An Inside View

I recently finished reading, “A Flare from Deep in the Forest” by Holly Harden. This brief essay spoke to me, moved me, and inspired me. Below is my free-write response.

I write because I can’t sing.

I write because I listen to the words as I put them on the paper.

I write because I feel the music of nature.

I write because I am the emotion.

I carry the emotion in my mind, my heart, in my eyes.

I write because it connects me to a life I cannot express, to a world which doesn’t listen, to a body that is growing old.

picture credit: unknown

Calling

Soaring high above fertile grounds I see your eyes upon me,
Watching, waiting patiently, like a wolf
In pin-stripped clothing.

Your call is sweet
tender and warm, I hear it
flying through trees

my body burns hot
like the fire inside
ignited by carnal desire.

Swiftly you glide in
wrapping me in your arms
I struggle for a moment
then I bend,
as your lips caress
and fingertips
lift
fulfilling ecstasy begins.

picture credit: unknown

The Search

pic credit: http://selenart.deviantart.com/art/Turn-my-tears-into-roses-66065478

Standing at the edge
Spiraling
Down
No one
Hears
Inside

Standing at the edge
Scanning
Around
Hope
Stands
Alone

Standing at the edge
Searching
Above
Raising Arms
No one
Hears
Inside
Hope
Stands alone
Falling
Rain

Birthing of New Beginnings

“Oh my God!”
Echoes from Jill and my mom. Tears streaming down their faces.

Jill whispers, “This is the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen.”

Watching in total awe, words escape me as I watch a beautiful, dark baby foal, wrapped in its white birthing sack, emerge from Phantom. The sack reminds me of the tight, plastic gloves I wore just an hour before as I did the evening dishes.

My mom is on her knees, pulling and guiding Phantom’s new gift into the world. Softly she whispers, “When one life is taken, another life is given.”

The next few minutes pass quietly as mother and baby rest on the straw and hay bed. Tenderly, Phantom begins to lick and clean her new arrival. Once clean, instinctively the new foal attempts to stand. I notice how she appears to be an unstable puppet with invisible strings. Her spindle legs wobble back and forth until she falls down onto her soft bed.

Phantom, noticing how her new foal is struggling; she shows her how to stand. Intently the new foal watches her mother. Many attempts later, success at last.

The new foal is a dark bay. Her black stocking legs proudly hold her dark brown body. She appears like a trophy on display.

The evening sun has settled itself behind the green mountains. The sky brightly lit with glowing stars and a crescent moon. Inside the barn walls, fluorescent lights are shining as our shadows appear, reminiscent of attached ghosts. Standing there, the three of us, each with an arm wrapped around the waist of the other. Crying.

I turn and hug my mom tight. Slowly walking over to Phantom, I settle on my knees. Her dark brownie eyes look up at me as I pick up her head, cradling it in my arms. My tears flowing freely. I stroke her long, thin nose, whispering in her ear, “She’s perfect Phantom. Just perfect.”

Standing on the foal’s bed, my mom and Jill caress the new arrival. Quietly, my mom recites to herself, “When one life is taken, another life is given.”

A year had passed since my dad’s death. The tragedy of his accident will always be a painful memory for me; yet at the same time, I am now more aware that life continues on. Death accompanies life, and rebirth follows.

In another year I hope that Phantom and I will once again enter the show ring. And Phantom’s new foal Destiny? She will begin her own story.

Pic credit: http://www.friesiansspectacular.com/images/marefoalM.jpghttp

The Accident -- Part 6

Please note: this story is fiction, with some true facts.



It was four years after I was born. My parents decided to move back to my mom’s old homestead. My dad was a lawyer and he knew how much my mom loved living on the farm. She thrived in the openness and the caring for life. After all, that was why she had become a veterinarian. My dad’s firm had a satellite office within a 45-minute drive; an easy commute he though. The read deciding factor however, was the knowledge of my mom being pregnant with my younger sister Jill.

Life in the country was quiet, serene, but far from easy. Even though we didn’t have cows, chickens or a cornfield, we had horses. My mom loved horses, and she taught both Jill and me how to ride at a very young age. We learned how to feel the rhythm, glide our body with theirs, and understand the movement of the horse’s silent musical time – to flow with the animal as one.

My favorite way to ride was bareback; here you could feel the movement of the horse’s muscles. It reminded me of riding in a smooth, high-powered convertible sports car. Both left you with memories of freedom and feeling of empowerment over the constraints of life.

Early on Mom taught Jill and me two very important lessons. First, always be aware that freedom does not travel alone; it enlists danger as a passenger. Second, sometimes the least unexpected sound can spook the horse into unpredicted movements and situations. Always expect the unexpected.

