Sweet 16, innocence and bliss,
Arrogant youth buoyant with trust,
in six months shattered, true love's kiss,
and its angry shadow, no more than lust.
Lost out at sea and so unaware,
I cling to the drifting delusions,
with your arms as my life vest, there's nothing I fear,
unwilling, unable to see past your illusions.
Long heart to hearts
and intentions so pure,
nine words it takes to blast me apart,
gone is the one thing of which I was sure.
I cling and I wait for week upon week,
my many false hopes beginning to wane,
hearts humbled and crumbled, persistence made meek,
never has life held such unending pain.
My attempts to move on,
briefly foiled by the past,
I continue to drown in this deadly pain,
this new love won't last.
After years of openness between myself and yours,
she spars her way in and things start to change,
You lock up your secrets, your soul will not pour,
She is a mystery far out of range.
I am not worthy, cut from your life,
tainted, unwanted, and void of my faith,
I am cut to the quick with your butterfly knife,
You've no reservations, and I fade like a waif.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Friday, April 06, 2007
Adonai Tzidkenu
I creep in shadows.
My selfish ways are clouds,
barricades to the light.
Sweet purity and innocence
hover close to me.
A fog whose moisture
of blood undeservedly flowing
could wash my heart
free of its pollution of sin.
I turn my ear from the distressed
and heart-wrenching cries
my savior weeps for me in desperation,
instead using my pride
and steep stubbornness to inflate the gaps
that are left when everything else
has failed me.
My selfish ways are clouds,
barricades to the light.
Sweet purity and innocence
hover close to me.
A fog whose moisture
of blood undeservedly flowing
could wash my heart
free of its pollution of sin.
I turn my ear from the distressed
and heart-wrenching cries
my savior weeps for me in desperation,
instead using my pride
and steep stubbornness to inflate the gaps
that are left when everything else
has failed me.
My heart, porous as my ears are resistant,
steeps in the Word
and echoes back His plea.
Whimpers, knowing what help it needs,
though my actions lash out in blindness.
Hope rests on my shoulders,
not all is lost.
And when pride is wounded
and stubbornness weakened
I am left alone
with that which I so defied,
knowing that the righteousness
He accredited to me
was never mine.
No longer do I stand
with knives of mulish transgressions
deflecting the light
from entering my heart.
My only joy,
my fountain of life,
Are my tears of elation,
reflecting that light,
that love,
to the world.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Tessa
A miracle second to none in this world
The spark of a star freshly born
Polished and perfect before us she’s curled
Dark thoughts from minds are soon torn.
Cradled and warm in grandfather’s arms
With daddy nearby standing guard,
Not a soul can approach with intentions to harm
Hopes for this child stand strong and unmarred.
A beauty that baffles even elaborate dreams
A room full of praise for a most precious gift
A small sigh to trickle past lips as a stream,
Through cards of warm welcome they begin now to sift.
A baby brings joy, a baby brings tears,
A baby's a future to unfold through the years.
The spark of a star freshly born
Polished and perfect before us she’s curled
Dark thoughts from minds are soon torn.
Cradled and warm in grandfather’s arms
With daddy nearby standing guard,
Not a soul can approach with intentions to harm
Hopes for this child stand strong and unmarred.
A beauty that baffles even elaborate dreams
A room full of praise for a most precious gift
A small sigh to trickle past lips as a stream,
Through cards of warm welcome they begin now to sift.
A baby brings joy, a baby brings tears,
A baby's a future to unfold through the years.
Tritones
The devil’s chord grinds harshly on the ears
Reverberations letting the heavy anger
settle in the room.
Augmented fourths from f to b
And back again
Diminished fifths.
Played but once, your fate is set
The moment one foot is layed upon the cathedral stoop
The stones pound hard against what could have been your future.
Reverberations letting the heavy anger
settle in the room.
Augmented fourths from f to b
And back again
Diminished fifths.
Played but once, your fate is set
The moment one foot is layed upon the cathedral stoop
The stones pound hard against what could have been your future.
The Silent Snow
The snow, it falls so silently
In heaps of cold soft cotton.
Muffling the buried screams
That echo deep within.
In heaps of cold soft cotton
I fall as a child into memories
That echo deep within
Of frozen winters past.
I fall as a child into memories
Muffling the buried screams
Of frozen winters past.
The snow, it falls so silently.
In heaps of cold soft cotton.
Muffling the buried screams
That echo deep within.
In heaps of cold soft cotton
I fall as a child into memories
That echo deep within
Of frozen winters past.
I fall as a child into memories
Muffling the buried screams
Of frozen winters past.
The snow, it falls so silently.
A Wrong Turn
Poetry is the bravery of novelists unveiled.
The monarch outweighed
the panther.
The smell of moss
the pressure of humidity
and heat.
The sun’s rays
glare back
at my retinas
through the trees.
A macaw screams at me.
Incriminated
by a bird.
The bite of salt on my tongue
the taste of fatigue.
George,
are you sure this is Moscow?
It’s chilly here.
George,
you have a lovely watch,
what is the hour?
Oh snap,
my stomach growled.
The monarch might see
me
as a challenger.
Bashana Haba’ah.
The joyous moon of dreams
The panther comes near
eyes glinting
pounces
and kisses my nose.
I shall flap my arms
and soar to the canopy
where Moscow might be visible.
Cassie, she is clever.
She crafted this piece of genius
that you
are devouring.
When we arrive
we will eat fruit
and it will be sweet
like disgusting honey.
I will go
and blaze my way
across this floor
to that one
and stamp my feet!
I do not fear you!
You can not stop me!
Je t’aime, dear panther!
Te amo tambien,
he answers.
The trees stand tall
in the mist of the Amazon.
The monarch outweighed
the panther.
The smell of moss
the pressure of humidity
and heat.
The sun’s rays
glare back
at my retinas
through the trees.
A macaw screams at me.
Incriminated
by a bird.
The bite of salt on my tongue
the taste of fatigue.
George,
are you sure this is Moscow?
It’s chilly here.
George,
you have a lovely watch,
what is the hour?
Oh snap,
my stomach growled.
The monarch might see
me
as a challenger.
