12 posts tagged “short story”

My name is Buster, my name is Buster. Buster is a great name, don't you like it? Do you like me? I know you like me, I like being liked and I like my owner. She calls me Buster. I like my name, I do. You can call me Buster, cause that is my name. Can I smell your butt?

I have a tail! See? Look, it's right over here. No, it's over here. Hold on, let me see if I can find it, I know it's around here somewhere. I have a tail, I have a tail, oh my... I am getting so dizzy. Need to sit a minute.

Ah, there is my tail! I knew it was here somewhere. You know, I like to go for walks. Walking is fun, especially at the park because I know one of these days, my owner will let me run without a leash and I will fly through the grass and dig out the sand lot.

I'm thirsty, be right back. Don't go anywhere, I want to know more about you. I like you, you are very nice. Let me get you some water...

Oh, you didn't want me to lick your face so you could taste the water? Well, my owner lets me lick her face so she can taste the water. It's pretty good water! Sure you don't want to taste it? I can bring you my bowl if you like... no?

oh, uhm... ok

Oh! OH!, the doorbell is ringing! The Doorbell is ringing! I can't reach the door! Let me look out the window, I want to open the door! Just open the door already! Open the door! Yes! Yes!

My name is Buster, my name is Buster. Buster is a great name, don't you like it? Do you like me? I know you like me, I like being liked and I like my owner. She calls me Buster. I like my name, I do. You can call me Buster, cause that is my name. Can I smell your butt?

Blending into the shadows, I prowl the night. Like the stars in the sky, I look down upon the world from above.

When I am outside, the stars guide me to places where the moon can not be seen. There, I wait patiently for my prey.

Leaping from a balcony, my quarry is unprepared but I like to play with my food first, so I let it go. If it gain my respect, I will let it go but sooner or later, I will come back and try again. My prey can be small and fleet of foot or or wing, I look for the challenge.

I am the Queen of my domain, even those who live in houses know this. They have built special places for my comfort and ease. They please me, so I stay with them. One of those special places they built for me is on the window overlooking the street.  The sill is deep and on one side, they placed a pillow so I can recline in comfort. It is the perfect place to survey my world and make sure I know where my subjects are.

I have heard them from time to time, as they speak with others, that they love to see me watching them. They say my sapphire eyes peep out of the darkness and look like stars. This satisfies me.

To show my appreciation I will allow them to pet me. Occasionally I will visit sleep in their beds with them, so that when they wake, they know I am well pleased. This seems to make them happy, so they offer me precious morsels of catnip and a toy or two.

Ah, I see one is returning home as we speak. I shall go to her and walk between her legs, so she knows I am aware of her return.

I am the Midnight Sapphire.

It was a compunction that had no real reason. The sun was setting and the moon had begun to rise but all I could think was that I needed to drive. I'm not sure why I needed so desperately to get out and feel the motor rev and the vibration of wheels contacting the tar. I don't know why the compulsion made my hands shake as I grabbed the keys. I only know that I had to drive.

There was no thought of direction, it was more a need to speed up and feel the breeze flow through my window. My hair whipped into my eyes in fits and starts. Grumbling at the moments of blindness, I adjusted my window until the vortex was stemmed.

I drove through the Notch and mourned the Old Man of the Mountain as I passed the place where it had resided for millennium. Swirls of cloud pushed downward, curling like fingers ready to pick something up. As I drove through the clouds, they dissolved into soft phantasms. Soon only stars were above me as the valley disappeared in the distance.

The stars up here, look far different from the stars seen in cities and suburbs. Street lights and signs are not as prevalent, making the lights in the sky more visible and bright. I continued northward for hours and watched the moon slowly move higher in the sky. As I approached the Canadian border, the moon was high overheard, and suddenly the urge to drive dissipated. To one side of the road was a clearing, I pulled over and parked the car.

Taking the towel we keep in the back for the times we forget to bring one to the beach, I left the car and found a place to lay down. I looked up and watched the stars, I swear I could feel the earth as it moved through the cosmos. In awe I wondered how it was possible that the planet's gravity was so strong it kept all of us firmly planted on this tumbling rock.

As I watched the stars above, a dream came to mind and suddenly I found myself flying through the sky towards the great expanse above. Faster than the fastest thought imaginable, I sped outward and still the stars were no closer. Looking behind me, I saw the slightly oval earth. I could not look away. It was as if I were suddenly an astronaut, trying to describe a feeling that was too hard to express.

