Being fourteen years old is never easy. Especially when you're a prominent Baptist preacher's daughter growing up right in the middle of the Bible Belt. Everyone was always watching what I wore, making sure my skirts weren't too short and my tops weren't too tight. I never got to be a ballerina because growing up Baptist, all dancing was apparently evil. I had the lead in every play and the most solos in every musical. It was a given. It got to the point where I would stride into the audition room, roll my eyes, half way smile and say, "Seriously, you want me to audition?" I knew my place on the stage and I was most comfortable in the spotlight in front of sometimes 5,000 people. My world was quite literally a stage. Everybody wanted to be my friend. You loved me for my popularity or you hated me because I was too snobby to be your friend. In reality I never snubbed people on purpose. I just couldn't figure out how to balance my time between the people who really wanted to be my friends and the people who just wanted to know the "right" people. And my personality even to this day is a quiet one. If I don't have something to say, my mouth usually stays shut, and that can come off as rather aloof and snobbish I suppose. But I almost had it down, the whole social hierarchy of my environment. I almost had my life pegged. And then February 19th, 1994 happened.

I knew there had been meetings taking place downstairs in the living room of our 5,000 square foot custom-built, Williamsburg, colonial-style house. And I had definitely not been privy to them. I was told to stay in my room and keep myself amused. That weekend mom and dad decided to take us on a weekend get away to a nearby resort. We played tennis alot, and other than that it was utterly boring. Laying in the back seat of the suburban, driving home on Saturday afternoon Dad's cell phone rang. All I could hear was his end of the conversation.

"They called a deacon's meeting without me? Does that not strike anyone as the least bit deceptive? It's poison. It's all lies and poison. I've fought it long enough. I'm tired. I can't do it anymore."

Dad hung up the phone. Mom's teeth were clenched and her face was turning red. Dad said in a quiet voice, "They've asked for my resignation."

Without hesitation my mother said, "No way. You're not going to give it to them. This is wrong and you cannot stand for it."

"I don't see what else I can do."

I remember the heat rising up into my face. This world that I had known since I was seven years old was crumbling right in front of my eyes and lay in a heap right next to me in a 1993 green Chevy Suburban. I felt the tears welling up and they became uncontrollable. This was my life. They weren't asking my dad to resign. They were asking me to let go of every friendship, every acquaintance, every security in my fourteen year old life. You see, since the day I was born, my life was church, family, and school. And since I went to a private Christian school, many of my school friends were my church friends also. This changed everything.

Mom looked back at me and in an attempt to make sense out of my sobs, she said, "Ashly why are you crying?"

I said the only thing I could think of to say, "Is it wrong to hope that some people will go to hell?" She said yes. And I didn't care.

So Sunday morning came. I met my best friend Liz in the foyer and said, "Get Lori. I've got to talk to you guys." You have to understand that Liz, Lori, and me were inseparable. Liz since third grade, Lori since fifth. If we weren't physically by eachother's sides, we were on the phone. There was no life without Liz and Lori. They were just as attached to me as my right and left arms. I took them both into the bathroom outside the auditorium. I could see feet underneath the stall doors, so I tried to keep it quiet. "Dad is resigning this morning." Lori didn't say anything and started crying immediately. Then she threw her arms around me and wouldn't let go. Then Liz did the same. All I could hear were muffled fourteen year old "no's" and "I love you's." You see, they knew what I knew. This meant not only would we not hang out at church and all of our church functions together, but I would have to change schools because of the controversial nature of the ordeal. It was very heated and people were very volatile. I might as well have been moving to Alaska.