Bashana Haba’ah.
The joyous moon of dreams
The panther comes near
eyes glinting
pounces
and kisses my nose.
I shall flap my arms
and soar to the canopy
where Moscow might be visible.
Cassie, she is clever.
She crafted this piece of genius
that you
are devouring.
When we arrive
we will eat fruit
and it will be sweet
like disgusting honey.
I will go
and blaze my way
across this floor
to that one
and stamp my feet!
I do not fear you!
You can not stop me!
Je t’aime, dear panther!
Te amo tambien,
he answers.
The trees stand tall
in the mist of the Amazon.
Tiny Dancer
You’re leaking out smiles
and spilling out grins
my heartbeat speeds up
and I feel my head spin.
My eyes gain a shine,
And I feel myself blush
You ask to be mine,
I could fly on this rush.
You just ask for a chance
in hopes that I’ll see
that a simple school dance
might set us both free.
and spilling out grins
my heartbeat speeds up
and I feel my head spin.
My eyes gain a shine,
And I feel myself blush
You ask to be mine,
I could fly on this rush.
You just ask for a chance
in hopes that I’ll see
that a simple school dance
might set us both free.
The Odd Couple
Despite the nosiness
of the butterfly,
the toothy reptiles grin
has
the upper-hand.
One
false move
and
with a click of the teeth,
it’s goodbye,
butterfly.
of the butterfly,
the toothy reptiles grin
has
the upper-hand.
One
false move
and
with a click of the teeth,
it’s goodbye,
butterfly.
Objection
Dirty, tarnished, and worn.
Overused and discarded.
These small trinkets,
though meaningless in the eye of a stranger,
hold more memories than
a grandmother’s quilt
or a grandfather’s shed.
Tradition and expectations,
or surprises and laughter,
the plastic holds many secrets.
The metal is many-faced.
Lacking the sheen of newer things,
those things that mean the most
are oft painted with love
or tears,
and with one small glance
at the glaze of emotions
these baubles
can uproot memories
like strong winds.
Overused and discarded.
These small trinkets,
though meaningless in the eye of a stranger,
hold more memories than
a grandmother’s quilt
or a grandfather’s shed.
Tradition and expectations,
or surprises and laughter,
the plastic holds many secrets.
The metal is many-faced.
Lacking the sheen of newer things,
those things that mean the most
are oft painted with love
or tears,
and with one small glance
at the glaze of emotions
these baubles
can uproot memories
like strong winds.
Deux
Tiny stalks grow
so fragile
on the wings of a nightmare.
Rhinoceroses jumping about
breaking all its fragile bones
the ghost of a hand is all I have
dripping metal burns to recall
a kiss of flame
with cloud puffs of white.
The new aspirations and dreams
bluntly funny
pulled me back by a thread,
however,
with a dark shade
a souvenir sculpture
a funny mistake
your voice repeats itself.
As proud as she was
sailing over the fence
it is a constant reminder
it happens so quickly.
By the prayer lay the tears
I can never seem to lose you.
so fragile
on the wings of a nightmare.
Rhinoceroses jumping about
breaking all its fragile bones
the ghost of a hand is all I have
dripping metal burns to recall
a kiss of flame
with cloud puffs of white.
The new aspirations and dreams
bluntly funny
pulled me back by a thread,
however,
with a dark shade
a souvenir sculpture
a funny mistake
your voice repeats itself.
As proud as she was
sailing over the fence
it is a constant reminder
it happens so quickly.
By the prayer lay the tears
I can never seem to lose you.
The Color of Heaven
What secrets lie behind this wall?
Blissful things most unfathomable,
Sweet melodies dripping with the morning dew,
Blades of grass licking the sky, blown in breezes,
And gentle rains rolling down
Window panes like so many silent beads.
What color are angels’ wings?
Gleaming silver, pure and sweet,
or the color of a choir, painting chordal illustrations.
Capped with the ringing of chimes,
Shoed with the deep beat of a timpani,
Glinting in the sun with soft trills of elation.
This world has crawled too near
To simple, fading, things.
When beyond wallets and tears
There lies a glowing revelation
The key to relief and redemption,
Love.
Blissful things most unfathomable,
Sweet melodies dripping with the morning dew,
Blades of grass licking the sky, blown in breezes,
And gentle rains rolling down
Window panes like so many silent beads.
What color are angels’ wings?
Gleaming silver, pure and sweet,
or the color of a choir, painting chordal illustrations.
Capped with the ringing of chimes,
Shoed with the deep beat of a timpani,
Glinting in the sun with soft trills of elation.
This world has crawled too near
To simple, fading, things.
When beyond wallets and tears
There lies a glowing revelation
The key to relief and redemption,
Love.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Personal Narrative #2: The Loonie
"We leave tomorrow," I say. "I'm going to miss you guys so much." The end of the statement is meant only for him.
"Let's not talk about it, or you'll drown us all with your waterworks," he replies. I nod, trying to shake off the feeling of impeding sadness. Droplets of sorrow teeter on my eyelids, despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. We enter the cafeteria and sit down, surrounded by our fellow goodbye-ers. What was an aura of joviality and sweet summer afternoons has descended into a heavy oppression of murmured memories and tearful partings. Sitting there on the hard cafeteria bench, my mind slips back in time...
Upon my arrival at the first of many Group Workcamp experiences, I was quiet, shy and unsure of the other 400 people in the camp. Who is going to be in my work crew? Are they going to like me? Am I going to like them? Will we finish our jobs? What will our resident, or residents, be like? Am I going to make any friends here? Should I just hide in the van for the week? It didn't take very long for me to cast aside those initial fears. Everyone was nice: Luka from Virginia, who never had his video camera turned off; Jared "Canadia" Tyler, who taught me the proper way to say "socks" and how to use the ever-popular "eh"; Hannah, whose swing-dancing skills I would never forget...this camp truly was the experience of a lifetime. I give myself a mental shake, and settle back into the not-so-cheery present.
"Hey, I've got that dollar bill for you." I hand the paper bill to him, and George Washington winks his farewell as the thin green material creases in his grip. I can't help myself, the tears well up again, and as they tumble down my face, words fall out of my mouth in a heart-felt rush.
