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New Eden 25

The Last Picnic

The Last Picnic            It was a beautiful day in early September, the kind of day his late father called a Glory Day, the requirements of which were a deep blue sky, if there were any clouds at all they had to be the soft, very white, billowy type, and the temperature neither too hot, nor too cool. Perfect picnic weather.            And a picnic was just what he had planned for himself and his sweetheart-wife of 47 years. Good years. Ladened, as the song goes, with happiness and tears. But even the tears were mostly tears of happiness, tears of shared understanding that, mingled together, became the agent and catalyst of an emotional epoxy, binding them all the more . . . one to the other.            But a solvent had slowly, insidiously dissolved the bonds of common memories . . .  a thief had stolen the most precious possession they had  . . . their mutual love. Alienation of affection , that's what his legalistic lawyer's mind would have called it, if it had been another man. But how can one fight disease?            He had always been the sick one. Born with a closed, undeveloped eye, this cruelty of nature wasn't enough. At eight, he had protracted infantile paralysis . . .polio. (Dr. Salk had not yet discovered his merciful vaccine.) He had recovered, but not without the further disfigurement of a lingering limp. He was certain she had not married him for his looks!    His weakened frame was susceptible to every flu virus and other communicable disease that came along. And she had been his Florence Nightingale, attending every need, never complaining . . . giving loving care that can only come from its namesake . . . love. Now, it was her sickness. And this time it was not a childhood disease. It was an old person's disease . . . Alzheimer's. Painless, but oh how she would rather have endured endless pain.            It began by just forgetting where she had left things, could have happened to anybody. Then she would repeat herself. "You just told me that 5 minutes ago", he would laugh. But, when she began going blank during her lectures at the university, it was obvious that something was happening to her. Early Onset Alzheimer’s, that was the diagnosis.            "What a shame,” her friends and colleagues whispered, "to lose such a scholar; she had such a brilliant mind."            "Yes. Had it been something else, any number of other calamities, she very well could have gone on teaching,” the dean lamented. "Well, at least she's got John. He makes a good living and can afford the best for her.”            Six years. That's all it took to go from lecturing college classes in philosophy to the blank, unrecognizing stare that greeted John each time he looked into her eyes. She could no longer even take care of her most basic bodily needs.            John didn't mind that. He would gladly take care of every need, no matter how menial or humbling. She would have done as much for him. It was the loss of companionship, the loss of that sympathetic vibration of two souls in tune with each other that had become unbearable. He was lovingly caring for her body, but where was her soul? Had it already been released? Was it still imprisoned within the irreversibly paralyzed mind?            They used to laugh, and love, and talk . . . hours on end. Only those who have experienced the inexpressible comfort of looking across a crowded room and catching the eye of their loved one and seeing the understanding smile break across their face can know the ecstasy of this companionship.            The smile still returns, but now a simple, child-like, trusting smile that is more involuntary reflex than recognition, and certainly not understanding.            Still, it reminded him of the good old days, days when they would pack a lunch in the woven reed picnic basket she had inherited from her parents, and take off for that special place, their place. Even into their fifties, they would return to the spot a few miles out of town where he had carved their initials in the Sycamore nearly half a century ago. Miraculously, the spot hadn't been encroached by the new subdivisions the ever-growing little college town had spawned. Each time they returned he had refreshed the carving so that now it still emblazoned a very mature creek side tree.            Now they return once more. It is their anniversary. He gets the basket out of the car, puts a quilt under his arm, and goes around to open the door for his wife.  Arm-in-arm they walk slowly down to the bottomland beside the creek. Under the Sycamore, he unfolds the quilt. A special quilt his grandmother had made it for him many years ago before her death. It had always lain at the foot of the bed in the guest room. Bright yellow scraps of old dresses had been lovingly sewn into interlocking circles representing rings. It had been her wedding present to the couple so many years ago. Too dear to be used, yet too proud not to be displayed, it was still in perfect condition. But today was a special day.            They sit down on the quilt. He spreads the contents of the basket, complete with real plates cradled in rattan holders, worn silverware and checkered cloth napkins.  They had always prided themselves in using the old utensils of the previous generation. Even the wine glasses were real... no plastic, no paper, no synthetics . . . except life . . . life wasn't real anymore.            Out came the fried chicken, baked beans, potato salad, iced tea from the old vacuum thermos bottle, everything they had grown to expect of a proper picnic banquet. He tied a cord around the wine bottle and dropped it into the stream to cool. Lastly, he reached in the basket and extracted an old turn-of-the-century book of poetry, the same book from which he had read on previous picnics, olive green with gold-leafed lettering on the cover, James Whitcomb Riley's Love-Lyrics .            They ate. He had to feed her between bites for himself, and give her drink, and wipe her mouth. He didn't mind. And he thought maybe she was enjoying it. Maybe she still remembered, somewhere deep within her, the earlier times, the happier times. And then he read.            He read aloud the poems to her: When She Comes Home ; Their Sweet Sorrow ; My Bride That Is to Be . Each seemed to suddenly have a new and deeper meaning than ever before.            Finally, his favorite, An Old Sweetheart of Mine                        As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,                        And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,                        So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,                        I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine . . .                        . . . When I should be her lover forever and a day,                        And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;                        And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb                        They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come . . .            Tears had formed in his eyes, just as they had many years ago when he first read her the poem. She smiled, but not a smile of understanding. It was more of a baby's smile of unconscious contentment. He could have read her the most grotesque of horror stories and produced the same result.            He got up and retrieved the wine from the water and poured them each a glass. Then, reaching into the basket, he withdrew one more item...a large bottle of pills . . .            "Here, Dearest, take some of these. That a girl. Want a sip of wine? Now some more of the pills. Socrates had his hemlock. I'm afraid I have nothing quite so legendary for you, my little philosopher. Save some for me!"            They laid back on the quilt. His arms enfolded her. She rested her head on his shoulder. They looked up at the sky, the clouds, the leafy arbor already beginning to show the signs of fall. He slowly focused on the spot where he had carved their initials so long ago, once again almost faded away by new growth.            He thought back over the years, the courtship, the elopement, their first baby, stillborn, doctors said "no more,” the church wedding renewal of vows they treated themselves to on their 25th anniversary, the trip to Europe. It had been a good life, all in all. It had been a full life. Perhaps, it should have ended a little sooner. How did that poem go about the athlete dying young? Oh, he didn't mean her life...he wouldn't have wished that on her. He meant his, so he wouldn't have had to witness her decline. But, then who would have taken care of her? His mind was getting fuzzy.            He counted it a privilege to be able to give back a little of the care she had so selflessly given him for over 40 years. Was he doing the right thing now? But, for over a year now her spirit has either been gone or trapped in a body that would not release it. "Oh, God! Forgive me, but I love her so!" Sleepy.... "Esmeralda, your Quasimodo will protect you."  Sleepy . . .            "Over here, Sheriff! Right where his note said!"            "Yep, cold as clay, both of 'em! Been here since yesterday, I'd say."            "What a shame. Nice old couple like that... Reckon why people do something like this?"            "Ain't it strange, looks like both of 'em have little smiles on their faces. Jes' laying there, all cuddled up together, like they's in their own bed at home."            "Looks like they had themselves a picnic 'fore they done it."            "Yeah, some picnic." END .

xc9js5

True Colors

“Hi, my name is Richard, but everyone calls me Ricky—I’m six and a half.” “Hi Ricky! I’m Jimmy. I’m six, too.” “I’m six and a half! I’ll be seven in September.” “My mom says I’ll be six and a half next month.” “Hey, we’re practically the same age.” ”That means we’ll be in the same grade. Are you gonna go to Faulkner Ridge Elementary?” ”I think so. Do you go there?” “Uh-huh. It’s close enough we can walk there. Do you want to be friends?” “Sure, I don’t have any friends here. That means you can be my best friend.” “Okay!” “Whatcha doin’?” “I’m catching salamanders.” “Cool. I love salamanders. Wait, what’s a salamander?” “I don’t know. It’s kinda like a lizard. There are a bunch of them here in the creek. I catch ‘em and put ‘em in this jar.” “They’re black. B. L. A. C. K.” “Yep, and a little slimy” “What do you do with them?” “I don’t know. I just look at them, then I let them go. I don’t think they like being in a jar.” “The lid on that jar is silver. S. I. L. V. E. R.” ”Ricky?” ”What?” “Why do you spell everything?” “I don’t know. Mostly I just spell colors. My dad says learning to spell makes you smart, and I love different colors. Don’t you?” “I guess so. I’m not a very good speller.” “My dad says you just have to practice. Your shorts are blue. B. L. U. E.” “My shirt is red, how do you spell red?” “R. E. D.” “R. E. D. I spelled red!” “Yes you did. See, my dad was right.” “Wanna help me catch salamanders?” “Sure, what do I do?” “You move the rocks, and I’ll scoop ‘em up when they come out.” ”Do I have to pick the rocks up?” ”Nah, just wiggle ‘em” “Ok.” “Where do you live?” “In that house right there, the white one. W. H. I. T. E.” “I live in the green one next door. How do you spell green?” “G. R. E. E N.” “G. R. E. E. N.” “My dad is really smart—he’s a dentist.” “A dentist, like for braces and stuff?” “No, that’s an orthodontist. My dad helps keep your teeth clean and fills cavities. What does your dad do?” “I don’t have a dad.” “Everybody has a dad.” “I had a dad, but he’s dead. He was a policeman. He died when I was two.” “Do you remember him?” “Nah, not really. My mom shows me pictures of him, but I don’t remember anything about him. He wore a blue uniform. B. L. U, right?” “B. L. U. E. don’t forget the E. “B. L. U. E. I told my mom I want to be a policeman, too.” “What did she say?” “She said I should be a doctor. I don’t think I can be a doctor—they’re way smarter than me.” “You can be a doctor. My dad said you can be whatever you want to be.” “Maybe I can be a salamander catcher?” “And I’ll be your helper. I'm Ricky the Rock Mover.” “Ha! You’re too smart. What do you really want to be?” “I’m going to be a dentist like my dad.” “Can I tell you something? You won’t get mad, will you?” “I don’t think so. What is it?” “I don’t like dentists. I’m scared of them.” “You don’t need to be scared. My dad helps people. If your mouth hurts, he makes it all better. Maybe you can come over to my house and meet my dad sometime. Maybe he’ll look at your teeth.” “I can ask my mom.” “Can I tell you something? You can’t get mad either.” “Sure, we’re friends, right?” “Best friends.” “Then let's make a pact to never get mad at each other. Is it a deal?” “It’s a deal.” “So what were you going to tell me?” “I don’t like policemen. My mom says you have to be careful around them.” “But policemen help people—they keep you safe.” “My dad says that, too, but my mom doesn’t like them.” “I’m not sure I understand. Sometimes parents are silly. Hey, do you want to switch for a while? I’ll move the rocks while you catch the salamanders.” “I’ve never caught a salamander before.” “You can catch one now. Are you ready?” “I think so.” “You got him! First try!” “I can’t believe it! Can I show my mom? She'll be so happy.” “I don’t know. Moms don’t like salamanders as much as we do.” “You’re right. She gets afraid easily.” “One day when I’m a policeman, I’ll come and talk to your mom and tell her not to be afraid of salamanders or policemen.” “That would be cool.” “Then we could have some ice cream.” “Ice cream is not good for your teeth.” “We need to keep our teeth white. W. H. I. T. E. Just like your house.” “You’re almost as good a speller as me.” “You taught me to spell and I taught you to catch salamanders" "Jimmy, I'm glad you were here today." "Me too but I’m going to have to leave soon. Are you ready to let the salamanders go?” “But why can’t we keep them?” “I tried to keep them once, but they all died. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to live in a jar either.” “I guess you’re right.” “Want to meet here again tomorrow? We can catch more salamanders or pretend we are pirates or something like that.” “I’d like that. It sounds like a lot of fun.” “Bye, Jimmy.” “Bye!” * * * * * * * * * * “Jimmy, what in the world were you doing? You are covered in mud and soaked to the bone.” “I was down at the creek catching salamanders.” “You know I don’t like it when you go to the creek by yourself.” “I wasn’t by myself, Mom. I was with Ricky.” “ Ricky? Who  is that?” “He’s my new best friend. He and his mom and dad moved into the house next door. His dad is a dentist. He says I don’t have to be afraid of dentists.” “Next door? In the Johnson’s old house?” “Yes, he was teaching me to spell and helping me catch salamanders. He caught one on his very first try.” “Jimmy, what color is Ricky?” “What do you mean?” “I saw them move in. What color is his skin?” “He’s black, Mom. B. L. A. C. K. He taught me how to spell that.” “Maybe you shouldn’t hang around with him.” “Why? He’s my new friend.” “I don’t know. Your friends should be like you, do you understand? “I don't think so.” “We can talk more about it later. Right now go wash up for dinner.” “Okay, but wait Mom, guess what?" “What?” “I can hang around with Ricky. He’s actually just like me. We’re both six and we both like catching salamanders. We also like to pretend to be pirates. Anyway he’s my best friend, okay?” “O-okay.” “I love you, mom.” “I love you too, Jimmy.”

x6oyd2

Was it a lost Opportunity???

Was it a lost Opportunity ??? Is there a real answer when options are presented to an individual? What is the risk that’s entailed? What could be the remaining consequences? Well, I guess everyone could be faced with rare prospects opportunities once they are randomly introduced to us. And how will we react to it? Is one foolish enough to dive in without any knowledge of what they’re getting involved with? Is it a form of despair or haste ? Or is a passed opportunity can be forever lost without any possibility of re-occurrence? The Summer after graduation, I was more enticed with the idea of attaining full time work in a very weak employment market than anything else. Friends had firmly suggested to me that I should go and spend a few weeks travelling in Europe with the added likelihood of perhaps one day meeting a wife during my external learning from the classroom. My apprehension of this assertion had been very low and not subsequently interested for reasons which the accumulated education that I’ve lived through was more promising than this particular inception. Little did I know, there were three employers who had each possessed a copy of my university transcripts where I had been closely interviewed and requested to begin, immediately. Unknowingly, people around me had noticed a form of physical exhaustion that was surrounding me; friends had again tried to encourage me to take a vacation ever before beginning to work. Most had assumed if I was better rested and fully alert that I could start on the correct foot, so to speak. My fortay had been academics, not sociability when it came to the outside world. Within my past social record, I firmly remember that I could never been able to buy a date, let alone hold a solid topic in conversation with a woman without them having an ulterior motive that was always hidden from me. I’m more of a technical loner than a ’ people person ’. Aware that some human interaction is needed to try in getting one’s point across in order to reach some kind of distinct comprehension and social middle-ground, yet it doesn’t always work that way. Being difficult is not what I consider myself; ’ cautious ‘ is more like it for me. Besides the facts of viewing others from a distance how they had unruly behaved in their relationships where it lead to obvious separation is caused by greed, bias and stubbornness. Within our modern age of relevance and dangerous influences; most temptations seem never to be either heeded or avoided. Humanity is now found itself irreversibly stuck in the whole idea of Wide Indulgence where they assumed that they are entitled to everything that’s be presented before them, whether or not that they ever took the time to earn it. Why are all of the foremost available assets should be up for grabs without any dedication or devotion being put behind it. It’s extremely unfair as well as unjustified that a multitude take most things in our existence for granted. The most insecure popular conclusion is that no one wants to do without and feel like an outcast. Then again, who out there, is willing to make any serious attempts for any drastic changes for humanity to wake up and realize that they are headed into one-way grave with no survivors to bury them. As being reluctantly stringent as I was about this vague idea, I had received a plenty of encouragement and some financial backing, I had decided why not take a chance to go on a journey like this. It could be the only time that I could have available before I could begin work on permanent basis. With an itinerary in hand and luggage packed, I was swiftly being whisked away to the airport like an expendable package. Do any these poeple actual care what’s going to happen to me, next? Is it that they care about about helping me keep my sanity? Sometimes, it’s quite difficult to know what’s going on in the mind of others??? Or is it the fact they are falsing assuming that I might be covertly sadden? Anyway, this became my first European arrival had been in Lisbon, Portugal where I would begin my journey eastward right into Greece, then the return, home. Unknowingly, I found myself beginning to enjoy hearing about the wide history and meeting various people from different places on the tour bus. I had discovered that there was a whole lot more that I was currently learning that one would never hear in a classroom. Whence my arrival in Barcelona, Spain; I had met an American citizen named: Alicia that I had inadvertently initiated a friendship with her. With both of us being both foreigners travelling in a different country, let alone in an entire diverse continent; we each subconsciously had the notions of metamorphically letting our hair down to fully savour our vacation, together. When it does end; we’ll never see each other, again and hopefully each of us could leave a positive impression behind where enthusiastic memories can be held for one another to happily reminisce. During our time out together visiting extra curricular sites amid the tour’s free periods of relaxation; there was some distinct character feature that she possessed where it became a social nuance or idiom to me that was subtlely getting on my nerves; yet I was unable to readily identify it. Throughout the rest of our journey, I also got to meet and know everyone else at least once; to discover what kind of people that I was actually interacting with. Many had been very welcoming and there were those few which had been strictly left alone in the abyss of their own little world. Otherwise, when I alone, I was able to take of myself and inform of any data that I was seeking from its' natives. The solitude from others was certainly a very pleasant feeling. Holding the peace of mind and concentrating and appreciating all of the surrounding extrinsic features which I wanted to further learn about. Within all of the group activities which were occurring with this great journey; I did get to know a little more and learned from others how they think and react towards specific external events, behaviours and philosophies which they were compelled to encounter. This entire fantastic escapade had become a free and a well- earned education of its’own. I had not only been able to expand upon my social skills, this introduction to foreign cultures had become not only a wide learning experience, yet also an enjoyable one for me. I would not have known any of this, first hand, other than from books and movies. My current thoughts had now become intrigued with further curiosity and I was internally questioning myself - would I do this again??? When finally arriving in the nation of Greece, the group had visited the fascinating and historical towns of Olympia and Athens, as well to mentally soak up what was left in this European trek before everyone was ready to return, home into their separate ways. Once, the evening preparations were being processed for the next morning departure; Alice and I had exchanged addresses and phone numbers before lights out. Not everyone in the group were going to leave from the same airline or the same airport; there were many smaller parties broken down to be sent out in various directions. Upon the flight home, I was looking forward in going to work and begin making payments to cover all the needed expenses which I had made in Europe as well to think about rent money to be aside and to update my work wardrobe. Once I had arrived home, everyone who had encouraged me to go on this trip; they all wanted to know how much that I enjoyed being with people and visiting sites. Oh yes, the mandatory question had definitely bee asked: Was I able to meet someone special that could be possibly a part of my life. My endearing response to them was that I did meet up with someone quite pleasant, yet I had never wanted to discuss further of any private details. Intrigued and curious as they were, most people wanted to know if they would one day have the pleasure to meet her. I said ' Maybe '. This specific issue was not a priority in my life, yet my choice of employment was. After several grueling weeks of re-adjustments which had passed by; I had the chance to make a choice of a job opportunity that was more comfortable to me. Finally , the moment came that I could become quite relieved when I had finally found myself quite settled in a daily routine in my new apartment and acquiring the coping ability of dealing with my new workplace pressures. One Thursday evening at home, as I was feeling quite rested; I had random thought of calling Alicia to find what was she up to among the last few months. Fortunately, she was home and she was glorious happy to hear from me. It was really surprising how many would want to stay in contact with someone new after an enjoyable excursion. I had invited her to fly in for a weekend holiday and stay with me and she had agreed. Our pleasant conversation had lasted about 35 minutes before we decided to hang up. My only initial apprehension to see her had been my only thoughts when we exchanged numbers – I for one had been a very different person whose carefree behaviour had utterly relished the fun that I had on the tour. Now, I see myself in regular pace of life where my thinking had been a lot more serious and less entertaining. I had quickly returned to my former habits of living a methodical existence. Once we meet up again, each our of current situations could certainly redefine our characters for reasons our behaviours had become regulated in a normal procedure. Once the time had finally arrived for me to pick her up at the airport; I became anxiously nervous. An internal fear had now began to haunt me. In my mind, how do I keep her impressed without making an total idiot out of myself. Upon the moment of my terminal entrance, everything around began to collapse. An unforeseen omen had arisen from the despair; it was a feeling that I hoped that would never happen, but it did. It had begun with the difficulty of finding a parking space. Trying to seek out the foreign arrivals, I found myself at wrong end of the terminal. I had forgotten where the customs vicinity had relocated and then I then heard my name being paged over the loudspeaker. Knowingly, subtle humiliation was certainly out get me, now and there was no turning back. Sadly, I had to often fake my enthusiasm for my bewilderment. Once, I had found her, she was delighted to see me and my first thought was to kiss her as my greeting. My jacket was able to camouflage the dripping pores in my drenched up armpits. On the drive home, we we're still discussing her flight and we each other did in the past few months. Although, somebody had gotten wind of my current plans of inviting Alicia for the weekend. This is where a few friends of mine had ' just happened ' to drop by. Once, their curiosity had been fulfilled and introductions were made; this short gathering had began to slowly disperse for the evening. With the next morning arriving very quickly; I had to think about what am I going to do to entertain her, all weekend. As I drove around the city showing some of the historical sites; within her presence, I had become quite aroused when I was listening to hear her conversing speech. Obviously, I had become sexually attracted to this woman and my hesitancy was now interfering by negatively affecting my speech. This where my nervousness was rendering me to make all of kinds of verbal mistakes; such as not recently informed about the environmental changes which I thought I knew and what should have clearly known. I didn't realize that I had become head over heels for this woman and my inadequacy was damaging my verbal outtakes. My thoughts were caught up in a whirlwind. Mistakes were continuously being unmanageable where I could not do and say anything, correctly, no matter where we went and said. Alicia had abruptly stopped me in my step and wanted to have conversation with me in order to attempt to know why my behaviour had become unusually awkward with her. I sat there and I wasn't able to give her a straight answer because I was so very ashamed of my embarrassing conduct. It seemed that it I was continuously losing face with her. I was so socially uneasy with her that the fear of outright rejection was becoming quite imminent. Unfortunately, my self-humiliation was a lingering 'crash & burn' where I knew that I had inadvertently sabotaged a relationship I thought that I wanted. Subconsciously, my mind had furtively known that at that moment I neither mature enough nor was ready to be in a relationship. Ironically, my heart had been foolishly racing with so much angst. I was so eager and trying very hard to impress her and everything had simply backfired. These mixed feelings had certainly became a controversial issue that to be swiftly harnessed with reason. Well after our unsettling weekend meeting; I had driven her to the airport and I wasn't able to be 'man enough' to admit my true feelings to her, but I did say that I wanted to visit her at hometown; in hopes maybe that I could possibly better open up to her and fully explain my unexpected shame. Once, I saw leave towards the gate; for long time after that I was still quite upset with myself for being so stupid. She must have been very disappointed in me, believing that I was not the same person in Europe. Also, she must have assumed that I had been a total idiot and utterly wasted her precious time. Weeks later, this time it was my turn to visit her, I had no idea what to say because I was again, too ashamed of myself. It became the albatross hanging over my head for a very long time where I wasn't able to shake it off. During the time that Alicia had been showing me the sites around her town is what took me off guard, next. She readily had a racist remark when she had witnessed another couple who also enjoying the scenery; they happened to be interracial. My immediate, yet silent reaction to this unforeseen statement, had been that this was absolutely not the way that I was brought up. I was always told to only pass any kind of judgment when someone else strikes out, first. Upon the time of my departure, we did part ways, amicably. I had also knew that was going the last time that I'll ever see her. Despite each of our own insecurities and discrepancies, I must say that she was a good compatible friend, and yet some would adamantly say to me that 'it was never meant to be'. Regrettably in my awkward manner of 'angst & stupidity' that I had involuntarily treated her; I still wonder: What If? One day during my present time of happiness, I had decided to write one final letter to her to wish her very well and to the best of my ability; attempt to apologize for my poor behaviour to her and she had certainly deserved better. At the present moment, the past hold many good memories, yet it has become quite distantly irrelevant. Was I going to be one day forgiven for uncalled caginess? I'll never know. Just as long I tried to make amends, nothing else matters, now. My remaining two questions which were swirling in my mind have always been: Did I dodge a bullet? Could have we been able to make it, work?

u2r5v5

Follow in the right footsteps

Ida was the last born and the only one to be graced with life. The other five, one after the other, had slipped into the great silence, leaving an even greater silence behind. It had been painful to say goodbye and fold little hands over a heart that hadn't even been allowed to beat for more than a year. And Ida? Ida carried in her graceful self all the love, hope, tenderness, aspirations, and prayers that would otherwise have been bestowed upon six. Next week she would finally come home! It was a balmy evening in May and John and his wife Mary were sitting on the porch. -"You know who I saw a few days ago, Mary?" John said, "Jimmy!" Mary's rocking chair swung gently back and forth: "Hmm-m." She murmured. -"His wife Catherine went to school with our Ida." John continued. "Yes, I know," Mary replied, "How is Jimmy?" -"He feels bad!" John said as he curled his lips down. -"Oh? Bad? How come?" Mary stopped the rocking chair and looked concerned at her husband. There was a silence, then the words began to flow from John's mouth like a torrent of despair. -"He said he doesn't feel at home in his own house. Catherine never speaks to him. All he does is eat, put on his coat, and go to work. She never opens her mouth to say something nice ." -"So are her mother and her aunt. They are very frugal with words." Mary said. "Poor Jimmy feels very uncomfortable." John continued. -"I can imagine." Mary nodded. -"And when he tries to start a conversation with her, she keeps correcting what he says as if he were a rude little child. She always finds fault with his choice of words and language." John added. Mary resumed swinging in the rocking chair. She stirred a little restlessly: -"Is she sassy?" Mary demurred. "No," John replied, "She keeps correcting him. She claims it is for his own good. She says that distinguished language is important. When Jimmy sits at the table with her, he loses his appetite. Jimmy is not a man of big words, so now he just keeps his mouth shut ." -"That doesn't sound good!" Mary remarked. -"The last conversation they had together was about worms and insects. Jimmy hasn't been to school long, and he's uncomfortable with that kind of learned topics." John continued to chat. "Catherine has indeed been in school longer." Mary interrupted her husband. -"Jimmy said he wished his wife had never gone to school. Maybe that would have made his life much easier." Mary was plucking at a loose thread at her apron. "I don't believe our Ida would ever behave like that," she said softly. -"No of course not." John replied sharply. "I just hope she'll never be ashamed of us." Mary mused. -"Of course not." John asserted. His voice trembled a little. John turned his head to his wife, "You're not going to start worrying now, are you?" -"No of course not." Mary laughed confused, "Our Ida would never do such a thing. She´s a kind soul!" -"Come on sweetheart, it's time to lock up the house." John said, "When our girl comes home next week we should be well-rested." The days dragged on, and Mary was befallen with a curious restlessness -"John dear, I went to talk to Catherine's mother." Mary started. -"Oh." John said. -"Well, I was curious to know what kind of things Catherine values." Mary continued hesitantly. -"Why?" her husband asked in surprise. -Well, "Mary started with forced courage," It would be nice to know in advance..." She didn't finish her sentence. "I just happened to ask Jimmy the same thing this afternoon," John said excitedly. -"No, you didn't." Mary gasped. "Ida has been away from home for four years. For four years she has learned things that we will never understand, and I wanted to know what I could do to please our Ida when she comes home." John defended himself. -"Naturally." Mary nodded. "Four years already." "Maybe we can make it a habit to talk politely." John said frowning. -"Catherine's mother said her daughter hates abbreviations." Mary remembered. -"Okay, so use full words from now on, no more aints and stuff like that." John said. -"That's a promising idea," Mary agreed, "let's start right away so we're a little bit used to it when Iva comes home." -"Jimmy also told me he has to change for dinner." John continued. -"Oh?" Mary looked at her husband a little helplessly. -"Yes...she says that after a day's toil one should come to the table with a refreshed body and mind." John said thoughtfully, "He must wear black." -"Ahum... do you think we'll have to wear our fine clothes to eat too?" Mary asked uncertainly. -"Do not worry." John said, "It won't come to that. And if it does, our Ida will have to take us as we are." That night, John was fighting with himself not to wake his wife so he could ask her about his best outfit. He began to fear that he no longer had the appropriate collars for his good shirt. By five o'clock in the afternoon the next day, Mary put on her precious black dress. For countless years it had been sacred for church, weddings, and even funerals. John looked uncomfortable in his Sunday suit and stiff collar. The house had been brushed and scrubbed and was in a state of immaculate order. At a quarter to six, John drove to the station to pick up his daughter. Mary had opened all the doors and windows in the house to welcome her daughter. -"Mother!" Ida cried happily as she ran into the house. -"Oh, Ida! I'm so glad to see you." Mary shuddered excitedly. -"You look so good, Mother!" Ida cried, her face red and eager. -"Doesn't the house look good, dear?" Mary asked. John was wiping a bit of dust from his coat. He gave a savage tug at his collar and necktie. Ida sat around the dining table, eagerly launching an interrogation. That's a good sign, John thought to himself, all she seems to care about is my rheumatism, her mother's health, and how the horses are doing. "Now tell us a little about yourself." John interrupted his daughter. -“Oh yes," Mary agreed, "Tell us everything!" Ida stared at her mother in surprise and laughed happily: -"The rolls are delicious mother! The coffee tastes like nectar and the strawberries couldn't be more delicious." -"That is not what I mean." Mary said a little shyly. -"Oh, the cook doesn't like to be praised?" Ida giggled. "I have a job and a successful income! I am an illustrator. A teacher of mine had always encouraged me, and I followed his advice. I stayed in Chicago for a week with a friend and he helped me to distribute my work to reputable publishers. I have already sold quite a few works and have a very long list of orders. -"I'm so happy sweetie." Mary said. John started to gasp. Mary protested, but Ida insisted on wiping the plates and doing the dishes after dinner. At dusk, the family sat down on the porch. -"Look at that." Ida sighed, "Isn't that moon glorious? It's so beautiful and peaceful here." Mary shot a quick glance at her husband, then cleared her throat nervously.  -"You must know all about the moon right, my dear?" Mary asked. Ida raised her eyebrows: "Ah, there's a thing or two that is still a mystery to me," she replied with a whimsical smile. -"Do you know the names of the stars?" Mary insisted. Ida laughed aloud. She took on an attitude of mock delight: "Carbonous gemstone." There was a long silence. Ida kept her eyes on the clouds. -"Can you repeat that one more time?" Mary asked timidly after a while. Ida looked at her mother: -"What's that?" -"What you said about the stars." Mary clarified. -"Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle..." -"No" her mother protested. -"Carbonous gemstone." Ida repeated. -"Oh," said Mary softly, "Thank you." "I think I'll go to bed." John said yawning. The next morning, Ida wanted to help her mother with the housework, but Mary wouldn't hear of it. -"Leave that household to me. You go and sketch. I insist." With a playful pout, Ida tucked her sketchbook under her arm and left the house, and started to descend along the river. She met her father in the field. -"Working hard, father?" Ida said fondly. The old man blushed and put his foot on something crawling from under a rock. -"Father! Don't!" Ida cried, "You are crushing an animal!" Her father blushed even more. He lifted his foot and let out a resigned sigh. Ida bent down and gave the centipede a gentle poke with the pencil in her hand. -"Imagine we had so many legs and feet." Ida laughed. -"I wouldn´t dare to think about the bills of the shoes." her father sighed. He flung himself back at work and whistled a tune. While Ida's mother spent her time in the kitchen over a hot stove, Ida spent her days wandering through the woods and fields with a pencil and pepper in her hand. Mary was deaf to her daughter's protests. -"Household work is not for you child." Mary explained. The strain was beginning to tell on Mary. The work was no light matter, owing to her anxiety that her daughter´s pleasure should want for nothing. When the clock struck six in the evening, Mary took her black silk gown with the white lace collar from the closet and put it on with trembling hands. Dead tired and red from baking and roasting. Once dressed, she descended to the dinner table, where her husband would wait in his black coat and stiff collar. This is torture, John had told Mary, and her task grew more hopeless by the day. She could hardly bring herself to speak anymore. One day, after about a week, Ida came running into the kitchen - cookies were burning in the oven. She quickly took them out of the oven and flung the doors and windows wide open. -"Mother!" Ida cried. When there was no answer, she went looking for her and found her in her room in front of the mirror. Mary was crying. "Mother, what's the matter?" Ida asked concerned. Mary's hands were struggling with the lace on her spotless collar. She covered her face with her hands and sank into a chair by the bed. -"What's the matter, Mother?" Ida asked again as she hurried to sit next to her mother. -"Sorry baby," Mary moaned, "I can't. I've tried, but now I have to give up, I can't anymore." -"What can't you do?" Ida asked, "What do you have to give up?" Mary shook her head: -"Your father too," Mary sobbed, "He tries his best, but he can't pull it off anymore." -"Mother!" Ida cried impatiently, "Answer me! Tried what? Tell me what you are talking about!" Mary fixed her eyes on her daughter's troubled face and tried to tighten her collar one more time: -"Don't worry honey." Mary stammered, "It's nothing." she dropped her grey head on Ida's shoulder. Ida comforted her mother with loving pats. Mary told Ida what had been going on, right from the start. When she finished talking, the old woman was a little out of breath. There was a long silence, and she waited anxiously for Ida to speak. Ida sat with her lips together, staring at her mother. She didn't trust herself to open her lips, for she didn't know whether she was going to laugh or cry. Finally, her smile broke through her lips: -"Mother!" Ida began, "Did you think that dress and that stiff collar could make you dearer to me? Do you really think I'd love you less if you couldn't come up with big words? You have spent fifty years taking care of others, twenty of them of me. I've always been the apple of your eye, and now it's my turn: you are the apple of my eye. You and father. All is well mother, just as it is. Except that from next week, you will receive help in the household. A woman will come to help you every day." Ida rose and fastened her mother's lace collar. -"Mary!" John shouted from downstairs. -"YES John." -"Isn't it time for dinner yet?" he asked. -"Bless my soul." Mary sighed, jumping to her feet. -"Mary..." -"Yes dear?" -"I don't have a clean collar." -"Let it go for tonight dad!" Ida laughed. "Well, if you don't mind," John muttered. The two women heard a sigh of relief. -"Don't worry mother, I wasn't born to follow in the footsteps of a snob like Catherine. I'd rather follow in your footsteps. There is still so much I can learn from you. I follow your steps of virtue! "

gj66b6

Freedom?

This is a story of fiction, though it has racial undertones. As such, it may prove sensitive to some people. Meant to teach a lesson rather than spread racism, please excuse any portions that may cause varied emotions among readers. Freedom? “Back in my day, people had different colored skin which caused them no end of trouble.” My sister and I had settled into our pods in the common area of our dwelling. We were excited as our father had finally agreed to read to us from our Great Great Grandpa’s diary which had always held its designated spot under the glass table in our region’s library. It was one of the few items that had survived so many years so our father lent it to our library, where someone would, with white gloves on, flip a page every day. Some people made the trek to the library especially to read one of those pages. Though the photos had been taken of the entire manuscript, some got a bit of a thrill reading the words of Mr. John Williams, written in his hand and on the very paper that he wrote them. For most of them, it was the only paper they had ever seen, for it had been phased out soon after the death of my great great grandpa. Of course, though it was frail, my Dad was not refused when he wanted to borrow the book itself, as it belonged to our family. He thought reading from the original journal would do more to pique our interest and he was right. He continued, “I grew up on Claredon Street, which was just north of Central Street. My small town was sandwiched between two larger towns, though I am not sure how that came to be. I was around about 10 or 11 years old when I noticed, or actually was informed, by both my father and mother that I was not to go beyond the end of our block in either direction. They said it was for my own safety, but I was not sure what could be unsafe about scouting out the other streets with the intention of making new friends. From that day forward, looking for answers, I listened to every conversation my parents had, even if there was eavesdropping involved.” Father paused and looking down at us said, “I have read this whole diary and know what it says, but I do not want you two to be getting any ideas about taking a ride in your FX2’s without permission. Great Great Grandpa did his own exploring and without the permission of his parents. That got him into some trouble and I do not want you to put yourselves in the same situation. It is a big metropolis out there and I don’t want you getting into an area you don’t know or having a breakdown on the Spaceway.” We used our FX2’s to go to school or to visit friend’s houses. Everyone got them when they turned 14, which meant I had just gotten mine, but had little chance to try it out yet. I have to admit, I am intimidated by the Spaceway, an interconnected series of marked areas where you could travel almost anywhere you wanted. Father looked back down at the diary and continued, “My parents were speaking often about protests and which ones they were going to attend. My father refused to be treated unequally just because of the color of his skin and intended to make the lawmakers put that in writing. However, my dad also knew that things had been that way for as long as he could remember and was not optimistic about them changing any time soon. He loved to denounce the Jim Crow laws which meant he had to use public facilities separate from the whites, live in different towns, have his kids go to different schools and, even though voting was now legal for coloreds, most couldn’t vote because they couldn’t pass the literacy tests.” Again wanting to make a point to my sister and I, Father paused his reading and said, “Now, when Great Great Grandpa is talking about coloreds, it must be confusing for you, as you have always lived in this era where everyone has the same color of skin. However, it took generations to get here and a lot of trials and tribulations along the way. You see, the colors finally could take no more and the World Government had no choice but to intervene. That is why today, we have no color status. We are all the same, but we no longer use the term white to describe ourselves. Through the wonders of genetics, we are all equal though some might question that claim.” I had a bit of a hard time understanding what Father had said. If we are all the same color now, where did the coloreds go? Perhaps it will be in the journal, at least I hoped so. Father read on, “In the small town where we lived, we very seldom saw white people except on television and when they ventured south of Central Street to pick-up a good feed of ribs at The Rib Shack, though they never stayed and ate in the restaurant. One day, my dad was at work and my mom was busy with her social friends so, not thinking or really knowing what the big deal was, I set out to look for some friends in one of the towns that bordered ours. As I turned the corner of Claredon Street and walked to the next block, I sure could see a difference. In addition to a car in almost every driveway, there were nicer houses, neater yards. Walking further along, I saw some kids playing road hockey up a cul-de-sac and decided this would be a perfect opportunity to make some new friends.” Again, Father stopped in spite of my large groan as I wanted him to go on. He said, “Like I said before, I do not want either of you to just take off in your FX2’s. I know there is a whole universe, it seems, of kids out there who you could get to know, but you have your friends right here in our region. You also have more friends at school that you can spend your time with. You do not need to go looking for more. I know you might think differently, but there is no need to go beyond our boundaries. You have all you need without venturing out alone.” Like my great great grandfather, I could not see what the big deal was. Sure, I could get lost or need vehicular assistance, but surely those were the only dangers that should keep me from going and looking for those new friends that my great great grandfather set out to find so long ago. After taking a drink of water, Father continued, “As I approached the lively game of road hockey, every one of those kids stopped playing where they stood and stared at me. When I reached the net that was closest to me, I asked simply if I could join in the game. My request was met with blank stares so I asked again if I could join in. I told them I didn’t have a hockey stick, but I would be careful if I borrowed one of theirs. Apparently, that question woke up the biggest of the boys. He said, ‘What the hell are you talking about? No, you can’t play or borrow a stick. You’d just steal it. Now, go back to your own town nigger before I punch you in the head.’ I was shocked by his response. I just wanted to play and I had no intention of stealing a stick. To accuse me of that was mean and unwarranted. Especially troublesome was when he used the word nigger. In my town, the only person who could call someone a nigger was another nigger.” Father paused to take another drink of water then said to us, “You are probably wanting a little more explanation about this business. Well, since I didn’t live during that time, I can only go on what I have read, which sadly, is not much. After the Great War, not a lot remained of the earth’s populations and their possessions save for the stuff that survived the fighting and bombs. I do know, however, that name calling was one way to get another person angry. Though it was despicable, it went on for hundreds of years. Now, as the World Government has stated in their laws, you may only address someone by their name or title. I know you both have been taught about the discipline you would receive if you used an old slang term or invented a new one and I don’t want to have to go with either one of you to report to the Regional Council. I just want you to understand how different it was when your great great grandpa lived.” My sister and I both assured our dad that we would never think of calling someone by something other than their name or title, as we were anxious for him to get back to the diary. After clearing his throat, father kept reading, “Not wanting to be on the receiving end of a punch to the head, I turned away to walk back home. When they guffawed and directed more mean language toward me, my pace quickened for I did not want them to see the tears that were stinging my eyes. When I got back home, I plunked myself down behind the shed in our backyard. Though I did not actually cry, I felt miserable because my excursion to make new friends had gone so badly and mostly because of that awful word. I had heard my dad say that if anyone other than a colored ever called him a nigger, they better be ready to run because he would lay a beating on them if he could catch them. It wasn’t until a few days later that I got up the nerve to tell my parents what had happened. I knew I may be setting myself up to get in more trouble, but I wanted to know why things had gone so badly with those boys. Surprisingly, my parents were very understanding and I got some learning done that day. Dad did the talking while mom fiddled with the lace on her dress. Unfortunately, Dad did not provide what I thought to be a satisfying answer. He told me how it was best to stick with my own kind as trying to get involved with the whites would only get me into more trouble than I had already encountered. Other than that, he didn’t have much more to say. Sure, he had told me the way it was but he said he really couldn’t answer my main question which was ‘why’? To that, my dad just said that is the way it was.” This time, it was me who interrupted my father. I said, “Father, why were those other kids so hostile? It seems the only difference is that great great grandpa had dark skin and the kids had white skin. I can’t imagine what that looks like, but I can’t see why there would be a fight over it.” Father answered, “That is why we have preserved as much history as possible. So that never happens again. Even though the World Government says we are all equal, I have heard ramblings that in different parts of the earth, people continue to be divided by their race and nasty fights break out with major groups of people battling other groups of people, some of them with both skin color the same, which is why we do not go there. We are much safer here with our own kind, where skin color does not matter because it isn’t an issue.” I was a bit confused and alarmed that Father was confirming that there was this type of goings-on far below us on earth. We had not been taught this at school, but some of my classmates had heard their parents talking about it and now with my dad saying it, I knew it must be true. I wondered why they chose to stay on an earth ravaged by disasters instead of taking to the safety of the sky. Unfortunately, Father told us that he was not going to read anymore that night. It was getting late and he had an early morning start. He worked at an office where the time that you had to be at work was in constant rotation. As with all work places, it was evened out so employees did not have the same schedule for more than a month. This, the World Government said, was the kind of law that kept everyone happy with their jobs. Also, until you had proven yourself to a company, which meant working there for many years, you had to do the menial jobs, such as waste management, that most people did not like but which had to be done. Thankfully, those abject professions were mostly automated. I did not really know what to do with the information I had gotten that evening, both from the journal and my father. Yet, I decided right there curled up in my pod that I was going to look further into the World Government laws when I got older. I surmised that a lot of my investigating would have to be done with as much secrecy as possible, lest I rattle the Regional Council where I end up appointed to where I would live once I became an adult. Even if there was nothing there, nothing unusual about the World Government’s way of running things, I could not help thinking there was something that was not right. 

noajil

Simmering Below the Surface

           The soaring inflation threw my boyfriend into a drinking binge like never before, and when he kicked my low tire with his steel toed boot I knew he was smashed. “Lilly, were you drinking and driving? How did your headlights and windshield get shattered on your new convertible?             Sitting behind the steering wheel I raked my fingers through my new hairstyle emboldened with red highlights. “After I went to my hairdresser and stopped at the supermarket I hit a deer and crashed into a ditch. A farmer pulled me out.”            “Did you get your license from a Cracker Jack box?” Kent said. “Call your insurance company. They’ll tell you that your taste in electric cars is pathetic. I told you to buy a diesel pickup with a four-wheel drive, but oh no , you had to be a typical city slicker and buy a ragtop. Obviously, you think it makes you look sexy. Maybe if you got a facelift and a boob job I’d make love to you more often if you weren’t such a cold fish.”            I’d heard that before. Sometimes he even bragged about being the best lover, but I could contest I’d had better. “Maybe I’ll see a plastic surgeon,” I lied, stepping out on his driveway with a bag of beauty supplies for aging skin. “I’m certainly not getting any younger.”            “You can say that again.” He belched. “Where’s my beer?”            “It’s in the trunk with the groceries,” I answered in a calm voice, using the grey rock method as if I didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything.                   He retrieved the twelve pack. “Don’t just stand there like a bump on a log. Get the rest of the groceries.”            I stood on one foot. “I think I may have twisted my ankle when I got out of the car.”            “You’re such a klutz,” he said.   “You’ll use any excuse to get out of work. Just hurry. NASCAR is on right now. It’s your fault I missed the beginning of the race. I had to come out and get my own beer. If you had gotten home on time I’d be eating dinner right now. What are we having? You know how much I love a big juicy T-bone cooked on the charcoal grill. Did you get eggs and bacon for tomorrow’s breakfast? I like my eggs over easy and my bacon fried crisp. Don’t burn the toast either. Pancakes would be better. I hope you purchased blueberries and maple syrup. I got a craving for sweets.”                     As I limped into his farmhouse it crossed my mind to leave and go home, but I didn’t want to get pulled over by the cops or try to hoof it home on an injured ankle.                     While I was putting the canned goods away in the kitchen Kent put his beer in the fridge and again started in on me. “After NASCAR I’ll get out the lawn mower so you can mow my yard. You’ll like the new blades I purchased for it. It’ll do a real nice job for you. Maybe you oughta go mow that farmer’s property too. Obviously, you’ve been having an affair with him because I sure ain’t been gettin’ any.”                 His scandalous accusations repulsed me, so I tried to emotionally detach, but he kept rattling on and the more he flapped his lips the more anxious I became, but I reminded myself to stay calm and deescalate the conversation. “I tried to call you after I hit the deer, but you didn’t answer your phone.”            “I was taking a shower.”            His dirty overalls, unshaven face and greasy hair told me otherwise. “Why are you lying? You haven’t showered in a month.”            “When was the last time you took a bath, Lilly?”            “Why do you always have to project everything onto me when you’re intoxicated?            Kent leaned against the refrigerator. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. If you’d stop nagging at me I might quit drinking.” He slammed down another beer and threw the can in the trash. “The kitchen would be cleaner if you weren’t so lazy.  And sanitize the fridge before you put away the groceries.  I worry that you might contaminate the food. I hope that farmer didn’t give you the flu or some other contagious disease.”            “Don’t be silly, Dear. You’re missing NASCAR.”                            Once he was in the other room I thought about all the self-help books I read regarding his Jackal and Hyde personality. I learned that his sadistic way of thinking was an act of psychological warfare to break me down and make me submissive. I used to believe that if I’d just toughen up and let his bad mood swings roll off my shoulders things would get better, but I’m beginning to doubt my ability to stay sane. Maybe he’s right. Perhaps I am losing my mind to Alzheimer’s. I’m certainly forgetful at times.            He shouted from his man-cave. “Hey, bring me a beer!”             I popped one open and spit into the can. The TV was so loud that when I limped into the smoky room he didn’t hear me sneak up behind him. He was lying back in his recliner and when I glanced over his shoulder he was sexting on his phone. “What are you doing looking at pornography?” I snapped, walking around the chair to face him head on. “Are you having phone sex and seeing other women?”                       He blew cigar smoke in my face and grabbed the beer. “You’re paranoid. I was only surfing the internet. I wanted to surprise you with some sexy lingerie.”             I backed away and waved at the smoke. Maybe he wasn’t right for me. Perhaps some hoe would suit him better.  “Don’t flatter me with lies or blow smoke at me. It’ll flair up my asthma.”             “Hey, Honey,” he said, as if he was innocent of any wrongdoing.  “How about you whip up a homemade banana cake with the mixer I bought you. Isn’t it a beauty? I thought you’d really like it. You know how much I love what my mother used to make. Have you started the grill? I’ll take homemade baked beans and French fries too. Now run along. You know how much I love your cooking. Now don’t overcook my steak and make sure the fries are brown and crispy. Put hot dogs in those beans too and cut them up into little bite-size pieces.   Before I forget, do you like that new vacuum I got on sale? I dropped some cookie crumbs on the carpet, so you’ll need to run the sweeper.”            Bowing to his needs was getting on my nerves. He made me feel like an unpaid servant, and I wanted to tell him I wasn’t his maid, chef or gardener, but I held my tongue. Instead, I changed the subject to keep the peace. “Have you seen my bifocals? I specifically remember leaving them on the coffee table.”            “Don’t blame me for losing them.  It’s your fault you misplaced them. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t hooked on.”            I ignored him and returned to the kitchen. As I mixed up the cake batter I added three bananas, a cup of salt instead of sugar and sprinkled in a heaping tablespoon of Cajun to replace the cinnamon. As I scraped the spatula along the side of the bowl I fanaticized adding rat poison. I even laughed about it, but then I shrugged it off. Maybe he was right about me being paranoid about infidelity, although lately he’d been preoccupied with his phone and working late.            When dinner was ready I turned off all the knobs on the stove and we dished up our plates.            In the den we sat down to watch NASCAR and I was glad to get off my aching feet. I could feel the swelling in my injured ankle, and my arthritics hurt too, but I ignored the pain. As long as I didn’t complain maybe he’d stop picking on me.  Today I felt like every bit of energy had been drained out of me and I couldn’t wait to hit the sack.            “Did you see that crash earlier?” Kent said. “It was awesome.”            “No, I missed it. I was busy cooking.”            He shoveled food into his mouth and spoke with his trap full. “You should plan things better. You always miss out on the best parts of the race.”            Here we go again I thought. “How’s your steak?” I asked nicely, pleased with myself that I was practicing the grey rock approach .            He stabbed a hotdog with his fork and bit off half.  “The meal would be better if you had cooked the steak over charcoal and cut up the wieners. If I hadn’t been so busy watching NASCAR I would have grilled the sirloin steaks; although I would have preferred a good piece of meat that wasn’t so tough, but then I’m not a tight ass like you.”             “Sorry dear, but my ankle hurts, and I didn’t have the energy to cook outside."           “You’re weak as an invalid. You tripped and fell against the car because you’re getting older, and your balance is off. I’m thinking about getting you a lift chair. You’ve been stumbling around like a drunken old maid.”            “Forget the chair. I’m middle aged. I don’t drink and I’m trying to watch my money.”            “You’d be better off watching your weight,” he said, slurping down the rest of his beer. “If your job was as strenuous as my farming you’d shed off the pounds.”            “You might be right.”            “Would you like a second helping? I’m gonna grab me some more grub. I hope it’s not cold.”            “No thanks,” I replied, sticking to my diet.            From the kitchen I heard him fumbling around and when he returned with another beer and a full plate of fries smothered with ketchup, he said, “You left a burner on, so I turned it off. Maybe without your glasses you couldn’t see what you were doing.”            “I specifically remember shutting off the knobs and I only use my bifocals for reading.”            “I’m starting to worry about your memory. You didn’t forget the cake in the oven, did you? It sure smells yummy.                     “Wait until you taste it. I made it just for you.”            “Thank you, Honey. I hope you’ll use my mother’s butter frosting recipe.”            After I removed the cake from the oven I grabbed a rolling pin and headed for the barn to feed his wild cats. When I returned my keys were missing from the hook and he was passed out in the chair. When I woke him he jumped up from his chair as if I had goosed him.                 “Did you see my keys hanging beside the garage door?” I asked. “I swear I hung them there.”            “Don’t accuse me. It’s not my fault you lost them. Look in your purse or your pockets.”            “I already did.”            “Then they’re probably in your ignition.”            “Whatever,” I sighed, changing the subject. “Your cats are fed; your milk cow is dead, and her calf is hungry.”            “That’s not funny! You’re always saying things to piss me off.”            “I’m telling you the truth. The cow kicked the bucket. Go look for yourself. It’s your responsibility to feed and bed down the cattle.”            When Kent returned from outside he was holding an empty whiskey bottle and was three sheets to the wind. “Lilly, the heifer would probably still be alive if you’d fed the cats this morning and checked on my livestock. Just think about at all the things I’ve done for you. I fixed the plumbing so you could do the dishes. I had a cow butchered so you could cook my meals. I let you pick out the stove when my old one took a dump. I even bought you a Betty Crocker cookbook for your birthday and for Christmas I gave you a new set of pots and pans. What more could you ask for?”                “Love and respect,” I spat back, forgetting about kissing his ass.  “I’m done being your punching bag! You need help. You need to return to Alcoholics Anonymous and do your Twelve Steps.”            “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. If you’d stop nagging at me I’d probably stop drinking.”                    “Nonsense! I stuck by your sobriety for five years, and now you’re back to slamming down a twelve pack a day.”            “You’re the one who needs to see a doctor. I swear if you don’t have Alzheimer’s you must be a closet drinker. You wrecked your car, left the stove on, lost your glasses and you can’t find your keys.”             “You’re right. It’s not you who’s at fault. It’s me. I’m the one with the problem. I should have left you a long time ago. You want me to believe I’m going crazy, but it’s all so clear now. You hid my keys and my glasses, and you lied to me about leaving the stove on. You’re most likely screwing around too.”            He threw my keys at me. “Get out! Leave before I throw you out!” He yelled, throwing his arms into the air like a deranged monkey.”            “I’m not going anywhere in my car. Someone is coming to tow it."      He shoved me against the wall and tried strangling me with his thumbs pressed hard against my neck. Fighting to breath I pulled out the rolling pin tucked inside the back of my loose-filling jeans and struck him hard over his head. As he lay unconscious on the floor I gave him a swift kick in the ass with my cowgirl boot and removed his pickup keys from his back pocket. “Thanks for the pickup. I hope you choke to death on that cake! I should have trusted my instincts long ago.” 

