One Thing

Sandy sipped her bold dark coffee. The phrase " Samantha...No Twitching" stared back at her . Darren had been so controlling - or tried to be in that series. Endora was constantly helping her daughter slip the bonds of mundane restraint. Endora rocked. Maurice was even better. But was it so much that Darren asked of his wife? It was after all ONE thing.

She paged through email after email on the screen in front of her. One was from an old roomate. She read it several times before taking a deep breath, then another sip of the cooling brew. He had done something that she considered unethical-perhaps even illegal. He had been cleared of the charges but only, she felt on a technicality. That the adverse party had over stepped authority and proceedure . Except for that ONE thing-he would not have done so well ,Fate had smiled on him-this time. He wanted to see if they could be friends again-he wanted her to listen. She did not answer but filed it into a work pending folder on her computer. This would take thought.

Her plans this weekend were many. She had decided to try some new recipes,had ordered fall pants and shirts from clearance online mostly in her standard black or red or cranberry. She had ordered the books to prepare for her GRE in literature-which was a mere year away. Having ordered them, she felt as if she had signed a contract in blood. That the commitment had been made. She slid a biography on Mary Shelley into her olive messsenger bag. The Alcott biography returned to her bookshelves in the second bedroom that she used as a home office. She showerd and dressed. Saturday would be too short-it always was.

Fall was seeping into the last of summer. It was in the air in the tinges of coolness that blew through the mugginess of the early Tennessee morning. A flock of Canadian geese v'de their way mostly nowhere for most of them stayed locally in the green areas. " Something told the wild geese, it was time to go. Though the fields lay golden, something whispered Snow..." Memory from her fourth grade . Her friend Royal's mother had been a permanent substitute when their teacher had begun maternity leave. That year had been good in school. At home , that was the year that the rules that her father and his family had eaten her mother alive . Her mother was a lady then, all too gentle and educated for her father's world.

Down the hill, left turn at the roller rink, then the very next right to the main street. She had never been to a Waffle Hut. She was going today. If she hated it, then she need never go back. She had errands in that neighborhood. And she needed breakfast. It was one thing when done that would get one more completed as well.

Time slipped from her hands quietly as she took her purchases back home. Her recipes called for white wine, cognac and tequila. Everything was available in Tennessee but not at the same place. Three different bottles for three different recipes. She washed her face, reapplied her makeup and heated a cup of that morning's coffee. She took her break at her computer. Her fingers sought out the email. She read it for the second time.

Her reply was that she would listen BUT she asked of him just one thing, That what was said between them would remain between them alone . That he would keep his own counsel. Their parting had not been pretty . She was not the person that he had known. Perhaps it was also true on his side. She said that there could be no new friendship without clearing the muck of the past. Then she finished her coffee, rinsed out the cup , grabbed her bag and headed down the hill to the right to the bus stop. She was a hunter in search of cheese.

It was early afternoon when she returned from the cheese shop in the better neighborhood as well as the farmer's market in the worse one. There was an email for her. It read that he had thought that they would always be friends because they had been to Hell in the most Christian sense and back together. He swore that the words between them would be kept private. She wrote back and told him that was good. She reminded him of 1 of the times of trouble-of his rage and her fear. And sent it.

It was midafternoon when she finally stopped . She had been to the grocery store for the meats. Her cleaning supplies for her Sunday ritual sat on the dining room table like good soldiers being called to battle. She checked the computer-and there was no reply. She ran the cilantro scented dishpowder through the dishwasher one time. The red envelope from Netflix was opened- the story of Bodica brave warrior queen played its tale like a dutiful storyteller from the dvd.

Morning was bright and warm. Saturday had evaporated as it always did. Fresh coffee filled her Samantha cup . The computer warmed and came to life. There was a reply- an apology. It was pretty words but then there had always been pretty words and tearful regrets. Change would have to manifest in a corporeal form to be believed. This time , she had determined, would not be like the rest-words would not be enough. Action was necessary. This would not be rushed-it was important that this not be just one more scheduled thing to be checked off and forgotten. She did not reply.

