She didn’t know where she would go, she just had to leave. She knew it wasn’t really her fault, but in a way, it was. Sweat ran down her body, probably to stay for a few days at least. A new name, she’d need that. Favorite colour, favorite animal: Burgundy Wolf. It was obviously fake and no one could track that. If they tried to find her. Burgundy, Burgundy Wolf… Wolf, just Wolf she guessed.
Hop on a train, the best bet. She was jogging although she didn’t know why. If someone was coming to find her, they’d be slower than her. It was so late and the only light came from streetlights that left aged, eerie polka dots on the concrete. Wolf stayed in the dark, just to be safe. It was odd thinking that the dark could be safer now, but it would hide her. Soon everything would be black and she thought it was best that she take the old path through the woods to the old train station. There would be no traffic that way and no one would be walking their dog at this hour. The train station at the end of that path was out of use now, but freight trains passed by it slowly. Slow enough for her to jump on one she hoped.
She slipped off the suburban street into the cool, sweet darkness. The gravel was scratching under her tennis shoes and she side-stepped onto the grass, becoming silent. Andrea- Whoops, Wolf, couldn’t keep her mind from racing. She had to be strong since she was alone now. That meant she couldn’t cry. It was so difficult not to cry when you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Her backpack was already feeling heavy and her body was still too warm under the layers of old sweatshirts. She didn’t want to take anything off because of the cool night air. She didn’t even know if she could get a chill anymore.
The trees were towering and she felt like a two year old who had done something bad and needed scolding. She didn’t like it; she swore they were laughing at her. Wait, they were. No, someone was. Some people, up ahead, were loudly laughing. Wolf held her breath and stopped. They couldn’t have heard her, but were they waiting for her?
Survival took over, or maybe it was panic. Wolf crept as quietly as possible into the woods that lined both sides of the path. She didn’t want to go too far in but she didn’t want to be heard either. Pine needles made her flat-treaded shoes slip; the ground was still damp. Wolf thought she could see their outlines on the path. Men, obviously, maybe just barely. They stood hunched close together like a pair of malicious hyenas. They had stopped laughing and were whispering. She was passing them inside the trees, she was closer to the station now. Then she was beyond them and she could breath a little easier. She stayed within the trees but inched a bit closer to the path. Someone else was coming, a lithe shadow gliding down the path. Wolf sucked in an gulp of air and jumped back into the woods. Crouching she peered out. It was just a young girl, like herself. She had a stack of books in her arms and she seemed wary of the darkness. The library. This trail was a shortcut to it from the suburbs. Wolf stayed low and waited for her to pass then began her trek to the station again.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad on her own. No rules, she could travel anywhere. As long as I don’t get caught her mind whispered within itself. Sure, living with her family hadn’t been that bad, but things were different now. She was different. Wolf shook her head, dislodging that thought. Now was not the time to analyze herself. New York City could have possibilities. She could get lost there, make a new life. She could become something that she was not, at least not these days. She could be an architect and design large buildings. Buildings so big that other runaways could get lost in them? She laughed at herself out loud. Buildings weren’t really her thing. She toyed with other ideas as she walked. A model, that would be an extravagant lif…
A sharp scream pierced the night, making her senses jump awake. Wolf instinctively crouched low, looking around her for a source. Pitch black, but still she sensed nothing near her. The girl! Wolf’s mind yelled at her. That new ripple ran through her body, like a shiver after a good kiss. The feeling was becoming familiar. Without thinking she ran back the way she had come, dropping her pack as if marking her place. The girl and those guys, I should have said something to her! She knew it was pointless regretting the past but she could save her now.
Trees whipped by in a steady stream and she could smell their cigarette smoke coming closer. She was surprisingly silent and it felt like each step she took was a leap through the air. Their backs were to her and she could see their grease-stained hoodies. One still wore his mechanics overalls and steel toed boots. They had the girl pinned against a tree, her books were fallen tombstones at her feet. Fear rolled off her like the stench of a pig farm. Her eyes were clenched fists on her face and her body hung like a limp fish. Wolf didn’t really know what took over her, just that since she was different now, she could save her. Taking one last leap through the air to close the gap, she pounced like an animal onto the first guy’s back. Shouting in surprise he fell forward, hitting his face on the trail’s packed gravel. The other guy, who had been holding the girl by her neck against the tree looked surprised. Before he could turn to run she launched herself on him. He twisted back to throw her off. Wolf used the momentum to jump to the ground near his feet and kicked his legs out from under him. Grabbing his hoodie by the front she impulsively shoved a fist into his eye. Thinking he would need another, she pulled her fist back once more. He was out cold. Lowering her fist, she looked around surprised. The other was knocked out as well and the blood coming from his nose was mixing in with the dirt under it.