o5z2wc

Georgia's Hills

“That’s the Nights went out in Georgia, muhhhmm, blahh, hummh, that’s the night that they hung an innocent man”. Mary Beth couldn’t recall all the words to that classic song, so she kept repeating the words she did know, and blahh blahhing though the rest of it. She was trying to determine if she liked Reba McEntire’s version better, or whatever the name of the artist that sang it before, her was it maybe Vicky? She wasn’t sure of any of those answers, and she recalled how she would have solved this dilemma in the past. She would have pulled up her iPhone, or her iPad, or her laptop and looked up the lyrics and artist. But she wasn’t anywhere close to a hotspot and there was no cell service at her cabin. So basically, at this point she just began to make up her own words to the song, as she was humming literally to her own beat of the drum, she kinda figured this is what her grandma was talking about all those years ago. Her Grandma had told her that kids in the city had lost their imagination and that was the saddest effect of urban life that could have possibly happen. So here she was years after that conversation standing on the porch of that same cabin, watching the sun began to sit behind the hills. She was with her family in the far mountains of Georgia maybe four hours from Atlanta, but it felt like a million miles away, as she looked out into the vast Blue Ridge Mountains and heard nothing but birds, and the wind. There were no power poles, there were no cell towers, and at this point there was no other humans anywhere in sight. She had walked down from the cabin and found a tree that seemed to have formed into a shape of a seat, just perfect for her to crawl into and enjoy the view of the mountains. With some guidance from her uncle and some sense of direction she figured when she looked to her right, she was looking directly at the North Carolina state line. She imaged a few miles through the thick forest was the small town of Murphy, she recalled her grandpa making fun of the state Motto of North Carolina, “from Manteo to Murphy…” and of course she can’t recall the rest of the slogan or the reason for the slogan, but she recalled her Grandpa laughing at it each time they heard it on the truck radio. They always seem to hear it as they were driving to Murphy to go to Walmart and Lowes, that was the closest big town they had to their cabin, so they made a few trips there each time they visited with Grandpa and Grandma. Dang how she missed them both, but she was beginning to understand why they stayed out here in this remote town and remote cabin and never conformed to the world. Was she truly ready to give it all up and literally put roots down in a town disconnected from the world? Mary Beth’s Mom Ella had grown up just outside of the Cherokee Reservation in North Carolina, she had grown up going to public school, and having electricity and running water, but her family did live off the land. They grew large gardens that contained basically everything they ate, and filled their freezer full of deer, duck, fish, and an every so often a random bear. Ella was the first of her family to attend college and while she was there acquiring her teaching degree, is where she met her Mary Beth’s Dad, Ben. He was from Atlanta and after a short whirlwind of a romance Ben and Ella married and settled into the Buckhead section in the city, where they raised both Mary Beth and her two sisters. They all went to dance classes, and cheered in high school, and they all seemed to live an upper-middle class American suburban fairytale life via the recordings on the old VHS tapes in the closets. The only difference was Mary Beth never felt connected to that life. Sure, she loved to cheer, and she loved riding the MARTA down to the Atlanta Braves games with all her friends, but she never really felt connected. She felt more like she was just going along with what every else was doing and expected her to do.  It sometimes made her feel like she was living her life in a snow globe where everyone watched her every move and could at any moment pick her life up and shake it and she just had to deal with where the snow drifts landed. She never felt free, unless she was in Grandparent’s cabin in the backwoods of Georgia, that is where her soul came alive. Sitting in the tree she laid her braided hair back onto the bark and smelled the slight sweetness of a honeysuckle, and it took her back to the first time she every came to the cabin. After Ella had gone away to college her parents, Mary Beth’s Grandparents had decided to move out of their ranch style home in North Carolina and go back to their hometown of Piney Flatts a little spot of nothing on a Georgia map, but a large portion of their hearts. Her Grandparents had been in the cabin about four months the first time Mary Beth and her family made the trip to see them, it was also her tenth birthday, and she was overly excited riding behind her dad in his brand new Jeep Wagoneer. She recalled her dad and her two sisters making fun of the little café that stopped to eat out just outside the Clay County line. She recalls her mom not saying much, as she seemed to be torn between two worlds, just as Mary Beth was torn. She also recalls the feeling of belonging when she entered that café, the small countertop, the checkered board tabletop covers, the smell of cigarettes on the waitress breathes, and the sound of Willie Nelson coming from the small radio behind the cash register. She loved all of it, and she especially loved how she felt like she belonged there with Gwyn the waitress, and Jeb the local who was eating a French Burger at the end of the counter. Jeb talked the whole time to the cook about the bad winter that was being predicted for the mountains this upcoming season. She loved it and for the first time in her ten years she felt free. That was the first time she had ever felt free, but she didn’t know it at that time, and she wasn’t even sure what that feeling was, but she knew she liked it. From that moment on in her life when she felt confined or backed into a corner, she closed her eyes and tried to gain that same feeling, the feeling of freedom. As they drove along the two-lane road toward Piney Flatt’s she began to see less, and less houses and more open fields and She was listing to her Daddy complain about the muddy road full of potholes all the way from the café to her Grandparents cabin when she began to realize what was missing. There were no power poles after you took that last left-hand turn and started straight up the mountain to her Grandparent cabin.  There was nothing but the one lane road they were driving on, and trees. She rolled down the window, because she just knew if she did, she could smell the trees. She got just a brief sniff of the pine and oak when her dad told her to stop wasting air conditioning and roll the window up. She sits as still as possible waiting patiently for them to crawl up to the top of the hill so she could see the cabin. Finally, she began to see the chimney and behind it was the most beautiful view she had ever seen, miles and miles of nothing but rolling hills and beautiful blue sky. This birthday was the best one she had ever had and still to the day is the one that makes her smile the most when she recalls birthdays of the past. Her Grandparents had no power or running water in the traditional sense, they had a well that her grandpa had hooked up to the house that created a working faucet, bathtub, and toilet. They had also installed solar panel’s that gave them enough power to run a radio, a stove, and lamps. The cabin had been on the property since the early 1800’s but over the years so much heart and soul and work had been done to the cabin that it now barley resembled the same home on that tenth birthday party. That day her grandma had made her an angel food cake with strawberry jam in the middle, made from strawberries she had grown herself. That night after the party they all sat on the front porch and her Uncle Steve who had always lived on the mountain top close to the cabin, came over and he played his guitar. At that time Mary Beth had never heard any of those songs, since they she has memorized and sang to herself sitting in traffic jams in Memphis trying to pass some time. She recalls with a smile waking up that next morning to the sound of nothing. No cars, no TV, no lawn mowers, just the sound of silence. She loved that peaceful feeling and as the years went by, she continued to long for that peaceful sound of what she thought was nothing. went on and Mary Beth followed the ways of the world, college at Old Mississippi, became a Rebel cheerleader, went on to earn a law degree and marry a doctor and move into a large townhouse in Mephis. She played the part and day after day become more and more lost in the world that she felt was created from her not by her. Sitting in that tree feeling the warm summer breeze hitting her face she relaxed her shoulders a little more as she began to think about that day, she finally decided to find her freedom, or at least chase that feeling of freedom. She had just gotten home around 8pm, she had been working a good sixty hours per week for weeks on end, and she was feeling the wear and tear on her body. She just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a whole week, and she wanted a dog. She wanted a dog so bad she had picked out his name and even figured out where his dog bed would be in the house, but Jake said no to a dog. He was right, there were not home enough for a dog, but she argued that was the problem, they should be home more, and be together more, and be in the moment more, but that wasn’t something Jake was interested in. She was thinking of the dog’s name, probably Tucker, because she always loved that name. When she heard her cell phone ringing. It was her mom, she had news about the cabin and the land in the mountains, they were going to place her Grandparents old home place for sale, it was going on the market tomorrow. Her heart stopped and she stopped in her tracks. Without thinking without even realizing she was speaking, Mary Beth said “no mom it’s not on the market, its mine, I am going to buy it”. When she hung up the phone, she knew exactly what was going to happen over the next few hours, days, months, and even though it scared her to the core, it also made her smile. She was about to find her freedom again, and this time she wasn’t going to leave. As expected, when she told Jake he left that night, after packing his Ralph Lauren suits, into his Shinola bag, and drove away in his Mercedies, none of which were paid for, and none of which he could afford. She walked into her office three days later carrying a Vera Bradley bag which she had purchases at the outlet store, with all the money she made from selling all her Louis Vuitton bags, all her Jimmy Choo shoes, and every piece of furniture in her townhouse. She walked into her manger’s office in the middle of a meeting and gave them her notice that she was no longer their employee, and from this moment forward she was free. Lucky for her Jake had wanted to keep their bank accounts separate, so she could afford all the high-priced items she owned, funny thing is she never wanted them in the first place. also had also lived her life just as her Grandparents had taught her, she saved majority of her income, so when the time came, she could afford the cabin and the land in Piney Flatts without blinking an eye. She flew to Atlanta and drove up with her parent on the day she got to sign the papers on the purchase. They used a lawyer named Maverick Junior that had a tiny little office in a one room, three chairs, one desk office, with a sign above his head that said, “I’m the boss, only when my wife is asleep”. She found it funny and quicky, and one of the thousand reasons she loved this town. He had an old filing cabinet and a phone that reminded her of a episode from the Golden Girls from 1988. As they finished up the signing, he reminded her kindly that there was no power, phones, or city water on the land, was she sure that was something she could handle. She smiled and told him that was exactly why she was headed up that mountain. He smiled and picked up the old rotary phone and called up his boss, as she exited the door, she heard Junior say to her “baby I’m headed your way”. She smiled again, feeling more and more relaxed than she had felt in years. She started up sidewalk of the tiny little town and bought a few items she felt she would need. The general store was exactly what it said it was, it generally had everything you needed. Boots, batteries, bacon, seeds, flour, books, pottery, dog food, rat trapes, bullets, you name it, Piney Flatts General Store carried it. Mary Beth entered the door, and the bell rang above her as she entered the smell of tobacco, cedar shaving, and cookies hit her as she walked across the creaking old planks. The owner Mr. Holland came around the side of the building carrying a large bag of chicken food, he smiled and said, “oh Mary Beth, your grandma would be so proud of you”, as he walked behind the counter to get her order. Mary Beth had called earlier in the week from her parents’ home in Alanta to place the order. She had called at least six times before she got someone to answer the phone. Mr. Holland told her that he didn’t really see no need for an answering machine when she was placing the order, and he also had to call her back three times before the order was completed. The connection kept getting disconnected as they were working on the power grid in town so that brought everything to a halt. The power grid was just a locally power generator that was setup by a retired engineer about twenty years ago. Mr. Gee died about eight years ago, but the power grid he created lives on in this sleepy little town, and for that Mary Beth was grateful. She paid for her supplies with cash, as the general store only accepted, credit, as in Mr. Holland wrote down what was owned in a book, and as you paid it back, he kept track in his book, or cash. Since she didn’t want to start out owning anyone she paid for her order in cash. Mr. Holland’s son Ryan helped her carry all her supplies out to her brand new, well new to her, Ford Truck. She bought it from her grandpa’s old friend Rinn, he was in his own word “too damn old to drive that thing anyways”, It had a few dents and scratches, but she didn’t care, it was a far cry from her BMW she had in Mephis, but she knew the young fella that bought it from her would appreciate it much more than she ever could. She loved the old beat-up Ford, and had already named it Red. As she drove back up to the cabin, she began to think of how her world was going to be living all alone without a true link to the outside world. She had a CB radio left to her by her sweet Uncle Steve. She had broadband internet so she could have cell phone to reach the outside world and be able to watch TV if she so desired. The power she had was from the setup her grandpa had created years ago with solar panels and the rain barrels were already in place to help catch the water to give her plants and chickens. OMG she thought to herself I actually own chickens. She felt as if she was as prepared as she possibly could be mentally, financially, and physically. In her heart and her spirit, she had been ready since she was ten years old and first stepped onto that grassy portion of land on that hilltop. She smiled as she drove up to the cabin and saw her Tucker sitting there in the window seal waiting on her, she had finally found her home, she had finally found her freedom.

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Hear it all ticking away

What was the date? Lara paused her typing for a moment. She looked at her calendar, it was the fifth. In June. When did it become June? She stopped her work, stretching out her back hearing several pops caused after sitting in the same position for so long. Lara stood and went out of her room taking large steps to avoid piles of dirty clothes in the hallway. She made her way to the living room and sat on her couch with her legs folded in an attempt to try meditation. It was supposed to help your mind relax or something. Plus she had been doing online work for so long that she wanted, no, needed to take a break. What was the date? The thought echoed in her brain. How could she forget the date? She didn't even just forget the date she forgot what day it was. She tried deep breathing, but was interrupted by a tick tick tick . The old grandfather clock, tick tick tick, that stood hauntingly in the living room almost seemed to be glaring at her. What was the date? It seemed to say haughtily. Have you already stopped counting? She found herself staring at the old clock, tick tick tick, in her cat pajamas. The old machine was one of the few things that made any noise in her house and it drew her attention. Before quarantine, her old washing machine would rattle and crank sometimes occasionally getting on her nerves. She used it sparinglyNow that she was in quarantine she wished her new one would make some noise to give life. She chewed on her lip staring at the old clock ( tick tick tick ) as another minute passed. She could have figured it out if she wanted. It was Thursday, wasn’t it? She shook her head muttering to herself. Couldn’t be, her business meeting was on Wednesday and that wasn’t yesterday. Or maybe it was. What was the date? She sighed deeply, sinking into her couch. Lara had stopped counting when it started and all the days seemed to blur together now. She stood slowly going to the kitchen to get lunch. Her feet made a sound accompanying that tick tick tick . She grabbed some leftovers that were in a container along with a fork. Some rice and sausage from last week, ...maybe. She brought the container up closer removing the lid and sniffed the container just to be safe. Eh, they were still good. She went over to the sink where she had a silver kettle sitting close, she filled it and placed it on the stove. The stove made a tick( tick tick ) as she turned on the heat What was the date? She was annoyed with herself and angrily took a bite of the spicy sausage. She hated how the dates seemed to slip away from her. She hated how the clock managed to get underneath her skin. At the beginning of all this she had a firm schedule, but that sort of disappeared in a mess of all day pjs and brunches. P.M’s and A.M’s held no meaning. Netflix had become her signal to go to bed alerting her with the sign of “Are you still watching?”. What did the date matter? Who cared. Someone important said that time was irrelevant. Probably Einstein or Edison. No matter the amount she disregarded it, the question always floated up to the front of her mind, It felt like an itch she had to scratch; it was like an annoying tick ( tick tick ). Outside looked pleasant, she decided, with sunshine streaming through the windows. Green leaves were moving back and forth in the wind decorating her old tree. Lara decided to eat outside on her patio away from that gloomy tick tick tick . She took in a deep breath of the air when she sat in her patio chair. She needed this after being cooped inside. Screw meditation, sitting outside gave her peace. She enjoyed having friends over on the patio since her house could be such a mess. She felt little attachment to her house, but all the attachment she needed was on the patio. The floor was made of white stone with red making small patterns. Beams of wood with light blue paint that had begun to flake held up creeping vines that bloomed with large white flowers. Four gray chairs with small cushions were placed around the fireplace that was now full of ash during the day. Her garden had bright pink azaleas that sprouted blooms. All her friends would spend time there most of the time not having conversations, but just… talking. There was a difference between those two wasn’t there? There were points to conversations, talks were just there. Pieces out of time to just be. That’s what she needed. There would be fires when it got dark and she could make a mean hot chocolate. She smiled feeling warm when she heard the high shriek of her kettle. Once she took the kettle off the tick tick tick returned. All of the visits stopped since she was susceptible to the disease going around. “Try to stay away from people.” Her Doctor said. “Try to be cautious.” He said. She scowled taking the kettle off searching for a mug and chamomile. Cautious. She hated that word. Cautious meant she couldn’t see people. Cautious meant that her days were numbered and she had to be reminded of that fact. She always knew her days were numbered, but it got worse when she was alone. Here she was, being cautious. Alone. Lara walked back out with her tea. She took a sip of the hot liquid, it burned her throat as it went down. She grimaced and set it down on the ground. She continued eating her lunch waiting for her tea to cool down. This was a nice spring summer afternoon.          ( tick tick tick ) She leaned back into the chair feeling the sun, the heat of the mug in her hand, the wind on her face. She was going to just be.

5r00a4

I Remember Coretta

Harbor Island, Hillsborough County Florida - Early Spring, 1991           In 1991, I was a young mother of two, raising my children alone for the most part, and I was selected by the local child welfare agency to attend one of the most important seminars of our time. Coretta Scott King, and her daughter Yolanda were in Tampa teaching child abuse investigators about the necessity for special investigations of rigor and heightened awareness of children of color due to the staggering minimalization of black children in society. I had never thought about the need to prioritize investigations of physical abuse in black children due to severity of injury and probability of harm left undetected in the darkness of the child's skin.           Because of Coretta's tireless efforts, it was made possible for us to become a part of the Civil Rights Movement. It was not until we had dinner together at a restaurant on Harbor Island that our lives became intrinsically part and parcel of the totality of social justice and activism for all people, with acute attention paid to investigations of all children, especially to children of Color, Asian children, Latino and South American Children and Children of Color. The nature of child abuse and neglect investigations had to be realized, and the abuse of children had to be brought to the forefront of our concern and attentions.            Women who came from our time suffered great insult and injury, mine with a grandmother who could not be a schoolteacher after marriage, hers with marching with her husband, Martin in the beginning of their activism for the women's right to vote and participate in higher learning and so many other issues. We became friends, and I became more inclined to use skills that I had learned. Such skills remain a gift to me today. I had asked how to become a successful and attentive mother, alone at parenting for different reasons. My husband, long since gone- a veritable parlayer of explicit carousing. Her husband Martin was brutally murdered during his career for justice and freedom of and for all people.           Coretta filled in the humanistic blanks, and made it clear that emotional and cultural things heavily influence an investigator’s perspective. Added stressors would include the abrupt fact that negative, positive, accelerated, racist or even multicultural plurality that people liaison with can rub deeply against them. Even so, we must remain as inclusive and respectful as possible of everyone, including the “enemies and bullies.” Our children must learn that “We are all people of the same Creator.       In investigations or even interviews for the purpose of actual investigation or historical essay, always remember that If a child tells you he or she is being abused, take the situation seriously. If you think about it, there is so much to learn and so much to do to ensure the safety of an alleged victim of child abuse, or a person walking on the wings of the tightwire of time, desperately trying to be kind, respectful and attentive to all considered (growl) even the alleged perpetrator(s). I would always wear pants and comfortable clothing so that I could sit on the floor or on the grass outside.        Always encourage the child to tell you what happened. Focus on listening, not investigating, take good notes. Remind the child that he or she isn't responsible for the abuse and that the responsibility goes to the abuser. Be ready to repeat yourself. You might say, "I'm so sorry you were hurt," "I'm glad that you told me," and "I'll do everything I can to help you." Let the child know you're available to talk or simply listen at any time. If you are not in official capacity you must report the abuse to your local child protective agency or the police department. Authorities will investigate the report and, if necessary, take steps to ensure the child's safety. Ensure the child's safety by separating the abuser and the child, and by providing supervision if the child is in the presence of the abuser if possible. If the abuse has occurred at school, make sure the principal of the school is also aware of the situation.          Of the world of information on identifying abuse or neglect that I learned in that week, abuse investigations can be difficult, because careful evaluation of the situation, including checking for physical and behavioral signs, and coordinating the investigations such as those of the police may be involved in investigating issues of alleged or suspected abuse. Factors that may guide the case can include physical and exam, for injuries and neglect, medical records, developmental and educational history, Written description observation of the child's behavior, and talking with the child, using language that the child can understand. Written records of the observed behaviors between the parent/adult caretaker and the child are really appropriate.       Frequently during a physical child abuse investigation I have found that parents or caretakers who were abused as children are more likely to abuse their own children. A family history of spousal abuse also increases the likelihood of child abuse. Substance or alcohol abuse is another major problem for children, as well poverty. Real life child abuse investigations cannot be completed in 15-23 minutes as seen on TV or at the movies. Copious leads have to be researched. I cannot begin to remember all of the stupid, vengeful, and made up reports received and investigated by the authorities. Physically abused children may often cringe, side-step or even space away from the alleged perpetrator fearing something will set him or her off and thrust them into a literal “world of’ hurt.” You may have to reassure the child victim(s) that the abuse or neglect is not their “fault.”      With Coretta, and a reminder by the performance of Alicia Keys at the 2021 Super Bowl, I remember the lyrics of the Black National Anthem.  “Lift ev’ry voice and sing, ‘Til earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound as loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on ’till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chastening rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered, We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, ‘Til now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who has brought us thus far on the way; Thou who has by Thy might Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest, our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.”      In 2006, my husband, Michael, my youngest son, Steve, and I attended a speech delivered by Coretta at the University of Dayton. In 2009, Steve marched with me and my fellow Americorps members on the day which we now celebrate the birth of the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. It was crazy cold that day, but we were mesmerized by the hundreds who marched across a weathered, crumbling bridge into the heart of Dayton Ohio. In my heart, I believe that the spirits of Coretta and Martin were with us on that day. Sources James, Timothy (Winter 2013). "The Story of the Black National Anthem, "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing", Written by James Weld on Johnson" (PDF). Selah . 1 (1). Archived from the original (PDF) on 16 February 2015. Retrieved 10February 2021 Child Abuse. Childhelp® Phone: 800.4.A.CHILD (800.422.4453) People They Help: Child abuse victims, parents, concerned individuals. Child Sexual Abuse. Darkness to Light Phone: 866.FOR.LIGHT (866.367.5444) People They Help: Children and adults needing local information or resources about sexual abuse. Family Violence. National Domestic Violence Hotline

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Bird flying

There’s no sound on earth quite like a bird flying into a sliding glass door. Unlike the white noise of mass extinctions and vanishing rainforests, the singular thud of delicate avian bones against shatter-resistant Duraplex glass is impossible to ignore. It's the sound of the natural and man-made worlds colliding, like the off-key fervor of a bronze temple gong struck by a fresh-faced initiate. Burt Frumbder was savoring the second sip of his first cup of coffee when this one-of-a-kind sound made him jump, spilling this same cup of coffee. He swore and shuffled to the kitchen sink, attempting to pat his grey sweatpants dry with a dirty dishcloth. After a few unsuccessful attempts to eradicate the stain, Burt noticed with a satisfied pursing of his lips, that the warmth of the spilled coffee almost felt good on his thighs. He shrugged and walked to the living room to investigate what exactly had caused the sudden noise. Had a bird flown into the sliding glass door a few days earlier, Burt might have spilled coffee on his laptop or phone as he skimmed through manuscripts and client emails at the kitchen table. But Burt had sent off his last round of edits on Monday and he wasn’t planning to log on for any new assignments or updates until this next week, at the earliest. It was Christmas, after all. He'd even left his phone charging on the bedside table to celebrate the sanctity of the season. Burt mentally congratulated himself on his "work-life balance." As far as Burt was concerned, the best week of the year was the four days from December 26th to Dec 30th. It was a dead time of year for work, which meant he could gorge on all the holiday sweets he wanted, binge Netflix for hours, and wear sweatpants all-day without any judgment from the people in his life who had "real jobs." Because they'd all be doing the exact same thing. His (admittedly small) list of clients — mainly vanished in the weeks leading up to and after the holidays only to return like a Mongol horde of motivated go-getters in late January. His inbox would soon be brimming with requests for notes and revisions from hopeful first and second-time novelists looking for miracles instead of copy edits. But he had a few more days until the flood of would-be Hemingways set out to subdue their New Year’s Resolution word counts with painful prose. As he walked into the living room, he could feel his carefree week slipping away. Burt glanced at the sliding glass door for signs of damage, not expecting to find any, and was surprised to see a single feather stuck to the glass. It was dusty grey, almost white, and about the size of a pinky fingernail. It fluttered lightly in the morning breeze, somehow cemented on the glass about six inches below eye level. Burt looked down to see the owner of the feather. He shook his head. The fist-sized bird was limp, his twig legs wilted like damp curly fries as he lay next to the faded “e” at the end of the rust-colored “Welcome” mat. Most people don’t have welcome mats in their backyard. But most people don't live in “the country” as Burt’s older brother, Chris and his wife Charlene call it. Burt was especially thankful for the doormats at every entrance when his rambunctious nieces and nephew came to visit each summer. Burt looked forward to those extended visits; chaotic five or six intervals in July that let him wonder if he’d have been a good dad without having to actually answer the question. Over the years, Burt had trained each youngster to wipe their feet before darting through the sliding glass door in search of a Capri Sun or juice popsicle — usually dripping wet from the pool or caked in mud from the hill at the edge of his property. Chris and Charlene hadn’t visited since Linda left. A flutter of motion at his feet caught Burt’s eye. Burt flicked up the lock and slid the door open with that familiar sci-fi movie sound effect — whoosh . The morning chill blew Burt's thinning shaggy brown hair back off his forehead. The bird, a common sparrow or finch, Burt could never tell the difference, was dazed, but obviously still alive. His wings fluttered as the groggy tried to process his current situation. (Despite Burt's ornithological shortcomings, he had come to the conclusion that the bird was male, mostly so he could stop referring to it as “it” in his head). Having made this first decision regarding the bird, Burt sprang into action. He dashed back into the kitchen to grab the coffee-stained hand towel. When he returned, the bird had managed to flutter itself all the way over to the "W," but didn't look ready to leave the doormat any time soon. Even this meager pilgrimage had left it exhausted. His cotton ball chest puffed and deflated in spastic panic. Yet the bird was unable to muster the energy to evade what he must have assumed was his imminent death at Burt’s descending hands. Burt smothered the bird with the kitchen towel, gently working the delicate bundle around in his hands until he felt the featherweight body settle upright in his palm. One toothpick sharp foot kicked feebly as the bird struggled to readjust itself in his swaddled prison. Burt peeled the fabric back to check on his panicked passenger. The bird was still hyperventilating in a noble attempt to cram in as many last breaths as possible. Millions of years of evolution informed every cell in his tiny bird body that each harried breath would probably be his last. Aside from this existential dread, the bird looked surprisingly unharmed. “There, there now, birdie,” Burt cooed. “You’ll be alright. We’ll fix you right up,” he promised and covered his patient back up. "You just need a little jolt to start the day," he announced his diagnosis. The bird was in no position to ask for a second opinion as Burt walked into the kitchen to administer avian first aid. This, of course, was not Burt’s first encounter with an injured bird. ** Burt's grandmother, Flo, had raised chickens. As kids, Burt and his brother had loved to feed and chase her birds across the yard. Despite the apparent risk that two unruly young boys presented to an animal a tenth their size, chickens are surprisingly capable creatures. They evaded the grasping hands of the Frumbder boys with practiced ease, until one afternoon when Chris caught a chicken daydreaming. Burt burst into his grandmother's kitchen with tears plowing crooked rows through the dust and dirt on his young cheeks. He didn't even need to ask for help. He just pointed outside and his grandmother rushed out with the confidence of a woman who had lost a husband in her 20's and then spent every day since then working a 40-acre farm by herself. She assessed the emergency with a measured glance and disappeared back inside. She emerged seconds later with an old army surplus wool blanket and corralled the injured chicken like a toreador  before bringing her captive inside. Burt still remembers the bundle of white tail feathers poking out of the blanket like frozen fireworks. His grandmother marched into the kitchen, turned on the big kitchen sink faucet, and dunked the bird (upside down) under the freezing tap water for a few seconds. Once the bird had a chance to shake itself dry, grandma fed it a spoonful of American corn whiskey and set it on the back porch. The only lasting consequence of the incident was a slightly less dreamy chicken. ** Burt looked down at the bundle clutched in the kitchen towel. He'd already completed step one of the prescribed regimen. But he was understandably nervous about step two. Giving a bird a bath is harder than you think, especially when that bird is the size of a golf ball and you’re clutching it in a coffee-soaked kitchen towel so it doesn't fly around your house. But his grandma had been pretty clear on the necessity of shocking a bird back to health with cold water after a traumatic event. "Birds, like a few young boys I know, need a good shock to the system when they're acting a fool," she'd said as she dunked the chicken under the tap. He remembered the wink she'd given him and the hint of a smile in one corner of her mouth that had dried his tears and made everything alright. Burt turned on the faucet and loosened his grip on his patient. He checked the temperature with one hand. Ice cold. He unwrapped the bird, clutching it like an arcade claw machine, and dunked him beneath the trickle of tap water. After what can only be described as five seconds of waterboarding, Burt concluded that his patient had been sufficiently shocked and was now safely on the mend. He swaddled him back in the kitchen towel and gently patted him as dry. The bird shook his head to rid himself of a string of water drops. He was ready for the third and final step in the healing process. Burt opened the cabinet above the stove and stood on his tiptoes to see inside. “I’ve got just the thing to get a little pep in your step,” Burt whispered to the damp bird. “Theeeeeeeere it is,” he crooned and grabbed a bottle near the back. “You're in luck, bird-o, my friend. Straight Kentucky Bourbon," Burt read from the label. "Aged three years. Huh. Good stuff. This will get you back in the game in no time." Burt wedged the whiskey bottle between his thighs and twisted the sticky cap loose with his free hand. The only problem now was calculating the proper dosage for his tiny patient. A sparrow ( or finch,  he conceded mentally) is a lot smaller than a chicken, after all. Burt opened the silverware drawer, searching for the smallest teaspoon he owned. He found it — a tarnished scalloped-shaped sugar spoon he’d inherited from that same grandmother. He took it as a sign and laid it on the counter. Burt poured a dram of whiskey for the bird and took a quick swig of medicine for himself. Bird doctoring was hard work this early in the morning. He put the bottle down with a clang and tipped his patient toward this last life-saving treatment, clutching the towel-wrapped bundle with both hands. Burt lowered his face down to watch. Would the bird drink any whiskey? Would it help if he did? How much whiskey did it take to get a finch (or a sparrow) drunk?" The puffy feathered head of the bird lowered to the brown liquid in the spoon. The toy beak opened and he flicked a few sips into his mouth with a twitch of his head. Then he drank a few more sips. “You’re doing it!” Burt whispered. The bird was in fact, "doing it" quite well. Burt had to pull the bird away from his medicine after a few more seconds before he overdosed. Burt lifted the bird up to eye level for a final inspection. "Looks like it's working." The bird rotated its head, in what Burt could only interpret as a genial drunk's easy agreement. Burt was tempted to give the bird another quick dip in the sink to sober him up but settled on a regimen of pacing the length of the kitchen with the bird clutched against his chest. He interrupted his vigil once to self-medicate with a few sips for himself. He'd done it. He'd saved this bird from certain death. He was a hero. Burt had never felt prouder. He rocked the bird gently, lulling it with his whispered plans for the new year. "Maybe I'll finally write a book this year instead of just helping other people write one," he announced to the bird. "I'll start in March, after the New Year's rush." He'd block out time in the mornings. He'd set an alarm and get out of bed a little early. He could knock out a few pages before he checked his emails every day. Nothing was going to get in the way of his book, not even that new client on the East Coast he'd just started working with. “This is my  year, Mr. Bird,” Burt repeated as he paced. He could do anything. His success with his patient was proof of that. Burt felt a flutter in his hand. The bird was struggling, trying to flap against a grip that had gradually tightened as he paced. “Sorry,” Burt whispered. "Let's get you back out there." The bird chirped impatient agreement. Burt walked back to the living room and opened the sliding glass door. The little grey feather was still stuck to the glass. He lowered his patient to the ground, unwrapping the towel like a picnic basket. The bird rolled to the side, righting himself with a quick burst of wing beats. He cocked his head and puffed his feathers against the sudden drop in temperature. The morning air was still brisk, even though the sun was starting to burn through the thin wispy clouds. It was going to be a crisp, clear day. Burt crouched on his heels, his arms wrapped around his knees. He watched the bird test his strength with a few exploratory wingbeats. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, the bird leaped away in a blur of motion. Burt watched as the bird plummeted through two death-defying dips in his flight pattern, like a long lowercase m , and then the bird was gone, vanished around the side of the house. Burt picked up the dirty kitchen towel and gave it a shake. He closed the sliding glass door with a whoosh  and walked back to the kitchen rubbing his arms to ward off the chill. His coffee had gotten cold, and the kitchen counter smelled like whiskey. He wiped the counter with the towel and popped the coffee mug in the microwave. Burt stared out the kitchen window looking for sparrows. Or maybe finches. He could never tell the difference.

yztkwo

Best friends that have different personalities.

What will I do when my best friend and I have different thoughts, personality, opinion, likes, dislikes. On one side my best friend's name Jack is an introvert, and on the other side I am an extrovert. Hi, my name is Tom. I am 21 years old and today I am going to tell you a story about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends. One day It was raining heavily when I saw Jack on the pathway along the street pleading for help. No one helped Jack because all of the people were busy running and getting into their own house for shelter, but I went out of my house, took some blankets and went to Jack. He was really cold. He was wearing a torn shirt and pants. His last word was "Please help me" when he suddenly fainted. I wrapped him in the blanket and took him carefully into the house. The house was warm so when Jack entered the house he gave a smile and closed his eyes. I thought that was a sign of relief. I laid him on the sofa, took an electric dryer to dry all his body and prepared hot coffee for him. I thought he would wake up after a few hours but he slept for a whole day and when he woke up he thanked me for saving him. I told him to live with me for a couple of days until he was totally fine. The next day he wore the same clothes that were dirty and torn. I gave him a pair of my clothes I just bought from H&M though he said "No, I don't need it". I forced him to take those clothes and wear the new ones. I also showed him around the house, where everything is in case he needed something when I was not there. I had an Idea and I excitedly said "let's go and have lunch outside today" We went to McDonalds and bought 2 normal burgers and French fries. It tasted really good. Later I bought him an Ice-Cream and there was one thing that I noticed, the way he was eating the burger and the Ice-CreamI knew that he had not eaten food for days. He again thanked him and then I said “Friends don't thank each other, they help each other”. Later that day I studied for my math test. He saw what I was doing and wanted to know more about it, so I involved him and told him everything about Math, Science, Social studies and English. He really likes to study. After a few days we did everything together. I told him how to use electric machines and how the bulb works. Every single day he became better and every day he learned something new. He asked so many questions that on his birthday I gave him a brand new Apple laptop. He was really happy. I also taught him how to play Minecraft. The most popular game and slowly we became best friends, but now the situation is not really good. After 1 year we both started to get fed up with each other because he wanted to eat alone, talk alone, wanted to be alone but I was completely opposite. One day I got 100 marks in my math test and I was so excited that I went to Jack and showed him. I was screaming like crazy because this was a really important test for my career. Suddenly a push came and I fell out of the bed laying on the ground. I was really hurt, I said "Help, Jack please help". No one replied. I stood up and saw Jack was really angry. He shouted and said "I am not going to live with you from now onwards, I hate you" I think he just wants to be alone. He left that day and I also didn't care. I am happy without him. I also don’t want any friend that doesn't talk to me. After a few days I again thought of Jack. I started missing him a little bit. Then I graduated and started looking for a good Job. I tried for months and then I finally got a job in California. I really liked that state. Days went, weeks went and now after a whole 3 years I was going to my office for the first time when I again saw the same Jack that I met 3 years back. He was wearing a good brand coat and pants with shades and an expensive watch. I walked towards him and said "Jack". He turned around and he was shocked. Tears ran from both of our eyes. He ran towards me and hugged me (That was unexpected). I hugged him too. I really missed him in the past 3 years and I think he did the same. He told me that he is sorry for leaving like that 3 years back and pushing me. I also apologized to him. From then on we became the same friends we were 3 years ago. He showed me his new house that was big and then I showed him my house that I just bought. It was of course not better then Jake's house but he liked it a lot. Then we decided to go back to where it all started. My old house in Virginia. I didn't sell that house so we could live there for a few days. We booked plane tickets that day and after a few days we finally reached Virginia. It was a tiring flight. I booked a cab and the cab took me to our old house. The memories came back, I remembered the first day we met. I unlocked the Door and saw the same house. We were really happy. That day we went to McDonald's to eat and that time he was eating slowly and with manners, I was really happy. He told me all the things he did after he left our house 3 year back. I smiled and we went back to our house. The moral of the story is that it doesn't matter if you are an introvert or an extrovert. Everyone has different personalities and that is fine. In our world there are different kinds of people and if they want to be alone and don't want to talk to anyone that is totally fine until unless they don't have any problem.

rrh5j0

A Farm Family and the Underground Railroad

A farm family and the Underground Railroad We read this, and like a Steven Spielberg movie, the scene opens to a view of today’s Sarcoxie, Missouri. It is a small town where everyone knows everyone in town and strangers are greeted with a stare. We see a few cars driving around the circular grassy center, and a few folks walking in and out of main street’s shops.   Then, the camera view raise up into the sky, looking down at the town slowly fading into the misty clouds, and the letters 1838 appear, puffs up like a cumulous, then seems to be blown away. The camera returns to the barren flatlands, with a few little shops under construction...   A horse drawn covered wagon rumbles into town. The driver stops a stranger and asks a question. The stranger spits some tobacco out so he can answer, says something and points down the dirt street. The driver, Tom, touches his hat in gratitude and prods his horses to go.   We see him come out of a building with a map that shows where his land can be claimed. He yells to his boys to get back in the wagon, as they wanted to look their new town over a little. He hears the girls squawking as the boys pull themselves in.   “Hey, looky here. We’re all tired, so settle down. Just up this road is where were abuildin’ our new farm.” John the oldest boy is 17. He lets out a whoop, loud as he can “YaaAHhooo!” and the younger kids join in, and Tom smiles.   He tries to imagine what his Polly would be a thinkin’ right now. They’ll have enough acreage here to call it a real farm. They had made the plans and paid the moneys, and then Polly comes down with something. They put off that hard travel hoping she’d get well, but Polly never got well. She died in her bed, there in Kentucky, the stain of a dried tear on her cheek.   “Hey now, get over here with some more of those posts” John is yelling at Dave and Brad, the young brothers. They lift up the boards so he and Jim can nail them together.  In the background, we see that the barn is built, and Tom is fixing a door on the farm house. It is set in front of a grove of trees that were there. In a following scene, the audience will see more wagons moving in, setting up their various properties. On of the new arrivals sees Tom and waves to him. He walks over briskly to shake Tom’s hand.   “Howdy do! We’re a settin’ up across the way from you. Well, dam! That is a great lookin’ barn you got there. You got niggers to help you out?”   Tom’s handshake goes a little limp, and he frowns at this new neighbor.  “NO sirree. Me and the boys got this put up, our ownselves. We don’t pine to own no people to do our work. That, to us, is a goddamned sin.”   “Oh, now hold on, I didn’t mean anything by askin’. Me and Beatrice, we don’t cotton to slavery, neither...I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. Hey, sorry, my name’s Frank. Frank Whitehead. What do you go by?”    “Well, now, that’s a relief. My name’s Tom. Tom Landers...those are my boys over there working the fence.” he turns toward where his boys are. “John, bring your brothers over here, now.” He turns back to Frank. “Soon as you get ready, I’ll see if my boys’ll hep you put up your farm and stuff.”    A friendship did descend on these pioneer neighbors, and as the month’s went by, they all helped each other putting their community together. One day as the sun is close to going down, Tom sees Frank along with Gil Platte and George Reynolds riding their horses up his long driveway.   “Hey, there, Tom. You know Gil and George from up the road. You got a little time to talk? I brought us a little nip of that real Kentucky stuff, well now, I mean, Gil had it. Okay if we talk out ta your barn, ‘ere?”   Tom says, “yeah, sure. Come on out. Bessie and Clara won’t mind us havin’ a little taste.” that was the name of his two milk cows.    Gil starts in. He kind of had a nervous, staring way of talkin’, with his eyes constantly looking around. “Tom, I been a talkin’ to my uncle Ferdie. Uncle Ferdie’s got hisself a church over thar at Carthage. He got to talkin’ with some a them Carthage folks, and...” he starts talking in a whisper. “Some a them folks wants ta hep out them niggers tryin’ ta get away, you know, not be slaves no more...”   Tom involuntarily jerks back, eyes widened, “Hey, hey, hey, hey. You better stop right there Gil. I was in town last week, and that sheriff, wa’el, he’s a watchin’, and I don’t doubt some’ons a payin’ him to catch runaways... and he’s got those rowdy boys from the Hancock ranch helpin’ him out. I heerd someone, I think it was that Earl somethin’ was tryin’ to hide someone. They stuck him in jail... I think he’s still a sittin’ in jail.”    “Earl got caught? Dam, I thought I heerd that. But doggone it, Earl’s not all ‘at smart, and is all a’time blabbin. So we ain’t a gonna be talkin’ to Earl none. Let me finish, and then you go and think it over. They’s talkin’ about setting up a trail of farms. They’ll be travelin’ only at night, and the the, they’re a callin’ em stations, are about 10 miles apart, sometimes 20. We hide ‘em out for a few days, and ‘en, you’ll get word of ‘bout when the pick up wagon is on its way to take ‘em to the next station. All at night. George and Frank here will do it, then the next time its me, and we’d like another place. That way old Sheriff Goosen don’t catch on. I’ve got my hidin’ place started. You just got to dig a pit, good to hold five or six to sleep in. It’d be good if you could provide for ‘em, too, just a little corn or some biscuits, you know.”   Tom is holding the little bottle, and hands it back to Gil without trying it. “Fellas, I really don’t know. Let me talk it over with the older boys, see what they think. If we decide to join in, I’ll send one a the boys over in a couple of days... okay?”    This was about 1851. Most of the talk was about the Mexican War, the Alamo in Texas, and all that new land in the west. There was also some talk about the Fugitive Slave Act, now supported by that new President Filmore. Some of his children were starting their own families, but were just starting their own farms. Most and their mates were still living at the Landers farm. It was good sized.... After the family meal, Tom wanted to have a talk with his older sons, and in the house, so the older girls and their husbands could listen.    Tom started in by saying, “ ‘some other farmers’ were talking about, helping those black folks escape to the north. We’d only do it maybe once a month, but if any a those slave people, like the sheriff and the Hancock hands ever found out, they might put us all in jail and burn our farm down. It’s risky. That danged Filmore even is a making people turn them black folks in or go to jail. But, it is the right thing for good folks to do, whatever the law says. I kind of think I like the idea of helping out...maybe if we hep enough out a those farms, that damnable business might even shut down. But, knowin’ the risks and punishments, and even losin’ the farm, you need to tell me what you want to do. Take a chance, or stay clear of it...” [here, the family talks in quiet tones, some of the family looking worried.  But then, the talk quiets, the heads nod in agreement. They all wanted to go along with their Pap. He was a righteous man.]   Tom sent Jim over to tell Frank that they wanted in. Jim has his eye on their young Susan too. He rode over and knocked on the door. Beatrice opened the door.    “Hey, thar Jimmy. What’r you a doin’ over here now?” there was a twinkle in her knowin’ eye. “Oh, howdy, Mrs. Whitehead. I’m supposed to ax Mr. Whitehead to come over when he can to talk to Pap. Oh, hi, Susan...” Susan kind of gives a forced smile than looks away. Later he found out she was sweet on Glenn down at the Murphy store.    Tom had put his pipe out and laid on the bed. He stretched his shoulders trying to calm a backache down. He reached over to grab the candle holder to blow out the flame. He heard a knock at the door. It was late and it was dark. He opened the door and peered out. A stranger moved into view. “How do. Is this thirteen?” This was his signal that a wagon was on its way. It was the first. “Yes. Thirteen blue shoes on fire.” Tom had that signal memorized. The stranger disappeared into the dark, and Tom heard his horse ride away. He went over to shake John and Jim awake. “There a comin’. We need to get ready.” The trio marched out to the barn with Jim holding the candle. “Keep that damned candle hidden, Jimmy...” Once inside the barn, close to where Tom did his leather work, they pulled the old carpet up off the wood platform exposing the pit. Then they waited just outside to listen for the wagon. Jim had to poke John where he sat. He had sat there and started to snore. “Whoa, hey there. Did I go to sleep? Sorry. Heard anything yet?”  Nothing yet, so they started talking about the corral they almost had finished. “That little corral for Nipsy... we need a little top cover to keep him out of the rain. He hates the danged rain.”  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I sawed them posts longer, so’s to set a little shelter roof on it. He’ll be okay.” Tom said, “Boys, hush up. I hear a wagon I think, comin’ down Rollins. D’ya hear it?” The boys strain their necks in that direction. “I heerd somethin’... could be a wheel creakin’...” Then it seemed to appear in the dark. The man on the wagon looked a little frantic. “I got ‘em here, under that there hay. It’s a female and a little boy. They’re okay, just get up down quick.” Tom blew out the candle but they could still see the pit. “Wha’s down deah?” the black woman said. “Nothin’, no spiders or nothing, just a hole...go on down that ladder so we can cover it up.” “I wanna see what’s down ‘ere....you got a candle so’s I kin see?” John whispers loudly, “No, get on down ‘ere, now. You gonna get us all caught.” So the suspicious runaway obeys and disappears into the dark of the pit. They hear her voice under the rug. “Does we get sumpin’ t’eat? We ain’t et all day...” John feels exasperated. “Don’t be talkin’ down there. We got some biscuits and cooked up some corn ears for you. Just hold your horses.”   “Momma, sumpin’ jez touched my arm. I don’t wanna be here in this dark!” John says, “You folks got to keep quiet. If the neighbors hear you, you’ll have to go back...” Then he heard the little guy crying, and the woman telling him to shut up or get smacked. John was thinking, “Oh lordy, I wonder if this was a good idea to get into...” Just outside the barn door, he heard of group of riders coming up the road. He could just hear the little boy still fussing. He stood frozen in the dark, and then heard the riders go by, on down the road.    The next morning, he handed down a bowl of oatmeal and a few cold biscuits along with a quart of water. “Don’t you have a spoon we kin use?” John was a bit abrupt. “No. We is out of spoons. I almost forgot, this here buckets for y’all to pee in or whatever. He hung it down and when she didn’t grab it, he just dropped it.  They could hardly wait for the wagon to come by and take these two to the next stop. It just so happened that a house slave, a heavy set black woman who called herself Wanda came in one night with a smaller black woman. After she settled in to the pit, she wondered: “you people seen a young nigga gal wif a li’l boy, maybe 2 or so come through heah?” John remembered. She then told them about Doris. They were from the same farm. What John heard Wanda tell him was that this young female slave, Doris, was a ‘house’ slave. Wanda looked up at John from the pit. She was talking in strong whispers. “Is ‘t okay iffen I ax you sumpin?  I kin tell you din’t care much f’ her. Doris. Can I talk? Now don’t ‘cha take this wrong. I jus’ feel ‘ike tellin’ you, is that okay? Doris was a good girl, ah mean, nice. She swept the manshunn, set the table, hepped make the beds, and sometimes had to get in bed with the old ‘master’. That happened every time his missus went to visit friends in the city. The first time he closed the bedroom door and told her to skin outa her duds, she din’t even know what he meant. She was barely 14 at the time. Just recently, she had heard them talking about her boy, little Isaac. They were saying that Isaac would be sold to their cousins down in Arkansas in a few weeks. Doris knew that it was Mrs. O’Keefe’s idea. Isaac did sort of have a resemblance to Mr. O’Keefe. To keep her boy, he was barely two, she had to run....she had t’give up her tolerable life.” John couldn’t help but enjoy listening to how this fat lady could tell a story. He also felt a lot more sympathetic to young Doris’ situation, and felt a little gloomy for how he had felt about her.    The next time the signal was given, a few weeks later, it was a fine old gentleman, so grateful for the help. He even acted surprised to get the butter and cheese biscuits. “God bless ye...” he said, I is so grateful for yo’ hep. Da Lord, he gonna smile on you mens.” When the wagon came for old Jesse, they were sorry to see him go. They had listened to him telling funny stories into the night. He could tell a story and it filled you with chills just hearing his descriptions. “Why, we even had us a fiddler sneaked oveh into our cabin area in the night. He called himself Bobby Sneaker because he was always sneaking off the Reynolds farm. That man could play any tune you could think of , an’ even them humms.” Jesse said, gesturing like he was playing that fiddle. “The next day, the whole crew, we was sleepy out in the fields...’til we hudd the whip crack...it was hard to quit the listenin’! The field boss, he weren’t too happy wif us...but nobody let on about Bobby Sneaker, no sir.” Jim stayed close to the barn door, listening for anything out there, but it was a quiet night. When Jesse got in the wagon to depart, Tom, John, Jim and even young Bradford all knew, they were going to miss him. Jesse, in his short time there, had been their friend.    Most of the time, the wagon brought one person over, but several times, there was a family. The most one night was five folks, including a really old grandmother. One of the most awful was Reuben Taylor. How he got away in his condition was amazing. He had been whipped so hard with an old bull whip that the Landers boys were just plain shocked when he pulled his dirty brown stained shirt up.    “Oh, my god, look at his back. Pappy, this feller needs to see Doc Seymoure...ohhh, oh, you can see here..ohooh god, one of his rib bones. This should be sewed up.” Tom takes a look and grimaces. “Well, we’ll do what we can, boys. Go ahead, get me down the leather needles. Up there on the top shelf. In that can. Yeah, that one. Jim, go get that salve from ‘Mandy. She knows where it is.” Reuben kept his chin tucked down against his breast bone and looked sad. “I thankee, yeah, man, do what you can...” Tom was skilled at making shoes for his family, but poking that needle in a living human made his hands quiver. He used the thinnest strips of cow leather he could cut. Poor old Rueben jerked every time the needle went through his skin, but he didn’t ever complain, just made a quiet sound in his throat. When the wagon picked him up a couple of nights later, he did feel a little better and even smiled through his pain and waved at the men before he crawed down under the wheat stems. Tom gestured to him, kind of a salute motion, and prayed that this nice fellow would heal up okay.   Tom looked up at the stars in the dark sky, and could picture his young sons needing to cut the corn and the wheat and get it all stacked up and in the storage. He felt tired, having to be up into the night and then having to work all day, and could tell it was hard on his boys, too. Their eyes were looking all sunk in and encircled in dark, and their mouths hung open all the work day long. “This ain’t easy, Lord. I jus’ hope we’s doin’ some good here...”

1g4yb5

What is in an empy room?

