Comments Posted By Belinda Roddie
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Frankie stayed at my bedside the entire time I was ill, holding my clammy hand and singing to me as I faded in and out of consciousness. I had strange dreams, mostly consisting of abstract shapes and bubbles that carried me to a shoddily drawn house on a crayon landscape. It was as if my mind had been melted like wax, and the last memories I had were of things I had created as a small child in art class.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.16.2018 @ 8:50 pm
“Want to share a milkshake today?” asked Lacey, as we huddled together under the elm tree just outside school.
I shook my head. “Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m broke. I can’t even afford a cookie from that shop right now.”
“Okay,” said Lacey, smiling. “My treat, then.”
I tried to protest, but she squeezed my hand in defiance.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.15.2018 @ 8:13 am
I think I should have missed school, but I didn’t. I sank down into my personal oblivion before nine AM, and I tried to write my in-class essay, but I couldn’t get any English out. It was like I knew no languages, understood no dialects or even single words. When I fell asleep in math class, I dreamed of chaos spun like sugar into stars. I can’t really describe it in any other way – fever dreams are just sort of like that.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.13.2018 @ 4:22 pm
Watch me fly, you non-believers – my wings will flex and ripple like the arms of the sun above my head. I will touch each cloud and wash my sins away in the suspended water. I will descend to the oceans below and let my fingers dance across the foam. Then, I will perch atop the highest mountain, where it is cold and my breathing is shallow. And I will watch the world as its only pure observer.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.11.2018 @ 4:21 pm
Samantha didn’t need the nightlight on after she turned nine years old, but somehow, I always think she was somewhat afraid of the dark. She didn’t leave her room much when the sun had set, even when she was a teenager. If she hung out with friends, it was in the afternoon or inside, where the lamps were bright and the whole house hummed with glowing activity.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.09.2018 @ 1:01 pm
“How would I have to do,” you asked, “to get a make-out sessions with you at the Sixty Shades Motel near my house?”
“Find a better hotel,” I grinned.
You laughed at that, pouring me another glass of cheap red wine. All things considered, it tasted better than the fancier stuff I had tasted with my parents the day before. We were eating sirloin steak – good sirloin. With barbecue sauce.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.07.2018 @ 4:01 pm
I’d love to stay in Ireland – maybe they could make me an ambassador there. I’d wear freshly pressed suits and pretend I understood Gaelic. I’d learn all the old songs and play the fiddle or the uilleann pipes. I’d drink a pint or two of thirteen as soon as the sun began to set. And then I’d finally listen to everybody’s stories – how they got here, where they’d like to do, and how they’d like to shake the paralysis from their heavy limbs.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.05.2018 @ 10:03 pm
She ordered a shaken ice chai, and I ordered a cappuccino. Didn’t matter that I hated coffee; didn’t matter that the taste made my tongue wince and my teeth grow another inch in agony. I just sipped away and watched as her tea slowly disappeared through her straw, a muddy river zipping to her lips and disappearing as if down a vast, unending gorge.
We knew it had to end some day. I just didn’t know it’d end at a sh***y café in downtown Los Angeles, six years later.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.04.2018 @ 10:04 am
Somehow, I don’t find nuance anymore in the green seaweed hue of a microshore, or the orange skyline above my head, or any of the secondary colors that remind me of all my basic, primary components. You drape me in purple, but I don’t feel like royalty; I just feel overdressed. I’d rather sit in the rain outside on a day devoid of color, where everyone’s shadows blend together, and the dark gray mess holds stars behind its allegedly lifeless eyes.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.02.2018 @ 10:36 pm
It’s finally November, so I want to be direct with you: I don’t want to come see your in-laws for Thanksgiving. I know that might frustrate you just a little bit, but I’m tired of seeing your mother’s red “MAGA” hat, and I hate listening to hearing your father chew loudly with his mouth open. And for the love of God, don’t even get me started on your sister, who’s decided that she needs to scream at the TV every time the Pikachu float shows up during the Macy’s parade.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 11.01.2018 @ 8:31 pm
Someone told me that candy corn was better than chocolate, and that is just wrong, you know? Like, hit the hammer with the nail, pour milk in before the cereal, deliver the mail to the mailman wrong. I mean, I dunno what sort of trick or treating nightmare escapades some folks have been on, but I’ll take chocolate peanut butter, chocolate caramel, chocolate nuts, chocolate and anything over some pseudo-candy wax cones.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.31.2018 @ 1:56 pm
You order a hamburger at the Eat ‘n Flee Diner to the west of campus, and you sit down to find that it’s bloody rare instead of medium well done. How much will it cost? Nothing, hopefully. You return the meal to the waiter, only to see her eyes spin to the back of her head. “I am the cow goddess,” she moans. “I reject your rejected gift.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.23.2018 @ 10:07 pm
The majority doesn’t want this kind of government, or this kind of economic treatment, or these kinds of representatives. Why, then, do they refuse to vote? Why, then, do they find their voices muted, or their priorities shifted, or their opinions irrelevant?