So with an auditorium packed with every bit of 5,000 people I watched my father make his case to people who had lied, and been hateful, and even made death threats against me and my ten year old sister. I saw him vindicate himself that day and I had never been more proud to be his daughter. Even as a fourteen year old Baptist preacher's daughter who always tried to do the right thing, I could barely fight the urge to stand up and scream at the top of my lungs, "Fuck YOU!" I remember mom asking us to sit next to her on the front row next to the door so we could make an expedient exit. I didn't understand why until dad started walking down the steps of the stage. Mom grabbed each of our hands and we stood to leave. A woman two rows behind me ran out into the isle and started screaming something unintelligible that sounded something like, "You can't leave." But there was a very hateful hiss of desperation in her voice. And suddenly people all over this massive auditorium began standing and shouting. Suddenly armed police officers entered through the doors where we were exiting. I was extremely overwhelmed and confused at this point. I looked up at one of them with what I know must have been an ardent expression of terror on my fourteen year old face. "We're escorting you out to the car just in case. Walk quickly please." I put my head down, got a grip on my little sisters right hand and damn near sprinted in my Sunday dress to our car.

My most vivid memory is sitting in my parent's bedroom floor after we got home and hearing knocks on our doors and windows from the dozens of people who couldn't get in the neighborhood gates, so they had jumped the backyard fence to our house. The only thing I could think is, "What am I going to do tonight with no church to go to? And school tomorrow. Oh no." And I cried. And I couldn't stop. Mom held me and said everything would be alright. Dad didn't say a word. In fact, I'm not sure I remember him speaking the rest of that day.

We got a phone call that night saying that fist fights had broken out after we left and that people were screaming and cursing at eachother throughout the auditorium. A deacon actually punched my uncle in the face.

And there are still people who look down on me for questioning the relevance and authenticity of so-called "Christianity" and organized religion.

And from that day on, things went from bad to worse.

the he's

I can't even look at him
Those lips still make me want
To cry
But then I think about the things
Those lips
Have produced
And I hear moans and sighs
And lies
And regrets
And the word mistake
And then I want to make
Those lips
Bleed
I noticed he was wearing my ring
It's been 4 years
And he still wears it
But only occasionally
Just like he loves me
No one loves me enough
To pick me
At crunch time
But I guess when you're naked
Your judgment is skewed
Boys are so easily tricked into love
They think its definition consists of
Nipples and wetness
And sharp breaths and shakey legs
You're not in love with me
I just make you feel good
I tried to tell you that in the beginning
But just like you don't love me
You don't listen

Great Secret Keeper
keep my secrets tonight
take my tears and bottle them up
for recollection in happier days
of a man who was almost mine
don't tell him
the sadness is incessant
and the doubts blindsided
the hope I had harbored for so long
don't let him see
the tears that soaked my pillow
on a Sunday morning
on an empty half of a bed
please don't tell him
because it would kill him
that I feel betrayed and used
and thrown away
and shamed
Great Secret Keeper
keep this secret from the world
that I knowingly cause pain
in other people's lives
all in the name of love and questioning
And eventual happiness
Please keep it locked up tight
that I think this world
will always be cold and lonely
for most of us
and the only hope we have
is to learn how to radiate our own heat
in hopes to survive
Don't tell him
no other man's fingertips
and lips and touch
will ever come close
to knowing me in the ways he did
Don't tell him I loved him
just like he wanted me to
I did

It's almost like Dallas
All over again
Only not as dramatic
Not as intense
I am alone
But not suicidally alone
I guess once that part of you dies
It stays dead
But you still hurt
For some reason
Today I takes my rank
Among the unmentionables
The mistakes
The hidden and kept hidden
I rank atop
The wishing
Wanting
And would have's
And will never quite make it
To the have's and truly
List
The only thing I can figure
Is that I keep
Mastering the good-in-theory's
Thinking one day
The experiment will be a success
He will choose me
And I will be the best

i talk to a boy
who's lost the love of his life
and i think of what it would
feel like
to lose mine
she is in my bones
i think i would be only
a quarter me
if she was gone
and i look at the little things
that hang on my wall
voltaire, shakespeare, emerson
two baby pictures of me smiling
in all my toddling glory
a valentines day card from two years ago
that reads
let the simplest things just carry you away
love mom
and a blue and white card
announcing the birth
of a little baby boy
who was born too small
and should have been mine
and it's a wall full of
love
and hope
and memories
and sometimes it brings tears
but mostly
it keeps me going

i'm sitting here
listening to the favorite song
of a crazy girl
who wants to be locked in an asylum
because it's safer there
and reading words
a man wrote
a man who doesn't even know me
and he's nailing my ass to the wall
every fucking word
is like a goddamn razor
that cuts through the thick skin
i've worked so hard
and for so many years to develop
what the fuck man
he's not supposed to call me out
like this
i do the seeing through
i call the bullshit
not you
i cry
but not because it hurts
but because now i know
this is what it feels like
to be totally exposed
totally fucking naked
and beautiful

