Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Serendipity
She awoke propped in the corner created by the rusty dumpster against the dingy brick wall of an old bank, a curled section of the newpaper in her hand. She squeezed it tighlty as she stretched her stiff body. No shower or brushing teeth or checking her hair in a mirror to prepare for the day ahead. Yes, the ease of being homeless.
She yawned, emerged from the alley, and meandered to her usual bench outside the capitol building. As she stumbled along, she held up a filthy hand--dirt heavily packed under each nail--to block the strong morning sunshine from her squniting green eyes. She plunked down and looked at what she had been holding in the other hand. Unrolling it revealed yesterday's obituaries. Why did she have it?
Think! she commaned herself. Of course when she tried to force it, she could only picture an empty wall. She would have to be careful. She sensed the real her was in command. Making too big of a deal would attract the others, and they would bicker and fight for dominance. She would have to take her time
It is... (deep breath) August...the eighteenth of August....year...(deep breath) 2008. So far so good. The others weren't even paying attention. I live...(deep breath) in Madison...Wisconsin. I was born...(deep breath)...I was born...in 1974. Although she tried to control it, her anxiety increased. Dare she hope for just one day of sanity? My name is... (deep breath) The others still seemed unaware. My name is...(deep breath)...I am...Karen....Karen Smithe.
It was a major achievement, but she remained nonchalant and casually scanned her surroundings. Men and women in suits began to populate the sidewalks. They walked by her as if she didn't exist, which was actually true some days, but not today. She finally returned to the obituaries, feeling safe the others were ignorant of what she was trying to do.
Her eyes scanned the photos, but nothing clicked. She examined the list of names, and there it was: "Smithe, Dean." She hesitated to think about the name. The others were still in their own worlds. Yes, she remembered a Dean from her childhood. A cousin? She read the entry, "Age 47...car accident...wife, Sarah." Sarah...yes, I remember her too. "Sons, Matthew, Marcus, Lucas, and Paul...parents, Clarence and Marrianne." My aunt and uncle! She tried to remain calm. Her mind was working on the information. My parents are...(deep breath)...(deep breath) Joe... and Jean. The others were still clueless. She couldn't believe her luck. I have brothers...(deep breath) Ben and Tom.
Karen needed to act quickly. The others could come back at any time. She needed a way to communicate with herself. She searched her pockets for a pen. Nothing. She stopped searching and took a deep breath, careful not to get too excited. Okay, no pen, no pencil...She stood up and thought she would scan the sidewalks when she spied a stray piece of red bark. She stooped and picked it up. The bark was soft and would do until she found something better.
Using her clumsy writing instrument, she circled Dean's obituary, but she wasn't sure what to write. She circled the obituary again and continued searching for a pen. While looking down she heard something.
"Can I help you?"
Karen continued her mission.
"Did you lose something? Can I help you?"
Karen glanced toward the voice and realized a woman was talking to her. She straitened up and looked at the woman.
"Hi...I'm sorry. I thought you might have lost something...?"
Yes, I do need help, Karen thought but couldn't find the words. Instead, she held out the obituaries. The movement of her arm seemed to signal them, and she could see them turn and rush toward her. Karen wasn't mush of a fighter, so the others easily took over.
*****
This had been the same woman Jennifer had seen the other day when on her date with What's-His-Face. She had been too afraid to talk to her, but she couldn't stop thinking about her and her green eyes. This morning she saw the woman talking to herself again, but she seemed different. She wore the same gray-brown rags, but today she was calmer, not ranting.
Once again, Jennifer watched her, hoping the woman would approach her. When she saw the woman walk away, she knew she had to say something. When the woman turned around, they locked eyes for only a few seconds. The woman looked at Jennifer, not through her, and the green eyes were soft and sad and scared. She was surprised when the woman handed her something. She looked at the paper briefly, but when she looked at the woman again, the green eyes were harsh, and the ranting returned.
Jennifer looked at what the woman had given her and saw the smeared circled around Dean Smithe's obituary.
"Do you know this man?" Jennifer asked as she pointed Dean's photo.
The woman had not moved, but she continued her nonsensical arguments with herself, seemingly unaware of Jennifer's presence.
More loudly, "Dean Smithe. Do you know Dean Smithe? This man here, Dean Smithe." Even though the woman did not acknowledge her, Jennifer's excitement grew. She held in her hand a more tangible way to help this woman. Jennifer fished her cell phone from her purse and called the funeral home listed for Dean.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Knell
Bells from a nearby church had set her off, and she cried in a dignified manner for only a moment. Gently dabbing her tears with a tissue (a hankershief would have seemed pretentious), she knew he was gone but kept balanced on the hope the bells were for someone else-for the tattooed teen with the bullet wound, for the elderly mother of the man who sat across from her in the waiting room, for anyone one else who had been recently rushed passed her in a stretcher...
But she couldn't play this game anymore; she couldn't deny what her heart already knew. No one else in the small, fakely decorated room seemed to notice the bells, but they evetually noticed Sarah. She had broken out of her composed sadness and cried violently. Her feelings for Dean had burst and spiraled off into different dirrections like snakes. A few curled around her lungs. Some tore at the back of her throat and bit at the inner ears. The worst encirled her stomach and squeezed.
The son of the elderly woman prentended to be interested in the news on tv. The parents of the wounded teen held hands. A small child asked her mother, "Why is that lady crying?" and the mother hushed her child. No one approached Sarah or said anything to her.
After a minute, she was able to pull herself back in. A doctor appeared in the doorway of the waiting room, and Sarah, eyes red and glossy, picked up her purse, approached him, and said, "He's gone, isn't he?"
"Um," is all she heard, but it was enough. All at once she took in the doc's nervous eyes, his gentle tone, and uneasy stance. She followed him through the sterille corridor, not knowing what her dead husband would look like.