Look around you – hundreds of thousands of voters disenfranchised. Suppressed, unregistered, removed from polling places. They will take your rights away if you do not use them.
October 22nd in California. Register to vote.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.21.2018 @ 9:53 pm
Please turn in your paperwork. Please wait for the bell. Please pretend this gray campus isn’t the gateway to a modern Hell. Please remember to study for the test you’ll never remember. Then pray that you’ll at least survive the very first semester. Perhaps you’ll find some newfound cheer when we finally reach December. Then you can burn your final exam and spit upon the embers.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.20.2018 @ 10:44 am
I’ve never realized just how much one light can be so good at its job. I’ve seen rooms illuminated before, but never with such a potent amber glow like this one. I stand in the middle of the room, and my shadow lounges on the trodden carpet, basking in what is almost a miniature, personal sun, cupped in both hands before being transferred into a jar.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.19.2018 @ 7:47 am
I knew he wanted to buy the house, but I wasn’t ready to make an offer yet. I wasn’t ready to give up the one place where I had felt safe for over seventeen years. It was amazing that I even had been able to afford the two-story abode, and I had lived in it alone the entire time. I felt like no one else deserved to take up that space.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.17.2018 @ 7:35 am
“What did you think of the roses?”
“Yeah, the white roses. The ones Jerry got you.”
“Oh.” Henry took a deep breath. “They were…they were a nice gesture, I guess. But…”
His exhalations were louder now. “I just don’t like him that way, you know? And I mean, he knows that, too. But he keeps trying. And now that Arnold’s gone, I just don’t wanna be with anyone right now.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.15.2018 @ 4:28 pm
“Do not talk to her.”
“Do NOT enable her.”
“Yes. I PROMISE.”
My mother seemed satisfied by this. She returned to her knitting, while I focused on my silly baking show, checking to see if Archie’s three-tiered wedding cake would taste better than Rachel’s or Marley’s. My cat, Chuckles, slept beside me. I hadn’t named him; my brother has when he was five.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.13.2018 @ 12:24 pm
The maiden was chosen for the sacrifice for allegedly one thing: Her purity. It all seemed so cruel to me. She was led up to the hellmouth with her hands tied behind her hand. Her feet were bare, the soles already scorched from the heat. And the town elders, bless their shriveled hearts, had dressed her in white.
I watched her raise her eyes to the heavens, her chest heaving with hidden sobs.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.12.2018 @ 11:59 am
I could feel her fingernails on my back. Racing against each ridge, attempting to probe my spine as if she were trying to extract something from my bones. The sensation set my teeth on the brink, made the stuff in my veins turn into a personal arctic ocean. I felt shriveled up and petrified like an old tree. But the worst was the noise they made. Like my body was, indeed, an outdated, makeshift chalkboard.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.10.2018 @ 8:26 pm
Is that Little Savannah I see, sitting on her grandmother’s front porch, playing her purple ukelele while her brother sells cold pink lemonade? Is she wearing dandelions in her black hair again – little yellow heads popping out of a inky lake, weedy whimsies ready to say hello?