Phosphorous. That is the closest I can come to describing the edge of planet haloed against the light of the sun. Not soft and yet, so very bright and gradual as it grew deeper in color. So many colors, shades and textures. It amazed me how I could no longer tell pine from grass. Just variations upon a theme that evolved and changed as you looked upon it.

The world turned faster than I thought is would or perhaps it was me, I could not tell which. Small meteors moved past me, occasionally at first but gradually increased, heading towards the Earth.  I watched as some reached the atmosphere and heated up as they began the descent. As they blazed downward I suddenly snapped out of my wandering dream and watched the meteorite shower fall.

It was nice out. Warm but not hot, a perfect day with just enough clouds to occasionally block the sun with a soft filter. I knew it was going to be a long day, but driving in the car, I knew it would also be fun. I rolled down my window and enjoyed the view as I drove up the mountain.

The mountains in New England are not like the ones in other parts of the world. Mostly granite, pine, maple and oak. The highest mountains of this part of the United States are in this area and I was driving up one of them. Slow and surely, the views unfolded. Old glacial calderas and waterways have become valleys filled with brooks and moose or like where I live, become small towns with small rivers. All of the mountains were rounded by the glaciers but through the ages, the granite has become fractured and falls off the massive sides. Huge areas of mountains have bare patches with rubble below them. They are beautiful but also sad, as I know these mountains have been dying and will continue to do so until finally, they have worn themselves down to gentle hills.

As I mull upon these things, the traveler before me, slows his car and stops. A young brown bear has begun to walk across the road. I stop as well, in this country all animals have the right of way. I watch from the safety of my car, as the cub ambles about, not quite sure if it wants to cross the road or not, it sniffs the air and looks into the woodlands across from him. The gentleman in the other car though, has no such thoughts. He gets out of his car and tries to approach the bear.

Another car approaches from the other side of the road, as I roll down my window. She begins to speak to the man in the road, I start to sing a nursery rhyme, loudly enough for the bear to hear it and realize it should move along. I have found that singing simple tunes, in a quiet but strong voice, does not startle bears but also lets them know they must move along. To give warning is more important when you are near them than when you are right on top of them. This way they are less likely to attack.

The woman talks to the man, who is foolishly approaching the bear as I sing, and tells him to get his rear end back in his car. I begin to sing a little louder and nod to the woman as she tells him that the bear is a child and mom is not far away. My singing distracts the bear enough that he has turned away from the man and is looking more intently across the street. At that, the man recognizes his danger and gets to his car. Good thing too, as the cub's mother shows her face at that point. I close my window and stop singing. the two bears slowly cross the street and disappear into the woods.

I had so wanted to take a picture of the two but there are times, when it is better not to concentrate on the smaller view. Would I have noticed the man or the mother, if I had been snapping shots? I don't know, but I do know that the man learned a lesson he will take to heart in the future.

first read,  On the Boardwalk: part one

I needed to walk, I think Gina did as well. You can learn as much by silence as you can by talking. I thought about what she had said, the story of her adult life so far and compared it to mine. I wondered if she was doing the same thing and noticed her standing at a railing, looking at the ocean.

My eyes wandered as my ears picked up the sound of a father, yelling at his daughter, he slapped her face and pointed. The child's head bowed down and her back bent as she walked in the direction pointed. I shook my head, wandering if when people would stop doing things like that to their children.

"Why did we never become real friends." she asked me as she fingered the railing and watched the waves. I stood beside her and sighed.

"I didn't have time for friends."

The silence grew as words hung in the air. I wanted friends, I did. I just couldn't find the time.

"You were one of the most popular girls in school, I remember feeling lucky that you spent time with me each day. You kept your distance but you never treated my unkindly. I know many people who thought of you as their friend, how can you say something like that?"

"Gina, there is a difference between being friendly and having real friends. All my friendships were the kind I had with you. Friendship was for school, I didn't have time for anything else."

"Anything else? How can you say that, you were always singing. Concerts, plays, competitions, you name it, you were involved. You were always doing something in school, how could you not have time?"

"There are many things I regret, many things I missed out on. You saw me doing many things but you didn't notice when I didn't show up, when I had to do other things. I didn't get to do as much as you think I did."

