The Pink Chair

A young boy named Jay sat in his grandmother’s closet. He happily sifting through books she had acquired through the years. Many of them she had read to him at one time or another. One, he did not recognize. In large letters scrolled across the front of the brown-bag covered book were the words Lord of Eternity.

He opened the book and leafed over to the title page.  “Huh!” he exclaimed, “what a coincidence.” The author’s name was simply, Unknown.

Hello, came a soft woman’s voice.

Stunned, Jay turned his head to view himself in the closet mirror imagining he was most certainly hearing things. “Wait… What the hell?” he retorted and closed the cover with haste. It wasn’t a voice he recognized.

He looked around but only washed out colorful polka-dot and stripped dresses hung from bent wire coat hangers. He was alone. The mirror leaning against the wall that was no bigger in diameter than a large box of cereal confirmed this. He wondered how in the world his grandmother, a rather large lady, had the ability to view herself in such a small mirror.

Jay continued to view himself. Brown hair, hazel eyes, boyish charm – same as always. He gazed back at the book sitting in his lap warily before opening it again.

“I’m confused. Books do not talk,” he said to the book. “But, since you want to talk. Lets talk.”

Don’t worry- I’m you- well I’m kinda everyone and everything around you right now. I can make just about anything happen.

Jay looked at the book quizzically his mouth perked back, and eyes squinted. He then looked into the mirror mouth still perked back and eyes still squinted. “So what about outside of this closet?”

Your existence is by chance – so, nothing.

“Why am I not scared? This isn’t at all normal,” the boy countered.

Since I don’t want you to freak out, lets just chill here for a few – I’ll teach you a little bit about life. Here, look behind some of the clothes hanging up there. Careful that you don’t trip on the shoes buddy.

Jay sat the book down, but left the pages open, and stood up to search through the clothes. Putting the backs of his hands together, as though about to do the breaststroke, his arm muscles came together and flexed causing the colorful clothes to slide away from one another, each side smashed together. A pink cushy leather chair sat behind the rack of clothes.

Jay grabbed the book from the floor and dove for the chair. He then opened the book.

Comfy?

“Very, thanks,” Jay responded.

So listen, I don’t think we have too long. What is it that you want to know?

Jay thought in the silence of the closet for a bit before speaking, “What is it like where you are, and by the way what’s your name?”

It’s alright here. I’m Lord nice to finally make your acquaintance. I don’t believe my existence to be by chance, so almost everything has meaning of some sort to someone. Think about all those clothes you just smashed apart.

“What about them?” Jay countered.

You didn’t take the time to put them back. That shows that you are less considerate of other people’s objects. For instance you don’t have to deal with the trial of having your clothes wrinkled from someone smashing them aside. Living here is kind of like walking on invisible glass. My only chore – just being.

“But at least you have meaning in your life… I mean, I don’t,” Jay said complacently.

I guess I see what you mean. You really don’t have anything to worry about. You’re still a kid. You taught me something Jay. After all, is a story still a story without a plot?

The closet walls fell away and Jay was left sitting in a field surrounded by a multitude of beautiful flowers. Their petals white, gold, red, purple and yellow. Small and delicate. A gentle breeze had them dancing in the soothing light of the glistening sun.

“Are you sure?” Jay asked.

Yeah – you’re free!

Jay arose from the chair and smiled down at the book before walking off into a world of unlimited possibilities.

Pong

Family Vino PONG – The old folks win. The young ones fall in love.

Vino Pong Family Style

When my eyes met yours my heart stopped in awe. For although I had seen it before it was more prevalent now. Age had done something lovingly profound to you. The mirrors in your eyes held me captive. Although I was looking at you I was seeing and feeling the love of my grandmother through you. You had been blessed with her beautiful expressive eyes. Your lips were pursed in a knowing smile. I hope you were not uncomfortable with the thoroughness of my gaze. I could only drink in the beauty and remember the wonderful memories of the other. If ever you shall leave this earth my tears are sure to flow for hundreds of years. I saw you today. What joy I feel in my heart! Image

