It can start with a single word. One, tiny, insignificant, minuscule, word that somehow, sparks something inside you. As soon as that one word is planted in your mind, it begins to grow. It grows and grows, until there is no more room in your head.
It spreads down your arms and into your wrists, tickling them as it stretches deep into your fingers. You twiddle your thumbs, tap out a beat, try writing something down, but it doesn’t die out; it just keeps getting bigger.
Then, that one unclear, undeveloped idea finds its way into your mouth where it turns into words, phrases- sentences even. It’s heavy and uncomfortable to keep inside of you. It feels like a marble sitting on your tongue, and it keeps rolling around, knocking against your teeth, until you just have to spit it out. You try saying the thought out loud, molding it and shaping it, trying to find some hidden meaning in this thing that will not leave you alone, though you have no idea what it is. It floats around awkwardly in a conversation, or on the corner of a notebook, or on the back of your hand, wherever you have decided to keep it, with no meaning, no purpose. Eventually, you put it aside, trying to forget it.
Days later, while in class, while reading a book, while washing the dog, while grocery shopping, occupying yourself with other day-to-day, mundane activities, your mind drifts, and in that moment when you are freed from thought, that pesky idea or phrase or whatever it has become at this point, find its way back in. This little seed has found just the moment it needs to grow, and it grows and grows again, sprouting words you never knew you had inside of you.
The words come so quickly, you struggle to remember them all, afraid to forget anything, and you scramble for something to write with. You don’t know how, exactly, but as soon as that pen touches the paper, it’s as if it takes on a life of its own. A story reveals itself to you, and you follow curiously behind your writing, with no idea as to where it will lead you.
You are thrown into a world entirely your own. You may fight as a soldier at war, run away from home, speak a different language, fall in love, or watch the sun rise from a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean. You can never be sure what will happen, until the story is complete. When it is finished, and you look at it again, it has become something beautiful, coloring the entire page with its vibrant abstractness that you found so unbearable only days before. This long, exhausting, irritating, process has resulted in something unique, something that only you could create.
And then, the most incredible part of it all happens when someone new, a stranger to your adventure, reads your story. You watch the reader’s smile rise and fall, their eyes fill with tears, hear them giggle or gasp, see their eyes widen in wonder at a world you have created, at a life that they have lived, because you have given it to them.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Luke
first short story. freshman year of high school.
My brother was born with arthrogryposis. It’s really called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita, which is a big, crazy, medical term for crooked joints. That’s what my brother has: crooked joints. There are lots of things that can happen when you have it, but normally, it’s just the joints and muscle weakness, which is bad enough. If you have arthrogryposis, it doesn’t get any worse as you grow older, but it doesn’t get any better either.
I remember when Luke was born. My parents tried to explain to me why he didn’t move like other babies, but I was little and didn’t really notice anything different about him for a while. It wasn’t until we were older, and I wanted Luke to play baseball, or go swimming with me, that I started to notice something wierd about him. My parents told me that something happened with Luke’s body that made his joints not able to bend and straighten all the way, and it was difficult for him to keep up with me. Although, I realized that Luke didn’t wrap his fingers all the way around his toothbrush like me, instead he sort of squeezed it in his palm like he had claws, and that he didn’t run straight and fast like me, instead he sort of wobbled side to side as he hobbled around, I didn’t understand exactly what was going on.
I used to get so frustrated with him, thinking that, if he just tried hard enough, he could keep up with all the other kids. “If you really wanted to keep playing, you could,” I used to say to him when he would start complaining that his legs were tired and that he had to go inside. I thought it was sort of like when you get really sore from exercising or when it’s really cold and your muscles stiffen up, it hurts to move sometimes, but if you just tried hard enough, you could do it. My dad told me one day that it wasn’t like that at all. It didn’t hurt Luke; he just couldn’t do it and never would.
Luke was a smart kid, though, and he figured out how to do just about everything the other kids did, just in a different way. Like, if he was lying on the floor of our living-room watching TV, he couldn’t bend his knees to stand up all the way, but he would wiggle his way up to the couch, pull himself up with his elbows, and stand up from there. We always made special positions in the games we played, just for Luke. When we played cops and robbers, Luke got to be the chief of police, who went from team to team, looking for cheaters who would be sent to “jail.” It took a few years for Luke to figure out that there was really no chief of police in cops and robbers, but he didn’t mind.
Sometimes, I would feel mad at Luke for being different, the way he was- for not being able to play as long or fast or hard as everyone else. It bothered me when I saw him taking an extra minute to get up the steps of our front porch, pulling himself up with the railing, and I was embarrassed every time someone gave him a funny look when he had to take his wheelchair out for longer outings. As much as it bothered me, it didn’t take anyone long to see that Luke wasn’t bothered by his disability at all. If he could do it, it didn’t matter one bit how he did. He didn’t mind a little extra help, or taking the long way, or needing a head start on anything, as long as it got him where he was going, and he always figured out how to do just that. Luke was just like any other kid, and just like all kids, Luke and I wanted dog.
“Absolutely not,” my mother said when we first posed this idea to her. “I am not raising the two of you and a dog,” she said, emphasizing “dog,” making it come out slow and heavy like a bad taste in her mouth. More times than I could count, Luke and I would come inside with a dog we had found in the neighborhood, pretending we had no idea where it came from, until Mom or Dad would make us take it back to its home. We would come into the house making as little noise as possible, and sneak the dog into the room that we shared. We were never able to hide the dog for more than an hour or two, before Mom or Dad found us out. I remember one day, when Luke and I tried to capture the big black poodle that lived in the house behind ours.
