Another Day

Grandma had The Livingroom. No one was suppose to go in there unless it was Christmas Day. But Grandma let you go in The Livingroom if you needed to lie down or if you wanted to do something quiet or if you wanted to follow her around while she watered the plants.
There were two huge windows in the room; wood crossing wood and morning sunlight pushing through.
Grandma would let me play with her Glass Dolls.
I would line them up on the thick carpet. And play.
My favorite was a girl with blushing cheeks, holding her herself in a green gowned curtsy.
I thought she was Cinderella.

So, many years later, Aunt Sue said something about the Royal Doultons and my Grandmother's death.
My Grandma laughed.
I piped up, "Oh, I do not want one of those. I want the green girl."
Grandma replied, "Which one?"
Then she got up and went into The Livingroom.
She came back out holding her.
"This one?"
"Yeah," I said and smiled.
"Your Mother and Aunt Debbie got this for me when they were little," she replied, and then she went to put green girl away.

So, a few months later, Aunt Debbie was smiling.
"Oh, we were just little then. I was eight. We bought her at Art in the Park in Dover. She cost us 50 cents each."
Aunt Debbie smiled some more; and I could see them. I could see my aunt and my mother with ribbons in their hair; two little girls in purple and yellow dresses, hand in hand and running through the vendors and the their arts; and the trees and the sunlight that filter through them. I could see the dirt smudged deep into the creases of their otherwise pink hands, as they counted out the change to pay for the green girl. I could see the light of love and excitement in their eyes.
Just for one moment; I could feel it all.

Love Lost Fiction

Chapter One
You'll Find Something

"I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Sarah smiled because she missed him, too.
"It is just another week until we see each other," she continued to smile. "I am so tired of this motel room. Thank god this show is almost done."
"I wish I could have been there every night to watch you," he said.
"Oh, yes. I am all shiny. I am a star!" she laughed and he laughed, too.
"Do you remember what I told you about Dylan a few days a go? What he tried to do with the new colt?" he suddenly asked.
"No," she replied.

Chapter Two
That's Enough To Keep You

"I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Chelsea smiled because she missed him, too.
"I miss you," she replied.
"Just two more weeks, then I will see you. We can go to the beach," he said.
"I cannot wait until I have nothing to think about," Chelsea answered. "Although, I think we have finally decided who can replace Andrea. The show must go on! One less worry."


Chapter Three
But If The Bright Lights Don't Receive You

She got the call from California. The one she had been waiting for. They asked for a meeting. Could she be on a plane as soon as possible to work out some details? They might want her.
She took a plane and met with Chelsea the next afternoon; and the meeting went well.
They really did want her.
Sarah noticed a pretty picture frame on Chelsea's desk.
"Oh, yes," said Chelsea, reaching over to grab it and then hand it to Sarah. "I bought it on a trip to Kentucky."
Sarah smiled and accepted the frame and looked down at it.
And at the picture encased in sliver.
"He is handsome. Is he your husband?"
"No, just my boyfriend," Chelsea smiled.
And Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I do not think I want the job, after all," she said.

Chapter Four
You Can Turn Yourself Around

The plane ride was hell. Sarah collapsed on the bed the minute she got back into her motel room. It almost felt like home and she was asleep within minutes.
She brushed her teeth in the morning; looking at herself in the mirror.
Then she looked around her small motel room and it still felt like home. But there was nothing for her here.
She made a phone call and packed her stuff.
She had two hours to wait.
She laid on the bed and watched talk shows until she called for a taxi. She picked up the matchbox sitting beside the telephone and lit herself a cigarette and waited some more.
When the cab came she was wearing a red t-shirt and holding a picture frame.

Chapter Five
And Come Back Home

He did not know what to do.
He would have to leave in the next hour to catch the plane to California, but he had not heard from Sarah in almost two weeks. Where was she? Was she dead? He thought these thoughts all time.
He stood in the middle of his bedroom floor; staring at his closed closet doors.
He jumped when the phone rang.

