The roach-like creature stopped its advance toward Josh at about two feet away. Then it attached its suction-cup feet to the smooth wall. At this distance its tiny glowing eyes looked like laser lights. With his hands and feet tied, all Josh could do to move away from the creature was to scoot along the basement floor. But he couldn’t go very far. Through the dull grayness around him, he saw he was surrounded on all sides by smooth walls that made up a space just large enough for him to lie down in. The black ceiling overhead was pretty high up, probably twenty feet. Josh leaned his cheek against the wall and felt the dead cold of concrete. There was no warmth in the air either. But strangely he didn’t feeling chilled. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty either. His head ached with a dull thudding. He had no idea how many minutes or hours had passed since he’d been put there. Who did this to him?
Keeping his eyes on the creature, Josh bent over and threw his weight forward to stand up. The creature moved with him, but didn’t get any closer. Josh could see that the upper part of the walls were covered with some sort of silvery metal. He heard a faint mechanical whirring sound. Where was he?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Getting Lost - Melody Cryns
It was one of those cool, summer days in San Francisco – I was around 11 or 12, can’t remember which, so it had to be around 1968 or 1969. I still remember that day as clearly as if it was yesterday, when me and David Hirrell set out on an adventure at Sutro Forest, the forest of eucalyptus trees that rises up above the massive UC Hospital right up the street from where I grew up.
For some reason, it was just me and David that day – he could be the meanest kid in the neighborhood, but sometimes he could be the nicest. He stood almost a head taller than me with his sandy blonde hair and dark eyes offset in his chubby face. Sometimes he made me so mad and he was mean to me, and I was mean to him too. But today we were having one of our nice days.
I still remember walking close to David, our bodies touching many times – but neither of us doing anything about it. It was probably the first time in my life I felt that weird connection with someone that was more than just friends, just a tiny glimpse, though.
I don’t know where the rest of the gang was that day, the Solis boys, my brother and sister or even David’s little brother Barry. I just remember it was me and David – and we decided to take off on this journey hiking up at Sutro Forest on rugged trails, sometimes right along sides of perilous cliffs on the hillside. I had picked up a stick and used it to crash through vines and as a walking stick of sorts.
As David continued onward, both of us suddenly realized that we might be lost.
“Where the heck are we?” I said to David.
“I dunno!” David shrugged. He didn’t even seem to mind that we were lost.
So we continued to walk onwards, our bodies touching from time-to-time, our sweaty hands almost clasping but not quite – here I was with the biggest, meanest kid in the neighborhood. These were tender moments. I knew it, but I dare not say anything about it as we trudged onwards because it might break the magic spell we seemed to be under that neither of us could explain.
Suddenly when we were really, super lost in the middle of Sutro Forest, high above the rest of the world, the north part of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge stretched below us beyond UC Hospital, David stopped. He pulled out a scout knife and made his way to a eucalyptus tree close by.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he began to carve on the tree.
“You’ll see. But hear me now,” David said all dramatic and everything.
“Yes?” I tried to keep from laughing.
David didn’t say anything for a few moments. I could hear birds chirping, but all the sounds of the city were far away and muffled here in this forest that we were lost in. I wondered if we’d be able to find our way out or if we were destined to wander these trails until dark. What would be do? Camp in the forest? Would anyone be able to find us?
“Okay, there! But you’ve gotta promise, you’ve gotta swear!” David said, moving away from the tree, “Before you see this.”
“Before I see what?” I tried to peek around David, but his massive body stood in the way.
“You’ve gotta promise never to tell anyone about this – swear to secrecy.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed.
“No, for real.” David sounded all serious. He used his bossy voice even. It’s the first time I’d heard that voice all day.
“Okay, all right.” I crossed my heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die, poke a needle in my eye!”
David seemed satisfied with this, so he moved aside so I could see what he’d carved into the tree.