It was noon when she headed down the hill one more time to have her hair cut. Easy walk straight down all the way to the bottom. On her way back she bought her creams and salves to hold together her fifty plus face and body. Magic potions promising delayed , if not eternal youth. Some mornings, she thought them a miracle-others just more snake oil. Sometimes, she saw Sandy as she knew her to be,probably a bit over 15-sometimes her mother and even once in a while, her mother's mother. Those were not good signs-She practiced her counter magic with all she had in her arsenal. Some days ,it was enough. She picked up the Nice and Easy on her way back. It touted that it hid the grey. Hid but did not make it go away. She remembered that Huxley had said that "Ignoring facts do not make them go away."

In her kitchen, she pared,chopped and sliced. Beef stock bubbled . Vegetables cooked.Meat chunks sizzled as they browned. Steam filled the kitchen countered by the heat from the oven as an dark and light Angel food cake baked. The dishwasher pounded pans and bowls alike, preparing them for the next battle to be fought. The small apartment smelled of tarragon,paprika, thyme,garlic and onions.Try as she might- for all of her cooking ability, she had never been able to create that one culinary smell of the safety of her youth. It had permeated the stairwell walls in that ancient apartment, in which they lived ,when she was little. The best that she could manage was the smell of accomplishment that made up her memory of her maternal grandmother's kitchen. When her parents moved from the apartment ,in Dorchester,she had lost that smell in the hall.

An email from her best friend waited for her , when she finally put the kitchen to bed. It read " I think that he is doing better. This does not sound like him." Attached to her email was a forwarded copy of his apology to her complaint of his past behavior , which , now away from it bordered on abuse. She had run from him , Run all the way to Tennessee. Made a new life for herself. Not one day but his shallow promise had been shattered. She filed the email from her best friend. She replied to his apology with a second complaint, explaining that the old crap had to be resolved.

When she awoke in the morning, there was a new email from her exroommate. It was nasty and accusatory. It sounded just like him. He told her that he did not remember the things that he had done. Either she forgave him . Or that she was a Bitch with a vendetta. Deep breath filled her lungs. She braced herself with a slug of the hot coffee from her cup. She called her best friend and told her that the emails that prompted this were being forwarded to her to arm her against frustrated accusations. It was true, Sandy was no longer who she used to be.

Then she faced the offending electronic letter,her outrage framed her reply. "PRETTY WORDS FOR SOMEONE WHO CANNOT KEEP HIS WORD FOR EVEN A DAY. YOU SEE, I KNEW THAT YOU HAD DONE WHAT YOU ALWAYS DO - SAY WHAT YOU THINK I WANT TO HEAR THEN DO AS YOU PLEASE . NOT THIS TIME. YOU ARE DISMISSED. LIAR. AND THE ONE THAT YOU OUGHT TO HAVE ANGER WITH IS YOURSELF NOT SUSAN- SHE WAS UNAWARE THAT YOU HAD VOWED TO SILENCE. YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND,KNEW AND DECIDED TO ACCUSE ME OF VENDETTA? AS ALWAYS YOU HAVE DECIDED TO PAINT ME IN THE DARKEST LIGHT-UNJUSTLY AND TRY TO CHARM YOUR WAY OUT OF ANY RESPONSIBLITY FOR YOUR DEPLORABLE BEHAVIOR. I WOULD HAVE FORGIVEN YOU IF YOU HAD ADMITTED IT TO ME ! TOO LATE- YOU ARE DISMISSED - I DON'T NEED YOUR ABUSIVE BULLSHIT IN MY LIFE. IF I CANNOT TRUST YOU TO KEEP YOUR WORD-I CANNOT TRUST YOU AT ALL. YOU ARE DISMISSED-YOU HAVE KILLED ANY HOPE OF RECONCILLATION ALL BY YOURSELF. LIVE WITH IT!

DO NOT CONTACT ME OR MINE AGAIN." It was signed and sent.

It was over. Sandy knew that she was not just one more thing but in claiming her affirmation to her new life-she knew that she had become everything important in her life.

Shy Animal

A shy animal is one that WILL bite from fear.
How is it that you are the only one who could hear
That Shy animals sometimes walk on two legs as well?

You gave me time - to straighten out what needed to be done.
What I am , what I have done - you share the praise.
And now that things are finally coming together,
You are not here to see it.
I cannot tell you.
Its not all better now
Maybe it will never be .

But you gave me back what I had lost.
You backed me up and just let me be.
The wisdom of your words,
When last we met.
I would not have backed down for anyone
I backed down for you , so great was my respect.
You have kept your promise.
You have kept me safe.
Even Now.

