crisnole
I dodged the question. It came at me like a bully from a pistol, to fast to stop, yet like a super her with special powers I leaned to the side and let it pass. I did the unthinkable and answered a question with a question. "Sir, how would you feel if you found yourself having to choose between two children?" Our eyes locked, he would let go of the hold we had. Neither of us let go of the gaze. I felt a dodge coming his way. I wondered would he answer my question with a question? Would this Q and A turn more into a doge ball tournament than a time of getting to know the writer and her fans? I did not realize how painful a simple question from a stranger could trigger a response that made me want to crawl back under my covers and never to come out again like that night the the door bell rang and my life forever changed. It was the when the covers because my safety blanket, they held all my fears at bay and I could lay under them and pretend the world around me did not exist.
The weather was hardly typical for a summer afternoon. Clouds covered the skyline and were bursting at the seem. They looked like they were ready to pop open and drop water all over the dried up dirt roads. People in the town were more then ready for this mid summer surprise. It had beet over a hundred degrees and dry for the past month. The city felt more like the desert and people were starting to walk around defeated by the dryness of the situation. Nobody who had lived there their whole life was use to such long drawn out days of hot temperatures. The rain and cool weather was welcomed with open arms by all. Greeting the clouds like a gift from God. As soon as the rain started to pour, people could be seen dancing in the streets.
She never felt like charity was the answer to the problem. It felt like all they were ever doing was giving hand outs instead of hand ups. There was a bigger problem and know one wanted to look at it. She could see clearly, she heard the voices of the homeless and helpless left on the fringes. She had been there, maybe not physically but mentally and spiritually she knew what it was like to be with out, lost, hungry, lonely and scared. Food will go away what else could they collectively do to help?
He entered the room like a gust of wind. Thank goodness I was prepared. I had my game face on. I was not about to let him take over the evening. Just because he was a guest did not give him permission to act like he came with honors. We were here to celebrate a mutual friends accomplishments not his. Have you ever known someone who always, and I hate using that word, yet it is fair when talking about him, have you ever known a person who always keeps the conversation focused on them, what there doing,where their going, buying, being? That is the man. He has the social skills of a fly just buzzing around the room,greeting and meeting people as if they all wanted to know his story oblivious to the fact that this night was not about him. How to you make someone like that aware of their behavior? And even if I had that answer would I, would it be my place?
Time had worn out a hole in her heart. Years of waiting for an answer. Years of looking for the one she had lost. Now she had to made a choice. Was she going to stay in the same town hoping he would come back or would she take the job offer that would allow her to start a new life a new start? Was she willing to close the door on her past? The pain of even thinking about leaving almost took her breath away. Yet, she new she couldn't stay. If she did she would remain stuck. Yes seemed like the only logical answer. It took her only two days two pack her apartment. She was shipping all of her belongs ahead of time and using the weekend to say her goodbyes. She packed herself a bag with just enough clothing and toiletries to get her by. This was it, she was done, finished. Even if he did come back after all this time she still would go.
He had worn out the knees of his jeans. All of five he thought he could slip,slide, crash and fall without it doing any damage to his clothing. When the holes finally arrived he was surprised. Shocked to say the least. Looking up into his mommies eyes he said, "I don't know what happened mama, really!" He believed his own story even though he had picked at the tiny pieces of threads that had been slowly unraveling before the hole took over. Mama had a gentle disposition and was raised with three older brothers who suffered with the same phenomenon so the worn out holes in her little mans jeans were of no surprise. She paused for a long time after he announced his ignorance and then she squatted down to be at eye level with him and shared how the very same thing would happen to his uncle pants when they were little boys as well. He looked at her mouth open wide his big brown eyes saying "really" at the same time his mouth did. "You bet," she said! And continued to teach him about the world of patch work and the ability to cover up the holes and make the jeans last a little bit longer. He thought his mama was pretty smart anyway but this piece of information made him feel like she knew magic. The next morning he woke up to his favorite pair of blue jeans, washed and ready to go free from the holes that had miraculously appeared out of no wee just the day before.
I was reminded of the wind when the natural fan faced my way. Wind makes me smile and cringe. I grew up in the deserts of Southern Ca. Where I experienced the warm wind of the sun blowing over the dry dirt fields. Wind did not always mean jackets hats and gloves but rather plastic garbage bags and strings. The wind I grew up with was strong and fierce. It was known to bring with it fire wrapped in tumble weeds rolling down the streets. This scene caused us to cringe knowing that what ever to touched could bring it up in flames.
The wind I grew up with would clear the sky's from and smog that covered the blue blanket above. It was so strong and by the time it did its job we could see the mountains all around us. It polished the sky like a machine polishes rocks. Everything for miles away looked bright and shining when the winds would come through. Still after all these years I can feel the warmth of the wind and see the sight of its strength. I miss those days of standing In the coulda sac as a young child with my brown Hefty bag, string tied to the end hoping maybe just maybe to catch the wind and fly away for just a little while. The wind of my childhood makes me want to smile and cringe.
Her emotions were revved up. She could feel her breath against her skin. Each inhale seemed to come faster. She had to make a quick choice would she stay or would she go. Her hands started to sweat, her head was loud with thereof her thoughts. What was one to do? Time was of the essence and she had to move fast. She grabbed her phone to act as if she was checking her messages to see if she could by herself a little extra time. But it was up, yes or no?
She turned on the television only to find her self sad. The news had nothing happy to share. She was already feeling blue from not getting time off for the holidays. Now all this reporting on what is not right in the world. She knew she should reach out and turn it off yet she was drawn to allow the deep dark stories to catch her attention. She wanted to look away and look at both.
She sat in the zone of her mind wondering of anything creative would come about. She could hear the clock ticking above her head and the smell coming from the kitchen told her it was almost time for lunch to be served. As much as she loved the process of writing, she found that the zone was not always the best place to hang out. Tick tock, tick tock, louder and louder it became as she tried as hard as she could to make words come out of her finger tips and on to the screen.
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