One cool spring evening a light rain was falling and the unexpected was looming around the bend. It was on this evening an engine sputtered, the muscles stopped, the phone rang. A tractor-trailer had crossed the line of the narrow, winding road that led to our farm. In an instant, my father’s life was taken.

The memory of that evening always brings tears to my eyes. Tonight was not any different, as I wiped the wetness from my cheeks.

It is the sound of Jill and my mom crying, though, that stops the running reel of film from that pain memory.

Pic credit: http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_182/1188917300w1WoX1.jpg

The First Show

My memory replays moments of Phantom and I performing in the show ring.

The month was January, Phantom had been my Christmas gift. She was four-years old then, and I had just a few months to gain her confidence. I was only twelve when I first saddled her sleek, black back with a matching English saddle. It only took a few times around the ring. I knew we were the perfect riding team.

In April we made our debut, and as I predicted, we made a striking twosome. Sitting straight back in my saddle, heels pressed down, toes pointed in towards Phantom’s belly, I guided her along the dirt riding ring. Dressed in formal black riding attire, my long blonde hair was pulled back, anchored with a black velvet bow. My tight riding gloves gripped the leather reins with confidence. My body moved up and down to Phantom’s stride in perfect musical rhythm, as we trotted into to my favorite-recorded piece of music, The Entertainer. Although we didn’t win first place that evening, a respectable third and the opportunity to ride again in the Championship the next evening, was a wonderful compromise. We placed second in the Championship.


Jill calls me back from old memories to the birthing of new ones.

“Jodie, isn’t this just unbelievable?”

Her smile and watered eyes bring goose-bumps to my arms.

Mom is stroking Phantom calmly, whispering, “Almost there Phantom. Almost there.”

Once again my mind wanders back, to an earlier time when my father was with us.

pic credit: http://www.mbastables.com/content%20pages/Saddelbredsforsale.html

Rebirth -- Post 3

My eyes are fixed on Phantom as she lay on her side in the green hay and golden straw mix; her nostrils, open wide, reminding me of dark caverns as she breathes heavily in and out. She is an American Saddlebred, 5-gaited horse, standing 17-hands tall, her coat the color of midnight. Even while laying still on her side on the verge of giving birth, her muscular, dark body is impressive.

My mom is kneeling beside her. She is calm, smiling while stroking the mare’s black, swollen belly. I watch her as she bends further down, whispering into her ear, “Almost there Phantom, almost.”

Witnessing the calming effect my mom’s soft voice has on Phantom my damp eyes watch the play of life moving from scent to scene. My heart is pounding fast and hard, while memories of Phantom and I in the show ring together, reel through my mind like a silent film.

“How much longer, mom?”

“It won’t be long now Jodie.” Phantom’s breathing becomes heavier.

“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” Jill asks.

“Yes, honey, of course. She’s a strong mare and she’s young.”

My mom’s reply is full of strong conviction from many years of delivery newborn animals. Slowly Jill and my worries begin to fade, like the sunset descending behind the mountains.

Rebirth continues

With the dishes clean, I peel off my yellow skinned gloves. Within moments I hear my younger sister Jill call out to me in her screeching adolescent voice, “Jodie, Jodie, hurry!”

Frantically running out of the house, I slip on the small brown and orange braided rug outside on our painted porch; landing with a thud on my leg. Laughing at myself for being such a klutz, I look up to see Jill waiting impatiently outside the barn. Yelling to her with excitement, “Jill, is it time?”

“Almost! Mom says it won’t be much longer. You know how I thought it was going to be gross? Well, I don’t think that now. It’s going to be just amazing. Hurry, Jodie!” Smiling, Jill scurries into the building.

Quickly picking myself up, I begin running over the dry road as the small dust storm brought on by my leather cowboy boots appears to be chasing me. Turning into the opening, I see our two old and faithful golden retrievers, Ying and Yang, outside Phantom’s stall door. Standing still and alert, watching, like sentries guarding precious cargo.

Walking swiftly down the short, dirt and saw-dust-covered hallway, I stop at the opening of Phantom’s room. I watch Jill standing inside the stall; her thin arms are folding tightly over her undeveloped chest, smiling, while tears stream down her young, freckled face.

Whispering thoughts out-loud, “I can’t believe we’re going to see the birth of our first foal. What a beautiful night. I wish dad were here to share this with us.” Jill looks up at me with her green eyes as a veil of sadness begins to shadow her face; silently, nodding her head in agreement.

Looking down at Phantom, I remember our days together in the show ring. The blue ribbons, the trophies, and the bond we share together as a team – horse and rider. Our bond is one of respect for each other, a respect that I will always treasure.

Now Phantom and I have another bond to share – the birth of her first foal. I can feel goose-bumps forming as the blonde hair on my arms stand to attention and tears slowly drop onto my cheeks. The tears drop one by one, like the cool spring drizzle outside.