“ Are you okay?” She stepped toward the girl, bending down to pick up her books for her.
“ Ya, I’m fine. Thank you so much. I thought they were going to… well you know.” She also bent down, shakily though, to pick up the last few books.
“ Are you okay to walk back home? You might want to report these guys too.”
“ That’s probably a good idea, I’d hate to think they were loose around town still… Oh My God!” Dropping her books again, the girl threw her hand up to her mouth. Fear began flowing from her pores again. “What?! Are they awake?” Wolf looked down at them. They hadn’t moved.“ What are you?!” Screaming once more, in a very horror film manner, the girl took off running.
“What’s wrong?!” Burgundy Wolf sighed, “Oh bloody hell!”
Wolf could still see the vague outline of the running girl against the horizon of the trail. She turned on her heel and began her trek back to the old train station. Passing one of the guys she gave him a swift kick and not feeling fully satisfied, swiped at a nearby tree. The damaged tree wept sticky tears from the fresh, jagged lines and watched as Wolf’s back disappeared into the dark.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Tobias (Rough Beginning)
Darwin’s theory is that creatures evolve. He’s right; it’s proven. Charles Darwin used finches on the Galapagos Islands as an example and that one type of bird branched off to adapt to their surroundings. Over millions of years creatures adapt to their environments or to changes in order to survive. I guess there’s not much point in stating this now obvious fact.
Although, what about us? I’m sure many people, more educated than myself theorize that slowly people will change to survive, like the finches and the horses and the bears and so on. I don’t know how they supposed it would happen, I can just tell you how it did happen. I can also tell you when and it wasn’t over millions of years. Or maybe it was, in the wombs of many, slowly changing without appearing to do so. I just know that to us it was sudden. I’ll start where we all believed it to happen- in a sunny hospital room bustling with expectant nurses and doctors and of course, a husband and wife.
Marian Cobble was a beautiful woman. Not in the way that men fantasize about but in a motherly way. She had lively green eyes and chestnut hair curled short to perfection. She could bake delicious cookies and settle down a class of thirty kids with one glance. Her husband, Stephen Cobble, was known as Mr. Cobble at the bank he managed and doted on his wife whenever he wasn’t working. He owned the latest Cadillac sedan and for Marian’s thirty second birthday he bought her a matching one in ivory- pearlized of course.
The one thing they didn’t have but dearly wanted was a child. After a year of trying the ‘traditional way’, they tested a newer method with the best doctor in the city. This time it worked and Marian became pregnant. This was all kept hush hush from the neighbors.
The Cobbles had baby showers and interviews at the best schools and changed their diets and bought things for the baby room; they were very excited. Marian grew respectably large and was the envy of many women in their suburban neighborhood. She had normal contractions and a clean birth, as clean as they get anyway. Until the baby came out, Stephen thought it just needed to be cleaned up a bit. The nurses knew something was wrong. Marian was resting from exhaustion.
The baby was cleaned and nothing changed. The doctor had no idea since he hadn’t seen anything like it. He wanted to run tests but that was where Mr. Cobble stepped in. They had their dignity to maintain of course. Mrs. Cobble hadn’t a clue; she wanted to see her baby. She expected something a little squashed, maybe off-colour but not what her husband hesitantly offered her. It was little, like any other baby and had the normal list of body parts expected in a human. It certainly wasn’t missing anything or had anything extra. That was where the similarities ended. What was most prominent, it was hard to say. To Stephen it was the eyes, oh so large and fully black, slightly off to the side. To Marian, the ears, comically donkey-like. They flicked every which way, catching the noises of the nurses who were doing their best to look busy and not stare. His nose bridge (for it was a boy) ran wide between his eyes and somewhat flat, ending in flared nostrils. What Mrs. Cobble would later call his most beautiful feature. It reminded her of Michael’s nose during his Jackson 5 days, she would reminisce. His feet were flat and his fingers abnormally strong and over time they grew claws which he could fortunately retract. Un-retractable claws on a baby were as dangerous as unprotected coffee table corners in Marian’s mind.