Chapter Six
Let That City Take You In

"I am alive," she said.
Then she hung-up and stepped out of the telephone booth.
She was wearing her I Love New York t-shirt.

Shadow Watcher

"Slow down," my son demanded from behind me, as we walked along to the store last night.
"Whatever for?" I turned to ask, for I had not been walking fast.
"I am trying to jump over your shadow!" he said and laughed.
So, I walked even slower and he jumped over my shadow walking along behind me. Until a streetlight shot my shadow ahead of me.
"Hey!" said my son, as he ran in front of me.
And stomped on my shadow.
"Hey!" I said. "Are you trying to hurt my shadow?"
"No," he said.
"That is good, or I would be stomping on your shadow's head right now."
He laughed.
And stomped on my shadow's head.
So, I stomped on his shadow's head.
And laughed.
"Shadows are fun!" said my son.
I beckoned him close to me.
"I know some shadow secrets," I said, bending down towards him. "Watch our shadows."
I pointed and followed his eyes to our shadows.
It was funny my Mother should appear just then.

Punks-A Thursday

Minnie was 14. She liked bright red lipstick and getting high.
And she needed to get high right now.
She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched her father, as he raged. She watched him twist off his tie; his hand suddenly flying in the air.
"Nowhere!" he yelled. Then he slammed his fist down into the green countertop; knuckles deep.
Minnie wanted to close her eyes.
"And go get that shit off your face. I do not know why you would even think I would let you out of this house looking like a whore. Jesus Christ, does your Mother let you leave the house like this in the morning?"
He grabbed his drink from the counter and stepped closer towards her.
"My daughter is a little whore," he said. He shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head. He laughed; looking upwards.
"My daughter is a whore," he said, softer.
Minnie bit her lip.
"You're such a bastard," she said. She had to or she would cry.
His finger flung up into her face and he leaned forward. His eyes looking right into hers.
"I'll be just as happy leaving you, as I am your Mother."

She lit the joint when she was downstairs. She did not open her windows; she did not turn on her fan.
She smoked the joint and begged her mind.
Please, please; think of anything else.
Minnie thought of Tommy.
She thought of Tommy and his warm body pressed against her. The smoothness of his chest. He was as skinny as her.
She thought of his tongue; darting into her mouth. His lips so much softer than she was sure her own lips were.
Minnie needed to feel anything besides what she could.
She needed to feel something inside of her, so she picked up her phone and called him.
"Is your girlfriend home?" she asked, when he answered.

Everybody Needs A Ride Sometimes

She hitchhikes back and forth, from the Wal-Mart to the grocery store everyday. It is not so far; just a few miles.
It is easier for her to ask for money when only one person is looking at her, when she is able to look at them and know they hear.
She tells the woman she has a child, just a child. Her baby boy; he is so big now. He just started Kindergarten.
And she has to be out here. Because she has to feed her child. She just needs the ride to the grocery store.
She has been looking for work. In the mornings.
But she has a child she has to feed.
God, she hates to beg, but she has no choice. She cannot bring anything home to her child unless she does. A child needs to eat.
The woman gets to be the hero.
If she wants to.
If she needs to.
She tells the man she has a child, a child waiting for her at the other store. Just a young child and she is late.
She puts the worry in her voice. She has lost her wallet.
A few dollars to get us the rest of the way home?
The man can save the day.
If he wants to.
If he needs to.
Sometimes she tells them truth.
If she wants to.
If she needs to.

A Chill in the Air

It was an off grey over most, such that you would almost think brown on a cloudy evening. The sort of evening though where the clouds gave way to the moon.
The eyes were blue.
On the second day, I named her Sam, just in case.
As a rule, Cats are Girls, and I figured Sam was, too. But you can never be too sure and have to watch them a bit before you decide.

She had looked up at me from my blue cloth chair on that second day the same as the first. I looked back down at her on the first day the same as I had on the second, and locked my door.
I did not kick her though. Or say, 'shoo cat' as I might normally. She seemed to belong there, on the porch, on the blue fold-out chair.