Rebirth

Quietly standing in front of the double metal sink inside our 1920’s farmhouse, my right hand moves quickly over the white plate. Watching the clear water erasing the foamy suds, my mind is also moving in circles. Spring is a bittersweet time of year for me, filled with memories, and now, new beginnings.

Feeling the cool breeze, my senses pick up the smell of a refreshing rain shower, soon to be ushered in; replenishing the dry ground with life. I can't help but think of the new life that will soon arrive, as the soft air blows through our open kitchen window.

**

I will be away for about 10 days. I'll publish more of this short story beginning on Tuesday, August 25th. I hope you'll return and leave me with your thoughts.
smiles,

Memories of You

A bluebird came to my office window today
Calling for me
Turning around
He flew away

Wildflowers

They came in the mail one day, housed in an envelope with no return address, a small packet of seeds.

The next morning at the office she told her companions about the mysterious envelope which contained only a packet of wildflower seeds.

Jokingly Joe asks, “Are you going to plant them?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t have a green thumb. I seem to kill every plant I’ve tried to nurture, even the hardy ones.” She laughs softly, feeling embarrassed at her lack of skill.

Joe adds before walking off, “Me too, I just don’t have the time to play in the dirt.”

Mary and Stephanie touch her arm as they leave, “Give it a try, you may surprise yourself.”

Tim is the only person left, she smiles asking, “What do you think Tim?”

“Everything grows if you provide it with attention.”

She smiles at him, he has such a soft, warm way about him; she can’t help but think he’s right.

“We better get back to the grind, let me know if you’d like some help with those seeds.”

Every Friday afternoon they all gather together for dinner, it’s always a perfect way to end the work week. As the night sky darkens, their friends leave the restaurant one by one, until she and Tim are the only ones remaining.

“I was thinking about planting the seeds tomorrow, would you like to come by and plant them with me?”

With a warm smile Tim responds, “Yes, I would.”

Time passed, and together they watched the small planted seeds mature from sprouts into blooming flowers that adorned her once barren front yard. Over the next five years they spent their time, weeding, mulching, watering, and growing closer; like the flowers themselves. Their lives had spread into each other’s; yet, maintaining their own separate identity; even after they exchanged vows in front of their now well-tended garden. They had become reflections of the seeds they sowed years before.

Fifty years had passed, and on their special day a white envelope, yellowed with age, and lacking a return address was delivered. Inside was a small packet of wildflower seeds and a simple note that read:

My Love,
Anything that is well attended will grow.
Like the seeds we planted,
I always hoped we would plant them together.
Mary sent these to you, for me, since I am no longer beside you.

Your patience and understanding
Brought love into my world.
Together we made our corner brighter,
Together we planted, for
Love is a flower you have to let grow.

Loving you always,
J

Sweet Dreams

"Dream on, for dreams are sweet":

Where there is love,

There is a young woman sitting in her hand-me down rocker, rocking her newborn baby to sleep. Her delicate hand painting invisible circles on her treasure’s back, and with closed eyes, her soft voice sings,

Sleep now my precious soul

Sleep now.

Angel wings

Wrap you in warmth,

Heavens stars

Light your dreams,

Dream on, my precious soul

Dream on, for dreams are sweet.

pic credit: http://www.providence.org/resources/everett/MomNewborn.jpg

Untitled

Like children dancing on washed sand
I watch them
Frolicking
Swishing grey tails
Running back and forth
Scattering, then
Jumping into seas of green ivy, and
Scampering quickly to
Return to the aged timber of my deck.
Soaring onto limbs of the rooted old tree,
Ring around the ivy, until the
Mid-day sun
Resting high in the tranquil sky
Transforms restless playmates into
Sunbathers.
Bounding life shifts, all God’s children
Rest,
Like calm waters on quiet beach shores.

Freedom

Below is the accompaniment to the picture posted yesterday.
It's a video of Bobby Darin singing, "A Simple Song of Freedom", in the 1970's.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvY99BJzN-M

My hope is that someday everyone will realize we are not different but instead
One of the same.

Money is only a means by which certain groups create a division.
Power is only a means by which certain groups control a division.
Religion and politics are institutions used to create and control divisions.

Our foundation is the same,
Our outside layer is not a divider, but only a costume,
Decorated in various shapes, colors, and sizes; yet,it's only a covering.
Our vulnerabilities lay hidden inside, like expensive jewels,
Just waiting to be embraced.
It's our vulnerabilities which makes us human -- our interwoven thread.

Love, Family, Understanding; these are connections,
Everyone bleeds red blood
Everyone feels pain and sorrow
Everyone has been created by one creator, although known by different names.

Everyone has the right to be heard,

Everyone has the right to freedom.