Luke and I had found Princess prancing down the street, and called her over to play with us.
“Don’t let Mom hear us, Ben!” Luke whispered to me as I slowly turned the shiny brass handle to our front door.
“Be quiet! I know what I’m doing! Now, don’t forget the plan.”
“Got it,” Luke said, nodding his head determinately.
Slowly and quietly, he slipped in the front door, leading Princess to our room. I clenched my teeth, covering my face with my hands, praying that Mom couldn’t hear the quick-slow, quick-slow sound of Luke’s limp across the hardwood floor. Then, when his footsteps were overpowered with the clippity-clippity sounds of Princess’ nails scampering around the room, I knew we were done for.
“Luke? What is-”
“Hey, Mom!” I yelled, running into the kitchen where she was cooking dinner. “Luke and I are just going to go to our room for a little bit? Okay? Okay. Bye!” I said in one short breath, running back out of the room, before she had the chance to ask any questions. I had made it halfway down the hall, when I heard her voice call calmly, still in the kitchen, stopping me in my tracks.
“Take it back, boys,” she said.
Luke’s little head popped out from our bedroom door, wide-eyed, mouth shaped in a surprised O, waiting for me to come up with an easy out.
“Mom? I don’t know what you’re-” I began.
“I don’t want to know. Just take it back.”
Luke’s head disappeared back behind the door, returning a moment later, drooping towards the ground in defeat, solemnly walking past me towards the front door, pulling Princess along behind him by her collar. “She always knows,” he mumbled.
Luke had always gotten along with the other kids in the neighborhood. We had grown up with them, and they were used to him. He didn’t have to explain his disability to them every time he wanted to play. When Luke started school; however, it wasn’t quite as easy. Luke was quiet and shy and avoided situations with lots of other kids, so that he wouldn’t be the center of attention like he always was when people first met him. It didn’t help that every year of school meant a new group of kids, and a new group of stares and questions. No one ever meant anything by it, and Luke knew that, but, still, he tried to stay out of the way, most of the time.
Mom and Dad noticed that Luke was becoming shier and shier as time went on, and Mom started to get a little worried. One night, when Luke and I were supposed to be asleep, I heard voices coming from the living room. As I crept down the staircase, I could make out my parents' voices.
“It’s just not normal,” she said. “He shouldn’t be so shy. Luke is such a smart, sweet boy. He should do what he wants to do.”
“I think he is doing what he wants to do, Jen,” came Dad’s voice. “He’ll bloom on his own time. The boy’s fine.”
“Still, I just don’t like it.”
About a week later, Luke and I came home from school to find Mom waiting for us at the front door, a smile stretched wide across her face.
"I have a surprise for you," she said, "but you have to close your eyes. You can't see it yet."
"What is it, Mom?" Luke and I asked, barely able to wait another second.
"I can't tell you. You'll just have to see for yourself."
Instantly, she was flooded with a thousand questions. "Is it big?" "Can you hold it?" "Do you eat it?" "Is it alive?" "Will we like it?" "What does it smell like?" "Do we want one?" "Where'd you get it?"
"When can we have it?" Luke finally asked.
"Right now! Just close your eyes- both of you, and don't look," Mom said excitedly, putting a hand on each of our backs, leading us through the house, our eyes closed tightly. I knew we were going to the back yard, when I heard the sliding glass door open. Mom stopped us there and said, “Now, when I say three-”
She didn’t even have time to get to the count of one before I heard footsteps sprinting towards us and, a moment later, Luke’s scream. Terrified, I opened my eyes to find Luke lying flat on his back underneath a giant, black dog. Already, in the few seconds Luke had been on the ground, his face was sticky and shiny from being licked. “Mom!” he squealed in between giggles, flailing his arms and legs from underneath his attacker, “A dog!”
I watched my mother’s face in that moment and saw how it lit up with Luke’s laughter. I think she expected that dog to bring some sort of miracle for Luke, helping him, making his life better, but it wasn’t quite that easy.
Susie was a year old, when Mom and Dad brought her home for us. She was a great, big, black Labrador retriever with a great big heart and a great big amount of energy, and Luke fell in love. Susie had lived in the pound for most of her life and wasn’t very well trained. She seemed to have the most trouble learning, “no,” although, since Susie came to live with us, that was the word that was said around the house the most. “No, Susie!” when she stole Dad’s bedroom slippers, or when she stole Mom’s rolls off the dinner table, or when she chased our next door neighbor’s cat under the porch, or when she chewed up Luke’s library book when he got his very first library card, or the thousands of millions of times Susie ran away, always coming back exhausted and dirty, tracing mud, leaves, and sticks into the house.
Susie was always with us. When we went to play in the yard, or with the neighborhood kids, Susie was there, trailing right along beside us. She sat between our chairs under the table at dinner time, scarfing down scraps that we snuck to her. She slept in a little blue and red plaid dog bed we picked out at the pet store, which we laid out on the floor in our bedroom. Anywhere we could possibly bring Susie, we took her. That's why taking Susie for a walk was a little bit of a problem.
When we took Susie out, I held the leash, most of the time, because Mom was always afraid that Luke wouldn't be strong enough. Dad told us that dogs need lots of exercise, and if we wanted to keep Susie, we had to take care of her ourselves, which included a walk everyday. I really didn't mind walking her myself, or going with Luke when he walked her, but Luke was crazy about Susie, and, for the first time ever, he was determined to do something completely on his own.