"I think you are lying. Why would you do something like that? I don't hear anything but words. How real are your words Ronnie? What took up so much of your time that you could not notice others?" Gina laughed sarcastically.

I was glad she was still looking at the ocean, my eyes wandered to the stars above. She was as much a stranger as a friend, no one had ever bothered to ask me these questions before and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. It felt odd even thinking about saying these things out loud. I wandered if I even could share myself with another person. I listened to the waves and watched the stars blink. The hypnotic sound and sight soon calmed my thoughts.

"My mother owns a small store a few towns away. She has had it since I was thirteen. I would work for her occasionally at first, but then she became ill. She was sick on and off for the next six years or so.  Dad was on the road working, he would send money home to pay the bills. When mom was ill though, I couldn't get to the money to pay them or the groceries. So, I ended up taking care of my siblings, running my mom's store, babysitting and working two jobs. I was lucky to get a few hours of sleep a day before heading off to school and starting the routine over.

Senior year, they figured out what was wrong with my mom and she went  into surgery. I'm actually surprised I graduated as I wasn't in school very much. Every time I turned around, I was getting an early-out, so I could bike to my mom's store and run the shop. All of the money I made went to groceries and paying bills. Dad, when he was home, just stewed about how life was treating him badly. I don't think he ever noticed that I was working to pay the bills or that I took care of the house. Seemed all he did was call me names and treat me like I was an ant.

I wanted to leave, don't get me wrong. But if I did, who would take care of my brothers and sisters? Who would make sure they had food to eat and that they did their homework? I didn't want them to end up in the same situation I was in. I wanted them to have a childhood and have friends. It was only a few years out of my life, right?"

I told her other things, things I never shared with another soul. Things I never thought I would say out loud. I told her as much about myself as she had about herself. The moon had risen full strength before I was done speaking.

"Did you ever go to college, Ronnie?"
"I went for a year but couldn't afford the tuition so dropped out. How about you?"
"Yeh, I have a Bachelor's in Art. Lot of good that did me." Gina pushed away from the railing. "I was wrong, you're not naive, you just have a different story than mine. Back then, I would have been the naive one compared to you."

I shrugged my shoulders. Comparing didn't really seem to be that relevant, what was important was how neither of us had been able to notice what was going on around them. "We were too wrapped up in our own stories to notice others had stories as well, I guess."

We walked to the parking lot, most of the people had left the boardwalk and everything was closed down. "I'm going to Philly tomorrow, I want to see if I can get a job at a museum. Think I stand a chance?"

"Yeh, I think you might. That is, if you get something else to wear. I think I have some cloths that will fit, if you'd like to borrow some."

She laughed, "Soon as I get in my car, I am going. You are right though, I'll get something more professional looking, later." She took out her keys, unlocked the car and got in. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime, I'll call you."

I nodded and smiled, "I'll be waiting for the call, maybe we can get together when I have more time. I wouldn't mind getting away for a day."

Turning the engine she looked at the wheel, "Good idea."

She backed the car up, waved and then drove off. I watched her leave and knew she would never call. I could hear her radio playing "Zombies". Odd how you don't hear a song fort he longest time and then suddenly there it is, like a bookmark in your life.

During the many years that followed, I knew Gina to be my only friend, as only she knew what I never spoke of and I knew she felt the same way about me. Sometimes your best friend is there for but a moment of your life, it doesn't take a presence but rather a knowing. Who knows, maybe one day we will run into each other again.

The Cranberries were singing "Zombies" on the radio, it had always been a favorite. Humming the tune, I watched the traffic go by, the road was busy, mainly because of the summer vacationers. Even in the evening, they rushed to the beach, most likely to romance someone, listen to the waves, or watch the stars.

I was on my way to the boardwalk to meet an old friend. Gina had left town almost as soon as she graduated from high school. She didn't write to anyone so it was a surprise when I got a phone call from her earlier today. She was back in town for a few days and wanted to touch bases.

Gina and I were not the closest of friends, we never went to each others homes after school. We primarily hung out together at the cafeteria, doing our homework and helping each other study. We never really talked about anything outside of school, she always was something of a loner.