He had carved a huge heart on the tree, and the in the middle of the heart were the distinct words, “David & Mary were here.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew that was special, that it somehow meant something and I understood why David swore me to secrecy. “Whooooo!”
David looked right into my eyes and I looked back into his. “This is just between you and me, okay?”
“Yes, I understand,” I said.
Then David actually grabbed my hand and pulled me along, “C’mon, let’s keep goin’!” He said. I held on to David’s hand for as long as I could. It felt warm and inviting even though we were both sweaty. The other time David had grabbed my hand was that day we went to the beach and I almost got swept out to sea by this huge wave – our mothers had warned us about the undertow at the beach, but had we listened? No, of course not. I remember how the wave had knocked me down and I sputtered and spit water out because my face fell right into the salty cold water, and just when I thought for sure I was a goner, feeling the pull of the ocean, I felt a hand grab mine. “Grab on!” David had shouted, and he’d pulled me right out of the water. I was convinced he saved my life that day.
As we trudged onwards, I didn’t want to let go of David’s hand. I wanted to hang on forever because as long as I held on to David’s hand, it didn’t matter if we were lost…
For some reason, it was just me and David that day – he could be the meanest kid in the neighborhood, but sometimes he could be the nicest. He stood almost a head taller than me with his sandy blonde hair and dark eyes offset in his chubby face. Sometimes he made me so mad and he was mean to me, and I was mean to him too. But today we were having one of our nice days.
I still remember walking close to David, our bodies touching many times – but neither of us doing anything about it. It was probably the first time in my life I felt that weird connection with someone that was more than just friends, just a tiny glimpse, though.
I don’t know where the rest of the gang was that day, the Solis boys, my brother and sister or even David’s little brother Barry. I just remember it was me and David – and we decided to take off on this journey hiking up at Sutro Forest on rugged trails, sometimes right along sides of perilous cliffs on the hillside. I had picked up a stick and used it to crash through vines and as a walking stick of sorts.
As David continued onward, both of us suddenly realized that we might be lost.
“Where the heck are we?” I said to David.
“I dunno!” David shrugged. He didn’t even seem to mind that we were lost.
So we continued to walk onwards, our bodies touching from time-to-time, our sweaty hands almost clasping but not quite – here I was with the biggest, meanest kid in the neighborhood. These were tender moments. I knew it, but I dare not say anything about it as we trudged onwards because it might break the magic spell we seemed to be under that neither of us could explain.
Suddenly when we were really, super lost in the middle of Sutro Forest, high above the rest of the world, the north part of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge stretched below us beyond UC Hospital, David stopped. He pulled out a scout knife and made his way to a eucalyptus tree close by.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he began to carve on the tree.
“You’ll see. But hear me now,” David said all dramatic and everything.
“Yes?” I tried to keep from laughing.
David didn’t say anything for a few moments. I could hear birds chirping, but all the sounds of the city were far away and muffled here in this forest that we were lost in. I wondered if we’d be able to find our way out or if we were destined to wander these trails until dark. What would be do? Camp in the forest? Would anyone be able to find us?
“Okay, there! But you’ve gotta promise, you’ve gotta swear!” David said, moving away from the tree, “Before you see this.”
“Before I see what?” I tried to peek around David, but his massive body stood in the way.
“You’ve gotta promise never to tell anyone about this – swear to secrecy.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed.
“No, for real.” David sounded all serious. He used his bossy voice even. It’s the first time I’d heard that voice all day.
“Okay, all right.” I crossed my heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die, poke a needle in my eye!”
David seemed satisfied with this, so he moved aside so I could see what he’d carved into the tree.
He had carved a huge heart on the tree, and the in the middle of the heart were the distinct words, “David & Mary were here.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew that was special, that it somehow meant something and I understood why David swore me to secrecy. “Whooooo!”
David looked right into my eyes and I looked back into his. “This is just between you and me, okay?”
“Yes, I understand,” I said.