"Why do you have to live so far away? Nine hours...I'll never see you again after tomorrow." The prospect of goodbye seems a cruel punishment for spending a week helping others.
"Hey, we'll keep in touch, eh?" I promise you I'll write. And there's always the phone. Come on, don't cry." He reaches out to me, and puts his hands on my shoulders, bending to peer into my tear-streaked facade. I can see the reflections of my emotions in his eyes, and I know his sentiments are the same. He sigh and pulls me into a long bear hug and the intercom clicks on. A cheery, "Alright Workcampers! It's 11:50! 10 minutes 'till lights out - your leaders have a lot of driving to do in the morning!" brings the embrace to an awkward end. We step apart, and begin to walk to the cafeteria's entrance.
"Don't leave until I see you in the morning," I say, knowing it's not really up to him.
"I won't," he responds, knowing, too, that the choice is not his to make.
I turn to leave, but a hand on my arms stops me and turns me back to face him. I look into his eyes, confused. Isn't this hard enough? Why is he prolonging this? He takes my hand in his, opens it and places a coin inside my palm. He presses my small fingers over the precious trinket and holds my fist for a brief moment before uttering a soft goodnight and disappearing around the corner. I begin to make my way back to my room without opening my hand, almost afraid that if I do, I will lose this treasure and with it will go the incredible memories of the past week. As I drag my feet along the corridor, my footsteps echo with the recollections of the previous six days.
Prayer.
Friendships.
Jokes.
Hard work.
Games.
Hugs.
Laughter...
When at last I reach my room, weak from the strenuous battle against my tears, I pick my way to my bed through the baggage, clothes, and air mattresses of other girls that are strewn across the room. After I lower myself to the nearly-flat air mattress, I open my hand. The coin is a soft and faded golden hue, its eleven sides reflecting the flourescent lighting of the classroom. Embossed on the front is the image of Elizabeth II, her head adorned with a lustrous and bejeweled crown. How many friends did you make and never see agian, I wonder? With a gentle flick from my thumb the coin is overturned in my hand. There, on the back, is another image. Between the words "Canada" and "Dollar" there is a small loon embellishing the monetary piece. The infamous "Loonie". His dollar.
The next morning, after more sad partings, I lay in the van with silent tears trailblazing their way down my face. I had already read through the notes everyone had written me twice; he had sent me two. For the rest of the ride home, I stayed where I was. Curled up, arms bent in towards my body, and knees brought up towards my chest so that I was nearly in the fetal position. One hand lay right next to my heart. That hand, which had remained closed in a fist throughout the morning, despite the hugs and the waving, still grasped the special treasure. It would stay in my hand until I got home, late that night. when it would be transferred to a small box with a decorated leather cover. It would remain in the box with other small trinkets until someday I blew the dust off of it and opened it to recount the tales from summers and friendships past. Yes, it would remain in the box physically, but I would always carry it near inside.
"Let's not talk about it, or you'll drown us all with your waterworks," he replies. I nod, trying to shake off the feeling of impeding sadness. Droplets of sorrow teeter on my eyelids, despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. We enter the cafeteria and sit down, surrounded by our fellow goodbye-ers. What was an aura of joviality and sweet summer afternoons has descended into a heavy oppression of murmured memories and tearful partings. Sitting there on the hard cafeteria bench, my mind slips back in time...
Upon my arrival at the first of many Group Workcamp experiences, I was quiet, shy and unsure of the other 400 people in the camp. Who is going to be in my work crew? Are they going to like me? Am I going to like them? Will we finish our jobs? What will our resident, or residents, be like? Am I going to make any friends here? Should I just hide in the van for the week? It didn't take very long for me to cast aside those initial fears. Everyone was nice: Luka from Virginia, who never had his video camera turned off; Jared "Canadia" Tyler, who taught me the proper way to say "socks" and how to use the ever-popular "eh"; Hannah, whose swing-dancing skills I would never forget...this camp truly was the experience of a lifetime. I give myself a mental shake, and settle back into the not-so-cheery present.
"Hey, I've got that dollar bill for you." I hand the paper bill to him, and George Washington winks his farewell as the thin green material creases in his grip. I can't help myself, the tears well up again, and as they tumble down my face, words fall out of my mouth in a heart-felt rush.
"Why do you have to live so far away? Nine hours...I'll never see you again after tomorrow." The prospect of goodbye seems a cruel punishment for spending a week helping others.
"Hey, we'll keep in touch, eh?" I promise you I'll write. And there's always the phone. Come on, don't cry." He reaches out to me, and puts his hands on my shoulders, bending to peer into my tear-streaked facade. I can see the reflections of my emotions in his eyes, and I know his sentiments are the same. He sigh and pulls me into a long bear hug and the intercom clicks on. A cheery, "Alright Workcampers! It's 11:50! 10 minutes 'till lights out - your leaders have a lot of driving to do in the morning!" brings the embrace to an awkward end. We step apart, and begin to walk to the cafeteria's entrance.
"Don't leave until I see you in the morning," I say, knowing it's not really up to him.
"I won't," he responds, knowing, too, that the choice is not his to make.
I turn to leave, but a hand on my arms stops me and turns me back to face him. I look into his eyes, confused. Isn't this hard enough? Why is he prolonging this? He takes my hand in his, opens it and places a coin inside my palm. He presses my small fingers over the precious trinket and holds my fist for a brief moment before uttering a soft goodnight and disappearing around the corner. I begin to make my way back to my room without opening my hand, almost afraid that if I do, I will lose this treasure and with it will go the incredible memories of the past week. As I drag my feet along the corridor, my footsteps echo with the recollections of the previous six days.
Prayer.
Friendships.
Jokes.
Hard work.
Games.
Hugs.
Laughter...
When at last I reach my room, weak from the strenuous battle against my tears, I pick my way to my bed through the baggage, clothes, and air mattresses of other girls that are strewn across the room. After I lower myself to the nearly-flat air mattress, I open my hand. The coin is a soft and faded golden hue, its eleven sides reflecting the flourescent lighting of the classroom. Embossed on the front is the image of Elizabeth II, her head adorned with a lustrous and bejeweled crown. How many friends did you make and never see agian, I wonder? With a gentle flick from my thumb the coin is overturned in my hand. There, on the back, is another image. Between the words "Canada" and "Dollar" there is a small loon embellishing the monetary piece. The infamous "Loonie". His dollar.