I'm not going to tell the story the way it happened. I'm going to tell it the way I remember it.

He was trying out his wings in so many different ways. In a crowded room full of people he looked at me knowingly and in a low voice said, "Take your panties off right now." He didn't even blink an eye. A touch of adrenaline rushed through my body, head to toe. And I proceeded with the only thing I knew how to do- oblige him.

Later that evening he took inventory with his gaze of every inch of the white skin, soft curves, the delicate overlay of the sheer lilac lace against the anticipatory energy that was contained in the nakedness below as I lay on the bed alone. Waiting for him.

He took his place beside me and slowly and ever so lightly traced every inch of me with his fingertips from my toes up to the long strands of my hair. Then he put his lips to mine. And his tongue. And I lost myself. His breath on my lips brought tears to my eyes. Everything in me wanted to completely immerse my being into his, to completely obliterate the boundaries created by skin and bone and actually be inside of him and combine my passion with his and savor the commencing spontaneous combustion.

I invited him in and he pushed his whole self into me. And then pushed further. And even a bit more. Legs and arms desperately clinging and encircling his body, I held on for dear life, feeling that my last shred of separateness was stretched to the breaking point. And in one quivering breath, I let go. And I became part of him.

And for the next hour I saw what it looked like to love me. And to want me. And I came crashing back into myself in one spiraling fireball of ecstasy.

And we lay together, naked and satisfied, laughing at the lanky British boys who squeal like girls and have mangled teeth and who remind me of Queen.

My right ovary hurts. At least I think it's my right ovary. It would actually be on the doctor's left, but it's on my right. Do you know what it's like to be in ovarian pain? It's like there's a little man inside your abdomen (yes, of course it would be a man because he's causing me pain) and he's sticking a thumbtack into your ovary and pulling it back out again. And just when the pain starts to go away he lets out an evil little laugh and does it again. That's the only explanation I can find. It's either that, or my ovaries are pissed at me. And that's a very good possibility. And I understand their frustration.

They're like, "Look Ashly, we've been here for 24 1/2 years now. We sit around all day doing nothing. Then at the end of every month, we get our hopes up thinking maybe, just maybe, this is the month we'll actually get to do something productive. But nooooo. It's always NO. Well screw you Ashly. If you're not going to let us do our job, then we're going to make the last few days of every month a living hell for you."

Easy for my ovaries to say. They don't have to go to work every day and pay the bills like I do. They wouldn't have to stay up nights feeding the baby and changing dirty, stinky diapers like I would. They wouldn't have to say, "No dear, I never had sex when I was your age. I was as pure as a winter lilly until the day I married your father." So little ovaries, I say this: just calm down. Be patient. Your day in the sun will come. I promise. I think. I hope. We're kinda in the same boat here, so let's work together on this deal.

And wha-laa! No more ovary pain.

I was talking to somebody the other night about relationships. He said his goal in life was just to make a 100% total emotional connection. I hadn't thought too much about it before this point, I just always assumed I made emotional connections, but I never thought about it on a percentage scale. The number 100% scared me. Five years ago I would have said 100% was a prerequisite. But now, I don't want to come anywhere near it. He asked me why and I told him to read my piece about Nobody's Girl. And he said Oh.