How much is that lemonade your brother’s selling, Savannah? ‘Cause I’ve got a dry throat and an aching belly, and I could use something sweet before the bitterness settles in again.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.09.2018 @ 5:38 pm
I certainly hope, my students, that you don’t believe your actions are insignificant. That they’re not…consequential, to use another word. You see, you have been told to sit still, keep your eyes down, and listen closely to any and all instructions. You have been told to speak only when you are spoken to, ordered to nod as confirmation and shake your head as denial. But I’m here to tell you that you can do more than that. You can speak. You can even scream.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.08.2018 @ 6:12 pm
“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…”
“Really?” Horace chuckled. “The first star you see? Not the giant star to the north that’s been out for, like, two hours?”
“Dude, shut up. I’m trying to make a wish.”
“What wish? That your wooden puppet son becomes a real boy?”
Maurice looked ready to slap Horace, but the meowing of their hungry cat stopped them from being slapstick-comedy-style violent.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.07.2018 @ 10:51 am
Mrs. Semple wore a golden hoop in each ear, and she claimed she was an expert hula hooper in her youth. I was ready for her to brag that she could shoot hoops, too, but she never mentioned basketball in all the times we had tea together.
I was heating up the kettle when she came down with a cough. I held her hand as we went to the emergency room together. She wore silver hoops in her ears that night.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.05.2018 @ 7:31 pm
“I’m thinking of running for president one day,” said the nominee for Little Man mayor. The nape of her neck was damp from the humidity. A flat white cap covered her curls.
“Ah,” murmured the reporter who was interviewing. “Big ambitions, then.”
“No, no,” chirped the nominee. “Big ambitions would be total world domination. Becoming president? That’s a stroll in the park for me.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.04.2018 @ 12:58 pm
I wanted to be the baddest. I wanted to be the toughest. I wanted to be the raddest, the rudest, and the roughest. I wanted to scare the neighborhood with my teenage rebellion. I thought I’d set the old folk straight by being a rascally Hellion. But now I’m running my own shop, and I’m a respected lawyer. I guess my goth phase died real fast, and I’m subject to adult horror.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 10.02.2018 @ 7:41 am
The birthday party wasn’t so much a get-together as it was…well, a circus. Not that there were any cool elements of said circus there, like lions and trapeze artists and giant rings of fire. But there were certainly a whole lot of clowns. Not clowns in make-up with wigs and big shoes (well, save for Billy Delainey regarding his big boots), but in demeanor entirely. And I wasn’t laughing.
“You can’t eat the cake yet!” I shouted at sixty-five-year-old Ryan O’Malley, who had decided to try to take a bite directly from the spongey base before I had even lit the candles.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.29.2018 @ 10:11 am
I used to love autumn. I felt at peace when the mornings got cooler and the air got brisker, when the leaves gathered in crispy clumps around gray gutters and street corners. I adored the variety of colors that assailed my eyes on any given afternoon after work, and when I walked toward the bay, the wind would pick up and nearly carry me away like a sprite on a chariot. But I don’t love it anymore.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.27.2018 @ 4:35 pm
I can’t see colors. Shapes, sure – squares and triangles and circles and cubes. I can detect the verticals and the horizontals, the sharp and the soft, the texture and the tactile. I can see movement – quick or slow, sometimes even when it’s such a blur that sound trails after it like a confused child. But colors? Nothing of the sort. Sepia is a foreign word to me. It’s synonymous to my reality.
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.26.2018 @ 2:27 pm
Back To Stats Page
“So what’s it about?”
“Um…what’s what about?”
“The story.” He gesticulated wildly at the book. “Th-the novel. What’s the plot?”
“Oh.” She giggled. “It’s not much, really. It’s pretty simple. Just this young woman who decides to teach in Alaska for a year and winds up falling in love.”
“With a handsome guy from town?”
“A handsome gal, actually, but close enough.”
» Posted By Belinda Roddie On 09.24.2018 @ 5:01 pm