The traffic let up and I managed to get to the boardwalk well within time to find the meeting place. It was a warm night, not muggy, with a slight breeze, just the kind of night I enjoy most. The skies were clear and the stars bright as my shoes hit the wooden boards of the walkway leading to the boardwalk. Small family groups and couples meandered about, talking in gentle whispers and soft giggles.

As I neared the gaming area, I could see hawkers calling out to passersby,"Try your luck!.. ten balls,ten tries... Hit the balloon and win...". Clusters of people gathered around the hawkers, some to impress, others to have fun. Cries of dismay, delight and laughter filled the area as I continued walking.

The Arcade was our meeting place, locals went there as it was less busy than other sections of the boardwalk. You could actually talk without feeling as if others were crowding you and forcing you to continue walking.  Outside of locals, the only people to visit the building were  twelve and thirteen year old boys trying their luck on the newest video game or trying to figure out how to play pinball. There were usually a few kids arguing over tactics and this night was no different. Two boys were bludgeoning each other and calling each other names while a larger group surrounded them, egging them on. At least they were on the other side of the building, no doubt the owners would soon kick them out and things would quiet down soon. I passed the group and continued through the building.

"Veronica. Ronnie, is that you?"
I turned my head to see a strange woman looking at me, her make-up was overdone and she was wearing a half cut tube top. I could see the bottom of her breasts hanging out of the bottom and her shorts were more like underwear, so shear you could almost see through them. I pretended not to notice her and continued onward.

The woman grabbed my arm,"Veronica, that is you, I know it is." When would this woman leave me? I turned to her trying not to really notice her and said, "I don't know who you are, please let me go, I am meeting someone." Her eyes squinted and her lips pursed as she looked me in the eye, "You are meeting me. Don't you recognize me?"

That made me stop and really look at her. Her eyes were kind of yellowish, with pinkish veins spread out like rays. She looked at least twenty years older than me as the flesh of her cheeks and forehead were creased with lines. Still, there was something about her that seemed familiar. I know I looked confused as she watched me looking at her. Her lips grew even thinner as she quietly spoke, "It's me, Gina."

She let go of me suddenly as I looked at her, my shock and confusion coming in waves. What on earth had happened to her? She was so bright and now, before me stood a woman who was more a living husk of the person I once knew. "Gina? No, really? Gina?" I took her hands in mine  and tried to find her old stature but she smoothly slid her hands away.  Fumbling for words I felt tears trying to spill from my face. Shaking my head, I pointed to a bench and sat down, as she sat beside me I turned to her, willing the tears away, "Tell me what you've been up to."

I sat as she told me about her life. She had moved to Atlantic City and somewhere along the way had become a drug addict, it wasn't long before she was taking tricks to pay for her habit. She spoke of many things which made me shudder inside, things no one should experience. To her though, these acts were part of life.

She called me a sheltered bitch and I nodded, what else could I do? Yes, I had been sheltered but tonight my eyes had been opened. "Gina, why did you call me?"

"I wanted to see if I could turn back time. To see if I could live like you do, but as soon as I came back home I already knew the answer. I could quit drugs and stop hooking but I can never again be like you. I've seen too much. I wanted to see if a person like you would see me as normal, as worthy of life. You don't' know me, you never knew what my life at home was like, you never asked about me, what I wanted in life. No one ever asked, I was alone and you are the closest thing I ever had to a friend."

I didn't know what to say. Words were stuck in my throat, jumbled up with confusion and pity for someone I once spent time with, wiling away the lunch hours until the bell rung. I had thought of her as a casual friend, an acquaintance I had something in common with and yet, I knew she was right. Bowing my head in shame, I stood up and smiled at her, "Let's walk and get to know each other."

On the Boardwalk: conclusion

Started by Irma

As the sun set, he looked towards his mother, wondering if tonight would be the night. She lay upon the bed, fragile as a flower with but a few petals remaining. She had been his strength and now, she looked to him for what she had once given so easily. The cancer had eaten through her so quickly, now her age and weight were balanced. Still, she smiled as she looked upon him, he knew what her eyes were saying, no mirror could reflect the brightness of her love and determination.

Returning her smile, he went to her and sat gently upon the edge of her bed. He talked about his children and told her of their escapades. The thrill of adventure still in their souls, her grandchildren were on a trip to China. Soon they would be returning home to spend time with her before she left this world but for now, their adventures were her food, she soaked up every drop and begged for more. He told her of their excursion to the Great Wall, the thrills and chills of water rafting upon the Yangtze River and the awe they felt upon seeing the great palaces of past emperors.