Wordless Wednesday

Image credit:
http://www.wral.com/news/national_world/world/story/5388864/

Healing Touch

Tears
Falling water droplets
Gliding down

Caressing fingers
Wiping away their imprints

Tenderness
Erasing
Angst
Ripped
Seams

Healing begins.


image is not mine.

Just a Note

My articulate mind has gone on an extended holiday. It has left behind a tired, more aged brain whose ramblings aren't as well versed. However, my older brain does have a spot to plant a few words, these words are just seedlings. They are quick thoughts on a rampage.

I would like to invite you to check them out until my better versed mind has returned.

http://wordbin.blogspot.com/

Blogger name: jessie

Softly Spoken

Thank you Marty

Thank you Marty (dsdiscovery)for this award. The blogsphere is full of interesting people, and I'm grateful for your reading friendship. Your blog is always a must-stop-by and read.




"The Proximade Award is given for the following reasons...

These blogs invests and believes in the proximity - nearness in space, time and relationships, they are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends, they are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this clever-written text into the body of their award.”



I would like to pass this award on to:

Butterfly Dreamer (butterflydreamer-dreamlight.blogspot.com)
Wait.What? (up4more)
All Who Wander are not Lost! (mysticallyenhanced)
A Portrait of the Human Heart (collectionofpoetry)
Yesterday, Today and Forever (ytfe.blogspot.com)

My hope is that those who stop by and visit my cyberhome, will also visit everyone I have mentioned above. If you would like some writing tips, The Literary Lab, and The Innocent Flower are both must-stop-by and read homes.

You won't be disappointed.

Smiles on the house,
Suz

Untitled VIII

When red rose petals
Fallen and dried
Depart from their stalks
Leaving only thorns;

and

Daisy white petals
Singed of age
Become fallen bodies
Headless cadavers;

What becomes of their departed petals?

Should I cover the evidence?
Allow the wind to blow their ashes away?
Mourn over seasons passing?

When all I have left are thorns and
Dried stalks,
Will you love me?

Jamaican Blue

You said your eyes are blue as the ocean
And I cried.
You said your eyes are deep as they are blue
And I smiled.
You said your eyes are like Jamaican skies
And I remembered…

Mountain Morning

Coffee steam circles upward, hazelnut fills the air,
Our tent is quiet now.

Warming heavy cable sweaters,we
Serenely, breath in the birth of morning.

Misty fog, a dewy blanket,
Luscious green foliage, draping mountains steep.

Fulfilling silence everywhere.

Thank You Cat

Cat at Wait.What? presented me with this award. Thank you Cat! Your words, and the emotions they carry are real and touching.

“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

If you've won it already, please just accept this as a gift! Thanks to the following for blessing us with your openness in sharing your journey:

Shadow at: 1 door away from heaven

David Zen Kennedy: if the walls could

Gabriella Moonlight at: All Who Wander are not Lost!

LarryG at: Yesterday, Today and Forever

Lady Glamis at: The Innocent Flower

james oh at: Lift You UP Blog - Always there for You

You're Beautiful

because you're classically trained.
I'm ugly because I associate piano wire with strangulation.

You're beautiful because you stop to read the cards in newsagents' windows about lost cats and missing dogs.
I'm ugly because of what I did to that jellyfish with a lolly stick and a big stone.

The above poem is a snippet from Knopf's Poem-A-Day. The writer is Simon Armitage, a popular British poet today.
http://poem-a-day.knopfdoubleday.com/2009/04/15/youre-beautiful-by-simon-armitage/


I thought it would be interesting to try to recreate something similar. I challenge you to do the same.

You're beautiful,

because your eyes emit brightness when you see and feel passion;
I'm ugly because my cynicism controls my vision and passion.

You're beautiful because through your perfectionism, you tolerate my imperfections;
I'm ugly because my imperfections desire to be perfect.

You're beautiful because you'll remove the hair on your face if I ask you to;
I'm ugly becuase I curse you for expecting a home-made breakfast on weekend mornings.


Ugly like I am
Beautiful like he is
Ugly like an impossible Leprechaun
Beautiful like a Persian king.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
As we behold each other.

Nature's Pub

Flourishing fields
Nature's suburban homes
Lineage of long, green, pencil stems,
Anchored firmly
Inside moist brown ground.

The Daily Buzz
The publication of the fields, for those with
Inquiring Minds

Daily advertisement reads:
Beverages served upon yellow pincushion tablecloths.
Fly by, stop, drink in the soulful music of the Finch Quartet,
Relax among
White angelic wing chairs.

Today’s menu:
Fresh dew during early morning hours, and for you
Late fliers, sweet nectar available from mid-morning through five.

It’s just another pub in the field of
White daises, nomadic butterflies, birds and bees.

