How You've Grown

Maria slammed the door, her legs finally collapsing and letting her fall into a heap of golden blond hair and heavy wool sweaters on the floor.  Her eyes gave way to the tears she had been desperately holding back.
What now?
What now, what now, what now?
Maria tried to sort her emotions but she couldn't.  Instead she sat down at her desk and let her pen and paper take her away.
Her script quickly covered the pages of her worn spiral notebook and she felt her body cool down and rise from it's hunched position.  Out of words, she signed the papers and ripped them gingerly out of her notebook.  Then, she stood and left.
Her feet brought her to a familiar place: a wooden bridge in the forest.  Her hands searched the sides of the bridge until they found a small hole filled with paper. 
Maria placed the fresh pages of her notebook in the hole, where they would reside with the many other pages she had covered and hid there. 
Then she was gone.

Later that day, as the sun began to set, a tall man arrived at the bridge. 
Deep in thought, he leaned against the sturdy rail and dropped his head in his hands. 
He had come all this way to find the woman who wouldn't let his mind rest.  Her beautiful smile, the gentle kisses she gave his cheek, and the troubled eyes she stared at him with as they were separated. 
But he couldn't bear to see her.  Couldn't risk being rejected by his only daughter. 
His fingers traced the grooves in the wood while he watched the stream trickle beneath the bridge.  Suddenly, he felt his hand dip into the side of the bridge.  He discovered a hole filled with paper.  He removed a handful of the papers and unfolded them, revealing multiple journal entries all signed by one person: Maria Sandry. 
His eyes widened at the sight of his daughter's name and his hands began to shake as he read through the pages. 
    

If only I knew where he was now.  I would give anything to  hear his voice, see him smile.  If only he was here right now.  Then he could sing our song to me and wrap me in a blanket at night.  He could laugh at my jokes and I at his.  And he could search for smiles when I'm sad like he did when I was nine.  I could use a smile now.  

But he's gone now.  He won't do those things.  I won't see him again and after all these years finally know if he's okay.  

I miss him.

-Maria Sandry

The papers fell from his hands.
She still loved him.  She needed him.  She wouldn't reject him.  He needed her. 
He raced towards the home he had avoided since he had come to the town his daughter lived in. 
This time he didn't hesitate to knock on the door. 
After moments that felt as long as the many years he had been separated from her, his daughter opened the door. 
He could see the pain and sadness in her eyes and the worry painted on her face, but she was breathtaking nonetheless. 
They stared at each other through the doorway, the words he had planned to say disappeared.  He tried to put a sentence together but nothing seemed right. 
Instead, he sang. 

    My how you've grown I remember the phrase.
    From my childhood days too, „just wait and see“
    I remember those words and how they chided me
    When patient was the hardest thing to be
    Because we can't make up for the time that we've lost
    I must let these memories provide
    No little girl can stop her world to wait for me

Maria began to cry. 
Her father took her into his arms and swept the hair from her face.
„Maria“, he said.
She pushed herself closer to him.
„Dad“

Note: lyrics from the song "How You've Grown" by 10,000 Maniacs

A Lonely Number

I thought a picture was worth a thousand words. They're meant to remind you of memories and don't let you forget that you are surrounded by people who love and support you.

I walked into the sitting room of my dreadfully boring apartment on Sun Street, a pitiful name for a road. I dragged myself toward the lumpy couch standing in the middle of the room. Fresh grooves in the wood flooring mocked me as I traced with my eyes their path to the feet of the couch.

A picture was tilted against a dirty coffee cup. Taking its cold frame into my hands, I stared at the people in the picture. A big family lined up in an immaculate garden. They were glowing with happiness and the sun illuminated their skin. A familiar girl stood far to the left. She looked the same as the others at first glance, but a closer look revealed a shadow in her eyes.

It was me.

Me and my family in Aunt Beth's yard at a family get together.

Mom always told me that a picture was worth a thousand words. She gave me the picture so that I would always remember that I am surrounded by people who love and support me.

I glared at the picture again and finally dropped it on the table with a loud bang, sending the coffee cup onto the rug.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one must be broken.

Indeed, looking at the picture didn't bring back the laughter and stories shared with the family.

It didn't remind me of my supporters and loved ones. The picture just stared back at me in silence. It reminded me that I was completely and utterly alone.

Well, there was still someone or, more accurately, something: my cat, Harper, a terrible nuisance who passed the time staring unsatisfied at me.

As if in cue, she sauntered into the room and took a seat across from me on the wing chair. She paused to look at me, her eyes questioning my presence, before resuming to cleaning her delicate paws.

A sudden suffocating feeling filled my chest and I raised myself from the couch to go on a walk.