Then David actually grabbed my hand and pulled me along, “C’mon, let’s keep goin’!” He said. I held on to David’s hand for as long as I could. It felt warm and inviting even though we were both sweaty. The other time David had grabbed my hand was that day we went to the beach and I almost got swept out to sea by this huge wave – our mothers had warned us about the undertow at the beach, but had we listened? No, of course not. I remember how the wave had knocked me down and I sputtered and spit water out because my face fell right into the salty cold water, and just when I thought for sure I was a goner, feeling the pull of the ocean, I felt a hand grab mine. “Grab on!” David had shouted, and he’d pulled me right out of the water. I was convinced he saved my life that day.
As we trudged onwards, I didn’t want to let go of David’s hand. I wanted to hang on forever because as long as I held on to David’s hand, it didn’t matter if we were lost…
Guilt - Kent Wright
“He forgives us if we ask.” I was standing on the sidewalk in my hometown speaking with a woman I had not seen in perhaps forty years. She had asked if I was still out there in San Francisco. I looked at her for a moment as what she was saying sunk in. I sensed she felt on the solid footing of a high moral ground. It felt familiar, that giving a message without saying it, and I made a decision.
“Forgive for what?”
“Our choices,” she replied quietly.
“My choice you mean?” She smiled with benevolence and I added, “The coffee is on me if you have a few minutes because I would love to tell you about my choice.”
We settled into a booth in the coffee shop. She sat opposite me with one hand on each side of a white mug.
“So my choice. It was the summer I turned thirteen. It was a Tuesday in July, muggy as anything and outside one of those steady summer rains had set in. So I was stuck there, no bike, no ball to play, nothing to do but lay there on my bed with that antsy boredom that sets in so quickly when you are thirteen. My mind bumped around from thing to thing but finally settled down around what I was going to do with life. I decided to make some decision, one decision anyway, that afternoon about what would be on my road outside the city limits of this little town. You know what I settled on?”
The woman opposite in the booth shook her head.
“I decided to be a homosexual. Not that I really knew anything about it,” I mused looking off like I was remember just what it was like that afternoon. “There was not one person I knew growing up, even from a distance, that I could identify with that label homosexual. Not one. And what I had absorbed from the innuendo, slang and looks of society about it was the picture of a blank, fogged in pit of loneliness, isolation and rejection, but when you are thirteen, you feel you can whip it all sometimes. I decided laying there on my bed on that hot, rainy July day in 1955 ‘ what the hell, I am going to be one of those homosexuals. I made the choice right then and there. It was easy.” I was looking directly at the woman. She didn’t speak. “And do you know what the great thing about that is? Great for you I mean?”
“For me?,” she asked just above a whisper.
“If I can make that choice to be one, so can you!” and gave her a big, warm smile of reassurance.
“But,” my booth mate said finally, “I’m not that way.”
“So? If it is a choice, you can choose to be homosexual too. What is the problem?”
“I don’t have those feelings.”
“Feelings? Forget feelings. Choice. It is choice remember?”
“Forgive for what?”
“Our choices,” she replied quietly.
“My choice you mean?” She smiled with benevolence and I added, “The coffee is on me if you have a few minutes because I would love to tell you about my choice.”
We settled into a booth in the coffee shop. She sat opposite me with one hand on each side of a white mug.
“So my choice. It was the summer I turned thirteen. It was a Tuesday in July, muggy as anything and outside one of those steady summer rains had set in. So I was stuck there, no bike, no ball to play, nothing to do but lay there on my bed with that antsy boredom that sets in so quickly when you are thirteen. My mind bumped around from thing to thing but finally settled down around what I was going to do with life. I decided to make some decision, one decision anyway, that afternoon about what would be on my road outside the city limits of this little town. You know what I settled on?”
The woman opposite in the booth shook her head.