The Cobbles were speechless, Stephen was disgraced and they didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t long, even before they named him, that a nurse went to the local newspaper and told of the peculiar baby. The press was all over it and by the time he was named Tobias Montgomery Cobble, the press had smuggled photos in their papers. It seemed the entire country knew about him and at first they enjoyed the limelight then they grew to distaste it for the disrespect that grew around their name. The boy they had dreamed of was born a mutant. Although his mother, who adored him, taught him to be kind and giving, couldn’t fail to notice the increasing differences between him and the world. He was extraordinary but frighteningly so. He was so agile it put the local cats to shame and he could outrun and out jump any of the best creatures out there. He had few friends growing up but they were of the truest sort. Most people thought he was a dangerous thing bound to become a weapon. He never gave them reason to believe so but people were blind. He was smart and he was lucky to have teachers who excepted him. He made his mother proud until the age of seventeen when he ran away.
As he had grown up, his father had learned to ignore his monstrous son by staying late at work. Although he loved his wife and to some degree Tobias, his pride was hurt. He wanted a boy to play ball with but Tobias was so fast he could play all positions himself. He tried to plead to his wife for another child but she was happy with what she had. Eventually, by chance, she did get pregnant again and then Tobias ran. His mother, Marian, grew sick at first and almost lost the baby until Tobias snuck into her hospital room late one night. He told her he was fine and that he’d keep in touch and that he loved her. She understood and helped him in every way possible in the following years. He would come late at night to visit her and his new sister, who was born normal but he loved her anyway.
The government tried tracking him, they were persistent on running tests but he always got away.
Tobias wasn’t alone in the world from the age of two onward. Soon another like him was born, and then another and soon there were several. When he was older and on the run, he would find them, give them hope. There was always followers as well. They were a kind of cult who believed the new breed were saviors, or aliens, or gods. They helped and they had connections. Soon, ‘The Breed’ gathered and began living together, slowly growing, much to the alarm of the government. They were watched for signs of hostility but they didn’t mind and they kept quiet. Tobias was known as ‘The First’, a living god among The Breed.
It didn’t end there.
Another kind came, they just weren’t as noticeable.
Babies were born. They looked like any other, but they were different. They could do things.
Out of fear, most of them kept quiet. They felt alone and didn’t realize at first that there were more. As they began to use their powers more, which they usually gained control of after their hormones kicked it, their eyes changed. They became their ‘true’ colour, almost like their powers brought them out. Whitish blues, deep purples, rich burgundies and vibrant yellows; hues not meant for eyes.
Their powers were more fantastic than their eyes. Each was different or had some variation. Comic book powers came to life with people who could fly, morph, move things, become invisible and read minds. There were others, things that people could imagine, even just little things. Others could shape things, like wood, metal and water. One man, Richard Tillings, could turn anything into nickel. Some powers were more helpful than others.
It would seem that when the two breeds became of aware of each other they would band together. Unfortunately that is not how it happened. Tobias was loved as he grew up and therefore learned to care in return. Others were not so lucky and although they respected The First, they began to not believe in his way of living. Those who did not trust humans or The Others moved away to form their own community. A small group of both breeds stayed with Tobias to live in harmony.
Soon the government realized that Tobias was not a threat but the newer communities were becoming hostile towards each other. Raids began on one another and lone wolfs of each breed had to be careful of getting picked off. The humans were getting restless, wanting action taken against them but no one knew how to proceed. They didn’t know if the laws applied to them or not.
Although, what about us? I’m sure many people, more educated than myself theorize that slowly people will change to survive, like the finches and the horses and the bears and so on. I don’t know how they supposed it would happen, I can just tell you how it did happen. I can also tell you when and it wasn’t over millions of years. Or maybe it was, in the wombs of many, slowly changing without appearing to do so. I just know that to us it was sudden. I’ll start where we all believed it to happen- in a sunny hospital room bustling with expectant nurses and doctors and of course, a husband and wife.
Marian Cobble was a beautiful woman. Not in the way that men fantasize about but in a motherly way. She had lively green eyes and chestnut hair curled short to perfection. She could bake delicious cookies and settle down a class of thirty kids with one glance. Her husband, Stephen Cobble, was known as Mr. Cobble at the bank he managed and doted on his wife whenever he wasn’t working. He owned the latest Cadillac sedan and for Marian’s thirty second birthday he bought her a matching one in ivory- pearlized of course.
The one thing they didn’t have but dearly wanted was a child. After a year of trying the ‘traditional way’, they tested a newer method with the best doctor in the city. This time it worked and Marian became pregnant. This was all kept hush hush from the neighbors.
The Cobbles had baby showers and interviews at the best schools and changed their diets and bought things for the baby room; they were very excited. Marian grew respectably large and was the envy of many women in their suburban neighborhood. She had normal contractions and a clean birth, as clean as they get anyway. Until the baby came out, Stephen thought it just needed to be cleaned up a bit. The nurses knew something was wrong. Marian was resting from exhaustion.
