Annette Ozolins

The Cost

pebbles rub inside my boot

your hand against my skin and I wonder

why I left in the first place

but I remember now

everything to do with being brought to my knees

I’d better realize the worth of this ring you bought me

and never take it off

even when I’m out with my friends

like the night we saw each other in Vegas

the tables turned

and you had grown

into the kind of man every woman could taste and touch

and feel on top of her

you had a girlfriend

I was involved too

but you said

will you marry me?

I said okay

but I don’t want an Elvis Wedding

and you didn’t care because we’d known each other since the third grade

what a coincidence

moon and stars aligned

I’ve loved you since then, is what you said

I remembered your striped t-shirt

dirty and loose against your skinny-boy frame

playing dodge ball at Benjamin Franklin Elementary

and it occurred to me back then to be nice to you

because you seemed lost

and no one wanted to be your friend

not even the kids who didn’t have any

you promised

everything

all that had been stored up inside

the one who got away

the one you dreamed of

who made waves lap calmly, softly, sticky against the sand

no more crashing into rocks

spewing and sputtering

in all four directions

but a tiger can’t change its stripes

only God can do that

alchemize something into something it is not

a dolphin

a rhino

snow into gold

or a man who says he will never hurt you

no matter the cost

I stick my thumb out to hitch a ride

backpack slung over my shoulder

'Ask The Dust' and 'Leaves of Grass'

two dresses, sandals and a tumbler full of whiskey and seven-up

pictures of me and you and Elvis, no cash and this ring in my pocket

which I’ll sell the minute I get to California

words won’t ease your heart

fixed to the refrigerator with a magnet from the 99Cent Store

words I said over and over

but nothing likes to stick to you

except your body against mine

numb and heavy

I hope she was pretty

this one

and worth enough

and funny and lovely enough

for you to play me

against myself

again

a semi-truck stops and I climb inside

a lady driver

you shouldn’t be out here this late at night

but the bruise on my cheek quiets her and she turns up the radio

Brian Wilson’s ‘Good Vibrations’

and I breathe shallow and still

until we’re far enough down the road

then I begin to sing, quiet

whatever song comes through the muffled pipes

mostly sad songs

mostly love songs

but it doesn’t matter

I sing

staving off the future

praying I will never return

  

Bio: Annette Ozolins is a writer and filmmaker and lives in Southern California with her family. She can be found catching waves in the Pacific or hiking the Anza desert slot canyons. She loves storytelling and storytellers, it's her weakness. http://www.annetteozolins.com