Untitled VII

Bustling streets, nervous energy, like
Ticking clocks of time
Speeding through
Intersections, until…

A patch of wildflowers

Standing erect attempting a coup
On the vacant lot

Love To The Underdog!

Grabbing your arm
Intertwining mine with yours
Pulling you close
Smiling,

Love to the underdog.

Snippets of Rambling Thoughts

thoughts and ideas:
to be?
to try to be?
or burn baby burn to the ground?

1.
Black and white
until
You wrap your arms around me
like eagles wings, securing me
I nestle in,
Finding a single red rose

and a soft warm kiss on my neck,

Color restored.


2.
Where is this place where
landscape and serenity
touch the sun?

I want to go there,
I want to be free.

Untitled VI

the people standing like soldier ants

hiding under decorated mushrooms
cement pavement inhibiting dressed feet sinking down inside
moist, soft and cool earth

covered with layers of fresh green hair
apparent seams of contrast, gray wet horizon

touching the ends of green life
hiding behind dusty puffs of roaming clouds,
the sun patiently waits its turn

as I wait for mine.

Thank you Shadow

My dear friend Shadow, at http://gsp-shadow.blogspot.com/, honored me with the 'premios dardo', which roughly translates to ‘top dart’.

this award acknowledges the values that every blogger shows in his or her effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values every day.

the rules are:
accept and post the award on your blog
link to the person from whom you received it
pass the award to 15 other blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement
let them know they’ve been chosen for this award


I'd first like to appalaude Cat, but since Shadow has already honored her with the award, I'm just going to add,
"You Rock!" :-)

Cat -- http://up4more.blogspot.com/



i'd like to pass this award on to...

Marty -- http://dsdiscovery.blogspot.com
Lady Glamis -- http://theinnocentflower.blogspot.com/
Gabriella Moonlight -- http://mysticallyenhanced.blogspot.com/
David Zen-Kennedy -- http://if-the-walls-could.blogspot.com/
LarryG -- http://ytfe.blogspot.com/

Thanks again dear Shadow, you rock as well!
:-)

Eighth Grade -- Final page 4

A new Chinese store had opened on [location withheld]. I loved everything about that store, the decorations, clothing, and especially the jewelry. I thought the bright colors of the clothing were exotic; however, I still yearned to stay in my slightly oversized blue jeans and tee-shirts. So that year for Christmas I asked my parents for a ring from the new shop.

I was really excited on Christmas when I opened the small box and discovered the beautiful ring. It was sterling silver and looked like two Koi fishes swimming in a circle, each head facing an opposite direction. The front was painted sky blue in enamel paint with small Chinese markings. I adored it and wore it constantly. Although I had other rings, this one was unique, and it was a gift from my mother. Yet the preeminent part was, no one else in school had a ring like this; it made me feel special.

Christmas was over and everyone headed back to school. I settled back in with the usual routine, and Bob seemed content to leave me alone, at least in the hallway. There were still the occasional remarks in class, but I just ignored him. I thought everything was over and he realized that I was just going to continue ignoring him. Until one day in the early spring.

I was standing at my locker getting my necessary books for the end of the day. I was standing on my tip-toes reaching towards the top shelf of my locker when I heard Bob’s voice, “Want some help with that?”

“No, I’ve got it.” I replied sheepishly.

“Oh come on, let me help. I’m really not a bad guy. Besides if that book falls on your head I may have to carry you somewhere. I would like that.”

I remembered the conversation earlier in the year with Jennifer in her bedroom, and I knew I didn’t want him carrying me anywhere. Although he could easily, I wasn’t even 90 lbs. “Okay, sure. I need that top book.”

Without hesitation he pulled it down. Smiling he held it close to his chest. “Okay, you want it, you have to take it from me.”

“What?”

“Oh come on blue eyes. I won’t struggle too much.” And he puts his best bad-boy smile on and snickers.

“Bob, please give me my book. I need to get to class.” My voice is soft, and flows with aggravation and whine.

Then it begins to turn ugly, at least for me.

“Wow. Where did you get that ring? Did your boyfriend give it to you? I like it.”

“It was a Christmas gift from my Mom. Now give me my book please.” This time there was desperation in my voice.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you your book if you give me your ring.”

“No Bob. Now give me my book. Now.” I wanted to sound tough, I wanted to sound like I was going to rip his heart out of his chest while I took my book. But I hadn’t quite made it there yet – I was close though.

Then he started taunting me. He held the book to his chest and started moving it side-to-side. “You want the book? Come and get it. Here it is. Just grab it.” He’s laughing, I hear the bell, I look at him, and now I’m mad.

I reach out and grab the book, pulling it towards me with my left hand. He lets the book go, I begin to fall backwards. He catches my right hand, and in the blink of an eye, removes my ring from my finger and leaves.