The next morning, after more sad partings, I lay in the van with silent tears trailblazing their way down my face. I had already read through the notes everyone had written me twice; he had sent me two. For the rest of the ride home, I stayed where I was. Curled up, arms bent in towards my body, and knees brought up towards my chest so that I was nearly in the fetal position. One hand lay right next to my heart. That hand, which had remained closed in a fist throughout the morning, despite the hugs and the waving, still grasped the special treasure. It would stay in my hand until I got home, late that night. when it would be transferred to a small box with a decorated leather cover. It would remain in the box with other small trinkets until someday I blew the dust off of it and opened it to recount the tales from summers and friendships past. Yes, it would remain in the box physically, but I would always carry it near inside.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Personal Narrative #1: Meeting Grandma
I glance around my home at the abundance of eye-level skirts and slacks. There are so many legs! Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I wander over past the dining room table towards the deck. Before I can reach the slider door, I am intercepted by a woman I have never met, but have seen in pictures.
"Chelsea, this is Gandy. She is Maureen's grandmother," I am told.
"Hi," I say, knowing a greeting is expected. She bends forward and plants a smoky kiss on my head.
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing!" I smile and look up past her seated figure to the window in the kitchen while she continues with her prattle about my hair, my dimples, and gracious, did my mommy make that pretty pink dress? The question yanks me back from my daydream and I nod yes. Another adult walks over and begins to make small talk with Gandy, so I continue on my quest to the deck. When I reach the slider, I pause knowing that the handle is too high for my short arms to reach it. I gaze through the smeared glass at the adults standing on the vast wooden porch, all of them so absorbed in apparently fascinating conversations about things that are way over my head. I press my nose to the glass, and then lean back to see the cloudy print left behind before smudging it in to match the rest of the door.
"Did you want to go out there, Hun?" A woman's voice from above floats down to my level. I look up at my future step-mom and answer "Uh-huh."
"What do you say?" Her reply is fairly predictable, and I probably should have known better than to provoke it.
"Please?"
"Good girl, watch your step," comes the response. I grin up and toss a quick "Thank you," over my shoulder as I step down onto the porch. I toddle over to the railing to my left and look through the bars, feeling like a prisoner trapped in the banter of lackluster adults. I hear footsteps approaching and I can tell by the soft tap that it is another woman in flats. I turn and my prediction is confirmed by the navy blue shoes next to my jelly sandals. I gaze upwards and cannot believe what my eyes encounter. I was not aware until this moment that a person could be so utterly elderly! I stand there with my mouth agape, my jaw so close to the wooden floor below me I am afraid I may get splinters. As I regain my composure, I say the only thing that has crossed my mind since the moment I saw her.
"You have a lot of wrinkles," the sheer amazement is obvious in my voice.
"Well, yes I suppose I do," she replies, with a soft chuckle that has underlying tones of disbelief. Before responding, I ponder what I should say next. Honesty, they tell me, is the best policy, but the look on her face leads me to believe maybe they were wrong. Nevertheless, I do not want to get in trouble for being rude, and lying to family, stranger though she may be, would certainly be considered rude. I take a deep breath and spout out my carefully calculated comment.
"You must be really old!" Instantly I regret it. Her face goes from disbelieving leniency (thanks to my age) to being completely aghast.
"I guess I am getting up there in years, yes," she says with minor agitation. Uh-oh, I think, wrong thing to say... maybe I should ask a question. Yes, that's a good idea. Tall people like that. The tell me that's how I can learn. Maybe I will learn to say things that will make her smile instead of cringe. Pleased with my quick thinking, I pose a question that is bound to get a great reaction.
"Are you going to die soon?" Her paled cheeks turn rosy and she can't help it - she smiles and even lets loose a quick giggle.
"Well I hope not! Not anytime soon," she shakes her head and turns to go back inside. I promptly think this over, and to reassure her that dying is the last thing I want her to do, I agree with a heartfelt, "Yeah...maybe on the way home then." Apparantly, the fact that this is so far away in time is very comforting to her because she begins to laugh and walks inside to regale others with my clever comments. A few minutes pass and I sit on the steps to reflect on the amount of wrinkles that lady had. She defintely has more wrinkles than I can count on my finger...and my toes...wow! I met the oldest lady in the world! I hear the slider re-open and when I look up my dad is there with the lady.
"Chelsea, I'd like you to meet your Grandmother, Eunice," he says.
"Hi, Nunu," is my excited reply! I am related to the old one! Wait 'till I tell Hannah at school! She is gonna be sooo jealous!!
Today I learned an important lesson - first impressions really do count. I'll probably pay for this one at every family gathering forever and eternity. Something tells me that my dad will never run out of excuses or opportunities to recite this story. And I don't think my family will ever stop laughing at it, either.
"Chelsea, this is Gandy. She is Maureen's grandmother," I am told.
"Hi," I say, knowing a greeting is expected. She bends forward and plants a smoky kiss on my head.
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing!" I smile and look up past her seated figure to the window in the kitchen while she continues with her prattle about my hair, my dimples, and gracious, did my mommy make that pretty pink dress? The question yanks me back from my daydream and I nod yes. Another adult walks over and begins to make small talk with Gandy, so I continue on my quest to the deck. When I reach the slider, I pause knowing that the handle is too high for my short arms to reach it. I gaze through the smeared glass at the adults standing on the vast wooden porch, all of them so absorbed in apparently fascinating conversations about things that are way over my head. I press my nose to the glass, and then lean back to see the cloudy print left behind before smudging it in to match the rest of the door.
"Did you want to go out there, Hun?" A woman's voice from above floats down to my level. I look up at my future step-mom and answer "Uh-huh."
"What do you say?" Her reply is fairly predictable, and I probably should have known better than to provoke it.
"Please?"