“I decided to be a homosexual. Not that I really knew anything about it,” I mused looking off like I was remember just what it was like that afternoon. “There was not one person I knew growing up, even from a distance, that I could identify with that label homosexual. Not one. And what I had absorbed from the innuendo, slang and looks of society about it was the picture of a blank, fogged in pit of loneliness, isolation and rejection, but when you are thirteen, you feel you can whip it all sometimes. I decided laying there on my bed on that hot, rainy July day in 1955 ‘ what the hell, I am going to be one of those homosexuals. I made the choice right then and there. It was easy.” I was looking directly at the woman. She didn’t speak. “And do you know what the great thing about that is? Great for you I mean?”
“For me?,” she asked just above a whisper.
“If I can make that choice to be one, so can you!” and gave her a big, warm smile of reassurance.
“But,” my booth mate said finally, “I’m not that way.”
“So? If it is a choice, you can choose to be homosexual too. What is the problem?”
“I don’t have those feelings.”
“Feelings? Forget feelings. Choice. It is choice remember?”
Old Age - Meg Newman
He has drifted back to sleep after reading the latest police procedural we purchased together. 3 minutes of tapping and it was sitting on his iPad. After years of resistance to getting an e-reader, because he much prefers to go to the library and select his books, he relented. The act of walking through the library, browsing, observing others looking for books and maybe even smelling the library interiors has been his only life ritual. Every fiber and morsel of his being is atheistic, I think the library jaunts were the most sacred part of his life, besides my mother.
The volume and power of his voice is nowhere near what it used to be when he stormed around at 185 lbs and 5 feet 9. Almost all of his muscle mass has melted away and he now weighs 130 pounds and looks like he is 5 feet 5, or 5 feet 6 inches, at most. His dragon veneer has disappeared piece by piece. He no longer breathes fire only transparent oxygen through his nares. A tame lamb has landed in his bed and climbed inside his body.
He begs out of a shower everyday and opts for every other day but he still takes it independently—at least this week. He has delegated watering the huge palm tree and peace lily’s he has nourished for decades. If human and plant communications exists, then his plants are waiting for him and his water laced chatter to return. I have seen the palm strain to catch a glimpse of him entering the kitchen. I know their missing him will soon be mine to bear.
The volume and power of his voice is nowhere near what it used to be when he stormed around at 185 lbs and 5 feet 9. Almost all of his muscle mass has melted away and he now weighs 130 pounds and looks like he is 5 feet 5, or 5 feet 6 inches, at most. His dragon veneer has disappeared piece by piece. He no longer breathes fire only transparent oxygen through his nares. A tame lamb has landed in his bed and climbed inside his body.
He begs out of a shower everyday and opts for every other day but he still takes it independently—at least this week. He has delegated watering the huge palm tree and peace lily’s he has nourished for decades. If human and plant communications exists, then his plants are waiting for him and his water laced chatter to return. I have seen the palm strain to catch a glimpse of him entering the kitchen. I know their missing him will soon be mine to bear.
This is What Happened First - Donna Shomer
It’s not so often anymore
that Mom is with me
but there she was tonight
in the silence,
like a secret or a sore place.
I still dream of being with her
when she died.
I still scold myself
for missing it.
So when the call came
I drove the freeways
in the middle of the night
to a stillness filled with people –
hospice, caregivers.
And when I was finally left alone
to watch over her
I draped her scarf around my shoulders
and ripped the fabric
This was what happened first.
that Mom is with me
but there she was tonight
in the silence,
like a secret or a sore place.
I still dream of being with her
when she died.
I still scold myself
for missing it.
So when the call came
I drove the freeways
in the middle of the night
to a stillness filled with people –
hospice, caregivers.
And when I was finally left alone
to watch over her
I draped her scarf around my shoulders
and ripped the fabric
This was what happened first.
This is What Happened First - Bonnie Smetts
Renee went off to find Nico to buy him the kite from the stand as she’d promised. Marjorie turned to join the rest of the party gathering along long tables. The tables were set to the side of the shady lawn and linens covered their length. Marjorie wondered who’d done the planning for the party, it must have been Mrs. Parker. They all called her Mrs. Parker, she was the matron of the group. She’d been in India since the beginning.