I Shall Miss You

We met by design a long time ago
I respected your knowledge
And that which you were.
The fact that you were Mrs Someone
was not an issue.
The Mrs part was frosting- it wasn't the cake.
The cake was of dubious quality to begin.
You can't tame what was meant to be wild and free.
You leashed Nature
Nature broke the leash.
It also broke your heart.
You could have learned from it-you didn't.
In your mind, you made the cake darker and richer
Than the real cake had ever been.
You felt that you got older , fatter and sorrow made you more ugly
You were none of those things
Except in your mind.
And now we have come to the parting
Parting with who you once were
Parting with principles in which you believed.
If the you of then saw the you today-
Then you would do as I did .
And walk away.
Goodbye.

The Last Book

Sara was assigned to detention in the library. For cutting her sophomore English class, the pretty blonde cheerleader , was condemned to reshelve books. Budget cuts had diminshed the library staff by half- and the grunt work fell to students caught violating academic policy.
"This stuff, " she thought to herself " should all be on computers and not on shelves." Not thinking, she popped her gum-Poof, her keeper, the afternoon librarian seemed to appear out of thin air, tissue and wastebasket in hand. "Now, Ms Carter" intoned the voice from above sternly while pushing both at her . Sighing heavily, the gum went into the tissue and the tissue into the wastebasket. "Lose the attitude" commanded the librarian. Then she was gone."Whatever" thought Sara.
She pushed the book trolley slowly down the aisles. She had tried on her first day just placing the, amywhere only to learn that she was spot checked. Four misplaced books and she would garner yet another day here in this Hell hole.
Alcott, Bronson then Louisa...Dickens,Charles...did Byron go under Byron or Gordon...it was not fair . Checking the number on the spine, she found the proper place quickly...Adams, Joy and George...Darwin...Freud ...Von Frantz...Campbell. She looked at the clock -it had barely moved...but the sky was darkening as if night were approaching.The sound that ruled her world like water torure was that of the clock marching out its minutes...
She emptied the tables at the end of each aisle onto her cart and organized them by number. She could sit while she sorted. Then she pushed the book trolley around the next corner like some aged quietly squeaking guerney. The afternoon librarian appeared once again- this time with some WD40 spray for the wheels. She looked disapprovingly at the sulky teenager and then at her watch. Forty five mins left to play warden today.
Bloch,Bradbury,Derleth, Doyle...Shelley, Stoker,Wylie,Yarboro...Honestly-Sara wondered why the students could not put anything away themselves...but then if it were on computer they would not have the need. Program would take care of it.
Done! The crone at the desk was amiable THIS time to Sara leaving just a few minutes early and signed her detention slip. The pursing of the middle aged librarian's lips said that she did not approve of Sara and maybe not of her generation. Freedom at last...she could go. Though her youth was demanding that she run , prudence and the thought of additional detention on the track for running slowed her to a quick walk.The corridors were empty...Three days done and she was free.
Her locker opened with surprising ease that afternoon...she slid into her jacket and popped her ear buds into her ears...she turned to leave wheh her foot touched something hard - a book - and not just a book but a library book. She thought about throwing it away but was afraid that it would be picked up by reported security cams.Her locker became stubborn and refused to open. She walked as if chained back to the library with the gait of dead man walking on death row. Sara did not want to do this.
The door was open and she walked to the desk. Any time that she had gained by leaving early had been lost by returning the book. Angrily , she threw it carelessly across the polished faux oak desk and it cracked into the wall, damaging the spine.
"Oh dear dear dear" moaned the afternoon librarian ,from the wall. " I had so hoped that you would be the one that made it. " She recovered the damaged tome " I shall have to repair it...yes ,indeed..."
The old woman was batty- thought Sara and turned to leave once more but something soft and squishy was wrapped around her ankles- tenacles. Sara began to scream only to have her throat sprayed with alum by the distraught librarian. Shhhhhh!!!!We can't have any of that in here" The grip of the tenacles tightened and Sara pantomined her panic...The librarian watched..."Oh no my dear" said she "You failed the test...and of course ,we donot know where you went after you punched out .I signed it myself , you know...Sara felt herself being dragged back towards the fantasy section...and on the table at the end of the aisle lay the damaged book. If she had had a voice- Sara would have screamed. But ,of course, that was not permitted in the library.

