From Fins to Wings

"What?" The shriek echoed through the house, followed by a highly dramatic entrance of a diva twice removed from the spotlight of Hollywood. "Where are my shoes? I had them cleaned and placed in my closet and now they are missing. Danielle, I asked you a question." Hair in rollers, dressed in underwear twenty years too young for her, and makeup about thirty years younger, it was the woman I had grown to know and somewhat like. Love, now that was another animal.

"Young woman, do not simply sit there and look at me." I could read her lips, but I chose to ignore the high pitched whine of her voice while I listed to Candace Carpenter, better known as CC, on my IPod. I did exactly as she asked, I quit looking at her. I simply went back to the art pad where I was painting the pain of an adult woman four times scorned by the men of her life. Streaks of red stained the art pad, and left a solitary figure engulfed in flames.

It was rather dramatic, but these days, at the age of twenty seven, I felt dramatic. Plus, with a mother like Alexandrea Cole, the soap opera diva extraordinaire, how could one not be dramatic. A simple jerk of my head as the headphone was tugged out of my ear and I was back to reality. "Danielle Michelle Andrea Cole." Oh no. It was my given name. "You will listen to me, and respond when I speak with you."

"Very well mother." My hands shifted the brush and set it into the water glass filled half full, or rather half empty in my case, with a glistening blood like mixture of water and red paint. "I can tell you that I am not certain where your shoes are, though I do believe that they might be in the pool house where your latest tryst was held." Mother versus daughter, it is all very Olympian. The gods would have been proud.

"Danielle, we have been through this many times, you can call me Alexandrea, Alex, or Drea. Do not call me mother!" With that statement she stormed from the room knowing that she had been defeated in yet again another match of wits. Though you can't blame the woman, she hadn't seen me for twenty years until I showed up on her doorstep.

Placing the small ear piece back in, it was to my favorite guitarist that I turned to for inspiration. The lone figure began to take on another life of its own apart from the flames curling about in the streaks of auburn. Letting the art move, I began to think back to the man who had fallen madly in love with the psychotic woman I happened to be living with.

He was gentle, a large man, no particularly good looking, but his spirits were warm. He never had a harsh word for me and that kept my spirits high, where as mother, excuse me, Alex, could only speak about my weight. Jacob Cole was his name. It was his heart which went, perhaps too much love was held in, and then again it could have been his fascination with French fries and bacon.

I inherited her temper, and his weight. I was no thin string bean, in fact I found it horrid that I had to shop at specialty stores to get clothing entirely too costly to be in style. I prefer Wal-Mart. It works, and I never need to impress. The past four men in my life all left because I refused to lose weight and fit into the stereotype they wished to grace their arms.

I never was one for the joys in life which included belonging and faking who I was to impress those around me. Now I sit here in sweatpants and a tee-shirt two sizes too big. It works, and mother hates it. I have no clue why, but I love to get under her skin. The woman is flawless, thanks to the best plastic surgeon in L.A. She is everything she wants me to be and has even offered to pay for it.

Ok, I am a chicken, I hate roller coasters, sky diving, anything basically that risks my life. Why in the world would I want to go under a knife of some person who claims to be a good surgeon and let him shift my body around in places I have never even seen? So yeah, it never happened. I still sit here at a comfortable, with me, not mother, two hundred and five pounds.

Setting the art pad aside, after having ruined my wonderful work of art which would have brought in twenty five thousand dollars, alright yes I am dreaming, I set off for a nice steaming cup of death, that is what Drea calls it. I enjoy messing with her almost too much. Ah, my favorite cup, black with two eyes peering out which say 'I see you.'

Filled three quarters with black toxic heaven I topped it off which milk and sugar. Now it was a diabetic's nightmare and my dream come true. One sip and I felt like I was happily floating. It's a good thing that cellulite floats, in water that is. Instead of retreating back to the living area of the house, I went out on the balcony to look over the city.

I had been here almost six years of my life. It was Tinseltown alright. It sucks those dreamers in with the flashing of the lights and the promise of success and crushes them within the grasp of denial and a touch of reality. Only the beautiful enjoy the spotlight in Hollywood. I heard the door slam in the house and then a masculine voice. Ah she chose Darryl tonight, and didn't even say goodbye.

Darryl was her latest boy toy. He was a writer for a soap she had auditioned for, and he had promised her a lasting part. I won't hold my breath, maybe she will. The steam called seductively to me and the warmth brought a smile. "Danielle you really need to get out more." Oh great, now I am talking to myself. Sign me up for the next fieldtrip to the Looney bin.

