In an effort to get to the most recent writings of miss Huckleberry Tea I am posting the last three stories from the archives. Please read and comment with what you think. I'll have a short story that is basically CRAP up soon here after. Enjoy.

HUMBLY HUMAN

I am humbled by my capacity for anger. And I have never been the angry type. I have always been slow to anger and quick to let things go. But not this. This thing that happened has left this inexplicably persistent emotion that boils somewhere below the surface, just deep enough that I don’t see or feel it. The other day, without warning or provocation, it attacked, like a bird of prey. That is how I know its there. And I don’t like it.

I pride myself in being calm, rational and generally unaffected by things going on around me, or even things happening to me. And I have tried to deal with this issue in my usual peaceful and “everything happens for a reason” manner. I considered my words carefully and spoke with honesty and kindness, in as much as they could co-exist, to all who were involved. I had, I thought, succeeded in making the best of a difficult situation. But with a numbing of the senses and a casting off of inhibitions, the repressed feelings lurking below struck hard and fast. Like sharp arrows, the words shot out of my mouth and a physical rage surged through my body.

A sharp mind breeds a sharp tongue, without a doubt. But my words are almost always kept in check by a peaceful nature and a heart that knows better. I had no idea that this was inside of me.

And so I am reminded of my humanity. My actions that night hurt me worse than the person to whom they were directed. I was forced to face that fact that I cannot always face the world with a façade of emotional perfection. And I have to face the simple truth: I was hurt, I am hurt. Not hurt in a principled, self-righteous way; the explanation of which I have been trying to convince myself, but just plain hurt, in a vulnerable human way. And that is where this anger comes from.

I was betrayed and deceived and treated with far less respect than I deserved. My trust was taken advantage of. My friendship warranted much better behavior and complete forthrightness. That friendship, to which I was wholly devoted, was treated as disposable and insignificant. These things are certainly true and my principle driven argument on these facts can not be disputed nor can the behavior be justified. But anger does not come from principle. Anger comes from hurt. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. Hurt by someone that I love, by someone who knows my fallible human self. There is no way to avoid that truth, believe me, I have tried.

What happened was for the best, true. I am better off and much happier now, true. No part of this situation is my fault, true. I deserve much better, true. I am over the heartbreak and have been for some time, true. And I was hurt by someone that I care about. True.

The anger may be gone, I am not really sure. I don’t feel it and cannot really even conger any up if I try. Maybe it just took one unguarded moment to escape from my insides. Or maybe it will take time to slowly dissipate, working its way out through various outlets. Who knows how the heart works? I know for sure that I have tried and I cannot control mine. I have been humbled by my humanity.


IS BETRAYAL THE NEW BLACK?

I was informed last night that my recent brush with betrayal is actually a bit worse than I was previously led to believe. I’m not sure when the deceit stopped being hurtful and started being funny, but thankfully it happened some time ago, because the waterfall of truth pouring from Spring’s melting lies just keeps getting funnier.

While chatting with someone who did not know who my ex was, I said something that apparently clued him in, and I watched his eyes suddenly widen with epiphanic realization, “Oh, your that girl whose boyfriend was cheating on you with your friend. And everyone knew about it except you. And it started when you blew out your knee and had surgery?”

I laughed and answered with a smile, “Yeah, that’s me.”

Walking down the street with a friend the other day we contemplated and laughed about the casual relationship so many people seem to have with the truth these days. And moreover, we wondered why loving and lying so often go hand in hand. As we walked past some of Aspen’s more fashion forward clothiers, I glanced at a particularly bizarre ensemble and quipped, “Well maybe betrayal is the new black.”

One of my best friends, Ashley, told me yesterday not to fall in love for a while- so that I wouldn’t get hurt again anytime soon. I laughed and thanked her for the vote of confidence, but told her that I just don’t work that way. She said that she knew and loved me for it (but to try anyway). She called while celebrating the official termination of her marriage. The process of getting the divorce lasted longer than the marriage, and she has long since mourned the betrayal and broken dream that the freshly signed legal document represents.

On a less celebratory note, Aspen’s Heartbreak Hotel, a.k.a. my apartment, is occupied once again, by a dear friend at the opposite end of that road. The sadness of love lost and the remorse over promises broken is palpable.