"Good girl, watch your step," comes the response. I grin up and toss a quick "Thank you," over my shoulder as I step down onto the porch. I toddle over to the railing to my left and look through the bars, feeling like a prisoner trapped in the banter of lackluster adults. I hear footsteps approaching and I can tell by the soft tap that it is another woman in flats. I turn and my prediction is confirmed by the navy blue shoes next to my jelly sandals. I gaze upwards and cannot believe what my eyes encounter. I was not aware until this moment that a person could be so utterly elderly! I stand there with my mouth agape, my jaw so close to the wooden floor below me I am afraid I may get splinters. As I regain my composure, I say the only thing that has crossed my mind since the moment I saw her.
"You have a lot of wrinkles," the sheer amazement is obvious in my voice.
"Well, yes I suppose I do," she replies, with a soft chuckle that has underlying tones of disbelief. Before responding, I ponder what I should say next. Honesty, they tell me, is the best policy, but the look on her face leads me to believe maybe they were wrong. Nevertheless, I do not want to get in trouble for being rude, and lying to family, stranger though she may be, would certainly be considered rude. I take a deep breath and spout out my carefully calculated comment.
"You must be really old!" Instantly I regret it. Her face goes from disbelieving leniency (thanks to my age) to being completely aghast.
"I guess I am getting up there in years, yes," she says with minor agitation. Uh-oh, I think, wrong thing to say... maybe I should ask a question. Yes, that's a good idea. Tall people like that. The tell me that's how I can learn. Maybe I will learn to say things that will make her smile instead of cringe. Pleased with my quick thinking, I pose a question that is bound to get a great reaction.
"Are you going to die soon?" Her paled cheeks turn rosy and she can't help it - she smiles and even lets loose a quick giggle.
"Well I hope not! Not anytime soon," she shakes her head and turns to go back inside. I promptly think this over, and to reassure her that dying is the last thing I want her to do, I agree with a heartfelt, "Yeah...maybe on the way home then." Apparantly, the fact that this is so far away in time is very comforting to her because she begins to laugh and walks inside to regale others with my clever comments. A few minutes pass and I sit on the steps to reflect on the amount of wrinkles that lady had. She defintely has more wrinkles than I can count on my finger...and my toes...wow! I met the oldest lady in the world! I hear the slider re-open and when I look up my dad is there with the lady.
"Chelsea, I'd like you to meet your Grandmother, Eunice," he says.
"Hi, Nunu," is my excited reply! I am related to the old one! Wait 'till I tell Hannah at school! She is gonna be sooo jealous!!
Today I learned an important lesson - first impressions really do count. I'll probably pay for this one at every family gathering forever and eternity. Something tells me that my dad will never run out of excuses or opportunities to recite this story. And I don't think my family will ever stop laughing at it, either.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Short Story: Autumn
Autumn sat at the edge of the last table in the row in the dingy lunchroom. She wasn’t alone, not technically, but she knew nothing about the other people at the table. She didn’t speak to them, and they didn’t speak to her. It was as if they had this mutual, unwritten contract not to regard one another’s existence. Had the others chosen to acknowledge her, they still wouldn’t have known anything about her but what they could assume. They would see her mousy brown hair (that would ordinarily reflect the soft fluorescent lighting) tucked carefully into an over-sized hoodie as if it were body armor, and assume that she was anti-social and strange. They would see her bitten nails hastily moved from sight if she sensed eyes in her direction, and they would not see any form of curves on her completely enshrouded body. Her clothing made sure of that.
But, that’s if they even bothered to look. They still would have been wrong, but it would have been something. Maybe I am anti-social, she thought, but everything was different before Monica left. Things have changed since she went so far away from me. Her tone became bitter inside her head, and it saddened her, because she knew it wasn’t her Monica’s fault for leaving. It had only been a matter of time...
Her empty eyes roved across the room, seemingly searching for something, though neither she, nor anyone else for that matter, knew quite what that something was. Especially not the “guidance” counselor, who claimed to know her and her “issues” so well. She shuddered inwardly and took a bite out of the apple that sat next to a healthily-proportioned turkey sandwich. Reflected in the tumultuous gray pools set beneath her un-plucked eyebrows, the cafeteria appeared even more despondent than usual.
The brick walls were maimed by decades of boredom-driven students who had nothing better to do than dig at the corners of the red stones with their pens until they crumbled just a little bit more. The inspirational posters, though dog-eared and outdated, remained dutifully on the walls, portraying their messages of hope to the viewers, who couldn’t care less. Whenever anyone sat down or pulled themselves back to their feet, the benches announced the action with a tired moan and a characteristic creak. There were no longer windows to the outside, only cracked panes of glass that seem less transparent with each passing day. The custodians didn’t bother to clean them anymore – it was no longer worth the effort of trying to scrape the filth from the spider-webbing lines etched in by stray rocks or textbooks. Her aimlessly ambling eyes stopped to observe a nearby scene, where another girl was eating.
A boy entered the scene briefly, conversing with the girl before moving on to his own lunch gathering. He was new to the school, and girl’s all over Holkem High’s campus seem to swoon whenever they entered a 50-foot radius of his presence. As he turned from the girl’s table, his eyes locked with Autumn’s for a brief moment. She shuddered – she had a feeling that she’d met him before somewhere, and not somewhere pleasant. Yes, things certainly have changed since Monica had left. Since Jess had taken over the scene…
***
Jess smiled as she looked across at her friends at their usual lunch table. She gave her pin-straight, highlighted hair an extra flip as she pulled out her nearly calorie-free lunch. The flirtatious trick worked, and she congratulated herself as James gave her that smile of his – the one he only dished out for only a select few. She winked back. “You comin’ this weekend? My parents are still going to be in Aspen, you know, so it’s only gonna be, like, a few people…a little get-together, you know?” His answer came coupled with a soft chuckle.
“I get your drift, Jess, and I’ll be there.” She flashed him a blinding smile and swung back around in an impossibly graceful move. James walked away to his own lunch table, apparently marveling to himself how anyone could possess the ability to do that in a miniskirt.