Jade Image

“Jade, I done told you to get up out of that chair and go to the store,” said Mama way beyond mad and holding in her hand an empty container of baby formula. She stood there with disbelief in her 50 year old eyes, as I continued clipping photos from a travel magazine I had retrieved from the “free bin” at the library while enjoying my chocolate snack pudding cup. I was getting slow at jumping to her beck and call. I was tired.
“Hey, a girl gotta live her life don’t she?” I said under my breath. I loved traveling the world and eating in exotic foreign restaurants. Even if it was through extensive scrap booking and fanciful daydreams. I didn’t aspire to be the next Cover Girl, but I was big, black, beautiful and nothing was gonna keep me from going to the furthest corners of the world.
“This child can’t wait one more minute for you to finish with that foolishness girl. You really need to grow up!” Mama breathed fire. “By your age I already had three mouths to feed.” With a whimpering and hungry baby hung on her hip she was a little worn. But, Mama was rarely happy anymore anyway. The days of happiness and fun ended when mama saved my six month old niece, Aleeya, from foster care.
“I told you I’m going,” I said in the retaliatory tone that came so willingly from my tongue lately. For all the work I was doing I never felt less appreciated. Run to the store, heat a bottle, change a diaper, mow the lawn, do the dishes, respond to the crying child at three o’clock in the morning; on-and-on it went. Without looking up I knew I was one step away from a serious tongue lashing. The electricity in the air was thick and if her breathing was any indication of just how close I was to doom I thought better of saying what was on my mind, “You wanted the baby. How about you go?”
“I’m sorry,” I said instead, with my eyes averted so she couldn’t see just how disgusted I was feeling. I sat the scissors down and used my fingers to clean the bottom of the pudding cup, then licked my fingers clean. I reached for my tattered hand-me-down flats that were laying next to my chair. While slipping on my shoes I asked, “How much money is in the account?”
“The check came Boo,” she said wild-eyed, in disbelief. “You think I’m going to send you to the store with no money in the account?” Her lips were quivering and she was perspiring, “And leave that funky mood in the streets before you get back.” Aleeya started to wail. I grabbed my jacket and purse and left without looking back.
As I walked down the numerous steps of our old Victorian rental, each individual step rendered an account of its age with creaks and groans beneath mv feet. I was thankful that almost everything was within walking distance in this lame town. Mama and I didn’t drive. It was all about walking. The only bus that came through this town was the one that took people to utopia.
I reached into my purse, pulled out my iPod, and put the buds in my ears. The distraction of some funky music was a staple in my life. As I walked along I thought about how much life had changed over the past few months. My 13 year-old niece had given birth to Aleeya, and lost her to the authorities. When Mama caught wind of the situation she had jumped into action. “No great-grandchild of mine is going to be raised by strangers,” she vowed. To some degree I think Mama was trying to make up for what she hadn’t done for her children. For years she had played slave to drugs and alcohol. My oldest sister had once told me, “You got it good. Mama ain’t who she used to be.” I was by far the youngest sibling, and maybe I didn’t endure what they had, but I knew without a doubt that this was not the good life my sister alluded to.
Only one block to go. I was almost there. The smell of Burger King french fries invaded my nostrils. I wanted so badly to stop and get some, but decided not to since I hadn’t asked first. As I approached the market I knew it would be a feat to walk past the magazine rack at the entrance and not stop to look at the latest edition of Travel and Leisure, so I planned my venture into the store carefully. I couldn’t stop anywhere with a starving child singing the blues back at the house. As I entered I took a deep breath and purposefully looked in the opposite direction. Then I exhaled and headed to the formula.
The check-out lane was unusually long. It made me think about just how unlikely it would be for Mama to smile when I walked back through the door with the liquid gold. I would give anything for one of her smiles. I glanced to the front of the lane. “Dang!” I must have said out loud, as the guy in front of me turned around with a curious look on his face. There at the front of the lane was an old woman writing out a check for her purchase. People still write checks? I thought to myself. The story of my life.
At last. The checker scanned the formula as I consecutively slid the debit card, and then said with a less than sincere smile, “Your balance due is $1.99.” It took me a second to realize she was asking me for money. Surprised, I stood there for second not sure what to do. I started rummaging through the bottom of my purse for change, knowing there wasn’t any more than a handful of pennies.
Feeling humiliated I stammered, “Le-le-let me see what I can find.” I placed five pennies and one nickel on the counter and continued to search, hoping for a miracle. I felt like fainting.
“You still owe $1.89,” she said with raised eyebrows.
“Are you sure there isn’t more money on the card?” I asked mortified.
“Slide it again,” she said in a bored tone.
A male voice behind me said, “Here. I got it.” And he placed two, one dollar bills on the counter.
I turned around, “Thank you sir.” He was a handsome old man with a gray beard and ponytail. I wanted to cry in appreciation of his kindness.
“It’s okay,” he said kindly. “You better go feed your baby.”
I said thank you again, and almost ran from the store. I didn’t have a baby. Thank God.

As I approached the house I could hear Aleeya howling at the top of her lungs. The front door and screen were wide open. I ran up the steps and into the house. “Mama?” I called out. Aleeya was in her crib with tear-drenched eyes. I picked her up and headed to the kitchen to make a bottle. I called out again, “Mama, I’m back!”

Sitting on the kitchen table was a hypodermic needle and a small crumpled, empty brown paper bag.

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“Cashmere”

Posted: January 19, 2013 in Life
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As I sat squished on the Bart train between a young black too-young-to be-pregnant teenager, and a middle-aged, tattoo-laden blue collar worker with a toothpick danglingCashmere from his mouth, I pondered my current affairs. After looking for work for over one year I had finally landed an interview for the job of my dreams. The economy had been playing hardball with my pocketbook and I was on the verge of losing the only thing I had left to my soon to be changed name – my home. If I didn’t land this job my house would go into foreclosure for sure. I only had enough funds left in the bank to make another two payments at best, with perhaps a few cents to spare. At least my divorce had left me with something over and above the heartache of being married to a man who had decided to become gay after 25 years of marriage, and the birth of our beautiful daughter. Thankfully she was old enough to understand she wasn’t the one to blame.

