starting a thing, TNS diary entries:
Idk, i wanted to write a oneshot but couldn't think of a story without getting too deep and turning it into depressing tumblr poetry/diary entry. So I thought maybe that's not such a stupid idea. Tns characters journals/notes app lol. But this might actually be a lame idea so see where we go 👍👍
Lmk any ideas you got or ppl u wanna see me write :p
AND HOLLY FRIGGIN SHIT GUYS
YALL SEE THE SNEAK PEAK OF S10
IM KIND OF EXCITED
IM SURPRISED THEY PULLED THAT OFF
3.2.24
I don't think i'd ever seen him cry before, well not like that. I've seen him sad, and once a lone tear dripping down his cheek, but happy. It was a cry of bliss and compassion.
The pastor read aloud passages from a heady stack of paper, hushed melodious instrumental sounds played under the pastors voice that echoed off the church walls. I wasn't paying attention, i never was. I always hated being forced to sit through a four hour long church service every second Sunday. I was always thinking there are so many things i'd rather be doing right now. I didn't understand or care to even try. All my memories of that place were of me and my siblings whining that we didn't want to be there and the bruises i got on my butt bone(or so i called it) from sitting slouched in the stern wooden pews for extended periods of time. I didn't listen to the words I was hearing, the ones that were sang loud and repeatedly directly into my ears; I looked up from my lap, where my hands sat chipping away sparkly blue nail polish,
up at my dad sitting next to me
and the words had moved him to tears.
I didn't ask, I didn't do anything, I knew he wasn't sad—well maybe he was, I don't know, I didn't ask.
A vulnerable open gaze painted in his eyes like open windows, I'd never seen his eyes that clear before, I saw right through them,
and simply understood; not why he was crying or what he was thinking, but exactly what he was feeling. I saw it. Physically. And I just knew. I knew something words could not say.
I wish I knew the verse that was being read the first time I saw my father cry. I wasn't listening and even if i was, I was like 11 I wouldn't remember now.
The last time I saw my father cry, he was in so much pain, so confused, so lost, so frustrated, in the world, in words, in himself. He cried in despair, I could feel the bottomless yearning for peace surging throughout his breaking body, radiating the room with the silent cries and screams he was too weak to sound. When he looked at you, his eyes begged you, pleading, he prayed and sobbed for you to make it better, to stop this, for this to come to an end;
and the absolute worst part was that there was nothing in the world anyone could do, except sit there and be with him. We rested beside him, while he died in miserable agony.
I wonder if he prayed, if he even had the cognitive ability to do so, if he remembered anything, if he dreamt, if he saw things that weren't there, did he remember who he was?
He didn't know where he was, why he was there in the ICU, he couldn't recognise most of the people he loved, his brain was shutting down, he could barely think let alone talk. He fought with everything left in him to finish four word sentences. How it killed me to watch him try so hard than get stuck on his words, watching the frustration and utter defeat swell tears in his eyes, and he kept trying, again and again and again till he was finally able to muster the words "I love you Piper."
Today, nineteen years old, I walked down the aisle of the church I hated going to every second Sunday. I stopped going to church when I was fifteen because I was finally at the age mum couldn't force me to go anymore, its the age all my older siblings stopped going—something about fifteen in my family, the level of teenage angst is just too great to be tamed by motherly reins.
I drove myself here, I bought this dress with my own money. The pews look darker than i remember. It still smells warm and faintly of old books. Sometimes when I see an antique store I go in and look at all the old clocks and dining sets just for the dusky smell. It's not a lovely smell, it smells damp and bitter and lacks fresh air because a window hasn't been opened in probably forty years, but it triggers this light feeling in the centre of my chest, like nostalgia. I like it the way some people like the smell of cigarettes—they smell awful but remind us of a comforting feeling.
Yesterday Amy and I drove around town, visiting all the places we have memories and seeing our favourite sites one last time before we move to New York next week. I'm scared, but i'm so so excited, and i'm really sad, and i'm so proud of myself for getting to where I am. Quite all over the place—it's really starting to feel real.