“Ooo, Girls, did you see that? Ha ha! James is actually going to come! I can’t wait ‘till tomorrow night.” She giggled to her friends and waited for the praise that they would lavish on her after such a statement. “I’m so nervous though…seriously…what if I screw this whole thing up? I’ll never be able to face him again!” Again a rush of support poured from the group, and, for the moment, her butterflies settled.
***
Autumn glared at Jess from where she sat in her corner. James was all over her. No surprise there, though, that was so like Jess to just throw herself at any half-decent cest-pool of testosterone that shuffles by. Not that any of them were even half-decent anyway…
“It’s not her fault, she can’t help it.” Someone said softly as they walked by. Autumn’s eyes shot upward to identify the voice, but all she saw was their backs crossing to the doorway. Weirdos, she criticized. Who wears all white after labor day? Her shoulders lifted in an unconscious movement as she shrugged off the interruption and refocused on the brunette irritant that sat before her.
***
Jess managed to choke down the few baby carrots in front of her, before declaring she was simply too full to eat another morsel. She glanced towards the wall and when she looked back her friends had placed a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Oh, come on now, I ate your apple already, and now you think I can fit a sandwich in too? You’re nuts!” The girls across from her exchanged a quick look that suggested the phrase “isn’t that ironic?” before returning to the task at hand.
“Just eat it Jess.”
“Yeah, you’re already a size one, it doesn’t get any thinner than that.”
“If I get fat you guys - ”
“Trust us, you’re fine. Just eat.”
***
Autumn shook her head at the foolish girl in front of her, hardly believing what she saw. If she were any skinnier, she’d be transparent. And she doesn’t even see it. And all the guys still think she’s the hottest thing since sliced bread. She shook her head once more, as if to finalize the sentiment, and then bit into her sandwich. Mmm…She couldn’t imagine not wanting to eat a turkey sandwich, they were her absolute favorite.
***
James sighed and took his place at the staff table. “It’s so sad, you know? Autumn has been here for 2 years, and yet she shows no progression. It’s like she still has no idea that she has a problem at all…It makes me feel like all of this is so futile…this whole therapy thing, I mean.” The male nurse addressed his fellow mental health clinicians in a voice that could only be described as defeated.
“Does she still look confused when you don’t call her Autumn?” Another nurse inquired.
“Yeah, she does.” He answered.
“Poor thing, and her parents are always gone, too. At least she thinks they’re in Aspen instead of knowing she’s been abandoned.” The co-workers all nodded sympathetically and glanced back at the girl who was now sitting alone on the corner of a bench. Autumn seemed so small inside her medium sized hoodie. Due to her refusal to eat half of the time, the sweatshirt hung off of her bony shoulders like toilet paper from a the claws of a bare fall tree.
“Believe it or not, she did used to be worse than this.” An older nurse chimed in. “Have you ever heard her mention Monica? That was another one of her personalities…the poor dear..”
The collective sigh of the nursing staff seemed to mimic the sigh of the wind that crept along the building, leaping out unexpectedly from corners and causing the brittle leaves to jerk violently through the air.
***
Another sigh echoed through the lunchroom, one so downhearted that it sent a lonely chill down the emitter’s own spine. “When will this end?” Autumn wondered. “This crazy high school drama is getting too confusing for me.” She rose from her seat and shuffled her way towards the doors to the hallway. As she paused in front of the shiny aluminum trash barrels, the room’s harsh lighting caused her bracelet to glint its reflection onto the side of the receptacle. “Autumn Viner, Holkem Psychiatric Hospital, Room 374.”
But, that’s if they even bothered to look. They still would have been wrong, but it would have been something. Maybe I am anti-social, she thought, but everything was different before Monica left. Things have changed since she went so far away from me. Her tone became bitter inside her head, and it saddened her, because she knew it wasn’t her Monica’s fault for leaving. It had only been a matter of time...
Her empty eyes roved across the room, seemingly searching for something, though neither she, nor anyone else for that matter, knew quite what that something was. Especially not the “guidance” counselor, who claimed to know her and her “issues” so well. She shuddered inwardly and took a bite out of the apple that sat next to a healthily-proportioned turkey sandwich. Reflected in the tumultuous gray pools set beneath her un-plucked eyebrows, the cafeteria appeared even more despondent than usual.
The brick walls were maimed by decades of boredom-driven students who had nothing better to do than dig at the corners of the red stones with their pens until they crumbled just a little bit more. The inspirational posters, though dog-eared and outdated, remained dutifully on the walls, portraying their messages of hope to the viewers, who couldn’t care less. Whenever anyone sat down or pulled themselves back to their feet, the benches announced the action with a tired moan and a characteristic creak. There were no longer windows to the outside, only cracked panes of glass that seem less transparent with each passing day. The custodians didn’t bother to clean them anymore – it was no longer worth the effort of trying to scrape the filth from the spider-webbing lines etched in by stray rocks or textbooks. Her aimlessly ambling eyes stopped to observe a nearby scene, where another girl was eating.
A boy entered the scene briefly, conversing with the girl before moving on to his own lunch gathering. He was new to the school, and girl’s all over Holkem High’s campus seem to swoon whenever they entered a 50-foot radius of his presence. As he turned from the girl’s table, his eyes locked with Autumn’s for a brief moment. She shuddered – she had a feeling that she’d met him before somewhere, and not somewhere pleasant. Yes, things certainly have changed since Monica had left. Since Jess had taken over the scene…
***
Jess smiled as she looked across at her friends at their usual lunch table. She gave her pin-straight, highlighted hair an extra flip as she pulled out her nearly calorie-free lunch. The flirtatious trick worked, and she congratulated herself as James gave her that smile of his – the one he only dished out for only a select few. She winked back. “You comin’ this weekend? My parents are still going to be in Aspen, you know, so it’s only gonna be, like, a few people…a little get-together, you know?” His answer came coupled with a soft chuckle.
“I get your drift, Jess, and I’ll be there.” She flashed him a blinding smile and swung back around in an impossibly graceful move. James walked away to his own lunch table, apparently marveling to himself how anyone could possess the ability to do that in a miniskirt.
“Ooo, Girls, did you see that? Ha ha! James is actually going to come! I can’t wait ‘till tomorrow night.” She giggled to her friends and waited for the praise that they would lavish on her after such a statement. “I’m so nervous though…seriously…what if I screw this whole thing up? I’ll never be able to face him again!” Again a rush of support poured from the group, and, for the moment, her butterflies settled.