But she couldn't play this game anymore; she couldn't deny what her heart already knew. No one else in the small, fakely decorated room seemed to notice the bells, but they evetually noticed Sarah. She had broken out of her composed sadness and cried violently. Her feelings for Dean had burst and spiraled off into different dirrections like snakes. A few curled around her lungs. Some tore at the back of her throat and bit at the inner ears. The worst encirled her stomach and squeezed.
The son of the elderly woman prentended to be interested in the news on tv. The parents of the wounded teen held hands. A small child asked her mother, "Why is that lady crying?" and the mother hushed her child. No one approached Sarah or said anything to her.
After a minute, she was able to pull herself back in. A doctor appeared in the doorway of the waiting room, and Sarah, eyes red and glossy, picked up her purse, approached him, and said, "He's gone, isn't he?"
"Um," is all she heard, but it was enough. All at once she took in the doc's nervous eyes, his gentle tone, and uneasy stance. She followed him through the sterille corridor, not knowing what her dead husband would look like.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Ineffable
It was like staying at a fancy hotel. Everything was prefectly arranged and in its place. Ben briefly admired the orderliness of Dean and Sarah's house but was distracted by what he had been thinking about since the last night of the Vegas trip.
He had woken around 3 a.m. only to find Clarissa's side of the bed empty. As he had taken a quick look around their room, he heard the door open. It was Clarissa sneaking back into the room thinking Ben had been asleep all along.
Clarissa never said where she had been, and Ben never asked but wanted to. Deep down he knew he had complete faith in Clarissa, but she was obviously hiding something. He wanted to bring it up during the plane ride back home, but they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves for once. No petty fights, not even the slightest disagreement. He didn't want to spoil everything. He planned to ask once they had unpacked at home, but they had barely landed when his cell buzzed with Sarah's desperate call for help. Now was obviously not the time.
"What are you thinking?" Clarissa playfully nudged Ben.
"Oh nothing. I guess Dean. I hope he's okay."
"Yeah..."
Ben read her thoughts as her eyes traveled around the lavishly appointed kitchen. Something like Yeah... all this expensive stuff can't help him. He turned to her, and they embraced. They were not moved to tears, just happy to have one another.
"I'm going to check on the boys," Sarah said as they released each other. He nodded, although he knew the little ones would be perfectly alseep and quiet as they had been since they arrived.
He loved Clarissa completely, but for some reason a certain film of paranoia encased his feelings for those he truly loved, almost suggesting that they didn't truly love him back. Cognitively Ben knew this was ridiculous, but his brain often managed to hint otherwise. It was a recurring topic of conversation with Clarissa he could never properly explain. She seemed to understand that it was something different that doubting her love, but these conversations typically ended in frustration for both of them nonetheless.
And now Ben couldn't stop thinking about that night in Vegas. Where had she been? What did she do? Could there be a simple explanation? He couldn't stand not knowing. He would ask when she returned to the kitchen. No big deal, just ask casually.
"Okay, so I'm in little Johnny's room and see that Sarah had put out clothes for tomorrow," Sarah interrupted Ben's thoughts. "Nothing surprising. Then I notice that the hanger is labeled, 'Monday.' Because I'm nosy and can't resist, I look in the closet and see that she has three week's worth of coordinated outfits picked out for him, each one a day-of-the-week hanger AND she did the same for the other boys too!"
Ben shook his head and smiled, not forgetting his plan. Waiting a few seconds, he changed the subject. "Hey, I have a question for you..."
He had woken around 3 a.m. only to find Clarissa's side of the bed empty. As he had taken a quick look around their room, he heard the door open. It was Clarissa sneaking back into the room thinking Ben had been asleep all along.
Clarissa never said where she had been, and Ben never asked but wanted to. Deep down he knew he had complete faith in Clarissa, but she was obviously hiding something. He wanted to bring it up during the plane ride back home, but they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves for once. No petty fights, not even the slightest disagreement. He didn't want to spoil everything. He planned to ask once they had unpacked at home, but they had barely landed when his cell buzzed with Sarah's desperate call for help. Now was obviously not the time.
"What are you thinking?" Clarissa playfully nudged Ben.
"Oh nothing. I guess Dean. I hope he's okay."
"Yeah..."
Ben read her thoughts as her eyes traveled around the lavishly appointed kitchen. Something like Yeah... all this expensive stuff can't help him. He turned to her, and they embraced. They were not moved to tears, just happy to have one another.
"I'm going to check on the boys," Sarah said as they released each other. He nodded, although he knew the little ones would be perfectly alseep and quiet as they had been since they arrived.
He loved Clarissa completely, but for some reason a certain film of paranoia encased his feelings for those he truly loved, almost suggesting that they didn't truly love him back. Cognitively Ben knew this was ridiculous, but his brain often managed to hint otherwise. It was a recurring topic of conversation with Clarissa he could never properly explain. She seemed to understand that it was something different that doubting her love, but these conversations typically ended in frustration for both of them nonetheless.
And now Ben couldn't stop thinking about that night in Vegas. Where had she been? What did she do? Could there be a simple explanation? He couldn't stand not knowing. He would ask when she returned to the kitchen. No big deal, just ask casually.
"Okay, so I'm in little Johnny's room and see that Sarah had put out clothes for tomorrow," Sarah interrupted Ben's thoughts. "Nothing surprising. Then I notice that the hanger is labeled, 'Monday.' Because I'm nosy and can't resist, I look in the closet and see that she has three week's worth of coordinated outfits picked out for him, each one a day-of-the-week hanger AND she did the same for the other boys too!"
Ben shook his head and smiled, not forgetting his plan. Waiting a few seconds, he changed the subject. "Hey, I have a question for you..."
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