Tag: fiction

erin

he lived on the edges.

in summer he turned up on benches – mornings, i would often see him sitting at a picnic table, with a used coffee cup full of fresh coffee and a muffin at the grocery store nearby. the store gave free refills if their logoed cup was used so the cups got reused whether they were first bought by our unhoused or found, discarded by a customer.

with the evening sun, he’d sit in the triangle park at the end of my block, boots neatly tucked at his side their tongues pulled forward to air out the day’s sweat. he wiggled his toes to a song of his memory or just as a welcome to the open air. i often stopped to say hello – sometimes i’d give him a popsicle and other times he shared what he was eating with my dog. his speech was always clear and deep, kind and cheerfully cadenced- bright blue eyes shone and you could see him thinking. he excitedly shared the plots of books he was reading or told me about a new plant he’d discovered. after some time, he found a guitar, two strings missing, and began teaching himself to carry broken melodies.

i asked him once how long he’d been living outside and if he’d like to be in a home again. he told me he doesn’t belong inside, that it makes him feel anxious. he said he gets enough to get by and quickly changed the subject to tell me he found out how to get free kolaches from a bakery nearby.

on this day we sat and watched the sky, “where are you from,” i asked. “illinois, near chicago.”

“i have friends in naiperville, they lived in joliet before that.”

“i’m just a few towns up … weaton,” he says with a brightness. we sit in silence for a bit then he tells me he was a wrestler there in high school … his beard shuffles as a smile surfaces, “funny thing happened the other day… This gang type guy came up to me, I don’t know why but he says “you wanna mess with me you mess with the cartel” and I was thinking like ‘this guy is crazy.’ He doesn’t know who I am – so I say, “you wanna mess with me you mess with a wrestler from weston.” that guy backed down.”

he pet my dog, a gentle pyrenees retriever mix with silky long fur. they stared at each other, “You are the dog with eyes as wise as the forest.”

from orig v 3-22-2022

free range mama

I was sitting in a very hot bath, enjoying a semi-silence, but Zach Bryan cooed in the other room. 

The other room, my daughter’s was a spotless room, because she cleaned head to toe, while she had COVID, but no fever that day. As I sat in my bath, she was completely locked in on her chemistry, advanced chemistry, thank you very much. She’s incredibly capable and it’s fascinating to watch her navigate this complicated world with such grace.

Meanwhile, my room was a complete disaster. It’s true. I had worked all day, and it was not as bad as it had been in the past. I suppose, at least, clothes were not strewn across the floor, but random computer cables were and jewelry adorned my dresser top with scattered indecision. There were papers out because I had thought I might need them someday, and that someday has passed, but I hadn’t had the gumption to toss them yet. There might be another someday. It was just a hot mess. 

But I lounged in my bath and I dreamt about a future where I can spread my dreams. My future and what I want to do and where I want to go in this world. And I know I want a place.

I want a place that my baby will always be able to come back to, a place that both of us can always call home. Presently, that’s my mom’s land, the last bit of our family land. I know my mom won’t always be there. She will die at some point. It’s just the guarantee of living. Once she dies, I don’t know if I still want the land where she lives. It’s just outside of Austin and it will get busier and more crowded. Water will become more of an issue, as we may or may not continue to get rain. And so I thought about it. I thought maybe I will look for a place far north- somewhere where things are damp and green and water and food grows with the seasons.

This idea of place is something to think about for my future, but it’s not required for me. A place in the future comes down to: I want my child to always have a place to come home to. She has commented, “I don’t really have a childhood home.” It’s true, I bought and sold two houses- the first sold because of divorce and the second from being overwhelmed with managing a home on my own. Selling both is one of the few regrets I have in life, but there’s no reason we can’t create one for the future. A place her children will always know, should she choose to have them, and a place she can return whenever she needs.