On the night of the second day, it was canned chicken that had to do. She still looked off grey rather than brown.
Sam didn't seem to mind that it was not tuna. She apparently hadn't eaten for a while. After several mouthfulls and rapid chewing, she stepped away and put her back too it.
Then gave a look as I went to pick it up.
"Just don't wanna look like a pig eh?"
Sam was a Girl.
I set the bowl back down and left it to be finished in my absence.
Sam, along with the food, was gone when I came back out.
"See you tomorrow, Sam," I said to the air.

A Good November Walk

Eight Years Old

We were walking up Chapel Street hill in the dark.
My brother was done his Thursday night meeting with other boys. My mother and I were done our weekly trip to the library.
There were no leaves. There were no patches of green. Snow crunched beneath our steady footfalls.
The air bit up inside of my nose and my cheeks tingled with chill. My breath was a steady stream of white that would sometimes mask the stars that I would often look up at.
I was not tired as we walked up the hill. I was not cold.
I had a good book in my bag, I knew.
We would be home in time to watch The Cosby Show.
My mother sometimes looked up at the stars, too.

IIIII

We huddled close together, but not for comfort.
It was the darkest night, yet the moon was full. There were heavy midnight clouds passing over often, hiding the white glow of the orb. It left the night too cold.
He grabbed me when the train came. I listened to the murmurs of the others board, some of them already thankful. Some of them already forgetting.
He stood us there until the train pulled away.
I watched the other men left behind mull around waiting for orders. All their voices were thick and low. Mostly ugly words fell from their mouths.
When he told them to leave, they did not question him.
He dragged me across the grassland and I could hear her, the woman who had lost her children, somewhere near.
She was pure animal now, past any point of misery.
"Wir können sie töten," he taunted me in my ear; he laughed.
If I had been younger, I would have offered to do it. I wanted to kick her in her teeth. End her. She was gone, already.
The sound of the gun surprised me.
The absolute loudness replaced with no sound.
I had not even realized he had let go of me.
He was laughing when he grabbed me again and started to drag me over to his jeep.
I knew from seeing his face, he liked to laugh a lot.

IIII

I believe he stepped on the baby's head on purpose. Mud splashed on his pant legs. His eyes were still red. I could see that from where I stood.
I watched his eyes turn on me as he drew nearer. He looked away. But he looked back again. That is probably why he chose me, as another man grabbed me from behind and issued his order of which pile I belonged in.
"Nein! Sie kommt!" the man with red eyes shouted, walking himself towards us with a finger pointed.
The man behind me wanted to say something, but he stopped short. I heard the catch in his breath. He gripped my shoulder tighter for a second. I do not know if to issue me pain or if he was scared himself. He loosened his nails from me and I felt his fingertips slide down my back and off of me.
It seemed to last a lifetime, as I watched the man who had saved me, come to stand before me.
He looked into my eyes.
He had decided he wanted to watch me die.
He smirked at me until I would not look away.
The man behind me shoved me hard in the back.
And I took a step forward.
I went to wait for another train.

III

I watched them move amongst us, flint in their eyes. Watched them grab us, handle us with no care. Good. Bad. Good. Bad. Like we were the pigs. Long fingers, sinking into our flesh as they sorted us. I watched the men with pointed guns. They smiled too much, but each one of them had nice, solid arms. Everything about those armed men was so primal.
They were more alive then our soft cries and the occasional shrieks of names.
The man beside me was quiet in his black suit. I am sure he was cold.
"Are you cold?" I asked him.
And his eyes turned on me.
"I do not want to live this. I do not want to live this," he spoke.
I watched him curl in his hands, slowly. More a prayer than an act of strength.
I looked around me.
The cleanness of grey.
The dirt already in the hair of women, clothes, tattered. One young girl with a breast exposed.
And the baby left where it lay. Stepped on. Pushed into the earth.
It was too much to see, so I looked at my own hands. I looked at my husband's cane and then I closed my eyes. I had brought the cane for my own reasons. But it was the love that was harder to let go of.
When I opened my eyes, I pushed the cane towards the man in the suit.
"Do your best with it," I whispered to him.
And I watched him cry.