No, tonight would not be the night, he knew she would wait as long as it took until the children came home. He smiled as she pointed to the mp3 player they had given her for her birthday. Nodding, he retrieved it and gently placed the headphone atop her wool cap. He tuned the player to her favorite music and watched as she closed her eyes and sighed.

He simply held her hand and watched the moon rise.

This is how it works: you get 5 words and with these 5 words you have to write an entry. The words might or might not be related. You decide how to combine them, and how long your entry will be. You tag your entry with 5wordchallenge and whatever other tags you like. Finally, you put the words in bold.

First challenge: headphone, thrills, flower, china, mirror

• 
  

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

Rene woke with a start and ran quickly to her son's room, meeting him in the hallway as he ran towards. His eyes wide with fear, Phillip clutched her legs and shuddered into them. Caressing his shoulders, she bent over his body. "There, there now, did you have a bad dream, sweetheart?" she spoke gently, with a soft cooing note to her voice.

Phillip nodded as he turned his head upwards, his hands move from around her legs and reach towards her, "Up?"

She picks up her son and carries him back to his bed and sits with him as he calms down. His hugs at first were more like clenches, and his sweating head drilled into her neck. She gently rocked him, until the shudders lessened and he relaxed. She lay down on the bed, Philip still atop her, she held his hand waiting for his breathing to sound normal.

"Do you want to tell me about your dream now?"
"No, it is bad. Mommy I don't ever want to go to sleep again."
"Darling, you have to sleep else you won't be able to grow up. Tell me, have you tried any of the things I told you to, yet?"
"I don't want to grow up, Mommy. I don't ever want to go to sleep."
"Tell you what, love. Let's close our eyes and make up a story, shall we? You don't have to go to sleep unless you want to."
"You won't leave me?"
"No, I promise to stay here."
"Okay."

Phillip nods his head and closes his eyes. Together the two of them weave a story together that slowly becomes a dream. Rene watches as her son slowly sinks into sleep, his hand, still holding hers. When she tries to move him to a more comfortable position, he grabs her in his sleep, as if afraid she will leave. He holds her this way, until he awakes in the morning, a happy child again, filled with curiosity and joy.

Each night, the nightmares would come and each night, Rene would help her son to sleep. Instead of the dreams fading, they were becoming stronger and worse. He would not talk of them, even in the daylight, so she did not know what his fears were. Still, she knew that this could not continue, As hard as it was for him, both of them were starting to show the effects of lack of sleep. Her co-workers had noticed her listlessness, so she knew she had to figure something out. Rene would think upon ways to help Phillip and each night, they temporarily succeeded. She even tried letting him sleep in her bed but the dreams still came, books, imagination, cuddles, baths, long walks, listening to the radio, games, nothing seemed to work.

Walking home from work, out of the corner of her eye, she saw some moving colors. She turned towards them and saw an exhibit in the toyshop window. Hoping the place might give her ideas she entered. Her eyes browsed all the toys, gizmos and gadgets, she browsed through the books and scanned the tapes. The isles filled with puzzles, paints, paper and play dough, she slowly browsed her way, inspecting each area until she came to the stuffed animals.

There he stood, she knew as soon as she saw the stuffed puppet, that he would be able to help her son. She brought him to the counter and bought the beast straight away. As she continued her walk home, she thought about how to introduce this new friend to her son, the excitement brought on ideas. This was going to work.

That night, as Phillip was getting ready for bed, Rene entered his room, hands behind her back and sat on his bed. He was looking fearfully at the bed but still got ready; with a sigh he joined her. She looked into his eyes and made sure he was listening to her.

"I have a surprise for you." Rene took the box from behind her and gave it to Philip. He opened the box and pulled out the stuffed animal. As the animal came free of the box, it unfolded to become a large green dragon. The tail curled about and the wings were outstretched, the mouth was open, Phillip could see the teeth and the forked tongue. When he touched the dragon it was soft, he turned it about and then suddenly realized it had a hole in it. Looking at his mother, he stuck a hand into the hole, the tail wrapped itself around his arm and the dragon's mouth moved. Suddenly he realized, his hand had become the dragon. Rene watched as her son investigated the puppet, when he slipped his hand into the hand hole, she knew it would not be much longer.