I want to work toward that and in that, I want a place that I can lock up and leave and go away from for months at a time. I still dream of volunteering with Peace Corps. I should have done it with or without her dad so many years ago, but he said the psych evaluation was foolish and dug his heels in against having one done. I acquiesced and dropped the application process. A bit later, an opportunity opened for me in New York and I was able to leverage that into a move to the City for us. While that was an experience I would never trade, it’s not the calling of volunteer community development and support I still crave. Once my daughter has flown, that will be a goal to achieve- serving in Peace Corps or with another organization. 

I also want to hike great distances- the Appalachian Trail- America’s southern borders- at least some of the Pacific Crest- to walk the Santiago Trail in Spain- the caves in France where it is said Mary Magdalene lived after Christ’s ascension. I don’t have a goal to scale any mountains, but I want to see the world on foot. Maybe a little on bicycle, but there’s something about my feet to the earth, step after step, crossing miles and passing through time, that makes me really happy. 

While I walk, I want to hear the stories of the people I meet- collect them like a bowerbird, collects shiny objects. I want to collect the stories of people’s lives and wear them in my soul. Woven like the stardust, they are. Stardust that is now only atoms of air that rest upon our ears, and I can carry with me. I want to learn the fiddle so I can play the woven songs into the night.

I want to learn ASL so I can share the stories of people that can’t hear my language. Other languages as well- a babel fish placed in my ear would be a wonderful addition- so long as I can reply to all.

I just want to be of the world, and I want to love within this world. To me, that is love. It’s your soul sharing with souls. Stop for a bit here and there and hither- work in kitchens or learn massage so I can make due. Wherever I go. There’s cooking. There’s writing. There’s organizing. I’m sure I can get it together to be on the waves of the world. Then quietly there will always be a place- that place I’ve set aside for us. Small and simple- accessible from a second bus and a ride from a local to the top of a long road, at the end of which will sit a little house overlooking a nice, low, curving hill that ends with water. It will always end with water.

hard re-set

At least once a week she wants a hard re-set. 

Full speed into the back of stopped traffic.

Tear through a red light with a cargo truck passing in the perpendicular.

The sign reads slow to 45, but keep it at 65, don’t curve or slow into the highway overpass turn.

How the days bled from one into another week with punctuations of cooking and cleaning and interrupted sleep. Just one little ‘accident’ and it would all stop. Just. Stop. The noise. The demands. The uncertainty. The fears. Just one little accident to end it all. 

All of the hard re-set possibilities would cause moderate to severe injury, possibly death. The level of her consideration of re-set, rear-end, t-bone, or sailing into and possibly over an overpass, would depend on the week.

After a hard re-set, there would be quiet. No demands on her time. No coordination of events. No conversations she’d rather not have. No worrying. Oh the worrying. It wasn’t a conscious worrying, but it was a never ending worrying about her daughter. The love was so strong that she stopped trying to explain it. She stopped trying to describe how it felt to have part of herself in the world, but with no control of its consciousness. Just her inside someone else’s body, but not knowing their world and as that other her grew bigger and more into their world, becoming more like her and also further away. The quiet worrying grew. The desire to be Present, while also a pulling darkness to re-set. She didn’t want to die- just wanted it all to stop for maybe two months. Just a medically induced coma to sleep through and a year of PT. A re-set.

When she was back, it would all still be there, but shifted. The shift might be worse, might be better, but her heart might have a rest for a bit of time and she might not feel so terrifically overwhelmed through every moment. 

The truth though, is that life would keep rolling and while the re-set could possibly maybe help her bring it all back in- The re-set could possibly maybe calm the turmoil in her mind- The re-set could possibly maybe keep her heart in her chest for a bit- it would also tear more that just her world apart. People would worry. Her heart outside her body would be destroyed with worry. A re-set would stop hers and everyone else’s life in the worst ways. so …

She slams on the brakes.

She turns out of the cargo truck’s path.

She slows into the turn.

Another week to worry and wonder after the peace of a hard re-set.