The book remained on the aisle table though out the night. In the morning, Beth appeared for detention. Dark hair, nose ring- she was considered attractive by Goth standards. "Hey, cool" she said, picking the last book off the aisle table, When did we get a new copy of " Tales of Cthulu Mythos" ?"
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! " said the morning librarian . Then she smiled.

Truth in

The biggest "problem' that I have
With girls' stories amd women's literature,
and so called "chick flicks" is that they sell
The female a bill of goods.
The message being relationship
Will solve ALL YOUR PROBLEMS.
Relationship not hard work
Is the Balm.
Relationship not success
Is the Salve to bind a wounded life.
Relationship not accomplishment
Is the way to go.
Of course, in these ads for relationship,
Prince Charming is never abusive.
He never lies around the house in a ripped
Lucky tee shirt bearing the name of some
Faded Glory of some team long ago reorganized.
Burping beer.
Everything is covered in the petals of roses.
No one ever sees the carburator soaking in gasoline in the bathtub.
Woodland creatures do the housework while mice sew for the children.
Grease under YOUR fingernails? Perish the thought!
Cinderella would have found an afternoon alone in the ashes
Of her stepmother's house restful.
Wicked step sisters could not possibly have called her name
More times than hyperactive, over caffinated, sugared up , artifically flavored
Children screaming " Mommy, Mommy!"
It is probably a good thing that Sleeping Beauty slept
For one hundred years before marrying her prince.
Its probably the LAST good sleep she will have
For quite awhile.
Princes come with prices- lo fat, always hungry, need to beat the
Younger and . perhaps, prettier princesses off with a stick
or an M16- what ever happens to be lying around your craft room.
Princes can get fat and be distinquished, prosperous.
But poor Princess This or That has gained five lbs.
It will be back to the scullery for her ,if she does not watch out.
As if we were not ALWAYS there anyway.
Some of them are just organized by Martha Stewart
Where one can get a meal in less than thirty minutes.
I once found a menu that was cooked that promised dinner for four in TWELVE minutes.
Such promises may not live up to expectations.
they do not take skinned knees and falls from trees into account.
Relationships are part of life .
Movies and women's stories are fiction.
Perhaps we need to post the warning on the weight loss commericals
On all of the literature, movies and television shows marketed for
Women and girls.
Warning: May not reflect actual average results.

Time's Up.

I really hate it when you think that you know me.
When you think that you know it all.
How can I trust you to keep me safe ?
To keep me reasonably sane ?
If you are never on my side?

Elder ? You are no Elder of mine.
Let me tell you Buddy- you are out of time.
I thought that I knew you once
But that was long ago-
I was a kid.
What did I know?

Now you call me and demand I tell you WHY ?
I'm pissed , I am angry that you don't even
TRY.
Easy Answers, easier words
That's what you crave.
Apologies are easy.
True work is hard.

Excuses, Excuses - Of those I have had enough.
You seek to smooth over,
Never attacking the root problem.
You glaze the surface
But Never seek the core.

Shall I go on? Do you even hear me?
Or am I shouting into a storm ?
Can you hear me as the rain whips my body?
As Thunder drowns me out?
The chaos you live in daily.
I have had enough.

The answer lay in you hand.
You blew your nose on it ,
Tossing it into the cyclone that is your life.
I watched it whirl and whirl higher and higher .
It got stuck up in a tree.
It stayed there until it ripped to shreds.

The shreds spread color that suited you.
Violent purples, electric blues, ruby blood drops
Throughout the story.
You collect people like Galloup collects polls.
Majority wins.

I am not and have never been part of the majority.
You said that you knew that when we first met.
Words are easy , true work is hard.
And you are lazy.


But you never ever ask your self
What if the majority were wrong?

Mom

Was raised in a household of respect.
Her Father loved her but did not own her.
Her Mother taught her all the things that she needed to survive.
She owned her soul and her body.

When she went away to college, she was a good student .
Flawless in organic and inorganic chemistry throughout.
She was brave enough to walk away when she did not like a situation.
She owned her soul and her body.
"Too serious , too picky "chirped student opinion.
"Too picky , too serious " the voice in her head echoed back.
"She will never get her MRS. THAT WAY..." warned the voice of the Future.

When my mother married, my grandfather told her all the way down the aisle,
" You DO NOT have to DO this. Walk away now.
. You will give your body and lose your soul."
She shook her head,the Empress train trailing behind.
Tears welling in her eyes, she turned to her father one last time .
" My Mother gave her body and did not lose her soul."
She brushed her hand against her father's weary face , kissed him once.
Then matriculated to her MRS.
Her father whispered from the pew " But he is NOT me. I thought that you were smarter."

