Those Darn Kids

Isn’t that a great picture? It’s one of my favorites. That’s Sonny on the left and Sam on the right. Sam is short for Samantha and Sonny is short for anything but his stature. He’s a big kid alright but not too bright. I think his body grew a bit faster than his mind. Those two are twins. I usually have to shut people’s mouths right about now from that news. Sam is about the right size for their age, they’re about 13 now.

My name is Shirley and I live across the street from Sam and Sonny. Ever since they moved into town, everybody talks about Sam and Sonny and not all the talk is nice. People say that Sonny shouldn’t live at home with his dad and sister because he can be a handful. Some people say that they need a mother to take care of those kids but Sam won’t here of it. She’s an independent and protective little girl. I’d say she’s the shining star in that old house. She may be small and scrappy but she’ll protect that big dumb brother of hers come hell or high water. And lord forbid that her hardworking father bring any women over because that little prize fighter will run them out quicker than a greased up pig.

Since their momma left some years ago, Sam just thought she was the one to step up to the plate. Times were pretty tough for them a couple of years ago. Their dad, Roger, got a good paying job working in a factory a couple towns away and couldn’t be home for all the things a parent was supposed to do. Sonny is just as smart as hamster in its wheel and needs help with just about everything. I did what I could for them by making casseroles for dinner and letting them play at my house when they were younger. But the older Sam got, the more independent she was and the more she wanted to do things for her family herself. Sammy did stuff most kids her age should never be doing, like the wash and the cooking, but Roger sure did appreciate it. He knew nothing bad would happen to Sonny while Sam was running the show. I remember when some older kids were picking on Sonny while they were walking home. Sam on the sly, picked up a rock and threw it as hard as she could at the boys. She pegged one of ‘em right in the forehead and those boys were off like a prom dress. She grabbed a hold of Sonny’s hand and walked him home like nothing ever happened.

It was the cutest thing to see those kids play together but boredom would set it quick. Sonny only liked to do a couple of things and Sam just plain got tired of the same old games so that’s when I got this picture. Those old newspaper boxes are down the block from my house and the kids had been playing catch in the street. All of a sudden I look over and Sam had squished herself into that box and Sonny just sat there waiting for her to play catch again. I sure hope they do alright. I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

Years

Kelly and I in Nuevo Loredo

From Mardi Gras to Mexico

beaches to bars
The days and the nights lasted forever
like a nineteen year old
on crack.
The hot Louisiana nights only got shorter
As the years
moved
on.

We laughed like hyenas on
the prowl. Hysterical. Unstoppable.
We were like avril lavigne
motherfucking princesses.
So many faces they all melt into
one. It’s hard to remember how
or when or why but in the end
It never matters.

The pictures tell the story now. Cuz
words aren’t enough. My eyes shut and
briefly the memory flashes but then
its gone

just as quickly as it happened.

Amazing. One life in the realm of many.

The years move on.

Gabcast! blog #2

As the Cold Deepens

She is eighty-six
and her friends are dying.
"They're dropping like flies," she grumbles
and I see black winged bodies crumbling
on window sills when we open our summer house.

Flies all over!
Brushing them onto the floor, sweeping
them up, we drop black mounds into the bag.
"What a mess!" my mother declares.

I think of flies how they live in a weightless armor
tough, resistant like a finger nail.

My mother is almost weightless now,
her flesh shrinks back toward bone.
Braced in her metal walker
she haunts the halls, prowls
the margin of her day, indomitable
erect in this support
that fuses steel with self.

At noon the flies mass on the sills
flying up and down the pane
pressing for sun.
What buzzing agitates the air
as the swarm becomes a single drive
a scramble up, a dizzy spin.

It is hard to hold the light
which grows weaker every day.
The temperature is falling
The glass is cold.

written by Elizabeth W. Holden

I worked in a home specifically for the elderly with dementia. This was the last home they were ever going to live in. Families who no longer were able to care for their parents and spouses who were no longer strong enough to keep their loves at home came to us. This was a home where they came to live and stayed to die. I had been through a number of deaths in the three years I was there. In this world of mental health, the caregivers have to keep a certain mind set in order to deal with numerous deaths of people whom they've grown to love. We knew the old superstitions about things happening in threes. So as soon as two residents would die, we would wait for the third. In our cold-seeming frame of mind, we would say that they were dropping like flies. I know the imagery this poem was showing because I've been there up close many times.

Roger

A young lady with a baby strapped into a pouch asked, “How much?” She stood there for a moment with a handful of coins looking at Roger. What did she just say, Roger asked himself.

“Excuse me,” she said again, “how much is it?”

Roger shook the daze from his eyes and told her, “$1.20, do you need a transfer?”

The lady put each coin in deliberately, counting out loud to herself and nodded her head yes. The baby was squirming and began to whimper as she looked for a seat on the crowded bus. Oh not another one, Roger thought. I can’t stand the crying babies. Not this early in the morning and it probably shit its diaper and now it’s gonna stink up the whole damn bus. God, I hate my job.

The baby started slowly but worked its way up to wails. Roger watched the young mother rock the baby in rhythm of the bouncing bus, trying to calm him. Roger also watched the other riders on the bus. Some of them stared as if gawking would somehow stop the crying and some tried to bury themselves in the newspaper, pretending not to hear. Roger all of sudden felt a pang of sadness for the lady and her screaming kid, remembering what it was like to have babies. He looked up again as he heard the bell ring signaling a stop. The young woman gathered her things and stood up. She hung her head as she walked to the front of the bus waiting for the doors to open.

“Have a nice day,” Roger said.

She didn’t look back, just put her hand up in recognition of his voice as she got off the bus. Roger sighed part in sadness for her but mostly he was relieved the baby was gone.

Chance

My son, Chance, was only an infant at three months old, but was starting an adventure. We stepped off the bus and away from the hum of the engine and the noise of other commuters. The early morning sun was bright and warmed our faces in the cool winter air. My son and I cautiously walked through double doors that lead into his first daycare. The short woman behind the desk smiled at us and began searching through a stack of papers, looking specifically for the ones pertaining to my son. I was so nervous that everything she said was a blur except, “Let me show you to his room,” in a distinct North Carolina drawl. One of the florescent lights flickered, casting shadows on the kid’s artwork in the hallway.

A teacher’s aide asked that I return to the front because someone was here to see me. I paused for a moment, checking my mental files for anyone who knew I was there. A slender woman with short brown hair and dressed in casual work-out attire stood at the front.

The sun cast an orangish glow behind her as she said, “I saw you this morning on Providence Rd.” I looked at her confused but nodded my head in agreement.

She continued, “I went to my yoga class and was on my way home when I saw you getting off the bus here.” I held Chance tight and thought back to the bus ride that took an hour and a half. A gentle look came across her face and she reached for my hand.

“God told me you needed money. This is all I have but it is for you,” she said as she slipped a folded up bill into my hand. I was without words.

All I could muster was “Thank you,” and fumbled for something else to say. She then turned on her heels and walked away. I stood in the hallway and watched her drive away, finally realizing the money in my hand. I began to unclasp my fist and just saw the corner of a twenty dollar bill. I had to focus on getting my son settled in for a long day and put the cash in my back pocket for later. To this day, I still am in awe in the selfless act of love and kindness most people rarely see.