Then today I was thinking about a particular person that makes my tummy do that thing and is constantly in my thoughts. I wondered why this was. And these thoughts lead me to think of the one person in my life that if you asked me to name the single biggest influence on my life (outside of my parents), I would say his name. He's made me who I am today. The person people know as Ashly is not the same as it would have been had they known her three and a half years ago. He became everything to me. We integrated each other into our souls. We have each become a piece of the thread woven into the fabric of each other's lives. But we've never been "together." It's not the right time. It hasn't been the right time. I don't know if it will ever be the right time.

And I think my current distractions are a nice respite to the falling off of one of the most important relationships in my life. It's not over, it's just slowly fading in to the background of my life. It hurts less when I don't have to sit at home alone in silence waiting for the phone to ring or wait for that knock on the door. I keep thinking everyone is in my life for a reason. I just want to enjoy them while they're here and be strong enough to have a nice goodbye party when they decide it's time to go. So I'll just keep hanging on when we're going upside down in the loop and I'll keep throwing my arms in the air and screaming when we reach the top of the drop off and let the click-click-click-click of the climb up rush the adrenaline through my body. I'll understand it's only a ride, but it's fun, and it should be. And it's not life or death. It's life.

he said it best
when it rains
it pours
drought
or flood
i feel overwhelmed sometimes
there are so many
great individuals in my life
and so many hurting people
wondering people
curious people
and i want to totally immerse myself
into all of them
just for the experience
but it overcomes me
and i have to sit still
and breathe
one big
deep breath
and two memories come back
that were made in Kansas City
in a restaurant
at a candle lit table
just the two of us
he held my hand
we stood in line at pizza hut
and he wrapped his arms around me
so plain and ordinary
but so right
for two days
my life was absolutely perfect
i
want
him

Psychotherapy for the Soul

My Dream Interpretation class (or better called Dream Working class) is like my twice weekly dose of therapy. Dr. Jowaissas is amazing. On the outside looking in, one could misconstrue this class as a quack group of people parading around claiming they can tell people what their dreams mean. On the contrary, in this class we learn that dreams are a creation of our own minds, and therefore can probably tell us something useful about ourselves, after all, we are their creators! We can ask insightful questions to lead others to consider important aspects of their dreams, but only the dreamer can really know what a dream means.

I had a very important insight while in class today as it pertains to a dream snippit I had last night. And in my best MathNet voice I will say: The names have been changed, but the problems are real. Sarah, Matt, Tyler, and I were at an old skating rink that had been turned into a dance club. There weren't very many people there but the ones that were, were dancing. It was light enough to see clearly the room and people around me. Sarah, Matt, Tyler, and I were leaning against the snack bar chit chatting. I was especially glad that Tyler was there. I've always had a little crush on him. Suddenly he comes up and starts dancing with me. I started laughing but kept dancing. He's so cute. I look up and Joe walks in the door and sees me dancing with Tyler. (I had previously been seeing Joe off and on.) For a split second, I think, "I should stop. He's going to be mad." But courage takes over and I decide, screw it. He's never done anything for me. So I keep dancing. What's funny is I don't even recall Joe having a reaction. He just kinda disappeared. So Tyler and I finish dancing. Then he buys me a cookie. It was a big deal to me that he was paying for it. He handed me $11. Two 5's and a 1. I was like, wow that was an expensive cookie. And he goes, no the rest is for you , just keep it. I felt really good about that.

The more I thought about that dream today, the more I thought it might be telling me something. Maybe I need to let go of something that is unproductive in my life. Maybe I need to have the courage to at least be willing to dance with someone else. And maybe, when I do, not only will I get what I need, I'll get more than I need. And maybe it will be good.

That's a great feeling.

NOBODY'S GIRL

So it started with Ryan. I was seven, he was eight. He was my first friend in Oklahoma after we moved away from Texas. He called every day for a solid year right in the middle of Duck Tales. My mom thought I was too young to be receiving phone calls from boys. I suppose I was. But I talked to him anyway. He was my boyfriend. When fourth grade started, the phone calls stopped. I got dumped for Tenessa King. But I understood. She was in his class and she had long beautiful brown hair. All the fifth grade boys liked her.