After Luke toppled over, once, when Susie chased after a cat on one of their first walks, we knew there was a little bit of an issue. Luke had a wheelchair that he used sometimes when we would go out for long periods of time, because his legs would get tired so quickly. He used his wheelchair a lot when we went out on long "walks," and we figured that, that might be the best way for Luke to take Susie out on his own. At first, he just held the leash in his hand while he wheeled around, but when the leash got twisted and tangled up in the gears on his chair, we decided that probably wasn't going to last very long. Luke and I were very creative when we figured out how to tie the leash to the armrest on the wheelchair. That went almost perfectly, for a few days, until Susie took off down a hill, pulling poor, little Luke along behind her, flying down the street chair and all. After that, we gave up on Luke walking Susie by himself for a while.
One afternoon, a bunch of the neighborhood kids went out to play basketball at the park, a few streets away from the house. Luke had been complaining all day, knowing that he wouldn't be able to play with us. In the end, he lost the vote and took his place resting at the sidelines, watching, with Susie sitting at his side, just like always. Susie ran off at some point when no one was looking, and when she didn't come back after a few minutes, Luke grew anxious without her.
"Luke, it's just Susie. She always does this. You know that," I told him.
"Yeah, I know, but it's not like I can play anyway."
"Come on, Luke, it's just a few more minutes, and then we can go home. She'll already be there by now, I bet."
"Nah, I'm just going to go, get a head start."
"You're being a baby, Luke."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. See you at home."
Luke left, then, and, after a minute or so, the sound of his footsteps died down, and I figured I'd give him a little longer to get ahead, before coming home myself. A little longer turned into an hour, before the game ended.
"Hey, sorry that took so long," I said, coming in door, "Where's Luke?"
"What do you mean, 'Where's Luke?'" Dad asked, coming down the stairs. "Wasn't he with you?"
"Yeah, but he left early to go find Susie, when she ran off."
"Ben, Luke hasn't been home since he left with you." There was the tiniest trace of panic in her voice, and I felt my heart stop, just for a moment.
"I'm sure he's fine," Dad interjected quickly.
Another thirty minutes passed with no sign of Luke. Mom and Dad started calling friends and neighbors, but no one had seen Luke since he had left to go home. We went out looking for him, driving down every street in the neighborhood several times, but no Luke. Finally, around supper time, we came back, hoping that Luke had showed up at home, or someone had called the house with news of him, but, of course, there was nothing.
"I can't do it anymore," Mom said finally, pushing out her chair and getting up from the table. "I'm calling the police." This time, Dad didn't try to tell her not to worry or that she was overreacting, and I started to get scared. I excused myself from the table, grabbed my jacket, and headed towards the front door.
"Ben? Honey, where are you going?" Mom called after me.
"I'm going out to look."
"Ben, it's dark. An officer will be here in a minute to talk to your father and I, and then we can go with you."
"I have a flashlight. Mom. I'll be fine. Please." and with that, I left.
I knew as soon as I shut the door behind me that it was hopeless. We had been up and down every street at least five times, and it was pitch black out now. Giving up on the roads, I turned to the basketball courts where we had been playing earlier. I remembered going to amusement parks when Luke and I were younger and Mom and Dad telling us that, if either of us got lost, to go to the last place where we had all been, and they would come find us. I crossed my fingers as I walked, hoping that, maybe, Luke remembered this too, and was waiting there now. I knew in my heart, though, that Luke wouldn't be there, because Luke wasn't lost. We knew every part of this neighborhood front to back. We had grown up here. We had spent years exploring every nook and cranny. We even had secret places that only we- and then it hit me, the one place my parents hadn't thought to look, because my parents didn't know about the fort. Only the kids went there- no grownups allowed.
I sprinted through the trees, as fast as I could, brushing the branches out of the way as they scratched at my face, . I couldn't see where I was going, but I had been in those woods enough times to know where I was, even in the dark. After a while, I came to a cluster of fallen trees, with a blue plastic tarp stretched over them- the fort we had made a few years back. Luke and I came here when we wanted to get away from home, when we were upset, or just needed to be alone, but we hadn't come here together in such a long time. Hope filled me as I reached for the edge of the tarp and lifted it.
But there was no Luke. My breath caught in my chest, and I realized, I was out of places to look. I had no idea where Luke was, and there was no way I would be able to find him tonight, and what if tomorrow was too late? I could feel my throat tighten up, that achy feeling burning in my stomach rising up until my eyes started to water, and great, hysteric sobs rolled out of my mouth. It was cold; my breath fogged in the air in front of my face, and I knew I had to get home before Mom and Dad started to worry about me too. I turned around and started walking, slowly, home.
I don't know exactly how long it had been, a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds, before I heard something. It was a slow, high-pitched whine that sounded sort of like a tea-kettle whistling. I stopped walking, but heard nothing, so I continued, more cautiously now. Soon, I heard the sound again, that same high whining noise.
I swallowed hard. "Hello?" I said in a whisper. "Hello?" I tried again, a little louder. The noise stopped all together, and then immediately started up, faster and louder than before. I ran towards the noise, calling out to it, every few seconds. The sound changed from the soft whimper, to a bark, and then I shouted, "Hello! Can you hear me?" The barking was very loud now, and close, and overtop of it, I could just make out another voice, smaller and quieter. "Ben?" it said.
"Luke? Luke! Is that you?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I kept screaming like that, the whole time I ran, the voice screaming back at me, neither of us able to make out the other's words, with the barking overpowering both of us.