What is in an empty room? By Millenia Todd The day was hot, and I just wanted to stretch out in the bed, with no covers on and rest through to the evening. I had been especially lucky today which never happens to me. Earlier this morning I had stopped for a bite to eat at this diner down the road, from my mother's old place. I was just passing through going down memory lane as it were when my car was towed. I saw it moving past the diner window, so I dropped my spoon in the sweet and creamy chocolate sundae I was enjoying and took off after it on foot. I did not get far running down the gravel road because my ankles were no match for the rocks under my feet. A litany of colorful words passed through my lips as I headed back to the almost empty diner and my quickly melting ice cream. I wasn’t' sure what to do as I couldn’t afford both a room for the night and a tow. I considered calling my sister from a payphone, but I was sure she did not want to speak. We never get along it seems and now that mom and dad are gone, we have no reason to at all. Alone with my thoughts I was suddenly brought to reality by an older woman tapping on my shoulder. “Hi. I am Mabel Alister. I couldn’t help notice that you’ve been here at the diner for hours and well, I was wondering if you might need someplace to stay tonight.” It seemed as if my silent prayers were answered, and I took her up on her offer immediately. If I wanted my car back, I really needed to hang on to what I had. I introduced myself, shaking her hand readily. I hoped I would not embarrass her with my eagerness, but I could not contain it. She smiled brightly unbothered by my enthusiasm. “I live just up the road on the left. We will have to walk, but I rather enjoy it.” Her hospitality was much needed on my part. I have been carrying much upon my shoulders these days and was not sure I could take this blow financially. We left the diner and headed on foot less than a mile up the road, to an impressive looking country home. The yard was tended to lovingly and had a lady's touch to it, as red and pink roses were placed about perfectly. We entered the home, and it was just as beautiful as the outside. She showed me to a room at the end of the hall upstairs. “Ms. Alister, back there at the diner I was struggling with my thoughts on what to do next. I don’t know how or what I did to deserve your help, but I am thankful.” Ms. Alister smiled at me. I tried to guess at her age but could not. Barely a wrinkle graced her serene face, even though you could see the years behind her eyes. “Call me Mabel from now on. I feel we will become good friends. Now get settled in and meet me downstairs in an hour. We can sit and you can tell me all about yourself.” I feel like we have met someplace before, but where I know not. It is possible we have crossed paths when I visited mom before she passed. That time was hard enough that I barely recall anything or anyone but loneliness and sadness. The sun was headed down as I rose from the bed. A breeze coming through the window was stifling as I made my way downstairs to the open front door. Mabel was on the porch swing with two glasses of lemon iced tea nearby. She smiled immediately and motioned for me to join her. We sat for a bit watching the people pass and then she turned to me. “So, I haven't seen you around here before. Are you just passing through?” That was easy enough to answer. “Yes. My mother use to live here a while ago and I was just revisiting old memories. I didn't get to say goodbye and a crazy notion came over me to see her old place.” I took myself aback saying that aloud. I never talk about my feelings to anyone. My family says I need to accept that she is gone, and I have, but they prefer that my feelings are kept to myself. I began to apologize but then she says, “My mother lost my father when I was sixteen. It was all she could talk about for many years after. She encouraged all who knew and loved him to do the same, even if they didn't want to. She would get them to even when they didn’t know it.” she chuckled. “I’m all ears even if you don’t think you need it honey.” Something inside of me shifted when she said that. I began telling her all about how my father who was an absolute jokester and established businessman, who died from a fall in which he hit his head and that my mother died from cancer ten years after. My parents were older when they were blessed with my sister and then me. My sister did not understand me at all, and she would always seem argumentative. Mabel refilled our drinks and was pondering something when she asked, “Did your sister have a rough time with your mothers passing?” I shook my head “she said that mother and father would be together now and that things would be ok. She made me so upset by this as we were still young, and I needed them both still. I didn’t want to be alone.” “Hun, you aren't alone. You have your sister and now you have me. I am willing to bet on it that you and your sister could patch things up if you could just actually listen to what the other has to say. All relationships whether they be siblings, or couples need hard work and the want to have them flourish. You two need each other more than ever. Only you two can understand and help each other bear the loss you both feel.” What Mabel said is easy enough to see, but my vision has been so clouded. Not being able to say aloud how I feel has left me wandering unable to be comfortable in one place.  We continued talking like this on the porch until dinner, then it was time for bed. As I laid in bed I thought of my life as an empty room. Gone were the ones that had filled it and made it a home. Now I had Mable and with her help, hopefully my sister again too. I started to feel warm inside and to see I really was lucky. For the first time in a long time, I let that warm feeling remain in my chest to carry me through the night, and in to the next day.

n8gjbq

Digging Holes

You’re through to Summit Finance, my name is Dave. How can I help you today?”Another call. How can I help? Jesus Christ, I can’t help these poor bastards at all. I’m just digging the hole they’re in a little deeper. My computer screen flickers and a name appears. I’ve seen it before. One of our regulars. She wants more money. I check out what she has as collateral. This will be the last time I can help her out, otherwise, my boss will kick my ass. “Hi, Candy. It’s Dave.” Candy tries to tell me her problems. She doesn’t want to borrow anymore, but she has bills to pay. I think she’s trying to hold back the tears but she’s not doing too good a job. She says I have a nice voice. I do. My voice can charm snakes. The numbers are tight. A few more questions asked, ok. I say she can have the check and tell her to have a nice day. I put the phone down and look around. There are a hundred advisors here and we all have a story to tell, each tale more sorry than the next. We have quotas and targets and, like headless chickens, we dance around the screens, hitting buttons and achieving diddley-squat to the well-being of the world, always busy, always doing nothing. It’s not enough, though. The war boards flicker and tell us that there are forty-three people waiting. The war board never lies. The war board is God in a call center. The war board is omnipotent and always right. “Dave?” My team leader looks at me and glances at the war boards. I get the message. We all do. There are very few words of consequence spoken between the team leaders and the advisors. The team leaders speak in numbers and numbers is a foreign language. We, the advisors, we speak English, although section A deals in Spanish, too. There are a lot of Hispanics in LA who need us to dig their holes a little deeper. We're here to give them the shovels. I take another call. A guy called Russell wants $10,000. I ask him what for. He says he’s behind in his alimony and unless he finds the money, he’ll be thrown in jail. I'd like to think it’s a better alternative. He has no collateral. I ask him how he expects to pay it back. He asks me to trust him. He‘s not from Planet Reality. I stop digging his hole. He swears at me and I really hope he has a nice day. I think jail will improve his prospects. At lunch, the advisors sit together. We don’t talk much because we have nothing to say. Amir prays in a corner. He does that a lot. I wonder if he says a prayer for his clients. I chomp my way through pastrami and rye and drink a non-diet Coke. Carol is pregnant again. The boss won't like that. Sandy tells everyone about her boyfriend. He's in the Army, fighting in Iran. She asks if it's in Europe. I say it's close to. The war boards flash on red and we ignore them for as long as we can. My boss looks at me and smiles. He has spinach on his teeth. It improves his character a hundred percent. I’m tired. The afternoon continues in much the same way it always does. Working for a high-interest loan company is depressing. We are always high on the hit-list of consumer watchdog programs and the media hates us. I'm not proud of myself. People trust us too much, we, us, me, just a voice at the end of a telephone call. I'm a stranger who knows their secrets. Their life lies at my fingertips, all of it, down to the last detail. By four o’clock, I have reached my quota of loans. I’m not able to sell any more today. Our managers, the suits, decide on our quotas. I lean back in my chair and decide that's it. I can’t take anymore. I go over my crib sheet and study all my victims for the day. These are people who live in the city, my city, who try to survive each day without imposing themselves on others, people who just want to make it through to the Jay Leno Show. I deal with these people. People like Jonas Kite, a Vietnam veteran. He's 73 and in a wheelchair. We’ve given him $15,000, so he can live out his last years on a ventilator at the Sunnyside Nursing Home. He has a house that his relatives will find is not going to be wholly theirs when he dies. I hate my job. I look over each and every one of these people again. It's hot. Summit Finance doesn't believe in air-conditioning. I feel the sweat run down my back, my shirt is damp and I have a headache. My team leader comes over. "Good work, Dave. I see she's back for more." He points towards a clients' name who's virtually hocked her soul to the company. "Interest rates are increasing by one or cent next week," he adds. He's like a medieval torturer twisting the screws into a lost soul's body. He smirks like he thinks it's fubby and pats my back as he moves away. That's it, I think to myself. I go back to my desk. My fingers move over my keyboard as I decide to do one good thing. I use a code we are told about in training and also told never to use. It wipes their accounts clean. They are now in financial la-la land. Their holes are concreted over. In the morning, they will all receive emails to advise them that they have a second, third or fourth chance in life. They'll call up. My boss will check everything and have a heart attack. His boss will kick his ass so the heart attack may be the best option he has. I won’t care. I quit.

olcxdx

Style and profile are what matters

That’s the thing about this city. No matter how many times I drive through it or traverse it by foot, I get the same impression. This metropolis of the Southwest values style over substance. Straight south of us, about four hours away, is Houston, a place I don’t particularly care for, but one that does have a certain distinctiveness and flair. For one, officials decided long ago not having any zoning, which means, arguably, you could see a slaughterhouse right next to a senior citizen’s home. It’s the kind of quirkiness for which a number of Houstonians are quite proud. However, the city is also grounded in the oil and shipping industries, which give that city something of a blue-collar feel. Also, south of us, one will find Austin and San Antonio, two metropolitan communities with connections to Texas’ present and past. The former is home to the University of Texas and the state capital, and its life revolves around the burnt orange of the Longhorns and the “Eyes of Texas.” Thrown in a thriving music scene, and one will see what makes Austin tick. Within San Antonio, there remains what’s left of an old Spanish mission called The Alamo. It was there, the legend goes, that more than 180 Texians fought to the last man against Santa Anna’s invading army. Never mind that Texas was part of Mexico at the time, and in Santa Anna’ eyes, as well as many of his compatriots, the Texians he invited to settle the land were trying to steal it by force. Visit the Alamo City, and one will witness Texas pride at its peak, as well as a blended Tex-Mex culture. About an hour to our west is Fort Worth, also known as Cowtown. Don’t laugh, the residents of that city embrace the name, for it’s there are the Fort Worth Stockyards, to which cattle are brought for sale. It’s a link to Texas’ past, where, at least according to Hollywood, where the Lone Star State was home to nothing but cowboys and bandits. Fort Worth also has a true blue-collar feel, where getting one’s hands dirty and earning a living via back-breaking worked is not looked down upon. If you haven’t already guessed, my city is Dallas, commonly known as “Big D,” a metropolitan landscaped consisting of numerous streets, endless buildings, along with an Amtrak station. Yet, for all it has, Dallas truly has no substance. When one mentions my city to outsider, usually their first thoughts are of the long-running television series “Dallas,” in which oil men walked around the city wearing finely tailored suits and 10-gallon hats, and “Walker, Texas Ranger,” which featured a senior citizen beating up criminals much younger and bigger than him. In the more than 20 years of living in Big D, I have yet to encounter anyone matching the descriptions of either J.R. Ewing or Cordell Walker. Since its incorporation in 1856, Dallas has grown into a major metropolis that is home to a federal reserve bank, a major newspaper and multiple business and residential high-rises. However, even with all that, there is an emptiness to Big D, one that doesn’t exist in places like New York or Chicago. There, as well as in other small and large metropolises through the nation, one can feel their heartbeat and sense the fabric that ties the citizens together. Not so with Big D. Sure, Dallas has a lot going for it. There is the Texas State Fair and the original Cotton Bowl stadium, the latter of which hosts the annual Red River Shootout between Texas and Oklahoma. The stadium used to host the annual Cotton Bowl Classic every Jan. 1, but now that game is played in nearby Arlington at the home of the Dallas Cowboys. In a way, though, the Cowboys have been a good metaphor for Dallas, in that throughout their history, the so-called “America’s Team,” has placed more emphasis on style over substance, whether it was the polished looked of Tom Landry’s teams or the current regime of Jerry Jones, which features an emphasis on making money. Even their current stadium is pure Dallas, as it was built to house more than 100,000 people who can watch a contest in what’s best described as an athletic amusement park. The fact it’s located near Six Flags over Texas, an actual amusement facility, is quite appropriate. The Cowboys have much success during their more than 60 years of existence. However, more often than not, they’ve failed in crunch time because they had no solid core upon which to draw, much like the city they supposedly represent. In the 1960s, and in subsequent years, Dallas’ opponents often said if you figuratively “punched them in the mouth,” the Cowboys wouldn’t know what to do. There was truth to that, because the Cowboys, were more interested in looking good. They had to maintain their “style” above all else. Other teams, understood the final score was the most important thing, not how you looked getting there. While a one- or two-point win satisfied most competitors, Cowboy players and coaches, most of the time, viewed such triumphs with disdain, because they did not look perfect in achieving victory. Such is the way life in Big D, where being seen with the right people, wearing the right clothes and shopping at expensive restaurants and stores are musts if one if to be a true Dallasite. Let’s just say that Dallas does its very best to a southwestern version of Hollywood, although those television and movie portrayals would believe one to think otherwise. If you look good, stand tall and present yourself in an acceptable manner, you can make it in Dallas. Your true self is irrelevant. That’s why celebrities and athletes who speak their mind, or could care less about appearance, would never cut it in Big D. Here, one must look and act and certain way, not be true to one’s self. I could never imagine the late, great Ted Williams working or playing in Dallas. A solid celluloid example of Dallas-based thinking can be found in the Norris film “Lone Wolf McQuade,” arguably the inspiration for Walker Texas Ranger. In it, Norris plays a Texas Ranger willing to do what it takes to catch the villain, including the bending the rules. Most of all, he doesn’t mind being bloodied and getting dirty along with way. This latter point doesn’t sit well with his boss, who wants his Rangers to have a certain “style,” one that is presentable to the public. Results don’t matter, it’s how one looks doing them that counts. I’ll give credit to Dallas’ leaders, all the way back to the ones who were here before the city became incorporated. Over time, they made sure Dallas obtained everything necessary to make it major metropolis. It presents a skyline that’s impressive whether viewing it from ground or air. However, that’s all there is, because there isn’t much beneath. Perhaps that’s the way Dallas’ founders wanted, and, if so, they got their wish. After all, its style, not substance that counts, and Dallas lives by that motto every day of the week.

3x5eby

Havoc mind

I sat up and stared aimlessly at the empty space sadly ,the quiet house reminded me of the once filled Happy home . But just like that it all disappeared leaving me alone in the sad castle. They say "Happiness is spending everyday with the people you love".It was just like yesterday I could still hear mom's voice calling me for breakfast,Dad talking happily to his client on phone although his tone was serious but he had smile spread on his lip,Guess they were both talking about money. My brother Dieyi telling mum about his upcoming basketball game that week. It all disappeared within a twinkle of an eye, dad been sent to jail for selling drugs, mum still laying unconscious in coma , She slumped from shock , the shocking news of dad been jailed was too much for her health condition.  My brother suddenly left a month ago with his few of his belongings leaving me alone here confused and lost. I could remember the day before his sudden disappearance without a trace, was the day ,Doctor Zi called the both of us about how our mother's health was detorating and could be dangerous, if she didn't get surgery on time. The whole world suddenly became dark and cloudy,as we were both confused and no one and nowhere to go. That night my brother was on call with an unknown person, before I could even hear what they were talking about,he ended the call. He realized a deep sigh and tired shoulder dropped,I know he is also fustrated with the whole events,this cruel world filled with heartless people,those cruel relatives who would turn up on our doorstep and request for money and help from our parent,all turned us down now that we are in need.Guess that what people are,right . That night Dieyi called me to his room and told me" that a friend is doing part-time job and he said he would introduce him to his boss,so I can earn money for mum's surgery. Don't worry little sis everything will be back to normal,I assure you",he finished saying and patted my head. Since that night have not see his trace or heard from him.Things have become unbearable and my strength are failing each day ,my confused self prays and hope things would be better and go back to how it used to be. The havoc mind. Recalling the good old days,I never imagined things could turn out this way. I miss that nice woman with the nicest smile in the world,my mum's best spot is kitchen. My dad has always been a workaholic,who works day and night just to provide us with all we want. Little did we know dad was doing dirty deal selling drugs below for You Mafia gang ,the most notorious and evil gang in Asia. But why would Dad do something like that, I have always being proud of him. Before he was arrested mum already had suspicion on Dad's late night work , strange calls and messages,when confronted about it he would denied it and say he knows nothing about it. The whole mess and confused situation was started after his arrest,I don't know how to forgive him. Two weeks ago, I received call from hospital that someone paid for my mum's surgery,that was the happiest thing that have happened to me in months now. I could not express my joy and gratitude enough,"Everything is finally going back to normal",I cried out in joy. " If only brother could be here now with us",I thought sadly as I alarted from the taxi and rushed to the hospital. After Doctor Zi discussed with me about my mum's surgery that will be done the next day, I matched happily to the receptionist to ask about the savior but to my amazment,she said the man don't wish to disclose his identity,he just did for charity and don't expect anything else. This made me so happy and on top of the world,but there was still some shade of sadness. " How would have been if my brother Dieyi was here,I tried calling him but no avail he wasn't even picking up. Where could he be and how is he doing" this were thought that race through my mind as sat down on my bed staring aimlessly at the window. The day dark sky is covered with dark mist,my heart is covered by it right now and I can't think straight,a mind in havoc. Many times I just wish this is just a dream,I continue to stare at the dark night with a puzzled mind, praying silently for my brother to come. I finally laid back on bed and tossed up and down on my bed, before finally falling to sleep. The next morning,a delivery guy showed up at my door with lot of home appliance and electronics. "Wrong place",I said not interested as I try to close back my door. " Good morning,are you Miss Yu Lan,am asked to send this to you from JK agency" he stated "Sound more and more confused is JK agency not the ones that sponsoring Ariel Kpop idiols,then why are they sending things to my door",just before I could be brainstorming for possible answer. A call came in ," Are you Miss Yu, Dieyi's younger sister" the voice asked. "Yes,do you know my brother, please where is he",I questioned non-stop. " I am Dieyi's manager, of course he is doing fine,but presently he signed contract with our company to train as an idiol and in return we settle his finacial needs, like we payed your mom's surgery .There rules that our trainees abide to and that is not leaving the Star house without a proper leave. So he won't be able see you for now. You can talk to him on phone,am going to send you his new contact,so you could talk to him",he finished saying and ended the call. I don't know what to say or do,all I know is my heart is racing with joy. " Things are finally going back to normal and Happiness",I screamed for joy,am the most happiest person on Earth to here the joyful news,I am so so happy and proud of him. I can't wait to hear from me, looking forward in great anticipation to his call.Now I have a brother who is going to be an idiol.

98azqb

Waiting for Samuel Beckett

“You wanna do something fun?” “No.” “You wanna do something fun?” “NO.” “Why not?” “Because your idea of fun isn’t.” “Isn’t what?” “Isn’t fun.” “C’mon.” “No.” “C’mon.” “NO.” “Really?” “Really. Whenever we go out, I end up regretting it.” “You don’t.” “I do.” “C’mon. Fun. Let’s go.” “I don’t want to do anything fun with you because you have the boundaries of a rabid dog.” “Thank you.” “Your idea of fun is breaking things. Rules. Society norms. Girls’ hearts. Curfew. On more than one occasion, windows.” “That’s not always true. Usually true, but not always true.” “You remember last time?” “Yes.” “That was a nightmare.” “That was fun.” “That was pure hell.” “That was pure fun. Hey . . . you know that wasn’t ALL my fault last time.” “The fist fight or the car chase or the girl?” “Yes.” “Yes?” “All of that. Not my fault.” “How can you say that?” “How can I say what—” “How can you claim you weren’t at fault for any of it?!” “Well, I’m not at fault for most of it . . .” “How can you say that?” “Easily. The words just came out of my mouth.” “How can you think that?” “Logical deductive reasoning. Try it sometime.” “You were totally at fault. Including vomiting in that guy’s car.” “Jaigermeister and Red Bull is terrible together.” “You were ridiculous.” “I was a victim of circumstance.” “You walked into a bar, punched a guy, then stole his keys, his car, and his girlfriend.” “Yeah, that was fun. And she was lovely. It was a shame I had to leave her in a Wal-Mart parking lot with her boyfriend’s car.” “She called the police!” “That’s because you were getting hysterical. We were getting along just fine before you brought up her boyfriend. She did give me her phone number . . .” “We barely got away, you maniac. Her boyfriend showed up with the wrestling team—” “But we did get away . . .” “You need to get away from me.” “You need to quit being so boring.” “Boring is good. Boring people stay out of jail. Boring people live long enough to marry and pay taxes.” “Boring is crippling. See? You’ve been sitting on your ass all day in front of your sad computer in this depressing little dorm room. Throw on a clean shirt. Actually, I’ll throw on one of your clean shirts. Mine smells like a middle school gymnasium.” “Take that off.” “Nope. Let’s go. You wanna do something fun.” “No. Last time was the last time. And I think you are in need of some serious counseling. And while we’re at it, I will need you to quit eating my food and stealing all of my clean t-shirts.” “I cannot promise any of that. Sometimes I’m going to just eat your Hot Pockets and wear your Abercrombie & Fitch stuff since it looks infinitely better on me.” “You are a terrible person.” “Terrible beats boring, my man. Let’s go out and have some fun!” “Maybe if you took some personal responsibility and admitted you started that mess last time we went out, I would consider it.” “Nope.” “I was terrified the entire time! You smashed mailboxes with a baseball bat on the way home. Now, tell me again how none of that was your fault, either?” “That particular incident was just—a spontaneous reaction to stimuli.” “A reaction to stimuli? What exactly was the catalyst that drove you to smash them? Did they need smashing?” “They did. Call it a scientific experiment.” “Oh, please tell me. Explain the science behind decapitating mailboxes in a quiet college town. You do realize one of those mailboxes belonged to the Registrar.” “Actually, his box was the one I was going for. We had a disagreement over my student fees this semester. Lab fees or something . . .” “So what scientific theory were you proving, besides practicing your follow through?” “Oh, it’s an age-old quest—what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.” “Vandalism?” “Sure. Vandalism. Whatever you want to call empirical studies. I mean, that’s just science.” “That’s just you being a jackass.” “Look. The last time we went out, all of the events of the evening were not premeditated, so not all of it was my fault.” “You are pathological. Probably clinically insane on some level.” “No, I’m not. I assure you, I am quite sane.” “Then you are a psychopath.” “Most likely.” “Impulsive. Remorseless. Emotionally cold.” “Check, check, and check.” “Why do I hang out with you?” “Because I’m your roommate and I’m fun.” “You are not fun. You are dangerous.” “Same thing.” “Admit you were at fault last time.” “I will admit I made a few impulsive moves. In the future, I may choose differently, I agree. But that night? Not entirely my fault.” “Assault and battery? Grand theft auto? Kidnapping?” “Yeah, that was fun.” “That was NOT fun. Fun isn’t racking up three felonies.” “Fun is not staying home typing up a 1600 word essay for sociology class. That isn’t even a real major.” “Either is Communication, but you are rocking it with your 2.0 GPA.” “C’mon.” “No.” “You wanna have some fun. Let’s just go.” “NO.” “With your superior knowledge of human social behavior and patterns of social relationships, we can definitely meet some girls.” “I’ve taken twelve credit hours of sociology, so maybe lower the bar. I’m just a college sophomore with $17.00 left until the end of the month. I doubt the girls will be lining up to talk about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.” “$17.00 can go a long way to having a great time. I’ll add it to my bankroll, and we will get out of here and have some fun.” “For a total of . . .” “$17.00. I have nothing but a student meal plan card to last me until midterms . . . but I know where we can get some beer.” “Don’t say the kegs behind the fraternity house.” “The kegs behind the fraternity house.” “They said they’d kill us if they found us back there again.” “Only one way to find out . . . “ “All right. Let’s go have some fun.” (Author's Note: If Vladimir and Estragon were college sophomores . . . apologies to Godot!)

jrlm1p

Potholes

They say it’s the freeze-thaw cycle that makes the roads fragile and sends the concrete crumbling down toward the rivers. It opens up craters in the cliff-side highways, catches half-frozen tires and launches drivers into a frenzy of frayed nerves and foul language. And Gina always forgets. Zones out and lets her guard down, like she’s somewhere with an actual road-maintenance budget, only to be slammed back to reality. She’d thought, for second, that this time was it. That her elbows would freeze up, forget to keep the wheel turning, and send her car straight through the barrier wall and tumbling into the Monongahela. But it wasn’t. Not this time. This time, like every time before, she grits her teeth and turns the wheel, though she feels the lurch and the smack of the tires echoing all the way through her spine. And maybe, because she’s dramatic, she feels the ghost of the imagined impact, too. Pittsburgh sure has a way of welcoming its children home. Until the infrastructure of the city proper smacks you in the face, it’s not so bad a drive. Six hours from New York, where she lives now, to here, where she lived then. Hills and cows. Chance after chance to Call Now! 1-800-JESUSCHRIST, to Save her Soul. Maybe one day she’ll call. If she ever makes the drive again. Nobody lives here anymore; even her cousins have moved away. Mom and Dad, too. Aunts and uncles, flown south. Grandparents, golfing in the sky. Better to think of them and smile. Golfing in the sky. With all the Christmas trees they brought out to curbs over the years, all the turkeys they’d shared, and all the Easter eggs they’d never found. Birdying Hole 3 on the course of the lord. It’s only when she thinks of her grandparents that Gina believes in god. And not for any deeper reason than not being old enough, at 35, to really let them go. What would her siblings say, if she told them that? Lizzie would roll her eyes. Tim would just stare, waiting for the punchline. So when Gina arrives, last as always, she doesn’t tell them. The thing about Gina, and Lizzie, and Tim, is that they never age, emotionally speaking. Not permanently. As soon as they lock eyes on each other, it’s like all the work they’ve done to grow into real adults flies out the window. And they are ten, and eight, and five, and always will be, for the rest of their lives. “Let me guess,” Lizzie says, and Gina imagines her with her hair short and eyes big and mean like they were, “Got stuck behind a tractor?” They haven’t opened the unit yet. Its big orange garage door sits tight against the ground. Gina fishes the key from her pocket – no, her other pocket – no, that one – and tries to remember the breathing exercises she learned in that podcast near Altoona. “Actually,” Gina corrects, turning the key into the lock and pulling the door open, “I just didn’t want to come.” Lizzie scoffs. Tim still hasn’t looked up from his phone. Full-grown man, nearly thirty years old. “I’m just here for the card,” He says, like he can feel Gina judging him. The card. Jesus Christ. Long ago, when the three of them were kids, their grandfather had gotten an idea. Cheeks rosy from sherry and holiday cheer, he’d pulled them close and said, “I got a Honus Wagner card tucked inside my Bible.” One of those rare ones, he’d assured them. Worth a fortune. “There is no card,” Gina says. Just a bunch of dust and old lamp shades, by the look of things. And mothballs. Pittsburgh has always smelled like mothballs. Tim shrugs. They haul everything out, piece by piece, pile by pile. Down the hallway, into the elevator and out again, through the doors into a waiting van. Goodwill, Gina, Lizzie, Tim. Tim, Goodwill, Goodwill, Lizzie. Lizzie, Gina, Goodwill. The old grandfather clock that will cost Gina an arm and a leg to get to New York. The dining room table that Lizzie fought to keep, like its sharp corner hadn’t sent her to the ER for stitches as a toddler. A quilt, stitched by their grandmother on long school days, with the girls in school and Tim playing at her feet. It’s not a baseball card. But he folds it gently. Their parents used to take them here as kids. The Strip District, not the storage unit. Shopping for candy and knock-off Steelers jerseys, running wild through sidewalk throngs. The Strip District hasn’t been industrial for years, not really. But smokestacks still dot the neighborhood skyline. Against the cold air in the winter, dried out and frigid, the smoke hardly even looks real. Looks instead like it was drawn by hand, with love. Like an artist reflecting on misremembered days, when factory smoke danced and breathed with dignity. “Where do you think he hid it?” Lizzie asks as the hour ticks past six. The smell of pot trickles into their unit from somewhere around the corner. Maybe they should give up now, follow the scent and forget about Honus Wagner and pranks of Christmas past. “Hope they didn’t bury him with it,” Tim frowns, hands on his hips. “I hope they did,” Gina laughs. She can’t help it. Nobody laughs with her. Gina quiets her laugh into a smile and goes back to sorting. So many old memories. Scrapbooks and birthday cards. Wedding invitations and baptism announcements. Front pages of Superbowl wins and World Series pennants. How are the Pirates doing these days? Still losing? She remembers when they tore down the old stadium. The last game, and the fireworks. The Pirates lost to the Cubs, but at least it had been close. Anyway, it wasn’t the point. Now she doesn’t know a single player. Are her grandparents turning over in their graves? In the end, it’s Lizzie that finds the Bible, wrapped in a Roberto Clemente jersey in the very last box. She’ll probably hold it over their heads until they die. It’s that middle-child instinct: cling to notoriety. But for a moment it’s not the finder and the followers, it’s just the three of them. Sitting on the floor of a dusty storage unit in a dusty city, elbows touching like they’re huddled on the stairs, trying to overhear their parents gossiping. Wordlessly, Lizzie turns the Bible on its side. Out falls an envelope, clattering onto the floor. Tim flinches. “Better not have dented it.” “Shut up, Tim.” In their grandfather’s faded writing, his old green fountain pen ink: To My Grandchildren. Gina picks up the envelope and, carefully, breaks the seal. Tim and Lizzie lean in close. Their heads touch. Gina reaches into the envelope, and her fingers brush against plastic. “Holy shit,” She whispers. “Oh, my God, is it actually in there?” Lizzie presses. Gina takes a deep breath, and pulls the card into the light. Dear kids, Thanks for cleaning out the storage unit. Hope you don’t mind one last laugh. Love always, Grampy.

jw4dle

Outside My Window

Its 3am on a sleepless night. The kids are in bed, and my husband is snoring like a bandsaw. I fixed myself a cup of herbal tea, thinking that maybe it would help me relax enough to sleep. Insomnia is a usual event lately. I struggle often with this obnoxious, invading event. As the tea pot on the stove boils, the hissing sound brings me back from my thoughts about what will I do tomorrow. Which, by the way, was really today. I laughed quietly to myself. It seems like an every night event, but this night seemed more disturbing than the others before. My mind was racing wildly, and hopefully the tea will calm me enough to regain control of the pesky fleeting thoughts that keep me awake. With tea in hand, I slowly ambled over to the comfy chair beside the huge window we put in just last year. This home was what we always wanted, in the country setting, but I wanted more windows put in on the lower level, so we put in a large window facing east. As I held my tea in hand, I slowly sipped the hot flavored liquid, remembering with every sip the times I spent with my mother in her kitchen. These were good times, precious times, lost times. My mother had passed years ago, but the tea always reminded me of times with her. As I sipped, I looked outside. it was dark outside, but the moon was half full. I thought many times as I sat in this comfy chair that the moon was my mother looking down at me, checking on me, being near me but at a distance that emotions could only dream. My mother of course was a main character in my life. She was the strongest woman i have ever known. I wondered at one time if I would ever be like her, but our worlds were so different. The stars were at their glorious best tonight. It seemed like they were putting on a show all their own. I could see so many constellations, and that made me smile. During the day, I had a hard time sometimes finding something to smile about. But at night, the star lit sky in all its glorious beauty made me think that at that time, in the silence, all is well with the world. I opened the window just a crack, and felt the cool air of the evening. Its coolness against my bare arms sent small goose bumps. It was a good feeling. Breathing in cool , clean fresh air was one of the greatest things I do when I cannot sleep. It helps me to take a breath, relax, and enjoy the moment of stillness that I have found in this restless moment. To my surprise on this wakeful night, in the moonlight, I see movement. Usually I don't see anything. I am usually too deep in thought. But tonight, I was overjoyed. In the yard close to the house there was animals moving around. I wanted to see better by turning on the outside light, but the moon seemed enough at this time. It was a pair of raccoons in the outside water pool playing with the fish in the water. It was funny the way the fish scooted around just under the reach of the paws of the raccoons. You could hear them chatter in disgust at the antics of the fish. They soon became tired of the game and meandered on to another house I presume. Looking again, seeing more movement, there was a pair of deer, male and female, with two little fawns hiding in the shadows of the nearby trees of the boundary line. They were walking slowly, hesitant at the slightest sound. The adults tried to keep the fawns nearby, but they wanted to play. Loud grunts were heard, and the fawns obeyed, again staying close to their parents. The buck must have heard something, or smelled something, because they all hurried off back into the wooded area to safety. I laughed a soft laugh as one of the fawns stumbled and quickly returned to its feet, with mom pushing him forward. As the night sky changes, the moon was over the house by now, and the constellations were in rare view and sparkling stars put on a play. They twinkled on and off at first, but wait, that was no star but a jet from a nearby airport. I wondered where they were headed, to an exotic place like India or Tibet, or nearby like Mississippi or Florida. The excitement of the travelers to reach their destinations, but traveling at night they were probably sleeping, dreaming of their destination and the places they were about to discover. Or maybe reliving a time in their past at a school reunion or wedding of someone that had met their mate for life. So many events can happen, but least wanted was a death of a loved one and the funeral they were to experience. That was sad. I hope there was only happy things going on after that flight. Its now 5am, and my husband is up. "Have you been up all night?" he said quietly as he kissed me on the forehead. " Yes, I have been up again all night" I said as I took my last sip of the cold tea in my cup. This was getting to be a normal conversation lately. If I am not in bed, he knows where to find me. The dog, which slept all night of course, was in a hurry to get outside. I let him out the back door, hoping all the nighttime activities were done. It wont be long and the kids will be up, and my day will begin again. I love my life, my husband, and my kids. Sometimes there are times where life is difficult, and sometimes life is just 'life'. In all, I would not change a thing. I am glad we put in that window in the living room. It is a place where I can sit with my tea, day or night, and let my mind just do what it does best, to just think and observe life outside of my own.

yfd8zu

I'm April. I'm Four.

I’m April and I’m four. I like it out here on the porch in the sunshine. I can see all the birds and plants and trees and squirrels on my Daddy’s farm. I just sit here and smell the air and watch. I like it outside better than inside. So do my sisters, Maggie and Daisy. We share a room. Our room is where the warm stove is, so it feels good when it’s cold outside.  Sometimes we leave our room and get into bed with Daddy. There’s only one other room in the house and that’s the kitchen. Daddy’s cooking always smells good.  Daddy’s inside with my sisters. The doctor is there, too. I don’t like going to the doctor, but Daddy takes me for check-ups sometimes. I can tell when it’s time to go, so I hide under the bed. Daddy always finds me. Maggie is sick. She’s 14 and super smart. She’s way smarter than me and Daisy. But she can’t walk anymore. Her legs stopped working, so Daddy carries her. He makes a funny sound when he picks her up and walks weird when he carries her. She can’t go potty by herself anymore either. Daddy has to help her. Daisy’s not sick, but she likes to be close to Maggie because she always has to know what’s going on. Daisy can run faster than me and Maggie, even back when Maggie’s legs worked. Daisy can jump higher, too. One time Daisy was in Daddy’s garden and caught a rabbit. Me and Maggie were so proud of her. Daddy doesn’t like us in his garden, but he didn’t punish us. He took the rabbit from Daisy and cooked it. Daisy got to taste the stew first since she caught it. She hasn’t been able to catch a rabbit since. I’ve never caught a rabbit before, but I chased some. They’re talking inside about Maggie being sick. I can hear Daddy crying. He cried a lot when Mommy died. I don’t know why because she has been happy and free since she died. That was a long time ago and I don’t remember her much, but I remember her smell. She smelled different when she was sick.  Daddy talks to Mommy a lot. He’s silly because sometimes when he talks to her, she isn’t there, and sometimes she is there, but he doesn’t talk to her. Like when he cooked the rabbit stew, Mommy was standing behind him with her arms around him, but he only talked to me and Daisy and Maggie.  Mommy likes to sit in the rocking chair in our room. She smiles and talks to us. I like to get in the rocking chair with her. She tells me the same thing Daddy does, that I’m the little cuddler. They both like to kiss my head. I like that. Mommy is always happy now. She’s buried near the trees with other buried people. Daddy calls it a family plot. That’s a funny name. Trevor is buried there, too. Sometimes he’s with Mommy and he’s always so happy. He wants to play with me and my sisters. They remember him better than I do. Maggie remembers him best. Daddy and the doctor are coming outside. I don’t want the doctor doesn’t see me. He might want to look in my ears and open my mouth. They stopped on the porch, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. The doctor has his hand on Daddy’s shoulder. Daddy’s crying. Daisy just came out of the house. The screen door slams.  Maggie wants to die. She’s tired of being alive. Maggie wants to be with Mommy and Trevor. Maggie will come visit us after she dies just like Mommy and Trevor do. She will feel good and be happy and not be tired. She’ll get to use her legs, too. She wants to run with Trevor again. They used to do that a lot before Trevor died. Trevor was almost as fast as Daisy, but Trevor never caught a rabbit. Daisy and me want Maggie to be happy again. We want her legs to work, too, and not hurt anymore. Daddy’s just sad.  I heard him ask Mommy why she died and left him all alone, even though Mommy is around him all the time. So is Trevor. I wonder why he can’t see them like I can. Maybe he’s afraid to die. That’s silly too. He doesn’t know how free he will be. Mommy and Trevor are free. They feel good all the time and visit whenever they want. They never get sad or cry. They are always happy. They make me laugh and smile.  Mommy and Trevor love is different than my Daddy’s love. Daddy’s love is like sunshine. Mommy and Trevor love is like that, too but more. Sunshine plus running plus kisses on my head plus catching a rabbit. The doctor got in his truck. He’s leaving. Daddy and Daisy walk to the shed. I follow them.  “Hi Daisy.” I give her a bump.  “Hi April.” She bumps me back.  We follow Daddy. He starts digging with a big shovel. He uses his foot to push it in the ground. He digs and digs and keeps crying.  Me and Daisy follow him back to the shed. He gets a wheelbarrow and pushes it to the porch. He goes inside and I hear him make that sound when he lifts up Maggie. I see him come out of the house carrying Maggie. The screen door slams. He puts Maggie in the wheelbarrow. She’s still. Daddy puts his hand on her head. Then Daisy and me see Maggie. She’s with Trevor. They are jumping around and chasing each other. Mommy’s there, too, laughing with her hands on her knees. I look back at Daddy and he is pushing Maggie. I can see her long ears and tail over the side of the wheelbarrow. Then I look back at Trevor and Maggie playing. Trevor’s tail hits Maggie in the face and she laughs and chases him. She is smiling and her tongue is hanging out. Me and Daisy run to them. Daisy gets there first. Daisy’s a good runner. Mommy’s scratching me behind my ears and kissing my head.  I love when she does that.

nz25sq

February

On February 1, we got evicted from our house and we had to move into our car. So, that's fun. On February 2, we were driving around in our car, looking for an empty parking lot to stay in. My little sister was hungry. My dad told her to hush. She started crying, but we didn't have anything to eat. On February 3, because of what happened the day before, we went hunting for cash or coupons to get something to eat. My dad had found a 5 dollar bill, Mom came across a $1 bill, and my little sister even found a coupon for a box of Cheerios. I couldn't find anything, however, so that day so I didn't get to eat. On February 4, we still didn't have anything to drink. So with our remaining $3.50, I went into the store and bought a 2-liter bottle of Coke. Luckily, I got to eat that night and my parents weren't mad that I spent almost the rest of their money. On February 5, we got a parking ticket. The police officer was kind to us, however, because we were living in our car and let us go. We just had to be more careful where we parked next time. On February 6, my parents begged and pleaded with me to try and get a job. So we drove over to my friend's house because my friend's dad had a sandwich business. We explained what happened, and then asked if they would be willing to hire me. They said yes. On February 7, I got hired! And so, the stroke of good luck had started. On February 8, I realized that the stroke of good luck I was having was a fluke. I got fired. I was messing up a lot, not knowing what I was doing, and then, when a rude lady came up to me and said that I didn't make her sandwich the way she ordered it, I just lost it. Unfortunately, in the process, I lost my job as well. I had to call my parents to pick me up, and they weren't too happy about the whole thing. On February 9, my parents wouldn't speak to me. My little sister asked if I could play a game with her. I started yelling at her for no reason, and then my parents forced me into the very back for the day as punishment. Then, I found a piece of paper and a marker. I regret what I wrote to this day, but at the time, I was really mad, so I wrote: HELP! I HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED! S.O.S! Some stupid lady saw that and took a picture of the license plate and my makeshift sign. Pretty soon, the cops pulled us over, and I had to explain. I went hungry again. On February 10, my parents were still mad and I got kicked out of the car. I had to be on my own, learn how to survive by myself, and if they ever didn't come back for me, at least I would have learned my lesson. So I walked to the junkyard, found a piece of cardboard and a marker, and then I wrote, Anything is Appreciated, Especially Food. I walked to the intersection and I waited. I didn't expect to get anything but I got 2 dollars, a Snickers, and a water bottle for my first day. However, I had to sleep on the ground that night because I didn't have a bed. On February 11, I got $5 and a stuffed teddy bear, which I promptly sold for $3, and a Clementine orange. Then with my 10 dollars, I proceeded to buy a $5 blanket and a $5 pillow, spending all my money but I didn't care. At least I had a place to sleep. On February 12, I was glad to have rationed my Clementine the day before, because I didn't get much, just a dollar or two. On February 13, I was getting sad. Besides the 12th, I had been getting stuff, but my birthday was coming in 2 days. I couldn't believe that I would have to spend my birthday poor and alone. I cried myself to sleep. On February 14, I got a bunch of candy because it was Valentine's Day, it didn't make me happy. I went to bed sad that night for the second night in a row. On February 15, I didn't want to get up. I wanted to sleep through the day. I wanted to make my birthday a different day. I wanted to be happy. But then, as the wind was blowing, a ticket landed on my head. Not just any ticket, though. It was a lottery ticket. And then, a car stopped. And another one. And another one. And soon, everyone came out of their cars and sang Happy Birthday. To me. I was crying so hard saying thank you, and it was awesome and I was finally happy. Then, to my surprise, a lady told me to get in her car. I did, and she took me to her house where she said I could stay for as long as I needed to. I had a huge breakfast, played games with her, and had fun. Then, at 7:00 PM, I turned the TV on and watched the lottery tickets. And they called my number. I don't remember much; I think I fainted or something. But, when I woke up, I was a millionaire. And the rest is history. ************ In the rest of February, I secured my savings in a bank, gave half my money to homeless shelters and charities, bought a mansion for my family, bought a private mansion for me, and bought a mansion for the lady who brought me to her house. I never went hungry again, my story was reported in the local and global news, I was pretty famous, and did a bunch of interviews with Oprah and Ellen DeGeneres and people like that. And I know that this is such a cliche, but, to be honest, I think the most important takeaway from my story is that, at the end of the day, we all lived happily ever after. And that is all that matters. THE END!

us539m

Paging Dr. Harris

Work was like any other day, daydreaming of a day I can get away from this work life. One would think I would be used to it, after all I have been here for fifteen years. My husband is always away while I work and then go home with the kids. I have three teenagers. My boys are loud, eat a lot, messy, and stink, but to their dad, they are good boys. Connor is my oldest at seventeen, Matthew the middle child, sixteen and Zechariah the baby, is only fifteen, They are good boys at heart, but I wished that I would have had a girl. I longed for my little princess, who would go get her hair and nails done with me. We are at the end of 2019, I’m so happy to see it go. My 40th birthday is coming up, and I’m not ready to let go of my 30s. John is planning a big party in Barbados and I can’t wait to go. We are going for two weeks this man never took a day off from work in the 25 years we have been married. My birthday and our anniversary is in the same week of May, so this vacation is well worth it. I wonder what made him plan this but nevertheless I’m happy. Working in the hospital is a pain, but I love my patients. They come in with cancer, but they are the bravest people I have ever met. As I'm sitting in my office, listening to the news I hear that a virus broke out in China. They are calling it coronavirus. "Oh Lord please don’t let that come here," I think, fearfully, "it’s killing them over there." I called my husband, who is a Neurosurgeon, to ask him what he thinks. "To be honest babe, I’m not sure what to think. I just hope it doesn’t come here." he sighs. March 20, 2020 rolls around and, it's here! Coronavirus has hit the US. I don’t know what to say. We'd have never thought it would come here. The impact was immediate. Schools have been shut down, supermarkets have no food in it, there’s no toilet paper in no stores and me and John have been working overtime. The kids stay with my parents because when we do come home we don’t want to expose them to COVID-19.  I have lost so many patient, and we have to work in the ER now, I have seen people come in and die within five minutes, people who died without their families by their sides, whole families not even knowing their loved ones are gone. I miss my boys, I can only FaceTime them and even that is short-lived. I'm being paged every five seconds. Outside of our hospital is a freezer truck full of dead bodies. One day, I ask my husband, already knowing the answer, "Does this mean we can’t go on our vacation, John?" He answered with a mournful and silent hug. The world had shut down. I miss my boys, severely, but for their safety I can only FaceTime them, and there's never enough time. I'm being paged every five seconds. I can’t use the bathroom without a code blue going off. I’m frustrated and exhausted. I haven’t slept in weeks. Our anniversary is here and our trip was canceled. I never cried so much in my life, but John tired his best to make it up to me by stopping by my office. He had got flowers and cupcakes and chocolate cover strawberries, my favorite, we both had been so busy, basically living in the hospital. We haven’t really seen each other, I barely recognize him. His face has so many lines from the masks we wear constantly. I have never seen him look like he'd lost a fight before and I'm sure I look the same. He gave me a kiss. Oh how I missed this man, he bent me over my desk pulled down my panties, cleaned me then he had his way with me, and I loved every minute of it until I heard the dreaded announcement blaring over the intercom. "Paging Dr. Harris! Code blue! Dr. Harris, cold blue!"  John got up and pushed me back down on the desk. He was still aroused. He opened my legs wide and bent down and lapped me up again. I could feel it I was about to explode all over his face. I’m trying to hold back from screaming his name. Then, he stopped. I was so close I knew I had to go but before I can fully sit back up he was inside me again. This time he wasn't  making love to me. I could tell that all of his anger, his frustration and his exhaustion fueled his thrusts. He pumped into me. The faster he went, the harder he was. My eyes rolled into the back of my head I can feel it, I'm about to come! I could feel my butt getting wetter, the desk was moving and John was finished.  I found my voice. "Babe, hand me that wet wipe, I have to go. I love you so much John." " I love you too, babe,"he breathed, as he kissed me and walked out the door.  Something is wrong with him, he is not himself, I sensed, but it could just be that we are under so much stress. The summer is here and we are still battling this virus. The city is under so much stress. We are either told to stay inside or to come and live at work. With the cops killing unarmed black men and women the US was under attack. Things were out of control. People wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to feel normal again. I missed being called mom every five seconds. I miss hearing John play with the boys out in the backyard while he grilled steaks. As of lately I had this knot in my stomach, along with this bad headache. One of the doctors who seen me asked me if I was pregnant. I just looked and laughed, replying, "Girl, I've been here at work! I haven’t seen home in a long time!" Sighing, she replied, "I suppose you're right, but I still think you should take one, to be sure." There was no way I was pregnant! Well, there was that one time way back in May, but I just couldn't fathom it.

trkpzs

Life Without Her

If you told me that the love of my life would be cursed by an ancient god years before our marriage I wouldn't believe you. But I wasn’t told that before I proposed to her I wasn’t told that before we had children I wasn’t told that until the god came to take her away Now I’m here Going through the same routine that we both went through Without her by my side I get up and head to the bathroom to start my routine Deep inside of me, I expect her to come in and nuzzle her chin at the crook of my neck as she usually does The brief minutes we have before the kids start waking up Just as I finished brushing my teeth the wailing starts “I’ll get Charlie you get Rebecca, dear,” I said almost instinctively before cursing It’s hard not to have her around anymore I don’t know how to do anything without her with me How do I raise two kids without her? How do I look at our daughter who is a replica of her whenever her mother showed me her childhood photos? One thing’s for sure is that ancient gods are jerks I sigh as I step out of the bathroom and rush to the room where the two children were crying for their mother. After I calmed Rebecca down she looked at me with bright blue eyes “Where’s mommy,” she asked making my heart stop for a minute before it started beating again Ever since she was taken Rachel had asked this question, “Remember,” I began mustering a cheerful voice. “Mommy is on a very important work trip that will take a long time for her to come back from. We’ll get to see her again shortly,” I paused before glancing at the crying form of Charlie, “could you help me get ready for today? You two will be going to Aunties while I work.” “Yay, Auntie Li,” the oldest cheered before pushing herself out of the bed and rushing to the bathroom Lisa Richardson A friend that she introduced me to A friend that we visited every day since she moved next door to us A friend that I continue to visit as if you were still around I grab Charlie part of me expecting her to take the responsibility away from me chastising me for stressing too much. She was the mother for me in our relationship, making sure I didn’t overwork myself whenever I stressed about the kids or work. And there she was stressing about the god who would take her away as soon as her life was happy and stable Questions run through my mind constantly from that night, the most pressing one being only a single word Why? After I changed Charlie’s diaper I take him to the kitchen and set him in the high chair before setting a bowl of Cheerios in front of him. “Make sure you eat something other than sugar Becca,” I called out to her as I heard her rushing back into the room I had just left. “Could you help me get Charlie ready as well,” I asked as I passed the room to get changed “Stop stressing my dear,” her voice said in the back of my mind as Rebecca answered with a nod and a smile. “You worry too much,” she would say as she’d usher our eldest child into the kitchen making sure she ate more than the sugary cereal that she favored so much “Come on dear,” I whispered, “Becca can handle it, I give her small tasks to do and she steps up to the plate just as you would.” I imagine how Rebecca will be when she’s an adult She’ll have my stubbornness while vaguely remembering the care her mother would give Each lullaby Almost every song is sung to her if I kept singing them Those songs became repetitive but I remember her smiling whenever we finished Her laughter whenever Rebecca jumped off the edge of the couch whenever the song had finished. I slide on my jacket as I look in the full-length mirror buttoning the middle button and adjusting the tie. She would always come up and fix the tie ever so slightly before either kissing me or grabbing a different tie from the closet muttering her disbelief about how I could wear a suit without being trans. Every day she would try to get me to wear a dress to work It feels odd without her pulling teeth for that even after a month with her gone It feels odd not having her laughter Her comfort Her aide Her at my side at almost every moment of each day She was my anchor each and every day We had our ups and downs but this could be the worst of it if she didn’t see the loophole I remember how she acted days before god took her from our bed She was distant As if she was getting me ready to not have her by my side But I’m clingy to the ones I love I won’t let them go even if it kills me But she convinced me enough to let her go so the kids didn’t go through what I did But at what cost I still see her in the kitchen when I walk out of the bedroom I see her looking up and smiling after her shoulders sagging seeing that I still didn’t put on a dress I can still imagine the cheer that she would give if I came out wearing a dress that was suitable for work “Mommy,” Rebecca’s voice sounded in my head, “are you okay?” I forced a smile as I realized a tear had rolled down my cheek, “Yeah little one,” I began, “just remembering a bad dream is all. You and Chuck ready to go,” I asked fabricating the cheerfulness that I started with Her face lit up, “Yeah,” she began before leading me to Charlie’s high chair, “Chucky even ate up all his Cheerios.” I grinned, I could almost imagine what my beloved would say if she were here. “That’s awesome,” I began as I looked at the sink, “did you eat some fruit with your cereal?” Rebecca nodded vigorously with a grin plastered on her face, “I ate an orange,” she began, “it didn’t taste good with toothpaste though.” I chuckled, “I guess that is something you’ll have to keep in mind, am I right?” Rebecca’s grin widened even more as she nodded, “Yeah,” she said before rushing to the door, “can we go now mom?” “Of course little one,” I said as I picked up Charlie after sliding my shoes on, “make sure you get your shoes on.” As I was working on getting Charlie’s shoes on him I watched as Rebecca struggled to get her shoes tied. “Mommy, I’m going to need help,” she said as I smiled, “can you do the bunny method that mom would do?” I chuckled as I remembered my wife walking down the hall to teach it to her, “Sure thing,” I began as I finished Charlie’s last velcro buckle before setting him on the floor. “You ready,” I asked as I took the shoe in hand “Yeah,” she said with a grin as I took her shoelaces and began the song “Bunny ears, Bunny ears, playing by a tree. Criss-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, Bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold. Can you do the next one,” I asked her once I finished the song She nodded before taking the shoelaces of the other shoe that was already on her foot When she sang the song it almost sounded like my wife was singing it with her, “I’m done mommy,” Rebecca’s voice chimed in to bring me back to the present to see a perfect bow “Wow,” I began as I looked at her, “you’re a quick learner little one.” “I’ve had quite the teachers,” she said with a giggle as I arched an eyebrow, “you and mom.” I grinned, “Of course,” I said as I kept my heartbreak from showing, “come on, let’s go to Auntie Li’s.” “Yay,” she said, jumping up as I turned to get Charlie who started sucking his thumb. I opened the door letting Rebecca go ahead of me before I turned around and closed it behind me, being sure to lock it before I walked the path to Lisa’s house. “Hello old friend,” I began with a smile once she answered the door, “care to watch these wild ones for me while I work today?” “Is that even a question,” she began as she took Charlie from my arms, “come inside I need to talk to you about something.” I nodded as I walked in and sat down on the couch as she took the kids to the playroom that she had set up. “What’s up,” I asked once she returned “I think I should ask you that question,” Lisa began before sitting in a chair across from me, “how are you feeling?” I bit my lip, “Everything feels off,” I began as I looked at the clock. I had two hours until work so I could unload here. “It feels that she’s still here but I know that she’s with that god or something.” Lisa bit her lip, “I’d hate to tell you this Mic,” she began as she looked at me in the eyes, “but I knew about the curse.” “Neither of you thought to tell me,” I asked and she quickly responded “I suggested it but she batted it away saying that it keeps you away from her,” Lisa had said and I froze. “I kept telling her that you wouldn’t leave her for anything, I even suggested bringing it up to you to see if we could find a loophole together. But she declined it,” Lisa looked up at me with sympathetic eyes, “I’m sorry Michelle.” “You knew but you never went behind her back to tell me,” I began and she nodded, “I keep forgetting how strong your friendship was,” I muttered. “Y’all were like bread and butter,” I chuckled, “every morning feels the same until I realize she’s not going to nuzzle her chin in my neck. I imagine her coming up to help with the kids every day like she used to but it’s all gone now. I can’t imagine anything else, it still feels like she’s here,” I paused, “it feels like what I’m telling Rebecca is what I’m trying to tell myself daily. But every time I keep trying to tell myself that I remember that night where she was taken. Me waking up to an empty bed when she was just cuddling me moments before. I remember her begging me to let her go so the kids had someone to look up to. I swore to myself that I will never let them see the abuse that I saw.” “It’s going to feel a little repetitive until you accept everything,” Lisa said, “I had someone like that but I didn’t have children with them.” I looked up, “You did?” She nodded, “Years ago,” she began, “which is why Kylie thought it would be a good idea to give it a shot. She didn’t know that she would fall for you though,” she said after a pause I sighed, “Neither did I,” I began, “life without her just isn’t the same, it’s like a broken record repeating the same chords every few minutes.” “You’ll get the hang of it my friend,” she began, “I promise,” she paused to check the time, “you should get going. Collect yourself before you step into work today, I’m here if you need anything.” I smiled, “Thanks Lis,” I said as I stood up, “I’ll see you when I get off.” “See you then,” she said as she leads me to the door And with that, I was off to live the broken record life that I was left to live Who knows Maybe the record will fix itself in time.

1kg8ar

Memories

I can’t believe mom made me go. I really don’t need more time around my brothers. Those were the first thoughts that went through my head when we stepped onto the train station. See, I am now 14. My birthday was a few months ago, and I even have my driving’s permit. Unfortunately, this also means I can go to Grandma’s with my older and younger brothers without my parents. Josh is 16, and therefore has a driver’s license. He goes to South High School, where I will go next year, and is a part of the “cool group”. In Qitch, the rule is you have to be 14 to drive, permit, and 16 to really drive. It is a little different on the trains. You have to be 14 to go by yourself, and 16 to be able to have a younger person go with you, you being the “chaperone”. This is where James and Toby fit in. James is 10, this summer he turns 11, and he has to, of course, have a chaperone. He is super annoying, and if he is anywhere near my other younger brother, Toby, then they immediately start fighting. It is so stinking annoying. I promise sometimes you can’t tell who's older, besides the obvious size. Toby, who you might have noticed I stated earlier, is five. But, being the youngest, and having so many older siblings, he is very feisty. He always is coming up and hitting or pinching you. It is very uncomfortable. So yes, I am stuck with all of my brothers, no sister, all by ourselves for the few hour train ride. And not just a regular train. A really packed one. The ones where you can barely find a seat. And when you do, your shoulder to shoulder with someone else. This is going to be great . Another thing about Josh. He is like a smart aleck, and thinks he is above everyone else. Yep, mom, I totally think that you are right, and that this is going to be great. But you were right about one thing. There is no thing like hanging out with my brothers. After all this, I just realized that I haven’t told you much about me, except that I am fourteen and get annoyed by my brothers. Well, here. My name is Ella, short for Elanor. I know, right? Elanor? Seriously? That is one of the reasons that I tell everyone my name is Ella. Another is because I like hearing people call me Ella at school, since at home everyone calls me Elanor. Another thing about me is that I go to Golden Middle School, and you already know that I am going to South High School next year. I also love books. They are almost the only thing that calms me down after having to spend hours of time with my brothers. In fact, right now I have a Kindle in my hand. I pulled it out as soon as we found a seat. I got it for Christmas this past year. It was by far my favorite present, and it is great for traveling. I know this isn’t some Amazon Kindle commercial, but they are pretty awesome. I got the ad-free, 32 GB storage Kindle Paperwhite. At the bottom of each page there is a percentage, and choices between what page, how many hours or minutes left in the book, or how many minutes left in that chapter. I usually keep it on the percentage and how many minutes left in that chapter. Ok, now that I am done telling you about myself, and advertising, let's get back to the present moment. I have said that I am being sent to my Grandmother’s, who lives in the next state above, Louisiana. When most people think of a state named Quitch, they think of the middle of nowhere, or Africa. But, no we are just a state below Louisiana. It was found in the 2040, so it has been a civilization for about 25ish years. Not super long, but long enough. Anywho, here we were going to Grandma’s. I know I have made this sound like a horrible thing, and some of this is, but Grandma is really awesome. She gets what it is like to have so many brothers, and she makes all of the boys go sleep in the guest house, and I get to sleep in the room next to her’s, in her house. Also in case you didn’t connect the dots, my grandma lives on a farm. She has a bunch of workers to help, so she isn’t always busy. You might have also noticed that I said Grandma, not Grandpa and Grandma. That is because my grandfather died with cancer. He died when I was about 9, so didn’t know him very well. But, I do have some memories of him. Fishing at the lake, swimming, hiking, and sitting around the campfire after dinner. There are more. But they are more complicated than this one, and are harder to explain than those ones. Some of them are just smells. Grandma making her famous Peanut Butter Pie. Some of them are just tastes. Eating Grandma’s famous Peanut Butter Pie. Some are sounds. The crackling of the fire. The sound of the oven beeping. The sound of prayer leaving all of our lips in turn. And some are touching. Holding hands while we pray. The roughness of my grandfather’s hand joined with mine in comparison to Grandma’s soft ones. Anyways, after you heard about my grandpa dying, I bet you felt sad. Sad for me, sad for my parents, sad for my brothers, but most of all, I bet you felt sadness for my grandma. Sadness for her now that she is all alone. And you should. But my grandma doesn’t want it. She wanted to be alone sometimes at the beginning, but soon after she wanted people to comfort her. I pulled it out as soon as we found a seat. I got it for Christmas this past year. It was by far my favorite present, and it is great for traveling. I know this isn’t some Amazon Kindle commercial, but they are pretty awesome. I got the ad-free, 32 GB storage Kindle Paperwhite. At the bottom of each page there is a percentage, and choices between what page, how many hours or minutes left in the book, or how many minutes left in that chapter. I usually keep it on the percentage and how many minutes left in that chapter. Ok, now that I am done telling you about myself, and advertising, let's get back to the present moment. I have said that I am being sent to my Grandmother’s, who lives in the next state above, Louisiana. When most people think of a state named Quitch, they think of the middle of nowhere, or Africa. But, no we are just a state below Louisiana. It was found in the 2040, so it has been a civilization for about 25ish years. Not super long, but long enough. Anywho, here we were going to Grandma’s. I know I have made this sound like a horrible thing, and some of this is, but Grandma is really awesome. She gets what it is like to have so many brothers, and she makes all of the boys go sleep in the guest house, and I get to sleep in the room next to her’s, in her house. Also in case you didn’t connect the dots, my grandma lives on a farm. She has a bunch of workers to help, so she isn’t always busy. You might have also noticed that I said Grandma, not Grandpa and Grandma. That is because my grandfather died with cancer. He died when I was about 9, so didn’t know him very well. But, I do have some memories of him. Fishing at the lake, swimming, hiking, and sitting around the campfire after dinner. There are more. But they are more complicated than this one, and are harder to explain than those ones. Some of them are just smells. Grandma making her famous Peanut Butter Pie. Some of them are just tastes. Eating Grandma’s famous Peanut Butter Pie. Some are sounds. The crackling of the fire. The sound of the oven beeping. The sound of prayer leaving all of our lips in turn. And some are touching. Holding hands while we pray. The roughness of my grandfather’s hand joined with mine in comparison to Grandma’s soft ones. Anyways, after you heard about my grandpa dying, I bet you felt sad. Sad for me, sad for my parents, sad for my brothers, but most of all, I bet you felt sadness for my grandma. Sadness for her now that she is all alone. And you should. But my grandma doesn’t want it. She wanted to be alone sometimes at the beginning, but soon after she wanted people to comfort her. But now she is back to normal. Ok, well maybe not all the way back to normal. She works harder since Grandpa isn’t there. And she smiles less. But she is better now than she was, and wants zero sympathy. Trust me. I would know. We are almost there. I can feel it. I know this ride pretty well. And we are here. I had napped for the rest of the ride. We are all stepping onto the platform. I see Grandma’s truck in the lot. “Grandma!”, I yell when I see her. I run to her and throw my arms around her. Soon I feel my siblings arms touching Grandma and I. “Hey, sweet pea.”Grandma whispers in my ear. On the way back to the farm. I see a beautiful sunset through the window. And I am not so mad that mom made me come. All of those feelings have washed away. Now all that's left is happiness.