"This is a very special dragon, Phillip. He is a dream dragon! Here, let me show you something." Very carefully, she laid her son down on his bed and brought the puppet hand to his face. Phillip glowed, knowing the dragon would not fall off the bed, or be too far away.

Moving some stray hair from his forehead, she continued. "A dream dragon can go with you in your dreams, did you know that? You can walk with him, talk with him, you can even ride on his back! Dream dragons have a very special way of helping you when you have a bad dream, too. Did you know their favorite food are bad dreams?"

Phillip's eyes grow round, "Will he breathe fire on them and roast them up first or will he grab them with his claws and shake them to bits? What's his name, does he talk dragon talk, can he teach me?"

Looking as seriously at her son, Rene answers. "The only way to have the answers to your questions, is to close your eyes and dream. If you keep your dream dragon near you, he will find you in your dream and answer all your questions."

Phillip looks to his dragon and then to Rene. "Okay, I'll try, Mommy."
"Do you want me to stay here until you fall to sleep?"
"That's alright Mommy, let's see if my dream dragon can come to me. I'll be ok."
"Alright then, I love you, sweety."
"Love you too!"

The night goes by without a cry or scream, without clutching arms or shuddering. When it is morning, Rene is amazed to discover she has had a full night's sleep, then she remembers the dream dragon. Grabbing her robe, she sets out to the kitchen and sees Phillip sitting on a chair, his dream dragon on his arm.

Looking up from his conversation with his dragon, Phillip smiles at his mother. "He is great mommy! He did everything you said he would do, he is the best dream dragon in the whole entire world! He opened his mouth and swallowed up the bad dreams. They looked like rotten oranges, so they were easy to spot. We flew to a lot of really good dreams, played hide and seek with other dragons. Mommy, I never knew so many dream dragons existed, lots of riderless dragons that need to eat bad dreams. Do you think we could tell other people about them?"

Nodding her agreement, he whooped with delight and continued his meal. After breakfast, his dragon twined around his arm, Phillip went off to play for the day. No doubt, he would be telling his friends about dream dragons.

Circa, '02

I have gotten into the habit of keeping paper and pens on the passenger seat of my car. Seems many poems want to be born while I drive. It can be annoying when I am in the fast lane and suddenly a poem pops into my head; I am lucky if I can remember it long enough to pull over to the side of the road to write it down. There was a time when I would not do this: a poem would be born while I drove and then I would play with it for awhile and then let it go on its way. When I first started writing poetry, that was fine -- the poems were not that good, and it was fun to let them ramble in my head like bowling pins.

Eventually though, the inevitable happened: while driving down the road on another long distance jaunt, a poem came into my head and it blew me away. The beauty of it was astounding, and I could not get to the side of the road fast enough to write it down. When I pulled over, the first thing I did was look for a pen -- checked the seats, the floor, the glove compartment, all the while repeating the poem in a fevered rush aloud and in my head so as not to forget it. Then I got out of the car and checked under the seats and under the cushions -- still no pen or pencil -- checked the trunk of the car and found nothing. Then I had it. I rushed to the backseat, pulled out my son's activity bag, and took a crayon out. Then I realized I had no paper, and since crayon doesn't really work on skin, I went to the window and proceeded to write the poem. It filled all the side windows and the rear one -- I was on a roll. With the poem not yet finished, I started to write on the door panel. By the time I was done I had gone through four crayons, and all but the front window was filled with colored wax words.

Relieved that I had gotten the poem down before it was forgotten, I got into the car and proceeded to drive. I found that a calm had descended upon me as the words quickly left; I was very glad I thought of the crayons. Unfortunately for me, as I relaxed into the mood of driving, it suddenly started to rain. Not the soft comforting rain that invigorates, but the downpour that is so thick you can't see ten feet in front of you. Twenty minutes of hard rain later, and with a headache the size of Texas, I pulled into a gas station to get some coffee and fill the gas tank. As I stood at the gas tank I knew something wasn't right, but it took me a few minutes to figure out what it was. Everything looked just as it should, and for some reason that bothered me very much. Going to the register I suddenly stopped and turned around to see that the reason for my concern was all too visible - or rather not visible. Not one fleck of crayon was still on the car, not even the waxy residue you usually see. I went to pay for the gas and bought some pens and a notebook. I think I sat in my car for an hour, trying to remember all that I had written, but not even one line would rematerialize. Never again would I leave my house without my notebook and pen! To this day, I still think it was the best poem I have ever written, and there is no way I will ever again be in a plight where the poem is lost due to the lack of paper or a pen.

