Changed For Life
The scream still reverberates in my memory, and my wrists still feel the burn. Santa was coming, so we must get ready for bed! My belly was full of cake, cookies, and hot chocolate; and my ears still rang with the melodies of Christmas carols and the laughter of family and friends. I was dressed in my red nightgown, my arms were tied behind my back (which is how we always slept due to creeping through the house through the night), and I was lying on the hard, brown furry lined floor with my ear pressed to the floor so hard as if I would become one with the floor. I just had to hear what was going on downstairs, since I had been ushered off to bed in preparation for Santa’s trip down our chimney. My bed was a Holly Hobby blanket and a pillow on the floor between Moma’s bed and the wall underneath a window facing the street where I could view the chipped paint and smell the odor of age that clung to this house. I was ten years old and knew full well that a fictitious Santa was not coming down our chimney. Daddy was Santa, and I knew it. But, Daddy would not play Santa this particular night, or any night after.
The sirens and lights lit up the night with a wail to echo the original scream. With my hands still behind my back, and my brother now kneeling beside me; I watched as the gurney entered our house. As we watched from our window, the neighbors stood in their red glowing yards and watched. It seemed like hours passed before the men with the gurney carried my Daddy from the house on that gurney. Moma raced behind them and climbed into the truck with Daddy and the men. One man walked around to the front of the truck and the truck rushed down the road. Instead of a sleigh led by a red-nosed reindeer bringing a fat, jolly man with gifts, a carriage took away my fat, jolly man sirens screaming in the night led by a red flashing beacon. It screamed, “Merry Christmas, you silly girl – Remember me”! We watched as the neighbors disappeared into their homes, and then our sister came to untie us and explain that scream to us! The scream had been one word, “Moma!”, and had been filled with fear – the kind of fear you would expect if someone had fallen and hurt themselves. It is the kind of scream you never can forget. It is the kind of scream that changes the landscape of your life within a blink of a second. It is the kind of scream remembered in your dreams and reminds you of all you’ve lost. Somewhere between midnight and dawn I must have dosed off and walked in my sleep. Or the night just became a blur in the mind of a ten year old, because the next thing I remember is waking up at Grandmoma’s house the next morning without my hands tied and sleeping in an actual bed. My life changed drastically on that Christmas Eve, and it was not because of something I got for Christmas, but something I lost that Christmas.
As I recall, Christmas continued as usual with some obvious differences: Daddy was not there, gifts were opened at Granddad and Grandmoma’s house (who did not have a chimney), and Moma’s eyes and face resembled the lights of the ambulance for many days and weeks to follow. The turkey and dressing did not look different, and the cinnamon of the pumpkin pie still permeated the house, but people forgot to laugh. I was ten, and did not fully understand that my Dad was not coming back to me. He had bought me a beautiful two-story doll house with a green roof. The house was hinged on one side, and opened to view the entire house – left side and right side. The furniture was bundled and ready for me to distribute, but something else caught my attention – a rustle and a meow. All of a sudden a gray kitten ran from under the tree and landed in my lap. I was told years later that my dad had gone the day before to pick up the kitten and left it with Grandmoma so I would not see her before Christmas Day. I named her Merry, and cherished her throughout that long day.
After that Christmas my brother returned to his boarding school, my sister graduated high school and moved on to college, and I no longer was tied up at night or made to sleep on the floor. But the most important change was that life had to go on without this strong, outgoing, ever present personality. My dad was larger than life. His belly really did shake when he laughed, and his eyes really did twinkle. He knew how to make a room rock with laughter with his ever present jokes. His eyes not only twinkled but also reflected the sky on a clear, bright, sunny day; and his personality echoed that brightness. I cannot remember my dad ever crying or being angry (at least not at me). He could turn those baby blues on me, and I would feel a world of love and security emanating from him. But all, that changed on that Christmas Eve. Moma, who had never been my champion, became quiet, sullen, and withdrawn. She stayed in her room, ignored house work, and ignored the phone, the bills, and me. It often felt as if I was the only person in the house because while her body was present, she was not. It was as if Daddy had taken her with him, and in fact that is probably what she had wished for (I know I had).
