My Next Poem: December, 1982 - These Dreams

December, 1982 - These Dreams

Kim secretly invites me over for coffee and gingerbread bundt cake.
She can't call herself 'Kimmy' any longer.
That name went out with our majorette days, our sorority days.
She isn't supposed to talk to me in public. After all, she could be next.
In fact, nobody remotely involved with any employee at Albritton, Tatum and Hendrix is supposed to associate with me.
Only Rosa, the Hispanic coffee cart lady talks to me at the grocery store.
When she hugged me, I had to hold back tears.
I won't be buying much, anyway. I'm moving back to Kalamazoo to be with my family.
What a way to ring in the holidays, signing divorce papers.
 At least I'll be home with my family.
The hardest part is talking happy for the morning show.
Luckily I found a D.J. spot in Kazoo.
It's the graveyard shift, but I'm not fussy.
Thanks a lot, night terrors! You cost me my marriage.
How am I supposed to shine at the Phi Omega Christmas Bash this year? My damned marriage didn't even last eight months.
Wait... Stacy. She had night terrors all the way back to our baton twirling days in high school.
Back when we were 10, everybody thought Stacy's Aussie accent was weird, but I thought it was cool.
She is so alive.
I was so happy when she took majorette lessons with me and eventually marched along side me.
She went on to pledge the same sorority before she married and returned to Kalamazoo. Now she  works as a bridal consultant in the mall.
Her husband is on the road a lot. Refuge.
Christmas shopping with Mom and two older sisters sheds a dim light in my holiday mood.
Living with my parents at age 22 is a mixture of comfort and shame.
I pay utilities, help cook and clean, watch my baby niece on Friday evenings; but avoid anyone from college or the strutting high school achievers.
Stacy's older husband hits the road January 2nd,
Until then, I lose myself in the music I play.
 I bond closely with my co-workers.
 Luckily, my work schedule causes me to miss Mass, so I am free of prying questions from well-meaning women; or even worse, 'Maybe if you hadn't left the Church, you'd have met a nice young man and you'd be a mother by now.
Come on, January 2nd.