When I was nineteen, I lived and worked in a small little town in South Carolina. This was a very insulated and backward town and it is not indicative to the whole of South Carolina so I will not name it, nor should one presume that because of the events that happened there that the entire town was this way... only the place where I lived seemed to relfect this attitude. Only a handful of people but it reflected badly upon this town and it shaped my attitudes for such behavior, creating a very rigid prejudice that I lay claim to and admit to without any compunction. If I had not met Father Peter before this happened, I may very well have reacted differently but he taught me something that no-one else has ever shown me and so I now show some of it to you, in the hopes that you will see what havoc, righteous statements can create.

I moved to this town because of a job, I worked on a government backed project for about eighteen months. Not as an engineer, contractor or manager but as a utility person, which is a euphemism for trench digging and housekeeping. Strangely enough, you had to take classes and tests in order to do the job but the pay was more than I have ever made in my life... $6.00 an hour. That may not sound like much to you but it was the best paying job I have ever had and it was enough to make me move nine hundred miles from home. I lived on the wrong side of town, in a little trailer park, and the town division was a bit of grass and the fence in my backyard.

The moment I moved there I knew I was not welcome, I have not felt such animosity before or since. I was more than just an outsider, I was a Yankee alien. The first week I was there, someone shot the windows of my trailer out. After repairing the windows someone threw stones at them and cracked all the back windows. A news bulletin on the radio said a car was stolen and wouldn't you know, the police came to my house to ask for registration, to make sure I was not the thief. Feeling more than a little out of my depth I went looking for a church where I could talk to a priest. I figured that he would at least treat me kindly but then I discovered the town did not have a Catholic Church. They did however have every kind of Baptist and Advent church you could imagine. I walked into one and was inundated with "the devil of my religion..." now I have to say at this point, I no longer held faith with the Catholic religion but the attitude of this congregation was that "if you do not agree with me, you were going to die a grievous death and we would be more than happy to help you get there more quickly."

This not being my cup of tea, I left post haste. Decided that living with my confusion was better than accepting theirs as well. Right about this time the news was broadcasting about a bandit (he had a particular name but it is related to the town so I'm not going to say it). This bandit would sneak into a persons home, take all the valuables and then wait for the person to return home, then he would murder them. Seems this bandit had been doing this for about a year and still could not be found.

While all of this was going on, I was taking my classes and listening to very boring material. There was a young man next to me and he seemed very unsure of himself. I introduced myself and tried to make him feel more comfortable. Found out that he was a local boy and was here because his family really needed the money but he didn't think he would be able to pass the tests.

I decided to take him under my wing and help him out. I brought him home with me at lunch time and tutored him while I fixed us some lunch and made sure he understood the material. We returned to take our tests and he passed with flying colors, he thanked me and then told me that he had tried to take this test three times before and had failed each time. I told him I was glad to help and that was the last time I saw him but the repercussions of my altruism were still to be felt.

I got the job and started digging trenches and cleaning lunch rooms that night, I was the only woman working night shift in a construction zone with about three hundred men from various parts of the South. My work schedule was a twelve hour shift, every twenty-three days I would get two days off, anything over sixty hours would be time in a half and I would get a paycheck every two weeks.

When I came home from my first shift, my landlord was sitting on the front steps of my trailer. The first words out of his mouth where "Niggers are not allowed around here" and then he said that "Whoring is not permitted here because this is a God Fearing Place".

I looked at my grimy clothes took the hard hat off my head and asked him what he was talking about. He said that the KKK was still very active in this region of the world and that he did not want his trailer park "tainted" with the likes of me. I kept my calm and asked him what the likes of me where. "Ladies do not stay out all hours of the night and I would not want people to think I allow such behavior." I rolled my eyes and told him that I had been working the night shift and turned in a circle so he could see all the filth. Then I told him that although I may be spending my nights with many men and getting paid for my work I was not "indulging" in extra curricular activities.