2oabs6

Devil's in the Apathy

Jerry, the owner of the last “restaurant,” is in a current state of embracing his alcoholism. He maintains the open/closed hours of the old fountain building. The few dollars he makes from his regulars each morning keep the beast fed. Most everyone else steers clear of the joint. This is the sort of place where “used to” is a word in the local dialect. Pronounced ustah, like “yous-ta.” Ustah is a mantra. Out of habit, or loneliness, or both; the same half dozen aging fellas show up to this sad hovel every morning, except Tuesdays when Jerry is closed, to serve themselves coffee and discuss how much things back in the day ustah be better as their neighborhood continues to decay around them. They have been walking through the doors of an ever-deteriorating building on a main street for who-knows-how-long to complain to each other about Obama and how lazy the teenagers are. The cheap wood paneling is adorned with dusty bric a brac and offensive political signs. The ice cream counter that ustah serve dozens of happy kids every day after school let out sits empty and unused. The pie case that ustah draw the gaze of hungry diners is missing panels of glass. Instead of classic homemade pies, these racks hold dusty 12-packs of soda. The fountain soda machine at the old fountain ustah work. There is no latch, nor lock on the ladies room door. This place doesn’t see many customers who are not old men. “Where’s Jerry?” inquires Bill Bill likes to maintain his mystique. He’s a smaller wiry guy. He has long wispy white hair that extends beneath his Indiana Jones adventure hat. Bill hates all things government and the theft that is taxes. Rather than pay the city for water and sewer, he remains disconnected. He is the kind of guy that chooses to use the taxpayer funded public restrooms that other people pay for in a small city park near his house, instead. A few people around have the idea that Bill ustah be some kind of mercenary. He’s mostly known for being a hoarder and using any available space someone he meets has to put, or otherwise keep, something. The entire back portion of the old fountain building ustah be a hopping nightlife spot with live music. Now, holds a vast collection of Bill’s and Jerry’s ex’s stuff. “He ran over to the store to get some sausage and eggs.” replied Joe Joe is a combat vet, times two, who found his grungy hole to wallow in. If you aren’t in his grouchy old man club and adhering to patriotic traditions he doesn’t have a kind word to spare. Not that he says anything kind about the companions in his daily complainers’ club meeting. He doesn’t say anything about them at all. Come to think of it. Joe just doesn’t like anything whatsoever, even worse if it’s new. “They don’t even do the prayer!” Joe was going on again about the younger Iraq war veterans at the VFW and how they reject the old traditions they ustah have in the fraternal organization. “Ready for another?” Bill asks, making the rounds with the coffee pot again in Jerry’s familiar absence. “Have you heard about that food truck ? I ain’t gonna eat there. It’s those libtards. They’re gonna take over the place if we let ‘em move in. Goddamned commies. This place ustah be like Mayberry. Such a shame.” responds Tom shaking his head. Jerry reappears behind the counter with a fresh plastic bottle of Black Velvet. He pours himself the last cup of coffee, tops it off with a couple glugs of BV and puts the empty pot back on the still hot burner. If there’s a roof with a blue tarp or a shack needing a new furnace, chances are it’s one of Tom’s cash cows. He collects monthly rents on any number of rundown dumps. His tenants include social security recipients who can’t afford anything else, sex offenders and meth dealers/addicts. A woman with an opinion? HoHO! Some man simply needs to get her under control. Tom cannot find a romantic partnership that he doesn’t feel he pays for. That suits him just fine! He already knows women only want his money and he prefers to feel like somebody owes him something. “I’ll be at the meeting tonight. I heard that Nazi bitch wants to put in some kinda educational garden. More liberal horseshit. I dunno, but I want to know why the fuck they ain’t fixing up the park and where the fuck my water bill goes. My buddy Tim don’t pay that much.” Bill complains as he refills the coffee pot. Everyone sitting in the mismatched splitting vinyl booths nods in agreement over their cups of coffee seemingly forgetting the great lengths Bill actually goes through to avoid that particular life expense. “Jerry! I paid for my breakfast an hour ago. For fuck’s sake! Do I hafta make it myself again?” Joe demands after several cups of coffee on an empty stomach. “You see this!?” Jerry asks with a buzz at 8am, setting a single bullet on the long unwashed counter. “This bullet is for Obama. I told the Secret Service that, too, when they came in after those fancy bicyclists musta complained. I told them like I’m tellin’ you. I got another somewhere ‘round here for you, if you keep up that bitching at me like some motherfucker.” Like every other morning, Jerry shuffles over to the griddle that’s been encased in grease for as long as anyone can remember Jerry owning the place. The surface has been scraped clean for cooking. All around the edges and overflowing a yellow bucket sitting in front of the visually unappealing and highly flammable commercial stove the grease accumulates. As he’s cooking the same breakfast for everyone regardless of what they ordered, smoke fills the dining area because the exhaust system has been broken for at least five years. Bill makes the rounds again and refills everyone’s coffees. Once everyone has their bellies full, they saunter off to begin their day after leaving cash on the counter. Nobody gets a check. Joe stays late and washes the dishes. He’s learned that if he wants something clean to eat off of, he better do that himself. And so he does. Everyday at this shoddy shithole, customers pay and put forth effort to keep it barely afloat. Later that evening, this loud yet tiny segment of voters attend various meetings to condone or condemn projects their fellow citizens put forth. They’ve been known to make people cry in public for daring to want to install nefarious features like a low maintenance pollinator garden. These are the angry voices volunteer council people in your neighborhood listen to on a weekly basis. The fact is, these are the people who bother to show up in this sad dilapidated space to yell for what they want to see. They always win by forfeit. Nothing improves. Volunteers on committees continue to wonder why small businesses have such a hard time here and nobody feels inspired to expend any effort whatsoever in the future of the neighborhood. The problem is simply unopposed ustah .

wsb5gv

The Perfect City

That’s the thing about this city, it’s everything an urbanite could dream of. A sprawling city crawling with diversity of all kinds. The people come from all walks of life, from everywhere in the world, all bustling about the city and heading to their set destinations. Stop and talk to any of them and you will learn something new and hear a new perspective. The people here respect diversity of thought too. Everyone has a voice and everyone can voice opinions without fear of being shouted down or harmed. The buildings are as diverse as the people, from towering skyscrapers to futuristic looking museums, and stadiums decorated in all manner of shapes and colors. Visit a modern museum or a classic art museum, whatever you fancy. Visit the grand science museum, with its ten floors covering all the sciences with interactivity and the ability to learn. The problem with most cities is the lack of fresh air and the lack of any semblance of nature, but not this city. Within this city lay three large indoor parks with glass ceilings that let in the sun but block out the sound pollution. Walk among the trees and ponds teeming with wildlife, while enjoying the quiet serenity of the outdoors. If that’s not exciting enough, then you can visit our theme park, packed with the fastest and most thrilling rides and attractions. At the edge of the city, the theme park is perfect for a day trip with friends or family and besides rides, there are games, shows, and plenty of dining options. Everyone loves an exciting sports game, right? Well, think of any sport and this city has it. Football, baseball, drag racing, cricket; you can watch any sport you want as you cheer them on from our modern stadiums. If you desire a more fantasy experience, then you must visit our video games store and pick from a variety of games to play with your friends or you can watch and compete in E-sports competitions. If you enjoy animals then you can visit our zooquarium, a one stop destination for viewing the wonderful and exotic creatures that humans share this world with. Don’t worry about the animals because our zoo has the highest rating in animal conservation and welfare. Our exhibits are clean and natural, giving the animals a sense of home, and our staff are of the highest quality. If you enjoy a more leisurely time, visit the city library, packed with a vast variety of books and magazines. Order a drink from the coffee shop and relax on a plush couch while you read an engaging book. You’ll never run out of things to do. Join a competitive sports league, hang out at the arcade, workout at the gym, or dance the night away at one of the many downtown clubs. Food is important, and this city is bursting with a colorful array of food choices; Hispanic, American, Italian, Greek, and a plethora of other food options await your taste buds. Whether you want fast food or a fine wine and dine, this city has it. Besides food, people want to shop. You can buy anything you want in this city. It has the latest stores and the newest products. Clothing stores line the city streets for you to choose from. From thrift stores to high-end designer stores, this city has an option for each person’s budget. Visit the three-floor technology store to enhance your life with computers, TVs, phones and much more. It’s a one-stop shop for your technology needs. You can also find furniture, jewelry, and toy shops throughout this city along with several other stores to shop at. Most people come here to visit, but if you desire to stay then this city has many apartments and condos to pick from and most of them sit high in the downtown buildings giving the owner a beautiful view of the city. Want to move in right away? You can pick from a wide range of furnished apartments, all unique in their style and set up so that none looks the same. Or maybe you want to design your own apartment. We have empty apartments to choose from and plenty of stores to furnish them with. If you plan to stay here for a while, we have a college downtown that anyone can join. If you want to learn something new or further develop your skills, our college offers a variety of exciting classes where you can learn to paint, write, or drive a manual, among the many other subjects it offers. College is a great way to meet new friends but if that is not your thing then you can join one of the many groups in this city. Join a knitting group, lacrosse team, or car enthusiasts club. We promise there is a group for you. Whatever you do here, we encourage you to make life-long friends that will make your visit to our city so much more memorable and we hope that you won’t visit just once, but make it a recurring vacation to meet with the people you love and make the most amazing memories here. We hope that you now understand why this city, our city, is the best city in the world. You can do whatever you want here and be the person you want to be without judgment. Just think of how wonderfully lost you’ll become while exploring the endless possibilities of this city. It’s not like anything you’ve seen and it’s more than anything you could imagine. Right now as you read this, we want you to jump into your virtual reality machine from wherever you are and come to our city. Help us thrive as we help you thrive. Escape the terrible, real world and spend all your time in a world where you will be satisfied and filled with joy. This is the true future in which everyone can have what they want. Come and be an integral part of World City. See you soon.

yhj464

My sweet girl

Madison was a fighter even from birth and through it all; her mother was always there by her side. "Mom, there's something wrong because I am hurting so bad and there is so much blood when I go to the bathroom." Her dad; like always just brushed it off and said that it was nothing but her mother knew something was wrong. "I am going to take off from work tomorrow and take Madison to the emergency room because there is something really wrong", but Madison's dad being the control freak said," No you go to work and I will take her". Madison's mom shot Madison a familiar that said he better because if he doesn't I will. The next morning, as Lisa struggled to to stay focused at work because deep down she knew that this was going to be the beginning of a long journey. Then the phone wrong rang and she could here the urgency in her husband's voice, "You need to come to the hospital because Madison needs you". Normally on a good day the trip was 15 minutes but that morning it took 7 minutes to the hospital. There on the bed was Madison; pale and weak. She was so frail and scared. Tears streamed down her face and Lisa's heart broke. "Madison, please don't cry;Sweet Girl. I promise that I will be with you every step of the way and I will make sure that you get the best medical care that money can buy". As Lisa struggled to comfort her daughter and trying to hide her fears; she wanted answers. "Where's the doctor? What tests have they done? Can they give her anything to make her comfortable?" It all unfolded so quickly, all the blood transfusions, the tests, the admission/release from the hospitals. The guessing games as to what might be going on with Madison but one thing was certain; Madison could not continue on the path that she had been for months. The final straw came one night when Madison was rushed to the Children's Hospital and again, they were offering a blood transfusion. Lisa had been in the medical field for many years and in her mind; new that the blood transfusions were like a patch, just temporary and hard decisions had to be made. " I want to speak with her doctor", Lisa told the nurse and as the nurse dialed the number; Lisa began to pray. "Dear Lord, all my life I have followed you and believed in you. I believe that this is another test of my faith in you and I pray that I am making the right decision because she is the air that I breath. Please heal my daughter." It seemed like forever but finally the nurse came into the room and handed Lisa the phone. All eye were on her and she knew that the words that was going to speak would be the hardest up until this point in her life. "Hi, this Madison's mom. I know that her health is fading and the transfusions just aren't working. Heck even the Remicade has not helped and I feel that if I choose not to give permission; I fear that we may lose her". Lisa could see the fear in Madison's eyes and then without hesitation," I have to put this situation in God's hands and I am giving you permission to operate as soon as possible". There were so many unknown's and there was no guarantee that the surgery would work but at least it was as start. That night was one of the longest nights for all parties because there was so much to do and very little time to get things done in. The surgery was going to be 8 hours and Lisa prayed that God would be with Madison and her team of doctors. The waiting room within itself was depressing but everyone had someone that they were worried about. Lisa's father in law had came to offer support but there was no comforting Lisa. She resented her husband for always brushing it off and refusing to believe that there was anything wrong with their daughter. So many fights and the wedge growing deeper by the minute. The night before the surgery they had argued and Lisa told her husband, "Well if you had done your job as a parent and got her medical attention when this first started maybe she wouldn't have had to have this surgery! If you had just taken her seriously and stop acting like you know everything; maybe she wouldn't be here in surgery but you had to have it your way! Your way almost caused her to die." There it was; the bitter truth! Lisa blamed him and resented him for his lack of concern. Nothing would ever be the same after that day. Madison came home with no colon or large intestine but in there place was an ostomy bag. Lisa hovered over her daughter in the days, weeks and months that came. No more transfusions and no more wondering what was wrong. They knew and thankfully the outcome was far better than they ever could have hoped for. Madison only 15 years old, not only accepted having an ostomy but she also used it as a tool to assist other kids that were struggling with Colitis and Chron's. Madison had a severe case of Colitis and just like with everything else in her life; she bravely faced it and never gave up. Eventually; Madison was able to go through a reconnection and it took. She was scared to think about her J pouch not working and if it didn't she was prepared to have a permanent ostomy bag. Thankfully after 1 1/2 years of struggle the bag was gone and Madison recovered. Unfortunately her parents didn't. They divorced the following year because it was struggling before Madison got sick but it was just too much for their marriage to with stand.

8dh5n7

Ellen's Decision

   The bus almost always came on time, but if it was late Ellen would still make it to work well before nine. She had never been late ever and was proud of that fact — eleven years of punctual, diligent, perfectly competent performance. She liked her job. It allowed her to buy decent clothes, go out with her girlfriends once in a while and take vacations to Vegas and the Bahamas. Her apartment wasn’t great, but in seven years she would own it outright. Every couple years she got a small raise.    At work that day she prepared for a birthday party in the conference room. Darla from engineering was turning thirty and Mike from accounting would be fifty three. Ellen had doubled her card signing and present pool duties. Darla’s card had a picture of a kitten with a pointy party hat sitting in front of a birthday cake. Mike’s card featured a baseball with birthday candles sticking out of it. Inside it were tickets for an upcoming game. They weren’t great seats, but Mike was the type to enjoy a game up in the bleachers. Ellen had made sure the fridge was stocked with Mike’s favorite lite beer and diet soda for Darla, whose gift had taken more forethought and consideration. Darla was significantly overweight, but constantly raved about her favorite restaurants, cooking shows and the food at weddings and other social events she attended now and again. A gift certificate to Darla’s favorite restaurant was the obvious and eventual choice, but Ellen agonized over it until the last minute, which was yesterday.    Ellen breezed through her morning paperwork chores, followed up on some malingering customer service emails and checked over the birthday cards. Everyone had signed except Alan, the boss, who was in his office down the hall. Ellen got up to bring the cards over to him but stopped after a few steps. Looking at the cards she saw plenty of room for his signature and a little note from him. He usually wrote things like “Keep it up!” or “Way to go!” and “Great Job!” Alan was a stupid, boring asshole who made everyone around him feel like crap. His insipid birthday comments were always seen as cynical, incisive digs as opposed to uplifting exhortations. Further, Alan leered in the most sublime and creepy way. His eyes always held for an extra second or two on breasts, bulges and butts. He smelled like wet cigars and orange juice, even though he didn’t smoke and, from the looks of him, seldom drank anything healthy. All these thoughts whipped through Ellen’s mind as her feet filled with stultifying dread. She ran through the eventual conversation in her mind.    “Excuse me, Alan?”    “Yes?”    “I was hoping you could sign birthday cards for Mike and Darla?”    He would turn from his desk, stare directly at her pussy, then up to her breasts, back down to her feet, shift quickly to her mouth and finally meet her eyes. “Another birthday party today?”    “It’s a twofer.”    He would repeat the examination of her body and motion for her to bring the cards to his desk. She would cautiously tread across his stale carpet and deposit the cards in front of him, standing as far away from him as possible. He would glance up, take a whiff of her scent, soak in the size of her breasts, glance down again to her pussy, pick his nose, grab a pen and sign the cards. She would thank him, remind him when the party was going to start, tell him what gifts she had decided on and take the cards back to her desk in the bullpen with the other low and mid level bureaucrats.    She never made it to Alan’s office and buried herself in work and party preparations. The cake was delivered and she checked to see that everything was spelled correctly. “Happy Birthday Darla and Mike!” was adequately written in bright green icing on an even sheet of white frosting. She tasked two interns to hang the streamers and balloons in the conference room and checked on their progress a couple times.    When lunchtime came around she and her best friend Louise took their regular walk to the small pizza place down the street, loaded their salad bar plates and sat down. When the waiter came and asked if they wanted their usual iced teas Ellen uttered a clear, “No.” Louise was startled. Ellen had never diverted from their routine, ever. Ellen felt her spirit rising above the table and could see the two of them from above. She focused on herself and heard her suddenly commanding voice say, “We’ll have a bottle of sangria, two shots of tequila and two of those fancy Italian beers.” Louise smiled and they settled into their typical litany of complaints about Alan.    At 3:58 fifteen people were crammed into the conference room. Mike and Darla stood at the head of the table, all smiles. They weren’t in on the joke, but Ellen knew they would appreciate it. An intern started lighting the candles and Darla asked with a tinge of dread, “Is Alan coming?” Another intern ran out to get him and the two of them quickly returned. Alan shot Ellen a dirty, quizzical look as he surveyed the birthdayscape.    Once all five candles were lit everyone broke out into the birthday song, but after the first verse everyone switched the lyrics. Instead of Happy birthday to you! everyone sang Alan is an asshole, Fuck You! Alan is an asshole, Fuck You! Fuck Alan he’s a shithead! Stop staring at women’s tits! The office workers repeated the song a few times, switching the final verse to various denigrations involving Alan’s creepiness, shitty attitude and incompetence. The final round ended with We’ve all signed a complaint with HR, so we hope you get canned! Darla and Mike blew out the candles together.    Alan stole a couple glances at the more attractive women’s breasts and slithered back to his office while the workers cracked beers and laughed.

vbq2s6

John Hanks, a Cousin

John Hanks, a Cousin By Kathleen M. Brosius “I do not think much of a man who is not  wiser today than he was yesterday.” Abraham Lincoln Rural life in Kentucky was difficult for folks early in the 19 th Century. Subsistence farming was the prominent way of life, and people worked hard hoping that after the family was fed, there may be enough crops to sell. The death of a child was common during those years. Children often lost a parent or both due to the hardships, as well. During this time, young John Hanks found himself alone, having lost both parents. In need of a home, his mother’s cousin invited the lad to live with them. The family welcomed the extra hand to help with the farming. Deep in the woods in a small log cabin in Knob Creek, Kentucky, young John found happiness; he and his cousin became best friends. Many times, the two were hired by nearby farmers to help out. They planted crops, helped with livestock, and outdoor chores. They built log cabins and cleared land of unwanted brush. The toughest, yet to them the most enjoyable, was spitting rails for building and for making fences. The money they earned was given the family to help with expenses. As teenagers, the cousins had grown tall and strong. The boys never had the opportunity to acquire a formal education. Young John was too busy with outdoor activities. His younger cousin did learn to read from the little bit of schooling he did have and by his mother and later stepmom. He read everything he could get his hands on from the Bible to Shakespeare. As they matured, the cousins went their separate ways, but always kept the close relationship. John hugged his cousin good-bye promising to keep in touch. “I’ll be back,” John promised. His cousin nodded and watched his boyhood friend disappear down the road. John loved boating and it was not long before he became an expert boatman. He was hired by a man in Illinois to ferry a shipment of goods from Springfield, MO to New Orleans. He visited his cousin and invited him to join him. “We will make 50 cents a day.” Abe answered, with glee. “Yes, John, yes. I will go with you.” Abe was tired of living in the woods. He was tired of building log cabins and fences. He longed for a different life, so he was eager to join his cousin. They bought a canoe and set off paddling down the Sangamon River. Abe complained during the whole trip, “This is the worst river, I’ve ever been on, John.” He added, “Look at the logs and boulders; and all the zig-zag turns.” But they made it. Both men were happy to finally realize that their first destination, Sangamon Town, was just up ahead. John had made arrangements to meet Denton Offutt, who had the goods ready and waiting for shipment. “We can pull in right over in that stretch of bank.” They paddled into shore, pulled the canoe up and into the weeds and walked to town. There, they met up with Abe’s stepbrother, John Johnston, who joined the group. Abe asked Cousin John, “What will we haul these goods with?” John said, “I don’t rightly know. I expect that Mr. Offutt has that all arranged. “I’ve worked on the longboats. I would assume that we’ll be cruising down the river on one of them.” At Sangamon City, they searched for Mr. Offutt. Nowhere to be found, they looked inside the local saloon. There they found the gentleman, his head nestled on his folded arms on a table. He apparently had enjoyed a night of card playing and drinking. Cousin John, remarked, “Well, looks like our boss man likes to party.” Abe added a colorful comment, sending laughter throughout the saloon. His long strides took him to the sleeping Mr. Offutt. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We’re here to take a load of supplies down to New Orleans.” Mr. Offutt jumped, stood, steadied himself and cleared his throat. Grabbing his hat, he slapped it on his messed-up head of hair and said, “Yes,” clearing his throat again. “Yes, I’ve got it already to go.” He straightened his back and headed for the door, the three young men from the hills in tow. Offutt cleared his throat again and began telling the young men his plans. “I don’t have a flatboat.” He continued, “I’m hoping that you fellas can build one. I’ll pay ya. Don’t you worry about that.” The three stared at each other, confused at this request. Where they would get the tools, and the wood, became their priority. John Hanks spoke first. “There’s a woods not too far from town. I remember seeing a good-sized patch of “old growth trees” just right for making a flatboat.” At the site of the trees, about seven miles northeast of town, the men began their work. Abe took charge. He was a natural leader. Having built log cabins and had once ridden in a longboat, he felt that the job wasn’t going to be so hard. The three cut the trees needed, used a local mill to make the lumber and set to work. After several weeks of toil, an 80’ by 18’ longboat was presented to Mr. Offutt for approval. The boat had a small cabin set in the middle. Abe pointed out, “It has a flat roof so that supplies can be secured on top.” Stepbrother John added, “Or one of us can sit up there, sort of, as a look out.” Mr. Offutt was impressed. He noticed the long poles protruding out of holes on each side of the bow of the craft, for steering; In the rear, the boat also had a rudder. The longboat was loaded with packages of slab bacon, sacks of corn, barrels of pork, live hogs, and other goods. The next morning, bright and early, Mr. Offutt and the three-man crew began the long trip to New Orleans. Abe, happy about the long-anticipated journey finally beginning, called to his crew, “We look like a piece of driftwood floating down a stream of newly melted snow.” He laughed as he said it, always ready to make fun of himself, his awkward ways, ill-fated clothing, and his accomplishments, with humble remarks. The passengers laughed with him. “I think that I’ll make a steamboat, to travel down these meandering waters, Abe,” Mr. Offcutt said. “And I will make you the captain.” Abe was pleased to hear of Mr. Offcutt’s confidence in him, but he didn’t dwell on the concept of becoming a captain of a steamboat. He longed for bigger things. He was a learned man and dreamed of becoming a lawyer, someone who would be able to help the people. The longboat was difficult to maneuver. The inexperienced crew did their best to navigate the winding stream. Approaching the town of New Salem on the Sangamon, the crew wasn’t aware that a mill dam had been built on one side of the river. Its purpose was to divert the fast-moving water to one specific area producing energy for a water wheel. The dam was almost invisible to boat traffic. The crew, not knowing this, ran smack into the dam. The boat got hung up, thus stopping short the longboat. Abe took charge and located a small raft from the towns people who had gathered to watch the “show.” The crew began transferring the cargo onto the raft. As the longboat grew lighter, Abe augured a hole close to the front of the craft to allow the rapidly sinking boat to relieve itself of river water. That being done, the crew was able to pry the boat free and maneuver it over the obstruction. Once reloaded with the cargo, down the river they once again floated. The townspeople were amazed at the tall, lanky fellow, who seemed to be a natural river boat man, problem solver, and leader. As were his crewmates, including Mr. Offcutt, They, as well as the people who had watched the scene, encouraged the young Abe to follow his dream in becoming a man for the people. Beyond the dam fiasco, the river continued to test the crew’s patience and ingenuity. Slow moving water over shallow areas, demanded the crew to be extremely cautious and aware of log jams and sunken sandbars. The meandering river produced sharp turns and jagged stumps that lay just below the surface, waiting to rip the longboat from bow to stern. As much as Abe’s hate for the Sangamon River grew, he appreciated how the challenge forced his cleverness and resourcefulness. The longboat carrying the crew, the boss man, and the cargo finally said farewell to the Sangamon River. A short trip down the Illinois River, and they entered the Mississippi River at Cairo, Ill. A short stay at Cairo, the crew resumed their journey to the South. The river took them by Vicksburg and Natchez, eventually to New Orleans. Once relieved of their cargo, the longboat was disassembled, the logs and lumber sold. They were paid what was promised to them plus a $60.00 each bonus. “Look at this,” John Hanks said, as he proudly counted his money. John Johnston agreed. He carefully folded his earnings and stuffed the wad deep into his pocket. “I am going to hang on to as much of this as I can,” he said. “When I get back home, I’ve got some bills to pay and a wife to fuss over.” He patted his pocket, a satisfying smile on his face. Abe’s attention had turned to a square in the middle of town. He had stashed his earnings in his pocket, as well, “What is going on over there?” he asked, turning toward his pals. The three of them followed the noise. They heard yelling and what sounded like an auction. Abe had never been to an auction. John Hanks had and knew what was going on. They pushed through the crowd, through people calling out questions, comments, and bids. They heard crying and cussing. They saw a line of dark-skinned people linked together by chains behind the center scaffold. “What is going on?” Abe whispered. He looked at his cousin. “What is this?” John’s answer appalled Abe, sending distressing emotions through him. It was his first sight of slave trade. After watching the spectacle, there was nothing that he could do that day, but from that moment forward, his quest was to stop this horrifying treatment of humanity. John Hanks became Abe Lincoln’s right-hand man in the campaign to carry him to the presidency. He later, with the help of his son, wrote journals recalling Mr. Lincoln’s life. John visited the White House several times and attended the President-elect’s inauguration. The next time he saw his cousin, his old friend, his President, was at the President’s funeral .  

ou91kx

A Copy of a Copy of a Poorly Copied Copy

The comptroller at the Union's Plans office was raised Christian, had graduated from Maryland State, and had the faith of a child in all things American. His accounting expertise landed him a job in Ann Arundel county, across the water from Easton: his most favorite town on the Western shore. He was all set up to live a good life, and had begun to do so. Accountability is the responsibility of accounting, but counting on accountants to be accountable bore upon him a contradiction in terms, both in law and fact. The union was required by law to employ him, and the union’s pension fund paid his salary; but he was not held accountable to the rank and file members. Instead, he had power to inflict upon members the fear of the IRS. On account of his faith and being so near Washington DC, he began to question internal polity. Began to donate money to the Cato Institute: a Libertarian think tank. Its quips and quotes provided him with percipience; but! Had he become part of "a multitude of new offices, (with) swarms of officers to harass...people and eat out their substance"? Accountability was becoming a double edged sword. It seemed to him that if three different tax experts were given the same tax avoidance scheme, which is legal, some would call it tax evasion, which is not. Then there was his own scare tactic to make union members cough up their guilt by sending them a letter; inside of which, was an opened envelope with a copy of a poorly copied copy of an IRS notice. Fear had been a great motivator. Union members accounted to his office their accounts, all on account of a letter with a dubious origin. On account of his guilt, he began to question his faith. And on account of his faith, his accounting practices lost accountability, but with a mortgage, kids and a new boat, accounting remained the means commensurate to the good life. Years later... The Baltimore Sun has a developing story about a union’s missing money. How much does the president know? Are unions corrupt? Who is accountable? How much did the vice president abscond with? The Sun’s reporter is one her first assignment. She’s from Iowa; has not been to the Eastern shore. She is young and beautiful and loves every minute that seems to be racing by in a fleeting moment of eternity. Now a helicopter is flying over a house: a mansion on four acres of prime real estate owned by the Marine Engineers Beneficial Association. The union's vice president has left the country, but the union's president remains inside the house. His name has been infamous among those who know but don’t tell. The union’s school is named after his predecessor. According to all of its accounts, the union's monies are accounted for. It's just that the amount that was stolen has yet to be counted; and the comptroller is on vacation. The short drive from Easton to St Michaels includes a stop at a wine bar then dinner at his daughter's favorite: The Crab Claw. Aboard the “Sound of the Music” three family/crew are glued to the TV. The view from the helicopter includes union members standing in a parking lot. It looks like they might riot; police are standing by. Jerry says, “I’m not going to be a part of this marriage if your father is a player in this mess.” “But mom, Dad said that you can’t always do the right thing.” Timmy is fourteen; wants to be a lawyer. “We’ll see what he says about this,” she says. Jerry is a country singer turned house-wife. She plays a guitar that’s always tuned, but lately, it has remained in its case. “Sometimes people do things that are not ethical, but stealing money goes beyond the pale.” Rebecca looks confused. She thinks her sister has done something wrong again, and now she’s going to get the whole family into trouble. “Mommy, will we have to go to prison?” “No sweetheart. This stuff has nothing to do with your sister. We are all safe from whatever daddy may have done.” “There’s daddy now! Rebecca says. She climbs off the chart table and climbs up the ladder, poking her head out of the hatch. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Susan grabs her baby sister. “No! I want Daddy!!” He is standing in the parking lot with a cell phone pressed against his head. “He’s busy! Rebecca. Come, let's go inside. I brought some leftover crab for you.” As Timmy, Rebecca and Jerry pick-a-part their dinner, Susan is told to fuel up. “We will sail when the tide ebbs”. She is told.  The fuel dock is just across the slip. The father and daughter work together to shift the boat; a bow line is stretched to a far cleat. As stern lines are let loose, the boat is winched towards the fueling station. Before Jerry finishes cleaning up, Timmy has shifted all the fenders to the port side. Rebecca is sitting atop the house, watching. “Good job!! Susan and Timmy look at their dad, and glow, proud to be so handy. “Let me!” Timmy hollers. He pulls at the fueling nozzle. Susan holds on to it. The fuel tank is empty. The nozzle develops a static charge. “Timmy! Let your sister do her task. I need you to go down below and stow away all of your toy soldiers and help mom with whatever she needs. Susan, make sure the vent is open before we start the pump.” At the volunteer fire department, a call goes out. A black sedan enters the marina parking lot. The driver stops; watches the last of a small mushroom cloud disperse. He temporarily remains frozen, not knowing what to do, thinking that was far too close for comfort. Finally, follows behind local fire and rescue. The crowd grows along with the sound of sirens and the scene of flashing lights. The Baltimore Sun story finds an ending. “We will never know.”

lhd49b

Losing the Race

Have you ever been wrong about something but you were so convinced you were right so now you have to prove you were right in some way even if it takes all that you have in you. That’s what happens sometimes. So as a warning be careful what you say is right so you don’t get yourself in a bad or crazy situation. That’s how I got here, into this dare. It started out as a little friendly conversation… “Who do you think would win if we drag raced?” Lizzy asked speculatively. “Depends on what we’re racing.” Fitz replied. “Ok well what if I raced a Dodge and you raced how about we say a Lamborgini?” “Well then I’d win.” Fitz said. “You sure about that?” Lizzy was being a little cocky but that didn’t bother Fitz. She could be like that sometimes especially about competitive things. “Of course I’m sure. I know my cars.” Fitz said confidently. This is too easy. I thought how does she think she’s going to win in a Dodge? Little had I known that she had actually been doing her homework on this one. She knows I’m always up for a challenge and she also knew how to start a good challenge, which now I was second guessing if I could win this one. The pit crew was around me showing me how to buckle in and drag race the car. I never thought Lizzy could be this serious. But back to where it had started. Lizzy came running down the street at me the next morning like she always did every morning, but this time she had a little glint in her eye. I knew right away that something was up. “What do you have for me today? I can tell you are going to spring something on me.” “So remember yesterday when you said you would win in a drag race?” “Yeah, why?” Fitz said slightly puzzled as too why it was being brought up again. “Well I’m still convinced I would win.” There it was Lizzy needing too have the last word and be right. “No, there’s no way that could happen.” Fitz laughed because he thought it was just going to be the same conversation they had yesterday, but boy was he wrong. “Ok then prove it… I dare you to drag race against me in a Lamborgini so I can prove to you that a Dodge would win.” Lizzy was being very stubborn, she was also very convinced she would win. It startled me a little bit but it still didn’t seem plausible so I went along with it. “Ok, fine I accept.” I shouldn’t have accepted the challenge. I should’ve known better than to accept a challenge when Lizzy says “prove it”. I just never expected that she would actually find a way to make it happen. But by the end of the day she had drag racing lessons set up for us already for the following week. They weren’t anything major just teaching us the general basics so we knew what we were doing, we had to drive with an instructor and then they said that we were good to go pretty much! I don’t know how she did it that quickly but it was crazy how she was very prepared for it. I thought thoough that there was no way she would be able to get a Lamborgini, maybe a Dodge but definitely not a Lamborgini. I was wrong again because I am now sitting in the driver's seat of a Lamborgini Huracan, something I never thought I would ever do in my life. Lizzy pulled up next to me in a Dodge Demon, I never knew she knew so much about cars but now I was actually scared I might lose. My heart was racing as we pulled up to the line. My hands started getting clammy and sweaty, I was very anxious. We pull up to the spot where you start and I can see the lights and am getting prepared. The amber lights light up and I see them start too count down. One, two, and three, green! And off we go! I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my viens as my hands gripped the wheel tighter and we took off. I was doing so good or so I thought! I had started out ahead of Lizzy but realized she whipped right past me in less than a second later. I knew this dare didn’t look good for me. We hit the end of the track and she was definitely ahead of me, I lost the dare I was so sure and confident I would win. We brought the cars back around and when Lizzy got out of the Dodge Demon, you could see her face beaming with a smile that spread from ear to ear and she was glowing with happiness as she took her helmet off. She ran up too me so fast too rub it in my face that she had won, but I realized it didn’t really bother me because I had so much fun racing anyway. “I did it!” Lizzy was practically screaming with all of her excitement. “I know I saw!” “That was so much fun, we should do it again!” “Yeah we should! But before we do that again, how do you know so much about cars and drag racing?” “The track where we got lessons.” “What do you mean?” “My uncle owns that place and I have been hanging out there with my cousins since I was little. When you’ve been there long enough you start to pick stuff up!” “Wow I never knew that. That’s very interesting!” “Yeah thank you!” “Of course. Well now I know never to make a bet with you about cars again or I’ll just keep losing.” This was just all so crazy to me but I’m glad it worked out the way it did in the end because even if I didn’t win the dare I had so much fun with my best friend anyway.

23wtln

A Night Off

1 Katie happily pressed the send icon on her phone’s messaging app. She wouldn’t be seeing anyone that evening, let alone her friend Jessica. She’d already seen her twice in the last week, and that was plenty of Jessica.            She looked at the little bubble on the side of her phone’s screen. “Raincheck, already have plans tonight.”            And, to be honest, that was true. She did already have plans. She’d found that she best way to ensure time to herself was to put it into her calendar. Plans with myself is what she called them.            “You locking up tonight?” A voice over her cubicle wall asked.            “Nope, I’m just getting ready to leave.” She responded.            “Hey, before you go, can I get the key to the office supply closet? I need some staples and another red pen.”            Katie went into the next cubicle. “Sure.” She took out her office keys. There were a bunch on a large keyring. She selected the one for the supply closet and held it out to him. “Just be quick about it. I want to leave in a few minutes.” She listened as the jingling keys walked away.            “He’s gonna take forever, settle in.” Red sighed.            “Quiet.” Katie responded.            She looked at the time on her phone. Three minutes past four.            “You still have plenty of time. It’s not like you have a deadline.” Blue said. Katie didn’t respond. She was just anxiously excited for the evening to start.            She heard the jingling keys returning. “Here you go.” He handed her a jumble of keys.            “Thanks, Brian.” She said and took the keys from him. She shoved everything into her purse and headed for the elevators. She looked at her phone one more time as she waited for the doors to open. Six minutes past four. She shoved her phone in her purse. Finally, she thought, a night alone.            Of course, red and blue would be there, but they were always there. And, strictly speaking, they were more her than not her.            Katie took the empty elevator down to the parking garage. There weren’t assigned parking spots, but she found that everyone typically parked in the same spot anyway.            “Another point that humans are sheep.” Red mused.            “There’s nothing wrong with habit.” Blue responded. “Besides, nobody needs another thing to remember. It’s easier this way.”            “Fine.” Red conceded. “Humans are still lazy, then.”            Blue remained silent. “Nothing from you?” Katie asked blue expectantly.            “I mean, she’s not wrong…” Blue laughed.            Katie shook her head as she walked to where her car was always parked and glanced over to see Red grinning. She smiled to herself, climbed into the car, and made the short drive home in merciful silence.            2            Katie entered the kitchen through the back door of her house and started the oven even before she put her purse down. She was ready. She had a plan. She’d arranged the whole evening for herself.            She’d even go so far as laying out her pajamas on her bed. Her pipe was already packed on the counter as well. She was ready.            She took her pipe outside and sat down on a small folding chair in the grass. She had a small fenced in yard next to her garage. Katie pulled a lighter out of her pocket, held the pipe to her lips, lit the drugs, and inhaled. The hot smoke filled her lungs and she held her breath for a few long seconds and then exhaled. She repeated the process twice more until the contents of the bowl were spent.            “Well, that’s better.” Red said in a more relaxed voice than normal.            “No arguments here.” Blue said concurringly.            Katie remained silent watching the clouds drift by overhead. She needed this. She needed a break from…            “Don’t forget to put the pizza in the oven.” Blue said.            “Idiot.” Red added. Katie swatted at Red, but, of course, hit nothing. She went back into the kitchen and took a frozen pizza out of the freezer. She unwrapped it and popped it in the oven. “Timer.” Blue said. Katie set the timer for fifteen minutes and then went upstairs. She was feeling the effects of the drugs now as she made her way up the stairs. She was noticing things more; the smooth grain of the handrail along the wall leading upstairs, the dust in the corner along the floorboards as her stairs turned and continued to the right, the chipped paint on the edges of her bedroom door. On her bed, laid out, were a pair of light gray sweatpants and a light flannel shirt. She quickly changed and threw her work clothes in the hamper. One of her pant legs didn’t quite make it and was draped over the front edge. “Nice shot.” Red teased. Katie ignored the comment and went back downstairs thinking about the word hamper and where it came from. Hamper.  She thought. Hamper. Hamper.  “Do either of you know where the word hamper comes from?” Katie asked. “If you don’t, we don’t.” Blue answered. “Why would you even ask us something like that? What do you think we are, your personal search engine?” Red added. Katie rolled her eyes and opened her purse to get her phone. She sat down and unlocked the screen and saw she had fifteen unread text messages. “Well, that’s ominous.” Red said looking over her shoulder. “You should probably read them.” Blue said. “Why?” Red responded. “It’s probably nothing.” She opened the conversation and read the last few messages. They were from Brian, from work. “I need your help! Please!” Read the last one. The one above it said, “Please respond, I need them.” “Scroll up. What’s going on?” Blue said. Katie flicked the screen to get to the beginning. “Hey, I accidentally gave you my personal keys instead of your work keys. Can you bring them to me? I’m still at the office. I’m locked out of my car. I feel so stupid.” “You are stupid, Brian.” Red said. Katie ignored her and kept reading. “Are you getting these? I really need my keys. I’m supposed to pick up my sister’s kids from soccer. Please, I’m sorry for so many texts. I’ll make it up do you. Katie? You there? Hello? Please respond. I need your help! Please!” She looked at the word bubbles. They seemed to be popping off the screen. There was a third dimension to them. She could see shadows underneath. Then, at once, her eyes continued down, underneath the final text from Brian. Read 5:01pm. Red started laughing. “You dumbass! You’ve got your read receipts on!” Her laughter was maniacal. “Now what are you gonna do? Not get him his keys? He knows you read them!” “He’s typing another message.” Blue said nervously. Katie glanced and saw the three flickering dots. They disappeared and another message popped up. “Oh thank god you’re finally seeing these. I’m so sorry. I’m still at work. Can you bring my keys over? You’re a lifesaver!” “How are you going to get over there? You’re high as a kite.” Blue said. “Who said we’re going over there?” Red responded. “It’s his fault he’s an idiot.” “We all make mistakes.” Blue argued. “Yea but we shouldn’t have to fix someone else’s mistakes. That’s not fair.” Red said. Katie stared at the phone. Why her? Why tonight?  She exhaled, then pulled up the keyboard on her screen. The letters were floating. “I’ll be there soon.” She managed to type. “And just how do you think you’re going to do that?” Red asked. “You can’t drive in your condition.” Blue said. “I’ll take my bike.” “You think biking is safer?” Red said. “Aren’t you the one usually goading me into taking more risks?” “Yea, but not when those risks involve brain damage. I don’t want to deal with that.” “How thoughtful of you.” Blue said. “But I’m with Red on this one, this is a terrible idea. You’re going to get hurt.” “I’ll be ok. Don’t you two remember how many stoned bike rides we used to go on?” “That was fifteen years ago!” Red yelled. Katie was headed out the back door when Blue yelled, “Keys!” She’d almost forgotten the whole reason she was leaving. She grabbed her purse and rifled through it and found the keys inside. She slung the purse over her shoulder, slipped on some shoes, and went through her yard and into her garage. Her bike was there and she pulled it out into the driveway. The sun was still high enough in the sky that she shouldn’t have to worry about riding in the dark even on the way back. “Helmet.” Red said. “Look at you! Looking out for my wellbeing.” Katie mused. “More like looking out for my wellbeing.  Again, I’d like to submit, for the record, my objection to this little adventure.” “Noted.” Katie said and fastened her helmet. She climbed on her bike and set off down the driveway. She focused on the tree at the end of it, along the street. It was an old tree. A large maple. It was one of the things she liked most about her house. As she pulled past her fence and out onto the street, a car was headed right at her. She yanked the handlebars left and the car swerved around her, honking. She stopped and looked back as the car continued on down the street.” “We’re gonna die.” Red said. 3 Katie had managed to orient herself down the street towards her office. It was a ten minute drive, but that was going around the community college. She thought she could save some time cutting through campus on her bike. Her vision wasn’t blurry, but it wasn’t clear either. Things looked similar and different. More vivid and more abstract. “Oh my god you’re so high right now.” Red said. “Be quiet.” Blue snapped.  “She needs to focus.” Blue was correct. She did need to keep focused. Every building she passed, she started to imagine the classes that went on there. What were the lectures about? Were the students paying attention? And then Blue would calmly tell her, “focus” to bring her attention back to the ride. She passed a dozen students leaving what looked like a big library. They stared at her as she passed. “They know you’re high.” Red said. “They’re going to call the police.” “They’re college kids. They’re probably high themselves!” Katie responded. She kept her focus on the sidewalk in front of her. She was thirsty. Her mouth was incredibly dry and so were her eyes. She needed water. The wind in her face was making things exponentially worse. To her right was a practice football field and some tennis courts. “There should be a water fountain somewhere nearby.” Blue said. “You’re really going to stop somewhere? Just keep going.” Red said. “I’m so thirsty. I’m going to die without water.” “You’re being dramatic.” Red said, irritated. Katie rode past the football field, but there was no sign of a water fountain. It probably doesn’t make sense to have a water fountain there. They probably bring those big containers out to the field. The ones that they dump on coaches when they win a big game. Who started that? Whose idea was it to soak the coach like that? Now , sure, I mean, people know what it is. But what would it have been like for that first coach, the first one to get soaked? He probably had no idea what the heck was happening! Yay, we won the game! Hooray! What? What’s happening? Why am I wet? Am I supposed to be enjoying this?            “LOOK OUT!!” Red and blue both yelled in unison. Katie’s attention snapped back to see the chain link fence quickly approaching her. No. She was approaching it. She hit the brakes but it was way too late. She went wheel first into the fence and flew over the top of her handlebars. The fence stopped her from flying too far and the bike jumped up and hit her back as well. She crumpled down onto the ground with the bike on top of her.            For a moment she laid there, confused. Then she carefully untangled herself from her bike and stood up. She actually didn’t seem to be in terrible shape. She felt at her face. There was a little blood coming from her cheek where she’d scraped the fence, but other than that, she didn’t think anything was broken or torn. She picked up her bike. The handlebars were a little askew, but she figured she could fix that. She propped the bike against the fence and looked around. Nobody was nearby. Nobody saw her. That was probably for the best.            “You ok?” Blue asked.            “I think so.” Katie said glancing down at herself.            “Well look at that.” Red marveled. She pointed to Katie’s right, to a slender green water fountain.            Katie slowly walked over to it and drank angrily. She took big slurping gulps until she felt full and then stood up. She wiped the water and blood from her face with her sleeve. She felt better. She felt more with it, more in control of her mind. “I think I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”            She went back to her bike and straddled the front wheel with her legs. Then she twisted the handlebars to straighten them out. “Good as new.” She spoke.            “You’re delusional.” Red replied.            “Let’s go.” Blue added.            Katie agreed and she got back on her bike. She rode slower this time and made it off campus. From there it was just a few more blocks to her office building.            She rode down the sidewalk until she got to the first big intersection. She stopped and waited for the cars to pass, and then she continued. Down the next block, she waited again, and then crossed when it was safe to do so. She’d calmed down from the fall. She felt good again. She also felt high again.            At the third intersection, she stopped again. She looked to her left and saw the don’t walk hand up, so she stayed. “Why are you stopping?” Red asked.            “I don’t have the light.” Katie responded.            “Yes, you do. You’re going that way.” Red pointed in the direction she’d been heading. There was a flashing orange hand now.            Katie blushed a bit. “Sorry.”            “No need to blush. I’m as embarrassed as you are.” Red said as she crossed the street.            Finally, she approached her office building. She saw Brian waiting outside.            “Oh my god Katie, thank you so much.” As she got closer, he saw her face. “Woah. Are you ok?” He asked.            “Did you get hit by a car?” Brian’s dark one asked. “Are you ok?” His light one added.            “No. I crashed. I’m fine. It’s fine.” She rummaged through her purse and found the keys. “Here.” Katie reached out and Brian saw the blood drying on her hand.            “Can I take you somewhere? The hospital maybe?”            “No. Really, I’m fine.”            “SUPER high right now.” Red said.            “Hey!” Katie yelled at her.            “What, you’re always telling me that I should be more honest.” Red smirked.            “Oh god, really? And you rode your bike here?” Brian asked.            “I’m surprised you didn’t die.” Brian’s dark one said.            “That’s what I said!” Red responded.            “Really, I’m fine.” Katie said.            “Can I at least drive you home? You can put your bike in my car.”            “No, really, I’ll be ok.”            Blue interrupted, “a ride would be great, thanks.”            Katie gave Blue a look that said how could you do this to me? But Blue ignored it.            “I’ll take your bike.” Brian said. “And we don’t have to talk. I’ve…been there…where you are.” He continued. “Way too high to be out of the house.”            Katie smiled. They walked to Brian’s car, loaded up, and he drove her home.            4            Brian pulled his car into Katie’s driveway and helped get the bike out of the back seat. He walked it to her garage and then, before he turned, said, “see you on Monday.” He walked back to his car and left.            Katie exhaled. Home. Finally. And it was still light out. Still, plenty of time for a movie and…            “Oh shit the pizza!” Red yelled. Katie ran up the back steps and through open the door. She heard beeping. She smelled burning.            “Is that the smoke alarm?” Blue yelled. It wasn’t. It was the oven timer. She looked at the clock on the stove. 6:03. She opened the oven door and a big cloud of black smoke came billowing out. Now there was more beeping.            “ That’s the smoke alarm.” Red said, blandly. Smoke was billowing up off the pizza in the oven. She grabbed a plate and an oven mitt and slid the smoldering pizza onto the plate. She didn’t know what to do with it, so she tossed it into the sink and ran water over it. Now there was more smoke. The smoke alarm was still going off. It was getting hard to breathe in the kitchen.            Katie ran around opening windows all over the house. The smoke alarm finally stopped as the kitchen cleared.            “It’s probably going to smell for a while.” Blue said.            “Idiot.” Red added.            Katie sat down on a couch and leaned her head back. She just wanted one night by herself. Her housemate was gone for the evening, she had no other plans.            “Why?” Blue asked.            “Why what?” Katie returning the question.            “Why do you want a night alone so badly?”            “Because it’s hard. It’s hard to be on all the time. It’s hard to manufacture a personality constantly, to be someone constantly. I just want some time where I don’t have to be on. Where I can be nothing.”            “That’s dumb.” Red said, but Katie could tell that she didn’t mean it. Red agreed. They all did. They were, of course, all her.

