I’m trying to remember to see. Although see is a relative word here.
The community’s meager cache of wood is hoarded so zealously, our other four senses have sharpened like knives.
A strong staccato ripple of steps fading past you into the gloom announces a game in progress. Tag or keep away. There are no boisterous voices accompanying the children though, it would be rude. The cavern’s echoes have made speech a near sacrament; one speaks loudly only when declaiming: a story, a law, a proclamation. One also assumes a certain positioning of the body for each – a certain opening declaration. We all know these as well as we know the smell of our own child’s sweat.
Ah, but we do speak privately, a tug of a sleeve, caress of knee, a mouth pressed to the side of a face – gentle whispers intended to hover and drop into one ear or two. There’s an art to it which even the youngest of us has learned. Cup your hand around your mouth in various positions and it’s possible to aim your words into the darkness like an arrow.
I am an official Storyteller, chosen of course, for the largeness of my voice, but also I think for the palette of colors in my words and tone. I can paint every shade in the caverns around us, a million variations of pink and beige, and the subtler greens of the river, the blacks of the lake.
My spoken pictures are reminders of the richness around us, which are only seen by our true eyes during processionals. These are the few times we allow ourselves to squander some of our precious wood in flames. They are glorious moments, to see, and my words merely the reminders that keep the colors alive when the fires are put out.
I am trying to pass along these worded visions to my son George. And I believe that I am succeeding.
But late in the darkness when I am tossing on my pallet next to my wife, I worry. I am forgetting the words for blue.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Slipped Through My Fingers - Elizabeth Weld Nolan
The last yellow Italian plate, edged with green –
The blue ceramic bowl just right for cereal –
The moment the dark boy leaned his head towards me –
The shape of the perfect paragraph for the exam –
The time to write the story that would change a life –
The elegance of their childhood before the hormones came –
The marriage that was pledged when promises felt fibrous
And could weave us together: They floated in slow time
Through viscous air to smash with grace on solid ground
Below where my hand, opened, let them go.
The blue ceramic bowl just right for cereal –
The moment the dark boy leaned his head towards me –
The shape of the perfect paragraph for the exam –
The time to write the story that would change a life –
The elegance of their childhood before the hormones came –
The marriage that was pledged when promises felt fibrous
And could weave us together: They floated in slow time
Through viscous air to smash with grace on solid ground
Below where my hand, opened, let them go.
Slipped Through My Fingers - Melody Cryns
I had it – only for a while, it seems. In March 2007 Megan and I moved into Avalon World, excited that we’d “upgraded” our living. Now we had a fancy apartment in a beautifully landscaped complex with a pool that was heated pool and Jacuzzi – a place where there’s a circular bin by the mail boxes to throw junk mail away – and a washing machine and dryer in every apartment. We brought our cat over because it was a pet friendly complex – the rent was a little higher than what I was accustomed to, but things were going well. I was getting raises and bonuses at work and a bit of child support.
I almost felt guilty about the two full bathrooms, remembering how me and all my kids all had to share one bathroom everywhere we lived – oh and the dishwasher. How could I forget the dishwasher. I don’t even remember the last time, if ever, that I actually had a dishwasher.
Yes, it was a beautiful place – of course, my older daughter Melissa moved in not long after we did – only for a month, she said, until she could get on her feet and get her dream place to live in San Francisco. That month turned into a year and a half.
But somehow, it was still okay – and because the complex was so huge, no one noticed just one more person and a cat staying.
But who would have known that once again, I’ve let it all slip through my fingers? That next month I’m bailing out of Avalon World in favor of a more reasonably priced apartment – that doesn’t have all the amenities we’d grown accustomed to? Who’d have known that Avalon World would turn into a façade in which they jack up your rent after you’re there a year and you get into their grips – that the economy would take a major nose dive and every week more people got laid off at work, it seemed…who’d have known I’d lose all my child support for Megan because her Dad lost his job and now has no income?When we happily moved into Avalon World in March 2007, I thought the worst of it was over – me and my kids had survived, hung on to that lifeboat and survived many storms. This was it – we’d steered through them all…
Or so I thought.
