All contents on this and any other page on Complications is the intellectual property of Rebecca Moses.
My mother named me Candice. She used to tell me it meant “glowing light”. Said I glowed and was beautiful. Then again she wore her blond hair long and always dressed in baby blue. What does she know about being beautiful?
All my friends call me Candle. I’m the flame that burns out of control. My mother would hate who I’ve become. Serves her right. It’s her own damn fault for leaving. If she doesn’t want to be here she has no right to try and control my flame.
Loneliness
It’s so difficult to wake up alone. It feels like a stabbing to hear my alarm clock go off and realize no one’s there. Hello? Is anyone there? Of course not. No one’s here. No one cares. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to get out of bed – Just to be alone.
Hello? Hello? HELLO! No one’s going to answer.
Loneliness is such a hard word. None of the letters are harsh on their own. Yet the word, loneliness, is like a knife and everyone it strikes is doomed to die alone. And no one sees it ‘till it’s upon them. And no one can yell out to warn others it’s there. Or maybe they don’t want to.
A bowl of cereal I let get soggy. A cup of instant coffee too disgusting to even sip for the caffeine. It’s so difficult to wake up when you know you don’t have to. No one would ever know. No one would ever care. It’s so difficult to live when you know you don’t have to. No one would ever know. No one would ever care.
Sakura
You’ve never known true freedom ‘till you’ve walked in a Japanese windstorm. To be surrounded by pearl-like cherry blossoms is what life is really about. To want to float away on the wind. Those cherry blossoms know how to live.
A Japanese cherry tree has settled itself in the backyard. The branches twine lazily in every direction. It’s content. The arms block the path out to my mother. Maybe if you aren’t tied down by HER you can be free. Like us.
True freedom is standing in a Japanese windstorm. True freedom is being taken away like pink cherry blossoms. True freedom is shutting out the world and letting the wind carry you away from it all.
Farfarello
My father’s best friend is named Farfarello. A name that’s Irish. His head covered in bleached hair so short I never saw the point of it. His eye covered in an eye patch as black as the night sky. His skin covered in scars. His head filled with insanity.
He’d sit there and stare at me, spinning a knife between his scarred fingers. A child’s blood hurts God. I’m not a child. An innocent’s blood hurts God. I’m not innocent. Pain hurts God.
Of course not, Dad. Farfies fine. He doesn’t scare me at all.
Roses
He always carried a rose. White with pink tips. Like starlight mints. The one you get at Christmas, or from the candy bowl at the corner store.
You’re so silly Jesse. Jesses the only one who that’s ever silly. Never me. Never anyone. Only Jesse. Nick, you should have studied more. Seriously, Jesse, don’t be silly.
Jesse tells Nick he’s beautiful when they think no one is listening. Jesse runs his hands over Nick’s hair when they think no one is watching. I’m always listening. I’m always watching. I’ll never understand how anyone can take his eyes off Nick. He’s like a moonrise.
Nick has ice green eyes. His look alone could turn everything about me into twinkling ice. I become an ice sculpture at his very glance. They say love is hot, like a sauna. If that’s true then why is Nick so cold? Like a snowed in cabin.
Coming Back
One day Farfarello left. Just disappeared. He’ll be back, Dad said. He’ll be back. He’ll be back. She’ll be back. Who? No one. Dad sat at the window for hours, waiting for a cop car. Or perhaps a hearse. Or anything. He’ll be back.
Where did Farfie go? He left, just left. Like mom? Dad smacked me. Your mother WILL be back. She’ll be back. She’ll be back. He’ll be back. Who? No one.
Dresses
I always hide behind baggy clothes. My name’s not Candice. It’s Candle. I’ve never been a girl. I’ll never be a girl. Now if only the world would realize that. Jesse told me I should dress like I am. I do. I’m not a girl. I’ve never been a girl. I’ll never be a girl.
When Mom first left, Dad bought me a wedding dress. Never forget! He practically yelled at. Never forget. Your mother maybe be gone but never forget who you are.
But I want to forget.
Zen invited me to a party. A black tie affair. Should I wear a suit? A dress? Who you are doesn’t matter, Zen keeps saying. But it does matter. A girl is who I am. And someday, I’ll be comfortable in a dress.
Blue
The sky is blue. The ocean is blue. The world is very blue. Everywhere you look, blue. Everything is blue. Am I the only one left who isn’t blue?
Blue is the color of sadness.
Blue is the color of weakness. Yet it rips me apart with its vulnerability.
My mother was blue. Blue dresses. Blue shoes. Blue everything. And then she made me blue. And the tears never stopped.
It was blue the day she left. Such a perfect day, it was as if she didn’t leave but was retaken, finally surrounded by blue. Finally became part of the blue.
People try to be blue. They wear it. They live in it. They want the freedom of blue so badly they ignore one simple fact. They are not blue. They will never be blue. I am blue. The very essence of blue.
White Sheets, Black Cats
It’s Halloween, Nick said. Let’s go to the graveyard. You’re not afraid, are you? Candle? Of course not, it doesn’t scare me at all.
My sister saw a ghost in the graveyard last year. Don’t be silly, Jesse. I’m serious. Was it covered in chains? No, it was a black cat that stood out no matter where it went. Ghosts don’t come from thin air. Of course not, it was the spirit of a cat that was buried with its owner 13 years ago. Stop being silly, Jesse. What? You scared?
What are you afraid of, Jesse? Nothing, Nick answered for him. Actually, I’m afraid of spiders. Spiders? Why spiders? Well, what are you afraid of, Candle? I’m not sure. You’ve got to be afraid of something. I am, I just don’t know what it is. Your mother? No. Does your mother haunt people? No, she left and took her spirit with her.
All contents on this and any other page on Complications is the intellectual property of Rebecca Moses.