Slowly, a small, dark shape began to form in my path, and I ran faster and faster towards it. It was almost motionless, lying down on the ground, masked by the leaves and branches around it. After a few more seconds, I could make out Luke's face, shivering and frightened. I started sobbing harder than ever, and knelt down beside him, pulling him towards me.
"I'm sorry, Ben! I fell down, and I didn't have anything to help me get up. I didn't mean to- I tried to-" Luke was crying, now, too.
I didn't say anything at first. I just held him like that some more, both of us crying uncontrollably. A few minutes passed before I looked down at his legs.
My brother was born with arthrogryposis. It’s really called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita, which is a big, crazy, medical term for crooked joints. That’s what my brother has: crooked joints. There are lots of things that can happen when you have it, but normally, it’s just the joints and muscle weakness, which is bad enough. If you have arthrogryposis, it doesn’t get any worse as you grow older, but it doesn’t get any better either.
I remember when Luke was born. My parents tried to explain to me why he didn’t move like other babies, but I was little and didn’t really notice anything different about him for a while. It wasn’t until we were older, and I wanted Luke to play baseball, or go swimming with me, that I started to notice something wierd about him. My parents told me that something happened with Luke’s body that made his joints not able to bend and straighten all the way, and it was difficult for him to keep up with me. Although, I realized that Luke didn’t wrap his fingers all the way around his toothbrush like me, instead he sort of squeezed it in his palm like he had claws, and that he didn’t run straight and fast like me, instead he sort of wobbled side to side as he hobbled around, I didn’t understand exactly what was going on.
I used to get so frustrated with him, thinking that, if he just tried hard enough, he could keep up with all the other kids. “If you really wanted to keep playing, you could,” I used to say to him when he would start complaining that his legs were tired and that he had to go inside. I thought it was sort of like when you get really sore from exercising or when it’s really cold and your muscles stiffen up, it hurts to move sometimes, but if you just tried hard enough, you could do it. My dad told me one day that it wasn’t like that at all. It didn’t hurt Luke; he just couldn’t do it and never would.
Luke was a smart kid, though, and he figured out how to do just about everything the other kids did, just in a different way. Like, if he was lying on the floor of our living-room watching TV, he couldn’t bend his knees to stand up all the way, but he would wiggle his way up to the couch, pull himself up with his elbows, and stand up from there. We always made special positions in the games we played, just for Luke. When we played cops and robbers, Luke got to be the chief of police, who went from team to team, looking for cheaters who would be sent to “jail.” It took a few years for Luke to figure out that there was really no chief of police in cops and robbers, but he didn’t mind.
Sometimes, I would feel mad at Luke for being different, the way he was- for not being able to play as long or fast or hard as everyone else. It bothered me when I saw him taking an extra minute to get up the steps of our front porch, pulling himself up with the railing, and I was embarrassed every time someone gave him a funny look when he had to take his wheelchair out for longer outings. As much as it bothered me, it didn’t take anyone long to see that Luke wasn’t bothered by his disability at all. If he could do it, it didn’t matter one bit how he did. He didn’t mind a little extra help, or taking the long way, or needing a head start on anything, as long as it got him where he was going, and he always figured out how to do just that. Luke was just like any other kid, and just like all kids, Luke and I wanted dog.
“Absolutely not,” my mother said when we first posed this idea to her. “I am not raising the two of you and a dog,” she said, emphasizing “dog,” making it come out slow and heavy like a bad taste in her mouth. More times than I could count, Luke and I would come inside with a dog we had found in the neighborhood, pretending we had no idea where it came from, until Mom or Dad would make us take it back to its home. We would come into the house making as little noise as possible, and sneak the dog into the room that we shared. We were never able to hide the dog for more than an hour or two, before Mom or Dad found us out. I remember one day, when Luke and I tried to capture the big black poodle that lived in the house behind ours.
Luke and I had found Princess prancing down the street, and called her over to play with us.
“Don’t let Mom hear us, Ben!” Luke whispered to me as I slowly turned the shiny brass handle to our front door.
“Be quiet! I know what I’m doing! Now, don’t forget the plan.”
“Got it,” Luke said, nodding his head determinately.
Slowly and quietly, he slipped in the front door, leading Princess to our room. I clenched my teeth, covering my face with my hands, praying that Mom couldn’t hear the quick-slow, quick-slow sound of Luke’s limp across the hardwood floor. Then, when his footsteps were overpowered with the clippity-clippity sounds of Princess’ nails scampering around the room, I knew we were done for.
“Luke? What is-”
“Hey, Mom!” I yelled, running into the kitchen where she was cooking dinner. “Luke and I are just going to go to our room for a little bit? Okay? Okay. Bye!” I said in one short breath, running back out of the room, before she had the chance to ask any questions. I had made it halfway down the hall, when I heard her voice call calmly, still in the kitchen, stopping me in my tracks.
“Take it back, boys,” she said.
Luke’s little head popped out from our bedroom door, wide-eyed, mouth shaped in a surprised O, waiting for me to come up with an easy out.
“Mom? I don’t know what you’re-” I began.
“I don’t want to know. Just take it back.”
Luke’s head disappeared back behind the door, returning a moment later, drooping towards the ground in defeat, solemnly walking past me towards the front door, pulling Princess along behind him by her collar. “She always knows,” he mumbled.