So today as I sit here with the cool air from the sliding glass door coming through, birds chirping outside, and music softly playing on the radio – Megan and her friends all crashed out in her room and here in the living room because it’s summer, I wonder – what will our next place be like? Will it feel like home like this one? The new place has a larger living room and an eat-in kitchen – and two bedrooms and a bathroom – no washer and dryer in the apartment, but there’s a dishwasher. What will it feel like when I’m sitting there at the desk writing or when I’m listening to music and preparing food in the kitchen?
Each time we have to move, I find myself wondering – what will it be like this time? Is it worth it to uproot once again to save $550 a month.
I hope so, I really do.
I almost felt guilty about the two full bathrooms, remembering how me and all my kids all had to share one bathroom everywhere we lived – oh and the dishwasher. How could I forget the dishwasher. I don’t even remember the last time, if ever, that I actually had a dishwasher.
Yes, it was a beautiful place – of course, my older daughter Melissa moved in not long after we did – only for a month, she said, until she could get on her feet and get her dream place to live in San Francisco. That month turned into a year and a half.
But somehow, it was still okay – and because the complex was so huge, no one noticed just one more person and a cat staying.
But who would have known that once again, I’ve let it all slip through my fingers? That next month I’m bailing out of Avalon World in favor of a more reasonably priced apartment – that doesn’t have all the amenities we’d grown accustomed to? Who’d have known that Avalon World would turn into a façade in which they jack up your rent after you’re there a year and you get into their grips – that the economy would take a major nose dive and every week more people got laid off at work, it seemed…who’d have known I’d lose all my child support for Megan because her Dad lost his job and now has no income?When we happily moved into Avalon World in March 2007, I thought the worst of it was over – me and my kids had survived, hung on to that lifeboat and survived many storms. This was it – we’d steered through them all…
Or so I thought.
So today as I sit here with the cool air from the sliding glass door coming through, birds chirping outside, and music softly playing on the radio – Megan and her friends all crashed out in her room and here in the living room because it’s summer, I wonder – what will our next place be like? Will it feel like home like this one? The new place has a larger living room and an eat-in kitchen – and two bedrooms and a bathroom – no washer and dryer in the apartment, but there’s a dishwasher. What will it feel like when I’m sitting there at the desk writing or when I’m listening to music and preparing food in the kitchen?
Each time we have to move, I find myself wondering – what will it be like this time? Is it worth it to uproot once again to save $550 a month.
I hope so, I really do.
Eating Outside - Darcy Vebber
It was too cold to eat outside. But Lisa had decided. It was planned. And she wanted to show off the garden. It was small and just this side of wild. With fence all around and buildings and trees, it felt like the bottom of a canyon or the heart of a secret. The house on its steel stilts loomed above it a rectangle, surrounded by weathered redwood, cottonwood trees, eucalyptus and Eugenia shrubs grown into towering trees that hung over the space and dropped dark purple berries everywhere. She had found a round, iron table at a yard sale and chairs and a flat space to put them on. She had swept away the berries and the leaves and clipped back the wild roses. The pale dirt was packed down too hard to work, so she bought clay pots, orange against the green and filled them with little flowering plants from the supermarket. The empty plastic boxes were still there.
Everything had to be carried down from the kitchen which was at street level through her bedroom and out the sliding glass door. She had a pitcher of hot coffee, cream, sugar, cheese, fruit, bread, salsa, eggs and butter.
Sam carried almost all of it, on a tray Lisa stole from work. He was gallantly enthusiastic.
She noticed a broken bottle in the dirt under the roses. The table tipped.
He found a rock to put under one leg. He teased her a little.
She wore a sweater over her sundress, twisted her long hair into a knot, untwisted it and twisted it up again. Their long legs touched under the table.
He leaned away.
She was an expert in him, in the lean, the smile, the glance. The language she could translate but not speak. She put on sunglasses. She asked him questions. As usual, she found it hard to eat but easy to talk to him, to listen to his stories. He had been all around the world while she was here in Hollywood, transplanting supermarket flowers and waiting tables.
Everything had to be carried down from the kitchen which was at street level through her bedroom and out the sliding glass door. She had a pitcher of hot coffee, cream, sugar, cheese, fruit, bread, salsa, eggs and butter.