I stand there in the hallway with the history book in my hand. I hate [name of state withheld] History and that is all that I’m left with. My hand feels naked.








The End

Eighth Grade -- Continues page 3

“Hey Jennifer, what was Bob doing up here? I’ve never seen him up around your house before.”

“Oh, well he lives up here somewhere,” she said. “Why?”

“Well, he’s in my English class, sits right behind me. He likes to make me feel uncomfortable. I think he gets a rush out of watching my face turn red.” And then I try to laugh, unsuccessfully.

“You know he runs with the same crowd as my sister? He’s been in a lot of trouble. Cutting class and stuff.”

“Well, I know he isn’t always in English class.” Once again laughing unsuccessfully.

“He likes to hang out with the Taylor twins, you know they’re pretty wild – right?”

“Well, I’ve heard stories about their parties. I think one of them was actually smoking pot and drinking at one of their parties while their parents weren’t home, then she and some guy started making-out pretty heavy on the couch in front of everyone. That is until the cops showed up. By the time the cops came, I don’t think she had her bra on.” I paused and took a deep breath sighing, “Well, that’s the rumor I heard anyway.”

“Well according to my sister, that’s not a rumor. It actually happened.”

“Oh.” I turned my head to the side facing the door, as if I’ve just done something wrong. I don’t know why, maybe it was because I felt guilty about being curious. How would it feel to be at one of those parties and to live life on the edge? To get caught living on the edge?

Jennifer continues; I hear the bed moving and pull my upper body and head up to see what she’s doing. She was now lying on her stomach with her feet crossed and in the air. Her chin resting on her arms and her long brown ponytail has fallen to one side.

I instantly realized that some juicy and private news was going to follow. I quickly turned my body around so that I’m sitting up and leaning in. Jennifer has my complete attention.

“Do you know which twin it was and who she was with?” Jennifer is smiling as she whispers the question.

“I heard it was Tina, but I don’t know who she was with.” As I hold my breath during my response, I noticed that my voice was flowing like an ushered in whisper.

Smiling and coaxing me to move in closer, she leaned down and whispered into my ear, “It was Bob!” And began giggling softly.

“Really?!” My face began to turn red. And my thoughts raced, I thought he was interested in me! Why would he stare at me like he does if he wasn’t? Why does he pick on me all the time? I felt humiliated and heart-broken at the same time. My eyes had begun to water.

“Susie, what’s wrong? Did I say something?”

“No, it’s not you. I thought Bob liked me. I mean, he’s always hanging around in the hallway by my locker looking at me. And when he comes to English class he winks at me when he walks by, sometimes he’ll whisper in my ear.”

“What does he say?”

“I don’t know, just silly stuff.”

“What kind of silly stuff?”

“I like the way your jeans fit you today. You look really hot today. You know; silly stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Jennifer looked at me, her brown eyes are no longer laughing. “Susie, I told you he’s bad news. He’s trouble.”

“I know. I knew that the first time he spoke to me as he followed me into English class. Let’s change the subject. There sure are some hot guys in chorus.”

Jennifer resumes her laughter, “Yeah. But there are some really ugly ones too! Can you believe how disgusting Sam looks?”

And with that comment, I had begun laughing too. Sam was pretty ugly. He had not yet had his growing spurt, his face was broken out, and to make matters worse, he had no rhythm and his voice cracked. But he did have something I didn’t have, self-confidence, and despite his awkward appearance, he was truly a nice guy.

We laughed and talked about the normal things girls talk about, boys, and the matter of Bob was forgotten.

I didn’t see much of Bob for a couple of months. I had still not grown into any form of confidence, but at least I didn’t turn into a tomato every time someone talked to me. No, those occasions were saved for being called on in class and the times a boy who I thought was cute took the time to talk to me.

Eighth Grade -- continues page 2

“Okay class, it appears that everyone is here so let’s get started. You will notice that the textbooks are sitting here on my desk in stacks. Please take a textbook and return to your seat. The seat you are sitting in today will be the seat you will keep for the year. Unless of course problems arise and I feel the need to separate people. I’m assuming however, that since you are now in eighth grade, you are becoming responsible for your actions and know how to behave properly in class. Now we’ll begin with the row closest to the window and work our way across the room. When everyone in the row has their book and is seated, the next row can come up. Okay, row one.”

And so the procession had begun. There were murmurs, laughing, but it wasn’t chaos, everyone did exactly what they were told. I was in row three, so when it was my rows turn, everyone stood up, walked to the teachers desk and picked up a textbook.

“Susie, I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” This was a nice gesture on the part of the teacher, however for me, it was reliving the past.