The baby was cleaned and nothing changed. The doctor had no idea since he hadn’t seen anything like it. He wanted to run tests but that was where Mr. Cobble stepped in. They had their dignity to maintain of course. Mrs. Cobble hadn’t a clue; she wanted to see her baby. She expected something a little squashed, maybe off-colour but not what her husband hesitantly offered her. It was little, like any other baby and had the normal list of body parts expected in a human. It certainly wasn’t missing anything or had anything extra. That was where the similarities ended. What was most prominent, it was hard to say. To Stephen it was the eyes, oh so large and fully black, slightly off to the side. To Marian, the ears, comically donkey-like. They flicked every which way, catching the noises of the nurses who were doing their best to look busy and not stare. His nose bridge (for it was a boy) ran wide between his eyes and somewhat flat, ending in flared nostrils. What Mrs. Cobble would later call his most beautiful feature. It reminded her of Michael’s nose during his Jackson 5 days, she would reminisce. His feet were flat and his fingers abnormally strong and over time they grew claws which he could fortunately retract. Un-retractable claws on a baby were as dangerous as unprotected coffee table corners in Marian’s mind.
The Cobbles were speechless, Stephen was disgraced and they didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t long, even before they named him, that a nurse went to the local newspaper and told of the peculiar baby. The press was all over it and by the time he was named Tobias Montgomery Cobble, the press had smuggled photos in their papers. It seemed the entire country knew about him and at first they enjoyed the limelight then they grew to distaste it for the disrespect that grew around their name. The boy they had dreamed of was born a mutant. Although his mother, who adored him, taught him to be kind and giving, couldn’t fail to notice the increasing differences between him and the world. He was extraordinary but frighteningly so. He was so agile it put the local cats to shame and he could outrun and out jump any of the best creatures out there. He had few friends growing up but they were of the truest sort. Most people thought he was a dangerous thing bound to become a weapon. He never gave them reason to believe so but people were blind. He was smart and he was lucky to have teachers who excepted him. He made his mother proud until the age of seventeen when he ran away.
As he had grown up, his father had learned to ignore his monstrous son by staying late at work. Although he loved his wife and to some degree Tobias, his pride was hurt. He wanted a boy to play ball with but Tobias was so fast he could play all positions himself. He tried to plead to his wife for another child but she was happy with what she had. Eventually, by chance, she did get pregnant again and then Tobias ran. His mother, Marian, grew sick at first and almost lost the baby until Tobias snuck into her hospital room late one night. He told her he was fine and that he’d keep in touch and that he loved her. She understood and helped him in every way possible in the following years. He would come late at night to visit her and his new sister, who was born normal but he loved her anyway.
The government tried tracking him, they were persistent on running tests but he always got away.
Tobias wasn’t alone in the world from the age of two onward. Soon another like him was born, and then another and soon there were several. When he was older and on the run, he would find them, give them hope. There was always followers as well. They were a kind of cult who believed the new breed were saviors, or aliens, or gods. They helped and they had connections. Soon, ‘The Breed’ gathered and began living together, slowly growing, much to the alarm of the government. They were watched for signs of hostility but they didn’t mind and they kept quiet. Tobias was known as ‘The First’, a living god among The Breed.
It didn’t end there.
Another kind came, they just weren’t as noticeable.
Babies were born. They looked like any other, but they were different. They could do things.
Out of fear, most of them kept quiet. They felt alone and didn’t realize at first that there were more. As they began to use their powers more, which they usually gained control of after their hormones kicked it, their eyes changed. They became their ‘true’ colour, almost like their powers brought them out. Whitish blues, deep purples, rich burgundies and vibrant yellows; hues not meant for eyes.
Their powers were more fantastic than their eyes. Each was different or had some variation. Comic book powers came to life with people who could fly, morph, move things, become invisible and read minds. There were others, things that people could imagine, even just little things. Others could shape things, like wood, metal and water. One man, Richard Tillings, could turn anything into nickel. Some powers were more helpful than others.
It would seem that when the two breeds became of aware of each other they would band together. Unfortunately that is not how it happened. Tobias was loved as he grew up and therefore learned to care in return. Others were not so lucky and although they respected The First, they began to not believe in his way of living. Those who did not trust humans or The Others moved away to form their own community. A small group of both breeds stayed with Tobias to live in harmony.