Sam carried almost all of it, on a tray Lisa stole from work. He was gallantly enthusiastic.
She noticed a broken bottle in the dirt under the roses. The table tipped.
He found a rock to put under one leg. He teased her a little.
She wore a sweater over her sundress, twisted her long hair into a knot, untwisted it and twisted it up again. Their long legs touched under the table.
He leaned away.
She was an expert in him, in the lean, the smile, the glance. The language she could translate but not speak. She put on sunglasses. She asked him questions. As usual, she found it hard to eat but easy to talk to him, to listen to his stories. He had been all around the world while she was here in Hollywood, transplanting supermarket flowers and waiting tables.
Eating Outside - Donna Shomer
Eyes squinting against the sun,
fair skin already freckled
and fiery red.
And the sand –
it is everywhere.
Between my toes,
against my skin
in my bathing suit
pressed into the crevices
between my thighs.
Sand and heat – merciless.
They are in my food –
lurid warm milk
and the peanut butter sandwich
from hell.
fair skin already freckled
and fiery red.
And the sand –
it is everywhere.
Between my toes,
against my skin
in my bathing suit
pressed into the crevices
between my thighs.
Sand and heat – merciless.
They are in my food –
lurid warm milk
and the peanut butter sandwich
from hell.
Eating Outside - John Fetto
You couldn’t light a fire. You’d eat what you packed, and taken out of the noisy wrapper so that you could slip out of your pack, into your mouth and chew no more loudly than the beat of the insects buzzing around you. But then these walks tended to kill your appetite anyway. You watched and listened, and your mind interpreted every sound a hundred different ways. If everything was working well, you communicated with your hands. It was only when things fell apart, and you were discovered, hauling ass that anyone spoke and then it was usually the radio operator asking for an extraction.
So the tough piece of meat you slipped into your mouth was good. It was good because you were still undiscovered, still safe. The sip from canteen was sweet. It meant you were where you thought you were supposed to be, and even with all the insects biting your wrist and neck, that was good too because their noisy dining might persuade any soldiers walking by there weren’t any nosy American’s lurking in the shadows. The insects after all, always dined out.
So the tough piece of meat you slipped into your mouth was good. It was good because you were still undiscovered, still safe. The sip from canteen was sweet. It meant you were where you thought you were supposed to be, and even with all the insects biting your wrist and neck, that was good too because their noisy dining might persuade any soldiers walking by there weren’t any nosy American’s lurking in the shadows. The insects after all, always dined out.
Eating Outside - Randy Wong
Troy could tell something was up with Clark. The two had known each other since college. After graduation, they both got jobs with companies on the same side of town which allowed them to have lunch on a regular basis. The two would always talk about gossip at work and sports. Today, Clark’s conversation was all over the place like he couldn’t concentrate. Finally, Troy stopped his bizarre commentary on field hockey on cable television to ask him what was on his mind.
Clark smiled. He took a quick look around, and then leaned closer to Troy. “You’re right. I’ve got a big announcement. I’m gonna ask Brianna to marry me.”
Troy nearly choked on his french fries. After several moments of coughing, he replied, “Marriage? Are you sure? You’ve only known Brianna for about … what? Six months?’
Clark smiled and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how long, my friend. When you know, you know, and I can tell you right now – she is the one.”
Troy shook his head emphatically. “Oh? You know? How many times have I heard the ‘you know when you know’ speech the past couple of years?”
Clark waived his at Troy’s face. “Dude. C’mon. I had to date all those other women to figure out what I really wanted. That’s the whole point of dating.”
“Clark, how many people do you know talk about marriage after a handful of dates, only to find something wrong with ‘the one’ after a couple of months?”
“Umm, everyone does that?”
Troy laughed. “You got me there.”
A waitress came by to clear their plates. Troy and Clark ordered their usual cups of hot green tea as they continued their conversation.
“Listen, Clark. How do you really know? I mean, what so different now compared to the other times? Who was the gal you were with last year? That lawyer who went psycho on you?”