I was taken aback by the icy wind outside, frost creeping through my thin jacket.

I strolled down the road and made my way to the bakery on the corner.

Caitlin, a bubbly intern, greeted me at the counter. She cheerfully wrapped up a croissant and handed me a steaming coffee.

I proceeded to a bench in the nearby park and settled into the fall scenery. I watched the people go by. Businessmen barking into their phones, parents struggling to tame their children, friends catching the latest gossip.

My thoughts drifted back to my life at home.

I had always longed to move away, far far away. I had counted the days I had left until I could leave everything behind and start over. I had promised myself that it would be different this time around; I would have fun and finally have friends. I would laugh a lot and finally be happy.

But here I was, sitting alone in the park until I made my way back to my empty apartment.

You see, after leaving home, I realized nothing was going to change.

I was the same girl just in another town.

After many failed attempts at turning over a new leaf, I accepted my fate. I realized that I wanted to be alone. I wasn't fooling myself anymore. The life I wanted for myself was someone Else's life for some other girl.

I quietly ate my croissant and washed down the last crumbs with a final gulp of coffee. I stood up, shaking life back into my frozen feet, and walked back to Sun Street.

The heavy door of my apartment slid open with a long squeal and the dim lights flickered on. Harper shortly acknowledged my arrival with a stare and sauntered to her empty food bowl, scratching at the rim with anticipation.

I fed her and warmed a large helping of oatmeal for myself before stretching myself across the couch under a blanket, ready to dive into a good book.

Yes, I was alone.

My loved ones and supporters had drifted away long ago.

In fact, I sometimes wondered whether they were ever there.

But I chose to be alone.

I chose to be completely and utterly and beautifully alone.

Trance

Total, utter darkness.

Blinded by the black.

Just a voice repeating itself over and over and over again.

Run

I frantically searched for a light, thrashing my arms in hopes of finding something; anything.

Run and don’t look back.

The voice continued its chant.  It was distant, but each word drilled relentlessly into my ears.

Next time it will be better.  Just like you’ve always wanted it to be.

I promise.

I know.

My lips began to quiver.  I felt my cheeks; they were wet.  Just a rough blanket was draped over my limbs.

The voice began to distance itself, faintly reciting the same verses until just a gentle hum filled the air, each syllable a soft beat pulsing through the room.

I tucked my legs together and hugged myself, letting the darkness sooth my shaking body. 

For a while, I just thought.

Thought about unanswered questions, thought about worries.  Thought about what the voice had been saying. 

The subtle sounds began to gain power again until finally, I heard the voice again.  This time, I heard questions.

Why are you running?

The voice was gentle, friendly now.  A hazy glow spread throughout the room like a grin wrapping itself around me.

Don’t run.  Stop and take a deep breath.  Rest your tired legs and wake up refreshed and anew. 

The words appeared one by one in front of my eyes.  It felt as if they were being sewn into my mind and stitched onto my arm as an everlasting reminder.

The voice began to fall away, the sparse questions drifted through my ears and parted into the surrounding black.

*snap*

Blinding light began to flood the room, hurling itself at me. 

I helplessly masked my eyes; it felt like I had hit my head.

Suddenly, everything froze.

I lifted my quivering hands from my face, blinking confused at the change of scenery.

Now, I was lying on a blue leather board, the walls a cool shade of green.  In an attempt to sit up, my eyes met those of a middle-aged woman, wearing a crisp white coat. 

She smiled down at me and gently pushed me back, feeling my head and observing my hands.

Finally, she examined my eyes and smiled again, seemingly satisfied.

“Welcome back, Miss Morrison.  How do you feel?”

Secret Admirer

  I will comfort you when you fall,

rest your head on my broad shoulders,

I will listen when you're all

alone,

your silent follower.

I will rock you to sleep,

slowly shake your worries,

soak the shed tears,

in my warmth your face you'll bury.

I will carry your scars,

with each scratch, blemish a story.

I will be the lap you sit on,

the legs when yours are weary.

My wish is never to part,

I ask only for love and care,

an occasional stroke, a hug,

for I, am just a rocking chair.

Between a Block and a Hardback

She sat down at the table. Picked up the pen. Nothing.

She tried everything, but she couldn't find the right words to say.

No, this isn't the beginning of a short story where a girl tries to contact her long lost mother. It's what every writer sooner or later suffers from.

Writer's Block.

I was dead set on writing a poem today, but unfortunately, a drowsy Saturday doesn't result in an inspiring story line. Still set on getting my daily post in, I depended on my favorite cure for writer's block. It's what I like to call “The Three Word Wonder.”

