Call of the Biled (poem)

I ignored the call

But alas, my bladder

Does not believe

In mind over matter.

Call of the Biled (poem)

Dirty Laundry with a Dash of Madness

It's cold out tonight. Cold, like it was that night in 1980. If I stand really still, it all comes back to me, I am there again: questioning the sky with an upraised fist-- the air icy against my face where the tears dry and are replenished over and over. Here and there, my memory pulls back-- unwilling to let me see what had happened... where those two days had gone... it is a void in my mind. Those two days are lost. And yet, I can recall enough of what happened before, and enough of what happened after, to know that nothing is the same because of it. I can see my mother throwing me out of her house, my wet laundry being pulled from the washer and thrown out the door after me. There was something about seeing my clothes fall in a sodden heap in the dirt, that made me scream inside. I wanted to hurt her. My own mother-- and I wanted to see her in pain. I didn't see it then, but she WAS is pain. I saw only hate and anger. She stepped outside and started screaming at me like a mad woman. I felt like I was a six year old again. An ugly step-child. I couldn't understand why her face was so red, or even what she was saying. I turned to pick up my clothes to put them back in the basket. No sooner had I done it, than she came up behind me and knocked it out of my hands. The clothes went back into the dirt. She called me a tramp.To this day, I have no idea why. I was a virgin then. I had never been on a date. But she said I was a sad excuse for a daughter. She said I had caused her nothing but trouble and disappointment. In hindsight i know this was absurd. I never got in trouble, never touched drugs or alcohol. I was the kind of kid most parents would love to have. But then, all i could say in response was that every time I tried to do something right, she'd call it wrong. She said I never did anything right, and that I was useless. I screamed at her that someday I'd be somebody and she'd never say that to me again. She said that first I had to grow up; that I was nothing, a nobody-- that I'd never be anybody. I felt myself start to bleed inside. Then I got angry and the two of us stood there on the pebble-filled concrete patio, screaming at one another. She told me to keep my voice down or the neighbors would hear. My response came at the top of my lungs, "I don't give a damn what the neighbors think!" "Shut your mouth!" she screamed, and started toward me.

I backed away, screaming, "Hear that, neighbors?! I don't give a damn!" That's when her hand shot out and stung me across my cheek. I don't think I've ever felt anything like it. I've been in fights. A few years later, I'd even been beaten and cut by two drugged-up hoodlums and left for dead. But there's something about getting hit by a parent. It hurts twice as much. I tasted something warm and sweet in my mouth and reached up to touch my lip. Blood. I looked at her and tried to catch my breath. She just stood there--she didn't even look sorry she'd done it. I said quietly, "I hate you." This time she struck me next to my eye, and I don't know if her hand was open or fisted. But it turned to a black eye later. I just turned around and started walking toward my car. She said with caustic sarcasm, "You forgot your laundry."

At that moment, I really did hate her. I started crying. Great torrents down my face. I told her to go to hell. I didn't see her for six months after that. I stayed with a friend and her family for two weeks. I was like a zombie. I finally had to be asked to leave. To me it only seemed a few days. So I slept in my car for a week or two--(or three?) and a friend in a neighboring town offered me a room in her trailer. Lots of things happened after that. I started cruising around with "the gang"--drinking all the time, just to dull the ache in me, smoking cigarettes and dope. I got into several fights with girls who were bigger and tougher. Had to be taken to the hospital one night, but I was so drunk, I didn't feel a thing. I started fooling around with a married man. He was 27 and I was eighteen. We never actually had sex, but that's the direction it was heading. Ironically, I had started going to church, hoping to get my life in a better direction, and had met him there. He was married to my Youth Group teacher. I began to feel so guilty, that I had decided to break it off.

I went to the basketball game at school and ran into the girl I'd stayed with for those two foggy weeks. We weren't really friends anymore. But she got me to talking about things, and I confided to her I had been seeing a married man and wanted out. She asked who, and I didn't want to say, but it felt so great that we were speaking again, so I told her she probably didn't know him. "Danny." She asked for his last name and I told her. She knew him. Then she clammed up and wouldn't even look at me. The game was over and people were starting to leave. I asked her why she was giving me a dirty look and she said, "I think you're a liar." I was hurt and angry. So I shoved her. I just wanted to hurt her. She had betrayed my confidence in her about something very personal. They say that I tried to push her down the staircase. I didn't. They say she almost fell all the way, but a guy caught her. I wonder if i did do it, but was sure that it wasn't my intention if i did. I was just blind with rage. I lost friends that night. On the way home I cried and cried and cried. How could she think I had lied about my relationship with Danny? She thought I had made it all up.

I agonized over this during the drive down the dirt road to my trailer and these headlights appeared behind me--flashing off and on, and I heard the horn honking. I was sure it was her. She had gathered a posse and they were going to beat me up. I floored the pedal and raced to my trailer. Jumping out of the car I ran to my door and fumbled with my keys. I heard steps behind me. Hands grabbed me and whirled me around.

