My mother, Tyler. Unusual name for a woman, but I liked it. She was so sweet. She had this long straight hair that reminded me of Janis Joplin. I used to smell it all the time; it comforted me. The vision floated in of my mother singing to me before bed.
“Don’t you worry, don’t you cry…” My mother’s voice was so sweet, it sounded like an angel singing to me. I put my hand on her face as she sang to me, but tonight I put a hand over my forehead in distress as the tears trickled down the side of my face. I wanted the pain to leave me, to go away for good. It haunted me still. I felt numb in the chest most days. I guessed that’s why I filled the void with empty thrills and winning card games. That seemed silly now. It wasn’t worth it in the end.
I still felt sad and lonely.
My father was more of a showman. The one who showed me how to ride my bicycle on my fifth birthday.
“I can’t do it, I’m going to fall off. I don’t wanna go!” I was moaning loudly and generally being a brat about the new Christmas bike I’d received. I’d been riding it with the training wheels successfully. But now they were off and I was having trouble. Understandable. I was learning. Funny how I could even remember that moment. I was so small back then.
“Come on, Jasmine. I know you can do it. Ooo, a little wobble, straighten up, straighten up. Almost there, yes! You did it!” My father set me up on my bike early in the morning and stayed with me until after lunch, until I got the hang of the bike. My father was my biggest cheerleader, and it hurt so badly how much I missed him. He had a big full brown beard and hair with cowlicks that I tugged at from time to time. I’d always been fascinated by them.
The tears increased until my bed became soaked in my painful losses. As much as I tried to escape it, I couldn’t. I cried until I couldn’t squeeze out any more tears. I willed myself to get up and go to the bathroom. I pinched my blotchy cheeks and looked at myself closely.
I was hurting deeply and now, I wasn’t sure if I’d lost a man I was interested in. I don’t even know how I’d gotten so attached to him, we weren’t dating or anything. And from his lack of communication, I presumed that he didn’t care about me anyway.
These were my thoughts and even though I knew there was probably a logical explanation, this is where my mind decided to take me.
I eventually pulled myself out of the doldrums and picked up my cell phone. When I scrolled to the last message I received from Ink. I thumbed my finger back and forth over his number. I even punched in the message. I miss you. I quickly erased it from my phone and threw it across the bed. I must have drifted off to sleep because I saw Ink’s face, and we were talking, and then we were kissing. I became aroused as I remembered our moment outside of the casino. Against the wall… grinding and moving together. How sweet it was… Ink etched on my body.