Before Daddy died, I would ride to school with Daddy, eat breakfast with him before school, and then entertain him after school or watch television with him. I did minor chores around the house like folding clothes, doing dishes, dusting on the weekend, and occasionally cleaning up after Moma’s recent pet. But, after Daddy died, sadness sagged our little house to the foundation, the stove became an ornament, the freezer entertained pot pies and T.V. dinners, cleaning became the norm for me from the age of ten to fourteen. I vacuumed, washed clothes, cleaned every room, dusted, swept and mopped, took out the trash, and brought in the mail. After a while I even delivered the checks to the bill collectors. I became an adult in a few short months. I continued my education because: 1) it was the law and 2) because I loved school and would not think of skipping out on school. But, at home laughter was not tolerated and life just seemed to stall. While Moma became quiet and sad, I became angry and secretly turned my back on God. I blamed Him for taking my father, and asked why he did not take my Mom instead. I listened to everyone’s words telling me that God had taken my Dad because he was needed as an angel. As a child, I could not understand that logic because Daddy was my angel, and how dare God take him from me. I could not understand why God had brought Daddy into my life when I was three, only to take him away seven very short years later.
Changes were not strange to me, even for such a young girl. I had been adopted by this Dad, been loved and protected. He gave me and my family security, but he was sick. He struggled through one open heart surgery after another. He smoked, he laughed, he loved, and he shared all he had with two children who had no one. Then he died, and changed those two children’s lives again. It was not his fault, or God’s. But, I wanted someone to blame, and turned out my Mom wanted someone to blame too. I blamed God; Moma blamed me and my brother. Five years and two months after daddy died, I tried to run away from home and Moma tried to kill herself with pills. And, life changed one more time.
Poetry
Deliver Him, Please! (Free verse)
Todays the day!
He will come today, Okay?
Tomorrow he’ll come?
He must not be ready, yet.
Two inches you’ve opened
No further you’ve broadened
Oh, here’s a contraction, don’t you feel?
No, I feel nothing!
What an ordeal!
Hey, Doc? He won’t arrive!
What do you think we can do
To bring out my bouncing baby boy?
We wait some more? But,
Wait? We’ve waited a week!
Five more days – Why has he not come?
Hey, doc! I’m gonna freak out!
Perhaps, a C-section will do
The trick, and deliver him
I can’t wait to kiss his little cheek
Oh! Here he is! And,
What great lungs he has! And,
What a big fellow he is! And,
What a real zeal he has for his meal!
Oh! Look doc, you did it!
He is well worth the wait!
Deep Horizons (Ballad)
Oh my god what are they saying
It has exploded? see the flames?
floating on the deep horizon
Can you smell the stench of oil claims
While the black gold came
bubbling from the deep
Six people perished
while the crews lost sleep
to keep tar balls from the shore
the spoiled fish and grounded heron
flying lies and leathal leakage
broken promises and angry seaman
while the black gold came
bubbling from the deep
folks argued over bills
and who'll close the seep
Bite your tongue (Rondeau)
Bite your tongue ‘til you bleed!
Don’t let your words stampede
Your thoughts, your heart
Don’t forget to do your part
To not let your words impede
Your relationships. Your words succeed
To make you look like a fiend
Both with family and sweetheart
Bite your tongue ‘til you bleed!
Won’t you take a creed?
Most people would heed
The words of their preacher who imparts
Sermons and advice worlds apart
To carry a message of need:
Bite your tongue ‘til you bleed
Vacation
“Oh my God, this is so wack!” Timothy thought. “I can’t believe she brought me here. She thinks I’m a baby. And, a trip to Disney World? It is going to be so hot, there. She probably got a crappy hotel, and who the heck cares about Mickey Mouse. And all these brothers she could have left at home.” At least, this is what was floating through the fifteen year olds brain, until the car pulled up into the drive way of a one story house with a pool in the back yard. Timothy knew he would have to help his dad unload the car, but he was not doing it by himself. That is what these other three rug-rats were for. Wondering what would be for lunch; he climbed from the van and started towards the front door.