Luke had always gotten along with the other kids in the neighborhood. We had grown up with them, and they were used to him. He didn’t have to explain his disability to them every time he wanted to play. When Luke started school; however, it wasn’t quite as easy. Luke was quiet and shy and avoided situations with lots of other kids, so that he wouldn’t be the center of attention like he always was when people first met him. It didn’t help that every year of school meant a new group of kids, and a new group of stares and questions. No one ever meant anything by it, and Luke knew that, but, still, he tried to stay out of the way, most of the time.
Mom and Dad noticed that Luke was becoming shier and shier as time went on, and Mom started to get a little worried. One night, when Luke and I were supposed to be asleep, I heard voices coming from the living room. As I crept down the staircase, I could make out my parents' voices.
“It’s just not normal,” she said. “He shouldn’t be so shy. Luke is such a smart, sweet boy. He should do what he wants to do.”
“I think he is doing what he wants to do, Jen,” came Dad’s voice. “He’ll bloom on his own time. The boy’s fine.”
“Still, I just don’t like it.”
About a week later, Luke and I came home from school to find Mom waiting for us at the front door, a smile stretched wide across her face.
"I have a surprise for you," she said, "but you have to close your eyes. You can't see it yet."
"What is it, Mom?" Luke and I asked, barely able to wait another second.
"I can't tell you. You'll just have to see for yourself."
Instantly, she was flooded with a thousand questions. "Is it big?" "Can you hold it?" "Do you eat it?" "Is it alive?" "Will we like it?" "What does it smell like?" "Do we want one?" "Where'd you get it?"
"When can we have it?" Luke finally asked.
"Right now! Just close your eyes- both of you, and don't look," Mom said excitedly, putting a hand on each of our backs, leading us through the house, our eyes closed tightly. I knew we were going to the back yard, when I heard the sliding glass door open. Mom stopped us there and said, “Now, when I say three-”
She didn’t even have time to get to the count of one before I heard footsteps sprinting towards us and, a moment later, Luke’s scream. Terrified, I opened my eyes to find Luke lying flat on his back underneath a giant, black dog. Already, in the few seconds Luke had been on the ground, his face was sticky and shiny from being licked. “Mom!” he squealed in between giggles, flailing his arms and legs from underneath his attacker, “A dog!”
I watched my mother’s face in that moment and saw how it lit up with Luke’s laughter. I think she expected that dog to bring some sort of miracle for Luke, helping him, making his life better, but it wasn’t quite that easy.
Susie was a year old, when Mom and Dad brought her home for us. She was a great, big, black Labrador retriever with a great big heart and a great big amount of energy, and Luke fell in love. Susie had lived in the pound for most of her life and wasn’t very well trained. She seemed to have the most trouble learning, “no,” although, since Susie came to live with us, that was the word that was said around the house the most. “No, Susie!” when she stole Dad’s bedroom slippers, or when she stole Mom’s rolls off the dinner table, or when she chased our next door neighbor’s cat under the porch, or when she chewed up Luke’s library book when he got his very first library card, or the thousands of millions of times Susie ran away, always coming back exhausted and dirty, tracing mud, leaves, and sticks into the house.
Susie was always with us. When we went to play in the yard, or with the neighborhood kids, Susie was there, trailing right along beside us. She sat between our chairs under the table at dinner time, scarfing down scraps that we snuck to her. She slept in a little blue and red plaid dog bed we picked out at the pet store, which we laid out on the floor in our bedroom. Anywhere we could possibly bring Susie, we took her. That's why taking Susie for a walk was a little bit of a problem.
When we took Susie out, I held the leash, most of the time, because Mom was always afraid that Luke wouldn't be strong enough. Dad told us that dogs need lots of exercise, and if we wanted to keep Susie, we had to take care of her ourselves, which included a walk everyday. I really didn't mind walking her myself, or going with Luke when he walked her, but Luke was crazy about Susie, and, for the first time ever, he was determined to do something completely on his own.
After Luke toppled over, once, when Susie chased after a cat on one of their first walks, we knew there was a little bit of an issue. Luke had a wheelchair that he used sometimes when we would go out for long periods of time, because his legs would get tired so quickly. He used his wheelchair a lot when we went out on long "walks," and we figured that, that might be the best way for Luke to take Susie out on his own. At first, he just held the leash in his hand while he wheeled around, but when the leash got twisted and tangled up in the gears on his chair, we decided that probably wasn't going to last very long. Luke and I were very creative when we figured out how to tie the leash to the armrest on the wheelchair. That went almost perfectly, for a few days, until Susie took off down a hill, pulling poor, little Luke along behind her, flying down the street chair and all. After that, we gave up on Luke walking Susie by himself for a while.
One afternoon, a bunch of the neighborhood kids went out to play basketball at the park, a few streets away from the house. Luke had been complaining all day, knowing that he wouldn't be able to play with us. In the end, he lost the vote and took his place resting at the sidelines, watching, with Susie sitting at his side, just like always. Susie ran off at some point when no one was looking, and when she didn't come back after a few minutes, Luke grew anxious without her.
"Luke, it's just Susie. She always does this. You know that," I told him.
"Yeah, I know, but it's not like I can play anyway."
"Come on, Luke, it's just a few more minutes, and then we can go home. She'll already be there by now, I bet."
"Nah, I'm just going to go, get a head start."
"You're being a baby, Luke."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. See you at home."
Luke left, then, and, after a minute or so, the sound of his footsteps died down, and I figured I'd give him a little longer to get ahead, before coming home myself. A little longer turned into an hour, before the game ended.
