Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Unmasked - Jennifer Baljko
Soon, in a few weeks, there will be a big Baljko event in Barcelona. Two of my siblings are coming to visit me. One has been here before. The other decided, on a whim this morning, to join the fun, and make her first transatlantic flight. It will be great to see them, but there is a slight apprehension starting to seize my heart as well. Too many Baljkos in the same room can be a dangerous unmasking of primal, territorial clawing. We tend to play nice most of the time, in three or four hour stretches. But a week together could swing us straight back to the 1980s when the seven members of my immediate plus the dog, two cats, and whatever other mascot happened to find it’s way through the floor boards or into an empty cage duked it out for a sliver of privacy and a healthy does of personal expression. As adults, we live in vastly different worlds, and often have little in common except blood ties. So the momentous task of understanding who we are in the face of each other becomes a strange tilt-a-whirl ride set up on a tightrope dangling over a cliff. Each eccentric behavior brings on a heightened sense of black sheep weirdness, united under the umbrella of collective upbringing.
With Kid Gloves - Judy Albietz
“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves,” Lily told Sam. “Tell me everything about what happened to Josh. Don’t leave anything out.”
“I do not understand what you say. I cannot wear gloves. I do not have hands.”
“Sorry. That’s just an old expression my mom uses. It means I do not want you to treat me like a child. I want you to tell me everything you know about Josh’s disappearance. Don’t leave anything out … no matter how awful it is.”
“Lily, the only thing we know is that Josh’s brain was captured by people living outside Borealis, in the future.”
“How did they do that?”
“We know these people do not have the power to travel through time. Therefore, they could not bring his whole body into the future. However, it appears they have the technology to capture and bring brain waves from the past. We think they did it by following the path of the radio signals from the cell phone Josh used when he communicated with you from the past to the future—through the Time Portal.”
“Why did they take—him—his brain? What do they want with him? How do we get him back?”
“We have not figured that out yet.”
“I do not understand what you say. I cannot wear gloves. I do not have hands.”
“Sorry. That’s just an old expression my mom uses. It means I do not want you to treat me like a child. I want you to tell me everything you know about Josh’s disappearance. Don’t leave anything out … no matter how awful it is.”
“Lily, the only thing we know is that Josh’s brain was captured by people living outside Borealis, in the future.”
“How did they do that?”
“We know these people do not have the power to travel through time. Therefore, they could not bring his whole body into the future. However, it appears they have the technology to capture and bring brain waves from the past. We think they did it by following the path of the radio signals from the cell phone Josh used when he communicated with you from the past to the future—through the Time Portal.”
“Why did they take—him—his brain? What do they want with him? How do we get him back?”
“We have not figured that out yet.”
With Kid Gloves - Bonnie Smetts
No man can possibly admit this. You like your wife to need you. You want her to be delicate, easy. You want her to stand on her own feet as well. But not too much. You don’t want her to complain and whine. You want her to have ideas and not acquiesce too quickly. But in the end you want her to agree.
You want to watch her from afar as she charms your friends with her quiet humor and quick wit. Her beauty of course, that’s never been a problem with Marjorie. She’s lovely: light and elegant, long-limbed. Her hair is a bit bland, but bountiful with just enough rebellion to get loose from those tight chignons she’s taken to wearing. I guess that’s Renee’s influence.
Renee’s not an especially good influencey. Good in that she’s full of life and doesn’t complain. Bad in that she’s got too much of a mind of her own. I doubt she consults Jacques when she changes Nico’s nanny or orders furniture from Paris. Or decides to take my wife to see the native festivals.
Now I’ve got Marjorie a ball of nerves. I hate feeling like I must handle her with kid gloves, lest she explode in anger or fear or whatever causes her to cry and lash out at me. I don’t want to spend another moment on this. I’ve got people who are misbehaving up and down my command. Not just the native workers, some of my best. Not just the lower workers but the managers. Men who I thought were dependable, at least would follow the company protocol and our plans. Letting a whole team start building another line miles from where we’d designated. Impossible to accept, and yet they’ve begun. What am I to do? Call them off it. And lose the work they’ve done. The metals would be stolen in a fortnight. No, and so I seem weak. I must reprimand the manger in a way that sends a message to anyone else giving favors to their village, their relatives, whomever else they want to pay off.
I must keep up appearances so home office never learns of this. How to write the progress report and hide exactly where the construction is being completed. My secretary must write something for me. He knows how to hide and change the truth.
Marjorie will never understand what goes on, here in the company, here in this country.
You want to watch her from afar as she charms your friends with her quiet humor and quick wit. Her beauty of course, that’s never been a problem with Marjorie. She’s lovely: light and elegant, long-limbed. Her hair is a bit bland, but bountiful with just enough rebellion to get loose from those tight chignons she’s taken to wearing. I guess that’s Renee’s influence.
