23 August 2013

story cont.


Outside the light dimmed a bit when a sudden clanging jerked her awake. Disoriented from the sudden noise and the strong medication, she sat still, willing her mind to focus on what was happening. Only her thumb twitched nervously. As the minutes ticked by she began to relax, “just a dream,” she muttered, but the words barely escaped her lips when the clanging repeated. That sounds like the blasted doorbell but who would dare? She struggle to her feet, clutching the end of the sofa until her vision solidified enough to shuffle across the floor. Painstakingly, her arthritic joints protesting, she unlatched both deadbolts, the knob lock, but left the security chain in place. Opening the door she squinted in the gathering twilight. 
“Hi,” a voice about waist level said. “My name is Dafydd. Like David but the Welsh way because my mom thought it was cool. What’s your name?”
“Go away.”
“That’s an odd name but ok. Ms Away, would you like some cookies?”
“No, brat. I didn’t say that was my name I told YOU to GO AWAY. So beat it. Where’s those idiot parents of yours anyway? I’d give them a piece of my mind for letting their son disturb an old woman.”
“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to disturb. I just wanted to share my cookies. I kind of don’t have a mom and dad, I mean, they’re dead. Long time ago. But my foster parents are super cool and Mama--that’s what I call my foster mom--helped me back cookies for people in the neighborhood and so I thought I’d bring you some even though she said you probably didn’t want any because everybody knows you don’t like people but I thought you don’t have to like people just cookies and so would you like some?”
She took a deep breath. “Um...”
“I knew it!” David said, “You do like cookies! They’re peanut butter chocolate chip, my favorite. I’ll just put them here on the table.”
And before she could respond he had brushed past her and walked toward the kitchen table keeping up a running monologue. How many years had it been since anyone had stepped into the house? She couldn’t remember but she felt her heart racing and that old sense of losing control coming back.
“It’s kind of dark in here, you should let in the setting sun. It’s super nice tonight, the breezes would help clean up the air. Do you keep it closed all the time? Kind of seems like it. Hey, are you like Miss Havisham? We just read that book in school and I thought of you because no one ever talks to you and you keep yourself shut up. But Mama said you were married once so I guess that’s not the same. But hey, I could be like Pip. Would you like me to come and visit every week? I have time because school is pretty easy and there aren’t too many kids that live in this neighborhood.”
Dafydd paused here and looked at her. He waited. She gripped the edge of the couch and said, “I don’t, I, I don’t, I mean I think, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why?”
How much is contained in a single word? All the whys came flooding back, all the reasons for shutting herself off, all the people who had failed her, and more deeply the people she had failed. 
“Because I’m a bitter dying old woman, kid, and you wouldn’t want to be around me.”
“It’s still Dafydd and everyone needs a friend. Please?”
She glared at him. Opening her mouth to say “No” she heard herself say, “Well, if you want maybe you could come around. Just once a week.”
“Great! Since you are getting old I can help out too. I like to help out!”
“Kid, I don’t need your help.”
“Well, maybe you don’t but your lawn does. I’ll bring the lawnmower next time and afterwards you can tell me some stories. Okeydoke, see you then!”
And without another word he was gone. She sat down, her breath coming in gasps, as if she’d just run a marathon. Before she could gather her thoughts the door opened and Dafydd’s head poked through.
“You never told me your name. What should I call you?”
“Ford. Ms. Ford.”
“Great. See you next Wednesday,” and the door shut again. 

20 August 2013

christmas in august (a rough draft)


        It was Christmas 1986 when Molly’s life changed forever. Yes, thinking back on her life she realized that in one breathtaking moment she learnt that life takes your hope and crushes it, often when you least expect it. And often, sadly, the moment comes after all the signs had pointed to fulfillment of that very hope. 
That fateful Christmas she had asked for a special gift. Now, her family was by no means wealthy; in fact, to her shame, they often used food stamps and this very Thanksgiving had accepted a box of food from the food pantry. This was the same box of food they donated to on a regular basis at church (only the gross cans, like creamed corn and peas with scallions). But she felt so much hope that her family would make the sacrifice to give her this one gift. It wasn’t much, just a Barbie horse that sold for about seven dollars down at K-mart. 
Christmas Eve came and she kept eying the square box with her name on it under the tree. It was the right size, it clattered a bit when she discreetly shook it, and it was hers. The excitement mounted. It was Christmas, the season of excitement and shouldn’t she expect nothing less than hope, tangibly materializing in the plastic shape of a horse? No one knew how excited she was when she woke up the next morning.
Her father read the Christmas story as he always did but she had no ears for it. Then came the gifts and as she tore off the paper, she saw pink! and the Barbie emblem! It was...a Barbie knitting kit. Dumbfounded, she had burst into tears and thrown it down. Besides the fact that it wasn’t what she wanted it had to do with sewing, in her mind, and that was something she was less than keen about. 
Rather than consoling her, her shocked parents demanded that she show appropriate gratitude for a gift, even if the gift wasn’t what she wanted. She protested angrily but eventually lapsed into sullen compliance as a seed was planted in her heart. From that day on, hope shriveled. Sure, she hoped for many things in the coming years but always, whenever the moment of realization came--especially if it came with hope deferred--her heart whispered that no horse waited in the wrapping paper, only a clearance-listed knitting kit that no one wanted.
The seed sprouted new leaves with each disappointment. By the time she grew to adulthood, it flowered into a belief that no one loved her enough to make her happy. She learnt that to be loved meant to be needed rather than wanted and so she made herself into a useful person. Even so, hope dies hard. Deep, deep down, buried under the weed of unloveliness, the whisper came that no amount of being useful could counterfeit real love. Somewhere, it whispered, there must be someone who loves me regardless of anything that I do. And, it continued, that someone would be willing to do anything to convince me of that love. Could I just find them, I would see that. 
Funny, that it all started on Christmas. That search for a love that comes unconditionally and gives its all.