It was Danny. He asked me what was going on. I told him to go away. That I couldn't see him anymore. He didn't take me seriously. I begged him to go, but he wanted to come inside for a minute. I said no, and closed the door. In his usual method of persuasion, he clawed on the door making whining noises like a dog and said, "You know, leaving me out in the cold is not a good idea...ever since i had polio, the cold is bad for me." The humor was charming, and I was too tired to argue. He held me for a few hours and we kissed and petted each other. I just needed it. It didn't matter that he was married. I just didn't want to be alone. I refused his further advances, and he finally left and I was alone with my thoughts. All my stupid mistakes, my bitterness, my hurt, confusion, hatred. I just didn't want to be alive anymore. It wasn't worth it. No direction. No goals. No future. No one to talk to. What was I going to do? What did this mean for my life? I got in the car and drove. For hours. I didn't take anything with me. No driver's license or anything. I found that out later. It started to rain and I kept driving. My head was swimming. I felt like I was escaping to a place that didn't exist, but that if i just kept driving, it would appear somehow. Or that I could just run until I fell off the edge of the earth. I stopped the car and got out, walking through the pouring rain for miles. I don't know how far. I was just walking. I sat down under some trees by the road and watched cars go by. They were moving fast enough to kill me if I could just step out in front of them. I got up and ran into the road--screaming. It was like someone else screaming. I felt things so deeply back then. I was a disembodied spirit, tortured and pathetic. But it was me, and I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop because I had never screamed. I had kept it all inside too long; re-routing the pain into anger. All those horrible fights with mother. All the things we picked up and threw across the room at each other. All those bandages I had to buy to cover the bleeding knuckles of my hands when I had punched the walls because I couldn't punch her--all of it came back--everything she ever said to me. Like how she wished I'd never been born.

A few cars went around me, and one had to slam on the brakes because I tried to put myself in front of him. It was strangely exhilarating, to see the car coming closer and closer at such a speed...waiting for that blessed impact that would take the pain away. I don't know how long I made myself a target on that road, but a man had come from one of the houses and pulled me away from the traffic. I couldn't stop screaming. He took me to the hospital. I remember doctors and nurses all around me. I kicked and took swings at them so that they couldn't come near. A huddle of them descended upon me and secured my arms and legs to the bed. I was laughing and screaming and crying all at once. My mind was a jumble and it was all pouring out at once, like stale cereal onto a table with no bowl. I had no control. I felt I was speaking in tongues, because words came out but I didn't understand them and couldn't stop. I would calm down until a nurse or doctor would come near and then I'd struggle and scream. I felt a small pin prick in my arm and then everything just melted away.

When I woke up, I was strapped to a bed. Little white bands around my wrists and legs. A nurse came in and I told her I couldn't sleep with those straps and all. My nose itched. I guess I convinced her I was over my tirade, because she finally took them off. I thanked her and turned over and closed my eyes. When she had gone, I got up and looked for my shoes, but couldn't find them. I couldn't find my watch either, and I didn't know if I'd lost it or they had put it away somewhere. But I didn't care, except I didn't know what time it was. I just knew it was dark and quiet.

I made my way down a corridor away from the nurse's station, and as I passed another, a night nurse looked up at me as I passed. I smiled at her and she smiled back and bent back to her paperwork. I glimpsed the clock above her. It was almost 5 a.m. It was relatively easy to just walk out. I was still in my regular clothes. My sock feet were the only thing that would give me away, and at that hour, there weren't many people around to notice. I simply padded out through the automatic doors and started walking. My head was a bit woozy from whatever they had syringed into my vein. After some time, I recognized where I was and started in the direction of where I had left my car. Sometime around mid-day, I finally found it, and thankfully, my keys were still there and so was the car. One of the benefits of small-town life.

I got in and drove back to my ratty trailer. In the bathroom, I had to sit on the edge of the tub and run water on my feet to release the coagulation of blood from walking so far without shoes. I poured peroxide on my feet and put on fresh socks, throwing the other ones in the trash. I took what little money I had and bought wine and chips. That's all I had for a while. I lost 20 pounds over the next 2 1/2 weeks. I watched my soaps, smoked at least a pack a day, got drunk every night, and when someone would knock at the door, I'd turn down the TV and pretend I wasn't home.

There were many cold nights after that. Just like tonight. Only now, I've learned to harness some of those emotions. And I've learned that my mother was a stupid, pathetic woman, who would never be able to appreciate the person I've become. In spite of her. In spite of myself.

Dirty Laundry with a Dash of Madness

The Day the Sky Came Down (fiction)

The crepuscular fingers of morning stroked the horizon and fell soft upon the parchment skin of the timorous creature. A miasmatic vapor emanated at short intervals from the tiny nostrils, as the dwarfish form made its way through the brambles toward the Ancient Stone. Clutched in one crooked, spindly hand was the New Offering, The creature gurgled at the thorn which caught in the tender membrane of its belly, and plucked it out with expert fingers.

Once through the foliage, the way was not so cumbersome, and soon the task would be done.

Emerging from the tangled vines and verdure, the creature was stilled by the beauty of the Ancient Stone. Approaching, it studied the Stone with dark, appraising eyes, the smoothness, the majestic, looming height of it…the perfectly molded apex at the very top…standing before it incited was sheer veneration.

The unsteady hands placed the glistening pebbles on the earth before the Ancient Stone, the body bowing once in subservient reverence.

The silent Stone had been there always. And as many before him, the diminutive creature had brought the offerings so as not to anger the Ancient Stone. The Stone had been angered once before, and the sky had fallen beneath its rage…many generations ago…Still, there were things the creature did not know, and would thrill to learn. Had the Stone really descended from the sky to keep close watch over those who had angered it? To consider the Lore false, was enough to make the creature quiver in fear of what wrath may follow such a query.

Bulbous eyes traveled to the base of the Stone. What did those figures mean? Would the creature ever know this? The figures were so defined, so imposing…were they, perhaps, the NAME of so great an entity?

The creature resolved to utter the name of the Ancient Stone… Hoping it would give favor to him for the knowledge…

The parched lips drew back and a guttural, tremulous voice intoned the new name. " … NASA…"

The Day the Sky Came Down (fiction)

The Heart Needs a Secret (poem)

there are still things I’ve never written

and never will

because the heart needs a secret.

And anyway—

Some poems won’t fit onto a page...

No matter how short they are.

The Heart Needs a Secret (poem)