Soon the government realized that Tobias was not a threat but the newer communities were becoming hostile towards each other. Raids began on one another and lone wolfs of each breed had to be careful of getting picked off. The humans were getting restless, wanting action taken against them but no one knew how to proceed. They didn’t know if the laws applied to them or not.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Matador
Where I come from, women are enjoyed. They work hard in their own way, but they also take great care in themselves. They are alien beings compared to us men. While we are drenched in sweat and the dust turns to mud on our skins, theirs trickles like spring water down their curves. We men dance with the bulls in a jarring, frantic jive. The women, their very walk is a dance, meant to enthrall with every twist of their hip and extension of their leg. These are the women I'm used to.
In L.A. the difference from women here compared to my women in Spain is stark. These women are a different creature. Their power is raw and young, unlike the age-old seduction game I'm used to. They work alongside men and above them. Sometimes they work back-breaking jobs, jobs that are meant for men. They don't take no for an answer and often their first response is no. They walk with purpose, like they are always late and sometimes sacrifice femininity in place of succeeding.
This was my waitress, of this breed. Her hair was frazzled at the ends, in need of a trim. She usually forgot to reapply her lipstick as needed. Her arms were muscled from busing tables and her elbows were often bruised from bumping into the counters. She was nothing I was used to.
When we met, it was at the bar across from her diner. A friend and her went out for celebratory drinks to congratulate themselves on finishing their first year of law school. In all her differences, I couldn't help feeling drawn. Her seduction was a trickle compared to a torrent. A glance, catching my eye, a slight smile that parted her lips. I played the game, learning as I went. It was more of a dance with her, like a bull. Go the wrong way and you could be speared. I learned much of her ability to reject so easily and that she could hold her own. Her moves were subtle and at times I wondered who was the matador. Part of being a matador is the thrill of dancing with such a powerful creature. With my waitress, it was much the same.
In L.A. the difference from women here compared to my women in Spain is stark. These women are a different creature. Their power is raw and young, unlike the age-old seduction game I'm used to. They work alongside men and above them. Sometimes they work back-breaking jobs, jobs that are meant for men. They don't take no for an answer and often their first response is no. They walk with purpose, like they are always late and sometimes sacrifice femininity in place of succeeding.
This was my waitress, of this breed. Her hair was frazzled at the ends, in need of a trim. She usually forgot to reapply her lipstick as needed. Her arms were muscled from busing tables and her elbows were often bruised from bumping into the counters. She was nothing I was used to.
When we met, it was at the bar across from her diner. A friend and her went out for celebratory drinks to congratulate themselves on finishing their first year of law school. In all her differences, I couldn't help feeling drawn. Her seduction was a trickle compared to a torrent. A glance, catching my eye, a slight smile that parted her lips. I played the game, learning as I went. It was more of a dance with her, like a bull. Go the wrong way and you could be speared. I learned much of her ability to reject so easily and that she could hold her own. Her moves were subtle and at times I wondered who was the matador. Part of being a matador is the thrill of dancing with such a powerful creature. With my waitress, it was much the same.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Due to Unforseen Weather Conditions...
For the last week or so, I've been feeling quite lost. Like a plane caught in bad weather and having to land in some barren field of nowhere.
Since this blog is "what's on my mind", I'm steering away from my writing exercises and hoping that my words don't begin to sink into my habitual tar-pit of depression.
Starting on a positive note, I feel like I have many options available to me. As a creature of the earth and a being of technology, I have the power to travel great distances and land in Ireland and wander for a month if I felt like it... which at times I do. Having this freedom to be able to go somewhere on a whim helps to lift the cage I keep feeling around my heart. Above all, Ireland pulls at me, and not in the usual clawing, rude manner that I'm used to of other things. I can feel it tugging at me and I feel like it might be home. I don't like saying that, because when spoken aloud, people regard it the same way as when you're sixteen and you say you don't want kids when you grow up. You don't know what you're talking about, you're too young or ignorant to understand what you're saying. Similarly, how could I know that Ireland is my home, when I've never been there? I suppose it could be true, I could step out of the airport and find myself homeless. The pull I felt could have been the pull of the full moon, or the spin of the earth. In the end, there's only one way to find out.
As much as I love this freedom to do what I want, which is a two year old's dream, I still feel the slam of doors, the shutting of windows and the duct tape over the cracks in the walls. Not everything is as easy as hopping on a plane. I have a job to consider, which would mean leaving behind thirty-eight much loved dogs. Dogs know of the present, not the future or past, although they can be shaped from the past and can look forward to dinner in the future. They would move on, but I still feel that some benefit from my presence and I suppose I have to decide whether that would be worth staying. Or if my job would be waiting for me when I get home.