The ranting and raving had gone on for fifteen minutes, by which time Nancy was in tears. The mascara was non-existent on her face, and she looked like a raccoon. This was the first vacation the family had taken without grandparents or brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins, and Nancy was determined to make it a great vacation. After all of the ranting and raving, packing, and quiet looks of trepidation, the family was packed and on their way to Disney World. While there, the family would be able to do whatever they wanted, on their own time frame and own money. They would not have to wait on someone else’s schedule, and did not have to discuss anyone’s agendas. It was to be the happiest trip ever. It was “The happiest place on earth”! But, she could feel the unhappiness radiating off Timothy’s body. For him, it was torture at fifteen to have to tag along with his parents to an amusement park. He was not a baby any longer, or so he kept telling Nancy. But, she had spent a lot of dough on this vacation, and she would make everyone happy.
She could not stop thinking about how fast her boys had grown up, and how soon they would fly the coup. So little time had been spent as a family doing family things, so when the money presented itself, the time was right to take the family to Disney World for the first time – ever. Nancy thought about what a fabulous time they would have visiting each park, like she had as a little girl. She purchased non-expiring, multi-park four day tickets for two children under 13 and four tickets for people over 13. She rented a house in the heart of Orlando, with a pool, packed the suit-cases and the car, and Columbia was a distant thought by six o’clock in the morning. Her husband drove half the way to Orlando, while she drove the rest. They were to arrive at one o’clock in the afternoon, but because of her overzealousness they arrived at eleven o’clock in the morning. The kids were complaining that they were tired and hungry, but Nancy was still very excited to be on a family vacation with just her family. She still could not understand what all the complaining was about because the air was warm, the wind was blowing, and she had so many wonderful things for the kids to do that they would be too tired to complain this time tomorrow. Oh, how she looked forward to that. She could not wait to unload the car, sort out who would sleep where, what she would fix for summer, and what time they would all head out in the morning.
“Oh, great! I have to stay seven days in this small house with her and these brats? Ahh, kill me now! At least mom’s not here, so I don’t have to hear her and Nancy argue. And, I am so glad I have my computer. Who cares if she will fuss the whole time I’m on it? I swear she should have been my mom, I mean she sounds like her anyway. Maybe that’s why they argue! Oh well, I can’t wait to get in there, so I can take a nap”. Jacob had planned his vacation for the week in June because his wife had asked him to take those days, but he was certain it was going to be a miserable drive, a miserable time, and he would be broker than that dish he threw against the wall last month. He just knew she would spend all his money, the kids would argue the entire time, and she would boss him around; and he was not sure it was worth it to go through this. The kids would be grown and gone, soon – or so he was constantly being told. And, he was sure it would not come soon enough. He was always telling the boys to hurry up and get a job, now he was going to be stuck with them for a week without a referee. So now they had arrived, and he had been right: the kids had argued, and Nancy bossed him to do this or that! So when the house came into view, and Jacob saw the gleam of the pool and smelled the chloride a block back, he felt so much relief flood over him.
There was a white van parked in the driveway, and Jacob pulled in behind it. He told Nancy to wait in the car while he went to see if they could start unpacking the car. He knocked on the door, and a blond haired young girl answered the door with a mop in her hand. The smell of bleach wafted through the door, and the young girl yelled for her mom. As her mom approached the door, she excitedly exclaimed that she still had to do the linen and that Jacob and family were two hours too early. Jacob apologized and walked back to the van where his wife and children watched. His suggestion was to go find lunch, and thankfully Nancy agreed.