"Hey, sorry that took so long," I said, coming in door, "Where's Luke?"
"What do you mean, 'Where's Luke?'" Dad asked, coming down the stairs. "Wasn't he with you?"
"Yeah, but he left early to go find Susie, when she ran off."
"Ben, Luke hasn't been home since he left with you." There was the tiniest trace of panic in her voice, and I felt my heart stop, just for a moment.
"I'm sure he's fine," Dad interjected quickly.
Another thirty minutes passed with no sign of Luke. Mom and Dad started calling friends and neighbors, but no one had seen Luke since he had left to go home. We went out looking for him, driving down every street in the neighborhood several times, but no Luke. Finally, around supper time, we came back, hoping that Luke had showed up at home, or someone had called the house with news of him, but, of course, there was nothing.
"I can't do it anymore," Mom said finally, pushing out her chair and getting up from the table. "I'm calling the police." This time, Dad didn't try to tell her not to worry or that she was overreacting, and I started to get scared. I excused myself from the table, grabbed my jacket, and headed towards the front door.
"Ben? Honey, where are you going?" Mom called after me.
"I'm going out to look."
"Ben, it's dark. An officer will be here in a minute to talk to your father and I, and then we can go with you."
"I have a flashlight. Mom. I'll be fine. Please." and with that, I left.
I knew as soon as I shut the door behind me that it was hopeless. We had been up and down every street at least five times, and it was pitch black out now. Giving up on the roads, I turned to the basketball courts where we had been playing earlier. I remembered going to amusement parks when Luke and I were younger and Mom and Dad telling us that, if either of us got lost, to go to the last place where we had all been, and they would come find us. I crossed my fingers as I walked, hoping that, maybe, Luke remembered this too, and was waiting there now. I knew in my heart, though, that Luke wouldn't be there, because Luke wasn't lost. We knew every part of this neighborhood front to back. We had grown up here. We had spent years exploring every nook and cranny. We even had secret places that only we- and then it hit me, the one place my parents hadn't thought to look, because my parents didn't know about the fort. Only the kids went there- no grownups allowed.
I sprinted through the trees, as fast as I could, brushing the branches out of the way as they scratched at my face, . I couldn't see where I was going, but I had been in those woods enough times to know where I was, even in the dark. After a while, I came to a cluster of fallen trees, with a blue plastic tarp stretched over them- the fort we had made a few years back. Luke and I came here when we wanted to get away from home, when we were upset, or just needed to be alone, but we hadn't come here together in such a long time. Hope filled me as I reached for the edge of the tarp and lifted it.
But there was no Luke. My breath caught in my chest, and I realized, I was out of places to look. I had no idea where Luke was, and there was no way I would be able to find him tonight, and what if tomorrow was too late? I could feel my throat tighten up, that achy feeling burning in my stomach rising up until my eyes started to water, and great, hysteric sobs rolled out of my mouth. It was cold; my breath fogged in the air in front of my face, and I knew I had to get home before Mom and Dad started to worry about me too. I turned around and started walking, slowly, home.
I don't know exactly how long it had been, a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds, before I heard something. It was a slow, high-pitched whine that sounded sort of like a tea-kettle whistling. I stopped walking, but heard nothing, so I continued, more cautiously now. Soon, I heard the sound again, that same high whining noise.
I swallowed hard. "Hello?" I said in a whisper. "Hello?" I tried again, a little louder. The noise stopped all together, and then immediately started up, faster and louder than before. I ran towards the noise, calling out to it, every few seconds. The sound changed from the soft whimper, to a bark, and then I shouted, "Hello! Can you hear me?" The barking was very loud now, and close, and overtop of it, I could just make out another voice, smaller and quieter. "Ben?" it said.
"Luke? Luke! Is that you?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I kept screaming like that, the whole time I ran, the voice screaming back at me, neither of us able to make out the other's words, with the barking overpowering both of us.
Slowly, a small, dark shape began to form in my path, and I ran faster and faster towards it. It was almost motionless, lying down on the ground, masked by the leaves and branches around it. After a few more seconds, I could make out Luke's face, shivering and frightened. I started sobbing harder than ever, and knelt down beside him, pulling him towards me.
"I'm sorry, Ben! I fell down, and I didn't have anything to help me get up. I didn't mean to- I tried to-" Luke was crying, now, too.
I didn't say anything at first. I just held him like that some more, both of us crying uncontrollably. A few minutes passed before I looked down at his legs.
There was Susie, her head in Luke's lap, completely still for the first time in her life. My Susie, the crazy, untamable, chewy, mischievous, dog that she was. The dog that had knocked Luke over hundreds of times in her life, the dog who had run away from us leaving us searching blindly for hours, had found my brother, had saved him, in the end.
After that night with Susie in the woods, things changed some for Luke. He began to blossom, as my dad said, and Luke had a new story to tell every year at school. When the kids whispered and stared, Luke's smile stretched from ear to ear. The first day of school was his favorite- new group of kids, new group of questions, new chance to show off the miraculous story that all happened, because Luke was different.
"Hey, did you hear what happened to me?"
After that night with Susie in the woods, things changed some for Luke. He began to blossom, as my dad said, and Luke had a new story to tell every year at school. When the kids whispered and stared, Luke's smile stretched from ear to ear. The first day of school was his favorite- new group of kids, new group of questions, new chance to show off the miraculous story that all happened, because Luke was different.
"Hey, did you hear what happened to me?"