“Gina. She was not a psycho. She was ‘type A.’ She wanted to know why I wasn’t up for any promotions. I guess the fast track that I was on was not fast enough for her.”
“Right. How about the dancer? Or the gymnast? Which one hit you in the head?”
Clark sighed. “Alice was the dancer. Julie was the gymnast. Neither one hit me, man.”
“Are you sure? I thought the gymnast was the one who did that thing where she threw both feet over her head? Didn’t she nail your head on the back swing?”
Clark shook his head slowly. “No. Remember, I hurt myself when I stood up from the mattress and hit my head on the trapeze bar.”
Troy put his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Listen. You’re my best buddy. I love you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. All I’m asking is to wait a week or two. Don’t jump into anything. You’re still young. Let it simmer for a bit, and if you still feel the same way, then I will support your decision.”
Troy stuck out his right hand. Clark reached out with his clasped his hand into Troy’s. “Thanks, Troy. That really means a lot. Tell you what. I will mull over this for a week or two, then we can get together for lunch again, and I will tell you what I decided. Who knows? Like you said, I’m still young.”
Troy playfully slapped Clark across the face. “There you go. Take your time.”
Clark pounded his hand against Troy’s back. “What about you, Troy? You haven’t seen anyone for a long while.”
Troy finished the last of his green tea and set the cup on the saucer. He ran his forefinger around the rim as if lost in thought. “I don’t know, man. I’m just dating around right now. I guess I am still trying to figure it out, you know?”
“Sure.
“Say Clark. Do you still have the number for that gymnast?”
Clark smiled. He took a quick look around, and then leaned closer to Troy. “You’re right. I’ve got a big announcement. I’m gonna ask Brianna to marry me.”
Troy nearly choked on his french fries. After several moments of coughing, he replied, “Marriage? Are you sure? You’ve only known Brianna for about … what? Six months?’
Clark smiled and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how long, my friend. When you know, you know, and I can tell you right now – she is the one.”
Troy shook his head emphatically. “Oh? You know? How many times have I heard the ‘you know when you know’ speech the past couple of years?”
Clark waived his at Troy’s face. “Dude. C’mon. I had to date all those other women to figure out what I really wanted. That’s the whole point of dating.”
“Clark, how many people do you know talk about marriage after a handful of dates, only to find something wrong with ‘the one’ after a couple of months?”
“Umm, everyone does that?”
Troy laughed. “You got me there.”
A waitress came by to clear their plates. Troy and Clark ordered their usual cups of hot green tea as they continued their conversation.
“Listen, Clark. How do you really know? I mean, what so different now compared to the other times? Who was the gal you were with last year? That lawyer who went psycho on you?”
“Gina. She was not a psycho. She was ‘type A.’ She wanted to know why I wasn’t up for any promotions. I guess the fast track that I was on was not fast enough for her.”
“Right. How about the dancer? Or the gymnast? Which one hit you in the head?”
Clark sighed. “Alice was the dancer. Julie was the gymnast. Neither one hit me, man.”
“Are you sure? I thought the gymnast was the one who did that thing where she threw both feet over her head? Didn’t she nail your head on the back swing?”
Clark shook his head slowly. “No. Remember, I hurt myself when I stood up from the mattress and hit my head on the trapeze bar.”
Troy put his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Listen. You’re my best buddy. I love you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. All I’m asking is to wait a week or two. Don’t jump into anything. You’re still young. Let it simmer for a bit, and if you still feel the same way, then I will support your decision.”
Troy stuck out his right hand. Clark reached out with his clasped his hand into Troy’s. “Thanks, Troy. That really means a lot. Tell you what. I will mull over this for a week or two, then we can get together for lunch again, and I will tell you what I decided. Who knows? Like you said, I’m still young.”
Troy playfully slapped Clark across the face. “There you go. Take your time.”
Clark pounded his hand against Troy’s back. “What about you, Troy? You haven’t seen anyone for a long while.”
Troy finished the last of his green tea and set the cup on the saucer. He ran his forefinger around the rim as if lost in thought. “I don’t know, man. I’m just dating around right now. I guess I am still trying to figure it out, you know?”
“Sure.
“Say Clark. Do you still have the number for that gymnast?”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