Renee’s not an especially good influencey. Good in that she’s full of life and doesn’t complain. Bad in that she’s got too much of a mind of her own. I doubt she consults Jacques when she changes Nico’s nanny or orders furniture from Paris. Or decides to take my wife to see the native festivals.
Now I’ve got Marjorie a ball of nerves. I hate feeling like I must handle her with kid gloves, lest she explode in anger or fear or whatever causes her to cry and lash out at me. I don’t want to spend another moment on this. I’ve got people who are misbehaving up and down my command. Not just the native workers, some of my best. Not just the lower workers but the managers. Men who I thought were dependable, at least would follow the company protocol and our plans. Letting a whole team start building another line miles from where we’d designated. Impossible to accept, and yet they’ve begun. What am I to do? Call them off it. And lose the work they’ve done. The metals would be stolen in a fortnight. No, and so I seem weak. I must reprimand the manger in a way that sends a message to anyone else giving favors to their village, their relatives, whomever else they want to pay off.
I must keep up appearances so home office never learns of this. How to write the progress report and hide exactly where the construction is being completed. My secretary must write something for me. He knows how to hide and change the truth.
Marjorie will never understand what goes on, here in the company, here in this country.
Keeping It Secret - Melody Cryns
Tonight I walked into my favorite coffee shop in downtown Mountain View and ordered a double mint mocha, just like old times. And Blue House, the acoustic rock band of two gals and a guy are playing their lovely music and singing…
“It’s my life, here I am…take a moment to share my history!” Brian sings…it’s a song he wrote and I love it. It reminds me of writing, sharing our history, every time I hear Brian sing that song, Marline playing the other acoustic guitar and singing harmony and Amy on bass…
Aaron is working at the counter – he’s been here at the coffee shop ever since I can remember…when I used to bring Megan here and she was just a little red headed, freckle faced kid. He always threatened to sell Megan to the gypsies and she’d laugh and swing on his outstretched tattooed muscular arm…
Now Megan is 18 and that young girl has disappeared, and I haven’t ordered a real double mint mocha in about two years – you know, all the calories and the sugar. But tonight I decided I had to get a double mint mocha. Aaron said, “with whipped cream?” And I said yes, with whipped cream.
It’s just one of those nights. I’ve had a rough day filled with car trouble…overheating issues. I haven’t had car problems like this for a while now. Ever since my kids were younger and I could never afford a decent car.
So I sit here at the coffee shop listening to Blue House remembering my little girl who is now grown…and how it was, and how some things just never seem to change.
I look out the window and see the tree branches and the shining lamps and the tables and chairs outside, just as they always were…and Aaron’s still here, and so is Shadow…and Blue House is still playing. And I’m still sipping on a double mint mocha. And my car has air bubbles, so they say…at least it’s not a blown head gasket.
“It’s my life, here I am…take a moment to share my history!” Brian sings…it’s a song he wrote and I love it. It reminds me of writing, sharing our history, every time I hear Brian sing that song, Marline playing the other acoustic guitar and singing harmony and Amy on bass…
Aaron is working at the counter – he’s been here at the coffee shop ever since I can remember…when I used to bring Megan here and she was just a little red headed, freckle faced kid. He always threatened to sell Megan to the gypsies and she’d laugh and swing on his outstretched tattooed muscular arm…
Now Megan is 18 and that young girl has disappeared, and I haven’t ordered a real double mint mocha in about two years – you know, all the calories and the sugar. But tonight I decided I had to get a double mint mocha. Aaron said, “with whipped cream?” And I said yes, with whipped cream.
It’s just one of those nights. I’ve had a rough day filled with car trouble…overheating issues. I haven’t had car problems like this for a while now. Ever since my kids were younger and I could never afford a decent car.
So I sit here at the coffee shop listening to Blue House remembering my little girl who is now grown…and how it was, and how some things just never seem to change.
I look out the window and see the tree branches and the shining lamps and the tables and chairs outside, just as they always were…and Aaron’s still here, and so is Shadow…and Blue House is still playing. And I’m still sipping on a double mint mocha. And my car has air bubbles, so they say…at least it’s not a blown head gasket.
Blowing Off Steam - E. D. James
He moved quickly through the galleries absorbing the intensity of the work lining the walls. In half an hour he would meet the woman and rid himself of the weight he’d been carrying. The tourists around him stared at the pieces listening to some over educated voice tell them why they should like what they saw. Arch had no such filters on his mind. Every second was crystal clear, illuminated by the adrenaline surging through his veins.