4m0zuz

Is Our Government going to fall

It was Friday and the last day of school for the week. It was going to going to be thanksgiving soon and I talking about who was coming to out house with my friends as we walked to school. All of us were trying to think of all the good food we were going to eat and if we would be aloud to help with the cooking. Were we also making plans about what we could do over thanksgiving vacation. When we got to school it started like any other school day. We had lesson, went to lunch, and then recess. But everything was going to change once we all got back into our classrooms for afternoon studies. I think we were working in out math books when when the classroom opened and the principal came into our room. He walked over to the teacher and they spoke very softly for a few minutes. We all looked at each other trying to figure out who was in trouble. But from the way they both looked it seemed like something else was going on. "Class please form a line at the door. We are going down the hall to join the third graders." We all lined up at the classroom door. I was in second grade at the time and got a little excited because that was one of my brother's classrooms. We quickly walked down the hall and arrived to see the principal, teacher, and other student adding extra chairs to the room and the guidance counselor was wheeling in a TV. It was Friday November 22, 1963 at approximately 1:30pm. I went and found a empty chair next to my brother because I was starting to feel scared. The teacher asked for us to be quiet and turned on the TV. There was Walter Cronkite. I knew who he was because my parents would watch the news at home and they liked him. He looked really upset. " The President has been shot." I think I went numb. We had only been living in America for about three years and I was instantly thinking that a Coup was going on, Was he dead, who had done this, was a war going to start? All these questions filled my head as we watch replays of the the motorcade. Poor Mrs. Kennedy, this was awful, horrible, what was going to happen? I looked around the room. Some of the adults were crying. I wanted to go home really badly. I didn't think any of the other kids knew what a Coup was. I don't think they really believed it was happening. We sat and watched watched. Finally we heard the TV announcer say, " The president is dead." The he began to cry. We were allowed to go home early. I kept thinking back to my years in Europe were my brothers and I had been born. We had heard a lot about different government falling and most of the time it started with the assassination of the leader of the country. I kept wondering if we were going to have to leave America. When we got home my mother had the TV on. She looked so sad but I just went and sat down next to her. It was awful watching it all and hearing each and every detail. I wonder what would happen to Mrs. Kennedy and her two children. I wonder if someone was going to try and kill them too. Dad came home and I felt safe. He was retired Navy and I knew he wouldn't let anything bad happen to us. Then I felt guilty because our Dad was home and Caroline an John Kennedy would never see their dad again. Mom and I always looked at magazine picture of the Kennedy family. Caroline Kennedy was born a year after me while we were living in Holland. Everyone in Europe would talk about the Kennedy's especial Joseph and Rose Kennedy. John, her brother, was born in 1960 which was the year I found out we were living Holland and moving to America permanently. Interestingly enough both of them were born during the month of November which was the same month I was born in. However, they were born near the end of the month and I was born near the beginning. My brothers and I went to bed. The next morning we learned the the Vice President Lyndon Johnson, was now the president. It was a little confusing but as I listened to the news and the adults in the neighborhood talking I realized everything was going to be okay and that the Government wasn't going to fall. I was both relieved and sad. I like President Kennedy and his family. A lot of people in our neighborhood were Irish American and everyone was really upset. One of my friend told me he was killed because he was catholic. Up until that point it hadn't really registered that he was America's first Catholic president. I couldn't agree or disagree because being born in Europe I knew people would really kill someone just because of the their religion. I simply sat there at let my friend talk. I could see she was trying not to cry. Another neighbor said he was killed because of his father Joseph. She was telling my father the that Joseph Kennedy wore and an Irish curse and only his "sainted wife" would be able to save that whole family. It surprised me because I thought American only hated Jew. I didn't realize they hated Catholics too. I learned a bunch of new interesting facts about America that weekend and most of it was hateful. Really ugly Then I started thinking about all the people in leadership that had been assassinated since we moved to the US. Something certainly wasn't right in this countries political world. Since I was only seven at the time I was I problem that i knew I couldn't solve but it left a lasting impression that made me want to figure out what was wrong with this country

u6rcfx

Memories

Last year when my family got together for the holidays my great-grandmother sat at the table like she always did and just watched all of us. She never really says much to anyone, but I could tell when she began to get irritated at some of the things and conversations going on around her. When my cousins started complaining about how they did not get the exact new model of phone they wanted for Christmas she just shook her head, sighed and stared off into the distance. One of my cousins saw her shake her head at them and asked why she did it. Why didn’t she want them to have the best phones if they wanted them? My grandma just looked at him and reminded him that he did not actually need a new phone every year and as someone who grew up without such luxuries, she believed that if what you had worked and was still in good condition it should be good enough for them. They quickly lost interest in what she was saying and walked back to the other room rolling their eyes and not wanting to listen. I was curious about what she had said, and I asked her if she would mind telling me about her life back then. She looked at me and smiled and began to tell me how she was born in 1925. She was four years old when The Great Depression started because of the stock market crash in 1929. Investors at the time lost something like $30 billion dollars (the equivalent today would be near $396 billion). She told me that at that time, the country was classified as industries, such as the banking industry, railroad industry, lumber industry and other types. All the industries soon began to decline, and many were nearly going bankrupt. Banks all over the country began closing rapidly. Soon the businesses followed their example and because of this a lot of people lost their jobs. She said for a while it seemed like the whole country was out of work. It seemed so hard to believe how the whole country could have been out of work and I asked where her family lived and how they made do. She told me her family lived in a small town on a farm and pretty much just lived off the land. Her mother had a large garden and fruit trees that gave them plenty of fruits and vegetables. They even had chickens, pigs and goats for a while, too. She told me that her mother canned everything she grew, as well as the any meat they had. Her mother taught her and her siblings how to do these things as well while she was growing up. Money was very tight for the family and it was hard to come by. Her father would go to town and stand in line for hours just trying to get a job to bring in any extra money he could for the family, often if he got a job it would be hours of work for just pennies. She said he never complained much because he taught them that any money coming in helps. There were no steady jobs to be found anywhere and bartering with friends and neighbors for things you needed was quite common. She told me that no one had charge accounts, or credit cards. If you could not afford it, you did not buy it. They had a small farmhouse that did have running water, which came from a pump outside. They had a coal stove that they needed to heat up just so they could cook things. She told me that she and her siblings would walk along the railroad picking up any extra coal they could find just to bring it home to help some with the stove. Their house did not have a bathroom inside, so they had an outhouse they used instead. She told me how even though her family did not have much they considered themselves lucky just to still have a home. Many people had lost theirs due to not having money and ended up living in shantytowns in nothing more than shelters made from salvageable materials they had found including cardboard. These places were called Hooverville’s after President Hoover and they were all over the country. Some had a couple hundred people living in them and others had thousands. Even though her family did not have too much extra they still tried to share with some of the even less fortunate people in town. Her parents taught her that it was important to be kind to everyone. I asked her if she used any of the things she had learned through those years in her life as she was growing up or even if she still used them today and she told me why she does a few things people always look at her a bit strange for. While I was growing up it was normal to use jelly jars for drinking cups at grandma’s house because that is what she always had in the cup cabinet. She would always wash her used tin foil and Ziploc bags just so she could reuse them as much as possible before throwing them out. She told me that she was always taught to re-use, repurpose and recycle everything because you never knew when you would be able to get those items again. She asked, what was the point in throwing away something that was still useful? A few more tips she had for me were to save money for a rainy day and to never trust all my money to my bank. Always keep cash somewhere at home. She told me her parents often said they wished they had done the same before the depression hit. She said if you needed new clothes it was always better to go to thrift stores because not only are the clothes cheaper, but they are also often of better quality. She is convinced the clothing at sold at stores now fall apart to easily because they are so quickly made. She hugged me as I told her how much I appreciated everything she told me. She taught me a few lessons that day that I will use in my own life and pass down to my future children as well. I can not believe everything she lived through at that time in her life. I can understand why she is so smart and strong though. I am so used to the luxuries we have in the world today even with things going on that I do not know if I would be able to live the way they did during the Great Depression. I do know however, thanks to my great grandmothers’ story, that if our world ever gets to that point again, I may be able to figure things out. I could not believe it when she told me that it had been an exceptionally long time since she had talked to anyone about that period of her life. Apparently not many people in the family had asked her about it very often. I will always be grateful I took the time to learn about her life and let her teach me the skills of sewing, gardening and canning as I was growing up. I will always cherish those memories with my amazing grandma. 

j3ycun

Pondo and Sylvia

Pondo and Sylvia By Kathleen Brosius            He was a tall man, handsome and rugged. His black hair fell over his ears and his blue eyes sparkled, especially when he gazed upon his beloved Sylvia. Pondo, as he was called, was an old rogue to some. Careless in dress, stubborn to conform to the changing demands of society, he spent most of his time on the river bottoms. He was a commercial fisherman. He bought a plot of land with a gunnysack full of moldy muskrat pelts and $30. Called Mini Park , it was a place for commercial fishermen to store their gear, mend their nets and box traps and get out of a brewing storm .            Not far inland, lay the small town of New Albin, nestled close to the bluffs of Northeastern Iowa. The sleepy little town was content to watch the world pass by without too much involvement. But on Saturday nights the lights stayed on, the two taverns rocked, and the boys from the river came to town. They had worked hard during the week and loved to show off the bundle of money that their work rewarded them. They demanded the attention of the town's available girls. Some frequented the bars. A few refused to have anything to do with such places.            Sylvia was one such girl. Raised in a strict Methodist family, her father protected her from the scoundrels who "mocked the perfection that man was intended to be." Sylvia dutifully studied hard in school. She had worked herself through two years of college and earned a teaching degree. She felt prepared to enter her adult life, a professional, full of energy with the desire to teach the children of the world. Her blond hair was combed neatly away from her face, waves gently kept stray curls in place as it was caught in a bun at the nape of her neck. The style of the 1930's, she looked a picture of profession and content.            A rainy summer Saturday evening, Sylvia joined her friends at a local restaurant. They were sipping sodas at a table close to a window overlooking Main Street. The girls watched and giggled as several strapping young men stumbled and roared with laughter as they painfully removed themselves from a rusty old pickup.            The rain slid down the smooth glass in sheets, disfiguring the scene across the street. "Oh, I know who they are, they are the Crowley boys and the May brothers. They come into town every Saturday night. I think they spend the week down on the Islands. They live in some old shacks down there." Aileen was stretching toward the window to see more. “I adore those brothers of mine, but they can worry a girl." Aileen was the younger sister of Ronald and Leon.            Mae strained her eyes trying to see more clearly. She whispered, "What I wouldn't give to see where they live. Look at that Jeep or whatever it is. I think it’s Pondo's. Aileen, have you ever been down to his place? Oh, there's Joe Crowley and he's comin' this way.” Jumping up and grabbing her purse, she added, “He'll maybe come lookin' for me." she dashed toward the ladies' room to check her hair and makeup. Mae was the prettiest of the four at the table. Her dark hair was cut short and curled naturally around her face. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her full red lips curled up at the thought of Joe courting her.            Sylvia reached to tuck a loose curl back into place. As she watched the boys stumble across the road, she recognized Pondo. A soft blush began to creep up her slender neck, as she recalled their encounter, a year ago. She remembered the evening that Pondo walked her home. It had been a rainy night, as this night was. He wore the same yellow slicker.            She had prepared to leave for school in Nebraska. She had been sitting in this very cafe when he caught her eye as he passed. She had smiled and a moment later he was at her side. He bought her a soda, and they chatted and enjoyed their friends’ company until it was time to leave.   Pondo offered to walk her home. The rain had stopped, and they took their time, pausing at the Methodist church steps. Bashful, hesitant, but eager to pursue their relationship, they lingered as the sun dropped behind the hill that loomed over New Albin.            "Will you be coming home for Christmas Sylvia?"            "I don't know," she replied. "Tickets are expensive and I have to save for tuition and books." Pausing, she continued, "I'll try to come home. It's nice to visit with someone who knows who Kipling is. You've read so many books. I love to talk about the world outside New Albin and you know so much. More than I. You should be going to school, not me."            "No thanks," was his response. "I like to read, I like to learn about the world and what's in all those books, but no thanks to teachers telling me what to do, and tests to take, and especially to having to sit in stuffy school rooms all day. I prefer to be outside. On the river. In my boat."                       Having just gotten closer to him, she now was leaving the next morning. She had to go. She would not let anything stop her from finishing college. She eased herself off the wide cement step. Pondo, pulled her close. "Pondo, I have to go now," she whispered. "I 've enjoyed the walk and our visit, but please, don't make me wish that I were staying. I can't. I’m leaving for Lincoln in the morning. She pushed away. "I'm sorry, but I can't feel this way. Not yet." She turned and began walking away.            "Sylvia, wait. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have done that. Let me walk you the rest of the way. I won't stand in your way. I just want to know how you feel. We've known each other for a long time, since we were in Junior High. I've been watching you, waiting for a sign that you are interested. Well, I got that sign tonight. I don't want our relationship to be put on hold. I'll write. I'll come see you. I want you...Sylvie."            She turned and saw his blue eyes shining in the twilight. His dark hair tangled from the wind and rain. She never expected someone like Pondo to notice her. Yet here they were. They had just shared an intimate moment. She was afraid of what she felt. Confused, she stepped toward him. Stopping, she reached for his hand. "Pondo...Ronald..., I do care. I would like to keep in touch with you. And I will miss you." She looked into his eyes a long moment, then both allowed a smile to form on their lips.            Turning again toward home. They walked saying nothing. They exchanged a few letters and phone calls. Pondo traveled to visit Sylvia. She made it home for Christmas and their relationship continued to blossom. Pondo built his commercial fishing business with his brothers. Sylvia graduated and began teaching at a country school in Allamakee County. Their relationship grew and they found themselves deeply in love. They married in 1938 in Dubuque, IA. Her sister Goldie and her husband Dutch witnessed the ceremony.            He took her hand as their daughter focused the camera. Fifty years had passed. This was their Golden Wedding anniversary. A special cake was waiting on the table. A few greeting cards were scattered around a vase full of spring flowers. A pretty frame held a photograph. Pondo held her close, Sylvia’s arm circled his waist. They were young and beautiful. Sylvia picked the picture up and studied the two people looking back at them. “That was a long time ago.”            Pondo smiled and slipped his arm around her. I love you Sylvie. I always have, I always will. She lay her head on his shoulder and nodded. “Me too.”

8oooel

Thanksgiving with George Washington

“Everybody!! George Washington is here!” Lilly screamed, her usually quiet, sweet and serene voice was now loud and panicked. She whirled around, her long brown hair flying. Her light blue eyes scanned the table opposite of the front door. The long table was laden with creamy white plates on top of a lacy white table cloth. Orange, crimson, and gold paper napkins cheerfully sat on the plates, making the table feel as if it was a mirror of the multicolored trees outside. Candles surrounded the turkey, mashed potatoes, pudding, and assortment of delicious treats in the middle of the table. My family sat around the table- Grandma Jan, Grandpa Doug, Aunt Cassidy, Uncle Frank, their kids, Jenny, Jeff and Jessy. I finally saw my mother and father enter the room, pulling their chairs out and sitting down. They all wore masks, Covid is happening of course, and my family is huge on “safety first”. I whirled around as I heard a knock on the door. I flew it open quickly, about to welcome the famous George Washington graciously into our home, as my parents had instructed me of course. My words died in my throat as I saw what he was wearing, or, what he was not wearing. He had on a regular shirt, regular pants, regular shoes, even regular socks. He didn’t have a mask. I heard a gasp behind me, one of my family members must have spotted this too. I glanced at the huge sign saying, “Masks have to be worn on this property, cover the mouth and the nose.” I caught my voice as I heard my mother get out of her seat and grab the box of masks sitting by the front door. “Here you go Mr. Washington, sir.” She said, her voice, like Lillys, soft, calm and quiet. He stood there for a few seconds then eventually he carefully grabbed one, putting it on. A mask looked silly with his white, crazy hair and stern face. “Thank you.” He said in a deep voice, he sounded like he had a slight British accent.       ------------------------------------------ Me and my mother stepped aside, letting him walk in. Everybody stood up, saluting. I rolled my eyes, glad that I didn't have such a ridiculous reaction to the famous man not two steps before me. “Thank you for coming to our thanksgiving table sir-” My dad said, getting rudely cut off as George Washington grunted, “George.” Dad looked taken aback, “Umm, yes sir,” He took a second to gather himself before taking a deep breath and saying, “George, we are very glad to share this meal that has been prepared. Fun Fact- the men at this table made this food, not the women. We strongly believe that women should not be burdened with the weight of having to be the post of the family.” I glanced around at the rest of my family who were nodding vigorously while looking at George Washington- George I mean- who did not look impressed at all. He grumbled, “The women knew their place back in my day, they cooked, they cleaned, but we had mutual respect. You men do not respect women if you believe that they should sit with their feet up while you tend to their every need.” My head shot up- looking to see what my family's reaction was. The men looked shocked and sheepish, the women looked like they were about to go into battle and the kids had a look of shock on their face. Well, I assumed this, based on their eyes, I couldn't totally tell, because of their masks. Behind my mask was a look of amusement, my grin was so wide that the mask felt like it would burst. I believe that my family has the best intentions, but still, I did agree with George. “Well, lets eat.” My mother said, her voice slightly icy. We all sat down, put on the gloves that were set nicely beside our plate, and loaded our plates full of food. My mother continually reminded us that, “safety first” and “children should not fill their own plates because you are messy and irresponsible with germs.” I looked around, everybody ready and alert. My father motioned towards George, “You can go first sir.” He said, and he did the inevitable. He took his mask off. I heard a collective intake of breath around the whole table. I glanced at everybody's eyes. I quickly tried to save the day by doing what my father was wanting him to do in the first place. I slid the other mask by my plate onto my face. I masterly maneuvered it just right so that when I opened my mouth wide enough there was a slot where I could shovel food into my mouth. It only took a few seconds and I thought that it would help the whole situation, but believe me, it didn’t. “Lilly Elizabeth Roberts!!! You took your mask off while someone else did!! You are getting tested this very second!!” My mother screamed. As she said this she absent mindedly picked up her spoon and stood up, throwing it onto her plate. This would not have been a problem if her plate was empty, but it was overflowing with food. Mashed potatoes flew everywhere, gravy splashing all the way across the room, hitting the front door. The worst of it hit George Washington. I have seen dozens and dozens of pictures of him, I have read thousands of articles and books about him. All of them stated how amazing of a general he was. He led the U.S. in defeating the British, this man was one you do not mess with. I stared down at my plate, scared of what would happen next. It felt like minutes had passed. At last, what I heard surprised me so much that I fell backwards off my chair. He was laughing, hysterically. He slowly picked up his spoon, full of mashed potatoes and green beans, he flung it at her. Her face was full of shock for a few seconds, then she picked up the basket of rolls and started pegging people with them, laughing even more hysterically. We all were roaring with laughter now, flinging food everywhere! After ten minutes of ultimate chaos, including a sneak attack from General George and my cousins, Jenny, Jeff and Jessy, we were settling down. I went to the bathroom and pulled green, slimy goop out of my hair. I thought back to thanksgivings before George came. I was going to invite him back every single year, maybe even for Christmas. Who knows, he makes things more exciting around here. 

yy64k2

Snow Path Crossings

The doorbell rings. I walk over to the door, peep through the peephole, and open the door. “Ms. Chaise?” he says looking down at a piece of paper, “delivery for you from Cuddly Confections.” I know that, your uniform has given you away, I think. “Yes.” I pay the man and go back inside. The box is white cardboard with red lettering and patterns of flowers, hearts, and stars on it, characteristic decorations. It has been secured with clear tape. I put the box in the fridge. The digital clock beside the kitchen sink shows 2:53 pm, and the afternoon is chilly, and silent and still, blessings of the weekend. A nap would feel nice… I sit up in my bed and look at my mobile, it is just past five. I shiver and scuttle to the washroom and wash my face, then wear a sweater. I brew coffee and take out the box. In hindsight, I didn’t need the refrigerator for making the pastries cold in this weather. But when I open the box, there are no pastries at all. Disappointment is strawberry doughnuts for chocolate sprinkled pastries. Shit, should have checked the box before stuffing it in. I almost eat them, but then remember, quite vividly for I have been so many times, the price tags in the shop. The pastries were more expensive. Compromise on flavor and lose out on money? No. I chug my coffee – lava sinters my tongue – and I throw on a jacket and head out to try and return the items. The bakery smells pristine and it is warm with soothing yellow lights. “Hello, how may I help you,” says the man at the counter. He has on a green apron and a smile. “Hello…I have this,” I push the box forward and fumble for a receipt, “I ordered these pastries,” I say pointing towards the pastries visible through the glass enclosure, “But was sent these doughnuts instead,” I say opening the box towards the man, which looks like a little white Pac-man. “Hmm, you ordered these about three hours ago…” “Yes, could I get my original order? Or a refund?” “Just a moment…” he says and goes somewhere. He comes back with another man, elderly, but with a full head of hair (white), black moustache, and spectacles. “Hello Miss, I am Don Wittman, the manager here. How can I help you?” says the elderly man. “I’ve already told him how he can help me…” I didn’t understand the fuss. Why did he have to call this guy? “Uh, yes, so,” says the man, and he explains the situation to Mr. Wittman who nods along. “I see…that’s how it is…hmm.” He thinks for a while looking above my head. What’s above my head? Maybe he’s looking behind me. I look back and there’s nothing except the way to the glass doors out of the shop. “Okay, Miss. We can get you a refund.” “Why not give me the pastries instead?” “Oh, but those are to go out right now and our last pieces for today. Sorry…” “Ah, okay then, that’s fine.” I get out of the shop and figure out where the man had looked. Across from Cuddly Confections, which I just exited, is Baked Offerings. It has lots of woodwork and is smaller. I haven’t been there very many times. So that’s why he gave me a refund on a food item…well, at least the competition helped me. Too bad it doesn’t help Mr. Wittman because I still need those chocolate pastries. I get inside Baked Offerings.  There are two women in the shop, one behind the counter who greets me enthusiastically as I enter. Even I would be energetic if I were surrounded by baked gems all day. The other woman is much older than the first one and looks fidgety. She touches her hands together, fingers wrinkled like parrot legs, rubs her hands together. She gives me an appraising look. Trust me woman, I’m not here to window shop. I can see the pastries from here. “Can I have four of those,” I say. “Of course! Do you want it packed? And anything else?” The younger wench says. “No thanks, please make it to go…” I get back home and open up the box. I put on coffee again. Why must humans keep mirrors everywhere. I see one and see myself trapped inside. I run my hand over my stomach, then slightly lift up my top, and let it drop again. Saggy, I’m a pear. The coffee is ready, and I drink it and eat a pastry. After some time, I eat another. *** It is December and cold and the gods are preparing summer creations on their divine blackboards and the chalk dust is falling down on the earth turning it into a white counterpane for all things alive and dead. Port Washington, Wisconsin, where I live, has a festival every December. Not Christmas. They call it ‘The Snow Path Crossings’ and it’s tomorrow. *** There are lights and people. The lights are warm, man-made fireflies on poles. Where the illumination doesn’t reach, the snow has turned blue in the dusk. I hear laughter and talking and shopkeepers persuading. Somewhere an infant is bawling. People pass by left and right, most have steamy foods in their hands: coffee, tea, cocoa, corn, bagels, sweet buns. They expel steam from their mouths, too. I walk along and buy an espresso. I continue along and see a man playing the ukulele on a slightly elevated limestone platform and there are people gathered around the man, the couples hugging each other side by side, the ukulele gentleman smiling and singing. Further along. Oh, there’s Baked Offerings, I think, seeing the woman and the younger lady working with her at a stall they’ve put up. I walk up to them. There is no crowd here. Like their small shop. I see people going over to Cuddly Confections’ van that they’ve brought out here, which is standing a little way away from this stall. I did like the pastries; I’ll try something else now. “Hello,” I say. “Hi, how are you?” I see brownies and I melt. “Can I have two of those?” I ask, pointing. “Hello, could you give us a moment?” the older woman asks now, “we’re having a bit of a problem here…” “Oh, okay.” “We’re sorry, actually the power is out,” the younger one says. “The power is out?” I look around. There are lights everywhere. “Oh, I mean for this outlet,” she says pointing to the switchboards that are connected to the microwave and oven. She flips the switch off and on to illustrate. The woman who seems to be the manager is shouting at someone on her phone. Probably the contractor who got them this stall. People will buy only heated goods when their ears and faces are cold. I suspect they aren’t going to Cuddly Confections naturally, who would like to stand around in this cold? “I’ll be back,” I say and go away. This should not be happening to them. I walk over to Cuddly Confections’ van. “Hello, Mr. Wittman,” I say. “Oh! Hello er, Miss…?” “I’m Eleanor Chaise.” “Ah, yes, we have seen you many times, Miss. What can we get you today?” I decided to buy something first. “A brownie please.” “Sure, anything else?” “Yes. I need a favor. Baked Offering’s there has a big problem. Their power is out, and they can’t heat up any of their stuff, so no one is buying anything from them.” Mr. Wittman leans out of his Van and looks over. There the woman is still on the phone and is using her hands to effectively communicate her issue telephonically. “Can you help in any way?” I ask. “We have many customers here…” Yes, because you’ve taken all of theirs, I think. “It is a festival Mr. Wittman, please? Couldn’t you, like, sell their stuff out of your van?” “I suppose…” “Okay, I’ll tell them then,” I say and walk away. I don’t look back to see if he has anything else to say. What is the sin in having a stroke of bad luck? An old woman, an old man, both selling warm sugary love to others must have some understanding for each other. I tell the older woman at Baked Offerings and accompany her to the van to establish an understanding. The woman thanks me, bows her head a little as well. I slightly flush and feel warm despite the cold. The woman’s name, I find out, is Thelma Payne. I say it’s no problem and say goodbye. *** It is late January, I am sitting at a park bench, and now I see them walking slowly on the footpath, taking rounds together, Mr. Wittman, and Mrs. Payne. Sometimes she wraps her parrot legged fingers around Mr. Wittman’s hand and he smiles and clutches her hand firmly and gently. I look down and my hands are wrapped around a sweet bun. When will this sweet bun become a sweet hand? I look back up and Mr. Wittman is waving at me. Seeing him Mrs. Payne also turns and waves. I wave back and they get out of my view after a while. They’ve been here pretty often lately. My bun is half finished now, and on the way out of the park there is a trash can. I throw away the bun and get back home. The next day I try jogging. I encounter the new couple – I think I can call them that – every round. Although I can only do three rounds. When their creations are complete, the gods release the new and soft leaves, and the explosions in the sun burn it brighter and snowmen in driveways across America melt into water which is sucked up by the atmosphere and the days get rejuvenated and stick around for longer and the summer arrives like a relative long lost. June, and a month has passed since Baked Offerings cleared out and united with Cuddly Confections as Mr. Wittman and Mrs. Payne became ever closer. I walk by the shop now and peek inside through the glass and see a smiling Mr. Wittman and a flustered Mrs. Payne. There is a big queue. I focus on my reflection in the glass. Not so saggy anymore, Eleanor.

cdfqzp

An Unsuitable Season

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The bright leaves of ember which fluttered and scattered the sidewalks did not suit Mom being gone. Her death had come a season too early. It should have been winter, when the trees were barren and desolate of life; when everything once vibrant was drained of all substance.      “You need a jacket?” My little brother Garrett raised an eyebrow. He was always trying to take care of me; it made me feel like an insufficient elder.      “No, I’m fine,” I monotoned. I had gotten into the habit of giving short, painless answers; ones that didn’t invite more questions.      “Do you want to go somewhere to eat?” Garrett asked--his mouth trying to curve into a smile. "You haven't eaten all day."      “No, I don’t think so.”      His hand wrapped around my shoulder. “I think it’ll cheer us up.”      The concept of feeling cheery again was unfathomable. In fact, I had never been the cheery type. I didn’t love Christmas or carols; I found them mushy and disingenuous. I was a proficient pessimist and expected the worst from politics and people. So how in the world was I supposed to be cheery now, when someone who was always supposed to be there—wasn’t?      “I have to get going. I have work to do on the plane," I murmured, opening the trunk of my car and beginning to unload the leftover apple pie and pastries from the event. Mom hated waste, she had hoarded all things food; any molecule which was at all still edible she would store away and give us on another day.      “I really think you should take the next couple weeks off,” Garrett frowned. “You should stay with Judy and me for a while.”      The funeral had been in Maine, Camden; our hometown. It had been a seven-hour flight from California; and I wanted nothing more than to be back home, completely secluded in my studio apartment. Judy and Garrett’s home, which was our Holiday get together location, was a six-bedroom palace. I had always admired the place, but in honesty, I was jealous of how someone five years younger than me with a less competent job could be more successful.      “I can't. They're depending on me,” I replied, not being able to meet his eyes. “Besides, I don't want to be a burden.”      “You wouldn’t be!” Garrett cried, stopping me before I lowered myself into the front seat. “Look; I need you just as much as you need me. You’re really going to just go back to California and pretend like nothing happened?”      “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I said, my voice a little too harsh. I jerked around him; now in front of the steering wheel.      “Just delay your flight till this weekend; I’ll pay,” he pleaded; and for a moment, I felt bad for him. His face looked young again; his countenance lacking confidence; his eyes unsure and scared. But before I could truly pity him, I remembered my own condition; and how going home to an empty apartment was much worse than going home to a wife and two happy children.     “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I land, okay?”       That was the way we said goodbye. No hugging or good wishes; not even a pat on the back or a mutual warm expression. I pulled out of the church parking lot and watched my brother's figure disappear in the rearview mirror.      I had neither the decency nor the strength to wave a parting hand or turn around and tell him how good it was seeing him, or how much his presence had stopped me from breaking. I wouldn't tell him how his warm glances had got me through the funeral or how his reassuring tone had reminded me so much of Mom's warmness. I wouldn't tell him how much I missed him, and how if he had extended his and Judy's invitation a second time, I would have said yes. I kept driving.      Fall's leaves were not sympathetic. They danced around my car like orange and brown butterflies, taking off on their glorious flights to a new beginning. Sometimes they were so eager to lift off the ground that they got stuck in between my wiper blades.      I felt my body collapsing when I took the ramp onto the freeway. Every second I was getting farther and farther from my brother, from Maine, and everything that Mom was. The realization of returning to a life and a city I hadn't liked in the first place made me feel as though I was carrying out a life sentence.      Call him, I thought. Just call him. Tell him you want to stay. He would be happy about it.      I was in the midst of busy traffic now, everyone speeding and switching lanes as if they were on their way to meet with the president.      Just do it. Tell him you're not alright.      But, like you do when you're driving, my mind started drifting to the call, the call that had woke me up from my suburbian California slumber. The one which had brought my attention back to the trees and the way the sky looked, the one which had brought me back to life only to kill me.      Garrett had called at three AM. I always left my phone on; I was a diligent employee and had been summoned many times to the office chambers to do some extra filing. I had expected the call to be just like those aforementioned; but as soon as I picked up, as soon as I heard that voice--I knew something was wrong.      "Hi, uh--Elijah?"      "Garrett? What's going on? Why are you calling so late?"      Silence followed. I could hear every sound of my apartment. The fridge's humming, the clock's ticking, the dripping of the faucet. I asked again. "What's going on?"      It came out sharp and unbelieving, like a despairing whisper into the night. "Mom's dead." I knew what he wanted to hear. It's not true. You're wrong. You're dreaming. But I could provide no such answer.      " What?"      "She died two hours ago. Heart attack." He was crying now, his voice muffled; pathetic sounding.      But all I could see was her face; glowing there in the darkness of my room. Her two swirly brown eyes staring into mine, her cheeks playful, her smile optimistic. And then all at once, when my brother spoke again, she disappeared.      "Are you--Are you still there?" Garrett sniffled crazily, trying to keep his voice composed.      "Yeah,” I whispered, doubtful that he heard it.      "Are you still there?" Panicked, desperate. I wanted so badly to be able to calm him but all my senses had left me.      "Yeah," I tried to amplify my voice. It worked well enough.      "Are you okay?"      "I'm fine."      One week later, I took a flight to Maine. Garrett had begged me to come sooner, but I told him I had work. Work always got me out of things.      When Garrett invited me to his wedding in Maine, seven years prior, I told him I have work. I can't get out of it. After just being broken up with by my long time college girlfriend, I wasn't in the mood to see my brother and his perfect woman declare their love. If anything, I hated them for it. It was as if they had picked the date of my heartbreak on purpose; just to parade around their good fortune.      When Garrett had his first baby, Delilah, and told me to fly to Camden, I said I have work. I'm sorry.      I was a terrible brother. In all aspects, I had failed to be there for Garrett. I had envied his head and heart for too long; had taken pleasure in denying his demands. Mom had always told me that I was bad at making choices.      "You're too impulsive," she laughed. It was the last Christmas we had spent together. We had taken a morning walk (we were always the first people up).       "And too prideful. You make an impulsive decision, and then you're too prideful to take it back. It's a nasty combination" She said it with a smile.       I realized, sourly, that I was completing the same cycle all over again. In fifteen minutes I would arrive at the airport. It would have been far easier to keep driving, to take that plane to California, and go back to my dull, colorless life. To not have to deal with Mom through my brother or through all the memories of the town she grew up in.      But I thought about her, in those moments. I thought about her power, her bluntness, her reliance in me, and most of all--what seemed like her endless encouragement. She had never ended a call without saying, "I love you, sweetie." She had never left a get together without telling me in some way or another, "I'm proud of you."      I got off on the next exit.       I'll give you something real to be proud of, Mom, I thought. And then I drove back to Camden. 

ho8ld5

Smallest minds

Once, there was a girl named Madison. She was always scared to say how she felt. She always felt sad and frustrated because her mom never listened to her. Ever since her dad died Madison's mom wanted her daughter to live her dream, since she couldn't because her husband died from a gun shot. Madison's dad Bill, was walking from the store and was shot. She would try to tell her mom she didn't want to live her dream. She wanted to live her dad's dream and sing. Madison's mom Carla would not listen. She would always say " I'm so proud of you for living my dream". So, she never had a chance to say what she wanted to do.Madison thought to herself, " If only I knew how to say what I wanted to say". She would weep in the middle of the night wondering if her mom would ever listen to what she had to say. Most of the time she wept because it was because her dad died. In the morning her mom said," Sweetheart if you want to tell me anything you can." No you won't listen to me anyway." "Alright sweetheart if you need me I'll be here for you." "Whatever you say mom". said Madison. As she closed the door. About a year later Madison had turned twelve. Madison said," Mom it's my birthday and I wanted to tell you something." Madison's mom started to say," Oh that reminds me I'll." "STOP right there ever sense dad died you never listen to me anymore". Madison said, " I'm getting tired of this". Madison said." Just listen for one minute". "What I have been trying to say for the past two years is I don't want to live your dream". " I want to live my dream". Madison said. " "I want to be a singer in California." Madison's mom said," " Alright I'm sorry I just wanted you to live my dream so you wouldn't fell like you let your dad down." As she hugged her. Thirteen years later she became a singer and met a man named Kevin. They had four kids named Casey, Mike, Alice, and Jordan Casey was four Mike was six Alice was seven and Jordan was ten. As the children grew up they started to master their goals. Casey became a doctor, Mike became a case worker, Alice was a dentist, and Jordan became a private chef. AS all the children grew up they were all better at different things. Casey had a great sense of humor but, the more people she met the more things she started to figure out. She figured out that some parents didn't care about what their kids had to say. So she started a club called listen to me. The club was a group of kids that felt like their parents didn't listen to them. The kids told Casey how they felt and Casey had a idea her idea was to teach the kids how to tell their parents how they felt. Casey said," I'll tell you guys the story of how my mom got my grandma to listen to her. So the kids took her advice so of the parents listened some didn't. The kids who got their parents to listen left the club. There were about twenty kids in the group. She taught them how to get their parents attention. The kids got their attention by asking for help with their homework. Then they would tell them how they felt. One day all the kids came to the club and one girl came in crying because her parents wouldn't listen. Casey said don't worry it will be okay. The girl asked," Casey can you please come to my house and help me. Casey said," Alright I'll come at 4:00. The girl said," Okay thank you thank you." As she hugged her. So Casey came and talked to the girl's mom. Casey said," Hi it's a pleasure to meet you don't worry I'm not a case worker my brother is. Anyway I want to talk to you. "Not trying to tell you how to raise your daughter but, you might want to listen to her she wants to tell you how she fells." Thank you mam. For your time but I must go to my other job." The girl's mom Mrs. Sally talked to her daughter. The next day the girl Amy thanked Casey and told her that her that mom listened and told Casey that she had to leave the group because her mom listened to Amy. Meanwhile her brothers and sister had good jobs as well. Mike had a friend that couldn't speak up for himself. His mom would always say," I don't care it's not important." So Mike's friend helped out with Casey's group. When Casey was at her other job Mike's friend Jake would take over. Sometimes it was hard at their job. So they put up posters to get more help. The job got bigger so big that the kids were allowed to take the helpers to their house to talk to their parents. After that her job got so big there were Listen to me clubs all around the city. Soon Casey had children so her nieces and nephews took over Casey's job. To help the kids bond with their parents they made a parent fair you could have fun with their parents. They could draw and spend time with their parents. One month later they had a fun raiser. Some parents were on cupcakes. Others were on napkins, foam plates, foam bowls, punch, lemonade and different things. They threw the fun raiser so the kids could spend time with their parents. All the Listen to me clubs came together and took a picture together to celebrate twenty years of their job. Casey came that day and thanked everybody and the kids that came. Also the kids that used to come when they where kids came to celebrate with them. The kids that used to come brought cake, ice cream ,pizza, and soda to throw a party. Soon their job wore off so they sold the club but, Casey and her nieces and nephews still made sure that kids parents still listened to what they had to say and they lived happily ever after. The moral of the story is listen to your kids and believe your kids. Written by Naudia White I hope you like my story good luck everyone hope you win

407inv

The Inherited Gothic House

When Grandma left me an old Victorian house, I looked up at it, and it resembled that of the Addams family's home. Its colors were gray and white with black shutters. It was early winter so trees stood, bare and forlorn. Cardinals and black birds landed on them, turning to chirp at me as if teasing me. Squirrels ran to climb up the bark, carrying food in their swollen cheeks. Something about the house caused goosebumps on my arms. People warned me that it was haunted but I didn't care. I arrived there, planning to convert it to a bed and breakfast hotel. But I met a ghost named Jeffery, the first owner of the house from 1885. He nixed the idea and told me he wanted me to convert it to a boarding house for students because our house was located near the university campus. So I hired a group of contractors to do the job, and in no time, it became very popular with both professors and students. They hired catering folks to host parties now and then. Jeffrey was very happy. But we stumbled upon one problem: Cousin Thomas. He got angry and said he should get the house instead of me. Our family regarded him as a very unpleasant, rude guy who didn't go to many of our parties during the holidays, and he, recently divorced, got fired from his position as a manager of a local fast-food restaurant. He hired a lawyer named Mr. Janson. Mr. Janson came to my office in my house and told me, "Miss Elaine, your cousin is going to contest Grandma's will. See you in the courtroom soon." He gave me an oily smile and left. I didn't like this guy; I judged him as a slimy snake. I had to hire my lawyer, and his name was Mr. Henderson. He was very nice and sympathetic, and he looked concerned when I told him about Mr. Janson. "The lawyer your cousin hired is reputed to be the best in the real estate litigation, and he rarely loses his cases. But I'll try my best." This didn't sound good, I remembered thinking. But I hoped for the best when we went to the courtroom two days later. But Mr. Janson proved to be very good, and he argued that Cousin Thomas was the oldest son of Grandma's oldest son while I was the youngest daughter of Grandma's middle son. Also, he managed to produce documents to show that Grandma was in the last stage of her terminal breast cancer when she had drawn her will, and the series of chemotherapy sessions caused her brain to get confused. With this evidence, the judge declared the will as invalid and awarded the possession of the house to Cousin Thomas who gave me a malicious grin. Before I left the courthouse, Cousin Thomas ran up to me and looked at me with glee. "Now I got that house, I'll hire my friend, the best contractor in this town to change it into a first-class family house. When done, I plan to sell it to the highest bidder with a growing family for a few million dollars. Every one of it comes into my pocket, and I'll use it to book a cruise ride around the world!" He turned to gloat at me, calling me a big loser. He promised me that he'd tell everyone in our town about what a little foolish girl I had been to lose our family house in the courtroom. Dejected, I went home and had plain macaroni and cheese dish for dinner. When Jeffrey appeared out of air and saw my face, he asked,"Elaine, what was the matter? You looked sad." When I told him about Cousin Thomas and the upcoming loss of our house, Jeffrey's face twisted into anger, resembling that of a raging bear, frightening me. Seeing my expression, he rearranged his expression back to normal and apologized for scaring me. He floated to sit down on a chair nearer to me and put his arms around my shoulders. He whispered, "Elaine, don't worry. I have extensive contacts in the ghost community so I'll get someone to fix this for good. Wait and see what happens." Three days later, Mr. Henderson called me and said, "Guess what happened? Your cousin was driving home from a party, lost the control of his car and hit a tree. The police found alcohol in his bloodstream, measuring long above the legal amount. He's dead now so I'll have the court to revert the house back to you. My condolences about your cousin's untimely death." Shocked, I thanked him and turned my phone off. Cousin Thomas hated alcohol so much that he had never touched a single drop. How did he get drunk enough to get himself killed? Since I was the nearest relative Cousin Thomas had, I went to a local morgue and viewed his body, his face sporting a large, ugly wound across his forehead. When the coroner asked me if I had recognized him. I nodded, feeling numb. "Yes, this is Cousin Thomas. Please send him to a funeral home whose address I'll give you now." One week later, I hired a minister to do a memorial service for Cousin Thomas and invited a number of our relatives and friends. But only a few appeared. It turned out that so many people in our town didn't like him; someone told me that they held a secret party to celebrate the demise of my cousin the previous night. When I came home and used my smartphone to order my meal of a cheeseburger with fries with an orange soda, delivered to my front door, Jeffrey appeared to me. Cheerful, he asked me, "How's your day?" When I told him about what happened with Cousin Thomas, he smiled. "Well, an old friend of mine owed me a big favor and went to that party where your cousin was drinking his coke. He managed to get someone distracting Thomas, he poured half a tequila bottle into his drink. The coke disguised the taste so your cousin finished his drink." I shook my head, bemused. "So that was how Cousin Thomas got that drunk. I guess He got what he deserved." The ghost nodded. "I agree."

qdh5ca

Johnny and Sandy Went Apple Picking

One day Johnny got home from school on a Friday afternoon, he was in a rush to eat dinner. But the bus was taking forever. He told the bus driver to go faster and he was not going to do that so he wouldn't put lives in danger. He finally got home and he grabbed a plate and got a hamburger fries and chips. After he ate he asked if he can go apple picking tomorrow to start of the weekend right. His parents named Joseph and Michelle didn't care. So he texted his friend named Sandy and asked if she wanted to go pick apples her and her parents didn't care. So the next day he woke up and packed his bags. His mom asked him if he has water and things to not get dehydrated. He ignored her and walked out the door and his friend Sandy was waiting outside for him so he threw his bags in the trunk and they took off. The nearest apple picking place was about 4 and half hours away, so the just drove it. They stopped at the store to get snacks and drinks for the trip because they both forgot to pack some. They also used the bathroom and that took about 10 minutes. So then they kept driving and didn't stop until they got to the apple picking place. They got out and got there bags and baskets and they got to picking. About 2 hours in they were having to much fun and forgot to call their parents. So there parents kept calling and calling and so they called them back, and they were getting yelled at over the phone. They apologized and their parents were ok with them apologizing so they let them stay longer. Pretty soon it was getting dark so they called and asked if they can stay the night at a hotel. their parents asked why and then Johnny and Sandy said "we didn't get a lot and we wanna pick more tomorrow". Their parents said " yes that would fine be home by tomorrow night. So they went and got a hotel room and stayed up late because they were having fun. So they woke up and took a shower, brushed their teeth, and got ready. Then they left they called their parents to let them know they are on their way back to the apple picking place. So they got out of the car and went to go pick some more apples. Then the host of the place came up to the and asked them how many apples you plan on getting today. They responded " enough to make our families happy. So then they left and got home before dark. Johnny walked inside and then Sandy went home and Johnny's parents asked how many he picked he didn't know so he dumped them out on the ground and they counted them. Sandy walked inside her house and her parents asked the same thing so she dumped them out on the ground and started counting them. Johnny's total was nine hundred and seventy-eight. Sandy's total was nine hundred sixty-nine. So then they both had to many apples so they started selling them outside of their houses. The first day of selling didn't go as planned. They were upset because it didn't go well. Their parents told them everyone's first day didnt go well. So then they ate dinner and called it a night. Once they woke up and started selling apples again. They sold them from dusk till dawn and they were happy because they sold ninety percent and made about five hundred dollars. The they went to school the next day and then the teachers asked everyone how was their weekend and Johnny said "good i went apple picking and got home and sold a lot of them". Sandy is a in a different grade so instead of telling them she had to write it out. So she did and the teachers asked Sandy how much money did you end up making she replied " Almost 500 dollars". The teacher told Sandy to stand up in front of the class and tell the class how her weekend was and how much money she made. The teacher told the class that that is a good way to make money. Then Johnny's teacher told the class that that is also a good way to start making money. They got home and they wanted to go to the mall to spend some money. Their parents told them no they need to save it for the future. So they didn't argue. So they kept doing this for about a month as a routine and pretty soon they had about $3500. Sandy went and bought a new car. Johnny went and bought a car and bought some snacks. Their parents are proud of them. They went back to the apple picking place and then they each got free apples they got a total of five thousand. They also went and picked some more they left the apple place that day with four thousand apples each. Then the next day johnny couldn't sell his apples. Over the night he fell of his bed and got brain damage so his parents rushed him to the hospital and doctor said " im sorry mam but your son is bleeding out of his head and he will have to stay over night" his mom just broke down in tears and started praying to god. His dad sat right beside her and hugged they just sat their and cried the doctors found some apple juice in the room and gave it to Johnny and Johnny drank it once he woke up. His parents and his best friend Sandy they were just sitting there looking at him in tears and he drank some more apple juice and the brain stopped bleeding. Then they got home and johnny sold the rest of his apples and paid his hospital bill and now hes living like a king.

ggxft9

You Brought This On Yourself

The plan included five. One to make a diversion. Two to keep the people at gunpoint. One to shove the money into the bag. One parked outside as the getaway. I was one of the five who held a gun against a group of people. Some in their evening dresses, others in their black suits. I noticed a small child pressed against its mother. The mother held on tightly to her child as soon as we pulled out our guns. “Nobody move.” said Carter. He was the brains, our leader, in this operation. He aimed the gun with a steady hand, towards a man. The man’s jaw was clenched as he raised his palms slowly to prove his submission. Carter aimed his gun at the other people, the ones who were settling into shock. A robbery? In plain daylight? No. Not now. Not in this small town. I did the same as Carter, although my hands shook noticeably. Carter glanced my way, his eyes narrowed. He didn't trust me. Which was why I wasn't parked outside as a getaway. No, that was Ben. He was Carter's right hand man. Ben wanted to be a part of the robbery, in the action. But Carter had turned him down. He trusted him more than the rest of us. So he was outside. Waiting. Ruby always had a flair for the dramatics, so she was chosen as the one who would cause a scene, drawing away attention from at least one of the tellers. Ruby pretended to convulse on the floor. It was our best diversion yet. It had worked, drawing everyone's attention. We chose today because there were only two bank tellers. And few people. Only four today. Plus the kid. It was ten am. Let me backtrack to the beginning. I met Carter and his little possé a few weeks ago. I was with my friend Ella. She was sick with the flu, so she phoned me. Her parents were out of town. I was in her kitchen, preparing some food, when I heard a knock on her door. It was Carter- but I didn't know his name then. That's when I first met him. He was startled when he saw me. “Hello, my name is Carter. Is Ella here?” He was so cordial and polite and he was handsome. Naturally, I was flustered. “I'm her friend. She's sick right now.” I said. “I'm her cousin.” He said. “Carter.” He held out his hand to me and I took it. “I'm Grace.” I said. We held onto each other's hands for longer than usual. Now we were both flustered and I found it endearing. He had come around to drop off a post for Ella's parents. “I didn't know Ella was sick. I'll come over again and bring her something.” He said. I don't want to get into it, so the gist of the story was that Carter and myself spent a lot of time those few days together caring for Ella and then he introduced me to his friends. Ben, Matthew and Ruby. As I spent more of my time with them, I noticed odd things. They were roguish and believed themselves above the law. Ruby was kind to me at first, but the moment she noticed something between Carter and me, she shut me out. Ignoring me at times. And then Carter leaned in once, to kiss me and I backed off. He was offended that I had done that to him. So then he wouldn't stop. He had been with Ruby before, and Ruby had told me once that he lived an immoral life. Full of lies and deceit. “How did you even meet the guy?” She had asked. I hadn't replied. I was stunned and it had sent shivers up my back. One day, I walked to Matthews place, which was where they liked to hang out most. By then it was too late. I had spent weeks with them. I couldn't just disappear. They knew everything about me. I knocked on the door and there was no answer. I made my way down the steps and heard a car screech to a stop in front of us. They all poured out of the car. Carter was drunk with ecstasy. Pure glee written all over his face. Behind him, Ben and Ruby carried a plastic bag. Some money spilled out of it. They stopped abruptly as soon as they saw me. Ben and Ruby stopped smiling. It wouldn't take a genius to connect two and two together. The newspapers had news about recent robberies. And I had just caught them. “Grace.” Carter said, his smile was still there. Matthew shut the ignition from the car and stepped out. “Well you've caught us.” Carter said. His eyes shuttered then, the smile and ecstasy that was there only moments before was gone. He neared me and it took everything in me to not run away screaming. There was a reason they chose Matthews house. It was shoved in the corner of an empty and vacant neighborhood. The houses spread out by hundreds of feet. This was the country after all. And right now, there was no one else here. He placed his arm around my shoulder. And I clenched my jaw, to stop my teeth from chattering. “Stay with me, and nothing has to happen.” He said. And so I made it by a few more weeks, with the pretense that I was completely all right with all of this. They stole money from gasoline stations and a few family run stores and left a trail of threats in place. Which was why the cops didn't do anything or know anything about the group of five stealing money. My father was at work all day. And when he finished up he would go to bars. My mother was always with her friends and she could care less about anything. Her world fell apart when she found out her husband had been having an affair. And me, I was already an adult at nineteen. I worked as a secretary in an obscure newspaper column. Carter and his friends waited for me once I finished up. “New operation.” Carter said. He had come to resent me in the few weeks after I discovered them. He wanted me only because he always got what he wanted. And it infuriated him that I didn't give him what he wanted. “I'll be the getaway driver.” I offered, as Carter finished his plan. “Nice try.” He said. “No. Ben will be driving.” So it was settled. Fast forward to today, but a few minutes earlier. I had grabbed some of my mother's opiates and smash then with a rock I had found outside. Ben was a snacker. Especially when he was nervous. In front of the car he had a stash of chocolates. Hand made by his grandmother or something along those lines. I slathered some of the drug onto the chocolates. Unless he looked closely at them, which he wouldn't, they still looked normal. I brought them into the car and placed them in front of him. “Hey, thanks, Grace. You see, Carter? Without these, the operation is a complete fail.” Ben had said, once we were all in the car. Now, I hoped he was as high as a kite. All I needed was to shoot at Carter's leg and run out, take the car and drive up to my cousins up north. Write about it to my parents-maybe- and continue with my life. The plan wasn't a bad one. Ruby stopped convulsing and remained on the floor. “The girl needs help.” Said the man, as Carter aimed the gun at him next. The man was furious, but also afraid. “What are you going to do? There's nothing you can do for her.” Carter said. Then he turned his head for a second to hurry Matthew up. “Hurry it up back there.” Carter said. We only had two guns. Matthew had shoved both bank tellers to the group we were aiming our guns at. So now there were six people. Plus the kid. “Keep steady,” Carter said, sparing me a glance “My stomach.” Ruby started, moving quickly to an upright position. She ran to the restrooms. I stifled a smile. I had laced her drink with slow working laxatives. They finally took effect. The whole group looked at her, shocked. “She tricked us.” Said a man. He glared at the pair of us. “Just wait till the police--” “Shut up.” Barked Carter. The man shut his mouth. Now it was my time to act. I aimed the gun at Carter. “Run all of you.” I said to the people. They didn't wait, they scrambled out of the building. “Matthew-” Carter began. He was stunned. His body taut like a wire. “Shut up.” I hissed. “You brought this on yourself. I walked out backwards, facing him. There was no way I would turn my back to him.  “Lower your gun, or I'll shoot your leg, I swear-” I started. “ I'll kill you.” he said, with venom in his voice. “Drop it,'' I said, faltering. “You ruined everything.” he continued. I shot at the ceiling and that was enough to startle him and Matthew, who was still collecting the money. I ran out, my hand clenching the gun tightly. “ Grace, damn it.” said Carter as he ran after me. Ben was knocked out senseless on the driver's seat. With all the force I could muster I shoved him to the side where he landed unceremoniously onto the passenger seat. There was no time to shove him out of the car. Carter was coming. I aimed the gun at Carter and pressed on the trigger. My hand reverberated with the force of it. It left my head spinning as I climbed into the car, my entire body shaking.  I had shot his leg. He was crying out in pain. “Goodbye.” I said stupidly. I didn't want to go to jail. Carter's mouth was agape. He couldn't believe what I had done. He was crying out in pain. He was yelling obscenities and cursing me out. His eyes blazed with anger as I turned the keys that were ready for me in the ignition. Matthew had ran outside the building too now, with bags in hand. I slammed on the pedals. “When I get out, I will get you back for this- do you hear me?” he yelled as I drove away. I glanced at Ben's body. I could dump Ben's body in a street before he became lucid. After a few minutes I reached the interstate. Only then did my shaking hands become steady. And I allowed my tears to spill.

zxoe59

Jerrick's Journey

Back in the Day, Jarick was very good at math. Although he was very smart and good at school, he struggled socially. school years went on, he grew more and more into wanting to be an engineer. He was really into building and fixing things. He would take all the engineering courses in high school. He learned how different tools Works, he also learned how to program Electronics. He grew incredibly fascinated with that field. Never in his Wildest Dreams could you ever imagine doing anything different. As he started the process of picking and choosing what colleges to apply to and ultimately shows what school he wanted to attend, he made sure to pick a school with a great engineering program. Instead of weighing his options, He chose to attend the Arizona State Univerity to be an engineer. He went all-in on the thought of being an engineer. “Wow,” you said, as he couldn't believe he was actually going to get an opportunity to live out his dream. When he got to college he quickly began to start his classes in engineering. He loved it, he really enjoyed the people he was surrounded by, and he really enjoyed the experience. He thought to himself that it wouldn’t hurt his life if he took some classes to help himself socially. Those classes ended up being the best thing for him to do. In those classes he learned how to connect with people, he learned how to handle uncomfortable situations, and he learned how to talk to people he hadn’t met before. It was a skill that completely changed his life. He started getting more and more friends. He started going to parties. He started living his best life, and it was a huge change from his life before. As his first quarter of college was nearing the end, he had many friends, and he went from being a nobody to being one of the “popular” people. He was much happier with his life how it was but there was just one problem. He wasn’t nearly as interested in being an engineer anymore. He started to enjoy it less and less the more he realized he liked working with connecting with people and making relationships. This problem created problems with his parents because they were paying for his college to be an engineer, and now he doesn’t want to do that anymore. He talked with his parents and they tried giving him the advice to stick it out and just do what he used to love to do, but he couldn’t stand doing it anymore and decided to change his major. After long thinking, he decided to tryout business. He enrolled in all these economics classes, and business classes. He got very confused but he enjoyed the content more so he stuck with it. He finished off the semester in those classes, and he really enjoyed it. He was much happier at the end of the semester than he was at the beginning. One of the reasons he is happier is that with his friends he joined a gym, and started to get in shape. He really enjoyed doing that with his friends. He especially likes playing basketball, and he started to realize he had a hidden talent in basketball. To start off the second semester he really started to understand and grasp the content he was learning in his new business classes. He not only understood the classes but started to excel in them. As time started to go on, he applied for an internship at a company that sold sports equipment. He started studying prices and selling sales strategies so he got the internship. When he went for the interview he realized he was in a good position to receive the internship, and sure enough, he got it. Later that year he started going to the store to learn how the company worked, and he was most excited because he knew once the internship was over he would have a full-time job for the company. So he started to excel, he started to really understand people, and he started to really understand why people might want to buy things, he started to exploit that part of people. One day a famous basketball coach from the NBA came into the store and he went to Jerrick to talk to him about what he wanted to buy. It was Christmas time so he was looking for something for a gift for his kid. Jerrick helped him out, and the coach really liked him and asked for his name so every time he came back he would know who to ask for help. When he left Jerrick made sure to tell him that he’s a big fan and that he loves playing basketball. The coach left and went on with his day. Fast forward a year and the NBA team that, that coach was a part of was looking for new players, so they held a tryout. The coach remembered Jerrick and asked him if he wanted to try out. Jerrick didn’t know what to do he was so excited. He of course went to the tryout, and he not only played well but impressed the coaches also. After the tryout, the coach walked over to Jerrick to offer him a 10-day contract to see how he can contribute to the team, and after the 10-day contract, they would reevaluate to see if they will offer him a year contract. He started his 10-day contract and was playing out of his mind. In NBA games he was averaging 15 points per game and for that team, in particular, that is super good. He began getting media attention, and before people knew it he was an internet sensation. He gave the team and management nothing else to do but offer him a year contract. While they were negotiating, due to his social classes he took in college, and due to his business classes in college, he talked his way into getting $1 million dollars for the year. Never in a million years would he ever have thought that he would be in the NBA, he started his journey wanting to be an engineer, then wanted to be a salesman, and now he is in the NBA.