I'm saying goodbye to my home, this place is slathered head to toe in my memories and feelings. I'm in disbelief, that it all seemed to happen so fast, everywhere i've been, everything i've done has all led me right here. I can't believe it's all over and gone. I hate endings cause they make me sad or angry and beginnings make me anxious, I'm annoying when it comes to picking movies cause i always wanna watch films i've seen before, that way i know exactly what happens next. Unlike the movies i've seen thirty-eight-thousand times, I have no idea what's about to happen. Change made me so anxious as a kid. I would have meltdowns over not knowing what time we were leaving or a quick change in the schedule. My mom would play with my hair to calm me down, Dad would stroke my back and tell me everything was going to be ok because god was taking care of me. I internally scoffed when anyone said that to me, i didn't believe it at all. When anyone started talking about jesus or gods plan or faith in the lord, i hoped they would shut up. I thought it was boring and irritating. I chose to abandon the life of christ the moment i saw an out.
I'm still not a believer, hard to decide if i ever really was, but I'm beginning to understand as i get older why people believe.
When someone you love dies, you think about death in a completely different way. Dying feels less of a stranger, it's not as simple as life and death anymore. You begin to wonder where they could have possibly gone. I started wanting heaven and hell to be real, cause if he were anywhere, i'd hoped he got to go somewhere he's happy. People never feel dead, because I don't know what being dead's like, they just feel gone, somewhere else that's not here. Even after several years, i can't bring myself to believe that people just end like that, theres got to be something more.
Over the past few weeks we've been reminiscing heavily trying to farewell as many of the spots that hold memories.
We visited the playgrounds and skating rings, the movie theatres, arcades, cafes and bowling alleys, trees we climbed and carved our initials in, lakes and waterholes we swam at, streets we ran and rode our bikes through, the intersection i almost died in when i first got my license, the billboard with the laser hair removal advertisement that somebody drew leg hair and a moustache on, the parking lot where my friends and I blew up a watermelon, the corner shop down the road from my house that Amy and I bought chicken fingers from so often they started giving us their leftovers for free; yesterday we went to the dollar store for the discount twenty-pack of off brand dr peppers my dad drank religiously and kept in a separate fridge that no one else could touch (they were not good, it was a real let down) than we hung out at the drive in movie that was the towns hotspot for while once they finally built it after promising it for years and years.
Seeing the same old mundane streets and buildings, signs and parks and trees that i've spent my whole life around for the last time while I still consider this my home, is a surreal feeling.
All the memories flooding back to me made me remember one more place I owed a visit. I'd completely neglected it since I left.
I haven't set foot in this church since my father's funeral. The whole place is vacant, it's strange, i've never seen it so empty. I decided to come here today to be alone and take a moment.
I keep catching my self looking at the deep red carpet where the casket once was. I'm sitting where we always sat together as a big family, every second Sunday, 4 rows from the front on the left, closest to the aisle. I feel kind of sick and overwhelmed but I'm choosing to face this feeling, and sit comfortably with it. In a weird unexplainable way, I think I wanted these tall run down concrete walls and stained glass windows to see me, more than i wanted to see them. I wanted them to look at me now, years in the future, happier, healthier, grown, as if the walls could remember the last time they saw me; when I was a fifteen year old girl at her dads funeral and a scattering, lost, boney and anxious kid that wanted to die.
I imagine their happy to see me so well. Seeing them makes me kind of proud, knowing i'm sitting here right now where I swore i'd never have to again and peacefully, it kind makes me think i'm going to be ok.
Decided i didn't wanna give context and just let y'all figure it out—BUTT if you've read it and still want context i'll give it to ya: Pipers 19 years old and about to move to New York City with Amy, the 2 have been visiting places with cherished memories which reminded her to go back and visit her childhood church. Her father died when she was 15 and the funeral was held in the church. This whole bit is her 'flow of thought' writing while visiting the church.