Its little things, pebbles in the river, that make the bed. They add up and create conflict on the things that we want. Consequences. The choice then is whether it's worth the consequences.
Above all, I love change. Sometimes the change is bad, and I feel the weight of its heavy cloud. Although I am looking forward to that change, I can't help but feel lost this time. It's like I'm eighteen again and trying to decide what I want to be. My mind is so full that after a day of walking with the dogs, I realize that I didn't hug them as much as I wanted to and my brow hurts from squinting. At times I wish I could empty my mind, but choices have to be made. I want to change now. I'm ready for change but the change isn't ready for me. Whether it's the idea of something new or just everything happening around me, I feel my mood soaring up and down again. At moments I'm happier than Peewee Herman before he got caught and then I swoop down and fear driving in case of what I'll do. I wish there were classes for twenty-two year olds with issues like these.
Since this blog is "what's on my mind", I'm steering away from my writing exercises and hoping that my words don't begin to sink into my habitual tar-pit of depression.
Starting on a positive note, I feel like I have many options available to me. As a creature of the earth and a being of technology, I have the power to travel great distances and land in Ireland and wander for a month if I felt like it... which at times I do. Having this freedom to be able to go somewhere on a whim helps to lift the cage I keep feeling around my heart. Above all, Ireland pulls at me, and not in the usual clawing, rude manner that I'm used to of other things. I can feel it tugging at me and I feel like it might be home. I don't like saying that, because when spoken aloud, people regard it the same way as when you're sixteen and you say you don't want kids when you grow up. You don't know what you're talking about, you're too young or ignorant to understand what you're saying. Similarly, how could I know that Ireland is my home, when I've never been there? I suppose it could be true, I could step out of the airport and find myself homeless. The pull I felt could have been the pull of the full moon, or the spin of the earth. In the end, there's only one way to find out.
As much as I love this freedom to do what I want, which is a two year old's dream, I still feel the slam of doors, the shutting of windows and the duct tape over the cracks in the walls. Not everything is as easy as hopping on a plane. I have a job to consider, which would mean leaving behind thirty-eight much loved dogs. Dogs know of the present, not the future or past, although they can be shaped from the past and can look forward to dinner in the future. They would move on, but I still feel that some benefit from my presence and I suppose I have to decide whether that would be worth staying. Or if my job would be waiting for me when I get home.
Its little things, pebbles in the river, that make the bed. They add up and create conflict on the things that we want. Consequences. The choice then is whether it's worth the consequences.
Above all, I love change. Sometimes the change is bad, and I feel the weight of its heavy cloud. Although I am looking forward to that change, I can't help but feel lost this time. It's like I'm eighteen again and trying to decide what I want to be. My mind is so full that after a day of walking with the dogs, I realize that I didn't hug them as much as I wanted to and my brow hurts from squinting. At times I wish I could empty my mind, but choices have to be made. I want to change now. I'm ready for change but the change isn't ready for me. Whether it's the idea of something new or just everything happening around me, I feel my mood soaring up and down again. At moments I'm happier than Peewee Herman before he got caught and then I swoop down and fear driving in case of what I'll do. I wish there were classes for twenty-two year olds with issues like these.
Monday, August 17, 2009
In his rearview mirror, the cab driver saw a puny child, a boy, crawl into the vast back seat. Ted, the cabbie, waited while the boy settled himself, clipping his seatbelt securely over his birdcage ribs. Looking out the windshield again, Ted fiddled with the a/c, frusterated by the tickling bead of sweat on his brow. Checking the rearview mirror again he was startled to find the boy gazing at him patiently.
"To the Parliament Buildings, please."The boy's voice was smooth and strong compared to his frail body.
"Don't you have parents or something we should wait for?"
"My dad died when I was a year old and my mother died two days ago. " His eyes met Ted's, lacking tears but deep ghosts of purple hovered under them. Whether they were from grief or malnutrition, it was hard to tell.
Ted pulled his bullshark of a car into the line of moving metal monsters. Cutting up streets and around parked cars, he realized he forgot to ask the kid if he had any money.
"Hey kid,"
"Timmy."
"Timmy, how old are you?"
"Ten."
"You don't look it. Don't you ever eat?" He said this quite gruffly, slightly regretting sounding so harsh. The boy barely noticed.
"When my father died, we lost everything. My mom did what she could but she was uneducated and had a hard time finding jobs. Legal ones. And no one will hire me yet. Mom got sick, bad, and then we had no way of feeding ourselves. She's dead now."
He had repeated that last comment, like he was securing it as a fact.
