I brushed my teeth
I fed my fish
I put tons of yummy food
In my cute dog’s dish
My bags are packed
They’re by the door
But my home keeps whispering
“Just one more!”
One more toss of a slobbery ball
One more check of the mulberry tree
One more dip in my soothing hot tub
One more sip from my favorite mug
All these things and people and places
Will soon be replaced with different faces
But I’ll go happily into the unknown
Knowing that they’re all still waiting for me at home.
Tchau!!
I am in the middle of my personal transition time. It comes every year, although some years are more impactful than others. But every year, between the days of January 6th and January 9th, something, somewhere, happens that affects or will affect me. For instance:
I know there’s more, and it started with that train trip. The pattern didn’t emerge until later, although for the first 5-6 years I would always remember on those days, that fateful train trip. Something happened to me on that trip – I knew that within a few months – and it changed me. I felt a shift in my psyche during that trip, I felt more grounded, more in touch, more thoughtful, more …aware. And apparently the ripples of that experience are still…well, rippling. Ever since I stopped consciously commemorating those few days, those days things happen to me. Not every year, not that I can tell, but they’re usually good.
So the short version is….I’m feeling better. Maybe it’s because I started working out a few days a week. Maybe it’s because I’ve had good friends call me and say hey I want to hang out with you, just because, and we stole a wicked cool ash tray from a place called Chopsticks III .
Or maybe…it’s the power of those four days.
I think it’s both.
Read Part One First If You Haven’t Yet Or This Probably Won’t Make Much Sense
Transition – Part Two
As she stepped into the dim living room, another memory passed before her eyes. She and her mother sat in front of the TV, watching a movie. It was about a family that had a rough life. One of the kids left home, and after years of struggling, she became successful. She returned home victorious, and brought her family from the brink of ruin. She felt safe then, sitting on her mother’s lap and letting her gently brush her hair as they watched the show. She remembered the feel of it, as if she could feel all the love of a mother for her child coming through those bristles. “You see? That’ll be you, my little Kip. You’ll make it out of here someday, and we’ll be so happy, just you and me.” She smiled up at her mom then, knowing that if her mom thought she could do it, then that’s what would happen. Later her mother had drunk herself to sleep. She was five then.
She felt something wet against her cheek and touched it in wonder. One tear coursed down her face. She nodded to herself. That is as it should be, she thought. Just one. She pulled the ear of corn that she had brought back with her from inside her leather jacket. With a purposeful stride, she walked towards the kitchen, stepped over the wet broken glass, and looked down at her mother. She was pale, and the glazed eyes stared up at the nicotine-stained ceiling. She had been pretty once. She placed the corn on her mother’s breast. It was complete now, like a full circle come round. Now for the last of it, she thought once more. Quickly she packed some clothes and necessities, her mother’s small savings, and anything of value she could easily carry. With a last quick glance at her mother’s body, she left the only home she’d ever known. She drove away, stopping only at a pay phone near the entrance of the mobile park. Nine. One. One. “Hello? Yes, my mother has had a heart attack. Please hurry! I think she’s already dead….I’ve…no, I’ve…I was gone. She was like that when I came home. Hurry, ok?” She gave the address, then slowly hung up. As she drove away, she could see the red lights grow brighter behind her as she headed for the highway.
I wrote a short story for a writing class I took at a local college a couple years ago. It was during one of those times where my life was kind of in a holding pattern; I was in an ok place but it was a tenuous situation, and I was waiting for the next big piano to drop. Anyway, I once again toyed with the idea of finally getting my bachelor’s degree, and I took the required math and writing course as a start. That’s also where it ended, but that’s not the point…the point is the story. I have this weird illness that forces me to do things the hard way when they really matter to me. So, instead of testing out of these classes, I decided that I needed the refresher on basic writing and algebra. I was later asked by both instructors why I was in the class, why I hadn’t tested out, and I informed them of my illness-to which they shrugged and said “ok, whatever…here’s your A.”
So the story. I don’t even remember the assignment…something about invoking emotion I think, but I could be totally wrong. But I thought, as did the several people who read it, that it was good.
So I’m gonna post it here, in two parts. Stay tuned…