The train groaned to a stop and allowed another large group of commuters to join the mosh pit. A young Mexican guy talking on his cell phone snuggled his way into my personal space by grabbing the rail above my seat and stood so close I could see that the thread on his third button was the wrong shade of blue. The doors closed and the train took off so fast nearly everyone standing went over like bowling pins at a U.S. Open Championship. Grumbles and resounding expletives filled the air along with a sudden and very sharp elbow to my ribs. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, but as my head spun around to the source, I was met with the face of a woman in intense labor whose chocolate-colored face had beads of sweat gathering around her quivering lips. The screech she then emitted left no doubt to the matter – she was in active labor.
I turned to the two men closest to me and shouted, “Would one of you please pull the dammed emergency cord?” They looked shocked. The one on the phone continued to make plans for what sounded like a hot date, and pointed at his phone. The tattooed dude said, “Yeah, like I can move lady.” The girl grabbed my hand and squeezed it so hard I was certain I would never use it again. Just then warm water flooded our seat and splashed Valentino’s $200.00 basketball shoes. “Oh, my god!” he yelled. The shock of his shoes being baptized by less than holy water caused him to lose grip on his cell phone which landed in the puddle at his feet. The look on his face was priceless.  An observer with a heart and common sense pulled the emergency cord and dialed 911 on their cell phone, which had been handed to me via tattoo guy, “Tomorrow is my birthday and I never knew my mother,” he said with tears welling in his eye. “I was deserted at birth.”
“Hello,” I said to the emergency operator.
“I understand you are sitting next to a woman in labor,” she said in a perfunctory manner. “I will stay with you on the phone until the EMTs arrive at the next stop. Okay?”
“Yes,” I responded. Just then another scream along with a motion which caused me to believe she had begun pushing. “No, don’t push,” I said in a panic. “Please breath. Just breath. Don’t push!” I mimicked the exaggerated breathing technique I had learned in Lamaze twenty years earlier and begged her not to give birth, hoping it would delay her bodies response to do just that.
“Are you still on the line with me?” said the operator.
“Yes, and she’s pushing!” I responded in a panic.
“Make room for her to lie down,” the operator said in an urgent tone. “And, make her as comfortable as possible.” As she spoke these words I pushed my buddies into the gawking crowd and gently moved her into a more comfortable position. The movement brought on another groan, push and blood curdling scream. I stripped my cashmere sweater from my body and placed it under her bottom. As I did so I saw that the baby was already coming.
“It’s okay little mama,” I whispered loudly not so much to her as myself. “We are having a baby.”
I felt the train’s brakes being applied. We were coming to a stop, but not soon enough. She gave another push and we had a healthy newborn child. I gently grasped and wrapped the baby girl in the soft sweater and handed her to the new mama just as the train came to a complete stop and the doors opened. Everyone clapped and spoke congratulatory words.
The new mama smiled up at me and said, “Thank you.” She fondled her newborn child in her arms and smoothed the sweater with a gleam in her eye. “Her name is Cashmere.”

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Winter would be cold without memories

A blanket would be cold without a warm body

I could be a one woman act, but that would be boring and lonely

Life is meant to be shared regardless of the season

memories1

The slightest consideration of a dear friend brings to mind fun memories

Fun memories make you smile as you walk through the grocery store

All that’s really necessary is a warm smile. A new memory

A backyard with a frosty lawn reminds me of its warm green sprouts in the summer

Red Cosy Cups filled with water waiting on a Beer Pong contest (The older folks win) What a memory

Resting in a comfy sunchair watching the younger ones fall in love

Red Wine, grapes and cheese along with fresh warm french bread, served by candlelight

Sharing your deepest feelings with your best friend during a snowstorm. Memories retold.

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Aside  —  Posted: December 22, 2012 in Experiences, Food, Life, Love, Memories, Poetry
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Scream Silently

Posted: December 21, 2012 in Uncategorized
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I can’t begin to imagine that I have no way out. Resounding confirmations for change come from all sides of my brain. It sounds much like an empty church with creaky 100 year old wooden floors where many deep secrets have slithered through the cracks into the depths of no where. The ideas echo whilst slowly they die. Do this. Stop doing that.

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Take control.You know better. You’re smart. You can accomplish anything in life you choose to pursue. I, in a very quit voice respond to the overly-zealous crowd in my head, “I already know all of these shoddy things,” I  then scream silently in anguish trying to push away pain. While not a peep leaves my chapped white lips they are at once attended to by warm salty tears. I push all thoughts aside and slumber.

 

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