“Marjorie, you look so lovely.” One of the wives, one she liked very much and knew very little, gave her a little hug.
“And you too, Camilla, everyone looks like a breath of English air, no?” She laughed and was happy to be with the group.
“Come one, let’s go sit with the girls. It looks like we’re not needed in the set-up. Sometimes I feel so useless here.” Her friend guided her to the other women, from a distance, a palette of summery pastels.
“And did you hear about the train wreck? It was on the main line. Someone made a mistake and the trains ran straight into each other. They are still trying to untangle the cars and …” A murmur went around the circle of friends, each one knowing that they or surely their husbands traveled that main line too often. Images of twisted metal filled Marjorie and she couldn’t stop the sound.
“But we must talk of other things. We must.” And the group laughed. Someone began to talk about the garden club, a diversion that Marjorie had never joined. It seemed silly, she had no intention of staying long enough to have a real garden. She wasn’t much interested in flowers, enough to spend hours each week with women who did. They now talked of their successes with orchids, but all Marjorie could think of was the train. Taking the first class car wouldn’t keep them from crashing, two first class cars could tangle and mangle just as easily as the impossibly stuffed ones behind. Women and children and men and she couldn’t get the image from her mind.
“Penny for your thoughts. I go away for a few minutes and come back and you look as white as the tablecloths,” Renee said.
“Oh, sorry. Nothing. They were talking about the train.”
“You heard how it started, the crash. The gear on the switch locked up and no one could stop the oncoming train in time, so they…”
“They crashed into each other.”
“Marjorie, you look so lovely.” One of the wives, one she liked very much and knew very little, gave her a little hug.
“And you too, Camilla, everyone looks like a breath of English air, no?” She laughed and was happy to be with the group.
“Come one, let’s go sit with the girls. It looks like we’re not needed in the set-up. Sometimes I feel so useless here.” Her friend guided her to the other women, from a distance, a palette of summery pastels.
“And did you hear about the train wreck? It was on the main line. Someone made a mistake and the trains ran straight into each other. They are still trying to untangle the cars and …” A murmur went around the circle of friends, each one knowing that they or surely their husbands traveled that main line too often. Images of twisted metal filled Marjorie and she couldn’t stop the sound.
“But we must talk of other things. We must.” And the group laughed. Someone began to talk about the garden club, a diversion that Marjorie had never joined. It seemed silly, she had no intention of staying long enough to have a real garden. She wasn’t much interested in flowers, enough to spend hours each week with women who did. They now talked of their successes with orchids, but all Marjorie could think of was the train. Taking the first class car wouldn’t keep them from crashing, two first class cars could tangle and mangle just as easily as the impossibly stuffed ones behind. Women and children and men and she couldn’t get the image from her mind.
“Penny for your thoughts. I go away for a few minutes and come back and you look as white as the tablecloths,” Renee said.
“Oh, sorry. Nothing. They were talking about the train.”
“You heard how it started, the crash. The gear on the switch locked up and no one could stop the oncoming train in time, so they…”
“They crashed into each other.”
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Death - Maria Robinson
Death by black velvet is otherwise known as the Prada Fall 2008 runway skirt woven in twirling floral arabesques on a ground of black silk.
Think Louis XIV damask meets London 60s mini-skirt. It rocks with soft cashmere sweater and above-the-knee boots.
Mrs. Prada found a centuries-old weaving family in Lyon France to take up the challenge to create this piece of cross-century art.
On the body, it snuggles the hips. To the fingertips, it's like soft as bunny fur.
All I want to do is kiss it before I die.
Think Louis XIV damask meets London 60s mini-skirt. It rocks with soft cashmere sweater and above-the-knee boots.
Mrs. Prada found a centuries-old weaving family in Lyon France to take up the challenge to create this piece of cross-century art.
On the body, it snuggles the hips. To the fingertips, it's like soft as bunny fur.
All I want to do is kiss it before I die.
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