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Loafer
my first abstract poem, done my sophomore year of high school :)
sole tarnished
textured by skin
worn
to the seams
reeking
of the musky odor
of dried sweat
sides sagging
inwards
too tired
to carry
its own
weight
heaving
an exhausted sigh
a cloud
of sand colored dust
rising
from the lifeless mass
taking
its final
steps
and the empty
body collapses
to the floor
sole tarnished
textured by skin
worn
to the seams
reeking
of the musky odor
of dried sweat
sides sagging
inwards
too tired
to carry
its own
weight
heaving
an exhausted sigh
a cloud
of sand colored dust
rising
from the lifeless mass
taking
its final
steps
and the empty
body collapses
to the floor
Monday, September 7, 2009
After Viewing Rafael Lopes’ Bobeirasa
“I say, 'let it show'
And continue to write and play my guitar
Out, my hurt does flow
Onto the paper and from the guitar
This is how I let my hurt go
And soon by what people read
They will know
This is how I let it go”
And continue to write and play my guitar
Out, my hurt does flow
Onto the paper and from the guitar
This is how I let my hurt go
And soon by what people read
They will know
This is how I let it go”
-This is How I Let Go, Amy Parkinson
Shadows rest
in blackened corners
of a darkened room,
masking the vision
of a name unrecognized
a voice unheard
Willing inspiration
to dwell in outstretched fingers
Crawling up and down and stairway of steel
Leaving rhythmic footprints
on the hollow, wooden skeleton, lying below
Anticipating the moment of glory
to be found.
Unsung Man
To the rhythm of the whispered song
he strums out every melody
and sings the story
of every life
but one.
Disregarding his own
reticent song,
to pump his blood into
broken, empty hearts
Neglecting the soul
that lies inside
hiding behind
a misread heart
which pulses out a
muted melody-
humming softly
barely beating
as if it could fade away into
Silence
Having sung the story
of every life
but one.
Who will sing
for the unsung man?
Self Portrait As Richmond
Marked with a star on every map
Chosen to lead in its precision.
History of thousands who flocked into the seven hills
in anticipation of freedom and life.
With motherly arms, she raised her children,
who starved from the barren fruit of oppression.
Strong as the mountains-
true and lasting.
As pliable as rivers-
accepting and adapting.
A piece of me forever,
this city holds.
Luminescence glowing from the heart-
bright and bold and flashing with life.
Supporting bones-
rustic and feral,
tranquil and genuine.
The dazzling face of youth.
The restless spirit of revolution.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Now and Then
I came to the place
where the sun shines down gently
like lazy, luxurious, sleepy mornings
and the waves crash passionately
like the restless nights that have passed
Where were came
so long ago
lost in our own selves
Alone in togetherness.
I came to the place
where the water gently quivers
distorting the image
of a delicate, gentle face
reflected in the glittery, silvery mirror
lying beneath the water
I came to the place
where the last of
summer’s sweet symphony
still sounds clearly
echoing a wordless melody
that only we can know.
I came to the place
where the wind blows
cool and crisp
running its gentle, seductive fingers
through my hair
and against my lips
breathing a name
into my soul.
Television
This tiny puppet theatre rests
on the table in my living room.
Black, still, lifeless.
Who would imagine
that, with the click of a button,
the sleeping city
will come to life?
The puppeteers,
behind the magic,
are never seen,
nor heard from,
as if they don’t exist.
No painted faces
No ghostly, glass eyes
No strings attached
to abandoned bodies
So that the little puppets,
living inside the little box,
seem almost alive.
Perhaps, these
living marionettes
have a secret world,
all their own
and keep to themselves,
living in
the little black box.
Now click the button
one more time, and
their whole world
disappears.
excerpt from an unfinished novel
My love,
Yesterday, it was so beautiful out. I remembered how much you used to love the fall, the leaves changing. You told me how, as soon as the first leaf changed color, we would take a walk together and listen to our feet shuffling in the crumbling leaves, blanketing the street. It might be chilly, you said, so you would hold me tight as we walked, until I was warm. That could take a while, you said, because it’s supposed to a very cold. I thought about that all today, wishing it could be.
I decided to take a walk that afternoon, as soon as I came home. It was the time of day when the sun is still shinning brightly, but its light is slowly fading away into a thin layer of golden dust, that sprinkles the tops of the trees and lines the clouds. You know what I mean, don’t you? It was stunning. The wind blew lightly, a cool breath. Every time the wind sighed like that, the trees began to rain, and dropped their multicolored raindrops on the ground.
Mr. Dailey was outside raking when I came out the door. He saw me, and I watched as he gave my lawn a disapproving look. Maybe, if I wait long enough, he’ll come and rake those leaves for me, since it’s such a burden for him to see them. I see no point, though, in trying to fix something that isn’t broken. You can rake your yard anytime of the year, but it’s not too often that you can step outside on a bright, beautiful day and walk through a rainbow scattered over your lawn. Besides, you can rake and rake and rake, but those will just drift back to the exact place they started from, and you will have to do it all again. I wanted to tell Mr. Carson this, but I don’t think he would understand. I’ll probably rake the yard tomorrow.
I walked down to the lake. It was still and quiet, as it usually is, you remember. The only movement was an occasional ripple from a fish jumping or an acorn plopping into the water or the wind slightly rocking the surface, creating gentle waves, that lapped up the shore. I sat on the dock for a while, throwing rocks, watching their ripples spread throughout the entire lake. It was just me there, which is sometimes a sad thing; I like watching the children playing and the older couples, strolling around the perimeter of the lake, hearing their voices. It gives me something to concentrate on. Today, however, it was nice. No disruptions or noises or anything. I sat there, under an oak three, a few feet away from the water and watched.