Here's how it works:

• pick a word, the first word that comes to mind
• next, pick a second and third word that you connect with the first
  (in this case, I chose words that rhymed. You might prefer synonyms, antonyms, word groups, etc. Whatever works best for you.)

Sounds easy right?

• now, start writing. Be sure to incorporate your three words into your short story or poem.

I chose the words DREAM * GLEAM * and STREAM

Here's what I came up with:

She's a dreamer,

like no other,

a believer,

with the power,

to wrap a narrow-minded male,

in the magic her mind streams.

She's a beauty,

hard to find,

the woman

all men seek for,

no ordinary lady,

reveals the mystery her eye gleams.

But there's a secret to this skirt,

a riddle just I know,

I carry in my pocket,

an almighty note.

The key to the lock of an impossible heart,

the conclusion of a merciless hunt,

a clue placed to rest in my pocket,

that I, near my heart, forever tote.

 

Works like a charm!

HOLLOW HEARTS

 

“ Well, I don't know. I just feel like something's missing.”

“ Maybe you should see him. You know what, Jackie? Maybe you shouldn't. Honestly, I don't know what you want from me or from yourself for that matter.”

“ Everyday, every moment of every day, I rattle off the same questions and wish I had the answer that would solve it all. All I'm asking is that you help me out a little. Is that too much to ask?”

John threw his hands over his head and silently stormed out of the dining room. Moments later, the screen door slammed.

Jackie pounded her head into a faded pillow.

“ I'm going to see him.” her muffled voice reported through layers of cotton.

With shaky hands, she opened the carefully composed letters. Soon, she found what she was looking for. At the bottom of a recent note was an address. The curvy script was difficult to decipher, but Jackie had studied the letters long enough to decode it.

Without further adieu, Jackie slid onto the warm leather seat of her Jeep and began driving.

“In 800 yards, turn left.” the GPS notified.

Jackie stole a quick glance at the houses lining the streets; each sunk sadly into the abandoned lawns. She followed the GPS signals, turning left twice and finally, right, onto a crumbling side street. An equally broken down house stood alone at the end of the street, daring Jackie to come closer. The paint had faded and flaked long ago. It seemed as though the weathered siding had been peeled off by hand, revealing the deteriorating framework. A closer look at a forgotten pile of wood nearby revealed the mere shell of what at one time, might have been a tool shed.

If her hands had been shaking before, she hadn't noticed. But now, her limbs were chattering, her heart punching the steering wheel she had attached her palms to.

She dismounted from her seat and parted from the safety of the car. Approaching what was left of the front door, Jackie frantically combed her fingers through her hair, searching for the right words that would soon be needed.

The steps shook under her weight. She stretched her arm forward. And knocked.

Silence.

Knocked again.

Nothing.

She turned on her heel, ready to retreat, as a gruff man presented himself in the doorway. He squinted into the sun as if he hadn't separated himself from the dim light indoors for weeks. His face was as worn as the house.

For a long while nothing was said.

At last, the silence was broken by a hesitant whisper.

“I'm Jacqueline.”

Best Strangers

“Smile, Honey” mom cheered, demonstrating a toothy grin. I halfheartedly parted my lips, revealing a row of pearly whites.

* click *

Ignorant as always, she snapped photo after staged photo in an attempt to prove that we were the happy family she wished we were.

* click * * click *

“That should be good.” she stated, dismissing us with a wave of her manicured fingers. We sighed, relieved, and headed for the nearest exit.

“Can't we just send out the Christmas pictures from last year?” Chris suggested, “You know, the ones where Julie is beating up Jake.” He looked at me, smiling, this time genuinely.

I swung my arm high, squishing my face together but finally forces my balled up hand to my side.

I don't need this. I dashed for the stairs. Soon enough, I'll be gone. I reassured myself.

California. That was the dream.

Sun, Sand, a place of my own.

Now, sitting in my bland dorm room, crunching equations and pounding the keyboard in hopes of catching the countless deadlines, I wished I would've stopped to enjoy “the good ol' days”. Stopped to smile with the family. Stopped to really meet them. Really get to know them.

I glanced at the housewarming gift mom sent me. A carefully framed family picture, pushed passed textbooks and lone sheets of paper, waiting to be discarded.

Who are those people? I interrogated myself. The woman with glowing eyes, the man towering beside her, his face divided by deep grooves. The two boys, tugging on each others shirts, their impatient stares masked by floppy chestnut hair.

The were strangers.

Strangers who called to ask how I was doing. Strangers who called to see when I would be visiting.

I placed the picture face-down, avoiding their stares. And discovered a message. Carved in the frame was a message from mom.

A quote.

“These strangers stand on the side and cheer you.” - Linda Miller

I look forward to meeting you some day.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I understand