I smiled and looked down, picking up my textbook saying, “That’s okay, I’m use to it.” and then tried to laugh; even though, I could feel my face once more becoming warm. I tried to quickly turn around and find the comfort of my chair, however Bob was directly behind me, and I ran right into his chest. That was the closest I had been to a boy.

Bob of course smirked and I could feel his eyes watching me as I went quickly and quietly back to my desk.

Upon arriving at my desk I began examining the outside of the book. It was old, the corners were slightly turned up and the covering was missing around the corners. There were some kind of dirty splotches splattered on the front, back, and spine of the book. Almost as if it had been kicked around like an unwanted present. I was disgusted. Then I opened the neglected book and this musty, dirty smell climbed its way into the air. The pages were dirty, there were marks, it was just as disgusting as the outside. I had just started reading the Table of Contents when Bob leaned forward once more.

“Some book huh? Mine will probably never leave the locker. You wouldn’t mind if I just looked over your shoulder and used yours would you? You’re probably pretty smart, maybe you could tutor me?”

Before I had a chance to answer a voice had rung out from the front of the room. To me it sounded like an angel rescuing me from the devil himself. “Okay class, you are to put book covers on these books, there is to be no writing in them, and you must always have them with you.” Saved, I thought.

Once again I heard the sound of shifting weight behind me, this time however, it was accompanied with a different sound; the sound of a desk chair moving on the floor. Then Bob’s deep voice whispered in my ear, “I’m still going to share your book with you during class.”

My neck and face went from sun-kissed to sun-burned in the matter of milliseconds.

“Here let me cool you off,” and I felt warm air blowing on the back of my neck. I was petrified. Yet underneath the massive layer of petrified stone I had turned in to, I was also intrigued and struck by feelings I thought were only allotted to the “beautiful” and “popular” kids – not me. Thankfully the bell rang and it first appeared that everyone quickly rose from their desks and herded their way towards the door.

Once the room was three-fourths empty I got up from my desk and followed the stragglers out the door, with Bob very close behind me. Once again he bends down and whispers in my ear, “I’m going to follow you to class. I’m going to be watching you.” I turn around and look at him. He’s smiling, not sweetly, but like a wolf.

“I’m not very smart, and I don’t think I can tutor you. There’s no reason for you to follow me to class.” I was hoping that would be enough to make him go away. But instead he just said, “No. I’m going to follow you.” And he did.

As the school year progressed I would see him leaning against various lockers, with one of his feet propped up on the cold, gray, metal closet. He was just watching me. He did manage to bring his English book to class, that is, when he was there. I also discovered that he lived in the same general area as one of my close friends. Thank goodness he never made the connection between me, Jennifer, and her older sister.

Jennifer was a year younger than I was. We met in chorus and I would sometimes go over to her house over the weekend, and sometimes she came to mine. It wasn’t very often though because our houses were not within walking distance. Jennifer had an older sister who was in ninth grade, and she was a little wilder than we were.

In the 1970’s, at least at [name withheld], there was a definite division between the party crowd and the no-thanks crowd. Of course there were other groups as well, but these were the two main divisions at that time. Jennifer’s sister ran with the party crowd – pot smokers and drinkers.

One evening while I was visiting Jennifer Bob’s name came up. We were sitting in her pink well-decorated bedroom. She was sitting on her twin bed with her back against the wall, and I was lying on her flowered throw rug that was placed over her brown hardwood floors.

The Making of a Memoir--Eighth Grade in the 1970's

I don’t know why fitting in has always been so hard for me. You would think that after moving around from one region to another, consistently being thrust into new areas, forced to find new friends or acquaintances, in unfamiliar surroundings that I could just merge into foreign oncoming traffic without hesitation. I was a seasoned driver in life by the time my family made our last move to [named place withheld]. Junior High school should have been an easy merge; however, it was like every move before – only more painful.

During the summer between seventh and eighth grade I “blossomed.” Not in a beautiful way as described in the tween movies. I did not walk onto the campus of my Junior High school with the wind blowing through my hair, eyes alive and dancing with a sultry come hither look, hips flowing in rhythm from side to side like a supermodel glide; no, I walked onto the campus just like I did every year of my young fourteen years, in shorts of a conservative length, tennis shoes, an oversized tee-shirt and a pony tail. The difference, I had small protruding egg shaped bubbles, on my chest.

On the first day of class I went to my pre-assigned locker and attached my paddle lock onto the metal slider, and proceeded to home room. The busy halls were filled with laughter, voices, friendly pushing, and the occasional girl watchers loitering around the classroom doorways. Some girls entered quietly, while others entered with the accessory of a comment or two, “Hey Julie, you are looking hot this year.”, or “Hey, I’m sitting next to you!” and the voice quickly followed behind the slender, look-at-me outfit as she moved with presence into the room. Then, it was my turn.

