinking about the drive for lust and sex.

Upset I finished my drink, and put a few dollars on the bar to pay for the drink. I left without saying a word, heading home. When I got there, I crawled in bed, covered up my head, leaving this awful world behind. Tomorrow will be a better day…


It just hit me…

Yesterday, it was one of these days. You know, you’re by yourself, enjoying a glass of wine and some french brie. Unfortunately, not a Brie de Meaux made from raw milk, but just the ‘ordinary’ brie made in France from pasteurized milk, the only one you can get in the United States, the land of unlimited possibilities. Except then for the possibility to purchase real brie. So, as we have that established now, it isn’t that unlimited. And then there was a small lemon pie as well that needed to be eaten. But I digress.

Still, it was enjoyable, sitting on the couch, Vivaldi’s Le Quattro Stagioni playing in the background and my brains going 100 miles an hour, jumping from one thought to another. That happens often to me just because I am a kind of hyper.

I poured myself another glass of wine. It tasted much better now. For some reason, the first drinks didn’t taste that well but when I got used to the taste, it really was a great wine. I started texting some female friends to see if they wanted to join me in my battle with the bottle of wine. Not that I was going to share this one bottle, but there was an army of two bottles. I, for sure, was going to win this battle and this soldier wouldn’t mind to share this wine with some female company. I would come out as a hero, the one that conquered great bottles of wine.

But all my enthusiasm would fade rapidly. None of them were going to spend time with me. There were the ones that just plain ignored my text, and others that made me believe they had an excuse.

But what is the real reason they left me battling the army of wine all by myself? Why don’t they want to spend time with me? I am reasonable smart, have a decent job, love taking trips, love good food, good wine, but still, no one out there that even is remotely interested in spending time with me.

And then it just hit me… Women, with the exception of a few, aren’t good food critics. And I am not talking the ones on TV but the writing ones. Phyllis Richman is the only one I know that has a stellar reputation. And women aren’t good wine connoisseurs either. I can’t even think about one name in that category. Women just don’t understand quality. Hence, I am sitting on the couch by myself, finishing one last glass of wine, and moved onto Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D minor.

The second bottle stayed closed. The army of wine bottles declared their victory.