Mollified in that respect he started to walk away but then I asked him to explain his other remark. He turned to me, looking startled by the question then he non-nonchalantly said, "crosses still get burned around here, I've even helped on a few occasions and I really don't want my trailer destroyed because of the people you invite to your house." It took me a few minutes to realize he was speaking of the young man I had helped the day before. I was in shock at what I heard and so I said the first thing that came into my head. "If any crosses are going to be burned at this trailer, you might as well do it now, cause I will invite whoever I want to my home and if you really want to let it be known that you have such a nasty person as me here, then you might as well tell them that I am a Catholic too. That way you can feel really righteous!" Then I went into my little trailer and stormed around till I fell asleep.

There after, twice a week my neighbors would try to get me to go to one of their prayer meetings. I worked and ignored the nasty remarks the men made about me and the not so covert comments about joining them for little trysts. In time they started to treat me with respect as I proved to them that a woman could indeed pick up heavy material, even if it only "the trash" and that hard labor is not just an aspect of the male way of life. These men did not even know that my work was hard until I played stupid one day and pretended to be weaker than I was just to prove a point.

After three months of working night shift, I come home one day, to find one of my windows open... I close it and think nothing of it as I don't have anything in the trailer worth stealing and went to bed. mmmmm... at this point I guess I should describe the trailer... it was the last trailer in the park, two bedrooms a bathroom, living room and kitchen.

That evening before work, the news reports that the bandit had struck again, killing a family of four. My neighbors accost me and try to tell me of the excitement of "Speaking in Voices" and I should go to this particular Church rather than any other...

A week later, after convincing another neighbor that I really had no passion to hold a poisonous snake in yet another church, I went inside my house to find the same window open again. I go outside to where the window is open and find a bunch of bricks set up like steps, so I remove them, go back inside and close the window.

About this time, I find out that a dear Aunt had died and the funeral had already occurred. It is Sunday and I feel the need to walk, so I go outside to see men standing around, pistols and rifles in their arms. They follow me around as I walk about... there is nothing in the world quite like the feeling of a being stalked by a group of men with guns. I screwed up my courage, turned around and walked towards them, looked them in the eyes and continued on... One of the men said, "be careful who you choose as friends girl, wouldn't want you to get hurt..."

Returning to my trailer, I see a bunch of men in suits, examining my car and walking around my place... I enter my trailer, fix some lunch and watch them prod my car and scratch the tires. Just when I am about to invite them into the house for some lunch and give them the chance to inspect the inside of the place... another car comes, parks next to mine and the men converge around it to talk. Less than a minute later, they are gone.

Ten minutes later my neighbors are knocking at my door to tell me that the "men" were asking questions about me. "You know how suspicious your actions are every day girl? You never go to church, out late every night, inviting niggers to your house. You can't do things like that around here, ya have to toe the line, be more of a lady." I thank them for their concern and then go to bed.

Three more months go by, occasionally I find the window open, I remove more brick blocks, call the police and landlord about it. Tactfully say no to the newest Advent, Methodist, Zion or Baptist church I should go to and Work my job. The pressure continues unabated, the days off decrease to once every thirty four days and the hours increase to sixteen. The Bandit strikes the town again... this time it is a prominent family.

The hounds are brought out and they begin their hunt... which takes them straight to my trailer. Six teams start from different places and all the hounds end up at my trailer. They all congregate around the window in the back... the one that I kept closing.

I come home from work to the braying sounds and all my neighbors, watching my approach. I knew about the hounds, everyone did and I was shocked to find them at my trailer. Just as I was approaching, the hounds suddenly went crazy and then, they were off. They caught the bandit that day. On the news, I found out a week later, that the bandit had been using my place, while I worked, as his little hidey hole.

The only reason, my neighbors told me, that I was not arrested is because I had been calling the police every time the window was found open. My Landlord however, never confirmed the fact that I had apprised him as well.

I left that week.

What does this have to do with anything? My Landlord's Self Righteous attitude could very well have killed me or put me in jail. He thought he was doing such a little thing by ignoring my "window" problem. That I was "evil" because I was not a "proper Christian" that I was not a "lady" because I worked night-shift with a bunch of men and because I let "colored folk" into my house. He never saw his blindness because he was too busy speaking his own brand of gospel.