When my mother lived her marriage, she began to see the flaws in my father's glamour.
That he was jealous that she could earn more.
That people liked her better than him.
And his mother said " Teach her to Obey. Only children are spoiled."
Yes, he thought, only children are spoiled.
He took a vial of poisonous worms from his coat.
Then he sat down to dinner.

He slid the first one into her salad as she brought him a cup of coffee.
She smiled and sat . The worm was unseen against the salad.
" You were too picky, too serious in school. You are lucky that he married you.
He is the man and you must not embarrass him by making too much money . by having too many friends. " She swallowed the worm whole, never tasting it.
Its toxin spread and she Believed.

On Sunday, they went to her parents' home.
My father slid the second worm into my mother's drink.
She picked up the crystal glass as her father gave a toast to her new life.
The ruby lipstick from her lips glazed the glass.
" A GOOD wife gives her husband children" insinuated the worm.
"The Bible said to go forth and multiply. You are a bad wife and he will leave you.
You are a bad woman and God will hate you."
Mother cried at the beauty of the toast and the whispers of the worm.
Its toxin spread and she BELIEVED.

Two daughters later, my father brought my mother a box of Rexall chocolate covered cherries, took her out to dinner and hired a sitter for my infant sister and me.
He slipped the third worm into the creme brulee dessert.
" A Good wife ," began the worm," gives her husband SONS to carry on his name. You are ungrateful for his efforts. You cry alone when he accuses you and the girls of being why he has no money. You should not cry but do your duty..."
Its toxin spread and she BELIEVED.

The ghost of the woman that my mother had been grabbed her by the shoulders one morning as she did the family laundry.
As the wringers squeezed the clothes to go on the line of the porch in a place
where her Father's occasional help would not have lived, the hands of the ghost
squeezed her head and mended her soul.
"Where is the woman that you set out to be?
Have I been gone so long that you do not remember me?
Tell me the spell by which you are held
I will cure you , all will be well."

" I am leaving you" Mother said, " The children and I. I will get a job. Or at least I intend to try."
We children from the room were rushed . The door was shut . The house was hushed.
My father sped out with the speed of light.
"We'll be back " whispered the worms . " We Will win this fight."

Two days later, back he came. Bended on knee , claiming to be ashamed.
He said he did not feel well and would she drive the car?
He was going to the doctor. It was not very far.
On that dark Thursday , my mother's ghost was exorcized.
The worms had won the day.
For three months my mother was away.

The babies to my Aunts went on my father's side.
I was left to live there to balm his sense of pride.
A neighbor teen came in every day
to watch me when my father was away.
My mother didn't come home- the doctors said not now.
I feared that she was changing but I did not know how.

They led the body home and it sat down in a chair.
I looked into her eyes . There was no one there.
" Bonjour Mama" My little voice intoned.
" I think I know you. Can you tell me if I'm home? "
You are home and I'm your first.
Where have you been?
Tell me the worst.

"The worst, my dear, is that I was once some one else.
Now I am waiting to be told who is myself.
I want to please my husband,
He had them drain me dry.
He's going to rebuild me - and I've forgotten how to cry."

I looked up from my homework.
And she asked me what it was.
I told her multiplication.
She asked me to teach her
Because it was gone.
So everyday before my father returned home,
I taught her back the things she'de lost
in his sad attack.

My best efforts were too small,
It was my mother's body
but not my Mom at all.

The other two returned home,
Which the worms whispered was good.
Because only children are spoiled.

They ran her day
They ran her night
They kept way too tired to fight.
She got too thin.
Too tired and frail.
She never left the house.
It had become her jail.

One afternoon soon after,
I came straight home from class.
And found my mother's body,
from her moisturizer picking glass.
My sister broke the bottle.
She feared my father's wrath.
He would not buy another.
I handed her my cash.
I dabbed the little cut place,
where she had missed a piece.
It was the one time that her ghost hugged me - and then it was released.

I am not my father's daughter though I have called him DAD.
For the things he did to Mother, I sometimes get so mad.
I've seen the worms, I have heard the worms.
" Too smart too picky, too picky too smart..."
And my Self says " SO?"
And rejoices as I drop the worms into the garbage disposal , one by one,
Run the water and flip the switch.