Timothy was so happy to get a two hour delay on unpacking the car, but he was desperate to get the Nintendo out so he could play his games. It had been six hours now, and he felt the video game withdrawals approaching. His mom told him not to expect too much time on his game system, but she never lived by her words. If he helped unpack the car without arguing, he knew she would not care about him playing the game. He just hoped there was more than one television, even though he knew his dad had packed an extra TV, especially since his mom had told him to. Timothy could not help wondering if he would get his own room. His mom had told him he would have to share with Stanley, but he knew he could threaten Stan with all kinds of torture, and the room would be all his.
Two hours passed with only one small stand-off between Timothy and his mom, which Jacob was relieved about. The van approached the house once more, tired but full. The car was unpacked in a record twenty minutes. The nine and eleven year olds were digging through the suitcases looking for their swim suits, and the older two were deciding where to put the TV and the Nintendo. They could not decide which game to play, Nancy was printing out maps to Disney World parks and trying to decide where to eat dinner tomorrow, and Jacob was enthralled in a Civilization world oblivious to the goings on around him. He was not worried about tomorrow because he knew Nancy had it under control, and besides he knew she had it all planned out and did not need his opinion. What good would his opinion be, when she would do what she wanted anyway? Before Jacob knew it, the lights were out, the kids were snoring, and Nancy had curled up beside him looking very peaceful and the happiest he had seen her in thirteen years. Tomorrow the stress would be back on her face, so Jacob took the time to enjoy the peaceful look; and then he reached over, sat the computer on the floor, and turned off the lamp. Tomorrow would be here soon enough. Tomorrow, Disney World would be invaded by Jacob, Nancy, and their children.
Reflection
In this class, I learned to give each character a different voice, to stay away from clichés, and to give meter to each line where it is needed. I also learned it is okay for a piece to not be finished, that in fact we are always adapting our works. Our text also teaches that “dialogue can often be most revealing by what is not said” (Thiel, 2005, p. 66), which is what I tried with the subtle comments of being tied up in my first story. I was told to elaborate on it, though. For me, elaborating on the tying up takes away from the story of my father’s death, but I can understand where the confusion can also divert the reader’s attention from the story too.
My favorite genre is definitely poetry. I am not sure why, but I have been reading poetry since I was a very little girl (knee high to a grasshopper, as grandmom would say). I was given a book of poetry when I was eight years old. I read it until it fell apart, and I think I still have it somewhere. I fell in love with Robert Louis Stevenson, Edgar Allan Poe, Walt Whitman, and Alfred Lord Tennyson before I knew who Rob Lowe, Ralph Macchio, and Kurt Cameron were. Today, I still hunt for antique books, and my most priced book is an 1800 Tennyson book.
The most difficult part of this revision was trying to find a different voice for the son, the husband, and the wife. I think after eighteen to twenty years of marriage together people do start to sound a lot alike. I just tried to think of slang to use for my son, and I tried contractions more with the husband’s speech. The attitudes do seem the same, though. Everyone is on vacation, but do not seem happy about it. All they seem to see is the work, the negativity, and the worse in the other people, which ironically is no vacation from their ordinary lives.
My strength, in my opinion, is my rhyme schemes. I think I have a strong ability to write rhyme and meter. Once I become conscious of the meter, I think I improved greatly. I think my weakness is self-doubt and writing outside of my comfort zone. I believe I am very critical of my writing, and it can be a big stumbling block. Also, another weakness is using clichés. As it was pointed out to me, using clichés is simply laziness. I really wish this class had been longer, because I still feel as if I need more help with my creativeness. Of course, when it comes to creativeness, you either have it or don’t (I know that is a cliché). In order to improve, I will just have to keep reading, keep accepting critiques, and learn by trial and error. I, also, think I must continue to challenge myself to step out of my comfort. I must be able to do things that I am not used to doing.
References
Thiel, D. (2005). Crossroads: Creative writing exercises in four genres. Boston, MA: Pearson
Education, Inc
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