Then there was James. I loved James because he was cute and in junior high. I remember our family going to his house for dinner. We'd shut ourselves up in his room and sit and talk for hours. I felt so lucky to be his girlfriend. Six months later he sent a friend over to tell me he wanted to break up with me because I wasn't old enough for him. I laid in bed and cried for a solid three hours. I thought nobody would ever love me again. Mom tried to tell me that I still had so much more to experience and that someday I'd look back and laugh at stupid 'ol James. I ran into him a year ago. Not laughin. He's hot. And married.

Then there was Eddie. I was in junior high and he was seven years older than me. Our families were very close. He was like a big brother and a confidant. He was my safe place. He used to tell me I was beautiful and smart. He liked to hear me sing. We spent alot of time together. He made me feel special. He turned twenty-one and got married. I still have the invitation.

Will. I was fifteen and he was the one I wasn't supposed to fall in love with. He was the wrong color, lived on the wrong side of town, had major problems with authority, and was barely passing high school. But he could knock a guy out with one hit on the football field. And he always looked up in the stands to make sure I was there watching. He broke my heart the first time after we'd been together two months. Instead of kicking the habit then, I let him hurt me emotionally and eventually, physically, for the next seven years. One day when I was twenty-two, after we had just spent the weekend together, I came across wedding pictures that had been taken at the court house just two weeks before. It was him and his new wife. She was three months pregnant with their son. Somehow, his getting married and having a child was just a blip on his radar screen and was something that didn't need to be brought up in our relationship. I physically could not stop the tears for two weeks. But eventually the urge to throw myself into oncoming traffic subsided. I had to let him go. Even though three years later he still calls.

So how did I get to be the "no strings attached" girl? I guess I just decided it was easier to bank on the sure things. And the only things that are sure are the things that you know have no future. That's what's certain. So you don't worry about losing them. No strings. No pain. But it takes a whole lotta work to keep it that way.

how is it
that a perfectly confident
twenty-four year old
woman
can have one day
she struggles to get through
and goes to her safe place
to collapse
and remind herself
to breathe
and ends up
hosting a party
between her pillows
and her tears
for a couple of hours
she becomes that eleven year old
girl
laying in bed in the dark
crying herself to sleep
because her seventh grade boyfriend
found something better
and the world looks
totally bleak
again
and the only saving grace
is her mother
who sits quietly
stroking her daughter's hair
and reminding her
there's so much of the world
she's yet to experience
but there's no one
sitting on the edge of the bed tonight
it's a party of one
host and guest of honor the same
the heaviness envelops her
but the words are still present
they hang in the air
and work their magic
just like they did
thirteen years ago
they sprinkle
painfully hopeful fairy dust
on a grown little girl
who wants to be loved
she closes her eyes
and breathes out one quiet breath
and lets the draft of cold air
coming through the window
infuse the uncertainty
with dreams
and sleep

I love my little
Space in the world
On days like this

On any other day
It is too small
Too cramped
Too cluttered
Too dusty
And too drafty

But today
The sun pours in
Through the blinds
Onto the shiny
Wood floors
Like white
Shimmering
Translucent
Powdered sugar
Sifted and sprinkled
On top of a delicious treat

I want to spend my hours today
With a friend
A friend who brings out the courage in me
A friend who has
Lips and fingertips
Reminiscent of those
For which I traded my soul
Ten years ago

A friend who is always transparent
A friend who gets frustrated easily
But lets her ingenuity
And braveness shine through brilliantly
Always at the perfect moment

A friend who has high hopes
And lofty dreams
And isn't afraid to step out
And claim them as his
Who sees complete strangers
Alone and crying
And writes them love notes

A friend who knows the value
Of old hat boxes
And fifty year old prints
That remind her of childhood
And her mother
Making me just a little more thankful
That she is mine

A friend that makes me laugh
Out loud
And doesn't understand why
Whose giggle is uncontrollably
Contagious
Who lets me protect her
And love her
Even when she doesn't feel lovable

It is days like today
With the delicious sunshine
Wafting into my little corner
That I love my space
And my friends
And my life