They were following him. The watchers in the galleries would pretend to take no notice of his passing, but he would see them discreetly hit communicators at their belts and whisper as he passed. This made him feel comfortable. He wanted to lure them into complacency. Wanted them to feel secure that they had him under control, knew his every movement. He wanted them to feel that way right up until the moment he lost them and made his move to meet the one who had been chosen to receive the truth.
He allowed himself a moment to wander back to the days his mother would drag him through these very galleries in her endless quest to raise him up with culture and knowledge. She had instilled in him a boundless curiosity, and it was that curiosity that led him to this day.
Seven months ago it had just been some random streaks on his plates. Satellites were always crossing his plates and at first he took no notice. But then a pattern emerged. His scans for other planets that might have the conditions that were right for life to exist had instead exposed a network of satellites in geosynchronous orbit over the major cities of the world. A network that the government claimed didn’t and couldn’t exist. And yet it did.
They had made it clear that they would stop at nothing to protect their secret. First his privileges at the observatory had been curtailed. Then his grant had been revoked. Now they stalked him day and night.
They were following him. The watchers in the galleries would pretend to take no notice of his passing, but he would see them discreetly hit communicators at their belts and whisper as he passed. This made him feel comfortable. He wanted to lure them into complacency. Wanted them to feel secure that they had him under control, knew his every movement. He wanted them to feel that way right up until the moment he lost them and made his move to meet the one who had been chosen to receive the truth.
He allowed himself a moment to wander back to the days his mother would drag him through these very galleries in her endless quest to raise him up with culture and knowledge. She had instilled in him a boundless curiosity, and it was that curiosity that led him to this day.
Seven months ago it had just been some random streaks on his plates. Satellites were always crossing his plates and at first he took no notice. But then a pattern emerged. His scans for other planets that might have the conditions that were right for life to exist had instead exposed a network of satellites in geosynchronous orbit over the major cities of the world. A network that the government claimed didn’t and couldn’t exist. And yet it did.
They had made it clear that they would stop at nothing to protect their secret. First his privileges at the observatory had been curtailed. Then his grant had been revoked. Now they stalked him day and night.
Blowing Off Steam - Kate Bueler
Blowing off steam. Blowing of steam has been my newest favorite pastime. I spent many good years of my life running and swimming and doing it for fun but mostly within the confines of team and invitations and flip turned into a baton hand off until I reached adulthood. I loved sports. I loved the ability to feel freedom in the pounding against my legs as I speed up at the end of every run. My father had taught me this trick that even after a jog you run fast and hard at the end. And believe you me it came in handy in the races of life both competitive or not. The wheels of myself going more quickly and feeling as if they might give out but on the brink of letting go- the freedom of speed- the freedom of myself. That I could get it anytime I needed it. And running. Running became a way to pound out the discomfort of adolescence and the way I spent my afternoons for many years of my life. And it helped that I was good at it. Not the best of the best but good enough to be choose for the relays and to place.
But somewhere in my relationship with running we became distant in our feelings toward one another. I dreaded doing it. And did it. Only for that scholarship. I didn't feel freedom anymore. When I put on those shoes to run- I felt dread. Dread for being awake so early. Dread for not being able sleep in. And dread for the practice I'd have to later that day. Running became a job. And the chore of it sucked the pleasure and flying from my bones and muscles and left was the feeling of contempt. Contempt I had for one of my first loves of my life. We had changed. We both had. So after my final season of my running career, I did what anyone would do or so I thought. I gave up exercise. I took up drinking and partying and smoking and being an undergraduate like everyone else. Reverse psychology on myself didn't work as I planned. Me and running broke up and she didn't come after me when she saw the back of my body sway back and forth surrounded by friends and the smoke of ways to forget her.
I didn't miss her. I didn't care about her. And I kept my relationships with my new and more exciting friends until one day I woke up and realized. Something was missing. The blowing of the steam. Could never be replaced in alcoholic binge drinking that left me more clueless than I began and apologetic and hurting the next day. Smoking could only be cool for so long and soon the honeymoon wore off and I was addicted. Me the athlete addicted to cigarettes. Blowing off the steam- I needed it. I needed the release and freedom of the movement of my feet faster and harder and longer than I thought I could. I needed the pound of my chest in and out and rattling me to let go and learn again. I needed the sweat pouring down my face and head and limbs with my reddish face to remind me. That I am athlete and the blowing off the steam has always been my freedom. So I didn't call up running. I decided to try something new someone who would give me everything I had before because I was too scared to run. And that is how I found yoga. Yoga and one day I would find myself when I needed it most after a hard day of hearing others pains of life that I laced my shoes up and ran. Again.