l001nr

The Challenge

Adam Adams picked up the microphone and stepped forward. “Hello and welcome to the Ho-Ho-Holidays Cookie Challenge! Today we have 3 teams determined to make the biggest cookie they can in 1 hour! And the winner of today’s challenge will win $10,000 to split between them and a set of these AMAZING spatulas! Ok, let’s meet our teams. From Philadelphia we have the Millwood Mixers . Kim, why don’t you introduce your team?” Kim leaned forward into the mic. “Hi, I’m Kim and this is my sister Carrie and my brother Ed. We love baking as a family and we can’t wait to bring home the $10,000!!! Woooo!” Kim smiled forcefully but that force never reached her eyes, which remained focused on something in the distance. Adam nodded several times, as though deeply invested in her story. “Ok, well, good luck with that! And now on to the next team, from Grand Rapids we have the… ” The host’s voice has gone beyond bubbly and entered the realm of the sugary ooze that creeps out of an overfilled éclair. Kim begins to let her thoughts drift towards that money. Will it be enough? What if they don’t actually win? What’s everyone going to say then? She tries to wrestle those thoughts away and remember what the chill Australian guy on her meditation app said… “be in the moment. Let the thoughts drift by like boats on a river…” Kim imagines her ex husband tied to the sail, as that boat hurtles towards a waterfall, soon to be a wet memory. She did feel better. She should really practice meditating more. Her attention snaps back to the present just as Adam points towards the workstations set up in the middle of the large stage, and clicks the stopwatch. “Your time starts…NOW!” Kim, Carrie and Ed run to the station, and huddle around the ipad containing their recipe for today. To be honest, they didn’t really need it. Kim had been forcing them to practice this each Saturday at Ed’s house, so no time was wasted. She had no room for error. They could bake a sugar cookie in their sleep. But this wasn’t just any sugar cookie. This thing had to be big. SO big they would need to create it in sections and then fasten it together with frosting and fondant. (Kim hated fondant, but who goes on a baking show and doesn’t use it? Absurd) Then they would need to assemble it on the table in front of the station. The decorating had already been planned out and assigned to each person, with Kim being the supervisor (of course) The design had already been decided and practiced on page after page of sketch paper until it was efficient and there could be no chance of anything going wrong. NO Room for mistakes, Kim thought. She glanced over at Ed. He was the weakest part of the team, he didn’t feel the same sense of urgency as she did. This was a game to him, nothing more. And Carrie…she would do whatever Kim asked, being the older sister still had some sway over her. But neither of them NEEDED this like she did. Kim adjusted the bowl of the stand mixer before scooping the measuring cup into the flour canister. She dumped the flour into the bowl, and scooped again. Her husband Jim had decided to leave. He stated it manner-of-factly, as if it annoyed him that he had to explain it out loud. Like he was bored with the idea. How long had he had the knowledge, come to grips with it in his own time? How long had he played out scenarios in his head, cried his tears until, finally, he could move on? And why did he expect her to just jump on board the speeding bus that had just crashed into her, knocking the wind out of her body? And oh, by the way, we really should sell the house. It would be best. For both of us. I’ve already come up with some ideas. More ideas. How long had these ideas existed? Why didn’t she know? Kim realized she lost count of scoops. She’d have to start over. Time wasted. This was not in HER plan. She dumped the flour and took a deep breath. The next time her mind drifted, she was smoothing cookie dough onto a pizza pan. Where would she live? It was obvious she’d have to go somewhere. But her job didn’t pay her enough to save anything. Would she have to borrow money from her parents at this age? She knew they’d help but there would be that LOOK, the one that would briefly appear on her mom’s face that said “we thought you’d be doing better by now”. Kim looked down at the uneven layer of cookie. She’d scraped one section right down to the metal pan. The part next to it was 3 inches tall. Kim rolled her eyes and and quickly evened out what she could before dashing to the ovens. They were already behind. Kim felt a bead of sweat run down her forehead and plop into her eye. The salt burned, and she felt her eye begin to tear up. Her hair was escaping from the elastic she had entrapped it in that morning, the heat from the lights causing it to become frizzy. She looked down at the cookie (can she still call it that?) It was inexplicably burnt and crumbly in some parts, and soggy in others. The fondant had ripped as they tried to roll it out, and then became lumpy as they hastily pressed it together to cover the top. There were large areas of naked raw cookie, unencumbered by fondant. Kim looked out of her watery eye, mascara joining with the salt and sliding down her face in a sticky charcoal trail. The other teams were still working, finishing up the last bits of embellishment before the judging started. She could sense them trying not to look, but when she glanced over at the tall guy from Team Bake , he met her eyes and quickly looked away. Even he didn’t want to witness this wreck. Kim felt her hopes at winning slipping away like that boat over the falls, except this time it was her that was on board and her ex was on the shoreline shaking his head. It was the pity on his face that enraged her. He never did believe in her. Kim reached out and broke a piece of cookie off and put it in her mouth. She stood there, thoughts drifting to what would happen now. Would she have to move back home? Rent a place of her own, some little apartment that barely contained one person, let alone someone with a whole life of THINGS beside her? But that life was over now. Kim reached out and absentmindedly picked off another piece of cookie and shoved it into her face. She slumped against the counter, and slowly slid down onto her butt, still chewing. And chewing. How was it chewy AND burnt? At the judge’s table, the 3 talking heads huddled together, casting concerned looks at Kim and the mucky station behind her. Carrie and Ed stood silently, unsure of what to do now that their captain had seemingly gone down with the ship. Carrie wiped her hands over and over on her apron, cleaning hands that weren’t even dirty anymore. Ed eyed the camera person’s equipment and wondered if he should get into photography. Kim saw designer shoes coming towards her in her peripheral vision. Adam had apparently been chosen to approach Kim and her Cookie of Doom. She heard him clear his throat and inhale deeply. “Hi Kim, how’s it going over here?” She looked up at him with wet, black stained eyes, unsure if he was being sarcastic or just oblivious. She saw the concerned look in his eyes, with a little bit of timid rabbit mixed in for good measure. He tentatively reached down a hand to help her up and she accepted gratefully. He felt a bit of sticky batter smear on to his palms, as he pulled her up. “So, uh…what’s your next move?” he asked “A studio apartment next to the bus depot, apparently” she answered. He looked at her, confused. “Look, Adam, let’s be real. This isn’t working. I mean, look at it…” she gestured towards the bloated corpse of sugar cookie on the table. “I have to go. I’ll figure it out. I mean, maybe I’ll like being on my own.” She untied her apron and let it fall on the floor. Looking around for an Exit, she remembered the door behind the stage, pointed out to her during the safety presentation that morning. She walked past the host desk, past the craft services table and the confused assistants milling around behind the stage. She pushed open the door and stepped out on to Melrose. The humidity was bad out here too, and she ripped the elastic out of her hair and shook her head. Deep breath in, like the Australian guy said, and away she walked. Alone but determined. 

xqojey

The Tragic Honeymoon

Janie McCrory This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, janie giggled and Shrieked as harry tickled her and smacked her from behind, she tried all her possible best to wiggle away from his mischievous touches but she was a second too late and he scooped her up in his arms. He looked her dead in the eyes and saw the glint of happiness and passion behind those green eyes and he knew just perfectly that she was the right choice for him  "I love you" he groaned, she was about to reply him back but he tossed her onto the bed, towered over her as she shrieked caught off guard and kissed her deeply without bothering for a reply back She swinged her arms around his neck and returned the tender kiss which grew more and more intense by the second. Harry cupped her breasts from her gown and groaned into her mouth as the fabric was a huge hindrance, he stopped the kiss, lifted her back off the bed and undid the bodice of the dress and grinned as the gown came off "do you like what you see mr. Mcrory, Harry licked his lips and kept grinning as Janie's soft and smooth skin came into light, I'm indeed one lucky bastard he thought as he resumed the kiss and fondled her breasts and she moaned into his mouth this time around savoring and enjoying every touch and kiss, her body was heating up and her pearl gate was getting moist.    Harry took his tux off and ripped off his shirt, he went in for another kiss but that was a ruse, he buried his head on her left breast and nibbled a little hard on the nipple, she gasped out, grabbed the back of his head for hin to continue, he made his way southwards for her pearl gate and that was when they heard the sound, it was a common sound but uncommon in a five star hotel suite, the sound was that of a cat meowing   They both looked at each other awed, "was that?" Asked janie, harry nodded "yes, a cat", harry redid his belt and tucked his erection between his legs which made Janie giggle. He breezed to the door and swinged it open but the hallway was empty, "there's nothing here" he said, before he could close the door the cat meowed again somewhere close, harry groaned and went in search of the cat.   There was nothing spectacular about the meow of a cat but it was oddly strange because the staff of the hotel colombes d' amour worked tirelessly around the clock to meet and satisfy their clients and occupants needs but he keeps on telling his dad and urging him for them to switch hotels for a while now but he remained adamant because the hotel was like a second home to them and there was around the clock security which harry didn't know of that his dad put in place already.   The sound was getting closer, a door opened behind him and janie spoke in a whisper "found it yet?" Harry glanced back and replied "not yet but do not worry your pretty head, this is your night, get back inside" janie smiled, bolted the door and jumped back on the king sized bed giggling like a kid. The sound was coming from the elevator and Harry pitied the poor animal, poor cat has been trapped in the elevator maybe for hours.    He pressed a button and the elevator doors swinged open but there was no cat, the sound came again and he realised it was coming from a recorder which was duct taped onto the elevator's wall "what the fuck"he muttered walking up to the recorder to switch it off. He pressed the power button with his index finger and something grazed the finger, "ouch" he said and examined the finger and it was bleeding, he sucked on it and that was when he realised too late how in the movies the antagonist makes use of poison of this type to kill his enemies leaving no trace, harry couldnt even finish his thoughts and he slumped to the ground flailing for a second and was still. Approaching footsteps were coming towards the room, thinking it harry, janie rushed to the door and swinged it open with her cleavage popping out a little too much from the gown, she became scarlet pink as she saw it was a hotel porter, she muttered an apology and shut the door with her eyes clinged shut, she smelled her before seeing her, she was putting on their cologne, their signatory scent, the cologne she bought for her which cemented their relationship but janie knew deep down she was going to break her heart, she knew deep down she was diverse and a bisexual which was a blessing but Jackie wasn't, she was only a lesbian, which was her curse and janie knew there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel for their future but a marriage with harry McCrory, that was more than a light at the end of the tunnel.   She opened her eyes and jackie was seated at the edge of the bed in a sundress , "hello monkey" And she grinned, Jane had never seen this look on her face before and she knew deep down the meowing cat was her doing, "where's my husband?" Janie asked, jackie scoffed "y'all been married for two minutes only" janie added enough steel to her voice and asked again "where's my husband?", there was an eerie silence and jackie replied "dead" Janie's breath caught and she fell on her ass "I know you still love me, I know you was only pretending to enjoy his kisses and caresses" said Jackie and she walked up to janie to touch her hair "get your hands off me you sick bastard"   she yelled, jackie flinched, but she tired again to touch her, janie started laughing and raised her head up with her eyes filled with tears "don't you get it, I'm bisexual, I wasnt pretending shit with him, I never loved you, I only used you to pass time and to experiment, you are nothing" Jackie could see the finality in her eyes and hear it in her voice, she almost shed a tear but she held it like the iron woman she was, she was already anticipating this and the disappointment hit her like a freight train, she touched her hair again out of nowhere a hunting knife surfaced which glinted under the light and by then janie knew it was too late,  jackie buried the knife into her throat and watched as the life escaped from her Her body slumped to the ground and jackie escaped into the night happy and glad she performed the perfect crime because anyone who stumbles on the crime scene would believe janie killed herself after finding her husband dead and by then noone would suspect her and she would be long gone and by then it would be too late 

0cpwmq

where is my prince

the ball is coming soon and I get wait for my love to ask me out and She walked over to the window and reflected on her damp surroundings. I had always loved cozy San Diego with its wicked, witty waters. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sleepy. Then I saw something in the distance, or rather some one . It was the figure of Artemis hills. Artemis was a spiteful friend with fragile fingers and skinny lips. I gulped. I glanced at my reflection. I was a brave, mean, whiskey drinker with wide fingers and blonde lips. my friends saw her as a glamorous, gorgeous god. Once, I had even made a cup of tea for a tan old lady. But not even a brave person who had once made a cup of tea for a tan old lady was prepared for what Artemis had in-store today. The clouds danced like partying horses, making me sad. As I stepped outside and Artemis came closer, I could see the warm glint in his eye. “I am here because I want some more Twitter followers,” Artemis bellowed, in a modest tone. He slammed his fist against Addison’s chest, with the force of 1795 rabbits. “I frigging love you, Addison Douglas.” Addison looked back, even sadder and still fingering the weathered piano. “Addison, let’s get married,” he replied. we looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two barbecued, better blue bottles sitting at a very admirable disco, which had piano music playing in the background and two deranged uncles thinking to the beat. Addison regarded max’s fragile fingers and skinny lips. She held out her hand. “Let’s not fight,” I whispered, gently. “Hmph,” pondered Artemis “Please?” I begged In with puppy dog eyes. Artemis looked stressed, his body blushing like a teeny-tiny, talented teapot. Then Artemis came inside for a nice glass of whiskey. Artemis Barker looked at the stripy blade in his hands and felt sleepy. He walked over to the window and reflected on his dirty surroundings. He had always loved beautiful Paris with its jealous, jittery jungle. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sleepy. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather some one . It was the figure of Addison Douglas. Addison was a hungry academic with charming fingernails and pretty eyelashes. Artemis gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a deranged, controlling, brandy drinker with curvaceous fingernails and skinny eyelashes. His friends saw him as a bloody, bumpy banker. Once, he had even helped a fragile chicken recover from a flying accident. But not even a deranged person who had once helped a fragile chicken recover from a flying accident was prepared for what Addison had in-store today. The sleet rained like walking cats, making Artemis worried. As Artemis stepped outside and Addison came closer, he could see the puzzled glint in her eye. Addison gazed with the affection of 7231 loving lonely lizards. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want a kiss.”Artemis looked back, even more, worried and still fingering the stripy blade “Addison, let’s move in together,” he replied. They looked at each other with ecstatic feelings, like two funny, fine frogs eating at a very sympathetic birthday party, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two rude uncles loving to the beat. Artemis regarded Addison charming fingernails and pretty eyelashes. “I feel the same way!” revealed Artemis with a delighted grin. Addison looked sneezy, her emotions blushing like a hurt, hushed hawk. Then Addison came inside for a nice glass of brandy. Rachel Noris was thinking about Addison Douglas again. Addison was a sinister academic with pretty eyebrows and spiky fingers. Rachel walked over to the window and reflected on her industrial surroundings. She had always loved quiet London with its knobbly, knobby kettles. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel surprised. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather some one . It was a sinister figure of Addison Douglas. Rachel gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a clumsy, peculiar, brandy drinker with brunette eyebrows and ample fingers. Her friends saw her as an aggressive, adorable angel. Once, she had even helped a dizzy puppy cross the road. But not even a clumsy person who had once helped a dizzy puppy cross the road was prepared for what Addison had in-store today. The rain hammered like jumping hummingbirds, making Rachel fuzzy. Rachel grabbed a warped map that had been strewn nearby; she massaged it with her fingers. As Rachel stepped outside and Addison came closer, she could see the dizzy glint in her eye. Addison gazed with the affection of 6308 smelly prickly puppies. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want to give a puppy.” Rachel looked back, even fuzzier and still fingering the warped map. “Addison, I just don’t need you in my life anymore,” she replied. They looked at each other with happy feelings, like two old, outrageous owls talking at a very tactless birthday party, which had trance music playing in the background and two modest uncles chatting to the beat. Rachel regarded Addison’s pretty eyebrows and spiky fingers. “I feel the same way!” revealed Rachel with a delighted grin. Addison looked barmy, her emotions blushing like a raw, raspy record. Then Addison came inside for a nice glass of brandy. After Addison was going the way Addison came back said do you won’t go with me and Addison am so sorry that I leave and so happy but do you want to see my gift give you and I have a puppy so she can remind you of me and when you feel say .Alison Khan had always loved picturesque Newton Abbot with its quaint, quirky quarries. It was a place where she felt angry. She was an arrogant, friendly, tea drinker with pointy lips and brown eyes. Her friends saw her as a drab, deep deity. Once, she had even helped a shallow puppy cross the road. That’s the sort of woman she was. Alison walked over to the window and reflected on her beautiful surroundings. The moon shone like walking puppies. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather some one . It was the figure of Addison Douglas. Addison was a hilarious rover with squat lips and charming eyes. Alison gulped. She was not prepared for Addison. As Alison stepped outside and Addison came closer, she could see the late glint in his eye. Addison gazed with the affection of 6470 wild pongy puppies. He said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want I am sorry and here a puppy.”Alison looked back, even more, sneezy and still fingering the crumpled hawk. “Addison, I don’t have the money,” she replied. They looked at each other with anxious feelings, like two pongy, prickly puppies laughing at a very brave birthday party, which had indie music playing in the background and two delightful uncles partying to the beat. Alison regarded Addison’s squat lips and charming eyes. “I feel the same way!” revealed Alison with a delighted grin. Addison looked fuzzy, his emotions blushing like a rotten, round record. Then Addison came inside for a nice cup of tea. wait for the next story. the end 

dzhcv5

Another First Thanksgiving

I opened the closet door to find the stack of paper. All the colors of the construction paper; black, green, yellow, brown, orange, red, blue stacked in its dull rainbow.  In a small box were glue, glitter, ribbons, and scissors right where she left them. The day was a drab as the construction paper, gray and overcast with rain. Wet leaves sticking to the walkway, the dog came in from his venture in the rain only to shake the water everywhere.  I called his name; he looked at me as if asking if he had done something wrong. I don’t really know why I am doing this, it is rather silly. The truth is I wanted something normal, something in the rhythm of life that was ordinary in the wake of her death. I didn’t know you could miss someone as bad as I missed my mom. I was still mad at Lynn Stanly, just thinking about it made me angry. She had said, “I thought you would be past all this crying and being upset as much faith as you have.” It had only been six months and I was already a heap of emotions. She had to trot that out like there was a time limit on grieving. I paused in my response and said only, “She is worthy of my grief and grieving.” I then turned and walked away. Mother so loved to make her decorations for Thanksgiving. It always looked like a school classroom with the orange, brown, black, and yellow paper cut into leaves, pumpkins, pilgrim hats, and turkeys. I opened the package of the construction paper and sat down with a cup of tea spreading the paper out and looking at the colors. As I separated out some of the papers, there on a yellow sheet was a shopping list she had started. “Butter, eggs, milk, whipped cream, small ham, olives.” I guess she had started over on a new list when this one was packed away after the decorations were finished. My fingers outlined the letters on the soft paper, I looked to see if the ink came off, it did not. I thought of the countless times she had stood at the stove to cook and shine as she recreated the meals of our youth for us. I don’t know what it was about this time of year, but it seemed to be the best holiday.   I looked at the papers. Picking out an orange sheet, I folded it and cut out a rather odd-shaped circle. I thought, “Well, with a little work, this will make a fine pumpkin.” I got out the markers and set out to bring this pumpkin to life. Next was a pilgrim hat, black with a tan band across it to give it some depth. I then attempted a leaf, it was supposed to be like a maple leaf, but we didn’t have maple trees here, so I when with a strange kind of oak leaf, maybe it was poison oak when I was finished, I don’t know. Glancing over to the end table, there was a picture of mom and dad. She with that smile that was always so genuine. Pop was looking at her in the picture. His love, his life. After pop died, I didn’t know what she would do. It was months of grief for her. He had been all she knew for fifty years of marriage. Now she was gone. And I have to make these damn decorations for that dinner that no one wants to bother with. But if we don’t make these silly things, and make that endless chain of construction paper, it will be like death has won. And as I have known and believed, her life has not ended but changed. So this inevitable part of her life is part of the ongoing struggle in the wake of her death. As I sat there, I recalled the countless times she would sit at this very table, drinking her coffee, crossword puzzle in hand, always in ink, she was so proud of that, and a cigarette with the smoke making its signals from the ashtray. I was lost in those moments of thought. Tears weld up and I wiped my eyes. I took out some more of the paper and traced a turkey out as best I could, and began to cut. Snip, snip, and long cut around the shape. I paused and looked at it.  It looked more like a damn octopus than a turkey! I laughed at it and then began to weep. Deep sobs arose out of the depth of my broken heart. I, at last, got up and washed my face, told myself how silly I was as I looked in the bathroom mirror. There I saw my dad looking back at me, a younger face than his, but his all the same. Mom always said I looked just like my dad, followed with a smirk and a half-whisper “Whoever he was…” Just then the phone rang. It was my sister. She said “Helloooo brother.” In her chirpy way. “What ya doing?” I sighed and said that I had been working on some decorations for the dinner. She caught the masked strain in my voice and asked “Tough day?” I lied and said “No, it’s fine. Had a moment of inconceivable rage, cried hysterically--but got past it.” She chuckled, said she knew the feeling. We talked about the meal again, the setup, and the time. I suggested a later meal, so I could go to Church that morning, there was to be a Thanksgiving Eucharist at St. Luke’s at 9:00, I asked if she wanted to go. She said no, too much to get ready for on that day. I agreed and we set the time for 1:00 PM. I thought about just scrapping the whole thing with these decorations. I mean really. Who cares? ‘It’s about the food’ I thought to myself. I was just about to crumple up the ‘octo-turkey’ and caught myself. She would have made so much fun of this, it would have been a big joke and she would have insisted it be put someplace prominent so she could try to explain it to everyone. I put it aside and started cutting the paper strips to make a paper chain; that I could do without the need for creativity. It was getting dark. Thanksgiving was in five days. In my self-pity, I thought about the fact that here I was an ‘orphan.’ Some orphan… well established, good family and good family name. But when your parents die, that is what you are. I also thought of the man I had become because of my parents. They expected the better of us all, but as I was the eldest, maybe there was more I had to do for the ones to follow. I stepped out on the porch, the rain hitting the leaves and roof performing the ancient chant of praise to the Creator. I thought of what it means to give thanks and be thankful. I laughed at the times we were our best as a family. Like the time when the lights went out in a storm and we played games and ate popcorn by candlelight. I was so sad when the lights flickered back on and we went back to our rooms and left each other alone. Now, Mom’s death was like that, the lights going out. This would be the first time we would gather without her. I wanted it to be like that stormy night, with the distractions of our lives placed in the dark corners so we could be ourselves, to laugh and joke without the diversions of life getting in the way. I stepped back to the table with the scraps and looked at the paper chain I had started. A chain. Unbroken like the generations before us, each passing along their life to each of us. I took it and decided to add at least a dozen more links…

nsq9mf

Trees, Apples, and Love

“Hey, brat!” Brady says to me as he enters my garage. I’m playing my guitar so I can barely hear him, but I still can. “Hey, jerk,” I say, rolling my eyes, though I have a slight smile on my face. “So whatcha wanna do today?” Says Brady as he walks over to me and gives me a crushing hug; he knows I hate hugs. “Hey! Get off of me!” I yell as I try to push him off, but to no avail as he just brushes it off. “I was thinking we’d go apple picking,” Says a yawning Brady, who’s now clearly bored. “Yeah that’d be fine I guess, lets go now, I’m just finishing up my new song. Maybe I’ll play it for you sometime.” We walk out to Brady’s beautiful 68 Pontiac Firebird. (To be completely honest I’m in love with this car, it’s my absolute dream to have one. But Brady can never know that.) “What an ugly, douchey car you have Brady,” I say to him as I see a wave of hurt wash over his face. He just rolls his eyes and tells me to get in the car before he beats me up. I get in and the seats are heaven; no better than heaven. They are the most beautiful and comfortable vinyl seats I’ve ever sat in. Brady turns to me and asks if I am alright, as I was just sitting in complete silence since we got in. We were already at the orchard, “Yeah jerk I’m just thinking about how terrible this car is.” I say with a smile on my face. He softly smacks my shoulder as we get out and pay for two baskets to pick some apples. As we walk to one of the trees I notice that some of the leaves are already turning orange, bright fiery embers. I slightly smile as I turn to look at Brady, but he’s already gone up ahead, standing on a ladder picking apples. “How did you get up there in five seconds?” I say while Brady tries to throw an apple at me. But instead, he just falls off the ladder. I bust out laughing as run to Brady’s side while jumping in a soft pile of leaves. “Are you okay?” I say, laughter still in my voice. He just groans and turns over on his side, facing me. We’re inches apart now, as I just stare into his groggy eyes. He realizes how close we are and shakily gets up as fast as he can. He helps me up and punches me in the shoulder while calling me a brat. I just laugh and pick up my basket to pick some more apples. I turn to Brady just as he bites into a juicy apple. I can’t help but stare at him, soon enough I break my stare as he calls my name. He points to my left, where the sun is setting. He knows how much I love to watch the sunset. I think it’s one of the most beautiful experiences that anyone can go through. And sitting here with my best friend watching it go down, I know I’m right. We get out of the trees and sit on a blanket that somehow got in the middle of the orchard. I turn to Brady and watch his beautiful eyes, as they reflect the sunset with their own little twists on it. He watches me and puts his palm on my cheek. “Alyssa, can I tell you something?” I just laugh uncomfortably, and nod my head, not trusting my voice. “I think I’m in love with you” Those words “I think I’m in love with you” threw my whole entire world into a spectrum. I genuinely had no idea. I don’t even realize I’m staring until Brady calls my name. He clearly has hurt and worry in his eyes. “So?” He says, his voice faltering a bit. “You mean to tell me Brady Smith is sitting here, under apple trees, after we just picked them to tell me he’s in love with me?” I say in complete shock, though trying to lighten the mood a little bit. I don’t really want this weight on my shoulders. On the one hand, if I say I don’t love him back our friendship is over. On the other hand, if I say how I feel and we break up our friendship is out the window anyway. Like an animal with primal instincts, I just kiss him. At first, he’s off-put, but then he begins to kiss back and I feel my heart flutter. I pull back just enough to look at him and say “I think I’m in love with you too” with a smile. He starts kissing me again and I probably shouldn’t tell you guys what happens next if you know what I mean. The next few days were heaven as we went apple picking every day and made apple pies; my favorite. Love was blooming and it’s all because of the apple orchard where we went apple picking. Apple picking always was my favorite thing to do as a kid, it was one of the first things I had a choice in. I was able to pick which apples that I wanted, and when we were done my mother and I would always bake the sweetest apple pies, and top it off with our homemade ice cream, using our own milk from our dairy cows. Not to mention the way the leaves seemed to change colors while we were out there. I've always been fascinated by fall, it is my favorite season after all. "Hey, jerk!" I say shaking out of my dream-like state. "I want to sing you my song I was working on the other day," Brady complies and goes to sit down. He's frowning, clearly upset about something but that doesn't matter as the second I start singing he lights up with excitement and enjoyment. When I'm finally done singing about our experiences together he has a proud look on his face and calls me an angel. I can't help but smile as I'm ecstatic he liked it. I worked for a little over a week on it, which took a lot longer than usual. We share a long and passionate kiss as I set my guitar down, and when it's over I feel safe and warm. I've never been in love before this, and to be honest it's even better than a sunset.

cobghj

An Unwelcome Homecoming

Travelers don't typically fly from our small airport in Pocatello, Idaho. Sure, in recent years there has been an effort to pique interest by adding flights to nearby attractions such as Las Vegas or Jackson Hole, but most people will drive to Salt Lake City two and a half hours away to catch their flight in order to save a few hundred bucks. When I was 16, I had just finished my Junior year of High School. That year, I met Mar Ordi, and exchange student from Malgrat de Mar. A town in the Costa Brava area of Spain. We were wild together. There was some connection with her that allowed me to be the girl I felt most natural being. Light and carefree, unconcerned about how anyone might be perceiving me. Her father had come to the States to visit before Mar had to go back home. Jaume. He was a polite man, almost delicate. At least that is what I thought. 20 years later, I know that is not the case. Polite, yes. Delicate, no. He just had a very reserved way of presenting himself and I think he wanted to impress my parents. He had brought with him a beautiful figurine of a woman as a gift for my mother, that she displays to this day in her china hutch. I'm not sure if it was because he liked me, or if it was a request of my friend, but Jaume invited me to come to Spain that Summer and he was to pay my fare. Definitely not an offer I would turn down. And, not being familiar with the amount of money saved by flying from the nearest big city, he booked my flight out of Pocatello. That jet lag hit me like a ton of bricks and I remember having to sleep in the middle of the day. Spain is 8 hours ahead of us in Idaho. Plus, I took a little hit of some smoke that was offered to me, not knowing they mix hash with tobacco. It was just too much for my sensitive body. For the next 5 weeks, I ran around with my friend's circle of people. One of my favorite things was going into Barcelona with the mother of my friend's boyfriend. She took me to the Olympic stadium and to the museums Joan Miró and Pablo Picasso. Later in my trip, I also got to go to Girona with Mar and Jaume to tour the museum of Salvador Dalí. It is impossible to describe the impact that had on my senses. We ate pizza and paella and Spanish tortillas, which are made of eggs. We drank wine from the porrón and watched fútbol amongst cheering patrons. We swam in the ocean nearly every day. I met her mother with her odd theatre friends who explained to me why it was good luck to say 'break a leg' to an actor going on stage. We partied in the discos and lounged in the bar gardens. There is no drinking age there, and like I said, we were wild. We shopped. I would visit her at the stores she worked at. Her father owned perfume shops in three of the coastal towns. They were all fairly close and it was easy enough to catch the trains. One night we met a group of guys who invited us to a private estate up in the mountains the next day. Mar wasn't able to go, but I went anyway, because I had no fear. We had drank a lot the night before, and I was not well in the morning. But, when they showed up to get me, I went anyway. The drive was excruciating with tight turns winding up the mountains, trying not to throw up in the car. The host of the property greeted us with smiles, hugs and a huge plate of sausage that turned my stomach at the sight of it. Fortunately and gratefully, they led me to a quiet room and a bed all in white to let me sleep it off. I woke up to a European paradise. We went water skiing in a lake and swimming in a large pool overlooking a cliff. There was no end to the food and drink being passed around and I felt like I was in a dream. It was warm every day and every hour while I was in Spain, and I felt loved and accepted by everyone I met. All of those hugs and kisses flowing like the wine, people of all ages walking around half naked. Most people spoke English, even if just a little bit. So, it wasn't hard for me to get around on my own. I knew some Spanish, but not Catalán, so it was hard for me to understand. But, during my time there, I knew that I was absorbing the language as I began answering questions asked to me before I realized they were not asked in English. Finally, the day came for me to leave. I boarded the plane in a loose fitting, gauze like shirt and very short terry cloth shorts. My last night in Spain was spent at the disco dancing til the early hours of the morning. No sleep. So, out of the 24 hr flight, I was awake for maybe 3 or 4 of them. I remember how harsh the English language sounded to my ears when the flight attendant made her announcements. My birthday is August 4, and I had turned 17 in Malgrat de Mar. In Idaho, we have our hottest days in August, typically close to 95 degrees. So, even though it was dark when my flight landed a week later, it never occurred to me to even put on a light jacket. But, to my absolute amazement and almost disbelief, it was snowing when I exited the tiny aircraft down the built in stairway, and I was cold. It made me hate coming home.

kbjbb1

The Sweet Taste of Autumn

As we got into the car in the early morning, anticipating the long ride, we made sure to bring our morning coffee and some snacks to eat while traveling to the orchard. It seemed like both my oldest daughter and I have been waiting for this moment all summer. The trees along the side of the road was slowly turning the colors of fall, the reds and yellows glowing in the morning sun. As we started our journey, the streets were empty of cars, but inside the car there was laughing at each other, singing loud enough that we were sure the truckers that raced by us could hear us. This ride happened every year, and both my daughter and I enjoyed being with each other. We could talk about mostly anything from boys to school starting, to what college my precious daughter wanted to attend. Her testing scores were high, and I was proud of her. She had become a person that had her own opinions, and would take the world on by the tail and ride that ride to the end. As we finally approached the orchard, anticipation and excitement filled the car. Here we are, getting out of the car and into a world we knew so well. The trees were full of apples of all kinds, from Gala to Johnathan to Macintosh. How to choose? That was anyone's guess. Walking through the orchard down a lane in between the trees, the apples glistened in the morning dew. The wetness had made the skins sparkle in the sunshine. Both my daughter and I decided to get a variety of each, and went about using the provided ladders to pick our own. Laughing as we tried to reach a few that were really out of reach, we both realized that this would be a memory to be held close to the heart. This was a part of what life is all about, enjoying each others company and yet making so many decisions together. The ride home from the orchard seemed long and endless, but after awhile the silence crept in, making my mind and emotions run rampant. Here my child sits, not a child anymore, but a grown woman. She let her hair down and her eyes kept to the road, We again started to laugh, tell jokes that were somewhat not funny, and again sing out loud. I wonder how we both would be if we did karoke in our nearby church that has it every week. We would probably, at least I would goof up the song, and laugh histerically. It seems that this moment might be our last together, our last time of being mother and daughter. I wish I know what she was thinking about. All of a sudden I was thinking about the loss I feel once she went back to school, not being able to be near her as often. I thought about what she may become after college and who she will marry, if she does. I think about her having children, and being so far away that I cannot guide her during the first year of the child's life. She has grown into an exceptional person, unique in her own ways of thinking and doing. How will she survive this world, and the situations that may happen. I normally don't think about the evil in this world, but it is my baby, my child, that will be far away from me and my protection. That is the hardest for me to come to grips with. The thoughts of how I have raised this child into an adult, the things I hope I have taught her to help her along the way, and the survival skills like cooking together and doing laundry seems to overcome me, and I start to weep. My mind drifts back to the present moment, and I see she is looking at me with those sky blue eyes, the eyes that are like pools of clean water. She is smiling at me with the love between mother and daughter. There is nothing more precious than this. I know that I have never cried in front of her, so she probably thought that something was wrong. Her smile for a moment left her face, then a smile again when she saw that I was okay. There is such love between us. This love cannot really be broken, it is always living in each of us. It cannot be torn out or pushed away for the lifetime of each individual. It lasts all through eternity, even in death. I am proud of the woman my daughter is becoming. She is loud mouthed, opinionated, yet she knows what she wants and how she wants her life to be. She is a hard worker, a great decision maker, and a child I am proud to call my own. She in some ways mirrors me, my decision to have her was for the best. I will never tell her that she was a product of an assault on myself, because she is my life. She might be someday curious of why no father was put on her birth certificate, but when she is ready to know, and asks me why, I hope I will be strong enough to explain the situation as it was. At first when I realized after that tragic night that I was with child, I did not know if I was keeping this small being or giving it up. I was unsure if I could raise a child, I was really not a child myself, but there was so much of life ahead of me. But taking , after much thought and research, I decided. The final decision came with the first movement in my belly. That first sign of real life. I then did not care about anything except protecting this young being, even though it was going to be hard, but not too hard to endure to model and love a tiny being from birth to adult. So now here she sits, the daughter I love and adore. The orchard behind us, the memories in us, and the time well spent with each other. These days may end soon to be together, but I realize that I really did my best to raise her, to love her, to nurture her. Now it is her turn to live life the way she was meant to live, on her own terms. My job is done for now, but I feel that there is more times to come where the mother in me will be needed again. And I will happily accept the challenge.

1edehl

Migrating Bird

In the great country of America there is an animal, that resembles the nation. This animal isn't any ordinary animal it is a bird. The national bird is known to be called Bald Eagle it was adopted as a symbol of the United States in 1782 and was chose for its majestic beauty, great strength, long life, and because it's native to North America. This bird has great instinct when it comes to survival. When it gets colder they migrate to the southern areas of the region to mate and have nesting grounds. They eat fish, insects, and other things along the waters where they live. And as all of the facts have been stated, it takes you to a place deep into the Alaska wilderness where you can find many other animal and creatures of such. Although there are many eagles alike each other there is one special eagle that shares a great story. His name Eddie the eagle but his friends and family call him Ed. Ed is a young eagle native to Alaska he enjoys the beauty of summer in Alaska where he can hunt and eat the native salmon in the beautiful rivers and lakes. But where the real story begins is when Ed wakes up on a beautiful Saturday morning with the beautiful blue sky out. Ed's mother and his mother had been dreading this day as on the Sunday right after that day they would start what they call the great migration. It is a sensitive time for them as his father Eddie Sr. had lost his life protecting young Ed and his mother from a flock of vultures. It is a treacherous and dangerous journey where many eagle families fall apart. The vultures skinny and weak wait to prey down on them as they take their young and old across the country to the warm winter nesting grounds. They have firm belief in a place the eagles go when the leave the earth from which they soared the sky's of. A place so beautiful and so green so peaceful and safe. This is the place they call "The last Kingdom". In this kingdom they say all of the kings from the past look down on them and protect them through the dangers of their journey. Ed and his mom are strong believers in this as all of their ancestors and Eds father have looked over them as they made the journey. Ed had dreaded the end of the beautiful Saturday but it had come time to sleep. He had been sleepless through out the night. When the sun was coming up he decided to get up and watch one last sunset. After the sun came up his mother had told Eddie it's time. They both stood together and then soared into the beautiful Alaska sky's. They soared through the rolling mountains and the open lakes, through the raging rivers into a different setting where is always so new. A place with odd objects and creatures humans everywhere. Driving around and polluting the sky where they roam. Shinning weird things in their eyes known as phones and cameras. They soar into a big yard full of beautiful green grass and a big white building and an odd flying object controlled by humans. A human man in a suit walking out and greeted by other humans. They roam past that and find a place slightly less scary. Just plains and fields around for almost ever. They see some odd machines that move so slow and that are so loud. Ed tries to move on but his mom says they should stay for the night. They find an old human structure lined with the material they nest in. Old and creaky they managed to sleep well and warm. They had journeyed out at first light. And had found themselves nearing another place infested with humans. This is where it's hard for them to fly as these big towers are shooting sulfur and smoke into the sky making them feel sick. They near the end of the hard flight when abruptly. A great gust of wind pushes them down leaving them tumbling down towards the streets. Ed manages to stay up and tries to grab his mother with his talons but misses and she tumbles towards the ground. She hits her right side hard and yelps in pain. Ed goes to see if she is okay and discovers that she injured her right wing and couldn't continue. So they find a place that smells of fresh greasy food and stayed inside. They knew they had to make up time for having to stay behind. And the winter freeze would catch them so they had to go early. When Ed woke he saw that his mother looked worse. But he knew there had to be a way to get through this. Ed had to fly holding his mother and they barely made it out of the city limits. They were losing hopes when the great kings of the past granted them with a truck that had chickens in the back like humans the chickens respect the eagles and the chickens allowed them to hide among the group until they get far enough. They were approaching vulture territory where the migration grounds are just on the other side safe from the deadly birds. They all braced as they ventured in. They saw vultures circling around and they knew what was about to come. So Ed decided to save his mother and flew out of the coop to distract the vultures. And had got run down close to the migrating lands. He had done his best to fight them off and asked the great gods of the past to give him strength and when he asked it was granted he had fought them off and made it in he met up with his mother and she was proud. He had accomplished the great migration. He had soon remembered the great treacherous journey as the greatest accomplishment of his life.

kgod61

NOT the ´Funny One´

“Jack of all trades, master of none. Better than being master of one” she mumbles, pale brown hair knotted in her hand. Well, that’s just, excuse her french, bull shark! Cameron, Cammie to her friends, has always been completely average. In looks, intelligence, attitude, and talent. It was sickening. It was incredibly sickening because all of her friends were sickeningly talented. Ariana was an amazing gymnast. Alexie was an incredible athlete. Pamela was a beautiful singer. Alex was effortlessly beautiful. Jamie was stupidly smart. When people looked at others they had labels. Little titles, awards that they subconsciously give to each individual. Like when someone was walking down the hall and you notice them. You think, ‘Oh, that’s Jake the chess prodigy’ or ‘that’s Vari the class president’. But when someone doesn't have a label you latch to other things to identify them with. Like ‘that’s Katy with the cat-eyed glasses’ or ‘there's Manny with the sprained wrist’. When people looked at her friends they saw beauty, talent, excellence, and intelligence pouring from their perfectly small pores. When people looked at Cammie all they saw was ‘the funny one’. The Class Clown. Jokester Extraordinaire. Ms. Smiles-A-Lot. ...or even worse… ‘Noah’s little sister’. Right! If it wasn’t...bad enough she was a disappointment to the human population because of who her best friends were but she was disappointing because of her brother's sheer perfection too! Hmph. Whatever. Wait-! No! Not whatever! This was why she was doing this! Why she was still awake at 2 AM, sitting at her study with a list of hobbies she can improve on. So... Ariana was an incredible gymnast, heck she’s been practicing for ten years starting from when she was five... Maybe...Cammie was a natural? She could ask to go with Ari to her next practice, right? To at least watch and try to imitate. NOT the ‘Funny One’ Gymnastics Okay, Uhm...Alex was a very amazing athlete...so...Cammie could get in shape! Yes, Alex goes on jogs every morning (le shudder) and...Cammie can join in now. And eating healthier too! Cammie spared her late-night bowl of cereal a wince. She can eat healthier...starting tomorrow. Next on the list Get in shape Nice! What else? Pamela was a great singer...and she can't carry a tune. But..ooh! The senior from her Culinary Class gives free flute lessons! He said it was to help himself practice. She can ask Ms. Bernson if she can rent one...surely she won't mind since it's’ not like it's for the band or anything. Alex was beautiful... Maybe....Cammie can take better care of her skin and hair? And chose her clothes more carefully. She didn’t have to wear sweats all the time...or jeans either… Would it kill her to dress up nicely? And brush her ridiculously thick and frizzy hair- yes, yes it would. Brushing her hair had to be done straight after a shower or else it’s frizz central…. Alex brushes and blow-dries her hair every morning (which Cammie’s mom says is unhealthy for anyone that doesn’t have Alex’s hair type- which is extremely greasy). Alex could wash most mornings..and wear a nice dress and braid her hair neatly out of her face. Like Alex...yes..she could. Be beautiful And...finally...to be smart. She could do that. And really Cammie wasn't a bad student...she could pay attention in class if she stopped interrupting it. She could get better than C’s and B’s if she took notes and tried on her homework. Just..like...Jamie.   Be smarter She stared at the list and scoffed. What was she thinking? She can’t just say she wanted to do these things. She needed a plan of action, like with the flute lessons. After a bit of editing, the plan was soon...more like a plan… ---- NOT the ‘Funny One’ Gymnastics- to test if I have any control over these long meat sticks people call arms and legs. If not gymnastics, maybe dance, or… modeling? HAHAHAHAHA, just made myself laugh. Get in shape- maybe I have some hidden talent for track and field! Running with Alexie every morning. Be beautiful- wash my face, take care of my hair, and choose cuter outfits. Might need to go shopping. Maybe ask Alex for a makeover… Be Smarter- study, homework, no joking around in class- this might be the hardest. (and the last, one she didn't even dare let herself think about too much) Be like Noah AKA a snotty obnoxious good at everything obedient to a fault twit…..hardness level? 10000000000000000- ------- The first step is easy, mostly, sort of. Not really. Texting Ari was easy, getting her to bring Cammie along was also easy. But that was because Ari was a night bird and evening napper. She responded to Cammie’s text immediately. The first real step, however, was waking up in the ass crack of 5: AM to go on an ungodly run, was not. Not to mention she bumped into Golden Boy 2.0. “Where are you going?” Ah, Jake. “Jakie, why would you wake up at such a disgusting time of the morning?” Cammie shivered under her sweater. “I always wake up at this time to watch the sun. You are the pig who sleeps in for as long as possible.” Her eyelid twitches and she didn’t bother to stop the sigh from escaping her lips, “I’m trying to exercise more.” “Why?” Practiced head tilt, purposefully widened eyes. He looked irresistibly adorable...manipulative bastard. “Since I’m a lazy pig, remember?” Cammie grabs a water bottle and poked a finger at her little brother's soft cheek. He, like Noah, was also perfect. And she was also compared to her little brother...but she could never resent him the way she did Noah. “You jerk.” She peeks into her sports bag, just to double-check she didn't forget anything. There were whistles, an extra water bottle, and a jacket. Phone too, she was set. Good to go! “Until we meet again, weirdo” she ruffled her kid brother's head and his little hands latched onto her wrist. Big hazel eyes looked up at her, almost desperate. “What?” “You’re not running away, right?” She choked on air, quietly. She’d be dead meat if she woke up her amazing big brother, her mom would chop off her tongue and fry it into a hamburger. “What? No! I was joking.” She hesitates, “Why would you think such a thing?” Jake looked up at her, critically almost. Like scanning her for behavioral signs of lying. “You cried until 12: 05 AM last night.” “What-” “The walls are thin,” Jake said primly “don’t bother lying.” “Well-” “It was because of what mom said last night, wasn’t it?” Dammnit, the kid was a genius. But...Cammie was an excellent liar. Prodigy at lying, really. “Don’t be silly. It hurt my feelings a bit but I was crying because I was staying up too late watching sad movies.” He didn't seem to buy it. “I’m sorry for being so loud” Cammie apologized. She wasn’t. She had mastered the art of crying quietly. “You weren’t. I just suspected because your breathing was wonky. You simply proved me right.” ...little brat. She flicked Jake’s ear lightly, “Bye-bye, Jakie.” Jake simply huffed and crossed his skinny 9-year-old arms on the counter, waiting for the next early riser. “You better be back, or I'm telling mom.” ...Tch. Why was she thinking about dumb stuff like that? Uh...anyway, mission report. The job was fine, for the first two minutes. But then Alexie’s warm-up ended and Cammie was sweating, panting, and gasping- getting shape- that was harder than expected. The gymnastics weren't much easier either. It was hell. It sure wasn't some hobby you can casually take hold of. It was a lifestyle. It was the way you dressed, the way you are, the way you breathed, everything. It was definitely not a hobby. And Cammie was definitely not a natural. When she got home she glared at the list, specifically at the whole physical talent and gymnastic grace bit. Not that she was giving up on getting in shape, or in gymnastics, but...she was not in shape. That left beauty, smarts, and obedient twerpy perfection. Could these even be considered hobbies? Of course, self-care was a hobby. Studying was a hobby. Being ‘the perfect daughter’ could be a hobby. Really...she didn’t want to call the list what it really was.  She would be wasting time, she realized, if she did each one by one. Tomorrow she’ll jog (or at least do her best, fitness had to be earned) shower, pretty herself. When she gets to school she'll contact Flute Freddie and not interrupt class once. She’ll be everything. And she does. She goes on the morning jog, showers, and wears something Alex would have approved of. Flute Freddie was ecstatic to finally have a student. Ms. Bernsen was fine with letting her borrow one as long as she helped clean the band room after school every Wednesday. And during class, she bit her tongue. The entire time. She wrote actual notes- her wrist hurt actually- and she finished half her homework during class. The notes, the fun kind, she used to toss to her friends and get scolded for tossing were nonexistent. And when she got home she went straight to the room to finish her homework, helped her mother prepare dinner, and was silent. Hmm, maybe she can be Golden Girl 3.0. It was terrible. Her tongue actually hurt a bit for all the times she had to bite it to keep from laughing or saying anything sarcastic. Her wrist still hurt and the braid was unfamiliarly tight on her scalp. But...hobbies- yes, these were hobbies- weren’t acquired overnight. It took time. She can be that person. The one that could play the flute and run more than a block without getting winded. She could… … Ari touched Cammie’s brow, her silky hair slipping to frame her oval face “You...Cammie, I don’t think you were built to be a gymnast.” Cammie didn’t even like gymnastics, so...why did it still hurt to hear those words? “I-I think you’re right,” Cammie forced a laugh “but I totally rocked those costumes you people wear.” Ari smiled, obviously relieved that Cammie wasn’t offended, “You did! Do...you want to join me and my mom for Sunday yoga?” Cammie hugged Ari, pretending that her giggles were why her voice sounded weird “I’ll have to ask my mom! I hope so!” Ari looked startled, “What? Are you leaving?” Cammie nodded, still smiling “But-I mean, you can stick around. No one minds...we can-” Cammie thinks if she stays any longer she might burst into tears. “Eh, you actually reminded me about the Spanish quiz.” “...how?” Another laugh, another hug, walking away backward “Beats me but thank you anyway!” The tears fell when she was little ways away from the studio. It was silly, really. Predictable, even. Gymnastics isn't a hobby, it was life for some girls.. It was stupid to cry about something that was going to happen eventually. But it still hurt. It seemed to prove something she’s been desperately trying to deny, her lack of worth. Wasn’t that just it? If you had nothing to give...you were worthless? Wait-no, that was stupid. She was barely through the list. This was just one hobby… … “Hey!” Cammie poked Alexie’s cheek softly “You never said what your plans were.” Alexie scrunched her nose thoughtfully, “I didn’t? Well, I’m working out.” “I was talking about after your practice.” “I was too,” winked Alexie “I have changed my schedule a bit.” Ughhhhhhh, did this ginger really have to work out moooore? “Why?” whined Cammie “Why would you do that?” Alexie grabbed one of Cammie’s hands (their skinship was strong, it wasn’t uncommon to find them both cuddling and dead asleep during assemblies) and swung their hands. Up! Down! Up and- “I did that for us! So we can work out better.” Cammie choked, she did that a lot when she was surprised, “I’m working out this afternoon too?” Alexie swings their hands, “No, I just cut my run in the morning so it can be more like a warmup. I’m doing my workout in intervales. A briefer run in the morning, practice, then some stretching and weights at night.” Alexie was still smiling and talking and swinging their hands but Cammie had stopped paying attention. There was nothing accusatory about Alexei’s statement...so why did she feel so guilty? Like she burdended Alexei? It was because...she did, didn’t she? The salad she bought with Alexie earlier did nothing to settle her stomach...she could use some carbs...but no...better not. She had to be healthy. -- “About time you put in some effort,” her mom snorts, patting Cammie’s head “you used to look like a hobo.” -- “Paying attention to your studies?” her dad raises an eyebrow “about time you start taking after your brothers.” -- Ms. Russo looks at her, “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” “Well… you have been a very good student recently…” “Thank you, ma’am,” Cammie didn’t have the energy to smile, or act like she wasn’t on the verge of tears... but somehow she did. “Well...if you need to talk just tell me. But I really like this new of yours-” She nods and packs up her stuff, Ms. Russo just blinks. “I better get going.” --- “Are you okay?” --- “Hey...Cammie? You seem a little tired , lately. Did you want to tone down the workout?” -- “You haven’t had breakfast- hey, young lady! Where do you think your going?” -- She...she doesn't know. These hobbies were draining her. But...a bunch of people like this new her...so...it was working. Studying, that wasn’t a real hobby, was it? No...none of this was a real hobby..right? She was just...so desperate to be better and hid her ugly insecurities under the guise of finding talent, a hobby. She’s done this before. Piano- abandoned. Dance- abandones. Photography- abandoned. That's why she stuck with it this time. Hoping that something will change. Staring at Flute Freddie she knew nothing has. “Ah- no,” Freddie corrects “here let me show you the song again. See how these notes-” He was so patient...a saint, truly. He looked... frustrated. It was in the crease of the brow, the slightly forced laugh. He had every right to be frustrated- she messed up on this part many times before. Freddie snaps his fingers, “You paying me any attention?” “No.” “...are you okay?” No. It was back. Tears tingled at her nose and burned her eyes, ugly sobs escaping her. Freddie jumps back. Cammie covers her face with her hands. Can she just...do something right? Have one thing she can be good at? Was it...was it so much to ask? Did she have to have this on top of her uselessness too? “Cammie?” Right. Freddie. But that didn’t sound like Freddie...she looked up and met big brown eyes. She glared at her brother “You're not Freddie.” “He called me,” said Noah, giving her a bar of chocolate “I suspected you might need this.” Of course he knew, of course he did. He was a genius. A frickin- “It’s back,” he whispered, on his knees in front of her seat “isn’t it?” Yes...her depression was back, full force. It has been for a while. “No...stupid-head.” Noah sighs, looking at her critically. He was also an athlete on top of being a genius. It makes sense that her big brother would be here after school but it was Monday and they don’t meet Mondays... Cammie looks away. “I’m going to sit on this chair,” Noah points at Freddie’s vacated chair “and wait until your ready to talk.” “I don’t like you” Cammie bit into the chocolate, tears still streaming down “so- don’t be nice or I can’t-” “I’m not going anywhere.” She scowls, but rests her head on the side of his bicep, “I….-.” ‘I miss you’ “I’m fine.” “I’m still staying here,” Noah whips out his laptop and starts typing. He was clearly willing to wait her out. That only made her cry harder.