***
Autumn glared at Jess from where she sat in her corner. James was all over her. No surprise there, though, that was so like Jess to just throw herself at any half-decent cest-pool of testosterone that shuffles by. Not that any of them were even half-decent anyway…
“It’s not her fault, she can’t help it.” Someone said softly as they walked by. Autumn’s eyes shot upward to identify the voice, but all she saw was their backs crossing to the doorway. Weirdos, she criticized. Who wears all white after labor day? Her shoulders lifted in an unconscious movement as she shrugged off the interruption and refocused on the brunette irritant that sat before her.
***
Jess managed to choke down the few baby carrots in front of her, before declaring she was simply too full to eat another morsel. She glanced towards the wall and when she looked back her friends had placed a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Oh, come on now, I ate your apple already, and now you think I can fit a sandwich in too? You’re nuts!” The girls across from her exchanged a quick look that suggested the phrase “isn’t that ironic?” before returning to the task at hand.
“Just eat it Jess.”
“Yeah, you’re already a size one, it doesn’t get any thinner than that.”
“If I get fat you guys - ”
“Trust us, you’re fine. Just eat.”
***
Autumn shook her head at the foolish girl in front of her, hardly believing what she saw. If she were any skinnier, she’d be transparent. And she doesn’t even see it. And all the guys still think she’s the hottest thing since sliced bread. She shook her head once more, as if to finalize the sentiment, and then bit into her sandwich. Mmm…She couldn’t imagine not wanting to eat a turkey sandwich, they were her absolute favorite.
***
James sighed and took his place at the staff table. “It’s so sad, you know? Autumn has been here for 2 years, and yet she shows no progression. It’s like she still has no idea that she has a problem at all…It makes me feel like all of this is so futile…this whole therapy thing, I mean.” The male nurse addressed his fellow mental health clinicians in a voice that could only be described as defeated.
“Does she still look confused when you don’t call her Autumn?” Another nurse inquired.
“Yeah, she does.” He answered.
“Poor thing, and her parents are always gone, too. At least she thinks they’re in Aspen instead of knowing she’s been abandoned.” The co-workers all nodded sympathetically and glanced back at the girl who was now sitting alone on the corner of a bench. Autumn seemed so small inside her medium sized hoodie. Due to her refusal to eat half of the time, the sweatshirt hung off of her bony shoulders like toilet paper from a the claws of a bare fall tree.
“Believe it or not, she did used to be worse than this.” An older nurse chimed in. “Have you ever heard her mention Monica? That was another one of her personalities…the poor dear..”
The collective sigh of the nursing staff seemed to mimic the sigh of the wind that crept along the building, leaping out unexpectedly from corners and causing the brittle leaves to jerk violently through the air.
***
Another sigh echoed through the lunchroom, one so downhearted that it sent a lonely chill down the emitter’s own spine. “When will this end?” Autumn wondered. “This crazy high school drama is getting too confusing for me.” She rose from her seat and shuffled her way towards the doors to the hallway. As she paused in front of the shiny aluminum trash barrels, the room’s harsh lighting caused her bracelet to glint its reflection onto the side of the receptacle. “Autumn Viner, Holkem Psychiatric Hospital, Room 374.”
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Who's There?
A Clerk At An X-Rated Movie Theater:
I glanced behind me back through the tinted doors. I could still get away from him. He’d been staring at me since I had walked through the doors. His beady black eyes flickered between the door of theater six, and me. From the moment I’d set eyes on him, my female radar had been blaring full force. “Get away! Stop! Turn around!!” He wasn’t exactly the type of guy I’d bring home to my mother, but that wasn’t it. I could tell that he didn’t just work here for the extra cash between semesters at whatever Nerd University he attended; he genuinely enjoyed his employment. No doubt he spent his days concocting all sorts of sick fantasies about every skirt that flitted through those doors. Those doors that were still behind me and still provided a chance of escape.
I can’t believe you lost that bet. Darn Red Sox. They just had to lose that game, didn’t they… I scolded myself for ever participating in a bet with such high stakes. I raised my eyes a few degrees and risked looking up from my coffee cup. My pupils narrowed and their aim shot downward again. Why couldn’t he take his greasy stare somewhere else and leave me alone?! Way to go Karen…look at the fix you’ve gotten yourself into now…Well, you got into it, you’re going to have to finish the situation.
My lungs expanded with a deep, shaky breath and I pushed my chair away from the rickety metal table with a loud screech. Yeah, that’ll definitely divert his attention…real smooth... I annoyed myself with my own sarcasm, and shook my head in self-criticism as I made my way across the lobby. Save for a young couple lost in their own PDA, the sleazy clerk, and myself, it was empty. Two more steps and I would be there. There’s no turning back now… I stopped at the ticket booth and looked up confidently. “One for ‘XXX Seduction', please.”
A Lonely Woman At A Singles Dance:
After a brief perusal of his surroundings, he was disappointed he’d been talked into coming at all. There was Grandma at the bar, with her martini and Eau De Mothball perfume, and there was Marge Simpson’s twin sister (barring the bright blue beehive) smoking a cigarette out the window. And of course there was always Big Bertha dancing with Tiny Tim on the scuffed dance floor. But it would be cruel to interrupt them when Tim was so clearly stricken speechless by her tangoing skills (or was it the lack of oxygen in his brain due to her clutching him like a precious jewel?). Either way, he was perfectly content to settle back with his drink and watch the others shift awkwardly in their seats, waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation. Or so he thought.
That was the moment when his cynical eyes first saw her. In between Granny and a biker whose lack in hygiene education almost excelled his clearly extensive education in horrible flirting tactics, sat a woman so lovely that for a moment, he forgot completely what it was to hurt. All he could focus on was her, and the way her auburn hair fell in gentle waves around her powder-soft face. She looked up after a moment, seeming to sense the penetrating stare that had been focused on her. Her eyes did not have the glitter he’d expected, but rather, though they were as beautiful as she was, reflected the dull emptiness that had filled his soul for the past two years since Diane had passed on. Her face flushed, and her gaze drifted downward. He held his watch for a moment longer, and wasn’t let down – she glanced back up for a moment before turning to order a drink from the bar.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, his feet began to walk themselves over to her. He had to meet her, know her name. He stopped a few feet behind her and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. As she turned, their eyes met, and all words escaped him. They remained locked in another world, each other’s worlds, drowning in one another’s eyes until the bartender cut in with a sharp “Uhh…miss?”
“Oh...yes, of course. So sorry,” Her smooth British accent flipped off of her tongue as she reached out and grasped the slender neck of the martini glass.
“I’m Mark,” he said, still awestruck from the beauty that stood before him.
“Cassandra…call me Cassie.”
“Alright, Cassie, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”
A Farmer’s Wife:
A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the sun’s rays creep over the window sill. She rose from her bed obediently, washed up quickly and began frying bacon on the stove. Her husband ambled down the creaky wooden stairs soon after her, and sat silently at the table until he had ingested the first few sips of his strong black coffee.
“Crop should be good this year. A few more sunny days and those shoots’ll start pokin’ their heads out.”
“That’s good, we need to redeem ourselves after last year. That horrible rot…” She shuddered in her plain gingham dress. Memories of last year were not something she wanted to relive.
After breakfast, her husband went out to the fields and she went to the stables to tend to their dairy cows. Her small calloused hands worked quickly with experience, and soon she had several pails of sweet smelling milk. As she turned to carry them back to the house, the breeze assisted a wisp of hair in escaping the practical braid she kept it in. She sighed again and blew the graying strand out of her eyes.
“Another day…another chore,” She murmured, and made her way up the rickety steps and back into the house.
I glanced behind me back through the tinted doors. I could still get away from him. He’d been staring at me since I had walked through the doors. His beady black eyes flickered between the door of theater six, and me. From the moment I’d set eyes on him, my female radar had been blaring full force. “Get away! Stop! Turn around!!” He wasn’t exactly the type of guy I’d bring home to my mother, but that wasn’t it. I could tell that he didn’t just work here for the extra cash between semesters at whatever Nerd University he attended; he genuinely enjoyed his employment. No doubt he spent his days concocting all sorts of sick fantasies about every skirt that flitted through those doors. Those doors that were still behind me and still provided a chance of escape.
I can’t believe you lost that bet. Darn Red Sox. They just had to lose that game, didn’t they… I scolded myself for ever participating in a bet with such high stakes. I raised my eyes a few degrees and risked looking up from my coffee cup. My pupils narrowed and their aim shot downward again. Why couldn’t he take his greasy stare somewhere else and leave me alone?! Way to go Karen…look at the fix you’ve gotten yourself into now…Well, you got into it, you’re going to have to finish the situation.
My lungs expanded with a deep, shaky breath and I pushed my chair away from the rickety metal table with a loud screech. Yeah, that’ll definitely divert his attention…real smooth... I annoyed myself with my own sarcasm, and shook my head in self-criticism as I made my way across the lobby. Save for a young couple lost in their own PDA, the sleazy clerk, and myself, it was empty. Two more steps and I would be there. There’s no turning back now… I stopped at the ticket booth and looked up confidently. “One for ‘XXX Seduction', please.”
A Lonely Woman At A Singles Dance:
After a brief perusal of his surroundings, he was disappointed he’d been talked into coming at all. There was Grandma at the bar, with her martini and Eau De Mothball perfume, and there was Marge Simpson’s twin sister (barring the bright blue beehive) smoking a cigarette out the window. And of course there was always Big Bertha dancing with Tiny Tim on the scuffed dance floor. But it would be cruel to interrupt them when Tim was so clearly stricken speechless by her tangoing skills (or was it the lack of oxygen in his brain due to her clutching him like a precious jewel?). Either way, he was perfectly content to settle back with his drink and watch the others shift awkwardly in their seats, waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation. Or so he thought.
That was the moment when his cynical eyes first saw her. In between Granny and a biker whose lack in hygiene education almost excelled his clearly extensive education in horrible flirting tactics, sat a woman so lovely that for a moment, he forgot completely what it was to hurt. All he could focus on was her, and the way her auburn hair fell in gentle waves around her powder-soft face. She looked up after a moment, seeming to sense the penetrating stare that had been focused on her. Her eyes did not have the glitter he’d expected, but rather, though they were as beautiful as she was, reflected the dull emptiness that had filled his soul for the past two years since Diane had passed on. Her face flushed, and her gaze drifted downward. He held his watch for a moment longer, and wasn’t let down – she glanced back up for a moment before turning to order a drink from the bar.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, his feet began to walk themselves over to her. He had to meet her, know her name. He stopped a few feet behind her and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. As she turned, their eyes met, and all words escaped him. They remained locked in another world, each other’s worlds, drowning in one another’s eyes until the bartender cut in with a sharp “Uhh…miss?”
“Oh...yes, of course. So sorry,” Her smooth British accent flipped off of her tongue as she reached out and grasped the slender neck of the martini glass.
“I’m Mark,” he said, still awestruck from the beauty that stood before him.
“Cassandra…call me Cassie.”
“Alright, Cassie, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”
A Farmer’s Wife:
A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the sun’s rays creep over the window sill. She rose from her bed obediently, washed up quickly and began frying bacon on the stove. Her husband ambled down the creaky wooden stairs soon after her, and sat silently at the table until he had ingested the first few sips of his strong black coffee.
“Crop should be good this year. A few more sunny days and those shoots’ll start pokin’ their heads out.”
“That’s good, we need to redeem ourselves after last year. That horrible rot…” She shuddered in her plain gingham dress. Memories of last year were not something she wanted to relive.
After breakfast, her husband went out to the fields and she went to the stables to tend to their dairy cows. Her small calloused hands worked quickly with experience, and soon she had several pails of sweet smelling milk. As she turned to carry them back to the house, the breeze assisted a wisp of hair in escaping the practical braid she kept it in. She sighed again and blew the graying strand out of her eyes.
“Another day…another chore,” She murmured, and made her way up the rickety steps and back into the house.
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