His eyes followed the entrancing yellow line again. Ted's mouth flopped into a frown. Not being able to feed yourself, let alone your son, the guilt would drive you mad. He actually prayed the illness took her before she could lose her mind. Ted was often quite tactless. Used to growing up in a harsh world ; he was a blunt man. Today, around this boy, he held his tongue to all of the thoughtless questions he had. Possibly being around this frail boy or knowing of his situation subdued his harsh curiosity. Yet he couldn't hold bad some.
"Shouldn't you be at a funeral or something?" Atleast his voice had lost its gruffness.
"Couldn't afford one."
The boy sad in the back seat, hands clasped together, staring at the surrounding buildings. His eyes were black holes, sucking up the passing images yet processing nothing.
"Don't you miss her?" Ted blurted out.
" Of course!" Timmy's face finally showed something, a touch of surprise.
"Then why are you going to the Parliament Buildings? This isn't exactly the time for you to be sightseeing." Ted was also sure that Timmy was supposed to be in some sort of orphanage.
"I'm going to do what my mother should have done. Protest. My father worked hard for the government and because of some technicality, we couldn't get his life insurance. Not only that, but when she got sick, they did nothing for us." His solemnity when he spoke, the words drove them home like glass shards in the flesh.
Ted wasn't sure the boy's notions were completely accurate but he seemed to have an unreasonably bad life. He also believed that the boy and his place in life would raise a lot of stink in the media.
Ted eased the sleek road warrior up to the curb flanking the mammoth, antique buildings. Turning around in the driver seat, he faced the boy.
"Hey kid, Timmy, who's taking care of you now?"
"Some orphanage, near where you picked me up."
"Timmy's arms matched his knobby legs like birch branches. His hair flipped over one eye, the hacked ends brushing one angular cheekbone. This image burned into Ted's rough heart and he almost wished he could adopt him. Unrealistic he knew, he just barely made it himself in this rough city.
"This ride's on me, I just want you to give them a hell of a scare with your protest."
Timmy nodded, his eyes hardened to glassy black beads. He reached out to open the car door.
"I wish I could do more. Do you want my sandwich? It's not much." He felt a bit frantic, trying to find something fo make up for not being able to save the boy.
" No thank you," he replied so politely, "I'm not hungry. Not anymore."
He climbed out of the cab, closed the door and waved to Ted from the sidewalk. Ted waved back and watched the boy turn his back to him and march away on his spider-thin legs.
Ted sat there for a moment before turning his mobile beast back onto the road. He'd be making a call to a buddy he had at a local news station five minutes later.
"To the Parliament Buildings, please."The boy's voice was smooth and strong compared to his frail body.
"Don't you have parents or something we should wait for?"
"My dad died when I was a year old and my mother died two days ago. " His eyes met Ted's, lacking tears but deep ghosts of purple hovered under them. Whether they were from grief or malnutrition, it was hard to tell.
Ted pulled his bullshark of a car into the line of moving metal monsters. Cutting up streets and around parked cars, he realized he forgot to ask the kid if he had any money.
"Hey kid,"
"Timmy."
"Timmy, how old are you?"
"Ten."
"You don't look it. Don't you ever eat?" He said this quite gruffly, slightly regretting sounding so harsh. The boy barely noticed.
"When my father died, we lost everything. My mom did what she could but she was uneducated and had a hard time finding jobs. Legal ones. And no one will hire me yet. Mom got sick, bad, and then we had no way of feeding ourselves. She's dead now."
He had repeated that last comment, like he was securing it as a fact.
His eyes followed the entrancing yellow line again. Ted's mouth flopped into a frown. Not being able to feed yourself, let alone your son, the guilt would drive you mad. He actually prayed the illness took her before she could lose her mind. Ted was often quite tactless. Used to growing up in a harsh world ; he was a blunt man. Today, around this boy, he held his tongue to all of the thoughtless questions he had. Possibly being around this frail boy or knowing of his situation subdued his harsh curiosity. Yet he couldn't hold bad some.
"Shouldn't you be at a funeral or something?" Atleast his voice had lost its gruffness.
"Couldn't afford one."
The boy sad in the back seat, hands clasped together, staring at the surrounding buildings. His eyes were black holes, sucking up the passing images yet processing nothing.
"Don't you miss her?" Ted blurted out.
" Of course!" Timmy's face finally showed something, a touch of surprise.
"Then why are you going to the Parliament Buildings? This isn't exactly the time for you to be sightseeing." Ted was also sure that Timmy was supposed to be in some sort of orphanage.