g3e6st

My dreams

A deep sigh hit the air, Mason folded his arms and looked up to see the wooden restaurant sign that read Brook buffet. His arm slowly on cross before he pushed open the door and trailed inside to hear the chatter, laughing and the occasional tink from a fork hitting the plate he grew up with. He scratched the back of his head before making his way to the counter, he sat and waved tirelessly at the serving hatch, a smile etched across his face "Hey mom." He said. "Mason?" She asked. She walked out the door gaping and smiling, she leaned over the counter to embrace her son. "Why are you here?" "I would have been here sooner but I got caught in the lunch rush." He said, he patted his mother's back and chuckled before she let's go. "I came because I need to talk to you and dad, where is he?" "Getting change for the register, why do you need to speak with us?" "It's something I need both of you here for, I can wait until then dinner rush but could you get me a lemonade?" He asked. "It was a long drive from Dartmouth to here." "Alright, I'll get you a lemonade but you're telling me how college is going. You haven't called in weeks and I've been worried." She said, she made her way to the back. Mason sighed and leaned forward, propping himself up on the counter. He fidgets in his stool, his smiling fading once he spots the picture of him, his father and grandfather hung up over the counter. The restaurant had been in his family for three generations, his grandfather had started it after immigrating to America and his father inherited it. He remembered the picture being taken on his first day, he was twelve. "Here you are." His mother said, she set his lemonade down before leaning over the counter with a smile. "Oh thanks." "So how's college going?" "It's fine, two more years I'll have a bachelor in business." "That's good, are you playing basketball again this year?" "I hope so, school comes first."He said, Mason smiled again and reached for his beverage before taking a few sips. "You got that right." She said, she nodded and grinned before making her over to the tables finishing their meals. It seemed like yesterday he was doing homework at the counter before helping around, going outback after the dinner rush to dribble his basketball with his father. Getting in trouble every now and again for bouncing it in the kitchen and through the restaurant when they had customers. He would carry one everywhere he went and practice, going to the nearest courtyard to play everyday and even tried out for his school's basketball team. It was the only time throughout the year he wasn't helping clean the restaurant or waiting tables once he got to high school, it always put a smile on his face when he got to play. "They grow up fast." She thought, Mason was already in college and working hard for his education. She cleared a few tables with the staff and looked back to Mason who was staring off into space before going back to the kitchen, soon coming back to give him a refill. "So how come you haven't called lately?" "I've been busy thinking, planning mostly. Sorry I have called." Mason replied, he reached down and grabbed his phone to check the time before hearing the back door open. He peered through the serving hatch to see his father, his mother waves while he gives a big warm smile. "Honey look who's here." She said, Mason's father scowled before coming up to the hatch. His eyes widened, a big grin jumped off his face. "Mason!" He yelled, he came out of the kitchen with his radiant smile and made his way to the register. He put change into the register before leaning against the counter. "I can't wait to see you on tv again, it's almost our favorite season." "Yeah, actually I don't think I'll be playing for college anymore." Mason said, his mothers eyes widened before they narrowed. His father laughed, he began slowly scratching the back of his head. His radiant smile dissipated. "Wait why not?" "Well I've been thinking about my future and I don't want to continue working towards a bachelor degree in business, I don't want to run a business I want to play professionally." Mason said, he coughed and looked to his mother. She gripped onto the counter and looked between Mason and her husband. "Wait I thought you wanted to run the restaurant, isn't that why you went to earn a degree?" "Actually I didn't know what I wanted, I had to pick something and dad said business." "You want to try to play professionally like the Nba?" His father asked. "Actually I'm planning to try out for the G-league, I planned out my trip to hit as many different teams as I can." "Do you have money to travel across the country like that?" "Yeah, I saved up." "What if you don't make it?" His mother asked. "I thought maybe I'd try for the teams overseas if it came down to that." "You want to travel overseas to play basketball?!" "No, honestly I'd prefer to stay here but I'm willing to give everything to devote myself to becoming a professional. If traveling overseas is what I have to do then I'll travel overseas and fight my way back." Mason said. He looked over to his father who was nodding in agreement to his surprise. "Yeah alright, go for it." "Wait really dad?" "Yeah, you've always been passionate about it and it's not my place to stop you. If that's what you want to do then go for it." He said, Mason smiled while his mother became further bewildered. "You're okay with this?" "Absolutely, the restaurant will be here if he changes his mind." He said with a smile, Mason jumped up from his seat. His mother said and shrugged before heading off towards the kitchen. "You better call us twice a week minimum." She said before heading back in the kitchen, His father balled a fist and tapped his chest. "I named you Mason because I wanted you to be a hard worker, I know you can do it." "Thanks dad, I'll do my best." "Hey while you're here, want to help around the restaurant?" His dad asked, he pointed to the logo on his shirt then to the back."There's a spare uniform in the back." "Sure, I'd love to help."

lfhbak

Story 1

I woke up to my alarm beeping in my ear at 8:30. This morning I didn't get to wake up to my husband lying right by me. He usually works the night shift at the New York City Fire Department but this morning he got called into work due to his fellow fireman out being sick. I get out of bed and open my curtains. Today is a dreary day. Lately as I’ve been opening my curtains the sun beams in and fills my room with the sun rays. I flip on the TV in my room and turn to the news channel to see what has been going on in the world. As I am faintly listening to the TV I begin to get ready. After my shower, I throw on my low-rise embroidered jeans and pair it with a white tube top. I figured since it was a little chilly out I would throw on my jean jacket. I went into my kitchen to gather my belongings for work and grab some breakfast. At 9:00 I head out of my apartment and begin my walk down the elven flights of stairs. Once upon a time in a small town in Southern Indiana lived CinderJoe. He was your typical small town guy. Farming in the morning, cooking lunch, farming in the evening, and going home to cook dinner. The past few months he had been going out at nights to try and find a girlfriend. Although he was struggling to find one, he came across something that could be so good for him. There were posters posted all around the town as he was heading to the farm. These posters showed information about the upcoming hoedown that was to take place that night. The princess of their small town was going to find her prince charming by the end of the night. CinderJoe was so excited when he saw this information. He had to go. After staring at the poster for what seemed like thirty minutes, he headed to the farm to get his work done before he went home to get ready for the hoedown. While working, all he could think about was the beautiful princess of his small town. He wanted so badly to be her prince charming. CinderJoe realized he was getting no work done at the farm so he decided to call it a day and just head home and get ready for the big night. While he was walking home, he realized his boss probably called his evil stepmother and told her that CinderJoe did not complete any of the work he was supposed to for that particular day. His boss always calls her when he doesn’t finish his work because his stepmother does not let him go do anything when that happens. CinderJoe arrived at his house and saw his stepmother and two evil step brothers standing in the doorway with their arms crossed. It was the second I walked outside of my apartment building that I noticed something bad had happened. The look of fear in these people’s eyes as they run back into the apartment building has me terrified. I take another step outside and look up at the World Trade Center buildings. Nothing but smoke is filling the city and lathering the buildings. “Ma'am you need to find shelter, run!” A man dressed in uniform screamed to me from across the street. I run up the stairs in fear and make it into my apartment. I lock the door and hear the news anchor talking about a tragic event that has just taken place in my city. I set my purse down and run to the couch to see what is going on. “At 9:03 this morning United Airlines Flight 175 struck into The World Trade Center's South Tower. We have the New York City Fire and Police Department on the scene to keep our city safe.” Panic filled my whole body as I thought about my husband. I begin shaking as tears stream down my face. I try to calm myself down and tell myself he is trained at his job and knows what to do in these situations. I text him in hopes I get a response. As three hours go by, I am still checking my phone for a response from David. I am still perched in the same spot with my eyes glued to the TV in hopes of any update. Eventually after four and a half hours I got a text message from my husband. “Sorry to keep you so worried, I am getting released to come home in about an hour and I will be with you and surround you with comfort.” A wave of relief filled the whole room. I feel a big smile stretch across my face as I wipe away the tears that are still falling down my face. After the longest hour of my life, I hear the front door unlock. David ran in and hugged me as tears poured down his face. We both were shaking. “Sara everything is going to be ok. I am glad to be back home with you.” David said in a sigh of relief to be back home. “I want you home with me forever, David.” I cried to him. We hugged each other for a good two minutes and made our way to the TV to see if any updates had been released. “The counts we are getting from the department are telling us 265 total deaths on the four planes and 1,945 immediate deaths from the attack. Many people are in critical condition as we are trying to get them all help. This is a tragic event that our police and fire department are trying their hardest to handle.” The news anchor spilled all of this information as David and I looked at each other. “David you could’ve been one of those 1,945 people that were instantly killed.” I tried explaining to him. “Sara I am here now and that’s all that matters. I just witnessed something many people won’t ever have to go through and I’m going to need time to get over this. I saw innocent people jumping out of the towers as limbs were falling off of them. That is traumatizing.” He said to me in a worried tone. “I understand that, I am so glad you are ok and here with me now. Thank you for helping out our city and keeping everyone safe. I think you need to go lay in bed and I’ll cook you a good dinner.” I offered to him. “Thank you, Sara, I would love that.” He said as he hugged me and headed off to go lay in bed. An hour later I joined him with our dinner and we sat in bed eating with a movie on. David did not want to watch the news anymore as he was scarred from what he just had been through. 

hxrj6r

B&B

October had spread across the countryside painting the leaves in its wake. The crisp breeze rustled the already fallen leaves as they ventured out to the orchard. The local orchard, Bees and Blossoms, was less than a mile from their home by foot. Over the past twenty-five years that they had been married this back-wood walk had become a family tradition. She remembered when they had first found the “orchard” path the first year that they lived on Morningstar Road. She had spied the small wooden arrow when they came back from a grocery trip one Autumn day. Falling leaves and bare limbs revealed the weathered sign engraved with B&B. Its pointed end indicating an equally weathered path. In those days, the path was overgrown and ill-defined. Large stones littered the way and brambles would scratch their legs and hands making it seem as if they were on a real adventure. Back when they were younger and their love was new, they had adventured down that path not knowing where it led but confident in the notion that it would be worth trekking into the unknown. She reached for his hand several times to steady herself when she stumbled on the odd jutting stone. They stopped several times during that first walk, to look at the spectacular changing foliage, to investigate the stream that meandered alongside the path, and often just to stop and gaze into one another’s eyes. The excitement of the little adventure led to passionate kissing there on the unknown path in the middle of the woods on their way to an unknown destination. The end of the path was marked by a battered arch way with a wooden sign that welcomed them to the Bees and Blossoms Orchard. The Orchard spread out for as far as the eye could see and was ablaze with apples in every hue. It smelled of fermenting apples and was filled with people wandering down long rows with large baskets. The people stopped here and there to pick what they felt was the most perfect Crispin or Rome. She beamed at her beau and asked if he would like apple pie for dinner. As the B&B grew so did the crowd of people who visited the small country town during the Fall months. The locals knew that they only way to go to the orchard was to use the path. Over the years, their annual adventure thru the woods to the orchard had become more of a walk in a park. Their once hidden path was now cleared and well-marked for those who chose to walk their way leaving the car and need to park at home. It was no longer the adventure it once appeared to be but more of a marked the commencement of holiday festivities for their family for the past quarter of a century. Now as they made their pilgrimage, she looked at her husband, the hair at his temples had silvered over the years and the creases at the corners of his determined eyes had deepened. She giggled remembering how the children had used him as a jungle gym, a pack mule, and navigator all at once during these trips to the B&B. She mused about when their family was young, the children would plod along picking up every leaf, bug, and stone for proper inspection. In those days, their expedition would take upwards of an hour to make the 15-minute trek. The children delighted in running ahead, finding some treasure, and running back to the rest of the family to present their once-in-a-lifetime find. He chuckled as he recalled how the children would present her with their most precious finds hoping that she would deem it worthy of display. The bragging their children did if their stone or leaf made its way to the overburdened shelf in the family room was relentless. After all these years those stones, dried leaves, feathers, and delicate flowers still adorned that shelf. When the children are home for the holidays they still try and get Mom to declare an all-time winner, but she declines to answer saying that she loved all her treasures equally. Little did they know that her favorite was none of theirs at all. It was a small dried up daisy. The year she was 1 st pregnant, she waddled down the path determined to make it to the B&B so she could make apple pie for the soon to be baby. He had suggested that they skip the orchard that year, but she wanted her baby to taste the season’s 1 st pie even if was still in her tummy. He had stopped her along the path, in a puddle of sunlight, and told her that she was so much more beautiful then he had ever realized. He picked the flower and placed it behind her ear declaring her the most beautiful woman there ever was. That small dried flower was her favorite and it was tucked on that shelf, way back behind the rest. Those trips were different each year, sometimes filled with infighting and reprimanding, other times filled with laughter and good will. The thing that stayed the same was the delight that took over when they stepped foot beneath the archway. The B&B was a part of their family's magic, it's past, present, and future. That magic filled them up every year. As they made it to the Orchard he took her hand and led the way on their familiar route, stopping first to pick up their baskets, then plotting their course after consulting with the orchard owner who always knew exactly what was in peak season, and finally down the rows to find the most perfect apples. They sauntered down the aisles inspecting each tree and trying apples of different varieties. Twisting and pulling the best from the limbs of the tiny trees. Experience had taught them how to pick the tastiest fruit for their seasonal inaugural pie. She pulled the most perfect red delicious and thrusted it high in the sky for him to behold. They too had had a secret competition all these years, each claiming to know just apple was perfect. He walked over to her and pulled her close. He nuzzled into her hair and gruffly whispered, “of course the most beautiful woman picked the most perfect apple!”

iwdinc

A lack of courage

A Lack of Courage Todd Heath sat at the stool of the bar counter inside of Linda's Cafe. The A/C made it difficult for him to leave due to the humid weather reaching almost ninety five degrees. The server came around. "Can I get you anything more sir?" "No, thank you miss." Todd blamed himself for wearing a sweater that morning in the early hours. He could take it off however; it would just be one more thing he'd have to carry home. There was a couple in the far corner to his right in a booth, next to a window. They were having a discussion that almost sounded like an argument. The young blonde woman was dress in a blue t-shirt, and blue jeans. The man was dressed more professionally in a grey tux. "If you'd just quit the spending- "I'm not spending, Frank, I'm investing!" "More like spending Emma" "Seriously?” "Well sure, if you'd just quit the schemes you create, perhaps we could start saving for retirement for once. Look" Emma glanced out the window. "Emma" She looked back. "I know you're trying to invest into our future. But with each idea that you've had; whether it was selling silverware, or trying to sell wash machines, or even trying to operate an online business" He shook his head, as he thought in vain to be politely as possible. "Each one ended in failure" "But Frank- "Why not just get a real job?- "Get a real job?!" Frank knew it was hopeless. "I didn't mean that- "Oh really- "Will you just cool it-? "Cool it, while you tell me to get a real job that's only eight measly dollars an hour!?" Todd watched the two give up. Emma was the first to walk out. He wanted to say something. "Hey Frank" "What?" "Forget it" Shaking his head, he walked out. “Miss” “Yes sir?” “Can I get an iced coffee to go?” “Sure thing hun” Seven minutes later he was out of the café, with his sweater over his arm, exposing the red shirt as he drank his iced coffee. Walking down Madison Drive, he wished he was home already. The sweltering heat was already forcing to want to go back for another iced coffee. No. He told himself. Cold water will in the fridge. The conversation kept coming back to him. "Why not just get a real job?- "Get a real job?!" Frank knew it was hopeless. "I didn't mean that- The thoughts of his wife leaving him after he told her that several times, made him regret it. A black lab with no leash on walked up him. Kneeling down to pet it, he noticed the same young couple standing next to his apartment entrance, scrambling to find their key. Walking closer after a quick rub, he took out his key. “You folks live here too I see” “Yeah, you got a key mister?” “Yeah Frank” The fragrance smell coming from the tree that lined the sidewalk hit his nose. “That smell reminds me of my old place” “Yeah?” “Yeah, as a kid my grandad would grow oranges, and each spring I’d smell the flowers that came from the tree” “No kiddin” “Sure” Opening the door, he let them inside, but stopped Frank again. “Uh, just one thing” “Yeah” He was about to give an advice, but decided against it. “Forget about it” “Okay” Half chuckling he followed his wife up the stairs. Later that day sitting on the overhang outside his apartment, he could them arguing. Knowing that it was about finances, he walked back inside as the sun began to set. The next morning was quiet. He left his sweater home, while he made the run around the block. This time instead of a sweater, Todd wore black running shorts, and a red t-shirt. Spotting the black lab again, it began wagging its tail. “Good boy” He exclaimed running past it. The dog followed, it caused him to stop. He gave it a rub, and continued on. As he was nearing the corner of 442 and Walker Street, there was a man dressed in scraggly close that looked like they needed washing. Passing him, he could see the sign the read, hungry, willing to work. He stopped. The older man watched him. Raged filled his mind. How could anyone like him, just stand there at the corner, and beg when there are several businesses, looking for help. “You know mister” “Yes?” “Why uh- The man looked at him curiously. “Forget it” He resumed his run. The phone rang. “You can’t burn calories, if you’re always getting interrupted Todd!” “Yes?” He regretted answering the phone “Hey Todd” “Hey boss” “I’m sorry to call during your vacation, but is there any chance that you could come back early?” “Early?” “I’ll make it up to ya” Make it up to me? Forty eight hours of pto worked up, and now I have to stop and come back? “Why what’s going on?” “Well there’s been a mistake in the schedule, and there’s hardly anyone here?” “But can’t you – “No man, no one else is here” Letting out a sigh he was about to blurt no. Don’t get fired like that Todd. “Okay, but you owe me” “Thanks a lot Todd” He shook his head. “There goes my vacation!” He started running in rage back to his apartment. Chapter 2 Todd arrived at the hardware store. The parking lot was almost full, and he cursed there the nearest parking spot was right next to the entrance of the parking lot. Wearing his blue jeans and green vest advertising Jake’s Hardware, he walked in. Several groups of people were inside. “Hey, Todd!” Walking over he noticed the same couple from the day earlier, in a grouchy mood. “Could you help this gentleman out. He’s wanting a spare key made” “Sure Jake” Walking over to the machine, he introduced himself to the customer who was impatiently waiting. “I’ve been waiting hear for a half hour straight!” Sure you have. He didn’t dare say it. He might be liable to get fired for being rude. “Can I have the key sir?” Swiftly handing it to him Todd got to work. Five minutes later, the customer yanked the keys from his hands, and walked over to Jake to pay for it. How inconsiderate. Shaking his head, he still noticed, Frank and Emma were waiting in the paint aisle. “Can I help you guys?” Their faces lit up. “Hey it’s you, uh” Frank read the badge. “Todd” “Yeah, small world isn’t it. “You bet. Say can you help us out. We’re trying to find the right kind of color that would fit our kitchen” “I guess a light yellow tan would work, but I don’t really know what you’re tastes are though” “Emma, really likes pink, but I think, red would be better- “Maroon, or pink Frank” “Why not Burgundy?” The two looked at each other and nodded. “Sure Todd. Hey, thanks for the help” “Don’t mention it. Hey say uh,- He wanted to give Frank his advice about marriage again; however decided against it. Now what do I say. “Yeah?” “Good luck with the paint job” “Haha, yeah, thanks man!” Slapping his shoulder the two walked away after grabbing their paint. Later that afternoon, when the business was closing down for the day, Todd was checking inventory throughout the aisles. “Hey Todd, I appreciate you helping me out. I just don’t like being here alone when there’s a group like that. Especially when I have to open the register” “No problem Jake” “I want to make it up to you” “Okay?” “Take a couple of days off. It’ll be a full shift, the next couple of days” Better check who’s taking care of schedule. Todd quickly shook that out of his mind. Jake gave him a funny look. “Oh. It was just a stupid thought” “Oh, okay. Well, enjoy the rest of your vacation friend” “I sure will” He’d just opened the door to his apartment when he head Emma, and Frank at it again. “Why can’t I just paint this corner!?” “Because I need to roll the ceiling yet!” “I’m only trying to help- “The paint will only get on the paint after I roll it- “You always think you’re in charge don’t you? “Come on Emma, I’m just trying to paint, so we can move onto the walls- “Yeah right, you always want; to tell me what to do! Emma, why can’t you get a real job? Emma why can’t you stop the schemes? Give me a break!” “Emma!” A few minutes later he heard the door slam. He heard Frank curse, and he shook his head. Getting out left over pizza he turned on the television to an animal show about a vet going to farms, and ranches, to take care of the animals. An advertisement came up. It showed a couple in an argument. There was a man walking past who shook his head in grief. Not knowing how to help. The name of the company appeared on the screen that didn’t mean much. Todd could really relate with that commercial. “That’s a coincidence.” Getting up from the couch, he pitched the paper plate. There were a few magazines on the island in the kitchen he’d left open. A couple was wildlife, and the third one was wellness, showing a picture of a man in the wild outfitted with a backpack, dressed in camo. The bold letters read: Dare to believe. He flipped the pages. The next page opened was no picture, except, Speak Out. Hearing the sliding door to the overhang slam shut he immediately went outside. “Hey Frank?” Frank had to peer over the edge to look down at him. “What?” Taking a deep breath, Todd, finally mounted the courage. “I used to be married. I know I should mind my own business but- “Well you ought to!” “Just hear me out!” “Okay” Taking in a quick breath he started. “Life is too short, to keep on fighting. I said somethings that were really not smart. Things that broke up the marriage and that I now regret. Just- He didn’t know what else to say. “Just try to have understanding of where she’s coming from. You might regret it later on like I did” Frank looked away. “Thanks. I. It’s just hard man” “I know. If you just give her a chance, or at least be a bit more understanding of where she’s coming- “I got it buddy. Thanks” Frank disappeared when he heard the door slam shut from the hallway upstairs. Things were quite the rest of the evening as Todd watched his program. The following morning Todd was walking down to the first floor. spotting Frank, and Emma walking outside he called out. “Morning!” They both looked back and waived. Emma turned around, when Frank gave him a thumb up, and a wink. Nodding, Todd walking in the opposite direction, and began his jog.

7dvucv

As It Was by Angela N. James

Leslie darted out of the car before it was parked into the cabin fuming that he was not able to stay in the city with all the upcoming events he had planned with his friends. Leslie was beginning to drift away from the family. His mother thought it best for him to have some time away from the city and his friend, from all the bad influences to rediscover who he is as an individual. Abigail knew it was going to be hard for her trying to convince her son that the path that he was taking was the path of destruction. She wanted him to know that he is an individual and not the mirror image of what his friends thought but it was hard for her to get inside of her son's head while he was still in the city competing with the demands of his friends. She remembered when he was much younger coming up to the cabin; he loved it here. He loved going swimming and fishing with his dad when he was alive. To her it seemed like it was okay a few years after his father's death but instead of confiding in her, he seemed to take refuge and confide with his friends who were staring him the wrong way. Abigail has seen so many parents in the community making the 6 o’clock News because their children were no longer with them because of gun violence. Being terrified, she decided to be proactive and take him to the cabin. It was going to be the longest week of her life but she was still hopeful that Leslie would be broken enough not to continue on the path that he was heading. He struggled with the groceries from the car when Leslie came out of the cabin like a whirlwind yelling at her. “Did you even check to see if there was electricity here? And if there's no electricity what about the internet? And my phone doesn't even work. What is the sudden interest in having me in your life when all these months since dad’s death you have been buried in your books pursuing your happiness without me? “Please come and help me with the grocery then we can talk after supper.” “I am not staying up here with you.  Leslie, this is for your good. This is for our good we need to reconnect like we used to. Please come and help me with the grocery . so you knew all along that there was no electricity in the cabin?  I did not know there was not any electricity in the cabin. Didn't you see me go buying fresh meat and milk for the refrigerator? Had I known that I would not have spent my money and things that would go bad. Stop being hysterical. I need for you to be strong this time.  “I'm going for a walk.”  “Why are you being so difficult?  “Because you didn't give me any choice in the matter. There has to be a better way in getting my attention mom. You can't just decided to put my back against the wall expecting me to give you my undivided attention when you too had buried yourself in things that pleases you while I had to find ways in dealing with dad's death and you don't see me forcing your hand in dealing with the issue, then why are you doing this to me?  “I will call the electrician in the morning.”  “Can we not stay out here for the entire week. I will give you the weekend.  “When has it been this difficult for us to spend time together as we used to be together at this very cabin. I remember your dad going away on business trips and we would be here with a faulty electrical system and you did not become this hysterical.” Leslie slowly dragged himself to a car and took two of the grocery bags from his mom and took you to the cabin. Trying to lift his spirit, “the sunsets are beautiful here. Do you remember us going down by the lake just to look at the sun set? You used to love it.”  “I still do love the sunset but that does not change how I feel about coming here.” “I bought some books from the library that you always love reading. We can read together.”  “For crying out loud mom come on Let It Go! No TV, no Sports! and no entertainment. Just us and the woods and all the wild creatures that might be running around out there. You seriously did not think this through. “We need to have a serious discussion about where I see your life is heading and if we had stayed in the city you would not have listened.” “Deciding to kidnap me and bringing me here without being transparent to me should make all this go away? what about the part you play in me pulling away from you mom?  “You know I have tried on many occasions to talk to you but there's always an event or something that involves your friends. I've seen you lose friends to gun violence and I'm terrified that if I don't get your attention I will be one of those parents on the 6 o’clock News morning for her child and pleading to the community to come forward with evidence of what your killer is. I don't want to be searching for a killer who has murdered my son. I want my son to live and live a good life. You said I've buried myself in books but what I've been trying to do is to get a better job so that we can move out of that Community that has taken the life of so many young men your age so forgive me if I have not been doing such a good job multitasking. I am doing my best and I realized that it is not good enough until I can get you to be on board with me.”  “And once again you have decided on something that would affect my life drastically without asking me what I think about your decision. Moving out of the community will not help me. That's the community with all the memories of the things that I've done with dad. The community reminds me of the good times with my father and for you to decide that you're going to remove me from a place that is filled with his memory is very selfish.” “I need to cook these meats since we don't have any electricity. Your father was a wise man when he decided to put in a gas stove. look over there for your grandmother's recipe for cookies or cake; we have to use up the milk I have as much eggs as we can.” “Will they not all go bad eventually?  “You might have gotten your wish. Since there's no electricity here, our stay is as limited as long as the food will last.” “Mom you've made your point; you've got my attention. Now, can we just go back home? “You said the city is a place filled with your father's memory and you would prefer to remain in that community. Have you forgotten that the cabin is also filled with your father's memory and all the good things you date with him here? “You promise, when all the food is finished we go. “With that said, I am holding you to your word that you will not go into town to stock up on supplies.” “You have my word son.” “ And you got my attention.”  “So, what do you think about the idea of us leaving the city but in close proximity where you can still hang out with your friends? “If it gets me into a better school, I'm open for it.” “Let's get the fire going. It's cold inside here. You do all the baking now do the roasting broiling and all that jazz.”  “Do we still have that recipe? He was not much of a baker but he had ambition.” “He sure did son, he sure did. There was no shame in his game.”

71e86e

Apple Pickers

Alex Ramirez Apple Pickers One day on a sunny afternoon a kid named Bill went to school in a very happy mood because a special toy his mother has gotten for him has finally come in it is called the “Robot Blaster.” On the way to school in the early morning Bill sat in the backseat fidgeting with the toy like his life depended on it. His mother said” Billy are you having fun back there?” Billy replied” Yes mom but this toy is just so cool looking and amazing to play with.” They approved the school zone where it says slow down and Billy knew he got to see his best friend very soon. When Billy got out of the car he sat there and thought to himself about being one step closer to being a teenager as he was in 4th grade this year. He Walked into the school and locked eyes with his best friend Erick “ said Bill is that really you, I haven’t seen you in a while” Bill replied with “Yep, it's me and I feel like a toddler still so I don't grow or change that much.” Bill and Erick were both part of the cool kids group. I mean they did everything together in school such as sit by each other, get in trouble together, and even swing together at recess and you never knew if that was a bad or good thing. The next day at school a really cute girl came up to them and said” Hey there boys My name is Addison and I am the one and only girl president of STUCCO and sounds very weird but this weekend we are going apple picking and we would like you two to join us.” Bill seemed a little hesitant because he has really never been around girls that much except his mom but Erick “ said yes we will go” as fast as his lips could move and Addison said “ Great be here on Saturday Bus leaves at 2:30 P.M. For the rest of the day Bill stayed quiet because he was trying to prepare himself to be on the bus because the teachers were not the best to him. Wednesday comes around and Bill started getting picked on by this fat and ugly sixth grader named Rob. Rob told him to go to the restrooms at 3:00 because they were going to fight just because Rob wanted too and no teacher could stop it because it was in the bathrooms and they wouldn't know it was going on. Rob was sick that day so Bill was out of luck. As 3:00 came all of the boys were crowded up in the bathroom with all of their phones out none of them really thought that Bill would show up because you could tell Bill was really scared. He went into the bathroom and everyone started cheering because they knew that the fight was going to happen well turns out it wasn’t a fight it was more like a wrestling match because they really didn’t know how to fight. They wrestled around for about 3 minutes and they finally gave up because they knew they weren’t going to get anything out of this. Billy went back home to his mom with a couple bumps and bruises His mom said” Oh my god what happened?” Billy lied because if he told her then Rob would be really trying to go after him so he lied and said” Mom I just fell down some of the stairs” she was still worried and made him sit down and ice the whole night and he had to ice Thursday too. As Friday came around everyone that was going to pick apples was happy because it was their first field trip of the year. Billy asked Erick” Aren’t you excited? we are finally going somewhere together.” Erick was kind of pumped just they were a little nervous about all of the girls that were going. They both went home and knew they had to pack snacks and everything they both spent up until dinner time about what they wanted to pack for this trip. As the night came quickly around they started doing their night routine before it was their bedtime they both had the jittery feeling about going that they couldn’t sleep for a while but they eventually fell asleep. The day that they have been waiting for Saturday morning came they spring out of their bed and run downstairs to eat breakfast and start their morning and their mom said “ Bill you have to do all of your stuff that you do in the morning.” when Bill got to the school the bus was getting ready to leave so he was late. He quickly ran and got on the bus and Erick was already waiting for him in the back. Erick jumped up in joy as he saw his best friend soon enough they were on their way. Once they got there they both jumped out and the teacher said” Erick, Bill you need to calm down and wait for the rest of us.” they finally got to the tree and started picking those red juicy apples. They had finally filled their big tub that they had and started to walk back when Addison said ``You guys are already done helping us, we aren’t even half way.” they started helping them as they saw that the girls had a hole in their bucket that's why all the apples were falling out or they would’ve had a full bucket by now so they had to find some tape to tape up the bottom and they filled it up again. They all started walking back with the buckets and there was an anaconda right there in the front of the group that was staring into their soul. But the snake was no threat they waited there for 5 minutes while it past and all the kids have fun and none got hurt as they returned home to tell their parents the funny story that had happened.

j57gng

My Fleeting Heart

The knots in my stomach are so strong today that I am crouching over when I walk. My stomach hurts so bad, I am riddled with anxiety. I think I might throw up. I make my way to the bathroom mirror. Look at you yourself . Are you sure this is what you want? I ask myself . Yes. I know this is what I want- what I wish is that it were easy. But who would I end up if my dreams came easy? I think I’ll take a hot shower to calm down, have some water, and just take some deep breaths to try and relax. After my shower I lay in bed in the towel. My skin feels hot from the shower, but it feels good. I close my eyes. Breath. This is YOUR life. Do not allow yourself to feel this type of fear over someone else’s disapproval? At the end of the day, its you, and one day your partner and yalls children. At the end of the day you must go to bed happy with yourself! If you want any peace at all, you must have some bravery. Bravery to choose what is best for YOU, what will make YOU the make happy, what serves YOU? You are the only one who will be in your life for your entire life! You have the strength in you, now its time to challenge it! Oh, what time is it? Dawn. I fell asleep. I’ve been so exhausted with talking myself up to doing this. I’ll go check on the animals.  Its warms outside with a soft cold breeze. The sky Is beautiful and the air smells like sun flowers in a pale fog, and a distant campfire. “Nanner?” Ma calls out, “come on hunny, I made dinner”. “Coming, Ma”, I grab a few fresh eggs from the coop before walking in. They’re still warm . Chills . I’m instantly apparent to how chilly it is once I cuffed the warm egg in my palm. I hurry in the house. Mmm. It smells like broth; Ma must’ve made stew. Well, now’s the time , I think to myself. “Ma? “Paw?” I have an announcement”, I stare at them. My mouth is dry but they aren’t even looking at me or phased at all. “Okay, suga buga what’s that?”, Paw asks me. Here goes. “I don’t want to continue the Haliburtons Vet and Animal Rehab Center. I want to move to New York and study art at Juilliard”, I spat out. Paw chuckles. Ma dismisses my dreams with, “Hunny its good to dream big, but you know what is better? Stability and legacy. The Halliburton’s Vet has been this town’s only animal clinic for 84 years! It can’t just stop running- What will happen to all the animals?” “My acceptance letter came in yesterday and I got a full ride scholarship”, I say with a straight face. I instantly have their attention now. Paws fork dropped on his plate while him and Ma just stare at me with open mouths. I don’t even think they’re blinking. “Ma, Paw- I’m sorry but I don’t want to continue the family legacy, I want to start my own legacy. This is what I want, please try, and find support for me in your hearts! And besides Aunt Joys youngest son loves animals, maybe he can be the one to carry on the legacy in a few years when he gets older! It doesn’t have to end, and Ill train any of my cousins in the family to take over my job when I move”, I assure them. “Well”, Paw says, “congratulations?” Ma quietly agrees and we spend the rest of the dinner in silence. I guess I’m going to bed disappointed tonight. I knew they would be let down and maybe even ashamed, but I still had a little glimmer of hope that maybe they could understand me and support me. But no matter what, I promised myself that I would remain loyal to my dreams because if not, my life and my happiness will suffer. I know if their love is unconditional they will come around to see that I need this opportunity. Its morning. I smell blueberries and brown sugar, coffee, eggs, and more. I find myself following my noses’ lead to the kitchen. Ma’s cooking something good! It’s been a few days since I spilled the news, and she has hardly spoken to me. So, I’m surprised when she turns around from the stovetop to look at my sleepy self and say, “Oh good hunny, you’re up! I made you breakfast”! “Hm?”, I ask, “Ma you’re not mad at me anymore?” I ask, hopeful to hear a “no”. “Baby”, she says while bringing me a huge plate of blueberry pancakes, “I was never mad at you”, she rubs my head, “I was jealous of you!” “Huh? Jealous?” I asked, confused. “Yeah baby, I was jealous you had the courage to make your own dreams come true! You took charge of your own life, that is amazing! I wish I had the confidence to do that when I was your age. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive at first. I’m excited for you, but I’m also nervous to see you move so far from your Paw and me”. “Oh Ma, I’ll come visit every holiday, you and Paw can come whenever you want, I’ll miss you both so much too, but I have to do this and I promise we’ll see each other and talk often! Thank you so much Ma for understanding, I love you! I’m so happy you were able to give me your blessing and support, that means the world to me”, I assure her. We smile and hug. Ma cries a little bit while we break away from our hug, she shoos me away to reassure me she’s okay, they’re just mom tears. Paw comes in the kitchen, “what smells so damn good?” We laugh and all join each other at the table. These pancakes are so delicious!

pehw48

Under the Willow Tree

Phoebe Tucker pulled her long blond hair into a tight pony tail - the morning promised nice hot weather, perfect for fixing up her new yard of the bungalow hobby farm she had just purchased along with several animals and two horses she wanted to train and show at the local fairs soon. Phoebe had dreamed of her own hobby farm and finally here she was, very ecstatic, the excitement in her blood energizing as she went to the barn. It was early, the sun had just risen over the Montana skies, pinks and orange hues of beauty, the air smelled of farmland and warm summer breezes. Phoebe began by sweeping the barn, then watering and giving her horses their morning mix of grain, listening to them munching in their stall pails. She then took each one out, on a lead rope, and let them loose in the small corral - she would work them after her chores were done. Butch, her border collie began to bark suddenly, Phoebe went outside to see what was going on to make him excited, he was a great watchdog, and her best friend. "How do you do ma'am, my name is Randy Orsen and i live next door, the yellow house down the road. Wondering if you need a handyman or anything i would be much obliged." and he took off his dirty cowboy hat, revealing thick wavy hair and big brown eyes. He was quite handsome she pondered, her heart skipped a beat. "Well, i just moved here and have a lot of chores to do, if you dont mind working half days and low pay? I would give you lunch too providing you do your work well enough." She added, leaning on her pitch fork. "Ok, i dont mind any kind of work at all. I got my truck and will come by first thing tomorrow? Own my own tools too i might add, so no need to borrow any. " He proudly said, nice white teeth glistening at her, his tall stance towering over her smaller heighted body. She stood up straight then, as if to prove she had to look taller than she was, well, what would she want with a farmer's hand anyway? She came here to escape the heart aches of romance from the city, and needed to focus on her and her animals. No way she would go for a ranch bloke even though he was drop dead gorgeous. And so, the next morning, he showed up as he said he would, and on time too. Phoebe told him she had to go to town to get supplies, he offered to go for her, knowing how the people were used to him and he could get a better deal than her at the co-ops. "It would be good for me though to meet them, i like to know who lives here and what's going on. Sorry, i can go myself." She answered back, not wanting to act like she couldnt handle her own affairs. "Don't say i didnt warn you, they like to take advantage of the newbies around here and charge more than they do the locals, its a bit of a gag with them." He chuckled, rubbing his chin in an absurdly arrogant way. Like he was warning her of danger or something else, she wondered studying him. She remained adamant about her independance and scoffed off to town anyway. The day grew warm as promised earlier, the haze now over the mountains hovering in hot dry weather. Phoebe made a nice pitcher of lemonade and ham sandwhiches with salad and waved to Randy to join her on the weathered veranda that also needed a new paint job. Randy drank the lemonade she offered right away, thirsty and then grabbed at the sandwhiches she placed in front of him, my goodness, he seemed like he hadnt eaten in days, and now as she did notice he was on the thin side. "So are you from around here?" She asked just for conversatin sake. "Nope, around everywhere, born in Nevada though. Came here five years ago stayed ever since." He said after his last swallow of food. he noticed how pretty she was, but he doubted a city girl like him would be his type, no way, he wanted a woman that could handle the rough country of Montana, a "real" farmer's wife, this gal was high maintenance, even down to her manicure, well the one she had last back at the spa at home. Phoebe left the law firm and bought the ranch, after an arduous case she had lost for a client went awry. The case had gone on for months, an attempted murder trial, the evidence lacking in submissability and was eventually thrown out, her life threatened. She had been thinking about the farm life before that however, but at the loss of the trial and threats she went ahead and bought this. "I know a place down by the creek you can go for a swim or try and catch a catfish or two." He suggested, getting up to get ready to leave for home. He would have preferred full time hours, he thought, the pay here would hardly make his own bills met. "Catfish eating is decent." He added, hardly thinking she would want to go fishing. "I might take you up on that if you're offering to assist me in the right direction? I hardly know where to find any place like that here, i just moved in after all." She reminded him. So, the following weeks they spent working in the mornings, and he did his job well, mending this, fixing that, painting her veranda too, a nice white paint that gave it a look that was inviting, and she added the flower hangers filled with wildflowers and impatients, her little farm was starting to look like home. After he left, she worked her horses, and by the end of the day she was so tired and sore all she wanted was supper and a soak in the big giant old fashioned iron legged bath tub. Then one fine hot day, he suggested they go for a swim. "The weather is fine enough - you look like you can use some cooling off too." He smiled at her, she had already gotten stronger looking and brown from the sun. Little splashes of freckles dusted her nose and face too, he thought she was adorable, he liked her and he was beginning to have new ideas about her. She was funny too, and they often chuckled together over her delicious lunches, he had never had such good food. "You must have been a chef back in the city." He complimented her steak and eggs. He licked his lips and drank her iced too or lemondade, whichever she made for the day. "No, but i was engaged to one back home, and i learned a few tips or two, i enjoy good food too, i believe eating is part of life's pleasures." She beamed at his compliments of her fare. "Let's go for a swim." He prompted again, hoping for a huge "yes", and she did give in finally. The creek was as beautiful as he said it was, and she could see the catfish jumping as promised, next time she would bring a fishing rod and try it. The afternoon went by so quickly, and the willow trees hung above them inviting, the moss beneath them soft and begging, Phoebe lay down against the giant tree and closed her eyes, happy and content. She then felt his hand on her shoulder, she opened her eyes to him bearing down, offering her a drink of water from his thermos. She drank in thirst, and handed it back to him. Randy continued to stare down at her, and then, he bent over and kissed her on the lips, much to her anger and surprise. "W..What do you think you're doing?" She belted out and pulled back in haste. "I dont think i gave you permission to kiss me." She scoffed embarrased now. "I am sorry, it's just that, well, I really think you are so pretty, and when you had your eyes closed, i thought, i am sorry, i really like you. A lot." He added and looked down at his feet. He never meant to hurt her, he had just been so lonely the last few years. Meaghan his last girlfriend, left him for another man after they'd moved in together, and had been cheating on him. Randy didnt give his heart out so easily. "I am not sure i want a relationship right now, and i hardly know you except for the work you do for me, and you were kind enough to bring me here too, i enjoyed our day very much. " She started, "But if you want to court me that is another thing altogether." Phoebe finished then, surprised at her own reaction. She had not expected this either, Jack Aslton got abusive with her, after the engagement party he felt he owned her, things went from bad to worse. Phoebe swore never to feel that way about a man ever again. Randy was a ranch hand, OMG, this could not be happening at all, but she liked him too, they were a good team together. "So, does that mean you will give it some thought?" He eyed her for any clue possible to hope for. "yes, i think we can figure a way to make this work, but give me time, i wont give my heart out so easily. " She warned him. "Well, ditto here, i have my own stories." He promised her, grinning from ear to ear, and the two of them sat under the willow tree, just talking and leaning against each other, as the Montana sun set behind the mountains vigorous color.

ddkppt

Third Time To Start Again

Trigger warning: violence, mentions of concentration camps “I don’t remember.” I chuckle to myself as I hear the words coming out of my mouth. Easy for me to say that. In all honesty, I don’t remember much at all. Pretty much just my name, age, and the address on my drivers license, which I haven’t lived at in years. I focus once again on the man in front of me. He says he knows me, says we worked together. He says “worked together” in a manner that sounds...off. Like we were partners in crime. But I don’t know him. I don’t remember him anyways. It’s been three years since I lost my memory. I’m forty two now. That’s thirty nine years of my life I don’t remember. Lost it all in a car accident. The doctors said I was hit by a drunk driver. Was comatose for a month. Woke up and now, three years later, I can’t remember a thing. Problem is, I don’t want to remember. Apparently I was successful before I lost my memory. In terms of money at least. I have enough to last me the rest of my life if I’m careful with it. Found that out when I got out of the hospital. So I spend my time driving around in a beat up old red van I bought. Traveling around the country. Doesn’t cost much to live when your just one man. Sometimes I’ll just buy ahead on canned goods and drive off down some old highway or up an old country road and after a bit pull off and camp out for a week or so. Watch the sunrises. Reds and yellows and oranges thrown up over the horizon in streaks. Watch the sunsets. Purples and pinks and sometimes even greens and blues smeared across the sky. Drink strong black coffee. Build campfires and watch the flames devour the wood and the shadows dance like puppets. During the day I’ll hunt. Or sit and read those fifty cent paperback mysteries you can buy at some gas stations or out of the way book stores. The kind of book with the greasy antagonist that always catches what’s coming to him in the end and broad shouldered good looking protagonist who gets the girl. Other times I’ll go into a little city or town and spend a week drunk at some sleazy downtown bar where cigar smoke is thick and alcohol is thin. Or go to a theater and watch a play. I’m a fan of plays for some reason. Shakespeare especially. I do it cause I enjoy the life I live. Nature and towns and people and life. If you can call what some of the people I meet do living. And because I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember my past. I know some terrible secret lurks in it. And I don’t want to know what it is. Guess I’m a bit of a modern cowboy. A modern drifter. Like John Wayne in all the old movies. The black and white ones that sometimes play on the small cracked TVs in the corner of a hotel lobby or that play on the TV of the lonely old man sitting in a nursing home waiting out his days in a thin gown and surrounded by steel and white and death. Anyways. The man in front of me. He wants to know something about someone. Another name from the past. Another face I can’t remember. Or maybe I can. I don’t know. Faces all become the same after a while. I shake my head at him. “Sorry. I don’t remember.” I say again. I turn back to the bar I sit at. Ignore him. Look at the drink in my hand. Bourbon. Swirl it around in the cup. Set it down without taking a drink. There’s laughter in the background. A girls laugh. No. A woman. Anyone in this kind of environment , no matter their looks, has the mind of an adult. Years of seeing things no human should see. Growing up in places no human should grow up in. The mans questions have stirred something in me. My drink no longer appeals to me, and I stand and make my way out of the bar. I payed beforehand. I step out into the night air. It’s raining. A light rain, the kind that catches the moonlight and dusts the street and throws the streetlights soft glow back up at you. Memories start moving in my mind like a nest of snakes. There’s a reason I live the life I do. A reason I travel the way I do. Never the same place twice. Yet somehow always the same faces. When you travel like I do, everyone starts to seem the same. People just stuck in a never ending circle. The Circle of Life. You come and you go and when you go if your important or big or a politician or something then you might get your name in a paper or book or even a movie about you. Although of course the books and movies never show the whole story. That’s just how we are. If your not a politician or some big important person you probably don’t get anything except a little epitaph on your grave. A few sad mourners standing around as they throw the dirt over your coffin. From dust to dust, as they say. Either way, big or small, important or not, when you go you make just a little ripple in the world. A little ripple. That’s it. All the years of your life spent meeting people and working and achieving goals and dreams, and when you go it’s just a drop in the ocean. Like the rain as it falls around me right now. A drop of rain. A memory pops into my head. A boy. He is standing next to a woman. The background around them is fuzzy. “Mom?” He asks, tugging at her hand. “Hm?” She looks down at him. They are both dirty and their clothes are dirty and thin. “Mom, where’s dad?” The boy asks. He can’t be more than eight. The woman’s face shows the answer. The dad is gone. Not coming back. “Your father is dead honey. I’ve told you this.” She says, her voice betraying itself. Cracking with grief. The boy starts crying. The memory ends as suddenly as it sprang to my mind. I know without a doubt that the boy in the memory is me. The woman is my mother. Another memory worms it’s dark little self into my head. The woman is being dragged away. By the men in uniforms. A crooked X marks their jacket.  No. It’s a swastika. The boy watches from the shadowed corner of the building he cowers beside. The woman fell that morning. She fell and she couldn’t get up. So the big men with guns came and are taking her away. Taking her to a place that will make her “better” they say, grinning as they do so. Sharing some dork secret. Some dark joke. The boy continues to cry. A blank space. The boy is strong. Physically and mentally. That’s why he has survived. They make him work. His mom worked with him but she fell and couldn’t get up and the soldiers with guns took her away to a place to get better and she never came back. That was a year ago. The boy is nearly ten now. And he plans his escape every day. Dreams of murdering the German swine who are responsible for his mother’s death. But he waits. He bides his time. Another blank space. This time is a year later again. The boy is in a truck. A German truck. There are four Germans in the truck with guns. And the driver. They are saying something. The war is over. The prisoners must die. There are two prisoners in the truck. One is the boy. One an older man. Maybe fifty. He is not related to the boy. He appears older than he is to the young eyes of the boy. The boys jaw clenches. He fingers something. It glints in the poor light. He lunges forwards. The Germans scream echos in the tight confines of the truck. I’m sweating. Or is it rain? I’m soaked. The rain is running down my shirt and face and hair. It’s in my shoes. I remember now. Some things. Things I hadn’t wanted to remember. The German concentration camp. My fathers death. My mother’s death. My escape. I don’t know what ever became of the old man who had been in the truck with me. Did he die there, in the back of the truck with a crazed eleven year old boy who killed five grown men with a kitchen knife he had secreted away? Or did he escape with the boy and die somewhere along the long hike to safety? He is like a glitch in my memory. I remember nothing about him after that quick flashback glimpse of him in the back of the truck. No matter. I don’t wish to remember. I stumble across the street. Alcohol once again sounds like a sweet release. Better to drown memory in fire. Maybe I’ll wake up and not remember anything again. I enter the bar I exited a few moments ago. A few people look at me. Not surprised to see me again. Wondering why I’m soaked. I ignore them. Make my way back to the bar. Order another bourbon. Drink it. And another. And a third. Someone says something to me but I don’t pay them any attention. Flashes of the few memories I just re experienced are like fireworks behind my eyes. The boy. The woman. The soldiers. The truck. The boy. The knife glinting as it plunges towards the German soldier. The screams. Gunshots. The boy, staggering out of the truck. My hands are shaking. The alcohol is not working. Not really anyways. I can’t forget. My hands are at my head. Grabbing it. As if holding my head in my hands and leaning my elbows on the table will somehow disconnect my brain and I can stop remembering. A girl is sitting next to me now. Asking if I’m okay. I don’t answer. Manage to stand. Blunder back out of the bar. My van is on the street corner. I make it to it. Fumble my keys out of my pocket. Open the door. Somehow I’m behind the wheel. The car is running and I’m driving. I laugh. I’m drunk. And I’m driving. How many times was I told never to to drink and drive. And I don’t even remember when I started driving. Wasn’t I hit by a drunk driver? Isn’t that how I lost my memory? The road is very curvy. Or maybe it isn’t. I can’t tell. Why is there a tree in the road? That’s not right. That shouldn’t be there. The red van sits against the tree. Or the tree sits in the van. The front of the van is wrapped around the tree. The man inside is unconscious. Sirens. Flashing lights. Voices. Bad jokes. Cops. Paramedics. The man is lifted out of the car. Put on a stretcher. “He’s lucky to be alive,” the nurse says. She is speaking to a paramedic. The one who brought in the man. A Dixie cup of lukewarm coffee is in her hand. “Tell me about it. Drunk as a skunk. Broken arm. Broken leg and ankle. Concussed.” The paramedic responds. They are standing in a hallway, just outside the mans room. “Yeah. He was lucky someone saw him wreck too.” The nurse says. “Mhm. The paramedic grunts. “Older man. Around eighty. Said he knew the wrecked man from a long long time ago. Said he saved his life, and he was glad to repay the favor.” “Oh?” The nurse questioned. “Yeah. Said the man saved him when he was just a boy. Said he saved him in Germany. From a truck full of German soldiers.” “Huh.” The nurse wonders aloud. “Well, it’s too bad.” “What is?” The paramedic asks. “The man in there won’t remember.” The nurse muses. “Won’t remember what?” “Anything. The old man who saved him. His past.  Nothing.” “What?” The paramedic says curiously. “Yeah. The wreck concussed him so bad he’s lost his memory. He woke up and couldn’t remember a thing. Not even his name.” The nurse explains. “And, according to his medical records, this is the second time that’s happened. Poor guy. First time was three years ago.” “Huh.” The paramedic mutters. “Guess he gets a third chance to start again.” 

rve39h

Yardstick

Topaz looked through the peephole. There was no one there, despite the door having been knocked on seconds earlier. He pushed open the door--and pushed something over. Down the steps of his front porch rolled a little wire cage with something small and green inside of it. It was cheeping. “Oh my God,” he muttered. “Andy! You did not!” “Mom doesn’t want it anymore!” screamed Andy’s voice from the driveway. “That’s not my problem! What the heck am I supposed to--” “I don’t know; it’s a green-cheek conure!” “What?” A pause, and then: “The green-cheeked parakeet or green-cheeked conure is a small parrot of the genus Pyrrhura, which is part of a long-tailed group of the New World parrot subfamily Arinae! The term conure is often used for this parrot and its relatives in aviculture! It is native to the forests of South America!” “What the heck, Andy!” Topaz ran down the porch steps, just in time to see his sister sliding into her car. “We could’ve talked about this, you know!” “COVID!” “You literally went to a wedding last week!” Andy just grinned crookedly and swerved out of the driveway. “See you New Year’s!” she shouted through her open window. Shaking his head, Topaz walked back to the front door, muttering “Republicans,” as he went. He knelt at the base of the steps and looked inside the cage. Evidently unhurt, the soft green and gray colored bird was chirping softly, looking suspiciously at him with its beady black eyes. “What the actual heck, Andy,” Topaz said exasperatedly, gently picking up the cage and bringing it inside. “What am I supposed to do with you?” Topaz set the birdcage--upright, this time--on the kitchen counter and peered at the bird. “I guess you need a name, huh, little guy.” Topaz sighed. “Well, it’s the twenty-first century, I’ll let you decide. To the right for girl, to the left for boy.” The bird stood stock-still. “Non-binary, then. So, what about… Taylor? Everyone says that name is gender-neutral, but I’ve only ever heard of Taylor Swift.” Topaz sighed again. “Look, little dude, I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you. Here, Taylor doesn’t fit--what about, like, Laundry or Yardstick?” When the bird fluffed its feathers indignantly, Topaz replied, “Well, I really have no other idea, so let’s just go with Yardstick, okay, bud?” Yardstick consented with the click of their beak. “Great. Now… what do you eat? Hey, Siri,” Topaz dictated to his iPhone, “green cheek conure diet.” “Green Cheek Conures should be fed on a quality South American pellet…” “Fantastic.” “...and given daily fresh fruit and vegetables.” Topaz walked across the kitchen and hesitantly opened the fridge. It contained three half-gallon jugs of milk, a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread with just the ends and crusts, kombucha, Coke, tortillas, chicken fried rice, and a singular rotting banana. “I don’t suppose you like pretzels, do you?” Topaz called sarcastically over his shoulder. “Because that and tortilla strips are all that’s in the pantry.” Yardstick chirped encouragingly. “Well, at least this means I won’t be spending the holidays alone.” Topaz was in a peculiar situation. He owned a house, for some reason, which he lived in by himself, though no one knew quite why. His only sister, Andy, was in college, and his parents lived three hours away. Topaz saw his family about once every three months, and to the extent of their knowledge, he had no friends and hardly ever left his house. No one knew where his money came from, but he had a lot of it, despite the scarcity of the fridge. Topaz shut the refrigerator door and went back over to where Yardstick was scratching the floor of their cage. Slowly, he unlatched the little door and swung it open. After a moment, Yardstick hopped onto the granite countertop and regarded Topaz with a wide round eye. “Have I introduced myself? I’m Topaz, by the way. Weird name, huh? Talk to my parents. You’ve already met them, anyways.” Topaz sighed, gazing longingly at Yardstick. “Well, I guess we’re in it together now, little guy. Want to go for a walk?”