I dreamed of you, but it seems so far away now, I can’t remember anything, except that I woke to the sound of a dog barking. I shifted my weight in my sleep and felt something crunch underneath my weight. My eyes snapped open. I had completely forgotten where I was. In a moment, the sound of water sloshing messily against the shore, the coolness of the grass against my skin, and the crunching of leaves and sticks underneath me made sense. It’s so easy to fall asleep there, completely absorbed in my own thoughts.
I wiggled my toes a few times, then slowly stretched out my legs, letting the life seep into my bones, and travel up my spine and into my arms which spread far out to the side, slowly uncurling my fingers, until sleep finally released itself from my lips through a yawn. I pressed my fingers against my neck; it was sore from being propped up against that tree for so long. I hadn't even realized that I was tired.
Time can do that, you know. It can leave you in its past, without you even knowing. Then, when you finally catch up to it, you realize just what it has done and that you have no recollection of all things thing you’ve let pass you by. What a sneaky thing it is, time. Then, there are other days when the loneliness weighs down heavily on your shoulders, and you wish that time would hurry up and skip ahead, so you could finally be out of that feeling, but time has its own mind, and of course it doesn’t listen. Such a sneaky thing. I’m sure you know just what I mean, especially now.
I realized the darkness had set in, now that I was awake, the sun completely hidden by the moon. There was nothing to focus on, nothing to distract me, and suddenly the darkness seemed thick and dense and endless, and I was scared of being alone there, by the lake.
I have been coming to the lake for so long; I could probably run through those woods with my eyes closed. I sprinted, just staring at the darkness as I ran into it, as if I could break through it, if I ran fast enough. The low, thin branches clawed at my face, but I pushed them away, and kept running. I could hear myself breathing loudly and inconsistently, and I tried to steady my breathing with the sounds of my footsteps, but I was running so quickly, so mindlessly, that my feet slapped the ground heavily at random, sporadic intervals, no pattern or consistency. I could feel my throat starting to burn, as if it was trying to stretch open, to let the oxygen enter my body. The muscles in my legs began to ache as well, and feeling it, I pushed harder, trying to outrun it, endure it for a little time as possible, knowing that I could do nothing but let it pass.
Oh, no. I have done it again. I’m writing too much, aren’t I? I’m sorry, love, but who is there to talk to now that you are away? You must be bored out of your mind reading all of these silly letters, endless tails of a girl’s boring, lonely days. Maybe you find some comfort in them, perhaps? Same old me, I guess, rambling on for days about small matters. I know you are laughing at me for this, aren’t you? But you can’t really blame me, can you? Nothing seems so insignificant anymore, now that I realize how much I have to lose; I want to write down everything that happens, so you’ll miss nothing when you come back.
Please hurry,
Me
Little One
To a beautiful, precious, unborn child, from the bottom of my heart,
We will not meet for many more years, but I feel as though you are already part of my soul. I think about you often and pray for you everyday, in hopes that you may have a wonderful, blessed life.
When I see children playing outside, or hear a baby crying during Sunday mass, I wonder what you will look like, what you will like to do, what your voice will sound like, what your name will be, and I think about how incredibly excited I am to meet you, little one. I do not know you yet, but I know that you are mine and that you are waiting to come to me.
I hope that you always know that you are loved… by me, by your family, and most of all, by your creator. I hope you will grow to know God’s love and to feel Him in everything you do. I hope your faith will always give you everything you need.
I hope that you will be happy. I hope that waking up every morning will excite and thrill you, thinking of the wonderful things to come in your life- and there will be many.
I hope that you will learn. I hope that you will have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and will use your intelligent, wonderful mind as much as you possibly can.
And I hope that, like every child should be, you will be silly! I hope that you will run through the sprinklers on hot summer days. I hope that you will catch snowflakes on your tongue during the winter. I hope that you will laugh until you cry more often that not. I hope that you play in the mud and cover yourself in the icky, brown gunk that is every child’s dream after a long springtime rain. I hope that you will jump in puddles, climb trees, learn to swim and ride a bike. I hope that you have bubble-gum blowing contests. I hope that you will get to eat a hot, gooey chocolate chip cookie, right from the oven. I hope that you will feel a puppy dog’s kiss and hear a kitten’s purr. I hope that you tell silly stories and dress up in funny clothes, put on puppet shows in the living room and play make believe. I hope that your imagination runs wild, baby child. Don’t ever stop dreaming. I hope that you will feel the scratchy whiskers on your grandpa’s face as he tickles you with them when he kisses you. I hope you will know the soft, warm feel of your grandma’s magic hugs. They can cure anything. I hope that you will meet and know and love the many people who have shaped me into the person I have become.
I hope that you will be passionate. Find that thing you love to do, whether you are good at it or not, and never stop doing it. Be passionate about life. Try as many things as you can. Never have regrets.
Please, little one, know how much you are wanted in this world. You are God’s precious gift, His child. Never doubt your purpose or your significance. Know that I love you and will always love you and love you now, while you are still in Heaven, waiting. Know that when I am angry or disappointed, that you are still a wonderful human being and that I only want what’s best for you. Know that I am human too and make mistakes, but that I will try to always do what is best for you. Be true to yourself and always do what is good and what makes you happy. The best thing you can ever be is yourself, just the way you are.
My love, my life, sweet baby mine, welcome to the world.
Mommy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)