But somewhere in my relationship with running we became distant in our feelings toward one another. I dreaded doing it. And did it. Only for that scholarship. I didn't feel freedom anymore. When I put on those shoes to run- I felt dread. Dread for being awake so early. Dread for not being able sleep in. And dread for the practice I'd have to later that day. Running became a job. And the chore of it sucked the pleasure and flying from my bones and muscles and left was the feeling of contempt. Contempt I had for one of my first loves of my life. We had changed. We both had. So after my final season of my running career, I did what anyone would do or so I thought. I gave up exercise. I took up drinking and partying and smoking and being an undergraduate like everyone else. Reverse psychology on myself didn't work as I planned. Me and running broke up and she didn't come after me when she saw the back of my body sway back and forth surrounded by friends and the smoke of ways to forget her.
I didn't miss her. I didn't care about her. And I kept my relationships with my new and more exciting friends until one day I woke up and realized. Something was missing. The blowing of the steam. Could never be replaced in alcoholic binge drinking that left me more clueless than I began and apologetic and hurting the next day. Smoking could only be cool for so long and soon the honeymoon wore off and I was addicted. Me the athlete addicted to cigarettes. Blowing off the steam- I needed it. I needed the release and freedom of the movement of my feet faster and harder and longer than I thought I could. I needed the pound of my chest in and out and rattling me to let go and learn again. I needed the sweat pouring down my face and head and limbs with my reddish face to remind me. That I am athlete and the blowing off the steam has always been my freedom. So I didn't call up running. I decided to try something new someone who would give me everything I had before because I was too scared to run. And that is how I found yoga. Yoga and one day I would find myself when I needed it most after a hard day of hearing others pains of life that I laced my shoes up and ran. Again.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Changing How it Turned Out - Kate Bueler
Changing how it turned out. I didn't know how it would turn out yet. But I had pieced together snapshots of scenes in my mini series of my mind. A melodrama of my heart and hope for the future. The qualities I liked in him played perfectly in this short by me. See I have a girlhood crush syndrome that my early 30s hasn't seemed to break. I get crushes on strangers. On the barista. On the neighbor. On the friend. On the dude I made out with once. Excitement from the first time, the first time feeling the taste of infatuation dances around me as I skip on the way home. I can't shake the excitement I feel for someone in the beginning. The beginning of anything. It might be my favorite part of it all.
I guess part of my giddiness is for the lightness I feel for the real thing. The real thing that does warm me beyond the beginning to the depths of companionship. I used to fall hard and fast but took a vacation from the every moving fast bullet train to the very slow one making every stop. And it first it was fine. It was okay. But boredom started to seep in through my pores. I still wanted adventure. I still wanted intrigue. I still wanted to feel my heart pump with excitement. The slow train was slow. And I wanted more. But how to walk of the line of want I want long term and what I desire short term? Can I have both the excitement and stability as I walk on this tightrope of love with my heart jumping in and out of my chest to my sleeve and back again?
I don't know. But I do know. I need vacations. Vacations from the slow train. I pull the stop and jump out and try something new. Unplanned and spontaneous. And so easy just to be. And then I feel the warmth of another around me soothing the need for now. But later as the scenes of the future play out. Sometimes I want more scenes. I want more snapshots. And I can't help but wonder how it will turn out. In thinking about it, can I change how it will? Or the faith I feel in things coming together allows me not to change anything at all. See sometimes you meet someone while on vacation from the things you are supposed to be doing that makes the excitement and wonder grow inside as you think what will be next. For you. For him. And the excitement tastes good and I force myself not to wonder how it will turn out. Or to change the ending. I just want another line. Another paragraph. Another chapter. Of this book.
I guess part of my giddiness is for the lightness I feel for the real thing. The real thing that does warm me beyond the beginning to the depths of companionship. I used to fall hard and fast but took a vacation from the every moving fast bullet train to the very slow one making every stop. And it first it was fine. It was okay. But boredom started to seep in through my pores. I still wanted adventure. I still wanted intrigue. I still wanted to feel my heart pump with excitement. The slow train was slow. And I wanted more. But how to walk of the line of want I want long term and what I desire short term? Can I have both the excitement and stability as I walk on this tightrope of love with my heart jumping in and out of my chest to my sleeve and back again?
I don't know. But I do know. I need vacations. Vacations from the slow train. I pull the stop and jump out and try something new. Unplanned and spontaneous. And so easy just to be. And then I feel the warmth of another around me soothing the need for now. But later as the scenes of the future play out. Sometimes I want more scenes. I want more snapshots. And I can't help but wonder how it will turn out. In thinking about it, can I change how it will? Or the faith I feel in things coming together allows me not to change anything at all. See sometimes you meet someone while on vacation from the things you are supposed to be doing that makes the excitement and wonder grow inside as you think what will be next. For you. For him. And the excitement tastes good and I force myself not to wonder how it will turn out. Or to change the ending. I just want another line. Another paragraph. Another chapter. Of this book.
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