I put my head down, as it was my usual custom, and tried to enter the room in silence. I had found this technique to be almost full proof, it had never let me down before and I didn’t see why it should this year. I mean come on; I had egg-shaped bubbles; while the other girls had oranges. But I soon found out that you didn’t need oranges, egg-shaped bubbles were enough.

“Hey, how are you? I’m Bob.”

I stopped and looked up at this strange, deep voice. He stood about 5’9”, brown hair and brown eyes, with a dangerous smile. Dangerous, because I could read his face, this guy was trouble. He was cute. He did have a nice voice. But he was trouble.

As I looked at him I could feel my face becoming very hot. I hated this feeling. I knew what was going to come next, there would be laughter, the point would be well made that I was embarrassed and comments like, “Oh my God! Look at how red her face is!” would be announced to the room. Even those who weren’t paying attention at the time would be now. I haven’t even fully entered the room yet, and it’s already starting.

I didn’t have a panic attack. I felt the heat on my face grow with an intensity even I wasn’t use to. But instead of the words that I normally heard, he just smiled and laughed, then followed me into the room. I still thought he was trouble, yet I let my guard down just a little, maybe he’s not so bad after all, was the thought at the time.

Bob situated himself directly behind me. On the first day of class I always liked the middle of the room, about the third row back. The teachers always reassigned the seats anyway, usually in alphabetic order, and since my last name began with the letter “R,” I was usually pretty close to the middle of the room anyway.

My teacher was already standing there at her desk. She was the typical looking teacher, about forty-five years of age, and wore a simple dress. There was nothing exciting about anything she was saying, “Good morning class, and welcome to eighth-grade English. We will be working on our writing techniques. First though let’s go through attendance.”

There were approximately thirty kids in the class, which usually meant I had to hear about ten to fifteen names before mine. I hated roll call. It meant that I was being singled out, put on the spot, even for a brief second felt like an eternity in hell. Out of my seven years of school, I had yet to encounter a teacher who could successfully pronounce my four letter last name. I didn’t know which was worst, waiting to hear them butcher it, or the actual slaughter itself. With the passing of each letter, my face would become warmer, and then, there it was. “Susie Right? Reet? I’m sorry, how do you say your last name?”

My face is beet red, my voice is soft. Everyone looks at me. Even those in the front turn around to see who the teacher is talking to. Bob leans forward and whispers, “So it’s Susie huh?” and I can hear him smiling. I can still feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and now I feel my neck changing from a lightly sun-toasted tan, to the matching shade of beet red.

After two tries, and the help of my diaphragm I’m able to reach an audible level, “It’s Susie Rite. Rite, like right or wrong.

“Oh, okay. Sorry.” And she moves on to the next person. I quickly glanced around the room, there is snickering, a few whispers, but at least the eyes of others have positioned themselves someplace else.

“I think it’s Susie Right-On.” teased Bob, once again with a grin I could hear, and hot breath I could feel. I held my breath and prayed my face would resume its natural color, as I heard Bob slide his back into the chair.

I will continously post each section throughout the week. So it's going to move pretty quick. Please provide me with your suggestions on what is working, what isn't -- the flow of the words -- the speed, etc.
In advance... thank you :-)

Untitled V

Placid glass lake
Flying edged stone
Breaking water
Ripples ringing out

Coasting love
Flying jagged words
Breaking point,
Collision love-threatening injuries.

Untitled IV

Misty morning finds
green ivy leaves like leaky faucets
dripping
small clear drops as time
slumbers
and memories become faceless shadows.


Hope, love resurrects, when
green ivy leaves
intertwine
during slumber, memories, and time
green ivy leaves
growth of our lives.

Untitled III

i miss the sounds of ocean waves

memories,

your back leaning against the railing of the boat

blue green waters parting

as the ship moves towards the open arms of the shore

i am mesmorized

your open smile

dark hair blowing back

open body

open seas

moving closer

embracing our life, our love

Untitled II

the ground was wet when you found me
it was the growing season
like a seed you planted me deep inside your earth
you provided me nourishment
for my mind
my heart
kindess to my soul
then you planted yourself next to me
as we intertwined
bore fruit
our roots and trunks parallel
together we provide shade
together we provide shelter
together we are one.

I Untitled

the book has been opened

written, revealing words

read as glistening sunlight carries

syllable by syllable

hidden meanings in invisible ink

etched between lines

truth what is truth

verbal

written

assumed

shadows are approaching

answers still unclear

used parchment page turns

as an invisible scribe writes

i love you

i always have

i always will

untitled

My mind holds drawers of dusty memories, times I
saw
you as no one else did, times I
heard
your voice, wishing velvet tones were
singing
closer to my ear, times I
played
into your eyes hoping I could
draw
your face closer to mine,
rolling
inside your brown eyes, like
silk chocolate sheets.