Bare feet with chipping nail polish rested against the floor boards while forearms pressed the railing to gain support. How I'd love to kill them let me count the ways. Preston, the name should have said it all. He was a fun one, took me out, flashed his pretty smile, even impressed dad. Then he was gone, no goodbye, just disappeared, and married a model. It was front page, how could I miss it.

Morgan, oh he was a handsome one. He had pale blue eyes, a shock of red hair, and a voice that could melt ice on the coldest day in Colorado. I truly thought I was in love. Boy was I wrong! He gave the number to his local plastic surgeon. Another one of those, you'd look great if you just lost a few pounds, kind of guys. It wasn't hard saying goodbye to him.

Now Antonio was the one who broke my heart. Three years we had been together. He was perfect, at least I thought so. Looking back though, now I realize it was not true and he was a toxic presence in my already destructive life. I had begun to lose myself in drinking and my own little world long before he ever showed up, but he helped destroy so much more.

I gave him so much, everything I held dear when I told him I loved him, and he told me he wanted to marry me. Tony, as I called him, helped me drink my life away. When I finally began to clean up he never did. I made excuses for him, I called in sick to his job when he was hung over and I took care of him when he was too drunk to care for himself.

He seemed to be doing so well, once he got into the meetings. Then the truth came out, he was leaving me for another woman. Jennifer! I swear I hate that name and God protect any woman with it if she ever comes near me. She was his sponsor! Twelve steps to leaving a perfectly happy relationship and getting into bed with another woman. That is what I personally think of his rehabilitation process.

The last was the last, as one might put it. Mother introduced us, lucky me. A blind date with a man named Justin. The name wasn't threatening and neither was he. He was an accountant, boring, homely, and completely uncomfortable in public. We seemed to be perfect for each other, at least that is what Drea, or Alex, or Alexandrea thought.

Justin was a comfortable person, but the first time he tried to touch me intimately he nearly fainted and told me that he couldn't stand being with a woman with 'curves.' He was lucky he was knocked into the past month when we met. Needless to say I haven't been with another man since and am perfectly content staring at the sunrises and moping about my life by myself.

Of course I am lying; truthfully I have been considering taking mother up on the offer of surgery. Then again I can't imagine trusting another individual by going to sleep and letting them slice and ice and tear into my flesh as if it were a twisted Saw movie. I could just see a lovely rendition of that playing in my mind until I felt the balcony railing give way.

Plummeting to the earth is always an interesting feeling, I decided that about two seconds before I hit the pool cover and lay there looking at the sky and wondering why my knee felt like someone had removed it and force it in places it should never be. "Perfect! I always wanted to know what Peter Pan felt like before he realized he needed pixie dust to fly."

Then there he was. Maybe I blacked out and was stuck in the middle of some outrageous dream where gorgeous men just stop to save the plump damsel in distress. The smile and his laughter at my raw and slightly dry humor were enough to make me reconsider my new vow of chastity. "Let me help you up." His extended hand was easily taken until a very unladylike word broke the silence of the night, and sent every bird flapping from the volume of it.

The knee, it wasn't in a good position, actually to put it lightly I think I tore it in every place possible and it was now telling me. Using his weight, and nearly pulling him into pool cover with me, slightly dampened by the water, I crawled out in a very spidermanish way. Go Spidey Go! "Thanks, I bet you save all the gorgeous half drenched ladies in the area."

Humor, it was a lifesaver in a situation in which you find yourself wanting to run and hide. "No, only the ones I see attempting to fly and turn into fish." Oh great, I am a fish now. Hmm cute little bug eyed goldfish? No, doubtful. "Well thank you prince charming, now what do I owe you. "

"A date, without the pool though." His grin was easy, and his arms folded naturally over his chest. Yeah, I was dead, still floating in the water or I had just hit my head and I thought he was saying all of that. "I am sorry, I don't think I heard you right, you want to go out on a date?" I think I sounded a tad bit more insecure than I planned, but hello I was drenched and cold and he looked good enough to chew on.

"You heard right, how about I pick you up tomorrow at six. Dress however you want." And with that he walked off. I had no name, he had no name, and by sheer coincidence we met outside my mother's house after I attempted to fly and ended up swimming. I love my life. Those were the thoughts in my head when I went in to shower and sink into the mattress and lose myself to the psychotic dreams which fed my attempt at art.