cs4vzu

Just Another Typical Love Story

June 23, 2017 “Hey, Harper?” “Yeah?” “I really, really love you.” Harper turns from where he’s watching the sky and smiles at me. God, he’s gorgeous. He just sits there, grinning, for a few moments before leaning into me and saying, “You too, Therly.” I look back out at the ocean. Waves lap lightly at the peaceful shore. Sunrise is just beginning, staining the horizon with orange, and I’ve never really liked that color, but today it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Everything for the past few weeks has been perfect, really. I’ve always wanted to do something like this; I’ve always wanted to run away. I’ve always wanted to spend nights, giggling, alone in the desert. I’ve always wanted to jump into the ocean at 11 p.m. I’ve always wanted to snuggle in the backseat and listen to music turned all the way up and swear and wear whatever I want and bleach my hair and run on train tracks and drive all night without stopping and have a real conversation and sleep in a car and do all of the million incredible things we’ve been doing every single day. Our car is parked in the lot of this California timeshare. The car used to be blue, but we’d hung out around a spray paint shop until we found an adult who would buy some for us, then stained the whole thing black. And hey, we actually did a pretty good job. Oh, and we changed the license plate. It’s not valid, of course, but who’s gonna check? Harper yawns. “D’you think anyone will realize we’re not supposed to be here?” I glance around the empty shoreline. “Nah, two teens sitting on the beach at 6:30 a.m.? What’s sketchy about that?” Harper makes a pffing sound and falls back onto the sand. “So, what’s on the itinerary for today?” I lay down beside him. “Idk, I was thinking maybe KFC?” Harper snorts. “Ah, yes, the most important of all, KFC--how could I forget?” I whomp his stomach. “Shut up.” Harper shakes his head, further entangling his thick brown curls in sand. “Fine, then, I’ll decide. Do you want tooo… I don’t know, go swimming? Buy some stupid inflatable rafts at 5 Below and off, off into the sunset…” He waves his hand vaguely at the sea. I laugh. “Sure thing, pal.” “Oh, so we’re pals now, are we?” asks Harper, pretending to be hurt. “We’ve been on the road for two weeks, and you’re breaking up with me already?” I roll my eyes, then roll over until I’m practically on top of him. I hope he catches the mischievous look in my eyes before I press my lips to his, silently giggling. Harper puts his arms around my neck. Harper was my first kiss, and I guess I’m hoping my last. I’ve had a lot of practice over the past fortnight. I know you’ll just roll your eyes at our stupid cheesy teenage love story, but this is real, I know it is. I love this boy with all my heart. He’s kind and funny and brilliant and he makes killer crepes and I love him enough to run away with him. Not like, “Haha, let’s elope,” but actually, I did. He’s that perfect. I pull away from him and smile. “So, it’s a plan, then?” “Mhm,” Harper mutters. I think he forgot what we were talking about. To be honest, so did I. We sit back up, my head on his shoulder, and continue watching the sun rise. It’s almost completely above the horizon when we hear someone shout, “Hey!” We stumble into a standing position and frantically locate the source of the noise. It’s a cop car, driving along the deserted beach. Right towards us. “Hey, you kids!” Without speaking, we both take off running in the same direction. In typical angry-old-man-cop fashion, the police officer shouts, “Get back here!” We’re almost to the timeshare. Barefooted, we sprint across the parking lot, hidden by shrubbery. I can hear the police car so close behind us. In just a few seconds, we’ll be in view. We reach our black car. Harper reaches for the keys in his pocket, but I hiss, “There’s no time for that!” I dash to the other side of the vehicle, drop to my stomach, and wiggle under. Harper follows almost immediately. A car door slams. The policeman comes running into the parking lot. From what I can hear, it sounds like he’s looking around. “Blasted teenagers,” he mutters, maybe ten feet away from our hiding spot. I squeeze even further under the car and pray he won’t find us. Eventually, I hear him walk back to his car and drive away across the sand. Harper and I wait a few more minutes to be sure, then crawl out from under the car. Harper gets in the driver’s seat, and I climb over him to get to mine. The passenger side door hasn’t opened for months. Don’t ask me why, okay? It’s not like it’s my choice. Although I don’t mind crawling across Harper’s lap as he laughs and playfully berates me. I think Harper thinks everything about me is perfect, too. But, gosh, he really is flawless. His hair is dark brown and impishly wavy. He’s got this beautiful smile with teeth just white enough to be believable and just a little less than straight (the teeth, not Harper--I’m his girlfriend), so not like frightening symmetry and blinding whiteness, but not yellow and crooked. He had braces several years ago, but he doesn’t wear his retainer anymore. And that, if you ask me, is a perfectly reasonable decision. I’m… not so sure about myself. I’m (mostly) Native American, but I’m normal. Before Harper and I ran away, I lived, in San Francisco, in a house, with my parents. And I went to school and my parents had regular jobs and I’ve never set foot inside a tipi in my life. Is all this really that far-fetched? But here’s the thing. I “look white.” Or at least, people assume I am. When I tell them I’m indigenous, they usually just end up calling me Indian. I’m not, though. Harper is Indian. There’s a difference. I wish people would understand that. I sigh and turn on the radio. “Thunder” by Imagine Dragons comes on. I nod along to the lyrics as Harper pulls out of the parking lot. I don’t ask him where he’s going; that’s part of the fun. The windows are down, of course. I wave my hands in the wind and lean out of the car, occasionally, when I want to see how badly I can tangle my straight hair, laughing as it whips across my face. We drive along for maybe ten minutes, me leaning out the windows like an exuberant puppy, until we pull into the parking lot of a Target. Harper cuts the engine and looks over at me. “What do you say—bathroom break, grocery shopping, then eat breakfast on the roof of the car?” We fistbump. “Sounds like a plan, stan.” Thirty minutes later and we’re walking out of target, pushing a cart with at least eight or nine bags inside. We pay in cash everywhere—both our families are well-to-do, but Harper’s dad is like, uber rich. As part of our plan before we ran away, Harper withdrew money from his bank account that was supposed to be for college and savings and other bs stuff like that, without his dad noticing. We keep it, all in twenty dollar bills, in an envelope in the glovebox. We picked up a lot of snacks like chips and Coke, but we also have a large plastic cooler in the backseat that we refill with ice from random gas stations for stuff like fruit and ice cream. Which we eat a lot of, by the way. Ice cream tastes so much better under the stars. After putting our groceries away, Harper and I share a bag of pretzels and a 2-liter of Dr Pepper on the car’s roof. We get lots of odd looks from people, but do you think we care? Yeah, we don’t. We’re done with the pretzels and it’s drivetime again, on the freeway this time. Harper’s pushing 75, 80 mph. He’s not stupid, of course; but everyone else is going practically that fast too. And what would be the fun in driving if you couldn’t feel the wind rushing rapidly by your face? I bounce back into my seat contentedly and roll up the window. I swat wild strands of hair out of my face and look over at Harper, laughing. “I love you,” I tell him again. Harper grins and turns his face, slightly, to look at mine. “Love you--” he begins. Hey, that’s kind of dangerous. Once he begins turning, I frown and say, “Harper--” I look out the windshield. We’re drifting into the right lane, right in front of another car. I scream, “HARPER--” And then we start to spin. June 23, 2017 “I think she’s waking up!” I moan and flutter my eyelids open. I’m in a--hospital?--in a bed, lying down. Mom and Dad are sitting by my side, their foreheads creased in worry. “Oh, thank God,” Mom cries and takes my hand. “Therly? Are you all right? It’s your mom, sweetheart.” “M-mom?” I stammer. Everything aches. I swallow. That hurts too. “How did you find me?” “You got in an accident, sweetie. When you ran away, and left your phone and everything at home without even leaving a note--we thought you were dead, oh, praise God…” Dad picks up for her. “You were recognized by one of the paramedics. We came right away. We’re so glad you’re safe, Therly… you could’ve died…” I scream. Mom looks up from where she was stroking my hand and gasps. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should we--” “Harper,” I sob. “Where’s Harper? Is he okay?” I struggle to sit up. Dad pushes me back down onto the bed. “Hey, it’s okay, Therly--” “No, it’s not!” I scream hoarsely. “Where’s Harper?” “He’s dead, Therly,” Mom whispers. I think my heart stops beating. And now I’m thrashing, screaming, kicking and biting and yelling and crying, crying, Harper, Harper, where are you Harper, Harper-- June 27, 2017 We live in a lakefront house. Did I ever mention that? I was discharged from the hospital--some time ago--I can’t keep track, I can’t remember. I think Harper’s funeral is this Saturday. Or maybe it’s next--I don’t know. I don’t really remember anymore. I’m at the edge of the dock in our backyard. It’s--I don’t know, ten p.m.? Earlier? Later? I got into the backyard through the house’s back door. There’s only one of them. I told my parents I would be out for fifteen minutes, so, although they’ll monitor the front to make sure I don’t sneak out, they won’t check back here. I think. I look at the lake’s still water. The moon is a waxing crescent tonight. It’s beautiful. The white light reflects in a jagged, watery line across the lake’s surface. It looks so calm. So quiet. I shift from my seated position until I’m on my stomach and reach the three longest fingers of my right hand down to touch the water. It’s so cold. Or warm. No, I think it’s warm. I shift my glance from the depths beneath me once more to the enchanting reflection. It’s really quiet tonight. No crickets, even. Just water. And light. I scooch forward a little more until my whole torso is hanging off the dock. I slip both my hands into the water. I feel something in it. I don’t know what. But I do. I move forward further off the dock--deeper in the water--until I’ve fallen, quietly, into the lake. My head is submerged in water. I look up, and through the surface I see the moon. It’s really beautiful tonight. And then I close my eyes.

95pfrw

Childish Behaviour

Kelly Alaniz 11/27/2020 Prompt # 69 Childish Behavior.  I've always been amazed at the fact there is one rotten apple in every family. In mine, it is my older sister. I will call her "Mona" because she always has something to complain and moan about in addition to acting very childish. I'm not kidding. My sister could find something to complain about if someone handed her a golden bag with a million dollars in it. She would have a tantrum because there might not be enough coins in it. But, she's always been a moaner as far back as I can remember. Our mom always made excuses for her first born daughter. I was number three so it seemed as though I was invisible. Although there were seven of us we all knew "Mona" was mom's favorite out of all of us kids. There were three boys and four girls in our family and it was almost as though The rest of us kids didn't exist. The boys in my family didn't seem to care much because dad was always taking my brothers fishing, camping, or to baseball and football games, stuff like that. Mom was always doing things with her precious "Mona" like going shopping, going to hair appointments, or out to lunch while we three girls were left to clean up the house. We did the laundry, cooked, washed dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen floor after dinner each night. Our older sister was always busy doing something else and couldn't be bothered to help with chores. We were also expected to have our homework done, take our baths and get ready for bed. Mind we only had one bathroom in our house so it was an ordeal every night waiting our turns. Did I mention that "Mona" always got her bath first in addition to being the first in line for everything. "Mona" also got pretty much anything and everything she wanted. It was so maddening because she got that self satisfied look on her face and always had some snarky comment that she evidently thought would put the rest of us kids in our place. The only reason as far as i could tell why our mom mollycoddled and gave in to "Mona" was because of the epic tantrums she threw whenever she didn't get her own way. I have never met anyone that could scream longer and louder than dear sweet "Mona." One time mom had taken all four of us girls shopping for school clothes. Mom also wanted to check out the new mall that had just opened downtown. There we were walking around looking at the window displays when "Mona"let out a piercing scream and ran towards a clothing store that catered to teens. She was babbling something about a purse that was on display. Sometimes "Mona" pitched her fits just for attention so it was hard to know if it was for the purse or she just wanted to create a scene for attention that day. Of course my sister managed to draw the attention of several shoppers passing by including our mom who rushed to "Mona's" side to calm her down. To this day I cannot understand my older sisters need to be the center of attention. God knows she always had mom's attention. This must sound like jealousy on my part but it isn't. It is simply a question of why on earth have six more kids that my mother barely acknowledged if "Mona" was the fair haired child. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal in a smaller family but there were six more of us waiting to have just a few minutes to talk to mom. We complained about "Mona's childish, inconsiderate behavior, and her answer was the same every time. "Tough that's just the way it is get over it." This didn't sit well with us girls, but there was nothing we could do about it. We tried to think of something to distract "Mona" but it's illegal to use dynamite on a family member. We would just have to think up a less violent idea. Mom and "Mona" were close, they did everything together. It was as though they were best friends instead of mother and daughter.  Mom was only fifteen years old when Mona was born. I guess the short age difference made them feel like besties. For example, at family get togethers during holidays especially "Mona"would be second in command as far as helping our mother hostess these events. Days before the event "Mona" was too busy to help out with cooking and baking. She always had other commitments somewhere else. Funny how that always worked for her. If one of us other girls told mom we had a prior commitment during holiday preparations we were met with, "absolutely not young lady." "If you know what"s good for you cancel it." "I expect you to help with the holiday preparations." I loved baking so I really didn't mind helping with the food. I often thought it was really unfortunate that my older sister didn't help out in the Christmas duties but she had always hated cooking. She acted as though housework and cooking were beneath her. So, my two sisters and I grew closer because of the time we spent together. Besides it was worth watching the guests devour our hard work and the compliments were nice. "Mona" would always show up just in time to eat dinner with us and I secretly revelled at the pouty look she always got on her face when the compliments on our food started to flow. The attention she so badly wanted was not on her at that moment. However, "Mona" always found a way to regain the limelight such as during opening our presents. I watched this scene play out so many times growing up I actually got anxiety before we even cleared the dirty plates and leftovers off the dining room table. It was always somewhat of an ordeal because we three girls minus "Mona" had to perform our after dinner routine washing dishes, putting everything away, sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor. I have to admit we kept that kitchen so clean you could eat off the floor.  While we were doing our after dinner chores the adults would gather in the den for after dinner drinks and "Mona" was always included because she would throw an awefull tantrum if she felt snubbed. Mom didn't want to be embarrassed in front of her guests by an 18 year old childish daughter so once again big sister got her own way. Finally we girls were allowed to join the guests. As we walked in, there was my sister sitting on the edge of our large coffee table in the middle of the den. She had on a beautiful emerald color dress with matching necklace and drop earrings. It went nicely with her hair color which was naturally red. I recognized the dress from the display window at the mall we were shopping at for school clothes. There "Mona" was installed on her throne with the peons at her feet. She absolutely glowed with joy at the attention she was receiving along with that condisending smirk on her face. I always wondered what it would be like to slap that look off "Mona's" face just once. Instead I ignored her which seemed to annoy my older sister even more. I hoped she would throw a fit so all our relatives could see what a conniver she was. Unbeknownst to all of us then, we were in for the temper tantrum of all time. A super melt down "Mona" style. It began shortly before we settled in to open presents. I'm surprised I didn't see it come over my sisters face. Here's how it happened. Mother stood and raised her glass for the Christmas toast which was a tradition before we opened presents. The problem was it took the attention away from my sister. After the toast we gathered around the tree and before I could say anything my mom nominated me to hand out each gift. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was my fault for not handing "Mona" her present first. So, when I finally did give her a present I saw that the smirk had left her face only to be replaced with darkness and daggers flying from her eyes. They were directed at me and i shivered but kept handing out presents. Finally, everything was distributed to family and friends so one at a time I got to choose who would be first to start opening presents. Mistake number three was just made and I glanced at my sister who's face was pinched and beet red with anger. She was just on the edge of a fit. Our mother saw it too and was already headed over to "Mona" in hopes of avoiding the evening's entertainment. I slunk back towards the kitchen door in case a fast escape was called for. All the sudden one of my cousins let out a cry of joy upon opening her present which of course everyone turned to look at. The oohs and aauws did it plus the fact that the gift was the exact same purse that "Mona" had coveted at the store in the mall the day we went shopping for school clothes. It started with a low moan which quickly turned into a high pitched scream and then developed into a kind of shrieking growl! Mom just missed grabbing "Mona" by the arm when she lunged at our poor cousin. At that point I knew my sister was showing us all her true demented self. I felt sorry for my mom briefly but she had a hand in letting "Mona" walk all over her. I did however feel sorry for our guests for a few minutes having to witness my sisters meltdown. But, I also felt a bit guilty for wishing my sister would reveal her true self. As I watched from my safe vantage point, my sister was still screaming incoherently while ripping the purse away from my cousin. Then she doubled up her fists and started beating my poor cousin who went down quickly. People were gasping in shock, screaming, running for the nearest exit, and some were trying to pull "Mona" off my cousin to no avail. She was like a madwoman and so far out of control someone called 911 and the police showed up. My sister was eventually subdued and removed from the festivities. It took five police officers to gain control of my sister that evening. She was still screaming and kicking as they took her away. Our guests were in shock and everyone took their unwrapped presents and left quietly. My mother had retreated to her bedroom in shame and embarrassment while my dad played gracious host. We never saw my sister again and were not allowed to speak her name in my parents presence ever again.i later heard from another family member that "Mona" had required heavy sedation upon arrival at a hospital they had taken her to that Christmas night. She just wouldn't calm down. Eventually my sister was put in a mental hospital as she had had a complete break from reality. This was too much for my mom to endure and she was never the same again. My dad was strong enough to care for mom and us kids. I think he did the best he could under the circumstances. Evidently "Mona" required sedation everyday or she would scream about her purse being stolen. Finally, about two years later my sister killed herself over that dam purse and my mom died from a broken heart.

zo5ov9

Cookie Exchange

The Cookie Exchange “Hey Kevon, thank you for coming,” Venia said as she opened her bakery shop door. The gentleman greeted Venia with a big grin. He came in and took off his jacket. Kevon said, “Your sign said closed. I hesitated for a moment. Then I remembered you said the shop had not officially opened yet. So you're hosting a “Cookie Exchange” tomorrow? How will that work since your the owner of a Cookie Bakery?” Venia took the mans jacket and hung it on coat holder. She held her arm out to lead him to her unusual black and gold edged counter. Venia said “My cookie exchange will be as different as my bakery. All the invited guess will bring their favorite baked cookies. I will bake my cookies tonight, using my secret ingredient. My cookies will be placed in the mix with all the other cookies. Not me, but each guess will blindly taste all the exchange cookies. After a nice cookie feast, they will vote on their favor one. The winner will be an honor guest on opening day. Their cookies will be sold. The winner will collect 100% of their sales. I will take nothing.” Kevon nodded in approval. He said, “That's an excellent ideal. You'll build a great connection with the community. Glad you invited me to see your bakery for our first blind date.” Kevon took a seat and rubbed his hand over the beautiful counter top. “Yea, this is my place.” Vena said as she poured some international coffee for her guest. “Like I said when we connected online, I still felt embarrassed. Looking on a dating site for company still feels awkward. I was not sure about you at first. So I kept our date a secret.” Kevon said, “I know how you feel. I didn't tell anyone myself. If our date goes bad, no one will know. You and I know business folks like us, have to be extra careful. So many people want to take everything you work so hard for.” Vena nodded as she took a sip of coffee. She stared at her guest for a moment. She took another long sip and smiled. Venia said, “Call me a dreamer, but I believe someone out there could be the very ingredient I need to uplift my life.” Kevon nodded. “I feel the same way. As you know I have a start-up Accounting business. I am so glad to see someone is till interested in start-ups. It seems the only way to build real wealth these days. Tell me about your bakery.” Venia came from behind her counter. She carefully pulled off her colorful apron. Venia said, “Lets start with this apron. I designed this picture when I was a young girl. Twelve years old in fact.” Venia proudly laid her apron on the counter top. She said, “Its my original drawing of this bakery. If you look closely some lines are not straight. I kept this in my dresser drawer. I believed one day it would happen. I had the picture printed on all my aprons.” Kevon said “So you were always a visionary?” “Oh yes! I was determined to create a unique taste. It had to be different. I needed a new tasting cookie. I was always in the kitchen coming up with different flavor cookies.” Venia paused as she look out of the window. The sun was barely picking through a large gray cloud. It started to rain. The street lights began to click on. One by one the lights brighten up the street. Venia said, “A year of ago, I put my life savings into this place. Even tho I was short on my main unique ingredient, got my license to open. I gathered all my recipes. Brought this place, and all you see in here. I should have been nervous but I wasn't. I am here. I am ready. My Cookie Bakery will open tomorrow.” Kevon gleamed. He said in excitement, “So show me around!” Venia quickly wiped the counter. She said “Just what I was wanting to hear. Come on back let me show you the kitchen.” Both of them walked thought the steel double swinging doors. Inside it looked like a professional kitchen. Metal center island. Multi double ovens. Industrial appliances. Large colorful mixers, and blenders all around. Venia said, “Were hitting it off well for our first date, don't you think?” Kevon touched her shoulder and smiled. He said, “I'm glad I came. Your much prettier in person than over the internet.” They both laughed. Venia said, “How about you and I make some cookies together?” In excitement, Kevon untied his tie and rolled up sleeve. “OK whats first?” Venia pulled down some bowls and open some maple drops. With her handy white towel, she pop him on his thigh. She said, “Hey, my handsome helper can you go through that metal door by those stairs and grab the brown flour on the very top shelf?” Kevon grim, “Why sure boss. I'll get it and be back in a jiffy.” Kevon eagerly walked to the door and went in. Kevon yelled back. “Hey where is the light, its dark in here!” Venia yelled back, “Go in a bit more and you'll see a large bright orange button on the left side. Push the button and the lights will all pop on.” Vena quickly ran to a lower cabinet on her right side. She bent down and reached way in. Venia stretched in as far as she could and in pulled a lever. The metal door Kevon went through slammed! Immediately Kevon yelled in agony, “Help me, Help!” Vena ran over to the metal door and locked it. Kevon's voice quivered with horrible screams. The air was filled with cries and painful moans. One last time Kevon screeched out a horrible yell, “Noooo!” Then there was silence. “Crunch. Crunch. Grinding, then mixing sounds came from the room. After a few minutes Venia ran downstairs. She opened up a concealed panel, and went inside. Up against a low ceiling wall there was a spout. She grabbed a jar and pulled the lever. Substance filled her jar. When it was full, she twisted the cap tight. Venia did a little dance as she made her way up the stairs. In the man kitchen, Venia opened the jar and took a long whiff. She went over to her center island and prepared her batter. She scooped out a tablespoon of the textured substance from the jar. “Just a scoop will do.” She tasted her mixture. “Hum, so tasty. A winner for sure!” Venia hummed as she stirred in some added in flavors. She spoon her dough on the cookie sheet, and placed it in her warm oven. Twenty minutes later she pulled them out and tasted her cookie. “Now that I have more of my secret ingredient, I'm ready for opening day!” Lupe Fuller email: [email protected]

jy402a

The promise

It was a silly document left in a tiny envelope. Left in his mother's desk, a document he found years later as he was rummaging through the attic. She had gone to soothsayers, palm readers. All to no avail. His carer told him also of the time when she became rather desparate and she'd gone to Japan specifically for readings of leaves at the bottom of a tea cup. All foretold of a beautiful child. A male of course, an only child to carry the family name. Nice promises, but not easy for her to achieve as she was a childless young widow. Her husband taken from her too quickly. A terrible road accident, a huge tractor making a wrong turn and hitting his small car, the policeman said, cap in hands and pain in his eyes. She now faced a dire future, rather bleak and filled with mediocrity. Thus she was not in ''high demand'' from the very few men around. So she saved and saved and one day she decided to leave the place in care of a friend and discreetly go to a near-by town. Young, healthy and determined to find a companion in a short time. Perhaps it is that desperation makes us do desperate things. She dressed as in fashion, but dared to show a somewhat indecent bit of cleavage, sat at a café, occupied herself with writing notes in regard to the novel she intended to write someday ( a gloomy affair with witches and demons) and pondered about that future when a nice young man approached smiled, and asked her if she'd like a bit of company. Charming, handsome and bold. Lovely. (That he was bisexual she did not know of course and would not care). So they talked, liked what they heard and ended up at his hotel. Such was her aim. Alas he was a cheat and did not intend on anything long term, never mind marriage. She had some regrets as she had in retrospect and in regards to her upbringing been a bit too forward, but nonetheless the gift was that she discovered that she was pregnant. Indeed, as she lived in a rather remote area there was not much commérage, she was able to find a nice birth lady and have a lovely child. All the readings had told of great things to come, of a bright future, health, wealth and success, and so she hoped for her little bundle of joy as she pampered him every day of his young life. Unfortunately she herself was of generally poor health (coughing blood and all the rest) and passed away at a relatively young age, leaving him in the charge a nice carer. From the height of his ten years, so shy, living in a far off village, he wished to believe what was in the note, while a few tear flowed down his cheeks. How could any of these things come true? He and his carer lived in the wilderness and all he could see was a future of taking care of a few chickens and hens and a few pigs. That was certainly not heaven on earth. But his mother had also been very thrifty and saved for him for the moment when it came time for him to leave. His carer had never told him of this, but one day, she saw him rather depressed . He always had his eyes in books and of stories of distant and wonderful places and csstles and lovely princesses. Had she taken a closer, she might have noticed his preference for lofty romantic stories, operas, ballets and mythologies where Valkyries and goddesses ruled. She found him to be a rather strange young man. Perhaps a bit frail, but she knew this would not last though so the moment approached when she had to tell tell. He was, as her mother wished, made for a brighter future. She approached him, told him of the purse and the immense possibilities. Needless to say of the joy in his eyes, bright lights. Castles and romance and chivalry. From then on he hardly could sit in place. In time she made arrangements with friends she knew...who also were able to take care of the young man in the nearby city where the chosen academy was. They tought they were doing the best, though the reality turned out to be slightly different. For the monent his carer had a small suitcase packed and ready the hour he would leave for the academy. She made sure that he had enough warm clothings. (Little did she know that he had also packed a few items having belonged to his mother). Great promises. The years went by. But little John never felt quite good with who or what he was. He saw lots of therapists, psychologists and one thing became very clear. John, as in his every day appearances preferred to be Amanda. The years at the first academy were hard. It did not help that a few priests had roaming hands...especially at night in the dormitories. He was traumatised by the idea of having to take on old man in his mouth, as the boy next to him did every night. The boy seemed to like perhaps also because it gave him an extra chocolate bar on occasion. During the day some leered at him, wishing him to serve mass so that he could feel comfortable with the Nothing worked. For some reason they did not abuse and left him generally alone. Except for some psychological pressure. Develish. They nerver did like his attitude either though , and in the course of these difficult years he moved from one academy to the next. Friends of his carer did not understand - or could not understand his pain and discomfort. Until. Until one day, he took a scalpel, hurt himself in the worst way, was rushed to emergency.....and then they decided to comprehend. So, after years of transformation (s)he became Amanda. Amanda was now healthy, had a successful career as a lawyer, but no children in sight. Even the soothsayers and palm readers she saw detected none in her future. She also eventually went to Japan for a special tea leaves reading, but to no avail. But a bit of happiness she found in Osaka as she met the man of her dreams. As it turned out, her mother's own readings were partly right and partly wrong, a partial success for a mother with the name of Cassandra.

0406k8

The Backward bullet

Gage Williamson was sitting on his bed in a small wooden room. It had only little lighting coming from the far most window. He sat wearing a black suit with a black tie, tears dripped from his eyes, wondering how his life could have such a tragedy, no matter how small it was compared to other people. He remembered how he had been on the sidewalk across from the local pub. A whiskey bottle was in his hand half drunken, And he felt as sick as a dog. He barely remembered hearing from his best friend's parents, how Marcus was dead. The last time he had seen him was right before he was murdered. He had gone inside the grocery store to check out some materials for a homemade pizza for one of his DnD campaigns. He remembered talking with him at the deli to see if he had any pepperoni, and then going to the pub for DnD. He owned the place, making it very easy to get together with his friends. After the campaign, they all had one too many that night and Gage ended up outside. Now he had just come back from the funeral, it was a terrible and gut wrenching thing for Gage and Marcus's family. He had heard something rather interesting from the newspaper the next morning, about how the bullet that killed Marcus matched that of a derringer pistol. He had thought that it would be best if he simply remained here forever and never came out of his little hole. Something glinted in the corner of his eye near the window, he walked over to a loose floorboard underneath the torn wallpaper on the wall to the right of his bead. He picked up the floor board and moved it to the side. Inside was a shoe box, and a loaded derringer pistol. Gage leaped back screaming at the sight. Dried blood splatter covered the pistol, and it had several small bullets scattered around it. Gage immediately got back on his feet reassuringly he thought to himself, ¨This must belong to the killer, he must have tried to frame me, as long as I go into the police station now, I can tell them what this is doing here, yes, what a good idea¨. Gage picked up the gun slowly, and put it in a plastic bag. He then proceeded to get in his car, and drive to the nearest police station. On the way he saw several police cars blare their sirens as they raced to the opposite direction of Gage. Finally after much panic on the way, he stopped and parked at the local police station that had been investigating Marcus's case. He walked inside the building, hearing an oddly familiar ring as the doorbell swung. When he walked in, there was a police officer looking down at his phone on the service desk. Gage walked up to the police officer. ¨Sir, I am here to talk about the case of Marcus Fletcher.¨ The police officer looked up from his phone and gazed at Gage for a couple seconds, he then opened his eyes wider in shock, and yelled ¨GET ON THE FLOOR NOW! PUT YOUR HANDS UP INTO THE AIR!¨ ¨What did I do? I am so sorry for whatever I did, please sir what is going on!?¨ The officer put handcuffs on Gage as he laid on the floor. He then began to prop him up and search him. The officer grabbed the gun from Gages left jacket pocket. He set it down on the counter and pinned Gage down with one knee. Other officers that had come in all began to talk on their radios for back up. Several minutes later Gage was moved to a desk where he was chained up. In front of him sat two officers that seemed to be in his forties working on a laptop. The other was a young man around Gages age staring at him. The man spoke, ¨I am officer O'Connor, and this is officer Waller, we want to talk to you Gabriel about the gun you brought in today.¨ Gage stood up in his chair, panic blaring from his expression,  ¨I brought it in, because I think someone is trying to frame me! I swear I have never done a terrible thing in my life, ask my neighbors, friends, family please!¨ ¨STOP LYING!¨ ¨I'm not I swear, please sir I swear!¨ Officer O'Connor rolled his eyes as he paced back and forth in front of Gage, Officer Waller spoke up through O´Connors mumbling. ¨So you are saying that you did not shoot Marcus Fletcher?¨ ¨Do you know who I am, I WAS HIS BEST FRIEND! And now you want to accuse me of killing him?¨ ¨Look here sir and tell me what you see, OK?¨ The officer turned the computer showing Marcus checking out some items at the deli. A man with a black sweatshirt walked up to the desk in the footage, and pulled out a gun. Everyone in the Deli began to duck and run, but before Marcus could duck in time, a bullet was loosed into his shoulder. The man went behind the counter and the cameras switched to show Marcus staring at the man on the floor. The man walked up to Marcus and started to speak to him. Marcus then screamed as the gun was shoved in his mouth, and the trigger was pulled. After the man went to the register and stole the entire drawer. He ran with it out of the store, ran around the building and before he ran out into the woods, his head starred at one of the cameras, showing a bloody face that looked exactly like Gages. ¨That isn't me, that can´t, I know it looks like I did it, but I-¨ The officer immediately shut the Laptop, and backed away, officer O'Connor went to the back door with officer Waller, but before they went, ¨O'Connor quickly said, ¨Thank you for your time.¨ Four months later… Carolina Williamson was sitting at her son's dining table, she was originally coming over to visit her son, and had decided to make herself comfortable by watching the news on his TV. She sat in horror as she sat watching a trial with her son in the seat for the accused. She started to walk to his bedroom, prompted to see if there really was any other possible evidence of this accusation against her son. The sweet Gage she had raised to be a wonderful boy, that never caused trouble for her. When she opened the door, she found a removed floorboard on the ground, in the place where the floor board should have been, there was a box. She opened the small shoe box, and inside was several notes. She picked up the very top envelope and started to read the message. Dear Gage, Unfortunately, I have been the only one to notice your problem, not to mention the only one to start to take care of this. I, Ethan Hunt, your other in our split thanks to your case of D.I.D. have murdered Marcus Fletcher. I came to him in the deli of Seattle local grocery store, looking specifically for a man that I knew named Marcus Fletcher, I shot him in the shoulder, and then through the mouth into the skull. I then stole one hundred and eighty two dollars and sixty four cents from the register. My reasoning was to scare the living daylights out of my twin Gage, so that when he goes into that courtroom, he will lose, and I will be shown to all other dangerous people wherever they lock people like us in. I will take out all who believe to be better than me at my job there, and become your worst nightmare. Sincerely: Ethan Hunt.

y7983d

Hunter Street

Hunter Street was empty on this brisk Sunday evening— apart from two souls, a man and a woman, walking toward each other.            It was 6 PM, just as the sun was setting— painting the sky with its glorious mural as it fell out of sight. He gazed up, excited by the sunset. ‘It’s perfect!’ He thought, as his eyes shifted from the sky to the landscape of autumnal leaves covering the ground where they walked. A gust of wind seemed like his perfect excuse to reach into the pocket of his wool coat unassumingly. As he did, the fingers of his right hand clasped around what was inside, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice. He rubbed his finger back and forth along the soft, navy blue velvet of the tiny box. A chill raced down his spine. His heart raced in anxiety and anticipation. A small smile settled across his face. He continued to walk forward toward the girl. He was so excited to get to her, so he picked up the pace. As he did, he studied her. His eyes traced up and down her body, from the rips in her jeans to the soft curls in her hair. He locked eyes with her, his smile only growing as he took note of her wide eyes. ‘Yes, she’s so excited. I can’t wait.’ **********            It was 6 PM, just as the sun was setting— abandoning her as the night chased it from the sky; betraying her to the darkness. She glanced up, worried as the safety of the light quickly fleeted. ‘Perfect,’ she thought, as she rolled her eyes and walked through the pile of leaves strewn about the sidewalk. A gust of wind seemed like her perfect excuse to reach into the pocket of her black jacket unassumingly. As she did, her fingers tensed around what was inside, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice. Her thumb slid back and forth along the safety clasp of the pepper spray on her keychain. A chill raced down her spine. Her eyebrows furrowed in anxiety and anticipation. She continued to walk forward toward the guy. She dreaded reaching him, but she couldn’t cross the street. As she walked, she noticed his eyes on him. She watched as he surveyed her body. She made the mistake of gazing into his eyes, and hers grew in fear at the familiar menacing madness that lay within his. ‘I need to get out of here.’                       The only sound was the rustle of the leaves in the wind and the stomp of the heels of her boots against the pavement. As they exhaled into the silence, their breath pooled in front of them, then slowly drifted off into the night. They both walked silently toward one another, each with their hands gripping the objects in their pockets. He stopped a foot away from her. She wanted to continue walking. But her body halted: paralyzed in fear. Her grip tightened around her only defense. As did his left hand. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” She gave a weak nod. He continued to talk. It was their first face-to-face conversation. He knew it needed to go well. “I’ve been watching you.”            “I know.”            “You’re beautiful.”            “Thank you.”                       “I need you to do something for me.”            “What is it?” Her heart raced as he stepped in closer. She shuddered as she gazed nearly straight up at him.            “Marry me.” It was at this point when he swiftly pulled out his left hand. She was staring down the barrel of his silver gun. Its colors mocked the shining stars in the night sky. Her hand tensed around the pepper spray, but she knew it was too late. Any movement and she was gone.            “Please... put down the gun.”            “MARRY ME.” His voice echoed down the silent street. She hoped someone heard. But the words just rang in the silence, echoing as the leaves continued to dance in the wind. His voice was more stern this time. It was not a question. She cowered as his body began to shake with anger.            “Please...” Her voice cracked, and her vision blurred as the tears began to pool in her eyes. He pulled out his other hand, revealing the navy-blue box. She looked down as he fumbled to open the box while continuing to hold her at gunpoint. Her eyes widened, as an idea popped into her head. **********            “I’ve been watching you.” This was it. His first words to her.            “I know.”            “You’re beautiful.”                       “Thank you.”            “I need you to do something for me.”            “What is it?” He took a few steps closer: finally, so close to the girl that he loved so. He smiled as she looked up at him.            “Marry me.” It was at this point when he contemplated which hand to pull out of his pocket. As he saw the hesitation in her eyes, he decided on the left. This was it. His final option. There was no room for choice. No room for error.            “Please... put down the gun.” But he couldn’t do that.            “MARRY ME.” His body began to shake. This was it. No more time for options. He finally had her.            “Please...” Her voice cracked, but he didn’t notice. He needed to do something. He pulled out his other hand and fumbled with the box until he propped it open with his thumb. Her eyes widened. ‘Yes. She loves it.’            “Well?” She held out her left hand, still leaving the right hand in her pocket. “Put it on.” They both looked down. The small diamond shone in the moonlight. She wondered where he got it. **********            “Well?” She held out her left hand, and he set his gaze upon her ring finger, stunned, yet excited by her compliance. “Put it on.” They both looked down. He could only imagine how the small diamond he stole would look upon her finger. Though only a few seconds passed, it felt like an eternity. ‘I finally got her. This is it.’            Quickly, he fumbled to try and pull the ring from its resting place. But it was firmly nestled in the box. He looked down at it, questioning if putting this ring ion her finger was worth putting his gun away. He looked from the ring to her freshly manicured hand, then into her eyes. He found his answer in the unwavering confidence that lay behind them. ‘She loves me.’ He pocketed his gun, slipped the ring from its holder, and bent to get on one knee. He held her hand, but just as he began to slip the ring on her finger, he screamed out in agony. **********            He fumbled to try and pull the ring from its resting place. But, as she had hoped, it was firmly nestled in the box. She watched as he looked at her-- determined to maintain some semblance of the facade she hoped would protect her. Though her heart was pounding, she stared at him with icy eyes, trying to keep her extended arm from shaking. Her fingers, once again, tensed around the last line of defense that lay in her pocket. As he pocketed his gun and prepared for his marriage proposal, she sighed a quick breath of relief. She looked down at him as he bent to get on one knee, wondering if she should continue to pretend or perhaps just run. But when his cold fingers clutched her extended hand, a chill raced down her spine. Without any more hesitation, she pulled out the pepper spray.            As she launched her defense, he lost his balance-- collapsing to the ground. But he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, she fell with him, as pain shot up her arm from where he pulled her down using the ring that he managed to finish slipping on her finger. She couldn’t bring herself to look at it, but she could feel the blood trickling from where the ring dug into her finger. Instead, she flailed her arms in a desperate scuttle to get free of his firm grasp around her wrist. But his grip only tightened. Soon, she couldn’t tell if the blood pumping to her flushed cheeks was from her valiant fighting or from his nasty punches. She needed to stop but merely panted and continued in her pursuits. That is until shots were fired. **********            She pulled out the pepper spray. He screamed in agony, lost his balance, and collapsed onto the ground. But she was his, and he refused to let go of his fiancée. After all, he did put the ring on her finger. As he fell, she fell to the ground with him. He could only think of one reason why: ‘she regrets the pepper spray and is bending down to help me.’ His mindset, however, quickly changed as she began to flail her arms at him. His confusion quickly turned to anger. ‘That was no way to treat your future husband.’ His grasp around her wrist tightened. ‘She must be punished for her behavior.’ He swung his arm-- aiming at her face. They continued on like this. He was so determined to capture what he thought was his, that he didn’t notice the clatter of the gun falling out of his pocket. Then, shots were fired. ***************************************************************                And, just like that, Hunter Street was silent once more— apart from the rustle of the leaves and the tiny clatter of the diamond ring that rolled into the gutter. A pool of blood collected as the man and the woman on hunter street lay atop one another. All that was left of their story was a gun, a small tube of pepper spray, and a small, blue box. The world would never discover the years of lurking, peering, and following that it took for them to end up here, on this street. But the world would miss her.

l5gkc9

Making Memories

Frank Scott had been looking forward to tomorrow, a Saturday, for seven years now. His son, Peter, would now be old enough to continue the Scott Family Tradition; the handing down of one of his favorite childhood toys to his children. He was as excited to hand down the toy that had brought him so much joy as Peter was to turn seven.            His wife, Brandi, knew a few of the toys that Frank had enjoyed when he was a kid. Her mother-in-law had been more than generous with stories about Frank’s younger days, such as the day he had finally solved the Rubik’s Cube for the first time. “He strutted around like he had just figured out the impossible” she had said. But Frank wasn’t talking so Brandi had no idea which toy Peter was going to receive.            Brandi rose early Saturday morning to make a special birthday breakfast for Peter, he had requested cinnamon french toast and sausage. As she was preparing the batter, Peter walked into the kitchen.            “Good morning mom” he said.            “Good morning birthday boy” she beamed back at him. “Do you feel seven now?” she asked.            “Aww mom, you can’t feel your age.”            “Give it time Peter, give it time. Once you get to my age, you will have an entirely different view on that.”            “Hey, where is dad?”            “He left early to pick up a few things. He’ll be back in time for your birthday breakfast, don’t you worry about that. And speaking of your breakfast, how about you go get cleaned up so you can eat.”            “Ok, mom.”            A few minutes later, the sound of the front door opening announced Frank’s arrival home. Carrying a few nondescript bags in one hand, he walked past the kitchen, looking in as he went by.            “Well, it looks like you had better hurry up and get washed up for breakfast, young man.”            Peter disappeared down the hall while Brandi began cooking breakfast, filling the kitchen with the aroma of cinnamon french toast.            An hour later, breakfast was finished and the dishes washed and dried. Frank gathered a few wrapped packages and brought them to the living room for Peter. Looking at the boxes, Peter thought about what his father might have gotten him for his birthday. He really wanted the new PlayStation console that all of his friends had gotten for Christmas this past year. As he looked at the presents, none seemed to be the right size for a PlayStation.            “Before you begin tearing into things Peter, I have something to tell you first” Frank said. “You are now seven years old and, as is the tradition in the Scott family, I am passing down to you my favorite toy when I was your age.”            “Ok, dad” Peter said a little unsure, as his mind raced to think of what that might be. He wasn’t sure that either of his parents had any “cool” toys when they were his age. There were basic, early versions of the game consoles that he enjoyed with his friends, but he had no idea what they were or what kinds of games they had. He had seen something called an Atari 2600 once when he was in the attic looking for his Christmas presents.                     “Here you go” said Frank, a smile on his face reaching both of his ears as he passed a large, rectangular package to Peter. “I hope you have as much fun with it as I did.”            “Thanks, dad” Peter replied as he began tearing the wrapping paper off. “Oh, it’s…..a train set” he said, the dejection in his voice was obvious.            “It’s not just a train set, it’s a Lionel Santa Fe train set. This was one of the best available when I was your age.”            Sitting on the couch, afraid for what might come next, Brandi saw the disappointment in Peter’s face and the complete lack of comprehension in Frank’s. Hoping against hope that there would not be hurt feelings with either of the men in her life, she watched nervously, knowing that she would be consoling at least one of them sooner or later.            “But dad, it’s still just a train set. You set up the track and it goes in a circle. What is fun about that?”            “What is fun about that?” Frank said, his voice rising with each word, “I’ll tell you what’s fun about that.”            “Frank, honey, why don’t you go out for a walk” Brandi said.            “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”            As Frank left for what she hoped would be a long walk, Brandi began thinking about the best way to confront the logic of a seven-year-old in this situation. Peter did have a point, it was just a train set and it did go in circles, ovals, or however the track was laid out. For a seven-year-old, how much fun was there in a toy that traditionally gets its most use at Christmas time, which was still months away.            Frank left the house at a quick pace, better to get the anger he felt brewing out sooner rather than later. Something about walking briskly when he was mad helped the anger to dissipate quicker. He didn’t know why and if he really cared to find out, he could probably search the web and find some over-priced self-help book that would explain it to him.            As he walked, the purpose in his stride lessened as his frustration eased. Kids today are too caught up in technology, he thought. If there is a power outage that lasts for more than a few minutes, they don’t know what to do with themselves. Where is their imagination and creativity, he wondered? When he got back home, he would sit down with Peter and have a good talk about not just the train set, but also about his dependence on video games for entertainment.            Finding Peter in his room, a sullen look about him, Brandi said “Would you like to tell me about it?”            “What’s there to tell mom? I was hoping for the latest PlayStation console and instead, dad gave me his old, used train set. What am I going to tell my friends at school on Monday when they ask what I got for my birthday?”            “Tell them the truth.”            “Yeah, that I got a crummy old train set.”            “Peter, first of all, don’t you think you are being a little hard on your father just because you didn’t get what you wanted? Second, the attitude you have right now is not how your father and I have been raising you. You are basically throwing a tantrum because you did not get what you want. Have you stopped yet to think about how you made your father feel? He chose this particular toy from his past, something that has been very special to him, to give you to.”            “Oh” Peter said.            “Yeah, oh is right” Brandi replied. “Come on, let’s go watch a movie.”            His anger and frustration walked off, Frank returned home and found Brandi and Peter watching Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl in the den.            “Hi dad.”            “Hi Peter. Listen, there is somewhere that I would like to take you. Would you mind finishing your movie later?”            “Sure. Where are we going?”            “It’s another birthday surprise.”            A brief look of concern crossed Brandi’s face, mouthing “are you sure” to Frank so as not to be heard by Peter.            With a relaxed smile on his face, Frank just nodded and speaking with his eyes, implored her to trust him.            Once everyone was in the car and headed to the surprise destination, Frank considered his options to begin his conversation with Peter. He wanted him to understand that while there was nothing wrong with video games, in moderation, they weren’t the end-all means to entertain oneself.            “Peter, I know you were disappointed in opening my old train set, but I want to explain something to you. You and your friends have a great time playing video games together and everything, but I didn't want to see you have to have video games to make you happy and have fun. There are other things that, at least in my view, are more beneficial to you in the long-term than playing a few video games.”            “Like what dad? The games are cool, sometimes you get to blow things up and the explosions are really neat!”            “Well, how about reading a book for instance.”            “That isn’t much fun.”            “Why? Because you don’t get to blow things up?”            “Well, yeah.”            “Ok, I understand that watching things blow up can be fun to watch but, after you have played a game a few times, you always know what is going to happen, right?”            “Yes.”            “Well, what if you had to create the whole scene in your mind, as you see it.”            “What do you mean?”            “For example, an author writes about a building being blown up, for construction purposes, let’s say. Now, as you read what the author is telling you, you form a picture in your mind, right?”            “Yeah, I do.”            “Ok, well guess what. The picture that you form is different from the picture that your mother or I form reading the same words. Whereas in your game, if your mother or I played the same game, we would see the same scenes you see. No one needs to use their imagination because the scene is being presented to you right on the TV screen.”            “Where are you going with this” Brandi asked.            “Ok, I think I understand what you mean dad.”            They came to a stop outside a large, two-story house in a neighborhood that was unfamiliar to Brandi and Peter. At the curb, there was a mailbox with the name Williams affixed in stick-on letters.            “Where are we” Brandi asked?            “This is Bob’s house. You know my co-worker Bob and his wife Sandy; you’ve met them a few times.”            Bob answered the knock at the door an ushered everyone inside. “Does this have anything to do with what we talked about at work yesterday” Bob asked?            “Yes, it does. It pretty much went like you thought it might Bob.”            “I tried to tell you.”            “I know, I know. I think you have the key here though.”            “Ok, well, if you and Peter will follow me to the basement, I have something to show Peter.”            “Aren’t women invited?” Brandi asked with a grin on her face.            “Of course, of course. Doubters one and all are welcome” Bob responded with a laugh.            Leading the way, Bob flipped on light switches as they descended the stairs to the basement.            “Whoa!” exclaimed Peter. “What is that?!”            “That my son, is what you can do with a model train set when you use your imagination.”            Before them lay a vast, small scale landscape complete with buildings, cars, trees, bushes, street signs, people and nearly anything else that you could imagine. Running around the entire landscape, past the city and through a tunnel, was a miniature train.            “Bob has been interested in model trains since he was your age. I was too, when I was your age and still am. I haven’t taken it to the level that you see Bob has though. Take a close look, to build something like this takes a lot of time, energy and patience. The attention to detail that people like Bob put into their layouts is amazing. In fact, Peter, sometimes train layouts like this are used in movies.”            “No way! Really? This is so cool!”            “I have to agree” Brandi chimed in, “it looks very impressive when set up like this.”            “Thank you” Bob said. “One of my favorite parts of model trains is that you can choose whatever era you like, do a bit of reading about the time frame and then you just put your imagination to work and build your layout to match what you see in your mind.”            “Can we build this at home, dad?”            “We’ll see, we need to check with the boss first” Frank said with a chuckle and a wink at Brandi.            “I think maybe we can work something out. This was a nice surprise for him Frank.”            After a few hours of questions, examination of Bob’s train layout and securing the promise of technical assistance with their own layout, the Scott’s headed home. Both Frank and Peter were happy and excited in their own way at how Peter’s seventh birthday had turned out.

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By Any Other Name

It was adorable, the way she sat there working her way through her letters with chalk on the antique ‘silent book slate’ I made for her from a mini chalkboard. She didn’t need to practice the alphabet; she had learned to read and write over two years ago, but her penmanship was improving, so I didn’t say anything. She was dressed in the white ‘nightdress’ I had made for her in the fashion of the seventeen hundreds. My little Betty is lucky I like crafting. Oh, right. She asked to be called Elizabeth since that’s the name of the main character’s best friend in her favorite series, the American Girl Felicity books. It’s really nice to see someone so young interested in history, but no one her age does it quite like Elizabeth. She’s read every single Felicity book that American Girl has put out over the course of their three reboots, and she does her best to live them. “Elizabeth, dear, it’s time for bed.” I tried to speak formally when I could because she loved it so much. “Yes, Mother.” She jumped to her feet and did her best imitation of a curtsy, and then turned to erase her slate and put it and her chalk away. She picked up the small battery powered candle lamp that my mother somehow found for her seventh birthday last week, and balanced it carefully as she walked up the stairs. She had known better than to ask for a real candle holder, but this suited her just fine. I briefly wondered how long this would last, and if I should be looking up renaissance camps just to see if my husband and I could afford the costs. I had previously thought that perhaps we could take her to a renaissance fair instead, but I didn’t like how they had turned into a ‘how low can I wear my dress without being indecent’ contest. Then again, perhaps the renaissance wouldn’t be exciting for her. After all, Felicity and Elizabeth weren’t born until the late seventeen hundreds. The next morning, when Betty came downstairs, I was getting off the phone. Drew was making toast. Elizabeth looked from me to her father, smoothed out the yellow dress she had chosen to wear to school, and shook her head. “You and your newfangled inventions.” We all laughed. She learned that word from her grandmother, who liked to complain about how fast the world changes. Elizabeth smiled proudly and sat down at the table. “Please pass the orange juice.” “Are you sure you don’t want chocolate milk?” I was drinking some, and somehow it would feel less childish if my child had some too. “Mother, the technology for that didn’t exist yet. Felicity and Elizabeth didn’t have chocolate milk. May I have orange juice?” “Of course.” Drew answered for me. He got the carton from the fridge. “What are we going to do with that child?” Drew asked as I walked back inside after dropping Betty off at school. I shrugged. “She’ll probably grow out of it. At least she’s not obsessed with a time when they believed children should be seen and not heard.” Drew nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe we should see about a camp for her. A normal one, where she can make friends that are both from this century and not fictional.” We had heard a lot about her ‘best friend Felicity’, but she had also said she hadn’t met her yet because Felicity and Elizabeth don’t meet until they’re nine in the books. “Perhaps we should.” I responded. “On that note, I think we both should be heading out now.” When I picked Elizabeth up from school later that day, she was quiet the whole ride home. I had to keep checking the mirror to make sure she was still there, and hadn’t slipped away at the last stop sign. But she was still there, buckled despite the fact that they didn’t have cars, much less seatbelts, in the seventeen hundreds, and staring silently out the window. “Elizabeth, how was your day?” “Shannon said I’ll never meet Felicity. She said she’s not real.” She spoke quietly, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to be heard. “Is Felicity real? Or is Shannon right?” “Sweetheart, there are lots of people named Felicity in the world. Felicity Merriman may not have ever lived, but you’re not Elizabeth Cole. You’re Elizabeth Clark. So maybe in a couple years you will meet Felicity Morris, or Felicity something else. Maybe Felicity won’t even be her first name, but you will meet someone eventually who will be as good a friend to you as Felicity was to Elizabeth. Okay?” I pulled the car into the garage and then turned to look at my daughter. She nodded. Over the course of the next week, I never once saw her writing on her little slate. She wore more modern pajamas, and she accepted chocolate milk and things like that that hadn’t existed in the eighteenth century. I thought perhaps her phase was over, that Shannon had forced Elizabeth to outgrow her cute olden day phase much too quickly. And then one day I was sewing a new skirt for Elizabeth in a simple modern style when she walked hesitantly into my office. “Mother?” she began, “would you teach me to sew?” “Elizabeth, you’re much too young to use a machine. Maybe in a few years if you’re still interested.” “What about with just a needle and thread. They didn’t have machines yet back then.” I smiled, oddly happy to have my daughter sound like she wished once again to be in the seventeen hundreds. “Are you sure you won’t hurt yourself? Needles are very sharp.” “So I’ll use a thimble,” she offered, “please?” “Elizabeth, thimbles are extremely annoying to try to work with. I don’t know how to use a thimble.” I thought for a bit. “I can start you with crocheting or knitting, and then you could use a yarn needle to sew yarn patches together. Yarn needles are bigger and they’re not sharp because the holes already exist, but it’s the same technique. Would that do for a start?” “Thank you, Mother. Can we get yarn in red, white, and blue?” I smiled, “That’s very patriotic of you. Got a specific project in mind?” My little girl nodded happily. “An American flag.” “Okay, I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Do you have any homework today?” She shook her head, and then headed for the doorway. Elizabeth stopped and turned back to face me. “One more thing,” she said. “Could you call me Betsy?”

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