Last night while brushing my teeth before bed I was overcome by a feeling of disorientation; I wondered if true, everlasting love was even possible any more. Was my entire life’s paradigm resting on a foundation of sand? Are people bound to betray, disappoint, fall short or simply lose interest and fall out of love?

Spit. Rinse.

I looked myself in the eyes; no way. I’m not buying that. Love may not always be easy, to find or to keep, but I know that it is possible. It has to be. The hope is buried too deep inside of me to be uprooted. I have too much, too much, too much. Too much love to give. Inside this body there is a partner, a lover, a mother, a friend, a companion, and a great many other things. And there is too much love to keep inside.

So I guess that means I will keep kissing frogs. I will give friendship and trust freely and I will love with out abandon. I will lavish those that I love with everything that I have to give. I will live without the fear of being hurt, because that is the only way that I know how to live. I will dive in head first and let you know how the water is, even if I do bump my head at the bottom.

So am I that girl? That girl who believes in soul mates, in love at first sight, in unconditional, till death do us part, make your heart skip a beat, happily ever after love?

Am I that girl?

You better fucking believe I am.


MY WHITE NIGHT

Revelers, dressed in all white, guzzled champagne, mingled and danced to the thumping beat of the bass and to the pounding of their own hearts. The majestic beauty of the mountains outside faded into a star filled black sky brilliant enough to outshine even the “beautiful” people inside, although I doubt that anyone thought to look up. So was the scene, high atop Red Mountain, a night so stunning, so bizarre, it was, as we decreed, the White Night.

The evening, which lasted well into the dawn, was one more exhibition, in an endless series, of Aspen’s fundamental dichotomy: nature’s raw splendor slamming into the contrived expressions of wealth it so conspicuously displays. Millionaires, billionaires, their sparkling trophies, and a sprinkling of jet setting cougars sipped martinis and noshed on lobster along side Aspen’s more beautiful personal trainers, bar backs and cocktail waitresses, while entrepreneurs, notable businessmen and local politicians casually talked business in the corner. A night like many others, in Aspen anyway. So on this night, of all nights, is it possible that I found my white knight?

I saw him walk in, in all white of course, and my whole body relaxed as he hugged me tight and I buried my face in his neck. For a few brief seconds the weight of my world and the weight of my body rested entirely on his. Without thinking I had given myself over, no hesitation, I trusted this person with, well, me. And at that moment I knew. I am in love.

It wasn’t love at first sight those many weeks ago; with my sight focused elsewhere, I wasn’t looking at anyone the night we met. But when I finally opened my eyes and saw him for the first time, I felt something. I didn’t know what it was, but it made my heart flutter and my cheeks blush. And it scared me just enough. The spark, the coy exchanges, the magnetic attraction and the something different quickly took an unexpected turn. Without warning, like a horse headed home, unbridled and driven by natural instinct, the feelings grew stronger, gained momentum and took off. And suddenly it seemed a lot like love.

But how can I know that that’s what this is? For this girl, who wants so badly to believe in the fairy tale, but who certainly knows better, I have to wonder: How do you know when it is truly love and not just your heart playing tricks on you?

Is love being swept off your feet and carried giddily off to bed or is it being lifted up off the ground because you don’t have the strength to stand on your own? Tears of joy are quickly and gingerly wiped away, but are the sad tears absorbed with such gentle understanding? Lip to lip or nose to nose? Body to body or hand in hand? Is it laughter from blissful happiness or laughing together through sorrow? Grand romantic gestures or daily thoughtfulness and generous affection? Wanting to take their breath away with your beauty or knowing that you are loved unconditionally? Love must be all of these things and so much more. It is a feeling and drive as complicated, dynamic and unpredictable and yet unchanging in spirit, simple and pure in its ideals, and inherently shaped by nature’s forces, as Aspen itself.

So how do you know? You don’t. I don’t anyway. But there is a moment when you simply let go, close your eyes, spread your arms wide open and say “love me.”

As the sun rose, once again revealing our town below and the valley beyond, my knight and I sat outside in the dawn’s still quiet, our head-to-toe whites still somehow spotless. We reveled in nature’s tranquil perfection, and in each other, hand in hand, to the sound of our own pounding hearts.