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Hick

July 08, 2016


 I've seen the movie Hick many times, put it on after everything happened to try and get my sad song playing on repeat out of my head. I knew it was a book, I had even bought the book a while back, but had never read it. It was in one of the many boxes of books I owned and I pulled it out and sat down to read it. At first I started reading lines that stuck out to me, lines that sorta hit me a bit, lines that paralleled what was going on in my life.
 In the moment of getting to part two in Hick I realized how easy I could say I was Luli, and that guy was Eddie. Or even just twenty-eight year old Ray from the bar who thought to much of Luli... "I do what he says and I close my eyes and open my mouth and the next thing I know he's got his twenty-eight-year-old tongue in my thirteen-year-old mouth and all I can think is that I don't think the hero is supposed to be doing this." I decided to flip back to page 12 and underline that sentence. Then I start underlining more sentences like "Whenever I feel like this, I am gentle with myself, pretend like I'm someone else, like I'm some fragile piece of porcelain you have to place quietly, deliberately back on the shelf." Or even something that tells me exactly what I need to hear, which I even heard in the movie itself. "Okay, there's a trick you can do, okay? There's a trick you do when you start doing what you're doing now, which is dwelling. You're dwelling. You're stuck. Feel it? You're stuck. You're playing that same song over and over again... and you've got that song playing on repeat, am I right or am I right? ... I want you to put a quarter in the jukebox and change the record. Got it? You just change the record you got playing to a new song, okay? Find a different song. Something bright. Make it a good one and play that. Just change the record."
 Now that last one, that's the one I needed to hear. I could continue to dwell over how my Eddie pushed his arm over my collar bones, grabbed my wrist in his hand, and no matter how far I turned my head to the side or pushed my chin down, still got his no good twenty-year-old lips on to my nineteen-year-old lips. How his snake like tongue pierced with silver tasted like venom... I could continue to let the PTSD hit me like a ton of bricks out of the blue over and over again. I could continue to allow the stress to get so bad I don't eat for over a week. Or I could start to change the song.
 I keep trying to change that record but then someone else puts a quarter in and goes back to that sad song. But now I'm ready to change that sad record of Dear John with the scratch in it replaying the words "Don't you think nineteen's too young to be played by your dark, twisted games?" over and over again thanks to that damn scratch in it to something better. Something bright... 
 I guess you could say putting my scrambled up thoughts into words have helped me figure this mess out a bit on my own. Considering, just like Luli, even though I'm with some people I'm still very much on my own...
 I just wish when my Eddie had made a joke about him getting lucky with me I had gotten the Hell out've dodge instead of just saying "That's never going to happen."


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