Spill the Wine

I have to admit to not understanding all of the lyrics to this when I heard it first, but it still left an impression on me somehow.


Blackout Writing, 2


Dear Trinity,

I know you weren’t cross about my secret keeping and I was glad, because this secret is one I wanted to tell you in person. But the closer the day came, the more and more nervous I became. Looking in your eyes… I’m blushing even writing this to you, now.

That time I kissed you on the Ferris Wheel, I saw in your eyes – warm brown eyes that seem so deep I can fall into them forever – flashes of passion and pain all stirred together and roiling like a storm. The passion made my heart swell but the pain made it burst.

You’ve told me about the cruel things boys have said to you in the past, how they’ve hurt you, and how some boys have taken advantage of you and made you do things you didn’t feel good about.

I wanted you to know that I love you and want to protect you and do all I can to take the pain of those other things away. If someone has touched you or made you touch them and hurt you, I want to touch you and let you touch me to blot out the memory.

That’s what I’ve wanted to do since I looked in your eyes at the Fair. That’s my secret. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.


Memories of Ligea, (excerpt 3a)

I just spent an hour knocking 200-some words out of this.



It is the summer of 1969 and Janelle is a pink blur on her bicycle, trailing a blonde ponytail, cresting the hill on Temple Avenue. Over the rise, she picks up speed, pedaling faster and faster. She tucks her chin to the handlebar as a bolt of electric thrill shoots through her. She makes herself as small as possible to the wind whipping tears from her eyes. She can’t keep up and stops pedaling as gravity takes over. It feels like falling. And in that small bubble of weightlessness, the wind in her ears has her father’s voice, the lilt of it fills her head, it’s sing-song jibe kind and familiar to her, “You’ve done it now, Missy-pants! Missy, Missy, Missy pants! Leaving far too much to chance.”

She smiles as she remembers him leaning in the doorway of her bedroom like he often did, right hand on hip, a thin smile on his face, a smile for his only and favorite daughter.

Out loud she finishes the taunt, “I’d turn around, on the double. Before you get in too much trouble! Missy, Missy, Missy pants!”

She continues, “They won’t catch me papa! They won’t!”

Janelle bites her tongue and the image of her father melts from her mind in the flash of the copper taste of blood. She arcs her bike to the left and streaks onto Forrest Circle, fully aware of the danger as a pedal strikes sparks against the curbing.


Here’s the original for comparison purposes: