Frantically I searched the floor and front seat for loose change in the short time I had before the next car would edge forward. Finding nothing, I carefully opened the door and scanned the pavement for a glint of silver. It was my turn to edge to the front and my searching had turned up nothing. “It looks like the gentleman in front of you did you a favor,” the toll attendant said as she waved me through the raised metal arm.
*** Daily Writing Practice
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
The Program
The gates had deteriorated since my last visit. One hung at an odd angle, as if the hand of God had attempted to push it over. I tried to remember them as they had been when I walked through them as a child, but I couldn’t see past the stones over grown with moss and rust that covered the tall, slender bars. A deep sigh filled the space. I turned to see who was behind me, but it was only the wind squeezing through the broken out windows of the naked barn. I remembered it being bright red with white trim. Turning back to the gates, I pulled my coat tighter around me and walked between the gates, my eyes straight ahead.
It was a different world on this side of the gate. The wild grass was replaced with worn paths, metal stakes, and small canopies protecting the ancient men and women who sat beneath them selling their equally ancient wares. I wondered toward the knot of people and stuff, avoiding eye contact and conversation. Two women stood at a table stroking an old metal picture frame, memories filling the otherwise empty middle. Further down, an old man rocked in a chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open. The few people around were caught up in a past I couldn’t understand or lost in a present I clung to.
I hated the flea market. I wouldn’t have come if I could have found anything in the modern world that would appease him. He belonged here amongst the reminiscers, junk, and the practical mummies that sold them. I couldn’t fathom what magic I had ever found in this place, why I begged and pleaded to come with him on the third Sunday of every month. I shuddered at the vision of my child-self walking through the stalls and trailing my hands over the disgusting pieces of unwanted things.
“Wha-cha looking for Miss?” I jumped and turned to face the man that had been sleeping in the chair. Up close, he seemed frailer than he had in the chair.
“I… I …. Ummm… I…”
He wiped his watering eye and pointed a shaking finger at my chest. Half of his mouth opened in what appeared to be a smile while the other side stayed close. It reminded me of when my father spoke with a pipe in his mouth. His thin voice broke through my thoughts. “I remember you. You used ta’ come here wish yourgrand fad’r. You was da only lid’l girl who liked ta’ here our stories. My wife lov’d ya. She always looked forward ta’ you comin’. She always made sure to have some cookies baked doze Sata’days.”
I stood and stared at him, trying to find he and his wife in my memories. I thought I saw them, a woman with chocolate chip cookies and marvelous stories waved at the peripheral of my memories. My heart skipped a beat and I felt myself leaning forward to be closer to the wisp of a person that stood before me. “I’m actually here looking for a gift for my grandfather. He’ll turn 100 in a couple of days. I was hoping to find something that he would understand and appreciate. Maybe you could help me?”
He turned and walked back to his chair, his feet shuffling slowly through the dirt path. He settled down. I wasn’t sure if he had heard me or if the short trip had exhausted him. He reached into a small box next to his chair. “You’ grand fad’r is a great man. We had many talks while you sat wish ma’ beautiful Betty. A great man.”
He sat up straight, a small pack of what looked to be loose papers tied together with a piece of string rested in his hands, which lay loose in his lap. “Take deese. Dare’s no cost. It’s a thank you to him. He is a great, great man.”
I picked up the sheath of papers, thanked him warmly, and left a $20 in his change jar. Sitting on the bus a half an hour later, I began flipping through the papers. Most of them were worthless. Or so it seemed to me. One held my attention. My grandfather’s name was written in small, tight letters at the top of the program for Purple Heart recipients.
*** Daily Writing Practice
It was a different world on this side of the gate. The wild grass was replaced with worn paths, metal stakes, and small canopies protecting the ancient men and women who sat beneath them selling their equally ancient wares. I wondered toward the knot of people and stuff, avoiding eye contact and conversation. Two women stood at a table stroking an old metal picture frame, memories filling the otherwise empty middle. Further down, an old man rocked in a chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open. The few people around were caught up in a past I couldn’t understand or lost in a present I clung to.
I hated the flea market. I wouldn’t have come if I could have found anything in the modern world that would appease him. He belonged here amongst the reminiscers, junk, and the practical mummies that sold them. I couldn’t fathom what magic I had ever found in this place, why I begged and pleaded to come with him on the third Sunday of every month. I shuddered at the vision of my child-self walking through the stalls and trailing my hands over the disgusting pieces of unwanted things.
“Wha-cha looking for Miss?” I jumped and turned to face the man that had been sleeping in the chair. Up close, he seemed frailer than he had in the chair.
“I… I …. Ummm… I…”
He wiped his watering eye and pointed a shaking finger at my chest. Half of his mouth opened in what appeared to be a smile while the other side stayed close. It reminded me of when my father spoke with a pipe in his mouth. His thin voice broke through my thoughts. “I remember you. You used ta’ come here wish yourgrand fad’r. You was da only lid’l girl who liked ta’ here our stories. My wife lov’d ya. She always looked forward ta’ you comin’. She always made sure to have some cookies baked doze Sata’days.”
I stood and stared at him, trying to find he and his wife in my memories. I thought I saw them, a woman with chocolate chip cookies and marvelous stories waved at the peripheral of my memories. My heart skipped a beat and I felt myself leaning forward to be closer to the wisp of a person that stood before me. “I’m actually here looking for a gift for my grandfather. He’ll turn 100 in a couple of days. I was hoping to find something that he would understand and appreciate. Maybe you could help me?”
He turned and walked back to his chair, his feet shuffling slowly through the dirt path. He settled down. I wasn’t sure if he had heard me or if the short trip had exhausted him. He reached into a small box next to his chair. “You’ grand fad’r is a great man. We had many talks while you sat wish ma’ beautiful Betty. A great man.”
He sat up straight, a small pack of what looked to be loose papers tied together with a piece of string rested in his hands, which lay loose in his lap. “Take deese. Dare’s no cost. It’s a thank you to him. He is a great, great man.”
I picked up the sheath of papers, thanked him warmly, and left a $20 in his change jar. Sitting on the bus a half an hour later, I began flipping through the papers. Most of them were worthless. Or so it seemed to me. One held my attention. My grandfather’s name was written in small, tight letters at the top of the program for Purple Heart recipients.
*** Daily Writing Practice
Belt: Friday Fiction
I pushed aside the underwear and socks hoping to find it mixed in. It wasn’t there. I glanced around the room wondering where else he could have left it. I knew I didn’t have much time, but the belt was an absolute necessity. I couldn’t leave without it. I bit my lower lip and decided to look in the closet. I found one, buried in the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. If it wasn’t the same one he had worn on my 16th birthday, it looked exactly the same and it would have to work.
Grabbing it from the pile, I ran out of the room and carefully slipped it around him. Pulling it snug, I tucked the unattached end through the loop and sat down to wait. It seemed like an eternity, but he finally turned his head and looked at me. Confusion clouded his face.
I moved closer, wanting to get the moment exactly right. “Are you ready?” I asked with my face only inches from his.
He tried to shrug away, but stopped when he felt the tension close around his neck. Panic spread across his face. Goosebumps rose on his limbs, sweat beaded on his bare chest, and he stuttered out a desperate plea. “P-p-please. Don’t.”
I smiled at him. “That sounds like a yes to me.” Stepping back, I pulled on the free end of the belt, forcing him to rise up on his toes to keep it from strangling him.
I approached him again. His face was red as he gasped for air. Tears streamed down his face. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. It will all be over soon.” I checked to make sure the loop was secured to the ceiling, that it could support more of his weight. Then I pulled the belt two more holes and hooked it together.
Standing in front of him, I watched him slowly die.
*** One Minute Writer
Grabbing it from the pile, I ran out of the room and carefully slipped it around him. Pulling it snug, I tucked the unattached end through the loop and sat down to wait. It seemed like an eternity, but he finally turned his head and looked at me. Confusion clouded his face.
I moved closer, wanting to get the moment exactly right. “Are you ready?” I asked with my face only inches from his.
He tried to shrug away, but stopped when he felt the tension close around his neck. Panic spread across his face. Goosebumps rose on his limbs, sweat beaded on his bare chest, and he stuttered out a desperate plea. “P-p-please. Don’t.”
I smiled at him. “That sounds like a yes to me.” Stepping back, I pulled on the free end of the belt, forcing him to rise up on his toes to keep it from strangling him.
I approached him again. His face was red as he gasped for air. Tears streamed down his face. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. It will all be over soon.” I checked to make sure the loop was secured to the ceiling, that it could support more of his weight. Then I pulled the belt two more holes and hooked it together.
Standing in front of him, I watched him slowly die.
*** One Minute Writer
A Mix of Minis
Health Care
If those with the ability to make the changes had to walk in the shoes of those who struggle most with the current system, I think they would have a very different view of what the real problems are. So the addition of compassion... or perhaps empathy is the change we need.
Money
I watched an interesting TED talk last week. It talked about how money can buy happiness, but not in the way we expect. Money only buys happiness when we spend it on someone else. The person, reason, and amount make no real difference. A cup of coffee from Starbucks for a friend was worth as much happiness as a large donation to a charity. If I had more money, I would spend it on happiness.
*** One Minute Writer
Harmony
From a distance, it is a beautiful dance. Assemblé. Pointe. Tendu. Arabesque. Relevé. They are awed by the shapes, the control, the speed and power of it all. Emboite. Glissade. The melodious praise seduces me. It makes me forget that it is all an illusion. And so, I wake up the next morning renewed and ready to perform it again, but only at a distance. Penche. En face. One day, perhaps, if I believe as strongly as the others, I too can believe that my life is harmonious. That he didn’t leave me ravaged and desolate like the path of a tornado. Promenade. Pas marché.
The Strawberry Kingdom
To be read from the perspective of a snail living in a strawberry garden:
A scant sunray slid over the patch, warning us that the darkest part of the day would soon be upon us. Quickly, we gathered our small wares and retreated into the depths of the brush. The rays intensified, causing the shadows to pull into themselves and our hearts to beat faster. It wouldn’t be long before the eerie red glow would encompass us. “Be silent. Be still. Be small. Be silent. Be still. Be small.” The mantra looped through my mind like the tender roots linked to each other ran below our community. We needed both to survive, although I would have gladly shed the previous if it wouldn’t lead to my immediate demise.
I could hear the familiar beating of my heart being accompanied by a much slower beating. I didn’t need to look to know that dark shadows were streaking madly above us. I could see the shapes change from a large soft grey cloud to the deep black bullet that would ultimately end another life even with my eyes closed. It would only be a matter of time, probably a few seconds, before they alighted. With luck, the earth they kicked up would provide us extra shelter.
Luck was hard to come by though. Like chance, it was finicky and refused to be held to any measurable pattern. The earth would save some of us while sacrificing others. I couldn’t remember a day passing that I hadn’t lost a loved one or that a friend didn’t commiserate over the loss of a cousin or father or friend. I felt the ground give way. They were upon us. “Be silent. Be still. Be small,” I thought. “Be silent. Be still. Be small.”
A scant sunray slid over the patch, warning us that the darkest part of the day would soon be upon us. Quickly, we gathered our small wares and retreated into the depths of the brush. The rays intensified, causing the shadows to pull into themselves and our hearts to beat faster. It wouldn’t be long before the eerie red glow would encompass us. “Be silent. Be still. Be small. Be silent. Be still. Be small.” The mantra looped through my mind like the tender roots linked to each other ran below our community. We needed both to survive, although I would have gladly shed the previous if it wouldn’t lead to my immediate demise.
I could hear the familiar beating of my heart being accompanied by a much slower beating. I didn’t need to look to know that dark shadows were streaking madly above us. I could see the shapes change from a large soft grey cloud to the deep black bullet that would ultimately end another life even with my eyes closed. It would only be a matter of time, probably a few seconds, before they alighted. With luck, the earth they kicked up would provide us extra shelter.
Luck was hard to come by though. Like chance, it was finicky and refused to be held to any measurable pattern. The earth would save some of us while sacrificing others. I couldn’t remember a day passing that I hadn’t lost a loved one or that a friend didn’t commiserate over the loss of a cousin or father or friend. I felt the ground give way. They were upon us. “Be silent. Be still. Be small,” I thought. “Be silent. Be still. Be small.”
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Truck Stop
I didn't even know why I had come back. Obligation. Guilt. Or maybe, a sense of curiosity. It didn't matter. I could tell that nothing had changed in the few years I had been gone. The same buildings sat empty on Main Street. The towns one light continued to blink yellow after 9pm any night of the week. Over privileged teenagers still used the Dairy Queen parking lot to turn around in.
Home was on the outskirts of the town. I smirked at the idea that anyone would call this place a town or suggest that it was large enough to have outskirts. But, that is how my mom always referred to the location of the small two bedroom stone house the six of us lived in. "Just drive past the truck stop and go another 2 or 3 miles and you'll find us there on the outskirts of town," she'd instructed more than one delivery driver.
The truck stop was just ahead. The neon light was partially burned out, but I would have known the smell of diesel and baking grease anyway. Turning into the parking lot, I decided I had better buy a soda and some snacks. The 5 of us kids may not be living at home anymore, but it was likely the cupboards would be bare. A can of corn or baked beans. Some tomato paste and a family size can of Foldger's original were all that ever seemed to inhabit those shallow spaces that the dishes did not overtake.
The glass doors were heavier than I remembered them. The customers lighter. It looked as if times had been hard in the town. I watched as their thinly disguised stares moved off the steaming cups of coffee and smudged chalk menu to follow me around. Bruce sat on his usual stool. He raised his hat with his oil blackened hand. "Well hell's bells! If it ain't little Miss College back in town." He spit into the can that always sat to the side of his stool. The habit had always disgusted me.
"Hey Bruce! How are you doing?" A genuine smile spread across my face as I crossed the black and white checkered floor to give him a hug. "Bruce. The only person I truly worry about from this town. The one person who ever showed me any kindness!" He felt small in my embrace. Times had been hard.
"Now turn 'round and let me get a good look at you darlin'." Lifting my hand just over my head, he nudged my shoulder gently. I happily spun in a circle, bowing slightly when we were face to face again.
"Well? What do you think now that I am all grown up? Am I everything you hoped for me and better?" I felt like that little kid he use to protect from the older, meaner, privileged kids that loved nothing more than to torment me. I realized his response still meant a great deal to me.
"You got some spiffy duds, that's fo' sure. You've done become a nice lookin' young lady, but you are far from grown up little Missy." A slight pink warmed my cheeks. Whether it was from pleasure or embarrassment, I couldn't say. "Now, why you back in town sweetheart?" He eyed me suspiciously, as if I'd given him reason to be doubtful. "You got some pretty boy on a string jus' waitin' to take you 'round the world or what?"
"Nothing like that. I was just feeling a little homesick and thought it was about time I came home to visit my mom. I thought I would stop in here and pick up a few things for the cupboards and refrigerator first. How is she doing?"
Bruce sat down hard on his stool. He chewed a bit before spitting and then he turned to me to answer. "You know your Mama baby. She' a well-respected, hard-workin' women who ain't never been wrong 'bout a thing in her whole life. She gonna die that way too."
*** Daily Writing Practice ***
Home was on the outskirts of the town. I smirked at the idea that anyone would call this place a town or suggest that it was large enough to have outskirts. But, that is how my mom always referred to the location of the small two bedroom stone house the six of us lived in. "Just drive past the truck stop and go another 2 or 3 miles and you'll find us there on the outskirts of town," she'd instructed more than one delivery driver.
The truck stop was just ahead. The neon light was partially burned out, but I would have known the smell of diesel and baking grease anyway. Turning into the parking lot, I decided I had better buy a soda and some snacks. The 5 of us kids may not be living at home anymore, but it was likely the cupboards would be bare. A can of corn or baked beans. Some tomato paste and a family size can of Foldger's original were all that ever seemed to inhabit those shallow spaces that the dishes did not overtake.
The glass doors were heavier than I remembered them. The customers lighter. It looked as if times had been hard in the town. I watched as their thinly disguised stares moved off the steaming cups of coffee and smudged chalk menu to follow me around. Bruce sat on his usual stool. He raised his hat with his oil blackened hand. "Well hell's bells! If it ain't little Miss College back in town." He spit into the can that always sat to the side of his stool. The habit had always disgusted me.
"Hey Bruce! How are you doing?" A genuine smile spread across my face as I crossed the black and white checkered floor to give him a hug. "Bruce. The only person I truly worry about from this town. The one person who ever showed me any kindness!" He felt small in my embrace. Times had been hard.
"Now turn 'round and let me get a good look at you darlin'." Lifting my hand just over my head, he nudged my shoulder gently. I happily spun in a circle, bowing slightly when we were face to face again.
"Well? What do you think now that I am all grown up? Am I everything you hoped for me and better?" I felt like that little kid he use to protect from the older, meaner, privileged kids that loved nothing more than to torment me. I realized his response still meant a great deal to me.
"You got some spiffy duds, that's fo' sure. You've done become a nice lookin' young lady, but you are far from grown up little Missy." A slight pink warmed my cheeks. Whether it was from pleasure or embarrassment, I couldn't say. "Now, why you back in town sweetheart?" He eyed me suspiciously, as if I'd given him reason to be doubtful. "You got some pretty boy on a string jus' waitin' to take you 'round the world or what?"
"Nothing like that. I was just feeling a little homesick and thought it was about time I came home to visit my mom. I thought I would stop in here and pick up a few things for the cupboards and refrigerator first. How is she doing?"
Bruce sat down hard on his stool. He chewed a bit before spitting and then he turned to me to answer. "You know your Mama baby. She' a well-respected, hard-workin' women who ain't never been wrong 'bout a thing in her whole life. She gonna die that way too."
*** Daily Writing Practice ***
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