"I'm going to do what my mother should have done. Protest. My father worked hard for the government and because of some technicality, we couldn't get his life insurance. Not only that, but when she got sick, they did nothing for us." His solemnity when he spoke, the words drove them home like glass shards in the flesh.
Ted wasn't sure the boy's notions were completely accurate but he seemed to have an unreasonably bad life. He also believed that the boy and his place in life would raise a lot of stink in the media.
Ted eased the sleek road warrior up to the curb flanking the mammoth, antique buildings. Turning around in the driver seat, he faced the boy.
"Hey kid, Timmy, who's taking care of you now?"
"Some orphanage, near where you picked me up."
"Timmy's arms matched his knobby legs like birch branches. His hair flipped over one eye, the hacked ends brushing one angular cheekbone. This image burned into Ted's rough heart and he almost wished he could adopt him. Unrealistic he knew, he just barely made it himself in this rough city.
"This ride's on me, I just want you to give them a hell of a scare with your protest."
Timmy nodded, his eyes hardened to glassy black beads. He reached out to open the car door.
"I wish I could do more. Do you want my sandwich? It's not much." He felt a bit frantic, trying to find something fo make up for not being able to save the boy.
" No thank you," he replied so politely, "I'm not hungry. Not anymore."
He climbed out of the cab, closed the door and waved to Ted from the sidewalk. Ted waved back and watched the boy turn his back to him and march away on his spider-thin legs.
Ted sat there for a moment before turning his mobile beast back onto the road. He'd be making a call to a buddy he had at a local news station five minutes later.
My Old Lady
I can't say old people are for me.
Nope, the majority of the time, they down right scare me.
That proves to some extent that my sister and I differ from one another.
She loves old people without a scrap of fear. It's something I can't fathom. Not only that but she'll wipe their bums without hesitation. I might not fear that but I probably couldn't stomach it.
There is one geriatric old lady that I adore. She drools like a mad woman, has one pidgeon foot, is lumpier than an old couch and seems to believe the old adage, " a firm bed is a good bed."
At 84, I think she's doing quite well. She'll do anything for a tasty treat and she still loves her walks. Her ears even bounce when she's feeling particularly energetic.
My old lady might not be the typical geriatric but the only fear I have for her is making sure she keeps all four feet securly on the ground.
In Loving Memory of Fidelle ~ Died August 10th, 2009
Nope, the majority of the time, they down right scare me.
That proves to some extent that my sister and I differ from one another.
She loves old people without a scrap of fear. It's something I can't fathom. Not only that but she'll wipe their bums without hesitation. I might not fear that but I probably couldn't stomach it.
There is one geriatric old lady that I adore. She drools like a mad woman, has one pidgeon foot, is lumpier than an old couch and seems to believe the old adage, " a firm bed is a good bed."
At 84, I think she's doing quite well. She'll do anything for a tasty treat and she still loves her walks. Her ears even bounce when she's feeling particularly energetic.
My old lady might not be the typical geriatric but the only fear I have for her is making sure she keeps all four feet securly on the ground.
In Loving Memory of Fidelle ~ Died August 10th, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I remember catching that hard-skinned, sour-fleshed Granny Smith apple. Tossing it in the air as my immaculate converse sneakers slapped the fresh floorboards in our new house.
Moms going to kill me for having my shoes on in the house. Even if they're straight from the box.
Speak of the devil, walked into the dining room after me, carrying a crucifix of all things. She eyed my sneakers that apparently weren't being sneaky enough. Turning her back to me, she hung the gory crucifix to the wall behind the king's seat. Casting an eye back at me, with its dark slash of eyebrow. She always thinks I'm up to something. Like I'm picking my nose behind her back or something. She's lucky I'm not. My mouth formed into an insolent concrete pout. Clutching the apple, I crossed the room, bashing my shoulder into a wooden oak dining chair. I heard her draw breath to reprimand m, so I hurtled out of the room.
That'll teach her for uprooting me.
Moms going to kill me for having my shoes on in the house. Even if they're straight from the box.
Speak of the devil, walked into the dining room after me, carrying a crucifix of all things. She eyed my sneakers that apparently weren't being sneaky enough. Turning her back to me, she hung the gory crucifix to the wall behind the king's seat. Casting an eye back at me, with its dark slash of eyebrow. She always thinks I'm up to something. Like I'm picking my nose behind her back or something. She's lucky I'm not. My mouth formed into an insolent concrete pout. Clutching the apple, I crossed the room, bashing my shoulder into a wooden oak dining chair. I heard her draw breath to reprimand m, so I hurtled out of the room.
That'll teach her for uprooting me.
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